RP: Aches
Who: Rita, anyone
When: Sept 9th, evening
Where: Garden
Rating: TBA
Summary: This manual labour stuff is hard work, and Rita thinks she deserves a drink.
Status: Complete
( she wouldn't have said no to a massage, either, but somehow she doubted that was going to happen )
When: Sept 9th, evening
Where: Garden
Rating: TBA
Summary: This manual labour stuff is hard work, and Rita thinks she deserves a drink.
Status: Complete
( she wouldn't have said no to a massage, either, but somehow she doubted that was going to happen )
Rita watched the tender little moment between the two Gryffindors, and wondered what on earth had come over Romilda. She'd gone strange as soon as the weed came out, and now seemed to have turned sullen and silent.
"Brave man," Rita remarked as she watched Neville pour himself a glass of champagne. "Mixing firewhiskey and weed with bubbly. Truly Gryffindor."
She topped her own glass up with the whiskey, took a sip and fell silent for a moment. Romilda was quiet - she looked a million miles away - and Neville intent on his drink. Rita took another mouthful and felt the burn and the buzz at once; rolled her shoulders again.
She was really, really uncomfortable. Maybe it was the weed, but the tightness in her the muscles behind her shoulder blades seemed to be getting worse - or she was unable to ignore it. She sighed. Oh, fuck this. He'd been inside her, for Merlin's sake - he'd pinched and nibbled and caressed far more intimate places than her back - and she knew he knew how to use his hands.
"Neville? Will you do me a favour? I can't reach, and you've got... large hands." She moved swiftly and dropped in front of him, pulling her hair away from her back somewhat needlessly - it wasn't that long. Reached behind herself and tried to indicate the spot she was talking about. "I'm all in knots from that damn tiling. Right behind my shoulderblades, here. Will you... dig the heels of your hands in, or something? Anything."
She took another large sip from the drink, glancing at him very briefly over her shoulder, and flicking her bra undone through her top to give him access.
Fuckit. He could get over it. She didn't care. She was in pain.
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"Fine," he breathed, his voice low. "But don't make a habit of it. I'm doing this out a twisted sense of compassion, allright?" He bit his lip and put his hands carefully on her back, his thumbs together, his palms against the warmth through the thin shirt.
"You're right...you are tense," he remarked. "Not used to doing the hard work yourself, are you. Right..." He could feel the knots simply through the tension of the muscles in her back. "You need to relax. Try stressing some other muscles; it'll relax those ones." He moved his hands down, pressed his thumbs against her on either side of her spine and, pushing hard, moved his hands back up to the nape of her neck.
"And really, this'd be much easier solved with an ice pack, but I still haven't found the fridge in Montague's kitchen.
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He sounded affronted, almost angry, and that was new. In this context, anyway. "After which what?" she asked, mirroring his tone. She didn't know if he was talking about sex or veritaseum, but if it was the former, he could drop that self-righteous tone right now.
She ignored the second part of the question because she didn't know the answer.
He touched her carefully like he had before, and she was interested in the similarities between the actions of Neville-who-had-not-been-Neville and Neville-who-was. Same person, she wanted to say, but that would have been cruel.
She also wanted to say there was more than one type of hard work, but then his fingers were right over where she needed, and she couldn't speak. She concentrated on doing what he suggested - flexed her back a little, trying to use muscles other than the 'wings', but that was easier said than done. He pressed in hard, and Rita hissed a breath, because it hurt, but in the best way possible. She rolled her shoulders and pressed back against his hand, whimpering a little as his fingers bit in and forced the muscles out of their hard little knots.
"I'll..." A gasp. "I'll be in that damn hot tub as soon as I have a wand to transfigure myself a bathing suit, don't doubt that. And god, there is..." She trailed off to a gasp again as his fingers found a particularly hard little spot.
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Godric, he needed more to drink.
He continued to knead and stroke and tease at Rita's back, then stood up. "Come on..let's get into the tub, and we'll see if there's any improvement."
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Why bother with a bathing suit? Rita's eyebrows went up in surprise, but she said nothing straight away. She wasn't sure if the question was hypothetical, or an offer.
Why indeed? She could have very well quoted back his 'after what happened' line to that, but she didn't. Instead, she let out a single, quiet laugh, pressing herself back against Neville's hands and continuing to shift her shoulders as he worked.
But then he spoke again, and it seemed it had been an offer, and she was rather astounded by that. Turned to look over her shoulder at him, trying to gauge his expression, but unable to read him.
"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" She was smiling, and the words came out a little more playful than she'd intended. She reigned her tone in, not wanting to imply that she thought he was implying anything. "All right. Thankyou."
She missed her wand. It was irritating not to be able to conjure up towels, to have to walk all the way into the bathroom and retrieve them. But she did. Almost as an afterthought, she grabbed three.
"Do you want to come in?" she asked Romilda, not really waiting for a reply but leaving her towel close by anyway in case she did.
With a glance at Neville, who seemed to be figuring out how the bubbles in the tub worked, she refilled their drinks and carried them over. Tossed the towels onto a chair and glanced at Neville again, wondering about him as she began to unbutton her blouse. An interesting one, to be certain.
Her blouse found its way on to the chair, as did the already undone bra. Skirt over her hips, then a momentary hesitation about her knickers. There was no need to take them off, really - and with all the near-misses she'd had over the past few weeks, she was a bit concerned about showing off the tattoo on her hip. Still, it didn't really look like a beetle unless one knew the connection beforehand, and the lace she was wearing certainly wasn't cheap. Who knew what strange muggle chemicals were in the water of this thing? She shed them quickly and slipped into the bubbling tub.
Oh, Merlin. The hot water was heaven. A thousand times better than even her shower, which had felt pretty damn good. She groaned her appreciation, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
"Are you coming in, then?" she asked, opening them and glancing at Neville, picking up her glass of firewhiskey. "I've no trouble with modesty, but I would rather not be the only one stripping down to use the tub."
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That wasn't what he'd meant. Not at all. "I'm sorry..." he said, his voice uneven. "I didn't mean..."
No, he didn't have to explain any more. He let his feet carry him away as fast as they dared to, disappearing back into his bedroom again. Maybe it was time to go to sleep after all.
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Rita frowned as Neville rushed off all in a blush, then sighed. What on earth had he been expecting, that she would get into the tub in her satin? Merlin, he was confusing.
And the running away was so frustrating. Especially now, when she couldn't chase after him without making a complete spectacle of herself.
She sighed again. Couldn't really follow him, and it was lovely in here with the water jets pounding against her back and his hands having loosened her up considerably. Might as well enjoy it now she was in. It wasn't like anyone could see anything beneath the bubbles anyway.
Laying her head back against the edge of the tub, she sank in lower and let the hot water pummel her.
"And here I was thinking he wanted to let out his innner Naturist," she murmured to anyone who might have been listening.
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