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Ashton aches. That's normal. They're used to aching. But on the road, it just makes it worse. Sleeping on the ground, in the cold. And then it has to go and fucking rain because of course it does. Ashton's just sick of being in pain all the time.
The crew finally stops for the evening. It's still raining, and getting a shelter put together is about all they have the mental capacity for before collapsing onto his bed roll with a groan. They try stretching, drawing their arm over their chest and pressing fingers against the cracks of gold. All it does is ache worse, and Ashton lets their arm fall with a huff.
"You alright?"
Ashton's eyes fly open to find the concerned face of a tired looking halfling looking down at them. "Obviously not," they snap, rolling onto his side with a grunt of effort.
"Your shoulder?" Orym steps back and sits on his own bed roll. "Can't be helping any, sleeping on the ground. And the rain," he gestures vaguely towards the sky.
Ashton just grunts in acknowledgement.
Orym nods. "I know how you feel about touch, but...I could help. If you wanted." He shrugs. "A skill I picked up with the Ashari. Massages for injured and strained muscles."
Ashton lets the offer hang for a long moment. "Why the fuck are you even offering?"
"Because we need you. This jungle is strange and dangerous and we can't afford to have any of our members operating at a deficit."
"I'm not." Ashton protests. "I can still handle myself in a fight, if that's your concern. No need to put yourself out over some aches."
Orym spins his fingers at the ground, drawing a flower up from the dirt. "Wouldn't be putting me out. Need something to do to stay awake on watch, anyway. And if I can help you hurt a little less, well." A long silence passes. Ashton looks anywhere but at Orym, watches as the rest of the group feed the horses, pass around rations, then bed down.
Orym accepts the rations that are passed around. He voices intention to take first watch, but he doesn't make to leave his bed roll at Ashton's side. The fire is low and dull. Keeping it lit and warm will be hell in this weather, but he doesn't seem to mind the task.
"Okay," Ashton says, once the others have all settled down to sleep.
"Okay, what?" Orym's voice is soft, but he turns to look at Ashton.
The barbarian huffs. "Okay, I'll take the fucking massage." Ashton drags himself up to sitting and shifts closer to the fire. "You tell anyone about this, I'll smash you into a million fucking pieces."
Orym just shrugs. "You'll have to catch me, first," he teases. Then he motions for Ashton to sit beside him. "Just your shoulder, yeah?"
Ashton shakes his head, pointing at the glass slab that protects their brain. "My head, my neck, both shoulders, all down my left arm and down my side to my hip." He shrugs. "The rain makes it worse. The wet makes the metal cold. Makes everything ache inside."
The halfling nods, turning to rifle through his pack before holding out a vial of oil. "This okay to use?"
"What is it?" Ashton takes the dark red metal flask, uncapping it and taking a hesitant sniff. It's so strong it burns his nostrils. "Okay what the fuck?"
Orym laughs. "It's medicinal, Ash." And damn, why's he gotta say their name like that. "We steep cayenne in the oil, and that burning is good for the injury. Like hot water or ice, just, more." He shrugs. "Put a little on the inside of your wrist for me. Wanna make sure you're not allergic."
With a crinkle of eyebrows, Ashton tilts a drop onto his wrist. At least Orym was letting them do it themself, rather than grabbing for his hands. It was almost nice. Was that nice? Ashton isn't sure if respecting a boundary was nice or just the least they should expect. Either way it's new.
The oil touches Ashton's skin and warmth seeps down into the muscles. "Yeah. 'S fine." He shrugs, trying to loosen his shoulders. "Lemme just..." They set the flask aside and start unfastening the straps of their jacket, shedding it off shoulders into a crumpled heap that curls around their hips. "Alright just...warn me before you touch please."
Orym offers a short nod, stepping hesitantly closer. "Is there...somewhere you want me to start? That's hurting more or..." Even his voice is soft and hesitant. Like he's afraid Ashton will change his mind.
"Left shoulder always gives me hell," they offer. "But all of it aches after this rain."
"I'm going to have to be in your blind spot," Orym says. "Is that okay?"
Ashton takes a shuddering breath, but nods. "Y-yeah just. Please talk to me."
"Of course." Orym picks up the flask of oil before disappearing to Ashton's left. "Gonna start at your shoulder here."
There's a light clinking sound as Orym opens the flask, then Ashton flinches a bit at a gentle touch to his shoulder. "S-sorry." He murmurs. "Even with the warning it...startles me. Being touched when I can't see it."
"S'okay," Orym responds, small, dexterous hands gently working the burning oil into Ashton's tough skin. "I'm going to apply some pressure now. Tell me if it's too much."
Ashton hums in acknowledgement. "Yeah, okay." It's...weird. Ashton doesn't like being touched. He's not used to it and they sure as shit don't let it happen often. Hell, the only people they've allowed to touch him in years are Milo and Letters, and even then only when necessary. But this feels different, somehow. Orym's hands work against their aching muscles with a practiced skill. "How often do you Ashari get injured if this is a skill you've casually picked up?"
Orym chuckles. "More often than we'd like, but usually in training. You've seen me do the Zephra'tem. Pulled muscles are a common occurence, especially for the young men still learning how to sculpt their bodies through such rigor."
Ashton snorts. "Were you injured often?" He tries to ignore the way their shoulder twitches under Orym's touch. The residual nerve damage from being shattered to literal pieces.
"Not as often as others," Orym responds. "But I had an excellent teacher." His thumbs work down along a vein of gold. "Is this helping? The heat at least soothing the ache?"
Ashton is loathe to admit it, but yes. It's helping. "Could be a bit harder with it. I am made of stone, after all. But yes."
Orym just hums in acknowledgement, pressing his thumbs harder against Ashton's tough skin. "Is there anything I should not do? Anything I should avoid?" His fingers work up along Ashton's neck, and they tilt their head down to allow for it.
"The gold can pinch sometimes if you press too hard. Just...be easier over that." A shiver shoots down Ashton's spine just that Orym had cared to ask. The hands on his neck soften as they approach the thick slab of glass at his temple. He feels fingers tracing his jaw, the lines of his throat. Soft and gentle, working oil against his skin. They feel it burn, surprisingly pleasant.
"This feel okay?" Orym asks in response to a harsh little hiss.
Ashton's teeth grind. "Yeah," he grits out. "Actually... kinda feels good."
Finding a lack of words, the halfling instead begins humming. A soft little tune, but it's enough for Ashton to feel safe. Orym's firm fingers work magic over Ashton's sore spots. The genasi can't help but relax, the tension bleeding out of taut muscles. Their eyes fall shut, shoulders slack as dexterous fingers press against the edge of gold near his spine and follow around the curve of his ribcage.
"Stop," Ashton chokes out, body stiffening. Immediately, Orym's hands lift off their skin. "S-sorry."
"No need to apologize," Orym assures. "Do you want me to stop or adjust?"
Ashton swallows hard. "It's just... that's too..."
Orym's head tilts. "I was just following the gold. You said it hurts more there."
Ashton nods. "Yeah," he agrees. It's not much for a response. They force themself to take a deep breath. "Milo uh... left them off when they put me back together."
"Okay," Orym says simply. "Should I just... come around? Look you in the eye instead of talking over your shoulder?"
"Yeah, alright." Ashton shifts, crossing his arms firmly over their chest.
Orym deliberately shifts around Ashton's good side, settling between the barbarian and the fire. "Hey," he says, voice gentle. "If you wanna stop we can stop. No questions asked."
Ashton just stares at the other man for a long moment. "No, actually, it uh... that was helping."
"Okay," the halfling says again, shifting awkwardly. "Is this about the scars in general, or those specifically?"
Is the air getting thinner? Ashton isn't sure. Their chest suddenly feels tight, like there's a ton of stone pressing down on them where it used to be. Had he been so obvious?
"It's okay, ya know," Orym adds, filling the awkward silence. "It doesn't make a difference."
And that was it, wasn't it? The weight all at once seemed to lift off his chest. "It's not-"
"It doesn't matter," Orym insisted, cutting Ashton off. "Your body is your business."
"You're... not mad?"
Orym shrugs. "Why would I be?"
A rough clearing of his throat. "Because I uh, kept it to myself."
The halfling sighs, casually flicking his wrist to summon a great big leafy plant from the ground in which to sit on. "We all have things we keep to ourselves," he said, arms crossing, thumb panning over the moons on his bicep. "You're allowed secrets. You're allowed privacy."
Ashton thinks he's not allowed anything, but just catches themself before the thought escapes split lips. "Thank you," he manages. And it's about so much more than just a massage.
Orym nods. "Don't mention it."