#nothing gay here officer. just a handler giving his fighter a deep tissue massage. normal person behavior

[ingolds]

[ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 ] ― sender massages receiver with a scented oil 🌕 the five senses

they hadn't thought armand was serious about the suggestion.

not when he'd entered the room wearing that truly idiotic shirt, theo nearly straining a muscle with the strength of their eye roll. but then armand had lit a few candles on the windowsill, curtains drawn, a bottle of scented oil in his hand and, well —

here they are.

theo lays on their front, arms by their sides, an intentional effort at being relaxed. orange blossom and laurel leaf drift in the still, silent air, jojoba seed on armand's hands as he warms up the oil between them, and theo tries not to jump when his fingers first land on their wrists. he starts soft, palms pressing into theo's forearms, over his triceps, fingertips curling to rub the tension out of their shoulders. it's gentler than they would have expected from him.

theo turns their head, watching him work, bright eyes caught on the locks of dark hair that drift over armand's forehead. they think at the end of this, they'll have something to say about his choice in wardrobe. something smug and well-earned.

the problems start when armand reaches their upper back.

the pads of his fingers drift gentle over the backs of their shoulders, probing for tightness; when armand finds it, he pushes into the knots worked deep into their muscles, firm and intent. a rumble rushes out of theo, as rough and deep as a purr, and they have to glance away from the smug slash of armand's smile. they think he must have been holding back, testing the waters of what he could get away with. it's smart; theo still hates him for it.

his fingers drift lower, mapping out the scars and freckles, as if searching for something. abruptly, he digs into the muscles on either side of their spine, deep into the years of strain they've been holding there, and theo's hands flex into fists, back arching. they make a high, thready noise, halfway between pain and pleasure, the smell of citrus swirling dizzily up from the webbing of armand's hands. they hadn't realized they'd been storing so much of their struggle there, blood shed and bones broken twisting deep into the muscles that carried them through the day. armand's hands smooth lower, down to where their spine dips, and his wrists turn to allow his thumbs to touch to the large fibers there. his fingers wrap around their waist, the ridges of his thumbprints working into the tension he finds just above their pelvis.

warmth flares out from the contact, and theo doesn't bother to try and bite down on the whine that leaves them. they hazily think to themselves that if armand keeps doing that, they'd let him get away with anything.

the smirk armand presses into the nape of their neck tells them he heard it loud and clear.

@godpyre