#indeed.

Let's talk about Kid's thick... strong... calloused hand, rough with hard work, coarse from countless nicks, splinters, and metal shavings. How those fingers could crush the life from you with ease, but instead they slide over your body with all the luxury of crushed velvet.

How the light run of fingers over your sweat-slicked body are able to cool you, a rush of goosebumps trailing behind the tender touch.

How the heavy press of his palm against your skin, fingers splayed out and holding you so easily in place, is hot in comparison, nearly burning the shape of his hand into your skin.

How easily he supports you, even if you're pushing or over six feet in height you're just small compared to him. He could pull you apart with brute cruelty, but the way he makes you come apart is not nearly so final.

You know the big, powerful things he can do, but you've seen the fragile gears of his butterflies, the impossibly small springs for the baby chicks he made. For all the power and anger, there is the most controlled skill dancing along the lines of his knuckles.