Your hand holds mine gently, your thick fingers dwarfing my slender ones even as they intertwine. Your eyes are on the television but mine are watching you. You sit mostly expressionless. Every once in a while your lips twitch into the briefest hint of amusement at the show and your thumb gently traces where it rests on my hand.
Slowly, as to not disturb you, I lift our hands and add my second hand on top of yours. I stroke your skin gently with my finger tips. My eyes wander down to where my two smaller hands embrace your larger one and my eyes well with tears quiet.
I think of all your hands have done. Accomplished. Built.
Not just to me, for me, with me. But for others, for the world. I lift our hands gently until they reach my face and then I untangle our fingers carefully. Once your palm is free I move, pressing my soft cheek into your open hand. My eyes close as I catalog every sensation. The roughness of your finger pads and various callouses, your palm smoother in comparison.
I sigh, leaning into your hand and just allowing myself to feel the safety you always bring me. The sense of peace that overcomes me when I am in your presence is like a warm blanket.
I suddenly feel your eyes on me, even with my eyes gently shut. I give myself another moment or two to bask in your strength and goodness before I open my eyes and look right into yours.
I know you must be able to feel the blush that spreads through my cheeks like wildfire and I I start to drop your hand but then your other reaches out like a flash and tangles its way into my curls. The small whimper that leaves my mouth is a tad embarrassing but I push through the shame to meet your eyes, as I have been taught.
"What is wrong, Mine?" Your voice is gruff from lack of use this evening and a hint of worry.
My mind races as I realize your worry for me. You think I'm upset.
"Not upset," I whisper, hoping my eyes are saying what my mouth is struggling to get out.
The hand in my hair tightens slightly and gently shifts my head, angling me to more fully look you in the eye.
"Then why the tears, my little one?" Your voice sends a shiver down my spine as my need to show you my feelings starts to grow.
"You... you have done so much. These hands... have done miraculous things." My head turns slightly in your grip. My lips are kissing your palm between thoughts as my feelings spill from my mouth unrestrained, lost in my thoughts.
"Saved lives."
A kiss to the middle
"Carried death."
A small nuzzle before lip press into your palm.
"Brought pleasure."
The tip of my tongue slides up one of the grooves in your palm, spanning the whole length.
Your eyes seem to go hooded, searing my own gaze with a mixture of lust, pride, and bafflement that I've always found heady in invoking within you.
I hear a low noise coming from your throat as my teasing, light lick intensifies. My tongue flattening as it reaches the bottom of your middle finger and licking up the length of the digit until reaching the very tip. Keeping my eyes trained on yours, I open my mouth and slip your long, rough finger into my wet mouth about halfway. My cheeks hollow as I suck and my tongue rubs and twists.
Your grip on my hair tightens and the low noise happens again, but you make no move to remove me from you. I take this as your approval as I suck my way up to the pad of your finger again and then open my mouth wider, taking two thick fingers in my mouth this time. After a few moments my eyes start to close as I get lost in the sensation of my gentle suckling.