Work Text:
“You really don’t have to.” Itachi’s words were mumbled into the couch cushion he currently had his face burrowed in, slurred and slow from how he’d all but melted by that point. Tobirama just huffed a quiet laugh at him, pausing to reach for the almond oil he’d left on the coffee table.
“I’m aware of that, yes.” Working the oil into his palms first, he leaned back down to run the heels of them back up Itachi’s rather, in his opinion, janked up back, still feeling for the spots with the most knots. The area around his shoulder blades had it the worst; it’s where he stored all his stress, and it was essentially just one big knot, nothing he could work through in one setting for sure.
Once he started to dig his fingertips into those muscles, Itachi was rendered speechless, all but unconscious by the time Tobirama let up and let him turn over. He was just a pile of Uchiha goo that reluctantly florbed off in search of water as Tobirama instructed, missing the soft and endeared look on Tobirama’s face as he watched him head to the kitchen.