Work Text:
The Aesthetics Of Lust
by Damion Starr
You know, hands are an underestimated appendage.
Men always say that they're a "leg man" or an "ass man". Me? I'm a hand man. Okay, get your jaw off the floor and slap yourself for thinking like that. I just mean that hands can tell you a lot about a person.
I went out with this girl, she was an artist, at least she thought she was. Couldn't paint a house if the fate of the galaxy depended on it, but anyway. Everytime she got rejected from another gallery, she would start off on her rant that she didn't have "artist hands", and then she would point out someone, more often then not a woman, that had "artist hands".
Now, I still think that she was just using that as an excuse to look at women, but that kind of got me looking at hands, and ever since, that's been my...I hesitate to say "fetish"...let's call it a hobby. I've gotten pretty good at telling what a person's like by their hands.
That is, before I met Lieutenant Aiden Ford.
God, he has the most amazing hands. Well, he has the most amazing everything, but his hands are out of this world. He has artist hands. He's got long, slender fingers, wide palms that join gracefully with his wrists, and a firm handshake that drives me crazy. It's just so...contradicting. It's strong, but soft. Like him. He's handsome...yet beautiful.
And did I mention sexy as hell? No? Well, yeah, that too.
I know, I know, he's ten years my junior, he's my subordinate, he's my friend, he's a he, yadda-yadda-yadda, but you know what? I can't help it, okay! I can't help it if, everytime we do a manly handshake, an image pops into my head of his hand...elsewhere. And I can't help it if I happen to glance over at him every now and again when we're on a 'Jumper because, at profile, his long eyelashes stand out around his intense eyes and- Hey, I said I can't help it!
Aw, crap...I'm a goner...
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