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She followed, spreading the suncream over her arms and shoulders, her face and neck and chest. “Do my back,” she called.
“Do your own back.”
“I can’t. Please?”
“Do you know how hard it is to get suncream off these gloves?”
“No,” she admitted. “Can’t you just take them off instead?”
Skulduggery stopped. Valkyrie waited for him to say something, but he remained quiet, his eyeless gaze on his gloved hands.
“I’m quite sure they come off,” Valkyrie offered when the silence started to turn awkward. “Unless you’re gluing them on or …”
He harrumphed in response, but even that sounded oddly hesitant. “I suppose the suncream will come out eventually,” he said a moment later. “Ghastly— I’m sure I’ll find someone who can get them cleaned.”
Valkyrie swallowed at the pain in his voice, almost ready to drop the subject. Except that the Sahara sun was still glaring, high up in the sky, busily turning more of her pale skin into a red crisp with every passing moment. And with his obvious hesitation, her curiosity grew. She’d never actually seen his hands – even when she’d had to put him back together after Melancholia nearly killed him, he’d still been wearing those damned gloves – and she was … Well, she was curious.
“Just take them off,” she said, making her voice as light as she could.
He stared at her for a long moment and she worried he’d just change the subject, walk away as he’d done before. Instead, his head dropped and he removed first one glove, then the other, his movements brisk, abrupt. He reached out, took the tube from her hand. “Turn around.”
She did as he asked, not having caught more than a short glimpse of the fine bones of his fingers.
They’d shared enough hugs, never mind all those times he’d had his arm around her waist when flying, that his proximity should have been something she was used to, but this time, she couldn’t help but feel conscious of his nearness. Her bare skin tingled when he stepped closer. It had to be from the sun, she told herself, not because— It had nothing to do with her anticipating his touch. The very idea was just silly.
His touch, when it finally came, was light, hesitant, his fingers cool against her skin.
“Suncream,” she whispered, her throat dry. “You’re supposed to put the suncream on.”
He made a noise she couldn’t quite interpret; something between embarrassment and amusement. “There was some sand on your back. I had to brush that off first.”
“Oh.”
He could have manipulated the air to do that, she reflected vaguely. She was glad he hadn’t.
“I’m going to put the suncream on now. It might be cold. Try not to jump.”
Valkyrie rolled her eyes. Then the dollop of suncream hit a heated spot on the back of her neck and she jumped. Skulduggery chuckled.
“I hate you,” she muttered, although she didn’t even try to put any feeling into her words.
He squirted more suncream on her upper back and rubbed it in with firm, sure movements, taking care to cover every inch of her skin. She was aware of the smooth hardness of his fingertips, so different from her own – or Fletcher’s – and yet not at all unpleasant.
He was finished – all too soon, she caught herself thinking – and as he handed the tube back to her, he looked forlornly at his fingers, now greasy and covered in suncream.
“Do you know how hard it is to get suncream off bone?” he asked, holding out his hands for Valkyrie’s inspection after the briefest moment of hesitation.
She shrugged. “No. But look on the bright side – at least your hands won’t get sunburn?”
He tilted his head. “Very funny.”
“I’m always funny.” She reached out, picked the neatly folded handkerchief out of the breast pocket of his suit and took one of his hands into hers. He didn’t protest, even when she started to clean the suncream off his phalanges, taking care not to pull on them too hard. She marvelled at the way magic held the small bones together, but when she opened her mouth to comment on it, the rigidity of his stance made her reconsider and continue her work in a silence that wasn't entirely uncomfortable.
“That was my third best handkerchief,” he remarked once she was done.
“It’s cloth. It can be washed.”
He stashed the handkerchief into an inside pocket and pulled his gloves back on. “We should really move on.”
“We probably should,” she agreed. “Thank you.”
He grunted, then put his hat on Valkyrie’s head and moved off.
“Want to sing songs while we walk?” she asked.
“God, no,” he said.