"If you do not relax, this will not work."
Basch frowned without any real heat at Balthier's scolding. "I have not done aught such as this before," he grouched, wincing as Balthier's fingers pressed hard against him. "I told you as much, if you will recall. 'twas your own insistence that saw us this far."
"Curl your fingers." Balthier's touch was less gentle, and Basch exhaled heavily, only to gasp when the tension beneath Balthier's clever fingers fled with a suddenness that left an odd tingling in its wake. Balthier laughed at the oath that escaped Basch's lips, then curled his fingers around Basch's, squeezing them lightly against his freshly-massaged palm. "Do you see why I insisted?"
Basch's first attempt at speech was garbled, the second lost somewhere between throat and lips. Conceding defeat to the endorphins released with the sudden cessation of painful cramping in a hand gone too long without holding a sword, Basch drew Balthier's clever fingers to his mouth and expressed his appreciation in its purest form.
