Gloves Off Romane & Geschichten

Her gaze was fixed on the bubonic plague doctor wannabe. As if on cue, the figure started to pull back the sleeves of its black cloak, revealing human-shaped hands covered in leather black gloves. Deliberately and almost tauntingly, it removed the gloves as well. Then it raised one of those slim hands to its face, smoothly taking the mask off. And Kat found herself staring at the most gorgeous man she had ever clapped eyes on.

Black with blue lines covering all of his face. He has his hands in his pockets and my entire body shivers as he steps closer to me. Instinctively, I take one step back, trying to keep my distance from him. I can’t even see his eyes. I can’t see anything and when his hands leave his pockets, he is wearing gloves. No skin showing. I can’t even tell if he is white.

“You’re bleeding.” I looked down. My knuckles were shredded, raw skin slick with blood. The sting didn’t even register. Reeves sighed, muttering something I didn’t catch before grabbing a towel off the bench. “You’re gonna need those hands tonight, Alpha. Don’t ruin them over—” He stopped himself. Smart. I ripped the gloves off and threw them aside. “Over what, Reeves?” He didn’t answer. Just handed me the towel. I wiped my hands, watching the red fade into white.

I hear the distinct sound of a zipper being undone, followed by the material being dropped on the floor. I suppose it's my turn to take my clothes off. My fingers tremble as I unbutton my trousers and slowly unfasten the zipper on the side before I shimmy and step out of them. I unbutton my blouse and let it slide off my shoulders before I slip my free arm out of it. I struggle with the other that’s handcuffed until I feel Dev’s warm hand wrap around mine. My heart leaps up to my throat when his fingers fiddle with the opening of the sleeve for a second before he grips the sleeve and tears it off.

I explained while pushing my bike to find a bike parking spot on the outskirts of the Plaza. "You took detours?" Catalina widened her eyes. "Yes. I wanted to enjoy the view first. The doctor said it wouldn't get better if I kept constantly fearing my strange illness. That's why I wear these rubber gloves. They protect me when I must accept something from a man's hands. For example, when I go shopping, and a male salesperson serves me, these gloves help reduce the static electricity inside me." "Are you comfortable wearing gloves in this scorching heat?"

There is no reason we can't sleep in the same bed together. My hands have grown sweaty inside my gloves, and I am itching to take them off. I look over at Osiris, and his breathing is steady. I am sure that he has fallen asleep. Biting the tips of the fingers of my gloves, I pull them off one at a time, a moan at the feeling of freedom. This has been the longest that I have had my gloves on. I crack my knuckles loudly and flex my fingers before lying on my back and tucking my hands underneath me. I can't be too safe.

Xavier said calmly, clearly showing his doubts about Gavin. Before Gavin had a chance to answer, Xavier commanded, "Stand up!" Gavin, who was still confused, got up anyway. Xavier frowned as he looked at Gavin's two hands, which were covered with cloth gloves. "Gavin, don't you know that you have to take off those gloves every time you enter my area?" Xavier asked, his forehead wrinkled. Joss immediately glanced at Gavin, whose hands were indeed still covered by gloves. Meanwhile, it was clear that none of the guards were wearing gloves.

“No, it’s fine. I already committed to the outfit.” That earns me a real smile. “Fair enough.” He steps over to the sink, washes his hands, then grabs a pair of gloves and starts explaining what he’ll be doing, each step in detail, like a very attractive human instruction manual. I nod along and try to act normal, like I’m not about to bare my soul and cervix to a man who looks like he could be cast as “Hot Divorced Professor” in a N*****x drama. ⸻

I followed him in silence, watching his precise, almost calculated movements, like he always knew exactly where to step without making a sound, as if the whole world were a minefield and he had memorized the map. It was only when he turned to me, arms crossed, that I noticed. “You’re... wearing gloves?” He glanced down at his gloved hands as if he had forgotten. The gloves were black, thin, looked like lightweight wool, but reached just past his wrists. “Yeah.” His answer was quiet, almost defensive. “Lethal touch, remember? Better not risk it.”

“Keep this distance.” I did as he said and stood by the tree, watching as he slung his black backpack off his shoulder and leaned it carefully against the trunk. He opened it and pulled something out, two pairs of leather gloves. I watched in silence as he slid them onto his large, veiny hands. His fingers moved and flexed through the leather, testing the fit. He opened and closed his hands a few times, the gloves making a faint creaking sound. “Aren’t you going to take off your glasses?” I asked him. I had always wondered how he managed to train with them on.