giggling fluff addict

It freaks him out a bit, if he’s being honest. Lips are different to dicks, or muscles. Hands even. Staring at someone’s lips means you wish to kiss them, and while Ilya’s never had any problem with kissing Shane - craves it, though he tries not to dwell on it too much - he realizes that it’s intimate in a different way.

But Shane’s using him for sex too. He tries to tell himself that. And Ilya knows sex. Ilya knows how to move and how to charm and how to suck and how to bite. Of course Shane’s staring at his lips. Of course he fucking wants him.

The much later, where the rest of it gets discovered, finds them with labels and confessions, and it’s this new ease, which is more terrifying than Ilya’s ready to admit, that has him finally noticing it in between the mundanity of their days at the cottage. And Ilya realizes he’s probably known about it for a lot longer, but has never known how to interpret it. Decided to latch onto what he thought he understood.

“You don’t like eye contact.” It slips out. He doesn’t usually tell Shane how he’s interpreted something. Prefers to ask and let him explain.

Shane shifts where he sits. He doesn’t like being caught out. Ilya knows this. Ilya wants to bite his own tongue off.

“I-” He clears his throat. Ilya wants to jump off a cliff. “I have a few issues with it, sometimes.” He looks up then, right into Ilya’s eyes. “Does that bother you?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, not at all.”

“Okay.” He lowers his gaze, first to Ilya’s lips, then averts it completely. Ilya struggles against the instinct to reach for his chin and tip it upward. Has a moment of brief panic that he’s crossed Shane’s boundaries when he’s done it before.

“Do you, uh-” It’s early morning. Nowhere for them to hide. No darkness to make decisions for them. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Their knees are brushing where they sit, cross-legged so that Ilya isn’t too close and can see him better. As long as their knees are touching he decides there’s no reason to panic.

“I don’t really know what I would say about it.” He shrugs, and Ilya tries to see it as something casual rather than something dismissive. Something defensive. “I’ve always had trouble with it. It just-” He looks at him, at his lips and then his eyes. “It takes me a while to be able to look at people. It’s not like it scares me or anything. I don’t know.”

“Is it too vulnerable?”

“Not always. And I mean-” He smiles. It’s not sad. It’s fucking beautiful. “Vulnerability can be good too.”

Ilya nods. And yet he can’t always look at him. And yet he loves him.

“It’s nothing personal, you know.” Shane places a finger to his knee. “I wish I could look at you all day everyday.” He doesn’t blush when he says it. Has found a home within his feelings. Ilya’s glad, though he misses the timidness sometimes.

“You kept looking at my lips,” he says. “I thought you just really wanted me.” He says it with a smirk which doesn’t reach his eyes, he can tell.

But Shane laughs. Shane laughs and squeezes his knee and it makes Ilya pull away on instinct. “No, I definitely really wanted you. When I look at others I will look at their forehead or something.”

“Oh.”

“Does that make you happy?”

“Very.” He leans in, lets Shane close the gap. “I feel bad for not having noticed.”

“I think twenty something years of doing it makes me pretty good at hiding it.” Shane presses his palm into Ilya’s knee. “It-” He cuts himself off. Ilya gives him time. “It kind of made me panic a bit that you noticed it. It’s fine though,” he adds, eyes on Ilya’s. No stopover at his lips. “I think it’s probably a good thing that you know.”

“Oh?” Ilya gently prompts and puts his hand over Shane’s.

“If I’m ever not looking at you, or not fully at you, you won’t think I’m mad or pulling away or anything.”

“You forget I am not the overthinker in this relationship.” He grins when Shane huffs and laughs when his knee is squeezed again. “Hey, is true.”

“You love my overthinking.”

“Yes.”

Shane pulls his gaze downward, and Ilya thinks he’s rebooting or resting again - whatever the reason he does it - only to realize he’s looking at his knee. “You’re ticklish here.”

“I’m not.” He’s not sure why he’s denying it.

“You so are.” Another squeeze, which has Ilya reaching out to push his hand off. “See, right here.” Shane’s so happy about it that he doesn’t have the heart to put up a front. Most importantly, Shane is looking at him, looking him right in the eye, and he doesn’t seem to struggle with it. It seems to be happening with ease.

And who is Ilya to ruin that?

He rubs at the spot. “Ah, maybe a little bit.”

“I didn’t even know that. Where else are you ticklish?”

Shane leans closer, his gaze still on Ilya, and it’s the intimacy of it all, the playfulness and trust which has him rooted to the spot. He will only move when it becomes too ticklish. When squirming won’t be enough to handle it. And Shane will tease him in his own way and maybe Ilya will be embarrassed, but it will be worth it if Shane looks at him with comfort. And with time, Ilya will realize that comfort doesn’t always mean eye contact. That Shane can rest his gaze on his lips, his lap, the wall behind him, and be perfectly at ease because Ilya doesn’t demand something of him.

He will find all of this out. He just has to endure some tickling before they get there.

Shane places his hand on Ilya’s ankle. “Are your feet ticklish?”

Ilya fights the instinct to pull away. “No.”

A grin finds Shane’s lips. It’s almost scary. “I think you’re lying.” He taps a finger, once, twice. “Prove me wrong, I dare you.”

Ilya makes a determined sound. “You know I do not lose dares.”

“I think you’re about to lose this one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you,” he said, his voice terrifyingly low. “I will tickle you if we win-” His finger ghosted over the hem of Shane’s shirt. “-and I will tickle you if we lose.”

Shane swallowed. “I remember.”

A hint of a smile settled over Ilya’s lips. “Have you been nervous? Or excited?” He slipped a finger beneath the shirt. “Or both?”

Shane averted his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Both then. Exciting for me.”

“Oh god, please-”

“Please what?” Ilya tilted his head. “Please have mercy? You know I cannot do that.”

Boston didn’t even win, and so Ilya came with vengeance. He came with vengeance because he knew Shane was ready for it. Knew he had been craving it the entire time. A phone call hadn’t been enough. The texts Ilya kept sending him were not enough.

“Remember,” he said, taking a step closer so that Shane was fully trapped between him and the edge of the bed. “Stay still.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“You will try. I will be gentle.” His grin was lethal. “At first.”

Shane felt silly for laughing as he was tackled to the bed, but maybe it helped them both. The playfulness of it all. Ilya pinned him to the mattress and captured his mouth with his own, let Shane get into it, back-archingly, moaningly, embarrassingly into it, before he finally snuck a hand to the curve of his side. It could be just any touch had Shane not been anticipating it, and so he knew it had started when he stiffened and Ilya didn’t stop. Ilya always stopped if he thought something was wrong, but his fingers kept curling, even as Shane whined.

“Stay still,” he mumbled into his lips before he broke the kiss, much to Shane’s chagrin. Not that he had much time to lament over it anyway, what with Ilya’s fingers becoming limber, becoming gentler and much more ticklish against his skin. He leaned back and tickled both of Shane’s sides, grinning at how obviously he was fighting back against his instincts to squirm.

Shane leaned his head back and switched between shutting his eyes and keeping them wide open, not sure which was better or worse. On one hand, seeing Ilya grinning over him made it all the more unbearable, on the other it became a lot harder to be still when he couldn’t see what he was doing. Ilya did this thing, he had come to realize, where his expression changed each time he planned on switching something up. It was terrifying to watch and not know what would change. Shane loved every minute of it.

“F-fuck.” He grabbed the headboard and Ilya’s hand started its slow ascent toward his pit, spidering over each rib with agonizing precision. The other hand remained glued to his side, switching between a curl and a squeeze and Shane found he couldn’t lift his other arm. Found he wasn’t brave enough to leave himself that open.

“Is this what you imagined during our call?” Ilya asked, his voice almost hoarse. As if he, too, was holding his breath and biting his tongue to keep some ounce of control over himself.

Shane exhaled. “Maybe.”

“Is a yes or no question, Hollander.”

“Yes, okay? Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.” He closed his eyes, opened them as soon as Ilya reached the softness just beneath the hollow of his arm. “Is this what you imagined when we beat you?” His lips twitched when Ilya huffed. “Did it distract you?”

“Careful, Hollander,” Ilya warned. “You know I am being gentle with you.”

“You said you would.”

“Yes. At first. If you are cocky I might speed up.” He stilled his fingers, giving Shane momentary relief. “Ah, unless that is what you want me to do.”

“I don’t,” Shane mumbled, not knowing if he was being truthful or not. Ilya could do anything to him and he would take it and beg for either mercy or something else, something he couldn’t fully verbalize but that Ilya would understand anyway.

“Hmm. I don’t believe you, but is okay.” He grinned and drummed his fingers over Shane’s skin. “Your body doesn’t lie. Not to me.”

He didn’t start tickling him suddenly or roughly, but Shane found it all the more unbearable when he started again, as gentle as before, sending ticklish shocks through him which he didn’t know how to handle. His arm shot down, ultimately trapping Ilya’s hand in his armpit, which helped but not much. Whatever sound he made - a cry, a shriek, something else entirely - had Ilya laughing in surprise.

“I said stay still.” But there was no venom in his voice. Only amusement. It was almost embarrassing to hear and Shane found he had to look away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, gripping Ilya’s wrist but not pushing his hand off of his side. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I turned you on.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Ilya tapped his side with his index finger. “You feel more sensitive, no?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hollander.”

“Okay, yes, maybe a little bit.”

“Mmm. You like it when I tease you. That is why.”

Shane couldn’t even deny it, because his body decided to prove Ilya right. They both looked down at it, Shane with burning cheeks which burned all the more when Ilya looked back up at him with raised eyebrows. He was still wiggling his fingers under his arm, still curling his fingers against his side. None of that helped. It didn’t help at all.

“Hollander,” he sang, that damn smirk growing on his lips. “Be patient.”

“I am patient, you goddamn tease.”

Ilya laughed, loud and clear and beautiful. “I will take my time. I will make it so good. But remember.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Shane’s lips. “Be still.”

How Shane stayed still was a fucking miracle, but as Ilya slowly unraveled him, prying his arm up to free his hand so that he could claw at his stomach, his other hand moving downward to squeeze at his thigh, Shane remained mostly entirely still, sans his heels digging into the mattress, his back arching ever so slightly, his head moving back and forth. The only thing indicating that he was in ticklish agony were the sounds he was making, which ranged from groans to something that sounded a lot closer to moans if he was being honest with himself.

“You can laugh, you know,” Ilya said quietly, and it was the gentle fondness in his voice which broke the dam in the end. It turned out it was a lot harder to be still when you were laughing. Not that Ilya seemed to mind. He pinned him properly to keep his thrashing at bay and all but destroyed him, stopping only when Shane came hard.

Erwin shook his head. He traced a finger softly down the line of his jaw. Levi closed his eyes. “To be roused in an hour? I’d rather spend my time more… productively.”

Levi snorted. “I think we just spent the last two hours ‘productively’. Even humanity’s strongest soldier needs his rest, Erwin.” Nevertheless, he hummed pleasantly under Erwin’s touch, making no moves to get away.

“Clean your mind, Ackerman. I simply meant admiring you.”

Heat crept up Levi’s neck unbidden. It was strange how things that Erwin said so casually could have this level of impact on the captain.

Erwin’s touch traveled down his neck and over his shoulders, creating loops and spirals that made Levi shiver. Years ago, he never would have considered letting himself get close enough to anyone for them to do that. He hated how much he enjoyed the vulnerability as he knew it would never be able to last. When Erwin’s fingers descended down his arm, his breath hitched slightly in his throat.

“Did you know,” Erwin said, so quietly that only Levi, inches away from him, could have heard. “That you have a faint scattering of freckles over both of your arms.”

His gaze was so intense that Levi found himself transfixed by it. He nodded slowly, his breathing shallow. “It happens in the sun. It must be the warmer weather.”

“Mm.” Erwin grinned. “Then for my sake, I hope the weather stays this way for as long as possible. I don’t want to miss a moment of this phenomenon.”

Levi’s voice was weak when he spoke. “It’s just freckles, Erwin. Nothing you haven’t seen before. Nothing you won’t see again.”

“No,” Erwin murmured, and Levi thought he almost detected a hint of sadness in his voice. “I suppose not.”

They stayed like that for several moments more, Erwin gently tracing the skin on his arm, the birds quietly chirping outside their window. It would have been a much more peaceful moment if Levi hadn’t quickly realized another fact about himself that the years had caused him to forget. He was ticklish. Very ticklish. Ticklish in places no human had any right to be ticklish. In this case, on his arms. And all of Erwin’s tracing was stirring up these forgotten nerves and sending goosebumps racing over Levi’s skin.

He didn’t necessarily mind the tickling on its own. It was kind of nice, actually, his stomach fluttering pleasantly in reaction. It was only that it was becoming increasingly difficult not to react to it. If he could allow himself to squirm a little or let out the giggles building in his throat, he would have enjoyed it a lot more. The idea of doing so in front of Erwin was mortifying, however, so he dampened the joy he might have experienced with the effort of concentrating on keeping entirely and utterly still. It didn’t help that Erwin wasn’t stopping either, and possibly didn’t plan to for the rest of this hour they had left together.

He focused on a spot on the wall opposite them, squinting intently. Look at the wall, admire the wood—oh god, don’t move down—it’s a very nice shade of brown, possibly a chestnut—why are my elbows so sensitive—look at the wall, look at the wall, look at the wall!

His plan might have gone off without a hitch, but unfortunately for him, Erwin was incredibly perceptive when it came to himself. When his touch strayed too close to his armpit, Levi twitched. It was a tiny, miniscule movement, but it was enough for Erwin to take notice of. Experimentally, he traced the spot again and the same twitch occurred. In between them, Levi’s fists had tightened in the sheets. Erwin grinned.

“Levi?”

No response.

“I can’t help but notice that you seem awfully tense.”

“Hm.”

“I was formulating a theory on it, but I wanted to run it by you in case I’ve gotten it wrong.”

Levi squeezed his eyes shut, the wall not enough. He needed total and utter darkness to concentrate. He couldn’t let anything distract him.

“The theory,” Erwin continued, despite the other’s silence. “Is that you’re ticklish. Furthermore, that I am tickling you.”

Levi hadn’t thought it was possible to blush this much until this moment. Erwin was gently teasing against the crook of his arm with just one finger. It was unbearable. It was delightful. Levi was going to break if he didn’t cut it out. He grunted, resolving to burrow his face into the pillow instead.

“Levi?” The smugness in Erwin’s voice could be heard miles away. “Am I correct?”

Levi muttered something that might have been “fuck off,” but it came out in the form of a muffled giggle that wasn’t super distinguishable.

“Was that a yes?”

Levi lifted his face to glare at him. “It was a—” He broke off when he felt Erwin’s other fingers settle in closer to that spot near his armpit—waiting for his next words. He swallowed, looking away. “Yes. A bit.”

Erwin’s brows rose and Levi hated how his heart thudded at the teasy expression. “Ah,” Erwin said, somehow managing to convey an entire paragraph of understanding into that one noise. The essence of it was: gotcha. “I see. I thought that might be the case.”

Levi squeezed his eyes shut and waited. He waited for the inevitable teasing, the frenzied attack, the uncontrollable laughter, the embarrassment he would never live down. But it didn’t come. In fact, Erwin didn’t tease him or even speak at all after that. He just went back to his light tracing, albeit a bit ticklier than it had been before. Levi giggled, unable to help it, and the teasing still didn’t come. Nor did it when he squirmed, or when he let out a noise that was definitely a snort.

Erwin could have taunted him into oblivion if he wanted to. In other circumstances, Levi might have even been fine with that. But no. Instead, he allowed Levi this moment of quiet humanity. The fact sat in the air between them: Levi was ticklish. And Erwin let it sit without being judged or commented on so that Levi could lay there and enjoy the tickling as much as he wanted.

Something clenched painfully in Levi’s chest, a burst of emotion he couldn’t quite identify. He didn’t try; that was for another day. Instead, he buried his face in Erwin’s chest as the other traced horribly ticklish shapes all over his arms.