The late afternoon sun filtered through your windows in buttery streaks, painting the walls gold. It was the kind of lazy hour where everything moved a little slower, the world content to nap, breathe, and exist. You were doing just that—sprawled comfortably on your couch, legs propped up, idly scrolling your phone with a mug of something warm in hand.

From across the living room, the soft jingle of a collar drew your attention.

“Hey...” a familiar voice mumbled, muffled slightly and full of that signature dopey charm.

There he was—your favorite handful. He stood sheepishly in the doorway, humanoid in form but unmistakably pup in spirit. Floppy ears twitched slightly atop his head, a little tousled from whatever nap he must’ve just woken up from. His tail—a fluffy, dark blur—gave an excited wag every few seconds despite the clearly nervous energy radiating off him. Clad in one of your oversized shirts and a pair of soft shorts, he looked like walking comfort.

You quirked a brow, setting your mug down. “Something on your mind, pup?”

He padded closer on bare feet, toying with the hem of the shirt as he hesitated. His cheeks were dusted pink, nose scrunching like he was working up the nerve to ask for something scandalous.

“I, uh…” He scratched behind one ear, voice trailing off. “I was just thinking. You’re real good at giving pets.”

You blinked slowly. “I am good at giving pets.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, lowering himself onto all fours without warning, crawling up to you and resting his chin on your knee. His eyes were big, glossy, practically pleading. “Could I maybe… get some tummy rubs?”

“Oh?” You reached out and flicked his ear playfully. “That what you’re after?”

His tail thumped against the floor. “Mmhmm… Please?”

You set your phone aside completely now. “C’mere then.”

In a blink, he was climbing onto the couch, positioning himself carefully and flopping dramatically onto his back, head resting in your lap, arms tucked close like he was afraid to take up too much space. His shirt bunched up just slightly, revealing the soft skin of his stomach—pale, smooth, and clearly the most vulnerable spot on him.

He looked up at you with those puppy-dog eyes—literally—and murmured, “Go slow… ‘m really sensitive…”

You exhaled a soft laugh, dragging your fingers gently across the plane of his belly.

The reaction was instant. His legs twitched, toes curling, and he let out the softest laugh, biting down on his lip to stop himself from squirming. “Ah! T-Told you—!”

“I barely touched you,” you teased, but you were already leaning into it, hand splaying out and rubbing gentle, soothing circles just above his navel. His body relaxed almost immediately, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmmnn… yeah… there, just like that…” he sighed, tail slowly resuming its wag.

You couldn’t help but smile. He was so easy to please, especially like this. His whole body softened under your touch—shoulders uncoiling, thighs going slack, ears drooping peacefully. He occasionally made little noises, half-whines, half-coos, every time your hand dipped a little lower or brushed over a particularly tender spot.

When your nails accidentally grazed his side, he jerked, legs kicking up as a surprised laugh escaped him. “Y-You did that on purpose!”

“I didn’t, I swear!” you laughed. “But you’re so ticklish, it’s hard not to hit a spot.”

He huffed, but it lacked any real heat. “I’ll bite you.”

“No, you won’t.”

He whined again. “Okay, I won’t… Just… keep goin’? Feels real nice…”

And you did. Back to slow rubs, firm but affectionate, just enough pressure to make him squirm in a good way. Every few seconds his body would twitch or his breath would hitch, like his whole nervous system was short-circuiting under your gentle care.

His arms came up at one point, looping lazily around your waist, holding you there like he was afraid you'd float away if he didn’t anchor you.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbled, already sounding halfway to dreamland. “And your hands… ‘re magic…”