Expert Fingers — Alessa (Patreon)

Fingers thread through her hair.

Alessa has her eyes closed, but the world is not dark. It is glowing, like warm honey spreading from her eyelids and soaking the cold skin of her cheeks. Sunlight bathes her profile, dipping her in an orange background, and she feels herself falling, but the earth's pull does not scare her. It is as if the wind itself is cradling her body, sinking down, down, down...

The fingers reach the end of her strands, the light brown bright in the sun, and then they let it fall back on her shoulders. Alessa exhales when a touch, careful and brief, grazes by her temples. Fingertips trace her forehead before they plunge once more into her hair, slowly parting it, stroking, simply touching.

It is... adequate. More so than that. It feels pleasant in a way that Alessa had not felt in too long a time. She has her eyes closed and a tilt in her lips, and she knows that she should snap awake, that she should fight this warm darkness that keeps her between the realms of sleep and reality, but she finds that she cannot. She finds her muscles melting instead, and she stretches her neck back when the fingers, your fingers, skim the sensitive skin behind her ears.

A soft chuckle. Alessa's lips thin, but she does not react. "Are my hands cold?" A voice breaks the quiet. The question seems innocent, but even in her dazed state, Alessa can hear the amusement in your tone.

She wonders if it is worth challenging. There's a retort ready on her tongue, but Alessa finds the words melting on the tip. Your fingers have tangled a strand, slowly moving it in a gentle circle, and it feels... it feels like forgotten memories. "They are not," she hears herself answering, her voice devoided of any steel. It is warm, almost. As warm as she feels. Alessa hopes you will not stop your ministrations. "Why do you inquire?"

Perhaps if she keeps you talking, you shall not.

Your fingers pause, but before she can frown, sweep her hair to the side. Careful nails then slowly drag against the skin on the back of her neck, and Alessa has to bite her lips to keep a groan from coming out. "Because-"

She needs to lock her muscles to keep from jumping as your breath bathes her ear. She is snapped awake, but she keeps her eyes closed. "Because," you repeat, and she swears then, that she can hear your smirk. "I felt you shiver, Alessa."

Her brows pull together, even as she feels her cheeks warming. "How could I not?" she snaps. She almost cracks an eye open, almost. But part of her does not know if she can face you, and the sunlight is still so gentle, your fingers are still so pleasant. "I find myself under the duress of torture, which how vigorously you pull my hair."

The lie is an obvious one. You have not hurt her, and is it embarrassing how much she is sure that you shall never. It is foolish, but she does not doubt it.

Your chuckle confirms that you know her to be lying. "Am I? Would you like me to stop then?"

Her lips thin. She would not. "If you so desire."

Your hands halt for a moment. "... I don't."

The world is made of shades of orange, and in its safety, Alessa smiles. "Then you may continue."

Fingers thread through her hair as silence re-fills the air. You massage her scalp, kneading the hairs at the end of her neck, and then take advantage to massage the tendons. Her lips part without her noticing, and her eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton. Her whole body tingles. Hundreds, thousand, uncountable tingles that kiss her whole body and make her rise, no longer falling, no longer plummeting. She rises in bliss. She rises, but her own fingers suddenly twitch, and Alessa closes them because they too feel the need to touch.

Greediness seizes her. She wants to feel you also.

"May I braid your hair?"

The question takes a moment to register. Alessa's eyelids flutter open, the world coming into focus in the form of your upside-down face. You're hovering above as she lays on the comforter, your eyes fixed on hers, your lips tugged in the barest hint of a smile.

The same sun that warmed her is glowing on you too. Alessa cannot help but admire how it shines on your eyes.

"May I?" you ask.

She blinks. "Hm?"

And now a damnable heat spreads across her cheeks when you chuckle. "Braid your hair, Alessa."

Whatever haze she had been in, disappears. Alessa tenses on the comforter and very slowly narrows her eyes at you. "If you believe yourself capable," she intones, voice cold. Freezing, she hopes, freezing enough to cool the skin of her cheeks.

You lean down, coming closer to her, and she keeps perfectly still, but Alessa finds her breath caught in her throat. "Why can't you ever answer straight? Need I to solve a riddle every time I ask a question?" you whisper, lightly touching the tip of her nose. Alessa's eyes cross as they try to follow your finger, and she supposes the sight must have been humorous, for you chuckle once again.

She tightens her lips, then, for the traitors want to smile. "Someone has to stimulate your intelligence, lest you risk being a fool your whole life," she says, her nails digging into her flesh when you throw your head back and laugh to the air.

'Tis a pleasant sound. One made sweeter by the fact that she caused it.

"Well, I do think I'm capable, so lean back down," you say, hands gently pushing her shoulders. Alessa lets you guide her back on the comforter as your hands return to her hair. They gather it between your palms, your fingers brushing the strands to untangle any knots.

Your face suddenly pops above her. "Don't move."

She nods, eyes on your face, watching your eyebrows crinkle in concentration. You start by parting her hair into three different strands, one going over the other, the movement fluid and practiced, and Alessa wonders when you have done this before. To whom. She wonders if anyone has ever played with your hair too, and now she wonders what to call this weight that starts to crush her chest.

Her fingers twitch once more, for she wants to cup your jaw and bring you closer. She wants to trace the shape of your lips until you forget the texture of whoever you braided before.

Pathetic.

She does not close her eyes, for the sun still bathes your skin, and Alessa has never shied from a stunning sight. But as you finish, and your eyes, shining, look at her again, she cannot truly appreciate the warmth of your smile. "Done," you announce, offering a hand to help her up.

Alessa does not take it. She sits up and touches the braid, fingers carefully studying each curve. It is well done, from what she can tell. Not too tight, but not loose either. "It appears to be-"

"Beautiful."

Alessa pauses. "What?" she asks, turning to look over her shoulder. You're watching her with a smile, but this one has no trace of playfulness in it. It is... soft and tender. Something that should be kept private, something that isn't meant for her eyes.

"You look beautiful," you tell her in your honest tone, earnest and sincere, and without a hint of shame. It is maddening how open you can be, how easily you can throw her off-guard.

What is she to do? What is she to say? You only flatter your own braiding skills. The remark is almost out of her tongue. Almost.

But as she watches you clench your offered hand, hiding it behind your back, Alessa suddenly feels a different kind of weight pressing on her ribs. She can be so cruel, even when she does not mean it. "Thank you," she says, looking down at her fingers intertwined in the braid. "I... I enjoyed the procedure."

"You did?"

She keeps looking down, but she can see you approach her. You do so slowly as if you would a feral animal, and her cheeks are warmer than ever, but Alessa cannot help but smile. "I have."

"Oh, that's good," you say, your hand joining hers on the braid. She finally lifts her chin to face you and finds you beaming at her. "That's very good to hear."

Fingers thread through yours now, her nails lightly grazing on the skin of your knuckles. Alessa takes your hand, tugging it closer. She is terrible at apologies. "You may do it again," she says, her other hand cupping your cheek. Your smile slowly dies as you watch her intensely, your lips parted, your brows crinkling...

She adores the look.

"My darling one," she whispers right beside your lips before she leans on her toes to brush hers against them.

And your inhale is surprised, but your hands are quick to circle her waist, and Alessa knows she has never been good at apologies, but hopefully, you do not need words to understand the regret on her tongue.