Hands On

Caress

The day after their trip to Velaris Azriel does not toucher her. In fact, he doesn't even come near her. He spends the whole session working with Roslin, Ananke, and Deidre. Gwyn tries to convince herself that its fine. That her jealousy is only due to the rival trio's progress and nothing more. After all, they were right on her heels as she and her sisters battled through the obstacle course and their skills have only grown since then. That has to be the likely explanation. It's not as if her jealousy could be born from their opportunity to learn from Azriel; to intimately study his hands and arms as he reviews the basics of hand-to-hand combat with them. That can't be it at all. He leaves to meet Rhys as soon at training is over and away for the rest of the day.

The next day, Gwyn is in agony; suffering under his phantom touch. Azriel is working with her today, but he still doesn't touch her. Her body reacts to each and every perceived contact. Even though Azriel pulls his hands away before touching her, Gwyn knows where they would touch if he allowed it. She can feel him gently correcting the positioning of her wrist, gooseflesh rising under his gaze as opposed to under his fingers. The small of her back itches, crying out for his hand to guide her through the open door at the end of their session. Gwyn wants to talk to him, but with Nesta hovering, she can't quite find the right opening.

On the third day, Gwyn can feel insanity settling in. Azriel helps Emerie wrap her hands before the sparing begins. The whole time, Gwyn watches them and glowers. Her molars grind together. She barely notices when Cassian ties her own wrappings too tight. Circling her sister in the ring, Gwyn feels the jealously take over. She needs to take Emerie down; needs to be the one getting Azriel's attention. She loses herself to the moment. Cassian has to pull her aside to help get her head on straight. She can feel eyes on her back: Emerie, Nesta, the other priestesses; but the only ones that matter are Azriel's. What must he think of her after she lost control like that? Emerie could have been seriously hurt. Gwyn resolves to be better tomorrow; to keep herself in check.

The following day, Az and Gwyn continue their dance around each other. It's enough to make Gwyn want to cry in frustration. She's touched herself every night since, pretending her hands are his like she did the first time; but here in the light of day, the real Azriel won't touch her. At the end of the training session, they stay behind to clean up after the others have left. Azriel reaches out to take the last of the equipment from her. The stack of wooden blades shifts as they pass from her hands to his. Gwyn and Azriel both fumble for the falling swords. Their hands meet and Gwyn sucks in a breath. Pure relief floods her body. She missed his touch; she needs his touch. Craves it.

"Sorry," Azriel says, withdrawing his hand.

But Gwyn drops the equipment to grasp at his retreating hand with both of hers. Azriel bobbles to hold the practice swords in one arm. "Stop," she whispers. "Stay." Azriel lets the blades fall to the ground. He uses his remaining hand to cover the bundle their joined hands make. Gwyn chokes back a sob. She sways on her feet, fighting the urge melt into him. "Cauldron, I thought you might never touch me again."

"I was afraid that you changed you mind about me," Azriel confesses. "You went back to the library so quickly; I was afraid I scared you off." Gwyn fights off a hysterical laugh. Maybe they should have sealed their bargain never to hide. It could have spared them the strain of the past few days. Azriel sighs into the silence and continues. "I know my history. My scars are the least ugly thing about my hands. I'd understand if you didn't want to be with me, knowing what I've done – what I do – for the Night Court."

"I just needed a little time to process things alone. If I had stayed, I'm not sure I would have been able to think straight about what I wanted." Her gaze is locked onto their joined hands.

"What did you consider?" Azriel asks hopefully. His thumb has started to caress her hands. It sends shivers down her spine.

"Hands are strange things. They can harm, wound, and kill. But they can also comfort, heal, and save. They are not inherently good or evil. It all depends on how we use them; how we chose to use them. And I know your hands will never hurt me."