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There were way too many people in the small apartment. Cass and Az had squeezed through the threshold after Mor, who was now dusting things that were already clean. There were two couches pushed up against the wall in the living room/dining room/kitchen area and a seemingly infinite trail of boxes leading to the bedroom and bathroom.
“Guys, come on. We’ve got it from here, you can leave now.” Rhys said, pressing his strong hands to the boy’s backs and trying to force them out of the apartment. They grumbled but obliged. Feyre watched their retreating form and Mor came to stand next to her.
“I don’t have to leave, do I? I’m helping!” Feyre rolled her eyes.
“Mor, I’d like to have sex in my new apartment. If you’d really like to stay, by all means,” Feyre started, but Mor cut her off with a shiver and left, shutting the door behind her. Feyre let out an exasperated sigh and plopped herself onto one of their two couches. She mentally reminded herself to put the bad one (hers) up on Craigslist the next day. Rhys leaned up against the corner of the wall that connected the living area to the short hallway leading to their bedroom.
“So,” he muttered, dragging out the word. She looked up from under her lashes, a fingernail between her teeth as she tried to fix the part of it that had broken while trying to put together their new bed from Ikea. He staggered towards her, doing his best to look sultry, but honestly, they were both exhausted. “Do you really want to have sex right now?” Both his brows were raised.
“I love you, but I just need to sleep.” Rhys let out a breath and came to sit against the other armrest on the couch.
“Thank God.” They fell asleep like that, Feyre’s feet in Rhys’s lap and his hands resting on her shins.
~
“Rhys!” Feyre called, her voice echoing through the relatively small apartment. “Where did you put all the pans?” He came staggering out of the bathroom, one towel slung low around his waist, another in one of his hands, shaking moisture out of his hair. Feyre did her best not to stare at his sculpted chest, she really did. But her best wasn’t good enough. Her eyes traveled along the planes of his pectorals, his abs, finally resting on the ‘v’ leading down to his towel.
“I dunno, I think Cass brought ‘em in.” A slow smile was pulling across his face as he noticed her gaze. He tossed the towel he was using on his dark hair into the hamper, and began advancing towards the kitchen. Feyre averted her eyes.
“Well, they aren’t in any of these boxes.” She felt him come around behind her, his still damp chest barely brushing her back.
“Why do you need them? You hate cooking,” he muttered, pulling her hair to the side. She rolled her eyes.
“You can’t have a kitchen and no pots or pans, Rhys. That’s not how it works.” He pressed a feather-light kiss to her neck.
“We don’t need them,” he said against her skin.
“Those were good pans! I just bought them.” He only hummed, continuing to press kisses against her. Feyre spun around to face him, bracing her arms behind her against the counter. “Rhys, I need those pans.”
He leaned forward to kiss her quickly, then smiled again. “Later.” He kissed her once more.
“Now,” Feyre said, pulling away, attempting to look stern. He looked at her innocently.
“We won’t need them if we don’t work up and appetite first.” She rolled her eyes again, but then his mouth was on hers and any protest she might have thought of gave way as his tongue parted her lips, and she lost herself in him.