Sol didn’t think. His survival instincts kicked in faster than his conscious thought. He yanked his waistband back up, tying the knot with a speed that blurred his fingers. He scrambled backward, putting a respectable distance between himself and Evara, smoothing down his tunic and running a hand through his disheveled hair.
Instantly, inside the hut, the tension slowly bled out, replaced by the heavy, languid atmosphere of a predator’s den after a meal. He looked at Evara, expecting confusion or panic.
Evara blinked, her caramel eyes slowly regaining their focus as she came down from the dizzying high of the "treatment." She pushed herself up on her elbows, stretching like a satisfied cat, her joints popping. She didn’t seem to care that her wrap was hanging precariously low, almost falling off one shoulder, exposing creamy skin or that her hair was a bird’s nest of tangles. She was looking completely unbothered and slightly dazed.
"Is that Lyra?" she asked lazily, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Why did you stop? The treatment... was it over?"
Sol stared at her. She truly had no idea. She thought he was just a very intense chiropractor.
"Yes," he hissed, wiping sweat from his upper lip. "The treatment is done!"
"Sol?" Lyra called again, sounding concerned.
"Coming, Aunt!" Sol cracked, his voice an octave too high. "Just... wait a minute.!"
As he was moving towards the door, he took deep, silent gulps of air, forcing his heart rate to decelerate from ’devouring prey’ to ’innocent nephew.’
"Time for me to channel all the bad acting I have seen in those educational videos" he whispered.
He pulled the wooden door open and stepped out into the cool evening air. The contrast was startling; the air outside was fresh, carrying the scent of damp earth, a sharp relief from the musk-filled oven he had just exited.
He put on his best smile... serene, helpful, slightly tired... and turned to face the figure waiting in the twilight.
"Aunt," he greeted, his voice only slightly breathless. "You’re back early."
Lyra stood there, looking exhausted, her shoulders slumped under the weight of a long day. She was carrying a large, dripping woven basket filled with fruits and wild vegetables.
"Early? The sun is down, Sol," she said, shaking her head with a fond, tired smile. "I was starting to worry you’d fallen asleep somewhere."
"Oh," Sol blinked, feigning surprise as he looked at the darkening sky. "I didn’t notice. Time... flies when you’re focused."
Lyra stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she inspected him in the fading light.
"Leave that," she said, tilting her head. "What were you doing inside? And why are you so... messy? You’re sweating like you ran from a Thornmaw."
Sol froze for a microsecond. He looked down at himself. His tunic was rumpled, his skin was glistening, and he probably smelled like Evara’s floral musk mixed with intense exertion.
"Oh... this," he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y-you know that Aunt Evara asked for me to cook for her? So, I was here to cook. The fire was very hot, and... well, cooking a feast for a hungry woman is hard work, you know keeping the temperature steady for the meat... it takes a lot of physical effort. Lots of... vigorous stirring."
"Oh..." Lyra’s expression softened into understanding. "That makes sense. Her firepit is deep; it gets very warm in there."
Just then, the wooden door creaked open wider.
Evara stepped out. She had barely made an effort to tidy up. Her wrap was retied loosely, threatening to slip down, her hair was still wild, and her skin held a rosy, post-coital flush that made her look radiant in the twilight. She leaned against the doorframe, looking thoroughly boneless.
"Lyra," Evara greeted, her voice a low, satisfied purr. "You’re back."
Lyra smiled at her neighbor, oblivious to the heavy aura radiating from the woman. "Evara. Sol tells me he was cooking for you?"
"He did more than cook," Evara sighed happily, stretching her arms overhead, a movement that lifted her bust prominently. "He made me a meal fit for a Chief, Lyra. And then..."
And then..." She looked at Sol, her eyes gleaming with a secret amusement. "...he saw I was in pain. He helped me with my stiff back using that strange technique... what did you call it? Massage?"
"Yes," Sol interjected quickly. "Massage."
"It really worked," Evara continued, rubbing her hip fondly, her fingers digging into the flesh Sol had been kneading moments ago. "I’m feeling so much better already. Loose. Relaxed. I feel like every knot in my body has been... untied. I’m feeling so much better already. Loose. Relaxed. I feel like I could sleep for a week."
She looked directly at Sol, licking her lips. "You have magic hands, little Sol. You found spots I didn’t even know needed touching."
Hearing this, Lyra’s face lit up with pride. She set down her heavy basket and walked over to Sol, placing a hand on his cheek.
"You are a good boy, Sol," she sighed, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "Helping a widow when others shun her. Taking care of your neighbors... The ancestors are surely smiling on you right now."
Sol choked back a cough, forcing himself to keep a straight face.
Smiling? he thought wryly. If the ancestors saw what I was just doing to her ass... and where my fingers almost went... they’re not smiling. They’re probably fuming and jumping around in the graves.
"I just did what the spirits guided me to do," Sol said modestly, lowering his eyes like a saint.
"He really has a gift," Evara added, chiming in. She stepped closer to Lyra, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper "His hands... they are so strong, he knows exactly where to press. He found knots I didn’t even know I had. And when he used his body weight to really push deep into my—"