Slowly the recognition of where I was massaging came over him and he became very still for a minute.
“Am I hurting you, Jack?” I asked easily, his eyes almost green as emeralds under dark, wet hair when they met mine. If I kept him talking, and not thinking of real pain someone had inflicted, or the imagined pain that kept them away, I could give him a world of relief.
“No,” he said, and there was surprise in his voice. I slid a bit closer to work the main knot, whichwasslowly giving way under my touch, but it wouldtake a minute to do it right. It isn’t enough to just uncoil it. I have to make itsoit won’t just draw up again. His feet were resting where he can probably tell how turned on I am, although this isn’t exactly sexual. But, I couldn’t touch him without it turning me on. I moved my otherhand to his knee, sliding in front and behind, finding the small raised scars I knew would be there.
“Surgery?” I asked.
He sighed a long sigh, part due to my hands, I thought, and part due to whatever the surgery represented or meant to him in his life, I guessed. No waywould a boarder of his calibertake an injury like this easy. It would definitely have laid him up for a while. It’s the kind of injury you would have to work your way back from with someintensive, long-term therapy.
“Yeah,” he said slowly, “it was a long time ago. But, you don’t have to . . .” Suddenly, a low moan escaped him and I could tell he is as surprised as Iwasthat it crossed his lips.
Jesus that was sexy.
I wonder if I came in the hot tub just from his moans if any of his brothers wouldnotice.
He felt guilty that it felt good, I realized, and catalogued thatwith the rest of theinformation I want to know about this injury. It was personal to him. So personal he let it hurt daily.
“I want to, pain management is sort of my gig,” I said, giving him a look to remind him I do this sort of thing for a living, although not exactly with a massage or a touch. I was getting to the older, tighter knots, layered in his leg under his injury - the ones that will kink the muscle back up in an instant if not handled with care. The brace he wore is an orthopedic specialty - I would recognize it anywhere. This was an old, serious, and personal injury. There was no way to be too careful if I wanted him to trust me.
And I wanted Jack’s trust badly.
He let out a soft sound, almost like a moan but not as deep as the others have been, as I dig a little deeper with my fingers. This moan was almost a whimper.
“Fuck, Perrin, I . . .” his leg tensed for a moment as I moved my finger into the muscle one more time. Suddenly, the whole bundle of knotted muscle just seemedto let go, and he definitely let out a groan that time, and a long whoosh of breath. I may have smirked a bit, because itwasthe sound of relief.
I let his leg go after making sure the knot had fully released. I slowly moved my hands to his feet, still touching him, watching him respond. I seriously need a moment to collect myself and get my dick to behave after watching his responsive face when I touched him. His head was back, and I can tell he is regulating his breathing consciously.
“How did you even walk, Jack?” I asked quietly. It had to hurt. Going as hard as we had that afternoon, then every step to Quinn’s after the run — there was no way it didn’t. But, his execution on the board was flawless and I never saw him miss a step. I wouldn’t have known he even had an injury until that slight rush of breath when he went into the hot water coupled with seeing the brace he wore.
He didn’t move, but he said quietly, “I just - do, Perrin.”
I got the impression it isn’t something he talked about. Maybe that’s why he didn’t seek relief for it, either. Jackwasn't the quietest, and hewasn't the loudest, but the silence around himfelt heavy and personal.
“Thank you, though. It feels incredible,” Jack said, stilllow and measured.
I could tell itwastime to change the tone.
“Feels incredible to be here,” I admitted, settling back with my own beer. “This place is . . ..” I shook my head, without words to correspond with what I felt.
“You know Quinn’s the architect, right?” Jack offered after a minute, his voice back to normal.
“Yeah? Brewmaster and architect, right?”
“He’s designed most of Bear Valley, including your new condo,” he said with pride.
“Really?” I was surprised. My new place was industrial modern - lots of light and metal. “Wait, I think you told me that the first night I arrived.”
Quinn came out on the deck then, around the glass partition/wall that was so damned cool I had gaped at it at first, and handed me another beer, somehow knowing mine was done, and he did the same for Jack.
“You should see what I did for Jack’s place,” Quinn said, coming in on the tail end of our conversation. “He’s got the whole top floor of the Inn, and it’s one of my favorites.”
“I will definitely have to see that sometime,” I smiled, catching Jack’s eyes in the process. And by the look I found, Jack’s place is exactly where I was going to end up.
Jack
I never allowed anyone to touch my injury. No one. But like what would soon seem to be standard for every other part of my life, Perrin came in and just took over like it was natural, fitting in like I piece I never knew I was missing.
And it was natural. His touch was soft and tender, it didn’t hurt to have him rub out those knots, not at all. Not like those first therapy sessions years ago, before I gave it up. I guess it shouldn’t have made me so emotional, but to lie back with those magic hands touching me, it was overwhelming and I had to tilt my head back to not let tears come out. That was not the impression I wanted for the man I was pretty sure I would end up with that night.
