au where it was max and billy who got the High Emotions Hug instead of dustin and steve ((not that I dont adore the dustin and steve hug omg I've rewatched it so many mfin times))
massage therapist!law who’s always so professional. each client is cared for with sterile precision as he works each knot out of his clients muscles. ofc he gets the occasional older woman flirting with him (usually his regulars) but he never entertains it. he laughs politely or makes a coy remark here and there to placate them. but never out of line.
until one day you’re on his schedule. you’ve never seen him before (he definitely would’ve remembered you) and when he calls your name in the waiting area he’s not expecting you to be the one who looks up. most of his clientele are athletes or retired women. but you appeared in his open slot right at the end of the day… last minute. he was annoyed at first because he thought he’d be going home early tonight. excited at the prospect of having an actual evening. but he’s not one to complain.
especially now as the two of you stand in the room. door closed and on opposite sides of the bed. you seem unbothered as he asks you if you have any pain. what your preferences are. what pressure you like. and you answer them all with practiced ease. all while casually undressing. it starts with your earrings. then the rings that adorn your fingers. you toe off your shoes next. unzipping your jacket.
he briefly wonders when you plan on stopping. he’s distracted. you’re attractive. and startlingly enough, he’s attracted to you. and usually with first time clients there’s a bit of shyness. a hesitancy. an over politeness.
but not with you. you must be a regular he never sees. because you’ve definitely done this before.
“undress until you’re most comfortable and we’ll start face down.” he’s inching to the door. ready to leave. for a moment to catch his breath and recompose himself. “i’ll be back in two minutes.”
outside the door law is practically counting the seconds. wondering why you make him feel so off kilter. he touches bodies all day. he touches them for a living. he’s almost desensitized to the feel of a body beneath the palms of his hands. it’s his job. but the idea of touching you makes him nervous. mostly because somewhere in the back of his mind, slumbering peacefully away, his excitement starts to wake up.
he knocks and your voice filters through the door. thankfully you’re tucked away beneath the sheets, face comfortably settled in the headrest when he enters. and the first thing law does is shut off the lights. in the dark law’s nerves reduce to a simmer. and he’s grateful for that much at least.
“how’s the pressure?” he asks as his hands wipe broad strokes across your back, careful not to put too much of his weight behind it.
“you can go a little harder,” you mutter towards the floor.
he readjusts his stance, sweeping his hands outwards so his thumbs sit on either side of your spine. “how’s this?”
“that’s,” you sigh as he drags his thumbs down your back, digging into the obvious tension there, “yeah. that’s perfect.”
he makes a mental note to refrain from asking you anymore questions. your voice has taken on a dreaminess that’s muddling his senses. and instead of going to his head or fueling his ego, your words head further south. somewhere entirely inappropriate. and you keep humming as he works. wholly distracting. he needs to get it together.
but it’s satisfying feeling you completely relax under his touch. you are tense. your muscles are stiff, yet you don’t resist him when he moves you subtly on the bed.
law, for lack of a better word, is having fun. you’re the perfect client. responsive. open. and undeniably comfortable.
“feeling better?” he asks when he’s finally done. the hour passed by alarmingly fast as he somehow lost himself within it. you blink up at him slowly, sleepily. with the softest, most content smile tugging at your lips. he’s trying ridiculously hard to remain composed.
“oh my god yeah.” you offer him a breathless laugh, head falling to the side as you look up at him. “you’re really good at your job.”
the compliment sinks deep in his stomach. the irresponsible feeling of something he knows is wrong settles low in his gut. curling itself into a shape that’s nearly unrecognizable but something he knows well regardless.
“well thank you,” he coughs out, unsure. “would you like me to grab you some water?”
you hum again, pleased, as you nod at him. your hands resting on your chest while the blanket is tucked safely beneath your arms.
and as he waits for you to exit the room, small cup in hand, he wonders if you’ll see him again. if he even wants to see you again. well, he knows he does, but he also knows he probably shouldn’t.
“thanks,” you whisper in the quiet hall as you exit the room, fully dressed and completely satiated, and pluck the cup gently from his grasp. your fingers graze his. the touch seemingly accidental, but purposefully sending a spark of lightning coursing down his spine. he tries incredibly hard to keep the tingles at bay. he feels almost silly since he spent the last hour with his hands all over you. but this is the first time where you’re touching him.
“have a nice rest of your night,” he says, dipping his head politely at you.
“you too,” you smile, shoulders lifting up and falling softly as your eyes meet one last time.
and he shouldn’t be nosy as you check out. but he stands hidden in the hallway while you answer their questions.
“how was the massage?”
“oh, it was amazing,” you gush, and pride flickers in his chest.
“that’s great to hear. would you like to book with him again?”
you laugh, the same breathy chuckle as before, and he wishes mildly that he could see you.
“i don’t know actually,” you answer, your voice suddenly timid. the pride that was just taking up space in his chest replaced by a sudden disappointment.
“you know,” your voice drops to another whisper and he has to lean closer to make out your next words, “sometimes people can be too hot for certain jobs.”
there’s a gasp. a series of giggles. and law is now very thankful he cannot see you. eternally grateful that you cannot see him. and now urgently needing to get his ass home.
American newspapers during the mid 19th century were the biggest rusame shippers in existence 🥹 (also fruk shippers but in a very negative way) and so much of what they said was prophetic in nature.
