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ganymede

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{From here}

Sinric's room is small and nothing special, a place to sleep when he's alone.

A bed, just big enough for two. A window looking out on the kitchen garden with a padded window seat wide enough for Sinric's narrow frame. A decently sized wardrobe with a long mirror on one side. A tiny, modern ensuite bathroom.

But there are little touches of Sinric's personality too. A pile of books on the window seat, a grey silk kimono painted with misty mountain hanging in full display on one wall, a box of jewelry and trinkets, and an ornate oil lamp on the little side table.

And a harpsichord, taking up most of one end of the room. A kind gift from a mutual friend.

He holds a hand out to Ganymede, gesturing him to the bed. "If you'd like to undress, I'll fetch some oil and see what aches I can sooth."

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"That at least is a blessing." He nods, rolling up his own sleeves and bracing the oil between his thighs to warm.

Sinric smiles at the question, hid expression soft. "He did indeed. It was very kind of him. He has been a great friend and patron to me."

He dimples at the complement. "It's the first time I've ever had a room of my own."

"You like him quite a lot, don't you?" he asks, sliding the shirt off; he has a bruise on the back of his shoulder, ones circling his hips in an unmistakable pattern, but Ganymede doesn't favor those areas any. He's a little too proud for that still.

"It suits you," Ganymede says, shucking his jeans as well, though somewhat more slowly, as the joints covered by them are a little sore. "Calming. Pretty. Relaxing."

Sinric eyes the marks critically, all too aware of what caused them. Sinric himself bruised all too easily and his own skin had borne similar marks from even less malicious partners.

He sets the oil down and fetches the bruise cream Hannibal makes sure he has a constant supply of.

"I do like him. Very much." He says, keeping off the topic of Ganymede's condition. "He's been very good to me and he's cared for me in some of my darkest hours. And he has never asked anything of me in return."

"I'm glad you find it relaxing too. I confess I've grown very fond of having a place I can close the door on the world when I want or need to."

"It's a good thing," he says softly, nodding. "I confess I don't have many friends like that. Everyone wants something from someone."

"I hope you consider me a friend." Sinric kneels on the side of the bed, moving his oil slicked hands up the crest of Ganymede's spine, testing the areas of tension with steady but gentle hands.

At this stage, everything is tense. His shoulders and down the middle of his spine are the most of it, but not much on him isn't stiff right now. He sucks in a breath when Sinric's hands press on a deep bruise.

Sinric lightens his touch, careful as he starts to trace the muscles along Ganymede's ribcage. "Tell me if I'm pressing too hard, please?"

"I'm a masochist," he says, a deprecating smile barely touching his mouth. "It doesn't hurt. The muscles are just sore. You won't hurt me, Sinric, I can assure you."

"That doesn't mean I should hurt you. Especially when my aim is to ease the pain." Sinric answers with only mostly mock sternness.

But he does move his hands with a bit more confidence, starting to unwind the knots around Ganymede's shoulder.

"It's alright. You don't have to do anything. You could just sit with me."

"I could just sit with you." Sinric concede, hands still moving. "But when you got up, you would be just as stiff and sore as when you laid down." He moves to ease out a stubborn knot under Ganymede's shoulder blade. "And what sort of friend would I be, knowing I could have helped you but didn't? No, please let me do this for you."

"Alright," he replies, laying back down with his head pillowed on his upraised arms, neck tensing when Sinric kneads his fingers into a stubborn knot. "Alright."

Sinric sings softly, his voice sweet and gentle as he carefully and caringly works in unwinding the web of tension throughout his friend's body.

Ganymede winces when Sinric presses on a bruise or a bundle of sore nerves, but otherwise he lays still, listening to the man sing. "You have a beautiful voice."

Sinric responds to his every reaction, as easily of a dancer. "Thank you. I hope I can keep it, even as I get older. A singer can always pay their way in the world."

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