Before and After for springkink
Title: Before and After
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Aizen/Hinamori
Words: 569
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Bleach is the brainchild of Kubo Tite and is distributed by Shueisha in Japan and Viz Media in the US.
Summary: His hands never stopped moving. But, for Hinamori, the meaning of those movements eventually changed.
Origanlly written for springkink. The prompt was "Aizen/Momo: hand fetishisation - a meeting was not the best place to be fantasizing".
* * *His hands never stopped moving. Each point of order had to be introduced with a broad swing of his arm. He called on others to speak with open, inviting palms. Even as other officers spoke, the tips of his fingers performed lazy figure eights on the table. It all seemed to be innately part of him. His eyes never glanced self-consciously towards his hands as they performed their graceful dance. His face never seemed to invite anyone else to comment on what he was doing. He was a scholar and a entertainer. For her, it was one of his more enduring traits.
It was also distracting. It took years but Hinamori eventually became an expert at looking away from him at just the right moment lest his hands conduct her to rapt attention. And she wasn’t the only one under his spell. She had noticed the eyes of a few other officers move to the rhythm of his free-swinging digits. She tried not to stare as her young colleagues gaped in his ever-shifting direction. It almost made her laugh. Had she ever been so obvious? She assumed that she had been. Of course, her most stary-eyed days were from the time before.
Before she had paid extra attention to each hand position and memorized it for when they would be apart. She would play each small movement back before she went to sleep and imagine that each motion was for her. The outreached hand would wait to take her own. The broad sweep of his arm would wrap around her on its way back around. His fingers would perform figure eights on her exposed shoulder. This polite show want as far as her mind allowed the charade to take over. She didn’t know where else to go with it. Afterwards, she would sigh and fall into a peaceful sleep.
Everything changed after the encounter. After, she could barely watch him move without immediately placing herself in the situation. The outstretched palm was merely waiting to latch onto her bare hip. The broad sweep of his arm readily wrapped around her back, pulling her so close and so deep that she gasped aloud. He now performed those figure eights over her exposed chest just before his mouth descended over her own. Just the thought of it all was enough to send the flames to her cheeks.
It was the reason she gave up trying to watch him. And yet his hands still found ways to reach her. He seemed to find little ways to touch her each meeting. Although these touches were innocuous, each brush of his fingers against her shoulder or weight of his hand on her head sent her mind into the depths as she quietly relived the touches of the night before. The slight smile he would give her afterwards almost seemed to say that he understood where her mind had wandered.
But she chose to believe that he did not know. After all, he wasn’t a man driven by self-conscious show. And it all would have been so embarrassing had she not learned to keep her own smiles to herself. Obviousness, after all, was the realm of the up and coming officers. An upper level officer such as herself needed to be subtle. And his hands pushed her subtlety reservoirs to their limits.
And she, for a time, would not have had it any other way.
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Aizen/Hinamori
Words: 569
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Bleach is the brainchild of Kubo Tite and is distributed by Shueisha in Japan and Viz Media in the US.
Summary: His hands never stopped moving. But, for Hinamori, the meaning of those movements eventually changed.
Origanlly written for springkink. The prompt was "Aizen/Momo: hand fetishisation - a meeting was not the best place to be fantasizing".
* * *His hands never stopped moving. Each point of order had to be introduced with a broad swing of his arm. He called on others to speak with open, inviting palms. Even as other officers spoke, the tips of his fingers performed lazy figure eights on the table. It all seemed to be innately part of him. His eyes never glanced self-consciously towards his hands as they performed their graceful dance. His face never seemed to invite anyone else to comment on what he was doing. He was a scholar and a entertainer. For her, it was one of his more enduring traits.
It was also distracting. It took years but Hinamori eventually became an expert at looking away from him at just the right moment lest his hands conduct her to rapt attention. And she wasn’t the only one under his spell. She had noticed the eyes of a few other officers move to the rhythm of his free-swinging digits. She tried not to stare as her young colleagues gaped in his ever-shifting direction. It almost made her laugh. Had she ever been so obvious? She assumed that she had been. Of course, her most stary-eyed days were from the time before.
Before she had paid extra attention to each hand position and memorized it for when they would be apart. She would play each small movement back before she went to sleep and imagine that each motion was for her. The outreached hand would wait to take her own. The broad sweep of his arm would wrap around her on its way back around. His fingers would perform figure eights on her exposed shoulder. This polite show want as far as her mind allowed the charade to take over. She didn’t know where else to go with it. Afterwards, she would sigh and fall into a peaceful sleep.
Everything changed after the encounter. After, she could barely watch him move without immediately placing herself in the situation. The outstretched palm was merely waiting to latch onto her bare hip. The broad sweep of his arm readily wrapped around her back, pulling her so close and so deep that she gasped aloud. He now performed those figure eights over her exposed chest just before his mouth descended over her own. Just the thought of it all was enough to send the flames to her cheeks.
It was the reason she gave up trying to watch him. And yet his hands still found ways to reach her. He seemed to find little ways to touch her each meeting. Although these touches were innocuous, each brush of his fingers against her shoulder or weight of his hand on her head sent her mind into the depths as she quietly relived the touches of the night before. The slight smile he would give her afterwards almost seemed to say that he understood where her mind had wandered.
But she chose to believe that he did not know. After all, he wasn’t a man driven by self-conscious show. And it all would have been so embarrassing had she not learned to keep her own smiles to herself. Obviousness, after all, was the realm of the up and coming officers. An upper level officer such as herself needed to be subtle. And his hands pushed her subtlety reservoirs to their limits.
And she, for a time, would not have had it any other way.