Acupressure
((Wow I can't write anymore. I had my first massage/acupressure experience over the weekend in KC, and I distracted myself from the pain by thinking about a Sterek AU. After we were done my cousin told me I should have told them less pressure...I didn't realize that was an option.))
Derek all but slapped the certificate down on the counter, lowering his eyebrows at the girl running the desk as if she would decipher what it all meant. Mainly that he was hacked off that Laura had bought him the voucher in the first place, and then had further infuriated him by forcing him to actually use it.
But he was here now, and if he could survive the next hour he could go on with his life. Plus he could rub it in her face that massages, no; reflexology and acupressure weren’t going to cure him. Because all of his problems didn’t stem from muscles tense from working out too long or too hard, and a simple little massage wouldn’t help at all.
The look the girl gave him showed just how unimpressed she was with his, well, everything, and with a toss of her red hair she finally graced him with a smile. “Mr. Hale. How nice to finally meet you. You’ll be at station three, all the way down the hall and to the left.”
It wasn’t a full room, just a curtained off area with the dark red drapery muting most of the few sounds permitted in the building. He stared at the low bed begrudgingly, toeing off his sneakers and then his socks and pushing them against the wall before kneeling down on the towel awkwardly; staring at the place he knew he would put his head. But what did he do. Was it customary to lie down before the masseuse got there? Where was he supposed to put his arms.
He was still debating when the curtain moved again, and he turned to see a man joining him in the space. It was impossible not to let his eyes drift down him, from his mussed up bed hair to his moles and beyond, lingering for a moment on his hands specifically. Those fingers. They were about to be all over him.
Realizing things would get awkward quickly if he didn’t lie down, and with the quick but jerky movements urging him to do so from the man, he flopped down, bringing his arms down to his sides somewhat awkwardly.
“A Hale, and older than Cora…you must be Derek.” His voice was so quiet that Derek could tell it wouldn’t carry outside the curtain, and he nodded awkwardly with his face pressed to the bed. “Laura will be happy to know you finally came.”
That seemed to be it as far as talk went, because the next moment there were hands on his back.
Pressing down.
Hard.
Then they moved down a few inches and the process repeated, all the way down to wear his back rounded out into his butt.
It was probably meant to pop his back, and Derek’s back was having none of it. But it certainly wasn’t because the other guy didn’t have enough force. Actually, considering how lithe he was he was rather strong.
Derek’s thoughts had distracted him from the man’s movements, so the next thing he knew there were hands pushing along the right side of his back. The pushes were strong enough that his entire body rocked from side to side as the hands moved down his back, going exactly one push farther than he would have thought. It actually hurt, and he was glad when it all stopped.
But only to give the guy time to move to his other side. Then it started again, the same rocking and pushing moment that made him feel like a batch of bread dough being kneaded into submission. And now he started talking, a low hum of noise that was sadly not enough to distract him. “She got that certificate ages ago. We don’t normally do things like that but she agreed to give my friend Scott Yoga and breathing lessons. Sweetest guy you’ll ever meet but lets just say he’s not named Grace for a reason.” Then there was some light kneading on his neck, giving him time to relax as the softly lilting voice continued speaking above him, knowing if he was tense it would just make things harder on everyone.
“By the way my name is Stiles,” the guy—Stiles—whispered as he moved back to Derek’s left. Before he even had a chance to respond there was pressure up by his shoulder blades, swirling movements that looped and slowly moved down his back. Which sounded wonderful, but in all actuality it was just on the side on painful to be enjoyable. And still his back wasn’t popping. For one frantic moment he wondered why on earth he was paying to let someone torture him like this, and then he remembered. Laura. It was always Laura. Only she would be able to pass off a free torture session as a much needed massage. Force of will alone had him consciously trying to relax and kept him from groaning or crying out, especially as the sharp little elbow reached the base of his back and dug into his ass.
Then it kept going, and suddenly Derek remembered this was a full body massage.
His whole leg tensed up as the guy moved his ever-circling elbow to the back of his upper thigh, and wasn’t that a revelation. Hello sensitivity. Finally Stiles reached his calf and then there were fingers moving along the muscle there, lulling him into a false sense of security.
The elbow traveled up the same way it had travelled down.
He almost cried when Stiles switched sides, but instead he gritted his teeth and bore with it, trying to relax and trying to ignore the pain as he listened to the ramblings of the other staff that worked there, all in the same quiet voice that occasionally flashed with passion or humor. It would feel better in the long run. It had to. It couldn’t possibly get any worse.
It did get better. There were nimble hands on his neck, moving up to the base of his head and then back down, the two hands spreading out and the slender fingers he had been admiring, had been imagining on him, were set in place for a nice shoulder massage.
Then they dug into the flesh, each point a point of pressure and therefore pain, and starting to move down his spine. He would have actually paid for Stiles’ fingers to gain some extra cushion and he would have been perfectly happy to never see the nimble torture instruments again.
Then the double handed pressure began again. Pushing him this way and that and rocking him along the entire bed, but this time from above. He could only watch as his entire body was rocked down with the force of motion, his window to look and breath through moving up until he had to keep his mouth closed if he wanted to avoid licking the face rest.
It was a relief with finally Stiles started hitting him with his fists.
He lay there and took it, and then there was a light tap on his back. He ignored it, not sure if it was just the next stage of his torture, then Stiles tapped him again. “Hey. Dude. I need you to turn over for me, okay big guy?”
Derek managed to raise himself up and turn over, sitting in a daze as Stiles propped up the bed and put a pillow behind his head, guiding him onto it. Then he moved to the base of the bed and knelt. There was an awkward moment as Stiles manhandled his feet onto a towel and Derek wasn’t quite sure what to do to help him. He could feel his pant legs being rolled up to his knees and his eyes fluttered closed, only to snap open as a wet slicking noise filled the air.
Wet warmth spread along his foot and up his calf, and Derek leaned back fully and closed his eyes again, giving in to the feeling. This. This was relaxing. He would pay for this. Sure hands rubbed along, increasing his circulation, then his foot was set back down on the towel and covered and the process repeated on the other leg.
When that was finished Stiles started to focus on his foot, fingers intent on rubbing the oil between each toe, and Derek had to concentrate on not laughing or curling his foot away from him. It helped that Stiles was explaining his movements now, apparently feeling more at east working on feet and ankles. An odd element, but nothing about the man was normal. Finally Stiles moved down, working on the arch of his foot and it didn’t tickle anymore, leaving Derek to fall into a state of bliss. The hands worked their way up his leg to work his calf muscles before moving back, pressing points along his heel meant to relieve tension or check his reflexes, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. Then it all started to repeat on his other foot, and he realized this was going to be over much too soon.
Maybe if he asked a question it would make Stiles lose his place or concentration and he would take more time. He was desperately racking his brain for a question. He had finally realized he could ask Stiles to explain the differences in acupressure and a massage (though he really felt he knew what it was by now) simply because it would probably take the most amount of time when he looked down to see Stiles pull out a warm wet rag and start wiping the massage oil off his calves and feet. So his nicely worded question about Stiles’ job came out sounding suspiciously like “you wanna go out sometime?”
Stiles’ hands froze, the first moment of stillness since the acupressure had started, and then he winked at Derek. “Yeah, I normally get that at the end of the session. Magic fingers you know.” He wiggled them to illustrate, and Derek had horrible flashbacks to a cheer movie Laura had made him watch that he was trying to forget. 14 years later.
“I will pay you to never touch my back again,” Derek told him instead before he snapped his mouth closed. Stiles’ mouth on the other hand was gaping open, and even in the dim light Derek thought he could see his skin flushing. “I mean. It was fine. You were fine. You have magic fingers or whatever.” Derek could feel mortification creeping up his own face, and without much thought he swung his legs to the side of the bed, leaning down to scoop up his shoes and fleeing before Stiles could think too much of it.
He made it past the girl at the counter and all the way outside before he remembered he was supposed to leave a tip. Well, he could leave that at the desk easily enough. Pulling out a bill from the back of his wallet he darted back into the door, holding out the bill. “This is for Stiles,” he said, wincing as his voice broke the tranquility of the room and the girl shot him a look with another toss of her hair. She had to have ridiculous neck muscles by now.
“I’d rather have your number I think,” a voice said behind him, and he whirled around. Now that he was standing next to him he realized that they were almost the same height, and those whiskey colored eyes that would probably haunt his more mortifying dreams were staring into his before darting down and widening. “But if that’s really Ben Franklin I might have to go for both.”
“Stiles,” the girl hissed. “Take it outside.”
“Sorry Lyds!” Stiles hissed, then grabbed Derek’s arm and pulled him toward the door. And wasn’t this ridiculous, Derek stumbling around without even his socks on, trying to pay the guy he just asked out.
Stiles let go of him as soon as they were out of the doors and on the sidewalk, pacing several steps away before turning back and speaking a mile a minute.
“Look, I’ve already got a regular booked and I have to get back in there. But if you’re serious why don’t you put that tip back in your wallet and meet me at the diner on 15th in an hour and a half. You can do the talking while I eat my weight in curly fries that you’re going to pay for and we’ll see where we go from there? Not that your back muscles weren’t convincing enough even through the shirt and towel, but I actually know how crazy your sisters are and I’m going to need some sort of reassurance before I get involved in the Hale brand of weird. Not that you’re weird just…diner? 15th? Deal? Deal.”
Derek was still blinking and processing by the time Stiles scrambled inside, but he found himself smiling as he pulled on his socks and shoes and made it over to the Camaro, trying to figure out what he was going to do to waste an hour and a half.