Slow Torture
De encouraged me to post this, so I'm doing it now before I forget AGAIN.
I wrote it more than a year ago if I remember correctly, because she was asking me about the time period between the end of the Legacy and the beginning of the Apocalypse when Rhys was under house arrest. I only shared it with her at the time because I was embarrassed (you'll probably get why when you read it), and then after a while I forgot all about it. Then she brought it up again during a conversation a few weeks ago and I was all "oh yeah, that thing," and I decided I might as well share. I feel less shame now than I did a year ago, heh.
Partially influenced by How I Met Your Mother, mostly influenced by...other things. Enjoy!
---
It was supposed to have been a simple evening watching TV.
Marina would never know it, but she had unwittingly designed the worst punishment possible for Rhys-slow torture at the hands of someone who had to have no clue what she was doing to him. It seemed as though De was never content unless she was invading his personal space somehow. She was always touching him-taking his arm, kissing his cheek, patting his pointy hair, giving him hugs. Weeks of close contact had him nearly at his breaking point, and he had his Author to thank.
Damn her.
He should have known what was going to happen when he sat down after his chores were done to take in a couple of late-night comedy shows, but he was so exhausted after the long day that he was not thinking straight, and of course within a few minutes De ambled over, sat down, and curled up with him. “What’re you watching?”
His jaw set. “Saturday Night Live’s about to come on.”
“Ooh, sounds fun. I wonder if there’re any good sketches tonight.”
Rhys could not even manage a reply, so intent was he on not moving a single inch. Her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, her arms wrapped securely around his middle, and he wanted so badly to return the embrace-and do a fair bit more to her on top of that-but did not dare. Neither could he leave, because it would only upset her. The only thing to do was keep his eyes fixed on the TV and pretend she was not there.
It worked, for a short amount of time, until something made her laugh and he was reminded of her closeness. Apparently, during that time, she had also started lightly patting his chest, which made him jump slightly before he could stop himself. “You okay, Rhys?” she asked, sitting up a little and allowing her hand to drop onto his thigh in the process.
“Just fine,” he ground out, clenching his fists tightly where she could not see.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You really don’t sound well, though,” she said, concernedly laying her hand on his forehead to feel his temperature.
It was the last straw. “Well, maybe if you’d stop pawing at me all the damn time, for God’s sake!”
She stared at him in surprise for a moment before she realized what he meant by that, and hurriedly slid away from him. “Oh shit.”
“And now she gets it.” He hissed, pressing his legs together hard in order to keep from grabbing himself in front of her. “There are not enough cold showers in the world for this.”
“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even thinking about it, I swear. I’m so sorry, Rhys.”
“It’s a little late for that now,” he shot.
“I get it! I’m sorry!”
He scowled at her. “How about you just knock it off instead of apologizing?”
“Yeah, I will.” She sat there for a moment, contemplating him, and then a slow smile came to her face. “Or…or…”
The next thing he knew, she had tackled him and was quite literally kissing the breath out of him. He somehow managed to push her off. “Deanna, did you hear anything that I just said?” he demanded, voice strangled.
“Oh, come on. You’re really telling me you don’t want to?”
“And you do?”
She gave him a Look, running her hands up his torso for effect. “I haven’t gotten any in a lot longer than you have,” she pointed out.
At this point, there was no considering common sense. “Bedroom?”
“Couch is fine.”
“Got it.” He snatched her back toward him without further ado.
I wrote it more than a year ago if I remember correctly, because she was asking me about the time period between the end of the Legacy and the beginning of the Apocalypse when Rhys was under house arrest. I only shared it with her at the time because I was embarrassed (you'll probably get why when you read it), and then after a while I forgot all about it. Then she brought it up again during a conversation a few weeks ago and I was all "oh yeah, that thing," and I decided I might as well share. I feel less shame now than I did a year ago, heh.
Partially influenced by How I Met Your Mother, mostly influenced by...other things. Enjoy!
---
It was supposed to have been a simple evening watching TV.
Marina would never know it, but she had unwittingly designed the worst punishment possible for Rhys-slow torture at the hands of someone who had to have no clue what she was doing to him. It seemed as though De was never content unless she was invading his personal space somehow. She was always touching him-taking his arm, kissing his cheek, patting his pointy hair, giving him hugs. Weeks of close contact had him nearly at his breaking point, and he had his Author to thank.
Damn her.
He should have known what was going to happen when he sat down after his chores were done to take in a couple of late-night comedy shows, but he was so exhausted after the long day that he was not thinking straight, and of course within a few minutes De ambled over, sat down, and curled up with him. “What’re you watching?”
His jaw set. “Saturday Night Live’s about to come on.”
“Ooh, sounds fun. I wonder if there’re any good sketches tonight.”
Rhys could not even manage a reply, so intent was he on not moving a single inch. Her head rested comfortably on his shoulder, her arms wrapped securely around his middle, and he wanted so badly to return the embrace-and do a fair bit more to her on top of that-but did not dare. Neither could he leave, because it would only upset her. The only thing to do was keep his eyes fixed on the TV and pretend she was not there.
It worked, for a short amount of time, until something made her laugh and he was reminded of her closeness. Apparently, during that time, she had also started lightly patting his chest, which made him jump slightly before he could stop himself. “You okay, Rhys?” she asked, sitting up a little and allowing her hand to drop onto his thigh in the process.
“Just fine,” he ground out, clenching his fists tightly where she could not see.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You really don’t sound well, though,” she said, concernedly laying her hand on his forehead to feel his temperature.
It was the last straw. “Well, maybe if you’d stop pawing at me all the damn time, for God’s sake!”
She stared at him in surprise for a moment before she realized what he meant by that, and hurriedly slid away from him. “Oh shit.”
“And now she gets it.” He hissed, pressing his legs together hard in order to keep from grabbing himself in front of her. “There are not enough cold showers in the world for this.”
“I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t even thinking about it, I swear. I’m so sorry, Rhys.”
“It’s a little late for that now,” he shot.
“I get it! I’m sorry!”
He scowled at her. “How about you just knock it off instead of apologizing?”
“Yeah, I will.” She sat there for a moment, contemplating him, and then a slow smile came to her face. “Or…or…”
The next thing he knew, she had tackled him and was quite literally kissing the breath out of him. He somehow managed to push her off. “Deanna, did you hear anything that I just said?” he demanded, voice strangled.
“Oh, come on. You’re really telling me you don’t want to?”
“And you do?”
She gave him a Look, running her hands up his torso for effect. “I haven’t gotten any in a lot longer than you have,” she pointed out.
At this point, there was no considering common sense. “Bedroom?”
“Couch is fine.”
“Got it.” He snatched her back toward him without further ado.