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Buccellati sat at the table reading yesterdays newspaper, their leg folded over their knee and one hand gripping the side of a cup of tea. The only other person in the room was Mista who was busy cleaning his handgun, Buccellati had often reprimanded him for doing such a thing on the kitchen table but right now they didn't feel like disturbing the peace also the clicking and the soft sound of fabric on metal was soothing them. They heard a soft scratching noise and lowered the newspaper slightly to see what was going on, Mista was busy working a long thin brush inside one of the barrels in the gun, he was working it in and out, in and out...
Buccellati caught themselves staring, Mista's broad hand gripped the cleaning instrument while the other held the gun part with such a delicate hold, they could see the curve in their bent fingers as they curled themselves around the shaft of the barrel. His hands were truly beautiful.
“Uh Buccellati?” They saw Mista drop the instruments and splash dark solvent on the table “Shit shit, I wasn't supposed do this here,” he pulled the sleeve of his shirt and wiped the droplets of fluid up.
“Stay,” they were back to reading the day old newspaper, they took a sip of tea and swallowed hard. Buccellati removed a page from the newspaper they were reading and handed it wordlessly to Mista who set about putting all his equipment onto it.
“Thanks,” he set about continuing to work the metal brush deep inside the tube of the object he was cleaning, Buccellati couldn't help but glance over again hoping the newspaper would cover his gaze. Mista put the cleaning instrument down, his handsome hands dirty with dark solvent but he didn't bother washing them, instead taking the top slide of the gun and rubbing a soft cloth against it.
“Ugh,” he screwed his face up and put down the gun part.
“What is it?”
“I need one of those,” his thumb and forefinger rubbed against each other, Buccellati watched as the pad of his thumb slowly glided across his finger as his others were resting gently against his palm “One of those ear cleaner things,”
“A cotton bud? There's some of them in the bathroom next to Narancia's,” Mista got up and left to retrieve some. Buccellati looked over to the small mess his cleaning materials had left, it was a wonder he got any cleaning done at all.
“He had some, thanks,” Mista sat back down and swept one of the cotton buds slowly up and down the folds of metal, he checked it for dirt then used another one just to make sure it was all clean inside. He then started wiping the sides of it again with the cloth, he felt Buccellati's eyes on him “What? What is it?” Buccellati looked down a little too quickly.
“Your hands are a mess, you're rubbing all that dirt from your hands and then onto the cloth then onto your gun, it's not going to be very clean,” Buccellati reached over and took an unused cloth from the table “Come here,”
Mista scooted his chair across the kitchen floor and held his hands out, Buccellati was right, they were filthy. They put the newspaper down and held one of Mista's hands, their fingers stroking against his and the base of their thumb smoothing over the bones of his knuckles. They felt their mouth go slightly slack as they caressed the soft cloth over the solvent stains on Mista's tanned hands, they rubbed slightly harder at them to get some of the marks out and two of his fingers slipped into the dip between the bones in his hand.
“You okay? My hands a little too dirty for you to handle?” he stretched out the hand Buccellati was cleaning and they felt the strong tendons tighten under his fingers.
“Your hands they're...” they swallowed a lump in their throat as they put the cloth back down onto the table “they're exquisite,” the wormed their fingers in between Mista's thicker ones and pressed their other hand around the opposite side, sandwiching it in between theirs. Buccellati's fingers felt the slight patch of hairs on the back of Mista's hand and they looked up to see Mista pulling a face.
“What?” Mista pulled his hand away slightly but then thought better of it.
“They're magnificent,” one of Buccellati's hands let go of the hand he was holding and brought Mista's up to his face, they pressed the palm up against their cheek, the heel resting against their jawbone “Wonderful,”
Mista wasn't used to compliments he was more used to put downs about everything and anything about his looks, he knew Buccellati loved him and loved all of them but this was the first he was hearing of anything nice to do with his clumsy, hairy hands. He smiled as he pulled his chair closer to Buccellati, his knee in between theirs he moved his free hand over Buccellati's thigh.
Buccellati moved Mista's hand over their mouth and kissed the palm tenderly they then felt Mista's thumb graze against his lip and brush across their top gums. They closed his eyes and opened their mouth slightly their tongue cautiously swept across Mista's invasive thumb, they felt Mista push his hand against their mouth so they opened his it wider and dragged his tongue flat across his palm and in between his fingers. They lead Mista's trigger finger into their mouth and pursed their lips over it, their tongue dragging over the skin and feeling the curve of it and slight give Mista's soft finger pads had.
“Oh,” Mista saw Buccellati's other hand undoing the buttons on his shirt, their composure slipping as they groaned at the touch of Mista caressing the bones of their chest and the curve at their hips as they rolled against the touch of his beautiful hand. Buccellati withdrew the fingers they were sucking and held Mista's other hand firmly against the side of his face as they sighed against it.
“Ooooh, we have to stop,” Mista's hand stopped and splayed against the middle of their chest “I'm going to...” they kissed the palm of Mista's hand again “I'm going to go to my room,” they placed Mista's hand down on the table and stood up, Mista pressed his hand against the inside of their thigh and rubbed his knuckles against the tight bulge at the front of Buccellati's trousers “I will leave the door open, clean up your things,” they wiped drool from the corner of their mouth “I don't want you setting a bad example,”
“Yeah Buccellati, I'll be with you in a minute,” he looked up as Buccellati ascended the stairs and looked down at his hands, they were normal hands, they weren't what people would usually call magnificent or wonderful or any of the other words Buccellati had called them. He wiped their saliva off them, he didn't even really like his hands, people always said they were too hairy and they got dry in the winter which made his skin turn a little rougher.
He finished tidying his things and began walking up the stairs to Buccellati's open room. Perhaps with their comforting words and his growing confidence he wouldn't shove his hands into his pockets so often and maybe he would roll his sleeves up from time to time.