Fuck it.
Can't catch what you don't pitch.
"Sure," you say. "Why not. Thinking of, what, helping Sio bring in some hunting or something?"
"Can't hurt," they say, rising. "We're eating that shit almost as fast as we hunt it."
Then Sekhmet strides behind the wagon and is gone, leaving Ace blinking.
"I still can't believe how good she is at that," Ace says.
"They probably have aura masking spells as well as catlike tread," you say, shifting position. Behind Ace. "Where were you hurting, exactly, lower back? Right above the tailbone?"
It takes her a moment of blinking to register what's happening. "Uhhhh, there and the shoulders. God, I'm the punchline to every joke about someone's waifu having back pain."
You exhale the breath you've been holding. "Okay. Might want to lie down on that blanket, I'll take care of it."
"Should I take my top off?" Ace asks.
"You don't need to... but it'll help me see what I'm doing, and how hurt you are," you say. "Only if you're comfortable."
Ace takes a second of very careful breathing, ears describing circles as they scan for anyone who can overhear, before she very slowly and deliberately starts to lift her arming jacket up.
You avert your eyes. You're certain at this point that there are things she wouldn't mind you seeing; but you're not taking any liberties not explicitly
offered. There's too much of the dressing-downs from your father, and shame from your teenage and college years when you didn't know better.
It's possible you've overcorrected.
You still don't look until you hear her settle into the blanket, with a soft grunt that's half pain and half other kinds of tension.
"I'm ready," she sighs.
You settle in, straddling the back of her knees and leaning over her. She still has a chestwrap on, Ye Olde Renaissance Brassiere when a corset's not an option, but you see an expanse of tan skin, darker on the midriff, into the shock of red hair that's her tail and the black skirt hanging from her actual hips that she wears under the jacket.
It turns out that building a generously endowed shortstack in the character creator translated to someone that actually does look like she has core strength, an unmistakable fat only adding to the impression of sleekness and power hidden in the muscles underneath. There are areas that seem hardened, or tense; her shoulders are carrying a lot (figuratively and - having seen her battle kit - literally), and the skin under the curve of her back looks to have a rougher texture, as if it had been pressed against scratchy wool.
That needs looking at.
"How does it look?" she murmurs.
You rub a little blessed almond oil between your hands.
You
could tell Ace just what her symptoms appear to be. That's likely what she meant.
"Dad told me never to compliment something out of a girl's control," you say, surprised at how low your voice gets while still sounding feminine, and gently lay your hand - thumb first, then one finger at a time - onto her shoulders.
Her grunt becomes a laugh as you slide your hands down either side of her spine.
"Smartass. Made this in the character generator, I am
directly responsible for these tits," Ace says.
"
Apart from this?" You press with your fingertips into the rough patch on her back and - yep, that noise was months of pain you're removing in one second.
"Ghk. So fucked up you can see it, huh?" she manages.
"Unfortunately," you say, as you press the heels of your hands in, try to start blood flowing. "I can see how tightly wound you are and that you've been carrying a lot of weight on your back. Not just in front."
"The trip doesn't help," she says, breath halting. "I'm not used to marching with a pack. I'm not used to walking much, period."
"I remember you took a ball to the knee back home," you murmur. "Other than that you look, uh, pretty good."
"Damn straight," she says. "Well okay, maybe not
straight, but -"
"I'd gathered," you say softly.
Ace giggles at that, and at your touch, and you need to take a deep breath.
"I uh - I do really appreciate this," Ace says. "You don't, uh, I get ticklish easy but not the way you do this."
You smile and the words "You've just given me great power" are out of your mouth before you can stop them.
"Yeah, well I expect you to take responsibility," she fires back, with what you figure is about as much forethought.
You take another, juddery, deep breath, cupping your hands around Ace's shoulders so you can rotate them both, and you feel Ace's trapezius let go of what they'd been too tightly bound to as she groans relief.
You're not sure how long you spend wringing out Ace's pain, transmitting warmth from your hands to her skin. Smelling the almond and perfume, rising on her heat.
Until you break the proverbial spell.
"Better?" you say, realizing only after that it was a whisper in her ear.
"Much," she says, in a voice much smaller than you expect from Ace.
You lift yourself further up, slide your hands further down, onto her midriff.
"Hey," you say. "There's something I want to try."
"Uh..." Ace needs to think about it. "...Sure."
You slide your hands around and under, onto her belly; interlace your fingers. Ace takes a sharp breath in, but says nothing.
You lean in, close, pressing against her back. And then you rock, using your hips as a fulcrum, up and back until you're sitting on your heels - and Ace is sitting on your lap, with your arms still tightly around her, and her head on your shoulder.
You think you hear Ace squeak, before both of you take a moment, like this. The space of two breaths, and two slow heartbeats.
And then you let go, and immediately worry if that was too much, too fast. Breaking a boundary, misinterpreting, reading too much into it.
Being a creep.
But Ace is still there. And then she rolls her head a bit, twists her back a bit, to put her head under your chin for just a second.
Before getting up, so you can get up, and look down at her red face.
"That, uh. Helped. A lot," she says.
You laugh. "Any time," you promise.
Foxgirl wrangling by @FoxHana. Grammar and punctuation correction by TeaMergency and EchoDoctor. Decision to go for it by viewers like you.
