Chapter Text
“It’ll relax you.” They’d said.
“It feels so good.”
“Trying it just once won't hurt.”
These were the assurances playing through Mo’s head as he laid there on a slab of bathhouse marble.
Assurances that had turned out to be absolute, utter, flaming bullshit.
“Fuck!! Son of a—FUCK!!”
“Exfoliation is paramount to your health, young man. You’re long overdue.”
The stern words of the attendant offered no comfort as he scrubbed Mo down within an inch of his fucking life. The textured glove he wore may as well have been made of steel wool, with the way it raked across his skin, turning him bright red from neck to toe.
Mo wiggled and writhed on the stone beneath him, the iron grip of the attendant the only thing mitigating the flailing of his limbs. “Almost done, son. We’ve got to get every centimeter.”
Stone faced, the man’s hand zipped between Mo’s legs and dragged the glove along every last iota of available real-estate.
Years from now, Mo would maintain that he couldn’t be held responsible for his response. Eyes wide and tongue in his throat, his fist flew.
***
Ten minutes later, Mo hobbled to the hot spring. He gingerly eased himself into its steaming contents, wincing at the tingling sting brought on by his body’s contact with the water.
After settling himself on a bench, he looked up and shot the most withering look he could produce at the two men across from him.
To his minute satisfaction, the fair-haired one shuddered.
The darker-haired one eyed him carefully. “So. How’d it go?”
Mo held up his right hand, palm facing towards himself, putting on display knuckles that were even redder than the rest of him.
“I clocked the attendant in the jaw.”
Jian Yi had the nerve to look scandalized. “You what?? ”
Zheng Xi turned to the blond. “Pay up.”
Mo’s glower zeroed in on him, who merely shrugged.
“How are you even still here right now??” Jian Yi demanded. “You punched an employee!!”
“He says shit like that happens all the time. More to the point, I should fucking punch the two of you. ”
Jian Yi paled. Zheng Xi blinked.
“This was a fucking set up,” Mo ground out, gestering to his chest and arms. “I’m fucking raw. You chicken shits told me this would relax me, not remove my entire fucking epidermis. ”
Jian Yi was quick to object. “It’s just exfoliation, Mo!”
“He nearly exfoliated my fucking dick off!”
Jian Yi shuddered again, and a distinctly haunted look swept across Zheng Xi’s expression.
Realization dawned on Mo like a truck. “You knew!!”
Turning around, he hoisted himself back out of the water, ignoring his body’s protests and scrambling to wrap a towel around his exposed nether-bits.
“You two fucking knew that the scrubs here are basically seuxal assault! ‘It’ll be relaxing??’ ‘Relaxing,’ my shredded fucking asshole!”
“C’mon, Mo!! Don’t leave!” The whining hit Mo’s back as he began to stalk off. But what came next gave him pause. “If it wasn’t this bathhouse, it’d be another! You’re here on doctor’s orders!!”
He threw a glare over his shoulder, his line of sight meeting a pouting Jian Yi and the deadpanned stare of his boyfriend.
“He’s right.” The latter offered. “Your doctor will ask if you went during your next check up. And you know you can’t lie for shit.”
Mo groaned, tugging the hair at the crown of his head. I fucking hated it when they made good points.
“It wouldn’t even have to lie, though. I subjected myself to the fucking flaying, and took a soak. Are those not normal bathhouse activities?”
Zheng Xi remained unimpressed. “Everyone here is well aware that the primary reason you were ordered to a bathhouse is for the massage component.”
“Oh! I hear they have a masseuse that’s really cute.” Jian Yi’s fair brows waggled obnoxiously. “Maybe you’ll get paired with him.”
Mo grimaced. Fucking massages. He’d blanched when the doctor had given him the prescription with an extremely no-nonsense sort of look on her already stern face.
“It will help, it’s non-invasive, and it’s cheaper than other options.”
The final point had been the only thing to sway him. And the weight of how little this trip would cost him compared to other remedies was a heavy one, considering how wholly unconvinced he was by the “non-invasive” description.
A massage was one of the most invasive things he could think of. Just the idea of a complete stranger working their hands into his naked body for an hour made his fuking skin crawl.
He huffed, and felt a sharp twinge in his neck as he did so.
“It’s cheaper than other options.”
Fuck.
“Where are the fucking massage quarters.”
Grinning, Jian Yi raised a hand from the water to point. “Down the hall, two lefts and a right. Oh, and tell us if you get the cute guy!”
Mo didn’t deign that comment worthy of a response. Rolling his eyes, he made sure his towel was extra secure—gravely lamenting the bathhouse’s “no outside clothing” policy as he did so—and headed to face his doom.
Yi continued chattering away behind him. “Of course, he won't be anywhere near as sexy as you, Xixi. Don’t be jealou—ayah!!”
The distinct sound of a hand smacking none-to-gently against wet skin rang through the chamber.
***
Mo had been sitting on the massage table for approximately thirteen minutes.
This, he knew, because despite the fact that the room in which he sat had no clocks, and that his watch was currently trapped in a locker in the front of the establishment, after about five minutes in the room alone, he’d begun mentally counting away the seconds until the masseuse arrived.
At fifteen minutes, he’d leave, his doctor’s reaction be damned. He’d been guided in here by a pleasant—though nervous—looking woman, who told him to sit tight for “just a few moments.”
Mo huffed. Fifteen minutes does not a few moments make.
And the room’s ambiance was certainly doing jackshit to help his mood. Everything in it seemed to be some shade of tan or brown, save for the dozens of massive white candles whose light bathed the place in warm, buttery yellow.
Some would view that as romantic.
Mo viewed it as a fire hazard. A fucking corny one.
And something about this dim lighting, its warmth and flickering depth, made Mo increasingly more uncomfortable about the prospect of a massage. One hand fidgeting with a loose thread on his towel, he thought back to the horror that was the scrub-down and wondered whether it was taking so long for someone to come because all the masseuses refused to volunteer to tend to him for fear of their jaws.
With forty-four seconds remaining before Mo absconded, the door to the room clicked open.
“Hello, there. Sorry about the wait.”
Startled, Mo’s head swiveled towards the sound of the voice.
He blinked at the man that stood in the doorway, and blinked again. A deluge of adjectives scrolled through his mind.
Tall. Tanned. Broad. Lean. Narrow. Sharp. Thick. Dark. Long. Shiny.
“I was actually supposed to be with someone else, but the schedule got flipped at the last minute for reasons unknown to me…”
Mo wasn’t listening to a word. He registered nothing but the deep, calm timbre of that voice coming from that mouth. That face. That body.
And then the man looked up, voice trailing off as shockingly pale grey eyes pinned to hazel.
Mo’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. And then those eyes flickered down, towards the hand resting by his side.
“Ah. Well, that solves that. Good afternoon to our new, resident boxer.”
Heat collected in Mo’s cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. “Cute?” That was how Jian Yi chose to describe him? This dude….was fucking gorgeous. Which was… really fucking annoying . The extremely small possibility that he’d be able to relax during this little endeavor would be fucking steamrolled into oblivion with fucking Adonis over here touching all over him.
The man raised one dark, obscenely perfect brow, and Mo realized he’d said something else. Flushing even warmer, he mentally backhanded himself out of gawking like a fucking idiot.
“Uh…sorry. What was that?”
A smile tugged at one corner of wickedly perfect lips. “I asked if you could tell me whether there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with before we get started.” His gaze flicked to Mo’s fist again. “Verbally.”
Mo glared, embarrassment giving way to irritation. Chickenshits came in all shapes and sizes. Including jaw-dropping ones.
“I’m not a fan of massages,” he ground out. Part of him hoped the prick took offense to that.
But he simply leaned back against the marble ledge behind him, folding his arms in a way that displayed the cut muscle of his arms and chest under plain, white scrubs that had no reason fitting him so well. “Oh? Why’s that?”
“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.”
Mo’s frown dipped ever-lower. “Well, you asked! And I had to clarify, given what the fuck’s going on over at the fucking bathhouse!!”
He reached up a hand to rub across his mouth, and Mo had the distinct sense that he was wiping away a smile. “Yes. I heard that you raised some…objections to that.”
And then he winked. Winked.
Mo’s jaw ticked. Why was he entertaining this bullshit? And why couldn’t he stop fucking blushing?? He could feel his pulse in his cheeks at this point. Fucking Christ.
“Could you lay down for me, please? You can keep your towel on.”
Damn straight, he could. The only way he’d be removing this towel would be to use it as a rat-tail on this chicken dick.
Shifting sideways, Mo tentatively lifted one leg, resting it on the soft foam of the massage table, and then the other. Against the dark brown of the leather upholstery, his legs look even more alabaster than normal, the pink-hue from their earlier abuse fading.
“All the way, please.” Mo detected a smile in the man’s voice, but his expression looked neutral.
All the way? Catching his meaning after an embarrassing beat of confusion, Mo reclined backwards until the headrest cradled his skull.
A soft chuckle drafted towards his ears. “I would ask if you’re comfortable, but the stiffness of your limbs is all the answer I need. You’re a patron at a spa, Mo. Not a cadaver in a morgue.”
Mo clenched his fists, sorely tempted to use them again. “Are you always this much of an asswipe to your patrons?”
He wasn’t quite sure why he settled for a verbal objection instead of just walking the fuck out.
“Only when they make it this easy.”
A shit-eating, dazzling grin accompanied this taunt, and Mo opened his own mouth to spew a comeback sure to get him banned from the spa for life. But before he could speak, the man cut in again.
“Would you prefer to be on your stomach first? That way, you won’t have to look at me.”
Did he mean for that to sound so fucking suggestive?? “W-who says I have a problem looking at you??”
The man arched a brow, and Mo wished then and there that the table beneath him would swallow him whole. “Some people find staring at a masseuse awkward. But of course, if you’d rather be able to see me, I don’t mind.”
Christ help him. Ignoring the additional flair of heat in his face, Mo flipped over, keeping a white-knuckled grip on his towel as he did so. The head of the table was made of a circular attachment with a cushion-lined hole in the middle, allowing him to face-plant into it without suffocating himself.
But as he kept his eyes trained on the tanned tiles of the floor beneath him, he wondered whether he’d made the right decision in turning over. He could hear the soft footsteps produced by the masseuse wandering around the room, along with water from the nearby sink running, and the plastic-sounding snap of bottle covers opening and closing.
It set him on edge, the inability to see what exactly the man was doing.
The scent of lemon verbena tickled his nostrils.
“Let me know if you’d prefer a different fragrance in the infuser, and I’ll switch it out.”
Mo declined to answer for fear of admitting that lemon verbena was his favorite. He’d known the man for all of ten minutes, and yet already, he found the idea of saying or doing anything that could be considered as praising him to be absolutely revolting.
“My name is He Tian, by the way. In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” The rebuttal slips past Mo’s lips, and even as He Tian snorts in response, he knows he should feel at least a modicum of shame at his blatant rudeness. But he can’t find it in him to. This asshole started it.
And given that he did, mentally, Mo would exclusively be referring to him as “asshole,” “jackass,” “chickendick,” and the like for as long as he had to suffer his presence. So his given name frankly didn’t matter.
And said name didn’t fit him at all. Nothing about this prick was “heavenly.” Not even his looks.
A devil’s temptations can hardly be effective if he doesn’t look the part.
Expensive, black sneakers appeared within Mo’s field of vision, meaning that He Tian now stood directly facing his head.
“If at any point during the next hour, something I do makes you feel uncomfortable, let me know, and we’ll stop.”
And with that, Mo felt the gentle pressure of fingers slipping into his hair.
He held his breath, and the rest of his body followed suit, stilling completely. He changed his mind: immense gratitude for his decision to flip over on his front slammed into him.
Because he didn’t think he could handle this on his back. These warm fingers rubbing rhythmic, tender circles into his crown. This heat building in his chest. This sudden and unwelcome hammering of his pulse. These goosebumps erupting across his flesh, raising hairs with it. He wanted to leap off the table, to flee from this feeling, this invasion …
“The first time I ever got a scrub at the bathhouse here, I kicked the dude in the nuts.”
Mo’s mental spiraling skidded to a halt, replaced by complete shock.
“...seriously?”
“Yup. That loofah went below the waist, and my foot just took on a mind of its own. Ironically, it’s what led to me getting a job here. But I can still feel that uncle’s glare burning a hole in the back of my head whenever he's near.”
Despite himself, Mo huffed out a laugh. Was this guy trying to distract him? To…comfort him?
Those fingers dragged pressure from the top of his nape to his scalp, before kneading into the sensitive spots at the edge of his jaw, behind his ears. It felt…nice. He felt the muscles in his back begin to relax.
Until He Tian’s digits slipped down his neck again, their pads rubbing into the middle of its column.
Shit. Pain lanced through him, hot and sharp, and his limbs went rigid, his own fingers curling tightly into the fabric of the towel by his thighs.
“Shit, ” the other man breathed, echoing Mo’s thoughts. Concern laced the disbelief in his tone. “The muscles in your neck are insanely knotted. I expected some tightness given the scarring. But this is…”
He trailed off, gently prodding along the sides and front of Mo’s neck.
“Yeah…,” Mo hissed through gritted teeth, closing his eyes and willing himself not to start fucking shaking.
Realization crested upon He Tian, evident by his next words. “This is why the doctor sent you here. Why didn’t you say you had an injury this bad on the medical history form?” His voice is scolding now, harsh. “We give them to patrons for a reason.”
Mo wasn’t in the headspace to defend himself against admonishments. Thumbs rubbed into a particularly tender spot, and he groaned.
He found himself explaining before his mind could convince him otherwise. “I had…an accident a few years back that messed…up my neck.”
He was panting now, his words coming in short bursts around He Tian’s torturous ministrations.
“I’ve been…in physical…therapy ever since, but flare ups occur, and I…don’t like taking pain…meds. My…doctor suggested this…as an alternative.”
As Mo banished rogue mental images of white hair and cruel, twisting lips, a tense beat of silence was his only response. And then—
“I’m sorry.”
The words sounded sincere. So much so, that the pain radiating through Mo’s mind seemed to still momentarily. Those two, simple worlds held so much power. In Mo’s case, they were usually destructive, causing anger to sweep through him at the notes of pity that far too often harmonized with them.
But that anger was nowhere to be found.
Because that pity was nowhere to be found.
“I’m going to work my way into the scar tissue here. It will feel worse before it feels better. But I promise you, it will eventually feel better.”
And without another word of warning, he began.
If Mo thought those fingers were punishment before, this was incomparable.
White spots erupted behind his closed lids as ten points of searing pressure seemed to dig into the very tendons of his neck. His leg spasmed. His back trembled. And his agony ratcheted. How—why—he remained laying on the table was beyond him, but he did. Just barely. At a spot near his collarbone, something seemed to shift underneath He Tian’s left thumb, literally popping into place, and somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, Mo heard a whimper.
“Shhh. I know.”
That voice washed over him. Warm and deep like a salve, with all former traces of mockery or derision completely absent.
“I’m almost done. Shh...”
The fingers began glide in firm, measured strokes from the base of each clavicle up to his mandible. And with their movement, the aching thankfully, blessedly, began to dull.
Tension seeped from Mo’s body. His limbs and torso gradually relaxed, almost melting into the table beneath.
“There. All done, you see?” Knuckles created a rolling motion that nearly made Mo fucking purr , it felt so good. He found himself relaxing his clenched jaw in favor of biting his lip.
“I know that hurt a lot. But you were so good for me.”
…holy fuck.
Those words…the dwindling ache in his neck retreated further to make room for an ache of an entirely different nature. To his abject horror, Mo felt his cock stir. His eyes popped open.
“You don’t have any topical allergies, correct? Or did you leave that off the form, as well?”
“Um..n-no.” Mo stumbled over the response despite his simplicity, and didn’t even react to the blatant teasing. His mind was otherwise occupied wondering exactly what the fuck his dick was playing at.
He Tian’s hands left his skin, and Mo reeled over dueling feelings of relief and disappointment before they returned moments later, bringing a thick, sticky feeling and a potent, mint-like smell with them.
“Tiger balm,” He Tian explained, answering Mo’s silent question. “I’m going to send you home with the whole jar. It won’t cure the pain, but it’ll ease it during flares like this. I’m sure your doctor will approve, but feel free to have them check, if you’d like.”
Mo jerked his head in a nod, the movement made even more awkward by the restricted position of his face. Tiger…doctor…pain…the words fell on buzzing ears in a barely comprehensible jumble as He Tian’s hands roamed lower to swirl and stroke about his shoulders and upper back.
Thumbs glided underneath the outline of his shoulder blades, and Mo fucking shivered.
“Easy…,” came that soothing murmur once more. “You’re doing so well…”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Mo wanted to beg this man to shut the fuck up, the way his words made him throb in a way he couldn’t understand. Trying to be as discreet as possible, he squirmed his lower half in a desperate attempt to ease some of the ache between his legs. But the resulting friction of his towel rubbing against his length made things exponentially worse.
The faintest of groans slipped its way past his lips.
And of course, of course, He Tian heard it.
His palms, which had been kneading into his lower ribs, stopped.
“I’m sorry, love. Does this hurt?”
Mo’s synapses began to buffer.
Love?? Surely this..this fucking maniac—was fucking with him. He’d caught on to Mo’s…unfortunate reactions to his attempts at comforting him and had decided to have some fun with him. Outrage and humiliation bubbled up within him.
“I’m fine.” He snapped, ignoring the way his voice cracked on the second word.
Humming an acknowledgment, He Tian resumed his attentions, and Mo found himself wondering why he was allowing himself to be subjected to this insanity. He should just get up and go.
But if he were to stand up, his issue would be on display, and he could only imagine the shit this fucker would give him for it. It would probably lead to his fist flying for the second time that day. He thought of the way the masseuse’s scrubs fit snugly over his broad shoulders and tanned biceps. Of the veins in his forearms.
Yeah. Unlike the bathhouse attendant, Mo had no doubt that this guy’s fist would fly right back.
And while he could definitely, successfully, take him on, Mo wanted to get the fuck away from this place—away from him , as quickly as possible.
But he couldn’t do that and avoid humiliation with He Tian still in the room.
Maybe he could say he had to use the restroom? No…that wouldn’t make him actually leave the room.
He could just say he wanted to stop the session. But again, there was too high of a chance that He Tian wouldn’t leave the room before Mo.
Fuck.
Letting out a slow breath, Mo accepted his fate. He was well and truly trapped in this godforsaken room until he could get his crotch to chill the fuck out. But he was determined to succeed in this endeavor. Sure, he hadn’t run into an issue like this since he was in fucking high school, but that was all the more reason why it shouldn’t be that difficult to force his stiff one into submission.
Thumbs began to churn into his lower back, and Mo’s thoughts scrambled yet again.
His jaw dropped open. Why did that feel so fucking good? The room started to feel distinctly stuffy, and his panting became a hair’s breadth away from full-blown hyperventilation. Those fingers were like a fucking brand, the way their touch seared into him, and so dangerously close to the edge of his towel.
Said fabric shifted ever-so-slightly lower as He Tian rubbed into his pelvis, and at this point, Mo felt so overheated that he was sure his body was redder than it had been immediately after his earlier scrub-down.
He Tian swept his hands upwards, across the entire length of his back, before tracing them back down, keeping the pressure of his touch firm and even as he did so. He repeated this several times over, moving from shoulders to hips in measured strokes.
Rather than reverting to its flaccid state, Mo’s cock had become excruciatingly swollen. He could feel it weeping clear fluid, crying for release.
He was seconds away from giving into the urge to rut his hips into the table beneath him before those hands left his skin once more.
“There. I promised you it would end up feeling good, didn't I? And you held so still for me."
Mo couldn't respond if he’d wanted to. He’d swallowed his fucking tongue.
“Can you turn over for me please, love?”
*****