For everythingfromdust
"Lysandre."
No response.
"Lysandre?"
Still nothing.
"Lysaaanndrreee…"
"What is it, Augustine?" Lysandre snaps, finally looking up from his desk.
"I'm bored."
"And I'm busy, in case you haven't noticed. I did warn you that I'd be doing some paperwork."
"Yes, but you said 'only for a little while'. It's been over an hour now!"
"Augustine…"
Augustine pouts.
"You know very well that won't work on me. Don't even start."
"But Lysaaanndrreee…" he whines, plopping himself down on top of Lysandre's desk.
"You're sitting on my papers."
"Papers, my ass."
"Yes, I can see that, seeing as how you're sitting on them."
Augustine snickers, kicking his legs back and forth. "You've been working far too much lately, my friend! I'm just being a good friend and staging an intervention."
"Hypocrite," Lysandre sighs, though there is no malice in his tone, only exasperated fondness. "How many times have you stayed up for days on end chasing the latest scientific breakthrough?"
"Many times, I admit, but you've always come in at some point during those times and lectured me about taking breaks. So who's the hypocrite now?"
"Be that as it may—"
"'Be that as it may', my ass," he snorts, hopping off the desk and moving to stand behind Lysandre.
"You can't just respond to everything with 'my ass', August—what are you doing?"
"Preparing you for a ritual sacrifice to Yveltal," he deadpans, fingers kneading at Lysandre's shoulders. "What does it feel like?"
"You're…rubbing my shoulders."
"And they call you a genius…which you are, of course, you're brilliant! Just…not all the time, apparently."
"Why are you rubbing my shoulders?" Lysandre asks, holding himself very stiffly as Augustine continues to touch him.
"To relax you, my genius friend! So tell me, how does that feel?"
Silence.
"Well, if you don't like it, then I could just stop…"
"…Good," Lysandre admits reluctantly, shoulders finally starting to relax under Augustine's skilful touch.
"Good," Augustine coos, thumbs rubbing circles into the base of Lysandre's neck. "Too much stress isn't good for you, you know. You've got to learn to relax once in a while…"
"Hm."
"I'm going to take that as a 'yes, Augustine, I really should learn to relax, thank you'."
Lysandre snorts but chooses not to comment, instead tilting his head forward slightly to allow Augustine better access to his neck.
Augustine smiles at that, obliging to the silent demand and rubbing his fingertips higher. "You should lie down," he says, scratching gently at Lysandre's hairline. "Then I could do this properly."
"'Properly'?" Lysandre says, turning his head to look at Augustine. "And what exactly does 'properly' entail?"
"Lie down and you'll find out," he replies, putting on his most charming grin.
Lysandre frowns up at him with his usual intense, slightly unnerving stare, possibly trying to discern if Augustine has any ulterior motives for doing this. Does he? He's not even sure himself. Then Lysandre sighs heavily, as if Augustine is asking a great favour of him, and gets up out of his chair to walk over to the bed.
"Very good. Now take your shirt off and lie don on your front, please."
Lysandre gives him a look.
Augustine laughs. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything untoward! Stop me if I do! It's just easier this way, no?"
Lysandre stands motionless for a few moments, the angle of his body preventing Augustine from trying to read the emotions reflected on his face. Finally, he seems to relent, unbuttoning his crimson dress shirt and sliding it off his shoulders to reveal pale, slightly freckle-dusted skin. He folds the shirt neatly, placing it at the foot of the bed before lying down as Augustine had requested.
Augustine clambers onto the bed after him and gets himself situated, pausing for a moment to admire the muscular back in front of him before putting his hands on Lysandre's shoulders. As expected, Lysandre tenses up immediately at the contact.
"Relax, my friend! This is supposed to be soothing! Think of something calming, like…fields of beautiful lilies, or cute Litleo cubs playing, or…"
Lysandre mumbles something that is definitely not 'covering a certain professor's mouth with duct tape'.
"Fine, fine," Augustine huffs, shutting his mouth and starting to massage in earnest. He starts with Lysandre's shoulders, pressing his fingertips down gently at first to get Lysandre more comfortable. Than he begins to apply more pressure, pressing down with the palms of his hands as well as he works at the muscles. He keeps at it until he feels the muscles begin to loosen, rubbing until they're completely relaxed and pliable beneath his fingers before moving on to the next area that requires his attention.
"See? You really have been overworking," Augustine says, rubbing large circles low on Lysandre's back. "Your muscles are all stiff and bunched up from stress and from being hunched over that desk of yours for too long."
"And how many times have I found you slumped over your own desk after staying up all night yet again, my dear professor?"
"Point," he concedes with a laugh. "Though, if that happens again, then you definitely owe me one of these. Deal?"
"Hmm."
"I'll take that as a yes," he says, and continues with the de-stressing treatment.
Up until now, Lysandre has been fairly quiet aside from responding to Augustine's chatter—surely a testament to his great self-control, because Augustine is amazing at backrubs, if he does say so himself. When he reaches a particularly large group of knots between Lysandre's shoulder blades, though, Lysandre lets out a sharp gasp and Augustine hisses a breath out between his teeth in sympathy.
"Relax, relax," he says soothingly, running his hands lightly over the skin there in an attempt to ease the tension now running through Lysandre's body. "It's bad there, isn't it? Does it hurt?"
"No," Lysandre says stubbornly.
In response, Augustine presses down suddenly with the flats of his palms, drawing another slightly pained gasp from Lysandre. "See, I told you you've been hunched over your papers far too much lately. Do you want me to stop?"
Lysandre is silent for a long moment, visibly forcing himself to relax. "No. Carry on."
"All right then," says Augustine, and gets to work.
He doesn't want to hurt Lysandre, of course, but he's pretty sure he knows what he's doing. So he rolls up his sleeves and presses down a bit more firmly, kneading at the knots as he hums softly to himself.
"Harder," says Lysandre.
Augustine swallows. Right, then. A bit apprehensively, he tries digging the heels of his palms into the stubborn mass of knotted muscles.
Lysandre moans.
Augustine pauses. Had he…actually heard right? Or had he just been imagining things? This time, he tries rubbing his fingertips side to side across the ropes of muscle on either side of Lysandre's spine. Lysandre lets out another moan, a bit louder this time, and Augustine freezes, suddenly very aware of the position they're in. They are in Lysandre's room, on Lysandre's bed, and he is putting his hands all over Lysandre's half-naked body.
…Why had he ever thought this would be a good idea, again?
"Are we done, then?" Lysandre asks, looking back over his shoulder, and Augustine wonders if the slight disappointment he hears is just wishful thinking.
"Do you—do you want me to stop?" he manages to scrape out of his suddenly dry throat.
"…Do as you wish," Lysandre replies, laying his head back down on his pillow.
Well, this is quite the predicament he's managed to get himself into. Stopping now is probably for the best, but…it had felt (and sounded, oh yes) like Lysandre had been appreciating the massage, and besides, he isn't finished yet…
"I'm not stopping," he says, and hearing no objection he continues on.
Eventually, after many more minutes of pressing and rubbing and kneading (as well as many long minutes of shifting uncomfortably at the occasional grunt or pleased little sound that would slip out of Lysandre's mouth), Augustine feels like Lysandre has been sufficiently de-stressed. He is inordinately pleased with himself for being the one to rid Lysandre off all the tension that had been afflicting his body. Not wanting this to end just quite yet, he switches to using the barest hint of pressure, running his hands lightly over Lysandre's skin. He should probably stop, but he can't help enjoying the way Lysandre has gone all soft and pliant beneath his touch, as well as the low, rumbling sound that seems to be coming from him that could almost be called a purr. He really is just like a big cat, Augustine thinks affectionately, scratching idly at the base of Lysandre's hairline again. Lysandre sighs contentedly, shifting his hips a little on the bed, and Augustine coughs awkwardly as he realizes just how much he appreciates feeling Lysandre's bare skin and powerful muscles and being the cause of all those wonderful (horrible) sounds coming out of his mouth.
"I-I'm done now," he chokes out, unwillingly wrenching his hands away from Lysandre's warm, smooth skin.
"My thanks," says Lysandre, formal but sincere.
"I-It was my pleasure," says Augustine, hoping his voice doesn't sound as shaky as he thinks it does.
Lysandre sits up and stretches languidly, and Augustine finds himself fascinated by the play of light over shifting muscles. He blushes when he realizes he's been staring, slack-jawed, and tears his eyes away from those broad shoulders and those…no, stop. Bad Augustine. Bad. No staring at friends' naked torsos, no matter how built they are. No matter how nice they are to look at, and feel, and…and this line of thought really isn't helping him with his 'problem' any, so he cuts it off immediately and puts his hands on his lap as casually as he can manage.
Lysandre, unfortunately, chooses that moment to turn around. "Are you quite all right, Augustine?"
"F-Fine!" he squeaks, pasting a sunny smile on his face. "Never better!"
"Are you sure?" asks Lysandre. "You seem a little…tense."
Augustine gulps. "I'm fine, my friend. Thank you for your concern."
"Your face is flushed," Lysandre says, casually bringing his hand up to rest against Augustine's forehead.
This, of course, only causes the flush to deepen, and Augustine curses himself for acting like some love-struck teen. "…Is it?"
"Yes, very," says Lysandre. Is that a smirk spreading across his face? "Perhaps you should go splash yourself with some cold water?"
"Yes, maybe I should," Augustine says, grasping desperately at the out Lysandre is offering him.
Lysandre lets his hand drop, definitely smirking now as he watches Augustine shift nervously in front of him. Finally, he turns away, and Augustine most definitely does not practically leap off the bed and bolt into the bathroom.
Lysandre's laughter echoes loudly behind Augustine as he definitely does not slam the door shut. Once he is safely behind the locked door he looks down at himself and groans, burying his face in his hands in mortification. Why, oh why had he decided to make Lysandre pay attention to him?