hard » m. phelps

VI|Clarisse

It had taken us less than 5 minutes to wash the dishes. He taught me how to properly clean and scrub them, rinse them, and dry them.

Michael was swift and graceful in his movements, normally taking him no more effort than just stretching his muscled arm to grab the liquid soap and sponge from the other side of the kitchen. Being a giant with long limbs has its perks, moving like fluid water droplets on smooth skin. His soft now-I-noticed-hazel eyes would be focused on his skillful hands, and his foot would tap impatiently against the floor, anxious to move with the rest of the graceful body.

I, on the other hand, was as clumsy as hell. My hands may be delicate, but my whole body felt disproportionate. Just, like, wrong. Every so often, I would try to reach out for utensils on the other counter, and end up face-planting the floor, with Michael laughing his arse off as he picks me up from the floor.

When we were done, I looked up (and it was quite a long way up) at him expectantly.

"Clarisse, this is your home as much as it is mine now," he smiled reassuringly at me, "You can do just about anything you would like, but if you'd like to set some ground rules, it's fine by me," he shrugged his broad muscled shoulders.

I went to sit down on the red couch, hoping to sit on the right side which I had been eying for a few seconds now, seeing as it had the blue comforter, but to my disappointment, he made it there faster, and stuck out his tongue at me as he sat with his legs crossed clad in his sweatpants.

I rolled my eyes. How mature.

In return, I lay down on his lap, shocking him. He gave in and smiled, but not before asking, "May I ask why you suddenly felt the need to lay down on my lap?" with a humorous twinkle in his eyes, and smile lines carving in his sharp face.

"Replacing the comforter," I replied, voice void of emotion, despite barely keeping in a hyena laugh at his silly smile.

"Well, okay," he sighed over dramatically, with a devilish look in his eyes, "I hope you don't mind me doing.. THIS!"

And he leaned in as his nimble, long fingers attacked my sides. I let loose a squeal of laughter, unable to keep it in anymore. He kept on tickling me, and I was laughing so hard that I had rolled off the couch somehow and ended up on the blue carpet. He did not hesitate to crouch by me and continue with this painless torture.

"Stahp..Micha-Oh God..Don't you da-AARE!" I gasped between embarrassingly loud laughs and breaths.

By now, I was a laughing mess, and so was he, his eyes crinkling as he watched me embarrass myself. His loud chuckles echoed richly through the whole house, reverberating through the walls. It was a very pleasant sound, thrumming through my body like a shot of electricity as I felt an emotion I hadn't felt in a long time.

Delight.

For the first time in forever, I was having fun with a friend and a savior.

He suddenly stopped, both our breaths heavy, still smiling from the silliness.

He gave me his hand as he helped me stand up from the floor, and I quickly thanked him, as we both plopped down on the couch, side by side.

I smirked.

"C'mon Mike, we're fully matured adults. We should act like it really," I shrugged, still smirking, "but not before the tickle monster arrives!" I yelled the last part, catching him off guard as his eyes widened visibly, before diving at his large sides.

His bark of laughter was refreshing. It wasn't forced or fake, it was easy, carefree, and melodious, coming from deep imside his chest and exploding in his gentle baritone.