“Hands off, dearie,” Muffet snapped, even the pet name made sharp by stress as she shrugged irritably against Grillby’s touch. Even that small movement provoked a sharp spasm and shiver in her stiff, knotted back but nevertheless she persisted. “The bake sale is in two days! There are flyers still to print, batches to thaw from storage! You think I have the time to sit on all six hands?!”

“… …Make time,” Grillby murmured, patiently pursuing to knead her rigid shoulders.

The penetrating warmth of his palms made her ache, biting her lower lip against first a hiss, then a whine.