Healer
His hands are soothing, sliding over my back with the warm glide of soapy water, down my spine and just across the top of my backside. Hatori's hands are beautiful, his fingers strong and slender and perfectly proportioned. Unlike most men with their awkward hands, knobby knuckles and tough palms. Hatori's are firm, attentive, the hands of a healer. I can feel my strength returning just from his touch. He doesn't speak to me as he touches me, letting the swift movement of his hands and the cooling trickle of the water speak for him, squeezing the sponge against my right shoulder so that the sudsy water can gush down my arm, off my fingertips – his words are like a song, splashing into the shallow bath I stand in. I'm naked before my outer doors, the thin paper illuminated from without by morning sunlight, so that I can see every little imperfection riddled in their fabric. I wonder how I must look standing in this pale light, skin and bones, soothed into complacency by my Hatori's healing hands.
He told me I should have called him earlier. That was last night, when I was so ill I could not bear to stand. He stayed with me, vigilant by my side all through the night, until I slept. When I woke I found him dozing in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, posture only slightly bent. I reached out to touch his hair, to smooth it back, and he awoke immediately, eyes opening to regard me with little interest other than to wonder how I was feeling. I only wanted to slide my hands into his hair, to feel its soft kiss against my skin. I did, and he didn't protest.
He said that I should sit for my bath, that standing used too much of my precious strength. I don't need strength when I'm with him. He has strength enough for this whole accurst family. His hands are the only strength I need, the sponge tracing the back of my thigh, his hand following, my skin in gooseflesh. Back down the other thigh, then over the front, starting from my hip and being careful of any area near. I feel as though I should have a hard-on from this attention, the intense expression on his face as he goes about his duty, his eyes caressing my body with the same firmness as his hands. It's not easy though, getting one of those. I'm content just being with Hatori, just having this attention and knowing he can give it to no one else.
He leaves the sponge in the bath, standing to towel me off. He goes about it carefully, but even in his prudence it feels too harsh, almost bruising to my skin. But I don't tell him, because I can't help being too fragile to be handled even carefully, and I don't want to worry him. He's rubbing my torso with the towel, up and down, leaving me dry and clean and chill in the morning light. I stare at his chest, his button down shirt and his brown vest, his tie loosened from sleep. I take hold of his tie, pull him down toward me with a gentle tug. It's not hard to coerce him. I tilt my face up, my expression soft from weakness and sleepiness and a soothing sponge bath. He meets me there, in between sweetness and seduction, returning my kiss with lips that are warm and tender, betraying his every indifferent touch and glance. The towel rests between us, pressed to my stomach, before slowly sliding down across my passionless cock, then lifted as he puts his hands on my waist. When he looks at me his eyes seem to be saying, "I can't. I'm sorry." But I smile at him and touch his cheek.
It's okay. I have all I need. For now.
He resumes his task of drying me off, silent and efficient as usual.
I was lost in love
I was lost inside
Till he said to me
You've got a lovely smile
Now I'm saved
Saved
When I got my healer by my side
I'm pushing daylight, pushing night
-"Heela," PJ Harvey and John Parish