Page 6 of A Cure for Recovery

Tommy turns to him, wondering what he’ll find, and Lawson looks relieved. He wasworriedabout Tommy’s new, more purposeful gait.

Tommy is so, so tired of making this man worry about him. But he can’t keep the defensive edge from his voice when he says, “Yeah. She thinks I’m, like, throwing myself forward with each step – not likethat,” he says, when Lawson grins, and nods. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Boys,” Lisa says.

Tommy glares at him, then faces forward again and reins in his flash of temper. “She said that the reason I keep falling is because I can’t anticipate when my nerves will fail to fire, and–” He realizes he’s never said this aloud to any of them, not even Lawson. When he trips, or even falls, he saysit’s fine, I’m alright, stupid feet. Lawson must know some of it, thanks to all those early appointments he attended, but Tommy doesn’t give voice to his body’s failings. “The nerves are still repairing themselves,” he says, face getting warmer; he feels the weight of their gazes – though kind, encouraging – keenly. “And sometimes the signal…I guess it glitches. That’s why my toes drag, or my legs go numb, or – or I can’t feel them at all.”

Lawson’s fork clinks down heavily on his plate.

Tommy continues, “If I’m walking like normal, and the glitch happens, I can’t catch myself in time. So she wants me to try moving slower, and taking smaller, less committed steps.”

Lisa makes ahmmsort of face. “Well. That makes sense.”

Tommy tucks back into dinner, and is thankful when discussion turns to one of Lisa’s newest tailoring customers.

~*~

“There – right, yeah,there– ohGod.”

Lawson breathes a quiet laugh, breath cool by the time it fans across the back of Tommy’s neck. “Good?” he asks, innocently.

Tommy grunts in reply and turns his face into the pillow.

Several months back, when his abdominal wounds had closed up and been deemed fully healed, one of his doctors suggested massage therapy to help keep him loose and to relieve the soreness inevitable with overcompensating for his lower body weakness. “You can go to a professional, or your partner can learn some simple techniques and help you at home.”

To no one’s surprise, Lawson leaped at the chance to help, and Tommy was grateful not to have to show off his gunshot scars to a stranger at a massage parlor. Lawson bought a book, watched some online tutorials, and Dana hooked him up with a whole kit of oils.

Tonight, it’s after ten, Bill and Lisa are retired to their room at the other end of the hall, and Tommy’s stripped down to his boxer-briefs, belly-down on the bed while Lawson kneels over him and works his magic.

Lawson hasbighands. All of him is big, in a long, lanky sort of way, and Tommy loves every part of him, but his hands are just…magic. Broad, squared-off palms, and long, strong fingers that knead into the sore muscles on either side of Tommy’s spine just right. He has a penchant for finding knots Tommy didn’t know he possessed, and then teasing them loose with firm pressure. The oil is fragrant, and turns his back slippery, and the glide of fingertips, the faint, slick sound, is hypnotic.

Also, Lawson sitting on the backs of his thighs, knees bracketing Tommy’s hips, his weight dipping the mattress while he strokes over Tommy’s shoulder blades, is sending pleasant tingles of awareness down to the cradle of his hips. A slow heat builds there, a faint stirring in his boxer-briefs. Nothing urgent, yet, but a tease of pleasure-that-could-be.

That usually happens when they do this. Sometimes something comes of it…but not always. And when it does, it’s always gentle. Careful in a way that things have never been between them. Orweren’t. Before the shooting.

Tommy turns his head again to ask, “What scent is that?”

“Frankincense.” Lawson leans a little more weight and digs in with his thumbs, until Tommy grunts again. “You like it?”

“Yeah. It’s…” Thinking is getting harder and harder as Lawson continues to work him over. It’s not the only thing getting harder. “Earthy,” he settles on, and Lawson chuckles, low, and deep, and quiet. Just for this room, and the small space between them.

“It’s supposed to be good for your skin. And help you relax.”

“Mm. Yeah. It’s working.”

“Yeah?” Lawson sweeps his palms out to the points of his shoulders and then smooths them firmly down the backs of his upper arms. “You were really tight tonight, babe.”

There’s a lewd comment to be made there, but Tommy resists. He hasn’t wanted to ask outright; keeps hoping he can tease and suggest Lawson into taking the lead.

“Yeah, well…”

Lawson’s hands smooth back up his arms, and inward along his shoulders, joining at the base of his neck and kneading there in a way so good that it hurts. Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, and Lawson eases off the pressure.

“No, no, it’s good. I like it.”

There’s a pause, and then Lawson starts digging in again. “Well, what?”

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