Cyanne

touch sensitivity

@amazingmsme lol I had a lot of fun with Rocky's dialogue. I also lost the plot a bit, but I feel like it makes up for it by being the sappiest tickle fic I've ever written.

Summary: Simon teaches Rocky some fun new words. He learns that there are consequences to sentencing Grace to a lifetime of being cursed out by aliens.

lee!Simon ler!Grace

“Grace is shit at walking, statement.”

If you were to tell 20-year-old-Ryland that he’d one day be cussed out by a living rock for tripping over its latest project, he’d probably think you're insane. He sure feels insane right now.

“...Excuse me?”

“Grace heard Rocky.”

“Yeah, I did- where did you learn that?!” He swore he set parental locks on his laptop.

“Rocky not tell. Grace can eat my fuck.”

“That's not even-”

Oh. My. God. Simon, that son of a gun. You rescue a guy from the vacuum of space and think he'd be grateful, but no. He repays them by teaching Rocky how to curse. He's never going to know peace again.

“Ohoho. That man is dead meat.”

Rocky shrinks, then scuttles away to the plant room; he must warn his enabler. The eridian bowls into the doorframe, squeaking in alarm.

“Simon, Simon! Grace mad, call Simon corpse. Hide hide hide.”

The man gives Rocky a cheeky look, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah? Is that so?”

“Is so. Rocky hide now.” He scurries off, though Simon's not sure how well he'll be able to hide with the xenonite ball clunking around the ship. Ah well, not his problem. He goes back to repotting the tomatoes.

Not ten seconds later is he interrupted by a voice ominously close to his turned back.

“Simon.”

He isn't proud to admit he shrieks like a cat.

“Holy- Grace! When did you get here?”

“Did you teach Rocky how to curse?”

Shit.

“...No.”

“Let me rephrase. Why would you teach Rocky how to curse?”

“Alright, fine, you got me. I thought I'd do him a favor by spicing up his vocabulary- it was funny. You gotta admit it's kind of funny, right?”

Ryland’s face seems to disagree. Simon withers under his gaze, setting the tomatoes aside. His tail twitches in anticipation.

“Not at all,” Grace says, folding his arms. “The translator only has PG-rated words for a reason. I get called an idiot often enough, but you, mister, just opened a pandora's box of new insults. You are in so much trouble.”

“Hang on. Grace. Grace, let's talk about this.” In his haste, he hip checks the table, growing more nervous when he realizes Grace is blocking the only exit.

Months ago, he would've hiked his shoulders and braced for a fight, but danger is only a fleeting thought. They’ve shown him nothing but kindness even when he was cagey in response. Now though, he almost feels giddy. Grace approaches wordlessly, crossing the room in swift steps, an evil sparkle in his eye.

“W-wait!” The man actually stops, leaving Simon sputtering for an excuse. Grace can't stop himself from smirking.

“Well? I'm waiting.”

“Um. Shit. Uh- I didnt think this through.”

“Yeah? You wanna know what I think?”

Simon has to bite his lip to stop any embarrassing noises from escaping when the back of his legs bump into the counter. He's cornered.

Grace looks delighted.

“I think…that I have the perfect way to get you to apologize.”

He darts his hands to the other's sides and squeezes. Simon gasps, torn between using his arm to steady himself with the table, or batting at the offending hand. Grace is caging him in against the counter, grinning down at him all smug, glasses askew and hair adorably ruffled- god, his face is burning. He ultimately uses his one hand to cover his face, regretting it when Grace starts scratching at his stomach. Down he goes.

“Oh, it's floor time. I see,” Ryland chuckles, chasing him as his knees buckle. Simon's given up on holding back, giggling into his palm. The attacking fingers scuttle under his arms, and he squeaks out a protest before succumbing to laughter.

“ShIT! Grahahace! Nohohot theheRE!”

“Now you're cussing me out? Deplorable behavior. That's another 30 seconds.”

“Whahahat?! You cahan’t-”

“I can.”

“Yohou cahahan’t- fUHUCK! I mehehan fuhudge! F-fudGE!” Simon screams, brain scrambled.

“30 more seconds. Better keep your language clean if you want this to end any time soon,” he chimes.

He's trying, he really is, but it's hard when his mind can only supply an endless stream of ohshititicklesitticklesno, fucknottherepleaseit’ssobadPLEASE. Grace skitters his nails over his gill ridges and Simon swears the touch is electric.

“Gosh, you really can't take this, huh?” Grace says, watching his tail thump against the ground. He gets the genius idea to scribble over the base of the tail, and is rewarded with a squeal, Simon squirming like a breakdancing worm.

“Nononoho! Grahahace-”

This spot draws out frantic, high pitched giggles. Grace almost coos before he remembers he's supposed to be mad.

“Please what?”

“S-screw yohohou.”

“30 seconds.”

“WHAHAT?! That's nahat even a bad wohohord!” Simon shrieks.

“Yeaaah, but it was mean, and I'm the one calling the shots here.”

Before he can preach the injustice of it all, Grace rolls up Simon's shirt, hooking it over his face so that he can't see.

“Hehey, mmph-”

He hears Ryland take a deep breath. Oh, god no.

The man plants a raspberry directly on his rib gills and Simon loses it, arching his back, shrieking at the top of his lungs. He blindly shoves at Grace's face, who counters by pinning his arm to the ground. Weak from laughter, he has no choice but to take it. On the bright side, he can no longer speak, so there's no risk of curses slipping out.

What Simon can't see, is Grace admiring his scrunched up face from where it peeks over the fabric, freed from his wild thrashing. It's a long shot from the Simon he found: a terrified survivor whose trust he fought tooth and nail for. His cackling makes him want to burst from happiness. A smile suits him, he thinks.

After what feels like forever (he'd love to keep going, but unfortunately humans need to breathe), Grace gives him a break, pulling the shirt back down, but keeping his arm pinned.

“Are you ready to say sorry now?”

The question doesn't even register Simon's frazzled mind.

“Hehehewhahat?”

Grace darts a hand to his gills, pulling back at the last second.

“AH- Okahay! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

“Sorry for what?” His hand inches closer.

“I'm sohohorry I taught him how to cuRSE! Noho more, please!”

“Hmmm. I suppose that'll have to do,” Grace sighs. “The damage is done, but I accept your apology. You should be grateful I'm so forgiving.”

He climbs off of him and bursts into laughter at the way Simon stays limp on the floor, giggling.

“Oh my god,” he coos.

“Shuhut up.”

“Whatever, fish sticks. Come on, it's bed time. You and I need some rest if we’re gonna get Rocky back tomorrow.”

Simon groans, propping himself up on unsteady legs like a newborn calf. Grace moves in to help him but is swatted away.

“Don’t touch me, you beast.”

“Well, ‘the beast’ wants his beauty sleep, and you're moving at the speed of continental drift. Come on.”