Walking back into that same reception area felt different. The air was cooler, or maybe it was just the anticipation under my skin. I didn't have the excuse of a "wrecked" body this time—at least, not in the way I did before. This time, the tension was real.
When she came out to greet me, the "light banter" from the first visit was gone. It was replaced by a look that lasted a second too long, a quiet acknowledgment of what happened last time. "Your back?" she asked, her voice low. I nodded, and she gestured toward the hallway. "Follow me."
Once the door clicked shut behind us, the room felt smaller than before. The scent of the oil, sandalwood and something sharper, hit me like a memory. She didn't give the standard speech this time. she simply told me to remove my clothes and get comfortable on the table. She didn't say to keep my underwear on, and I wondered for a second if I was reading into it too much. Then she stepped out, closing the door softly, only to knock gently a minute later to see if I was ready.
When her hands finally found me, they didn't start with the cautious exploration of a stranger. There was a familiarity now. She started at the shoulders, but the pressure was slower, more deliberate. She focused on my lower back for a long time, her thumbs digging into the knots with a rhythmic, punishing pressure that felt like it was unravelling me. Every inch of movement from her hands was amplified. I was hyper-aware of the friction, the heat, and the way my own muscles were bracing.
She didn’t ask about the waistband this time. She pulled my underwear much lower, her thumbs tracing the edge of the fabric with a precision that felt like a dare. My reaction was to oblige, shifting my weight to let it come down freely. The silence wasn't empty. it was thick with the sound of my own shallow breathing and the slick, rhythmic slide of her hands.
When she reached the lower back, she paused. Just for a heartbeat. A hand rested there, warm and heavy, letting the heat sink through. It wasn't a massage technique; it was a claim.
"You’re even tighter than last time," she whispered, her breath brushing my skin. I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just let my eyes close, the quiet little spark from last session now a slow-burning fire that neither of us was trying to put out.
As she moved lower, the fabric of my underwear finally became a physical barrier, a nuisance to the work. I felt her fingers catch against the elastic, a deliberate friction that stalled the flow of her stroke. She paused, her hands resting heavy on the curve of my hip.
"Would you like to remove them?" she asked.
A low, breathless "Mmm, yes" was all I could manage.
The shift was instantaneous. Without the fabric, there was nothing left to buffer the sensation. She worked my glutes and thighs with long, firm strokes. Her fingertips brushed the heat of my swelling. A contact so deliberate it made my breath deepen. She didn't pull back. She just slowed down, her movements becoming agonisingly long, tracing the very edge of what I could handle.
Finally, she moved back to my lower back, stacking her hands and pressing down with a firm, grounding heat. She held the pressure there for a long moment before slowly, reluctantly, lifting her hands away.
"All done," she whispered. The words were clinical, but the tone was thick.
I heard the soft click of the oil bottle and her footsteps retreating toward the door. She paused at the handle, her silhouette still against the light from the hallway.
"See you next time," she said. It wasn’t a question.
I stayed there long after the door shut, my skin still humming. My muscles were finally loose, melted, but the rest of me was wound tighter than ever.
His hand stopped at the door, the ghost of a smile involuntarily crossing his face. Renzus…remembered being here, perhaps not so long ago. Before a great many things that had happened between him and Alexandra.
She turned him away, then. Understandable, considering that he was a stranger with an unusual request.
Today, he still had that unusual request. But after the things they’d faced side by side, Renzus somehow knew that she wouldn’t refuse this second time he asked. His reservations remained, though; he wasn’t sure he could exactly trust her with this particular secret that he guarded, but then again, he knew this was the first step to truly returning to the community he’d once…no, still called his home. By trusting people.
“Alexandra?” He asked, his knuckles gently tapping thrice on the wood of her door. “It’s Renzus. Is this a good time?”
—
Alexandra huffed under her breath, scoring a line through the parchment that she was scrawling on. It crinkled under her quill, but she ignored it as she dipped the tip in the inkwell and returned to writing. The letter to her former professor in Piltover - one of the few people of her past that she stayed in correspondence with - was one that was long overdue, and she was all too happy to finally get some free time to write-
The knock at the door interrupted her activity, and the woman frowned slightly to herself. It vanished a moment later upon hearing the voice. “Just a moment!” she called out.
Returning to the letter, she hummed softly under her breath before finishing the letter, inscribing her signature on the bottom before sealing it in an envelope. She addressed the correspondence before placing it aside to send later, then rose to answer the door. Trepidation stirred for a brief moment - the last few times they’d met, it had hardly been under good circumstances - Renzus seemed to be involved in the darker world of Valoran.
Don’t be stupid. You didn’t have to answer the request he made of you.
Shaking off her thoughts, she opened the door and looked over at the man before her. “Hello Renzus. Did you need something?” she asked.
As mãos do jardineiro cavaram a terra e esconderam as sementes, o barulho da pequena pá sendo arrastada era o único som que Accius fazia enquanto a natureza ao redor dele despertava com grunhidos peculiares. O jardim fechado era um luxo que Fiyero permitira que a família tivesse, achava lindo e um verdadeira cantinho de paz. Para cuidar dele, tinha o homem que conhecia todos os segredos para mantê-lo impecável. E por alguma perturbação secreta, o casal de chanceleres despertara junto com o sol naquele dia. Quando abriu os olhos, Fiyero notou que já estava sozinho na cama, ele olhou ao redor preguiçosamente e por conta da porta do armário aberta soube que Glinda passara por ali. A porta estava entreaberta e na estante havia um lugar vago, onde ele sabia que ela guardava as sapatilhas de pano que havia ganhado de presente no primeiro Solstício de Inverno que passaram em Shiz. A senhora Donaghan costurara cada ponto com muito cuidado, ela era a madrinha deles na universidade e parecia ser a mais feliz do vilarejo, apesar de eles serem os alunos que mais traziam adversidades. “Oras, essa, my red bears. Eu não me importo!” a velha sempre dizia enquanto trazia chocolate para eles, nas três xícaras que ela mesma tinha pintado e escrito o nome de cada um para quando fossem visitá-la. A diretora batia em sua porta semanalmente para interrogá-la e chamar sua atenção por conta da irresponsabilidade dos três alunos, ela quase nunca se aborrecia com eles. A casinha de madeira sempre estava enfeitada, como se nunca o Solstício de Inverno acabasse, era pequena, mas um tanto aconchegante, sempre aberta para Elphie, Fiyero e Glinda, que foram privilegiados por conseguirem uma das melhores madrinhas. Ela era como uma mãe, que os vestia, e não deixava que ficassem desamparados em nada, nem emocionalmente. “Eu não tenho todas aquelas coisas bonitas da gregória ou da caledônia, mas tomei a liberdade de fazer algo com minhas próprias mãos…” era sua frase que anunciava um presente.
Accius vivia no vilarejo do campus, era jardineiro de Shiz. Sua casa perto da ponte já recebera diversos apelidos, até mesmo Casa-Fantasma. Ele parecia conhecer cada estudante da universidade, e se lembrava do dia em que Suni Donaghan deu o presente à Glinda. Abaixado ali no meio das plantas, praticamente escondido enquanto se preparava para começar a podar um arbusto, reconheceu as sapatilhas que entravam no jardim. Ele sorriu em silencio com as lembranças e se levantou para cumprimentar a mulher que se aproximava -- Glinda Uppland, do reino de Oz, filha de Charlotte Uppland, guardiã das Terras Altas e neta de Suni Donaghan, madrinha de Shiz -- o jardineiro sorriu depois de dizer tudo de forma poética como sempre fazia. Acrescentar “neta de Suni” foi um impulso, ele não sabia que Glinda provavelmente não tinha conhecimento de que a mulher era mãe de sua mãe. Um segredo que por algum motivo ainda desconhecido, todos na família prefeririam guardar. “Sua avó viajou para muito distante e não dá notícias há anos, talvez esteja morta” era o que as governantas diziam a criança para que ela se aquietasse nos dia de seu aniversário quando a avó nunca aparecia, um dia que Glin tinha esperança de que todos viriam vê-la. “Ela não me ama” dizia contrariada aos sete anos enquanto a mãe penteava seus cabelos “Não diga isso.” Charlotte tentava acalmar a filha falando suavemente “Sabe que ela foi para muito longe e não pôde vir por causa das tempestades, mas te mandou isso” era sempre um presentinho aparentemente sem graça e simples. Mais uma boneca ou sandália feita à mão. Isso deixava a criança umas vezes irritada, e outras vezes sensibilizada. -- É sempre bom vê-la tão cedo -- Accius disse sorrindo enquanto recolhia suas coisas e ia até a mulher -- Hoje não é um bom dia para podar as plantas, vou deixar que se espalhem para onde queiram por mais uma lua, sim? -- ele fez uma leve reverência antes de começar a se dirigir para fora do jardim cantarolando -- Vive le vent, que vem de longe às cegas anunciar… Le segriet dos Altos Templos a quem a ele perguntar…
E assim que o velho já não podia ser ouvido, o som de uma voz máscula continuou cantando o ritmo com os lábios selados, se Glinda prestasse muita atenção saberia que o som vinha de logo por cima de seus ombros, do fôlego e sonoridade quase perfeita do Lorde que descansava o corpo numa das árvores atrás dela. -- Eu não queria expulsá-lo daqui -- foram as primeira palavras de Delário se referindo ao jardineiro -- Mas ele permaneceu desde muito cedo, e incansavelmente até agora. -- sua forma de Lorde o deixou duas vezes maior do que sua forma humana, e com os traços diferentes, além de uma voz que era capaz de provar o poder que ele tinha. -- Accius Donaghan. Eu daria muito para tê-lo em nosso Templo.
