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When he craved touch, he called Luca and laid in his lap while the other man stroked his hair, and they didn’t talk about anything that mattered all day. It kept him safe and sane and kept him able to love Dmitri just like this, because there would be years of him he couldn’t have. And one day, Dmitri would find the person that made him trip head over heels and love him so damn desperately, neither of them could breathe.
And it might kill him a little, but it would be worth it to see him smile all the time instead of in fleeting moments.
After a bit, he heard Dmitri’s soft voice rise, so he slid the door back open, closing it behind him as he used one crutch to approach the table. The saddle chair was the perfect height, and he could propel it easily with his hands on the table, everything in convenient reach.
Raphael’s fingers never had the proper dexterity for this job—not long term. They would hold up for one client, and then give in to their spasms and stiffness, and he wouldn’t be able to pay his bills on that. But he had the skill—carefully honed in that little shop in Örebro and used for this purpose—which he would never regret.
There had been a few dark, achingly lonely nights where he cursed Chiara’s bright soul and Cody’s precious smile, but they were few and far between these days.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Tense,” Dmitri answered, then wriggled a bit. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I’m very aware of that,” Raphael murmured. He reached over to flick on the steamer so it would heat as he got Dmitri more relaxed. “But it’s just me.”
“I know.” Dmitri’s words came out a faint whisper, barely audible over the music and the quiet pump of the oil diffuser. “What do I do?”
“Lie there. Sleep if you want. At the very least, relax.”
“I can’t imagine anyone sleeping like this,” Dmitri admitted, and Raphael had to smile because almost all of his clients eventually did, but Dmitri would probably be his holdout. Raphael knew the younger man hated not being aware of everything around him, hated letting go. And that was fine. He could work with that.
Reaching over, he took a scoop of the first mixture—a citrus oil and cocoa butter blend—and he rubbed it into his palms. “I’m going to massage your neck, chest, and arms first. After that, I’ll work on your face a little, and then go back and work on your hands.”
“Why?” Dmitri asked.
Raphael leaned in close to him. “Because I want you to have a night where you feel good.”
Dmitri didn’t talk after that, and Raphael was grateful that his fingers stayed as limber as they ever would. They were strong as they worked years’ old knots from Dmitri’s shoulders, as they gently prodded at his wrists until they had some give, until the tendons in his neck softened.
Dmitri kept his eyes shut, and Raphael tried not to stare at his profile, but it was impossible not to be struck by his beauty. His jaw was rounded, chin short, nose wide, lips full with a cupid’s bow that any beauty guru would envy. His lashes were short, but his brows were thick and shaped perfectly without grooming, and Raphael wanted to press a kiss between them and feel how soft the skin there was.
He didn’t dare. He’d do it if it was Luca, because it wouldn’t mean the same thing. But he could never allow himself to break like that.
Not here.
Not with him.
Raphael turned on the steamer, then placed it so the white billowing clouds drifted over him, and he went to work on Dmitri’s hands. They were tense and calloused with burns from the ovens, and his nails were a beautiful oval. Two of them had icing dye in the corners, and he stared at them with a smile for longer than he should have.
Dmitri’s chest rose and fell, and though Raphael knew he wasn’t asleep, he was more relaxed than he’d ever seen him. A surge of triumph hit him, and though he was too afraid to pat himself on the back, the moment meant something.
When the steamer clicked off, he carefully propelled himself to the head of the table and began to work on his face. Dmitri murmured softly and turned into his touches, and it was over too quickly for Raphael’s liking. His hands were tired, but it didn’t matter. He could have sat there for the rest of his life just to keep that soft look on the other man’s face.
“Is it done?” Dmitri asked, voice soft like he didn’t want to disturb the air.
Raphael let out a slow breath. “It is. But if you want to lie there for a bit longer, you should.”
Dmitri hummed, and he turned his head, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Is it always like that? Is that why people come in for facials all the time?”
It wasn’t. Raphael occasionally indulged in one of Jayden’s, and they were relaxing but perfunctory, and that was fine. He always left feeling only a little better than he came, and maybe that was how Dmitri was feeling now, but he hoped not.
God, it would gut him to know that was true.
“I have magic hands is all,” Raphael said, and Dmitri grinned—a full and proper smile. “Do you still want to get your take-out?”
“Do you still want to come with me?” Dmitri countered.
Raphael chuckled and squeezed his shoulder before grabbing his crutches to stand. “I wouldn’t miss it. Meet you outside?”
