A/N: Me again... Turned out it didn't take me as long as I'd anticipated to finish my chapter of With All The Time In The World, so I tackled this tumblr prompt for something smuttish where Mary's obsessed with Matthew's hands.
It's very short, and entirely gratuitous, but I hope you enjoy it! :)
Hiding In Plain Sight
It was Matthew's hands, Mary decided not long into their marriage, that she loved the most.
Oh, she adored all of him. His eyes that sparkled at her, his hair that shone in the sunlight dappling through their bedroom window and felt thick under her fingers. His broad shoulders, with lean muscles that shifted as he made love to her… His chest, with that beautiful smattering of hair curling over it, warm and firm under her cheek as they lay together. The softness of his belly and how he laughed helplessly when she tickled at it. His arms, that encompassed her and held her in such tenderness, and his legs that tangled with hers in damp sheets in the glorious exhaustion that followed their sex.
But, really… it was his hands that she loved most of all.
She'd thought she might be the most affected by those parts of him that were her right alone to see. Where the hair curled at the top of his thighs, and… above, and there… But, no. It was his hands, and in fact, she realised that it was precisely because his hands were… not an object of secrecy, or intimacy; in fact everybody saw Matthew's hands.
The thing was, though, that nobody else (but nobody)… felt them (oh, besides a handshake, but that was not the same).
It was the fact that everybody could see his hands (and they were beautiful hands, she thought, with long, slender fingers and smooth palms), and yet - they had no idea, not the slightest, none besides her - they all saw, but nobody knew what they could do.
His hands, and fingers… Oh, it was Mary alone who knew how those hands felt. How his palm felt, softly against her cheek and then… more firmly, grazing over her breast, cupping her and teasing her. Everyone could see, but no-one could know, the contrast between the soft tenderness of his fingers when they threaded through her hair, and the passionate strength of them when they curled around her wrists, or when they gripped her hips as he drove against her.
There was not another soul in the world who knew how deft his fingers could be, slipping a knot into silken ties as she writhed in breathless anticipation, or circling quickly in just the right way as to drive her mad with passion until she splintered under his hands.
His palms were smooth, and warm… and only Mary knew the secret of just how the pads of his fingers felt teasing the peak of each breast, or how he knew just the right pressure as he pressed them intimately against her. Or how the length of his fingers felt slipping into the tightness of her body, or… how they tasted afterwards (well - Matthew knew that too, but… that was quite alright). She alone had kissed his knuckles, the strong back of his hand, lightly covered with hair that only she knew the precise taste and texture of.
No, everybody might see her Matthew's hands. When they were at dinner, up at the big house, with her parents and sisters and brothers-in-law, and all the rest, they all might observe how he held his cutlery, or his glass to his lips.
But only she could see them… and know, in all that company… that later, the moment they were alone… just what those hands would do to her.
A/N: Thanks ever so much for reading! :D