#cr tk fic

[sapphicquill]

Critickle Role: spin me right 'round, baby (chapter 1/2)

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caleb Widogast, the Mighty Nein (Veth and Cad are there, just not by name!)

Wordcount: 2149

Nothing the Mighty Nein ever did made terribly much sense to Essek—at least not right away. The group had a habit of putting their own unexpected twist on just about everything they did, no matter how mundane. Considering Essek had only recently emerged from “the sheltered kid-from-a-strict-religious-family cave” (Veth’s words, not his) he didn’t really have much “real life experience” to lean on, so the group’s antics were a relatively moot point anyway. 

But Essek was about ninety-five percent sure that Spin the Bottle was supposed to involve kissing, and the glaring lack of any was a bit confusing. 

Essek relied on a lifetime of maintaining a completely neutral expression at all times to keep from staring bewildered at the screeching puddle of tiefling that was the current focus of the loose circle of friends. Mollymauk, sprawled out flat on his back underneath Jester, was writhing and wriggling as the young woman mercilessly drilled her claws into her victim’s sides. A lavender tail lashed wildly, the only part of Mollymauk in that moment that still had a full range of motion. 

From beside the pair, Caleb cleared his throat.

“That is time, Jester. Let my boyfriend breathe, please.”

Instantly, the blue tiefling sprung off of Mollymauk, though not without groaning theatrically and turning to the human, her own tail wavering behind her in a way that reminded Essek of Frumpkin before the cat pounced on someone. 

“Caaay-leb, come ooon , that wasn’t two minutes!” 

“Ja, it was exactly two minutes, just like it always is.”

“You’re just whiney because you can never make Molly safeword out, Jes,” Fjord pointed out from his spot across the floor. Jester let out a frustrated noise as she crawled back over to her unoccupied spot in the circle next to her own boyfriend. 

“I totally have before, I just want to do it again!” 

“Try harder next time, darling,” Mollymauk said, voice coming out a little wheezy as he sat back up and grinned over at their host for the evening. 

- - -

Essek was, admittedly, getting better at keeping up with the Mighty Nein. With all of them being so genuine and good all the time (and the somewhat inconvenient, very large crush he was harboring on Caleb and Mollymauk), it was hard to resist the siren call of their unspoken offers of friendship and connection. The longer Essek spent around the collective chaos of the Nein, the easier it was to just shrug and go with whatever happened, regardless of how preposterous Essek found it. 

When Caleb had offhandedly invited him to attend the monthly Jester-mandated party/sleepover (a tradition that long predated Essek’s own knowledge of the group), he had accepted without even thinking about it. His nerves over being in such close, extended proximity to Mollymauk and Caleb were easy enough to tamp down, he hadn’t even gotten close to having a proper panic attack over it. He hadn’t even flinched when Jester’s mutt of a dog nearly knocked him on his ass when he cleared the doorway of her and Fjord’s apartment. 

When Jester had lowered the music and excitedly announced it was time for Spin the Bottle, Essek had taken pause, eyes darting to where Caleb and Mollymauk began untangling themselves to get up from the small overstuffed sofa, laughing and whispering to one another between quick kisses. All the same, after a half-second of hesitation, he took a seat on the floor next to Yasha, who was providing rather aggressive scritches to Nugget while Beau not-so-subtly fed the dog little bits of pepperoni, and resolutely ignored the hammering of his heart.

Jester’s version of Spin the Bottle had, apparently, been a tradition for almost as long as they’d been having these gatherings. At least, that’s what Essek had gleaned from Beau’s exaggerated complaints about how unnecessary having the rules explained again was. Jester’s eyes had met Essek’s from across the circle, alight with mischief, before she continued: either say the safeword—“licorice,” for some reason—or last the full two minutes. Before Essek could ask what, in particular, might necessitate a safeword for a kissing game, Jester had leaned forward to grab the bottle in the middle of their circle.

Honestly, Essek should have been less surprised then he was when Jester’s hearty spin of the empty spirits bottle resulted in the young woman tackling Mollymauk and unleashing a rather brutal tickle attack. One of the first things Essek had accepted as “Nein-normal” was the group’s extremely comfortable relationship with tickling. Caleb had tried to fill in the gaps as much as he could—it had, of course, started with the tieflings (“Look, of all the stereotypes, this one’s probably the sweetest and most accurate,” Molly had said) and had spread from there. It was to be expected, if one spent even five minutes with some configuration of their friend group, that some sort of tickling would occur. 

Essek had seen Fjord tweak Jester’s sides as he passed her by; had seen Yasha loop her arms around Molly’s waist and hold him still while Veth unleashed revenge for whatever antics the tattooed tiefling had gotten up to; had seen the soft, sweet, surprisingly gentle tickling that Jester was fond of showering on Caleb. Essek had witnessed quite a lot. 

He’d never participated, though.

- - -

 “Careful, you know she’ll take that seriously,” Beau said, rubbing Nugget’s head roughly enough for Essek to realize she was probably wiping off excess pizza oil on the dog. 

“I’m hoping for it,” Molly shot back, already half-crawling closer to the middle of the circle. With practiced ease, he sent the bottle into rapid circles, watching intently as they began to slow. Essek glanced at Caleb out of habit—it was he who Essek had gravitated toward first, and then whenever he felt out of his depth around the rest of the Nein—and felt his heart stutter against his chest as crystal blue eyes met his own. A small, comforting smile graced Caleb’s lips, the one that always made Essek feel a bit like there were several tiny birds swooping around in his stomach, before the group around them gave a collective, nearly comedic gasp. Essek watched Caleb’s brow furrow slightly, his eyes dropping down to look at the center of the circle before darting back to Essek’s face. His expression was… strangely unreadable. 

Finally looking away from Caleb, Essek felt another swoop in his gut as he took in the scene before him: the others staring at him, Molly’s grin turning nearly feral, and the empty bottle’s neck pointing squarely at him. 

It felt a bit like time had paused, without the sharp ozone of recently-cast dunamis. 

“Ah, Mollymauk—”

Caleb’s voice was soft, his expression still impossible for Essek to parse, as he curled a hand over one of Molly’s shoulders. His boyfriend turned to face him instantly, and Essek felt quietly relieved that the two’s attention was off of him, if only temporarily. 

“Essek’s new to this, ja? So be—” Caleb paused, seemingly searching for the right word. 

“Gentle?” Yasha offered quietly from beside Essek, and if his mouth wasn’t suddenly so dry, he thought he might thank the woman. 

“Of course, darling,” Molly replied seemingly to the both of them, his voice much sweeter than Essek had anticipated. The tiefling turned, and Essek tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart as Molly crawled the rest of the way across their circle of friends. On his knees, Mollymauk was practically towering over Essek’s seated form. Essek expected that same devious grin from earlier to still be settled on his face, but was surprised again to see a much friendlier, kinder smile curling at his lips. 

It was the same smile Molly wore when he and Caleb got lost in discussing complex arcane theory, or when Essek admitted to not understanding some turn of phrase someone had thrown out. 

The flock of birds in his gut doubled. 

“Remember the rules, dear?”

When had Molly gotten so close? Essek licked his lips, eyes glued to the two sets of claws hovering mere inches from his torso. 

“Ah, say ‘licorice’ to tap out…”

“Or last the full two minutes that Caleb counts out,” Molly finished for him, leaning ever so much closer into Essek’s space. 

“Right. Yes. Two minutes.” 

The last time he’d been tickled he’d been a child, Verin pouncing on him after declaring he was being a stick in the mud and unleashing an attack that had left Essek in blubbering hysterics. 

“Ready?” The question seems mocking, but the look in Molly’s eyes is shockingly genuine and Essek didn’t know if he wanted to run or to kiss him. 

“As, um, as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

The air in the room was still and silent, even Nugget stopping his tail whacking down on the carpet as everyone seemingly held their breath. 

Essek squeezed his eyes shut tightly, bracing for kneading fingers as Molly descended even further. Nervous energy danced like lightning down Essek’s back. 

Then there were two light claw tips, slowly skating down from the tops of Essek’s ribs on either side, and he felt his breath hitch without permission. The light, pinpoint sensations felt a little like pure electricity shooting into his nerves and he started gasping out giggles without even realizing it. It didn’t even tickle that badly—between the anticipation and the fact that it was Mollymauk doing it, Essek felt a bit like he was going insane from the lightest touches. 

He didn’t say anything, though, much less “licorice.” Molly was being so gentle. He could last through this for two minutes. 

Then, the claws reached his hips, and suddenly they were moving much faster and in circles and Essek couldn’t have ever hoped to stifle the surprised laughter that punched out of him. His eyes flew open at the shock of sensation, and the look on Molly’s face made his stomach do a backflip. The tiefling’s eyes glimmered with delight and the kind of affection Essek had only ever seen directed at a certain human wizard. Impossibly, the tickling felt ten times as intense. 

Molly kept valiantly on at Essek’s hips, alternating between skittering spirals and random patterns that Essek couldn’t make sense of. While the majority of his conscious thought consisted of white noise, a tiny section of his mind quietly pondered how different this would be if the rest of the Nein weren’t there—if it was just him and Molly and Caleb sprawled out on the ridiculously opulent bed he knew the two had in their apartment. Maybe there wouldn’t be a countdown at all, just Essek getting slowly driven to pleasant delirium by the two men who had captured his attention and his heart. 

How in the name of the Luxon had it not been two minutes yet?

A sudden third spot of ticklish sensation lit Essek’s nerves like a string of firecrackers. He didn’t even have to open his eyes (though he severely doubted he would even be capable of that at the moment) to know that a lavender tail’s spade tip was dragging ever-so-lightly back and forth cross Essek’s right inner thigh. That, combined with the attack still concentrated on his hips, nearly had him screaming. 

Just as it felt like he might pass out from lack of air, someone spoke up from elsewhere in the circle. 

“Scheiße, that was two minutes and, er, roughly forty-five seconds, sorry, sorry.”

Instantly, Molly let up, his tickling ending so abruptly that Essek almost felt dizzy. Phantom tingles of sensation raced across his skin and his laughter dropped into breathless giggles once more. If not for the near lifetime of practice in self-restraint, he would have let out an aggrieved whine and a soft plea for more. A delightful haze of dazed happiness had descended without Essek even noticing . 

“Wow, Essek, that was like, super impressive for your first time playing!”

Jester’s chirping voice popped the joyful bubble encasing Essek’s mind in an instant, and instinctual chilled terror shot down his spine at the reminder that the rest of the Nein had seen that entire ordeal play out in front of them. He sat bolt upright, vision hazy and unseeing. 

“Ah, ex—” Essek started, a shivering ghost of a laugh rudely interrupting. “Excuse me, I, hah, need to, uh—”

Without even finishing his sentence, Essek stood and hurried from the crowded living room. A chorus of voices sounded behind him, but he didn’t stop. The apartment’s tiny guest bathroom offered a safe place for him to sink to the ground and press his face into his hands, breath slowing even as his heart thrummed rapidly in his chest. 

Even with embarrassment and mild panic coursing through him, Essek’s mind could only conjure the image of Caleb and Mollymauk looming over him with warmth and mischief and affection in their eyes. 

Fuck.

[sapphicquill]

Critickle Role: context clues

(ao3 link!)

Rating: teen

Characters: Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss

Wordcount: 1388

“Caleb, please stop fidgeting around so much.”

Essek’s voice sounds much louder than it normally does in the peaceful quiet of their bedroom. They’d only been cuddled up together for a handful of minutes, but the quaint calm they always slip into while reading is powerfully silent, so any sort of disruption is pretty obvious and hard to ignore. To Caleb’s credit, he hadn’t even been aware he was being twitchy in the first place. 

“Ah, tut mir leid, I did not mean to be a bother.” 

Essek shoots him a sympathetic look before running a soothing hand through Caleb’s hair, carding his fingers gently across the human’s scalp. 

“You’ve been fidgety all day, chathtiu, is everything alright?”

The pleasant little shivers quivering through him make it a little difficult for Caleb to focus, but he makes a valiant effort and rallies. 

“Mm, of course, liebling, I’m fine, I am just a little, ah, restless, I suppose.” 

Essek makes a soft noise before withdrawing his hand and returning his attention to the book in his lap. Caleb manages to keep the instinctive whine that bubbles up at the sudden loss of touch tamped down before doing the same. The tome, while small, was ridiculously dense, but he had promised Beauregard that he’d get it read and jot down some notes as a simplified summary as quickly as he could. It’s dreadfully boring, some sort of ethnography of a mostly-extinct culture from Tal’Dorei, and Caleb couldn’t deny the monk would go half out of her mind trying to stay focused on such material. Lucky for her that this sort of shite had been par for the course when he was younger. 

Only a few more minutes pass before Essek pulls Caleb back to the present. 

“Caleb, my dear, I’m starting to get worried.” 

Before he can ask what Essek’s going on about, cool fingers close around the wrist of his free hand. It had been resting on the bed between the two of them, what could possibly be worrying about—

Something about the sudden touch against his skin brings him even more into the present moment, and it’s only then that Caleb realizes he’d been absentmindedly tracing somatics in the air just a scant few centimeters above the blankets.

“You don’t normally move around this much unless you’re particularly anxious or upset,” Essek murmurs. Caleb lets his eyes come to meet the drow’s, and the sweet concern he finds in his partner’s gaze sends a warm rush of affection through his whole body. 

“I’m as confused as you are,” Caleb replies once he’s sure he can get words out without choking on pure emotion. Essek’s right, this is more absentminded, frantic movement then he’s used to while completely relaxed. Nothing is particularly pressing in their lives right now. Essek had helped him finish marking his intermediate transmutation students’ essays that afternoon; they had Jester, Fjord, and Kingsley coming to visit the following week—nothing out of the ordinary. 

So absorbed in his own thinking, it takes a few moments for Caleb to realize that Essek is watching him carefully, that slight furrow in between his eyebrows the obvious tell that he’s observing Caleb like one of their dunamentic experiments. 

His wrist is still held gently, though firmly, by cool indigo fingers. 

“Ah, I will strive to be still, sweetling, I apologize—”

“Oh,” Essek cuts the human off, understanding painting his expression in a way that just serves to confuse Caleb further. 

“Was?”

In lieu of a proper response, Essek closes the book he’d been reading—some recently-released lurid smut Jester had insisted the two of them talk about the next time they were together—and sends it floating over to the desk with a practiced movement of his fingers. Then, without another word, the drow flops overtop Caleb, straddling him at his middle and pinning both of Caleb’s wrists to the pillows with both hands.

“You’re in, what do Jester and Kingsley call it? A ‘mood’?” 

Keen mind still reeling from the sudden presence of Essek on top of him, Caleb blinks up at the other wizard a few times before he processes what he’d just heard. In a split second, nervous energy cascades down his spine, butterflies exploding in the pit of his stomach, and every place Essek is pressed to him feels electric. 

Evidently, the moment of realization is plain on his face, because Essek lets out a low laugh and smiles, tiny fangs peaking out past his bottom lip. 

“How is it you never figure it out unless someone points it out to you?” 

Warmth surges to Caleb’s face at his lover’s words and he’s sure he’s flushed redder than his own hair. Essek’s not wrong. Despite a perfect memory and years of learning that he’s more than allowed to enjoy getting regularly wrecked by the various members of the Mighty Nein, somehow he’s still unable to recognize when he’s actively craving getting tickled until someone else figures it out for him. 

Once someone does, however, it’s impossible to ignore.

Without waiting for a proper response, Essek murmurs a few arcane words and lifts his hands from Caleb’s wrists. Caleb doesn’t even bother trying to move his arms—this has happened so many times over the years that he knows he’s still properly pinned down until an hour passes or someone casts dispel magic. 

Or if someone recasts the spell in an hour. That’s usually the outcome in these particular scenarios. 

Sitting up straight, Essek lets his hands trail lightly across the now-exposed skin on the underside of Caleb’s forearms. Sparks ignite across his nerves like lightning as perfectly-manicured nails skim down the thin skin, and Caleb is trembling by the time they reach the underside of his biceps. They pause just above the hollow of his underarm and the concentrated, stationary teasing is enough to make a stream of frantic giggles pour from Caleb’s lips. 

“I’ll admit, I should have figured it out hours ago,” Essek says almost conversationally, as if he had already cracked through Caleb’s resolve in less than a minute. Caleb loses the inevitable fight against closing his eyes at Essek’s words. 

“Ah, well, no use dwelling on that,” the drow continues, ever-so-slowly shifting his light tickling lower and lower, “Now that we’ve got it sorted, let’s give you what you need, hmm?” 

Then there’s ten fingers skittering rapidly in Caleb’s armpits and the dam breaks, giggles turning to real, full-body laughter as he instinctively writhes against the magical hold keeping his arms up. Even with eyes closed, it’s easy to picture Essek’s expression perfectly, that little overjoyed smile he always gets when Caleb is laid out and choking out laughter beneath his hands. 

The onslaught of tickling creeps even lower and Caleb whines between bubbling laughter and half-incoherent Zemnian as skillfully dexterous fingers draw rapid shapes in the space just above his topmost rib. It’s getting increasingly harder to focus on forming coherent thoughts, and that small epiphany is enough to make the swooping waves of pleasure and joy coursing through Caleb double in their intensity. 

“Light above, you really are desperate for this, aren’t you?”

The curl of his accent makes it feel like Essek’s words are made of pure arcane energy, Caleb’s laughter adopting the slight tinge of desperation that makes everything feel more intense, more consuming, more insanely ticklish, Scheiße—

Essek laughs warmly, the affection of it making Caleb’s heart jump even with the tortuous fingers tracing rune after rune on his ridiculously sensitive skin. The sound gets a little nearer, and Caleb lets his eyes blink open enough to see his boyfriend leaning down before Essek captures his lips in a deep, sweet kiss. 

“Don’t think I’ll ever forget how much you enjoy being talked to while you’re being driven out of your mind with tickling,” the other wizard murmurs into Caleb’s ear. “As much as I adore kissing the laughter right out of your mouth, I’d never deny you something I know you so love.”

The world slips back into blessed black as Caleb’s eyes fall closed once again. His last truly complete thought before letting himself freefall into the warmth and joy of Essek’s evil, wonderful tickling is that he’ll need to get his dunamancer to recast the binding spell in just about forty-nine minutes.

---

Translations: -tut mir leid: "I'm sorry" -chathtiu: "firefly" (Undercommon) -liebling: "love" -was: "what" -scheiße: "shit"

[sapphicquill]

Can I get a Caleb Lee gang tickle? It's what I need in these trying post finale times! -Poe

Ooops, got this prompt A WHILE GO and apparently needed almost a whole year to finish it. Sorry, my love. For you, anything <3

(ao3 link!)

fire wine and flustered wizards

rating: teen

characters: the Mighty Nein (Nott’s only there for a second WHOOPS)

wordcount: 3502

“Now really, darling, you think it’s smart to insult me like that?”

Despite the alcohol-fueled warmth coursing through him, Caleb feels a shiver slide down his spine at Mollymauk’s words. Which is infinitely silly considering Molly was talking to Jester and not him. But there was something dangerous and playful tangled up in the tiefling’s tone and the wizard might be steadily on his way to entirely drunk off his ass but he still has functioning ears. 

A yelp and sudden rush of giggles tugs Caleb’s attention back before he can get too deeply caught up in his thoughts. 

Across the small fire at the center of their makeshift campsite, Molly has Jester crowded in his lap, her back to his chest, his fingers fluttering with impressive speed up and down the young woman’s ribs. Jester’s head is tilted back and rests on Molly’s shoulder, her mouth open and light laughter falling freely from it. She squirms weakly and her tail jerks wildly from where it pokes out from between the two tieflings. 

“Anything you want to say to me, Jester?” Molly raises his voice enough to be heard over Jester’s bubbly giggles and Caleb can’t tear his eyes away from the pile of tiefling softly illuminated by the firelight.  

“Y-you’re a d-iiick!” Jester squeals before being overcome with laughter. Her giggles were quickly turning into deeper cackles as Molly’s tickling moved to her stomach. If his brain were working properly and not fogged with spirits, Caleb would be impressed with the purple tiefling’s dexterity considering the amount of fire wine he’d consumed thus far. As it is, Caleb can only stare. 

“Hmm, no, that’s not quite what I want to hear,” Molly says, a wide grin already growing on his face. At this, he changes tactics, one hand drawing rapid circles at Jester’s naval while the other climbs to her upper ribs, poking and skittering with deadly precision. To her credit, Jester doesn’t quite scream, but her squeals are loud enough to leave Caleb’s ears ringing just a tad.  

“Molly,” Fjord suddenly cuts in, “Knock it off already, leave Jester alone.” 

The rest of the group had apparently been content to watch the tieflings tussle from their respective spots around the fire, but Caleb isn’t all that surprised by the half-orc’s attempt at peacekeeping. They are, after all, in the middle of the gods-forsaken woods after sundown. 

(Add in some consideration of Fjord’s fairly obvious little crush on Jester and it’s really not that surprising he’d want to play the hero.)

What does surprise Caleb is the squeaky sound of Jester’s voice forcing its way through her unbridled laughter. 

“Fjord, it’s fii-ihine!” 

That’s apparently all that Jester can manage before being overcome by another bout of heavy laughter pouring out of her like a fountain. Molly, claws tracing swirls across her stomach, grins widely over at their resident warlock. 

“Yes, Fjord, it’s fine! I’m not doing anything this one dislikes, am I, darling?”

Jester just shakes her head and continues to squirm from her place in Molly’s lap. Caleb thinks he can see a hint of a flush creep onto Fjord’s face, though it could be a trick of the firelight—or, more likely, the firewine finally hitting. 

“Can you at least take it down a notch?” Fjord relies, voice softer—embarrassed, maybe, Caleb’s mind sluggishly supplies.   

“Nooo, Moll-hehe-y, don’t stop yet!” 

Jester squirms as Molly slows his fingers despite her protest, the other tiefling tracing across her stomach lightly enough to get her laughter to calm down to soft, squeaky giggling. 

“No, dear, Fjord’s right, we shouldn’t be making too much noise this late. You’ll put a target on us with all that laughing. Shame you’re just that ticklish, hmm?”

Caleb feels a rush of heat sweep through him as Molly’s light accent curls around that word. The human feels the distinct need to hide his face behind his hands, but powers through and lifts his cup instead. The firewine burns almost as brightly as the blush on his cheeks.

Jester, apparently entirely unbothered by the idea of making enough noise to attract attention from miles away, just whines and wiggles in Molly’s hold. Across the fire, Beau cackles while Fjord mutters something to himself that Caleb can’t make out. 

“So, I guess the whole thing about tieflings and tickling is true then?” The monk’s voice is rough in the way Caleb knows comes from a combination of drink and proximity to Yasha. Their barbarian compatriot had once again returned, just as mysteriously as always, and her sudden appearance had done a number on Beau’s ability to function. 

“Of course!” Jester replies enthusiastically, momentarily pausing in her attempts to grab Molly’s wrists and press his hands more firmly to her body. “It’s soooo much fun!” 

“You should try it sometime, might make you a little more fun to be around,” Molly adds, quickly tweaking Jester’s sides to pull a yelp and another stream of giggles from her. 

Caleb finally peels his eyes away from the tiefling pile to look at Beau. She’s leaning against one of the wheels of their cart, Yasha’s hulking form close enough to her Caleb can tell it’s probably affecting her higher brain function even more than the booze. She’s glaring at Molly rather intensely. 

“Uh, pass, but thanks anyway.”

Jester makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a giggle—probably thanks to Molly’s claws briefly digging into her sides again—before finally sliding out of the other tiefling’s lap and crawling over to her human best friend. 

“But Beau, it feels reeeeeally good!” 

Beau gives Jester an unimpressed look, her posture growing a little more guarded the closer the blue tiefling gets to her. Jester huffs, pouting in a way that Caleb would assume is exaggerated if it were anyone other than their bubbly cleric. Beau groans loudly.

“Aw, come on, Jes, quit it with the face.”

Jester, somehow, manages to pout harder. Then, like someone’s flipped a switch, the blue tiefling’s face lights up as an idea seems to hit her. 

“Maybe if I just—”

“Don’t you dare, no t—” Beau stumbles over her words, frantically crossing her arms across her chest, “No touching!” 

“I will never understand you humans and your hangups about tickling,” Molly pipes up. Caleb shifts his gaze away from the now exceedingly disappointed-looking Jester and back to the purple tiefling. 

He’s somehow found another bottle of firewire, uncorking it with one of his claws. Probably grabbed it out of their particularly sticky-fingered rogue’s pack. Caleb spares a moment to glance at Nott, still sound asleep on her bedroll next to him. She’d taken more damage than anyone else during a brief battle against a few blights earlier in the afternoon and passed out after downing little more than a single cup of wine. 

Molly’s own laughter catches the wizard’s attention once more. The purple tiefling is pointing at Beau, cork still pierced by a claw. 

“Like that, you can’t even hear someone say the word without getting embarrassed!”

Beau makes a noise of protest, but the deep flush on her cheeks can only be partially blamed on the alcohol. 

“Because it is embarrassing, jackass!” 

“And isn’t it a joy to exploit embarrassment, just a little bit?” Molly shoots back with the kind of smirk that makes it feel like Caleb’s stomach is doing somersaults. Gods, he should stop drinking. 

“Besides,” Molly continues, taking a long pull from the bottle of firewine, “It’s not just being on the receiving end that’s fun and all. You like taking advantage of people’s senses, don’t you?”

Beau opens her mouth to reply but seems to think for a moment before closing it and, probably unconsciously, nods. 

“Well, I like it. Uh, both sides, that is.” 

Yasha’s voice cuts through the night air like a blade, and Caleb watches as Beau nearly breaks her neck as she hurries to look back at the barbarian. Molly makes an excited noise of approval that’s almost instantly drowned down by Jester’s dramatic gasp.

“You do?”

“It’s nice, like you said,” Yasha replies with a shrug, face placid and earnest as ever. Their cleric makes a sort of chirping noise, one that Caleb is only kind of sure is a tiefling thing rather than a Jester thing, as she all but throws herself toward their monochromatic companion. 

“Yasha! Why didn’t you tell us sooner? There could have been soooo much more tickling happening!” 

A choking noise from Fjord’s direction manages to distract Jester from her complaining. Molly laughs again. 

“What was that, dear?” Molly calls, a contented purr blending with his accent and Caleb really needs to stop focusing on things like that when he’s drunk. 

“Er,” Fjord attempts, face aflame behind his waterskin. 

“Oh, Fjord, please say you like tickling too!” Jester whines from her new spot smooshed against Yasha’s side, tail wavering in the air just like Frumpkin when the familiar’s cosied up with someone for the night. 

“I, uh,” Fjord tries again, eyes pointedly looking toward Molly, “I’m with Beau on this, I think.”

“So a preference towards giving rather than receiving?” The gleam in Molly’s eyes, twinkling in the firelight, send another cascade of sparks down Caleb’s spine. 

“Sure?” Fjord nearly squeaks before taking a deep drink from his waterskin, clearly trying to shift the tieflings’ attention to someone, anyone else. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Mr. Caleb.” 

Molly’s words hang in the night air and Caleb nearly doesn’t realize he’s being addressed for the first time in almost an hour. He feels a bit like a prey animal when the rest of the group turn to face him. The tieflings’ eyes are twinkling even in the low light—and, based on recent revelations, this probably doesn’t bode well. He feels his face grow warmer under the combined gazes of his companions, but steadfastly moves his gaze back to the embers fluttering off of the campfire, resisting another ridiculous urge to hide behind his hands. 

“Ah, well, there is not… much to say, I don’t think,” Caleb finally manages, and as soon as the words leave his mouth he knows he’s said the wrong thing. A devilish smile fully fitting of his heritage forms on Molly’s face, and Caleb feels like his stomach is full of fireflies. 

“Nonsense, darling, go on. You’re the only one awake who hasn’t shared an opinion on the topic at hand, seems to me it’d be a bit rude to not say anything now.” 

Caleb suddenly wishes he didn’t actually care if the others thought of him as rude—but, tragically, these idiots have wormed their way past all of his walls. So he has to say something. Perhaps if he were less inebriated, he would have better control over exactly what he says.

“I… do not recall the last time I was actually—I’m not sure I am even, uh…” 

“Ticklish?” Molly supplies the barest hint of a teasing purr in his voice. Caleb feels the tiniest of shudders roll through him. 

“Ah, ja, that.”

A brief bit of a memory flashes across his mind, of being trapped between two bodies, Wulf keeping his wrists pinned firmly to the bed, Astrid perched on his hips, laughter and light and warmth filling the miniscule bedroom as the two other pieces of his heart take him apart with fluttering fingers and teasing words—

Caleb chokes down another mouthful of firewine and heaves his consciousness back to the present. 

“Well, there’s a fairly simple way to find out, and I’m sure with a mind as keen as yours you would know that already.” 

“Mollymauk, I do not—”

Caleb looks toward the rest of the group in hope of some sort of aid, but, surprisingly, everyone else is starting to get a look similar to Molly’s. His stomach flips again. 

With the lithe grace he’s come to associate with the blood hunter, Molly is crawling over to him and suddenly, the tiefling is crowded into his personal space. His eyes are almost brighter than the fire when he says,

“Let’s get to it, then.” 

Before Caleb can even attempt to scramble away, Molly latches onto his stomach and gently curls his claws inward. The wizard can’t help but gasp and jerk backwards in response. 

“Molly—”

“Now hold on, Widogast, we’ve barely begun,” Molly cuts him off with a laugh, repeating the motion a bit more quickly, over and over. Caleb grits his teeth, because gods above, yes, it tickles like hell and it would spell disaster if that particular truth was cemented as fact. But he knows that Molly can feel the muscles of his stomach twitching, and the head rush of the alcohol is making the giggles bubbling up in his throat extremely hard to keep tamped down, and after only a few seconds, Caleb feels his head loll back as his laughter escapes anyway. 

“There now, you see?” Caleb catches Molly saying, “Perfectly ticklish, it seems to me. And somehow, I think you already knew that, you tricky bastard.”

Caleb’s brain is too fried to be able to string words together, and instead hopes the increasingly desperate tone of his laughter convey whatever Molly might want to hear from him. He brings his hands up, perhaps to try to pull Molly’s away from his abdomen, but instead just clings to the tiefling’s forearms instead.

“Cay-leb, you’re so cute when you’re getting tickled!” Jester’s voice is suddenly much closer than it was before, and then there’s warmth pressed to Caleb’s back and another set of claws wiggling up into his partially exposed armpits. Stuck between two gleeful tieflings, Caleb whines between bouts of laughter and makes a valiant effort to keep from melting into a puddle on the ground. 

“She’s right, those giggles are downright precious,” Molly teases, claws now spiraling across his stomach, making a quick detour to his sides before drawing back and repeating the pattern again. 

Caught in the double onslaught, Caleb feels his face flushing redder than could be explained away as alcohol flush. Jester’s fingers wiggle cruelly at his underarms, her claws moving with the careful precision of someone who’s been doing this for years. Their bright zings of tickly sensation are enough to make him release Molly’s arms and pull his elbows down to try and protect at least one point of attack. Behind him, Jester makes a noise of complaint before seemingly slipping away, the usual cold of her presence disappearing—though Caleb barely registers it, as Molly skates a single claw up and down his sides, throwing the wizard into slightly more desperate laughter. Molly chuckles too, leaning close enough that Caleb has to close his eyes for fear of imploding out of embarrassment. 

“Uh oh, looks like you’re in trouble,” the tiefling purrs into his ear, sending a violent shiver down Caleb’s back, “Seems like Jester’s gone to recruit some accomplices. Though—”

Molly’s claws hit Caleb’s lowest rib on either side and Caleb wriggles like a fish on a hook, but not making any actual move away from the torture currently being inflicted. 

“It seems like you might not mind this much at all, dear.”

The other man’s words curl through Caleb’s mind like silk gliding across his skin and the human’s laughter ratchets up to what could reasonably be called hysterical. Another low laugh purrs into his ear. 

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it? You like hearing about how obvious it is you like me tickling you, hmm?” 

Caleb shakes his head back and forth as vigorously as he can, trying to form any sort of protest, but his efforts evaporate when he feels two large hands wrapping around him from the back and grasping his wrists. 

“You have to hold him suuuuper well, Yasha, make sure he can’t his fingers for somatics!” Jester crows from somewhere to his side. The barbarian hums deeply, and then Caleb’s entire world tilts as his trapped wrists are lifted above his head and used to pull him straight onto his back. Jester cheers, causing both Yasha and Molly to laugh, and then the tiefling woman is back on him, claws scrabbling under his shirt to reach the bottom edge of his book holsters. Loud laughter punches its way out of Caleb’s chest and oh gods, he’s going to die, he’s going to absolutely lose it, please don’t let them stop for anything—

“Fuck, do you think this much laughter is going to kill him?” Beau’s voice comes from somewhere near Yasha and the imminent threat of someone who so recently admitted to “taking advantage of someone’s senses” is enough to distract Caleb from ruminating even a little on the things his mind seems to think is okay to ponder. 

“Laughter’s good for you!” Jester happily supplies as she seemingly tries to slip underneath the leather currently keeping the last of Caleb’s sanity tethered to this plane. 

“I believe they say it’s the best medicine,” Molly adds, and Caleb can picture the smug grin that is no doubt plastered on the tiefling’s cruel, horrible, wonderfully torturous face. 

“You should help them.”

The human still had enough higher brain function left to pick out the soft, teasing affection in Yasha’s voice, and of everything that had happened in the last few minutes, that sent a twin sunburst of warmth and dread spiraling through him. 

And then, because Beauregard is entirely incapable of not doing exactly what Yasha says at any point in time, a third set of wriggling fingers touch down on his hyper-sensitive skin. Though not as precisely skilled as those of Jester and Molly, Beau’s fingertips are nimble and quickly zero in on the currently exposed undersides of his upper arms. It’s surprising and terribly ticklish and enough to make Caleb’s hiccuping laughter turn deep and frantic. 

“Oh, Caleb, you must reeeally like this, you’re not even telling us to stop!” 

Caleb can only laugh desperately. 

After what could have been millenia, Caleb feels Molly straighten up from where he’d been draped over the wizard’s currently prone body—though his fingers continue to mercilessly tease at the point where his lowest ribs meet his back. 

“Hold on, we’re missing someone—Fjord, get your ass over here and help us destroy the wizard!” 

“Uhh, I don’t know—”

“Get over here before we decide to go after you next.”

“Ooooh, yes!” Jester excitedly squeaks. Fjord coughs loudly, like he’s choking on his own spit, before Caleb feels the deep thump of footsteps approaching from across the camp. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” Molly drawls, shifting to sit on Caleb’s left side and dig into his ribs like a particularly overzealous pianist. An agonizing moment passes as the squealing human waits for three sets of hands to become four before large, calloused hands touch down on his knees and start squeezing in short bursts and that’s it. Caleb’s brain goes temporarily offline as the world hazes into ten points of contact and an impossible symphony of electric, ticklish sensation and he missed this so much, gods. 

“Seems to me like this needs to turn into a more regular occurrence,” Molly says over Caleb’s laughter, “Provided we don’t wake everyone in the next town over.”

“Wha—what’s happening?”

A groggy voice suddenly cuts through the night air, and everyone freezes, everything quiet—well, everything except his own damn laughter, which just turns into wheezy giggling. Through the fog that had descended over his mind, Caleb recognizes the concern in Nott’s tone despite her own sleep-addled state. 

“Oh, nothing to worry about, just tickling Caleb to bits,” Molly says casually. No one says anything immediately following that, and the silence is a little bit suffocating. Caleb slowly blinks his eyes open, only partially remembering closing them, and turns his head to the side. 

Nott, sitting up on her bedroll, is regarding the scene in front of her with a mix of confusion, curiosity, and caution. Caleb would say something, <i>anything</i>, except he’s pretty sure if he opens his mouth, the only thing that would slip out would be more laughter. 

The goblin must see something in Caleb’s eyes that even he doesn’t know how to put to words, because after another beat of silent contemplation, a sharp-toothed grin spreads widely across her face. 

“Huh. Well, alright. Night!” With that, Nott flops back down, rolls to her side, and closes her eyes. Caleb can hardly process her words before claws—Molly’s, definitely Molly’s—touch back down on his ribs and once again he’s lost in his own laughter.    

[sapphicquill]

Critickle Role: something good to celebrate

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf

Wordcount: 3584

“It’s just your birthday, dear, no reason to look like someone’s kicked Frumpkin so hard he poofed.”

Caleb sniffed, glaring over the steaming mug of tea in his hands at where Mollymauk was leaning against the living room door frame. 

“I can tell the two of you are planning something.”

His tiefling boyfriend laughed, the jewelry on his horns clicking together delicately. 

“Well of course we are! Like I said, it’s your birthday. We’re your partners. We’re supposed to plan things for you for your birthday.”

It was all Caleb could do to keep from pouting, so he elected to just keep his eyes on Mollymauk as he blew on his tea. Molly grinned at him as he pushed himself forward and plopped down next to Caleb on their sofa. 

“Come now, if you can’t trust me to be nice, at least remember that I’m not doing this alone. Essek’s helping.”

“That is not as comforting as I imagine you think it is.”

Molly laughed again, this time his head tilting back from the force of it. Caleb lamented the fact that he still had a nearly-full mug of tea and had only been awake for a half hour. He’d very much prefer to shut Mollymauk up and keep his laughter coming. Ah, well. Time for that later.

“Hey, I’m not that much of a terrible influence, am I?” 

“Hmm, that’s up for debate, I think.”

Essek’s voice came from the other side of the room, sleep-rough and warm and affectionate. Molly wiggled closer to Caleb’s side to make room for the drow on the sofa. 

“Love, please inform our precious, stubborn boyfriend that he has no right to be this suspicious of birthday shenanigans.”

“Your usage of the word ‘shenanigans’ probably isn’t providing him any comfort.”

Molly pouted exaggeratedly at Essek but didn’t deny anything. Essek wasn’t wrong.

“The two of you do not need to do anything grand, really,” Caleb insisted after a quiet moment passed. “It’s just a day.”

Molly looked like he wanted to say something in response, but Essek cut him a pointed look before focusing back on Caleb.

“We know, chathtiu. But will you at least trust that we won’t do anything that would make you uncomfortable?”

The look on Essek’s face, full of concern and what Caleb thought might be hope, was enough to push past the instinctive fight that always boiled to the surface whenever the human wizard was confronted with being given anything nice. Despite all of the emotional growth he knew he had made over the last handful of years, it was still dreadfully hard to accept the kind of warm comfort and support his partners were always quick to offer. 

“I suppose,” Caleb finally replied around a sigh, focusing his eyes back on his tea. The sofa shifted, Molly doing some sort of excited wiggling next to him, and Caleb couldn’t hold back a fond, helpless smile. 

—

Birthdays had been a touchy subject for Caleb for a long time. He had been so young the last time they could be considered even vaguely important. When his life had been consumed by Ikithon, he and Astrid and Eadwulf had made a few halfhearted attempts at celebrations behind closed doors, away from watchful eyes, but it had very quickly proven too difficult to even bother. 

Thinking about birthdays with his parents made everything inside Caleb burn hotter than fire. His eighteenth passed in a haze of false memories and an ache in the pit of his stomach. If he had it his way, his birthday would be nothing more than another day each year. 

But then he had been adopted by a group of ridiculously sentimental idiots with far too much love in their hearts to stand idly by while he continued to self-destruct. He tried, every year, to not be such a “grumpy old stick in the mud,” as Jester liked to say, but it was so instinctive to just let his walls come up and block everything out. 

It was lucky, then, that he had two very precious people who loved him so thoroughly that they wouldn’t let that happen. Caleb knew he could trust Mollymauk and Essek to not go overboard. Well—he could trust Essek to pull Molly back from whatever ridiculous plans he’d come up with and hone in on something that wouldn’t make Caleb want to crawl out of his own skin. He loved his partners fiercely, as much as he knew they loved him and each other. He could trust them with anything.  

Still, old habits die hard.

The morning of the accursed day, Caleb blinked his eyes open to the feeling of tender fingers carding through his hair and soft lips pressing kisses to his face and neck. It was a lovely way to wake up, but his keen mind quickly reminded him of the date, and unwelcome trepidation began to bubble to the surface. Feeling a bit like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, Caleb braced for whatever his boys had come up with. 

He held his breath when Molly bounced out of bed while Essek stayed pressed comfortably to his side, but their tiefling returned bearing only three carefully balanced mugs like he did every morning.

He felt his pulse spike as he entered their living room after getting dressed for the day, but the ostentatious balloons and ribbons he’d been picturing were nowhere to be seen. 

There were no lavishly wrapped boxes or suspicious lumps on his desk in the study, only the stacks of books he’d left out the night before. 

Their small kitchen was entirely devoid of colorful baked goods, just as it had been since Veth and Jester had nearly eaten them out of house and home two days previous. 

“Something wrong, sweet?” Essek asked as he stepped around Caleb to get to the still partially filled coffee pot.

“Ah, nein, it’s nothing,” Caleb replied after scanning the kitchen for anything out of place again. Perhaps he was being a little too paranoid. 

—

The rest of the day felt exceedingly normal. Caleb and Essek spent a few hours working on their current research grant proposal while Mollymauk sprawled on the small loveseat he’d insisted they put in the study—“If you two are going to toil away in there all day, I might as well get to relax while watching you be complete nerds”—pouring over a book on practical divination that Beauregard had snuck out of the Archives for him. When he wasn’t shuffling his well-worn tarot deck, the tiefling alternated between his two seemingly favorite activities: sighing dramatically in hopes of luring either one of the wizards to take a break and join him on the loveseat, or draping himself over said wizards in hopes of luring them into taking a break and joining him on the loveseat. 

(He would only ever admit it under extreme duress, but Caleb preferred the latter method of distraction, as Molly would always sneak devilish, wiggling fingers up under his shirt or skitter teasing claws across Essek’s pointed ears to aid in his efforts. It was always a very effective method of distraction.)

As the glow of the sun through the study’s gauzy curtains grew steadily more golden, Caleb felt familiar Infernal warmth press against his side. In a true testament to how much he trusted the two other men in the room, he didn’t even flinch at the sudden sensation.

“We should put a bell on you,” the wizard said softly, not looking away from his current page, “You are quieter than Frumpkin.”

“Nonsense, you just block everything else out when you’re reading,” Molly replied haughtily. The tiefling’s hands curled lightly around Caleb’s waist and the human held his breath. His anticipation only grew when he realized Molly was content with just resting the very tips of his claws threateningly against the spot directly beneath his lowest ribs on either side. He felt a shudder ripple down his back as his boyfriend lowered his mouth to Caleb’s ear. 

“It’s getting late, so how about we all call it a day and have dinner, hmm?”

And, well, how was anyone supposed to argue when they’ve got a very seductive tiefling fluttering insanely ticklish scritches across their waistline?

They order in from a little place down the road, a restaurant owned by a sweet old Zemnian couple that absolutely doted on Caleb every time he came in. It had taken a somewhat depressingly long time for their affection to not leave him feeling singed and aching inside. 

As he sat nestled between Essek and Molly on the sofa with a steaming bowl of hearty stew, something inane and trashy playing on the TV, Caleb reasoned that perhaps birthdays might not be all that bad, if they ended like this. Between the comfort of a familiar meal and the loving little kisses the both of his partners kept leaving on his skin, Caleb figured that he might have figured out what to finally answer when anyone asked him to describe the perfect evening.

But, of course, it was still early. The sun had barely set. Still plenty of time left on the proverbial clock to run down. 

As Caleb reached forward to place his empty bowl on the low coffee table, he caught Essek looking rather pointedly at Molly from the corner of his eye. Before he could open his mouth to propose changing the channel, Molly’s soft accented drawl cut him off, making his heart beat just a bit faster.

“Caleb,” Molly said, shifting to sit on his legs to better face Caleb, “Since it is your birthday and all, we should probably discuss your gift.”

A heavy, hard-to-place feeling settled into the pit of Caleb’s stomach at the tiefling’s words. Of course a quiet dinner at home wouldn’t be enough to satisfy whatever part of Mollymauk spurred him into making a lavish show out of just about everything. Turning back to consult Essek didn’t make things any better—the drow mage wore the smile Caleb knew from experience was a mix of fond exasperation (usually geared toward Molly) and warm support (generally directed at Caleb himself). He should have known he wouldn’t make it through the entirety of his birthday unscathed.

“Meine lieblinge, really, today has been lovely—”

“Caleb, dearest,” Essek murmured, reaching forward and taking one of Caleb’s hands into his own. Almost instantly, Caleb felt just how much he had tensed up at Molly’s words. With a heavy sigh, the human let his shoulders relax before turning back to face his other partner. Molly simply smiled patiently at him, waiting, and that alone was enough to get Caleb to finally acquiesce. These were his partners, the two pieces of his heart that he didn’t even try to imagine living without. He could trust them. 

“Ah, ja, what is there to discuss, Mollymauk?”

Molly’s smile spread into a gleeful grin, and Caleb caught sight of his tail wiggling excitedly behind him. 

“Well, we’re all very aware that you don’t think you deserve anything for yourself,” he continued, ignoring the mildly insulted noise Caleb made in response, “And honestly, between Essek’s extremely deep coffers and my penchant for scamming idiots out of their coin, I figured there’s not much you’d be in need of for a material present. So, our loving boyfriend helped me scheme a bit—”

“Ah, sil'iluuth, ‘scheme’ might not be the most comforting term appropriate—”

“And we’ve come up with what might be, at least in my opinion, the perfect present for you.”

Caleb had to smile at the extremely self-satisfied look that graced Molly’s features. 

“And so you’ve come up with, what exactly?”

Molly let out a low chuckle before leaning forward, bracing Caleb against Essek as he invaded the human’s personal space. 

“Well, if I recall correctly, you really love when we can get your keen little mind to quiet up for a bit.”

Movement caught Caleb’s attention from the corner of his eye. Mollymauk’s hands were pressed into the couch cushion next to Caleb’s leg, and he’d started gently flexing his fingers, drumming them in a slow, light dance against the fabric of the sofa, and Caleb’s keen little mind was quickly catching his lover’s drift. 

“And lucky for everyone here, the most efficient method of doing that is one you rather enjoy for multiple reasons, so it was a fairly simple decision to come to, in the end.”

He was so focused on Molly, already so flustered, that the feeling of Essek’s arms coming to wrap around his waist nearly caused Caleb to leap out of his own skin. The drow simply pressed himself against Caleb’s other side, his minutely cooler temperature a delightful contrast to the nervous heat currently coursing through him. The brush of his lips against Caleb’s neck pulled a gasp from the human, and his attempt to stifle it was severely hindered by the light caress of air in the same place when Essek spoke up. 

“Mollymauk, get on with it already.”

Molly’s grin somehow managed to grow even larger before he pushed all the way into Caleb’s other side, his own warm breath dancing across Caleb’s ear. 

“We’re going to tickle you incoherent, my sweet. How does that sound?”

Caleb felt his mouth go dry at the tiefling’s words. While it would still take a pack of moorbounders to draw it out of him, Caleb was a big enough man to admit quietly in his own head that he loved when Molly and Essek drove him out of his mind with tickling. Like Molly had said, there were a multitude of reasons he did.

Chief amongst them in that moment might have been the absolutely devilish way the words slipped from that sinful mouth, all clipped accent and raw desire. 

Presumably, neither of his partners were actually waiting for a response. Molly’s tone made it quite obvious that he knew what was floating through Caleb’s mind in that moment regardless of anything the human could hope to stutter out in reply. Essek’s fingers, dexterous in the distinct fashion of a gifted caster, started slowly etching random patterns up his sides, and it took more concentration than seemed necessary for Caleb to squash the giggles threatening to bubble up and out of him at the sensation. Unfortunately, the instinctual squirming that always accompanied those giggles was significantly more difficult to squander. 

Molly laughed again and leaned back enough to look Caleb in the eyes. 

“Honestly, we’ve both been itching to get at you all day,” he said softly, shared like a naughty secret in the shadows, “You don’t know how hard it is to keep from just pouncing on you and making you laugh until you safeword. We’ve really been remarkably good, haven’t we, Essek?”

The drow hummed in the affirmative, still keeping up a steady rhythm of mindless shapes and lines drawn into the human’s abdomen, and Caleb knew he was in trouble when he felt the extremely light drag of tiny elven fangs against his neck. He couldn’t possibly have held in the shuddering, giggly gasp that pulled out of him. 

Molly suddenly captured Caleb’s lips in a kiss, swallowing the wizard’s shocked little whines as he burrowed one clawed hand into the space just above his top rib, the other sneaking around to squeeze at his upper thigh. The teasy onslaught consumed Caleb’s consciousness entirely, perception whittled down into only the places his boyfriends were touching him. After a few moments—just long enough to feel like he was just starting to lose himself to the sensations—both Molly and Essek paused their ministrations, causing Caleb to whine a fair bit louder into Mollymauk’s mouth. 

“Patience, lotha murrpau,” Essek murmured before slowly pulling away from Caleb and going to stand from the sofa. Molly nipped teasingly at Caleb’s bottom lip before moving back himself, his tail quivering with poorly-concealed excitement as he pulled Caleb to his feet as well. 

“Might be a bit easier to do this in the bedroom, hmm?” 

The bedroom contained their (honestly a little bit ostentatious) bed, which Caleb knew had several concealed sets of restraints attached to it, so yes, that would make things a bit easier. 

The trio quickly made their way down the hall (with Caleb having to swat at Molly’s wandering hands the entire way). Essek made quick work of magicking the mountain of decorative throw pillows stacked against the headboard onto the floor while Molly stalked Caleb backwards until his knees hit the edge of the mattress.

A nervous grin had already spread across Caleb’s face—he was far too flustered to manage a stoic expression for even a moment—and the fluttering in his stomach was only quadrupled when two sets of hands delicately pulled his wrists and ankles to opposite ends of the mattress. He whined helplessly, squeezing his eyes shut when he caught both of them watching him with molten want. Molly let out a dangerous-sounding laugh as he connected Caleb’s bound wrists to an extra strap of leather poking out from between the pillows and the headboard. 

“Oh dear, look at that,” came Essek’s voice from his spot at the foot of the bed, checking that the cuffs around Caleb’s ankles were comfortably tightened, “It looks like we’ve broken him already, Mollymauk.”

“Mm, good, means we don’t have to work too hard to get him to actually laugh.”

A truer statement had rarely come out of the tiefling’s mouth. One pointed claw each swiped delicately above Caleb’s highest rib on either of his sides and it felt like pure lightning was coursing through him. A bright laugh punched out of Caleb’s throat, which only seemed to spur Molly into repeating the motion over and over, slow and steady. 

And if that weren’t enough to short out the human’s brain, the cool touch of Essek’s hand pushing the toes of his right foot back enough to wiggle clever fingertips into the spaces beneath certainly was. A rushed litany of Zemnian curses and broken pleading poured from him the moment the other wizard’s perfectly manicured nails touched down on his overly-sensitized skin. At his head, Molly cooed in mock sympathy. 

“Gods above, darling! I know you’re one of the most deliciously ticklish individuals I’ve had the honor to know, but really, begging already? We’ve hardly done anything!”

“Haa-h, Mollymauk, bitte, the t-heeeasing—”

Caleb’s own frantic laughter cut him off, Essek spidering both hands up his thighs as Molly dove back to his upper ribs. 

“Teasing!” Molly affected a melodramatic, affronted tone, carefully filed claws scritching infuriatingly against the ridiculously ticklish skin between his ribs and underarms, “Starlight, I think our sweet human has already lost his mind! I’m not teasing, am I?”

“Hmm, I think you’re right, love, there’s definitely no teasing of any sort happening here.”

Their banter was almost worse than their hands, and Caleb could do little else but thrash his head back and forth as his boyfriends carefully took advantage of two of his worst spots effortlessly. Of course, they both knew the wonderfully tortuous cycle—enough teasing would make the actual tickling twenty times worse, and the tickling would make every cruel word that fell from their lips feel as if someone had unleashed a horde of butterflies in his stomach. Sometimes it would hardly take more than the two of them talking and fluttering fingers threateningly to bring Caleb to this point, Common all but flown from his head and tears puddling in the corners of his eyes (Molly had been particularly proud the first time he’d managed to get Caleb to scream for mercy without even touching him once). 

But the electrifying feeling of their touches to his skin, switching between light, gentle tracing to rapid vibrating flutters to nipping pinches across his pale, freckled form were something else entirely. There was nothing else in his annoyingly keen mind but Essek and Mollymauk and the glee in their voices as they pointed out just how ticklish their brilliant wizard was, how much they knew he adored when they would take him apart like this. These moments were the moments Caleb lived for, craved just under his skin like an addict. How wonderful, that the two men he loved were more than happy to be his enablers. 

—

After what the others would later insist was just under an hour—despite the human feeling like it was far longer—and he had managed to squeal out their safeword, Caleb found himself being gently eased into their (also a bit ostentatious) bathtub, steam curling comfortingly off of the water’s surface. He reclined with a long, relaxed sigh against the lean, familiar chest of Molly, while Essek began rubbing soothing hands up and down his arms. Occasionally, a firm stroke would lighten to an almost-tickle, or Molly’s exceedingly devious tail would swipe across the back of his neck, but at the most, Caleb would let out a soft giggle before slipping back into a light doze. 

It felt a bit like his brain was melting out of his ears. 

Delightful. 

“So,” Molly’s voice vibrated through his chest, a soothing purr against Caleb’s back, “Good birthday?”

Caleb slowly blinked his eyes open, meeting Essek’s soft, adoring gaze as he replied with a simple, “Ja, very good.” 

Perhaps birthdays weren’t so much of a chore. If this was the new tradition, Caleb thought that he might just have to start looking forward to them. 

---

Undercommon:

chathtiu: firefly 

sil'iluuth: violet

lotha murrpau: little cat

Zemnian:

nein: no

meine lieblinge: my loves

ja: yes

bitte: please

[sapphicquill]

congrats on 100 followers friend <3 may I ask for anything with ler!Fjord bc the way you wrote teasing in your TAZ fic was so good? or lee!Lucretia during the Stolen Century arc being tickled out of her antisocial little shell if you're in a TAZ mood :) -Chock

Whoops. This is what happens when my whole life gets flipped upside down and I have to move cross-country back home out of no where! Sorry for the long wait, I'm finally making headway on these fics. I owe the entirety of this fic to @ticklishnonsense's honey-tongued because that’s the Ultimate Teasey Ler!Fjord fic and to @poesparakeet-fics for the plot because my smol brain could not come up with anything good and she gave me THE GOODS. Hope you enjoy, @chockfullofsecrets!

(ao3 link!)

Rating: Teen

Characters: Fjord, Caleb Widogast

Wordcount: 2423

After everything they’ve all been through, Fjord thinks he can handle most things. Spitting up salt water in the mornings, nearly getting impaled by strangers on a regular basis, Nott rifling through his shit—while he’d rather not deal with all of that bullshit, he can and that’s the important thing.

But the crushing weight of all the damn pining happening between Caleb and Essek might be the one thing Fjord absolutely cannot handle for any longer.

It had started innocently enough. Hands brushing and secret smiles and eyes briefly meeting before diverting, full of nerves and excitement and swirling butterflies. He’d experienced some of the same with Jester, but the two wizards were starting to get insufferable. It was painfully obvious to anyone in the room that they had a thing for one another, and even if it wasn’t, Fjord had overheard Caleb whining to Jester more than once about the entire situation, so it wasn’t like he was entirely oblivious to his own crush.

But apparently perpetually sad and stuffy wizards are really bad at just admitting what was right in front of their faces. Fjord’s worried that one of them might just explode soon, and that’s the entirely altruistic reasoning that finally inspires him to insert himself into the situation.

Caleb’s problem, Fjord thinks, is one of confidence. He gets too caught up in his own keen mind, tangling everything up in his head and overthinking and overanalyzing and panicking and deconstructing until everything’s just a jumbled mess of knots. He just needs a little push is all. A little something to nudge him past the trouble that is thinking and into acting. And Fjord thinks he knows a fairly good method of encouragement.

Thus, Fjord is currently standing in the doorway of the mansion library, trying not to reveal his presence too early. Caleb is folded over a desk with a pinched expression on his face that Fjord knows by now means he’s reached some sort of roadblock in whatever he was working on. In other words: a perfect time for an interruption.

“Productive afternoon?”

It’s a testament to how close the group has gotten that Caleb only sort-of flinches at the sudden sound of Fjord’s voice.

“Ah, nein, not really,” the wizard replies as he straightens up. His back makes an ominous cracking noise as he sits up and Fjord winces in sympathy.

“Gods, then maybe it’s time to take a break, hm?”

“Ja, a break…” Caleb trails off, eyes drifting back to the scattered parchment and books on the desk. Fjord resists the temptation to roll his eyes at the utterly predictability of their headstrong wizard.

“Okay, well now I’m making you take a break, Widogast,” he says as he marches swiftly over to Caleb and practically hauls him out of his chair. Caleb, unsurprisingly, goes willingly, letting himself be shuffled over to a nearby sofa.

With a huff, Caleb sits and begins massaging his temples, willing away either a physical ache or a swirling mass of snarled thoughts and ideas. Fjord lowers himself down next to the human and pretends like he isn’t thrilled over what he’s about to do.

A comfortable silence descends then. After a few more vigorous rubs, Caleb leans his head back against the leather of the sofa and closes his eyes and Fjord figures this is the best chance to spring the trap.

Quick as a slash of his falchion, Fjord twists from his spot next to Caleb and pulls him down into a horizontal position before caging the human in from above. He hovers over the now-prone wizard and tries not to feel too smug as Caleb yelps but doesn’t move an inch to try to wiggle away.

“Scheiße, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about something,” Fjord says casually as he can. Caleb gives him an exasperated look, complete with raised eyebrow and suspicious frown.

“And this ‘something’ requires you to pin me to a sofa?”

Fjord grins before scooping both of Caleb’s wrists up with one hand and pulling them above his head. Exasperation shifts quickly into a mix of disbelief, fear, and anticipation and Fjord is lucky that around his friends, Caleb wears his emotions very clearly on his face.

“Well,” the warlock starts, “I kind of figured that this particular topic would send you scampering off if I didn’t take some preventative measures.”

A fiery blush colors Caleb’s cheeks and Fjord tries not to laugh.

“And something tells me I thought correctly.”

Caleb makes a noise not unlike one Fjord’s heard from Frumpkin and finally starts to struggle lightly in his grasp, like his body is only now catching up with the rest of him. Fjord lets him, figuring that letting the wizard work himself into a bit of a tizzy will just make his own task easier. Caleb’s terribly predictable. As the human squirms minutely under him, Fjord lets his free hand curve subtly into a claw and hovers it just next to Caleb’s lower ribs.

“Now, see, I also think you might benefit from a little preemptive encouragement, because you’re the most stubborn fucker I’ve ever met when you have to talk about anything personal...”

Fjord trails off when he notices that Caleb’s eyes have locked onto his hand, mostly because he knows that the brilliant mage has connected all of the appropriate dots and will voice a protest in three, two—

“N-nein, Fjord, wait just a moment, there is no need for—”

Fjord slowly flutters his fingers, still poised a hair’s breadth from the stretched expanse of Caleb’s ribs, and Caleb cuts himself off with a hitched laugh-gasp, eyes wide as saucers.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to negotiate right now,” Fjord says, the edges of his voice tinged with a low growl as he keeps the motion of his fingers going. Caleb doesn’t really do much aside from grow ever so slightly redder in the face.

Without further preamble, Fjord finally moves his hand to meet Caleb’s torso. It’s like the wizard has been hit with a successful Thunderwave—his whole body jolts before tensing up so tightly he trembles. Continuing the fluttering from before, Fjord traces across the space between Caleb’s two lowest ribs and grins when Caleb lets out something between a giggle and a whine.

“Gods, you’re so easy to rile up, you know that?”

Caleb’s giggling picks up at Fjord’s words. He’d have pity on the wizard if it wasn’t so adorable. Still gently teasing at the softness of Caleb’s lower ribs, the half-orc leans forward until his mouth is right next to his victim’s ear.

“You’re just that ticklish, huh?”

Caleb thrashes, throwing his head from side to side so rapidly Fjord would be worried the human would hurt himself if he hadn’t watched this happen numerous times before. For good measure, he lets his fingers drift up Caleb’s ribs and lets out a small laugh himself as the giggles morph into airy, full-blown laughter. Exactly as planned.

“So you and Essek,” Fjord says casually as he straightens back up, pitching his voice a little louder to be heard over Caleb’s bubbly laughter. The wizard definitely seems to register his words if the cut-off gasp and even more desperate wiggles are any indication. Fjord laughs a little to himself at the adorable way Caleb scrunches his nose when the increased movement does little to deter his attack. Taking a little pity, Fjord pushes on, his free fingers swirling tight circles up and down Caleb’s right side.

“You know he likes you too, right?”

Fjord’s not exactly sure humans are supposed to turn that shade of red, but Jester’s got healing spells to spare right now, so he continues.

“And as amusing as it is watching you two dance around each other, it’s getting a bit old.”

“B-bitte, Fjord—!”

Caleb’s own laughter cuts off whatever plea was going to escape next. The wizard flops his head a bit side to side, like if he shakes enough he’ll clear Fjord’s words like trapped water from his ears. It’s downright precious and one hundred percent ineffective.

Adjusting his grip on Caleb’s wrists, Fjord lets his fingers trail up his captive’s ribs in the same slow pace he knows will drive Caleb up the damn wall. It’s a little impressive, actually, how easily this light tickling can take their resident wizard apart. Particularly useful at certain times. He can feel Caleb trembling under him, laughs high and desperate as the light tracing fingertips slowly migrate up to what both Jester and Molly affectionately refer to as his worst “death spots.”

“So, here’s my idea.”

His fingers flutter just below the space where his holsters normally are—fortunate Caleb feels comfortable and safe enough to remove them when at the house—and the wizard groans through his laughter.

“Either you promise that you’ll confess to Essek the next time he’s around, or I’ll just have to keep tickling you forever. How’s that sound?”

“Wh-aaat? Bitte, no, that is e-eehviil!”

“That’s kind of the point, bud,” Fjord replies around another laugh of his own. He floats his fingers up the scant few millimeters to the space between Caleb’s uppermost ribs without prompting and hopes that the wail the human lets out doesn’t worry the rest of the Nein. (It shouldn’t, not with the frequency Caleb makes noises like that.)

“I’m not letting up until you tell me the first words out of your mouth when you see Essek next are ‘Can we talk somewhere privately, Shadowhand?’” Fjord pitches his voice into a terrifically awful imitation of a Zemnian accent that has Caleb laughing, somehow, even harder. Though, on second thought, that might have more to do with the rapid little scribbles he’s got focused on the space above Caleb’s top rib than his attempt at accentwork.

Unsurprisingly, Caleb doesn’t say anything much in response, instead throwing all of his effort into laughing and squirming ineffectively. Fjord keeps a careful ear out for any hint of the safeword Jester had insisted everyone know about and respect upon pain of near-death, but the only thing coming out of Caleb is whimpered begging and a spray of foreign curses. Perfect.

Fjord takes a split second to send a silent apology to Jester, who will no doubt be massively upset she missed out on assisting Fjord with this bit of encouragement, but this was his game right now, dammit, and it was time to go for the kill.

(Would it be worth the inevitable tickling the blue tiefling would dish out later? Most definitely.)

“Alright, well, suit yourself, Widogast.”

With that, Fjord moves the tickling to Caleb’s exposed underarm and focuses the entirety of his attention on making the human melt.

With an impressive amount of core strength, Caleb attempts to jackknife in half to throw Fjord off. Fortunately, their wizard’s tricks are well known by now. Fjord barely budges as he keeps up the spidering under Caleb’s arm, letting his fingers trail just the slightest bit up the underside of Caleb’s bicep before reversing back down to the soft spot just above Caleb’s uppermost rib.

The fight drains out of the mage just as quickly as it revved up, leaving him loose and floppy and lost in the throws of his own cackling. Fjord would feel bad if he didn’t know how much Caleb was enjoying himself. Time to step things up a notch.

“You know how to get me to stop, Caleb. Do you really like the thought of me tickling you like this more than the idea of confessing to a crush you know is damn-well mutual? Really seems like it.”

More wailing, more thrashing, but still, no dice. Maybe a slightly different approach…

“Gods above, you’re just too ticklish for your own good, aren’t you?”

As always, Caleb responds viscerally to the mere word and that, of all things, seems to be the final straw.

“Scheiße, bitte! Habt mitleid! Ohhkay, I pr-promise!”

“You promise what?”

“Oh please, I caa-aan’t—!”

Fjord shifts from light tracing along Caleb’s top ribs to a solid press of his palm, steadying the human as his laughter slowly eases up. After a few gulps of air, Caleb continues.

“I will tell Essek how I truly feel when we next encounter him, I swear to you!”

“You’re absolutely promising me you’ll spill about your deep, undying love for Essek Thelyss the very moment he’s within twenty yards of you?” Fjord taunts, curling his fingers back into a claw at Caleb’s right side. The human tenses and anticipatory giggles start bubbling from him almost instantly.

“Ja, ja, I a-ahh-m!”

“Good!” Fjord says brightly, pulling his hand away from Caleb’s squirming form. He smiles down at Caleb, who looks about ready to protest the large hand still pining his wrists to the sofa, before lowering himself to speak directly into the wizard’s ear.

“And maybe after you two have worked everything out, I’ll have a little chat with Essek myself about how much you like this particular method of torture.”

Caleb looks a bit like he’s swallowed a toad.

“F-fjord, mein Gott, wait—”

“I’m sure Molly and Jester would be more than happy to help me tell him all of the best ways to tickle you senseless, hmm? They’re tieflings, you know how honest they get when tickling comes up. They’ll just gush about how much you love it when we wreck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

He isn’t even tickling him anymore, but Caleb is giggling, light and bubbly and tortured, all from Fjord’s teasing alone.

“Hell, maybe we’ll all get you the next time Essek comes by the tower. How’d you like that, him watching you get tickled by every single one of us until you cry and knowing you love every minute of it?”

Caleb’s just babbling in Zemnian through his laughter, eyes squeezed shut and a grin pulling wide at his lips.

“D’you think he’d join in if we asked him to?”

Caleb just keeps laughing. Fjord grins. Mission successful.

[sapphicquill]

Helloooo may i have an "You're gonna regret that" with the projection wizards pleeease? 🥰-poe

My dear, you can have all that and more <3 I hope you enjoy!

---

“Caleb Widogast, you’re going to regret that!”

The wizard in question is already sprinting from the library, broad grin spread wide on his face. Essek sounds just the right amount of put out, which, perfect. It isn’t Caleb’s fault the drow has caught him on one of the exceedingly rare days where he had no patience for transcription or somatics practice, but like hell if he was going to let a good opportunity to push a few of Essek’s buttons go to waste. Caleb had turned the sweet embrace they were sharing while on a “study break” into a swift, unprompted attack on Essek’s unprotected ears, and the look on the other wizard’s face will live very proudly in Caleb’s mind forever. Very much worth the inevitable aftermath.

(Actually, the inevitable aftermath was kind of exactly what he was going for in the first place, but it would take significant effort and patience on someone else’s part to ever get him to admit it.)

With an honestly surprising amount of agility, Caleb rushes through the hallways of the mansion. He nearly collides with the hulking form of Caduceus, emerging from the kitchen and balancing four teacups in his arms, and shouts an apology behind him as he continues on to the staircase at the end of the hall. By the time he reaches the second floor, he’s already quite winded, but it’s only a short distance to his favorite hiding spot.

Caleb is careful to close the door to Fjord’s currently unoccupied bedroom as quietly as possible before collapsing onto the bed, a rush of breathy laughter escaping as his back hits the blankets with a satisfying fwoop. The wizard closes his eyes and takes a few moments to savor the half-amused, half-betrayed expression he’d seen on Essek before bolting. Perhaps if he could describe it well enough, Jester would draw it for him. It’d make an excellent addition to his own bedroom decor.

The sound of the doorknob rustling breaks the human out of his own head. He shoots upright just as the door swings open, revealing a slightly disheveled and frowning Essek Thelyss. Instinctually, Caleb holds his hands up as he tries to subtly scoot himself backward on the bed, but giggles have already started bubbling up in his chest.

He watches as Essek floats through the door and closes it with a swift flick of his hand. The sound of the bolt latching rings out over Caleb’s half-muffled laughter. The drow before him draws closer and closer before crawling up onto the bed and pining Caleb down with only his eyes. Caleb feels a shudder ripple down his spine at the small, predatory smirk curling up one corner of his lover’s lips.

“That was exceedingly foolish, chathtiu.”

Before Caleb can even attempt to respond, Essek’s fingers are twirling dangerous patterns in the air, somehow making the somatics a tease as well. Damn him. Caleb barely hears the soft incantation of the now extremely familiar spell and isn’t at all surprised when his wrists feel like they’ve been bound together with invisible silken fabric. Another flick of Essek’s fingers and his magically-tied arms fly above Caleb’s head, pinned to the small stack of pillows at the top of the bed.

The restriction seems to kick up the anticipatory giggles tenfold, and Essek gives him a pitying look before leaning forward to box him in.

“Let’s see if we can work some of this juvenile energy out of you, hmm? I really did want to get some work done today.”

Dexterous, wicked fingers touch down on Caleb’s ribs and laughter spills from him freely. Definitely worth it.

[sapphicquill]

oho we get more snippets? may i humbly request “You’re so squirmy!” with Jester and Beau? -Chock

Of course of course, anything for you my dear! Enjoy these two cuties being cute!

“Shit, Jes, you’re so squirmy—fuck, hold still!”

Beau tugs Jester back up onto the shitty too-small inn bed and tries to figure out a new angle of attack. The tiefling just keeps flailing about and giggling despite Beau’s momentary pause in tickling her. It’s endearing as hell, but Jester had straight up asked Beau to wreck her, and Beau can’t really do that with Jester squirming away every two seconds.

It’s a very good thing, then, that Beau’s a monk.

Without preamble, the human launches herself forward, managing a very efficient Sunning Strike that causes Jester to flop over like a ragdoll. Triumphant grin on her face, Beau scrambles on top of the prone tiefling, straddling her thighs, then digs her fingers into the softness between the cleric’s lowest two ribs. Jester screeches before tumbling into frantic, joyful laughter—all while staying perfectly still. The grin on Beau’s face is entirely out of her control.

“See, way fuckin’ easier to get you when you’re not wriggling away.”

Jester’s laughing kicks up an octave at Beau’s teasing, her frozen state seemingly making everything a million times worse. It’s too adorable. After a few minutes of scrabbling her fingers up and down the tiefling’s sides, Beau eases back. Jester’s residual giggles come in a steady stream, and Beau knows the Strike’s going to be wearing off soon, so a break’s in order. Jester may adore being tickled to pieces, but even she needs air sometimes.

Another beat of near-silence passes as Beau shifts her weight from one knee to the other before Jester’s giggles finally start to calm down a smidge.

“Had enough yet?” Beau asks, holding up her fingers and wiggling them threateningly in the air. Jester’s light, bubbly laughter turns a little desperate at the move, but she manages to push through.

“Have you?”

She bats her eyelashes and smiles wide enough for the tips of her fangs to catch on her bottom lip. Beau snorts, warmth and affection for the tiefling flooding her.

“Will you keep squirming every time I touch you, or do I need to tie you to the bed?

Jester’s eyes flash with something like success.

“Molly and I bought silks yesterday! They’re in my pack!”

Beau laughs again at Jester’s gleeful excitement. Well, that answers that, then.