DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em, but the coup has begun!

DEDICATION: Mecedme – I have the ellipse disease too. It's a good thing!

A/N: Just a little break from working on VS7. It's basically a drabble and sort of smutty. Sort of. In an odd way. Ah well… enjoy!

FINGERTIPS

Fingertips.

That's all. Nothing more.

Just his fingertips…. Brushing over my hand as he reaches for another piece of toast over a quiet Sunday breakfast…. Massaging away the day's headache with a sure, yet gentle strength to my skull…. Tracing the line of my cheekbone just before he kisses me.

His fingertips send shudders through me. It's impossible but I imagine I can feel every loop and whorl, the ridges and texture electrifying what is already racing through my blood like wildfire.

Nothing more than his fingertips…. Softly, teasingly along the underside of my breasts…. Sliding upward, slowly, until I have to bite my lip in frustration. Gliding over my already-tight nipples, making me suck in my breath with the feel of it.

That's all, just those gentle fingertips…. Down, carefully, almost reverently to draw invisible circles on my abdomen, to wander lightly over my hips and excruciatingly along my thighs. Sometimes he follows with his mouth and I picture him kissing away the fingerprints – when I can picture anything at all.

Fingertips…. Damn him as they scuttle over my knees, tickle my ankles and then begin the journey back along my calves. I arch, trying to get more of him, wanting his hands, his mouth, his body on mine, but still he strokes me with just his fingertips.

Everything else falls away with the line of heat the pads of his fingers draw up my legs, along my thighs and finally… finally… right there. It was never like this in my dreams. In my dreams he was… well, I expected the things he did. Fingers, lips, mouth, tongue. All good, but all… expected. This… his fingertips. Who knew they could make fire explode behind my eyes?

Again and again he touches me, tenderly, knowingly, building up the pleasure in small increments until the wealth of it overwhelms me and I'm clawing at the sheets, calling his name, shattering.

Just his fingertips.

That's all. Nothing more.