Damian could feel the kinks in his back getting worse and worse. The muscles knotting up, seizing, and forcing him into the puddle of stressed out mush that was now piled onto the bed.
A massage, Colin called it, a massage. In what way was this a massage, Damian wouldn't know.
The fingers that so carelessy punctured their way through sore muscles, left marks on his already marred back, Damian could almost feel them push their way through to his chest.
Damian tried to tell him that 'you're being a little too rough' and 'to not immobilize me' but Colin dismissed it.
"Stop being such a whimp, Damian, it isn't that bad. You'll totally thank me in the morning."
And that next morning, no 'thank you's were being exchanged. Instead, Damian was laying tense in bed, muttering about how he'd never again let Colin touch his back.
