ticklish wizard cinematic universe

He blinks at Hangman. Hangman grins at him. 

“Don’t--” Bradley dives to grab his hands, but the seatbelts, ever-dutiful, wrench him back into place. 

“Oh, now that sounds like you’ve got somethin’ loose. No pilot should be making that noise.” Hangman tuts, but he doesn’t stop, just lets his stupid hands do their stupid crawl across his stupidly sensitive stomach. Bradley lets out a giggly shriek and tries to fold in half. 

“Oh, Mav wasn’t kidding. This is my lucky day.”

“Youuuu--” Whatever half-baked insult Bradley was aiming for is smothered by his own laughter. 

“Meeeee. Say, are you ticklish anywhere else? Gotta catalogue this for future use. Scream once for yes or twice for no.” Hangman tazes his sides and Bradley’s voice cracks around his laughter.

He’s going to die in this plane. He better die in this plane, otherwise he’s going to gut Hangman like a fish.

…No, he won’t. 

Bradley manages to plant his hand square on Hangman’s face and start pushing, and the ultimatum between continuing the torment or falling onto concrete makes Hangman finally, blessedly let go. 

“Seems like everything’s in order. Pleasant skies, Rooster.” Hangman pats his shoulder and hops down out of sight. 

In his mind’s eye, he’s shaking Hangman by the shoulders until his brain falls out of his ears. In practice, he’s turning his burning face and shy half-smile back towards the controls with hopes of killing both.

…

“Mornin’, Bradshaw.” Hangman pops up like a gopher. Bradley jumps and nearly flips his lounge chair. 

“Seresin.” He exhales tightly through his nose. He stays very still—maybe he can still salvage the last throes of the sun-warmed nap he was finding his way towards. 

“You seem tense.” Hangman cocks his head in something that passes for concern. The rushing ocean suddenly sounds more like an omen. 

“There’s no one else around for you to bother right now?” Bradley leans up on his elbows to search for the other Daggers. He can hear Fanboy laughing somewhere, he thinks, but Hangman’s giant head blotting out the sun is the only thing he can see. 

“Nope!” Hangman makes a big show of cracking his knuckles and stretching his fingers. Bradley’s eyes widen. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“You’ll have to be more specific. Don’t what?” The expression that Hangman generates overshoots innocence by a country mile. 

“Tickle me, you asshole.” Bradley winds an arm around his torso and scrambles up in his lounge chair. The fluttery kick of anticipation slaps a smile straight across his face. 

“I can’t believe you fell for that.”

“Fell for--”

Bradley pauses as it dawns on him. Watching it dawn on Hangman is worse--his entire face brightens with mischief. 

Bradley starts stammering through a protest and giggling through another, but Hangman’s kneeling over him before any of it becomes coherent. He flails hard enough to send them both tumbling into the sand. Never in his life has he been more grateful to be alone, if only to keep the pitch of his laughter between him and the menace causing it.

He makes a note to keep his shirt on at the beach. 

…

Maybe a week or so of this puts Bradley in a…strange headspace. Distracted. 

Touch is nice, but there’s more of it lately, enough to make him notice and crave its absence in a way he hadn’t before. When Phoenix leans into his side or Fanboy claps his shoulder, he misses the warmth of their touch after. Even Hangman’s utter nonsense sets a gentle buzz into his chest. It’s dizzying. 

He’s so lost in the ache of it that Mav catches on, and it kicks solidly into that tangle of ‘complicated shit’ between them that he keeps putting away for increasingly rainer days. He’d gotten so used to Mav tiptoeing around him as if he were fragile that the first gentle touch on the shoulder almost shatters him. 

The Daggers meet for a barbecue at Mav’s and Bradley shows up early with a bottle of Ice’s favorite Pinot. Things may be complicated, but the mushy smiles on Ice and Mav’s faces are not. It’s nice, putting ‘complicated’ in motion towards being something else. Something lighter. 

Later into the night, Bradley’s got his feet kicked up on the couch in the hangar and the radio crooning slowly in his ear. 

He watches Mav and Ice dance--more of a sway, really, as they banter. Mav’s got a playful tilt to his smile, one that suggests he’s being as much a menace as he’s visibly in love. Bradley smiles and hums along, halfheartedly wondering what Mav might be pestering Ice with.

“This seat taken?” Not waiting for an answer, Hangman picks up his ankles and takes their spot. Bradley brings his heels down hard on his thigh. He gets a swat on the ankle for his trouble. Still, the weight of Hangman’s arm on his legs is comforting. Solid. 

A room full of people to bother, yet Hangman finds him. Hm. 

“Why’re you so obsessed with me lately?” Bradley nudges him with his ankle. Hangman’s eyebrows raise.

Well. He’d meant to say that with a bit more tact but it’s out there now, between them. 

Hangman snorts softly and passes Bradley a beer. He pops the caps on both and pockets them. Probably donations for Coyote’s collection. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bradshaw.” Hangman gives him an utterly complex and unreadable look before taking a swig of his beer. ‘Complex’ and ‘unreadable’ are not words that belong anywhere near him. 

“You didn’t answer the question.” Bradley frowns. 

“It’s a stupid question.” 

“Seresin.” Bradley leans forward to smack his shoulder. 

“Alright, fine.” Hangman exhales tightly. “You’ve been moping around like a dark fuckin’ cloud these past few weeks and we couldn’t figure out how to get you out of it. We ran out of ideas and eventually Mav realized he couldn’t hide from us anymore, so he coughed up a solution. Something he said we could try, and I quote, ‘at risk of your lives’. Never thought he’d suggest tickling, but--”

“You went to Mav?”  

“Yeah, and Mav—“ Hangman imitates the way Bradley’s voice cracks— “told Phoenix to try it if all else failed, she told Bob, Bob told me, and now we’re here. And it worked.”

Bradley’s brain stalls out. He sits up, bracing his elbows on his knees. He drops his face into his hands. 

“Oh my god. So everyone knows?” He peeks through his fingers. Hangman shrugs.

“Well, I don’t think Fanboy was paying much attention.” He scratches idly at his jaw. 

“Mav said if all else failed. I didn’t—you guys didn’t try anything else.” Bradley fiddles with the label on the bottle. 

Hangman raises his eyebrow in the precise shape of ‘oh really?’. 

“Remember when Bob tried to buy you soup? Or when Payback made a fool of himself trying to sing Great Balls of Fire? Or when Fanboy tried to introduce you to Star Trek? Or—“

Oh. 

For maybe the only time in his life, Hangman snaps his jaw shut. Bradley furrows his brow. 

“Look…point is, you keep making that exact face you’ve got right now, and concerned parties asked me to investigate.” Hangman swirls his finger around Bradley’s face. He swats it away on habit, but fondness bubbles in the base of his throat. 

“Concerned parties?” A smile sneaks under his mustache.

“Yeah, Phoenix and the rest of them were worried. Not me though.” Hangman takes a long, incriminating swig from his bottle. 

“Not you?” Bradley tilts his head teasingly.

“Nope. I’m a neutral party. Like Sweden.”

“It’s Switzerland, dumbass.” Bradley knocks shoulders with him. Something about Hangman’s smile tells him he already knew that.

“Sure. Whatever.” Hangman throws his arm across the back of the couch. His fingers brush Bradley’s arm. The fondness settles into a resonant hum deep in Bradley’s chest.

“You’ve got your shit with Mav and your past. I get it. But some of us would like to see you smile more than twice a week.” Hangman gestures with his bottle. His movements are loose in the practiced Seresin way, but the care on his face is stunningly plain. 

“Some of us?” Bradley grins. Hangman narrows his eyes. 

“Concerned parties.” His cheeks grow rosy even as he scowls. 

“You are obsessed with me and I’m telling Phoenix.” Bradley pats his shoulder and makes a break for it. A fist grabs a handful of his collar. 

“Like hell you are!” 

The (thankfully empty) bottles clatter to the floor as Hangman wrestles an already-laughing Bradley back down to the couch. He tries not to think too hard about hearing Mav cheer in the background. 

…

Bradley does not start fights. He does not. He finishes them.

He slips past Phoenix and Bob, nodding in passing, and ducks up to Hangman’s Super Hornet. He can feel their eyes on him--especially Bob, he’s got a killer stare for someone so quiet--but he ignores it. 

It’s not a fight, not really, but if he thinks about what he’s doing too hard he’s going to lock himself in a supply closet somewhere. 

Bradley hops up the steps alongside the cockpit. 

“Rooster! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your ugly mug?” Hangman grins and bats his eyelashes. 

“I heard you were challenging Mav. Wanted to get a good look at you before you spend the rest of the evening with your face to the tarmac.” Rooster holds up his fingers like a picture frame. 

“Try not to miss me too much.” Hangman winks, insufferable as always. 

“Miss you? Every second you’re not buzzing around down here is a second of peace.” Bradley reaches up and knocks on his helmet. 

“Would you kindly get the fuck off my plane?” Hangman swats lazily at him. Bradley bats his hands away. 

“Before you go, just thought I’d see how your pre-flight checks are going?”

Hangman goes rigid. Bradley grins evilly at him.

“Bradshaw, don’t you fuckin’—“ 

Bradley fumbles with Hangman’s hands and flight equipment until he can jam his fingers right into the soft parts of his side. Hangman yelps and nearly jumps out of his skin. The seatbelts ensure there’s nowhere for him to go, and the clacking of the buckles only spurs Bradley on.

“I thought you’d put up more of a fight than this, Hangman.” Bradley tuts and shakes his head, worming his fingers up under straps to get at his ribs. Hangman well and truly shrieks.

“I am g-going to kill you!” Hangman shakes with the force of his laughter, folded awkwardly into his seatbelts. He shoves uselessly at Bradley’s chest. 

“And I’m never gonna let this go. Think I could get you to do that again, or are you a one hit wonder?” Bradley squeezes quickly at Hangman’s thigh. His hands slap down hard on top of Bradley’s and he starts cackling his way to incoherency. 

Bradley raises his eyebrow and times the squeezes to every escape attempt. It’s incredibly entertaining to listen to Hangman reinvent the squeal. He wonders if the other Daggers know about this yet. 

The sound of a throat clearing nearly sends Bradley toppling backwards off the plane. Strong hands heave him upright and he turns--Maverick’s eyes crinkle around the edges of his sunglasses. 

“Appreciate you getting a head start on destroying him, Rooster, but I believe that’s my job.” Mav pats him on the shoulder. Bradley goes to duck away, but Hangman makes a swipe for his sides, and he can’t let that stand. He leans back into the cockpit and tickles Hangman’s ribs until he’s screeching between hiccups and an interesting shade of red. 

“Aren’t you ssssupposed to help me?” Hangman crumples in around Bradley’s hands, wriggling like a worm on a hook. 

“Help you? No. Teach you? Sure. Wheels up in two minutes. Hopefully you’ll learn a thing or two about getting your ass handed to you.” Mav pulls Bradley back by the shoulder. He lets it happen. Hangman thunks his head back against his seat, chest heaving. 

“Bold words, Pops. We’ll see who comes out on top.” He clicks his tongue and winks. Insufferable bastard. 

“See you in the skies, Hangman.” Mav pokes Hangman’s stomach. 

…

The lounge at Top Gun hums with quiet chatter through the evening as the Daggers share drinks. Bradley’s tucked against the wall with Phoenix and Bob under his arms. He’s half watching Fanboy and Payback fumble through a game of pool, half listening to a story Phoenix is telling, and fully content to lose himself in the sound of her voice. 

The door slams open, welcoming a sweaty and disgruntled Hangman to the room. Scattered laughter and teasing applause kicks up among the other Daggers. He gives the entire room the finger. 

“Yeah, laugh it up. I was off my game.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes. Coyote offers him a pity beer. He takes it. 

“I wonder why.” Bradley chuckles. Phoenix swats his chest. Hangman locks eyes with him, absolutely feral. Bradley goes to make a run for it, but Phoenix hooks her arms under his. He could break her grip if he really tried, but…

"Almost," he pulled himself up, "Done," another one.

"How long is almost?" Jake asked, cocking a brow.

"Two... or three... more minutes," he said through grit teeth. Hangman let out a long, "impressed" whistle.

"Damn, you goin' for the world record or somethin'?" he teased, causing Rooster to shoot him an annoyed glare. He said nothing and continued with his pull-ups.

"See, now that's what I'm talkin' about. Complete laser focus," Natasha emphasized her point by talking with her hands. "Bet nothing could throw him off."

Rooster didn't know what they were getting at, but they were starting to annoy him. He just needed to focus and keep going until the timer went off. He must've gone a little heavy with the weights beforehand because it felt like he'd been doing this forever. Still, he persisted.

Until he felt hands wrap around his waist and squeeze.

He twisted and kicked his legs out, barking out a laugh. "Hehey! Knock it off!" he playfully scolded. Hangman caught on to her plan and tweaked his lower ribs. Rooster yelped and pulled himself up on the bar, but it wasn't high enough to get out of reach.

"Nah dude, I'm spotting you! Don't want you to fall and twist an ankle or something," he said as an excuse to hold him in place and wiggle his fingers over his sides.

"Yeah, if anything, we're helping you train!" Phoenix agreed, reaching up to skitter her nails in his armpits. He shrieked and slammed his arms to his sides, pulling himself up in the process.

“Leheheave mehehe ahalone!” he insisted through giggles. He weakly kicked at them and Phoenix was able to grab his ankles in a headlock. His boots were too much work at the moment, so she instead targeted the backs of his knees. He threw his head back with a snort and tugged on his legs to no avail.

“But we’re helping!” Hangman argued playfully, walking his fingers up his ribs. Rooster knew where he was going, his laughter ramping up the higher he went.

“Nononohohoho you ahahass!” he cried out just as Hangman found his top ribs, drilling in right where they meet his underarm. Rooster quite literally screamed in laughter, and he gave up on his workout. He let go of the bar in favor of protecting his sensitive skin, and at this point he didn’t care if he fell to the ground. He hoped he’d take them down with him.

Of course, Jake caught him.

They didn’t bother stopping just because he let go. That may have been their excuse to start all of this, but they were having too much fun to stop. But even in his laughter driven stupor, Rooster couldn’t help but notice one thing.

His timer should’ve absolutely gone off by now, so what the fuck gives?

“W-wahahait! Guys, my tihihimer!” he managed to say between shrieks and giggles.

“I don’t hear it going off,” Phoenix teased, squeezing his knees and driving him completely mad.

“Thahahat’s thehe problehehem!” he cried out, and now both Phoenix and Hangman were confused. What the hell did he mean?

Jake found his phone laying by the doorframe and picked it up, checking the screen with a growing smirk. He couldn’t fight back the chuckle growing inside his chest.

“You uh, you sure you set that timer?” he asked, a taunting sort of edge to his voice. Rooster narrowed his eyes and snatched it from his hands, unlocking his phone to see for himself. His already pink cheeks grew just a tad bit darker when he realized he’d never even set the timer. He stared at his friends in disbelief and shoved both of them.

“You assholes! How long were you gonna let me go?” he asked through residual laughter as they both broke out in a giggle fit.

“We tried to get you to stop dude! You insisted!” Natasha pointed out, a dazzling smile on her face. On both their faces, actually. He rolled his eyes, standing up and dusting himself off. When he saw Hangman start to stand, he knocked him over onto his side.

“Coulda just told me hold long I’d been going,” he sassed. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he warned, the weak threat not really landing with either of them. Rooster started walking away.

“Yeah, you’re welcome for that.”

It smelled and looked incredible, and with the way that Sydney’s eyes were wide and excited, there was no way he could say no to trying the soup, he had been doomed from the start. He picks up the spoon, the warmth of the soup having made the metal warm to the touch, bringing it up to his lips and blowing away some of the steam, reveling in the heat radiating off of it, warming his lips.

When he finally puts the spoon in his mouth, he has to close his eyes and savor it, leaning back in the office chair and throwing his head back. "Sydney, this,” Carmy gestures to the soup bowl with the spoon, “this is fuckin’ great, chef.”

He opens his eyes and looks up at Sydney, and she is beaming, obviously trying to hide the wide smile on her face. “Well, I-” she trails off, looking down while she scratches the back of her neck, “no notes, chef?”

“No notes,” Carmy confirms, going in for another spoonful, “just that it’s fuckin’ delicious.”

Sydney grins helplessly, letting out a satisfied huff, “thank you, chef. I hope we can discuss putting it on our fall menu.”

“Discuss?” Carmy asks, raising an eyebrow, “consider it already there.”

“Alright,” Sydney nods, her smile splitting her face, “alright, yeah. It’s there.” She does an awkward half-nod half-bow and turns around, closing the office door behind her. 

Carmy puts the bowl on his desk, believing that the temptation won’t overcome him. He’ll pour it out later, he doesn’t want to make the issue worse than he already has with the two spoonfuls. At least that’s what he tells himself, but an hour later the bowl is completely empty, Carmy having continued to tell himself that it would just be ‘one more spoon’. Half an hour after that, he’s laying flat on his back on the office floor, groaning as his stomach grumbles loudly, the soup disagreeing with him completely. 

There's a soft knock on the door nearly two hours after Sydney brought him the soup, and he barely even hears it. “Yes?” he calls out, listening carefully for a response. 

“I’m on my way out, just wanted to check on you before I left,” Sydney’s soft voice responds. Carmy barely has time to process that the handle has started to turn, that the door has slowly started to crack open.

“Car- Carmy?” Syd says when she notices Carmy on the ground, a pinched expression on his face. “You okay, dude?”

“Yes, chef, don’t worry,” Carmy responds, putting a hand up and waving Sydney off. 

“Are you sure? You don’t really look that great? Is it food poisoning? Oh my god, did I give you food poisoning?” Sydney spirals, eyebrows knitting with worry. 

“No!” Carmy interrupts, “no, chef. It’s just-” he hesitates, unsure of whether he should tell her the truth, “I’m allergic to pumpkin.”

“You’re- wait- I just- I gave you pumpkin soup, oh my god I should have told you it was pumpkin, Carmy I’m-” 

“Sydney,” Carmy says firmly, reeling her back in, “I knew, I knew it was pumpkin.”

“And you still ate it? Why would you do that?”

“You looked excited about it, chef,” Carmy explains, though he finds himself unable to hold eye contact while he says it, “I wanted to give you my opinion on it.”

“You could’ve just told me,” Sydney sighs, putting her bag down so she can sit criss-cross next to Carmy, “you have absolutely no self preservation skills.”

“I would’ve tried it at some point, Syd,” Carmy laughs, “and it was definitely worth the current situation.” 

“What kind of allergy is it?” Sydney asks, putting the back of her hand to Carmy’s forehead, “are you like, going to die or something?”

Carmy barks out a real, surprised laugh, shaking his head. “No, just gonna have a pretty bad stomachache for a few hours.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sydney’s hand unconsciously starts pushing Carmy’s hair from his face, the two of them taking no notice of it. In any other scenario they would be shying away, embarrassed by the closeness, by the vulnerability, but right now, they can just be like this, on the office floor. 

“Well,” Carmy’s face notably reddens, a hand coming up in an attempt to shade it from Sydney’s eyes, “Sugar used to rub my stomach if I ended up having some pumpkin. She could never keep me away from mom’s pumpkin pie as a kid.”

Sydney’s fingers still in his hair, and she leans forward so her head is hovering over Carmy, “would you- would you feel comfortable with me doing that?”

Carmy’s ears turn red, and Sydney thinks it might be the first time she’s ever seen him flustered rather than frustrated. “Uh, yeah. I- it might help.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling down. The hand that had been in Carmy’s hair continues to brush away his curls, while her other one wanders down to his stomach, her flat hand rubbing in circles over the soft spot. “Like this?”

Carmy melts into it, his eyes fluttering shut, “uh- yeah, thank you.”

They sit like this, on the dirty office floor, for nearly half an hour, Sydney humming quietly, Carmy thinks the song might be Queen. Eventually his stomach stops hurting so much, and he feels himself pulling into sleep. 

Sydney, worried he’ll fall asleep on the grimey floor, scratches his tummy in an attempt to get his attention. Instead, his eyes open wide and his hands flail everywhere, curling up on his side with a giggle.

Sydney’s eyes go just as wide as Carmy’s getting on her knees so she can better see him. His face is red again, though there’s a grin trying to poke through his firmly clamped lips. She puts her hand out again and claws over his side and he shouts, falling back on his back so he can bat her away. 

This time, though, she doesn’t stop, tickling his tummy when she can reach it, otherwise spidering over his sides and ribs, poking in between the gaps he leaves unguarded.

“Syhyhyd! Whahat gihihives?” Carmy giggles, squirming as far as he can towards the desk. 

“What are you talking about? I’m just shaking you awake,” Sydney teases, spidering up Carmy’s arm to his neck.

“Noho!” Carmy squeals, hands doing everything but successfully grabbing Sydney’s. Sydney can’t help but laugh along, finding it so rare to see this side of Carmy. Eventually, when Carmy’s laughter has become more snorts than giggles and tears stream down his cheeks, she slows to a stop, standing up and offering him a hand. 

“C’mon,” she says, hauling Carmy up when he accepts. He’s still giggling when he stands, putting a hand on the door to steady himself.

“Thahahat- that wahas evil,” he pants, grabbing his coat and phone before following her into the kitchen. 

“I think you earned that for not just telling me you were allergic to pumpkins, chef.” 

“Whatever,” Carmy grins, shooing her away while they walk out of the back door. He stops to lock the door with his key, fishing for it in his pocket. “See you tomorrow, Syd.”

“See you tomorrow!” She says before walking to her car, unlocking the door, and hopping in. “Oh, and chef?”

“Yes, chef?” Carmy responds.

He doesn’t realized how long his eyes have been closed, how long he’s been listening to his heart beat out of control even though they’re on the ground. He feels like he had been in fight-or-flight the entire exercise, and his body oozes with the tension he had been building up. He hadn’t even realized Phoenix had been calling his name, her face contorting into the worried look she used to give Rooster all the time, the one she gives to Jake or Javy every once in a while. Approaching ten minutes on the tarmac and Bob’s eyes are still screwed shut, all the pilots having gone to change except Phoenix, Rooster, Hangman, who stood beneath the plane, and Maverick, who slowly climbed up to get to the much younger pilot. 

“Hey, Bob?” Maverick says, tentatively reaching out to touch Bob’s shoulder. Bob doesn’t respond until Maverick’s hand makes contact, his eyes shooting open. 

Bob’s eyes shoot around, catching Hangman, Phoenix, and Rooster underneath the plane, taking in that the rest of the pilots have gone. “Thank god,” he sighs, breathing out.

“Hey, kid,” Maverick says, grabbing Bob’s attention again, “what’s going on?” Bob scrambles for his buckles but Maverick’s hands come up to stop him, “hold your horses, let’s talk for a second.”

Bob looks at Maverick before looking down at the other pilots again.

 “It’s alright, Bob,” Phoenix says, “they came because they’re worried,” she pauses, looking at the ground before looking back up at her back-seater, “we’re worried.”

“I was just-” Bob awkwardly clears his throat, looking down at his hands in his lap, “I just got freaked out. I’ve never crash landed before, being up there just freaked me out.” 

Maverick put a soft hand on the side of Bob’s face, bringing his head up so they could make eye contact. “It’s alright, kid. It’s totally fine to be a little freaked out right now. My first crash-landing terrified me, and so did my most recent one, it’s fine to still be a little shaken up.”

Bob nods, though it’s evident to Mav and the other spectators that he’s not entirely convinced. “I promise you, Bob,” Maverick starts, “you’re alright. The crash wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t Phoenix’s either, neither of you could have predicted that.”

“Yeah, but, how are we supposed to predict it the next time?” Bob asks, glasses beginning to fog.

From below them Hangman lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh, doubling over before he can reel it in. All eyes are on him now, Phoenix and Rooster glaring daggers at him. “I’m sorry,” he clears his throat, straightening his face, “I’m sorry. Bird strikes are like, pretty rare, Bobby-boy, the chances of you and Phoenix encountering another one is like, zero.”

“He’s right,” Phoenix nods, “though he didn’t have to be such an asshole about it.”

Hangman sticks his tongue out at her and Phoenix fakes like she’s going to kick him in the balls. Rooster tries to separate them and ends up pulled into the bickering, suddenly being asked to pick between his boyfriend and his best friend.

Maverick brings Bob’s attention back to him, lowering his voice so the others can’t hear him over their bickering, “between you and I, after my first crash-landing I was scared of water for years. I didn’t get over it until recently, but I know I missed out on some pretty fun times because of it.”

“Really?” Bob asks, tilting his head to one side, “I- I mean, I’m sorry.”

“All good, kid, all good.” Maverick smiles, “but what I’m saying is you shouldn't let fear control you. I mean, I didn’t even get to teach Brad how to surf, those pictures would’ve been great blackmail for you kids.”

Bob giggles, peeking down at his friends as their argument seems to settle down. Maverick shifts, getting ready to climb down, “alright, kid. We’re gonna talk about this, but first I want to get you out of this plane, and maybe get that smile to stick around.” 

Before Maverick reaches the bottom of the ladder, Hangman shouts for Bob not to unbuckle, practically bouncing with impatience as Maverick makes his too slow descent. Hangman takes the ladder two steps at a time, hands grabbing at Bob’s where he had begun to unbuckle his thigh straps. 

“Nuh-uh,” Hangman teases, squeezing the other pilot’s thigh. Bob squeals, trying to jerk away but finding himself trapped. “I think we need to get you a little giggly before we head back. Whad’ya say, Bobb-boy?”

Bob shakes his head frantically, cheeks developing a pale pink tint. He puts his hand on top of Hangman’s and makes an attempt to pry it away from his thigh, only to be given another squeak-producing pinch. 

“Hmm,” Hangman says, stroking his chin, he looks down at Phoenix and Rooster, “he’s smiling, so that’s a yes, right?”

“I’d say he looks pretty giddy for it,” Rooster shouts, Phoenix hums in agreement. Watching as Bob turns redder and redder.

“Make sure to go for his tummy!” Phoenix supplies.

Hangman’s fingers dart down to Bob’s knees and splay over them, spidering around his kneecap and calves. 

“Jahahake! Thahahat tihihickles!” Bob screeches, kicking his legs straight as much as he can. Jake’s fingers just follow him however he squirms, pinching and spidering over his legs. 

“That’s great, it means this is working!” Hangman grins. Bob’s fingers scramble upward, hoping he can unbuckle his chest buckle and fold over to stop Jake from attacking his legs. Hangman’s fingers climb all the way up to Bob’s ribs, and it’s enough of a distraction for him to forget his task, throwing his head back and snorting through his laughter.

“STAHAHAP!” Bob giggles, shaking his head back and forth. All he can do is grab onto Jake’s hands and gently hold on, his restraints reminding him how safe he usually is in his plane, but also how trapped he is now that he’s at Jake’s mercy.

“Hmm… Are you ticklish here?” Hangman asks, leaning in and giving Bob a neck raspberry. Bob’s laughter rises in pitch and his shoulders scrunch in an attempt to block it out. Hangman moves his fingers down to Bob’s sides, “What about here?”

“Ihihit tihihickles! IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES!” Bob screeches, giggles freely flowing from him. “IHIHIT’S SOHOHO BAHAHAD!”

“Oh, really?” Hangman smirks, “do the seatbelts make it tickle more? You can’t even fight me off.”

“It’s not like he would,” Phoenix teases from below, “he always just lays back and takes it.”

Bob’s face is fully red now, all the way up to his ears, and his hands flop around as he tries to figure out whether he wants to cover his face or keep holding onto Jake’s hands. He’s giggling himself silly, and everytime he remembers that he’s practically strapped down it makes it so much worse.

As if reading Bob’s mind, Hangman starts to tease again, because of course he does, Bob just can’t win. “If the buckles are making this tickle more, just wait for this.”

When Hangman’s fingers dart down to Bob’s stomach, Bob absolutely screams, throwing his arms wherever in an attempt to dissipate the feeling. His laughter dips into silence, getting enough air every few seconds to hiccup amidst his laughter.

“Alright, alright,” Maverick calls up to Hangman, “he looks giggly enough to us from here, I think you might kill him.”

Hangman groans, pulling his hands away and ruffling Bob’s already too messy hair. “Alright, whatever you say, Pops.”

Hangman helps Bob unbuckle from the seat before scrambling down the ladder, making sure the other pilot is steady enough to come down after him. 

Hangman meets Phoenix and Rooster at the bottom, while Maverick holds back to talk to Bob. 

“Feeling better now, kid?” Maverick asks, slinging an arm around his shoulder. Bob nods, leaning into Mav. 

“Yeah, a lot better. Thanks, Mav.” Bob says, looking up at Mav, blush still fiery over his cheeks.

In front of them they can hear Phoenix, Hangman, and Rooster bickering back and forth, voices raised and accusatory. Bob catches a few words, grinning. 

“Just wait until we get you like that, Bagman,” Rooster says, “let’s see if you find it easy to take the tickling when you’re buckled up like that.”

The tips of Hangman’s ears flush, but he shakes his head anyways, all bravado and cockiness, “you’d have to catch me first, and with your old bones I don’t know if you could manage.”

“Looks to me like we’ve got a thief, Whiskey.” Tequila arches his brow. “Y’ain’t learned your lesson yet, Galahad?”

“Gentlemen.” Eggsy smirks and lifts his glass. The sharp kiss of the liquor burns his tongue, but it washes back with a smoky smoothness unlike anything he'd ever tried. He smacks his lips loudly, enjoying the slight twitch of Whiskey’s eyebrow in response.

“Thought you fancy-types were supposed to be polite.” Whiskey puts his hands on his hips. 

“And I thought you brutish types couldn’t make something so delicious.” Eggsy angles the glass in the light. The liquid seems to glow. 

Tequila ducks past Whiskey and takes a seat at the table, helping himself to a glass. He clinks glasses with Eggsy and they share another sip. Both of them sigh in unison, sinking deeper into their chairs. Whiskey throws Eggsy’s feet off his chair and takes a seat. 

“You’re lucky I ain’t reportin’ you to Ginger Ale for theft.” Whiskey fixes himself a glass. He takes off his hat and rests it on the table. He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair.

“Report me for what?” Eggsy cocks his head. “You fine, upstanding gentlemen cracked open a bottle of your own reserve to share with your guest and I just had to say yes. Would hate to be impolite.”

Whiskey glares. Eggsy sips innocently. 

“I like this motherfucker, Whiskey.” Tequila laughs, muffling himself in his fist. Whiskey shifts his glare. 

“‘Course you do. You can’t keep your mug outta trouble to save your life.” 

“Least my mug ain’t ugly,” Tequila grumbles. Eggsy snorts. Whiskey turns to fish for a pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket. As he leans forward, a silver shine peeks out of his pants pocket. Eggsy gently plucks a shiny lighter from Whiskey’s pocket and tucks it into his own. 

“Champagne mentioned you’re a cheeky bugger.” Eggsy knocks shoulders with Tequila and winks.

“I dunno what that means.” Tequila frowns. They both watch Whiskey fumble around for the lost lighter and keep smooth, straight expressions. 

“You get into shit. He’s fond of you?” Eggsy gestures at him. Tequila nods. 

“Yeah, well…he wasn’t always. I’ve always been a bit of a firecracker. Didn’t make the best choices. Got people hurt. Built up a reputation for bein’ a problem, and Champagne started makin’ me own it.” Tequila watches his whiskey swirl in his glass. Eggsy hums thoughtfully.

“Sounds like Harry. He didn’t let me get away with shit. If I did something reckless, it was my arse on the line. But sometimes it paid off.” Eggsy smiles and thinks of stealing Harry’s cab on his way out of initiation. 

“To good mentors.” Tequila inclines his head respectfully and raises his glass. Eggsy clinks their glasses together. 

The three of them pass the time draining the bottle and looking out over the twinkling lights of the distillery buildings. A boyish mischief settles into Tequila, one that grows as the liquor in the bottle sinks. Whiskey starts to slur his words, but he maintains a hunter’s focus. 

“Tell me somethin’, Eggsy. What brought you to Kingsman?” Whiskey watches him over the rim of his glass. His stare is piercing. 

“Hm. Harry did. Not so different from Tequila, I reckon. I’d made a right fuckin’ mess and Harry saved me from it. Gave me a job. He saw something in me that no one else did.” Eggsy traces his fingers along the edge of his cup. He glances absently towards Harry’s cell and sighs quickly. Whiskey follows his gaze. 

“Did your lepidopterist friend teach you to have sticky fingers, or do you just like causin’ problems?” Whiskey holds his hand out. Eggsy rolls his eyes and hands over the stolen lighter.

“I’ve always been good at nicking things. S’fun.” Eggsy grins and produces Whiskey’s wallet. Whiskey grumbles under his breath and snatches it. 

“Feels like you’re the only one of your people that ain’t all hoity-toity. What other secrets are you hiding?” Tequila leans forward. The question grates against Eggsy’s better instincts. He searches Tequila’s face for the slightest bit of ill will. All that sticks is the way light catches softly on his eyes. Eggsy hums and turns his eyes to the ceiling to think.

“Well, my girlfriend bein’ a princess isn’t much of a secret anymore, so…I was a gymnast for a bit.” Eggsy grins. Tequila’s eyes light up and he starts snapping in Whiskey’s direction. For each snap, Whiskey gives a disgruntled hm until eventually they’re just swatting at each other. 

“Whiskey, don’t we have them flippy bars down in the gym?” Tequila sniffs, blinking as the liquor hits his sinuses. Eggsy perks up. A spark of excitement picks up atop the warm flush of liquor in his stomach. 

“We do. For Statesman agents. Y’know Rum and Cognac get real touchy ‘bout their stuff.” Whiskey raises an eyebrow.

“Well, we’re workin’ together now, ain’t we? ‘Sides, Rum and Cognac ain’t here. Let’s walk him down there. I wanna see what he can do.” Tequila claps Eggsy on the shoulder. Eggsy gives his best winning smile. Whiskey grumbles, then downs the rest of his glass. 

“Fuck it. Fine. Five minutes.” 

…

They stumble down to the Statesman training facility, passing by a very tired Ginger Ale who opts not to ask why Eggsy’s wearing Tequila’s hat (pretty simple, it’s ‘cause he nicked it). Whiskey puts his thumb to a scanner and the wall unfolds for them. 

The lights click on in rows, lighting the industrial space. Eggsy gasps like a kid on Christmas morning. 

Sophisticated weight training and combat equipment sit in neat rows. Eggsy locks in directly past that, drifting unconsciously towards a heaping pile of chalk bags. Pommel horses, beams, bars, and hanging rings sprawl out on a spring mat, all in pristine condition. A few launchpads and trampolines lay near the equipment. Eggsy laughs incredulously as he takes it in. Nostalgia flutters in his chest. 

Eggsy immediately unbuttons his shirt, folding it cleanly and crisply. He shoves it and the cowboy hat into Tequila’s arms, adjusts his tank top, then works to unlace his shoes. The moment his feet are free, he sprints for one of the springboards. He hits it clean, just like he’d learned, and pushes off the vault, twisting through the air. His landing is a bit messy, but it’s functional, and he takes off to the parallel bars next.

The alcohol writhes in his system, but he doesn’t care. How can he? It’s been years. Coach’d told him he was good enough for the fucking Olympics and he hadn’t touched a set of bars since. The flex of the bars is a comfort to him. He flips and twirls, holding crisp handstands and tucks through muscle memory alone.

He dismounts beautifully from the parallel bars to the pleasant thrum of adrenaline and a smattering of applause. 

“Hoowee, that was somethin’!” Tequila ruffles Eggsy’s hair, destroying the last hold of the gel on his head. Eggsy laughs and swats him away. 

“Hats off to you, kid. Takes a lot of skill to pull that off.” Whiskey nods in respect. Eggsy returns it. 

“I ain’t gonna lie, I thought you were gonna fall on your ass. I’m impressed.” Tequila slugs his shoulder with a brassy laugh. 

“Thanks, Tequila.” Eggsy grins roguishly. “Mind givin’ me a boost?” 

“Sure.” Tequila follows Eggsy over to the high bar. Whiskey loudly clears his throat. 

“Boys, this has been…eye-openin’, but we really should get goin’. Early start tomorrow, I imagine. And this one’ll be fit to collapse when the time difference catches up.” Whiskey inclines his head towards Eggsy. 

“Sorry, bruv? Can’t hear you all the way over there.” Eggsy gestures to his ear with a cheeky grin. 

“I said—“

“No, no. If you have something to say, come whisper it in my fucking ear.” Eggsy snickers, hearing Merlin’s voice in his head. Whiskey rolls his eyes and saunters over. 

“Look, I respect you ‘cause Champagne respects you. Other than that, you’re still a brat that oughta fall into line. Let’s turn in for the night. Both of you.” Whiskey raises his eyebrow. The honey tones of his voice make his annoyance all the more amusing. 

“What’re you gonna do about it? Get me with your skipping rope?” Eggsy smirks. Tequila mutters a quiet aw hell and takes a step back. 

“Maybe I will, you little shit.” 

Eggsy comes to terms with a number of things about himself in that moment, and he puts them all away to process sober. Instead, he gestures for Tequila to give him a hand and reaches up for the bar. 

Tequila picks him up by the waist, and it’s not the smooth, assisted lift he’s used to. It’s the clumsy grip of a drunk surprised by weight. Tequila does lift Eggsy up to the bar, but at the cost of his dignity— he spasms and makes a high-pitched noise when Tequila’s fingers press into his waist.  

In hindsight, he should’ve seen the way Whiskey’s eyes narrowed at that. 

“What the hell was that?” Tequila squints up at him. 

“Nothin’. Thought you were gonna drop me. Bugger off.” Eggsy kicks weakly in Tequila’s direction. He backs up, hands raised. Whiskey steps in, hands on his belt. 

“Get off the bar, Eggsy.” Whiskey sniffs authoritatively. The logical Kingsman agent buried in Eggsy’s brain sets off warning bells, but Drunk Eggsy, who is obviously of much sounder mind, ignores it. 

“Make me, Whiskey.” Eggsy starts to swing in the space he has. Not enough to kick anyone, but enough to look like he will. He manages to rotate clumsily around the bar once, then hangs back down in front of Whiskey. 

“You want me to embarrass you in front of your new friend? Okay.” Whiskey steps up to Eggsy and makes a show of sizing him up. Then, quicker than the draw of his pistols, his hands latch onto Eggsy’s sides and squeeze until he’s screaming and plummeting off the bar. Eggsy’s short life flashes before his eyes as he falls bodily into Tequila’s arms. 

“Are you fucking mental?” Eggsy goes to shove Whiskey, but Tequila holds him back. 

“Woah, watch that mouth of yours!” Whiskey laughs, eyes glittering. “You told me to make you. Your wish is my command, friend.”

Eggsy kicks, trying to break Tequila's hold, and he catches Whiskey right in the balls. He makes a noise like a wounded donkey and folds over. Eggsy snickers. Whiskey whips his reddening face up and glares. 

“Now you’ve done it. Tequila!” Whiskey tosses something his way and he catches it. Eggsy barely has time to react before his arms are bound and hoisted in the air above his head. His toes brush the ground. The bar above him creaks in protest but does not give. 

Whiskey puts his hands on his hips again. Eggsy wonders if that’s a cowboy thing or an American one. 

“Skippin’ rope, bitch.” Whiskey grins, sharklike. “Now…you done with the whole insubordination routine or am I gonna have to give you the ol’ Kentucky Welcome?” 

Eggsy snorts derisively. He tests his bindings. They hold steady. Fear starts to pierce through his liquid courage. 

“I’m honored, bruv, but I’m in a committed relationship—“

Whiskey clicks his tongue and crowds into Eggsy’s space. He immediately steels himself for violence—what else would there be besides violence? He’s been jumped before. He’s no stranger to the predatory tilt of Whiskey’s head. He sets his jaw and glares. 

“When Tequila first joined up, he carried a bit of them clownin’ instincts with him. That didn’t fly with Champagne. We had to figure out a way to take him down a few pegs without hurtin’ him. So, the Kentucky Welcome was born.” 

“Aw, fuck you, Whiskey. Seriously, man.” Tequila pipes up from behind Eggsy. 

“What does this have to do with me? I know you Americans love to hear yourself talk, but I’m not interested.” Eggsy tries to pull free. Nothing. Whiskey’s gaze gets softer, more mischievous. The change is deeply unnerving. 

“Well, you remind me of Tequila. You’ve clearly got a good head on your shoulders, but you’re a little shit. So I’m gonna deal with you the same way we used to deal with him. Last chance, kid. You comin’ quietly or are we gonna have to drag you?” 

Eggsy flinches when Whiskey reaches for him—years of habit die hard—and prepares himself for the hard crunch of knuckles into his ribs. Instead, he’s met with a gentle and persistent scritching. 

A confused noise bubbles up at the back of Eggsy’s throat, quickly chased by a wobbly smile. He ducks his head and bites his lip. 

Oh what the fuck? 

Kingsman had taught him to resist the most painful and stressful of scenarios, but they’d never taught him what to do about this. Tilde’s maybe the only person who knows that he’s ticklish, and even then…he can convince her to let him go by kissing her senseless. Eggsy doubts that’ll work here. 

“Uh oh, Galahad. Don’t tell me something’s botherin’ you?” Whiskey presses an insincere hand to his heart. Eggsy’s brain stutters for a moment as he realizes that Tequila’s the one scratching at his ribs. 

“Fffffuck you.” Eggsy exhales sharply through his nose and closes his eyes--nope, that’s worse. So much worse. 

Whiskey tickles under his arms and Eggsy yelps, bright laughter tumbling after. It shouldn’t be this bad—Tilde’s done far worse to him in jest, but somehow the teasing grin of his begrudging allies gets under his skin. His arms flex as he tries to pull himself up and away, but his strength collapses with every breath. 

“Aw, y’all are twins.” Whiskey leans around Eggsy to smirk at Tequila. 

“Whiskey.” Tequila’s languished tone being hilarious really doesn’t help things. Eggsy’s entire face scrunches as he tries to find his way back towards composure. A hiccup sneaks into his chest, and then he’s giggling incessantly. His chest feels like the sparklers he’d run around with as a kid, bright and fizzling and dissolving with every breath. 

“Y’know, I wish I had tried this when I first caught y’all. Prolly woulda gone a hell of a lot faster.” Tequila’s voice floats past Eggsy’s ear. Eggsy manages a giggly growl and a halfhearted headbutt in his direction. Tequila tuts at him and folds his fingers into Eggsy’s waistline. 

He makes a noise at a pitch that threatens to shatter every lightbulb in the room. Tequila’s calloused fingers strum Eggsy’s nerves like guitar strings and it tickles, fucking shit—

Tequila hooks his fingers just so and Eggsy kicks. Whiskey snags his ankle before a second devastating impact can occur. They make tortuous eye contact. 

“Whiskey—“ Eggsy attempts to appeal to the cowboy’s humanity with what Merlin fondly calls his nuclear puppy eyes. 

Grinning wickedly, Whiskey shakes his head and reaches for his trapped foot. 

Eggsy’s eyes bug out of his head. 

He wrenches his leg free, twists his hands, and flips upwards. Managing a gold-worthy handstand into a dismount, he frees his wrists and lands smoothly. Eggsy playfully curtsies. Tequila starts to clap. Whiskey smacks him upside the head.

“Alright, I’m done playin’ around. Grab him. If we’re caught down here at this hour it’ll be my hide.” Whiskey gestures for Tequila to step in. He does so, still a little off-kilter from the liquor. 

Eggsy rushes in, expecting a clumsier rendition of the fighting style he’d been so painfully introduced to. Instead, Tequila smoothly blocks his blows and hoists Eggsy over his shoulder like a sack of fucking potatoes. One of his arms locks behind Eggsy’s thighs as they start to walk for the door. It takes him a moment to even process being upside-down. The sway of Tequila’s gait shakes some blood into his brain.

“Aw, y’all are twins.”

“—deal with you the same way we used to deal with him—“

A lightbulb clicks on in Eggsy’s head. He shouldn’t…but he could…but he shouldn’t—

He shoves his hands under Tequila’s arms. Before he can blink or breathe, they’re in a heap on the ground. Tequila’s cackling dead weight presses the air from Eggsy’s chest.

“Thought you’d put up more of a fight, bruv.” Eggsy’s eyebrows raise. Tequila shrieks at him in response. Eggsy manages to wiggle free and hop lightly to his feet as Tequila gathers his wits. 

“There’s one of you and two of us. Be wise.” Whiskey cracks his neck. Eggsy looks over at Tequila and smirks devilishly. Tequila pales. 

“I like those odds.” 

The flurry of motion as they charge each other sets off the ‘fight’ center in his brain, but there is some comfort in knowing no harm is on the table. Eggsy flips and twists out of their grasp, taking advantage of his flexibility to pull off increasingly ridiculous dodges. He neatly sweeps both Whiskey and Tequila’s legs out from under them. 

“Little help?” Whiskey gestures lamely at Tequila. 

“Nah, I’m done. Y’all are nuts.” Tequila lays on his back, putting his hat down over his face. He folds his arms behind his head. Whiskey curses at him. Tequila gives him the finger. 

Whiskey grabs Eggsy by the back of the shirt--really, he should know better--and Eggsy sweeps him again. Whiskey’s ready for it this time, though, and he manages a pin faster than Eggsy can roll away. Whiskey plants himself on Eggsy’s back like he’s settling on a bull. 

“Aren’t you tired? Goddamn.” Whiskey sighs. Eggsy winces at the texture of the mat against his cheek. 

It reminds him of Roxy and agonizing training sessions, of hours of sweat and bruising and his face stinging from being slammed into the mat. Even past the wave of grief, he remembers the shape of her smile when she would lecture him about letting her pin him on his stomach. 

“Indefensible,” she’d say, prodding the back of his ribs. “You’re a sitting duck like this.”

And every time he’d roll his eyes, hooking his fingers behind her knees--

Oh. Hm. 

As best as he can, he reaches back and latches onto Whiskey’s thigh, squeezing just above his knee. Whiskey hollers and tries to phase right through the floor. Eggsy rolls them over and pursues, squeezing and squeezing until Whiskey is a wheezing pile on the floor. 

Eggsy flips onto his feet. He knows he’s imagining the fond, ghostly squeeze on his shoulder, but he puts his hand on the spot anyways. 

“Now I’m tired. Goodnight, fellas.” Eggsy salutes with a wide grin, stepping over both cowboys. He gathers his belongings and saunters for the door, whistling pleasantly. 

Whiskey rubs a hand over his face as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Kid’s fuckin’ lucky I like him,” Whiskey grumbles, pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

“Might not wanna speak too soon. He took your hat.” Tequila puts his own ten-gallon back on his head and gestures towards the door with a whistle. Whiskey growls and shoots to his feet. 

Medbay falls quiet. Jim opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. Bones pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a sharp breath. 

“I’m sorry. Bones, c’mere. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Jim reaches for him feebly. Bones inches closer and lets Jim pull him into a shaky hug. He rubs his back, carefully avoiding new bandages and old scars. 

“I can’t—you’ve got a big heart, alright? I get it. But it can’t cost you your life. Not like this.” Bones rests his forehead against the crown of Jim’s head. Every inch of him feels raw, like a fresh burn. 

“Are we good?” Jim murmurs. Bones heaves a sigh. 

“I will be, long as you don’t die on me in the next five minutes. You’re staying overnight for observation.” Bones points at him threateningly. Jim smiles. 

“Roger that.” Jim keeps his arms looped around Bones’s waist. Neither of them are ready to let go just yet.

A bright pink lump pops up out of the collar of Jim’s shirt, a tentacle slapping onto his shoulder, and Bones screams loud enough to wake the dead. He grabs the first thing he can reach—a bedpan, unfortunately—and brandishes it. 

“Woah! Friendly! Bones, he’s friendly!” Jim holds out his hand to keep Bones at bay. The furry…thing disappears behind Jim’s shoulder. It fucking scuttles. There’s a creature in his office. He’s going to burn down the entire ship. 

“You scared him.” Jim frowns. 

“I scared him?!” Bones shrieks hysterically, still clutching the bedpan. Jim gestures for him to lower the bedpan. Bones does no such thing. 

“It’s alright, lil guy. He won’t hurt you. Come say hi.” Jim looks over his shoulder at it and whistles. 

A pink tendril smacks onto Jim’s face, then another onto his shirt, and the creature peeks over his shoulder. It’s a fuzzy, fluffy thing that’s the size of a small dog. It’s shaped like a strange starfish—one side is pink and soft, the other is bright orange and covered in an unsettling array of little nubs. It uses them to get around, it looks like, judging by the way it vacuum-clings onto Jim. 

It blinks with one big eye, cartoonishly sparkly, and makes a warbly sound. 

“Bones, this is Peebles. Peebles, Bones.” Jim gestures between the two of them. The creature—Peebles chirps and waves a tendril in greeting. Bones slowly waves back, dumbstruck. 

“Can it understand you?” 

“I have no idea,” Jim coos in a proud-parent voice, the same one Bones used to use when baby Joanna would babble nonsense at him. It disarms him. 

“What…is it?” Bones puts down the bedpan and moves a bit closer. Jim offers his finger to Peebles and it wraps a tendril around it. 

“I don’t know. But he’s sweet and he was so scared, Bones. I couldn’t leave him. I just couldn’t.” Jim tugs on the edge of Bones’s lab coat. Peebles makes a quiet chirping noise and folds himself into the crook of Jim’s neck. 

“He likes you.”

“Yeah he’s a bit—“ Jim pulls Peebles off of him with a faint pop— “Clingy, but it’s cute. I don’t mind.”

“What if it’s just…suckering up to you to eat you?” Bones gestures vaguely. Peebles crawls back onto Jim’s shoulder and flops down, purring loudly. Jim raises his eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that! We don’t know what it is! You violated a whole chapter of regulations by bringing it on board.” Bones lowers his voice to a hiss. 

“Bones, it’s purring.” Jim reaches up and tangles his fingers in the bright pink fur. Peebles scoots down and suctions to Jim’s chest, visibly vibrating. 

“Don’t come crying to me when it burrows into your chest and…multiplies, or something.” Bones huffs and narrows his eyes at it.

“I’m begging you to stop watching those old movies. They were made centuries ago. This little guy isn’t a xenocron—“

“Xenomorph—“

“Whatever. He’s harmless and you’re paranoid.” Jim cradles the creature to his chest. 

“I’m reporting this to Spock.” Bones sniffs indignantly. 

“Narc,” Jim mutters. Bones presses his thumb slightly into one of his bruises and he yelps.

“I’m writing you up for malpractice.” Jim swats at him. 

“You do that.” Bones pats his shoulder, then gently pushes him down against the bed to rest. 

…

“Captain. Doctor.” Spock nods at them both. “I have found more information regarding the unidentified creature that you acquired.” 

Peebles perks up shyly behind Jim’s shoulder, blinking at Spock. 

“Hello.” He nods at it. Peebles chirps happily and scuttles a little further into view. 

“It seems to closely resemble the pisaster genus of sea stars, commonly hailing from Earth and other planets with similar oceanic conditions. But this creature is markedly different. I could not find any Federation record of it.” Spock takes out a holopad and taps on it. With a tossing motion, he pulls an image off the screen and brings it into the air before them. Holographic images of sea stars flash in comparison with a small 3D scan of Peebles.

“This creature--”

“His name is Peebles, Spock.” Jim smirks. Spock stares blankly before turning back to the hologram. 

“While it is true that it possesses venom, the creature is no more dangerous than a common housecat. It is incapable of administering enough toxin to cause significant damage to humanoids. Its barbs can be quite painful, but they are not life-threatening.” 

“There you have it. Thank you, Spock.” Jim grins smugly. Bones scowls. 

“Anytime, Captain. I am here to answer any additional questions as you decide on a course of action.” Spock’s face almost passes for neutral, but Bones knows his mischief too well. 

“What does it eat? Living flesh?” Bones jabs, glaring at the fuzzy pink lump trying to play with the pretty lights. 

“We are unsure at this time. It has a sensitive, porous dermal layer, but no mouth. I hypothesize that it uses the same protrusions to feed as it does to navigate. A full scan would be required to glean more.” Spock gazes at Peebles. Peebles blinks his big, sparkly eye up at Spock in wonder. He makes a swipe at Spock’s face, then his ear, trying to transfer hosts, but Spock quickly steps out of range. Peebles whimpers.

“So he’s harmless?” Jim cuddles Peebles back to him and soothes him like an infant. 

“Negligibly. I would avoid testing that hypothesis, Captain.” Spock gives Jim a very knowing look that momentarily satisfies Bones…at least until he catches Peebles reaching for him. He scowls and scoots back.

“Still shouldn’t keep it. It could carry all kinds of diseases.” 

“Thanks to Federation advancements in vaccinations, Peebles poses little risk to us by way of disease transmission. But I am sure you already knew that, doctor.” Spock’s eyebrow raises ever-so-slightly. Bones crosses his arms. Jim lights up at the use of the little guy’s name. 

“Well, that’s two against one. If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna try and figure out what this guy eats before he stabs me. C’mon, buddy.” Jim stands and scoops him up. Peebles waves at Bones, its eye curving in some approximation of joy. Flabbergasted, he waves back.

He doesn’t get paid enough for this.

…

Bones knows Jim’s scream better than he knows himself. So when he hears it in the middle of the night, it shreds something inside of him. He’s at Jim’s door in a second, medkit in hand, using his key to unlock the door. He stumbles in before it opens all the way, chest heaving--

Jim holds Peebles aloft, face-flushed, while the little devil attempts to wriggle out of its grip. Grasping tendrils curl up Jim’s arm, way too long, and wrench for purchase. Suction-cupped indents cover his bare torso, an angry pinkish-red against his already rising blush. 

“So, uhm—“ Jim swallows nervously— “I figured out what he eats.”

“We are sending that thing back where it came from, end of discussion.” Bones seethes. 

“Sit.” Jim narrows his eyes.

“Jim—“

“Sit, Bones.” Jim risks letting go of Peebles with one hand to pat the space next to him. 

Bones does as he’s told. His eyes rove over Jim’s bare torso, checking for injuries. He doesn’t like the faint red marks smattering Jim’s skin, ones that the creature has clearly left in its wake, but…he’s unharmed. Visibly, anyhow. That brings Bones some measure of relief. 

“Watch. And don’t…just keep your mouth shut, alright?”

“I’ll do what I damn well please with my mouth,” Bones snaps, his filter waning with his stress and lack of sleep. Jim blushes a pretty pink. Some devilish urge in Bones wants to chase that expression further, but he opts to maintain his dignity. 

“Listen. Something tells me you’re already fed, you little shit--” Jim levels a finger at Peebles and it's immediately wrapped in a tendril-- “but I’ll let you have dessert. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Peebles chirps and starts shimmying again. Jim heaves one long, belabored sigh, and lowers Peebles to his stomach. He lays on his back, shifts to get comfortable, then spreads his arms.

“Alright, have at it.” 

Peebles launches with ferocity and Jim screams. Bones screams and leaps for him, but he pauses when he hears…a snort?

Bones shifts on the bed for a better angle. Jim is twitching like a man possessed, his hand hovering over the mass of Peebles on his stomach. Jim breaks out into giggles that leap with each twist, until he finally curls up and laughs in earnest. 

Oh. Oh.

“Is it...tickling you?” Bones breaks out in a grin that he’s grateful Jim can’t see. Peebles scuttles over his side and Jim yelps, rolling over onto his stomach. He tries to answer, but all that escapes him are broken syllables and the sweetest of smiles.

Bones can’t help but smile wider. He has a certain quota of ridiculousness that he can tolerate, alright, and Jim accidentally bringing a tickle monster on board takes the cake but...it's nice to see him like this. Smiling. Jim's true joy is a rare luxury, these days.

Peebles crawls up Jim’s back, dodging his flailing hands and making soft, bouncy, strange little noises. Breathy, almost, and uncanny--

Peebles wriggles down into the space between Jim’s shoulderblades and the hypothesis is confirmed--Jim’s resulting screech echoes twice. Peebles is mimicking him. 

“Want help?” Bones has to shout over Jim’s shrieking. The whole wing must be awake by now, but Bones can’t bring himself to care about anything but that damned smile of his. 

Jim nods frantically, reaching for Bones. 

“Let him go, you greedy brat.” Bones worms his fingers under Peebles and gets another giggly shriek in return. Bones pats Jim’s arm in apology. 

Peebles dislodges with a pop and a contented purr. Jim flops over, throwing a hand over his face. Peebles slips from Bones’s fingers and nestles into Jim’s chest, just over his heartbeat. Both of them exhale together.

“See? Harmless?” Jim hums, beaming. Bones is too busy committing the expression to memory to argue with him.

…

When Peebles gets his own personnel file, Bones knows the fight is lost. He’s listed in the records as a captain’s aide, the ridiculousness of which sparks amused chatter for days. People salute Peebles as he scuttles around, and he chirps and does the same. It is…admittedly cute. A little. 

They set up little heated nests for him in nearly every corner, desperately trying to keep him out of the vents and maintenance tunnels. Eventually, Chekhov fashions him a collar with a tag on it—just to keep an eye on his whereabouts. A few scrapes with heavy machinery and slamming auto doors lead Bones to set up a med file for him too. Pisaster Tremulus--Spock’s approximation of a designation based on Peebles’s pheromone diet--gets filed under Jim. Bones starts to worry that he might need a veterinary license. 

The crew tours Peebles around the ship enough that he learns to navigate it on his own without more door mishaps. Turns out that he doesn’t need a human guide, but he prefers it. He seems to like being up high. 

His love for being up high seems to peak with Bones, who he’s imprinted on for some reason. Bones can’t go a minute without little chirps or clicks from some corner of his office It’s better than peeling him out of a doorframe, wailing a little too much like a human child. Bones has gotten used to tentacles gripping needily on his back.

Like now, for example, when Peebles has decided that his shoulder is the only place he can sit while Bones finalizes paperwork for the crew’s physicals. Everyone but Jim is done. Saving the best for last, he thinks wryly. Peebles chirps at him, then whines.

“Hey, lil fella.” Bones reaches up and gives Peebles a fond scritch. When he goes to pull his hand away, Peebles latches on and pulls it back—like a cat, demanding to be pet. Bones chuckles and obliges with one hand, but he calls Jim with the other. 

“Jim, did you feed your son today?” 

“Why?”

“He’s beeping at me.” Bones tries to pull away. Peebles does not allow it. 

“I think he just likes ya, Bones.”

“Sure. Your physical is in five. Do not be late.” Bones holds up his file. Jim rolls his eyes. 

“Aye aye, doctor.” 

The line disconnects. Bones collapses into his seat and starts sifting through the files, attempting to make a pass at organizing them. Is this his job? No. Will it drive him up the wall if he doesn’t do it himself? Absolutely.

He gets to the ‘C’s in relative peace, but by the time he hits Chekhov’s file, Peebles gets restless again. He starts shifting and making soft noises, passing feathery-soft fur just past Bones’s ears in maddening patterns. 

Bones shivers. 

The touch returns, more purposeful this time. It occurs to him that Jim did not answer his question earlier. 

“Alright, you little bathmat.” Bones tugs at Peebles. “Off ya hop.”

Peebles does not hop. Instead, he nuzzles into the crook of Bones’s neck. One appendage slaps across his throat, curving just below his Adam’s Apple. The others splay across his collarbones, chest, and back. Were they always that long? No, right…?

A smile pries its way onto his lips. He stifles a chuckle into his fist, but the intrigued chitter at his shoulder does not bode well for him. 

Bones jams his shoulders up to his ears. He reaches up to pry Peebles away again, losing his strength to laughter and caution (alright, he doesn’t want to hurt the little guy, sue him). Peebles seems to take this as an invitation to scuttle under his lab coat. 

Wiggling nubs make contact with his ribcage and Bones’s knees fully give out. He curls up at his desk, muffling his laughter into the surface of it. 

“I’m here early, I want a lollipop—“ 

“Fetch your beast.” Bones looks up from his desk, regrettably smiling, and Jim stops right in his tracks. A mischievous smirk crosses his features. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” Jim crosses his arms and leans against the counter. Bones opens his mouth to chastise him and all that comes out is a squeak. He wants to curse him out, to throw a pen at him, to do anything, but then wiggling touches find the back of his ribcage and he’s toast. 

Peebles is covered in small, tube-like protrusions on one side that are nightmarish to both the eye and skin, apparently. They move gently, independently, like a flock of curious pokes directly to his nervous system.

He writhes like a madman in his chair, torn between hiding his face and defending himself. He reaches for Peebles and the crafty little thing skitters right across his torso. He cackles, burying his face in his hands. 

“Alright, buddy. That’s enough. Let him go.” Jim pulls Peebles off of Bones. The lump of fuzz hangs in his arms like a cat that’s been scruffed before using its limbs to scuttle up Jim’s arms. 

“I forgot you could still do that.” Jim pokes Bones in the ribs with his pen. He jumps and snatches it back. 

“What?”

“Smile.” Jim darts a hand out and squeezes Bones’s thigh. Bones cackles and falls out of his chair. Jim doubles over and wheezes into a hiccuping giggle fit. 

“Laugh it up, you ass. Provoke me before your physical.” Bones cracks his knuckles. Jim stills. 

“Bones, have mercy.” Jim holds his hands out in immediate surrender. 

“No, I don’t think I will,” Bones says in a nasal mockery of Jim’s voice. Jim splutters in offense, then laughter as Bones shoves his hands under his arms. Peebles settles on Jim’s stomach and his voice spikes desperately. 

“Oh, look, I’ve got an assistant! On a scale of one to ten, how much do you regret being a little shit?” Bones scratches ruthlessly at Jim’s top rib. Jim clamps his arms down like it’ll help. Like Bones hasn’t done this dance with him for years. 

“T-Two and a half!” Jim giggles violently, more at the narrowing of Bones’s eyes than the dance of his fingers. 

“Hmm, condition could be improved. Don’t worry, I’ll fix that.” Bones grins evilly, his fingers crawling rapidly towards Jim’s back. 

Maverick was getting used to the Daggers' antics by now. The rowdy younger pilots were constantly getting into trouble, play fighting with one another or starting prank wars whenever they had some down time. On multiple occasions, group movie nights had ended with them passed out and cuddled against each other, completely at ease. It was honestly quite cute, reminding Maverick of the relationship he'd shared with Goose (and later Tom). Even Jake and Rooster had grown closer, though the two still had some arguments from time to time, mostly about Jake's seemingly endless narcissism. However, instead of getting into fist fights, the two had developed their own way of knocking each other down a couple of pegs.

The older pilot chuckled, watching as Rooster pinned Jake against the couch with a playful growl. Maverick had thought inviting the Daggers over for dinner at his place would be a good way to help them unwind, however, it only seemed to have riled them up more. He couldn't really complain, though, seeing the determined but friendly grin plastered to Rooster's face, hearing the whoops and hollers of encouragement from Phoenix, Coyote, and Bob, watching a spark of giddy anticipation flash across Jake's features. No, he'd just let them play for a bit.

"Brahadshaw, don't you dare!" Jake snapped, trying to sound serious, though the giggles already starting to form at his lips cut down any intimidation he may have been able to work up.

Rooster's grin curved up mischievously. "You don't mean that; why else would you be grinning so big?"

"You know damn well why! Aren't you guys going to help me?" Jake looked towards the others, eyes big and puppy-like, but they only laughed with amusement.

"Sorry, Hangman, you were kind of asking for it." Phoenix chuckled, crossing her arms as Coyote nodded.

"Yeah, you brought this on yourself, man."

Jake's eyes darted to Bob now. "Come on, Bob! You aren't gonna let him do this to me, are you? I thought we were friends!"

Bob grinned, giving the blonde an awkward little shrug in response. "Sorry, I'm not incurring Rooster's wrath today."

"Smart move."

"You damn traitors!"

Rooster and Jake spoke at the same time, the former returning his attention to the man trapped beneath him. "Hear that, Seresin? Nobody's gonna save you this time!" Not waiting for a response, Rooster dug into Jake's sides, squeezing ruthlessly at the ticklish flesh.

Jake squeaked, immediately bursting into loud giggles. For being such an effective tickler, he really couldn't take what he dished out. Maverick couldn't help but smile; the kid was a lot like Tom in that way. For as big of a tickle monster as Tom was, all it would take is some well-placed pokes to get him snickering.

"Aw, giggling already, Hangman? What's wrong, can't take a few little tickles?" Rooster crooned, watching with delight as the blonde's face went bright red with embarrasement.

"Shuhuhuhuhuhut up, yohohou ahahahahahahass!"

Rooster latched onto Jake's hips, earning a shrill, giggly squeal from the shorter pilot. Maverick winced, feeling his own hips tingle at the thought of such an attack.

"Get him good, Roos!" Coyote called, laughing a little himself at the sounds coming out from Jake.

"Will do!" Rooster saluted before quickly returning his attention to his victim. "You hear that, Seresin? They want a show! Let's give 'em one, shall we?"

Jake shook his head frantically, grin widening as Rooster hovered a clawed hand above his stomach, fingers wiggling teasingly. "Nohohohohoooo! Rooster, I swehehehehear that I'll-" He was cut off, thrown back into waves of shrieky giggles as Rooster's hand dove down, digging into the sensitive muscle.

"Sorry, what was that? Can't hear you over all that noise you're making."

Phoenix whistled, feigning astonishment. "Wow, Hangman, you've got some pipes on you. I don't think I've ever heard you giggle this loudly."

"You haven't seen the half of it, this is just the warm up!" Rooster shot her a wink over his shoulder.

"Wahahahahahahaharm up?" Jake cried incredulously, snorting when Rooster's fingers strayed a little too close to his ribcage.

"Oooh yeah, you didn't think I was gonna let that little comment you made slide so easily, did you? You should know better than to insult my mustache by now." Rooster chortled at the giggly hiccup Jake emitted when he found a sweet spot under his lower ribs.

"I stahahahahand by my stahahahahahatement! It loohohohohohoks like a rahahahahahat crahahahahawled on yohohohohour fahahace and dihihihihihied!" Jake shot back; Rooster's eyes darkened.

"Oho, you really don't know when to quit, do you?"

Jake's eyes shot wide open as Rooster made a show of taking a deep, theatrical breath. "Nonono, dohohon't you dare! Brahahahadshaw, I'll kihihihihihill you!"

Rooster dove down, blowing a massive raspberry into the blonde's stomach. Jake screamed, head thrown back as he shook with laughter. His stomach wasn't even one of his worst spots (that honor went to Rooster and Bob), but raspberries had always been killer for him.

"Brahahahahahahahadley, nohohohohohohoooo! Dohohohohohon't!" Rooster ignored him, blowing another raspberry, then another, dotting them randomly across Jake's stomach as the other pilot wheezed with laughter.

Out of the corner of his eye, Maverick saw Bob subtly curl inwards at the sight, arms crossing over his stomach to protect his ticklish midsection, even though he wasn't the target of Rooster's attack. The older man chuckled with amusement.

Bob's eyes snapped up at the sound, widening slightly behind his glasses. He cleared his throat. "You're really gonna let this happen, sir?"

Maverick slipped his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, a little bit of play fighting never hurt anyone. Besides, it's nice seeing the "Bradshaw Special" get put to good use.”

Now, Maverick hadn't been speaking very loudly, but somehow Rooster managed to pick up on his words over the sound of Jake's hysterics. In an instant, Rooster's head was up, eyes locked onto Maverick with a dangerous interest. "What was that?"

Jake collapsed back against the couch, still shaking with residual giggles.

Maverick, ever the oblivious one, didn't realize it would probably be best to stop talking. A sad smile ghosted across his features. "That's right, you wouldn't remember it since you were so young. Your dad used to be quite a tickle monster himself; could even give old Iceman a run for his money if he wanted to."

By now, the other pilots were paying attention as well, as they always did whenever Maverick revealed something about his time in Top Gun. His stories always seemed to capture their attention, painting a better picture of the man they had come to know as their mentor.

"Goose had this thing he did; called it the "Bradshaw Special" like the dork he was. He'd get you cornered, pin you down, and raspberry you like there was no tomorrow. He had a mustache similar to yours, too. Damn, that thing was evil."

As Maverick rambled on, he didn't pick up on the gleam in Bradley's eye, nor the look he shared with the now recovered Jake. It was only when the two got to their feet, eyes watching him like a hawk, that Maverick picked up that something was wrong.

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience, pops." Jake was back to his smug self, beaming from ear to ear.

Maverick's heart leapt into his throat, eyes darting between the two as he finally started catching on. Oh shit, he may have made a small error in judgement. "Now, don't you go getting any ideas..."

"Too late, it would seem." Phoenix chimed in. Maverick picked up on the fact that she and Coyote had subtly inched over to the door and were now blocking his only exit. Shit, shit, shit. While he would usually be proud of them for working as a team, especially without any verbal communication, his looming doom kind of put a damper on that.

Maverick took at a step back, eyes flicking to Bob. The younger pilot smiled apologetically. He wouldn't be receiving any help, it would seem.

"You sure you want to do this? Don't forget, I've already picked up on YOUR spots. Especially yours, Bradshaw!"

Rooster smirked. "Yeah, but it's two against one, Mav. I don't think you stand much of a chance right now."

"Yeah, better just accept your fate now and make things easier on yourself, pops." Jake grinned wolfishly, cracking his knuckles.

Maverick did the honorable thing and grabbed Bob, holding him in front of him like a shield. Coyote and Phoenix nearly choked with laughter.

Bob squeaked, trying to squirm free of the older pilot's grip as he was held in front of him like a shield. "Hey! I didn't agree to this!"

"Sorry, kid. You're taking one for the team this time." Maverick replied, pivoting Bob to block Rooster and Jake as they attempted to find ways past his newly acquired defense.

Rooster snorted. "Come on, Mav. Using hostages as a shield is a bit of a low blow, don't you think?"

"All's fair in tickle fights, Bradshaw. You'd do well to remember that."

No sooner than Maverick said those words, Bob managed to squirm free, stumbling away and leaving him completely exposed. Never one to to let a window of opportunity slip away, Jake barreled forward, tackling Maverick to the floor before he could flee. "Gotcha!"

Rooster was right behind him, whooping with excitement. "Nice work, Hangman! We've got him, now!"

Maverick squirmed, looking up at the two mischievous pilots with a nervous grin twitching at his lips. "I can have you court marshalled for this, you know that, right?"

Jake chortled. "Yeah, but you won't, will you?" No, he wouldn't, be it was worth a shot, wasn't it?

Rooster straddled Maverick's hips as Jake pinned his arms over his head, grinning like he'd just got the world's best Christmas present. "Oho, I'm going to enjoy this!"

Maverick opened his mouth, probably to spout another half-hearted threat, but Rooster gave him no time to finish. The man took a deep breath, winking to their onlookers before diving down.

The brunette screamed at the (downright horrible, in his opinion) raspberry blown against his stomach, immediately collapsing into a wave of laughter. It had been so long since he'd been tickled, he honestly didn't remember how INTENSE it was, especially when it came to the so-called "Bradshaw Special."

"Aw, he cracked fast, didn't he?" Jake cooed, fluttering the fingers of his free hand across Maverick's neck and ears, earning a loud fit of giggles.

"Of course he did! I'm just that good!" Rooster boasted, blowing another raspberry, then another. He even went so far as to tug up Maverick's shirt and attack bare skin, earning a frantic, laughter-laced protest from the man.

"Humble, aren't we?" Coyote chuckled.

"Rooster? Never." Phoenix replied.

Maverick bucked, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed his head off. Damn, his stomach wasn't even that bad! It had no right to tickle this much!

"Yohohohohohou twohohohohoho are sohohohohoho gohohonna get it!" He squealed when Jake found a sweet spot just below his ears. "I ahahaham gohohohohonna ohohohohohorder you to dohohohohoho fihihihihihty puhuhuhuhushups!" Another squeal. "Nohohohooo, a huhuhuhuhundred!"

Rooster rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you sound real threatening right now, old man." He mumbled into the ticklish stomach, earning a borderline snort from the brunette.

Jake looked up, nodding to Bob. "Want to join us, Floyd?" He offered. Bob shoo his head, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"I don't think that's a fight I want to be starting."

Rooster looked up, giving him a grief grin of encouragement. "You've already got on his bad side for not helping him, you might as well have a bit of fun." He said before starting to gnaw playfully at Maverick's exposed midriff. The older pilot let out a screech, hips bucking as he frantically tried to get the other OFF of him and AWAY from his ticklish skin.

Bob glanced to Phoenix and Coyote, both of whom gave him nods and smiles of encouragement. "Well, I guess I could help out." He said after a minute, earning a chorus of cheers from his fellow Daggers.

"That's the spirit! Here, he seems to be real bad up around his armpits! Why don't you try those?"

"I've heard Penny mention something about him having ticklish thighs."

"Ooh, try his hips! He seems the type to be ticklish around there!"

As the young pilots began around tossing ideas, many of which were ABSOLUTELY true, Maverick should have been more nervous. It already tickled like hell; an extra set of hands would probably kill him. He couldn't bring himself to tell them to stop, though. They were having fun, and admittedly, so was he. Maverick couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this hard or been the subject of so much playful attention. It felt pretty nice, in all honesty.

He feels Jester’s fingers pinching up his back just then - as she laughs into his stomach, which might be even more tickly. He’s laughing again.

Jester clings on tighter as Caduceus starts laughing - and he can’t let her win at hugging of all things, so he grips onto her even tighter in return. It’s a bone-crushing, tickly hug that has both of them laughing too hard for words. Caduceus can’t remember the last time he's laughed this hard and he’s reluctant for it to ever end.

Nonetheless, after a few moments it does - he slows his fingers and gently pulls Jester away so they’re facing each other. He squeezes her shoulder, still grinning ear to ear. “That was fun.” Jester beams back up at him. Caduceus looks up at the others - most of whom are looking distinctly uncomfortable. He gives them an easy grin. “You should try it, it’s a lot of fun.”

Jester spins to face the group too, looking delighted. “Yes! Oh Beau-oh! Are you ticklish?” She springs towards Beau, fingers wiggling and a downright evil grin on her face. Caduceus chuckles.

Beau, eyes wide as saucers and looking panicked, holds up her hand. “Wait, wait, no. I’ve got Caleb duty, I’m doing this, I’m busy.” She gestures frantically to her other shoulder, where Caleb’s hand rests.

Jester’s eyes travel up his arm to the glassy-white eyes indicating Caleb is watching them through Frumpkin at the moment. She turns back to Beau. “Alright fi-ne, but I’ll get you later.” She flashes Beau a grin which leaves Beau looking like she's seen a ghost - but with the faintest grin tugging at the corners of her mouth in return.

Jester spins towards the others. “Fjord! What about you?!”

If Beau looked panicked, Fjord looks downright horrified as Jester’s gaze lands on him. “Me? I, ah -“ he coughs and clears his throat, trying to bring his voice back down from where it seems to have leaped up an octave. “I don't have any idea what you’re asking.”

Jester has closed the gap between them with frightening speed. She flashes him that dangerous grin. “Yes you do. Fj-ord, I already know you’re ticklish!” And quick as lightning, her fingers scuttle up his stomach.

Fjord chokes on a gasp and reaches frantically for her hands. “Ah - Jester wait!”

Jester does not wait and Fjord fails to catch her hands, which means she continues wiggling her fingers over his stomach and up towards his ribs. She’s watching his face for any reaction.

It comes. Fjord sucks in a deep breath and clamps his mouth shut, biting down on his cheek.

Jester pouts at this and sets to work even harder. Her fingers poke and prod into the spaces in between his ribs. This has Fjord bending double and turning desperately away from her. Jester grins and flows with him. And Fjord can’t hold back a snort - which turns quickly into hearty chuckles he can’t manage to stop.

Jester laughs in delight and worms her fingers even higher, towards his armpits. Fjord splutters and dissolves into raspy laughter. “Jehehhehhehster ST-hahahahaha-stop ahahahahaha - STOP IT!”

Jester laughs along with him, following as he turns away from her even further. She glances over her shoulder, fingers still wiggling their way beneath Fjord’s armor. “Cad! Come help me!”

Caduceus is watching this with a slight frown spreading across his face. “Hmmm. Hold on a minute. Maybe you’d better give him a break.”

Jester catches something in his tone and turns around to face him. Her fingers on Fjord’s sides slow but don’t still entirely. She gives Caduceus a slight frown and he raises an eyebrow at her and nods towards Fjord. Jester turns back to look at her victim. Fjord is twisted as far away from her as he can possibly be, bent double trying to hide his face, tense as a board, and laughing through gritted teeth - clearly trying to stifle his laughter with little success. Behind the laughter he looks distinctly unhappy.

Jester’s frown deepens and she pulls her hands away. Fjord jerks away from her the moment he's free, turning so his back is to her. Jester blinks and drops her hands to her sides. “Fjord?”

Fjord is biting the inside of his cheek as hard as he possibly can to stop his chuckles. He coughs to clear the last of them away before growling over his shoulder. “Give me a minute. Go find someone else to torture.”

Jester's face falls. She turns to give Caduceus a sad look. He gives her a worried frown in return.

Fjord coughs a few more times for good measure. He can feel every eye upon him. He can also feel the heat rising up his neck. Ugh.

With a shake of his head, Fjord straightens up and turns to briefly face the group. His face is composed. “Come on. Let’s go.” His accent is firmly back in place and he stalks off down the tunnel, leading the way.

Fjord can hear muttering behind him as he walks away but he pointedly ignores it and walks on. Then - footsteps. And there’s Beauregard walking next to him, staring. Fjord glances over at her and she raises her eyebrows. Fjord clears his throat and gives a shake of his head, looking away quickly. Beau doesn’t say anything, but Fjord can feel her gaze locked on him.

Caleb, feeling Beau start walking again, drops back into his body. He blinks a few times to clear his eyes and looks around at the others with a frown. The energy has shifted so dramatically in such a short period of time. Caleb catches Beau's eye and raises his eyebrows at her. She gives him a shrug in return. Caleb frowns but stays quiet.

Jester stares after the others with a dejected look. She turns to Caduceus, who has collected his staff from where it was tossed aside. He gives her a sympathetic look, and slowly the two follow after the group, trailing behind alongside a confused-looked Yasha and Nott.

And so the group presses on in tense silence.

********************

It's several weeks before Fjord brings it up again. They’ve been busy, thankfully, and he hasn’t had time to let it occupy his mind. And mercifully, Jester and Caduceus have always left him out of their now-becoming-frequent tickle fights and ambushes on unsuspecting members of the Nein. The fact that Fjord makes a quick exit - or at least looks away awkwardly - whenever such events take place probably helps.

But he still can’t help but notice things.

It's not until the group is settled into their rooms at the next inn that Fjord says anything. The quiet night allows him far too much time to think, and he finds himself looking over at Caleb - who is definitely not asleep, Fjord can tell that much from his unsteady breathing.

He takes a deep breath and rolls over to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling. A cough to break the silence, then - “Caleb? Can I ask you something?”

Darkvision allows Fjord to see Caleb visibly jump at the sound of his voice. He turns his head to face his roommate. “Ja, of course.”

“Do you like being tickled?”

There’s a spluttering sound from the other bed and Fjord sits up, alarmed - just in time to catch sight of the wizard in the middle of choking on his own spit. Caleb sits up too, coughing. He’s careful not to look at Fjord. “Ah. I’m sorry. I was not expecting that, is all.”

Fjord nods. Caleb coughs again and brushes an arm across his mouth before sliding back down into his bed. Even in the dark Fjord can see his face is a good two shades darker than before. This does not discourage him from continuing to press.

“I only ask because I’ve seen Jester get you several times now and you’ve never told her to stop or to knock it off, so-“

“Have you tried telling Jester to knock it off?”

Fjord chuckles. “Fair.”

Caleb gives him a hint of a smile, then turns away as it fades and sighs. “I….ah….” He trails off into silence without finishing the sentence.

Silence hangs between them for a long moment. Both staring at up the ceiling without a word. Finally Fjord breaks it. “I don't care, by the way. But can you tell me why? What about it do you like? It’s torture. How can you like it?”

This is met with a slightly strangled sound, then silence. Fjord shifts in his bed to look over at Caleb. The wizard is staring, wide-eyed, up at the ceiling.

Fjord sits up again, looking worried and regretting everything. He shouldn’t have brought this up. “Forget I said anything. We don't have to talk about it.”

Caleb does not respond, just continues staring at the ceiling. Fjord watches him worriedly for a moment, then slowly slides down into his bed. He can feel his own heart racing as he stares up at the ceiling himself. What was he thinking? Of course Caleb doesn't want to talk about it, neither would he if someone brought it up like this - in fact isn't that what Jester did when she grabbed him and reminded him what tickling felt like in the first place? And didn’t he react just as badly? Why would he think this would go any differently? Caleb didn't deserve this. How stupid and insensitive of him for dragging him into it.

With a swoosh, Caleb throws his blanket back and leaps out of bed. Fjord jumps. He pushes himself up. “Caleb?”

No response. Caleb swiftly crosses the room, pushes open the door, and steps out into the hall.

Fjord throws his own blanket back, his feet hitting the floor. “Caleb!”

Not even a glance in his direction. Fjord hurries out of the room. Blinking as his eyes adjust to the light in the hall, he sees Caleb knocking on the door next to theirs.

There’s a creak and the door opens. A sleepy-looking Caduceus stands in the doorway, blinking blearily at them. He takes in the sight of a frenzied-looking Caleb standing in front of him and a confused and scattered Fjord a few steps behind. His face shifts into a soft smile, and he pushes the door open and steps back to let them in. Caleb steps inside and Fjord, not seeing any reason not to, follows.

Caduceus shuts the door and follows behind them, rubbing his eyes. Across the room on the other bed, Yasha is sitting up and looking worried.

Caleb is standing in the middle of the room. He’s fidgeting with his coat and staring at the floor. “I am sorry to wake you both up, I don’t mean to be a bother…”

Caduceus just waves a hand. “Nah. Never a bother.” He waves towards the ground, gesturing for them to sit, before turning away to start making tea.

Yasha is already getting out of bed. “You’re not a bother, Caleb. Do you want some privacy?” She’s sheathing her swords and looking ready to leave.

Caleb shakes his head. “Nein. No. Stay, please.” He drops to the floor, sitting propped against Caduceus’ empty bed.

Fjord, for his part, stands in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. Caduceus turns around, carrying cups of tea. He hands one to Fjord before lowering himself down to the floor, sitting cross-legged and leaning against Yasha’s bed, gesturing for Fjord to join him.

Fjord reluctantly sits down across from him. Yasha has joined Caleb, the four of them forming a little circle in the middle of the bedroom.

Caduceus hands out tea. “So.”

Caleb takes his with both hands. “Danke.” He takes a deep breath. “Ah, I came here because Fjord was asking me about, ah…ti-“ He cuts off abruptly and looks down into his cup.

Caduceus takes a sip of his tea, waiting patiently. Caleb stutters and then trails off again, face growing darker.

Yasha is wearing a confused frown. “About what?”

Caleb takes a deep breath and tries again. “About ti…about kitzlen.”

This time both Yasha and Caduceus look confused. “What?”

Caleb takes a long drink of tea. Fjord sighs, rubs a hand over his face, and speaks up. “I was asking him about tickling. It’s really not a big deal, I shouldn’t have brought it up, let’s all just go to bed and not worry about it-“

He’s cut off by Caduceus’ sudden clarity. “Ahhh.” His expression has cleared into another soft smile.

Yasha’s face clears too and she leans back against the bed again. “Oh.”

Caleb looks surprisingly relieved, despite his face being about five shades redder than usual. He nods. “Ja. That. He asked me about ti…ah, that, and I would like to talk about it, but I…ah…I needed a mediator.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Caduceus says. “I can listen to the two of you talk if that’s what you want, though.” He takes another sip of tea.

Caleb nods. "That is exactly what I would like, thank you Caduceus.”

Caduceus gives him a smile. It's too full of knowing for Caleb’s liking and he looks away quickly. Caduceus’ smile widens.

Caleb takes a deep breath before heaving it back out in a sigh. He’s still staring down into his cup. “I - I do like kitzlen - ah, tick..tickling…Fjord.” He glances up at Fjord - who is staring at him in something like disbelief - before immediately going back to looking at his cup. “It’s a nice, ah, break. Like being inside Frumpkin. Or when I Polymorph. It’s nice to not have every single thought racing through my head. You know?”

Fjord nods slowly. He does know about racing thoughts. Beside him, Yasha is nodding too.

Caleb seems emboldened by this and presses on. He takes another deep breath. “I…like being stupid, sometimes. I am not, most times. Most times I cannot be. So it's nice to be able to sometimes, with people I can be stupid around. I can be stupid around you all and I am very grateful for it. And t…ah, tickling…it lets me do that. And also laugh. I have not laughed very much in my life, but I have never laughed more than I have with you all. And it feels…good.” His eyes dart up for a half-second, just long enough to see the group’s reactions.

Yasha and Caduceus are smiling softly at him. Fjord is staring right through him and looks distinctly uncomfortable, as if he just swallowed another orb.

Caleb takes a long drink of his tea. It helps. When he lowers his cup his face feels less flushed. He glances over at Fjord. “Does that answer your question, Fjord?”

Fjord blinks at him blankly for a moment, before giving his head a shake and sitting up quickly, clearing his throat. “Yes - yes, it does, Caleb. Thank you for sharing that.”

Caduceus gives Caleb a proud smile. “I’m proud of you for talking about that. You did great.” Caleb gives an awkward shrug and looks away, taking another sip of tea.

Caduceus turns to Fjord. “What about you Fjord? Why did you want to talk about tickling?

Fjord sucks in a deep breath and opens his mouth to respond. “Well, I…I…ah…”

Caduceus interrupts his stuttering. “Should Jester be here for this?”

This snaps Fjord out of it. He blinks and looks up at Caduceus. “Jester? Why should Jester be here?”

Caduceus gives a slight shrug. “It might be good for both of you. She was pretty upset after the last tickling incident.”

Fjord heaves a huge sigh and slumps against the bed frame he’s leaning on. He stares down into his cup. “Alright. Yes, she should be here too.”

“I’ll get her.” Everyone turns to see Yasha unfolding herself from the floor and making her way over to the wall dividing their room from Beauregard and Jester’s. She knocks softly. There’s a muffled sound from the other side - words that Fjord can’t quite make out - and then Yasha says, in her soft voice, “Can you two come over here? We’re having a discussion.”

There’s another muffled response and then a few seconds later, a knock at the door. Caduceus, who stood up to refill the tea, opens the door to let in Jester and Beauregard.

Beau rushes into the room, eyes darting around and looking ready for a fight. “Is everyone okay?! What’s going on?!” Jester follows her, looking concerned and just as ready for whatever they might face.

Caduceus holds out cups of tea towards both of them. Beau looks down at the cup, confused. Caduceus pushes it closer and she takes it on instinct, looking back up at him and then around at the others with a frown. “What’s going on?”

Caduceus hands Jester her cup and goes back to his spot next to the bed, lowering himself back down into a cross-legged seat on the floor. Yasha looks over to Beau. “I said we were having a discussion.”

“I thought that might be a code word for ‘we’re being held hostage, come help us!’” Beau carries her tea over and drops down in between Yasha and Caleb.

“Nah, we’re just talking,” Caduceus says, holding out a hand to beckon Jester over. She smiles and plops down next to him, taking a sip of her tea.

“What kind of conversation is this?” Beau asks before taking a sip of her tea.

“Yeah, are you talking about who you want to kiss or what?” Jester pipes up, waggling her eyebrows.

Caduceus sets his tea cup on the floor next to him and looks over at them. “Fjord was talking about tickling.”

Jester’s face lights up immediately and she spins towards Fjord. “Tickling?! Fjord, you were talking about tickling?! Oh, I’m so glad you called us over here, Yasha! Tickling is my fav-or-ite.” She smiles at Yasha, who returns it with a soft smile of her own.

Fjord’s face feels hot again and he busies himself with looking down into his tea once again so as to not have to look at Jester. Out of the corner of his eye he still manages to catch her face fall when she sees his discomfort. He feels something in his chest start to ache.

“So, where were we?” Caleb asks, setting his own cup down too. “I shared the depths of my soul, I believe it was your turn now.” He looks over at Fjord expectantly.

Fjord sighs into his tea cup before taking a breath and steeling himself. He swallows his feelings and looks up, expression - he hopes - settled back into one of confidence. “Right. Well. I was just asking what everyone thought about…well, tickling.” He raises his eyebrows as he looks around at the little group, doing his absolute best to look resolute and interested.

Jester gives him that bright smile again, although there's something sad deep in her eyes that Fjord wishes he hadn’t seen. “I loooooove tickling! It’s so much fun! Like, tickle fights - they're the best thing ever.” Her tail is wagging ever so slightly, tapping against the ground. Fjord can't help the smile that twitches onto his face.

“I don’t have strong feelings about it either way,” Beau says, across from him. Fjord turns to look at her and gives a nod. Caduceus turns as well and studies her for a moment, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Beau catches his eye and flushes bright red. She turns back to her tea quickly. The faintest of smiles spreads across Caduceus’ face.

Caduceus turns back to Fjord. “I like tickling. It’s fun. I’ve always had fun with it with my siblings and sometimes my parents too - we got my dad one time, that was great.” He grins at the memory, an infectious look that the others find the corners of their lips twitching to match.

Fjord turns to Yasha. “What about you, Yasha? What do you think?”

Yasha has been looking lost in thought, gazing down at the ground. She looks up and says, softly, "It reminds me of Molly.”

Fjord blinks in surprise before looking down at the ground himself. He nods, and his voice drops to a whisper as he says, “It reminds me of Molly too.”

Yasha gives him a soft smile, which Fjord looks up just in time to catch. “It’s just, it’s everything that he was, you know? He was…Molly was…he was so carefree and he loved to have fun, and he loved to make people laugh - oh, he loved to make people laugh.” She smiles brighter, fond, eyes drifting up to the ceiling as the memory comes back.

Fjord nods. “And he was so touchy. He was always looking for a hug or trying to get closer.”

Yasha looks back at him. “Oh yes, oh yes, he loved to be hugged and held and cuddle. He loved touch. And he - he felt like a warm hug. You know?”

Fjord nods rapidly. His eyes have become wet with tears. “He did. He really did.”

Yasha sniffs and reaches up to wipe away a tear of her own. “That's why tickling reminds me of him. It’s all those things wrapped up in one - all that touchy-feely, carefree, fun that feels like a warm hug. And that's what he was too. He was all of those things in one.”

Fjord can feel the tears startling to trail out of his eyes. He looks down, furiously trying to blink them back. “He liked it, too.”

“Tickling? Oh yes, he loved it.” A wet smile spreads across Yasha’s face again as she wipes away more tears that are steadily streaking down her face. “He loved both sides of it. He would tickle me to pieces so, so often - and he loved it when I’d get him back.” She looks back up at Fjord with that shaky, soft smile. “Some of my absolutely favorite memories are of those times."

Fjord nods and wipes a hand roughly across his face. “He got me a few times. I wish I’d let him do it more often."

“He got all of us, I think,” comes Caleb's voice from across the circle. Fjord and Yasha turn to face him and see him wiping away his own tears. A shaky smile perseveres on his face anyway. “He really loved it.”

Beau, next to him, takes a shaky breath and nods. “He got me too, the jerk.” She rubs away the tears that are trailing down her already wet face, past the fond smile she can’t manage to hold back.

Jester sniffles and says, softly, “We had so many tickle fights. It was so much fun.” She pauses, staring off into the space, remembering. Her eyes well up with tears. “I miss him.” Her voice cracks as she says it. Caduceus puts an arm around her and she snuggles closer to him.

Beau is wiping her fists over her face. She sniffs. “We should have a tickle fight in honor of him. He would’ve liked that.”

Caduceus looks over at Fjord. “How are you holding up, Fjord?”

Fjord takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, wiping away more tears. “I miss him too, Jester.” Jester gives him a watery smile. Fjord coughs and takes another deep breath. “I…I’ve been tickled before. When I was a kid. I was picked on, and I was quite often the victim of tickle, well…torture from the other kids. They were stronger than me so they could pin me down and I couldn't get away. I couldn’t get them to stop so I just had to take it. I hated it. It made me feel powerless and weak. But I could never quite manage to stop being ticklish. I hated that, I hated being so ticklish.” He looks around at the others with a tinge of hesitation. They're watching him - eyes soft and still glistening with tears.

Fjord sucks in another breath and goes on. “But with Molly….I don’t know. It always felt different when Molly would try to tickle me. It felt…warm, like Yasha said.” He trails off, looking up at the ceiling for a moment, and then sighs. “I regret fighting him off so much. He meant well by it.”

“It was his way of showing love,” Yasha says softly. She wipes away more tears and a shaky smile spreads across her face as she looks at Fjord and then around at the group. “He loved you. He loved all of us. So much.”

Caleb, Beau, Jester and Fjord all reach up to wipe away more tears that threaten to spill over. Caduceus finds his own eyes damp too.

Fjord nods and heaves a sigh. He turns towards Jester. “And I…I’m sorry for fighting you off, too, Jester. It’s always felt warm from you too.”

Jester gives him a smile. “Aww, I’m glad it does! I don’t ever, ever, ever want it to be mean, Fjord, I like tickling and I think it’s fun and I want it to be fun for whoever I’m tickling too. I just want to make them laugh.” She glances over at Caleb, who gives her a smile.

Fjord gives her a faint smile of his own. With another sigh, he turns to look around the group. They’re all still sniffling and wiping away tears that slowly slip out. But they’re also all smiling.

“I can see how much of a loving thing it is for all of you. It’s not mean. And I…I’d love to be part of that. But I’m not sure I can handle it. I’m not sure I can let go of that control.”

Caleb is nodding. Yasha and Beau look like they know the feeling he's talking about too. For a moment, as Fjord looks around at all of their faces, he senses for the first time that…he might not be alone in this. He'd never considered that this might not come naturally to the rest of his friends either.

Jester sits up, pushing away from Caduceus. She leans towards Fjord. “What if we tickled you for just, like, a few seconds? Just to see if you like it? Just to try it out?”

Caduceus looks up brightly. “A trial tickle!”

Fjord studies them for a moment. He looks down at his cup. Then he nods and looks up at Jester. “Yes. Let’s do it.” He throws his arms open. “You can have five seconds.”

Jester blinks in surprise. She had not expected that to work. She looks around the little circle. Her friends all wave her forward, grins spreading across their faces. So, a grin working its way onto her own face, she turns back to Fjord and shuffles over until she’s kneeling right in front of him.

Fjord blinks up at her with his best puppy-eyed face. A nervous grin is already threatening to break through.

Jester giggles, still tinged with emotion and a little sadness, and wipes away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. “Fj-ord! This is going to be so much fun.”

Fjord scoots backwards, closer to the bed. “Five seconds, remember? Just five seconds.”

“Of course.” Jester shuffles forward, closing the gap between them. She flashes him another grin - and it reminds him of Molly, she’s really perfected that terrifying look tieflings can have - and slowly lowers her wiggling fingers towards his stomach. Fjord bites down on his lip.

The second Jester's fingers make contact, Fjord feels every muscle in his body contract and tense. He tries to pull away but there's nowhere to go - he's already pressed himself against the bed frame as far as he can go. So instead he squirms to the side and tries to brace himself.

Jester’s fingers scribble over Fjord’s stomach and Fjord clamps his mouth shut to block out the noises threatening to spill out. He flinches away again as her claws pinch at his sides. Yep. This is every bit the torture he expected. The loss of control over his own reactions brings with it a dark cloud of memories, none of them good. He’s vulnerable, weak…small. It’s almost unbearable, and he’s about to open his mouth and yell for Jester to stop…when her fingers shift every so slightly. Up. To begin scratching at his lower ribs.

And all the emotions burst out of Fjord in a sudden bark of laughter he could never hope to hold back. “HA!”

Jester giggles. Fjord tries to bite down on his tongue again but doesn't quite manage it. Now that the dam is broken, laughter bubbles up out of his throat. “Ah-hehehehehehehahahahahaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHO!” And just like that, he’s rolling side to side with laughter, trying to bat away Jester's fingers that are scribbling and scratching over his ribs.

And to his surprise, he finds himself not hating it.

Actually…

It is kind of fun.

It’s just laughter after all, Fjord realizes. It’s an excuse to be silly and laugh. And it feels every bit as warm as he just described. It feels loving. It feels playful. It feels like every other time Jester tries to drag him into her silliness and make him laugh.

And just like all the other times Jester pulls them into her silly antics, he’s having fun.

Just as quickly as it began, it's over. Jester rocks back onto her heels, grinning down at him - Fjord realizes belatedly that he's somehow wound up on his back on the floor.

His second realization is that he's disappointed that she stopped.

“Sooooo, what did you think?!” Jester asks eagerly, leaning in towards him and still wearing that grin. But Fjord can see something else in her eyes - a glimmer of nervousness. Hesitation. Concern. Worry that maybe, despite her best efforts, he might still have hated it.

Fjord is panting for breath. He returns her grin almost shyly before looking away and muttering, “You don’t have to stop.”

Jester squeals and jumps on top of him, throwing her arms around him in a hug. “AHH Fjord! I’m sooooo glad you liked it!” Fjord jumps before realizing what she’s doing and puts his arms around her in return. Then he feels Jester’s fingers wiggling up his back and he snorts - before they work their way into his armpits and he's laughing again. He buries his face in her shoulder as the giggles take him again. “AHAHAHAHAH no that wasn’t fa-hehehehehahaha-air!” Jester giggles right along with him.

The rest of the group is chuckling too, watching this. Caleb turns to Beauregard. “A tickle fight in Molly’s memory, ja?”

Beau gives him a nervous grin and scoots back slightly. A rare playful grin leaps onto Caleb’s face and he grabs her arm before she can get away. The look of shock that flashes onto both their faces when that actually works makes them both burst out laughing. And then Caleb’s other hand is spidering up Beau’s arm and she’s giggling and flailing around for an entirely different reason. Caleb turns and calls over his shoulder, “Yasha! Come help me!” Yasha, grinning, grabs onto to Beau and holds her in place - allowing Caleb to bring the other hand into action on her sides and leaving Beau cackling with laughter.

Caduceus is grinning from ear to ear as he watches this tickly battle take place. There’s Jester attacking Fjord and making him laugh harder than Caduceus has ever seen. It’s a good look on him. Fjord is starting to try and return the favor, Caduceus can see. Unsuccessfully so far - Jester is one step ahead of him and making him slam his arms back down against his sides by going for his armpits every time - but Caduceus is confident he’ll power through and have a counter attack coordinated soon enough.

A few feet away from that, Caleb and Yasha are wrecking Beau - who has already managed to slip one arm out and latch it onto to Caleb’s ribs, leaving him bent over with laughter even as he continues scribbling his own fingers across her stomach. It’s hard to say which of the three are laughing the hardest - Yasha isn’t even being tickled, but she's laughing as if she is. Caduceus smiles.

A sudden warm breeze blows through the room, and Caduceus looks up, smiling, as he closes his eyes and leans into the Wild Mother’s embrace. He feels another swirling breeze and opens his eyes gently, sensing another presence - and jumps as he finds a mostly-translucent, lavender-colored, ghostly figure standing next to him.

Another warm breeze blows immediately. And Caduceus suddenly realizes he recognizes this figure - from stories, drawings, illusions. He’s seen those horns before, heard about those tattoos, seen that spade-tipped tail. A whisper comes through on the wind, a warm smile from the Wild Mother accompanying it - Mollymauk.

The figure gives Caduceus a smile. Then, before he can react, it’s diving forward into the tickly fray. Caduceus watches as the spectral purple tiefling darts over to Fjord and Jester and squeezes Fjord’s side a few times, before immediately spidering ghostly fingers up Jester's back. To Caduceus’ surprise, they both jump and squeal at the sudden touch. He blinks. They shouldn’t be able to feel that. But…somehow they can?

The specter dashes across the room and grabs Beau’s foot, scribbling claws across the bottom and leaving Beau shrieking with laughter in a whole new way - while its tail wiggles underneath Caleb’s arms, making him choke on a squeal and dissolve quickly into giggles. Wearing a bright grin, the ghostly Molly lets the two of them go and throws itself into Yasha’s lap, claws wiggling against her stomach. Yasha yelps and bends double, giggles spilling out.

The specter turns to look at Caduceus - grinning brightly from its place in Yasha’s lap, fingers now working their way up across her ribs. It sees him watching and pulls one hand away to gesture towards him - a beckoning motion.

Caduceus doesn’t hesitate. With a soft smile, he stands up and goes to help Fjord coordinate his still-unsuccessful counter attack on Jester. Taking a note from the specter, he spiders his fingers up her back. It works for a moment - she squeals and bursts out laughing - “Caduhahahahahaceus! Hahahahaha nohohoho!”

But Fjord is no help in this attack, and Caduceus quickly finds himself pinned underneath Jester as she spins around and lost to laughter before her fingers even find his sides. He doesn’t protest.

Jester has mercy on him after a moment, letting up and turning back to Fjord, who has been laying on his back panting for breath. But instead of attacking him again, she says, “Fjord! C’mere! Look, Caduceus is, like, really ticklish on his ears.” And suddenly her fingers are scratching the back of his ear and Caduceus is giggling again and trying his best to squirm away. Moments later he feels a second set of hands on his other ear - Fjord, the traitor. He yelps and gives up trying to get away in favor of bursting into laughter. Fjord and Jester both start laughing along with him, which somehow only makes him laugh harder. It feels good.

CRASH!

All tickling ceases as everyone jumps and looks, startled, in the direction of the door. Bursting through the doorway is Nott, crossbow loaded and ready to fire. She swivels side to side, aiming the crossbow wildly while she looks for a threat. Yeza peeks out nervously from behind her. Nott looks around and slowly lowers the crossbow at the sight of all her friends staring at her. “What’s going on?! We heard screaming and thought you were under attack!”

Beau, currently on the floor being held in place by Yasha while Caleb looms over her, fingers stilled in place on her stomach, shouts, “We are!”

This snaps the others out of it. Chuckles start spreading around the room again. Nott looks confused.

Jester beams over at Nott and Yeza, fingers still on Caduceus’ ears, who is taking the blessed opportunity to catch his breath. “We’re having a tickle fight! Come on, come join!”

Nott stares at them all for a moment. She looks unimpressed and gives a shake of her head. “I'm not ticklish.”

A set of fingers from behind her suddenly squeeze just below her arms and Nott yelps. The others, watching, giggle. Nott spins around and comes face to face with a grinning Yeza.

“What was that about not being ticklish?” Yeza asks. Nott’s face flushes and she looks away. Yeza reaches out to grab her - and misses, as she's gone in a flash. She peeks out from behind Fjord, doing her best to stifle the grin that's working it's way onto her face. Yeza laughs and leaps forward, fingers wiggling. Nott yelps again and ducks behind Fjord.

Fjord is laughing. So is Caleb, as he ditches Beau to jump forward and try to catch Nott. Nott dodges him easily but looks like she's trying not to laugh - and seconds later gives in, joining Caleb and everyone else in laughter.

Just like that, the battle is back on. It’s Beau who manages to grab Nott first and holds her still as Yeza demonstrates her most ticklish spots for the rest of the group to exploit. Nott is howling with laughter, but eventually manages to coordinate herself enough to get out, “He's ticklish too! Get the back of his knees!” It's unclear whether she's talking about Yeza or Caleb so the others split their attention between both - and find that knees are a bad spot for both, leaving them both rolling with laughter.

This back-and-forth, all-out, giggly battle goes on for another minute. Caduceus, every time he opens his eyes, seeing the lavender specter laughing right along with them as it dodges in and out of the fray. It makes him smile.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

The group freezes again. This time they all look alarmed as they look up towards the door.

A voice comes through. “Can you quiet down please?! It's almost midnight - we’re getting complaints!”

There's a pause. Then Fjord - suddenly composed and voice smooth, if slightly out of breath - calls out, “Yes, yes of course! Our apologies! We’ll quiet down.”

The group waits with bated breath. There’s a huff on the other side of the door and then footsteps walking away.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The group glances around at one other, make eye contact…

And collapse with laughter.

Fjord falls over onto Jester's shoulder, who’s rapidly making her way towards the floor and landing on top of Caduceus. Caleb is losing it, leaning fully onto Beauregard, who’s collapsed onto Jester. Nott and Yeza are leaning against each other and Yasha. All laughing too hard to speak.

“Oh my gods, we’re the worst!” Beau practically yells. This is followed by a chorus of shushing, which only makes them all laugh even harder.

Eventually the laughter trails off. Caleb wipes tears away from his face and readjusts himself to rest his head against Beau’s stomach. He holds out a hand, beckoning the others over. Jester, seeing what he’s doing, leaps over to cuddle up next to him and Beau. Nott pulls Yeza over and takes his other side, snuggling close. Caleb pulls them both in even closer. Yasha slides over and throws an arm over Jester and Caleb. Fjord lays down next to Beauregard, who looks over at him before grabbing his shoulder and pulling him in closer. Fjord reaches out to grab Caduceus and pulls him along.

Caduceus, as he snuggles in close to Fjord, Beau, and the others, watches as the purple specter worms its way into the cuddle pile too. It - he, Molly - drapes across the top of all of them. Arms threading their way in between to wrap around Yasha and Jester, legs worming their way underneath Fjord and Beau, tail wrapping around Caleb and Nott. He seems to almost melt into the group, in the way only a truly boneless ghost-like specter can. And the others unconsciously respond to him - wrapping their arms around limbs and a tail that aren't really there…and yet, perhaps, are there after all.

No one else seems to see this figure. But that's okay, Caduceus decides. They can all feel him. And isn’t that what really matters, in the end?

Caduceus catches Fjord’s eye and gives him a smile. Fjord returns it. He looks happier than Caduceus thinks he’s ever seen him.

"Ho! You're back early?" Ballister said when Ambrosius came in. Ambrosius laughed charmingly and shook his head.

"I suddenly remembered Nimona had plans today so I thought we could also..." He stopped talking, his eyes scanning the room really quick and especially checking out Ballister's arm that was on the table.

"Oh yeah, I took it off," Ballister said. "I'm tired."

Mischief suddenly flashed in his lover's eyes and before Ballister could make a move, the blond approached him with terrifying speed.

"Wah- Ambrosius you'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinkingaahahaaa!" Ballister cried out dramatically when Ambrosius dragged him back towards the couch after his brief attempt at escaping.

"Tell me, what was I thinking hmm?" Ambrosius said in seductive voice that sent pleasant shivers down Ballister's spine, but Ambrosius was also already tickling him so yes, the answer was already here.

"Tihihickling mehehe! No fahahair - my ahaharm!" Ballister cackled as Ambrosius easily pinned his one arm above his head and tickled his underarm, ribs and sides mercilessly with the other.

"Oh come on Bal, we both know you don't stand much more chance with both arms," he teased. So mean! Ballister kicked his legs and threw his head back, laughing uncontrollably.

"Y-you're suhuhuch a cheheater-ahahaha!" he howled. Ambrosius merely snickered and released his arm so he could claw at his ribs, fingers wiggling mercilessly as well and boy he was in such a big mood, Ballister could understand why he came home early!

"If you want me to be a cheater, I can cheat~" Ambrosius said, catching Ballister's arm again which was flailing hysterically. Trapping his arm again, he used his other hand to tickle his stomach with some very playful pokes, causing Ballister to let out the most uncharming cackles.

Luckily these were the kind of cackles that Ambrosius really liked to hear, and the sweet smile on his face was just so beautiful and angelic. Ballister would say it was worth getting tickled to death for.

"Ohoho-ahahalright cohohome on! Gihihive mehehe a breheheak!" Ambrosius finally stopped tickling him, and whew it had probably only been five minutes or less, but surely felt like Ballister had fought a three-day long war or something. He was getting too old for this. He caught his breath and let out a whiny noise.

"Such - a - cheater," he panted, his chest heaving with each breath. Ambrosius grinned and leaned in to kiss his lips.

"But I am your cheater. Did you have dinner yet?"

"Not yet. I was thinking of pizza."

"The leftovers in the fridge? Please no. I'll make us some dinner after I wash up, alright?"

"Alright." They shared one more kiss, and Ambrosius got up. Pfffff. Ballister was still gasping for air. Tickle attacks; nothing new really. Ambrosius really liked to pounce on him, but most of the times he would at least do it when Ballister had both his arms. Sometimes, just rarely, he would grab his chance and tickle him back. He smiled at the thought.

Tickling Ambrosius was just... something he should earn every now and then. It'd take more effort than getting out of bed. Or convincing Nimona to stop using metaphors that involved killing people - still a habit.

"Look who's back!"

Ballister jolted when, just when he thought about her, he could hear Nimona's voice for real, and there she was.

"Nimona? Already?" he asked, surprised.

"Why? Disappointed?" she asked with a smug smile.

"No! I mean... I thought you...." Ballister wasn't sure what happened. She looked a little sad.

"It's fine! I'm fine. I know I haven't had many friends before, but I know that sometimes, plans change," she said. Ahh. Ballister hoped she could have fun next time then. Nimona was just on her way to the fridge to take out the pizza leftovers Ballister had almost taken, when he thought of an idea.

"Nimona. Would you like to help me out with something?" he asked as he got up and attached his prosthetic arm again, ready for business.

"Eh.... yeah? Depends on what, though?"

"We're gonna have some fun," Ballister whispered, and he winked at her.

A few moments later Ambrosius came back, looking all cute, refreshed and also: ready to get tickled to death.

"I'm back! Was that Nimona's voice I heard? I thought she'd be - !!!" Ambrosius gulped when the gorilla version of Nimona stood before him, smirking at him.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi..." Ambrosius said back, and he immediately started running, the clever little shit. But he wasn't fast enough. Nimona already grabbed him and pinned him against her huge body.

"Boss, go!" she yelled. Ballister came striding towards his lover and put on his best villain-laugh.

"Muhahaha. Ambrosius, now it's my turn to be the cheater," he announced, and he immediately began to wiggle his fingers against his sides.

"AHh! AHaha- Bahahal! No fahahair! Nimonahahah lehehet me go!" he laughed, kicking his legs and shaking his head, but Nimona held him tightly and she laughed.

"Today, someone's going to die laughing," she joked.

"Baaahahaal! Nohoho!" Ambrosius was always beautiful, always gorgeous. But whenever he laughed like this, ah, it was almost as if it was unnatural. Ballister was secretly a little jealous too: how could someone laugh so hysterically and remain so very beautiful?

"Heehehehee! Okahahahay! You gohohot mehehe! You gohohooot mehehee!" Ambrosius roared, but Ballister shook his head.

"You weren't exactly merficul when you did it to me. You can handle just a little more of this," he said.

"Oh boss, boss, may I?" Nimona asked, and Ballister only noticed now that she'd been holding back. He shrugged.

"Oh sure," he said, to which Nimona simply let go of one of Ambrosius' arms so she could tickle his tummy.

"Tickle tickle tickle!" she sang, and Ambrosius squeaked in the most adorable way.

"Wahahaha! Nohoho!" Meanwhile Ballister crawled towards his feet, still bare now that he was all washed up and ready to go into relax-mode. He snickered and tickled his sole with one finger first, just testing and reminding them how ticklish his feet were.

Ambrosius reacted to the slight tickle with a loud funny bark, and Ballister then wrapped his arm around his ankles and began to full-on tickle his feet.

"You guhuhuys! No fahahahair! AHahhaahaa!" Ambrosius laughed loudly.

"What do you say Nimona? He's had enough?" Ballister asked.

"What are you talking about? Of course not!" she replied, now using both her hands to tickle him as well. Even with both arms free to move, it wasn't as if Ambrosius could go anywhere now that they were tickle attacking him together.

"BAhahah! Bal! HAhaah Nimonahaha I surrendeheher!" he laughed dramatically.

"He surrenders," Ballister said matter-of-factly.

"Hmhm, I heard," Nimona said. She transformed back into her human self, and Ballister thought that was going to be the end of their attack, but she landed on Ambrosius' stomach and continued to poke him merrily with her fingers.

"Just a little more," she said with the most devilish grin.

"Heeheheee! Plehehease!" he laughed adorably. Ballister finally started feeling bad for poor Ambrosius, even though he started it, so he got up, took Nimona under her arms (and tickled her armpits slightly) and lifted her off his exhausted lover.

"Heehehee!" she squealed, and she quickly transformed into a cat and sped away, hiding somewhere. Ballister held his hand out to Ambrosius and helped him sit up.

"So how was that? From one cheater to another?" he asked. "I've considered asking Nimona to help me with that for a while now, but I thought it'd be petty. Now I'm thinking: what was I waiting for?"

They both laughed. "Yeah, you really got me there," Ambrosius said, still wheezing and giggling sweetly. Ballister smiled and kissed him.

"Good. Well, I'm glad you cheated first. I don't get to hear that beautiful laugh of yours enough," Ballister said, poking Ambrosius' stomach and making him giggle again.

"Heheh. Well, I'm happy you're happy."

Ballister looked over his shoulder at Nimona who sat on the couch, human again, and smirking at them.

"Don't look at me, I'm not here," she teased. Ballister laughed.

"Well, since you both spoiled me so much. Would you like me to cook you dinner?" Ambrosius asked. Both Ballister and Nimona cheered.

"Yeaaaah!"

"And if we're all here anyway, how about we play some games? Since you're both cheaters, I'll cheat too," Nimona said.

Ballister and Ambrosius both started laughing. "A game sounds good!"

Miguel took a strand of scorched hair from his head which got hit by a small flame in the fire training room upon his sudden entrance earlier.

"That's gotta be #412, you were very close though," Lyla whispered. Miguel rolled his eyes, crushed the burnt hair between his fingers and marched onwards.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and he barged into the designated room. No risks for burnt hair, sudden spider-webs in his face or getting caught up in some crazy Spider-Jungle, but what the hell was this? It was definitely a burning spider-jungle of some other sort.

"HAHAhaah! Nohohoho! Lehehet me gohoho!"

"Miles, hold on!"

"I ahaham hohoholding ohohon!"

"Pav! Get him from the right! Oof! I said the right!"

"What was that, hmm? He'll die laughing before you can get to me, guys!"

What was going on here? Miguel could pretty soon sum up all the people in this crazy whatever. Not even that many, but they were making noise like a damn crowd. Miles Morales, being tickled to death by Peter B. Parker. Gwen Stacy and Pavitr Prabhakar were here too, which should mean that also here was...

"Hi."

Miguel jolted to hear the voice of Hobie Brown suddenly right behind him, and the guy snickered.

"Did I scare you?"

Pfff. As if it wasn't embarrassing enough that Miguel was so distracted by this silly party, he also got caught off-guard by Spider-Punk and he was sure he wasn't going to hear the end of this anytime soon.

"What are you all doing?" Miguel finally bellowed angrily. Despite how loud they all were, the noise died down pretty soon now that everyone noticed he was here.

Peter stopped tickling Miles, got up and looked at him.

"Oh? Look who we have here! Welcome, Miguel!"

Miles took this chance to escape, and together with the others he jumped to the ceiling where they all gathered together and whispered and giggled among each other.

"No but seriously. What are you doing," Miguel sighed, rolling his eyes at the younger gang before facing Peter.

"Training! We're training," Peter said. "Those guys try to not get caught by me, the Spider-Villain. Anyone who gets caught by me will get the tickle punishment, which could be ended if the others free them. Simple!"

Miguel couldn't believe his ears.

"So you are meaning to say, I'm working my ass off day and night to save the multiverse, and you guys are here playing some stupid sort of... tag?"

"Not tag, it's actual training," Gwen said, finally coming down from her silly merrymaking near the ceiling.

"Training tag," Hobie joked from above.

"Unlike you, we still have some more things to learn," Miles added, now joining them as well together with Hobie and Pavitr. Miles still had an attitude towards him. He also looked totally recovered from that lame tickle attack just now.

"When we are up against Peter, it works best if there's a penalty for getting caught," Pavitr said.

"Yes, and in return, Peter also gets to practice his own skill. I mean, we tried our best to free Miles but Peter just tickled him and fought us at the same time? That requires some skill," Gwen continued. Was she being sarcastic?

Miguel glared at them. "It's an excuse for playing around," he argued.

"Not when there's actually some improvement!" Peter said, and he tapped his watch and showed a little hologram of graphs with the records of their training.

"I did not give you your own watch to play games," Miguel snapped, but his eyes lingered on the data and he could recognize some improving numbers indeed. And at some point there was a big notable difference...

"You see that right? That? That's where we started to put the tickle penalty into our training," Peter said, pointing at the difference.

"Yup. Worked wonders, especially for someone, right Miles?" Gwen said, raising her eyebrows smugly at Miles.

"Why me - What do you mean!" he squeaked. "What do you mean?" he then repeated in a lower voice, trying to not appear too flustered and totally failing at it.

"But... why tickling?" Miguel asked, still not convinced.

"Oh it's a spider thing," Peter said, reaching out for Miguel with those wiggling fingers. "Tickle tickle? Coochie coochie? The big bad spider's got you?" Peter added, wiggling his fingers more rapidly like little spider legs in his direction and making Miguel cringe.

"Cut it out," Miguel said when Peter almost literally tickled him, and he swat his hands away.

"But it's fun!" Peter whined. Miguel rolled his eyes and glanced at the others

"No. I don't see how a game like this + tickling would help you improve your skills," Miguel said, but oh, hello Lyla. Unasked for, she scanned Peter's data, and began talking:

"Miguel, you should totally hear this. Study shows that gamified competition with loss avoidance, a.k.a. punishment scenarios, actually generates more motivation than, for example, the prospect of gaining rewards. It could increase productivity, and improve the mindset of wanting to win and perform better, especially with younger people aged between 15 and 21. The inclusion of tickling as a punishment adds significant effectivity due to 81% of youth finding it embarrassing, and I quote, childish and humiliating, to be tickled in public - especially when in front of friends. The chance of increasing performance to prevent an inevitable tickle punishment can be considered motivational and useful for the training of younger Spider-People."

"So a whopping 19% thinks it's fine?" Hobie asked.

"Miles is definitely one of those," Pavitr chuckled, to which Miles whined "Heyyy!".

Miguel stared at them, wondering if that really was all they took from that long ramble.

"Thank you Lyla for your wonderful contribution," Miguel said sarcastically.

"You're welcome~" she returned with sass. Miguel wanted to make a comment to Peter about the amount of sass in Lyla compared to Miguel himself, but he was too tired to say it and the last thing he wanted to happen was to have Peter and Lyla team up against him.

Besides, Peter already spoke: "So, now that we've got legit proof that our useless training is not that useless, Miguel O'Hara my boy, why don't you join us?"

He was way too triumphant. Miguel wanted to take a rocket to the moon so badly!

"No. I'm busy," Miguel said, but Lyla again was happy to dig his grave for him.

"He's totally free."

"Did you guys hear that? Miguel's joining us. Now we've got two Spider-Villains," Peter said, wiggling his fingers at them.

"Ooooh," Pavitr and Hobie said, applauding. Gwen just stood there, shaking her head.

"....." Miguel couldn't believe this.

"S-so twice the chance to get tickled...?" Miles whispered, looking way too nervous and excited. Miguel swore they were just playing and not really training.

"No worries, he won't seriously join," Hobie whispered back. Despite the whispers, Peter casually resumed the explanation.

"Miguel and I will try to catch you. The longer you stay out of our hands, the better. But! Get caught, and you will get the tickle punishment. By all means, do try to break free. If your friend gets caught, then help each other. Got it?"

Miguel gave Peter a look. The I-really-don't-want-to-do-this kind of look, but something was also really stopping him from leaving immediately.

"Come on, for the sake of teaching the younger generation?" Peter said, smirking at him. Miguel could've perfectly left through the door right now, but instead he sighed and stood in position.

"Well, if that's how you guys want it," he said, cracking his knuckles, then he moved his head and stretched his neck. He was going to at least make some of them pay for wasting his and their own time then. If not all.

"Great! So. Ready Miguel? Guys? Remember the one and only rule: don't get caught, because we'll tickle you to death. Go!"

Bam. They all put on their mask, and in one moment, the silence was gone and the chaos Miguel had encountered upon his arrival was back again.

"Guys! Split up!" Gwen called out, swinging away in the other direction. Peter instantly set chase and started a nimble swing-dance of trying to catch Gwen and also Miles who was already giggling nervously, especially when Peter threatened: "I'll catch you again, Miles!"

Miguel got saddled up with Hobie and Pavitr who were hopping through the room like hyperactive rabbits.

"Hobie, look out!" Pavitr yelled when Miguel got very close very soon.

"Don't worry, we can handle him," Hobie said casually, jumping around and dodging Miguel's attempts at catching him. Miguel tried to catch Hobie first, but he was annoyingly quick, and in the corner of his eye he could see Pavitr think he was safe in a corner near the ceiling. Maybe he should go after him first and...

"HAhaah! Hehehey thahahat wasn't fahahair!"

Miguel jolted. He had no idea what happened but the usually cool and aloof Gwen Stacy was now laughing and squealing like a school girl. Peter caught her!

"Gwen!" Miles called out dramatically, but to Miguel's surprise, Peter didn't need much effort to stop his first attempt at freeing her, and Miles got pinned down beside her and Peter skilfully tickled the both of them at the same time.

Suddenly Miguel felt very annoyed. Not that he was seriously invested in this silly game, but Peter already caught Miles and Gwen, and he was tickling them?

"Ha! Can't catch me~" Hobie sang when he really managed to stay out of Miguel's claws when he tried to catch him again. The nimble guy jumped from side to side, even when Miguel tried to use his web to catch him.

"HRghh!" Miguel growled, but then he saw the two guys make the mistake that gave him the easy opportunity to catch them both: Pavitr went towards Hobie to give him a high five, distracting him from the chase.

"Yeah bro! We just both outsmarted Miguel O'Haraaaaaah!" Pavitr cried, and Hobie yelled as well when Miguel caught them with his web. He wrapped them together extra tightly like one neat little Spider-cocoon, and boom. Now they hung from the ceiling, caught together like some comedic duo.

Pavitr's eyes widened when he realized how stuck they were.

"Oops," he mumbled.

"Never celebrate your win before the end of a fight. I think I've told you that before," Miguel said angrily. They were all still so young and naive!

Pavitr nodded. "I know, I know! Sorry.... Oh no. Now he has to tickle us," he said in realization.

Hobie shook his head. "Pav! Shut up. He won't do it. Wouldn't. Will not."

Now that did activate Miguel's competitive spirit. Oh he wouldn't, huh? He looked back at Peter who was still tickling Miles and Gwen.

"What are you waiting for, Miguel?" he yelled without looking up. "I don't hear their laughter, don't tell me you didn't catch them yet?"

Aaand if Miguel's competitive spirit wasn't activated yet, it certainly would be now. He looked at Pavitr and Hobie and poked somewhere in the middle of their webbed bodies, clawing away some of the webbing so he could dig his fingers into one of their torso's.

"HWAHAH!" Pavitr's torso to be specific, and boy he was loud.

"Ooff! Hey not near my ear!" Hobie whined, but Miguel smirked and began to tickle him as well, wriggling his fingers through his own web that trapped them and finally hitting the right spots that made even Hobie shut up. Or well, not really shut up.

"Hmmmmh! D-doesn't tihickle!" he huffed. Meanwhile, Pavitr was just roaring, and Miguel was merely tickling him with one hand in one spot. How could a person, a Spider-person, be this ticklish?

"HAHAAH! Nohoho nohohot mehehehe! Not mehehee!" he cried even when Hobie was also getting tickled. He was just less loud about it.

"Nohohot you?! Ahahare you kihidding mehehe?" Hobie argued through held-back laughter.

Miguel had no idea why Pavitr would join a game with a tickle penalty if he was this sensitive, but he wasn't going to ask.

"Wahahaha!" both guys laughed as he tickled them with the laziest techniques he had, but just some of those pokes, squeezes and wiggles was all it took to make them bark. Heh, if Peter B. Parker could tickle two people at the same time, so could Miguel O'Hara.

"Heehehee you're so bahahad at this!" Hobie laughed. Miguel looked at him, then at Pavitr's huge smile that was showing right underneath his mask that had moved up a little due to his hysterical movements, and back at Hobie.

"Me? You're talking to me?" Miguel asked him, just to be sure.

"Yehehes!"

Spider-Punk really always had this sort of attitude towards him. He might be even worse than Miles Morales. Well....

Miguel took a deep breath, lifted his hand off Pavitr and then brought that hand to Hobie and began to wriggle his fingers between his arm and torso to tickle his ribs, while at the same time his other side. Hobie did get a little louder this time.

"Hahahaha! No mahahan! Gahaha!" he laughed, swinging and struggling. Pavitr was still squirming helplessly as well, his superhuman strength could not compete with Miguel's superhuman strength - spiderweb.

"GAh- Anyone help!" he whined, but in the distance, Miles and Gwen were fighting a war of their own. Wait... was that Peter laughing? Miguel quickly turned around to see Miles and Gwen had turned the tables on him.

"Guhuhuys! Ahahalright alright! You gohohot me!"

What the...? That was the most humiliating thing Miguel had ever seen. Where did that guy go wrong?

"We've got him, we've got him!" Miles cheered while they both tickle-attacked him. Some teamwork. They were too busy with their revenge, leaving their other friends to die at Miguel's hands.

"Parker, we're no longer friends," Miguel snapped at the disgrace that was happening there, but no one heard him because a) Peter was loud and b) Hobie was also loud - Miguel had been tickling him on autopilot. And oh it was very effective.

"Not so confident now are we!?" Miguel asked the giggling Spider-Punk, and he pulled off his mask so he could see that huge ass laugh. Hobie shook his head wildly, laughing out loud and cursing at him.

"AHahaha I'm ahahalways cohohonfident!" he protested. Miguel had expected at least one of them to break the web by now, but turned out they were too ticklish, and too flustered.

But just when Miguel thought that, Pavitr freed one arm and began to flail, to Hobie's dismay.

"Ohohohow! Pahahav! Cuhuhut it out!" he laughed as he got the flailing arm knocking against his head multiple times. Before Pavitr would use the opportunity, Miguel quickly grabbed his free arm and pulled it up over his head. With other hand he tickled his underarm, which was a pretty good move. Even though this gave Hobie a break from the tickling, just Pavitr's shrieking laughter alone was plenty to keep him from regaining his strength.

"Pav! Calm down!" he panted as if he hadn't been laughing like this just seconds earlier. Well alright, he was less hysterical. But still.

"AHAHAH! This ihihisn't fahahaair brohoho!" Pavitr laughed.

"I only play fair," Miguel said, and he wasn't smiling. But the more he listened to Pavitr's hysterical laughter, the less grumpy he actually felt. Then, he somehow grew more aware of the other sounds of laughter in the background. Peter's loud squeals, and Miles and Gwen laughing joyfully.

With laughter surrounding him everywhere, he suddenly felt himself float through time.

He remembered now. Gabriella was ticklish, of course she was. She loved to be tickled. He would make his daughter laugh and giggle as much as she liked. She would embrace him with her loud, adorable laughter. He could hear it now. He could definitely remember her laughter again.

Miguel couldn't help himself now that he remembered it so clearly and continue to recall it. No memory log reminded him as much of the joy of tickling and laughter like the current live display. Speaking of....

"Excuse me, Miguel." Ah. Miguel felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to see Peter, with Miles and Gwen behind him. The latter two were still blushing and panting, but they looked.... fine.

"Maybe that's enough," Peter suggested. Miguel turned back to see Hobie and Pavitr wheezing for their lives. Ow. Turned out Miguel had released Pavitr's arm and just used one hand on each of them to completely tickle them to death.

He couldn't believe he spaced out, and didn't even hear Peter and the others had stopped their tickle war. He had been completely out of it.

"I can't believe he just tied them up in his web! That's torture!" Miles called out. What was he offended for?

"I'm surprised too. Miguel....?" Peter said, giving him some sort of strict dad kind of look. Miguel scoffed and crossed his arms, still a little flustered.

"Yes. Caught in my web, they are indeed. What, isn't that a spider thing too?" he asked casually.

Peter looked at him, at Hobie and Pavitr, then at Miles and Gwen and back at him. He then laughed.

"Technically it is. But in this case, let's just keep them alive hmm?"

"Right," Miguel sighed, and he turned around and freed Hobie and Pavitr with one quick move. The web was already so loose, he wondered if they really were that ticklish or just lacked strength to break free.

The two landed on the floor and struggled to get completely free themselves. Miguel watched and felt embarrassed that he lost control like that, and even more embarrassed when Peter swung an arm around his neck and patted his head.

"Wasn't that fun, Miguel? Wasn't that fun?"

"H-hey! Urgh!" Miguel grunted.

Peter ignored him and simply laughed. "Don't worry about it! I know you liked the game a little too much. But you should keep your sadistic side a little bit under control. They're just kids."

".....So you admit it was a game," Miguel said after a brief pause, shaking Peter off him.

"Ah, yeah, an educational game? Come on, we can have some fun sometimes. That too is a spider-thing."

Miguel glared at all of them. Spiders did not have fun... But these Spider-People did.

"Fine! Continue doing your spider thing then. But! If any of your universes ends up crashing down because you weren't sharp. Don't come crying to me," he said as he stomped towards the door.

"Don't worry Miguel! We'll be veeery sharp after this!" Hobie sang while he left. Ah, even after getting tickled to near-death by him, he still teased Miguel like this.

Something close to vengeance tickled Miguel from the inside, and he smirked. Maybe one day or another, he would join their training again.