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McMurphy sat on the edge of the bed, kicking his foot up onto his knee and undoing his laces, before pulling his boots off and tossing them closer to the door. In a lazy motion, he pulled off his shirt, and tensed as the back of his shoulderblade ached. Next thing you could tell, McMurphy had himself sprawled across the motel bed on his stomach, hands on the back of his head and face buried into the comforter. He crossed his ankles, uncrossed them, and finally settled on crossing them again as Bromden sat down on the side of the bed.
“Y’don’t need to bother, Chief.” McMurphy sounded hesitant, his voice muffled from the mattress. Bromden sat there, going back and forth to either hand and cracking his knuckles.
“It’s alright. It must hurt like hell.”
McMurphy laughed half-heartedly into the sheets. “You have no idea. Worst damn crick I’ve ever had.”
“Don’t worry about it then,” Bromden responded. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, tearing off the skin as he scooted closer towards McMurphy. He sat on his knees, bending over McMurphy’s side and pressing his thick fingers into his upper shoulderblade.
McMurphy sank into the bed, letting out a satisfied groan as Bromden’s fingers forced down onto the knot in his shoulder, eventually beginning to press into it in circular motions, smoothing it out. McMurphy cursed, running his hands through his hair and feeling his muscles come undone under Bromden’s pressure. He felt a palm run over his upper back, before rubbing deeply into the knot, and he melted.
“Fuck,” McMurphy whined. He continued to mumble as additional weight was added and pressed deep into his shoulder, before he began to feel another hand tracing along his arm, a finger moving in circles, before stroking downward and ending with opposite curves. He shivered. “Fuck, that’s nice.”
McMurphy turned his head, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and feeling the way blunt nails ran over his arm and his back. The way they drew so precisely over his other shoulderblade; wrote numbers he could hardly make out and symbols he was all too familiar with. Opening his eyes, he could see Bromden, his eyes blown to near black and one cheek sucked in from where he continued to chew on it. McMurphy wondered if he was tasting his own blood. Bromden busied himself with McMurphy’s torso, smoothing out the persistent knot in McMurphy’s trapezoid, while he closely examined McMurphy’s tattoos, and watched as his fingers drew over them. McMurphy gained a lopsided grin, flicking his tongue over the back of his teeth. “Hmm. You like them?”
Bromden hands stilled. He glanced up, eyeing the back of Randle’s neck, his black eyes boring holes in Randle’s flesh. Randle’s head laid on its side, cheek buried into the sheets of the motel bed. He looked over at Bromden with a half-lidded, seemingly oblivious gaze. Bromden coughed, rolling his shoulders and adjusting himself on the bed, moving his legs to sit cross-legged. “Yeah,” he spoke up, after a few moments of thick silence between them. He met McMurphy’s eye for a second, before looking down at the midsection of their back. “Sorry, I only— I forget to talk sometimes.”
McMurphy chuckled. “S’okay. Shit—” he cringed, feeling the crick slowly dissipate due to Bromden’s ministrations.
Bromden leaned over, his hand splaying out across nearly all of McMurphy’s upper back. He began to gently rub their back. “You alright?”
“You got some damn big hands, Chief.”
Bromden slowed his hand, before continuing at his previous pace. His face began to darken, cheeks burning. “Mm.”
“Women would love you, I bet,” McMurphy admitted, stretching his free arm before letting it relax against the bed.
Right then Bromden’s ears began to burn next, the tips reddening from blood. He bit his tongue and cleared his throat. “Sure.”
“They would,” McMurphy insisted, sighing. He closed his eyes, and let out a short breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Goddamn. Keep going.” McMurphy was nearly arching into Bromden’s touch, his body following his hand and letting it stick to his back like glue, then run against it like silk. He’d never admit it, but he loved it.
Bromden cocked his head, leaning it against his shoulder as he watched McMurphy’s body untense underneath him. “Your back hurting, Mac?”
“Little.” McMurphy shifted once, and fell still again. He yawned silently, letting his body nestle into the firm mattress, his jeans and belt from the day still on him. He scratched at the back of his calf with his opposite foot’s heel. “Y’hands feel nice.”
Bromden hummed an acknowledgement. He sat there, continuing repetitive motions across McMurphy’s body, letting himself look at every small part of McMurphy’s tattoos; examining them, interpreting them, writing an essay in his head about what they mean and theories as to why McMurphy had gotten them. There must have been so much more to them than Bromden would ever know or be told. He lifted his head to look at McMurphy, heart fluttering as he noticed McMurphy’s neutral expression. His lips parted, breathing calm and natural, eyes unopening. Bromden nudged delicately at their jawline with the knuckle of his thumb.
“Mac?” His voice down to a whisper, Bromden glanced between McMurphy’s face to his back, watching for any movement, and stutter of his body. Lowering his voice further, Bromden knelt down and let his breath hit the side of McMurphy’s neck, soft puffs of air from his nose tickling the base of their neck. Bromden shuddered, anxious, his mouth inches away from McMurphy’s skin.
“McMurphy?” Bromden froze, anticipating a swear, or a grunt, but nothing came. Nearly sweating off his own skin, Bromden quickly glanced at McMurphy’s eyes, and finding them closed, lowered his head and planted a small, nervous kiss to McMurphy’s neck. Shivering from adrenaline, Bromden swiftly laid down on his side, back to McMurphy as he stared at the wall of their motel room in the faint, near dark glow of the bedside table lamp. He curled himself up to fit onto the bed, covering his mouth and clutching at his jacket in the other hand, feeling the thick leather and fur between his fingers. His heart nearly jumped out his chest as he listened to McMurphy’s continuous, steady breathing, and the lack of movement or consciousness from them made Bromden’s insides twist in relief. “Hah.”