a harmless bit of voyeurism to start the week

We are watching them. We are watching them and they are well aware.

She had made some light remark about his harmlessness. Just a throw-away, not meant as a dare or an insult, a simple statement to the effect of him never meaning even to hurt a fly. He knows it wasn't to be taken seriously, but he needed an entrée, and this one's as good as any. Maybe better than most.

A few feet away, with a smile, he begins. "So, I'm harmless, then."

She knows where this is going. A smile back will give him encouragement. And those people need something to watch. "Harmless, yes. But that doesn't mean you're not... mmm... dangerous in other ways."

A glance up and he will certainly step closer.

"That's not a very precise use of the word. If I'm harmless, I don't pose any danger at all."

She wants to phrase it properly, but she wants to say it quickly. She wants him closer still. A glance our way. "Potential pleasure poses quite a threat."

An invitation, he knows, but he will bide his time. And step slowly. His answer is low, but clear. "To what?" He wants a reply that tells him to put his hands on her. He would do it anyway, but he'd prefer to make her ask.

She will not look at us now. She makes us wait. All of us.

She knows he is listening and holds his gaze for emphasis. And maybe, just maybe, she cannot look away. "Boundaries." If this doesn't make him touch me, she thinks, I don't know what will. "Every line you thought you'd never let anyone cross."

Silently he congratulates himself for keeping a step back. A teasing touch is better accentuated by a bit of distance. He tries not to laugh out out loud, reaching out his thumb to draw a line from one of her shoulders to the other. "Horizontal lines?"

She commands herself to keep his gaze, but loses the battle as she feels his thumb graze the base of her throat. Looking down, she glimpses his finger just as it slides over the curve of her shoulder. He raises his other hand to mirror the first, and one by one, he touches each finger of each hand to her upper arms, and slides them down lightly. "Vertical lines?"

His hands reach her wrists, then her hands. "And imaginary ones," she offers. He is on his way back up again when his next step becomes clear in his mind. He wonders what her reaction will be. As the words escape, he is already thinking of a follow-up. More words to ease her.

"Oh, you mean..." he begins. She wonders which carefully drawn line he will want to wipe away first. She thinks explicit, dark, and dangerous things, even as his fingers round her shoulders on the way back up. Even as she knows where he is going. It’s the simplest things, she tells herself, that pose the greatest threat.

When he feels the words have hung in the air just long enough, he finishes the sentence. “..how you never let anyone touch your neck.” He is right.

She closes her eyes as she feels his hands slide up, both thumbs now at the base but climbing up her throat. Quietly he urges, “you"... no teasing... "need" he continues, "to relax."

Quietly, he goes on...

"open"

one word

"your"

at

" eyes”

a time.

And that is the last thing we hear, as he lowers his mouth to her ear. He whispers something, several sentences it must be, because we have enough time to watch her face. She flushes, then smiles. Her eyes flutter open. We see his fingers loosen, the ones we can see tracing the ear he does not speak to.

At one second she smiles, looking out at us, gazing as she had at him. She is listening intently, but also thinking, formulating a response. Whatever he is saying is easing her panic, but exciting her in other ways. She raises her eyebrows wickedly. With the beginnings of laughter, we know she has an answer.

She raises her lips to his ear and replies.