"Umm~"
The moan slipped out before she could catch it, low and unbidden, as his hands met her skin. Cold oil, slick and startling, spread across her back in slow, firm strokes.
The dim light in the room wrapped everything in a cool haze, making the air feel thicker, heavier against her bare shoulders. She lay there on the table, towel draped low over her hips, and each press of his fingers sent a shiver racing down her spine, pooling somewhere deeper.
"God, your hands," she murmured, shifting just a little under him, her body arching without meaning to.
The way his thumbs dug in, circling those tight spots along her muscles, it pulled at her, made her want to guide him sideways, toward the curve where her breast met her side.
Heat built slow between her thighs, a warm trickle she couldn't ignore, as his touch kept going, steady and knowing.
He worked quietly at first, but she heard his voice now, soft over the faint hum of the room's air. "Tell me about your day-to-day. What keeps you running around like this?"
She let out another breath, half moan, as his palms slid lower, easing the ache in her lower back. "It's just... home all day, you know? Husband's always buried in work, out till late. Leaves me rattling around the house, trying to fill the time."
The words came easy, spilling as his fingers found a knot and pressed, sending sparks through her. Liquid warmth spread further between her legs; she pressed her thighs together, subtle, but the need grew, insistent.
His hands never faltered, gliding over her skin like he knew every inch by feel alone. She could sense him leaning in closer, the warmth of his breath faint against her neck as he worked. "Sounds lonely. What do you do to unwind, besides this?"
A laugh bubbled up, but it caught on a gasp when his thumbs circled deeper. "This is it, really. Feels like the only time someone actually pays attention."
Her hips shifted again, restless now, the towel slipping just a fraction. The room smelled of lavender oil and something warmer, her own skin heating under his touch. "Hey... could you go a bit lower? Under the towel, maybe? My glutes are killing me."
He paused for a beat, then his voice came steady. "Sure. Whatever helps." His hands moved, careful but sure, slipping beneath the fabric to knead her ass, fingers firm against the curve.
She bit her lip, moans escaping freer now, the pressure building everywhere, making her pulse throb low in her belly.
Time blurred like that, his touches pulling her deeper into the haze, her words tumbling out about empty dinners and quiet nights.
But then the door shattered inward with a crack that split the air, wood splintering. A man burst through, his face twisted, eyes locking on them.
She froze, but it was too late. The man, her husband, saw Kael's hands under the towel and something snapped in him, his chest heaving.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKR!"
No words, just a roar as he yanked the pistol from his waistband, the metal glinting cold in the dim light.
Baam! Baam! Baam!
Shots exploded, one after another, the blasts slamming into her ears like thunder.
Kael's body jerked, hands slipping from her skin as he crumpled forward onto her back, warm and heavy.
Blood seeped hot against her, soaking through. She screamed, shrill and tearing from her throat, scrambling up, towel falling away as she spun to face him. "What did you do? Oh God, what did you do?!"
Her husband laughed, harsh and barking, shoving the empty gun back into his pants. "What I did? I killed the bastard fucking my wife. Now get your shit and let's go."
He grabbed her arm, fingers digging in like iron, yanking her toward the door. She stumbled after him, clothes clutched in her free hand, but her eyes stayed locked on Kael's form, slumped there, blood pooling dark on the floor.
----
The pain hit first, a fire blooming in his chest, spreading out like cracks in glass. Kael gasped, world tilting as he slid off the table, hitting the ground hard.
The woman's scream echoed distant now, muffled by the roar in his ears. His hands twitched, slick with oil and something warmer, stickier. Blood. His own.
Memories flickered unbidden, sharp and jagged. Small hands, his own as a kid, kneading dough in the kitchen while his parents laughed nearby. Then the crash, the screech of tires that took them away, leaving him alone in a world that felt too big, too empty.
He'd found solace in touch after that, learning how bodies held their hurts, how pressure here or there could unravel knots, bring ease.
Women's sighs under his hands, the way they softened, opened up; it became his purpose, art in the curve of a spine, satisfaction in every released breath.
Why did this happen? The question looped, heavy in his fading thoughts.
Her husband, the rage in his eyes, the gun barking without pause. No chance to explain, to say it was just work, just hands doing what they knew.
Vision blurred, the dim room swallowing into black. But then a glow sparked in the void, words forming sharp against the nothing.
[System awakening condition met.... Awakening the system....]
The letters hung there, puzzling, a pull in his gut like a hook before meaning could catch up. What...?
Darkness took it all.
----
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