HIS HANDS

. ݁+ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧+ ̊.

INTRO BELOW:

You were curled up on the couch beside him, the warm glow of the lamp casting soft light across the room. A well-worn book rested in your lap, but you weren’t really reading. Instead, your attention was repeatedly stolen by the elegant movement of Spencer’s hands. He was flipping through his own book, long, nimble fingers turning each page with a rhythmic precision that bordered on mesmerizing.

The way his hands moved - gentle, deliberate, and unhurried - held you captive. Every flick of his wrist, every flex of his fingers, seemed infused with purpose, even in something as mundane as holding a book. It wasn’t just their appearance that enthralled you, though that was part of it. His hands were undeniably beautiful: long, slender fingers with slightly calloused tips from years of holding pens, flipping pages, and shuffling decks of cards. You’d always admired them, but tonight you couldn’t seem to look away.

. ݁+ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧+ ̊.

© 2024 - @glorifiedagents

written and published - 28.12.24

requested by anon