narry storan one shots.

sexual healing. +

He's not sure how much time passes before there's a quiet knock on the door. Niall's got his face pressed into the headrest so he doesn't see Harry reenter the room, though the smell of lavender intensifies.

"Are you ready to begin your healing journey?" Harry asks.

"Yes," Niall says uncertainly.

"Blessings," Harry says. He draws the sheet down to Niall's waist, then slicks up his palms with massage oil. When he places his hands on Niall's bare skin, Niall jumps a little at the cold.

"Stillness is the path to freedom," Harry says reprovingly as he begins to work at the muscles in Niall's back.

"Sorry," Niall says.

The massage itself feels amazing. Harry works in silence, though he occasionally murmurs instructions to Niall to move his arms here or there, or comments darkly on the state of Niall's theta waves. He's got broad, strong hands, and they're soft and smooth, not callused from guitar-playing like Niall's. Niall feels so relaxed he zones out for a while, slipping into a kind of trance state, until Harry draws the sheet the rest of the way down and begins massaging his arse.

Niall's eyes fly open.

"You seem to carry a lot of tension here," Harry says serenely, kneading his left cheek.

"Um, guess I spend a lot of time sitting on me arse," Niall says with an awkward laugh. "Always been a bit of a couch potato, me."

"Mm," Harry says, pausing to pour more massage oil onto his hands. "You must work in an office, then."

"Er, no, I'm in the music industry," Niall says, and immediately cringes at how pretentious he must sound. "I mean, I sing in a band. And play a bit of guitar."

"How lovely," Harry says, though he doesn't ask anything else. Niall's just starting to relax again into the touch, the feeling of strong, sure fingers massaging the tension out of his glutes, when his cheeks are prized gently apart and a finger begins to slowly circle his hole. He makes a startled, involuntary noise.

"Something the matter?" Harry sounds calm, unruffled. The finger pauses.

"Is that—er, standard?" Niall asks, his voice slightly strained.

The finger begins to rub slowly over his entrance again, the nail catching lightly on the rim and making Niall shiver.

"Oh, of course not," Harry says with a little chuckle. "Our most advanced forms of relaxation and release therapy are reserved solely for our gold level VIP members. This is a delicate art, requiring a special degree of mental and physical synchronicity. Not all therapist-healers are properly certified to practice it."

"And you are? Certified, I mean?" Niall can't help but ask, stifling a quiet gasp when the very tip of the finger dips inside him.

"Top of my graduating class," Harry replies proudly. Niall's mind conjures up the image of an entire class of lilac-robed students crowding around a massage table, all of them taking diligent notes as a white-haired professor fingered some poor bloke's arse. "In fact, I received special honors for developing an entirely new form of stimulation massage. It's our center's specialty."

The fingertip inside of Niall twists slightly. "Of course, if you feel at all uncomfortable, I can conclude the standard massage. I'll have to inquire with our reception desk about refunding your fee, of course, but your satisfaction is our top priority."

"No, that's all right," Niall says quickly. "I don't want to inconvenience anyone. Um, you can carry on, if you want."

"Excellent." Harry sounds pleased. "I think you'll find it quite therapeutic, Mr. Horan."