Chapter Text
It starts back at the Garrison, one evening when Hunk comes back from his mechanical lab class. He had been lying on his back on a garage creeper underneath a fighter jet for the better part of two hours, checking the engine and making repairs while Iverson walked around and critiqued everyone’s work. Hunk loves working with his hands and actually enjoys taking care of engines, but his arms are still sore from the work and he already knows he’s going to be feeling that tomorrow.
When he gets back to his dorm room, Lance is already back and working on his homework for his aviation class, one leg propped up on the corner of this desk because he seems to be incapable of sitting like a regular person for very long. That aviation class is the bane of Lance’s existence, as someone who learns by doing rather than theory, and who argues that all the books in the world can’t compare to getting practical experience in the flight simulator. But books are cheaper than flight simulators and easier to distribute to cadets, so it was frequently the method most instructors choose.
Hunk leans against the back of the door with a heavy sigh, kicking his shoes off. “Hey,”
“Sup?” Lance greets, then finally looks up from his book. “Woah, you look like hell.”
Hunk pauses in rubbing the back of his neck. “Do I have engine grease on my face again?” It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.
“No, you just look… tired.” Lance says. “Like really exhausted.”
“I just had a practical exam. Repairing fighter jets.” Hunk explains, unbuttoning his Garrison uniform top. Oh great, he had gotten grease on his sleeve again. Occupational hazard, he supposed. He scrubs at it. “And to top if off, Finley from class 1 stole my allen-head for the better part of class. Who even does that?”
“Sounds like that really threw a wrench in your plans.” Lance smirks. Hunk snorts in amusement.
He hangs up his uniform shirt on the closet door and drops into his desk chair with another weighty sigh. He doesn’t want to study, he wants to take a nap and then go eat dinner and then go to bed. But this physics assignment is due tomorrow, and the instructor will have his head if he doesn’t do it.
Hunk sets the heavy physics textbook on his desk and opens it to the chapter they’re on. As he reads about inertia, he finds himself stretching his arm back and reaching beneath the collar of his t-shirt to massage the back of his neck. It was really his arms and his shoulders that ached, though, from working on the engine while on his back, and he can’t quite reach where he really wants to get. He rolls his shoulders, feeling restless but at the same time exhausted.
“Want a shoulder massage?” Lance asks.
Hunk pauses in the middle of rubbing his neck and half-turns around in his seat. “Huh?”
“A shoulder massage. Do you want one?” Lance points at him. “You look sore. My cousin Audrey is a mechanic too, and she always needs a shoulder rub after a really long day.”
“If you’re offering, sure,” Hunk says, dropping his hand. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Please, I’m dying over here reading this dumb book. It’ll give me something to do and it’ll make you feel better. Best of both worlds.” Lance says, standing up. He laces his fingers together and stretches in front of himself, popping the joints. “I’m basically a professional masseuse anyway, it’s no trouble.”
“Really?” Hunk asks as Lance rests his hands on his shoulders.
“Well, not certified or anything,” Lance admits. “I just have a huge family, so I get lots of practice.” He starts rubbing the muscles along his shoulders, getting the muscles warmed up before going deeper. “My abuela gets aches and pains all the time, and my aunt is starting to develop arthritis. And my mamá is on her feet all day at work, so I give her foot massages after a long day. And Audrey sometimes needs a shoulder massage after she gets back from her shop, especially after long repair jobs. And then there was the couple of months where my brother got a stress fracture; not only did I have to massage his ankle every night, I had to hide his baseball gear so he didn’t sneak off to practice before it healed.” He chuckles at the memory.
“Your family is pretty big, isn’t it?” Hunk asks. He had once briefly been introduced to Lance’s family via Skype, when Lance had been talking with them and they had noticed Hunk sitting at the desk behind Lance and demanded to meet his roommate. There had been at least a dozen people crowded around the screen, and they had said that wasn’t even all of them.
“Yep. And I’ve given pretty much everyone in it some kind of massage, usually multiple times, so I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” Lance says easily, pushing his thumbs into a knot in Hunk’s muscles. “You know, it feels kind of weird, being at the Garrison. Everyone in my family is super close, and I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a minute of the day where I didn’t have little siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews climbing all over me, until I came here. I miss family cuddle piles.”
“An astro-military institution isn’t a likely place for cuddle piles, I imagine.” Hunk says.
“It should be. Cuddles are applicable to every aspect of life.” Lance says. “Especially given the military’s tendency to have sticks up their asses. Maybe if someone gave Iverson a massage once in awhile he wouldn’t be so damn cranky all the time.”
“Are you volunteering?” Hunk chuckles.
“Hell no.” Lance snorts, then pauses to think about it. “Well, if he truly had no other friends in his life to do it for him, and there was a guarantee that he wouldn’t snap my head off, I guess I would sacrifice myself as tribute for the greater good. Ugh. It wouldn’t be enjoyable, though. But better that than him yelling at me for the rest of the year, I guess.”
“Your valiant sacrifice is acknowledged, but I think that stick has permanently fused with Iverson’s ass.” Hunk says. “He’s a lost cause.”
“Agreed.” Lance pauses. “You know who else has a stick up his ass? Keith.”
“Oh boy, here we go again.” Hunk sighs. “Lance, you barely even know Keith.”
“Doesn’t matter, he’s still a stuck-up asshole who thinks he’s better than everyone else.” Lance grouses, digging his thumbs into another knot. “Just because he’s such an amazing and naturally talented pilot… Jeez, how come Iverson never goes off at him ?”
“You’re not even in the same flight simulator class.” Hunk points out. “You don’t know Iverson doesn’t yell at him.”
“Yeah, well, he probably doesn’t.” Lance says lamely. “Him and his stupid haircut…”
“Ah, yes, because your haircut has everything to do with your piloting ability.”
“Well… a little.” Lance grumbles. “If it’s too long it might get in your eyes and make you crash.”
“What is your deal with Keith, anyway?” Hunk asks. “You’re always complaining about him, but have you ever actually met the guy? Like exchanged names, not just been in the same class.”
“He’s too perfect and it’s annoying.” Lance huffs. Hunk snorts quietly in amusement. Right. Lance pokes him in the spine for that. “There, how’s that feel? Still sore?”
Hunk rolls his shoulders out and tilts his head from side to side. “Nope, that feels great. Thanks, man.”
“Hey, anytime.” Lance pats his shoulder and walks back to his desk. “Like I said, I’m used to that, it’s not a problem.”