Summary: Dororo can't accept the fact that she couldn't introduce Hyakkimaru to the feeling of fun. So she decides to do it in a roundabout way, finally finding his soft spots.
Word Count: 1,3k
The night in the mountains turned out to be cold. The travelers who had found shelter in a run-down hunter's hut were lucky to at least have a roof over their heads and a hearth that Dororo managed to light with some old kindling.
Dororo couldn't fall asleep: the crackling of the fire reminded her of food and made her stomach growl, but without it, it would have been too cold.
She propped up herself on her elbow and looked at Hyakkimaru, who was lying against the wall across from her. Moonlight streamed through the small window, illuminating his pale face. His eyes were open and he was simply lying peacefully on his side, staring into nothingness.
"Big bro?" she called out in a whisper, "are you asleep?"
After a silent pause, Dororo resigned herself to putting off conversation until morning, but Hyakkimaru finally shook his head slightly. Sometimes she didn't understand why it was so hard for him to answer, be it a simple "yes" or "no." It was as if he was doing it on purpose!
"Hey, have you ever thought about how many of those demons are even left?" she asked, staring into the darkness.
Hyakkimaru turned his head slightly in her direction but said nothing.
"I'm just counting," Dororo continued. "If you think about it, each demon is a part of you. You're like a puzzle." She hummed at her own thoughts. "I wonder what you'll feel when you get it all back? When you become an ordinary person? Will you laugh? Cry? Get angry over little things? What will you even do next?"
Dororo didn't expect an answer to her barrage of questions; they were more rhetorical. It was foolish to try and pry a purpose out of someone who knew nothing about the world. Traveling with him, in a way, she felt responsible for showing Hyakkimaru the better side of this world. Even if it rarely worked out.
"Don't know." The answer came like it was cut off with a rough edge.
The girl sighed and sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees. He spoke so little that each word felt precious.
"Oi, Aniki, you know..." after a long pause, she suddenly came to a thought, "it's really unfair that in all these years, you've never really had fun. Do you even know how?"
No answer followed.
Annoying. At moments like this, Dororo wanted to shake some voice into him, but Hyakkimaru probably wouldn't even get an idea why she was shaking him. Somehow she remembered her failed attempt to tickle him. Seemed like the most effective way to get a reaction out of all the ones Dororo knew. But even that hadn't gotten through to him! The thought stuck with her for a while.
"There's no way you don't have a single weak spot. I refuse to believe it," she muttered, crawling closer and closer to him until her hand plopped down onto the side of the oblivious Hyakkimaru.
"You're still a human, after all.. You are, right? All humans are ticklish, I'm sure of it."
The girl kept persistently poking at his sides, grabbing here and there, like a cat chasing skittish mouse. Hyakkimaru clearly didn't mind the touch, but the absence of any reaction showed his confusion. It seemed his body hadn't learned to process this kind of information yet. Dororo scratched her chin and decided to change tactics.
First, she glanced at his feet but quickly waved them off — Hyakkimaru traveled barefoot, so he most likely wouldn't feel anything there. But then her gaze moved higher.
Dororo carefully pushed aside the edge of his well-worn kimono, exposing his slightly bent legs. She touched his knee feather-lightly, checking for any signs of objection. But of course, there was no reaction at all, which only made Dororo more determined.
Her hand slid to the back of his knee. She pressed a little more firmly and began rapidly moving her fingers back and forth over that secluded spot, lightly scratching with her nails.
And then it happened: Hyakkimaru flinched, trying to pull his leg away! Dororo froze, unable to believe her luck. She lifted her head and looked at his face. It was no longer peaceful. Hyakkimaru's eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his mouth was partly open, as if he was trying to inhale.
"Whoa!" Dororo breathed out, and a spark of excitement lit up in her eyes. "It worked!"
She slipped her fingers under his knees again, this time attacking both hollows. And now Hyakkimaru flinched even harder. His legs reflexively curled up, trying to shield themselves from the strange, unknown sensation. Vibrations spread through his body with each wiggle of her fingers, the muscles in his stomach tensed involuntarily, and goosebumps ran down his spine.
"Do... roro..." His voice came out raspy and uncertain, his expression extremely surprised.
"Aha! Gotcha!" Dororo was on a roll now, tickling her way up from his knees along his whole thigh.
Hyakkimaru tried to sit up, but Dororo wouldn't let him, grabbing his legs and blocking his attempts to roll over or crawl away. His body wouldn't obey. The sensation was too new and foreign for his recently regained nervous system. He knew pain, but this... What the hell was this?
Hyakkimaru opened his mouth to breathe, and suddenly a short, choked sound escaped from his chest.
"Hh... ha..."
It didn't sound like laughter. More like a gasp. But Dororo's eyes widened with delight.
"Finally laughing?!"
Laughter? So this is what she meant? Could laughter really feel like a demon possessing you, leaving you powerless? The corners of his lips trembled under the assault of these unfamiliar electric jolts. Finally, he grabbed Dororo by the wrists.
"S-Stop..." he tried to catch his breath, staring somewhere past the top of Dororo's head. "Strange."
"Strange is good! Still human, hehe. I finally found where your laughter lies," Dororo beamed. "And this means my hands can match big bro's power."
Hyakkimaru lowered his head, looking at the faint aura of Dororo's tiny hands. In his wooden ones, they just felt like soft lumps, but to the patches of his living skin, they brought incredible warmth.
"This is called 'ticklish,'" Dororo didn't miss the chance to teach him, while he spread her fingers apart, studying them like some kind of tool.
Hyakkimaru lifted his face towards her and reached his prosthetic hand toward her head. Dororo squinted, but then felt him scratching her. Hyakkimaru slowly and clumsily moved his fingers through her hair, like he was petting some small animal. Dororo couldn't help but find it endearing.
"Ticklish," Hyakkimaru announced.
"Haha, bro, this is nice!"
"...Nice."
Hyakkimaru was slightly confused, hearing her joyful giggles. Did this mean "ticklish" and "nice" were the same thing?
While the samurai was diligently pondering this new logical connection, Dororo seized the chance and dove her hands toward his stomach, starting to tickle him rapidly there.
"H-hhah... Hahahah!" Hyakkimaru was taken aback and curled up sharply, trying to escape. But this time, his attempts to evade her grasping hands were accompanied by long-awaited laughter.
The feeling was barely tolerable! But still... Dororo's hands weren't something to truly want to run away from. Now it all clicked for him. It was ticklish. And nice.
Hyakkimaru found a way out: he suddenly grabbed Dororo and pulled her close like a human-pillow, effectively immobilizing. The girl squirmed in embarrassment.
"Hey, bro, come on, I get it! Too much for the first time. Let go, I won't tickle you."
"Dororo..."
She froze, as she did every rare time he addressed her.
"You're warm."
Well, that's was good way to refocus. He looked happy, which meant Dororo had finally accomplished her goal. And she couldn't deny that Aniki, in fact, was warm too. Now it would be easier for both of them to fall asleep.
a/n: for one and only @wertzunge. happy belated birthday once again! your santa nicely showed me your wishlist a few days ago, so i decided to experiment a little. hope you'll enjoy ദ്ദി• ˕ •マ.ᐟ
ps: some tickly art under keep reading. i was writing it in a wildly sleepy condition, so forgive me mistakes brothers and sisters
________________________________
Night. Tail. A fluffy, large tail flickered back and forth. Back and forth... Almost hypnotizing a random passerby, who turned out to be a Phaethon member. Wise thoughtfully watched it, as well as the lower half of the body sticking out right from the wall.
“Ugh... Come on!... How…” an annoyed male muffled voice sounded from the other side reached Wise's ears. Although even without the voice it was clear who got into such an... interesting situation.
“How?..” Wise repeated, and Seth's tail, stuck in the wall, instantly wagged stronger.
“W-Wise! Manager, is that you?!” Seth rejoiced, slapping his palms on the wall from his side. He recognized his friend, but then continued sadly, “ugh, can't hear well. My ears are on the other side of this problem... Hopefully, it’s you.”
"Right, it's me, but...." Wise raised an eyebrow, looking at the fidgeting butt of the wall's victim, "...are you sure it's a good idea to rest in this hole instead of doing your night duty?"
If only he could hear the heaviness of the sigh on the other side, he would probably run out of air in his lungs himself.
"You may think this is absurd, but... it's all a cat."
"A cat?”, either not hearing, or not believing, Wise asked in bewilderment.
"Yes, a cat! White!"
"..."
"Not me," the policeman hastened to clarify, realizing that he was only burying himself deeper in a... hole. "A street cat was running here. It stopped next to me while I was on patrol, and seemed to want something. Well, I leaned towards it... And then it snatched my walkie-talkie."
Wise blinked with an idiotic expression on his face, listening intently to Seth's wagging tail.
"I tried to take it away, but it wasn't easy. After a couple of minutes of chasing, the cat saw this same hole and jumped through it. So this is how I..."
"Don't tell me you thought you would slide through this hole. With your sizes."
Seth went silent for a moment.
"It happened instinctively," the only thing he managed to mumble as an excuse.
Wise nodded understandingly, forgetting that the other one couldn't see him. He looked around and noticed that there was no end to the wall on either side. No wonder that Seth didn't go around — the cat would've long ago disappeared into the shelter, disassembled the radio into parts and reassembled it several times.
"And here I thought there should've been racial solidarity between you two."
"We are completely different species!" Seth shook himself and then sighed again: "Could you call Zhu Yuan or... anyone?"
“Sorry, I forgot my phone at home,” for some reason he wanted to lie and see what else would come of it.
“Oh? How so?! W-well... Then take it from my pants.”
So he did. Not as Seth expected though.
"W-Wise! It's in the back pocket!" the catman fidgeted from offbeat sensations when Wise tried to feel for the phone in the side pockets, and even somewhere in front.
"Ah, right," not feeling particularly guilty Wise moved his hand from the sides to his lower back muscles. And yet not here, since the outline of the phone was clearly visible and far from the proxy's cunning fingers. As his hand traveled down poor Lowell's backside, Wise felt a twitch and a puff every now and then. At first, he only found it cute, but along the way he quickly realized what was what, and came up with a plan.
"Tell me, hypothetically... If I called for help, but a little later? Would it be?.."
"...a violation of the law by a citizen in relation to another? Especially to someone who is a representative of the Security Service and who desperately needs help?" he somehow enthusiastically recalled. Seth loved rules. And he unconditionally loved to obey them, as well as subject others to them.
"Right. Would it be?.."
Seth would have gladly answered, but instead of words, a groan escaped his tongue. Wise moved his hand a little lower and tickled the root of the tail, while the other hand was playfully pinching his hips, as if "trying to find something". Seth, who was barely standing on his toes, instinctively tried to move away, but only pressed himself harder into the hole in the wall.
"Y-yes! Wise, aha- hahaha, please!" he already howled embarrassedly, twisting in another and senseless attempt to escape from captivity. "And... such actions are unacceptable!.. I can equate them to... to..."
"Harassment!" Wise jokingly exclaimed in a deliberately serious tone, and then began to actively tickle Seth right under the ribs.
Explosive feelings. Loud laughter and the thud of fists hitting the wall came from the other side of the hole. Seth wriggled as best he could, and if friction hadn’t gotten in the way, he might have slipped out by now, since any caught fish could learn such hardcore fidgeting.
"Yes!!.. Aha- HAHAhaHahaaa! Stah- thihis instant!!" Oh, how adorably pleasant this unknown laughter sounded to Wise's ears.
"Don't worry, Seth. I'm not doing anything unlawful. Just trying to help." Wise grinned and squeezed his sides upper, almost digging into the hole in a way to his armpits. Still, it was too tight. "Who knows when others will come if I call them. We can get you out with our own efforts!"
Seth continued to fidget and laugh desperately, but the mention of his own efforts tugged at his workaholic streak. He never liked to be a burden to anyone, and was always a hard worker, so he mentally agreed that he could try his best here too. But these thoughts were somewhere too deep, and it was they who stopped the rookie officer from yet another appeal to the law. On the surface of his emotions, Seth wanted to kill Wise.
"Yohou'll pay for thihis!!"
"Sure," Wise smiled to himself and went for the thighs. Seth’s body was almost built for squeezing everything in it, as Wise thought. And, fortunately, absolutely everything was incredibly ticklish for him, at least right now, when he couldn't even predict the next move of his "rescuer".
"By the way, Seth…" Wise started, looking down at the very enticingly standing flimsy feet. "I actually haven't seen you without gloves before. Do your hands and feet look like paws by chance?"
A blush spread hotly across his face, filling every pore with an embarrassment the guy had never known before. Seth understood where this dialogue was going and was momentarily horrified at the thought that he would have to go through tickling in the spot he himself can't touch without shaking. "Regular human feet, I swear! You don't have to check!"
Obviously, Wise wasn't satisfied with this answer. Or maybe, on the contrary, he was more than satisfied? In any case, he felt the need to take off those shoes and check properly. First, by teasingly sliding there with one finger, and then briskly wiggling with the rest to the accompaniment of confused laughter, squeals and wall shaking... Of course, in the name of salvation.
~~~
Next day, Wise didn't receive any papers or messages about reporting to Security. Instead, Security came for him.
"Manager Wise is awake?" Seth asked his yawning little sister, who was just coming down from the second floor of the video rental store she and her brother shared.
Glancing at the Security officer in surprise, Belle took a step back, finding a higher step with her foot.
"Wise! What have you done tonight?! Here…"
"Thank you," Seth nodded briefly to the slightly frightened girl and went upstairs.
The open door obviously led to his sister's room, which meant there was another one. Seth walked in unceremoniously, and finding Wise just awake and confused by Seth's arrival, he defiantly took out handcuffs, to which Wise reacted with a frisky jump, as if he had been stung by a dozen bees in one soft spot.
"Seth! Are you seriously going to arrest me?!"
Wise was almost ready to tear out his hair: how could this be? Is this the end? He, of course, expected that sooner or later Seth would find out about something that he should have, but to repeat the scenario drawn in his head just because of a child's prank?.. Not even that. Because of helping a friend in need out of the kindness of his heart?!
While Wise was clutching his head, rethinking his moments of connection with Seth, the officer had already managed to handcuff him.
"Not a step. I came to punish you." Seth's voice was firm, it was unclear whether it was fake or sincere. The only thing that Wise understood very well now was that frowning Seth looked extremely cute. "Justice will prevail, and you have the right… uhm, only to remain silent… if it will be possible in your situation, of course," stretching out the words, Seth was speaking very closely to Wise's ear, almost running his nose over the guy's cheek. He placed his hand on Wise's stomach and dived under the longsleeve, suddenly tickling the belly of the detainee.
That's when Wise was struck by lightning. So this is what kind of punishment he had in mind! Well, of course, Seth was his friend. Be that as it may, he was sure that this Thiren still values kindness above the letter of the law. But still, now he wondered if a fate worse than arrest awaited him. The idea of being tickled by the cat's claws gave Wise an army of goosebumps and a cold sweat down his back.
"S-Seth! You don't have to do this! I swear, I only wanted to help!" Wise muttered confusedly, backing away, but Seth held the chain of handcuffs tightly. Without waiting for an answer, Proxy rushed wherever his eyes directed him, because of which the officer was taken aback and almost fell, but never let go of the handcuffs, running after the scoundrel.
"Stop right there! You'll only make it worse for yourself if you keep resisting!" Seth shouted, chasing and tickling Wise all the way, until his victim tripped over his own foot and loudly fell to the floor.
It was the moment when he found it ironic that got the right to remain silent, since for the next twenty minutes of his punishment the entire neighborhood could hear Wise fighting loudly, through laughter and tears, to actually gain that right. Well, deep down he knew he deserved it. Maybe not even that deep.
A/N: happy new year giggly!anon <3 hope i was able to satisfy your prompt. initially i wanted to use the idea with Jinshi and Maomao, but i already received a request with them. so you might see a comic with them on my blog soon
thanks to crow aka @squealing-santa for hosting this event!
Summary: Jinshi gets a surge of jealousy again, seeing how much time Lihaku and Maomao were spending together. After inviting Lihaku over for a chat, he experiences an unusual ointment-applying technique Lihaku had learned from Maomao.
Word Count: 1.687
Lihaku walked along a familiar path towards the residence of the palace eunuch — or rather, one of his numerous, secluded retreats. The summons had been informal and urgent, from Jinshi. In the messenger's voice, Lihaku had caught a faint note of bewilderment, which put him on alert.
He found Jinshi in a small inner courtyard, hidden from prying eyes and adjacent to the infirmary. Jinshi was sitting at a small table on a low wooden platform. Before him on a tray stood a modest clay jug and two matching cups. His posture was relaxed, almost careless, but Lihaku, who knew this man for a while, immediately noticed uncharacteristic details: hair slightly more disheveled than usual, the collar of his fine silk robe slightly open, and most importantly, that peculiar, clouded gaze that seemed to look right through objects.
It was quite strange to see tipsy a man who was accustomed to keeping himself under an iron grip.
"You called for me, Master Jinshi?" Lihaku stopped at a respectful distance.
Jinshi slowly turned his gaze toward him. The corners of his lips twitched in a semblance of a smile, but it held neither warmth nor his usual playfulness.
"Ah, Lihaku. Come. Sit. Work can wait."
His voice was even, but a slightly sullen displeasure was audible within it. Lihaku wasn't in the habit of pondering over connotations, so he was glad for the chance to relax and, shrugging his shoulders, sat down next to the prince, boldly pouring himself a drink from the jug. Jinshi raised an eyebrow and took a sip from his own cup. Then he winced; the drink was apparently too strong for the delicate prince.
"I heard you were recently in the western wing of the apothecary storerooms, helping sort a shipment of cloves. Infected with beetles."
"Yes," Lihaku nodded. "Little Miss Maomao asked for help with the heavy sacks. The beetle was rare, she wanted to study its effect on spices."
"Little Miss…" Jinshi drew out her name as if tasting it. "And how long did you two… sort things out?"
"Most of the day."
"Too long for just moving sacks," the man noted irritably. "What else did you do besides work? Did she tell you about her observations? Did she serve you herbal tea? Or perhaps…" Jinshi paused briefly and awkwardly poked Lihaku right in the chest, momentarily startled by the firmness of the muscles, "…was she testing some properties of those very herbs on you?"
"We drank tea in her workroom," Lihaku confirmed, as if it were nothing. "She gave me an ointment for back pain to try. Said I lift heavy things incorrectly."
Jinshi swallowed loudly. What did he mean, "gave him an ointment to try"?!
"She… She…"
"Rubbed it into my shoulders!" Lihaku nodded cheerfully. Jinshi could have sworn — if his companion had a tail, it would be drumming against the stool right now.
The Emperor's son drilled Lihaku with a stare and abruptly tipped the cup of liquor into his mouth, downing it in one gulp. Lihaku even flinched at that.
His own eyes widened in astonishment, then narrowed with sudden realization. How obvious must it have been, for even Lihaku to get it!
"Master Jinshi… Are you… maybe jealous?"
The silence that followed this question was deafening. Jinshi froze, the cup halfway to his mouth. Then, slowly, very slowly, he placed it back on the tray. When he lifted his eyes to Lihaku, not a trace of the alcohol's haze remained in them.
"I don't know what you're talking about," came the reply, quick, natural, but too quiet to believe in genuine bewilderment. And yet, Lihaku was the kind of person who could believe it. So he clarified:
"I thought you might be jealous. Because Missy and I spend so much time together. Strange, huh? Hahaha!" Lihaku beamed with laughter, scratching the back of his head. Jinshi's eyebrow twitched, sensing a hint of mockery in it, even though his brain understood that Lihaku was hardly even capable of it. Still, his hands slammed the cup loudly onto the table of their own accord.
"Right! Nothing of the sort! And anyway, you've overstayed your welcome. The workday isn't over yet!"
Lihaku abruptly stopped laughing.
"Master Jinshi, am I really right?"
All the response he got from the Overseer of the Inner Palace was a turn of the head to the side. Then Jinshi mumbled quietly:
"Don't be so presumptuous. A mountain of muscles doesn't make you worthy of my Maomao's gaze."
Lihaku thought for a moment, and instead of the expected outrage, he grinned widely.
"Come on, me and Miss Maomao? I don't see her as anything more than a savvy little sister. And just look at her, how could I possibly be interested in someone like..."
Jinshi doused Lihaku with a look so lethal it made his soul sink to his heels. Nevertheless, the hint to 'make himself scarce as soon as possible' flew right over this big dog's head.
"I get it, get it... So you weren't jealous after all…" said Lihaku, and an unfamiliar, playful note crept into his voice. He scooted a little closer on the bench. "Then you weren't worried at all when the two of us were sitting there alone? And you didn't wonder what we might have been talking about? And it's absolutely nothing to you that she rubbed that ointment on me?"
With each question, Jinshi's breath hitched, and his fingers tightened their grip on the cup. His face, however, remained stone-like.
And then, driven by a sudden mischievous impulse, Lihaku dared the unthinkable.
"Probably, it never even crossed your mind," Lihaku continued with an exaggeratedly dreamy look, "that Miss Maomao has such deft and careful fingers when she rubs in ointment. And her face gets so focused..."
"Lihaku, how dare you—"
Before he could finish the sentence, big, warm hands landed heavily on Jinshi's shoulders and began clumsily massaging them. Jinshi's eyes flew open and he reflexively hunched his shoulders up to his ears, trying to pull away. But Lihaku's grip was too strong, so he held the Imperial scion in place, continuing his cheerful kneading of the muscles around his neck. It didn't hurt, but Lihaku was terrible at massage, which made the whole thing damnably ticklish for Jinshi.
"Ah, stop, cease this instant!" Jinshi slapped at Lihaku's hands. The latter tensed slightly, thinking he'd hurt the eunuch, but seeing the corners of his 'victim's' lips start to twitch upwards, his expression instantly changed.
"So it's true! Jealous people really are ticklish!"
"What?! Lihaku, I am not... Ah!" Another squeeze sent shivers down Jinshi's spine. His eyes scrunched shut, and a laugh finally escaped his restraint. "Lihaku, stop, that's an order! You hear me?!"
But Lihaku was unstoppable now. He never had problems understanding hierarchy—otherwise, he wouldn't have risen so high in service. And yet, in all his years of service, he had never once managed to hear Jinshi's genuine, sincere laugh, which he was now instinctively trying to coax out of him. His hands continued working the sensitive spots on Jinshi's trapezius, eliciting embarrassed giggles.
"Master Jinshi, you always seemed so fragile to me, but surprisingly, your muscles are quite firm. You could even give me a run for my money in this, hahaha!"
"Lihaku, stop ihi-hi-hit! HA-hahaha!" The prince was losing his composure, especially under the influence of the alcohol, and started to laugh. The atmosphere was downright bizarre. So... ridiculous for him.
Too ridiculous to actually be angry at this mountain of muscle.
Attempting to escape the insistent massage, Jinshi lurched sharply away from Lihaku and nearly toppled off the bench, but the soldier deftly caught him by the sleeve, pulled him back into a more secure position, and proceeded to work on his sides now.
"And this, Master Jinshi, is my signature massage technique! You can show Miss Maomao what I taught you later!"
"Hah...Hahah! HAHAHAA!!" The prince's sides proved to be even more vulnerable to such an assault, and he began to shake with laughter from these sensations. His limbs flailed about chaotically and his knee hit the underside of the table, overturning the eunuch's cup. A clear sign that perhaps one shouldn't drink before conversations with someone who can easily make them lose self-control. Who would have thought...
A tear that had welled up slightly blurred his vision, but Jinshi managed to notice a small figure emerging from the corner of the infirmary, walking unhurriedly in their direction. The tickling stopped. Lihaku fell silent and shifted slightly away, giving Jinshi a chance to blink the moisture from his eyes and identify the intruder. It was Maomao.
"I understand everything... High-ranking gentlemen have their own peculiar ways of amusing themselves and such. But could you be quieter? Your laughter is drowning out the patients' complaints."
The girl looked reproachfully first at Lihaku, then at Jinshi, as the main source of the noise. Jinshi's cheeks flushed with shame, and his jaw dropped in a futile, silent attempt to justify himself.
"They shouldn't complain so much!" Lihaku thumped the table. "And anyway, Miss Maomao, I was just showing Master Jinshi a very important therapeutic massage technique I invented myself." Lihaku tilted his nose up, playfully proud of himself, then slapped the utterly defeated and mortified Jinshi on the shoulder, adding in a quieter tone:
"I know you're curious about all matters of health. Therefore Master Jinshi will demonstrate my signature massage for you."
Lihaku grinned with all 32 teeth, gave a friendly glance at the pale Jinshi, then bowed and headed for the courtyard exit.
A moment of silent silence hung over Jinshi and Maomao, staring at each other, until the seated man spoke up. Just in case.
"Lihaku went a bit overboard showing me his technique… Perhaps you have something to ease the pain?" Jinshi slyly inquired, looking away sheepishly. "Maybe... some ointment?"
A second later, a small box containing a sticky substance was tossed next to the overturned cup. It seemed Jinshi was left to rely on his newly acquired rubbing skills.
Warnings: very spicy + non-con tickling + extreme cringe + didn't proof read + will rewrite later
A/N: characters prompted by lovely @lovelynim. fabi didn't request the plot, so don't fight her. it is i who is sick. also it was the hardest thing to write, because those two have MINIMAL canon interaction. if they're too OC, don't spank me, i warned
Word count: 3.7k
Wandering around the estate out of boredom, Eiden snagged a plate of velvety peaches from the kitchen and headed towards Rei's research room to distract the ever-busy friend for a bit.
Quietly opening the door and stepping inside, Eiden barely suppressed a cough from the dust. Rei really was like an owl, holed up in an old hollow. Spotting the master of the dusty kingdom himself at the writing desk, the young man tiptoed up behind Rei and lightly scratched the back of his neck with the very tips of his fingers.
Rei swiftly caught Eiden's hand and slapped it down onto the desk, causing the latter to start and sneeze as he was enveloped in a rising cloud of dust.
"Woah!"
"Don't do that," Rei said without malice, immediately releasing the hand and giving it a slight pat by way of an apology.
"...You're too gentle. It's annoying."
"Really? Annoying you seems to be much easier than I thought..." Eiden gave a good-natured chuckle and placed the plate of peaches on the desk as a substitute for a greeting, hinting to his friend that he should take a short break.
"It tickles when you do this," Rei clarified after a pause, glancing at Eiden from the side. "And reminds me of him."
"Of him?" Eiden asked, purely for formality's sake, as he opened the window to air out the room. From Rei's tone he could already guess who he meant. "Do all my actions remind you of someone?"
"No. Only the idiotic ones."
Eiden rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly and took one of the peaches intended for Rei, starting to eat it.
"I didn't even know you were ticklish. Especially to such a light touch."
"You know I'm not fond of all this softness."
"But this has some backstory to it, right?"
The man sighed, picked up a cup of long-cold coffee, and leaned back in his chair, recalling how the last such distraction from his diligent work had ended...
<...>
"Rei. Tear yourself away." The voice from the darkness called out in an even tone, with a palpable note of sternness. Rei generally found it difficult to read his mood, but in moments like these, one could expect anything.
Reluctantly tearing himself away from the book, Rei obeyed. All the clan members had been asleep for a long time already, so the young man was thoroughly enjoying his solitude in the quiet of the night library. This peace spurred his concentration to find a cure for his affliction, to escape from under Huey's crow's wing. Who was often so light in reminder...
"Still trying to find what doesn't exist?" the sorcerer sauntered to the table and leaned over the seated young man. "You're tired. Cease this meaningless waste of time and go to bed."
What was this? Feigned empathy? Huey was a stranger to the feeling of physical fatigue.
"It's not for you to decide when and where I go." Rei himself hadn't expected he'd just dared to say that. Probably, sleep deprivation really was getting to him. Huey shot him a sharp glance.
"As long as you are under my tutelage, you are obliged to obey my directives. You will be far more useful with a full energy reserve."
'How consumerist,' Rei thought with a touch of irony. "I didn't choose you as my mentor."
"Oh, but you did. I offered you a choice, and you made it yourself," the truth parried mercilessly, served with a smirk. Arguing was foolish.
"Now, let's go." Huey gave Rei's back a slight push with his cold hand, hinting now not at sleep, but at some dubious joint activity. Rei squirmed.
"Not tonight, Sorcerer. I am close to a breakthrough and I don't want to lose the moment."
"You have great ambitions." Huey frowned, turning away somewhere to the side. "...And you were always stubborn. A stubborn one like you ought to know how to keep your ambitions on a short leash, not let them consume you whole. Perhaps, losing control sometimes would do you good."
Huey paused.
"...I could help you with that."
Rei quizzically arched a brow.
"Sorcerer, what do you mean?"
"Your thirst for knowledge is drowning out your human side. And I could help you uncover both."
Rei narrowed his eyes slightly and arched his brow in doubt.
"If you truly want to help me – lift my curse."
"You always demand the impossible, like a petulant child," Huey let out a quick exhale, and a shadow of disappointment flitted across his face. Their interactions always came down to this. And Huey? No, he was in no hurry to help. He wanted to test this boy, to probe his resilience. "Let's make a deal: if you prove to me that your will is strong, I will give it a thought."
Rei felt his patience beginning to wear thin. "You'll give it a thought? Damn it, if it's within your power, then just give me what I ask for. I'm tired of your games!"
In a fleeting surge of emotion, Rei tried to get up, but he was already unable to: one quick snap of long, icy fingers shackled the researcher's wrists and ankles to the chair. Bewildered, the young man jerked, and with a creak, the chair was about to topple backward had Huey not caught the shackled figure by the strap.
"It's time to teach you a lesson in obedience. We'll also see if your abilities are worthy of my attention. The magic of dispelling I taught you should help to escape this trap. If you can, you'll take a step closer to being rid of your affliction."
Rei stared dumbfounded at the sorcerer holding him. He wanted to protest again, but the cards weren’t stacked in his favor, and he knew when to shut up better than anyone else. The young man swallowed.
"And if I fail?"
"You'll have to." Once again, he left him no choice. Huey smiled charmingly, but in the light of the lone candle, that smile on his pale face seemed almost lifeless.
With a slight tug, Huey righted the chair with its prisoner, making sure it wouldn't fall. Rei frantically assessed his situation, his brows drawn together, his gaze uncharacteristically perplexed for someone of his exceptional intellect. He jerked a couple of times, testing the wooden manacles that had grown from the chair, ensnaring his wrists and ankles, but only found himself shackled tight. Was this really the trap he was supposed to escape from?
Well, if he put his mind to it, this was quite manageable, especially considering that Huey would soon grow bored of watching and leave the library, thus removing another distracting factor. But Rei didn't suspect that the sorcerer's very presence wasn't even a fraction of that distraction.
Another snap of fingers.
Rei glanced at the face of the man standing before him; it was serene. Meanwhile, a faint mist began to form around him, born from that very snap. Within seconds, the mist began coalescing into distinct clots of energy, which in turn transformed into dozens of small hands.
Hands?.. So many of them? What the hell?!
Rei tensed up and looked questioningly at Huey. The latter immediately caught the silent question.
"If we don't add some weights, you won't put in the effort. Let's start small..."
With a lazy wave of his hand, the man directed the gathered swarm of phantom hands towards Rei.
Devoid of physical form, they easily passed through his fitted clothing, wandering chaotically over the seated man's body. Their pressure on his skin was soft, caressing, though not entirely coordinated, as if they were tuning up for some impending task. This evoked in Rei a feeling of confusion and even embarrassment. He had expected at least instruments of torture, for he knew perfectly well what inclinations Huey had, despite his ever-calm, beautiful face. But these were merely ghostly palms which, while distracting, weren't exactly unpleasant. Rei reluctantly admitted to himself that he had long since grown accustomed to much harsher and more numerous touches on his body.
"What is this... Is this your test?"
"Don't worry. I respect you enough not to make the task too easy."
Another snap, and the peacefully wandering hands went on the attack! Rei's eyes flew wide open like windows from a gust of wind. The flock of phantom instruments scurried over his tense body in a rampage, their small, cool fingers rapidly skittering here and there. There were so many of them, far too many, and they had no purpose other than to hastily explore every inch of Rei's body. It became a complete minefield, where a pinch in a certain zone would send an electric charge, making the young man tremble and struggle more fiercely against the damned shackles of the chair. This was now a full-blown...
'Tickling?..' Rei couldn't believe it. Of all the possible tricks, this was the one the mage had prepared for him?
His thoughts were jumbled, and the researcher found it difficult to decide what made the task of freeing himself harder: the unbearable itch or the absolute humiliation before the "mentor" who stood opposite him with crossed arms, drilling into him with his gaze and clearly expecting some kind of action by now.
"Ah!" Rei's breath hitched as numerous little fingers kneaded him. "What kind of magic is this?!"
"Absolutely nothing new to you. The question is one of skill. If you haven't yet figured out how I did it, it means your thinking is primitive."
The tiny hands slid between his ribs, pinched the delicate skin on his sides, forcing the victim's body to writhe in a futile attempt to evade. Rei reflexively clenched his limbs, trying to somehow protect himself from the assault, but it was all useless, as the swarm, being immaterial, passed effortlessly through his contortions. Some of the hands settled on his thighs and began tapping a rapid drumbeat against the inner surface, causing Rei's legs to jerk as if in a spasm.
Along the backs of his thighs, from top to bottom, little groups of them scurried swiftly, nimbly skittering with the very tips of their fingers. They sometimes lingered behind his knees and on the soles of his feet, forcing him to drum his heels against the chair legs... So fast, weightless, and excruciatingly ticklish!
Rei squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip painfully, refusing to let himself laugh, whether from not wanting to incur the wrath of the awakened clan members or from not permitting himself such weakness in front of Huey. In fact, even through the veil of welling tears, Rei could discern a sadistic mockery in that deceptively cold face. Huey certainly didn't mind hearing these stifled moans and plaintive grunts as Rei tried to endure the torment. And it wouldn't stop until Rei figured out how to save himself...
No. It was impossible.
"Wait... I'm not ready yet! Stop this!... I... I need to concentrate- Ah!!"
But Huey had no intention of lessening the onslaught. Not a single spot on Rei's body remained untouched by the tickling assault. Yet even in this state, he learned something new about himself. It turned out his ears were exceptionally sensitive.
"How much longer must I wait?" the sorcerer uttered, his tone mockingly demanding.
"Argh!-...Ngh! Grand Sorcerer!... I'm trying, but-" Rei growled and began thrashing his head from side to side, trying to at least somewhat hinder the hands from delving behind his ear canals. They were tickling those very spots that sent shivers running through his body and making everything inside him clench into a tight knot. "This is unbearable! I implore to call off these... creatures. They're exhausting me! Ugh, at least give me a break!..”
Huey silently sat on the table, continuing to watch the torment. In truth, he was surprised by the result.
Rei was a tenacious individual, yet incredibly patient. At some point, Huey himself had begun to think his apprentice would adopt a tactic of endurance, waiting for his mentor to grow bored. And in case of utter intolerability, he would start screaming, admitting his mistake. At least, Huey desperately wanted that, since Rei had never done two things in his presence: never admitted his mistakes, as he was often actually right, and never showed vivid emotions.
Instead, Rei seemed to be taking the trial truly seriously. Yes, the burning flush of shame was evident of how shocked he was by his own susceptibility to tickling. But along with that, the young man once again demonstrated his adaptability to circumstances. Despite the interference, he was straining to cast the spell of neutralization. Huey could see that Rei was capable of it, but such a hindrance made the test shamelessly unfair.
"You think if I go easy on you, you'll manage to wriggle out?" the mage chuckled, but decided to see what would happen with a change of tactics, without making Rei’s problem any less entertaining for himself.
Suddenly, the stream of hands slowed, and their trajectory noticeably changed. They no longer resembled a hellish swarm of bees stinging with tickling. Their movements became methodical, caressing, and to some extent, purposeful. But for Rei, strangely enough, this was no relief.
One pair of hands settled under his arms. Now they were slow, circular strokes that made his nerve endings vibrate from overstimulation. They slid over his sweat-dampened skin, occasionally tracing light nails over the most sensitive area, and Rei shuddered throughout his whole body, emitting a short, breathy whimper.
Other hands glided over his torso and stomach. The delicate tickling didn't bypass his chest, where some of the hands reached his nipples. Playful touches quickly turned into gentle, rotating motions, which instantly sent a wave of heat rolling through his entire body and streaming downward.
Cool, almost tangible fingers slowly, centimeter by centimeter, explored his stomach, descending lower and lower towards his pubic mound, making every muscle in their path contract.
"It seems this pace is more to your liking... Am I right, Rei?"
The researcher answered only with quickened breath, his eyes still shut. Wait a minute... What was happening? Wasn't this the break from the furious assaults Rei had asked for?
Several hands traced a path along his inner thighs, slowly creeping upward until they finally reached their goal. They didn't pounce, no. They began to gently, almost airily, trace the skin where his leg met his torso, lightly brushing against his crotch. A few hands passing by grazed his manhood, already betrayingly stiffened beneath the fabric of his trousers, without any intention of targeting it directly. Each touch was like a tiny electric discharge, making his hips buck forward involuntarily in a futile attempt to get more pressure, more friction, while his mind desperately resisted it.
The researcher no longer felt like laughing, but his moans had taken on a different character. The other hands continued to slowly and tenderly spidering his erogenous zones, eliciting a treacherous pull in his lower abdomen. It was shameful. Terribly shameful. He had truly hoped that slowing these terrible instruments of torture would allow him to concentrate on forming magical energy, but this was one of those rare moments...
Rei realized he was mistaken.
Huey hopped off the table and approached the seated figure. He had noticed how a certain part of Rei's body was beginning to experience obvious tightness in its clothing. But that was no obstacle, as the tiny ghostly fingers could reach any corner of his flesh. With a wave of his hand, the command changed, and now the "assistants" were completely unrestrained. Huey was already thoroughly enjoying this spectacle — the spectacle of his apprentice's stubborn mind slowly drowning in a swamp of bodily sensations he had suppressed for so long.
A couple of hands began to tickle his buttocks. In addition to their affectionate attention to his buns, they crept right into the cleft between them. The tips of the magical fingers glided over his skin, moving from the very bottom upwards, barely brushing the nerve endings around his anus. Rei writhed, puffed, whimpered, and let out hoarse cries from the sheer intolerability of this tickling mixed with anticipation. He was no stranger to rough intrusion and had learned to thoroughly enjoy such things. But you can't change your habits overnight and get used to such tiresome and sophisticated torture!
Breathy “no!..”, that sounded louder than Rei would've wanted, was not even a protest, but an admission of defeat and a suppressed plea, which, as he hoped, Huey would consider and allow him to leave. Without fighting this damned magic or saying embarrassing things out loud.
Meanwhile, dozens of fingers scurried across the delicate skin of his perineum, sometimes speeding up their tickling in that area, sometimes slowing down, as if lazily summoning someone. His pelvic muscles clenched spasmodically, and Rei let out short, suppressed moans, trying to squeeze his thighs together. He actually managed to do so to some degree, but his body's reflexes completely failed to account for the magical potential of Huey's tools, who was softly chuckling at the sight.
"How cute that you're still trying to hide. Couldn't you remember that it's pointless? You always learned quickly before," Huey said, carefully wiping the sweat from Rei’s forehead.
A wave of arousal, shooting straight to the base of his cock, made it twitch slightly, which attracted the attention of the little phantom 'predators'. Due to his tight trousers, he couldn't get fully erect, which only amplified his deplorable state. The magical hands swarmed his entire manhood — his testicles, the tip, and the tense fettered shaft.
Those lower down lightly massaged his scrote, as if trying to "soothe" it, utterly incapable of understanding that the effect was the opposite. Those higher up fluttered like butterflies, inflicting an incredibly light and rapid tickling on the head, which was already beading with pre-cum. His member involuntarily pulsed and jerked in the confined space, creating an unbearable dissonance between the constriction and the inflaming, but such delicate tickling.
Rei's world narrowed to a pinpoint of these overwhelming sensations.
"Have you completely decided to forget about the trial and lose yourself in what you used to do before we met?" Huey jabbed, sharply grounding him with the remark. In truth, the young man couldn't care less about being called a whore like this. What he was experiencing now was beyond comparison to what had been done to him before.
And yet, he didn't want more. It was still agonizing, and he knew perfectly well that at this rate, he would suffer all night without receiving the long-awaited release. These magical, in every sense, hands obeyed Huey, and therefore would show him no mercy.
Rei had to catch his breath and cross the line of his own shame.
"Let me come or let me go. Please, Huey..." he uttered in a strained whisper, looking from under a squint straight into Huey's eyes. "I can't take it anymore..."
In that moment, something switched in Huey. He froze, and with him, the phantom hands stilled, which in itself twisted the knife of suffering for Rei, even if the intensity had lessened. The researcher couldn't explain what had happened (not that he could form a coherent thought anyway), but in that instant, he saw something truly alive in Huey's eyes for the very first time.
As a matter of fact, this was indeed the first time Huey had seen Rei in such a state. Open, vulnerable, submissive... And for the first time, his eyes were brimming with the turbulent emotions Huey had so sorely lacked.
After all, Rei was the only one among all the clan members who pushed him away, who allowed himself to show detachment and indifference towards him. To some degree, the mage wanted to touch the very core of his apprentice's essence. To forge a connection. To feel the closeness he had long since forgotten how to form, due to his own twisted long-living nature. But was this what he had received just now?
Huey lowered his wide eyes, covering his face with one palm. His other hand slowly drifted down, also to conceal something. A moment later, the sorcerer snapped back to himself and found the exhausted studying gaze upon him. Rei was clearly tired, but for some reason, looking at his narrowed eyes, Huey felt as if he had been caught at something. Or was it just his imagination?
With a sweep of his cloak, Huey left the library without a word, disappearing into the shadows just as he had first appeared within them. The magical bindings retracted back into the chair, the mischievous hands vanished as if they had never been. Rei had no intention of pondering what had just happened; he rested for a couple of minutes, then hastily gathered his things and extinguished the candle. After this night, he would be catching up on sleep for a long time, at least knowing that another Huey's trial had been passed.
<...>
"R-Really?! He would do that?"
Rei nodded. Father did the same.
The plate that once held peaches was now filled with nothing but pits, the handiwork of a single person. What struck Eiden most about the story wasn't the event itself, but the ease and details with which Rei was recounting it.
"No one has ever told me about... that particular proclivity of Huey's."
"He's difficult to understand and nearly impossible to anticipate. You of all people should know that."
Eiden scratched his chin, nodding slightly. That individual was indeed extremely multifaceted. Being surprised by such things was probably in poor form by now.
"Ahh, I can imagine how hard it was for you. You know my patience, I definitely wouldn't have been able to endure it."
"And where would you have gone?" Rei remarked with a smile.
Indeed.
"At least I discovered something about myself I didn't know before. So, if you want, we can train you together." Rei rose from his chair and rested his knee on Eiden's chair between his legs, pulling him closer by the jacket in a flirtatious manner. "We'll also test the limits of your patience while we're at it."
Eiden swallowed but didn't resist.
"Maybe... let's do without testing me?.."
Rei laughed. "Okay, no testing. But I'll make sure that during the process, you'll be begging to give you a thorough examination."
last summer's commission for @dirtpie39
of course, the queen of SCDLT remains mia, but thanks a lot for giving me a try, too .ᐟ
Summary: Frustrated by Kyle's stubborn jealousy, Joe feels the need to let off some steam. But luckily, she chooses the most effective methods to do so, eventually making Kyle admit he was wrong.
Word Count: 1300
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"Can I punch you? Just one time?"
Joe could swear she hadn’t planned to say it out loud, but Kyle’s stupid look, full of hope that she would break up with her nonexistent passion, was the last straw in the cup of her patience.
Not only had Samshin thoroughly frayed her nerves, but now she also had to calm down a betrayal-shaking Kyle.
Joe clenched her fists, staring at Kyle, who sat behind his massive oak desk with an expression as if she had just declared war on his entire bloodline. His eyebrows were drawn together, his lips tightly pressed, but his body posture was humbly open, inviting Joe to do whatever she pleased, even as his whole demeanor screamed "I knew you didn’t love me".
"Damn, you’re just impossible!" Joe hissed, feeling the boiling in her chest, and with the grace of a cat, she leaped over the table, landing on Kyle’s lap. The blond didn’t even have time to lean back in his chair before her hands gripped his shoulders, and with a loud thud, they crashed to the floor, leaving Kyle, despite all his knightly bearing, helplessly pinned beneath the girl.
His slightly curly golden hair was tousled, his face frozen in utter shock, and Joe was no less stunned, not understanding what had come over her. In any normal situation, she would’ve slapped herself for such antics, but now, even when she should’ve backed off and apologized profusely, Joe didn’t feel like doing it. Energy overflowed from how desperately she wanted to prove Kyle wrong about her thoughts of someone else. Damn it, she’d been thinking about him long before he knew of her existence!
Joe was pulled out of her thoughts about justifying her behavior by Kyle’s flustered attempt to say something. The girl could physically feel the frantic rhythm of the heartbeat of the man beneath her — the owner of beautiful but utterly bewildered blue eyes. And as soon as Kyle opened his mouth, Joe immediately seized his sides, starting to rattle them like piano keys.
"AH!" A mix of fright and trembling was reflected in Kyle's exclamation, quickly replaced by nervous laughter. That’s when Joe realized she’d found the right leverage...
"Why do you have to be so stubborn, Kyle?" as if nothing had happened she continued in her still-angry tone, rapidly kneading his squirming sides. "See what consequences this leads to?"
Terrible ones! Kyle threw his head back, laughing like he’d never laughed in his life. And the thing was, he had never been tickled before. The sensation was overwhelming and unfamiliar, and Joe’s attacks in this situation were merciless. Little did he know that she was going easy on him yet...
"Ah, wait! Stop, don’t do that! It’s... ahahaha! Joe, listen!"
"What? Why should I listen to you when you refuse to hear me?" The girl’s hint was perfectly clear.
"I’m begging you! Hahahaha! I— Ah! It’s too much! I’ll do anything, just stop!"
"Oh, really? Then maybe you’ll finally admit that I don’t need anyone but you?! So I can hear it loud and clear." Her fingers began sliding downward authoritatively, dancing along the lower part of his ribs, sometimes brushing against the back and making Kyle arch like a bow.
"W-what?! Ahah! HAHahah! D-damn it! Joe!.."
Kyle was going insane, not knowing where to escape. Not only was he redder than a tomato from the tickling, but now he was also under moral pressure from Joe’s insanely embarrassing demand. How could he admit such a thing? How could he be sure of it without knowing what was going on in her pretty little head?
"You heard right. I want you to say that I don't have another woman." Joe stubbornly insisted, wanting to clearly see the fruits of her labor on Kyle’s character. If she was in this world for this purpose, she’d achieve it by any means necessary! Not that she disliked this method... After all, she loved a little bit of risky mischief.
"But I saw it myself! Joe, this is going nowhere! Please, make it stop, hahahaha!"
Joe’s blood boiled even hotter at such stubbornness. There was no longer any desire to reason with this child in an aristocrat’s body, only to force the truth out of him! Her hands slid lower, straight to his trembling hips, and immediately began digging in, eliciting an unprecedented wail from her victim.
"NO! Not there! Ahahahaha!!!" It seemed like the walls and ceiling were shaking in time with Kyle’s convulsions, and Joe herself occasionally glanced at the entrance door to make sure no one decided to drop by. "Fine! I give up! You don’t have anyone else, just stop!"
"That doesn’t sound very sincere," she leaned down, her breath tickling his neck. The portion of blush on Kyle’s cheeks — a man used to control and distance — instantly doubled, if not tripled. Not letting up on his hips, Joe continued tormenting the weakest spots. The blond desperately tried to grab her wrists, but it was futile. In her determined state, Joe was far too agile.
"Hahahaha! Ah! Why are you doing this to me?!" came a drawn-out, dramatic moan as the girl intensified the tickling on his unexpectedly sensitive hips, which were thrashing wildly in attempts to escape or shake off the tormentor. A smirk played on Joe’s lips. She realized tickling was foreign to Kyle and almost felt sorry for him. But punishing him for slander and proving her point was more tempting than pity.
Of course, Kyle had seen how tickling affected others. But he could never have imagined the overwhelming sensations it could cause, especially from the fingers of someone he... truly, genuinely cared about.
Maybe Joe really did care about him too, if her touches could make him feel like this? Or was it just the torture clouding his mind? Between attempts not to lose his mind from the ticklish assaults, thoughts raced through Kyle’s head about everything Joe did just to make him smile. Even if her methods were slightly violent.
"Ah... I get it!... I get it..." Kyle’s voice cracked as he began to realize his anxiety might have been an overreaction. "You... don’t have another woman."
But then Joe decided to push her luck a little and ask for more — just to be absolutely sure of his thoughts.
"And?"
"And you don’t need anyone..." Kyle hesitated, this time trying to fully convince himself, "...except me."
Joe finally relaxed and smiled softly.
Her hand mercifully retreated from his weak spots, brushing away droplets of sweat from the heavily breathing man’s forehead.
"And I want you to always remember that."
And Kyle really did remember. He’d always known it. Always seen it in her thoughts. But why was it so treacherously easy to lose confidence with this girl? Now, shame washed over Kyle, and Joe saw it in his downcast eyes.
"You want to control everything so badly, but believe me — you don’t need to. I made my choice a long, long time ago." She gently tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear and, with a light smile, kissed his brow, leaving Kyle speechless.
The blond let out a defeated exhale, merging with his already heavy breathing. For a moment, his face brightened with a relieved smile, and his eyes sparkled.
"Joe, you..."
The girl listened attentively.
"...are just a monster. How could you so cruelly..."
Tickle you? Joe almost teased him but realized her beloved character had suffered enough. The sentence ended with a full stop in the form of Kyle's puffed-up cheek, turning away in embarrassment, but not risking moving Joe off of him.
Well... After such harsh methods of persuasion, she would have to spend an impressively long time buttering up this tender soul.
Summary: During another Kitty Cards campaign you find yourself loosing to Caleb. Again. And of course he got to rub it in. You are fed up with the teasing and decide to serve some payback... your special way.
A/N: there are no fics with ticklish Caleb. someone must put an end to this
Word Count: 1.8k
Ever since the very childhood, you never liked thunderstorms. The darkness and that earth-shaking racket outside — as if something was going to bust inside — made your heart race and left you feeling abandoned. Luckily, like a shadow, there was always one person nearby who didn't laugh at this, but carefully covered your ears and tried to make you laugh at every opportunity.
“Not much of a fun out there, eh?” Caleb scratched the back of his head as he stared out the window.
Tonight was exactly one of those stormy nights. It was way path midnight, and seemingly any sane person would've been thrilled to cozy up and snuffle listening to the rain. But that wasn't your case for sure. Thunder fiercely slammed the roof like a jackhammer, and it felt like branches would break the windows in a wild flight. Thankfully, Caleb's house had the solidness befitting colonel. And still, neither of you could sleep, so, shuffling a deck of cards, Caleb perched on your bed.
“Shall we play?”
He smiled with his eyes, reminding little sun. So needed on this stormy night.
“Let's play,” you answer, trying not to give away your enthusiasm.
“Knew you've been waiting for this. You’re totally hooked on Kitty Cards, aren’tcha?”
It was your go-to distraction, indeed. Lately, though, life had been running you ragged, leaving zero brainpower for building good strategies.
“Not really hooked... It's just that you've been winning too often lately. And I can’t let that slide.”
“That's why you’re so eager to lose to me for the fifth time this week?” he sneered, dealing the cards. He knew perfectly well that the phrase "give up" was a rare guest in your lexicon, and he willingly took advantage of this.
“Eager? You were the one who asked!” You snatched your cards, getting into combat readiness. “Besides, you shouldn't be so full of yourself. The higher you climb, the harder you crash. Just wait — you’ll be begging me for a rematch.”
“Oh, so that’s what you're doing when drag me to cafés for playing… I'll note that.”
Without warning, you both shot out your hands. He threw rock; you threw paper.
“Ha! See? Off to a hot start,” you said, immediately slapping down a Freeze card while he drew a Number one.
Luck swung your way. Into the red cup you gleefully slapped your highest-value card — a six. But sike! — the second you ended your turn, Caleb wiped your haul by flipping the cup’s color.
“Oops,” incredibly naturally and almost not mockingly flew off from the guy's mouth.
You shot him a glare, but well, that's only a start. Picking an Assist card, you decided to skip your attack to see what he was going to do.When Caleb's turn rolled around, Lady Luck handed him two more Assist cards. He burned one to draw two more Number cards. Using all the assists somehow snowballed into a full hand, and here you silently widened your eyes, preparing for the probable defeat. Caleb dumped kittens into every remaining cup in one swoop, and now you were laser-eyeing your pathetic two-card hand, scrambling for a strategy.
He’d been studying your face the whole time till finally snorted: “You’re scowling so hard your forehead’s gonna crack. Want a mirror to check the damage?”
His jab yanked you out of strategizing like a hammer to the thumb. “And you’re grinning so smug your cheeks will split soon. Doubt you’ll see past them to any mirror.”
A spark lit behind Caleb's eyes as he leaned on his palm, squinting. “You know, you’re like a little kitten yourself: trying to put your claws on me but ending up adorable and damageless.”
“Shut it!”
You slammed down a card as weak as your odds. Caleb eyed it measurably, then you, like you’d offered him a moldy sandwich, and spoke only after a pause.
“You’re playing so bad I’m starting to think you’re loosing me on purpose.”
“It's you who's the lucky one here. And the burden of thinking about tactics falls on me."
“Tactics?” He barked a laugh, poking your forehead. “All your moves are written all over your face, pipsqueak. You’re fighting fire with gasoline.”
“Urgh, why are you being so annoying?"
“You’re just salty ‘cause victory…” he played his last Assist to boot your kitten and plant his own, “…is already mine.”
Before you could even comprehend what had happened, you looked at the game board, completely filled with Caleb's kittens and branding him the winner. So easily. Total cheat, no doubt.
“Be honest, were you cheating?”
“No. You just don’t see me training all night to beat you…” he paused. “Just kidding. I sleep like a baby.”
“Big statement. I doubt you do anything other than watching me sleeping,” you tartly notice, arms crossed. Caleb pretended not to hear, waving it off.
“Don't worry. One day I’ll be old, blind, and maybe you’ll stand a chance... Till then beating you feels like taking candy from a kid, honestly.”
Caleb's hand plopped onto your head, messing up your hair into a nest. The cup of patience quickly began to overflow. Losing to someone so insufferable as Caleb is one thing; enduring his smug gloating and never-ending teases — funny only to his ego — was another.
“So you say playing with me is the same as playing with a kid?” the complaint in your voice grew bigger, and the cheeks started filling up with blush from irritation.
“Worse.” Caleb payed special attention to the shade of your tomatoe-red face, his hand slid from your head to pinch your cheek, stretching it to hamster-pouch levels. “I even feel kinda bad...”
“Then brace for the fitting backlash!” you wanted to slap his hand away, but he managed to quickly dodge and pinched your nose along the way. At that moment, you shoved him with all your strength, sending him sprawling onto the bed, which even Caleb didn't expect, looking at you in surprise.
“Whose face is gonna crack now, huh?”, you grabbed his cheeks and started mashing them in different directions, making funny grimaces on Caleb's face. When his hands reach up to intercept yours, you just as deftly moved hands to the sides, running them over Caleb's neck and ears, which caused a stream of light chuckles to escape from the latter.
Right... He is ticklish. A chorus of self-congratulatory applause erupted in your head for remembering such working weapon against his cockiness.
Without giving him a chance to get his bearings, you aimed at his sides and began to quickly tickle them.
“Ah- Wahahait pipsqueak! Ha-ha-ha... Don't get mad!” Caleb wasn't exactly sensitive to light touch — his skin was practically armor, and you knew pretty well that you wouldn't break through it with gentle attacks, that's why you expertly kneaded his weak spots, making him squirm like a hooked fish.
“Touché! Ahah!...You're playing dirty, learn to lose grac–Ah!”
“Oh, I'm playing dirty? Pretty sure that's been your move all along. And you'll admit it soon.”
When your fingers skated down to the hips and started digging it there, he quickly grabbed and squeezed your wrists — but his grip slackened instantly, like he was scared to hurt you.
Or maybe... he didn't want to stop you, low-key enjoying this game?
“Alright, fine, let's rematch!”
You wriggled free and dove right back in, fingers dancing up his tense torso.
“Told you I'd make you beg for a rematch,” you grinned, doubling down on his most vulnerable spots, not letting him to catch breath.
Not loud, but very sparkling and clear laughter of Caleb filled the room. At moments he tried to stifle the chuckles, after all he always tried to look strong and unshakable in your eyes... But you were a pro at breaking this façade.
“Hahahaha! Ohoh come on! After all I do for you?!..”
“Do what? Being an ass?” his poor attempt to manipulate has failed, but, unfortunately, it faltered your rib counting rythm, forcing you to restart. From the bottom to the top. “You talked too much — pay the price now.”
Somewhere between the gasps, Caleb decided to flip the script: from the victim of revenge to a full-in wrestling participant. His tickle-induced squirming bucked you off and sent you both rolling across the bed as he attempted to tickle you back.
Not very successfully though...
At this point he couldn't stand it any longer and grabbed you, pressing you to himself in a tight bear hug. Your hands crawled to his lower ribs to continue tickling him even in this position, but with the loud exhale he intercepted your "killing tools" and pressed them at the seams. His arms wrapped around over your arms, and now you were trapped in a human straightjacket.
“Truce. I understood. No more teasing...” he said softly after catching his breath, trying to smother your fighting spirit.
Finally, when you both quieted down from the playfight, Caleb huffed a chuckle again:
“In past you would always poke me whenever you were bored. You've studied my weak spots pretty well over years.”
“I remember a time when you laughed so hard a snort flew out and landed on grandma.”
“What?! You sure that wasn't you?”
“Absolutely.”
“You are ruthless...”
You arched a brow and looked up at him. You’d never thought about it before, but now it hit you that he often sounded like a nostalgic grandman. What's this? A cheap trick to soften you up?
“Caleb, why are you dwelling on the past so much?” you couldn't resist asking.
Caleb stilled, resting his chin atop your head.
...
“Maybe I miss those times much more than I'd wanted.”
The tempest was beginning to subside, but the rain outside continued to tap the roof in a chaotic rythm. The sounds of the storm contrasted with the warmth and cozyness of Caleb's arms around you, in which you felt calm and safe.
As you chatted about childhood memories, Caleb tenderly scratched your back in a cuddle. Completely relaxed, you melted into him, sleep dragging you under.
Caleb cracked an eye open at your soft snores. Your face seemed so cute and peaceful to him, that he reflectively pulled you tighter. It'd always been torturous for him to hold back around you. Whatever bond was between you, he never dared to risk it, not when he thought that he was the only one whose heart raced like mad, while you only saw a brother figure. But right now he didn't want anything more. He gently brushed a stray hair from your face behind ear and kissed your forehead softly. A rush of sleep crept up on him too now, but he wouldn't unlock his arms.
“Sweet deams, pipsqueak,” he murmured, drifting off.
A/N: i once had an art… but that art sunk into oblivion. so, inspired by a tiniest 🤏 convo with @cocochaca, i remembered about an old idea that wasn't posted because of my canon sticking principles. here comes another fic for a rare reader
Summary: After another successful mission, the squadmates unwind with some buzz. It leads them to an accidental discovery that turian hide isn't quite as impervious as they'd like to believe. Especially when the threat comes in the form of human's tickle attacks.
Word Count: 1.9k
Shepard’s cabin was far from the ideal place for a drinking session, yet here the captain and his turian friend were, having a post-mission washdown. Two nearly empty bottles sat on the table between them — one of aged turian horosk, the other of Earth whiskey, which Garrus had once grimly dubbed 'burnt acid'.
"And then this bastard–" Shepard paused to take a swig from their glass, "–thinks he can hide behind a biotic barrier like I can’t just overload it! And then—BAM!" They slammed a fist on the table, making the bottles clink. "No more shields. No more geth."
Garrus let out a raspy laugh, his mandibles twitching slightly.
"You know, Shepard, if you shot half as well as you tell stories, we’d have ended this war before the Reapers even hit the Citadel."
"What, are you trying to convince me again that you were the one who took that geth out?"
"It’s a fact. Accept it," Garrus replied smugly, slouching back on the couch.
"Yeah, sure," Shepard reached out and poured themself another drink. "Guess someone’s already forgotten how he managed to miss a geth at point-blank range."
"I missed?" Garrus straightened sharply. It was almost visible how his blue eye flashed behind his visor. "If it weren’t for your genius ‘charge straight at them’ plan, maybe I wouldn’t have had to fire a sniper rifle two meters from the target!"
"Should’ve just, you know, hit ’em with this your… what’s it called…"
"If you say 'beak', I’ll shoot you."
"I was gonna say your incredible turian charm," Shepard grinned.
Garrus snorted, letting out an amused chuff.
"At least you admit that," he said, crossing his arms and leaning back again. "But still, explain... what was that move with the krogan? You just leapt at him like a varren."
"Strategic maneuver."
"It was a krogan. With a grenade."
"So what? It worked."
Garrus rolled his eyes.
"You’re the only human in the galaxy who’d call ‘it worked’ a situation where you almost got turned into paste on a bulkhead."
"Well, I know I’ve got a loyal friend who’ll pull me out of any shit," Shepard said smugly, sipping their whiskey, which only made the turian grimace in disgust.
"You’ll be the death of me, Shepard."
Shepard just chuckled and reached for the bottle again, but Garrus swiftly intercepted it.
"Ah-ah-ah, no, buddy. You can barely sit straight as it is."
"Me?" Shepard feigned offense. "Look at you. You’re swaying so much you’ll soon create an amplitude and throw the ship off course."
Truth be told, Shepard was already thoroughly drunk, unlike Vakarian, who was used to much larger doses of alcohol. What can be said, Garrus always knew how to drink, sometimes he could sip a drink right before a mission, which, surprisingly, allowed him to maintain professionalism. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about his human partner…
Shepard frowned and flicked one of Garrus’ three fingers when they gripped their wrist.
"Oh, so you wanna fight?" The turian pulled back, but his tone held more amusement than threat.
"With you? I don’t brawl with turtles," Shepard laughed, shoving at him, but their clumsy movement only resulted in their fingers brushing lightly over the plates covering Garrus’ body. The turian twitched and batted his hand away.
Shepard paused, then slowly turned their head toward Garrus, who, noticing the look, awkwardly glanced aside. The captain decided to test a sudden theory and reached for their friend’s neck, where the plates parted to expose vulnerable flesh.
"Shepard," Garrus said calmly, though with a warning edge, catching the wandering hand. He still refused to make an eye contact.
Here Shepard had completely lost interest in the whiskey.
"Garrus, do you know what tickling is?" a barely noticiable smile played on the lips, caused by sincere curiousity.
"Surely. A human indulgence."
"Why do you say it like that?"
"Well… You humans have these agile little fingers that let you do all kinds of weird things," Garrus demonstratively poked Shepard’s face with their own hand. "Turians can’t do that."
And it was true. A turian’s hand was more like a talon capable of ripping flesh. Nothing like the dexterous human fingers that could slip into tight spaces. The ones like… the gaps between turian plates. Shepard hadn’t often seen Garrus out of his armor like this, and the thought grew even more intriguing.
"So turians never tickle each other? Never ever?"
"No," Garrus rumbled in his bass tone. "Our anatomy isn't built for that. Shepard, where are these questions coming from?"
"Pure curiousity," the commander waved it off quickly, stubbornly looking at the neck visible under the thick bony collar, one of the most vulnerable parts of the turian body, which seemed to invite to touch it just to feel its pleasant texture. Rare scales were visible on the thick skin, and the flesh itself seemed slightly cool. "Maybe then, you won't mind if we test your sensitivity? I can even take brass knuckles to make sure it works!"
Garrus turned sharply to his companion and gave them a hard to define look. The stinginess of emotional signals was a distinctive feature of Garrus's race, but even through the drunken haze, Shepard could see in those cat-like pupils bewilderment and thoughts about someone's feeblemindedness.
"Alright, that's it. You need to sleep it off," Garrus started as he stretched. "Let me take you to the bed. I don't trust your legs!-"
Before the alien could finish speaking, Shepard pounced, fingers digging into his neck with frantic curiosity, tracing every iridescent scale. Garrus was taken aback, a hollow rumble and roots of awkward laughter came from his mouth, dulled by trembling mandibles.
"Unbelievable... Honestly, I thought you were faking! Your skin looks so rough, as if it could be massaged with a drill."
Shepard loved the reaction. So much so that they clung to the flustered turian like a drunken pyjak, despite Garrus’ attempts to shake them off. The alcohol had also dulled the sniper's reflexes. Of course, he and Shepard were on completely different levels, but the love for tuarian alcohol let the alien down not allowing him to throw off the 'rowdy'. Garrus often compared humans to monkeys, and now the moment came when he fully felt what was behind these careless words.
"Alright, alright, confirmed!? Now quit abusing your rank privileges, commander!" While one hand of the drunk human was harassing the sensitive neck, the other gently scratched the plates on Garrus's sides with the very tips of nails, causing him a wave of continuous goosebumps. If Garrus was a cat, the sensation would leave him torn between snarling and something embarrassingly close to purring. A turian’s nerves weren’t wired for this.
"Shepard, seriously, don't! I could accidentally tear you to pieces."
"Are you so sensitive that you are ready to do this to a friend?"
And without exaggeration, Garrus could do this in the blink of an eye through sheer carelessness. His arms were incredibly strong, a real weapon, sometimes the team members even wondered why Garrus even used a rifle if his limbs cope with the role of a murder weapon no less effectively. Perhaps any other turian would have done this without looking back, but Garrus was not a clumsy type. He was respected for always being careful with everyone: with weapons, with partners, and especially with Shepard.
"I'm seconds from throwing you out the airlock!"
"You always threaten me," Shepard grinned, relentless. "Remember how many times you swore you’d never drink with me again?"
"And I regret not listening to myself every single time!" Garrus' voice had devolved into a wheezing grumble, which only egged on the insufferable Shepard. The commander's wandering hand slid lower past the armored plates, finding the vulnerable skin of his lower flank and abdomen.
For such a tall creature, the turian had a surprisingly narrow waist, slimmer than Shepard's. Maybe even slimmer than the commander's thigh itself.
Shepard explored the newly discovered weak spot with glee, coaxing higher-pitched chirps from his usually stoic friend. Seeing that frozen, statue-like face and hearing the booming laughter was an unusual experience. Shepard was fascinated; Garrus... was trying to save his poor body.
Garrus writhed like an overturned turtle, his mandibles clicking in staccato rhythms Shepard had never heard before. The captain giggled triumphantly, refusing to end this handsy 'expedition'. Their fingers danced along the narrow gaps between plates, discovering new sensitive spots with each pass.
"Enough!" Garrus barked, but his voice cracked when Shepard found a particularly vulnerable spot beneath his chest plate. The noise the turian made was so absurd that Shepard froze for a second before bursting into laughter.
"By the Citadel, this is even better than I imagined!" They grinned, watching their usually unflappable friend struggle to both escape and salvage his dignity. "How did I never think of this before?"
"Shepard–hah!–Come on, I can’t... My body is not trained for such loads–ah!.." Garrus’ voice was strained but still warm, with no trace of real anger in it. All his energy was going toward adjusting to the bizarre sensations and not accidentally clocking Shepard in the face. After all, no one had ever tickled him before. And certainly not with this much enthusiasm.
"Hahaha, too bad for you, Garrus. Bear with my fun."
"You little..." Garrus thrashed wildly, trying to either fling Shepard onto the couch or pry those relentless hands off him, but it was useless. Nimble fingers kept finding untouched spots, sending electric jolts straight to his spinal cord.
He couldn’t fathom how such a drunk meat sack could be this agile. And first coherent thought was to switch to one of Shepard’s core interests: booze.
"Whiskey, Shepard, whiskey! You wanted to finish it!" Shepard laughed at the blatant distraction attempt but finally took pity, feeling his own buzz fading.
"Alright, live," the commander grunted, releasing him with shoulder pats, timed perfectly with Garrus’ ragged breath. Their hand shot toward the precious bottle, only for Garrus to snatch it first and down half the contents in one go, leaving Shepard gaping.
"So now we're drinking Earth swill?" Shepard ribbed, feigning disapproval that their precious nectar had been gulped down by a reptile. Though he knew well the exhausted Vakarian needed it more right now.
"You left me no choice," Garrus shot back. "See what I have to put up with because of you?"
"Eh, fine. Next time you’re treating me with the turian booze." Shepard shrugged, subtly testing if Garrus would uphold his usual vow to 'never drink with them again''.
After a pause, and finally catching his breath, Garrus replied:
"Just don’t complain when your liver fails mid-toast."
Shepard nodded, brushing off the warning. Of course Garrus would never trade them in, no matter what drunken antics the commander pulled.
Shepard's eyes scanned the table, landing on the dregs of alcohol at the bottom of their glass. Thinking again about his friend's newly discovered little weakness, they decided to come up with a funny toast. But as soon as Shepard turned to Garrus, the latter seemed to scan their gaze.
"If anyone on the ship finds out about this…"
"Airlock. I remember."
Mutual nods and the clink of glass dispelled the ship's hum.
Summary: Emmrich keeps wavering between forsaking his humanity and staying mortal. Rook helps him to learn how to appreciate human body through rather... hands-on methods.
A/N: Rook (gn) and Emmrich are lovers here. i know there are 0 similar works with this old man, so for the newcomers — the fic's core is tickling🪬. not sure if any of my followers is into DA, but let it be
Word Count: 1.7k
༺☠︎︎༻༺☠︎︎༻༺☠︎︎༻
Emmrich’s chamber in the Lighthouse was much like the man himself — orderly organized, yet with a touch of grim charm. The scent of incense and mint clung to everything: the shelves lined with ancient tomes on necromancy and anatomy, the neat rows of vials filled with experimental elixirs... And the flickering candles set within skulls, their dancing flames casting eerie reflections upon Emmrich’s face as he read at his massive oak desk. His fingers glided across the annalistic scrolls, searching for rituals of lichdom and the stories of those who had willingly abandoned flesh in pursuit of eternity.
An incoherent guttural groan interrupted the scrolls rustling as the skeletal assistant placed a tray with a cup of elvenroot tea on the desk. Bitter swill, yet Emmrich favored it.
"Thank you, Manfred."
He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling, cup in hand. Thoughts tangled.
"Tell me, my friend... Do you think I shall miss the taste of fragrant tea once I'm transformed?"
"GRYAAKH!"
"I thought as much," Emmrich nodded, closing his eyes.
Just then, the door cracked.
"And what about my opinion? Care for that?" the radiance came from the doorway.
"Ah, Rook, why belabor the obvious?" Emmrich replied without opening his eyes, recognizing the familiar warmth in that voice. "Of course, I'll never again savor earthly delights. Such is the price of immortality."
"Still dreaming of turning into a Manfred-like mummy?"
Hearing this, the skeleton rattled sourly.
"Oh, my bad, Manfred. You are right." Rook walked over and, as if out of habit, the two began a quick game of patty-cake. "You’re far more lively and empathetic than the wretched thing your careless creator wants to become."
"A mummy? Don’t be ridiculous, Rook. As usual, you’re only looking at the surface."
"And you’re ignoring the other half. A heartless, wandering undead — that’s your future."
Emmrich let out a heavy sigh and took a sip of his tea.
"If that’s the cost of living forever... then so be it," the mage said quietly, setting the cup aside and returning to his reading with even sharper focus, his grim expression hardening.
Rook grew serious, ending his game with Manfred to approach and sit beside the mage. His hand came to rest comfortingly on Emmrich's shoulder.
"Why won't you give up on this idea?"
"You know why... We've had this discussion before. Many times."
Emmrich feared death. Deeply. Yet since meeting Rook, that terror had shifted poles — his dread of the end gradually being eclipsed by the horror of never again feeling his beloved's touch.
"I'll... be honest with you, Rook," Emmrich's voice almost remained steady, but the slightest tremor gave away his nerves. "Our time together has planted seeds of doubt in me. Perhaps I'm reaching beyond my grasp, trying to balance ambition with... you. I know it's impossible, but still..." The mage's eyes lifted to his companion's face, searching for understanding. "I stand at the precipice of a fateful decision. The outcome of my transformation could change lives of so many generations!"
Rook rolled their eyes at own naivety. Someone foolishly hoped that instead of the last phrase Emmrich might finally prioritize correctly and choose to spend his remaining days side by side with his beloved. "If you want my opinion, I'm still very much against your dehumanization.
Emmrich went still and gently moved Rook's hand off his shoulder.
"Would be foolish to expect any other answer."
Rook lowered their gaze, unwittingly landing it right on the scrolls filled with encrypted gibberish from so-called magical 'authorities' — who, in Rook's opinion, had simply lost their marbles after prolonged confinement in the Circle of Magi. Faintly understanding what any of it meant, they spoke just as faintly:
"You... will become someone entirely different, won’t you? Not the elegant gentleman who delights my eyes. But merely..." Rook trailed off, glancing at the observing them Manfred, who, catching attention on himself, tilted his head like a curious puppy.
The mage felt flattered, and his expression finally softened slightly.
"My dear, your imagination conjures scary things. Do not worry about it — when I become a lich, I shall ensure my appearance remains unchanged for you."
After a moment’s pause, the guest leaned in closer to their pompous companion. Silence settled between them once more. But then, with deliberate tenderness, one hand slipped behind Volkarin’s back in a half-embrace, while the other came to rest atop his unresisting palm.
"In the Anderfels, they used tickling to test if demons wore human skins…" Rook began insinuatingly, trailing a finger lightly along Emmrich’s palm. "A flinch betrays the life beneath the mask."
"Impressed by your cultural knowledge, but how does this pertain to our conversation?" Emmrich’s hand twitched, but he didn’t pull away to not hint at vulnerability. Still, after a few moments, he couldn’t help but yank it back.
"Well, you see..." the fingers of the embracing hand drummed rhythmically against Emmrich’s already fidgeting side, while the free one rested on the mage’s thigh, giving it a light squeeze. "I’ll need some way to figure out if you’ve become a soulless husk, since you insist on hiding this fact from me."
Emmrich started growing increasingly nervous, twitching from side to side while maintaining a stern expression.
"I don’t like where this is going-" he uttered with forced seriousness, though his voice trembled, struggling to suppress a very unserious reaction, "these… ha… methods are as crude as a child’s prank."
When Rook’s hands deftly shifted to full-scale warfare, tickling the vulnerable spots along his hip, the mage let out a startled gasp and leapt to his feet, spilling tea onto one of the chronicles.
"Rook! Don’t come closer," he exclaimed warningly and backpedaled blindly. "I’m too old for this kind of abuse!"
Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Tickling was something he hadn’t experienced in decades, let alone physically endured on such short notice! Rook flashed a mischievous grin and stretched their hands forward, prompting Emmrich to retreat faster, only to bump his backside into something. Or someone.
"Good job, Manfred!" Rook cheered as the skeleton, with a playful rattle, seized his master from behind, cutting off all escape.
"Traitor! After all I gave you?" Emmrich glared at his undead assistant, but in the reflection of his emerald eyes he caught a glimpse of the blush on his own face, which unsettled him even more than the beginning of this nasty game itself.
No sooner had the man turned back than Rook’s nimble fingers started playing with his torso. Despite his tall, slender frame, Emmrich’s body was surprisingly soft and responsive, much like his personality.
At last, the room filled with a drawn-out, velvety laughter. The kind that made Rook's heart flutter. Typically, their beloved, though open with his affections, remained restrained in expressing them. Yet here was such vivid evidence written across his face. A thoroughly flushed face.
"Ah—hahaha! Merciful gods! Rook, please—my frail heart may not be able to take this!" Emmrich tried to appeal to pity, a tear flying out of the corner of his eye. Rook's fingers were so nimble and omnipresent that the man began to run out of breath in the first seconds of tickling.
"Emmrich, as usual you underestimate yourself," Rook chided with a hint of mock indignation, "at night your heart can withstand such strain that any healthy Qunari would envy".
Emmrich's laughter became whiny at such outrageous teasing. Of course, he had expected to encounter immaturity in tying his life to Rook, but he had not expected it to be so dangerous!
"You know, I've long realized that you're sensitive, but I had no idea that such an honorable necromancer could be so weak before tickling," Rook sincerely noted when Emmrich completely weakened, which was filtered through the mage's ears as merciless taunting.
Emmrich let out a mock groan of protest, his laughter only growing.
"You’re diabolical,” he managed to say between laughs. “Absolutely wicked!"
"Isn’t that why you love me?" Rook flirted in a low purr, tormenting Volkarin’s underarms.
The mage thrashed so violently that Manfred lost his grip and sidestepped, sending both victim and tormentor tumbling to the floor.
Rook hastily checked if the magister was hurt, but he in turn tried to serve as a safety cushion and grabbed Rook tighter, protecting them from falling. They exchanged a quick smile, before a breathless Emmrich received a featherlight kiss on his forehead.
"Enjoy this while you still can. When you become immortal, your body will never again know the luxury of touch."
Rook’s palm grazed their beloved’s cheek, and Volkarin’s gaze dipped downward, sinking into a pensiveness that darkened his no-longer-mirthful expression. Even without the pressure on his tactile triggers, he understood perfectly what he stood to lose, and his reaction served only to underscore how fiercely he clung to it. To Rook and their absurd antics that never failed to send waves of warmth and tremors coursing through the mage.
"My love," he began in a half-whisper, removing Rook's palm from his face and bringing it to his lips, "you're putting me in an ever more difficult position."
Emmrich lightly touched Rook's fingers with his lips, and the latter smiled: "I know."
"Now, knowing my weakness, do you promise that you will not torment me with tickling at every convenient opportunity if I remain mortal?"
"I cannot promise that," Rook playfully shrugged, which caused the lying man to feign a frown. Then they moved closer to his face, and their voice became languid: "But I can promise that in return I will find many more other, more interesting weaknesses on your body..."
"Ah... You're shameless!" Emmrich tried his best to fight the smile tugging his lips, but the blush that flared up again on his face compromised him even more.
The candlelight glided Emmrich’s lashes as he sighed. Perhaps in surrender, perhaps in a promise to hoard every moment of closeness while he still could. Rook kissed the thought from his lips before it could fly away. Apparently they have found a good way to persuade their ambitious lover, and time will tell what will come of it.
