Bob, the guardian, the one who could stop an entire army with a single glance, now felt his breath catch at the mere touch. It started with an innocent joke, with you calling him a "big strong guardian," and ended with you sitting on his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He froze, as if the world around him had ceased to exist. The screen of the film was his face, which reflected images that he had not seen before.

You could feel him tense under you, his muscles, usually ready for battle, now held down by another force. His hands, which were usually clenched into fists, were trembling on the sides of his thighs.

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and then to another place. His pants became too tight, and he tried to move away unnoticeably, but you just snuggled closer. "So," you continued, your fingers sliding over his chest, "are you going to sit there like a statue?"

Bob swallowed, his voice now low and hoarse. "I... I do not know how to stop it." You grinned, feeling his heart beating faster under your palm. "Who says it needs to be stopped?"