Waiting for the Cocoa to Cool ☕
In which Gus gets angsty about the whole becoming-a-villain thing, and Pen makes him cocoa. She also makes him laugh himself silly.
⚠️ This is a ticklefic! If that ain't your thing, kindly move along ⚠️
🫂 Pairing: Lee!Gus, Ler!Pen (100% platonic, 200% consensual, sfw)
‼️CW/TW: Gus curses like a sailor, you have been warned 😂 If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add (to this piece any/or any work in the future), please let me know!
While I adore both, I'm much more comfy with writing as a medium than drawing. So I thought I'd write a quick lil ticklefic to introduce Gus a bit more organically than my typical habit of infodumping. 😅 This fic ended up being much longer than I anticipated, but hey - what's wrong with extra tickles? Nothing I can think of.
Hope you enjoy! -🐧
"You want some cocoa, hun?"
I don't wait for an answer - I've already made two mugs. Gus will never refuse cocoa (not my cocoa, anyway).
Besides, he's staring out at the rain, which means he's too lost in thought to register anything I say anyway. His reverie only breaks when I set his mug beside him on the end table, directly in his line of vision, and plop myself down on the sofa beside him.
"Did you tell them about me?"
Look at that. Bailey owes me five bucks. He thought it'd take Gus a couple minutes before he started fretting about my new project.
"I gave them a little introduction." I pat his hand. "There's an awful lot to know about you, hun."
"Right, but did you tell them about... you know..."
How 'bout that! Bailey owes me ten.
"Vaguely." I set my mug down on the coffee table. "I said you went off the deep end for a bit."
Gus manages a mirthless little scoff of a chuckle. "There's an understatement."
"I mean, that's what happened," I shrug. "You just... lost your head for a while."
"I dunno, Pen. I think there was a little more to it than that."
"Mm. That's a topic for future posts."
Gus looks away.
He's right, of course - there's a lot more to it. Just... not a lot that matters to us now, in my cozy living room, listening to the rain patter on the window. The only problem is that Gus can't stay present to save his life.
But that's why I made the cocoa. Nothing heals like cocoa, in my humble opinion (especially my cocoa).
Unfortunately it's still too hot to drink. I gotta think of some other way to distract him before he starts ruminating on-
"Are you sure you don't wanna start with Hazel?"
I stifle a sigh. "Gus, love, we talked about this, remember?"
"I'm just saying, the villain isn't the one who deserves a-"
"You're not the villain."
"Well, I was sure acting like one!"
"Because you were high as a kite on Dr. Jekyll's axe-crazy-monster juice."
"That I made myself!"
"You didn't intend to drink it." I lean back. "You just needed it for... you know. Vengeance..."
Gus throws me a flat look. He's right, this conversation isn't really going a productive direction.
"Look," I try again, " You're not in that story anymore. You were never even supposed to be in that story in the first place. If anyone deserves a soft epilogue, in a new place, it's you."
"But so do you." Gus meets my gaze for the first time in the whole conversation. "Your life got fucked up, too. If you're gonna go to all this trouble, you deserve to focus on your own epilogue."
"Why do you think you're sitting in my living room?" I squeeze his hand. "You're my comfort character, Gus. We're in this together."
"What's that?"
"Comfort character? It means you make me feel safe."
He blinks. "...Oh."
"You're my comfiest comfort character." I scoot closer and rest my head on his shoulder.
I can feel a bit of the tension in his muscles ease at the cuddle. "You're makin' me sound like a stuffed animal," he mutters good-naturedly.
"Mm."
"I think Hazel's a lot better at comforting that I am though, personally..."
This man. Cannot. Let anything go.
Which means it's time to switch tactics.
"Hey, you know what I forgot to tell them about you?"
"I mean, Hazel's a fairy godmother." He's no longer listening. "Comfort is her whole-" At least he isn't until right about here, when he freezes mid-phrase.
He hadn't even noticed me slip my arm behind his back, but he's definitely noticed that I'm now walking the fingers of both hands up his sides.
"Don't let me interrupt you, hun..."
"Ohhh no, you don't!"
"You were saying...?"
"Pen, cheheh- cut that out!"
"No, no, continue, I insist!"
"Pen!" His voice cracks even on this one syllable.
"I'm just demonstrating a little detail I forgot to mention to our readers."
Finally, twisting to face me, he manages to snag both my wrists and hold them still. "Wh-What do they need to know that for?!"
"What do they need to know what for?" I smile sweetly.
"That I'm-" He's so flustered he just barely catches himself.
I flash him a wide grin. "You wanna tell 'em, honey?"
He just squirms - struggling with an uncharacteristically silly grin of his own that he doesn't entirely seem to realize he's making. "Over my cold, dead-"
Mm, I don't need to hear the end of that threat. I easily break my wrists from his grasp and set to work on his adorable little belly.
The detail I forgot to tell you is that Gus is devastatingly ticklish.
"WaitwaitWAIT Pehehen, staHAhp!!"
Gus isn't a loud guy. Even his full-out cackling barely makes it above most folks' normal speaking voice. But what he lacks in volume he makes up for in intensity - he's got the most contagious, helpless laughter I've ever heard in my life. The best I can describe it is quietly maniacal.
"Stopstopstopit-getOFFmehehe!!" He also has an adorable tendency to babble incoherently when he gets nervous - or flustered, in this case. Especially if I get 'im right up under his ribs...
"ACK! Pehehen! Penstop I cahan't- Ihi-"
The nice thing about this spot is that I can wiggle my fingers right up under his diaphragm, so his own giggling starts to tickle.
"I can't st-stop! AHahaha- plehehehease!!"
It's definitely a spot to use sparingly, else he'll run out of air. I give him another few tweaks before sitting back, beaming as he catches his breath.
"This is... heh... c-completely unnecessary," he mutters, his hands wavering defensively over his midsection.
"If only there was something you could say to make me stop," I sigh, throwing a sorrowful glance to the ceiling. In reply I receive his best attempt at a scowl (which, since he's still grinning like an idiot, isn't a very convincing attempt).
Gus is so sensitive - both physically and emotionally - that I'd never dare touch him if we didn't have a safeword. But I've never in our entire friendship heard him use it. This boy soaks up physical affection like a ticklish little sponge.
And right now, in my expert opinion, he could use a little more of it.
I can't help but coo over the way his tummy deflates in anticipation as I hover one hand over his waist. All I have to do is rest my fingertips against the soft fabric of his sweater, and he collapses into helpless giggles.
It occurs to me, I don't think I've mentioned Gus' accent yet either. It's little more than a slight lilt most of the time, but when he's flustered like this becomes much more pronounced.
I'm not quite sure what it's supposed to be, exactly - technically it's Drearish, the regional dialect from the fictional village where he grew up. Whoever directed the movie he came from seemed to be going for some vague German-Slavic-Transylvanian hodgepodge.
Regardless, it's cute as heck. Especially when he's so overwhelmed that he starts trying to curse me out in Drearish.
Not that he doesn't have a perfectly sufficient vocabulary of English curse words to throw at me...
"I svehehear to - shihit, fuck! - I vill breheak your FUHUCKING - heheheh! - your fingers!! Your... dammit, getoffme!!"
...But the trick is to sneak my hands under his sweater and start scribbling directly against the soft pudge of his lower tummy. That really does him in.
"What did you just call me?!"
"I saheheh-" [incomprehensible] "you fuhuckin'-" [unintelligible] "if you don't-" [...frankly this could be English or Drearish, it's so garbled by laughter I can't tell].
"Sorry, didn't catch that," I tease.
He lapses into silent laughter for a few seconds. "Okay, okahahay, enough! Enough!"
Enough isn't our safeword (that would be nightshade) but it's kind of an informal one since he doesn't use it very often. It's become a code for I'm getting tired.
So I withdraw my hands from beneath his sweater, and start rubbing slow circles on his tummy. Even this still tickles him, but only enough to elicit soft little breathless chuckles. I'm mostly doing it because his tummy is just so irresistibly soft and warm... but also my hand is trapped so tightly beneath both his arms that I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers.
Our cocoa has gone cold by the time we return to our mugs. Neither of us mind very much.