Work Text:
Some people fall in love with their whole hearts; throw everything they have at it with full force, while others come once bitten, twice shy.
You wanted to jump. Wanted to run in heart first with grand gestures and the kind of love you were convinced Elliott wanted, but your hesitant heart kept throwing you curve balls. Kept making you wade slowly - bit by bit - until it felt you were truly ready.
Looking back now, it makes sense that the first part of Elliott you fell in love with were his hands.
In those early days when everything was still fresh and new, he'd invite you over to spend time in his cabin. You idly reading, while he attempted to write. Only, your eyes were never very good at staying on the page.
When they tired of running over the little seaside trinkets and treasures decorating his shelves, they always made their way to his hands. To the poised, steady control of them. Going between parchment and inkwell with a practised aplomb that highlighted the confidence within.
Elliott was so humble at first. Hands wringing nervously before they knew they could reach for you. Hesitating, as the two of you fell into the steady, familiar rhythm of your love.
But when he wrote, it was like pure magic. Each long finger working in tandem to glide gracefully across the page; manipulating his old feather quill with an elegance you suspect he didn’t even realize he possessed.
You silently noted the ink stains collected like badges of honour along the tips of his fingers. How, despite his best efforts, his left hand always managed to carve a path through the drying ink, smudging words in its wake as he muttered grumpily under his breath.
Some evenings he'd write so furiously, Elliott wouldn't notice until he had stopped, staring down at the night sky that were his hands, constellations scattered across skin in ink and inspiration.
When he turned that order and concentration on you, it made you melt.
Elliott’s hands were steady. Brushing hair from your eyes. Fixing the collar of your shirt so it sat correctly on your skin. Wrapping your scarf just so, to better keep out the cold.
You adored when his hands found you with purpose.
As your relationship flourished, he’d play for you. Long, capable fingers dancing across the keys in simple and complex meter alike. Here was where you fell in love with the playfulness of his hands. The need to express in melody what he could not yet find with words.
You admired not just the complexity of the pieces, but the way his fingers took on a life of their own as they expelled the explosive, playful energy within. Because even if Elliott had been reserved with you back then; when he played piano, it was like catching a glimpse of what was to come, if you just gave him the time he needed to flourish.
If Elliott writing was hidden confidence and discipline, then Elliott playing was untapped energy and pure pleasure.
When those hands were turned on you, it was a delight. These were the hands that pulled you to bed. They were the hands that tickled up your sides as he stripped you bare, laid you back and held you close. They were unstoppable in their exploration, unmatched in their need, and unabashedly unashamed to draw out your pleasure.
Those early explorations might have been your favourite version of his hands for a while, but as time marched on, there was another you enjoyed even more.
Long after you’d fallen in love. By the time your relationship was solid and forever, on rare occasions like today, you found Elliott with trembling hands. The slight tremor might be masked from the crowd at large, but to you, as they reached for you, clasped your hands tightly in return, you knew the vulnerability was for you and you alone.
And, as those hands gave a gentle squeeze, held onto yours firmly, you knew that while it may have started with just his hands, you loved all of him. Every last bit, as you said your “I do’s” and were officially married.
Because his hands were a gift to the world, but you were the only one who got to love them in all of their forms.