F/F Tickle Fic - Chapter 1 - Stuck With You
.The heels of her brand-new black shinning heels tapped against the cold lobby floor, each click echoing through the marble lobby. Emmy had never been one to dress up, but today felt different. A small voice had nudged her toward something bolder, and she'd justified it easily enough, she wouldn't be working here much longer, so a day or two of pushing the dress code felt earned.
The dress fit her perfectly, tracing every curve, though the neckline cut a little deeper than she'd intended. Still, she felt incredible. Like she owned the place, like it all belonged under her foot.
She stepped into the elevator, heels clicking softly, as she checked her reflection in the mirrored wall. Deep red lipstick, dark brown hair falling loose around her face. Bold.
She held the doors for a woman who slipped through just in time, a coworker from the marketing department someone she knew just well enough for small talk over the office microwave.
"Hi Emmy, looking good!,"
The woman's eyes made a quick pass over her. Emmy wasn't offended, that had been the whole point.
"Thanks," she replied flatly, turning back toward the doors.
The elevator stopped at every floor despite neither of them having pressed more than one button.
"That's weird," the marketing woman remarked.
Emmy was barely listening too focused on herself to give a proper reply. "Mhm."
The doors slid shut again. The speaker chimed softly.
Floor 5.
The doors didn't open.
"I think we're stuck."
Emmy shot her a look, eyebrows drawn together, then shoved her purse into the woman's arms.
"Hold this."
She wedged her fingernails into the seam between the doors and pulled. They didn't budge. She tried again, and again, until one nail snapped clean off.
"*Fuck*"
She pulled her hand back, staring at the gap where a red nail used to be. Then she snatched her purse back, reached inside, and pulled out a dark bottle of red wine. The cork came out between her teeth. She took a long pull and looked over at her coworker.
"What are you staring at? We might as well enjoy ourselves."
She held the bottle out. The other woman took it with some hesitation.
"Come on, drink up… whatever your name was."
"Marceline. It's Marceline."
She took a small sip and handed it back. Emmy had already lowered herself to the floor, back against the wall, staring ahead at nothing.
"Well, Marceline...I don't know about you, but I'm going straight home the second we get out of here." She took another long drink. "You're welcome to join me. I've got more where this came from."
She tilted the bottle and glanced up at Marceline, then let her gaze drift lower for a moment.
Marceline wasn't someone who stood out, exactly. Slim, tanned, straight black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, she was an good representation of the average sort of people.
"That's… very nice of you," Marceline said, and slowly sat down across from her, legs crossed.
"So what do you do for fun, Marci?"
"I read, mostly. I like taking walks-"
"*Boring.*" Emmy groaned. "Come on. Nothing weird? Nothing you don't tell people?"
A small smile crossed Marceline's face, her cheeks going faintly pink.
"I might need to be a little drunker before I answer that."
Emmy shoved the bottle back into her hands. "Then drink."
Marceline took several long sips, the whole situation she had found herself in has suddenly became much more bearable.
"Okay… have you ever… okay, let me rephrase." She laughed nervously, looking to the side. "Do you like being tickled?"
If she'd been sober, she would have sunk through the floor. Instead she sat with it, watching Emmy's expression shift slowly into a smirk.
Emmy stretched her long legs out and rested them across Marceline's lap, ankles crossed, the tip of one heel nudging her gently in the side.
"Maybe," she said. "I couldn't say for certain."
Another nudge.
"Maybe you could help me figure it out."
Marceline turned red. "I don't know if that's a good idea...what if someone-"
Emmy cut her off by rolling over, pressing her back against Marceline and settling her head into her lap.
Her arms stretched up above her, leaving her sides completely open, the long line of her torso fully exposed.
One leg stretched toward the ceiling, the other wedged lazily against the silver railing.
"Oops," she said, looking up with a glint in her eye.
"Don't make me beg, Marceline~"
Marceline's eyes traveled slowly over the offering laid out before her, Emmy's body wrapped in that thin black dress, every curve on display.
It was overwhelming, like standing in front of a buffet without an idea of where to begin.
Where to start?
At the top, a pair of smooth bare armpits stretched wide and exposed, practically inviting her fingers in.
Just beneath them, the soft round curve of her chest, the fabric pulled tight enough to leave little to the imagination.
Her sides were fair game too, a natural gateway leading the eye up and down, north and south, to every other vulnerable spot in between. That soft belly, just waiting to be squeezed. The elegant taper of her waist flaring out into curved hips, which gave way to legs that seemed to go on forever, and at the end of them, those heels glimmering in the artifical light buzzing above their heads, a little reward she was already promising herself for later.
She had no idea where to begin.
So she hovered there a moment longer, fingers poised, enjoying the rare pleasure of too many good options~
She finally decided on the sides.
Both palms came to rest against the curve of Emmy's waist, light and unhurried, before her fingers began to lazily move, trailing slowly upward along the contours of her body, grazing her stomach, her ribs, her chest, until they crested the soft slope of her bare armpits and curved back down again.
On the return trip her fingers curled into loose hooks, barely making contact, featherlight strokes that were less an attack than an exploration.
She was studying her. Taking notes.
Every small twitch, every barely-there flinch, she catalogued it all inside of her head, she watched Emmy's face most of all, waiting for that particular moment when those perfect lips would betray her with a smile she was clearly trying to suppress.
Emmy, for her part, was doing her best to hold it together. The laugh that escaped her was soft and hushed, barely a sound at all, as though a louder reaction might startle those careful fingers into stopping.
Emmy's dark brown eyes were bright, tracking the wiggling fingers hovering on either side of her exposed armpits with barely contained anticipation. There was no escaping now, and some part of her had no interest in trying.
Still, as the fingers inched closer she couldn't help but squirm, her body twisting in a playful, half-hearted attempt to pull free from the trap she'd walked into herself.
"I've barely even touched you,"
Marceline murmured, looking down at her with a small smile.
Emmy met her eyes.
"If you weren't such a te-"
The word dissolved into gibberish.
"-teAHAHAHAHA - shiiit - SHIHIIT-"
That smooth, honey-warm voice cracked wide open into a bright, helpless cackle, exactly the sound Marceline had been waiting for. All that boldness, all that quiet power Emmy carried so effortlessly, came undone in an instant. Her body twisted and bucked beneath the light dance of fingertips scraping hungrily through her armpits, and her arms jerked downward in instinct, but never quite covered the vulnerable spots.
Never fully surrendered.
She bit down on her bottom lip between waves, trying to cork the laughter that had clearly been building far longer than just today, letting it out only in bright bursts of howls and giggles she couldn't hold back any longer.
She was just laughing and making no effort to hide how much she was enjoying it.
"Someone's having a great time down there~,"
Marceline teased, that familiar shy smile now carrying just a little more edge to it.
"ShUT - haHAHA - SHUT IT -"
Marceline's smirk stretched wider the moment the words left Emmy's mouth.
"Oh, the giggly girl wants me to shut up?" She tilted her head. "Make me."
She shifted forward, pressing Emmy's hands firmly back against the wall. There was no wiggle room now, no playful escape route, and the reality of that landed all at once.
Emmy's eyes went wide, genuine panic flashing across her face, her head shaking side to side as she looked up at Marceline with absolutely nothing left to hide behind. Those careful hands drifted back to her sides, already hunting for the next spot.
"Marci - okay - I was joking, we're friends, right?" Emmy laughed, her voice tipping into something closer to a playful plea. "We're friends-"
Until she felt fingers brush the hem of her dress.
"What are you doing?"
She looked down, watching the fabric ride slowly upward, stomach first, then the ridge of her ribs, until the dress sat bunched just below her chest, effectively a very fashionable bra. Marceline sat back and took a quiet moment to look over what she'd uncovered.
"Ever been to the butcher's?"
"...What?"
Emmy's eyebrows knitted together as Marceline reached over and began calmly rooting through her handbag. A second later, something emerged between her fingers, a sleek black marker, catching the light.
Emmy stared at it.
"Yeah?-" she said slowly, her voice suddenly going small.
Her free hand drifted back to Emmy's stomach and gave it a firm squeeze from the side.
Emmy squeaked and squirmed uselessly, just as helpless as she'd been from the start. Marceline, apparently comfortable with her teeth now, popped the marker cap off the same way she'd opened the wine bottle earlier. It spun away and struck the glass bottle on the floor with a small, clear ding.
She looked down at her canvas.
The tip of the marker met Emmy's stomach and began to move, a slow, deliberate dotted line tracing from her navel all the way down to the curve of her hip. The ink was cold and wet, and the tip dragged across her skin like the world's tiniest, most precise little tongue.
Emmy watched it happen with wide eyes.
"Then you'd know the diagram they use," Marceline said pleasantly.
Emmy let out a breathless squeak, a helpless giggle escaping despite herself, and then the marker came away, and those fingers found the freshly marked line and dug in.
"OH WHAT THE FUCK MARCELI - HIHIAHAHAHA - NOHOHOHO -"
The protest evaporated before it could fully form.
"What was that?" Marceline asked.
Only laughter answered her. Loud, desperate, uncontrolled, nothing like the careful, bottled-up sounds from before. Emmy thrashed as much as her pinned arms would allow, which wasn't much.
"Aww." Marceline tilted her head, fingers still working. "Does it tickle? Is it really that bad?"
Her little victim just nodded frantically, head bobbing up and down without a second thought.
"Would you say it's a ten?"
Emmy blinked up at her, still catching her breath.
"Wha - what?"
Marceline let the confusion sit for exactly one second.
"Going back in then."
The moment her fingers moved Emmy's eyes went wide, and then it clicked. The number. She wanted a number. A rating. How badly it tickled, how sensitive each spot was. She was mapping her.
"EIGHT - eight - that's an eight -"
She blurted it out fast, like she could outrun the fingers if she was quick enough. Marceline pulled back, uncapped the marker again, and with the same calm, unhurried precision as before, drew a neat figure eight directly onto the skin she'd just been tormenting.
Emmy sucked in a sharp breath as the cold tip dragged across her stomach, teeth clamped down on her bottom lip, eyes screwed shut - enduring the tiny, maddening sensation of ink tracing her own score onto her skin.
A living scorecard.
Marceline sat back and admired it for a moment.
Her eyes drifted back down to Emmy, a sweetly fake smile playing on her lips.
"Does my girl want a little break? Something to drink?"
Emmy nodded frantically, head bobbing.
"Yeah?" Marceline tilted her head. "And what are you offering in return?"
A long pause stretched between them. Emmy held her gaze for a moment, then shifted one foot, the one wedged between the wall and the railing , and nudged it pointedly in her direction.
Marceline glanced at it, then back up. Her smile softened into something quieter, more genuine.
"I'm saving the best for last, don't worry." She reached over and tucked a strand of dark hair back from Emmy's flushed face. "And when we get out of here, I want everyone to know you're mine."
The blush that had been coming and going all morning settled in for good, spreading deep across Emmy's cheeks and down her neck. She said nothing.
She didn't need to.
Deep down, the thought of being claimed so openly, she didn't mind it one bit.
