Wilbur and Tommy
pspspspspsps willow come get ur food /j
“You’re so fuckin’ stiff, man.”
Wilbur shrugs. “I guess. Maybe a little.”
“That doesn’t seem very comfortable,” Tommy says.
The older man makes an amused sound. “What’re you gonna do, give me a massage?”
“Actually, yeah. Lie down.”
Wilbur rolls his eyes, planning on going back to what he was doing, before he notices Tommy’s expression and realises he’s being serious.
Wilbur knows by now not to argue with Tommy. So, sighing, he lays face-down on the couch.
He feels the blond perch himself on his lower back, beginning to massage his back and shoulders. Tommy’s movements are hesitant, like he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but it’s nice nonetheless. Wilbur doesn’t expect it to be nice. He feels himself relaxing, practically melting into the couch cushions. Tommy huffs out a laugh when he notices, and Wilbur grumbles at him to shut up.
Maybe he really does need this. He doesn’t have the worst posture, exactly, but it’s not quite the best either. He’s always tense, as well. He’s gotten used to it, though, however uncomfortable it may be. But now, no matter how uncertain Tommy is being, it feels great. If he wasn’t so bad at asking for things he needs, he’d probably ask for this more often.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Tommy’s hands trailing a bit too close to his sides, until he accidentally presses his fingertips into them and Wilbur jolts.
There’s a pause.
“Will?”
“Don’t—”
“Are you ticklish?”
“I swear—”
“You are!” Tommy exclaims, digging into his sides in a much more purposeful manner. Wilbur gasps and bites his lip to try and stop the giggles from escaping, but it doesn’t work for very long.
“F- fuhuck! Tohohommy!”
“Yes?” the boy asks innocently, fingers crawling up to his ribs and making him arch his back in a desperate, but useless, attempt to escape.
“Ihi’m gohohonna k- kihill you fohor thihihis!” Wilbur squeals.
Tommy laughs. “Sure you will,” he says, poking around the curly-haired man’s ribs to find the best reactions. Wilbur squeaks at every poke, wiggling back and forth as best as he can under Tommy’s weight.
Suddenly, Tommy’s hands are under Wilbur’s shirt, tracing along his back in a way that’s gentle but still absolutely unbearable. Wilbur’s frantic giggles die down a bit, though they rise in pitch.
“This is great!” the boy says, in a tone far too mischievous for Wilbur’s liking. “I can finally get you back for the times you’ve tortured me!”
Wilbur can tell he’s not going to be stopping for a while. He accepts his fate.