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Language:
English
Series:
Part 4 of Coraggio
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Audrelite on FFN
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Published:
2024-05-20
Words:
500
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
8
Kudos:
10
Hits:
58

Their Touches

Summary:

His touches to her are purposeful; hers to him are not...

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes and other works inspired by this one.)

Work Text:

She sits hunched over her desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, eyes fixed on the glowing screen displaying the latest revision of her photography contract. Drafting, redrafting. The verbiage must be precise. Exacting. Just like her.

Suddenly, she hears the sound of feet shod in slightly-worn boots treading across polished hardwood. Then he is at her back, patient and statue-still.

She does not turn, does not acknowledge him. Not yet. Work first, always. But she permits his intrusion into her space all the same.

Two fingers, so large and strong and unexpectedly deft, brush a wisp of hair from her cheek. Tucks it behind her ear.

Then, he retreats; fades into her periphery. Waiting. He knows better than to interrupt her further, to demand her attention before she's willing to give it. Before the task is complete to her satisfaction.

She doesn't need to look to know the expression he is wearing. That particular blend of cautious hope and resignation, understanding warring with a wish to gather her close to him—a wish he is still grappling with, though he's held her many times. Still, he will not press, will never demand more than she is willing to give. The scant inch of contact, that fleeting brush against her hair: that is their compromise. The signal developed over time and trial to announce his return, to let her know that he is home.

To let her know that he loves her.

Keys click rapidly. Time ticks by. She scours the dense print for any weaknesses, any exploitable vagaries. Plugs each gap with words of iron and steel. Implacable. Incontrovertible. Just like her.

Finally, she hits save. Lets out a breath. Stands and turns to face him fully.

"You're back," she says, flat and unremarkable to anyone else's ears. But he believes there's the slightest hint of relief in her typical brusqueness. "Excavation went well?"

He inclines his head, a lock of windswept hair falling across his brow. "It was very enlightening, yes." His tenor flows through the space between them. "I uncovered an artifact purportedly crafted four centuries ago: a bowl etched with hieroglyphs. I'll tell you more over dinner?"

She nods once, crisp and perfunctory. "I'll get my coat." To anyone else she likely appeared dismissive, perhaps even disinterested. But he sees the way her shoulders loosen infinitesimally, the way her chin dips, the slightest softening around her mouth and eyes.

"I'll pay this time," she adds hastily as she retrieves her coat, briskly shrugging lean arms into its sleeves. He waits, holding the door for the both of them. Their hands brush as she passes him, an accident of proximity. The contact lasts a split second longer than either expects.

It occurs to Brandon, as they walk side by side into the frigid November night, that he has always looked forward to such accidental touches. He wonders if, after eight months together as partners, Juno, too, has looked forward to when they touch like this.

...Or at all.

Notes:

I appreciate any kudos and comments immensely. Thanks for reading!

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