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“Is this right?” Shiro asked stiffly, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. The face mask was drying on his skin. He could feel it tightening and pulling. He was afraid that if he moved too much, it would crack and all go wrong.
“Its perfect, Shiro, don't worry. It's just a face mask. Now, all we need to do is sit down and relax,” Lance said soft and soothing. He sucked in a slow, deep breath and let it out in a long sigh as he sank down to perch on the edge of his bed.
“Right,” Shiro muttered. He glanced around the room but, again, daren't turn his head too much in case the mask fell off.
Where should he sit? This was Lance's room and while the other man had invited him here and told him to make himself comfortable, he just couldn't.
He was only here because Lance had insisted he needed to pamper himself and unwind for five minutes, and that a nice exfoliating mask would help ease away some of the tension he kept pent up. Shiro didn't believe it for a moment, but he was here so he could at least say he'd tried, and because he couldn't say no to Lance's smile.
Shiro glanced towards the bed, where Lance sat right in the middle, his legs spread so Shiro would have no other option than to sit beside him (close, too close) if he wanted to sit there. Lance was wearing his favourite paladin pyjamas, the robe gaping open and threatening to slip off his shoulders. The fact he wore the shirt and pants underneath it did little too ease Shiro's racing heart. He could not sit next to Lance when he was in a state of almost undress.
There was only one alternative. Gingerly, and making sure that he didn't move his head too much, Shiro lowered himself to the floor, sitting right in the middle of the room. He sat with his back perfectly straight, shoulders pulled back, and his chin held high. Every line of his body thrummed with tension. He looked as if he were awaiting his execution rather than enjoying a relaxing spa session.
Lance bit his lip and tried not to laugh.
“Shiro, come here,” Lance beckoned him. “Sit in front of me, with your back facing me."
Shiro stared at him for a moment and the space on the floor between his legs Lance wanted him to occupy.
No way. For the first time since he got here, Shiro was grateful for the thick layer of gunk on his face. It hid his blush perfectly.
But Lance continued to watch him expectantly with a quirked eyebrow that suggested he would come over and take matters into his own hands if Shiro did not comply.
Shiro wasn't sure which option was worse, but as they say better the devil you know. If he went over of his own volition then at least he would have a slightly better idea of what to expect. All he had to do was sit in front of Lance, although he couldn't even begin to guess why Lance wanted him to sit there.
Robotically Shiro rose to his feet and moved over to the bed. There he did a sharp about-turn that would have made Iverson proud and then he knelt on the floor just as gingerly, and stiffly as he had before.
“Closer. Don't be shy,” Lance commanded a touch of exasperation to his voice. He grabbed Shiro's shoulders and yanked him back, forcing Shiro to sit with his back against the bed and his head dangerously close to Lance's stomach.
Lance's legs closed around him, his knees pressing against Shiro's shoulders. Behind him Shiro felt Lance shuffle forward, pressing closer.
Too close. This felt far too intimate, even with his long legs wrapped in the blue flannel pyjamas Shiro was far too aware of their warmth coiled around him, and the muscles of Lance's thighs squeezing him. His face grew hot beneath the face mask, making him sweat. Was it supposed to make him sweat? Shiro was afraid to ask.
“Now, relax,” Lance said firmly, his hands pressed down on Shiro's shoulders and began to knead the tense muscles.
‘Oh, so that's all he wanted to do,’ Shiro thought to himself some of the tension already melting away as Lance's nimble fingers worked their magic.
‘I can do this.’ Shiro closed his eyes. It was just a massage, barely, more a shoulder rub than anything else. He tried not to focus on the fact that the man giving it to him was pressed close, and that the only thing between them was the suddenly far too thin pyjamas they both wore.
Shiro shivered, his thoughts getting the better of him and Lance's hands helped them on their way. Lance's hands were granting him pure bliss, and Shiro really did try not to think of how he'd been imaging those hands elsewhere on his body recently.
He couldn't help the small moan that rolled passed his lips.
Lances hands stopped for a moment, then squeezed.
Shiro's eyes snapped open. “I...shit... I’m sorry,” he tried to get up, to run away but Lance's grip was firm, pushing him back down. Slowly Shiro tilted his head back looking up at Lance.
The other man leaned over him with a grin that was almost predatory.
“There?” He asked, smirking he repeated the motion that made Shiro let slip that sound.
Shiro's eye fluttered closed again, and another soft moan slipped passed his lips. His head fell back, pillowed against Lance’s stomach.
“There, now you're relaxed,” Lance said triumphantly. He pressed down hard again, kneading a particularly stubborn knot of tension with his thumb.
Shiro chewed his lip and tried to hold back any further moans.
“Come on Shiro, don't hold it in. It's just us here, so you don't have to be quiet. Let it all out,” Lance crooned. His words sounded so suggestive that heat pooled in Shiro's stomach, even though Lance had probably only meant them innocently. Lance was just trying to get Shiro to relax and unwind, that was all.
He was going to hell, Shiro was certain. But after this, he would gladly fall there without a single care.
It was some time later when Shiro came to his senses again. His head had fallen against Lance’s thigh, his cheek leaving a splodge of the green goo on Lance’s pant leg. He must have dozed off but Lance hadn't woken him, and his hands now moved almost lazily across the broad expanse of Shiro's shoulders. There was not a single knot of tension left in his body.
“Sorry,” he mumbled against Lance’s leg. He barely had the strength or the willpower to lift his head. He wanted to stay here, like this.
“It's ok. It'll wash out,” Lance hummed, his fingers still rubbing Shiro's shoulders in slow, soothing circles.
“And speaking of washing out, we should wash these masks off now,” Lance announce, patting Shiro's shoulders once Lance withdrew his hands and sat back. Shiro only just managed not to groan at the loss.
“Ok.” Shiro got to his feet, feeling lighter and more limber than he had in a long time as if Lance's hands had worked their magic over every limb.
On his feet, Shiro turned around and offered his hand to Lance.
Lance smiled up at him, hesitating for a moment before taking the offered hand. Shiro pulled him to his feet and allowed his hand to linger in Lance's for a few moments longer than was needed.
Lance didn't pull away either.
“So how often do you do this?” Shiro asked conversationally as they ambled to the bathroom.
“Well I use various masks and things on my face every day, but I do this intense mask once a week, so if you want to join next time,” Lance answered, leaving the offer open.
Shiro perked up at those words.
“I'll think about it,” he promised, not wanting to sound too eager. But his mind was already made up.
He would definitely be joining Lance again.