Author's Note: To say I'm not worried about any OOC would be a lie.
Rated T for tension.
The moment she'd heard about it Blake was tearing out the door, the thought to lock it out of her mind. She ran down the halls, past faceless figures and lavish tapestries. At the ground floor she zeroed in on the front entrance, and only after bursting into the light of day did she realize how desperate she'd been. She blinked at the sunlight filtering through the gaps in her bangs.
Someone spoke. "And the Grimm was so close to us!"
Blake ran again, toward the city. Her mind was already churning through conspiracies. White Fang is infiltrating, the Grimm are taking the area as their own, a war is about to start….the worry only sped her weariness, but she couldn't help it. She did it on instinct, and Blake also knew she was out there, hanging around the city for a day to relax and meet new people.
Yang.
They crashed into each other at the campus edge. Blake spoke first. "Yang!" She was on her in a second, checking for cuts and bruises. "Are you okay? What happened? Where are the others?"
"Um…yes, we ran into a Grimm, and the others are over there." She pointed to the right, where their roommates were swamped in a crowd. Ruby was clearly excited even from a distance, recounting her tale to awestruck spectators as Weiss tutted and continued cleaning blood off her skirt.
"Oh," said Blake.
They looked at each other, and Blake realized her gaze went up. She stood. "Right. Sorry. Well, when you're out there somewhere and a Grimm shows up where they don't usually show up, I get worried."
"No problem, Blake my girl, the police have been alerted and they're sending out a patrol. Not to mention that Grimm couldn't exactly terrorize any more communities even if it wanted to." Yang put her hands on her hips.
"I was still worried!" snapped Blake. "I ran right out of our room and—wait." Her eyes widened.
Yang stared at her. "You didn't lock the door, did you."
"No!" And they were tearing back up the campus.
Blake shut the door when they returned. "Is anyone in here?" she asked.
"Nah," said Yang, putting the dresser back on the floor.
"Good." Her throat was scratching for breath. Yang waited with her arms crossed.
"You know, I'm not the best at self-control, but you could really take a lesson from Weiss and learn to think before you act," she said.
"I only left it open this one time!" Blake looked right at Yang in exasperation.
Yang's eyebrows creased at something different in her expression. "Okay, okay, so no one went snooping through our room." Yang noticed a full-body mirror they'd bought the previous week had fallen in Blake's sudden takeoff. She bent to right it, then flinched. "Ow!"
"What is it?" said Blake.
"Dang…" Yang rolled her shoulder. "Guess I might have gotten roughed up a little more than I'd thought in that fight back there." She felt a strike in her lower back, and fell to her knees. "Yeah, maybe that's the case." Her legs strained from tightness. "Okay, hang on." She shuffled across the room, trying to ignore the multitudes of pain popping up across her body.
Blake watched her stumble into a wastebasket. "Yang, lie down," she said, and Yang crashed with a loud groan. Blake stood over her. "Have you been stretching before matches?"
"Yes."
"At the gym?"
"Uh, usually."
"Did you do it at all after the fight?"
"…No."
Blake rolled her eyes. "I'll get a foam roller."
"No, I can't wait that long," said Yang dramatically.
"Yes you can."
"No, I can't."
"Then what do you want me to do?" said Blake.
A moment of silence hung in the air.
"Well," said Yang, and she regretted it because it meant she had to continue, "as teammates, we should be prepared to help each other out in times of need."
"Yes," said Blake with a raised eyebrow.
"And"—Yang chose her next words carefully—"I'm in that need. So, if it wouldn't hurt you to take pity on a teammate's rash behavior…." She bit her lip before finishing. "Do you think you could do something about the pain that's befallen me?"
She prayed she'd sounded funny enough. That was a weird request, a weird thought even. Blake didn't reply for a moment.
"You're saying you want me to massage you."
"Yes," said Yang, and the goosebumps started to rise as she wondered if she'd gone too far.
"Yeah, sure," said Blake quickly.
"Wait. Are you serious?"
"Why not? I don't feel like going all that way for a foam roller anyway."
"Oh…okay," said Yang, awkwardly sensing Blake position over her. "I was half-joking about that, you know."
"Whatever."
Blake raised her hands ready to work objectively, but the sight of Yang below her made her stop. They'd never been quite so close before, not in this way, and Blake noticed her legs spacing just inches from Yang's hips. She thought she saw Yang shudder—no, she's in pain—and, figuring she might lose the nerve, went ahead and touched down on Yang's shoulder.
Yang moaned as the muscle tensed and shifted. "Oh man," she said, trying to parry around any uncomfortable opportunities. "I…really needed that."
Blake stayed silent, trying to focus. Her thumbs were still circling Yang's shoulder, making sure the knot was loose but also, guiltily, taking in the feel of it. It was very nice. Firm, toned, with enough loose skin to feel pleasure. A flush crept up Blake's neck as she realized how fit Yang really was.
She rubbed again, met no resistance. "Um, where else?" she said, hoping she sounded casual.
"Neck," murmured Yang.
Oh man. Blake brushed Yang's hair aside with the back of her hand, feeling the golden tresses slip through her fingers. It was frizzy and splayed, but still soft. "What kind of Grimm was it?" Blake asked.
"Boarbatusk."
"Oh." So she'd wrestled with one of the more dangerous kinds. Slowly, carefully, Blake unwound Yang's scarf and set it on the floor beside her. She looked at the back of Yang's neck and jarred to a halt. She'd never seen it before. It was pale and tender and so wrongfully intimate.
"Um…am I bruised up there or something?" said Yang.
"No." Blake massaged the neck, and she really should have let Yang's hair fall back into place so she wouldn't see what did not belong to her. But she couldn't help watching Yang's skin bunch between her fingers. Yang had no qualms, as of yet; a low rumble came from her throat as she approved.
Blake felt a pressure on her own neck, and imagined lips there, just an inch beyond her ear. She lifted her free hand and poked the scruff of Yang's neck with a finger.
"Oh, god, Blake," said Yang, and Blake felt both their spines dipping.
She finished the neck, calm and gentle. Out of intuition she kneaded Yang's other shoulder, then before getting ahead of herself, said, "Where else does it hurt?"
"My back," Yang croaked, her voice lower than usual.
Blake wondered if she should go under Yang's brown top. Better do it, it's not like I'm really touching her—yet when her fingers first trailed along the straps of Yang's bra, Blake could no longer deny the want, the need that stirred within her. She inhaled, breathing out through the mouth.
"Blake," said Yang.
Blake started working, feeling Yang's muscles slip into place. She tried not to spend too long on any one spot, and her mind parted to technical thoughts. This was not Yang, this was a machine that needed to be fixed, and it was pure coincidence that it happened to smell like her and glimmer with the perspiration of a person who was trying very hard to hide something…
Blake dragged out from under the top. Yang moaned, and Blake turned to the mirror to see the blond under her, so content as fingers traced along her back. Blake stilled, and without any warning she started to think of the times she'd lain in bed alone, eyes closed as she'd taken herself far away to a place no one knew about. A place where she'd imagined herself doing…things, and having things done to her in return. She could not stop herself from shaking now.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," she said, and continued.
It was going to be over soon, and her head rushed at the thought. She slowly moved to Yang's lower back and forced herself to look only there, shoving her thumbs down into those solid muscles.
"Ugggh. Blaaaaaaaaake," Yang groaned, and with a flying jolt Blake heard a pitch in her tone, a guttural shift to something primal. Her hands lifted as she stared at Yang soothed into a near stupor.
"Blaaaake. Keep going," Yang said lowly, and Blake complied.
There was only the sound of their breathing. Blake found a hard knot and leaned to get it; in that moment Yang's hips convulsed.
A small bead of sweat formed on Blake's neck. She ignored it, and finished the last of the knots. Yang's leg twitched. Then her whole head rose as she felt Blake moving her muscles into their proper state.
She said it again. "Blake." She didn't know why.
In the syrupy haze Blake sounded hoarse. "Yang," she said. "When's your birthday?"
The thickness shattered. Oh god, you're an idiot. The seconds passed in agony.
"Next month," answered Yang, and it was in the voice of a person about to go to sleep.
Blake ended the massage and leaned over to look at Yang. The blond's eyes were closed, a wisp of hair passing over her face. She looked much, much more relaxed.
Blake contemplated the situation. She didn't trust herself to heave Yang up to her bed without dropping anything, so she yanked the covers off, catching the pillow as it fell. She hopped off the footboards of their makeshift bunk and let the blanket flutter onto Yang. Then, after one more look at the unusual peace, she bent down and tucked the pillow under Yang's head.
"Thanks." It came slurred from her lips, bobbed out of sleep.
"You're welcome," Blake whispered.
"You're a good friend," Yang muttered, before she nodded away for good.
Somehow she had tamed the roaring fire. Blake watched the covers rise with Yang's breathing, the sluggish movements of her shoulders. A moment later she left the room, making sure to lock it.
There was a lot of chaos outside, what with the staff organizing patrols and students trying to worm into the action. Blake kept it at a distance, just needing time to think.
The sun hit when she turned a corner, making her raise her hand again. She paused. Then she lowered it and stared at her fingers. She had taken these fingers and used them to massage Yang Xiao Long. She rotated her hand for a better look, like she'd never seen it before.
It was noon, and Blake wouldn't have to be in the dorm for a long time. She kept walking, mulling over the skin softening at her touch, the way Yang called for her in those moments alone.