In which Y/n, a physical therapist, learns a lot about a quiet defenseman giving his aching back a massage
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Magic Hair, Magic Hands
Rammer's whole body aches. He's played hockey before. He is a hockey player. If anything the fact he's stuck it out this far - and made it thus far - just proves he's a hockey player. But as much of a hockey player as he is, he's never played hockey like this before.
Sure, he's worked hard. He's had a few injuries, and his share of sore muscles, but he's never hurt so terribly before. He feels as though his entire body has formed into a knot. Every muscle in his body is tight and the simplest of movements lights it all on fire.
Nothing seems to be working. No matter who massages them, or how long he sits in that - oh, so relaxing - hot bath, or puts a warm compress on them they never seem to relax. Yet he craves that sweet feeling of release. The blissful ignorance of sitting in a tub of hot water until he's a raisin, even if the pain all returns when he gets out, is enough to coax him into it once more. Plus, he'd gotten orders from Doc.
The second he walked in after practice, tired of being in pain, Doc pointed to the tub he'd just filled.
"I knew you'd be coming." He gives Rammer a grin, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You're easy enough to take care of. Go relax for a little while."
Mike could only manage a tired smile, dragging himself over to the metallic, boat shaped object. Stripping quickly, eager to get into the bath (and not draw much attention to himself), he steps in. He's lowered himself most of the way when the relaxation factor kicks in. He sinks further down, adjusting his arms so they sit on the sides, relishing the feeling of the muscles in his legs and back relaxing. He lets out a quiet sigh, having not even noticed his eyes have already slipped shut and his head dips back to rest against the curvature of the tub.
So entranced with the sweet relief the water brings, he misses Doc's smile. And the way his teammates come and go - receiving hums in response to their greetings. He's only half listening to Doc when he says he will send Y/n to check in later.
Lost in his sea of bliss, he smiles at the thought of Y/n. She's great at what she does. Underneath Doc's supervision, she's becoming quite the physical therapist. Plus, he's heard from some of the other boys you never turn down an offer for a massage from her. He's been told, from multiple different accounts, about how magic her hands are. How well they work to ease the pain, not to mention how lovely they feel against one's skin - even as they work out the nastiest of knots.
Mike Ramsey has dreamed about one of those massages. Of course, he has enough tight muscles and knots to give her an eternity of massaging, but even if she can't get them all, what a relief it would be to just get some. None of the other boys can. He's asked, they've tried, they've failed. They've told him to ask Y/n, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to approach her. And if he ever did grow the confidence, when she turned to him - those eyes shining, that smile glistening, that scent wafting beneath his nose - he'd lose his ability to speak.
