Dylan’s pulse thundered as he clung to the coarse threads of James’s boxers, trapped in the tight, humid crevice near the giant’s groin. The air was a heavy mix of sweat and pizza grease, clinging to his skin like a second layer. James’s grumbled “Weird itch” still reverberated, and the giant’s massive hand lingered nearby, scratching at his hip with fingers that could crush Dylan without a thought. The couch groaned under James’s weight, each shift a reminder of the giant’s oblivious power.
“Screw this,” Dylan muttered, his voice a shaky whisper. “I can’t just sit here waiting to get squashed. Gotta take control, get somewhere safer… or at least less likely to be scratched.” His eyes darted to the warmer, darker fold of fabric closer to James’s groin, where the boxers sagged slightly against the giant’s skin. It was riskier—way too close to Strikeout—but it promised better grip and maybe a chance to hide. “That’s my ticket,” he hissed. “Get in there, stay low, figure it out.”
Bracing himself, Dylan started inching forward, his tiny hands weaving through the fraying threads like a climber on a cliff face. The fabric was rough, the heat intensifying as he neared the groin, the musky scent growing sharper. “Oh, man, this is gross,” he groaned, his nose wrinkling. “Smells like a locker room in here. But it’s better than being finger food.” Each step was a battle, the coarse threads snagging his makeshift clothes, the warmth of James’s skin seeping through like a furnace.
The couch creaked as James shifted, his thigh flexing and narrowing the crevice. “Whoa, easy, big guy!” Dylan yelped, clutching the fabric as he slid an inch. “Don’t crush me now!” His heart raced, but he kept moving, driven by the need to stay hidden. The closer he got, the more the boxers sagged, offering a fold he could slip into. “Almost there,” he panted, his tiny arms burning. “Just gotta—oh, crap!” James’s hand moved again, brushing the fabric near his hip, and Dylan froze, his breath hitching. “Don’t you dare scratch, you giant idiot! I’m not an itch!”
He pushed forward, slipping into the sagging fold near the groin, the fabric looser but the heat and scent overwhelming. “Okay, this is… intense,” he muttered, wedging himself deeper to stay secure. The warm skin was unnervingly close, the pulse of James’s body a steady thrum. “Safe for now, but, like, way too personal. Gotta find a way out before this gets weirder.” He glanced back at the distant couch edge, so far away. “One step at a time, Dylan. Don’t lose it now.”
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