Palmistry
[Clumsy]
You can't help but stare as his hands wave riotously around, tracing abstract patterns in the air. Fingers poke and jut; splay and flit. You notice that everyone else watches his face. Mobile, beautiful, gleaming. Not you; you watch his hands. Huge hands. Masculine hands, for all the adornments that grace the fingers.
Then the hands catch the side of a tumbler: glass shatters and splinters; worlds collide; universes are destroyed in one fell swoop. He jumps up, huge hands flailing, trying to catch the liquid cascading off the table. Laughter mixes with curses. Beaming smile mixes with furrowed brow.
[Elegant]
You wonder, amused rather than annoyed, how you came to be elbow-deep in suds, carefully soaping crockery.
A plate slips; water surges up like a tidal wave and tips over the edge of the sink. You hop, skirt and dodge, trying to avoid the deluge.
"Here." The voice is soft and equally amused. A hand stills you and drops an apron over your head. Strong hands spread your arms wide. Your waist is encircled, once, twice. You watch as long, tapering fingers tie a bow with studied precision. Fingers more suited to tracing patterns in silk than grappling with cotton.
[Crossing lines]
"Hey, read your palm?" He flattens the book out, breaking spine and smoothing pages.
Hands again. You are mesmerized by his hands. Fetish. The word ricochets around your head.
"Sure." You have no belief in mumbo jumbo, but are thrilled at the thought of his hands touching yours.
He takes your hand and turns it palm up. His fingers trace across time-hardened skin as he blows on your fingers.
"Okay." Pointing. "Your head-line is crossing your life-line at the base of your index finger." He looks up and smiles.
"Getting my lines crossed."
"Always." The word hangs in the air.
[Wandering]
"Stop it!" Elijah ducks away and runs laughing from his grasp. "Will you stop mauling me?"
You wonder what it is like to be on the receiving end of such rambunctious playfulness. But the mauling you fantasize about involves far more specific, and leisurely, wandering of hands.
You sigh and go back to your study of the ground.
Suddenly you are grabbed and spun around. Your equilibrium, already shattered, is pulled further off and you topple backward with him above you.
He gazes at you and dips his head, his mouth is pressed hard against yours, then he is gone.
[Targeting]
You decide to be nonchalant.
Sitting at the lunch table you pick at your food, letting the chatter of your friends wash over you. You tell yourself that you feel content. You are so immersed in your thoughts that you don't notice his arrival at your side.
Then a finger traces the curve of your nape, the hairs on your arms stand to attention and your spine dissolves. You feel light-headed and the ground no longer feels solid beneath your boots.
You turn, but the hand is already gone and he is threading his way across the tent. Missed again.
[Invitation]
Bean's voice invades your thoughts. "What?" You blush with guilt at the interruption of your contemplation.
"Dinner. Tonight. Luigi's. Yes?" Bean is smiling indulgently.
You want solitude and silence. He is resigned and understanding.
"Rain check?" You say it simultaneously.
*
Your eyes blink open and you wonder how long you have been sitting here. He is draped across a chair at the other end of the trailer, a shadow, watching you.
"Sleepy." He smiles. "Are you doing anything later?" His hands flutter nervously on the chair arms. You watch. Always watching.
You shrug and his brow furrows at the non-answer.
[Seduction]
He is standing above you, fingers flexing nervously.
"Vig?" His voice is gentle. He leans forward and places his hands on your thighs. You quiver at the touch.
Moving your knees together, he shifts himself to sit astride you. His hands stroke along your chest and move under you shirt. He begins to undo the buttons, fingers brushing softly against your skin.
You take his hands in yours, setting them palm again palm. You smile at how small yours are in comparison.
You reach up and your mouths meet. Tongues entwine, lips flush and eyelids flutter. Surrender is so seductive.