AH!!

the first time ryland notices, it's subtle.

you're reaching for something on the shelves. out of the corner of his eye, a silver of skin peeks out at him under your shirt. he can't help it: it's right there, all smooth and soft and ticklish.

you were basically begging for it.

that's what justifies the frankly, quite cruel action in ryland's head. he simply couldn't resist- the thought of your body squirming and bright laughter pouring out of you is more than enough to sway his judgement. his hands creep towards you and land a series of rapid squeezes over your bare sides.

"a-ahAHA," you burst into giggles, horrified to find that the element of surprise has made the sensation ten times worse. ryland picks up on it- of course he does. he makes a mental note to sneak up on you more often. his fingers follow you, tickling as you slowly go limp, curling up on the floor.

evidenced by his crinkling smile, ryland finds this ordeal immensely hilarious. he reaches up, easily grabbing the jumpsuit off the locker shelf and handing it to you.

you glare at him, pouting petulantly on the floor, refusing to accept his olive branch. ryland's eyebrow twitches upward. you want more? he seems to question. his hands form claws, opening and closing.

you blush and grab the jumpsuit from his hands, refusing to meet his eyes.

ryland doesn't miss the way you stare at his teasing hands for far too long, nor the ghost of a crestfallen face as you leave to change into your jumpsuit.

the second time ryland notices.

there is something about ryland's hands. they are mesmerizing in a way that makes you stare.

your eyes can't help but trace the outlines of his soft fingers as they shuffle with paperwork, the crevices folding and unfolding. his left hand runs across his blonde hair, carving a path of runes.

his fingers tap, tap, tap across the surface of the table as he ponders over something, and you squirm, almost imperceptible. your brain envisions unholy things- his digits running across your skin. scratching. scribbling. tickling.

what the hell.

ryland's head turns in your direction, ever so slightly. you panic, and occupy yourself with stacking random papers on your desk. out of your peripheral, you can sense the corner of ryland's lip twitch in amusement.

it doesn't help your case at all when your trembling hands knock pieces of paper away from your messy pile, floating and cascading across the room. one lands directly next to ryland. he quirks an eyebrow.

"fuck." you murmur under your breath as you scoot down to pick it up. ryland raises his other brow.

"language.” he emphasises with a quick, gentle scribble at the back of your neck and you fold with a yelp, clutching the floorboards as though you could melt through them if you tried hard enough.

you pick up your piece of paper. the white gleams at you. pointedly. the fluttering traces of ryland’s fingers linger on your neck, teasing but not quite there.

ryland's already turned back to his work: you gawk at him. then back at the piece of paper- a desperate manifestation of your need.

"please tickle me. more." the words are slipping off the tip of your tongue, but your embarrassment swallows them down, down, down your throat and into your stomach until nothing remains.

you miss the entertained spark present in ryland's eye in your tickle-less misery.

the third time, ryland doesn't notice. he confronts.

"you like it."

"hmm?" you can't recall what you're doing, but something in his tone makes you glance up, curious.

"the tickling."

it's abrupt, the splutter that explodes out of you. your insides churn. you open your mouth to protest. then close it. you're half-convinced you look like a gaping fish.

ryland's scrutinising you like he's watching a puppy chase her tail in circles. his eyes are all wide and doting, catching your every miniscule movement.

"that- that wasn't a question." you manage to say.

"that wasn't an answer."

a pause. one that you don't trust. if it were anyone else, you would've thought that they had already let it go. but ryland grace doesn't just let things go. he starts intrigued: then he pushes, and he shoves, until every single one of his hypotheses are proved.

and you've just become his newest experiment.

"noho, look at me."

your eyes flicker hesitantly to meet his lens-covered ones, and to his delight, your cheeks tint a rosy pink.

"so you agree then."

"what?" your voice comes out squeakier than intended.

"you want," ryland whispers tauntingly. "to be tickled by me."

a string of stutters and protests pour out of your mouth. that doesn't deter ryland in the slightest. the way he looks at you, all fond and teasing, is too much to bear.

"okay,” his voice is factual. serious. “i won't tickle you, then."

and you know him well enough- ryland will follow through. a whine of frustration builds up in your throat.

"ryland." you clear your throat. you attempt to bargain with your pleading gaze.

"yes?"

you sigh.

"please." the walls suddenly look very interesting to you.

"please what?" you can practically feel the mischief radiating off of him.

"...please tickle me."

it comes out as a garble of syllables, the dreaded word spreading heat across your face. but despite the incoherency, this just about satisfies ryland. in a split second, he’s already making his way towards you.

oh, fuck.

you scamper across the room, ryland and his smirk swiftly following.

"w-wahait!" your hands are held in front of you as a weak means of defence.

"wait for what?" ryland laughs at the absurdity.

you struggle to find a proper response. instead, you dance around the room, evading his every step. ryland's circling you like prey and you can't help it- an anticipatory giggle bubbles up your throat.

"noho, back off!"

"but if i back off," the cocky grin on ryland's face is contagious. "how will i tickle you?"

he reaches for you and a gasp erupts from your mouth.

"bad grace!" you must be picking up rocky's vocabulary.

"did you just scold me," ryland snorts. "like a dog? you are so dead."

you whimper when ryland lunges for you, managing to duck past his arm. but when he grabs a handful of your shirt and reels you into his chest, a pair of strong arms wrapping around your stomach, you realise that ryland is always right- you are so dead.

"hi," he whispers into your ear for dramatic effect, laughing at your whimper as you glance back at him.

ryland drums his fingers, gently against your waistline. your hands circle his wrists, tugging them away but they don't budge an inch. even now, you can't help but stare at his fingers. intoxicating. calculating. tickling.

ryland notices, flexing them intentionally.

"where should i tickle, baby?"

oh god.

"noho- nohowhehre," your voice breaks off into helpless giggles when he claws gently around your stomach.

"i thought you wanted this!" ryland has the audacity to pout at you.

"shuhut uhp!"

"did you just shush me? hmm?" he vibrates his hands into your ribcage and a squeal escapes from you. "that was pretty rude of you."

you try and fail to pry his wrists away from your torso. ryland conveniently decides to ignore the way you're slowly going limp in his arms, landing stray scribbles over your sides as he holds you upright.

"had enough?"

you look back, mirth-coated eyes meeting his.

"oh my god." ryland laughs, a loud, genuine sound. like this is the funniest fuckin' sight he's ever come across. "oh my god, you really like this."

you forget how to talk.

in your embarrassed state, you spin in his grasp to face him, before your own hands skitter up his sides and into the hollows of his armpits. the result is instantaneous- ryland folds, breaking into tiny, wheezy giggles. you can't help but laugh along with him.

he grabs your wrists in a panicked frenzy and now, you're panicking.

you're pretty sure they could've heard you back down on earth.