|Ashur|| The man is stripped nude; his lower half is wrapped in a blanket for warmth and comfort as he lies upon the bed. Flat on his stomach, his arms folded beneath his head, face turned to the side, he rests with eyes closed and a willful diminishing of awareness; he seeks calm, not vigilance. The dark expanse of his shoulders, broad and powerful and so thick with muscle that someone could lose a finger tracing the definition, rise and fall with his breathing.
The muscles are heavy with knots, tight with tension, an ache in the tendons, the bones-- the general malaise of life when you're an immense man whose own physical nature brings stress to your joints.
Of course, the scar tissue, the healed-over bullet wounds, and all other signs of healing damage surely contribute to the general discomfort he feels.
"My Kumo," he rumbles, tiredly-- "Are you ready?"
The good doctor had offered to work out the kinks.
|Kurokumo Mibojin||It's further into the evening, Kurokumo having closed up shop at the Shantytown Clinic. Last thing she wants is Ashur tense and alert, if other patient or Dr. Iris decides to check the Exam Rooms. They're settled in his private room, the woman making sure that she chooses the right jar of oil to help the great beast relax. She smiles indulgently as Ashur's feet hang over the edge of the bed. "Yes, sweetheart. You push yourself too hard." She's always chiding, settling into the edge of the mattress as she dabs her fingers into the viscous liquid.|
|Ashur||"I ached less in my youth," he complains, thinking back to the forced marches of his early twenties. "But I'm stronger now than I was then." Time is the foe no warrior can overcome, in the end; he's nearing forty. A lifetime of battle and injury surely leaves scars deeper than simply marks on the skin. His braids are all lifted and pooled away from his torso, fanning out around his head like the black rays of a stylized sun. "I am fortunate that I have you, my little Kumo; your labor mends the broken." He remains completely still save for his lips.|
|Kurokumo Mibojin||"Forty? Look at you, bedding women half your age." Kurkumo grins, as practiced hands begin to gently rub the oil into toughened skin. A Doctor at 18, it would have been a dream come true centuries early. Now, it's simply a time for the Wastes, her own scars hidden from view.|
|Ashur|| "Almost," he corrects her, thinking back over his life. The feel of the oil on his skin makes him briefly tense, though the woman's hands soothe him after. "I'm.." A count; birthdays were not tracked, but he's had a rough sense of time. "In my thirties. Six, seven?" He's actually thirty-five, though his birthday looms on the horizon; well over thirty years of manual labor, brutal combat, heavy training, and injury after injury-- well over thirty years of cruel hard life without respite or compassion.
And now he's laying across a bed having a warm oil worked into his sore back in preparation for a massage. How things change.
"A woman is best young."
|Kurokumo Mibojin||Out of Ashur's line of sight, Kurokumo rolls her eyes at that proclamation. As if a woman has no 'use' when they're older. She somehow manages after years of smiling through misogyny not to express her irritation. "Let me know if I press too hard." After rubbing in the herb infused oils, her hands go to work pressing and smoothing out, finding a multitude of knots that lie hidden at all times.|
|Ashur|| Ashur's exhalation comes in near-feral growl; as Kumo's hands work and press and knead the firm scarred flesh, digging deep into the tissue, a calmness comes over him. To be tended to as such is a sweet feeling-- a feeling divorced from the literal sensation. "Good girl," he praises, rasps, falling silent as the lids of his eyes close firmer, growing heavy. "Don't worry about hurting me. Get in as deep as you need. A little bit of pain is worth helping the body heal."
He quiets then as she continues to work, but it's a few minutes later when he says, "How have you been, my Kumo? I do not ask that enough. Tell me about your day."
|Kurokumo Mibojin||Considering that Ashur had gotten knocked senseless a good while before, Kurokumo digs her thumbs along his spine closer to his corded neck. She's quiet, the work distracting her from what's really on her mind. Not often -anybody- asks her about her day. "I worked on making Lilu's recipies, so I have a few jars. Had to go to the market to get some ingredients..." Her words dwell on practicality, emotion stunted from years of keeping everything tucked away for rainy days.|
|Ashur||"Such a clever girl," he praises her, feeling her thumbs work the tension from his broad bullneck. "The cooling and then the heat are relaxing; it soothes. Thank you for that, my Kumo." Only now does he move, interrupting her work-- twisting an arm and bending it behind his back, the shoulder flexing, blindly seeking her hand. He finds the forearm first, crawls his fingers to the wrist, and then wraps her hand in his to hold it. "I love you. You needn't say more if you don't want to." A brush of his thumb along her knuckles, her hand is then released.|
|Kurokumo Mibojin||Kurokumo's hands still, the tender moment something she wasn't expecting at all. The downside with using the dual sensation oil is that it's constantly stimulating ther nerves in her palms and clinging to the insides of her nose. Not an unpleasant smell... The woman finds herself trying to focus, eyes tearing up but not quite losing the moisture just yet. "I...love you too." It comes out as a whisper, her throat closing as she's finding it a bit laborous to breath.|
|Ashur||The man quiets, and his arm folds beneath his great head again, brushing aside his dangling braids to do so. "Right there," he rumbles, when Kumo's thumbs begin to dig into a particular sore spot on the lower end of his left shoulder. A good deal of his armor pushes weight on that spot when he's wearing it. His idea of romance remains a blunt honesty and a straightforward possessiveness; all the same, it is sincere. "You will always belong to me. There's no need to worry about anything anymore."|