Once A Masseuse, Always A Masseuse

Laney orders Octavia to shut her eyes. Places fresh towels in her hands. "Open." Octavia blinks down at the same goddamn towels they already own, then catches the outfit. Laney stands there in a skin-tight version of her old uniform. Buttons undone. Black silk bra showing through. Laney leans in. Says she's been grinding too hard. Used to work massage tables back in the day. Still knows how to pull tension straight out of muscle and bone. They strip Octavia slow, the clothes landing wherever they drop. Oil hits warm skin. Fingers press deep, thumbs rolling over tight knots. Long strokes turn into lingering caresses that trail higher, then lower. Tension drains out of Octavia like smoke. Now Octavia moves in, mouth on Laney's collarbone. They roll and tangle until oil and sweat mix on bare skin, bodies pressed hard, breath catching, both of them licking, fingering, riding until the last tremor hits and they collapse in the slick mess they made.