When she stepped aside to drop her cloak, his hands moved in her direction of their own accord, as if they couldn't stand to be off of her.
She came back to him, though, and her hands were on him now and his stomach clenched, not from a flinch or distaste but because it felt so good. He even sighed. She had small hands - such lovely tiny hands and he was surprised to find that he loved them. A line he'd caught on Grace came to mind, unbidden... "You and me. It is not the thrill of the chase. It's not a game. It's... it's your tiny, ineffectual fists."
When she complimented him though, he blushed and laughed, feeling awkward. He liked his body, he worked hard for it, but it had never been because he wanted to look good when naked - and he couldn't really recall any of his trysts complimenting it. Complimenting him.
"You're ridiculous," he said, and then changed the subject, "Come here," his hands were reaching for her again, one tossing his book and tablet to the floor, the other grasping her hands that had been on his skin.