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Feyre couldn’t stop herself.
Rhys was dozing next to her on the sofa, his lips slightly parted, snoring softly. Amren was giving them a lecture about the easiest ways to knock someone out and Mor was sipping on her iced tea, rolling her eyes every now and then.
Cassian had given up to look even remotely interested in Amren and was throwing a football into the air and catching it - repeatedly. Feyre supposed the rhythmic sounds of the whooshing air as the football flew up and the soft thud of leather landing on skin as Cassian caught the ball had sent Rhys into sleep.
Azriel looked like he was dozing with his eyes open, but Feyre was sure that he alone would be able to recite Amren’s lecture word for word later on.
And she? Feyre was sneaking glances at the rising and falling chest beside her. The sofa wasn’t nearly big enough to ignore his presence. And as he had fallen asleep, his body had slightly curled towards hers, their arms and legs brushing.
Feyre had caught herself holding her breath as not to startle him out of his sleep, but couldn’t stop herself from looking at him from the corner of her eyes.
In sleep, his face was devoid of that endlessly amused smirk. He looked younger; black hair a tousled mess atop his head, shoulders relaxed, legs parted and his long, elegant fingers gently folded over his stomach.
The sight had stirred something in her and Feyre’s fingers had itched to get a pen and paper to sketch his sleeping form.
She wouldn’t of course.
If Rhys ever found out that he was her favourite muse, she would never hear the end of it.
And, being the prick that he was, he would think that it meant something.- something it most certainly did not.
She did not let herself think about the fact that Rhys had been haunting her thoughts, day and night. She sometimes caught herself wondering how his hair would feel beneath her finger tips. Or how he would after being kissed breathless, a slight flush in his face, lips swollen.
“What do you guys think?” Amren asked, causing Feyre to briefly shift her attention away from Rhys and her damning thoughts.
Amren’s quicksilver eyes were glinting dangerously as the silence stretched on and she waited for one of them to answer her question.
Azriel sat up a little straighter and gave a reply, that made Amren’s shoulders relax. Feyre returned to her sneaky observation of Rhys.
She could have sworn that his position had shifted, but brushed the thought of. Confident that she wouldn’t get caught, she shifted a little in her seat and took in the sight before her.
Cassian had stopped throwing the ball and Feyre was fairly sure that both he and Mor were about to fall asleep, too. Even Feyre’s eyes were beginning to feel heavy. Azriel’s calm, soothing voice softly argued with Amren’s equally quiet, but nevertheless sharp one.
Feyre watched as the corner of Rhys’ mouth quirked up and before she could realize what it meant, he cracked open an eye.
His violet eyes were filled with mischief and that little smile had turned into a full-blown smirk by the time their eyes met.
“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” He said, his voice groggy with sleep.
The sound made her insides squirm in something like delight. The words however caused a very different reaction. She scoffed, fighting furiously against the blush that threatened to creep up her neck and face.
“What?” She croaked, turning her face to look at her fingers in her lap.
He huffed out a small chuckle and the sound tickled down her spine. “No need to get so flustered, Feyre darling, I’m used to it.”
She scoffed again and her insecurity was washed away by a flare of temper. He knew precisely how to get under her skin and this time was no different. “I’m not flustered and what precisely are you used to?”
Damn him. Most of the time, the thought of him had her squirming with lust, but as soon as he opened that fat mouth of his and teased her, she wanted to smack that smirk off his face. Or kiss it away.
“Girls being unable to keep their eyes off me.” Rhys said casually, stretching his long limbs and groaning softly as his joints popped and his muscles shifted and tensed. “Well, I’m pretty irresistible.” He added with a knowing smirk as her eyes glided over his body.
“I think the word you were looking for is insufferable.” Feyre told him, eyes snapping up to his face and scowling at his smirking face. “And arrogant.”
“That too.” Rhys admitted. “But at least I’m not in denial.”
Feyre rolled her eyes. “If you don’t stop talking, I’m gonna tell Amren that you haven’t been listening to her lecture.”
His eyes glinted at the threat and his smirk shifted into something more wicked. She matched it with a smirk of her own, glaring threateningly at him. “Or maybe I’ll tell her that you disagree with her.”
Rhys let out a dark chuckle. “I know what you’re trying to do, but darling, you’re not very intimidating. I know you would never throw me to the wolves, you like staring at my pretty face too much. Not that I mind.”
Feyre gritted her teeth at his self-satisfied smirk and turned towards their friend, her face blank, save for the small smirk and spoke, “Amren, Rhys disagrees with you.”
The reaction was immediate. Azriel snapped his mouth shut, Mor and Cassian sat up straighter and Amren - Amren’s eyes turned to stone as she fixed them on Rhys.
Feyre watched as Rhys tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed - hard.
“What?” Amren’s voice was vicious growl and the hairs on Feyre’s arm rose at the sound.
She might have felt sorry for offering Rhys up to Amren on a silver platter, but he had brought this on himself.
“I-” Rhys said slowly, eyes flashing from Amren to Feyre and back to Amren. “I-”
Feyre crossed her arms over her chest and shifted to face him fully. “C’mon, Rhys, tell Amren what you just told me. Didn’t you just say that she was wrong?”
His throat bobbed again and Feyre’s cheeks ached from smiling too broadly.
“I didn’t say anything.” Rhys grumbled.
She lifted a single eyebrow in question and Rhys’ shoulders slumped in defeat. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was just teasing.”
Amren, bored with his stammering words, turned back to face Azriel, but Feyre kept looking at him - waiting.
“Sorry.” He muttered, when everyone’s attention had drifted from him.
“For what?” Feyre asked, her voice full of mock confusion and innocence.
Rhys sighed, deeply. But she spotted the glint of amusement in his eyes “For being too handsome?”
She just looked at him. Scowling.
He tried again, “For teasing you?”
Again, she remained silent.
“For saying that you’re not intimidating?”
She smirked then, uncrossing her arms and cocked her head. “Next time you say that, I won’t diffuse the situation. I might even lock you into a room with her.”
“Oh,” Rhys said, smiling softly, eyes dancing with something she couldn’t name. “You cruel, wicked thing.”