|Sat, 24 Jul 1999
Jen X <firstname.lastname@example.org>
"Hands" (1/1) [Rogue]
Author's note: I have NO idea where this came from. It just ... happened. This hasn't been beta'd or anything; for once I'm sending something cold. Um. No one character is ever mentioned by name but she's not mine. <g>
She stretches out on the bed, the soft flannel brushing against her bare skin. It's summer, but it hardly matters -- it's the feel of it that counts, the way the gentle cloth graces her tanned legs. The sheets rub against her exposed back, and she luxuriates in the richness of the comfortable material. She takes this moment and frames it in her own mind; she never wants to let it go, but it fades along with the rest of them, fades and falls into the depths of abandoned memories.
But there's one moment she's sure she'd never ever let go --
The way he'd feel against her. His touch against her skin, his lips pressing hotly across every square inch of her body, his hands running along her sides, along her breasts, his deft fingers in her short hair as his tongue reaches for hers, finds it, and she accepts him with all his grace and experience and flair. Like that would ever happen.
She runs her own fingers through her hair, ashamed of her own inexperience, ashamed that they aren't his fingers, aren't his hands running along her body, aren't his lips pressing against her arms -- for that's all she can reach, her own arms, and sometimes her knees when she's willing to bend.
God, she'd be so willing to bend for him.
She'd be so willing to bend -- to do anything -- for anyone, for just one touch. One taste of him and that would sate her curiosity of years. And for years she'd carry that touch, that taste with her, even if the moment weren't so prolonged as she'd like for it to be -- she would accept it, and take it, and hold it, if only he would just --
If only she could just --
Her hands -- far smaller and slimmer than his -- trace the contours of her own body, and in her mind her hands become his. She sees his face hovering above her in the darkness and for an instant she imagines that he is truly there, truly touching her --
The image wavers for a second, and she reaches out, hoping to solidify it and make it so real, but it flickers, and fades, reminding her that she is once again alone with herself.
And her hands.