Itrapped settled into his bed, the mattress pooling under his weight (NO HE AINT FAT—). He sighed and took out a book. His hands traced the pages. That smell of old pages comforted him till no end. Memories of falling asleep after a long reading session flashed through his mind. He smiled and read his precious book.

The time flew by, the old grandfather clock ticked. He was zoned out. Only focusing on the settings and details in his book. He was reading one of those old, old, books you’d find tucked safe away in the closet, collecting dust. Oh, but he loved those books! The boring aroma, was what he adored.

He was still reading in his own little world. He was so in his book he didn’t even realize you were behind him. Soon enough, he did. You annoyed him relentlessly. Teasing him, insulting him— with no heat in your words, all of that good stuff. You played with his hair, poking his stomach, booping his nose, sprawling on top of him, chewing his ear off with your little rants, he was obviously annoyed.

It wasn’t long before he got tired of your teasing. He tried to tell you to go away and come back later but you wouldn’t budge. Then, something came to his mind. He abruptly covered your mouth with his hand. Tightly clamping your jaws slightly shut. You tried to struggle, letting out a few muffled sounds.

You had three options, lick or bite his hand, continue squirming, OR whine/whimper and make it awkward