An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It’s four months overdue, but knead is finally finished :)
Warning: this work is NSFW!
Summary: An old wound leads Mo to a spa on doctor’s orders. His experience is anything but relaxing.
Tags: Romance, Humor, Smut, Praise Kink
“I don’t like strangers touching me. It’s fucking creepy.”
Mo’s mouth was foul at the best of times, but he usually made an effort to curb his preference for profanity in front of strangers. Especially strangers who were providing services to him. But this guy, with his shit-eating smirk and roaming eyes…he didn’t deserve politess. Something told Mo that those piercing eyes would see right through the facade, regardless.
“Hm.” The man’s legs mimicked his arms, crossing at the ankle. God. Why were they so long? And why did his uniform have to include white pants, as well?
White pants left nothing to the imagination.
Not that Mo would want to imagine anything about this prick, anyway.
“Being touched by strangers is a key component of a massage parlor. And a spa, in general.”
Dragging his eyes away from those legs and back up to that face, Mo searched it for signs of mockery. The man stared back, expression betraying nothing but faint curiosity.
“So why come to this den of creepiness in the first place?”
Mo didn’t buy it. He was definitely mocking him. He felt a sharp pain in his right fist and realized that he’d clenched it. “Doctor’s orders.”
Those eyes were back on his knuckles, and Mo became increasingly, uncomfortably aware of his state of undress.
“I see. Well, I’m going to have to touch you to do my job. But is there anywhere that you specifically don’t want me touching?”
Mo bristled. “Nowhere between here, or here,” he grumbled, gesturing from where the towel started at his waist to where it ended a little past mid-thigh.
The man’s smirk curled further. “That’s a given—Mo? Is it? I’m not that kind of masseuse, Mo.”
