Josh
Ezra didn’t do anything.
Ezra didn’t do anything. Nothing, even though I bothered to short-sheet his bed and stole his favourite pair of boots.
About the bed, he kind of said ‘oh, okay’, flipped the comforter and pillow around, and slept in it upside down. The next day, the bed was back to normal.
About the boots, he had another ‘oh, so this is happening’ moment, and just wore a different pair. He didn’t seem unperturbed, even though I kept the boots for a week.
Eventually, I stopped antagonising him. If he wasn’t going to follow the pattern of the ‘Didn’t See You There’ Incident, there was no fun in bothering him. It was irksome to not have any fun, but it was bad enough that I was already always angry about the extra practises for football-- Ian had decided that more than half of the team needed to be almost completely re-trained, and all of us were taking the fall for it.
I was just… angry, and I wished that Ezra would give me a reason to take it out on him, but he didn’t.
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I came back from practise especially sore, feeling like I’d been… stoned, or something. Everything ached, especially my back, where the constant strain of both school and practise had created a couple of tough knots that made it uncomfortable to lay on.
I had forgotten about not laying on my back, though, and once I was out of my jersey and back in one of my normal t-shirts, I flopped uselessly onto my bed, instantly groaning in pain as my back twinged.
Ezra looked up from his book. “Tough practise?” he asked softly. He’d been doing that-- talking to me, even though I never bothered to respond.
I don't know what possessed me to say, “Not really. Just… practise added to everything else is…” I sighed. “My back’s tight.”
“I could give you a massage.”
That surprised me, not because Ezra offered to help (he’d been surprisingly civil, and helpful, for the past week-and-a-half), but because he didn’t offer to go get a hot pad for me instead.
“What?” I bothered to ask.
“A massage.” He set the book aside. “My big brother used to do sports. He taught me how to do it so I could help him with knots in his shoulders.”
I was this close to saying ‘No, I’ll be fine’, but the look that Ezra was giving me made me reconsider.
“Fine, okay.”
He looked a little surprised. “Really? You’re not screwing with me?”
“No. Just--” I adjusted on the bed and my back twinged again, in more places. “God, that hurts. I will happily take the goddamn massage.”
“Oh.” I watched him slide a bookmark into his book, and he stood. He examined his hands for a moment, sleeves covering both of them. “I’ll switch shirts so that my sweater isn’t getting in the way. Do I have a band tee or something?” He continued musing as he looked through his drawers for a moment. Over his shoulder, he called, “You should take your shirt off.”
“Why?” I asked warily, worried if he was finally going to take revenge for my (honestly quite stupid) pranks.
He pulled the sweater over his head, and I turned away until I was sure that he was back in a shirt, then he rummaged through a desk drawer and pulled out a small glass phial.
I eyed it cautiously. “What’s that?”
“Massage oil.” He popped it open and waved it under my nose. It smelled like lavender and eucalyptus. “It’ll be better if you don’t have a shirt on when I put this on your back, don’t you think?”
“I guess.” I felt oddly blushy about this whole thing. “Just… don’t look.”
“Fine.” He turned around. “It’s nothing I don’t see every day, though. We live in the same room.”
“It’s the thought that counts.” I sat up and pulled off my shirt, then climbed back onto the bed, burying my face in my crossed arms. I felt more exposed than I ever had at the showers after practise… It’s just because I hate him. Nothing else. “You can do it now,” I finally said, and it sounded wrong, but I couldn’t focus on that. I turned my head to the side and watched Ezra turn back around.
He considered me for a moment. “Do you mind if I climb on top of you? Best angle, you know…” It was a small relief to see that he was about as embarrassed as I was.
“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Another wave of pain came through my back. “Soon.”
“Calm down, Lightning McQueen,” he muttered as he put the phial in his mouth, climbing first onto the bed and then me, straddling my thighs.
It felt oddly sexual, and I shuddered uncomfortably at the thought. Like I’d ever do anything sexual with someone like Ezra. Number one: he’s not a girl. Number two: he’s Ezra. Of all people… even if it was a guy, it wouldn’t be him.
I was distracted from my thoughts by the feeling of Ezra covering my back in massage oil. It felt odd, kind of smooth but also warm.
Ezra’s hands were careful, too, somewhat… gentle, like he was scared of hurting me, or didn’t want to.
“Where’s the problem?” He rested his hand in the centre of the left side of my back. “Here?”
“Lower. And there’s one that’s higher on the right side.”
He moved his left hand lower and rested his other hand on the right side of my back. “Here?”
“Yeah, there on the left. A little lower on the right.” I felt him shift his hand down. “There. Right there.”
“Okay. I’m going to start actually working the knots out,” he warned me.
He waited until I nodded to start, then dug the heel of his hand into the knot on the left side. I cried out.
“Fuck you, Ezra, that hurt!” I tried to hit him, reaching back, but all I could get to was his thigh, so I settled for slapping it as hard as I could manage.
He knocked his knuckles lightly on the back of my head. “That’s the point. What’s it you jocks say? ‘No pain, no gain’?”
I grumbled a bit. “Fine, whatever. Keep going.”
I semi-quietly growled through the entire process of Ezra working out the knot, but by the time it was done, even though I was aching, it felt a lot better. I was ready to be done, but when I tried to get up, Ezra’s hand gently pushed me back down.
“There’s another one,” he pointed out, already pressing at it with the tips of his fingers.
I groaned again. “Fine, get on with it then.”
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