Garras the Masseur
Garras the Masseur The steam hung heavily in the dimly lit room, a gentle haze that veiled the intimate space in secrecy. Garras, a broad-shouldered bear with fur as dark as the shadows that clung to the corners of the enclosure, watched Alan across from him. The ram's bulky frame seemed out of place on the slim cedar bench, his muscles tensed like steel cables beneath the woolen surface of his skin. Every so often, Alan shifted, his movements deliberate yet uneasy, as if he were trying to escape an invisible restraint. "Something wrong, big guy?" Garras' voice cut through the mist, as thick and warm as the steam that wrapped around them. Alan let out a grunt, his eyes not meeting Garras'. He adjusted himself once more, his hands briefly disappearing beneath the towel draped over his substantial lap. "It's these damn balls," he muttered, the frustration clear in his deep, rumbling tone. "Ever since she left me, they've been swelling up som...