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word count: 664
warnings: none
description: Reader plays with J's hands to calm their racing mind.
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Most of your shared evenings were spent on the sofa, snuggling on J's lap under a soft blanket you found hiding in your closet. He cradled you to him with an arm around your back to hold you to his chest, your head nestled under his chin, his free hand absentmindedly running the length of your leg under the blanket. The TV was on in the background but you weren't paying attention. J kissed the top of your head, his hand coming up to join with yours on your lap as he shifted slightly on the sofa before drawing you closer to him.
You raised your joined hands to your mouth and tenderly kissed each of his knuckles before drawing yours free from his grasp to press your lips to his palm. You raised your head from his chest and you were met with what appeared to be admiration in his deviously sparkling eyes, the left corner of his mouth hitched just so. Your behavior intrigued him, much to your surprise; he liked to watch as you played with his hands, tracing the spidering veins beneath the skin of his pale inner wrists.
Impassively did he watch your movements as you splayed his left hand. With the fingers spread, that single appendage would cover most of your face. J had large hands; no wonder yours felt lost within them.
You glanced to his face as you pulled each finger back as far as it would go, searching for any indication of discomfort, but J never let on that there was any. He watched with veiled interest as you carried out a routine he had known just as long as he had known you.
Your index finger traveled the paths of the deepest lines that grooved his palms, separating each patch of skin like cracks of ice floe. Despite the analogy, his hands were warm, but cracked nonetheless; J did not use lotion and the tightness of the skin spoke for itself. Unconcerned with physical appearance was J, this you knew, and perhaps it was the reason he found himself so bewildered by your fascination with his hands. There was nothing particularly special about this part of his body or any other, for that matter; he only paid attention to something so insignificant while your hands were holding his.
His long digits flexed uncertainly as you examined his nails that were fit for tearing into bleeding prey like the talons of a vicious predator. You would have liked to file them down a bit if he would let you, but you did not care to hear him rumble around, growl and groan until you would inevitably be forced to let him go. The long, white crescents were uncut and jagged from how he had last trimmed them, strong and ideal in terms of scratching. A pleasant shudder cascaded down your spine at the thought, but you pushed it to the back of your mind.
Playing with J's hands calmed your thoughts and the way they felt after being held within yours intrigued you. when you had first met, J's hands had intrigued you; they could create and destroy in the very same motion. It had taken a long while for the two of you to fall into what you had cultivated together and one thing which had always been something you could rely on was that, when the night crept in, so too did one of J's hands into yours.
Your touch soothed him, quieted his mind and brought him back home to himself, and his touch in yours was everything you never knew you needed until you did. Your mind raced like wild stallions across the open plains and could only be tamed by the same hands that made wicked all others he came into contact with.
The night was quiet and, thanks to your J and those hands you knew as well as if they were your own, your mind was now, too.
