Fic: The Oddest Things
Written for the 'three letter body parts' challenge over at ar_drabbles.
Title: The Oddest Things
Rating: K
Word count: 300
She has pretty arms.
It seems wrong that he should be thinking that, considering the reason he’s been gazing at her arm for twenty minutes is because it’s resting, inside up, next to her where she lays with her eyes squeezed closed, trying to not be sick. Poison slowly dripping into her vein, travelling up that beautiful arm, into her system to seek out the cancer cells and defeat them. She bruises easily; he can already make out where her skin will be turning purple and yellow later.
But she still has pretty arms.
You learn to appreciate the oddest things about a person when you love them. No one ever described themselves as an ‘arm man’, yet he could be one, for her. He hasn’t yet found a thing about her that he doesn’t adore. He loves her toes. He loves her ears. He could stare at those lips for hours.
And now, her arms.
Delicate wrist, smooth skin, beautifully shaped. Slimmer than it should be. The soft blue tracery of her veins showing through the paleness, such a contrast to his own. Tiny freckles dotting the back, a reminder of a hot sun that once kissed her skin. Stronger than it looks, he knows, he’s felt it.
“Bill, why are you staring at my arm?"
Those green eyes that he could get lost in are open, looking at him. He tells her why. She makes that hum in her throat he knows means she’s bemused, then closes her eyes, lays back, deep breaths.
He goes back to looking at her arm. The arm that embraced the universe, the human race, his family, him. The arm that holds them all safe within its circle and pushes them onwards and onwards.
He doesn’t know what they’ll do without that arm.
Title: The Oddest Things
Rating: K
Word count: 300
She has pretty arms.
It seems wrong that he should be thinking that, considering the reason he’s been gazing at her arm for twenty minutes is because it’s resting, inside up, next to her where she lays with her eyes squeezed closed, trying to not be sick. Poison slowly dripping into her vein, travelling up that beautiful arm, into her system to seek out the cancer cells and defeat them. She bruises easily; he can already make out where her skin will be turning purple and yellow later.
But she still has pretty arms.
You learn to appreciate the oddest things about a person when you love them. No one ever described themselves as an ‘arm man’, yet he could be one, for her. He hasn’t yet found a thing about her that he doesn’t adore. He loves her toes. He loves her ears. He could stare at those lips for hours.
And now, her arms.
Delicate wrist, smooth skin, beautifully shaped. Slimmer than it should be. The soft blue tracery of her veins showing through the paleness, such a contrast to his own. Tiny freckles dotting the back, a reminder of a hot sun that once kissed her skin. Stronger than it looks, he knows, he’s felt it.
“Bill, why are you staring at my arm?"
Those green eyes that he could get lost in are open, looking at him. He tells her why. She makes that hum in her throat he knows means she’s bemused, then closes her eyes, lays back, deep breaths.
He goes back to looking at her arm. The arm that embraced the universe, the human race, his family, him. The arm that holds them all safe within its circle and pushes them onwards and onwards.
He doesn’t know what they’ll do without that arm.