Groaning, you lifted yourself up from your face down position on the loveseat when you heard the door open.
“Oi West, (F/n)!” he sang, “the awesome me is home! Feel free to shower me with gifts at any moment!”
Glaring at him from the couch, you rolled your eyes. “How about you take a shower and I’ll see if I can muster up the gift of not beating you?”
A dangerous smirk curled his pinkish lips. “Only if you join me,” he purred.
Eyes squeezing shut in pain, you carefully lowered yourself back to the soft cushions of the couch. “I’ll pass,” you muttered through the pillows.
You heard footsteps, then felt a finger prod your shoulder. “What the Hell? No sarcastic remark? Just ‘I’ll pass’?” he teased, continuing to poke you.
“I’m not in the mood,” you snapped, swatting in his direction with a pillow.
The weight on the couch shifted, causing you to believe someone was sitting on the cushion above your head. “What’s wrong?” Gilbert asked. You only grunted in response, mumbling that nothing was the matter, but when you looked up and saw the genuine concern in his ruby eyes your answer changed.
You shook your head a bit. “My back is just bothering me; I’m fine.”
Gilbert’s expression brightened considerably. “I can help with that! The awesome me is practically a masseuse, after all!” Rolling your eyes again, you thought that he was just over exaggerating his “awesomeness”, as usual. You were snapped back to attention, however, when he moved behind you. “Strip” was all he said, hands already slipping under your sweatshirt.
Jumping away from him, you squeaked out a warning of sorts. “Woah, woah, woah. Keep your hands to yourself, red-eyes.”
Touching a hand to his chest, Gilbert faked a look of hurt. “I’m offended!” he gasped dramatically.
“Why now?” you groaned.
“You don’t trust me!”
There was a moment of silence before you shrugged, “You’re right,” you told him, shuffling back into your position on your stomach and sliding your sweater off of you, “I don’t. But God damn, that massage is sounding good right now.”
You didn’t have to see Gilbert to know that he expression was a mix of triumph and something malicious. “Bra off, too.”
Your hands reached to cover the clasp as you felt Gilbert’s hands move to remove the fabric for you. “Give me one good reason.”
“It gets in my way.”
“So?” you asked, twisting around to face him.
He started at you with a bit of bitterness marring his face before shrugging and standing. “Alright,” he sighed, “I guess you don’t want my help.”
“Fine!” you groaned, unhooking your bra and shuffling out of the straps, “But don’t try anything, ok?”
“Wouldn’t even dream of it!”
He warm hands began kneading at your shoulders, a bit rough at first, but eventually smoothing out into a feeling that made your eyes droop. You chided yourself, not trusting the albino not to do anything if you feel asleep. Though that wasn’t really a successful approach.
Gilbert stopped when he heard your soft snores. Smiling gently, he pulled a thin sheet over your bare back and stood from his seat. “Told you you could trust me,” he muttered as he walked away.