Fanfic.
I was bullied into writing Hajime and lotion porn. The hands in question belong to Cheren but you can imagine that the belong to anybody.
Some higher being had created those dry hands just to spite Hajime Tounomine. They weren't especially dry, just enough so that the creases on the knuckles could be seen and the palm was cracked like an empty, crushed water bottle. Their texture wasn't leathery, merely firm. But what a shame it was for those slender hands and long fingers to be cursed with dry skin. Shameful! Absolutely shameful!
Hajime made no haste to supply the owner of those hands with a shea butter lotion. How stubborn those hands were to accept it! If they would just leave it to him, they would surely become beautiful...
The boy tipped his own tube of the lotion he had given away into his hand. The silky texture threaded through his fingers and slowly dribbled down into his palm. He dipped a fingertip into the puddle that formed in his hand and glided it over the creases of his fingers. He could see his own reflection in the glistening layer of thinly veiled serum. This was bliss. The one he'd forced this gift onto had no idea what he was missing in his life.
Unconsciously, Hajime had zipped down his hands and wedged his slippery hand inside his underwear. Those hands would finally be perfect, perfect like his own, perfect for pleasure. His eyelashes fluttered down, knitted shut as he imagined how those hands would perform the deed of slowly slathering the cream over the joints. The middle finger would bend first, the surrounding fingers following suit only to be enveloped by the fingers from the opposite hand. Residue would gather under the nails, finally dripping down to be smeared over the back side of the hand. Yes, unexperienced, poured so much that the wrist could be coated as well. He sighed at the thought of anxious, experimental movements, slightly jerky, massaging the lotion in circles.
He swallowed thickly as the cold coating of his fingers slurped against his penis. It smelled like butter and sweat, a scent which he was well acquainted; the taste, more so, as a beat of sweat gathered at the side of his lip and he licked it dry. His bangs were already wet against his forehead, as sticky as his hand. His glasses slipped down the ridge of his nose slightly and he could feel a cry growing in the back of his throat. No, this was too soon. The best of his fantasy was yet to come.
Finally those hands would glide against each other like flapping wings under the steady pour of blushing warm water, the very heat he could feel gathering in his cheeks and in the pit of his stomach. Those long, long fingers would thread and probe and slide against each other like an erotic play, trying to knead the lotion through the skin.
It wouldn't be enough. The fingers of one hand would have bend into the shape of an O. Carefully the other hand would guide each finger one by one into that circle like the tip of thread into a needle's eye. Then, once in the grasp of that hole, it would clamp down, squeezing up and down, milking and sucking that finger of its cream.
A shiver ran up Hajime's spine and he whimpered, "Nivea!"