A/N: Sooooo. Don't download Office episodes illegally, otherwise your cable company will shut off your internet for a month. I feel like I've been incredibly behind in life without access to MTT. Soon, I'll have some Two but this has been sitting around on the hard drive for a long time. Not much to it.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine!
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There were lines on his hands that she loved to trace. Out of everything that he was, his entire being, she felt like she knew his hands the best. She would draw them, sketch them onto restaurant napkins while he spoke with them. The fluid motions would become stilled onto crisp paper on the reception desk. His fingers and palms, with each wrinkle etched into them, were spread across the paper inside the frame on the coffee table.
It was the last thing she did each day, running her hands along his and searching familiar stretches and calluses, wisps of hair on his knuckles and the scrape of his fingernails on her own skin. There was always something tempting to her about a man’s hands, as if they reflected everything he’d been through and everything he could create. They weren’t smooth and delicate like a woman’s. Jim’s hands, slightly rough and wonderfully large, brought her mind back to days of years ago. When he rolled up his shirt sleeves, fiddled with his tie, and poured his heart out to her. She felt their own struggle in his hands, and would grasp them tightly at those memories.
She loved his hands, and it delighted him that she was so fascinated. He didn’t think she knew he caught on to her small obsession. Used them to his advantage, put them everywhere on her body, and made her writhe.
On an October night, his hands were warm and fell onto her waist to share the heat. In their shared home, the heat was on the fritz as curls of silver wind shook the windows. Between them and a down comforter, the heat was up to them.
He held her from behind, gazing out the window. She’d opened the curtains and smiled back at him, murmuring something lovely about how much the world changes all of a sudden in the fall. They watched the leaves fall: golden, red and amber. He told her he’d rake them at some point.
I don’t have anything to do tomorrow. I’ll do it then. Yep, long, boring Saturday ahead of me, tomorrow, perfect time to rake…
She giggled and fused further into him, gently touching the pads of her feet to his calves.
Oh, not busy tomorrow? Not at all?
He scratched his head. I feel like something is slipping my mind.
She turned around and gripped his face in her hands. She beamed at him, as sleepy as she was, and closed her eyes as she pressed a kiss to his lips. She pushed up on the mattress, turning the both of them and sitting upright on top of him, straddling him. His hands, beautiful fingers along with the weight of his forearms, fell onto her body and held her. He ran his fingers up from the dip in her back to the place where her neck met her shoulders, then suddenly hugged her close to him.
He pushed a kiss against her cheek and nuzzled his nose further into her neck as she grinned, hanging her arms around his neck the best she could.
When he whispered again, his voice was like polished rocks.
I can’t wait for tomorrow.
She pushed up to kiss him again, then rested her forehead against his and blinked slowly, barely able to tear her eyes from his. Only to watch her hand draw shapes on his chest.
We’re getting married tomorrow.
They smiled like they had a secret, and she gripped his t-shirt in sheer happiness. He pressed another kiss to her lips, beamed at her for a second, and suddenly showered goofy kisses onto her face. Barely heard through her hushed giggles.
She sighed loudly.
Rake… I have to rake tomorrow…
He smiled at her before she poked him in the ribs. His arms had to wind around her again.
They probably woke up like that the next day.
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