“It’s hard to do when you hold my hand, dork,” she murmured, tugging away. “There’s so much of you, I need both hands.” She started with his shoulders before moving down his back.
“…Are you calling me fat?” He eyed her fondly and smiled tenderly, groaning and pushing his back into her hands, feeling the knots slowly move out of his muscles.
“No I’m calling you tall!” She pushed at him, thwacking her fist on his shoulder. “Fat. Hah. Werewolf metabolism, like you could ever get fat. I’ll be old and grey and huge and you’ll still look like this.” She washed fiercely at his bicep.