Work Text:
“And where would you like the heat packs today?” chirped the heavily pregnant Twi’lek receptionist as you shuffled onto the bed, positioning your face above the hole.
“Uhm… lower back and neck, thanks,” you mumble, your cheeks feeling squished against the side of the face hole.
The Twi positions the long heat packs vertically down your spine between your shoulder blades and drapes it above your hips. You restrain a sigh. Technically that is your lower back but you meant further down, across your hips.
“Great! We have a new Chiro in today, I hope that’s ok.”
You restrain another sigh. Bit late to tell me that you think dryly. Either way, the fact you can barely turn your neck to look over your shoulder means you’re in no position, literally, to argue or reschedule for your usual one.
“Sure. Whatever.”
“He’ll be in soon! Try to relax,” she chirps before bouncing out of the room.
You restrain a sigh and awkwardly reach back to re-position the heat pack to lay across your spine before settling back and trying your hardest to relax. Outside the small clinic you can hear traffic whizzing past the window and people on the street. You shuffle awkwardly on the Shaak leather bed, trying to get your face in the hole in such a way that didn’t feel you would slip through or your entire weight is resting on your cheekbones. Idly you wonder if this bed is even made for humans judging by the size of the hole. In the hallway the microwave beeps and the receptionist chatters to someone in the waiting room as you sigh again.
As is always the case you have just reached the point of frustration when the door slides open behind you before closing softly. For a split second you think someone opened the door and closed it without entering until you hear the faintest rustle of clothing beside you. You go to lift your head, genuinely not having heard footsteps, but a large hand presses down on your shoulder blades, gently pinning you to the bed.
“Lay still,” the male voice murmurs above you with a soft, reptilian rasp to it.
Obediently you settle back down, aware of your heart suddenly hammering in your chest. You catch a brief glimpse of his long slender boot through the hole that your face is pressed through followed by a waft of his musky cologne. The hand pulls the heat pack from your neck and back before tossing them carelessly aside with a thud. His hands are absolutely massive, easily spanning across your shoulder blades as he leans a small amount of pressure into them, testing the resistance. Humming to himself he moves lower down with a deliberate, practiced pace until he reaches your hips, pushing them away and then pulling towards him, his long fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips.
“What seems to be the issue?” he asks finally.
It takes you a moment to find your voice which surprises you. “Uh… my neck. I can’t turn it very far to the left. Woke up like this.”
He hums again. “You’re tight through your hips, do you sit at a desk for long hours?”
“Uh yeah. I do actually. I work in Galactic OWW!“
You gasp a swear word in shock as he drives the point of his jagged elbow into your sacrum, finding your sciatic nerve with pinpoint accuracy. Agonizingly slowly he drags his elbow along the length of the nerve to the point where it meets the top of your thigh, his elbow buried in the soft flesh of your butt cheek. You squeak out a drawn out swear word as he repeats the motion, chuckling to himself as the pain shoots down your leg like an electric current.
“Wasn’t expecting you to know Huttese,” he murmurs in amusement, mercifully removing his elbow.
“Maker,” you gasp, “warn me next time!”
“You’d brace against me,” he answers shortly, resting his hand against the small of your back. “Would you prefer if I dry needle it instead?”
“Uhh sure. My usual chiro dosnt, but I’m always up for trying new things.”
The hand leaves the small of your back as he crosses the small room to rummage on the desk for a moment. “I’m sure you do,” he answers and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
You don’t mean to flinch as he returns to your side and hikes your yoga pants low enough to expose a couple of inches of your backside without a moment’s hesitation. You swallow hard, your heart thudding in your chest as his nimble fingers work their way along your exposed ass cheek, cringing self-consciously. You tell yourself that he probably sees far saggier backsides in his line of work but it doesn’t stop you from wishing you did more squats at the gym.
“Small sting,” he warns you, moments before stabbing the fine needle into the offending muscle.
You gasp as the muscle spasms violently, making your leg bounce off the bed. Your leg stops spasming but your can feel the muscle in your upper thigh and backside spasming violently under the skin as he locates one more point and stabs that one too. Immediately the spasming stops but you aware of a weird sensation left in its place, like something that’s been wound tight forever is letting go gradually.
“Very nice,” he murmurs approvingly before moving back up to your head.
You feel yourself melting into his touch as his long fingers explore your neck before delving under the hem of your shirt and digging into the muscles around the base of your neck. You don’t mean the groan in enjoyment but his trained fingers know exactly where to dig into your tense muscles, slowly working the knots free. He removes his hands and flattens them along your spine between your shoulder blades.
“Exhale,” he orders.
You havent quite expelled all the air in your lungs when he seemingly leans his whole upper body into his hands, crushing you into the bed with a satisfying crunch. You gasp a breath of air in shock as his hands move down a fraction.
“Again.”
You squeak in shock as the second one is louder and more painful than the first one, your ribs and spine crunching under his hands. Before you have a chance to recover though he has moved his hands lower again and crunched the last section of your spine. You groan dramatically which makes him chuckle again as he gently tugs the hem of your shirt down that rode up, smoothing it out gently with the palm of his hand.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” you whimper. “I don’t think I’m a paraplegic.”
“You’re not. I’m going to pull these needles out.”
You bite back a gasp at the sensation of the needles being pulled out which makes the muscle spasm again but far less painfully. With the needles removed, you marvel that your lower back somehow feels looser as he hooks his fingers under the hem of your pants and tugs them back up. Gently he pulls the hem of your shirt back down to meet the hem of your pants and smooths the material out with his massive hands. You catch a glimpse of his shoes again as he hooks a foot around the wheely stool and sits at your head, shuffling closer. He’s wearing dark pants, pressed at the seam and seemingly has the legs to match the long, spindly hands as he gets comfortable around your head. Everything about how he moves is slow and deliberate which intrigues you.
“Roll over and face me.”
You obey again as he tucks the pillow under your head as you roll up to face him, blinking blearily into the sudden glaring light coming through the windows. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus on the face looming just above yours.
“There you are,” he murmurs.
You stare up into his sharp copper eyes, feeling your mouth run dry. He’s handsome maker dammit, you think cringing more that he saw your ass before he saw your face. His face is all jagged angles and yet there’s a softness to his eyes and the way his grey hair swoops down his forehead. The tattoo is the most surprising feature, a single line scope over his left eye, like a sniper’s scope. He clearly notices the expression of surprise and smirks slightly.
“Not the face you were expecting?” he asks.
You swallow hard. “No. Dont see many chiro’s with facial tatts either.”
His huge hands slide down your neck again making your shiver in enjoyment as he begins working his fingers into your neck as you press your eyes shut in enjoyment. Gently, he turns your head to the right and then the left, feeling the resistance you told him about.
“I’m a former army sniper,” he answers shortly.
“That explains it.”
He doesn’t answer, turning your head back to the right you feel yourself involuntarily brace against him, your body knowing what was about to come next. He hums above you, your head cradled in both his hands trying to find the right position.
“Try to relax,” he murmurs.
“I am.”
“That’s a lie,” he tuts.
You’re about to make a smart remark when he brushes the curve of your ear with his thumb. The sensation startles you, the momentary release in your neck all he needed to sharply and violently crack it to the left. You yelp in shock, that feeling of the bones in your neck cracking never something you got used to because it always felt like a firecracker being let off in your skull. You gasp a breath and open your eyes to glare up at him, not surprised to find him smirking at you.
“Gotcha,” he murmurs, turning your head the other way.
“Owww,” you whimper.
He turns your neck the other way, gently rolling your head between his hands to find the right spot before cracking it violently to the right. His eyebrows pinch together in annoyance as he didn’t get the last couple of vertebrae to let go. He tries again, rolling your neck to the left and this time tapping his thumb against your pulse point to distract you but the vertebrae is locked tight.
“Dang farrik,” he mutters more to himself, releasing your neck from his grip. “Sit up, hang your legs over the edge of the bed.”
Obediently you shuffle up, rolling into the upright position feeling a little disorientated as he steps in behind you. You hesitate, not sure what he wants you to do next before he reaches around you, grasping your wrists firmly and resting it against the back of your skull before reaching for the other one. Your breath hitches in your chest as his strong arms wrap around you, pulling your other arm up behind your head.
“Lace your fingers and lean back into me,” he orders.
By now your heart is thudding in your chest as he loops his hands through your arms and pulls you firmly against his chest. Even through two layers of fabric you can feel the hard planes of his muscular chest as his huge hands lace over the top of yours against the back of your head. You inhale sharply, smelling the antiseptic spray they used to clean the room with and his own pungent scent before he leans back and jolts you upwards like you weigh nothing. You squeak loudly as something in your mid back let’s go suddenly as he releases you, his hands sliding out from yours.
“Good girl,” he murmurs before reaching for your neck again. “Let me try to get your neck again.”
You’re still breathing heavily through the pain of whatever he just got to let go as he cradles your head again. You force yourself to relax into his hands, as he gently rolls your neck side to side. Rolling it gently back to the left he spends a couple of moments finding the alignment he was looking for before tapping the pulse point in your throat again. The surprise of the gesture is the split-second distraction he needs in order to crack your neck hard to the left. You gasp, though not in pain as your neck suddenly feels substantially better. His hands slide off your neck as he steps around you, padding around the table to face you as you rub your neck.
“Kriff me,” you gasp, “I don’t know if my neck has ever been cracked like that before.”
He smirks, folding his arms and regarding you. “I’m not surprised.”
You stare at him, taking a better look at him again. “Army sniper you say? Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
He chuckles as you slide of the bed before reaching for the holder of business cards. “I would like to see you again, soon.”
You look at the simple black card with the white scope and his business details before accepting it. “Professionally or socially?” you quip and the immediately question where you found the bravery for that.
When he dosnt answer you look up, wondering if you crossed a boundary but he smirks, the depths of his copper eyes glinting at you. “Im normally not in the habit of making more work for myself,” he states. “But I’m sure I can make an exception to that rule.”
You gulp, your eyes widening. Holy kriff… you think in shock as the smirk widens.
“I… I may have to look into private health in that case,” you stammer in surprise. You look down at the business card again and register the name. “Crosshair.”
Crosshair steps around you, his arm brushing against yours as he passes before, he opens the door for you. “I’d recommend it,” he replies.