A Spa Story
Commander Wolffe Gets a Pedicure (And Likes It)
Wolffe scowled at the young Zeltron woman seated before him, nail file in hand. "Absolutely not."
Huge, violet eyes blinked at him, but his scowl deepened. "No...polish, of any kind. And I mean it."
Bad enough he had to come along on this shabla, foolish mission when there was a War to win; bad enough that he'd been forced to leave his armor and weapons in the locker room and wear only a white, fluffy robe, but he was under no circumstances having anyone, even a pink-skinned, buxom Zeltron female paint his kriffing toenails. She'd already spent far too long clipping and buffing and Force-knows what else, and the very idea of paint on his toenails was enough to make his toes curl in the basin of hot water that was resting before the padded chair in which he was seated.
Okay, the basin felt...nice, actually. Several jets were streaming hot water across his feet, which were – for once – not sore in the least, and before she'd started the whole endeavor, the Zeltron had set the controls of the chair to something that vibrated pleasantly against the muscles of his back, which was not a totally unwelcome feeling, either.
"It's included in the package," she said, gesturing to the rainbow of tiny bottles in a display next to them. "Any color you like. I think I could even match your armor."
Following this, the Zeltron gave him a look that was, he supposed, meant to incite a man to all sorts of impure thoughts; it was a bright, beaming smile that accompanied her straightening back, which only served to highlight the – he had to admit – impressive swell of her rose-colored chest.
He expected her to deflate when he did not return her smile, but instead she gave him a knowing look and bent down to set the nail-file away with the rest of her tools, affording him a rather pleasant view for a man who'd been used to being surrounded by nothing but brothers. But he was Commander-kriffing-Wolffe, for Force's sake, and her charms – significant though they might be – would not work on him.
No crinking way.
So he took a deep breath and shook his head. "No polish."
"As you like," she replied lightly, bending once more to pick up his right foot; she selected a steaming washcloth from a small container beside her and placed it across his shin, pressing her hands down as if to force his skin to soak up the heat. "Now, try to relax, okay?"
Well, shab, that felt pretty good...then the towel slid away and he watched as she pulled a small bottle of something pale and creamy from the cart beside her.
Fierfek, was it so hard to listen?
"I said no polish," he said with a sigh. Honestly, this woman was worse than a damn shiny. "What part of-"
"It's just lotion," she replied, laughing. "Totally harmless, see?" To illustrate, she squirted a dollop of it on her hand and began rubbing the pale substance along her arm, where it contrasted nicely with her rosy skin. When he did not object further, she squirted out another measure in her palms and began rubbing them together, presumably to work up friction and heat.
As she did so, Wolffe's nose wrinkled. "What's that smell? Is that namana?"
She did not answer. Instead, she placed both hands on his right leg and began to rub.
The sudden pressure made his breath catch; she was stronger than she looked, and he'd been caught off-guard at the sensation of her hands on his leg, but he only allowed himself the feeling for an instant. She seemed not to notice his moment of surprise, instead kneading against the muscle of his calf with an expert touch. The lotion allowed her skin to glide over his easily, and coupled with the mechanical but pleasant rolling motions the chair was making against his back and the jets of water that were washing across his left foot as it rested in the basin, Wolffe felt his body relaxing more and more with each minute.
"Lean back, please," she said, and no one was more surprised than Wolffe when he complied without hesitation. When he did, she picked up his foot with both hands and rested his heel in her lap; part of his brain registered that his toes were perilously close to her breasts, but before he could object, she ran her thumbs along the arch of his foot, and his eyes closed.
Along with the arch, his heel was rubbed and kneaded, as was his ankle. Each toe was languished over with the sweet-smelling lotion that he knew he'd have to wash off...but later, perhaps. Once she was finished, she set his right foot back in the basin, then carefully picked up his left, giving it the same treatment with the towel, the lotion, and the rubbing.
Each minute that ticked by got better and better, and he forgot to think about how annoying all of this was, because really, it wasn't so bad to have a pretty woman treating him like this...
When each foot had been massaged individually, he felt her bring both of them up to the padded footrest at the end of the basin, and she began the process again: a steaming hot towel on his legs, followed by lotion and a sweeping rub on his calves and shins.
Maybe the entire thing took an hour, as it was supposed to. Maybe it only took ten minutes. By the end of it, Wolffe had no kriffing idea how much time had passed, but he did not find the idea as alarming as he perhaps should have.
In fact, what alarmed him the most was when her touch lifted from his legs; its absence was what caused his eyes to open and blink at her.
"All done." Her voice was as bright as her smile. For a moment he said nothing, then he swallowed and managed to collect his thoughts enough to form a reply. "Thanks...er-"
"Ava," she said with a nod.
"Ava." He nodded back, then glanced at the chrono on the wall. "Wait a minute...this was supposed to last an hour."
She bent to collect the washcloths she'd used, her dark, violet hair spilling down across her shoulder. "That's true."
Wolffe scowled again. "Are you trying to short me?"
"The hour includes a toenail polish," she replied with a shrug as she tossed the used washcloths in another bin. "Since you opted to decline my services in that area..." She paused and gave him a curious look that was, he thought, a little bit devious. "You're still declining, right?"
She nodded as well, then sighed and rested her chin on her hand, her gaze flickering to the array of polish bottles that were lined up so neatly along the wall. "It's too bad," she said, still not looking at him. "That one would go perfectly with your eye."
It was perhaps one of the oddest things he'd ever heard, and he couldn't not reply. "I thought you wanted to match the armor?"
Ava shrugged. "I changed my mind. Besides," she added, and he watched as spots of darker pink appeared in her cheeks. "Your eye is...well. Never mind."
She moved like she was going to stand up, but he was beyond curious, now, and still rather relaxed from the whole ordeal, so he cleared his throat, causing her to glance his way again. "What about my eye?"
"It's...unique," she said, meeting his gaze. "Sexy. And I love the color silver. Very distinguished."
Wolffe studied her for a moment. "You have silver polish?"
Violet eyes lit up with excitement, but he could see that she was trying to remain casual. Rather than answer right away, she stood up, selected a bottle from the rows and brought it back to him for his inspection. "See? It's a perfect match."
So it was. He'd spent enough hours staring at his cybernetic implant to see that was the case. Another glance at Ava showed him that she was nearly quivering with excitement, though she was doing a fair job keeping her expression neutral, and the thought crossed his mind that there were worse things in life than meeting a beautiful Zeltron woman who thought his implant was sexy.
Finally he sighed and nodded, then leaned back in the chair. "Okay, Ava. Polish away."
Her smile was wide. "But you said 'no polish.'"
Wolffe did not smile back, but he was pretty damn close to it. "I changed my mind."