TickleTober Day 1: Anticipation
Fandom: The Maze Runner
Word count: 892
Lee!Newt, Ler!Minho
Summary: Minho and Thomas find out Newt is ticklish and abuse the art of anticipation.
“C’mon, Newt, you can’t run forever!”
Newt made the mistake of looking behind him, letting out a yelp when he saw how close Thomas and Minho were getting. Curse his stupid limp and those Runner shanks!
“Leave me alone!” He yelled over his shoulder to his friends. They, of course, ignored him and continued to chase after the blond.
As he went to pass by the Homestead, Chuck picked the worst possible time to step out of its doors. He slammed into the boy, who tried to steady him by grabbing his forearms.
Newt squirmed and tried to regain his footing, knowing that this would end very badly for him. “No, Chuck, stop, let go!” He said, his words coming out panicked. “Chuck, bloody he–” He was cut off when two hands grabbed his hips and lifted him up and off the ground. He was thrown over someone’s shoulder, and he knew it was Minho’s when he looked up and saw Thomas grinning at him.
“Thanks for that, Chuckie,” Minho said as though Newt wasn’t currently pounding on his back, his signature smirk prominent in his voice. Before Chuck could even ask what was happening, Minho started carrying the British boy away with Thomas on his heels.
“Put me down, you shank!” Newt said.
“Put you down? No way! You can’t just mention that you’re ticklish and then not expect us to tickle you,” Minho said.
“Yeah, you kinda brought this upon yourself,” Thomas added, grinning at Newt. Newt reached out to smack him, but Thomas only dodged and laughed.
“Tommy, I will throw ya in the buggin’ Slammer! You too, Minho!” Newt threatened, though all three boys knew he meant nothing by it.
“Sure you will,” Thomas said.
Newt couldn’t get any more words out before Minho practically threw him down onto the grass. He straddled his hips, while Thomas followed his lead and pinned down Newt’s once-failing wrists above his head.
“Now, let’s see… Where should I start first?” Minho cracked his knuckles, a glint in his eyes that scared Newt more than any Griever ever would. “Ribs, hips, pits, neck, stomach… so many options.”
Newt squirmed. “Just get it over with.”
Both boys promptly ignored him. “Lift his shirt,” Thomas suggested.
Newt’s eyes widened. “Do not lift my shirt!”
“That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Greenie,” Minho said, once again acting like he didn’t hear a word from the boy underneath him. Newt sucked in his stomach as Minho lifted his shirt, the breeze on his now-bare skin making him shiver.
“I’m gonna kill you shucks,” Newt muttered.
“You’re in no position to be making threats, Mr. Tea-And-Crumpets,” Minho teased. Newt glared at him, but his glare turned into a look of fear as Minho started bringing his fingers oh-so-slowly to Newt’s midsection. He paused when Newt sucked in his stomach again.
“Someone’s nervous,” Thomas commented, grinning down at his friend.
“Slim it!” Newt hissed.
“Make me. Oh wait, you can’t,” Minho said, teasingly wiggling his fingers just above Newt’s ribs. To Newt’s horror, giggles of anticipation started building up in his throat and broke free from his lips.
Minho barked out a laugh. “I’m not even touching you, man.”
“I know!” Newt was able to say without giggles in his words.
“What’s wrong, Newt? Is the air tickling you?” Thomas said. Oh, if murder was allowed…
“Maybe it’s the grass,” Minho added to play along. “Is that what it is? You so ticklish that the shuckin’ grass is tickling you?”
“I hohohope the blohohohoody Grievehehehers get you shahahahahanks!”
“You what?? That’s it!” Minho was just about to unleash ticklish hell upon Newt when a familiar, commanding voice rang out.
“What are you shanks doing?”
Alby. Thank God.
Minho stopped just as his fingertips grazed over Newt’s ribs, making the anticipation only grow.
“Help!” Newt said, managing to swallow his giggles, though his voice came out squeaky.
“So we were having a Gathering, and this is why your chairs were empty?” Alby said.
Newt’s face flushed, half in embarrassment and half in shame. The Gathering. He’d completely forgotten about it while being chased by the Keeper of the Runners and the Greenie. “...Shuck.”
Alby sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, but Newt swore he could see a barely-suppressed smile on his face. “Let him go and get your butts to the Homestead.” Thomas let go of Newt's wrists immediately, who hugged himself. Minho, on the other hand, to absolutely no one’s surprise, was more reluctant.
“Can’t the Gathering wait?”
“Minho.”
“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnneeeeeee…” Minho said, standing and helping up Newt, who was still red in the face. He punched both Minho and Thomas in the shoulder. Thomas grinned, and Minho, being the bolder one, put the Second In Command in a headlock and gave him a noogie. Newt squirmed, kicking his legs and trying to escape.
“Knock it off,” Alby said, though there was definitely a smile on his face.
“You’re no fun, Alby,” Minho said, though he let Newt go. Newt distanced himself from the Asian and moved closer to Alby, who chuckled.
“Don’t worry, you can have your fun with him after,” the older boy said. Newt glared at him, and Minho smirked as he walked by. Something told him that he was going to have a very hard time focusing during this Gathering.