Touch Therapy: Where Hands Go, Bodies Beg

The massage room smelled faintly of eucalyptus and cedarwood. Joon-ho moved silently as he prepared—fresh towels folded at the corner, small bottles of warmed oil lined neatly, the table disinfected and covered in crisp white sheets. His movements were steady, methodical. Every detail mattered: the placement of pillows, the temperature of the lamp, even the background music—low, instrumental, unobtrusive. By the time the bell above the clinic door chimed, the room was ready.

From the reception, Harin's voice rang out, bright as ever.

"Welcome!"

The door clicked shut, and footsteps entered. Joon-ho straightened his posture and listened.

"Um… hello." The voice was female, steady but reserved.

When Harin answered, her tone softened, a touch of excitement bleeding through. "You must be Yoon Hye-jin, right? We've been expecting you."

The name carried weight—an Olympian, South Korea's archery star, and one of the most consistent medal contenders the country had produced. She'd been in the news just last week: an injury relapse that had fans worrying whether she'd even compete in the upcoming Games.

"Please, come in." Harin's footsteps padded across the floor, guiding her toward the lounge.

By the time Joon-ho entered, Harin had already offered her a seat and was gesturing toward the drink tray.

"Would you like tea or water, unnie?"

"Water, please," Hye-jin replied, her eyes wandering across the clinic. She was dressed casually—slim jeans, a loose hoodie—but her gaze was sharp, the kind of gaze honed from years of steadying a bowstring under pressure. She wasn't just glancing; she was studying. The walls, the floors, the minimalist décor—her brows furrowed slightly, as though she was piecing together what kind of man worked here.

Joon-ho approached. Calm, unreadable. "Welcome, Yoon Hye-jin-ssi."

Her attention shifted immediately to him. Up close, he could see faint shadows under her eyes, the subtle tension in her jaw. An athlete carrying more than physical pain.

She inclined her head slightly. "Coach Min recommended you. And… Ji-hye too. She practically forced me to come."

Joon-ho's lips curved faintly. "Forced?"

"She wouldn't shut up about you," Hye-jin admitted, a small huff escaping her nose. "Kept saying your hands were magic, that no therapist compares. She looked… excited, almost glowing. I thought, if it's enough to make her beam like that, then maybe it's worth a try."

He said nothing boastful, only a simple, "I'll do what I can for you. Every body responds differently."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before narrowing slightly. "Tell me something."

"Yes?"

"Is it true? That you're Ji-hye's man?"

The directness didn't faze him. "Yes," he answered plainly.

No hesitation. No defensiveness. Just fact.

Hye-jin blinked, then gave a low chuckle, shaking her head. "She didn't exaggerate then. She really meant it."

Silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but weighted with unspoken things.

Joon-ho steered the conversation forward. "Where's the pain?"

At that, Hye-jin sat straighter, her professional mask slipping back on. "Shoulder first. When I draw the bowstring, this side—" she lifted her right arm, rotating her shoulder with a grimace "—feels like it's grinding inside. Some days I can barely pull full draw."

"Any other areas?"

"Upper back," she admitted. "After training, it's stiff. Almost burning."

He nodded slowly, already sketching her body map in his head. "Recent flare-up?"

"Last week. Overseas competition. I thought it was gone, but…" she exhaled sharply. "Now I don't know if I can push through to the Olympics. This was supposed to be my last."

Her voice dipped on the last words, heavy with frustration.

Joon-ho didn't answer immediately. He let her words sit, then finally said, "I'll check everything during the session. For now, don't think about the Games. Just focus on your body."

She studied him, as if testing whether he was just spouting comfort. But his tone was grounded, solid. Finally, she nodded. "Alright."

Harin reappeared, hands folded neatly in front of her. "I'll show you to the massage room."

Hye-jin followed her down the short hallway. Inside, the room glowed warmly, the faint scent of aromatherapy thicker here. The massage table stood ready. Hye-jin hesitated at the door, eyes flicking to the folded robe on the counter.

"Is that… for me?"

"Yes," Harin said gently, picking it up. "A kimono robe. You'll wear this after undressing."

Hye-jin frowned. "Undressing… all the way?"

"Mm." Harin's smile was practiced, reassuring. "It's better without anything underneath. Oils spread more evenly, and he can work properly without straps or fabric in the way. You'll stay covered by the robe until he begins. Once you're on the table, towels are used where needed."

"I see…" Hye-jin's voice was low, but tinged with embarrassment.

Harin tilted her head, reading her expression. "It's the same for every client. You're not the first to feel shy."

That seemed to ease her slightly. Still, her fingers brushed her hoodie's hem with reluctance. "Alright. I'll manage."

Harin handed her the robe and gestured toward the screen divider. "You can change there. I'll fold your clothes and keep them tidy."

"Thank you."

The door shut softly behind Harin, leaving Hye-jin alone.

For a moment she just stood there, holding the folded kimono, staring at the massage table. Naked. She hadn't expected that. She thought maybe there'd be disposable shorts, or a bikini-like cover like in spas. The idea of baring herself in front of a man she'd just met—Ji-hye's man no less—made her stomach tighten.

But she'd seen Ji-hye's eyes when she talked about him. She'd heard the conviction in Coach Min's voice.

With a soft sigh, she peeled off her hoodie, then her jeans. Her sports bra and panties followed slowly, each slip of fabric making her feel more exposed than the archery field ever had. When the last piece was folded and set aside, she tied the kimono snugly around her, the silk brushing coolly against her skin.

She sat on the massage bed, pulling the robe tighter, legs crossed. Her fingers drummed against her thigh nervously as she waited.

The knock on the door was soft, polite.

"Are you ready?" Joon-ho's voice carried through, calm and steady.

Hye-jin startled slightly, clutching the kimono closer to her. "...Yes."

The door opened, and he stepped inside. His expression didn't change when he saw her sitting there, robe tied tight, posture stiff. He'd seen countless clients like this—nervous, unsure. For him, it was another day's work. For her, it felt like a test she hadn't prepared for.

"Lie down, face down," he instructed gently, gesturing toward the table. "The opening for your face is here. Just breathe normally."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she untied the robe. She slipped it off her shoulders and quickly lay down, pressing her chest against the sheets, her breasts flattening. The robe pooled loosely at her hips before she tugged it down to cover herself. Her skin prickled at the open air on her back.

The first touch came like a question: his palms pressing lightly against her shoulders. Not intrusive, not hesitant. Just present.

"You're tense," he murmured.

"No kidding," she muttered into the padded cradle.

He allowed the corner of his mouth to curve. "Try to relax. If you keep resisting, it'll hurt more when I start working the muscle."

She made a low noise—half laugh, half groan. "I'm trying. But you do realize I've never been naked in front of a man who wasn't my boyfriend, right?"

"I do," he replied evenly. His thumbs began moving, pressing carefully into the line of her trapezius. "That's why I said: just focus on your breathing. Don't think about anything else."

Hye-jin sucked in a slow breath, then let it out. She told herself this was nothing—just therapy. Just physical recovery. But her ears were burning.

The pressure increased. His fingers slid, pressing deeper into the knots that had gathered from months of training. At first it was sharp pain, flaring through her shoulder like sparks. She let out an involuntary gasp.

"Ah—!"

"Pain is normal," Joon-ho said softly. "I'll hold until the muscle gives."

His thumbs pressed firmly into the joint at the back of her shoulder. Her body wanted to twist away, but then—suddenly—the tension broke. A rush of warmth flowed through the area, her muscles loosening all at once.

"Oh my god…" Her voice trembled with relief.

"That's it," he said. "Let go."

The process repeated: pain, pressure, release. Each time she moaned softly into the cradle, the sound slipping out against her will.

"Mmm—ahhh—"

She bit her lip hard, embarrassed by her own voice. But there was no stopping it. His touch found every weak point, every hidden knot, and melted them away.

Her upper back was next. His palms spread oil across her skin, warm and slick, then pushed downward in long strokes. His thumbs dug along her spine, finding the stiff ridges.

"You've been compensating for the shoulder," he murmured. "Overloading your back."

"Y-yeah," she admitted, voice muffled. "Sometimes it burns after practice. I thought it was just bad posture."

"It's more than posture. It's imbalance. You're pulling harder on one side. That's why the pain lingers."

As he spoke, his hands worked with practiced rhythm. Pressure, release. Pressure, release. Each time her breath hitched, then deepened. Her body was learning to trust him.

"Ahhh—" Another moan slipped free, this one longer, drawn out as his thumbs pressed into her rhomboids. Her nipple brushed against the sheets beneath her, stiffening before she could stop it.

Heat flushed across her cheeks. What the hell is wrong with me…?

But he was relentless, his touch impersonal yet devastatingly thorough. When his hands slid lower, kneading into her waist and hips, a shiver jolted through her.

"Still with me?" he asked quietly.

"Y-yeah," she breathed, though her voice cracked.

The pressure on her waist deepened. He pressed his thumbs down slowly, deliberately, until she gasped.

"O-ohhh…"

The ache traveled down, low into her belly, even lower. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.

He didn't pause, didn't comment. He simply continued the methodical massage, easing the stiffness out of her hips, moving with the certainty of a man who knew exactly how to command a body.

Harin stood silently by the wall, watching. She had seen this before—the transformation of pain into release, tension into trembling surrender. She knew tonight wasn't about sex. This was Joon-ho in his purest form, giving himself wholly to someone's healing. But the intimacy was undeniable.

Hye-jin, oblivious to Harin's presence, let out another shuddering sigh. Her nipples were fully hard now, brushing the table with every breath. She shifted slightly, but the movement only made her more aware of the slickness forming between her thighs.

Joon-ho's palms smoothed over the curve of her ass, kneading firmly into the glute muscles. It was professional—focused on releasing tension in the hips—but her body reacted anyway, a low moan spilling out before she could bite it back.

"Ahhh—nngh—"

She buried her face deeper into the cradle, mortified. But her body wouldn't listen.

By the time he worked down her legs, her entire body felt like it was floating—weightless, pliant. The pain that had haunted her shoulder was dulled, the stiffness in her back gone.

Her breathing slowed. The earlier embarrassment blurred into drowsiness.

Maybe it was the relief. Maybe the exhaustion from weeks of training. Maybe it was simply the strange safety she felt on this table, under his hands.

Whatever the reason, her eyelids grew heavy.

"I think…" she murmured weakly, "I might fall asleep…"

"Then sleep," Joon-ho said, his tone even. "Your body needs it."

She wanted to argue, to insist she wasn't that weak, but her body betrayed her. Within moments, her breaths evened out, soft and steady.

Joon-ho wiped his hands clean and adjusted the towel to cover her properly. He glanced at Harin, who nodded silently.

The archer was resting. For now, that was all that mattered.