.
.
..65th Spring, 515
.
..65th Spring, 515
.
"Like this?" Zhol asked, his fingertips massaging gently at the muscle knots and tension beneath the oil-softened skin, cautiously exploring the curves of the body that lay beneath his touch.
The Inarta - he hadn't taken the time to learn her name - responded slowly, and simply, well aware that the horse boy couldn't understand much more than small words. "Yes," she replied with contented enthusiasm, clearly pleased with how compliant Zhol was being with her instructions. "But harder."
Harder? Zhol obeyed, but not without reservation, well aware of how delicate the parts beneath his hands were. No small amount of thought was spared for what Khara's feelings in all this would be; but the Inarta had said harder, and so harder was what Zhol's hands performed. His fingers dug into a particularly tangible bundle of tension, the muscles between her shoulder blades stressed and twisted from the efforts of archery. Carefully his fingertips unravelled the knot, tracing spirals across the intoxicatingly smooth and supple skin.
An involuntary groan of satisfaction emerged from her, and Zhol felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, his efforts persisting, his hands progressing upwards to her shoulders, kneeding the tension away, before trailing off down her body, following the shape of her back and her hips, and then briefly further, a mere moment spent with his hands somewhere they weren't supposed to be. That fleeting contact was over in an instant though, his hands progressing back up her body. He'd heard different explanations of what massage was supposed to do - the practically minded said that it was to encourage blood flow, to guide the body's attention to the parts where it was needed; the more spiritual said that it aided the flux and flow of djed within the body, and had all manner of other effects that Zhol could neither recall or comprehend. It didn't matter to him what it did though; all he cared about was whether or not it felt good.
As his hands ran upwards again, his head lowered, a gentle kiss placed between Khara's shoulder blades. He could feel the stern look from the Inarta whose name he hadn't learned, but he didn't care. Zhol had brought Khara here for her benefit, a way to help her relax, and unwind, and relinquish some of the stress and tightly-wound anxiety that the last few days had instilled in both of them; not to mention the toll that both their lives up until now had taken. Eighteen days, and their marriage already had enough ups and downs to last a year; Zhol was determined to ensure that if Wind Reach insisted on throwing badness their way, he would utterly drown it out with good times and happiness, so that neither of them could remember a single dark thing.
That had been the plan, at least; a plan that he had foolishly saved as a surprise. Had he not, Khara might have said something. Failing that, her hesitance would have reminded him of the problem; reminded him of the way she flinched away from even the most fleeting of contacts with anyone else. He would have realised that a strange place, with a strange person's hands on her would have dredged up the very memories that Zhol wished he could reach in and incinerate from her mind. Had he told her where they were going, he wouldn't have had to see that momentary look of horror in Khara's eyes as they'd walked through the door, nor feel the gut-twisting guilt at all the things he'd utterly failed to consider.
Fortunately, his mind had acted quickly, and stumbled upon a solution: and so here they were, Khara's husband following the instructions of the masseuse, trying desperately to echo even a fraction of how it was supposed to feel, and make amends for his oversight.
"Is this okay, my love?" Zhol asked, his voice a whisper, his lips lingering close enough to Khara's skin to grace it with another gentle kiss.
"Like this?" Zhol asked, his fingertips massaging gently at the muscle knots and tension beneath the oil-softened skin, cautiously exploring the curves of the body that lay beneath his touch.
The Inarta - he hadn't taken the time to learn her name - responded slowly, and simply, well aware that the horse boy couldn't understand much more than small words. "Yes," she replied with contented enthusiasm, clearly pleased with how compliant Zhol was being with her instructions. "But harder."
Harder? Zhol obeyed, but not without reservation, well aware of how delicate the parts beneath his hands were. No small amount of thought was spared for what Khara's feelings in all this would be; but the Inarta had said harder, and so harder was what Zhol's hands performed. His fingers dug into a particularly tangible bundle of tension, the muscles between her shoulder blades stressed and twisted from the efforts of archery. Carefully his fingertips unravelled the knot, tracing spirals across the intoxicatingly smooth and supple skin.
An involuntary groan of satisfaction emerged from her, and Zhol felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, his efforts persisting, his hands progressing upwards to her shoulders, kneeding the tension away, before trailing off down her body, following the shape of her back and her hips, and then briefly further, a mere moment spent with his hands somewhere they weren't supposed to be. That fleeting contact was over in an instant though, his hands progressing back up her body. He'd heard different explanations of what massage was supposed to do - the practically minded said that it was to encourage blood flow, to guide the body's attention to the parts where it was needed; the more spiritual said that it aided the flux and flow of djed within the body, and had all manner of other effects that Zhol could neither recall or comprehend. It didn't matter to him what it did though; all he cared about was whether or not it felt good.
As his hands ran upwards again, his head lowered, a gentle kiss placed between Khara's shoulder blades. He could feel the stern look from the Inarta whose name he hadn't learned, but he didn't care. Zhol had brought Khara here for her benefit, a way to help her relax, and unwind, and relinquish some of the stress and tightly-wound anxiety that the last few days had instilled in both of them; not to mention the toll that both their lives up until now had taken. Eighteen days, and their marriage already had enough ups and downs to last a year; Zhol was determined to ensure that if Wind Reach insisted on throwing badness their way, he would utterly drown it out with good times and happiness, so that neither of them could remember a single dark thing.
That had been the plan, at least; a plan that he had foolishly saved as a surprise. Had he not, Khara might have said something. Failing that, her hesitance would have reminded him of the problem; reminded him of the way she flinched away from even the most fleeting of contacts with anyone else. He would have realised that a strange place, with a strange person's hands on her would have dredged up the very memories that Zhol wished he could reach in and incinerate from her mind. Had he told her where they were going, he wouldn't have had to see that momentary look of horror in Khara's eyes as they'd walked through the door, nor feel the gut-twisting guilt at all the things he'd utterly failed to consider.
Fortunately, his mind had acted quickly, and stumbled upon a solution: and so here they were, Khara's husband following the instructions of the masseuse, trying desperately to echo even a fraction of how it was supposed to feel, and make amends for his oversight.
"Is this okay, my love?" Zhol asked, his voice a whisper, his lips lingering close enough to Khara's skin to grace it with another gentle kiss.
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
...
This template was made by Khara, the letter Q, and the numbers 87 and 13.