Characters: Dee, Ryo
Setting: During the manga, but before Vol. 7.
Summary: Dee has a thing for Ryo’s hands.
Word Count: 362
Written For: My own prompt ‘FAKE, Dee/Ryo, Dee likes to watch Ryo's hands,’ at fic_promptly.
Disclaimer: I don’t own FAKE, or the characters. They belong to the wonderful Sanami Matoh.
Right from the day they met, Dee has loved watching Ryo’s hands as he works. He has such long, strong, slender fingers that it gets Dee hot and bothered just imagining them wrapped around him, caressing him intimately. Watching through his eyelashes as Ryo fills in paperwork, he envies the pen his partner’s using. It’s far too easy to slip into a daydream that he knows will leave him barely able to walk and having to slip away to the men’s room for some relief.
He’s not sure why Ryo’s hands affect him so strongly, and if he’s honest with himself, it’s not just the other man’s hands but the whole package. Nevertheless, those wonderfully graceful yet masculine hands are hypnotic and impossibly arousing, no matter what Ryo’s doing.
Dee finds his eyes wandering to Ryo’s hands all the time: When he’s driving, his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, guiding the car through the New York traffic, changing gear smoothly. When he’s preparing dinner in his kitchen, chopping, slicing, stirring, every gesture deft and precise. When he’s eating, knife and fork working together, or better yet, when he’s using chopsticks as if they’re an extension of his fingers. Dee had thought he was good with chopsticks, but he can’t match Ryo’s fluidity and ease. The man is a master.
He watches Ryo down on the firing range, they way he wraps his fingers around the grip of his automatic, squeezes the trigger, hands rock steady, every round hitting its mark. Then afterwards, as he cleans his gun, breaking it down, oiling every piece and reassembling it with practiced movements, it makes Dee’s mouth go dry. He wishes Ryo’s hands would lavish that attention and care on his body instead.
Everything about Ryo is beautiful, and he doesn’t even know it. His impossibly dark eyes, his smile, his voice, the lean lines of his body, long legs and tight little ass. But his hands weave a kind of magic in Dee’s eyes, drawing his attention and holding it. As much as he longs to feel those hands exploring every inch of him, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of just watching.