Handprint

One two, three, four, five. And wide palm. Tingles.

We ambled together, sunset surrounding us and Malibu Sunsets marching through us, amplifying our creativity and hampering our balance, each attempting to make the other laugh with exaggerated silly gaits. Jacob was the first to break, though that was due to me sending my keys carpetwards for the second time in a row. He retrieved them and unlocked the door to my flat while I muttered about door-based conspiracies against me.

"Call that a

door

-ganized attack," he said, and bounded ten feet away in a fraction of a second, out of reach of my enraged clawing.

"Gueheheehe," I heard from the kitchen. What a dumb laugh.

It's my favourite sound.

"I'm makin' us a coffee, we should probl'y sober up a little. At least

I

should if I'm gonna get home without breaking my arse."

"Stay over, J, that's fine. We've not got an early morning tomorrow, anyway." I yawned loudly as I arranged our shoes in a neat line against the wall.

"Sweeeeeet, thanks, luv. I'm still makin' that coffee though, hearing that yawn. The night is still young, woman!"

Jacob had a clear, baritone voice with a warm, Northern-tinted accent. What aided that warmth was his use of terms of endearment like punctuation marks, a linguistic feature he and shared with our Londoner friends at university and would escalate wildly. It was hilarious to hear the "darling" and "luv" he used when I met him in our first year intensify as our friend group grew to know each other better to terms like "honeysugarlips" and "my one and only in this life and the next". It was less amusing that they made my pulse jolt whenever they were directed at me. So fucking

dumb

.

Where the heel of the palm had rested tingles strongest. Just to the left of my spine. Pulsing.

He filled the kettle, opened one of the overhead cupboards and retrieved two mugs; my everyday portly, forest-green ceramic companion, and a bone china affair that he used whenever he came over. It had been a gift from my aunt who quite definitely remembered my interests as "girl", so one side of the white mug was emblazoned with a radial heart, a gradient of pinks darkening outwards from the centre where the image of a fuzzy teddy bear slouched over "Madeline" written in curly cursive script. Not unpleasant, just...not me at all. I'd stored it apologetically at the back of my cupboard, where Jacob had eventually unearthed and adopted it with glee.

I squashed myself against the fridge, multicoloured letter magnets pressing into my cheek, and watched him reassemble my cafetière from the draining rack. He was deft with his long fingers, graceful even. Naturally, of course, what with him being an illustrator and all. His income depended on the careful control of his digits. Tonight, directed by my elevated blood alcohol levels and the pounding patch of skin on my back, Jacob's hands were utterly entrancing. I noticed every knobbly joint, the faint blue meandering, branching veins under his light skin. The callus on his left middle finger...he always gripped his pens too hard, the idiot.

"You alright there, mate?" he laughed questioningly. "Something on my hand?" He flipped his palms this way and that, looking for surprise imperfections. As if there could ever be.

"No, nothing," I reassured him. I could say it, we compliment each other all the time. "I don't think I've ever told you, but you...uh...have...lovely...hands." Huh. That was surprisingly difficult. Equally surprising was the bashful expression that flitted across his face, quickly chased away by a cheeky smile. He held his hands up, crossed his wrists and fanned his fingers out in front of his face, peeking over them with excessively hooded eyes.

"Ohhhh?" he languidly drew out the syllable and struck another pose; palms arched, fingertips delicately alighting on the counter. "

Rrrreaallllyyy?"

I smiled tensely. I wanted to be sure this didn't get laughed off like we'd usually do with compliments. "Yeah. You really do."

Jacob faltered in his teasing, but rallied quickly. "I think I'll make you a

strong

cup lu- Mads." He grasped the fridge handle situated a couple inches away from my belly and wiggled the fingers of his right hand in my face.

That

got the giggle he was looking for. I turned my face away and he eased the fridge door open to retrieve the grounds and milk for our brews. I shuffled backwards, maintaining connection with the door, and hoped the cold air tumbling out of the machine would subdue the heat in my cheeks.

I'd always found Jacob attractive, since the early days at uni. We grew friendly when we would repeatedly end up shyly sharing the same courtyard bench during the times when our study periods coincided. His back would curl into a C around his sketchbook, wavy chestnut hair and pencil getting almost equal contact with the page. He was sweet and enthusiastic when he'd ask me about the classic literature books I would be poring over for my essays, and my eyes would be magnetized to his paper when he eventually let me watch him draw. We both held a potent admiration for the other, and found that we could simply, effortlessly

be

when we were together. In such conditions, how could love of some sort

not

flourish? The intensity of my attraction had peaked and troughed in the eight or so years that we'd known each other, but it was always there, through partners, distance and minor rifts. Equally vacillating was my certainty that he was attracted to me, too. I was sure I could see it in those times when he'd linger a little too long on the doorstep before scurrying off, in those snatches when I'd catch him gazing at me only to crack a hasty joke. Yet at every instance when I'd coyly reach out to cross some invisible, unclear threshold, he'd somehow make it apparent that attraction lay solely with me.

I plaintively rotated a magnetic L on the pale fridge surface while coffee-making activity happened in the background.

"Hey, Mads?"

I turned my face towards him again. He fixed his dark eyes on mine and gave another exaggerated pouty model expression. "Don't you want to be

hold

these

marvels-"

he undulated his left hand towards the bubbling, steaming kettle, "-in actio-ACK!"

He'd misjudged the kettle's position and had given his knuckles a right scalding on the stainless steel surface. Instantly, I was over to the sink and opening the cold water tap, guiding him to the stream with one hand on his back. Just the same way he'd done to me as we'd left the restaurant.

I wondered if his skin would remember the shape of my hand as vividly as mine remembered his.

He positioned his hand under the cascade, eyebrows furrowed.

"You okay?" I asked seriously.

"Mhmm," he replied. He stuck the affected knuckle into his mouth and sucked pensively.

I wish it were me doing that.

WHAT.

How fucking

shameless

. He's hurt and I'm being

horny???

SO inappropriate oh my GOD.

He noticed my stillness, saw my eyes transfixed on the finger in his mouth. He popped it out and proffered it with raised eyebrows. I inhaled sharply, and eyes wide, I buttoned my lips and quickly marched to finish the coffee myself.

I heard a muffled chuckle behind me.

...

The sun had fully subdued now, the alcohol buzz along with it. I sat pretzeled on the double seater sofa, Jacob sprawled in the armchair to the left of me, my long, dark wooden coffee table central to the scene. We chatted idly about work as we sipped our coffee.

"...whoever did the referencing the first time around was so sloppy, incredibly inconsistent with their punctuation. I wouldn't mind in ordinary circumstances, but my hands cramp from having them constantly curled over the period and apostrophe keys."

"You could borrow mine since y'like 'em so much," Jacob quipped. He made a point of gesturing sexily with his hands again as he leaned forward for his mug. The teasing was truly agonizing now. I scrunched my face in embarrassment and blurted, more intensely than I meant to, "HEY. I'm sure there's something

you

find nice about

me

! Come on now, let's have it! Fair's fair!"

Jacob froze mid-sip, the lower half of his face obscured by white bone china. He set the mug down on the table, arched his fingers around the rim and spun it slowly, staring into its depths. His lips twitched open and closed, crumbs of phonemes mincing uncertainly from his mouth. Fuck, I didn't think I'd wholly

break

him. What felt like two minutes of treacle-thick tension oozed by. I considered apologizing, asking him to forget it, but before I could speak, he finally pieced the sounds he wanted together.

"It's your neck."

"My neck?"

He ceased his nervous mug-twirling. The gradated heart and teddy bear faced me full on.

Jacob regarded me with a look I'd seen him fix on bowls of fruit and posed models. The artist's eye. "It's got an incredibly graceful outline. Hell, your whole profile is striking, it's one of the first things I noticed about you, but the continuous line from your chin, to your jaw, ending in the swoop of your SCM muscle is so

elegant...

" He raised his hand automatically as his voice trailed off, and traced the line in the air as he described it, all nervousness gone. I was stunned. To hear him talk about

me

as artistically pleasing was...overwhelming. He continued tracing in silence, absent-mindedly moving beyond my neck to other curving lines on my body. There was more than appreciation in his fixed gaze now; it was, unmistakably, restrained desire.

I fucking need him.

"Show me...where you mean," I said, dreamily. He paused, then rose from his armchair and tentatively sat next to me on the sofa. He waggled his fingers in my face again, but with significantly less jocular conviction. He lowered his finger to my collarbone and the skin under his touch ignited.

"This..." he said softly, tracing the line of the muscle with his index finger, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, "is the Sternocleidomastoid muscle. SCM. So from here..." his fingertip left my neck and alighted on my chin, "to here..." his finger slid across my jaw, down the muscle, ended in the U of my clavicle, so slightly uncertainly, "is...uh...what I meant." He didn't remove his finger. I imagined it was because of my hummingbird-speed heartbeat that he could surely feel under it.

"...show me again?" I murmured, my throat parched. I couldn't take my eyes off of his focused expression, hungrily consuming the flesh it fell upon.

My

flesh. Definitely

me

.

This time he travelled

up

, his middle finger joining in. So softly, but no longer uncertain. Neck, jaw, chin.

Lower lip.

He paused. We locked eyes. I hoped like hell that I looked sultry because what I felt like was a roiling, boiling puddle. What next? The answer was clanging loudly in the silence between us. It had taken so much for him to verbalize his thoughts that I couldn't reasonably expect that it would be easy for him to act, to take the lead, and the leap. Nothing for it now.

I parted my lips, and closed them again around the tip of his index finger.

Heaven. Heavenly. God, yes. I let it rest there for a moment to gauge his reaction. No resistance. I brushed my tongue against his fingertip once. Twice. I was very aware of how wet my mouth was getting. I pulled more of Jacob's finger deeper into my mouth, until my tongue tip caressed the crook of his second joint. I searched his face for any sign of revulsion, even the slightest hint of hesitation, but he was staring at my lips around his finger, mesmerized. Reassured, I let my eyes flutter closed and eased my tongue slowly along the length in my mouth. There's got to be some direct line from mouth to vagina, because when Jacob started gently pumping his finger between my lips, I could swear I felt the exact motions between my legs. I ached for him to really be touching me there.

Fucking hell, that escalated quickly. Had I been craving him that badly?

A warm coffee-scented breeze brushed against my face. His breathing was getting heavier, amazing. He'd be feeling the same thing if my mouth weren't so gloriously occupied. Then, suddenly, it wasn't; he'd withdrawn his finger. Panicked that I'd taken it too far, I opened my eyes, just in time to see Jacob's face rapidly approaching mine. Our lips met in an explosion of feeling, shattering the eight-year tension between us, and as we kissed, those shards of formerly awkward longing began to coalesce into something new, different and exciting. Whatever the new thing was, it begged

immediate

exploration. I slid my hands up his cheeks and I felt his palms cradle my face at exactly the same time, which made us giggle in between mouthfuls of each other.

Jacob eventually drew back, breathless, "Fuckin' hell. Did you spike my coffee...I feel smashed again..."

I smiled. "I'm simply intoxicating," I replied, trying to maintain a cool, level-headed facade while my chest felt ready to burst.

Completely disinterested in continuing the banter, he kissed me deeply and we were lost again, grasping at each other in ways we'd wanted to for years, but had been too shy or misaligned to act upon. I felt him push his weight against me and I unfolded my legs to let his slender body press flat onto mine. We were horizontal now on my shallow two-seater couch, my left leg bent a tad uncomfortably against the couch back, his right forearm tight next to my face, hand squeezed between the couch arm and the top of my head.

I pulled on his lip lightly, and heard an intrigued "Hmm!". He shifted his thumb onto my forehead and tugged my eyebrows up and down twice.

"Hubba hubba!" he gurgled, unable to stop himself.

Ohhh I can't

not

fuck him.

I cackled, and he smiled apologetically in the brief moment that I allowed his lips to be apart from mine.

I could feel his wide left palm slowly sidling up my ribcage over my blouse, and trembled when he tenderly grasped my breast. He fondled slowly as he slid his lips down my cheek onto my neck, and his warm tongue traced that treasured SCM muscle, coated it in warm wetness. I sighed and leaned into his touch. As eager as I was to tear into him, I knew him well enough to be patient. He was working my body like he fleshed out his drawings; slowly, but with intense, careful, appreciative focus. He always did amazing things when he was given the chance to take his time.

"Oh, Mads..." he whispered into my neck, and my panties were instantly soaked. His laugh now had a competitor for my favourite sound. I whimpered and my hips rolled upwards against his, and rolled eagerly again when I felt the stiff bulge in his jeans pressing against me. He groaned and ground softly into me, I responded by releasing a strained whimper into his ear. I relaxed into kinaesthetic bliss and let his fingers tattoo patterns of lustful adoration all over me.

Then Jacob sat up slowly, pulling me up and off the couch, and silently led me towards my bedroom. Actually, wordlessly would be more accurate; I could hear his heavy breath bouncing off the narrow corridor walls. Fuck fuck fuck yes, this was really happening. When he stopped at the end of my double bed, he pivoted and sat, pulling me close between his spread legs. I tangled my fingers in his wavy hair and closed my eyes. He lifted my shirt, buried his face into my belly, kissing, pressing his face into me...and blew sharply.

"GUAHAUGH!" I blurted in shock and I gripped his scalp. The vibrations of his chuckling only served to tickle me more, goddamit.

"You...

dick

..." I spluttered in between giggles. He owned the monicker by pulling my trousers and panties down in one swift movement before I could even try to sexily recover from his attack. I was grateful his face was so low; I was blushing in a sudden wave of self-consciousness, but, thankfully, he gave me no room to languish in it by covering my mound in warm, quick, gentle kisses.

"Hiya, nice to meet you, pretty," I heard from my crotch region, and I bit my lip in bashful delight. He peeked up at me with a warm, cheeky smile. "Alright?"

I nodded, returning the warm look and chuckling, still clenching my bottom lip between my teeth. Jacob scooted back, turned me around and pulled me to sit on the patch of mattress between his legs, drew me against his chest, and we sat, slowed down again, sharing each other's warmth. I ran my hands up and down his thighs, wishing I could singe away the denim and weld my fingers to his skin. He kissed the back of my head...trailed his fingers up my torso...traced my neck...jaw...my lips. He hovered his index and middle fingers an inch away from my mouth, and I emerged from my trance enough to notice and reach forward eagerly, closing my lips around them again. In my peripheral vision, I could see the outline of his other hand sliding upwards under my blouse. Jacob leaned his forehead into my neck, against that treasured SCM, and groaned as he kneaded and pulled on one tit after the other. He glided his fingers out of my mouth and held his hand up in front of me, turning it slowly for me to appreciate the drenched fingertips, strings of drool glistening between them in the dim light. They headed downwards. My legs parted in anticipation.

Silent roaring erupted in my ears as his fingers met my pussy. Entranced, I watched his hands do their marvellous exploration, making circles and patterns on my clit, gripping and stroking my thigh, wandering feverishly up and down my torso...then his arm locking firmly around my ribcage, pinning me to his chest as I rolled with rising ecstasy. I shakily reached behind me to stroke his dick straining against his jeans, but I was now far too distracted to do anything but melt.

"Oh fuck, J..." I panted.

"Mmmmm? Is it good?" he whispered, his tone unsteady from increasing the speed of his fingers.

"Yeayesyes...fuck I'm...c-close...please oh yes...YES!" I cried out as my pussy clenched and I came harder than I had in a long, long time. Jacob groaned and thrust against my bucking body, cooing into my ear as I descended from the peak of the orgasm. Fuuucking hell was he good with those fingers.

I swung around and kissed him hard, pushing him down onto my dark green bedspread. I fumbled with his zipper, eager to even attempt to make him feel a fraction of the pleasure he roused in me. I plunged my hand into his briefs and we gasped in chorus as my palm met the smooth, taught skin of his shaft. He throbbed under my fingers as I rubbed. His very real dick felt infinitely better than anything I'd ever shyly imagined over the years, and judging by the fact that he could barely form sentences now, Jacob was also overwhelmed with his fantasies being very much surpassed.

"Maddie, I...fuck, I need you

now.

I can't..." He rolled on top of me hastily, one-handedly shoving his waistband down as soon as he was horizontal above me, and his stiff dick slapped heavily on my lower belly. ohfuckmefuckmeFUCKME. I licked my palm as sloppily as I could and wrapped it around his member, coating it with wetness as I pumped him gently. Hardly a necessity it seemed, since I could hear a soft wet

sclick

when I parted my thighs to wrap them around his waist.

"Please, J..." I moaned. Didn't need to tell him twice. Jacob directed his tip right onto my entrance, placed his forearms to frame my face, an inch away from his. We closed the distance between our lips simultaneously and he began thrusting gently into me. Slow, shallow thrusts, my pussy allowing him in deeper and deeper each time. He exhaled sharply each time he slid through my tight entrance.

Now he was in as deep as he could go and my entire body was blazing. I blubbered and shakily ran my hands up and down his shirt, grabbing under it to clench the skin on his back. "Yes, yes yesyesyes oh my god J yes..."