18 with Feysand djsjjdjs
Five More Minutes
Pairing: Feysand
Word count: 551
Warnings: none
18 - back hugs in the morning
(fluff writing game)
Rhys could never get enough of his mate—of that he was sure.
Whenever Feyre was near, his hands would automatically reach for her. A brush of their fingers, a caress along her arm, a hand at her back…
He couldn't help himself. He needed to touch her. And if she wasn't near, he'd go to her.
Rhys got out of bed and walked to the bathroom, where Feyre was getting ready in front of the mirror. Her reflection smiled at him as his arms slipped around her waist, drawing her back against his bare chest.
“Are you sure you can't come back to bed?” His lips brushed the skin of her neck as he spoke, soft like a feather. “Just five more minutes?”
Feyre playfully flicked his forehead. “No,” she replied, turning back to the mirror. “You already asked for five more minutes, and that was fifteen minutes ago. Now I'm late.”
But Rhysand didn't give up. His arms tightened around her, and he rested his chin on her shoulder, watching as she finished doing her makeup.
“I'm sure Mor would understand,” he mumbled.
“Rhys,” she chided, “I promised her we'd have breakfast together.”
He shrugged, then a sly smirk appeared on his lips. “I'm the High Lord,” he said. “I could make her reschedule. Or order that bakery to take a day off.”
Feyre chuckled, eyes on the mirror. “Are you pulling rank to keep me here?”
Rhys only hummed, pressing a kiss to her jaw. She drew a black line on his nose with her mascara, then laughed again as she put it away.
He lifted a brow. “That was uncalled for.”
“Uncalled for?” Feyre turned in his embrace, looping her arms around his neck. “I'd say it's very much deserved for threatening to pull ranks like that.”
He gave her an exaggeratedly offended look. “It was merely a suggestion, darling.”
“Fine,” she replied with a grin. “Then here's a suggestion from your High Lady.”
His eyes gleamed at the mention of her title. His fingers slightly dug into her waist as she leaned in to murmur in his ear.
“Don't even think about ruining my breakfast with Mor.”
He couldn't lie—he was disappointed. And judging by Feyre's low chuckle as she pulled back, she knew it too.
But she only looked at him.
“Alright,” he finally gave in. “Go on and abandon your mate to see his cousin instead.”
She rolled her eyes. “You're a few centuries too old to be acting like a baby, Rhys.”
But then she drew him closer for a kiss, and no matter how many times their lips met, it would never be enough for him.
“I really have to go now,” Feyre said after they broke apart. “I'll see you in a few hours?”
Rhysand held her close for a moment longer before finally letting her go.
“Always,” he answered. Then he smirked. “And then we can finally have those five minutes?”
She shook her head, already heading toward the bedroom door. “You're impossible.”
Rhys smiled at the affection in her voice. He leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, watching as Feyre stopped after opening the door.
She glanced back to him.
“Oh, and good luck getting that mascara off your nose.” She flashed him a grin. “It's waterproof.”
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