fandomhighdorms | Deck, Saturday Afternoon

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Deck, Saturday Afternoon

It was warm outside. There was no way freaking way Hannibal was going to stay inside when ti was warm and sunny and there was fresh air to be had. He thought of going to the beach but figured the water wouldn't have warmed up over night so the deck it was.

There, at least, he could get out of his shirt (exhibitionism whoo!), get himself a cold drink (no telling what was in it) and enjoy himself. Finals were done, the semester was done and summer was coming.

There was really no better way to spend a Saturday in his opinion.

[deck is ooooooooopen!]

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"I'm surprised you don't figure out a way to put your hand there instead of your hand," he said. "That handprint could be anyone's!"

"I'll know," she said smugly. "Everyone else is just going to think you fell asleep in a weird position in the sun."

"Oh no," he said and shook his head. "Our hands are different. If there's a little hand on my chest, they'll think it's not mine. My hands are big."

"I doubt anyone's going to be measuring," she said, amused. "Your hands are not that huge."

"There is a marked difference between your hand and my hand," he said and held up one of his hands. "People would know that it wasn't my hand."

"Mmm." Angela smirked and measured her hand against his. "I don't know, I'm not sure they would," she teased.

"You keep insulting my hands, you're not going to get the benefits they give," he said, shaking his head.

"I wasn't insulting!" she laughed. "You have very, very nice hands. I do love your hands."

"You're saying someone would mistake them for yours," he pointed out, lacing his fingers with hers. "That's equivalent to calling them girl hands."

"Or I'm saying people are unobservant," she suggested. "Really, really unobservant and with some size gauging issues."

"And then what if they want to put their hand there?" he asked, snickering. "People seem to do that with handprint stuff."

"Mm, I don't know how I feel about that," she said. "Other people trying to stick their hands all over you."

"You'd be the one arising curiosity with your handprint pattern making on my chest," he pointed out. "It'd be all your fault."

"Damn you and your logic," she grumbled mildly, turning to kiss his cheek.

"Hey, you can still put your hands on me," he said, smiling. "Just no handprint patterns. Who knows what sort of things you might bring on me?"

"Just no handprint patterns?" she asked, grinning at him. That left so much scope!

"...depends on what else you're planning," he said upon seeing that grin.

"Aww. You don't trust me?" she asked, tapping him with her fingertips again.

Yeah, with that grin, possibly wise.

"No, I trust you," he said. "I also know you. And I know you're devious. What are you planning?"

"Nothing," she said brightly. "I am planning nothing."

"... Maybe I could draw on you in sunscreen. Little flowers or stick figures," she mused, still smirking teasingly.

"What is your fascination with marking my skin?" he asked, amused. "Don't you do that enough with your nails?"

He thought he was cute, yes.

"This is just what you get for dating an artist," she told him, curling her fingers to demonstrate those nails. "Anything that sits still long enough is a canvas."

"So, I'm no longer your boyfriend, I'm a canvas?" he asked, watching her fingers. "I've been reduced to an art material!"

"Not reduced," she corrected. "Your uses have been expanded to include that!" Totally better!

"So, what are my other uses?" he asked curiously. "You seem to keep track of these things!"

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