Infinity Smashed: Clever Hands (again)
Sep. 10th, 2020 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeClever Hands
Word Count: 850
Summary: Grey knows the moment Bob starts liking her because that’s when Bob starts touching her.
Notes: Part of the big gender revision. Minor changes otherwise.
Grey knows the moment Bob starts liking her because that’s when he starts touching her.
It’s Thanksgiving and Grey’s put herself to work mashing potatoes, because it’s something she feels semi-confident she can make on her own and she’s uncomfortable letting Bob make everything. There’s a soothing repetition to it, a comforting burn in her forearms, and that’s when she catches Bob watching her.
She pauses, and Bob misconstrues the reason.
“Here, I’ll take it, give your arms a break.”
He reaches for the bowl, and when Grey passes it, their hands bump. Bob doesn’t seem to notice.
Grey notices. Most people give her a wide berth, like they’re afraid of her. (Except for that one Mormon coworker she had to drive off, but he was intolerable.) Until today, Bob was no exception, but now…
After the holiday, he starts brushing against her in the hall. Then the touches become intentional—mostly a light tap to her arm or shoulder to punctuate a remark. It doesn’t feel intrusive, like Penn’s shoulder-punches. These feel friendly, joking. These feel… good.
One day, when Bob is pulled away in mid-word, his hand trails across Grey’s lower back, and it starts feeling too good, enough that Grey notices.
Larkin notices too. She gives Grey a glance over her shades and Grey avoids her eyes.
Later, while they’re eating their lunch on the back of her car, Larkin remarks, “He’s handsy with you. Do you mind?”
Grey thinks about it, shakes her head, and Larkin relaxes.
“Good. We don’t need another Penn.” She slurps up another spoonful of meat—she’s trying not to mess up her macros. “Do you think he’s flirting with you?”
Grey has to clear her throat and drink some water so she doesn’t choke. “It doesn’t matter.”
Even if Bob is (which Grey doubts) and even if Bob likes women like her (which she doubts even more), they’re partners, counterpoints. It’s not like Larkin and Pritchard, who are usually in different sectors on different shifts, working different jobs. Bob and Grey share all of it; their fraternization would be the worst kind. Impossible.
“It’ll pass,” Grey says to Larkin. “Always does.”
Grey could grovel to Diaz and request Bob a transfer. That’s what Bob was trying to get, originally. But he hasn’t brought it up since Thanksgiving. They’ve hit their stride, found how they work together, and it’s good. Grey is loath to return to the revolving door of temp comboys, but it’s not just that she likes Bob as a coworker. She likes Bob as a person. She doesn’t want him to leave… or stop. As long as they don’t discuss his wandering hands, as long as it’s in the gray zone of propriety and she doesn’t react, it can continue.
And Bob is careful. He keeps his hands to himself in front of management and fizzies—and Larkin too, after that first time. He sticks with more deniable things—more talking with his hands, leaning on Grey when reaching for something, the occasional hand on her shoulder.
Coming close to Christmas, they’re going over paperwork together, Bob’s hand warm on her arm, when a manager goes by. Bob pulls away, busying himself with shuffling papers, and that’s when Grey realizes that Bob isn’t just being friendly. Friendly men don’t worry about touching someone in front of management. Flirting men do.
The thought makes her burn, and now nothing gets her attention like Bob’s hands. They’re beautiful hands—soft, unscarred, with graceful tapered fingers that are in constant motion, that touch light and fiery. They look like the hands of a concert pianist or a surgeon, like they belong to the angels in Renaissance paintings. Grey has heard some people talk with their hands; Bob dances with his.
They keep dancing around it, keeping it in the unspoken. Bob keeps touching her—brazen now, arm, shoulder, back, slipping to her side or hip if no one’s watching—and Grey keeps letting him, keeps not reacting, even though she knows it’s a bad idea. But it’s been a long time. It’s hard not to want.
One night after a rough shift, Grey dreams of Bob’s clever hands all over her, running up her neck, under her shirt, down her pants. She dreams of Bob’s wicked smile and velvet voice (“So, am I getting to you?”) and wakes up panting, shorts wet and clinging to her.
That hasn’t happened since the accident. She’s relieved enough about the healing that she almost isn’t embarrassed. She changes her clothes and the sheets, throws everything into the laundry basket, and tells herself that enough is enough. Come morning shift, she’ll take Bob aside and tell him to stop. It’ll be an awkward, unpleasant conversation, and things won’t be the same afterward, but it’s fine. What matters is the job, keeping her mind on it, even if it means Bob stops touching her.
She tosses and turns all night, even sleeps through her morning alarm, which never happens. She misses her morning run and comes on shift muzzy and irritable from the lack of exercise.
When she arrives at her office, though, Bob is there with coffee. He must be on his second cup; he’s unusually cheerful and lively for the hour, and their hands brush when he passes Grey’s mug to her.
“Rough night, boss?” he asks.
Grey opens her mouth to tell him. Sighs.
“Yes,” she says.
And that’s the closest she gets.
Word Count: 850
Summary: Grey knows the moment Bob starts liking her because that’s when Bob starts touching her.
Notes: Part of the big gender revision. Minor changes otherwise.
Grey knows the moment Bob starts liking her because that’s when he starts touching her.
It’s Thanksgiving and Grey’s put herself to work mashing potatoes, because it’s something she feels semi-confident she can make on her own and she’s uncomfortable letting Bob make everything. There’s a soothing repetition to it, a comforting burn in her forearms, and that’s when she catches Bob watching her.
She pauses, and Bob misconstrues the reason.
“Here, I’ll take it, give your arms a break.”
He reaches for the bowl, and when Grey passes it, their hands bump. Bob doesn’t seem to notice.
Grey notices. Most people give her a wide berth, like they’re afraid of her. (Except for that one Mormon coworker she had to drive off, but he was intolerable.) Until today, Bob was no exception, but now…
After the holiday, he starts brushing against her in the hall. Then the touches become intentional—mostly a light tap to her arm or shoulder to punctuate a remark. It doesn’t feel intrusive, like Penn’s shoulder-punches. These feel friendly, joking. These feel… good.
One day, when Bob is pulled away in mid-word, his hand trails across Grey’s lower back, and it starts feeling too good, enough that Grey notices.
Larkin notices too. She gives Grey a glance over her shades and Grey avoids her eyes.
Later, while they’re eating their lunch on the back of her car, Larkin remarks, “He’s handsy with you. Do you mind?”
Grey thinks about it, shakes her head, and Larkin relaxes.
“Good. We don’t need another Penn.” She slurps up another spoonful of meat—she’s trying not to mess up her macros. “Do you think he’s flirting with you?”
Grey has to clear her throat and drink some water so she doesn’t choke. “It doesn’t matter.”
Even if Bob is (which Grey doubts) and even if Bob likes women like her (which she doubts even more), they’re partners, counterpoints. It’s not like Larkin and Pritchard, who are usually in different sectors on different shifts, working different jobs. Bob and Grey share all of it; their fraternization would be the worst kind. Impossible.
“It’ll pass,” Grey says to Larkin. “Always does.”
Grey could grovel to Diaz and request Bob a transfer. That’s what Bob was trying to get, originally. But he hasn’t brought it up since Thanksgiving. They’ve hit their stride, found how they work together, and it’s good. Grey is loath to return to the revolving door of temp comboys, but it’s not just that she likes Bob as a coworker. She likes Bob as a person. She doesn’t want him to leave… or stop. As long as they don’t discuss his wandering hands, as long as it’s in the gray zone of propriety and she doesn’t react, it can continue.
And Bob is careful. He keeps his hands to himself in front of management and fizzies—and Larkin too, after that first time. He sticks with more deniable things—more talking with his hands, leaning on Grey when reaching for something, the occasional hand on her shoulder.
Coming close to Christmas, they’re going over paperwork together, Bob’s hand warm on her arm, when a manager goes by. Bob pulls away, busying himself with shuffling papers, and that’s when Grey realizes that Bob isn’t just being friendly. Friendly men don’t worry about touching someone in front of management. Flirting men do.
The thought makes her burn, and now nothing gets her attention like Bob’s hands. They’re beautiful hands—soft, unscarred, with graceful tapered fingers that are in constant motion, that touch light and fiery. They look like the hands of a concert pianist or a surgeon, like they belong to the angels in Renaissance paintings. Grey has heard some people talk with their hands; Bob dances with his.
They keep dancing around it, keeping it in the unspoken. Bob keeps touching her—brazen now, arm, shoulder, back, slipping to her side or hip if no one’s watching—and Grey keeps letting him, keeps not reacting, even though she knows it’s a bad idea. But it’s been a long time. It’s hard not to want.
One night after a rough shift, Grey dreams of Bob’s clever hands all over her, running up her neck, under her shirt, down her pants. She dreams of Bob’s wicked smile and velvet voice (“So, am I getting to you?”) and wakes up panting, shorts wet and clinging to her.
That hasn’t happened since the accident. She’s relieved enough about the healing that she almost isn’t embarrassed. She changes her clothes and the sheets, throws everything into the laundry basket, and tells herself that enough is enough. Come morning shift, she’ll take Bob aside and tell him to stop. It’ll be an awkward, unpleasant conversation, and things won’t be the same afterward, but it’s fine. What matters is the job, keeping her mind on it, even if it means Bob stops touching her.
She tosses and turns all night, even sleeps through her morning alarm, which never happens. She misses her morning run and comes on shift muzzy and irritable from the lack of exercise.
When she arrives at her office, though, Bob is there with coffee. He must be on his second cup; he’s unusually cheerful and lively for the hour, and their hands brush when he passes Grey’s mug to her.
“Rough night, boss?” he asks.
Grey opens her mouth to tell him. Sighs.
“Yes,” she says.
And that’s the closest she gets.
