Dylan clung to the coarse hairs on Tim’s lower back, his tiny body jolting with every subtle shift of the giant’s massive frame. The couch creaked as Tim stirred, apparently roused by James’s departure. “Finally,” Tim mumbled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Dylan’s bones. With a groan, Tim pushed himself up from the couch, the sudden motion sending Dylan scrambling to tighten his grip on the waistband’s elastic edge. The world tilted violently, and Dylan’s stomach lurched as Tim stood, his towering body swaying like a skyscraper in an earthquake.
“Hold on, hold on,” Dylan hissed to himself, his knuckles white as he gripped the fabric. Tim’s footsteps thudded across the floor, each one a seismic shock that threatened to dislodge Dylan. The waistband stretched and flexed with Tim’s movements, and the heat from his body intensified, turning Dylan’s perch into a slick, sweaty nightmare. By some miracle, Dylan managed to stay secure, his tiny form pressed flat against Tim’s skin as the giant lumbered toward his bedroom.
The door creaked open, and Tim stepped inside, the faint glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. Dylan heard the soft click of the lock behind them, sealing him in with the oblivious giant. Tim was already sweating, the air growing heavier with his musky scent, and Dylan’s grip on the waistband started to slip as the elastic grew slicker. “C’mon, man, don’t make this harder,” Dylan muttered, his voice barely a whisper.
Tim paused, mumbling something incoherent—maybe about the heat or the long day. Then, with a casual lean forward, he bent down to peel off his socks and shirt. The motion was sudden, and Dylan’s world tilted again. His tiny body slid, sticking briefly to the sweaty curve of Tim’s lower back before he caught himself, wedged in the shallow dip just above the waistband. The coarse hairs were his only lifeline now, and he clung to them desperately, heart pounding.
Tim straightened up, and Dylan’s breath caught. He knew what was coming next. The waistband was already loose, and Tim’s hands were moving toward his shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric. Any second now, those shorts—or worse, the underwear—could come off, leaving Dylan exposed or flung into who-knows-where. He had a split-second decision to make: shout out and risk revealing himself to the giant, hoping Tim would hear and not squash him in surprise, or stay hidden and pray he could ride this out without being launched into another nightmare crevice.
Dylan’s mind raced. Calling out was risky—Tim might freak out, swat at him, or worse, not even hear his tiny voice. But hiding meant gambling on Tim’s next move, and Dylan wasn’t sure he could survive another close encounter with the giant’s anatomy. He took a shaky breath, weighing his odds
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