barely existing

The fact that the only person who ever tickled him in a way that made him feel safe was his mother - his dead, long gone, wonderful mother - was probably the biggest part of it, though he buried it deep down. It was easier to blame everything else. Easier to pretend it couldn’t be fun in the right circumstances.

Shane never tickled him. Not on purpose, anyway. Ilya had discovered his sensitivity early on, tucked between roaming hands and moans laced with a laugh which could mean anything, really, had Ilya not slowly gotten to know every inch of that body. He knew to steer clear of Shane’s feet, to use more pressure on his inner thighs, to not nuzzle into his neck for too long. He wondered if he showed him the same consideration, or if Ilya had just gotten so good at reigning in his reactions that he had no idea.

He had been tickled by him though, accidentally, when he grabbed his knees to adjust himself, or dug his fingers into Ilya’s sides when something felt good. Innocent actions. Certainly not ticklish enough for Ilya to laugh, though he did remember himself twitching in surprise. If Shane had noticed, he never brought it up. Most importantly he never used it against him.

Ilya tried not to use it against him either, only it became harder once they got closer, once they were boyfriends, and their life was littered with playfulness and domesticity and not just sex. Wrestling Shane to the bed with a deeply ingrained instinct to jam his fingers into his ribs. He was already laughing. Already relaxed and happy and trusting him fully. And the trust was the reason he didn’t. Was the reason he simply pinned his arms to the side and leaned down to kiss him. Mornings of wrapping his arms around his waist in the kitchen, with the sudden urge to curl his fingers over his belly just to make him giggle and squirm into him. A moment of safety, which Ilya could ruin in the disguise of play.

That morning was different. Shane was sprawled out on the bed, sleepy after Ilya had gone down on him twice, and each time he made a sudden movement Shane would twitch and laugh, untouched and yet.

“What is it?” Ilya finally asked, relishing in that smile. All giddiness. All because of him.

Shane pushed his hand away, even though he still hadn’t touched him. “Tickles.”

“What?”

A blush was coloring his cheeks, but Shane wasn’t clinging onto denial or pretence. “I feel really ticklish right now, so I keep thinking you’ll tickle me.”

“I have never tickled you.” Ilya crossed his arms to show he was keeping them to himself. “Wait, how do you feel ticklish?”

Shane shrugged. “Extra sensitive. Giggly. Tired. Safe. I don’t know.”

“Safe?”

He averted his gaze. “I mean, yeah.”

“But you keep thinking I will tickle you?”

He shrugged again.

“So in that case you don’t feel safe.”

“But I do.”

Ilya wet his lips. “Explain.”

“I mean, it’s fun, right? And I trust you would stop when I needed you to.” He was bright red now, but he spoke in earnest.

Ilya hummed.

Another part of why he didn’t like being tickled: it was almost always done without his consent. Ilya didn’t like not giving his consent. Didn’t like that people thought they could just take and take in the guise of fun.

He tilted his head at Shane. Maybe not everyone thought the same way as him. “Do you want me to tickle you?”

Shane let out a strangled laugh. “That sounds stupid when you put it like that.”

“I won’t do it unless you want me to.” Ilya didn’t mean to tease, but he did enjoy the way Shane’s embarrassment shifted form and turned into something sweet. Something shy.

He reached out slowly and allowed himself to touch now, cradling Shane’s cheek in the palm of his hand. He leaned into the touch and said, “We’ve never had any tickle fights.”

Ilya shifted. “We haven’t.”

“Why is that?”

He didn’t have to explain to him that much of their relationship had been a constant tiptoeing of lines they were afraid to cross, and once they did, a quick retreat. For much too long it had been that, until suddenly it wasn’t. It was true that most people would be eager to explore the other side, and it wasn’t that they were afraid, not more than they had to be.

But Ilya didn’t know how to approach this. How something this silly could be so serious to him. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“You could’ve found out.”

“Would you have wanted me to? On my own, I mean?”

“It’s weird to have to tell you about it.”

“Hmm, I lied, actually. I knew about it.”

Shane’s head snapped to the side. “Wait, you did?”

“Yes. For a long time.” He grinned at Shane’s look. “What can I say? I am a gentleman.”

“Ilya,” he whined, giving his chest a light slap. “Why would you not have taken advantage of that?”

Ilya laughed. “It really sounds like you want me to tickle you, Hollander.”

“Don’t Hollander me, Rozanov.”

“You think you can provoke it out of me, huh?”

“That’s usually how it works.”

“I need you to ask for it.” He moved his hand from his cheek to his jaw. “I need you to tell me you will enjoy it, or at the least not mind me doing it.”

Shane’s breath caught. “Why?”

“Because-” He stroked his chin with his thumb. “-I do not want to do something to you that you don’t want me to do.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Of course.”

“Most people don’t want to be tickled.”

“Are you most people?”

He exhaled slowly. “Some people think it’s fun.”

“And are you some people?” He smiled at him, attempting to keep it light, but Shane looked away anyway. It was cute. It was so cute Ilya nearly crossed his own boundary then and there.

“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled. “It’s been years, and it’s never been like this.”

“Like how?”

“With someone I love. Like this.”

Ilya’s heart was about to burst out of his chest.

He leaned in to press his lips to Shane’s temple. “I love you too much to do something you don’t want me to do. I am not trying to be difficult.”

Shane’s gaze softened. “I know you’re not.”

“And I don’t mean to embarrass you when I tell you I need you to ask for it.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Though I do enjoy your blush.”

“Ilya.”

Ilya hummed as he stroked Shane’s cheek with his knuckles. “Tell me.”

“I’m- not sure I would like it, but- I mean, I would like us to be like that, you know?”

“I know.”

“So.” He seemed to brace himself. Ilya found it unbearably adorable. “Could you tickle me? Please?”

Ilya grabbed his wrist. “Say it again.”

“Ilya-”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed at his impatience. “I need you to tell me when to stop, okay?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“Say ‘hockey’, okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine, hockey it is. Now can you get on with it? I hate the anticipation.”

Ilya grinned. “You love the anticipation,” and he pounced, before Shane had time to protest. Neither of them really expected it, that Ilya would straddle him, that he would take his task so seriously. He wasn’t being merciless about it, though. He didn’t pin Shane’s hands, or dig his fingers into spots that would make him twitch with laughter, twitch and jerk and lose control of his limbs. He kept it light, which, when he thought about it, which he would, many times, probably drove Shane all the more crazy.

“Wahahait,” was all he managed to say at first, a constant begging for Ilya to cut it out, to leave him alone, to stop taking advantage of his sensitivity like this. Only Ilya knew his protests didn’t mean anything, at the very least weren’t a proper call for this to end. He cradled the consent in his bare hands, holding it close as he listened to Shane’s begging, listened to him slowly falling apart without feeling like a monster for it.

“You’re so-” He wasn’t even sure what he meant to say, only knew that Shane’s laughter, which was filling the room almost entirely now, made him feel both excited and strangely powerful for being allowed this. “-fucking cute.”

“Shut up!” Shane spat back, but he had his head thrown back, his hands constantly chasing Ilya’s which skirted over his torso, side, rib, armpit, neck, and back. A chase which could drive anyone mad, but was still simply- fun. For them both.

“I didn’t know you would be so easy to break,” he said, treading somewhat unknown water. But he liked riling Shane up, and Shane and his biting mouth always enjoyed the challenge of having to deal with him.

He all but growled now, all giggly giddiness from before enveloped in something else, something determined. He dug his feet into the mattress and Ilya realized belatedly that he was trying to buck him off, that he was probably aiming to turn the tables, and while that didn’t mean he wanted this to stop, because the safe word was still nowhere near his tongue, it did mean Shane enjoyed the idea of this being mutual. Of this being bodily and competitive, and Ilya wasn’t certain if he wanted that. Ilya was about to ruin a perfectly good consensual thing because he hadn’t thought to bring himself into the equation.

Only when he found himself hesitating and Shane had the perfect opportunity to turn this around, he still remained glued to his back, knees which he had pulled up to Ilya’s sides relaxing, visibly forcing himself to take this with nothing but his shielding hands. Ilya realized it then. That Shane would never do something to him which he hadn’t consented to. That this meant as much to Shane as it did to him.

God knew how Ilya didn’t cry right there and then.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms around him, taking in his surprised exhale and relishing in how he started squirming the minute he realized that Ilya was still tickling him even now. Fingers curling over his upper ribs, with Shane trapped between him and the bed and giggling into his neck, which tickled him a bit and he found that he didn’t care. He was safe here.

“You’re so ticklish,” he mumbled into Shane’s hair, which had Shane slapping his back and laughingly telling him to shut up. “What? Is true. You cannot deny it.”

“You don’t have to be so mean about it,” he said, whining when Ilya hit a particularly bad spot. “Fuck, this tickles so much, Ilya, get off.”

“Hmm, do you really want me to?”

“I- ah! I need you to allow me to squirm.”

Ilya sat up reluctantly. “Fine. Thank you for telling me. I can continue, yes?”

Shane covered his face with his hands. “Yes, god, please continue.”

“Can I tickle your knees?”

“This is gonna be the death of me- yes, you can tickle my knees.”

“Good. I think they will be very bad.”

“I will kick you.”

“Ah, maybe, but as long as you don’t say hockey I will continue.” He poked his belly. “Until we are both satisfied.”

“Domestic life is so weird,” Shane said, very obviously trying to redirect his embarrassment.

Ilya decided to bite. “This can’t be normal domestic life, though, can it?”

“Maybe not.”

“We’re so much less boring. Even you.”

“Oh, ha ha, please tickle me so I will laugh.”

“This is awkward.” Shane looked around his room, a faux-apologetic grimace plastered on his face. “This room isn’t available to the guests.”

Ilya took a step forward, hands clasped behind his back, face inches away from Shane’s own. His expression was serious, but Shane could see the way his lips twitched up at the corners, the way his eyes crinkled slightly in mirth.

“Mmm. Disappointing.”

His voice sounded deeper than usual, and Shane had to avert his eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry sir,” a small thrill sparked through him at the word sir and, judging from Ilya’s expression, it had affected him too, “we’d really like to accommodate you, but—”

Before Shane could finish his sentence, Ilya was shoving him onto the bed and clambering on top of him.

“Sir, I’m just a bellboy!” Shane couldn’t help but laugh, even as his wrists were pinned next to his head and Ilya situated himself on his waist. “You can’t treat the staff like this!”

Ilya leaned in close enough that their noses brushed, pushing Shane back down with a smirk when he tried to sit up. “Oh, I think I know how the staff likes to be treated after all these years, hm?”

And, God, it was fun. Shane was pretty sure that nobody would ever describe him as the playful type, but here he was. It was just so easy with Ilya. It was easy to bring him into this part of his life, to tease him and laugh unguardedly when Ilya wrestled him to the bed.

Not like Shane was putting up much of a fight, but still.

Finally, finally, Ilya captured his lips in a kiss, and Shane could feel the way they were both still smiling into it. Forget the cottage, this is what coming home felt like, honey-smooth on his tongue and making him feel so warm he was sure that sunlight was ready to burst through the cracks in his heart at any moment.

Ilya moved to his neck, prompting Shane to tilt his head to the side to give him more room. A shudder worked its way up his spine as Ilya sucked on a sensitive patch of skin right under his jaw, pulling away with a pleased grin and adoring eyes before leaning back down to scatter quick, soft kisses across his neck.

Maybe if Shane hadn’t already lowered his guard so much, he wouldn’t have started laughing so quickly. As it was, he couldn’t stop the frantic, high-pitched giggles from tumbling out of his mouth.

“Ilya! Ilya wahait—” He pulled half-heartedly at his wrists which predictably did absolutely nothing.

Still, Ilya pulled back just enough so that Shane could get a full view of the shit-eating grin on his face and the dangerous glint in his eyes.

Oh God, he was so fucked.

“Hollander,” he basically purred, “why did you not tell me that you were, ah, щекотливый? Sensitive? No—what is the word?”

For a second, Shane thought that Ilya was just messing with him—and maybe that was part of it, but he could also see Ilya casting around in his head for the right translation. Shane didn’t exactly want to be giving Ilya this kind of ammunition, but he wasn’t going to be a dick and let the missing word eat at him.

Through gritted teeth, Shane managed to ground out, “…Ticklish?”

The way Ilya’s face lit up when the word clicked into place was almost worth the combination of embarrassment, dread, and something he refused to give a name to swirling in his stomach.

“Yes! Ticklish!” He leaned in close again, glee sharpening into something a little more intense, his breath ghosting over Shane’s lips, “Why did you never tell me you were ticklish, Hollander? We could’ve been having so much fun.”

The something he refused to name grew, and Shane said perhaps the one thing that would only serve to make things worse for him.

“Uh… I’m not?”

Ilya laughed a low, rumbling chuckle that Shane could feel in his bones. “No? Are you sure? Then why were you laughing so much?”

As Shane floundered for words, Ilya just watched him, infinitely amused and perfectly content to watch Shane dig himself deeper into his grave.

“You just surprised me!” The moment where Ilya realized Shane knew exactly what he was doing was equally mesmerizing and terrifying. The gleam in his eyes was no less delighted, but his grin widened into something predatory.

His eyes raked over Shane's body, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being hunted. The thought sent a giddy thrill rushing through him, which was definitely something he and Ilya were going to be examining later.

Thoroughly.

Shane was brought back to himself by a sharp squeeze to his side and he yelped, shooting out his now free hand to wrap around Ilya’s wrist and shove it away.

If Shane had thought that Ilya looked mischievous before, now the expression on his face was downright devious. “Did I surprise you that time as well? Is that why you screamed?”

“What- I- What are you even-” Shane sputtered, his words tripping over themselves before he finally settled on, “I did not scream!”

“Hm, yes, right.” Ilya leaned in close, lips brushing against Shane’s ear in a way that made him shiver, his breath sending goosebumps racing down Shane’s spine. “Would you like to?”

Before Shane could even begin to process the question, Ilya attached his lips to the crook of Shane’s neck and blew. The vibrations lit up Shane’s nerves and he couldn’t suppress the shriek that escaped him as he threw his head back, presumably to try and escape, but only serving to give Ilya more surface to torment.

Ilya gleefully alternated between pressing sloppy kisses and devastating raspberries to Shane’s neck, drinking up Shane’s laughter like he’d never tasted anything sweeter.

“Il- Ilyahaha! You’re so fucking grohohoss!” Ilya didn’t say anything, but Shane could feel his chuckle buzzing against his skin in a way that should not be as ticklish as it was. “Ohmygod get off! You asshole!”

At that, Ilya pulled back, although he notably did not get off of Shane quite yet, his wide grin on full display. “I am not asshole here! First, you lie to me, and then you call me the liar by saying you do not scream! And then I think, maybe I did surprise him, so I will make sure that he is not surprised so we can get to the bottom of this, because I am a good guy like that, and then you scream again! Right in my poor ear!” Ilya shook his head incredulously, like he couldn’t believe that Shane had had the audacity to react so outrageously. “And you call me the asshole? It is disrespectful, truly.”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Shane.

But he was grinning, and so was Ilya, and their attempt at kissing quickly dissolved into gently pressing their foreheads together, basking in the glow of being happy and together. In all of their rivalry, they’d so rarely had the opportunity to be playful, and there was something so freeing in finally being allowed this simple joy.

“Maybe I am ridiculous,” Ilya shrugged. “But I never heard you say stop. If you think about it, it is out of my hands.”

As he was talking, Shane could feel Ilya crawling his fingers up his ribcage, and he didn’t bother trying to smother the giggles that tumbled out of him. Instead, he did his best to ignore his red face and let Ilya think that he’d won as he prepared his retaliation.

It wasn’t easy, Ilya’s hands were always distracting in their own right, and Shane had to fight against every instinct that was telling him to glue his arms to his sides in self-preservation. But he gathered up his strength and, before Ilya could register the shift, deftly flipped them over so that Shane was perched on top of Ilya’s hips.

Shane made sure that he had Ilya’s hands firmly pinned under his knees, because he knew that if he lost the advantage now, Ilya would make him regret even attempting to turn the tables.

“Look at you. Is new view for me, you are not usually on top. Well, unless you are riding me, of course.” Ilya’s tone was teasing, but Shane could detect a spark of anticipation that sharpened his consonants.

Good. Let him know what was coming.

After the residual laughter made its way out of his system, Shane laid his palm flat against Ilya’s stomach, his thumb rubbing back and forth. “Yeah, yeah. And what about you, huh? Are Russians ticklish? Or, uh…” What was the word he’d used? “Shchekotlivyy?”

He was pretty sure that he butchered it, a thought that was only further confirmed by the grimace Ilya bit back a second too late. But Shane could see the way the tips of Ilya’s ears flushed pink and knew that the attempt at Russian had the effect he’d been hoping for.

Maybe, maybe, he could understand why Ilya seemed to love teasing him so much.

Below him, Ilya rolled his eyes and said, “Of course not. Russians do not have any sort of weakness, I have already told you this. It is how I obliterate you on the ice.” Shane snorted, shaking his head, and Ilya tacked on, “How about I make you a deal, hm?”

“What kind of deal?” Shane had a feeling that he knew where this was going, but he wanted to see how Ilya was going to try to worm his way out of this.

Not that he wanted to. They both knew that Ilya could’ve escaped since the moment Shane flipped them over.

Ilya, somehow looking perfectly at ease despite his current position, said, “You let me go, and I will spend the rest of the day fucking you in every single room in this cottage. After I finish having my fun, of course.”

“Of course,” Shane said, the most nonchalant anyone has ever been. “And what if I don’t want to let you go?”

Ilya had obviously been hoping that Shane would ask that question, because he leaned up as far as he could and purred, “Well then, when I get out, and I will get out, I will tickle you until you cry.”

The way he said it was so casual, like he was commenting on the weather instead of threatening his revenge. Like he wasn’t planning on pinning Shane down and taking him apart until he apologized or begged for mercy. Or probably both. Shane felt dizzy.

Shane could feel Ilya’s breath hitch under his fingers as he slipped his hand under his shirt. “Well, it sounds like you’re going to be ‘having your fun’ either way, so I think that I should make the most of it. What do you say?”

Slowly, Shane skimmed his fingers back and forth across Ilya’s stomach. It was fun to watch him grit his teeth against the laughter that so clearly wanted to escape him so he could say, “I say that you will be very sorry after this”

“Actually, I don’t think I will,” Shane replied. “And, anyway, I haven’t heard you say stop, so, if you think about it, it’s out of my hands.”

The look on Ilya’s face as his own words were thrown back at him was priceless, a combination of disbelief and pride, and Shane willed himself to burn the image into his memory.

But that was enough stalling. While Ilya was still deciding whether to be offended or horny (and the answer was clearly both), Shane dug his fingers into Ilya’s sides before traipsing upwards to worm them under his arms.

The full body jolt was almost as wonderful as the helpless grin that stretched across Ilya’s face. With his eyes scrunched shut and his curls splayed out on Shane’s pillow like a halo, Shane couldn’t help but think that Ilya had to be an angel. It was the only explanation for the way his breath whooshed out of him at the sight.

“Hollander, I will make you regret this—Hey! Shahane! Wait, дерьмо—” Ilya dissolved into cackles, bright and boyish and possibly the most beautiful sound that Shane’s ever heard in his life. He was hurling what Shane was fairly certain were Russian expletives at him, but there was a distinct lack of venom in his voice, so Shane wasn't overly concerned. He'd take whatever punishment Ilya deemed fit to dole out as his so-called revenge, knowing it would be worth it.

And this? Bringing Ilya to the cottage, seeing his smile and knowing that, for the next two weeks, they’re allowed to just be?

“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.

And sure, most diner waiters were technically waitresses, but the occasional unruly-haired college kid would set down their coffees and smile that big teasy grin of his that was so common among them - for the tips, Dean knew - and Dean had to clear his throat to keep from smiling back too hard. With women it was easier. They would roll their eyes at him, knowing this was all an act with no follow up, and Dean would leave feeling at least a little bit lighter. Sam’s presence was ever so present whenever they had male waiters.

And those scrawny kids were usually not even Dean’s type, but who was he to be ungrateful for a pretty smile and batting doe-eyes.

“Oh, I smell pancakes,” Sam said on a too early Monday morning in a rainy Seattle, entering the diner with too much pep in his step if Dean had to be honest. “And fresh coffee.”

“Likely thing for a diner to have,” Dean muttered, earning himself a laugh. Nothing was going to rain on Sam’s parade apparently.

“Hi, welcome in.” The waiter, a guy of about 25, smiled lazily at them from behind the counter. The diner wasn’t busy, so he was fiddling with something Dean couldn’t see. “I’ll be right with you. Take a seat, any seat.”

Sam led the way, which gave Dean an opportunity to glance back at the waiter. He looked… good. Burly with a beard, with something easy going about him. He swallowed thickly and sat down in the booth Sam had chosen, taking the seat so that he could see the entire diner. He deserved a treat on a fucking Monday morning.

“Gentlemen.” The waiter was approaching them with menus. “Can I tempt you with a cup of coffee while you look over our extraordinary options?”

Sam grinned. “Yes, please. Just a regular coffee for me. With room for milk.”

“And you.” He turned his soft brown eyes to Dean. “The same or would you like some sugar? Although I can’t say you’re not sweet enough on your own.”

Dean choked on his own spit and the guy, whose name tag read ‘Alex’, placed the menus on the table and disappeared, returning only seconds later with a pitcher of water and a glass. “I’m sorry. Too much?”

“N-no, I- I’m fine.” Dean coughed again, trying to restore some dignity. “Uh, yeah, the same. Please. And thank you. For the water.”

Alex smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll be right back with your coffees.”

Sam shot him an amused look once they were alone. “You okay?” he asked with a laugh.

“I’m sure awake now.” He took a sip of his water, eyes on Alex’s retreating back.

“Not used to being complimented by guys, huh?”

If you only knew, Dean didn’t say. “Just wasn’t prepared for it first thing in the morning.”

“You do look kind of half asleep, actually.”

“Great.”

“But I can see how someone might think you’re cute.”

“Sam, please shut the hell up.”

Sam laughed again, so cheery, so comfortable. “I’m just saying. If that was a woman you would be soaking it up.”

Dean grabbed the menu and hid behind it. Leave it to Sam to overanalyze him as soon as he was caught off guard. “God, I hope they have pies.”

“We do, actually.” Alex had returned, carrying their two coffees and a small pitcher of milk on a tray.

Dean perked up. “You do?”

“Of course. Apple, cherry, even rhubarb.”

“He’ll have apple.”

Alex turned toward Sam. “You know him well, huh?”

“He’s my brother and he’s predictable.” Sam’s smile was a little too smug.

Dean narrowed his eyes, not liking the way his face suddenly felt hot. “Guilty as charged, I guess.”

Alex wrote something down in his notepad. “So that’s one apple pie. What would you like?”

When he left, Dean felt he couldn’t look Sam in the eye for some reason. Sam - oblivious or not, Dean had yet to decide - poured milk into his cup and stirred, taking a little too long, being a little too loud. Dean sipped his milk-less coffee, burning his tongue in the process. “So,” he said when Sam had finally stopped stirring. “Any theories?”

Sam craned his neck toward the bar. “About him?”

“What? No, about the case. Why would I be asking for theories about him?”

“I don’t know. You seem overly tense around him. And you haven’t stopped glancing up since he left.”

“I have not. Have I?” He suddenly felt unsure.

“Yeah, dude! You’re, like, so not slick.”

Dean nearly kicked him under the table. “Would you quiet down, Jesus Christ.”

Sam leaned over the table. “So what is it? Does he intimidate you or do you think he’s good looking? I can never tell.”

“I- what?”

“I mean, with women it’s always easy. You act like a fool when you’re into them. But I guess you try to not be as obvious with men, at least when I’m around, which I get. I hate that you feel like you have to do it, but I get it.”

Dean’s head was spinning. “You know?”

Sam’s face shifted from amused to almost pitying. “Dean, I have known you my entire life.”

Dean crossed his arms. Apparently Sam did know him better than he thought. And Dean’s method of never talking about it seemed to run in the family. “All right, let’s drop it.”

Sam nodded. “Right. Sorry. But I figured you should know. That I know, that is.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe I should’ve waited for you to tell me yourself, but I’m sure I would’ve waited for the rest of my life.”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“And watching you fumble is kind of painful.”

Dean leaned across the table and jammed his fingers into his brother’s ribs. “I said shut up.”

It had started off unintentionally, perhaps innocent even. It was a few songs to remind you of home, and the fun times that you’d all shared in the compound before the Hail Mary had taken off. 

Ryland, Rocky, and you always listened to music in the lab. Stratt had outdone herself in terms of how much media had been sent with the four of you. The catalogue went back as far as the 1860’s, and up until the very day that the ship had taken off. If you were to play through all of it, you would probably never hear the same song twice for the entire journey from Tauceti to Erid. If you combined that with Rocky’s ability to literally create notes that your and Ryland’s human ears couldn’t hear, then you truly had nearly endless possibilities. 

That morning, when you and Ryland had woken up, you were the first in the lab, so you were the one who got to pick the music for the day. By the time that Ryland climbed the ladder after you, the classic tunes of Johnny Cash filled his ears. 

He looked up at you with his brows raised. 

You held his stare across the stark white lab. “What?”

“Country music?” he asked, looking tired. 

You shrugged. You hadn’t even realized that you’d never played any songs in that genre before, and you couldn’t tell if Ryland was just confused or annoyed. Once you all had gotten into the habit of listening to stuff while you worked, the three of you established the rule that none of you could complain about what music was picked. You were a perfectly good spacemate, never saying anything, even when Ryland played all sorts of questionable things. You’d even let it slide when he’d played baby shark once when he was drunk, saying it was because his kids would make him listen to it ‘ironically.’ 

“It’s my turn for controls, is it not?” you said, arching a brow. 

“My students would’ve called this old people music,” he said with a chortle, almost in disbelief. 

“That's because we’re,” you gestured between the two of you, “old to them.”

He shrugged and moved out of the doorway and Rocky came rolling up after him. “No. Humans very young. Eridians grow old, humans are babies.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryland shrugged him off, heading to his work station. “Hopefully, you have better music tastes than us to show for it.”

You narrowed your eyes, catching his not so subtle insult. “Ryland, are you complaining about my music choices?”  

He held one of his hands up in mock surrender, the other one still holding his coffee. “Of course not, I know the classroom rules,” he said, leaving you to continue fidgeting with your devices, but your mind was elsewhere now, a sneaky smile beginning to play on your lips. You had been working on a gadget, it was a special musical device that would allow you to press the buttons like a piano in order to make Eridian noises and communicate in their language. Since you were now bounding through the depths of space towards Erid instead of Earth, you figured it was probably best to start working on your communication skills, however, it seemed that perhaps the tool could wait a little while for you to try a different sort of experiment. 

Rocky rolled by you, heading for the station that was on your right side, and you took that moment to hiss at him. “Rock-” you whispered. 

Sensing that you needed him for something more urgent than usual, he rolled over quickly towards your side. “Friend whispering, why? Question?”

“I have a joke we can play on Ryland.”

“Tell Rocky. Rocky will determine if idea is good.”

You fondly rolled your eyes. Of course the engineer was going to want to inspect your plan first.  “Well, you know how our music rule works, right?”

Rocky’s carapace shifted up and down like he was nodding at you. “Yes. You are in control. Grace is not. Rocky does not understand why any of this is important so assume is human thing.” 

You clucked your tongue, forgetting that Rocky focused so much on what he was doing in the lab that he often zoned all other noise out. You supposed it made sense. Their language was basically composed of melodies and vibrations, so human music probably just sounded like weird overlapping conversations to him. “Right, so, if Ryland complains about the music then he’s in violation of the rule.” 

Rocky spoke softer, as if Ryland was suddenly listening in. “What happen if rule broken? Question?” 

You frowned, considering his words. “We actually didn’t decide.” You looked over at Ryland, who was now immersed in what he was doing. “I guess that means that I get to decide what sort of prize I want, right?”

“This makes sense to Rocky,” he agreed, tapping his foot on the floor. “But how does friend get Grace to break?”

At this, your brows furrowed. It would be difficult, but you were sure you could push his buttons far enough for this to work. “Even a teacher’s patience can only go so far, right?” 

Rocky rolled away slightly, even his computer voice sounding slightly shaky. “Friend is evil. Rocky see now why they put humans to sleep for journey.”

You brushed off his concerns with a short huff of air through your nose. “Relax, he’s not going to kill me.”

Rocky was already moving away, back towards his station, like he didn’t want to be infected by the energy in yours. “Rocky will watch. Rocky will see.” 

His words almost made you reconsider your plan, but then you looked over at Ryland peacefully putting the Taumoeba boxes away and decided you simply couldn’t allow him any peace. Later, you could blame it on the boredom of space, or how you had hit a wall with your language device, but for now all of your attention turned towards irritating your friend. 

You switched from Johnny Cash to Tim McGraw, another American country classic, and nothing that would throw Ryland off too much. You saw him bite his lip for a second as you made the switch, but he made no other movements, not even so much as an ill contented sigh. It was odd, how Ryland knew this was out of character for you, but he was still choosing not to comment on it. You gnawed on your lip, wondering how long it could truly take to irritate him. It was no doubt that he was the most patient one on the Hail Mary but his inaction was making you question how far he would go.

You pulled out a drawer in your station and grabbed a notebook and a pen. You flipped it open and scribbled at the top, “Ryland’s annoyance capacity, Test One.” You wrote about your first change in music and his barely visible reaction and then went back to sort of paying attention to your actual project. You needed to wait a little bit in order to up the ante. Ryland was patient, but he wasn’t an idiot. If you kept changing the song every five minutes, he would start to grow suspicious and then your experiment would be rendered null and void. 

You waited a solid ten minutes to walk back to the main computer in your setup, adjusting the music to that of Florida Georgia Line, a more modern country group with funny nods to their redneck roots but nothing too obscure. You picked one of their more popular songs to start with and cued up a few more before going back to your ‘work’. 

You quietly uncapped your blue pen and tucked your hair behind your ear. Ryland stopped his work for a moment when the song came on. You couldn’t see his face, but he went completely still, just staring at the wall in front of him. It took everything in you to push your laugh down, picturing him with his face screwed up in confusion. Then, as if the matter were settled, he went back to his work. You waited a minute to see if he would do anything else, but after another five more minutes, the boredom started to gnaw at you and you wanted to work on something. You wrote down his reactions in your notes, then turned towards Rocky, giving him one of your keys to test out. The Eridian piano would only prove to be useful if the Eridians could understand it so you ran everything by Rocky before it was implemented. You began to become so engaged in the work, that you almost didn’t notice Ryland calling your name. 

“What?” you said, breaking your intense gaze away from Rocky’s fidgeting with your other experiment and turned back towards your human subject. 

“I asked who made this song,” he said with a warm smile and a look in his eyes that felt almost too knowing.

“Oh,” you said, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. You rolled towards your computer in order to have time to recover. “The music station says this is Florida Georgia Line.”

“Oh, okay,” Ryland said with a shrug. 

Ryland quickly turned back around, getting back to his work like he had never even asked the question in the first place. You couldn’t help but pester him a little more, just to see if you could get to him. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Yep!” he said cheerily, even popping the P emphatically. 

You spun around on your stool to widen your eyes at Rocky and he just shook his head at you. He was becoming more accustomed to human tendencies by the day, and you were pretty sure that you had just been given the disapproving stare of a parent without him having eyes. 

Still, you wouldn’t be deterred so easily. Ryland had to have a breaking point, you and Rocky did, so he had to have one too. You just needed to find it. You marked his question in your notebook as well as the time and then set to finding more impossibly silly country music in the database. 

You quickly switched to one of Luke Bryan’s earlier albums, moving further into the newer and more unhinged country songs. In your defense, the songs were catchy, and they had a good beat, even if they were mostly about trucks, beer, and women in jean shorts. 

You played the album out of order, starting Ryland off a little lighter and then progressively seeing how much he would take. The first song he had no reaction to, you weren’t even sure he’d noticed if you’d switched artists, the second and third song he continued working through, and by the fourth you knew you needed to pull out the lead single. 

You pressed play on the opening track, and watched as Ryland furrowed his brows. He placed his hands down on the counter, abandoning the test tube that had been in his hand in the sink. You saw him look up at the speakers then look over at you. 

“Isn’t this heavily sexualizing women?”

“Huh?” you asked, looking up from your notebook like you hadn’t just been staring at him just a second ago. 

Ryland waved his hands around. “This song and the way he talks about women, I mean I know it’s probably at least a decade old, but isn’t it all a bit misogynistic?”

“Oh,” you said, looking up at the speakers as if you’d just noticed they were playing. “I guess I hadn’t really been listening to the lyrics, I just like the beat,” you lied, knowing that this particular song would set Ryland off. He wasn’t wrong, most country songs were that way when you’d left Earth, but at least they were giving you something to annoy him with. You bit your pen, sensing your opening. “Do you want me to change it?”

Ryland was already turning back towards his vile in the sink. “Nope, was just asking,” he said calmly, but you could see the tightness in his shoulders. You were starting to get to him. 

You pivoted slightly, shifting back to the classics and putting on Margaritaville, and watched as Ryland slumped as if he had gotten hit by a middle school insult. You laughed to yourself at the sight of Ryland putting his head in his hands, very clearly fighting to keep his thoughts to himself. 

You decided to up your game, adding any songs that included anything close to the words honky tonk or used tractor and sexy in the same metaphor. It was at this point that Ryland fully abandoned his work, instead just sitting on his stool, looking completely dumbfounded. Luckily for you, he seemed to be refusing to look up at you, making it much easier to cover the way you were snickering at him. 

With him already down, you decided to go for the kill and you put on Parked Out By The Lake, and waited for Ryland to realize what you’d done. For a moment, he seemed to almost recover what you’d put him through. At first, it seemed to him like the song wasn’t that bad, but by the fourth or fifth line he started to catch on. The song was repeating the same five words over and over again, just in slightly different ways. 

You watched as the usually fidgety man grew more and more still, and you furiously scribbled in your notebook, looking over at your stopwatch every few seconds. Halfway through the song, Ryland finally looked up at you. 

“This is the worst song I have ever heard,” he said, deadpanning.

Your jaw dropped far more dramatically than what was necessary. “Did you just insult my music?”

You managed to hold back your laughter but Ryland’s eyes narrowed on you. The lab suddenly felt hotter than it had a minute ago and you felt yourself flush at his intense eye contact. It felt as though he was looking right through you, like he could see to the very deepest point of your soul, and knew exactly what you were doing. You jerked your head away and slowly inhaled through your nose, willing your face to cool.  

“What?” you asked, praying to any nearby stars that you were keeping your face intact. 

He held a finger up. “Wait a second.”

He stood up from his stool and began to walk through his station. Your breath caught in your throat as he drew closer to you, stopping just at the edge of your table and placing his hands on his hips.

He leaned in towards you. “You’re trying to do this.”

You shrugged, your heart hammering in your chest. “Do what?”

Suddenly Ryland was moving towards you, hands reaching out to grab, and you no longer cared for keeping your little act in play. You didn’t know what he was planning on doing when he caught you, but you weren’t going to stick around to find out. 

You scrambled to somehow move away, scurrying towards Rocky’s station as if he would protect you. Unfortunately, with you out of the way, Ryland reached out and grabbed your notebook instead of grabbing you.  

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath. His eyes flicked down to the notepad and you stood frozen as he silently read the words that would no doubt seal your doomed fate. He looked over the top of his glasses at you as he dropped the paper back on the table and you instinctively took a step back. 

“I was your science experiment?” He asked, and if the look he was giving you wasn’t scaring you then the way that he sounded nearly amused certainly was.

You held your hands up in surrender. “Observation is the sincerest form of flattery?”

Ryland dropped the notebook and took after you. You yelped and jumped over Rocky. “Ryland wahahahait!” you laughed, nervous laughter being pulled from you as you realized he was just behind you. You didn’t even know where you were headed. You were technically going in the direction of the bedroom, though you truthfully had no idea how this was going to help you. 

Your feet pounded across the ship, and you willed your socked feet not to slip against the ground. A bubbly feeling of anxious tension was rising in your stomach, making you feel as though you were already caught despite the fact that you were still running away from him. 

You grabbed a hold of the bedroom door just as Ryland’s arms snaked around your middle. “No!!” you yelled, smacking at his arms, a random assortment of words tumbling out of your lips. “You are the one in violation of the music rules! I should not be the one in trouble here!”

Ryland clucked his tongue. “Oh, you negated your music rule the moment you started using me as a little experiment.” 

Ryan gently threw you onto the small makeshift couch that the three of you had set up for when one of you got too tired to climb down from the lab to the bedroom. You squeaked with surprise as you bounced on top of the plush pillows, surprised with the ease that he tossed you with. 

“Now,” he said, standing over top of you and essentially cornering you in with his body. “What are we going to do with you?” 

You pushed yourself backwards as if you could fade into the wall. “Nothing,” you pleaded, your voice wobbling with uncontained giggles. You weren’t used to seeing him like this and the smarmy way he was looking down at you was making you all too nervous. “You’re gonna let me go.”

Rocky rolled over with a speed that you’d never seen him use outside of dire situations. He pulled at Ryland’s shirt. “𝀌᭴᭵♮᭢᭨᭫᭮” 

“Ohhhhhhh,” Ryland said, and then looked at you with the biggest smirk. You looked between him and Rocky trying to determine what was going on. The translator hadn’t turned on, but Ryland clearly knew what Rocky was saying. You started to feel more nervous laughter bubbling up in your throat. 

 “Will it work on them?” he asked, holding his hand over his mouth as if you couldn’t hear what he was saying. 

Rocky nodded his head. “It worked day before last. Rocky tried just like Grace asked. Friend made big noise. Was very cute. Statement.” 

You frowned, trying to figure out what Rocky was talking about, but coming up blank. The days on the Hail Mary started to blend together at certain points, but this seemed big enough to Rocky that you felt like you should be able to recall it too. Then, all of sudden you remembered when Rocky had accidentally jabbed you in the side as you had just barely been waking up. You had screeched and giggled as he continued digging his claw into your side for a few more moments, your mind not even awake enough to try fighting him. 

Now, however, you were awake and suddenly aware that that moment had been significantly less spontaneous than you’d realized. As you looked up at Ryland leering above you with a smile, you realized that you hadn’t needed to push his buttons to provide yourself with entertainment. He was bored too, and now you’d just given him the perfect excuse to screw with you. 

Ryland already knew you were ticklish, thanks to Rocky the traitor, but you couldn’t just let him win.

 You sprung from your position against the wall, and slipped around Ryland’s legs, attempting to crawl towards the edge of the makeshift couch. Already giggling furiously, you managed to place a steady foot back on the ground before two hands jabbed your sides, just above your hip bones, and your legs involuntarily gave out. 

You fell backwards onto the plush pillows, and looked up to find Ryland who was smiling down at you like he’d just discovered a new star. As you scrambled towards the wall a second time, it started to dawn on you that you might’ve finally found the point that your mild mannered friend turned into a mischievous planner, and your heart started to hammer in your chest.

“No, no,” you said, as Ryland came to sit down beside you. “Hold on, we can talk about this. We’re all very reasonable people.”

“Correct. We’re all scientists, and now I want to run an experiment of my own.”

You swallowed hard, wrapping your arms around your middle and pulling your knees up. This didn’t seem like this could possibly end well for you or your overly sensitive skin. “Which is?”

He cocked his head. “We’re going to see how much of the tickle monster you can take till you apologize.” 

He started to wiggle his fingers towards your stomach and you jolted on instinct. “NO!” you yelled. 

“Ohhh, very interesting, a ticklish stomach it seems.” Ryland turned around. “Rocky, can you keep notes for me since my hands are a little busy right now?”

Rocky chirped and ran to grab your notebook and pen. “Of course. Friend very ticklish. Make very squeaky noise even when fake tickles.”

“Rocky! Be quiet!” you yelled, somehow feeling even warmer. 

“What?” Ryland said, cooing sweetly at you. “Are you feeling too perceived right now?”

“Shut up,” you whined, but then his hands were shooting towards your neck and you screeched without him even touching you. 

“Rocky, can you please add that our test subject seems to somehow get even more sensitive when teased?”

You covered your face with your hands in favor of protecting your middle. “I don’t know how to deal with you like this.”

Ryland laughed. “Like what?”

“Like,” you risked a glance outside of your hands, only to find him looking at you like he was prepared to lovingly destroy you within an inch of your life. “Like that!” you said, unable to find anything else. 

“Oh, can someone dish it out, but they can’t take it?” he asked, raising a brow. 

You frowned at this, sensing that he was very close to feeling like he was winning. “No, I’m just not used to it.” 

“Oh, well I suppose we better test that theory then, huh?” Ryland said, shooting a hand out to your side that you effectively blocked. 

“Uh uh, none of that.” He hooked his arms under your legs, and pulled them out, sending you sprawling across the cushions. 

“No, NO, give them back!” you yelled, trying to scurry back into your curled up position, but Ryland was already climbing on top of your hips, pinning you in place. 

“No.” Ryland gently trailed his hands across your arms, it didn’t tickle, but it was enough to send goosebumps across your skin. “We have to finish my experiment.” 

He leaned in close to you and whispered. “And the tickle monster can’t conclude his hypothesis without some giggles to prove it.” Ryland then began to wiggle his fingers into your neck and you screeched as your shoulders practically came up to your ears. 

“Ryland!” you yelled, squeezing your eyes shut against the horribly ticklish sensation. 

“Nope. Tickle monster needs laughter, not your friend's name.”

Indignation hit you like a ton of bricks despite the fact that your unpinned hands were doing very little to fight him off. “You are NOT the tickle monster. We are too old for this!” 

“Ooh, tickle monster did not like that answer,” Ryland reached down and squeezed your hips and a bright burst of laughter exploded through you. His thumbs found the divot point in the bone, and you threw yourself forward in shock, only to have Ryland gently push you back down. “Are you trying to invalidate my experiment?”

“Fuhuuhhuhuhuck yohohohohu!” you yelled, your body twisting around wildly in an attempt to dislodge that ticklish feeling from your skin. 

“You are so lucky that the tickle monster is here instead of your amazing friend Ryland because he’d probably do this for saying that word,” he said, before grabbing a hold of your wrists and pushing them up to leave your middle unprotected. Before you could process what he was doing or scream, he was bending down to blow a raspberry on your stomach. You screeched as the vibration travelled through you like magic. His scraggly beard was like tiny individual feathers across your sensitive skin and you swore he was moving it around as much as possible. 

He sat back up and swiped his fingers across your tummy. 

“Rocky, please note that our subject is especially susceptible to raspberries, though we’ll have to try it other places to confirm this theory.”

Rocky chirped and you heaved in enough of a breath to speak. “We are NOT doing that.”

Ryland looked down at you, looking as innocent as the devil. “Why not?”

Your jaw dropped at his audacity for even asking you that. “Because, because- YOU are the one who broke the music complaint rule.”

Ryland threw his hands up with a laugh. “You don’t care about the music rule.” 

“You don’t know that,” you breathed out heavily.

Ryland cocked his head. “I have a different hypothesis, do you want to hear it?”

“What?” you said, raising your brows.

He poked your shoulder. “I think you would’ve picked this as your compensation for me breaking the rule.”

You weren’t aware that your face could get any warmer. “I would NOT” 

Ryland leaned back, looking smug. “Okay, then apologize for your experiment and I’ll let you go right now.” 

You glared at him. It wasn’t like you were craving the feeling of his fingers sending that zappy tingly feeling through your nerves, or the playful energy that was currently buzzing around the inside of the Hail Mary, but you simply couldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him win that easily. “I won’t apologize for being a thorough scientist.”

Ryland twisted around to yell over his shoulder. “Rocky, please note down that its possible our test subject likes being tickled but we need more proof before our conclusion.”

You would’ve pushed him if you still had your hands. “Ryland, stop teasing!” 

“Sorry, I can't help you. Ryland isn’t here, if you need something you’ll have to address the tickle monster,” he said, before clawing his fingers into your armpits. You yelped and kicked, and then descended back into laughter as your skin twitched underneath his careful hands. 

He was nearly methodical in his methods, alternating between softly stroking the skin, spidering his fingernails, and scratching at your hollows. “Subject seems to be more susceptible to lighter softer touches, but we will have to try elsewhere to be sure it isn’t a fluke,” he said, and you heard Rocky chirping behind him before his words started to make sense to you. 

“Try ribs, usually ticklish for humans,” Rocky suggested, and you tried to pull your arms down to no avail. 

“Good idea Rock, I almost forgot about those.”

“Bad idea, no bAD IDEA!” you tried to say, but then Ryland’s hands were softly scritching across your sides again, taking his sweet time in wiggling his fingers across each bone. He alternated between each side, making you lean into one of his hands, only to change which hand was doing the tickling. 

“Grace!” you pleaded, descending into the madness of your giggles. 

“I might listen if you call me by my real name, you know,” he said, letting his hands trail down to your stomach. You nearly shot up out of your skin, but all Ryland had to do was squeeze your sides again, and you went right back down. 

His hands went right back to your stomach and it felt like your nerves and your face was on fire. His hands twitched just above your belly button making your laughter turn deeper as you tried to suck your stomach in to no avail and you squeezed your eyes shut. The sensation ran deep, like the feeling of his hands was spreading hazy warm waves through your body and the laughter was all heading straight to your brain. 

“Switch spohohohohts!” you begged, needing him to be anywhere else other than your stomach. 

“Hey Rock, can you write down that it appears that our test subject would rather deal with what appears to be their worst spot being picked apart than say the word tickle?”

You opened your eyes to gape at him, but promptly wished you hadn’t as he looked down at you in mock sympathy. 

“Yes. Does appear to be stubborn when solution is so obvious. Rocky think friend too flustered to say word.”

“You bohohohohoth SUCK!” you yelled, wishing you could give both of your mischievous crewmates a withering glare, but laughing too much to even be able to speak properly. 

Ryland smiled down at you. “If you want me to switch spots then you’ll have to ask the tickle monster.” 

You were never going to live this down, but you were going to explode if he kept raking his fingers against the soft skin of your middle. “Tihihi- tihihih,” you started, then got too flustered to finish. Ryland squeezed your sides again and you yelped loudly. “Tihihihckle mohohohonster, please!”

“Interesting that you said that and not the words that stop this,” Ryland murmured plenty loud enough for you and Rocky to hear it as his hands fluttered at the sides of your neck once more. 

“Rocky, do you think we have enough information to present our conclusion?” 

“Not enough data. Friend is fine. Must keep going.” 

“Friend is NOT fine,” you yelped, as Ryland accidentally brushed his fingers across the shell of your ear. 

“Your ears are ticklish too?” Ryland all but yelled. 

“Yours are wOHOHOHORSE!” you laugh screeched as he swirled his fingers around your ear and his nails scuttled across your neck. You tried to push your ear into the pillows but that just left the other side exposed, leaving you in a never ending search for a place where Ryland’s tickles could not reach you. 

“Maybe so,” Ryland said, flushing a little red, but smirking too much for your liking. “But I’m not the one screaming.”

“I’m not screa-NO!” you had started to say into a pillow only to have a pair of lips press into the sensitive skin of your neck and blow as hard as possible. You shrieked loudly enough that it would’ve been embarrassing if you were with anyone else, but instead you just happily giggled yourself silly. 

Ryland pulled back and you heaved in air as he gently brushed your hair out of the way. “Anytime you want to admit that you shouldn’t have experimented on Ryland I’m happy to hear it.”

You did your best to glare up at him. “You are so mean!”  

Ryland shrugged and blew another raspberry on your neck, wiggling his face around and pressing that horribly ticklish stubble into your skin. “FINE!” you shrieked. “Ryland, I’m sohohohohry!”

He raised his head from your neck. “And what do you have to say to me?”

You inhaled a breath, willing yourself to be able to say the word again. You opened your mouth to say it right as Ryland bent down again, his lips connected with your neck and a gutteral scream came out instead. The vibrations were toying with your nerves and it broke down any walls you had left. 

“Tickle monster PLEASE! I give!” you yelled, and Ryland pulled back, 

“That’ll work,” he smiled, and you inhaled air like you chugged water on a hot day. 

“You’re evil,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “I always thought you were too nice, but underneath those sweaters and kindness is an evil, evil man.”

Rocky scittered towards you. “Ryland not evil. Friend is lying. Had fun. Statement.”

You looked at Rocky in horror but Ryland only laughed and got off of your legs. He curled his hand under your knee and you jolted, but he only moved you around so your back was against his chest, his arms pulling the two of you close. You settled into him easily and Rocky pressed in beside you, tucking into Ryland’s side, “Rocky has a point you know, you never told me to stop.” he whispered in your ear. 

“Shut up,” you hissed, resituating yourself overtop of his legs. 

He laughed good naturedly, but Rocky shifted beside him. “Grace also seems happier now. Less bored.”

At these words Grace actually blushed, and his reaction hit you like a ton of bricks. He had said all of those things about how easily you were teased and yet he was being just as bashful about what had just happened. You smiled, realizing you weren’t the only one who had fun but wouldn’t admit it.  

Rocky made a clicking noise. “We did two tests. What are conclusions? Question?”

You looked up at Ryland as he tilted his head side to side. “Subject is clearly unbearably ticklish-” you tried to reach your hand up to cover Ryland’s mouth, but he only grabbed a hold of your hands and held them to your chest like he was hugging you. 

“The tester had a little bit too much fun tormenting me I think!” you pointed out, and though Ryland’s blush deepened, he pressed on. 

“But between a combination of sheer obstinance and holding a secret enjoyment for the game, was able to hold out for a long time.” You wiggled around, trying to break out of Ryland’s hold but between his strength and your exhaustion you were stuck being forced to listen to his teasing words or come up with your own.

“You had more fun than me,” you said, your voice rising in pitch.

Ryland raised a brow, the look you were sure he’d given dozens of students before. “Is this you admitting you had fun?” 

You let your head slump forward. “Shush-” you groan. 

Ryland laughs and Rocky chirps. 

“You look sleepy,” Ryland coos, looking down at you. 

You nuzzle your head into Ryland’s side. “I’m gonna get you back so bad.”

Ryland begins to stroke your hair, and if it was possible, you can almost feel the heat of his smile on you. “I have no doubts.”

Your eyes began to flutter shut. “Rocky and I are gonna team up and it’ll be over for you.”

As if in response, Rocky curls around you, the warmth of his carapace making you feel so cozy and safe and Ryland murmurs contentedly.  “Mhmm, I’m sure.”

You yawn loudly and curl your fingers into Ryland’s soft sweater. 

“Friend sleep. I watch. We attack Grace later.” 

There was a look you shared, sometimes, whenever you successfully provoked him into tickling you - although you didn't always need to provoke him. Sometimes, you'd just look at him pleadingly, and he'd know. And after, you'd wipe tears of laughter from your eyes, and he'd adjust his glasses, and it would be there on his face. A knowing.

It was why you felt comfortable asking without asking, when the wanting arrived - you’d hide Ryland’s things, act extra snarky, squeeze his knee under the table - and if he didn’t tickle you, he still usually gave you some similar form of playful affection. It nearly always worked. 

Nearly.

This time, though, was different. Despite your best efforts to drop hints all week, it appeared Grace was too engrossed in his work to pick up on any. You’d prodded his ribs, thrown in plenty of sarcastic jibes - and, though you were loathe to admit it, deliberately stretched for high shelves a few times within tickling distance. All that, and Dr. PhD still hadn’t gotten the message.

So…no, he wasn’t helping at all. 

You'd looked into the science of it, once. Hugs released plenty of endorphins. It stood to reason touch-starved individuals might feel drawn to affection that caused laughter, which would release an extra kick of dopamine. It wasn't unfathomable that some people enjoyed being tickled.

So you knew you wanted it. And you could take a reasonable guess at why.

Didn’t make it any less humiliating to think about, though.

And now, after hours trying and failing to shut it out, there's a stubborn, giddy flutter settled between your heart and stomach. Your brain runs circles around the recent lack of touch, helpfully providing you with visions of hugs, playfights, cuddles, tickles, tickles, tickles-

This is bad.

You tap your pen furiously against your notepad, berating yourself for getting distracted again. A simple dilution calculation sits unfinished, abandoned in favour of your oddly specific yearnings.

C₁V₁ = C₂V₂.

The formula stares at you. It's simple: just plug in the values, make the needed solution. You’ve done it a million times by now.

Across the room, Ryland drums his fingers on the bench, his glasses habitually crooked as he contemplates his own data. It's only in your peripheral, but it's enough to scatter any possibility of concentrating. Your eyes linger a nanosecond too long on his hand, and you absolutely, totally do not contemplate his fingers tapping one-by-one like that against your ribs, so it's fine. You're fine.

Fuck.

Perhaps something more visual will help. You nudge the chair back, and grab a sample for the confocal microscope.

It's a more complex setup than the little desktop ones. Takes an eternity to switch the thing on - a million buttons, and loading screens, and safety checks.

You pass the time gazing intently at the desk.

Finally, it's ready. Taking a seat, you slot the sample in, and your hand drifts to the coarse focus dial, the sample shifting up and down with each movement. You will your eyes to stay locked on the viewport.

Your elbows bump against the desk as you hunch over the eyepiece. It's not comfortable, but you're used to it at this point, and it leaves your torso rather open to - nope. stop it.

Too late. The thought of hands, squeezing suddenly at your sides, flashes through your mind. Kneading. Poking. Teasing. A person, no one in particular, crowding closer to trap you against the bench, laughing low near your ear, his glasses bumping your neck-

God.

The fine focus does not make things any clearer.

"I can hear you thinking." A voice nearby. You nearly fall out your chair. Grace is stood over his laptop, hands propped against the table, glasses slid down his nose. Just…watching, apparently.

You steady your breathing. “Uh- what?”

“You’re distracted.” He steps closer.

“No, I’m not.”

“So…you meant to do that?” He points to the sample, which you have elegantly smushed against the microscope lens during your adjustments. Great. You rest your brow against the eyepiece in defeat.

“How many cover slips are we gonna lose to you, hm?” Ryland mutters, guiding you off the chair with a hand on your shoulder. 

You nudge him. “Shut up.”

He nudges you back. “Hey, I’m looking out for our equipment, here.”

You reach over, adjusting his glasses for him. “You’re dragging me away from my work.”

He grins. “Work? What work?”

“Rude.” It’s too easy, really, to swipe your fingers over his neck – your hands are already there, and your brain has been screaming affection affection affection for hours now. 

Grace, of course, leaps back with a squeak, half a giggle escaping before he regains his composure, hand held to his neck.

Mischief flashes through his features, for a moment. But he doesn’t take the bait. 

“Alright, alright, sorry.” He folds his arms. “What’s going on?”

You huff. “Nothing, just…”

“Bored? Tired?” Ryland supplies. Your gaze drifts inexorably to his hands, which trace idle patterns over his own arms. 

You are not going to get any work done like this.

“Kinda.”

You stride over, placing your hands on his shoulders, expression dour.

He tilts his head, frowning slightly.

“What, you need a hug?” His arms open wide, and you take the offer, even if it’s not quite what you’re after. It helps.

You spend a moment gathering your thoughts, Ryland giving you a brief but tight squeeze. It gives you the confidence to draw back and face him again.

“All good now?”

Heat crawls up your neck. For the fifth time in as many days, you give him The Look - the one that usually says everything you need it to. 

He raises his eyebrows, uncertain.

“Okay, so…not all good, then?”

“Grace.” Your voice nearly cracks. Delirious, you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose - but…no, there’s not a glint of malice in his eyes.

“What, what do you need?” He’s completely oblivious.

 “I want-” The rest of the words won’t come out. You give him one last pleading stare, hoping he’ll know the look in your eyes this time.

“What, what is it?”

Shit. You’re going to have to spell it out for him. 

“Um- it’s been a while since- uh.” The next few seconds are filled with your various stutters. Grace sits through it all patiently.

Okay, deep breath. You place your hands together, and brute-force the words out.

“I, um. I want you to tickle me.”

Silence. 

He leans back against the counter, eyes narrowing in the way they do when he finds something interesting.

And then, slowly…he smiles.

“...So you can ask for it.” His voice carries that familiar teasing lilt.

“You-You knew?”

“You are not subtle.” Grace doesn’t give you time to process the betrayal - just lunges forwards, scooping you into a hug from behind like it's nothing. His hands latch onto your hips, squeezing rapidly, and he laughs at the way you instantly start sinking downwards. 

“That was so hard for you, wasn’t it?” He muses, spidering his fingers over your stomach, following you towards the floor. “You were thinking about it for days!” 

That fluttering, hopeful thing from earlier does somersaults inside your chest, revelling at the familiar electricity running through your veins. The giddiness and joy at being held this way, despite Grace’s teasing, puts a silly grin on your face. You put your head in your hands, legs flailing wildly as you reach the ground. But Ryland’s not having it - he grabs your wrists, and slots out from behind you, choosing instead to sit over your legs. He pins your hands over your head, leaning closer.

You refuse to meet his gaze - and in your defence, it would be hard to - Grace’s free hand walks two fingers along the inside of your bicep, moving steadily towards your underarm. It’s rather distracting.

“Grahace-”

You risk a glance at him.

Bad idea. That grin is evil.

“You really missed this, didn’t you?” His hand swirls a tiny circle over your tricep, and your giggling stops being anticipatory. You frantically shake your head. 

“Yea, you did.” He laughs, a sing-song tone to his voice. His fingers creep lower, slowly tracing around your navel. Your breath hitches in your chest, delicate laughter stuttering out.

“You missed being tickled.”

The heat rising to your cheeks is mortifying - you let out a noise somewhere between a giggle and a whine. 

“Aw. Sorry, am I embarrassing you?”

“Yes-!” His hand abruptly claws at your side, and you tip your head back, lost in laughter. “No! Nonono-”

“Yes? No? Which is it?” Grace laughs. It’s a wicked noise. Horrible, even. You vow to yourself that you’ll tickle that laugh out of him once you’re free.

“FUCK you-” 

“Tsk. That’s rude.” He stills his fingers, leaning in to look you in the eye. “I won’t tickle you then.”

…If the ship’s hull somehow breached, right now, and you fell through the laboratory floor into the frigid vacuum of space, you would spend your last moments grateful for the feeling of the cold against your raging blush. 

Grace is attentively watching your reaction - which consists mostly of hiding your face against your pinned arms, and giggling through residual laughter. There may have been a very embarrassing flustered groan, but you don’t dwell on it.

“...Well?” He hovers a clawed hand over your tummy. “You owe me an apology.”

“Sorry, sorry-” You manage to squeak out, eyes closed tight once you see what he’s doing.

“...And?”

“And what?”

“And, what would you like me to do?” Grace looks at you expectantly. 

Oh no.

He’s waiting for you to ask him again.

“Absolutely not.” You open your eyes. His hand is closer. 

“...I just think it would help to practice asking, is all.”

“Ryland.”

“Ryland, now, huh? Must be bad.” He wriggles his fingers in the air, just a bit. Just an inch away. You can’t help it - you laugh a little.

“Plehease!”

He considers this - observes the shade of red your ears have turned - and snorts.

“...Alright, fine, be dramatic.” 

His hand makes contact with your torso, sliding your shirt out the way as he spiders a pattern across your skin. Then, hand still poking along your side, he leans down, and blows a raspberry.

You forget most of the English language for a moment, back arching in a useless attempt to throw him off, your focus completely consumed by the playful, buzzy feeling under your skin. At one point, you make either a snort or a hiccup, you’re not sure, and Ryland laughs against your belly, which tickles even more. Once he runs out of air, he pulls back, and pays attention to your ribs, his fingers climbing up each one with horrible, ticklish accuracy.

“...Two…” he mutters. You furrow your eyebrows between giggles, confused by the lack of context.

“GRACE-!” You manage to shout, unable to form a sentence through the combination of laughter and utter mortification. Pulling at your arms does nothing.

“Shush, now, you’ll make me lose count.”

His hand shifts to the next rib, one finger positioned above and the other below as he digs lightly into the space between the bones, and keeps counting.

“Three-”

Ok, now you actively wish there was a hull breach. 

“Four-” He continues, picking up his pace slightly to observe how your legs kick out more in response. “Only twenty ribs to go, you’re doing great.”

“Screhew you-!” You’re careful to leave the profanities out this time.

Grace smiles. “On second thought, this is going too slow. Fivesixseven-” 

His hand crawls rapidly upwards, slightly trailing towards your spine as it does so. At long last, he lets your hands go, so he can have both of his back. The freedom doesn’t do you much good - you feel like a puddle. Your limbs can barely move from the laughter. You hold onto Grace’s wrists loosely - but don’t push them away.

“You gonna let me go?” By now, he’s got both hands jammed under your arms, barely moving. He doesn’t need to move them, really - you keep squirming and laughing yourself into an infinite feedback loop with them stuck there like that.

“Plehease-” You can’t think through the giggles.

“I’m not doing anything! I’m not moving!” Grace is laughing along with you at this point, apparently highly entertained by your predicament. “Oho, you’re adorable.”

By some miracle, you finally manage to lift your arms enough for him to draw back. He doesn’t touch you again - just sits back, watching as you flop your arms over your face and ride out the tsunami of residual giggles he’s caused. 

After ten seconds of this, he leans forwards again, poking at your wrist. 

“You ok under there? Did I break you?”

If you hadn’t just been tickled to pieces, you probably wouldn’t have grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. But you have, so that’s what you do.

“Hey,” He laughs, stroking your hair. “Happy now?”

And despite the mischief in his tone - despite the stomach-flipping embarrassment you feel - despite the fact he’d known what you wanted the whole time - you nod. 

Ryland grins wider. “Good.”

Then, he leans over to catch your eye, his voice a tad smug. 

He typed it out quickly, a panic settling in his stomach because he didn’t usually text him like this, out in the open. The closest thing to it was their dressing room and its guise of privacy. On his left was Hayden, who looked much worse for wear than Shane, which was probably due to all the shots he’d taken. Shane had, despite his team’s nagging, stayed entirely sober, but that didn’t mean he had a clear memory of the night either.

Lily: He doesn’t know your body like I know it.

Shane slammed the phone face down on the table, then thought better of it and grabbed it again. “What’s wrong with you?” Hayden asked, reaching for his own phone as if it would give him all the answers.

Shane ignored him and typed another response.

Jane: What the fuck do you mean?

Lily: You know.

Jane: I really don’t??

He could picture Ilya’s stupid smirk. Riling Shane up was his favorite thing.

Lily: You thought you could keep it secret from me.

Shane exhaled slowly.

Jane: That I’m ticklish? How did you even find that out?

Lily: Ah. You don’t know.

Last night came back in flashes. He remembered wanting to text Ilya. Remembered Hayden drunkenly urging him to text “that girl he was hiding”. But mostly he remembered flashing lights and people being drunk, and Shane feeling equally gone due to the lights and the sounds, stuck between awareness and a blur.

“Oh my god,” Hayden said to his left, just as Shane attempted to type back anything more coherent than a bunch of question marks. “Shane, we’ve gone viral.”

“What-”

Hayden pressed his phone into his face with a laugh, alerting most of the table. “You gotta see this.”

The video was on twitter, though it wasn’t posted by any of them but seemed to be a screengrab from Olsson’s instagram account. In it were Shane and Hayden with people dancing all around them. Really it was nothing special. Nothing to go viral over. Hayden was mostly swaying, while Shane was bopping his head awkwardly upon noticing the camera. Through the music you could hear Olsson prompting them to smile.

“He said smile!” Hayden yelled, seemingly not impressed by Shane’s initial attempt, which to be fair looked more like he was in pain than enjoying himself.

Present Shane shook his head. “Why would we go viral over this?”

“Oh, just you wait.”

In the video, Hayden grabbed for him, and Shane doubled over as if trying to escape. It really still didn’t make it any more interesting, until he realized with a flush that he was laughing.

‘They are so cute’ the tweet said, and when Shane would scroll down later in the privacy of his hotel room, people, seemingly fans of him and the team, would gush about their “bromance” and about him being ticklish, and it still didn’t really make any sense that this would get that many views, but Shane felt embarrassed about it anyway.

So much for letting loose.

In the end, it spread because Shane supposedly gained super strength and threw Hayden off of him - “That’s why I have this huge ass bruise on my side!” - and while he knew his way on the ice, Shane really wasn’t an aggressive person off of it.

The team laughed at the video and Shane slipped out of his seat, phone in hand.

Jane: What the fuck.

Lily: You have never thrown me around like that.

Jane: I will if you don’t stop.

Lily: You must be really ticklish.

Lily: Exciting for me.

Jane: Stop.

Lily: Hmm. I will if you are nice.

Jane: Asshole.

Lily: See you in two days :)

*

Ilya watched the video at least a dozen times before he texted Shane. He wished to say he did so in a composed manner, but he had hit the keys in a dazed rage. He wasn’t used to seeing Shane with his guard down, if you could even call it that. He didn’t seem like he belonged in that club, not really, but he seemed more relaxed than Ilya had seen him with his team. He always had a shield up. They were alike in that way.

It amused him to see him like that, slightly out of place but evidently enjoying himself. And then Pike put his hands on him and he saw red for much longer than he was willing to admit, and by the time he realized that Shane was bending over because he was being tickled, because he was ticklish and his best friend was using that knowledge to his advantage, knowledge he probably possessed beforehand, Ilya was already typing out the text without allowing himself time to think too much about it.

Jane: Excuse me?

The reply came quickly and Ilya didn’t let himself stall, didn’t let himself overthink this. He was teasing him, as he often did. Shane was always more practical over text, almost monotonous, but Ilya could sense his emotions behind the typed words. His spluttering. His blushing and stuttering and arousal, if the conversation asked for it.

He seemed confused now though, and Ilya swiftly realized he had no idea what he was talking about. Could imagine him scouring the internet for clues and putting up his usual front when he found it. Ilya only texted him because he wanted to reestablish something, maybe mostly to himself, and not necessarily because he cared about Shane being ticklish. That had just been a bonus.

But as the text conversation progressed, and as he imagined him blushing throughout it, he found he couldn’t let the idea of him squirming under his hands for different reasons go. It all but consumed him, in fact.

*

Montreal beat Boston and Ilya was in a frustrated mood. It was always worse losing when you played at home. Shane knew that all too well. He also knew that the best remedy was always taking your frustration out on each other’s bodies, which was why he wasn’t surprised when Ilya shoved him into the room the very moment Shane opened the door to his hotel room.

“Hey,” he said, though there was no heat to it.

“No talking,” Ilya said and grabbed his face to smash his mouth into his.

Shane was familiar with this dance. Had both led it and been led many times. He let Ilya steer him now, let him bite his lower lip and slide his mouth down his collarbone. Let him press him against the wall and dig his thumbs into his hip bones, as if there was any world where Shane would be pulling away. He moaned and Ilya moaned back in return, both of them relishing in how frustration always made the body desperate. How willing they both were to give into that desperation.

The bed was suddenly right there - when had they moved through the room? - and Shane didn’t protest when he was thrown onto it. The sheets were soft and freshly washed. Not that he really had the time to acknowledge it. Not with Ilya looming over him like that, head tilted in a way that made him feel self conscious.

“What is it?” he asked, feeling dizzy and needing him closer again.

A fingertip on his chest, which was slowly moving downward. It was very like Ilya to tease. He liked watching him squirm, he’d said, but this felt different. Shane suddenly felt on edge.

“I’ve been nice,” he said, remembering the text conversation.

Ilya hummed. “Not very nice to embarrass me in my own city.”

“That’s hockey, Rozanov.” He jutted his chin out. He was on thin ice, he knew. “We were simply better.”

“Were you?” Something flickered across Ilya’s face. Something kind of terrifying.

So Shane had been nervous about tonight. He hadn’t exactly been able to pinpoint why until now, when Ilya’s grin turned mischievous and he realized he had him pinned to the mattress, something he usually liked. Still liked, if he was being honest.

“Tell me, Hollander.” His finger had stilled on his ribs, the touch unbearably light. “How did you keep your sensitivity a secret from me for so long?”

Shane flushed, which was fucking ridiculous. “I’m not that bad. Hayden surprised me.”

“So if I tickle you now-” He used his other hand to wiggle his fingers in the air. ”-you won’t laugh? You will keep still and let me keep tickling?”

“What? I don’t know.”

“You are tense.” Ilya’s smile softened. “And blushing.”

“Shut up.”

He suddenly removed his finger. “I think I will let you be. Better to keep you tense. Means we will win next game.”

“What- you can’t text me before the game, Rozanov,” Shane said weakly, but it fell on deaf ears and he kind of forgot to reestablish that boundary once Ilya’s mouth was on him again.

*

Ilya felt lucky. Lucky that the next game against Montreal was only a few weeks after their loss, and lucky because he knew Shane was expecting him to text and therefore would be thrown off when he ended up not doing so at all. He looked at his phone and grinned, knowing Shane was probably doing the same in his own dressing room. It was almost better, forcing him to think of him. It would be more fun later, because of course there would be a later. He would take a cab to Shane’s creepy apartment and Shane would be angry because they would inevitably beat them, and Ilya would just laugh and let him do whatever he wanted to him, though not without doing things right back. It was part of it, their tumbling and battling.

“You waiting for a call or somethin’?” Cliff asked, appearing beside him suddenly.

Ilya slipped the phone into his bag. “No.”

“We have to win tonight, you know.”

“We will.”

“Price better keep Montreal in check.”

“You think I can’t do that myself?” he asked, which he knew was unfair. It was Price’s job to make sure he had as much of a free range as possible. It was Ilya’s job to score. Ilya would score and wink right in Shane’s face just to drive the point home and possibly drive him a bit crazy while he was at it.

Cliff slapped him on the back. “We got this.”

Ilya huffed and finished getting ready. His phone buzzed just before they were about to go out on the ice.

Jane: I didn’t peg you as someone who listens.

He snorted out a laugh and didn’t reply.

*

“Now you’re texting me before the game, huh?” was the first thing Ilya said when Shane entered his hotel room.

“You’re an asshole,” Shane replied. He looked angry, but there was no heat to it. You learned to live with losses when you played. Mostly they worked as motivation to keep getting better.

Ilya felt equally tired that night. The game had been an ongoing battle of score after score from both teams, which meant overtime and suspense which was both his favorite thing about the game and the thing which drained him the most. He had hoped that Shane would be fired up enough to take charge that night, but they stood staring at each other for slightly too long and Ilya grabbed for his waist when he realized Shane wasn’t moving.

“Wait-” Shane recoiled, which was unlike him, and Ilya had a terrifying moment of wondering if he’d finally crossed a line, if Shane was finally tired of this thing they were doing, and while he was certain his fear was visible on his face Shane seemed too busy blushing to notice.

“Ah,” Ilya said, realization dawning on him. “You think I will tickle you.”

He didn’t mean to say it to embarrass him, but Shane’s blush turned redder, turned angrier and defensive. “I thought you said you could do it better.” It was so evident that it took everything in him to say it. Ilya felt merciful because of it and didn’t tease. “Pardon me for thinking you were a man of your word.”

Ilya raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to do it?”

“Well, no.”

“Then I won’t.” He reached out again, though without touching him. “Come here. I won’t do it,” he added when Shane eyed him warily. “But I really really want to.” He wasn’t sure why he admitted it, but the image of Shane squirming beneath him still hadn’t left his mind.

Shane whined. A beautiful, arousing whine, and Ilya wasted no more time before undressing them both and throwing him onto the bed.

*

Shane couldn’t figure out why it bothered him. Why the promise of such a pure, innocent thing wasn’t being held. Why he even cared about it in the first place.

The rain was plummeting down outside. Too early in the season for rain, but even winters in Canada seemed to have suffered from climate change. Not good. He watched it for a moment. The rain Ilya was probably driving in, this night after their game. The usual. This familiar dance.

It didn’t help that they hadn’t seen each other for like two months either. He felt restless. Horny. Really fucking lonely, actually.

“What took you so long?”

“Hello to you too, Hollander.” Despite their loss, Ilya seemed to be in a good mood. Much more cheery than Shane, weirdly enough.

“Yes. Hi. Come in.”

Ilya’s jacket was dripping just from the short walk to the door. Shane tried to not care that he was getting it on the wooden floors.

This was a new thing they had been doing recently. Not crashing into each other the very moment they were alone. They never had any reason for the stalling. They spoke very rarely, and when they did it was never anything that took up too much time. Ilya lingered by the door, took his time removing his jacket and shoes, and when he did he just looked around the apartment as if he hadn’t been here too many times to count by then.

“I have a confession,” he said, his hands in his pockets.

Shane’s heart skipped a beat. “That can’t be good.”

Ilya let out a laugh, though he seemed on edge. Nervous. That wasn’t common. “Is nothing bad.”

“Says you.”

Ilya shifted his weight from foot to foot. Not good at all, Shane didn’t say, though the obvious display of uncertainty fascinated him.

“You’re making me nervous.”

Ilya looked up at him, with a smile so unlike his usual one. “I confess,” he started, dragging the word out surely just to mess with him. “that I have been thinking of that video.”

“What video?” Shane knew what video.

“You know what video.”

“I really don’t.” He really did.

“Will you force me to use it against you, Hollander?”

“Use what- okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He held up his hands when Ilya stepped closer, a rare playfulness gripping them both. “You have been thinking of the video. Got it. What about it?”

Ilya took another step. “It makes me curious.”

“Curious of what?”

“You see, the video was loud.” Ilya waved a hand around. “You can only hear music.”

“It was a club, after all.”

“I can see you laughing, but I cannot hear it.” He shrugged. “Is unfair, don’t you think? That I have touched every part of your body, but have never heard you laugh like that?”

Shane exhaled. “You’re the one who has decided you’re not allowed to tickle me for some reason.”

Another step. If Shane reached out he would be able to touch him easily.

He stayed rooted to his spot even when Ilya grinned. “I change my mind.”

It surprised him that he kissed him when he grabbed for him. That his hands were holding onto Shane’s jaw and nothing else, nothing more soft and vulnerable and sensitive. But it didn’t surprise him when his hands started roaming once they got into the bed, once he had Shane trapped between his body and the mattress, and it didn’t surprise him that he started giggling immediately, though it did embarrass him.

“Oh my god,” Ilya mumbled into his mouth.

“What?” Shane snapped, which sounded a lot less demanding when you were laughing.

“Your laugh. Is cute.”

“It’s not.”

“Oh, but it is.”

Ilya left his mouth alone much to Shane’s chagrin and watched him instead, head tilted, something amused and fond on his face. It made this worse, so much worse, but Shane couldn’t concentrate on looking away. Not when Ilya seemed to lay all his focus on tickling him now. Fingers gentle on his ribcage, moving up and down until Shane was nothing but a twitchy mess. This was very different from how Hayden tickled him, those few times he’d done so. Hayden was always rough about it, and always quick. Ilya was gentle. Ilya took his time.

Shane wasn’t entirely sure if he could handle that, though. “Fuck, okay, you’ve heard my laugh, now cut it out!”

“Hmm, don’t think so. Have more spots to try.” True to his word, Ilya’s hands moved upward to curl beneath Shane’s chin, causing his laughter to go up in pitch. He probably loved that, that bastard.

Shane tried to grab him, tried to push him off, and the fact that he couldn’t, the fact that he was pinned just enough so that he couldn’t budge, did things to him which had nothing to do with the tickling, not really. Maybe Ilya noticed, because he suddenly leaned down again, his lips on the left side of Shane’s neck while his fingers kept tickling the right.

That was the start of something strange and bodily and tickly, which had Shane moaning and giggling in tandem. “I watched that stupid video over and over,” Ilya admitted into his skin, maybe in a moment of weakness. “I tried to figure out where exactly Pike was tickling you, but turns out it did not matter. You are ticklish all over.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Shane choked out through his laughter. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Ilya laughed and went for his thigh, proving his own point.

*

Lily: If we win you have to stay still while I tickle you.

Ilya wasn’t sure why he felt his pulse quicken when his phone buzzed with Shane’s reply a moment later. Too long for what he typed, which could mean he was busy but more likely meant he was flustered. Good. Ilya liked him flustered.

Jane: And if we win?

He shook his head, not stopping his grin from spreading. No one was here. He was safe to smile.

Lily: Oh, the same :)

Having admitted that he thought about the video had been a risky move, but oh the reward had been sweet. It took Shane longer to reply now. Had they been the types who called each other, Ilya would’ve done so. Longed to hear his voice rise in pitch as Ilya teased him.

Jane: I feel like this is cheating.

Lily: You are easy to distract.

Lily: Not my fault.

Jane: You are just as easy to distract.

Lily: Is that so?

Lily: What if I pinned you down and tickled that spot on your lower back? Pinned you facedown so you couldn’t stop me.

Lily: What then?

Jane: Stop texting me.

Lily: You love it.

Jane: I’m with my PARENTS.

Lily: Better keep a straight face while imagining my hands on you then.

Jane: I will block your number.

Lily: Is your ass ticklish? I never tried.

Jane: !!!!!!

Ilya burst into laughter. Shane was just too easy. And too fun. He feared he might get addicted. Probably already had, ages ago. He could imagine Shane shoving him on the bed in indignation only for the tables to turn and him not doing anything to stop it. Ilya liked that he didn’t try to stop it. Ilya liked making him squirm and laugh. Ilya liked that he let him.

*

Lily: Do me a favor.

The text came late, but Shane was wide awake somewhere in San Jose.

Jane: Why are you awake?

Lily: Big boy.

Shane’s stomach flipped until he realized he meant himself, which made him roll his eyes.

Jane: I am rolling my eyes.

Jane: What’s the favor?

Lily: Touch yourself and imagine it’s me.

Shane’s breath hitched, and it didn’t help when a second text came through.

Lily: Make it ticklish too.

Shane hated that he sometimes still felt like he was doing something wrong when they did this, but he didn’t allow himself to strain his ears to see if he could hear anyone else in this hotel. It was pitch dark. He was a grown ass man.

He barely had time to make himself comfortable on the bed when Ilya texted again.

Lily: Are you doing it?

Jane: Shut up.

Lily: Does it feel good?

Jane: I’ve not started yet.

Lily: Call me.

“What?” Shane said it out loud, and yet he called him anyway without a second thought. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Ilya sounded so close through the speaker phone. Maybe Shane could pretend his breath was in his ear for real. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Start with your stomach. I like the way it twitches under my touch.”

Shane inhaled sharply. “You can’t just tickle me over the phone.”

“How do you know? We’ve not tried yet.” The sound of rustling sheets could be heard. Shane imagined he was sliding down the bed. “If phone sex works then this could work.”

Shane shook his head. “That only works because you can touch yourself. You can’t tickle yourself.”

“So do both. Will make you more sensitive.”

“Jesus.”

“Not bad idea, right?”

“I guess not.”

“I am waiting.”

“You’re just gonna listen?”

“I can tease. You want me to tease?”

Shane ran a hand over his face. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“What is happening to you? Describe it.”

“A fucking Russian menace is happening to me.”

Ilya laughed and Shane found he couldn’t help his smile. “Hollander,” he sang, as if he wasn’t ruining Shane’s whole life. “If I was there I would tickle under your arm. So start there.”

“Why there?”

“Because you make funny noises when I do.”

“I do not-”

“Hollander.”

Shane wasn’t sure why he was complying. It wasn’t as if Ilya could see him.

“Are you gripping the headboard like you always do with me?”

Yes. “No.”

“Be gentle at first. I only dig when I want you to be laughing. I only want you squirming now.”

Why the hell was Shane listening to him, he wondered as he dragged his nails over his armpit. It kind of tickled, but not enough for him to want to pull away or laugh. He felt silly, but something warm had settled in his chest. Something which was tied to the voice in his ear.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy.”

Shane let out a strangled sound. “I can’t touch myself if I tickle there.”

“Be patient.”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Not yet.”

Shane mostly said it as a joke, but he could tell from Ilya’s tone that he was entirely serious. That he was planning on joining Shane while directing him.

It made him incredibly turned on to think about.

“Can I please switch spots?” Can I touch myself?

Ilya made a sound he couldn’t interpret. “You can. Go for stomach now. Gently.” He waited while Shane did as he was told, then added, “Does it tickle?”

“A little.” Why was he entertaining this?

“Good. Imagine it is me.”

Shane did. Fuck, he did. Ilya leaning over him. Ilya being so gentle while also still keeping him in place. One hand on his sensitive skin, another on his sensitive groin.

“Fuck.”

Ilya laughed softly in his ear. “You like that? You like the thought of my hands on you?”

Boston was suddenly too fucking far, their next joint game even farther. He exhaled and circled his belly button again, moved further to the side where he knew the skin twitched if he went gently enough. It was funny how well Ilya knew his body, even though this particular part was new to him. Something about his fixation on it, for Shane had seen right through his attempt at initial nonchalance, made him feel things he still hadn’t baptized.

He leaned his head back. Even though the hand was his own and he could remove it any time, the touch was still leaning on unbearable. If Ilya was here he would tell him to take it. Shane tried to take it each time, though he was always allowed to fight back. Was always allowed to squirm and curse and beg, not that he begged of course. He leaned his head back and curled his fingers over his skin and gripped himself tightly as Ilya told him exactly what to do. Their first phone call. How strange that it was this. How unsurprising all the same.

*

“Did you come?” Ilya had, several seconds before the inevitable sound of Shane’s own orgasm filled his ear. His question was redundant. He knew Shane’s noises well. Could imagine the way his eyes slipped shut.

“I did,” he replied, voice hoarse. “That was-”

“It was.” Ilya smirked. “I made you come without even being in the same state.”

Shane barked out a laugh. “I made myself come.”

“Hmm, not without my help.”

“Shut up.” But he sounded lighter than Ilya had heard him in a while.

“Tell me,” he said, rolling over to his side to reach for the tissues he kept at his bedside table. “Did you keep tickling the entire time?”

Shane was quiet for so long he thought he’d hung up. “I did.”

“Did you like it?”

No response at all this time. Ilya decided to be merciful.

“I was being serious, by the way,” he said while cleaning himself up. “If we win I will tickle you and you will be still.”

“And if we win you will do the same?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds fair.”

“I’m only fair on the ice.”

“An asshole both on and off it though.”

“An asshole who knows your body much better than Hayden Pike.”

“Oh my god, Rozanov.”