“Enlighten me,” Bellamy says tiredly. This entire conversation is utter nonsense, half-drowned by the pain in Bellamy’s head.
A smile slices across Rakos’s face, warm in the starlight. “I would have carried you the rest of the way.”
Bellamy takes a moment to process that sentence. When he does, the image sears itself into his mind.
Rakos keeps talking. “Until we reach Orthin, I need you to be honest with me. Not about stupid shit. I don’t need your life story or anything about your smuggler friends.”
“They’re not smugglers.”
“Exactly, stick to your story there. But the important things, all right? I don’t know your limits. All I can do is trust what you tell me.” After a moment, when Bellamy doesn’t respond, Rakos asks, “Are you listening?”
“I’m trying,” Bellamy says. Rakos wants him to be honest, right? “Wait until morning, and I’ll listen better.”
A pause. Then Rakos laughs, and it’s the friendliest Bellamy has heard him so far. “Don’t listen to me, I’m shit at talking like this. Come over here.” Rakos hesitates. “You keep rubbing your neck. Mind if I try?”
There are probably reasons Bellamy should refuse the offer. He doesn’t know Rakos. He doesn’t trust him. But his thoughts are muddled with pain and the fluttering warmth of Rakos’s laughter.
He scoots forward and bows his head.
The tension only builds as Rakos shuffles through the fallen leaves behind him. Kneels at his back, the heat of him radiating through the night.
“It won’t fix my head,” Bellamy says, as Rakos’s fingers alight on his shoulders.
“Maybe it will still feel good. No, it’ll feel amazing. I’m amazing at this.” Rakos’s breath stirs Bellamy’s hair. “Can I take this necklace off?”
Bellamy shivers. “Sure.”
Rakos fumbles with the clasp, then drops the pendant into Bellamy’s hand. Bellamy clutches it, feeling strangely exposed, as Rakos touches him again.
It’s not amazing at first. Rakos gently strokes the curves of his shoulders, traces beside his spine. Less a massage, more just mapping out the contours of Bellamy’s body. The touch might have been sensual and intimate in another context, but Bellamy’s too tired for that. He resigns himself to sitting through a useless, awkward back rub before he can curl up in a useless, awkward ball to try to sleep.
“Do you mind?” Rakos pulls his coat.
Bellamy absently straightens, and Rakos slides his coat down his shoulders, leaving it caught around his elbows.
When Rakos touches Bellamy again, it’s like magic.
Bellamy’s breath hitches as Rakos’s thumbs sweep into his muscles, digging in along his upper spine. Rakos leans in, the smoke-and-sky scent of him filling Bellamy’s lungs. Thegoodsort of pain blossoms along Bellamy’s shoulders. There’s rhythm to the movements, but not something Bellamy can predict.
All he can do is blink starstruck in the darkness. His head still hurts. But nothing else does anymore.
“Head down,” Rakos says, and Bellamy moves without thinking about it, his muscles stretching under Rakos’s commanding fingers. Soothing fire against his skin, brushing the short hairs on the back of his neck. Tingling past every vertebra to dip under his collar.
Painful. Bellamy’s ears grow hot. It’s a good pain.
“What did I tell you?” Rakos says, smugly.
“Pretty amazing.” Bellamy bites his lip on a moan. His head still hurts, but he’s used to that. He can appreciate how good everything else feels.
Rakos laughs, the sound once again vibrating through Bellamy’s very soul. He continues digging into Bellamy’s loosening muscles. “Is this the same headache you had this morning?”
“Yeah.” Bellamy breathes into Rakos’s touch. “Should be gone by tomorrow.”
“That’s a long time.” Rakos’s touch lightens.
“They last a day or so. It’s fine, I’m used to it.” Bellamy braces himself for—he’s not sure what. Something that will annoy him.
But Rakos just resumes rubbing his shoulders. “Does it have anything to do with your magic?”
