AN: to the anon, and I suppose anyone unfamiliar with The Boys, Kimiko is not hearing impaired but is non-verbal, which is why Frenchie may go between speaking and signing. Thanks for the prompt, anon :)
You know you can just ask, right? Kimiko signs, a soft smile on her face as she looks over to Frenchie.
I don’t know what you’re talking about, Frenchie signs back, his face already turning pink. He shifts his eyes over to his hands, attempting to avoid Kimiko’s knowing stare.
She reaches out and runs a single finger from the tip of his middle finger to where his palm meets his wrist and a huff of air leaves his nose, his blush going all the way up to his ears.
Frenchie doesn’t move other than a twitch of his fingers, eyes still glued to his hands.
Kimiko puts a single teasing finger under Frenchie’s chin, forcing him to look at her.
All you have to do is ask, Kimiko signs, leaning in to kiss the corner of Frenchie’s mouth.
He pulls away, nose scrunching as Kimiko’s finger leaves his chin with a light scratch.
Kimiko rolls her eyes, leaning away from Frenchie so she can stand up from where they had been cuddling on the couch. Before she can fully stand, Frenchie grabs her arm, sending her the best puppy-dog eyes that he can.
If you’re not going to ask for it, she begins to sign, then I guess I’m just gonna go get some food.
Frenchie lets out a groan— totally not a whine, he’s a scary assassin, he would never whine— before pulling Kimiko back into him.
“It’s embarrassing,” he says, throwing an arm over his face.
Kimiko pokes him in his side, which is now exposed, and Frenchie jumps, his arm shooting back down. His eyes look hopeful, but he goes back to his look of frustration when he sees the lopsided smirk on Kimiko’s face.
Alright then, guess I’m gonna go ask Annie if she wants to go for dinner, Kimiko shrugs as she signs to Frenchie.
“Fine!” He exclaims, “I’ll try.”
Kimiko grins from ear-to-ear, sending Frenchie a thumbs-up.
“Can- Will- Please-,” Frenchie stammers out before groaning, frustrated by his own embarrassment. “Please?”
Kimiko pretends to consider it for a moment before responding, jokingly stroking her chin, you’re so cute when you get like this.
Her fingers dive down to Frenchie’s stomach, and somehow the anticipation has made his ticklishness so much worse, because he is in stitches within seconds of it.
“Plehehease! Ihihit tihihickles!” He giggles, shaking his head back and forth. Kimiko can’t help but smile at the sound of his laughter, grinning a childish, toothy grin when she notices that he is just holding her wrists as if to make sure her hands can’t leave his body.
She goes down to his sides and his laughter jumps and octave, snorts peppered in. “NOHOHO!”
He grips her wrists ever-so-slightly tighter, and she decides to try something new, something softer. She twists their hands so her fingers can ghost along his palms, and his laughter dissolves into soft, airy chuckles. She hums a sound akin to cooing and his face goes from pink to bright red, but he can’t find it in himself to try to get away.
With one hand Kimiko starts to spell out a sentence on his palm, being interrupted every few letters by Frenchie’s twitching.
“Ihihi-“ he giggles, “Ihihi lohohove yohou tohoho.”
this was done in EARLY NOVEMBER and i forgot to ever post it dsjkhdf i am so sorry
Tickled Silly, Tickled Stupid
word count: 367 words
[ao3]
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Frenchie supposed he deserved this. He’d goaded the lot of them into it, after all, dropping conspiracy after conspiracy, dipping into ludicrous things he himself didn’t even believe, just to get a rise out of those on deck. He latched onto twitches of eyebrows, tightening of lips, eyerolls, and more.
And now this was where he lay.
Though it was quite a joy-filled grave that Frenchie had dug, if he did say so himself. After all, it was exactly what he was aiming for. Pinned down between crew member after crew member, their fingers searching out all his weak points. Mirthful tears were filling his eyes, laughter draining his lungs, and Frenchie was certain that he could get addicted to this feeling.
Wee John sat behind him and held up his arms with one hand, the big teddy bear, the other jumping mercilessly between his underarms in a way that made him howl. Lucius and Pete were tag-teaming the rest of his torso, seeking out the spots that made him jolt and squirm the most and laughing affectionately at his startled shouts.
Fang and Oluwande had each taken a leg for their own, their drastically contrasting styles leaving him reeling. Fang, who most often tickled Lucius, went after the meatiest parts, squeezing and kneading deep into the muscles in ways that drove Frenchie mad. Oluwande on the other hand could be found with his fingers on Jim more often than not (well, not that any of them had actually found them like that, they didn’t have death wishes, but their cabin wasn’t exactly soundproof), and it reflected in his skittering, spidering, wiggly-fingers style that would’ve sent Frenchie into the highest of pitches if there weren’t so many other sensations warring for control of his vocal cords.
And Jim, ruthless, devious Jim, took up Frenchie’s feet. They sat on his ankles, trapped his toes in one hand, and absolutely destroyed him with the other. The playful torment shattered any coherent thought Frenchie had left between the rest of his comeuppance.
So yes, perhaps Frenchie deserved this, but he wasn’t exactly going to complain about being tickled stupid. The only unfortunate thing was that it eventually had to end.
