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It was just a completely normal evening, calm and cozy. But Tim really had to ruin it all huh? Looking at the ceiling for a few seconds, deep in his thoughts, he then turned to Rhys, who was snuggling to him and sleepily staring into the tv screen. He was sleepy, but still focused on the series they were watching.
“Uh… Rhys?” Tim broke the silence between them, making his husband wake up a little more.
“Hm?”
“Do you remember when we first met, and I said that you look familiar?”
“It was almost five years ago, how am I supposed to remember this?”
“Fine, fine. But you sure remember that hilarious story about…” He paused for a minute, thinking of a funnier word to mock the dead tyrant. “About maskass spitting in your face?”
Rhys snorted, but then frowned. “I thought we agreed to never talk about this.”
“This is worth bringing it up, because it’s about to get even more hilarious... So. When that happened, this shithead wasn’t on Helios.”
Getting the clue, cyborg’s eyes widened, forgetting about the series completely, staring at Timothy who was trying to talk but started laughing at the situation and Rhys’ face. “Don’t you dare to tell me that…”
“IT WAS A DOPPELGANGER, REPLACING THIS BASTARD, AND, TO BE CORRECT, IT WAS ME—”
***
The last time he remembers he had to run that fast was back in the goddamn casino, but now the situation sure was way more dangerous than any bandit crowd - it was Rhys, fierce, and trying to chase him and spit in his face.
“HOW THE FUCK YOU REMEMBER IT ONLY NOW YOU…” Tim couldn’t hear the curse that cut through the air next, because a very precisely thrown slipper hit his head, making him regret teaching Rhys to aim better.
He seriously had no idea how he was going to escape the “revenge”, he really could just give up and let his husband get what he wants (because he always gets what he wants) since Rhys probably got worse things on his face, but some old forgotten instinct made him run the hell out of the room, trying to suppress his laughter as the long-legged menace literally fell off the couch and ran after him.
Hearing a familiar “EEE” noise he slowed down, just so he wouldn’t accidentally step on their tiny cat, Rhys Junior, that doesn’t sound or look like a cat, and got her name for having a spot on her muzzle that looked like one of the worst decisions in Rhys life.
“Sorry sweetie, but I don’t have time to pet you—AAHH!” How could he forget that this little traitor always had to be near her dad, who just walked into the room with a nasty grin on his face. “Any last words?” As was said, Rhys always gets what he wants.
“Yea, I want to say that with how often you drool on me, I am the one who must spit on you if you want it all to be fa…” Rhys didn’t let him finish, dragging him closer by the collar of his shirt, and fulfilling his disgusting plan. “..ir. Ew.” He said, grimacing. “Really had to do that into my mouth, huh?”
“Don’t act like it’s the worst thing that was in your mouth.”
“I really, really regret teaching you to aim better.”
And like this couple couldn’t get more gross, Timothy ended this shitshow with a kiss on Rhys’ lips.