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Your fingers brushed ever so softly against his own, careful not to touch all five. His rough, dry, and calloused hands felt so different compared to your own. But you loved them. You loved him. You smile as your thumb softly presses slightly into his wrist. Yes, even his wrists were pretty to you. So thin, so delicate. People would normally not spare a passing glance at him, if they had not already known who he was. He was so, unlike someone to be feared. A frail, skinny twenty something year old man. A shut in. A "freak".
But no, he was so much more than that. If to no one else, than to you. He was to be respected, never underestimated, to be feared. And yet, from the very first day you met him, you never did fear him. If anything, you did feel that respect, you never underestimated him in anyway, you admired him. Soon that admiration would grow into something stronger. And before you knew it, here you were. In his dark room, in his bed. Playing with those dangerous hands of his.
"You're fucking crazy. You know that?"
Oh how you loved the sound of his voice. Some would be turned away from the rasp, the roughness of his voice. But not you. You look up from his hand. "Am I?" You grin. "How so?" He looked at you, the light from his tv screen reflecting off of his ruby eyes. He gave you a look, the kind of look that said, you should already know. "Just look at what you're doing right now."
"What? I'm just doing what I always do." You say before turning your attention back to his hands. His flat rough palms brushed against yours, intertwining your fingers with his longer ones. He was always careful not to use his fifth one on you.
"I could kill you. Dust you within seconds."
"Mhm. I know."
"Then stop."
"Why should I?"
You could hear his annoyed huff from above you. You giggled and moved your hand away from his. "If you really want me to stop, I will. Do you want me to stop?" He said nothing. You put your hand on top of his. "That's what I thought."
"You're crazy."
"So I've heard." You chuckle. "I know very well what you are capable of Shiggy." That nickname, coming from anyone else would have been an insult. "I just, want to do this."
"Why?"
You look up at him with a grin, bringing his hand up to your cheek. "I like your hands." You could have sworn you saw a bit of pink dusting his cheeks, but his blue locks were in the way. "But, they're not the only things I like about you."
"I like, your hair." You lean in closer to him. "Your eyes." You brush some of his hair out of his face. "Your scars." You gently swipe your thumb against his scar on his lip. "Everything about you, is so perfect Shiggy."
He couldn't take much more of this. He hid his face in your neck, making you laugh lightly. "It's true." You assure him.
And it was. Never once have you lied about his beauty. And that's exactly what it is, beauty. You felt him wrap his arms around you tight, you move your arms around him as well. Petting his tangled blue hair.
"I love every part of you. But your hands, are my favorite."
"That's a crazy thing to say."
"Well, I am crazy, according to you." You joke. "Yeah, still true." He tells you before pulling back from you. You take his hands again. "So pretty." You murmur.
You loved his hands. You loved him. Every inch of him.
And he felt the same about you. Your touch was so...soothing. Your touch made him feel alive. Your touch made him feel something again. He was addicted. He never wanted to let you go. He wanted this all the time. He wanted your touch all the time.
He needed, your touch.