Emiles day was hard. Many patients, and one even had to go to the hospital from trying to harm himself, and then Emile when he said that the patient would have to be hospitalized.
Remy never seen Emile so stressed, and knew what to do. Snuggles was always Remy and emiles way to keep one from snapping in either rage or tears.
Emiles head was laying on Remys chest, eyes closed, calming enough that he wasn't on the verge of tears. But Remy knew, he was still in need of a smile. And he was the only one to knew this one spot, that always made Emile giggle.
Remy gently grabs emiles hand and traces all around his palm.
He can feel a smile from emile on his chest, a small tremble coming from him to not giggle. But soon from Remy not stopping, Emile giggles and looks up at Remy, and remy just smiled, seeing the happy look on emiles face.
All Remy asked was " do you want me to stop the tickles on this perfect spot" Remy kissed emiles palm after asking, making him sqweak and shake his head.
Remy just smiled and kissed and tickled all over emiles hands.
Kanene’s notes: This universe is basically: Emile is a kid and the sides + Remy are his tiny angel guardians. They’re smol. They can shapeshift. They have wings. They can do magic things. They’re all soft.
Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:
* Lee!Emile and Ler!Logan, Ler!Patton and Ler!Remy. Original AU.
* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).
* This have about 2.000 words. Everything is platonic.
* Tiny/Giant tickles.
* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!
* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Take a break, rest, be kind (especially with yourself) and drink water! Byeioo!~
[~*~]
“And the botulism… botulism, botulism, b…” Emile bit the tip of his pen, trying to remember the words he wrote on his flashcard yesterday, his mind spinning his thoughts and attempting to run into other fields of memory, but he was sure he could remember that one! Botulism… he used that glittery pink pen his friend gave to his and… “BACTERIA!” He bounced on his chair, “Botulism is caused by bacterias who, as they eat, release CO2. That is why the cans get all-” Emile gesticulated with his pen, poofing out his cheeks and continuing as the small angel waved in a gesture for him to keep going, “-poof! Also, it’s not an infection nor an inflammation when they harm humans and yes an intoxication.”
“Correct. Although you forgot to mention the name of the bacteria, which is Clostridium botulinum.” Logan flew in his direction, passing to the boy the flashcard he carried, ignoring his snickers since the guardian and the piece of paper had almost the same height, saved by a couple of inches, and landed smoothly on his shoulder, wings shaking for a second behind him.
“Okay dokey!” Emile uncapped the pen and began writing on the air, imagining the letters slowly forming the scientific name, murmuring it to himself the entire time. When the last ‘m’ was formed, his voice spiked, a squeal escaping from his mouth.
“Logan!” Emile controlled his urge to shake his head as the feathers continued their lazy grazing on his neck, the smallest opening and closing his wings with a hint of a smirk on his expression, totally unfazed by the titters already building up their way to the boy’s lips. “Lo, noho!”
“I am very proud that you finished your studies for the day. We can of course, advance on your homework if you want, or make some research on a topic you’re curious about but-” Emile scrunched his neck, quickly regretting his decision as the tip of the wings started to tease the sensitive skin behind his ear, soft snorts cutting his high-pitched giggles, “- I believe a break is in order. Besides, Patton also asked to be called on this occasion, if I am not mistaken.”
“Nonono!” The kid yelped, kicking. “Not Patton! Nohohot-”
“Hello, kiddo! Did you call?” Patton’s smile only increased when the new guardian, a tad taller than the first, saw the predicament his ‘kiddo’ was. “Aww, is Logan tickling you pink?”
Emile hid his face behind his hands and Logan may or may not have moved closer so he could tickle that spot right under his jawline, gathering a couple of squeaks. “Oh, yes, Patton, we would like to inform you Emile finished studying for the Biology test.”
“That one he has been stressed about those days?”
“I believe so.”
“Gasp! Congratulations, kiddo!” Patton flew around him, his wings fluttering at highest speed as he maneuvered to stay still in front of the cartoon lover, even if the aforementioned continued to hide, his kicks getting faster. “I am so proud of you. You already did so well!” He hugged his left cheek, resting a small, fond kiss there.
“Pat-Pat!” His smile was so big he could see a piece of it even behind his fingers, the tip of his ears getting painted red as well. “Thahahanks.”
“You’re welcome!” The guardian angel beamed, only leading Emile to giggle harder, completely aware of what comes next. “Now, can I see your hand?
“No!” It was the squealed answer, the boy sliding some inches out of his chair. “Lo, no, n-not there!”
“Not there? Where? Here?” Logan fluttered his feathers under his chin, keeping his voice neutral even when a chuckle fled from Emile’s mouth, “Or perhaps here? Or right here? Maybe you’re talking about this specific, very, very ticklish and unprotected tickle spot here?” He went from one spot to another, keeping his fast pace so the younger wouldn’t guess where his precise, soft strokes would attack next, scribbling on his ears and entire neck as Emile wiggled in protest, laughter increasing with the playfulness of the activity. “I believe you’re asking me to stop tickling you silly, as I believe you humans say, but since the instructions you gave me were unclear, I have no option except continue with my task.”
Emile just squealed - in an extremely cute manner, if you ask them, - shaking his head.
“Come on, Emile, please give me your hand?”
“I-Ihihi can’t!”
“And why not, kiddo?”
“You’re gonna to ti-tickle it!”
“Well, of course I will! But don’t you think you deserve some rewarding tickles after so much work?”
The boy tried to pout, an impossible task with all the snickers bubbling from him as he lowered his right hand in direction of his guardian angel, who shook his wings until a lovely feather fell of them and was quickly caught, its owner passing his fingers across the stem and making it longer, fluffier, ticklier. After a few seconds he finally looked satisfied with his creation.
“I am going to tickle-tickle-tickle yooou.~” Patton sing-songed, approaching his feather inch by inch, trying to not get overloaded by cuteness when Emile yelped and squirmed, yet keeping his hand still. “I am going to tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle you itsy bitsy silly! Aren’t you excited for some tingly tickly tickles, sweetpea?”
Logan slowed his attack, the laughter becoming an aired giggling.
“Pat-Pat!” He kicked harder.
“Okay, okay, kiddo.” Patton fondly smiled, starting to follow the lines of his protected’s hand with the tip of the feather, fluttering and dancing the bristles across every single inch of skin amidst the peals of high pitched laughter from the boy. “Aww, kitty kitty coo! Kitty kitty coo, kiddo!”
Logan and Patton continued their playful reward, filling the room with a music of laughter, yelps, squeals, snorts and giggles for a few more minutes before stopping, patting Emile’s hair as he slid from the chair on the floor, pretending he was dead, an eventual titter bouncing here and there.
A poke on his cheek made him open his eyes, a smile still plastered on his expression as he huffed Patton’s and Logan’s hair – ignoring the latter’s scoff with his usual roll of eyes at the motion, even if the winged tiny made no move to escape from it - with his index finger, protesting.
“You’re two are like thohose cats from Thehe Lady and the Tramp. Working together to be mehean.”
Patton hugged his cheek and Logan pretended he wasn’t looking fondly at them.
[...]
“I will not tell this twice: grab. The. Coffee. gurl.”
“No. Pat-pat said you can’t have any more coffee for the day!”
“Yes, however…” Emile narrowed his eyes at Janus, who seemed to smirk more under his gaze, “your so loved snacks are under the coffee pack and it seems that you won’t be able to retrieve them without moving the coffee, oh, such a pity.”
Emile crossed his arms, a hand holding his chin as he seemed in deep thought. “If I move, you won’t try to get it?”
Remy combed the boy’s hair with his fingers, still laid on his favorite spot on the top of his head basically since the human had arrived home from his playdate, a spot, by the way, which granted the perfect opportunity to the two winged beings to exchange looks without being caught. “Uhh, yaas! Duh!”
Emile turned to look at Janus, who stopped his gesturing mid-air, hiding his arms behind him, turning his attention from Remy back at him with a couple of naïve blinks, a toothless smile resting on his expression. “What?” Was his soft question.
He pouted, crossing his arms tighter.
“I already say I won’t try to get it, gurl, relax!”
Emile knew a trap when he saw one, especially living with his guardians since he was born. He recognized the exact gleam, now clearly resting on Janus’ golden eyes, they all got when they were planning something, the way Remy’s hands couldn’t stay still, the way the bat of wings would get too much slow and their forms would swing slightly in the air… Buuut they didn’t know that Emile knew, the kid thought, loosening his position, so he would use this to make a plan to vanish their evil plan!
“Okay. I’m getting it then!” Cute smiles. Hidden meanings. A plan, ok, he needed a plan. A very good plan. The best one.
“Please,” Janus gestured to the cupboard with his hand, “the floor is yours.”
“I’m getting it right now.” Ok. He was getting out of time. Come on! A plan. He needed a plan! “Very, very right now.”
“Wo-hooooo,” Remy lazily cheered, rolling onto his hair, “you go, gurl.”
He would run. And call Roman if anything happened. The exuberant guardian always loved to save him and he was his hero in a shiny armor, after all! Emile nodded confiantly to himself. He extended his right arm, his eyes nervously flicking from Janus to the cupboard. As his fingers grabbed the bag, his attention turned to watch every movement from the one with golden eyes and a big smirk, who waved at him to continue. His other hand followed to catch his snack, legs tensing to run with both items at the slightest hint of a move from his guardian.
Then something poked and vibrated on his ribcage, making his body jump with the ticklish sensation, the snack forgotten as his hands crashed down to protect his sides, only to be stopped mid-air when Janus attempted to pry the bag of the called ‘life bean juice’ from his fingers.
“No!! That is not fair! You said you won’t do that!” They were basically in a tug war. The kid planting his heels on the ground and Janus summoning his six arms to pull at the coffee with all his strength.
“I said no such thing, dear. I think you’re mistaking me with Remy.” His tune would have seemed as a velvet soft if the words hadn't floated from his grittered teeth with the effort he was currently doing.
“Noicee. Just keep his arms up like that and we will have the victory in a few secs.”
“No! Remy! Rehemy!! Go ahahaway!”
“He is just too much ticklish for this, isn't he?” Janus remarked.
“Noho! I am nohohot! Nahaha! Don’t!”
“Yup! Like a baby! See? I just need to poke here, here and hereee and he goes all cute-cute wiggly-wiggley everywhere.”
“Aw. Poor him.” Janus said, not a single drop of guilt in his tune. “Attack the center of his armpits, he will totally lose it.”
“NO!”
A sound cut the comments, making all the three stop on their tracks.
“Wait,wait. W a i t, did you just snort? Oh. my. god. Adorable. Gurl, I need to see it again.”
“Oh, yes, just my favorite sound in the entire world. Don’t you agree, Giggle Bug?”
Emile just shook his head, struggling to low his arms to protect the sensitive spot but refusing to let go from the bag stubbornly still trapped by his grip, which got weaker and weaker at each pinch, prodding and kneading the tiny guardian delivered at every centimeter of his armpits, flying from one to another while Janus waved with one of his hands, as if they were conducting an orchestra constituted primarily by their playful teases and his wheezed laughter and bubbly snorts.
“The itsy bitsy spider climbed the waterspout…~” The one with sunglasses began to sing, changing his tickles to a spidering motion which followed the patch to the boy’s upper ribs in the rhythm of the song, grinning as the younger kicked in a frenzy, his smile widening.
“Uncle! Uncle!!” He shouted before letting go of the coffee, his body falling to hit the ground. Remy immediately shapeshifted to a taller, adult-human like form in order to catch the child on his arms, giving him a brief hug and safely returning him to the floor as reminiscent giggles still escaped from him.
“Tickling is cheheheating.” Emile proclaimed with a pout, turning his back at them and pretending to ignore both guardians. Janus let the coffee rest on the countertop and flew to the younger’s eye field.
“What if we make a deal? We can help you to make a hot cocoa as a proper apology for our attack. How does that sound?”
Emile’s pout started to disappear. “With magic marshmallows?” He hoped.
“And magic whipped cream.” Remy changed back to his tiniest form, sparkles falling from his sunglasses as he adjusted them. “Just the best to our favorite little monster.”
“I am not a monster, I am the avatar!” Emile’s smile shined bright, gleaming just the perfect amount to melt the coldest heart, the kid bouncing to get his favorite mug from the cupboard, the joy of the delicious treat erasing any pout that one day habited his expression.
“Be careful!” Janus hissed, alarmed. He frowned when a snort came out from his friend’s lips.
“You’re getting soft.”
“Sorry, sorry, mister ‘anything to our favorite little monster’. You lost your touch.”
Emile curled tighter into his boyfriend’s side. One major perk of dating Remy, apart from all of the other perks of dating Remy: naptimes were the best.
“You comfy, babe?” Remy’s teasy voice cut through Emile’s sleepy haze. He nodded.
“Love cuddling with you,” Emile murmured. “Makes me sleepy.”
He felt Remy grin against his hair. “Want me to do the thing?”
Emile nodded again, closing his eyes and waiting in anticipation until he felt Remy’s pointer finger make contact with his forehead.
Just that one little sensation, that one point of concentrated pressure, was enough to make his breath come out in huffs, which grew to light giggles as Remy trailed his finger in light circles across his soft skin.
“I will literally never get over how cute this is, Emmy,” Remy said, the smile evident in his voice.
“Don’t tease,” Emile whined, scrunching his face as Remy traced between his eyes and down his nose. “’S not nice.”
“Neither am I.”
He swatted at Remy’s chest. “Liar. You’re very nice.”
He heard Remy click his tongue at being called out for being a secret sweetheart, but Emile was mostly focused on melting into the mattress as he felt his boyfriend skim all around his face, from his forehead to his temples to his cheekbones to his chin. It felt good, really good, especially considering Emile was already sleepy and this kind of light, tickly touch was enough to send him straight to sleep.
Until he began stroking a seemingly random spot on Emile’s left cheek, about half an inch away from his mouth, and Emile’s eyes shot open, a shocked laugh escaping him as he jerked his head away from the touch.
“Emile?” Remy asked with concern, but Emile could barely hear it over the ringing in his left ear. He rubbed at the spot with the back of his hand, chasing away the stray tingles.
“That felt- different,” he stammered, a confused smile on his face. “Really different.”
“Good? Bad?”
Emile thought. “Good. Very tickly. So, maybe don’t touch me there? Not while we’re napping, at least.”
Remy’s eyes softened, and his finger resumed his journey, lightly tracing back up to Emile’s forehead. “You got it, sugar.”
Emile could feel his smile widening, and as he snuggled back into Remy’s chest he allowed his eyes to droop closed yet again.
You know what I can’t get enough of? ticklish Emile.
So guess what I wrote: a fic involving ticklish Emile.
Gotta credit this lovely fic by @cefstickles, which totally sold me on the Deceit x Emile pairing. The AU of this fic is based loosely on this post, which speculates that Dr. Picani might take on some of Thomas’ sides himself if he had Thomas as a client.
Pairings: Deceit x Dr. Emile Picani
Words: 1,357
Warnings: tickle fic, implied angst from unidentified clients, sad Emile (don’t worry, he gets better). SFW. [Let me know if I left any warnings out!]
If you’d like to be added to my taglist, lemme know!
Emile Picani loved his job. Really, he did.
But the same traits that made him so good at it- the empathy and depth of understanding that allowed him to pour so much of his heart into his work - left him, on bad days, feeling as dim and hollow as a spent candle.
Today was a bad day.
"Are you alright?" Deceit asked, uncharacteristically direct.
Emile was slumped beside him on the couch, struggling to peel open an applesauce cup. He didn't seem to hear.
"...Em?"
"Hm? Oh, yes." His voice was thin, more like he was murmuring to himself than replying. Another long silence followed.
"One of your patients, I take it?"
Emile finally placed the applesauce cup on the coffee table, still stubbornly sealed. "Several." He straightened up and smoothed his hands over his knees. "But. Work at work, home at home." He flashed his companion what he hoped was a cheerful smile. "No need to worry. You wanna watch a show or... somethin'?"
It was not a convincing performance.
"That's not dinner, is it?" Deceit nodded to the applesauce.
Emile looked at it blankly. "Well, I can't get it open, so I suppose not."
Deceit turned his human eye to him and managed to deliver a scolding lecture on the importance of self-care in a single deadpan look. Emile would've smirked, if he still had it in him.
When he looked away instead, Deceit's heart dropped a little. He felt a bit out of his depth - heart-to-hearts were in Emile’s wheelhouse, not his (at least, not honest ones). But he sure looked like he needed one.
"Would... you care to discuss it?"
Emile did manage a warm little smile at that. "I can't, really... confidentiality and all that."
"Oh, but I'm very confidential!" Deceit replied. "Keeping secrets is my specialty."
"You have enough of my secrets, sweetheart."
Truth was, Emile really didn't want to talk about it. It was hard enough to listen to the echoes of the day's events; they’d been spinning through his mind since he'd walked through the door.
Deceit slumped back. "Well, let's find something to help you relax then."
"Honestly, Dee, I'm fine. I just need a good night's sleep is all."
"You know how you get, though. At this rate, you'll be tossing and turning all night..."
Emile sighed and let his head fall limply against the wall behind him. Another silence yawned.
"I thought you cared about me! I thought you understood!"
"...Is there a particular show you feel like rewatching?" Deceit's voice sounded far away.
"Dr. Picani, I did it again. I thought I was getting better."
"Well, if you can't get it off your chest, and you're clearly not interested in television..." Deceit was starting to grow concerned.
"Dr. Picani, I want to-"
"-Hey!" Emile squeaked, and dropped back to earth like a sack of bricks.
"That got your attention." Deceit peaked his hands under his chin and began tapping his fingers together, a villainous glint in his eye.
Emile, sensing where this was heading, drew his knees up to his chin and pressed back against the cushions. "I-if that’s how you think you’re gonna get me to relax, you’re-"
"Is it? Why, I hadn't considered it, but I must say that's an excellent idea."
"Dee, I didn't mean-" Okay, maybe he did, just a little bit. "Y-you don't have to-”
"I think we could both use a little... levity, don’t you think?"
"Wait - both of us? Is everything okay?" Picani scrambled to sit up against the arm of the chair and tilted his head with concern. "You didn’t have another nightmare, did you? I know how hard you take th-"
"Ah ah ah, don't go turnin' this back on me!" Deceit cut him off, smirking. "I'm not falling for your little therapist routines."
"Wha- that’s- it’s called emotional sensitivity, you jerk!" Picani was unable to keep the smile out of his voice. "That's not a ‘therapy routine,’ it's-"
"It's called an evasive maneuver, my dear, and I see right through it." He leaned in close, propping his chin on the other’s knees. "Evasion, after all, is my specialty."
Emile made an attempt at a stern look, but was far too distracted by the proximity of the other man (who was now stretching his fingers, catlike, up toward the ceiling) to maintain it.
"Now, if I remember correctly..." Deceit resumed poking gently up the other's sides, screwing his eyes up to the ceiling as if searching for something lost between sofa cushions. "Somewhere along here really got you last time..."
"Ack! Dee, stOPit, I'm too - I'm too tired to be ticklish - right nohow!"
Deceit actually did pause to give the doctor a look. "My dear. You are a terrible liar."
At that Emile finally cracked, unable to hold back his own nervous giggles any longer. One of the challenges (or perks, depending on how much of a lee mood he was in) of being tickled by someone who was the literal embodiment of deception (or so he claimed) was his skill in sleight of hand. It made trying to anticipate when and where he would strike virtually impossible. Emile could only press himself as far back into the pillows as he could, drawing his arms up to shield himself more as a reflex than serious defensive tactic.
"Oh, I remember now," the darker man drawled. "It was riiiight about... here."
Emile squeaked again and flinched sideways as long fingers began scribbling into his ribs. Deceit was also a strategic 'ler: he kept track of the precise pressure points that made his victim squirm most desperately, like the bottom edge of the ribcage, for example, or the space immediately above the hipbones. In Emile's case, he'd found places where skeleton met softness were particularly effective.
Of course, Deceit had to dig a little to find them, as Emile was... well, primarily composed of softness. But this only contributed to the stuttering giggles the therapist was now shaking with. And it gave Deceit an excellent excuse to slip a hand under his sweater to get a better feel.
"Dee- DEHEHE!"
"Yes dear?" Though the darker man's voice was perfectly calm, Emile caught a quick twitch in the corner of his mouth, betraying his true feelings. He was loving this.
So was Emile - at least, the part of him that wasn't trying to halt the progression of Deceit's hand against his bare skin. He succeeded only in trapping it even closer to his body. Deceit felt his glove slip off as Emile jammed his elbow into his fingers, and, shooting him a positively evil smirk, began skittering his now-free fingernails up and across Emile's belly.
"AH-aha! STOPPIT!" It didn't help that Deceit's hands were freezing cold. Must be why he wears those ridiculous yellow gloves all the time... Emile's train of thought came abruptly to a halt as Deceit found a sweet spot exactly halfway between the base of his ribs and his bellybutton. The poor doctor crumpled sideways and wheezed with laughter, desperately clutching at Deceit's sleeve.
"Goodness. That's a good spot." Deceit was outright grinning now, unable to stifle it. "Heaven help you if you ever require a Heimlich maneuver."
There was the hint of a waver to the dark side's voice as he (just barely) fought down his own case of the giggles. The man was just. so. cute.
And, unbeknownst to Deceit himself, catching that little waver was one of Emile's favorite parts of their little games. The dark side’s own giddy delight may have been subtle to onlookers, carefully tucked under his usual suave, sly persona, but the therapist was just as skilled at seeing through emotional facades as Deceit was at producing them. Emile could read him like an open book.
And being able to find a crack in the composure of someone so careful to maintain it? Somehow it felt to Emile as if a shy puppy had chosen him as his favorite.
When Emile lost his breath completely, Deceit finally withdrew his hand and patted the rumpled sweater back into place. It took Emile a moment to collect himself, still quivering with soft, hiccupy giggles.
"You're..." he slowly propped himself back upright. "Good... at that..."
Deceit only leaned back with a chuckle of his own. And a very fond smile.
Emile had always struggled to put his work aside long enough to adequately recharge his emotional batteries. But when he needed to forget the weight of the world, at least long enough to get some sleep, Deceit was always happy to help.
Nota da autora: Falaaaaeee, sangue bom! Como vocês tãooo? Gnete do céu nem acredito que eu sumi por tanto tempo, pai amado, mals ae xDD.
Mas é sempre um prazer estar de volta! Espero que vocês gostem dessa fanfic! É meio bugado, mas qualquer crítica construtiva/dica é só me falar! <33
Avisos, fatos aleatórios, coisas aleatórias e tals:
* Esse mundo e personagens não pertencem à mim! Sanders Sides pertence à Thomas Sanders
* Isso é uma fanfic que gira em torno de cócegas, por favor, se você não gosta ou não se sente confortável com o assunto, leia alguma outra história! Tem obras maravilhosas por aqui! 0/. Ela contém especificamente Remile (Remy x Emile)
* Umas 2.800 palavras. -w-)b.
* Perdoe-me qualquer erro ortográfico! Por favor, toda e qualquer crítica construtiva é bem vinda! \(-w-)/
* Obrigado pela leitura, meus lollipops! Tenha uma semana maravilhosamente. Tome cuidado com os ataques de cócegas aleatórios, beba água e espero que aprecies a história! ^w^)/
[~*~]
“Emile ~”
Ele não sabia exatamente como isso aconteceu. Em um segundo ambos estavam no sofá, sorrindo e assistindo Steven Universo, no outro um arrepio frio correu velozmente pelo seu corpo, fazendo-o virar-se institivamente para o seu marido no momento precisamente exato de quando esse retirou os seus óculos, prendendo seu olhar, tão perigosamente doce e aconchegante, nos do outro, sorrindo.
Só isso.
Demorou um pedaço de minuto antes de Émile perceber o que estava prestes a acontecer. Um sorriso vacilante começando a tomar conta de sua expressão ao mesmo passo que ele se sentiu quase paralisado. Remy começou a tamborilar seus dedos na armação de seus óculos escuros, o sorriso maléfico nunca deixando seu rosto.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Eles se encararam. Os olhos de Émile conseguiram, enfim, se desprender de seu transe, observando agora os dedos do marido, outra série de arrepios dançando em sua coluna, a adrenalina tomando conta de suas veias e dando-lhe força o bastante para sair em uma carreira desenfreada pelo corredor.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
O que levou o pobre, quase já perdido em suas próprias risadinhas histéricas, ao seu estado atual: escondendo-se atrás da porta de seu quarto, desejando com toda sua força de vontade que seu plano realmente funcionasse tão bem quanto ele via acontecer nos cartoons que assistia.
(O adulto tentou ignorar a voz em sua mente lembrando-o como todas as perseguições iguais a essa terminavam na maioria dos filmes, apenas o leve pensar dessa possibilidade fazendo calor se espalhar pelo seu rosto inteiro.)
“Émile ~” Era em dias como esses que o único com óculos poderia praticamente jurar que Remy era, na verdade, um bruxo. Simplesmente porque não parecia ter nenhuma outra explicação realística, racional e plausível que esclarecia como as risadinhas presas em sua garganta ficavam cada vez mais altas, agitadas e ainda mais difíceis de controlar unicamente pelo leve soar de sua voz, obrigando-o a pressionar sua mão em seus próprios lábios com um pouco mais de firmeza, ligeiramente mordendo a ponta de sua língua. “É bom que você tenha se escondido muito bem porque você sabe o que vai acontecer quando eu te encontrar, não é?”
Émile negou, forçando sua costa ainda mais na parede fria atrás de si.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Oh, diva, talvez você nem se lembre mais... Oh, mas desse jeito nós não podemos fazer nossa fusão, não é mesmo? Deixe-me iluminar suas memórias, então. ~” O que estava sendo perseguido segurou um choramingo em protesto ao escutar as palavras do outro, já sendo capaz de sentir o início de um corar espalhando-se pelo seu pescoço. Remy sabia muito, muito bem como as provocações poderiam ser tão insuportáveis e eficiente quanto as cóce... quero dizer, quanto AQUILO em si! “Primeiramente eu vou te carregar por tooodo o caminho de volta para o sofá e talvez, só talvez, meus dedos escorregarão em alguns leves apertos em todos esses pequenos pontos em sua cintura, quem sabe, né? Mas é melhor que você não se contorça muito porque então eu não terei outra escapatória além de trazer minha outra mão para tentar te segura melhor e, bem, vamos todos esperar que ela não seja tão escorregadia quanto a primeira, certo?”
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“E então: o sofa. Oh, não, relaxe. ~ Nada de diferente acontecerá lá, sério! Eu só vou deitar-me com meu adoravelmente desamparado namorado extremamente coceguento, e, se meus lábios fabulosos estarão abençoando seu pescoço incrivelmente sensível com vários beijos de boa noite? Se minhas mãos continuarão deslizando, arranhando e cutucando levemente toda a extensão de seu torso, às vezes até mesmo dando uma pequena atenção e apertos em sua cintura porque não tem a mínima chance de eu ir dormir num travesseiro duro? Não é da sua conta, Garoto das risadinhas.” Émile não conseguiu evitar o guincho agudo que escapou de sua boca, olhos se arregalando e sua respiração imediatamente parando, as outras pequenas risadas também implorando para escapar. “Ah sim, falando nisso, é melhor você manter-se assim mesmo, beeem quieto, afinal, nós não queremos que o Mestre das Cócegas acorde, não é mesmo?”
Silêncio.
O tom tranquilo, quase desinteressado, de Remy preencheu o ar, o qual não carregava mais o som de seus passos. O amante de desenhos animados sabia que não existia nenhuma possível escapatória para si e, num ato de rendição, deixou suas risadinhas animadas correrem alegremente pelo quarto enquanto escondia seu rosto em chamas atrás de suas mãos trêmulas. Segundos depois ouviu o som da porta fechando, seu esconderijo sendo exposto.
“Mas nós dois sabemos que você simplesmente não consegue se controlar, não é, meu tão pobre, tão indefeso lee.” Émile soltou um grito brincalhão ao ser levantando e carregado no estilo de noiva pelo outro. Seus olhos se abriram o bastante para ver Remy desviar seu olhar de si num piscar de olhos, o sorriso gentil a amável durando pedaços de segundos antes de modificar-se para um tom mais maléfico. Dedos repentinamente apertaram delicadamente, porém ainda firmemente, seus lados e a pele sensível logo acima de seus joelhos, resultando num pulo daquele quem estava sendo carregado, um guincho fino, praticamente chiado, sinalizando o fluxo de risadas que o seguiria.
“Por favor, Remy, por favor!!” Cada novo aperto era uma risada de porco interrompendo suas palavras, o que o fazia tentar repetir a frase apenas para ter o mesmo resultado e então repetir o ciclo novamente, produzindo mais um balbuciar desamparado do que oura coisa. O outro parou, ajustando a posição de seus braços a fim de seus polegares sorrateiramente atacarem essa porcaria de espaço entre suas escápulas, alternando entre amassar e cutucar enquanto levava o atacado à sentenças ainda mais inteligíveis. “Aí não, aí não, aí não!! Porfavorporfavorporfa-”
“Huh? O que você disse? Que eu sou o mais lindo marido do mundo inteiro? Que você é tão coceguento que apenas alguns pequenos apertos e cutucadas são o bastante para te transformar em uma bagunça toda corada e risonha?” O que estava sendo segurado sentiu suas risadas aumentarem, as palavras espalhando-se como arrepios em todos os seus outros pontos sensíveis, até mesmo aqueles que não estavam sob ataque. Ele balançou sua cabeça em negação. “Então era que você ama todas essas provocações e especialmente quando eu te faço cócegas, cócegas, cosquinhas? Huh? Fale com suas próprias palavras, querido.”
“Nãonãonãonão!” Emile arqueou suas costas apenas para ir de encontro a um ataque em seu quadril, tentando desalojar o outro ao Remy vibrar seus dedos no exato ponto onde seus lados e quadril se conectavam, gerando uma risada levemente enlouquecida como resposta. “Você é-nah! Você chato chato chato!” Seus braços dançavam de um lado para o outro, extremamente ocupados com a sensação impossível de se ignorar para realmente se concentrar em pará-la. Remy aumentou seus esforços na tentativas de fazer a ‘risada de porco’ desabrochar em meio ás gargalhadas e os guinchos, não precisando de muito tempo para ter sucesso. “Remy!!!”
“Sim, divo? Gente, você deve amar meu nome. Parece que não consegue passar nem um minuto inteiro sem o pronunciar!” Sua voz prosseguia despreocupado, porém ele se abaixou por um pedaço de segundo para roubar um selinho de seu marido lindo, sorridente e fofo pra um caralho, quem - por sua vez -, conquistou um novo tom de vermelho adornando seu pescoço. Issoaeeee. “De qualquer forma, o que você queria me dizer? Fala rápido que eu ainda tenho muitos lugares para massagear, tamborilar, rabiscar, apertar... Sabe? Todo esse negócio de ‘Faça coscas no seu marido extremamente coceguento, tipo muito, muuuuito coceguento. Tipo, de verdade, esse cara é uma versão viva desses bonequinhos em que basta a gente apertar um botão para que ele ria sem parar.” Como demonstração ele atacou rapidamente o umbigo do de óculos, recebendo uma risadinha histérica como resposta, “e então ele vira uma bagunça descontrolada apenas para que eu possa provoca-lo mais e mais até o grande, racional Emile Picani se transforme em um pobre, oh pobrezinho e corado lee.
“REMY!!”
“Que? Não suporta a verdade? Chora um rio, então.”
Emile não retrucou, a não ser que você considere seu tropeço de palavras completamente incoerente e rápido como um tipo de resposta, optando por agarrar a fábrica da camisa de seu marido a fim de esconder seu rosto nela, suas gargalhadas sendo tão fortes que reverberavam pelo peitoral de Remy, quem não podia parar de se sentir como um vilão de novela ao encarar as costelas desprotegidas devido o tal ato. Um sorriso livre de qualquer piedade se desenrolando pela sua expressão. Bem, Remy internamente deu de ombros enquanto respirava profundamente, azar o dele. Seus braços estavam ficando cansados, de qualquer forma.
Emile achava que derreteria a qualquer momento, as provocações ainda incendiando sua pele sensível e aumentando o ataque de um jeito que deveria ser definitivamente ilegal. Todavia, no momento que ele sentiu a framboesa espalhando-se, tomando conta de seus nervos e C Ó C E G A S ele morreu.
E gritou, claro. Ah, e também segurou alguma coisa enquanto chutava e se balançava descontroladamente, como se a vida da Mabble dependesse disso (e não a sua própria, claro, já que ele já estava morto). Uma pequena parte de seu cérebro desesperado percebeu que ele estava caindo, mas a risada explodindo de sua boca juntamente o sentimento impossível de se ignorar expulsava todo e qualquer outro pensamento de sua mente.
Ele abriu seus olhos, ofegante. Sua visão lacrimejante se focou na silhueta praticamente deitada em si, suas risadinhas voando e preenchendo o quarto inteiro. Após algumas batidas de coração Remy finalmente se levantou, as mãos descansando no chão e sustentando o peso de seu corpo. Seus olhares se encontraram.
“Eu tinha esquecido que você é um contorcionista.” Emile só se encolheu mais ainda, mostrando-lhe a língua em um argumento muito maturo e difícil de retrucar.
“Não é minha culpa que seus braços são mais fracos que os do Deadly Arms.”
“Licença?”
“Non.”
“Repete na minha cara.”
“Nãooo, você de deixou ter uma queda por você. Nos dois sentidos. Vou te ignorar até o fim dos nossos dias de casados.”
“Ah, é mesmo?” Remy replicou, se ajusta para que assim as suas mãos pudessem, cada uma, se posicionar ao lado da cabeça de seu marido, quem imediatamente reconheceu o sorriso começando a brilhar em seu rosto e então explodiu em um fluxo de pequenas e altas risadas. Seus braços voaram para frente de seu corpo em uma tentativa de conjurar uma espécie de escudo.
“Espera, espera! Peraperapera! Nahnanão!” Um chiado cortou sua fala quando uma mão beliscou sua coxa. “Sinto muito!”
“Yep, diva, você vai sentir mes-” Sua ameaça foi interrompida quando Emile puxou sua blusa e conectou os lábios do outro nos seus, roubando suas palavras, seu fôlego e qualquer pensamento coerente de sua cabeça. As risadas do primeiro ainda continuavam a flutuar pela sua boca, o que levou - se é que isso era possível – o amante de café a derreter-se ainda mais, se permitindo ser carregado pelo carinho e o amor, suspirando e aprofundando ainda mais o beijo.
... Até esse nojento, maléfico, desgraçado trapaceiro fincou seus dedos no seu estômago, o que arruinou por completo o momento romântico e em hipótese alguma fez Remy Bad Boy Picani libertar um meio guincho e meia risada de porco que, por sua vez, definitivamente não fez o único usando óculos soltar um leve ‘owwwwn’, pra sua informação.
“Awww” Emile lhe mostrou um sorriso inocente, agilmente virando a mesa e sentando-se nas pernas do outro, seus dedos balançando em uma dança a qual consistia em cravar seus polegares naquele ponto bem acima de sua cintura enquanto vibrava os dedos restantes no seu torso, a sensação enlouquecedora culminando na libertação de uma gargalhada descontrolada daquele sob ‘ataque’. Olhos fechados firmemente, nariz enrugado e um sorriso imenso adornando sua face. “Qual o problema, querido? O descolado, durão Remy não consegue suportar algumas c-coscas, cócegas, coseguinhas em sua barriga? Huh? Huh? Não consegue? Porque ele é muito coceguento, não é? Sim, sim! Você é!”
“GENTE DO CÉU, CALA A BOCA!” Remy conseguia sentir sua face, contra sua própria vontade e ameaças, derreter-se em chamas. Sua risada sendo substituída por risinhos histéricos ao seu marido modificar sua técnica, tamborilando e vagarosamente caminhando seus dedos pelas suas costelas antes de arrastar suas unhas novamente para baixo em padrões aleatórios, indo para cima e para baixo mais uma vez após isso e então mais algumas vezes, sempre conseguindo captar quatro ou cinco guinchos. “ISSO É TÃO IDIOTA, PORRA.”
“Ei, ei, senhor Super Coseguento. Não vamos ser um Lula Molusco com o Monstro das Cócegas, certo? Ele só quer ouvir toooodas as suas adoráveis, amáveis e instáveis risadinhas!” Emile se abaixou a fim de que a ponta de seus narizes se encostasse, seu sorriso aumentando ao sentir as gargalhadas do outro atingir suas bochechas, seu tom agora volitando em sussurros animados. “E que risada fofa você tem! Definitivamente o mais incrível, doce e favorito Lee do Monstro das Cócegas!”
“Não sou- Eu não sou fofoseudesgra-nÃOPORFAVORAÍNAH- suas palavras embaralhavam-se umas nas outras, especialmente quando sua blusa foi levantada e um dedo começou a contorcer-se e remexer-se em seu umbigo, suas pernas chutando ao mesmo tempo que suas mãos tentaram arrumar força o suficiente para interromper o ato maligno. Todavia falhando exemplarmente ao o atacante focar alguns cutuques em suas axilas expostas, recebendo o que talvez era para ser um gritinho levemente irritado. Emile não pôde impedir o ‘awww’ que escapara de seus lábios mais uma vez. “EU. NÃO.” O outro não conseguiu controlar uma risada de porco de cortar sua sentença. “FOFO. VAZA!”
Emile respondeu com um leve som de tristeza, fazendo bico mesmo que seu marido continuasse com seus olhos fechados, incapaz de notar tal ação.
“Ah, é uma pena que você não acredite nas palavras de seu próprio marido.” Ele mudou sua velocidade para um leve arranhar, desenhando círculos nas costelas baixas juntamente com esporádicos e rápidos apertos nos seus lados, dando algum intervalo para que sua ‘vítima’ tivesse espaço para respirar e entender suas palavras.
“Bem.... Talvez, talvez ele acreditaria...” Remy tentou, de verdade, ele tentou franzir as sobrancelhas, porém isso era extremamente dificultoso com o bufar divertido que continuava a interromper suas palavras. Seu corpo derretendo-se no gentil e bom toque. Totalmente contra sua vontade, claro. “Se seu próprio marido não estivesse sendo um besta e lhe fazendo cócegas.”
Ele encarava Emile diretamente, dessa forma não perdendo o mais rarefeito corar o qual tingiu suas bochechas, dando um sorriso de canto – ainda que vacilante- orgulhoso por ser o único entre eles quem conseguia pronunciar ‘cócegas’ sem gaguejar. No entanto, infelizmente ele também não perdeu o jeito que os olhos e sorriso daquele usando óculos se expandiu, demonstrando que o outro teve uma ideia.
Borboletas começaram a entrar em pânico em seu estômago, especialmente quando o olhar de Emile fixou lá com um brilho meio louco, sua fala vindo como um ronronar perigoso e macio.
“Sabe... toda essa agitação fez com que o Monstros das Cócegas ficasse um pouco faminto... e ele ouviu que um pequenito lee tem umas costelas ao molho bem deliciosas beeeeeem aqui. ~ - Suas mãos descansaram nas ditas cuja, vibrando lá rapidamente, como que para provar seu ponto. Remy pulou, adrenalina correndo a toda velocidade através de seu corpo ao a fala começar a ganhar cor e significado em sua mente.
“Parô, PARÔ! Emile!!!” Aquele sendo chamado lentamente moveu-se em direção ao seu alvo, ignorando o contorcer e os pedidos de seu marido, quem se tornava mais e mais desesperado ao seu atacante sorrir inocentemente e o encarasse, sua cabeça pouco a pouco se aproximando de seu ponto tão sensível. “Emile, Emile, por favor, eu estou literalmente te implorando. Eu te imploro! Eu sou fofo! Viu? Eu admiti!! Emile!!
“Estou ouvindo. ~”
“Não, você não está!” Suas risadinhas eufóricas e histéricas já começavam a tomar conta de suas sentenças. “Não! Caralho!”
“Não?” Os lábios de Emile já descansavam em suas costelas, as palavras enviando arrepios por entre seus nervos, algo que não era contribuído pelo fato que o mencionado balançou sua cabeça, demonstrando suas palavras.
“Não! Não!”
“Isso é um ‘não’ para o meu ‘não’? Então quer dizer ‘sim’?
“nÃO."
“Não? E que tal o ‘sim’?
“Pára. Meu Deus, eu vou pedir divórcio! Isso é um não para o seu sim!
“Entendi! É um ‘não’, entaõ?”
“Sim!”
“Um sim? Okay!”
Antes que qualquer protesto pudesse voar de sua boca, um fino grito fez isso no seu lugar. E de novo. E mais uma vez, quase tão rápido quanto as framboesas aninhadas e as leves mordidelas acompanhadas pelos exagerados sons de ‘nhoom nhom nhom’, espalhando-se em cócegas incontroláveis e totalmente desatentas aos seu contorcer, seus chutes e a altas, retumbantes gargalhadas pintando o local.
Não demorou muito para o amante de desenhos animados cessar o ataque, sabendo bem os limites do outro. Emile encostou suas testas novamente, a respiração ofegante de Remy com gotas de pequenas risadinhas sendo a única coisa a quebrar o silêncio o qual os envolvia em um sentimento calmo, aconchegante e quente.
“Não me olhe desse jeito, seu traidor.” Seu tom estava livre de qualquer real irritação, o olhar vívido e rosto corado perdendo sua atenção. Emile não pôde se impedir de beijá-lo afim de tirar o bico dramático de sua expressão. “E não se atreva a me beijar.” Rápido selinho. “Eu não confio mais em seus lábios adocicados.” Selinho amável. “Eles são um inferno de uma armadilha.” Selinho risonho.
“Eu te amo.”
Seus olhos se encontraram mais uma vez e por fim Remy desistiu, afundando-se naquele profundo e carinhoso momento. Suas mãos se entrelaçaram.
“Eu também te amo.” Ele cutucou a barriga do outro, ganhando um veloz guincho antes de ser agraciado com o mesmo tratamento. “Mas só às vezes.”
