Gift Fic for kitsune_hikaru
To: kitsune_hikaru
From: pinkpapyrus
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Title: Anticipation
Pairing/Group: Ryo/Uchi (appearances by Imai Tsubasa, Toda Erika, Inoue Mao, Becky, Ueno Juri, Katori Shingo)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Note: Happy holidays, kitsune_hikaru! I tried to make Tsubasa/Ueda work, but in the end I just couldn't wrap my mind around it well enough, so I went with Ryo/Uchi instead. I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Ryo's regular visits to a massage parlor have nothing to do with a certain masseur who works there.
Ryo is seven minutes late for his massage thanks to Yasu’s terrible directions and poorly-written kanji. The only reason Ryo found the spa at all is because an old woman saw him wandering around the shopping arcade, felt sorry for him, and took it upon herself to drag him there by the wrist.
The staff girl at the desk looks deeply amused when the tiny old woman ushers Ryo into the spa, pats him on the hand, and then shuffles off on her way.
“Your grandmother?” the girl asks.
Ryo hesitates. “Uh. Yeah. Um. I’m sorry I’m late. My friend gave me weird directions.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, smiling. “We’re not busy right now.” She sits him down on a sofa with several forms to fill out, then hurries back to the desk to answer the ringing phone.
Ryo writes out his full name before he realizes he’s using Roman letters.
After he’s finished with the required spaces, he goes to the counter and pays the fee for an hour, then she ushers him to a set of lockers to store his shoes and bag.
Waiting there is a guy in a white uniform around Ryo’s age. He gives Ryo a half smile, his lips turning inward instead of curving up.
Ryo nods and hopes that’s enough of a greeting.
He steps into a pair of plastic slippers and follows the guy to a changing room. The guy-probably his masseur, since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here-hands him a folded set of clothes made from cheap blue cotton, and Ryo automatically thanks him in English. The masseur’s eyebrows go up a little, curious, and Ryo says, “Uh,” and backs up (and trips) into the changing room.
It’s his fourth day back in Japan and his first day back at his university. He hasn’t spoken English since he left the States last week, even though his friends spent all day asking him to recite things out of magazines or sing English songs or translate Japanese idioms into English. It figures that he’d only do it now, right before another-fairly decent-looking-man rubs his hands all over his body.
Still, he’s pretty proud that his pronunciation of “th” is finally flawless after hours of practice in front of his bathroom mirror. Language, as Jin says, has become his bitch.
Ryo changes into the spa’s outfit, drops his damp clothes into a woven basket, and then carries the basket outside where the masseur leads him to a massage table in the corner of the room.
The place is cheap and kind of run-down, located in the basement of an arcade near the station, so Ryo wasn’t hoping for much in the way of privacy, and for the most part, the spa has lived down to his expectations. It’s just one large, poorly lit room with four massage tables, each one separated by a white folding screen. The lighting’s kind of classy, and the screens are a nice touch, he supposes. He’s had massages in the past where opening his eyes meant seeing all of the other customers staring up at the bright, sterile lights.
Ryo’s current masseur tips his head a bit and says, “I’m Uchi Hiroki.”
Ryo nods and stumbles a little on his own introduction. In the States, he rarely introduced himself to anyone; he just followed his host brother into bars and house parties and let him do it. Later, after Ryo’d made his own friends, he’d let them introduce him to more new people. It was always something simple like, “This is Ryo. He’s visiting from Japan,” or even just, “That’s Ryo.”
He didn’t realize until now how much he’s missed saying his own name; hardly anyone in the States could pronounce it right.
“Nice to meet you,” Uchi says, grinning. “Ready to start?”
Ryo says, “Right,” and climbs up onto the table. He stretches out on his stomach, careful of the pinch in his lower back, and shifts until his face is comfortably framed by the cushion. Uchi draws a thin blanket up around Ryo’s shoulders and asks him what part of his body needs attention.
Ryo hasn’t had anything resembling sex in six months, so he forgives himself for closing his eyes and stammering a little. He isn’t quite as lenient with himself, however, when he opens his eyes and automatically glances at Uchi’s crotch and-well. At least he’s on his stomach. He mumbles, “Lower back,” and then realizes he’s an idiot. Even though it’s true, he really doesn’t want this guy pawing at his lower body.
“Got it,” Uchi says, nonchalant.
And then Ryo bites down on his tongue because when Uchi presses his fingers into Ryo’s back, seriously, fuck.
Over the next five minutes, he feels every pain in his body flare up under the relentless pressure of Uchi’s fingers. From traveling for twenty-four hours straight, to enduring layovers and connecting flights, to jetlag, to classes, to family, to skimming his ex-girlfriend’s bitter emails, it all slices into Ryo’s nerves and makes his arms break out into goosebumps.
When he moans, half out of his mind, he almost doesn’t care.
Uchi hesitates. “Are you okay?” he asks, sounding nervous.
Ryo stammers, “Sorry,” and makes a mental note to let the ground eat him later.
Uchi makes a relieved noise and returns to pushing his hands up Ryo’s back and then spreading them out in a slow circle. Ryo breathes in slowly just as Uchi runs his thumbs down his spine, rubbing the ridges of a column of knots and-
“Fuck.”
It drawls rough and low from the bottom of Ryo’s throat, vulgar and foreign, and this time Uchi stops completely. Because he’s laughing too hard to continue.
Ryo hates himself more than somewhat today. His semi-interested erection shrinks down in dismay. He’s only ever visited massage parlors with friends, so it’s usually much less embarrassing when he makes noises. But now, without a friend to laugh with him, and the masseur laughing at him-
“Uchi-kun,” someone scolds. Deep voice, exasperated.
Uchi quiets down. “Sorry,” he says. He pats Ryo’s shoulder. “Just surprised me.”
“It’s fine,” Ryo grumbles.
He presses his probably red face deeper into the hollow face cushion as Uchi resumes where he left off.
“Are you American?” Uchi asks.
“No,” Ryo says. “I just studied abroad there recently.”
“Ohhh,” Uchi says. “Now it makes sense.” Ryo can hear him making sounds like suppressed chuckling until the same exasperated guy from earlier says, “Uchi-kun,” again.
Uchi doesn’t say much after that, for which Ryo’s profoundly grateful. He’d really rather not be mocked today. Or ever. At all. He gets enough of that at home from his brothers and at school from his obnoxious friends.
Then Uchi lifts the blanket and says, “Okay, turn over, please.”
Ryo’s mind plummets into the gutter.
“Nishikido-san?”
Ryo coughs. “S-sorry.” He squirms around onto his back, running through the most grotesque imagery he can think up as he does. No tenting on the massage table, no tenting on the massage table, no-
Uchi taps Ryo’s forehead, grinning, and holds up a pillow. Ryo lifts his head and becomes hyper-aware of his breathing as Uchi leans over him with the pillow. No suspicious sounds or movements, no suspicious sounds or movements, no tenting on the massage table. In an attempt to direct his gaze somewhere innocuous, Ryo catches sight of a man at the front desk eyeing him and Uchi with a small grin.
“All right,” Uchi says, beaming as he stands up again. “Ready for the second half?”
Ryo’s voice sounds raw when he says, “Sure. Um. Please continue.”
Some time later, he wakes up, baffled, to Uchi politely calling his last name.
“You fell asleep,” Uchi says.
Ryo tells himself he isn’t embarrassed and clears his throat. “Sorry.” He stretches his arms out above his head and sighs when something cracks and the pressure in his neck eases.
“I’m not surprised,” Uchi says, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re really tense. You should come back again soon. I couldn’t get all the knots undone, but I tried my best.”
“Thank you,” Ryo says. “Really. I feel…relaxed.”
“I’m glad,” Uchi says. He looks pleased. “So, while you’re changing, I’ll get you some water. I’ll meet you at the front, okay?”
“Sure.” Ryo stumbles off the table and escapes into the changing room. He puts his arm through the neck of his shirt three times, gives himself a withering scowl in the mirror, and emerges from the room three minutes later with half of his dignity in tatters.
Uchi hands him a cup of water in the lobby and Ryo sits down on the couch to gulp it down as fast as possible so he can get out of here, call Yasu, and complain about something for a while to make himself feel better.
The staff girl appears to be gone until Ryo notices the sound of a copy machine and a slim pair of legs behind the staff room curtain. The guy behind the desk-the one who saved Ryo from potential humiliation-is on the phone taking a reservation, but he gives Ryo a small smile during one of the pauses in his conversation.
“So, where in America did you study?” Uchi asks.
The cup’s still half full. Ryo says, “California,” and downs the rest so fast he almost chokes.
He can sense the smirk, so he ignores Uchi, leaves the cup on the table next to him, and stands.
The guy behind the desk hangs up as Ryo’s pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
Ryo takes a hopeful step toward the door. “Fine,” he says, nodding. “Thank you very much.”
“Come again,” Uchi says, flippant.
Ryo manages to push the door open and walk halfway up the stairs before he realizes Uchi said it in English. With an emphasis on “come.”
Later, as he’s walking home and chewing out Yasu over the phone for fucking up the directions and sucking at his native language, Ryo decides to make the spa a monthly thing.
Uchi’s often given some pretty deplorable jobs to do at the spa since he’s the newest, but the raunchiest of them all has to be cleaning the detox foot spas. It’s only ever older women who use them, and even though they’re all very sweet people who sometimes bring by food for the staff, the gunk that seeps out of their feet is nothing short of horrifying. On multiple occasions the images have followed Uchi home and into his nightmares.
Today, all four foot spas have been used and at least two of them have to be cleaned soon before the next round of customers arrives. Uchi whines about it for a while - sprawled out on the couch the way he could never do if customers were around - until Tsubasa, with his beautiful soul, buys Uchi some time away from the sink by giving him clerical stuff to do. They both know the foot spas have to be cleaned, though, and Tsubasa just doesn’t seem to love him enough to do it for him.
“I love you more than you deserve,” Tsubasa says, bent over the log book.
Uchi sits up a bit and leers. “Trade you something if you do it for me?”
Tsubasa ignores him, hiding his smile behind his hair.
“Your boyfriend won’t mind, right?” Uchi says, beaming.
“He might,” Tsubasa says. He flips a page in the log book, scratches his cheek, and halfheartedly adds, “You know, if I had one.”
“You don’t even try anymore,” Uchi complains.
Tsubasa absently hums agreement.
Uchi checks the clock and whines, “Tsubasa,” when he realizes he only has another hour until Yamaguchi-san arrives for her detox appointment. He’s just about to drop to his knees and offer something way better than love or commitment when the door chimes. He jumps up, startled, and sings out, “Welcome!” hoping it’s not their boss or-oh.
Fantastic. Day significantly improved.
Nishi…something hesitates in the doorway, looking much more relaxed than he was last month. His shoulders look looser and his jaw isn’t clenched to the point of popping. He’s also wearing much tighter jeans.
“Oh!” Tsubasa says, smiling. “You came back. Welcome.”
“I’m sorry,” Nishisomething says, “I didn’t make a reservation, but I hoped maybe…?”
Uchi stares at Tsubasa, halfway between begging and telling him he’s doing this.
Tsubasa glances at the clock above the desk and clearly has a silent war with himself. Shingo never drops by on weekdays-he has the main branch to run-but Tsubasa has an unerring sense of responsibility that’s usually charming but sometimes annoying as fuck. Today’s schedule is pretty tight, and they’re supposed to be using this slice of free time to clean up for the evening rush, but Uchi wouldn’t shut up about this guy for more than a week after his first visit and Tsubasa’s got to know how badly Uchi wants this guy to fill his slot right now.
So to speak.
Tsubasa tips his head to the side with a bit of uncertainty and asks Nishisomething, “Would you be willing to wait thirty minutes for a thirty-minute appointment?”
Uchi sees where he’s going with this. “I can clean them all in ten,” he says, trying to make his tone sound helpful instead of Tsubasa-kun, What the Fuck Are You Trying to Do to Me Here, Seriously.
Tsubasa gives him a skeptical look, one that’s both familiar and entirely undeserved. “If you can do it well in ten,” he says, then eyes the back room meaningfully.
Uchi gives Nishisomething a bright smile. He says, “Be with you in five,” and dashes behind the curtain to avoid the log book Tsubasa swipes at his head.
Five minutes later, Uchi strips off his plastic gloves, chucks them into the trash, and hurries back into the waiting area where Nishisomething’s awkwardly perched on the edge of one of the chairs. Judging by his posture, Uchi makes a safe guess that if he had taken one minute longer, Nishisomething would have bolted. Strangely nervous guy. Hot, though.
“Sorry for making you wait,” Uchi tells him, taking amusement from the way Nishisomething nearly leaps out of his chair. “Ready?”
“S-sure. Yeah.”
He leads Nishisomething to the changing room and makes a point to keep his hands to himself as he hands over the spa clothes.
This time Tsubasa’s busy with his own client, so Uchi tries to fit in as much conversation as he can with (“I’m sorry, would you remind me of your name?”) Nishikido. Aiming for casual, he says, “You know, you’d benefit a lot from an aromatherapy massage.” Which we’d have to do in the private room with oil and nakedness. “Just a thought for next time. It’s good for-” he smoothes his palms over Nishikido’s thighs, thumbs searching out the knots he found earlier, “-tension.”
Since Nishikido’s lying face up, Uchi has the pleasure of watching his face turn dark red as he says, “Uh, thanks for the recommendation.”
“My pleasure,” Uchi says, cheerful.
He spends the last ten minutes of Nishikido’s massage playing a game that involves running his fingers through Nishikido’s hair and trying to make goosebumps rise on his arms.
The whole session, short as it is, more than makes up for what he had to do to get all four detox foot spas clean in five minutes.
And he manages to slip Nishikido his card afterwards.
The following week, Ryo’s manager at Rodeo Crown offers him another shift on Friday evenings. It’ll knock his salary up a decent amount, at least enough that he’ll be able to afford that aromatherapy massage Uchi mentioned.
Not that he cares about his skin or whatever.
He just. Wants to have another guy rub oil on him.
Yeah, that’s much less weird than caring about his skin. Fuck.
Uchi’s in class when he reads Tsubasa’s mail.
Nishikido-kun just made an appointment for an “oil massage.” And he asked for you.
Uchi closes his phone and grins filthily at his professor for twenty minutes before he realizes 1) he’s doing it and 2) he should stop.
The day of Nishikido’s appointment is a Saturday and all the masseurs are booked solid. Even though there are several no-shows in the morning, the afternoon is chaos. Between noon and three, Uchi gives four massages (and cleans all four foot spas twice), Tsubasa handles the desk and five of their regular customers, Mao runs the detoxes, and Becky somehow gives six facials and a deep-tissue massage. To keep himself sane, Uchi keeps glancing at the private rooms where the aromatherapy massages take place. He does it enough that Mao catches him at it and starts laughing to herself at random intervals and unnerving her customers.
At eleven-thirty, Uchi finishes washing his tenth foot spa of the day and checks his phone. Waiting there is a message from an unfamiliar number:
Hello, this is Nishikido Ryo. You gave me your card that one time. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sending you this. I’m sorry to ask, but is it possible for me to move my appointment until eight-thirty? My boss asked me to stay late.
Uchi writes back, Sure! Not a problem at all. We’re pretty busy, too. I’ll need a massage when today’s over. With that sent, he hurries out to the counter. “Tsubasa-kun~,” he sings. “Can you move Nishikido to eight-thirty? And can I switch with whoever has that slot?”
Tsubasa jumps, startled, and says, “Sure. Give me a minute. Something’s….”
Uchi leans on his shoulder and squeezes his hip. “What’s wrong? Did you put something in the wrong font? Italicize something by accident?”
Tsubasa doesn’t react, so Uchi follows his eyes to the screen.
To borrow an expression from Nishikido, Fuck.
“Am I double-booked?”
Tsubasa says, “Y-yeah. For two-thirty.”
They both look up at the clock - one forty. Uchi winces.
For the next fifteen minutes, Tsubasa has a silent breakdown as he stares at the schedule and tries to figure out a way to make both appointments happen without inconveniencing anyone. Becky says she’ll ask one of her clients to push back her time, but Tsubasa won’t hear it. When he starts looking pale, Uchi sneaks into the back and calls Erika-chan, even though it’s the first day off she’s had in a month. She shows up twelve minutes after Uchi explains the problem and although Tsubasa’s clearly baffled to see her, Erika just pats him on the arm and tells him she forgot something in the back that she desperately needs on her day off, and, “Wow, don’t you guys look busy. Need help?”
Tsubasa looks like he’s about to cry from relief, and he doesn’t stop thanking her even after she’s led her customer into one of the private rooms.
Amused, Uchi gives him a twenty-second neck massage. Then he says, “Tell your boyfriend to finish this tonight, got it?” and Tsubasa just sighs, “Got it.”
Their boss shows up at five and handles the desk while Tsubasa does two appointments back-to-back. One of Uchi’s customers calls in to cancel, so he sits next to Shingo and does some of the accounting so Becky won’t have to do it tonight after she finishes her double-shift.
It’s the busiest Saturday they’ve had in recent memory, and it only gets worse after five. Shingo reviews the day’s schedule on a whim and realizes that the double-booking wasn’t entirely Tsubasa’s fault. A glitch in the software they use to keep track of appointments switched the timing out of its military setting and reshuffled some of the double-booked appointments into AM and PM slots.
“There are more?” Uchi asks, peering over his shoulder.
Shingo nods and says, “Hiro-chan, could you go find Erika, please?”
Shingo asks Erika if she’ll stay to cover the seven-thirty double-booking. She hesitates, and Uchi remembers the loud laughter he’d heard in the background when he called her earlier, but she says, “Sure, no problem,” and forces a smile.
The problem after that is a double-booking at eight, and then a triple-booking at eight-thirty. Shingo asks Uchi to call Koyama and Juri, but neither one answers his messages. The double-booking at eight is solved just in time by one customer’s cancelation, but they don’t have enough people to cover the triple-booking. Erika and Mao are with customers, so Tsubasa, Becky and Uchi spare a few minutes between appointments to help Shingo problem-solve.
And that’s when Nishikido walks in. For the appointment in ten minutes that he doesn’t have. Uchi’s mouth drops open in anguish.
“Fuck,” he moans.
His coworkers and Nishikido stare at him.
Uchi slaps both hands over his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he says into his palms. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Nishikido takes a step back, looking apprehensive.
Tsubasa makes a quiet noise next to Uchi. “I never changed the time, did I?” he says, eyes wide.
“Uh, it’s okay,” Nishikido says. “I can come back later?”
Shingo glances at Uchi and Tsubasa and puts enough of the pieces together. He turns to Nishikido with an apologetic smile and takes all of the blame on himself. Becky bumps Tsubasa’s shoulder to keep him from drowning in guilt while Uchi tries not to pull out fistfuls of his own hair.
Nishikido interrupts Shingo’s thorough apology, stumbling over his words to express how fine he is with rescheduling. He had nothing to do tonight anyway, it’s no problem, he lives really close, it’s no trouble, really. Shingo books him for a new slot the following day. It’s Uchi’s day off, but he’s in no position to object. Nishikido thanks Shingo, trips on the doorframe on his way out, and never once meets Uchi’s eyes.
Everyone else returns to the remaining problem of the triple-booking, but Uchi keeps staring at the door and tracing the outline of his phone in his pocket.
The next twenty minutes are hectic. Erika agrees to take one of the triple-booked appointments, and Tsubasa runs the seventeen-minute distance to Juri’s apartment in eight on the off-chance that she’s home to implore her to come in for the other appointment. At eight-nineteen, they hurry in together, panting.
Uchi’s last appointment is a thirty-minute foot detox, which he actually enjoys because it requires almost no thought or work for him. He just answers Kishimoto-san’s questions and smiles and pretends he isn’t silently hating himself.
At nine fifteen, Uchi trudges into the back for his jacket and sees Tsubasa in some guy’s arms, his face relaxed for the first time today. The guy looks from Tsubasa to Uchi with alarm, but Uchi’s too tired to play with his head.
“Hello, Tsubasa’s boyfriend,” he says, throwing a hand up for a wave.
“Sorry, Uchi-kun,” Tsubasa murmurs without opening his eyes or moving. “And I’m sorry for earlier, too.”
Uchi waves a hand, resigned. “Don’t be.” He gives the boyfriend a wry smile. “He had a really off day. Make sure he relaxes tonight, all right?”
The guy turns dark red. “Uh.”
Uchi ducks out of the room, spirits lifted slightly, and helps Becky and Mao clean up. At nine-thirty, Shingo thanks them all for going above the call and gives Juri a hug on impulse “because she’s wonderful” and Tsubasa one “because technology is cruel” and Uchi one because “he didn’t get to rub oil on a gorgeous boy today.”
Uchi gives Mao a glower, which she answers with a wide grin.
Uchi expects that they’ll go out for drinks to erase this agonizing day from history, but Shingo reluctantly admits to having plans, for which he seems disproportionately sorry. Uchi, on the other hand, doesn’t have anything resembling plans, so he asks the others individually in the staff room if they’re up for going out. Juri, Becky, and Mao all bow out with exhaustion as their excuse, and Erika says she has to make up for running out on her boyfriend’s private birthday party. Uchi doesn’t even bother asking Tsubasa, whose own boyfriend snuck out at some point and is probably hovering near the door.
Uchi and Becky are the last to leave, Becky because she usually locks up and Uchi because he doesn’t want to go home. He walks Becky to her bicycle and watches her cycle off up the street toward the station. Then he opens his phone for the first time in eight hours.
(1 Message)
FROM: Nishikido Ryo ♥
You looked really stressed just now, but please don’t worry about what happened today. If you’re free after work and you’re not too tired, would you like to have a drink together? My friends and I usually go to this small bar next to the station. It’s hard to miss-the door is pink.
N. Ryo
From: pinkpapyrus
HAPPY HOLIDAYS
Title: Anticipation
Pairing/Group: Ryo/Uchi (appearances by Imai Tsubasa, Toda Erika, Inoue Mao, Becky, Ueno Juri, Katori Shingo)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Note: Happy holidays, kitsune_hikaru! I tried to make Tsubasa/Ueda work, but in the end I just couldn't wrap my mind around it well enough, so I went with Ryo/Uchi instead. I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: Ryo's regular visits to a massage parlor have nothing to do with a certain masseur who works there.
Ryo is seven minutes late for his massage thanks to Yasu’s terrible directions and poorly-written kanji. The only reason Ryo found the spa at all is because an old woman saw him wandering around the shopping arcade, felt sorry for him, and took it upon herself to drag him there by the wrist.
The staff girl at the desk looks deeply amused when the tiny old woman ushers Ryo into the spa, pats him on the hand, and then shuffles off on her way.
“Your grandmother?” the girl asks.
Ryo hesitates. “Uh. Yeah. Um. I’m sorry I’m late. My friend gave me weird directions.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, smiling. “We’re not busy right now.” She sits him down on a sofa with several forms to fill out, then hurries back to the desk to answer the ringing phone.
Ryo writes out his full name before he realizes he’s using Roman letters.
After he’s finished with the required spaces, he goes to the counter and pays the fee for an hour, then she ushers him to a set of lockers to store his shoes and bag.
Waiting there is a guy in a white uniform around Ryo’s age. He gives Ryo a half smile, his lips turning inward instead of curving up.
Ryo nods and hopes that’s enough of a greeting.
He steps into a pair of plastic slippers and follows the guy to a changing room. The guy-probably his masseur, since there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here-hands him a folded set of clothes made from cheap blue cotton, and Ryo automatically thanks him in English. The masseur’s eyebrows go up a little, curious, and Ryo says, “Uh,” and backs up (and trips) into the changing room.
It’s his fourth day back in Japan and his first day back at his university. He hasn’t spoken English since he left the States last week, even though his friends spent all day asking him to recite things out of magazines or sing English songs or translate Japanese idioms into English. It figures that he’d only do it now, right before another-fairly decent-looking-man rubs his hands all over his body.
Still, he’s pretty proud that his pronunciation of “th” is finally flawless after hours of practice in front of his bathroom mirror. Language, as Jin says, has become his bitch.
Ryo changes into the spa’s outfit, drops his damp clothes into a woven basket, and then carries the basket outside where the masseur leads him to a massage table in the corner of the room.
The place is cheap and kind of run-down, located in the basement of an arcade near the station, so Ryo wasn’t hoping for much in the way of privacy, and for the most part, the spa has lived down to his expectations. It’s just one large, poorly lit room with four massage tables, each one separated by a white folding screen. The lighting’s kind of classy, and the screens are a nice touch, he supposes. He’s had massages in the past where opening his eyes meant seeing all of the other customers staring up at the bright, sterile lights.
Ryo’s current masseur tips his head a bit and says, “I’m Uchi Hiroki.”
Ryo nods and stumbles a little on his own introduction. In the States, he rarely introduced himself to anyone; he just followed his host brother into bars and house parties and let him do it. Later, after Ryo’d made his own friends, he’d let them introduce him to more new people. It was always something simple like, “This is Ryo. He’s visiting from Japan,” or even just, “That’s Ryo.”
He didn’t realize until now how much he’s missed saying his own name; hardly anyone in the States could pronounce it right.
“Nice to meet you,” Uchi says, grinning. “Ready to start?”
Ryo says, “Right,” and climbs up onto the table. He stretches out on his stomach, careful of the pinch in his lower back, and shifts until his face is comfortably framed by the cushion. Uchi draws a thin blanket up around Ryo’s shoulders and asks him what part of his body needs attention.
Ryo hasn’t had anything resembling sex in six months, so he forgives himself for closing his eyes and stammering a little. He isn’t quite as lenient with himself, however, when he opens his eyes and automatically glances at Uchi’s crotch and-well. At least he’s on his stomach. He mumbles, “Lower back,” and then realizes he’s an idiot. Even though it’s true, he really doesn’t want this guy pawing at his lower body.
“Got it,” Uchi says, nonchalant.
And then Ryo bites down on his tongue because when Uchi presses his fingers into Ryo’s back, seriously, fuck.
Over the next five minutes, he feels every pain in his body flare up under the relentless pressure of Uchi’s fingers. From traveling for twenty-four hours straight, to enduring layovers and connecting flights, to jetlag, to classes, to family, to skimming his ex-girlfriend’s bitter emails, it all slices into Ryo’s nerves and makes his arms break out into goosebumps.
When he moans, half out of his mind, he almost doesn’t care.
Uchi hesitates. “Are you okay?” he asks, sounding nervous.
Ryo stammers, “Sorry,” and makes a mental note to let the ground eat him later.
Uchi makes a relieved noise and returns to pushing his hands up Ryo’s back and then spreading them out in a slow circle. Ryo breathes in slowly just as Uchi runs his thumbs down his spine, rubbing the ridges of a column of knots and-
“Fuck.”
It drawls rough and low from the bottom of Ryo’s throat, vulgar and foreign, and this time Uchi stops completely. Because he’s laughing too hard to continue.
Ryo hates himself more than somewhat today. His semi-interested erection shrinks down in dismay. He’s only ever visited massage parlors with friends, so it’s usually much less embarrassing when he makes noises. But now, without a friend to laugh with him, and the masseur laughing at him-
“Uchi-kun,” someone scolds. Deep voice, exasperated.
Uchi quiets down. “Sorry,” he says. He pats Ryo’s shoulder. “Just surprised me.”
“It’s fine,” Ryo grumbles.
He presses his probably red face deeper into the hollow face cushion as Uchi resumes where he left off.
“Are you American?” Uchi asks.
“No,” Ryo says. “I just studied abroad there recently.”
“Ohhh,” Uchi says. “Now it makes sense.” Ryo can hear him making sounds like suppressed chuckling until the same exasperated guy from earlier says, “Uchi-kun,” again.
Uchi doesn’t say much after that, for which Ryo’s profoundly grateful. He’d really rather not be mocked today. Or ever. At all. He gets enough of that at home from his brothers and at school from his obnoxious friends.
Then Uchi lifts the blanket and says, “Okay, turn over, please.”
Ryo’s mind plummets into the gutter.
“Nishikido-san?”
Ryo coughs. “S-sorry.” He squirms around onto his back, running through the most grotesque imagery he can think up as he does. No tenting on the massage table, no tenting on the massage table, no-
Uchi taps Ryo’s forehead, grinning, and holds up a pillow. Ryo lifts his head and becomes hyper-aware of his breathing as Uchi leans over him with the pillow. No suspicious sounds or movements, no suspicious sounds or movements, no tenting on the massage table. In an attempt to direct his gaze somewhere innocuous, Ryo catches sight of a man at the front desk eyeing him and Uchi with a small grin.
“All right,” Uchi says, beaming as he stands up again. “Ready for the second half?”
Ryo’s voice sounds raw when he says, “Sure. Um. Please continue.”
Some time later, he wakes up, baffled, to Uchi politely calling his last name.
“You fell asleep,” Uchi says.
Ryo tells himself he isn’t embarrassed and clears his throat. “Sorry.” He stretches his arms out above his head and sighs when something cracks and the pressure in his neck eases.
“I’m not surprised,” Uchi says, patting him on the shoulder. “You’re really tense. You should come back again soon. I couldn’t get all the knots undone, but I tried my best.”
“Thank you,” Ryo says. “Really. I feel…relaxed.”
“I’m glad,” Uchi says. He looks pleased. “So, while you’re changing, I’ll get you some water. I’ll meet you at the front, okay?”
“Sure.” Ryo stumbles off the table and escapes into the changing room. He puts his arm through the neck of his shirt three times, gives himself a withering scowl in the mirror, and emerges from the room three minutes later with half of his dignity in tatters.
Uchi hands him a cup of water in the lobby and Ryo sits down on the couch to gulp it down as fast as possible so he can get out of here, call Yasu, and complain about something for a while to make himself feel better.
The staff girl appears to be gone until Ryo notices the sound of a copy machine and a slim pair of legs behind the staff room curtain. The guy behind the desk-the one who saved Ryo from potential humiliation-is on the phone taking a reservation, but he gives Ryo a small smile during one of the pauses in his conversation.
“So, where in America did you study?” Uchi asks.
The cup’s still half full. Ryo says, “California,” and downs the rest so fast he almost chokes.
He can sense the smirk, so he ignores Uchi, leaves the cup on the table next to him, and stands.
The guy behind the desk hangs up as Ryo’s pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
Ryo takes a hopeful step toward the door. “Fine,” he says, nodding. “Thank you very much.”
“Come again,” Uchi says, flippant.
Ryo manages to push the door open and walk halfway up the stairs before he realizes Uchi said it in English. With an emphasis on “come.”
Later, as he’s walking home and chewing out Yasu over the phone for fucking up the directions and sucking at his native language, Ryo decides to make the spa a monthly thing.
Uchi’s often given some pretty deplorable jobs to do at the spa since he’s the newest, but the raunchiest of them all has to be cleaning the detox foot spas. It’s only ever older women who use them, and even though they’re all very sweet people who sometimes bring by food for the staff, the gunk that seeps out of their feet is nothing short of horrifying. On multiple occasions the images have followed Uchi home and into his nightmares.
Today, all four foot spas have been used and at least two of them have to be cleaned soon before the next round of customers arrives. Uchi whines about it for a while - sprawled out on the couch the way he could never do if customers were around - until Tsubasa, with his beautiful soul, buys Uchi some time away from the sink by giving him clerical stuff to do. They both know the foot spas have to be cleaned, though, and Tsubasa just doesn’t seem to love him enough to do it for him.
“I love you more than you deserve,” Tsubasa says, bent over the log book.
Uchi sits up a bit and leers. “Trade you something if you do it for me?”
Tsubasa ignores him, hiding his smile behind his hair.
“Your boyfriend won’t mind, right?” Uchi says, beaming.
“He might,” Tsubasa says. He flips a page in the log book, scratches his cheek, and halfheartedly adds, “You know, if I had one.”
“You don’t even try anymore,” Uchi complains.
Tsubasa absently hums agreement.
Uchi checks the clock and whines, “Tsubasa,” when he realizes he only has another hour until Yamaguchi-san arrives for her detox appointment. He’s just about to drop to his knees and offer something way better than love or commitment when the door chimes. He jumps up, startled, and sings out, “Welcome!” hoping it’s not their boss or-oh.
Fantastic. Day significantly improved.
Nishi…something hesitates in the doorway, looking much more relaxed than he was last month. His shoulders look looser and his jaw isn’t clenched to the point of popping. He’s also wearing much tighter jeans.
“Oh!” Tsubasa says, smiling. “You came back. Welcome.”
“I’m sorry,” Nishisomething says, “I didn’t make a reservation, but I hoped maybe…?”
Uchi stares at Tsubasa, halfway between begging and telling him he’s doing this.
Tsubasa glances at the clock above the desk and clearly has a silent war with himself. Shingo never drops by on weekdays-he has the main branch to run-but Tsubasa has an unerring sense of responsibility that’s usually charming but sometimes annoying as fuck. Today’s schedule is pretty tight, and they’re supposed to be using this slice of free time to clean up for the evening rush, but Uchi wouldn’t shut up about this guy for more than a week after his first visit and Tsubasa’s got to know how badly Uchi wants this guy to fill his slot right now.
So to speak.
Tsubasa tips his head to the side with a bit of uncertainty and asks Nishisomething, “Would you be willing to wait thirty minutes for a thirty-minute appointment?”
Uchi sees where he’s going with this. “I can clean them all in ten,” he says, trying to make his tone sound helpful instead of Tsubasa-kun, What the Fuck Are You Trying to Do to Me Here, Seriously.
Tsubasa gives him a skeptical look, one that’s both familiar and entirely undeserved. “If you can do it well in ten,” he says, then eyes the back room meaningfully.
Uchi gives Nishisomething a bright smile. He says, “Be with you in five,” and dashes behind the curtain to avoid the log book Tsubasa swipes at his head.
Five minutes later, Uchi strips off his plastic gloves, chucks them into the trash, and hurries back into the waiting area where Nishisomething’s awkwardly perched on the edge of one of the chairs. Judging by his posture, Uchi makes a safe guess that if he had taken one minute longer, Nishisomething would have bolted. Strangely nervous guy. Hot, though.
“Sorry for making you wait,” Uchi tells him, taking amusement from the way Nishisomething nearly leaps out of his chair. “Ready?”
“S-sure. Yeah.”
He leads Nishisomething to the changing room and makes a point to keep his hands to himself as he hands over the spa clothes.
This time Tsubasa’s busy with his own client, so Uchi tries to fit in as much conversation as he can with (“I’m sorry, would you remind me of your name?”) Nishikido. Aiming for casual, he says, “You know, you’d benefit a lot from an aromatherapy massage.” Which we’d have to do in the private room with oil and nakedness. “Just a thought for next time. It’s good for-” he smoothes his palms over Nishikido’s thighs, thumbs searching out the knots he found earlier, “-tension.”
Since Nishikido’s lying face up, Uchi has the pleasure of watching his face turn dark red as he says, “Uh, thanks for the recommendation.”
“My pleasure,” Uchi says, cheerful.
He spends the last ten minutes of Nishikido’s massage playing a game that involves running his fingers through Nishikido’s hair and trying to make goosebumps rise on his arms.
The whole session, short as it is, more than makes up for what he had to do to get all four detox foot spas clean in five minutes.
And he manages to slip Nishikido his card afterwards.
The following week, Ryo’s manager at Rodeo Crown offers him another shift on Friday evenings. It’ll knock his salary up a decent amount, at least enough that he’ll be able to afford that aromatherapy massage Uchi mentioned.
Not that he cares about his skin or whatever.
He just. Wants to have another guy rub oil on him.
Yeah, that’s much less weird than caring about his skin. Fuck.
Uchi’s in class when he reads Tsubasa’s mail.
Nishikido-kun just made an appointment for an “oil massage.” And he asked for you.
Uchi closes his phone and grins filthily at his professor for twenty minutes before he realizes 1) he’s doing it and 2) he should stop.
The day of Nishikido’s appointment is a Saturday and all the masseurs are booked solid. Even though there are several no-shows in the morning, the afternoon is chaos. Between noon and three, Uchi gives four massages (and cleans all four foot spas twice), Tsubasa handles the desk and five of their regular customers, Mao runs the detoxes, and Becky somehow gives six facials and a deep-tissue massage. To keep himself sane, Uchi keeps glancing at the private rooms where the aromatherapy massages take place. He does it enough that Mao catches him at it and starts laughing to herself at random intervals and unnerving her customers.
At eleven-thirty, Uchi finishes washing his tenth foot spa of the day and checks his phone. Waiting there is a message from an unfamiliar number:
Hello, this is Nishikido Ryo. You gave me your card that one time. I hope you don’t mind that I’m sending you this. I’m sorry to ask, but is it possible for me to move my appointment until eight-thirty? My boss asked me to stay late.
Uchi writes back, Sure! Not a problem at all. We’re pretty busy, too. I’ll need a massage when today’s over. With that sent, he hurries out to the counter. “Tsubasa-kun~,” he sings. “Can you move Nishikido to eight-thirty? And can I switch with whoever has that slot?”
Tsubasa jumps, startled, and says, “Sure. Give me a minute. Something’s….”
Uchi leans on his shoulder and squeezes his hip. “What’s wrong? Did you put something in the wrong font? Italicize something by accident?”
Tsubasa doesn’t react, so Uchi follows his eyes to the screen.
To borrow an expression from Nishikido, Fuck.
“Am I double-booked?”
Tsubasa says, “Y-yeah. For two-thirty.”
They both look up at the clock - one forty. Uchi winces.
For the next fifteen minutes, Tsubasa has a silent breakdown as he stares at the schedule and tries to figure out a way to make both appointments happen without inconveniencing anyone. Becky says she’ll ask one of her clients to push back her time, but Tsubasa won’t hear it. When he starts looking pale, Uchi sneaks into the back and calls Erika-chan, even though it’s the first day off she’s had in a month. She shows up twelve minutes after Uchi explains the problem and although Tsubasa’s clearly baffled to see her, Erika just pats him on the arm and tells him she forgot something in the back that she desperately needs on her day off, and, “Wow, don’t you guys look busy. Need help?”
Tsubasa looks like he’s about to cry from relief, and he doesn’t stop thanking her even after she’s led her customer into one of the private rooms.
Amused, Uchi gives him a twenty-second neck massage. Then he says, “Tell your boyfriend to finish this tonight, got it?” and Tsubasa just sighs, “Got it.”
Their boss shows up at five and handles the desk while Tsubasa does two appointments back-to-back. One of Uchi’s customers calls in to cancel, so he sits next to Shingo and does some of the accounting so Becky won’t have to do it tonight after she finishes her double-shift.
It’s the busiest Saturday they’ve had in recent memory, and it only gets worse after five. Shingo reviews the day’s schedule on a whim and realizes that the double-booking wasn’t entirely Tsubasa’s fault. A glitch in the software they use to keep track of appointments switched the timing out of its military setting and reshuffled some of the double-booked appointments into AM and PM slots.
“There are more?” Uchi asks, peering over his shoulder.
Shingo nods and says, “Hiro-chan, could you go find Erika, please?”
Shingo asks Erika if she’ll stay to cover the seven-thirty double-booking. She hesitates, and Uchi remembers the loud laughter he’d heard in the background when he called her earlier, but she says, “Sure, no problem,” and forces a smile.
The problem after that is a double-booking at eight, and then a triple-booking at eight-thirty. Shingo asks Uchi to call Koyama and Juri, but neither one answers his messages. The double-booking at eight is solved just in time by one customer’s cancelation, but they don’t have enough people to cover the triple-booking. Erika and Mao are with customers, so Tsubasa, Becky and Uchi spare a few minutes between appointments to help Shingo problem-solve.
And that’s when Nishikido walks in. For the appointment in ten minutes that he doesn’t have. Uchi’s mouth drops open in anguish.
“Fuck,” he moans.
His coworkers and Nishikido stare at him.
Uchi slaps both hands over his mouth. “I’m so sorry,” he says into his palms. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Nishikido takes a step back, looking apprehensive.
Tsubasa makes a quiet noise next to Uchi. “I never changed the time, did I?” he says, eyes wide.
“Uh, it’s okay,” Nishikido says. “I can come back later?”
Shingo glances at Uchi and Tsubasa and puts enough of the pieces together. He turns to Nishikido with an apologetic smile and takes all of the blame on himself. Becky bumps Tsubasa’s shoulder to keep him from drowning in guilt while Uchi tries not to pull out fistfuls of his own hair.
Nishikido interrupts Shingo’s thorough apology, stumbling over his words to express how fine he is with rescheduling. He had nothing to do tonight anyway, it’s no problem, he lives really close, it’s no trouble, really. Shingo books him for a new slot the following day. It’s Uchi’s day off, but he’s in no position to object. Nishikido thanks Shingo, trips on the doorframe on his way out, and never once meets Uchi’s eyes.
Everyone else returns to the remaining problem of the triple-booking, but Uchi keeps staring at the door and tracing the outline of his phone in his pocket.
The next twenty minutes are hectic. Erika agrees to take one of the triple-booked appointments, and Tsubasa runs the seventeen-minute distance to Juri’s apartment in eight on the off-chance that she’s home to implore her to come in for the other appointment. At eight-nineteen, they hurry in together, panting.
Uchi’s last appointment is a thirty-minute foot detox, which he actually enjoys because it requires almost no thought or work for him. He just answers Kishimoto-san’s questions and smiles and pretends he isn’t silently hating himself.
At nine fifteen, Uchi trudges into the back for his jacket and sees Tsubasa in some guy’s arms, his face relaxed for the first time today. The guy looks from Tsubasa to Uchi with alarm, but Uchi’s too tired to play with his head.
“Hello, Tsubasa’s boyfriend,” he says, throwing a hand up for a wave.
“Sorry, Uchi-kun,” Tsubasa murmurs without opening his eyes or moving. “And I’m sorry for earlier, too.”
Uchi waves a hand, resigned. “Don’t be.” He gives the boyfriend a wry smile. “He had a really off day. Make sure he relaxes tonight, all right?”
The guy turns dark red. “Uh.”
Uchi ducks out of the room, spirits lifted slightly, and helps Becky and Mao clean up. At nine-thirty, Shingo thanks them all for going above the call and gives Juri a hug on impulse “because she’s wonderful” and Tsubasa one “because technology is cruel” and Uchi one because “he didn’t get to rub oil on a gorgeous boy today.”
Uchi gives Mao a glower, which she answers with a wide grin.
Uchi expects that they’ll go out for drinks to erase this agonizing day from history, but Shingo reluctantly admits to having plans, for which he seems disproportionately sorry. Uchi, on the other hand, doesn’t have anything resembling plans, so he asks the others individually in the staff room if they’re up for going out. Juri, Becky, and Mao all bow out with exhaustion as their excuse, and Erika says she has to make up for running out on her boyfriend’s private birthday party. Uchi doesn’t even bother asking Tsubasa, whose own boyfriend snuck out at some point and is probably hovering near the door.
Uchi and Becky are the last to leave, Becky because she usually locks up and Uchi because he doesn’t want to go home. He walks Becky to her bicycle and watches her cycle off up the street toward the station. Then he opens his phone for the first time in eight hours.
(1 Message)
FROM: Nishikido Ryo ♥
You looked really stressed just now, but please don’t worry about what happened today. If you’re free after work and you’re not too tired, would you like to have a drink together? My friends and I usually go to this small bar next to the station. It’s hard to miss-the door is pink.
N. Ryo