hey y'all

Most mornings, Tim didn’t bother with eating breakfast. So, naturally, that meant the one morning he did, thinking maybe it’d be good for him, Dick came over and dragged him to the Batcave’s training deck.

Tim liked when Dick visited. They were beginning to get along better than when he’d first seeked the older out. If breakfast didn’t fall on his list of priorities most days, no reason to get fussy about it now. Not with Nightwing, the original Boy Wonder standing maybe four feet away from him.

“So, Robin, you had any cinematic ledge hanging moments yet in your career?”

Tim knew exactly what Dick meant, and he stopped to consider the question. Dangling from a skyscraper, crumbling bridge or other debris? Fumbling for his grapple or just having to wait until Batman could come and hoist him back up? Etcetera.

His memory served him well when it was something he cared about. “Yeah, uh… twice I think. Thought I was gonna die getting tangled up with Two-Face, and some low level thug caught me off guard the other week.”

“Well we can’t have that, can we?” Tim waited for Dick to elaborate. He gestured for a pull up bar, huddled into a corner with the rest of the gymnastics equipment that had been left to gather dust. For some time, there was no Robin to be using it. It must have pained Bruce to see it.

“The longest I ever had to hold on was four and a half minutes, and I was lucky that nobody knew I was there. Dangling for that long was bad enough without some lackey stomping on my fingers.” Tim cringed.

“Okay… set a timer then, I guess. Same time.”

“Somebody’s feelin’ lucky.” Dick teased, but his smile indicated approval. Tim was nothing if not ambitious. He stood a little taller. About time somebody acknowledged all that he’d done, it took some pretty serious audacity to blackmail The Batman. Even if he was on Bruce’s bad side now, the ends would justify the means.

“Should I hold it to my chin or just hang?” He was readying himself to jump up and grab onto the bar from the mat below.

“Up to you. You just gotta hold on for as long as you can, and then I’m introducing another variable. I’ll watch the clock. Think you’re ready?” Tim nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Tim was able to just get himself up and onto the bar without dispelling much energy. A good start. He didn’t bother with any proper form. Strength in longevity mattered significantly more in a situation like the one they were simulating. He grew tired as time went on, his arms ached, then tingled, then really started to feel the burn. Towards the end, he would hold his body weight with only one to let the other rest, alternating intermittently.

When his lungs too began to burn and his heart pulsed in his head, he gave in, dropping back down to the mat below. His legs didn’t want to work after all of that, so he feebly lowered himself to sit, and slumped into an achy, heaving lump.

“Little over two minutes. Pretty good. I bet you have the best dead hang time in your gym class at school, huh?”

Tim shrugged, bashful.

“You’re looking pretty rough, so I don’t want to be a jerkoff and say, ‘Oh, but that was just the warmup!’” Dick’s smile turned sheepish, “but… I did have another idea, if you’ll entertain me.”

“It’s okay… I’m fine.” Tim would be fine with a full magazine of bullet holes in his chest so long as he was Robin.

“Well that’s good. Tell me something else then, you ticklish?”

Tim opened his mouth to respond like it was any other question. Then the words actually registered, and for a second, his neurons stopped firing. What kind of question is that?

“I… I don’t know? I guess I don’t really remember. How is that even relevant?” Admittedly, his hackles were rising.

“I’m just taking a page out of Bruce’s book. I was little when I first started training to become Robin, you can’t fight a kid, and I was adorable, so he was totally crazy about me.” Tim managed to repress a snort. Dick smiled knowingly at him anyway, “he’d make up little games like that sometimes. Not sure how helpful it was, but I’m still here.”

For a moment, Dick looked a bit… ill. He survived the Robin mantle. It was never supposed to be a mantle. They’d learned in the worst possible way that not everyone would survive. As open as Dick seemed, if you had pushed yourself as hard as Tim did into understanding him, it was plain as day to see: he repressed a lot of his feelings.

Tim cleared his throat. He wished he had the right words to say. Even if he knew Dick was thinking Jason, he hadn’t said Jason. He had no right to prod something so tender. He was proud of how far he’d been able to get on this little crusade, but that often meant pushing too far. He wasn’t the most proud of that.

“Bruce doesn’t do those things with me. He doesn’t hurt me, ‘course not… but, uh, nothing is a game. This is dangerous work, it shouldn’t be a game. And I’m not a little kid, it’s not like he needs to do that.”

Dick stared at Tim in a way that told him he was being assessed. Tim, in all of his prepubescent glory. He wasn’t oblivious to how he looked, but it didn’t matter. He was smart enough, he was strong enough, and he was mature enough. Bruce shouldn’t have to baby him.

“Well, it sounds to me like you’re in desperate need of a good cop, Timmy.” Dick reached up, tapping the bar twice. Tim’s stomach fluttered. He failed to hide a nervous smile.

“…Do I really have to?”

Dick held up placating hands. “Not at all. Nobody’s forcing you.”

But it couldn’t hurt, right? But it’s an easy way to build your strength and endurance. But Bruce did it with me. No buts came. It was his choice.

Tim turned to glance down at himself. Was he still ticklish? He had no idea. He told himself that it could be a potential risk factor, but really, he just had a curious spirit, and when was anyone ever going to ask him to do something like this again?

Staring up at the pull up bar, it suddenly felt so much so much taller. The butterflies occupying his stomach had taken it upon themselves to migrate outwards to his limbs. Everything felt wobbly and tingly. Tim didn’t know why he was this nervous. It seemed excessive.

“It’s easier than most of my training, so, um.” Despite his legs feeling like they were going to fly away, Tim jumped back up into a dead hang.

“I think you’ll be surprised.” Dick’s words sent a funny little jitter through his system. His fight or flight response kicked into high gear when the other’s hands began to near his torso.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait… I’m not ready yet, I… I’m not ready—“ A stream of frantic titters and the effort Tim put into inching away from the perceived threat already depleted some of the energy that he would need if he wasn’t going to embarrass himself. As if he hadn’t already.

Dick crossed his arms, eyeing Tim with a smile. “Take your time, Boy Blunder.”

He hung there in his shame for a few moments longer before a coo violated his ears. “‘I’m not a little kid,’ he says, ‘easier than most of my training,’ he says.”

Dick stumbled back with a hearty cough-laugh when Tim landed a passable kick to his ribs. He reappeared in Tim’s field of vision with a disgruntled, but undeniably entertained expression on his face.

“Are you ready yet? Because I’m thinking if you can’t take it anymore, you should just give me another one of those.” Dick rubbed at his probably sore side. Tim was giving him the stink eye.

“Something tells me you need a little more incentive. I’ll put in a good word for you with B if you last for a little while?”

“…”

“I’ll make up a different story, don’t worry.”

Tim deflated in relief.

“That’s… not really that great of a reward, that’s like getting a gold star in school. But fine.”

“A good word and dinner wherever you want. How's that, little prince?” Tim twitched and bit back a smile when Dick prodded at his tummy.

“J… Just get it over with already—“

“You asked for it.” He hummed. Tim was confused and more afraid than he should be when Dick moved to stand behind him. He made a strong effort to try and make anything out through his peripheral vision, but found that he couldn’t without turning his head. With where his arms were holding onto the bar, his face got all squished whenever he tried to turn and look. He could push past if he lifted his head, but that was just so awkward.

Dick only started once he gave up on trying to peek. When blunt nails began to skitter around the nape of his neck, just along where his hair lay, the full body shudder Tim was wracked with almost made him lose the challenge immediately. Curling up his shoulders wasn’t an option. The feeling of Dick’s hand vanished before he could fully crane his neck back.

Two sets of fingers tapped up and down his back like little spiders. Big spiders, if they were to have been real, but Tim didn’t want that mental image. He squeezed his eyes shut, tucking his legs up towards his middle and tensing into something of a statue.

“You’re honestly doing better than I thought you would, you were so nervous before.” Dick chuckled good naturedly, stepping back in front of him. Tim was too flustered to so much as look at the older hero, let alone formulate a response. Fingertips clawed along the surface of his tummy, and he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

Tim squeaked and flailed from side to side, the little that he could in either direction. His arms were really starting to quake now. Taking a risk, he dropped one hand from the bar to protect himself and his stupid, ticklish self.

“Ticklish tummy? That’s a real liability in the field, you know.” Dick’s silly commentary only made him giggle harder through his steady stream of laughter. Good-cop-mentor had a small giggle of his own. He was so obviously having way too much fun with this.

Tim was in no way ready when hands travelled up to his underarms. It wasn’t his most ticklish spot, he didn’t think. It was just the fact that he was so vulnerable, it made him squeamish. Squeamish must have meant an amplified tickle response, considering the way he immediately screeched and kicked about in alarm. That coincided with the foreboding chime of the elevator.

Please let that be Alfred. It could be President Luthor, for all he cared. Just anyone but Bruce.

He forced himself to rotate on the pull up bar, and sure enough. Tim hung his head, blowing a fuse. At least it put any of the soreness in his arms on the back burner for now.

“Dick, please… stop tormenting him.” Bruce admonished flatly.

Tim didn’t want to get Dick into trouble. “It’s training… to make me better at holding onto stuff in emergency situations. He said he did it too.”

These two men that Tim had spent his entire life idolizing exchanged glances. Dick was grinning remorselessly, Bruce was so tired of him, but loved him to the moon and back.

“To my knowledge, this is not training that I've ever implemented. I… think Dick may just be teasing you, Tim.” Despite the less than ideal circumstances, Tim got a bit of a rush when Bruce smiled at him.

To be entirely fair, he agreed to this when it was very clearly disclosed to him that he did not have to.

“Fine, you caught me. But I don’t even care, ‘cause guess what?” Dick did not give Tim the chance to guess before he was ripped from where he’d been mindlessly dangling and cuddled like a stuffed toy, “You’re mine now.”

That was probably the day that it all well and truly began, and Tim had not known peace ever since. He wouldn’t change a thing.

There was a disgruntled noise, likely the rat child pouting, but eventually the pattering feet skittered further away and there was a click as Sam presumably closed his door behind him. Briefly, Lyle wondered if it was possible to set up security cameras in his apartment. That would take time, though, and that place was always infested with all manners of ruffians and vagabonds that Sam let stay there. Though it was inconvenient, it did warm his heart to think that Sam, who had no reason to trust anyone in their strange, corrupted building, was always doing his best to help out others. Lyle wasn’t sure he would be able to do the same in his situation.

There was the clicking of computer keys and Lyle shook his head, focusing once more on the task at hand. Probably browsing the internet before bed. Now that Lyle could check on. He pulled out his own phone, pulling up the screen sharing app he’d installed one morning. Sam’s screen flashed across the device.

And it was… porn? No, not porn. Videos, for sure, and some were naked, but they certainly weren’t doing anything that Lyle would consider particularly pornographic. They were tickling each other. Or in this case, one guy was getting tickled by another, and by the looks of it quite intensely. The man was restrained to a bed while the other straddled his waist, his fingers plucking away at his ribs with a cruel, intense rhythm, Lyle continued watching for a few moments in surprise before quickly shutting the app down, heart racing.

What the hell was that?

Lyle sat back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Tickling. He wouldn’t have pegged Sam as someone who would be into that. In truth, he wouldn’t have pegged anyone as someone who would be into that. His own memories of the time before the Visitor always sat hazier and hazier at the edge of his mind the more time that went by. Still, he could remember quite distinctly the feeling of being tickled—mostly in his childhood, and a few, stumbling and awkward moments with the few romantic partners he’d held in his life. None of them were very pleasant memories.  

Did Sam want to be tied up and tickled? Or did he want to do the tickling? Briefly, he imagined being restrained while tickled and shuddered. The thought of Sam’s hands all over him was overwhelmingly nice, but for something like that?

He would have to do more investigation. He opened up the app once more, curling his legs in as he flopped onto his side and stared at it. He continued watching for another twenty minutes at least and three more videos. Though he couldn’t understand the appeal in the tickling himself, there was something salaciously vicarious about knowing that Sam enjoyed it. His face was hot and flushed by the time Sam’s screen went dark, indicating that his laptop had been shut off.

Yes, more investigation was needed indeed.

It took some doing, but he did it. The next morning, he negotiated a deal with that cute if aggravating brat next door to get Sam and convince him to come with her to investigate a supposed noise down the hall. He had to give up fifty bucks for it and a vague, undescribed favor for later, but it was worth it. It would have been better to wait for an opportunity, but he was meeting Sam at his apartment for dinner the next evening and he wanted to have this done before then.

Setting up the security camera was easy enough. He’d always been good with cameras before, but now it was as though a part of him was attuned to them, like he had a direct line of communication or something. He set one up in each room just to be careful. They were tiny things, barely noticeable—hopefully. He skittered out just in time as he heard them rounding the corner, breathing a sigh of relief once he reached the stairs.

There wasn’t any guarantee Sam would even watch anything tonight, but he needed to see his reactions if he did. Surely he’d be able to divine something from that.

He spent the evening puttering around, too excited to work on any of his current projects. He checked the cameras every so often, but Sam usually spent the day exploring, so it was often just filled with children running around or his unnerving ‘friends’ rifling through his fridge.

Around 7, Sam finally returned. He’d obtained some kind of cut on his arm, and there was a small trickle of blood leaking onto his shirt. Lyle fantasized about how he would bandage it up for him, cleaning the wound—Sam staring up at him with grateful eyes, the heat of his body so close Lyle could almost touch him.

Finally, Sam went to his room for the night and, just as he had hoped, began watching one of the videos. Lyle straightened up in his seat. This was it. The video started playing, a guy and a girl this time, the guy attached to some kind of giant cross.

Lyle began to have doubts about his porn theory. Sam wasn’t doing any of the usual things one would typically do. He didn’t touch himself or anything like that. Instead, he just… watched it. His features were pretty impassive overall, as expressionless as if he were scrolling social media. But as Lyle watched further, he noticed more subtle changes. Sam’s face had begun to darken, a gentle flush overtaking his ears and neck. The more intense the tickling got, the more Sam’s arms would twitch and tighten against his sides, his leg bouncing rapidly under the desk. By the end of the video, he was curled almost entirely into his chair.

Lyle’s palms began to sweat, his camera subconsciously focusing, as it did when he got excited. Well, well, well. He still wasn’t sure he quite got this tickling thing, but he did enjoy what it was doing to Sam. He had never seen the man so nervous before. He wished he could be the one causing the strange reaction, watching Sam’s face screw up and his eyes dart away from him.

He’d been so lost in thought, he almost hadn’t noticed Sam getting up to go over to his bed. But Sam had started to pull up his T-shirt and he definitely noticed that. He blinked rapidly a couple of times. Surely he wasn’t… no, no he wasn’t, his shirt remained on as well as everything else, just rucked up to his chest.

What is he doing?

On screen, Sam swallowed nervously. He glanced over at the door, but there was no sound from the other side. Slowly, he placed his hand on his stomach. Then his fingers began to move.

Lyle inhaled sharply. He was tickling himself. Oh god. His heart squeezed. He couldn’t decide if this was incredibly cute or hot. Perhaps both. Sam’s fingers moved with a hesitant practice, always pausing every so often so he could make sure the door remained closed. Lyle watched him intently. Though his touch traveled all over his torso, they returned to his stomach quite often, spidering and occasionally pinching at the skin. It was obvious it didn’t really tickle when he did it, but Sam’s stomach quivered and his other hand fisted in the sheets. It must be a pretty ticklish spot to have such a reaction with only himself.

Lyle was so absorbed in watching that he was startled when Sam abruptly stopped with a curse under his breath. His hand fell to his side.

“What the hell am I doing…? You spend too much damn time in this apartment.”

He continued grumbling to himself as he curled up under the sheets before eventually his complaints made way for gentle breathing.

Well. That solved one thing. It seemed that Sam wanted to be tickled. Quite a bit if what he had just seen was any indication. And Lyle was to see him tomorrow—just the two of him alone in his apartment.

Lyle smirked, drifting off to sleep with thoughts of how to use this new information.

He was nervous when he arrived. It was only their second date, and even that Lyle had been sure he would cancel last minute. Although date was probably an exaggeration. Their first had been in Lyle’s apartment, shortly after their first kiss, and the pulsating flesh against the door and inside his bedroom had been enough to put them off from doing anything more than awkwardly chatting. But there had been a moment at the end of the last date where it had seemed like maybe Sam was going to go in for more than just a hug. In the end, he hadn’t done either, conceding to clapping his shoulder and nodding before whirling around.

Of course, Lyle’s plans for tonight involved much more than just a potential kiss.

Sam seemed tired when he opened the door. The circles under his eyes had been getting worse the longer they stayed trapped in this apartment. He probably wasn’t sleeping alright. The apartment was blessedly empty; Sam had sent them out on a looting mission till ten, so they had the next few hours to themselves.

“Hey,” Sam said, his face brightening a little when he saw the other. “I wasn’t sure if you were actually going to come. These halls are so dangerous lately.”

Lyle smiled, trying not to seem too overeager. “O-Of course! I wouldn’t miss it.”

Sam stepped aside, and he shuffled in as the door closed behind them. All alone. The apartment looked tidier than usual, aside from the ever-present roaches.

“I tried to clean but there weren’t any clean rags, and the laundry room isn’t exactly working…” Sam trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway. This is it. This is the place.”

Right. In theory, he had never been here before. Lyle took an extra moment to look around, taking it all in with wide eyes and an appraising hum. “It looks nice,” he offered and Sam flushed a little. Oh, what a wonderful feeling that was. And just like that, the urge to try out this new information he’d learned reared its insistent head once more.

Not yet, Lyle. Wait for the right moment.

What proceeded was a small tour that ended with them sitting on the couch together, each with their own glass of whiskey. Alcohol, strangely, seemed abundant in their building even though it was difficult to get ahold of any other beverages. They chatted for a bit about their own experiences in the apocalypse and more basic stuff, like siblings, pets, their shitty jobs. Sam didn’t seem to quite remember him even though he insisted he did, but Lyle didn’t really mind. He didn’t mind much if he could be next to the other.

“So yeah, I ended up nearly getting fired for keeping the movie, but what the hell did they care? It was a shitty movie and a shitty job, and we sold so many anyway, I don’t see what harm it caused.” Sam shook his head fondly, a small laugh slipping out. And how Lyle wanted to pounce on him then and there. He realized he had never really heard Sam laugh, not actually. He wondered what it would be like. He wondered if he would squirm when he did it or beg. He wondered how ticklish he was.

Trying very hard to be casual about it, Lyle reached out and poked him in the side. “I didn’t peg you as a troublemaker.”

Sam flinched. Hard. He blinked, seemingly surprised by his own reaction, before coughing and shifting on the couch. “Uh, yeah. At times, anyway. I was just really done with their crap, y’know?”

Bingo.

After that, Lyle wasn’t able to control himself. All of his nerves about touching Sam or causing him to catch on disappeared in the thrill of watching the other’s reactions. Everything he said was an excuse to poke him or squeeze his knee or nudge his side. And it was clearly getting to him. After only ten minutes of this, Sam was a jumpy mess, flinching before Lyle even moved. His eyes were locked on Lyle’s hands like he was trying to plan their next move. Lyle wasn’t sure if he even realized how obvious he was being. Occasionally, Sam would stare at him with his eyes narrowed as if trying to figure something out. Then, Lyle would back off for a minute or two, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself for long.

Sam had been doing a good job not reacting too obviously, infuriatingly enough for Lyle who wanted an excuse to really tickle him. But when one of his pokes landed too close to his stomach, Sam let out a noise that sounded very much like a squeak before shoving Lyle’s hand away.

They both stared at Sam’s hand on his, at the other hand clutching his stomach in protection. His hand was rougher than Lyle had expected. More callouses. His mouth felt dry.

“Sam,” Lyle said slowly, trying to tamp down his own excitement. “Are you ticklish?”

Immediately, red bloomed bright over Sam’s features. His hand tightened on Lyle’s. “Um. A bit. Isn’t everyone?”

His tone was anything but casual, though he was clearly intending it to be. There was a shy smile across his features, like someone who was caught in a lie and wasn’t sure if you were going to be upset or not. It was cute. Very cute. So cute, in fact, that Lyle might go crazy if he didn’t tickle him right then and there.

He shouldn’t have said it. There was every chance Sam would say no or kick him out. He should have just gone for it. But it slipped out anyway.

“Sam… I’m going to tickle you.”

The room was filled with electricity. Sam’s eyes were stuck to him, his mouth open slightly as he blinked and processed the announcement. He didn’t say anything for several moments, nor did he when Lyle’s hand, still under his, interlaced their fingers and rose it up, bringing his other hand up as well. From beneath his robe there was the skittering of many legs and Sam’s eyes widened as he saw a flash of Lyle’s true form, still mostly obscured by his cloak. Then, Lyle struck.

Sam did giggle. He giggled quite a lot, apparently. Lyle’s legs dug and squirmed and poked into Sam’s body with a careful, experimental determination that was apparently very effective. Even Lyle himself sometimes wasn’t sure whether his extra appendages were meant to be arms or legs, as they seemed to serve either purpose. They each had a few toes (fingers?) on each of them that allowed him to wiggle into Sam’s sweater and pinch at the nervous, twitching flesh beneath. Sam’s arms trembled in his grip, but Lyle could tell he wasn’t pulling as hard as he could have been.

Although I’d be curious to see what he did look like struggling. A flush of hot, warm sensation shot through Lyle that he tried to shake off. He couldn’t go too overboard yet. Even if the people in those videos did… even if he wasn’t sure if Sam would stop him…

“You’re pretty ticklish,” Lyle said wonderingly, scratching at the spot under his arms that was making Sam whine—whine!—and wriggle violently. “This must be, like, intense for you.”

It certainly looked like it was. Lyle was only using six hand-feet at the moment, two under his arms, two at his sides, and two that plucked at his ribs. He had more, but this alone was causing Sam to squirm frantically, arching his back and kicking his legs uselessly. And it was rather a lot. Back when he was still human, something like this might have made Lyle beg much faster than Sam was—even though it undeniably tickled the man somewhat fierce.

Lyle’s comment seemed to do something to him though. Sam let out a strangled sound, shaking his head. He was refusing to look at Lyle during this process, boring a hole into the left wall with his eyes instead. “L-Lyhyhyhyhyle!” He struggled for a moment, laughter stealing away his speech, but all he could get out again was, “Lyle!”

Lyle paused, startled by the sudden exclamation. Then he grinned, a slow, cautious thing, and rose a brow. “That is my name,” he agreed, amusement and a sudden, unexplored sadism fighting for a spot at the forefront of his mind. “Was there something you needed?”

Two more hands, pinching at his knees now. Sam squeaked, his legs now bicycling and thumping against the couch. Clearly a ticklish spot. He just couldn’t stop laughing. Lyle, who had never been allowed to hear the sound before, now was inundated with a never-ending wave of Sam’s laughter that washed through the apartment and somehow made everything just a little bit brighter than before.

“C’mon,” Lyle continued teased, pinching further up his legs. This sent Sam scrambling into a mess of giggles as he fought to squirm back into the couch. “Is something bothering you? Perhaps there’s somewhere else you want me to go for?”

Two of his legs reached for his stomach but Sam recoiled quickly, his arms shooting out of his grip in protection. Lyle paused, worried for a moment that he had overstepped. But Sam didn’t seem angry or annoyed. He just coughed, awkwardly wavering one hand as explanation. “Sorry. It’s, uh, hard to keep my hands up.”

The image of the video flashed in Lyle’s mind. He clicked his legs together nervously before suggesting, “I could do something about that. Make it so they can’t move.”

There was that look again, that nervous, wide-eyed doe look that Lyle was quickly picking up didn’t mean he was uncomfortable per se but rather… embarrassed? Flustered? Possibly horny, though Lyle didn’t want to read into things too much. But definitely into it. Sam didn’t say anything, but Lyle had the feeling he wasn’t going to. So, he acted for him.

It all happened so fast that Sam only had time to gasp as his hands were restrained over his head, bound tightly by what looked like film tape. Lyle secured it around the back of the couch and sat back. Sam sat stunned, trussed up and blushing like a young girl on her first date—like this didn’t look like something out of a horror film to anyone else.

Then, before he could overthink it, he dove back in.

Sam reacted perfectly. The moment Lyle’s hands touched down on his stomach, his head shot back with a bark of laughter, and he began really struggling in a way he hadn’t before. Not that it did him a lot of good like this.

He thought back on the video. The guy in that did a lot of teasing, and from what Lyle could deduce, it seemed to make things worse. He felt a little silly, but he said, “Y-You look pretty cute like this—all helpless.”

Sam’s ears tinted pink and he shook his head, as if that would somehow block out Lyle’s words. He was laughing too hard to speak, but he shot him a pleading look that seemed to translate shut up pretty well. Emboldened by the reaction, Lyle continued on, a bit more confidently this time.

“It’s a real shame, since you seem to be so ticklish. Especially this belly. Very ticklish here.”

“N-Nohohoho!” Sam managed, squeezing his eyes shut. He squealed when Lyle’s hands slipped under his shirt, scribbling over the sensitive skin there. He couldn’t stop squirming around, seemingly desperate to get Lyle off the spot. “D-Don’t!”

It was almost exactly like the guy in the video. Lyle almost pointed this out before realizing this would reveal his own deception in this process, something he definitely did not need Sam knowing about—not if this relationship was going to go anywhere. Instead, he tickled him harder until Sam was giggling too much to possibly say anything else. Almost every laugh, every protest, seemed to match perfectly with the content Sam had been watching. With, of course, the exception that Sam seemed much more ticklish than any of the other guys had been. Sometimes Lyle would play games with it to see if he could get the exact same reaction with each technique. It only worked some of the time, but it was fun to watch Sam almost incredulously fall to pieces at how ticklish it all was.

Lyle was having so much fun, he almost didn’t realize how long he had been at it. Partly because Sam hadn’t said anything. He struggled, sure, and pleaded with Lyle, but never about the tickling itself. It was always not that spot or no teasing but never stop tickling. And Lyle had no problem going along with his passivity. There was something strangely thrilling about tickling Sam and feeling the other man squirm underneath him, his body gradually growing more flushed and hot and his laughter developing into strange, animalistic sounds that made Lyle a tad breathless.

He had never seen this side of Sam before—feral and desperate. Perhaps a bit of it, in combat, but never as vulnerable as this.

Sam really loved this. Sam really loved being tickled by Lyle.

Lyle couldn’t give that up just yet.

The only reason he even noticed the time passing was the sound of a knock at the door. Shit. It must have been ten already. And here Sam was, half delirious with laughter and looking like Lyle had done much more peverse things to him than just a bit of tickling.

Quick as a flash, Lyle released the film, freeing Sam and allowing him to slump over in an exhausted heap. Lyle wasn’t even sure Sam noticed the knocking. Glancing around nervously, Lyle eventually decided to scoop the man up in his arms and carry him into the bedroom. He laid Sam down, the other just beginning to become aware of his surroundings once more and headed to the doorway. Sam’s shirt was trussed up, his jeans tugged down slightly so that the edge of his boxers peeked out from the top. Lyle hesitated for a moment, lamenting how attractive Sam was like this and how he certainly couldn’t stay any longer to drink it in. He shut the door and raced around to the front door, closing his cloak around him.

He pushed it open to Hellen, Sophie, and Joel staring at him with wide eyes.

“Lyle?” Sophie asked incredulously, tilting her head. “What are you doing here?”

“Um!” Lyle said, twittering his fingers together. “On a playdate! I mean, just a friendly visit. Discussing photography and such. Anyways! Sam is very tired and had to go to bed, as do I, so if you don’t mind—"

He pushed past them, quickly heading back to his floor. As he fled, he heard Hellen murmur behind him, “What a weirdo.”

Back in his room at last, Lyle collapsed on his bed, heart racing. He couldn’t get the memory of Sam saying his name through half-crazed laughter out of his mind. What was that? And more importantly…

Daphne smiled at the question, a helpless impulse that often occurred in this new life she had carved out for herself. Though she did not share her younger sister’s same reservations, Daphne had to admit she had always believed that securing a suitor would come with giving up certain freedoms. Being with Simon was nothing like that. If anything, she felt freer than she ever had when she looked into his eyes—like she could be whoever she needed to be, and he would love her all the same. A simple word from him raised an almost insane, giddy feeling that zipped down to her toes and brought that stupid, simple, real smile to her lips.

“Well, it has not been everything I could have wished for, if I am being perfectly honest,” she admitted, folding one half of the sheet they were holding in half. “I went down to the village to discuss the growth of our current crops, and I fear that our harvest was not as bountiful as we had hoped. Being a duchess had afforded me that opportunity to provide for others, to improve their lives. I’ve never been able to posses that kind of power before. It’s strange how used to it you can get, though.”

Simon chuckled, bringing his sheet to meet hers. They set it down on the edge of the bed and his hands grasped hers in his. “Daphne. You cannot control the weather, the very seasons themselves. You cannot control the farmer’s crops anymore than he can. The best we can do is work together to curb these consequences for our people.”

He was right, as always. Always so logical. Most of the time, it served to bring her to a light aggravation, but there were times where it could provide a comfort instead. She tried to let it, anyway. But doubt still tugged perilously at her mind.

“Yes,” she said, more for his sake than for her own. If she was going to be worried anyway, there was no reason for him to carry that same burden. “You’re right, I’m sure. I only wish there was more I could do. Perhaps we can pay them a visit tomorrow, provide our own labor as help? Something to ease the weight on their shoulders.”

The grip on her hands tightened and she yelped as he tugged suddenly, pulling them both back into the bed together. He curled his body around her own, his leg wrapped around her waist and pulling her into him. They were still fully clothed, but she could feel the warmth of his skin against her stomach.

“Daphne,” he whispered into her ear, his stubble brushing against her neck and sending delightful shivers down her spine. “My wife, my love, you are too kind, kinder than they deserve—kinder than I deserve. No one is perfect, as they say, but if I had to put down a definition of the word, I would write your name a thousand times until my hand was cramped and sore from the effort.”

She blushed obligingly at the sentiment, but guilt bristled inside of her. She knew the words were meant out of love, but it brought that word back into focus. Perfect. It was a compliment, so why did it fill her with such uncertainty?

She sat up abruptly, leaving Simon to fall into the mattress with a light groan. “You are too sweet, my love, but a perfect duchess would have found a way to circumvent the weather. This will put the farmers behind in profit and it will leave all our subjects hungry and wanting this winter.”

“We have plenty, I’m sure we can share, or else ask our allies if we can borrow resources.”

“But what if it is not enough?”

“Well, then, we’ll figure it out, but there’s no use thinking about it till then.”

“But what if—”

“Daphne.”

She pursed her lips together, forcing her next protest down. After a moment of silence, she glanced over to find Simon staring at her intently. She shifted uncomfortably, tilting her chin up. “Yes?”

“What is this really about?”

“I just…” Daphne sighed, not protested when he scooched forward to gather her in his arms, resting his head upon her lap. “You use this word: perfect. And I just don’t think it’s fitting. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be perfect and I can’t help feeling like I’m always falling short. Which is really frustrating because if I already feel so tightly wound just from this amount of effort, how much more must I be exerting? How does anyone live their life like that? When does it end, when is it ever enough for one to just relax and simply… be.”

While she was speaking, Simon hadn’t said a word. He pressed a kiss to her thigh when she finished, with gentle and reverent pressure that made her flush. “Daphne,” he said slowly, sitting up to cup her face in his hands. “I don’t think you’re perfect.”

Now Daphne flushed for an entirely different reason. She narrowed her eyes, trying to move her face away but he wouldn’t let her. “That’s hardly making me feel better—”

“Let me finish. I don’t think you’re perfect, because I don’t think anyone is perfect. No one can be. At least not with this rigid, unchanging definition we’ve placed on it. We’ve set the standards for perfection far too high. You make mistakes constantly, as do I, and when I see them, I do not turn away. I celebrate them. They make you human and, most importantly, they make you you. I would not want the perfect woman as my wife, if she even exists. I want Daphne Bridgerton as my wife. That is who I have chosen and no imperfection, large or small, will ever change my feelings on that matter.”

Daphne let out a soft breath. “Simon—”

“And for that matter, it is no good for one person to be so tightly wound. You are always controlling yourself, holding yourself back from what you really want to say or how you want to act. It’s why I love you all the more when we bicker, if only so I can see that fiery temper escape and cast you in a beautiful, blushing glow. Be perfect for the world, if you must, be perfect for your family, but for me, only ever be Daphne.”

There were very few moments in her life where Daphne had been left speechless, and yet, as she tried to form a reply to Simon, she could think of nothing. Which was good for her as he was not about to let her either. In the next instant, he was pressing her down into the mattress, capturing her wrists in his hands and tugging them far over her head. She gasped and stammered and tried to look stern, while all the while a molten heat was spreading throughout her body.

“And now, Daphne Bridgerton,” Simon said with a devilish grin. “I am going to show you one of my favorite imperfections of yours—one I would not get rid of for all the world.”

She wrinkled her brow in confusion, but in the next instant, she was exploding into a torrent of uncontrollable laughter. Simon’s free hand had latched onto her side and had begun pinching a torturous path up her side only to vibrate over her ribs. Her nightgown should have offered her a small amount of protection, but if anything, it only amplified the sensation. She squealed helplessly, kicking her feet out and tugging at her arms.

“Sihihihihimon!”

“Something wrong, duchess?” he teased, holding her in place with an ease that was both thrilling and embarrassing. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how ticklish you are. It’s caused many problems when I try to take you to bed. For instance, this—” he leaned down, burrowing his face into her neck and rubbing his stubble all over— “only makes you giggle, not moan. And this—” he spread her legs with her own, reaching to trace over her thighs— “makes you uncontrollably jumpy and has even prompted a snort on occasion. And don’t even get me started on how I’m never able to do this.”

Simon let go of her hands to kiss a path down her stomach and Daphne’s laughter jumped up an octave as she squirmed helplessly. Her hands were now free, but she kept them obediently clutched around the headboard, allowing him to torture her as he pleased. Though she protested out loud, it was possible she didn’t mind the attention as long as she sometimes claimed. She snorted when he blew a raspberry into her stomach suddenly, blushing at the embarrassing noise. She started to cover her mouth but stopped at a glare from Simon.

“Don’t you dare, Duchess of Hastings. If you cover up a single, beautiful noise of yours, I’ll go straight for your feet.”

This prompted Daphne to put her hand back quickly, her toes curling in anticipation.

“Now, all I want you to do is agree with me that you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Simon—” she protested, but he cut her off by squeezing her hips while nibbling her stomach, a combination that made her squeal. “SIMON!”

“Do you agree?”

She held out for a valiant few minutes, but eventually it became too much for her. Through frantic giggles, she cried out, “I agrehehehehee, I agree, I agree!”

“Good.”

Simon released her and she let out a sigh of relief. He came up to lay beside her instead, and she rested her head on his chest, curling against his body.

“That was cruel,” she muttered to see him smile. “But I suppose I see your point.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’m glad. And I’ll see about checking our resources tomorrow, see if there’s any way to divvy it up. For now, rest.”

Mako was correct, as always, and their practice quickly lost all form as sleep tugged at them, turning into playful jabs and giggle fits as they lazily fumbled around, any actual bending done for the night in favor of the friendly tussling. At one point, Bolin had her pinned under him with one hand, her legs struggling futilely to curl around his waist and throw him off. She managed to dig her heel hard into his hip and he grunted, squeezing her side in retaliation. Which was, really, just entirely unfair. Korra had squealed, tugging harder at her arms now, but it was too late. A flurry of pokes rained down on her sides for several minutes while she giggled and pleaded for a break to no avail.

Bolin was no stranger to her love for tickling. He’d gotten that confession out of her a while ago. Ever since then, he’d made sure to sneak tickling in whenever he could: tasing her from behind while she was getting ready, poking her side to get her attention, scribbling fingers over her neck when she and Mako were being gross with each other.

But all those times, as with this time, were over in a flash. Bolin let her go, flopping down by her side and closing his eyes as he laid back on the roof, unaware of the roiling in her gut.

“Bolin,” she said slowly after she’d sat back up. She picked at her nails, grateful that the moonlight was faint tonight and her features were hidden in the darkness. “W-Would you ever want to tickle me more?”

There was a snort. “Korra, I tickle you every day. I mean, I’m willing, but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Like…” Korra waved her hand ambiguously. “Like for longer, I guess.”

She could feel Bolin staring at her, but she didn’t dare glance his way. “I mean, I would, but I can barely hold you still for the bit that I do.”

Korra inhaled sharply. It was now or never.

“I bet you could if I was tied up.”

That moment seemed so long ago now, with Bolin straddling her waist and her arms and legs restrained around the edges of their futon. It had seemed so exciting then, her mind racing with the possibilities when he’d agreed to a full hour of this. Now, exposed, restrained, and helpless, she began to worry that maybe she might have bitten off more than she could chew.

She tugged on her restraints, staring unflinchingly at Bolin even though everything in her screamed to look away and hide. They didn’t budge. She tried again, this time truly exerting effort. They didn’t move so much as an inch. Her breathing quickened.

“Someone feeling a bit stuck?” he teased, cocking a brow as reached over to grab the bottle of lotion Korra had let him borrow for this. He set it on the table beside them. Its very presence was ominous. “What’s wrong? Worried you’re a bit too ticklish for something like this?”

Korra blushed, just the mention of the word ticklish making her stomach squirm. “No. I’ll be fine. You’ve tickled me tons of times before.”

“I have,” he agreed, and the look he gave her then sent a shiver down her spine. “But I think you’ve forgotten that all those times mean that I know exactly where you’re ticklish. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me this time.”

Before Korra could get any retort out, Bolin started. She flinched sharply as both hands landed on her stomach, his fingers curled forward into giant spiders. Then they began to move. Her eyes widened. She bit her lip, concentrating, but it took mere seconds before she was bursting into giggles, struggling to shift her hips away from his hands. Instinctively, she pulled on her arms before being reminded once more that she couldn’t move them. She inhaled sharply. Fuck. Fuck.

“Wow,” Bolin said lightly, appraising her. “You don’t normally get so reactive so quickly.”

Korra was absolutely not about to admit how the restraints were making it worse, that being so vulnerable was making it impossibly more ticklish, so instead she stuck her tongue out in an admittedly childish gesture.

Bolin’s brows shot up. “Woah-hoh, someone’s asking for it now. Get ready to squeal, Korra.”

Ten fingers buzzed into her stomach all at once and Korra twitched violently before throwing her head back in a cackling fit. “B-Bohoholin! Thahahat tihihickles!”

“Good. That must mean I’m doing something right.”

“Stahahap s-stop plehehease!”

“Mmm, I’ll think about it and get back to you, if that’s okay.”

That cheeky…! Korra attempted to glare at him, but her wide, helpless grin ruined the effect somewhat. Going for her stomach right away was cheating! The thin fabric of her top barely helped at all, and if anything, it made his fingers glide easier over the ticklish spot. She shook her head, trying to block out the sensations as best as she could, but Bolin was too good at this.

After several minutes of giggling her head off like a maniac, Korra tried to negotiate. “Okahay, okay, okay, j-just gohoho somewhere else for a biHIHIT!”

Bolin slipped his hands under her shirt and nope, she was wrong, the shirt had been doing so much for her. She squeaked, her stomach trembling under the assault. “What’s in it for me? Or better yet, what’s in it for you? You wanted to be tickled, right?”

“Ihihi—”

“Right?”

She nodded, blushing to her ears. He was never this teasy when she was free, why was he being like this now, when she just had to take it?

“So, if that’s the case,” he reasoned, as casually as though they were discussing strategies for their next tournament. “Then if this really tickles as bad as you say it does, maybe I should just stay here.”

Korra gaped at him before bursting into laughter anew as his fingers scribbled mercilessly under her naval. She kicked as much as she could, the ticklish sensations bursting chaotically through her system. How was she supposed to take an hour of this??

Sensing her distress, Bolin slowed down just a bit—not enough that Korra could quite get ahold of her laughter, though. “Here, I’ll cut you a deal. We want to make this tickle, right? So, if you can offer me a more ticklish spot, I’ll go there and leave your poor stomach alone. Sound fair?”

“Nohohoho!” Korra squawked indignantly, but Bolin only laughed, continuing to torment her ruthlessly.

“Fine then. But I’m not stopping until you do.”

It was a stupidly unfair deal. More than that, it barely made any sense at all. Strategically, it made sense to just let him keep tickling her stomach and spare herself from anything worse. But there was something about the unending nature of the tickling that was driving her up the wall. There was no change of pace or technique, just the same, relentless spidering that made her stomach tremble and her resolve crumble.

“M-my thihihighs!” she blurted, inspiration coming to her, but Bolin just shook his head.

“Nope, I said more ticklish. I know all your spots, remember? It has to be a real answer or I’m not going for it.”

Curse him. Korra scrunched her face up in a tough resolve that lasted all of five seconds as the ticklish feeling wheedled into her brain once more. Fuck it. Besides, a part of her was somewhat excited at the idea that it was going to get more ticklish than this, even as it filled her stomach with dread.

“My rihihihibs!”

“Heard.”

So. Much. Worse. Korra yelped as he dug into her ribs, his fingers vibrating in between the slots of each bone so that the tickling reverberated through her core and down her spine. She arched her back, letting out a slew of curses. Bolin chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he continued. “I’m impressed. I would have thought you’d gone for a smaller jump up, like your sides or something. But now that we’re here, you know the rules: we stay here until you suggest somewhere else.”

“S-Shuhuhut up with your ahaa p-patronizing vohohoice!” she wailed, grinning ear-to-ear as she squirmed all around the futon. He was right. She should have picked somewhere else. She always forgot how ticklish this spot was. It was as though he’d gotten his fingers inside of her and was playing with her nerves themselves. It was an intensely vulnerable and hyper ticklish feeling that forced her into wild cackles and begging, all of which was ignored, of course.

The rest of their time was spent with Korra constantly shifting between feeling happier than she’d felt in weeks and like she wanted to kill Bolin. She managed her ribs for longer than she had thought she’d be able to but could only feel proud of it for a moment before she stupidly suggested her feet and spent her time squeaking and attempting to cover them up with one another to save herself. Eventually, Bolin sat on top of her left foot, isolating it from the other’s protection. He grabbed the lotion, squirting some onto his hands and rubbing it in. For a moment, Korra thought he was possibly switching to a welcome massage. Instead, she felt something so intensely ticklish that a burst of air smashed into a table behind them, knocking it over entirely.

Bolin’s eyes widened, though to his credit he didn’t slow down at all. “Woah, calm down. Mako’s gonna get suspicious if this place is a wreck when he gets back.”

“Gehehehehet ohohoff! Get off get off get ohohoff!” Korra was too forgone to engage in teasing, only able to laugh and tug frantically at her trapped foot. “Plehehehease!”

The feeling was hundreds of blunt pinpricks running over her soles, frazzling the nerves in her feet so that she couldn’t ever adjust to the feeling. Later, she would discover it was one of the grooming gloves she used for Naga.

When he went for the ball of her foot, she let out a sound that could only be described as a shriek before losing it all over again.

“Stahahap ihihit!” she begged, true sincerity in her voice, though the lack of a safeword said everything about how much she actually meant it. “Ihihit tihihihickles! Ihihi cahahan’t p-please!”

“You know the rules~”

She did. She hated that she did, but she did. There was only one spot left—under her arms. Her feet had been such a dramatic leap that it was the only spot more ticklish. She considered whether it was truly worth it to stop this, but when Bolin started wiggling his fingers under her toes at the same time, she couldn’t stop it.

“Fuhuhucking ahaharmpits, juhuhust stahahap!”

She would learn quickly what a mistake that was.

Seconds later, Bolin was straddling her once more, the lotion in his hands. He squeezed some onto his hands once more, rubbing it under her arms. It tickled a little but was mostly soothing after everything she’d been through. Korra hummed softly, knowing it was a bad idea to relax now and not being able to help it.

Bolin shot her a grin. “Ready?”

Korra tensed, giggling nervously already. “No.”

“Too bad.”

She squealed as he began scribbling under her arms, tugging frantically at her restraints. Why had they made these things so sturdy?? The lotion was making it so much worse. Unlike with her stomach, she had no cloth to protect her, and his nails skittered like evil little spiders over the spot. She threw her head back, whining at the helplessness of the situation, that she had put herself there, that this tickled so much.

“Are you ready for me to pull out my ultimate move?” Bolin asked, arching a brow.

Korra’s eyes shot open. “No. No nohohoho no, whahahatever it ihis no—ahahaha BOHOHOLIN!”

Bolin held one finger under each arm and wiggled them into the spot right above her ribs, in the divot under her arms that really drove her crazy. She couldn’t speak for laughing, could only thrash about it and hope for a mercy that wasn’t about to come. He’d never done this before. She had no idea something could tickle so much. She certainly wouldn’t have agreed to be tied down for this if she had known.

Air burst chaotically around the room once more, knocking over chairs and tugging down curtains. Bolin burst into laughter alongside her, shaking his head. “Get it together, holy shit! If only your enemies knew this was your weakness. You’d never catch a break.”

Korra didn’t want to think about that, even if it made her stomach squirm and flutter not unpleasantly. The safeword danced on the tip of her tongue. Even just holding his fingers there tickled but actually moving them made her want to squirm out of her own skin. The indecision must have shown on her face, because Bolin slowed down briefly.

“Got something you want to say? A certain word, perhaps?”

With the tickling gone and that condescending smirk glittering on his features, Korra’s pride flared up unwisely. Turning her head to the side, she shrugged, ignoring how breathless she sounded. “Please. I could have easily bucked you off. That barely even tickled.”

Bolin blinked in surprise. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you’re asking for it, miss avatar. I’m about to make you scream. Better hope you remember the safeword then.”

Korra had only a moment to regret her words before she was bursting into laughter anew, flopping like a fish out of water to escape. Bolin was even more ruthless now, and she had to fight not to safeword immediately as the sensations overtook her.

The two of them were gathered in the attic of the brothers’ apartment, sitting on the couch that was soon to be the setting for Mako’s undoing. He was, understandably, a little nervous. It was late that night, the sun long hidden beneath the horizon by the time they had made their way up there. Though it was unlikely for anyone to be hanging around the attic at that time of night, they had locked the door leading up and dragged blankets around all the windows. It was perhaps a bit much, but if it made Mako feel more comfortable, then Korra was willing to go to any lengths. They’d also arranged a date for Bolin that evening, perhaps Korra’s favorite part of this scheming. She’d noticed the girl showing up to almost every one of their matches lately, her eyes focused on none other than their reliable Bolin; all it took was a quick nudge from Korra to seal the deal and get the girl to ask him out.

She did truly hope they had a good time, even if their evening was all part of this elaborate ruse.

Mako had come to her with this interest about a month ago. It had been a bit difficult to explain at first. Korra had never heard of anyone who enjoyed tickling like this. She herself could only conjure unpleasant memories of being tickled as a child, a habit that quickly stopped once she gained the ability to bend. Sure, she would poke Bolin when he was being silly and he’d tase her back, but nothing to the degree Mako was suggesting. The poor guy had seemed so red and nervous already, though, that she’d decided not to mention those thoughts. She just calmly reassured him and, when a little time had passed and Mako had seemed to grow more comfortable, she jumped him with a tickle attack that left him wheezing underneath her.

It was only last week that they’d decided to take things to this next level. Tying Mako up while tickling him—with tools, he’d mentioned shyly, coughing quickly afterwards, as though that would in any way cover up his embarrassment.

Now, here he was. Tied up on their couch with his arms overhead, his heart thudding in his chest.  

“This is a good look for you, you know?” She commented, smirking at the indignant flush that crawled over his features.

“Careful. If Asami was here to hear that, she’d rake you over the coals.”

“Please. Asami and I are solid—she knows you pose no threat. We actually have a date tomorrow night, as it so happens.” She poked his chest teasingly. “No, no, I meant this is a good look for you, knocked off your high horse and helpless.”

He rolled his eyes, but it was far less convincing of an act than when he was free. “Oh, is that it? You know, I bet you couldn’t last five minutes under this, let alone a whole half hour. You’re just jealous I can handle it so much better than you.”

He had a point, less about the jealousy and more about the lack of stamina. Korra narrowed her eyes with a devilish grin that made Mako shudder. “Alright then, if that’s how you want to play it. I think that’s my cue to start.”

“What do you mean—nohoHO!”

Korra had planned to start off somewhat lighter, ease him into it, but that cocky attitude simply wouldn’t do. Her hands located his hips instantly, resting on them with a practiced ease as she dug her thumbs into the bone that lay there. Mako yelped, jerking at his hands instantly to no avail. “P-Please, Kohohorra! Nahahat thehehere!”

“Ohhh begging already? You, my friend, are thoroughly and utterly fucked.”

Mako just threw his head about, eyes squeezed shut with a helpless mirth. It was, perhaps, rather cruel to start out on the spot. Mako’s hips happened to be unbearably ticklish, more so than most places on his upper body, and never failed to send him into a writhing panic. Korra’s heart fluttered with an impish joy while she worked him over. Though she was definitely not into this in the same way that Mako was, she could certainly found it appealing to mess with her friend—even to have her friend willingly put himself into her hands like this.

It just wasn’t an opportunity to be squandered in this life.

“Getting awfully squirmy there,” Korra commented, raising a brow. She shifted her hands slightly higher to his waist and sides, switching from the harsh digging into a gentle skitter of her fingers. Mako twitched and hissed, biting his lip as the sensations squirreled into his mind. It wasn’t as overwhelming as before, but it was almost worse for how teasing it felt. “You better be careful. You might start to lead someone to believe that you’re ticklish.”

Mako scoffed, the sound transforming into a fit of giggles that he tried to bite back. His hips shifted side to side, trying to dislodge her fingers. “R-Ridiculous,” he said, arms taut as a rope. “Who wohohould ever b-believe such lies?”

“Who indeed? You’re clearly just a well-adjusted man giggling on a couch for no apparent reason.”

“Mihihinding my own business!”

“Tied up for utterly unrelated reasons.”

The two exchanged a grin, the silly atmosphere infectious.

“Well, since you’re so ‘not ticklish’, maybe I’ll just have to take things up a notch. This is a special trick I’ve been practicing, just for you.”

Mako furrowed his brow apprehensively as Korra placed her fingers right above his ribs, steepling them upwards in the air. She closed her eyes, concentrating for just a moment. And then, ten puffs of concentrated air leapt at Mako at once, focused enough that it had all the softness of a feather and the impact of devious fingers. He choked on a laugh, struggling frantically underneath her to escape as new puffs regenerated to replace the last ones, leaving him in a never-ending struggle against the tickly sensations.

“W-Whahahat the fuhuhuck, oh my god, Kohohorra!”

Korra’s eyes widened as she watched her handiwork take effect. “Woah! I mean, I knew it would work, but I didn’t think it would work that well! I tested it on Bolin a few weeks ago when he wasn’t looking. You should have seen his face, he thought he was going crazy.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “But it didn’t seem to tickle nearly as much on him as this is.”

“L-Luhuhucky for hihihim!” Mako gasped out, arching and twisting away, no movement enough to let him escape. Korra angled her fingers down towards his sides and stomach instead, and Mako squealed, his legs kicking out frantically behind her. “Shihihit! C-Cut thahahat ohohout!”

“Mm, don’t think I will, actually. I’m having quite a lot of fun tormenting you like this.”

Groaning miserably, Mako closed his eyes and did his best to accept his fate. He never would have thought air, just air, could tickle so much. It made him shiver and squirm all at once, sending goosebumps rippling up his torso. He was beginning to regret that he’d opted to have his shirt off for this moment—not that Korra wouldn’t have found a way to get at him anyway. Though certain spots were worse than others, the entirety of his upper body served as one giant hot spot that made it impossible to keep any kind of composure. It also left him super vulnerable to attack. Korra had a habit of grabbing his hand indiscreetly when she walked past him nowadays, leaving Mako to squeak and fumble to try to make up an excuse for the noise.

Korra kept on the spot for a few minutes more. His stomach twitched under the touch, and a frustrated whimper left him when one of the bursts of air hit his naval by accident, tickling far more than it had any right to. Eventually, though, she grew bored and moved the air upwards to his underarms instead. He almost bucked her off when she did that, especially as she had decided to mix in her own fingers wiggles along with the air.

“Fuhuhuhuck yohohou, gehehet ohohohoff, nohohoho!”

“So whiny.” Korra clucked dismissively, shaking her head. “It’s only tickling, you know.”

She couldn’t help but giggle at the way Mako gaped at her for the comment and flushed up to his ears. Which gave her an idea…

Keeping the underarm tickling going, she straddled his legs to give herself a good support and leaned in till they were nearly nose to nose. Mako chomped his teeth, his growl fading into a whine of giggles as the tickling got to him once more. “You know, I do seem to remember Asami telling me something interesting about you, however. How you could never stand neck kisses because you’d start laughing and squirming only seconds in. How she would sometimes take revenge on you for ruining the moment by—”

“Korra no—NO!”

Uproarious laughter filled the apartment as Korra leaned in and blew a raspberry on Mako’s neck. This, combined with the tickling under his arms, proved to be a lethal attack. She blew raspberry after raspberry, delighting in the babbling pleas that fled Mako’s lips while he struggled.

“Want me to stop?”

"Yehehehes!”

“Really?”

It was possible Mako might have kicked her if he could have. “Yehehes!”

“Then beg me to switch to your feet, and I might consider it.”

Mako’s eyes widened comically, and Korra had to press her face into his shoulder for a moment to stifle her laughter. “No way! Absolutely not!”

She shrugged, doubling the intensity of the air puffs. “Fine. Have it your way then. I’m content to stay here as long as I need to.” With that, she went back to the raspberries, leaving Mako in veritable stitches as he struggled to hold on to his resolution.

In the end, it didn’t take long for him to break. A particularly devilish raspberry combined with a light nip near his ear sent him a paroxysm of giggles so intense it was a wonder he was able to get any words out.

“Fihihihine fihihine tihihickle m-my feheheheheet, jehehesus!”

Cackling with triumph, Korra leaned back and ceased her air tickling, leaving Mako as a breathless lump of laughter on the couch. It was quite the amusing sight, and she bit back another smile. She turned instead to his feet, glancing besides the couch to make sure she still had the tools stocked there: A simple hairbrush and a pair of grooming gloves that she found while out with Bolin picking up supplies for the week. It was clearly meant for pets, and when Bolin gave her a puzzled look, she simply insisted it was to be used on Naga. Mako didn’t know about the latter tool; she intended it as a surprise, something to really up the ante.

For now, she started off light. Of everywhere on his body, Mako’s feet were by far the most ticklish, and therefore required the most strategy. You had to start gentle and build up, or he would break right away, something she knew neither of them wanted. She gently traced her nails around the edges of his feet, occasionally slipping onto the actual sole to make him tense. She sat on his ankles, and she could feel how he shifted and squirmed behind her, too exhausted to fully realize how bad this was about to be for him. After about a minute of letting him sit with the ticklish sensations, she began moving faster, scribbling over his feet instead of just teasing. Mako made a strange, unintelligible sound behind her that quickly transformed into light, helpless laughter as his feet flapped and strained away from the tickling. She kept him in this state for quite a while, enjoying how little it was taking to rile him up.

"You doing okay back there?”

Either Mako was recovering phenomenally, or he was just that eager to get wrecked, because he scoffed and said, “Please. I c-could tahahake thihis in my s-sleheheep.”

He was going to pay for those words.

“In your sleep, huh?” Korra murmured. She grabbed her bottle of lotion, rubbing it in her hands and spreading it all over his feet. Once he was fully coated, she picked up the hairbrush and got to work.

The effect was instantaneous. Mako burst into loud, frantic laughter, thrashing about on the couch as he struggled to get his feet free. There was no helping it, however; he was stuck and forced to endure whatever hell may occur next. Korra grabbed his toes and pressed down slightly to leave his foot taut. When she next scrubbed the brush over the ball of his foot, he went ballistic, squealing and howling for her to give him a break.

“Feel like sleeping anytime soon?” Korra called back, giving his other foot the same treatment.

All she got back in response was a bunch of garbled curses.

“That’s what I thought.”

It was time to pull out her final weapon. Under the guise of giving him a break, Korra reached down to pull on the gloves. She was careful to do it quietly, pulling the strings tight so the gloves had no room to wiggle. Then, she grabbed his foot again. He noticed the nubs on his toes immediately, squirming in apprehension.

“What is that—oh FUCK! SHIHIHIT! KOHOHOHORRA!”

She was surprised Mako didn’t burst into flames right then and there on the couch. He squealed helplessly, thrashing all over the place as the gloves scrubbed at his feet. He clearly couldn’t handle it for a second longer, which was why Korra continued to keep making him handle it for many seconds longer. She pinched at his toes, rolling them between her fingers until Mako was a mess of giggles. She stroked at his heels, a spot that normally weren’t that bad but seemed just as not immune to this tactic. She scrubbed fiercely over his arches until Mako was howling for a break, mercy, something. They had established a safeword at the beginning of this process, and she had to admit she was a little impressed he had held on this long.

The move that seemed to get him the most was a simple sawing motion across the ball of his foot. She moved the nubs on the palm of her glove back and forth with an unrelenting pace. When she glanced back, there were tears in the corners of his eyes. She paused her ministrations for just a moment.

“You alright?"

Blinking blearily, Mako glanced up at her with a weak smile. His response was more wheeze than words. “Are you kidding? I could take this all day?”

Korra grinned. When she returned the glove to that same spot, regret filled his eyes as he arched back on the couch in a fit of frantic laughter.

It was decidedly not fine, if the way his leg was dangling limply off the couch was any indication. Stede resisted the urge to wince. There had been a fight. A scuffle of sorts, really, between themselves and a passing Swedish trade ship. Edward had insisted it would be a good learning opportunity, and who was Stede to turn down his offer? They had not been prepared for the crew on board to be so well trained or prepared for battle; evidently they’d had a rough go of it already out on the waters. They’d won, still, but it was not as easy a battle as they’d prepared for and some had come out more injured than others.

One of those some was Izzy Hands, swearing and huffing and getting blood all over Stede’s fine, silken chaise lounge.

Something to worry about tomorrow, probably.

“That blood says otherwise, mate.” Ed kneeled down besides him. He hadn’t come out entirely unscathed himself, but his scratches were minor in comparison. Even still, Stede felt a small sliver of worry as he noticed the gashes forming new scars up his arms and across his cheek. “And the limp. If you can’t walk, you’re no good to me. Just let us take a look and you can be on your way to get up to whatever slew of projects you seem to get up to during the day.”

Izzy glared at him. Ed glared back. There was a moment of tense silence as the ship rocked beneath them. Izzy’s eyes were calculating, darting around Ed’s face as though searching for a weak spot in the argument. Ed was unyielding. Finally, the other man sat back on the couch, crossing his arms and jerking his head behind them. “Does he need to be here for this?”

“Yes, I was actually wondering the same question. If I might just say—”

“Stede’s here because I say he is,” Ed interrupted, much to Stede’s dismay. “And because he’s co-captain and because these are his quarters. Not to mention, more importantly, I need someone to hold you still while I examine you—I’ll not have you nearly taking my eye out like last time.”

When Stede was younger, his father’s family had come to visit, bringing along with them his cousin who he’d only ever before seen in portraits. She was an impish, devilish girl with straight, perfect hair that tilted uneven whenever she was taking Stede in. She spent the whole day playing tricks on him, once even going so far as to lock him in a cupboard for an hour of their time together. She had with her a dog, a tiny, cutesy thing, but feral nonetheless. When he’d reached his hand down to pet it, it had pulled its teeth back and growled, a sound low and fierce that Stede could feel worming its way into his marrow and making him tense. It was practically shaking when Stede’s hand brushed against its head, and Stede had the distinct impression that the only thing holding it back from chomping his hand off was the will of his cousin. The smile she gave him made it so that he didn’t try to pet the dog again.

As Stede took a seat on the couch and delicately picked up Izzy’s leg to lay across his lap, he experienced a similar discontent in the smaller man. He found himself immensely grateful for Edward, and even more grateful that Ed didn’t have the temperament of someone who would like to lock him in a closet.

They quickly determined that it was not his leg as they had first suspected. There were several gashes along them, contributing to the blood flow that was now dripping onto the carpet, but it was a slow enough drip to not need drastic action. No, something seemed to have happened to his ankle.

Izzy grunted as Ed slid his boot off and then his woolen socks. What was revealed made them both wince. His ankle was swollen somewhat and there was a purple, yellowish cast to it.

“That can’t be good, right?” Stede asked. He tilted his head at the injury. “Is it infected?”

“Sprained,” Ed filled in, standing up to go rummage through Stede’s shelves. “Or broken. Hopefully just sprained. He’s been putting too much weight on it, that’s the problem. You should have told us right after we took off.”

“I was dealing with it.”

“You were suffering in silence, that’s difference. Ah.” Ed pulled some silk fabric out, along with cotton bandages and a short, ornate stick that Stede had been using as a pointing stick for his maps. “This should do for a splint.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Izzy insisted as he kneeled back down, setting up materials. “I can do this myself, you don’t have to—”

“Stede, would you kindly tell my first hand to shut his ungrateful mouth?”

Izzy’s head whipped to his. Stede balked. “Um. Izzy. The captain, well, Ed that is, has kindly requested that—”

“I heard what he fucking said.”

“Right.”

“This is really ridiculous—ah."

The last word was cut off, a short, stifled gasp as Ed’s hands cupped around his foot, feeling for any breakage. He glanced up at the noise. “Does that hurt?”

Izzy was somehow both very pale and very red all at once. “No,” he said after a moment, looking somewhere to the left of Ed’s head.

“Good.” Ed’s fingers were light, skimming and searching for any unusual lumps or tendons in places they shouldn’t be. He was mostly keeping to the ankle, which luckily seemed sore but the pain wasn’t intense enough for there to have been a break. But occasionally his fingers would flutter up somewhat as he adjusted his grip, curling into his soles or heel.

Ed didn’t seem to notice it, much too absorbed in the task at hand. But Stede, anxiously watching Izzy’s expression for signs of distress, picked up on it at once. Izzy’s face was contorted, definitely more red than pale now, and his toes were half-curled in, his foot so taut that it was nearly vibrating. He squeezed his arms together, glaring at the opposite wall as he fought back something that was struggling to make its way to his features. He winced every time Ed’s fingers moved, a sharp inhale of breath that was quickly caught and stifled.

Stede’s eyes widened. Before he could help himself, he was blurting it out, “I didn’t realize you were ticklish Izzy.”

In a moment, both captain and first hand froze. The look Izzy shot him was murderous. “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, Bonnet.”

But Ed had already lifted his head, a sly smirk overtaking his features. “I’d nearly forgotten. I don’t remember it being bad enough that you couldn’t happen something like this—”

“I can! I can, and I’m fine, Bonnet is just running his mouth like usual.” Izzy shifted against the seat. He was still laying down, but his body was tensed with action. He might have bolted if he had full use of his leg, but as it was, he was stuck there. “It hurts—that’s all.”

Stede pressed his lips together. He hadn’t meant to touch upon the secret, hadn’t even realized it was meant to be a secret at all. But now that it was out, he couldn’t help the curiosity that tugged at him as he watched the two men. There was clearly history here and world that had existed where Ed somehow got ahold of the information that Izzy was ticklish. Had maybe even taken advantage of the fact. He expected to feel jealousy at the fact, but instead, only intrigue and a soft fluttering in his stomach followed the thought. Strange.

“I’m sorry Izzy,” he said, ignoring how Izzy’s eyes narrowed at his voice. “I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. But, I would be remiss if I didn’t assure you that there is nothing wrong with being ticklish. The most gentlemanly thing one can do in these situations is simply admit your weakness, let the fact rest, and move on with your life in solemn dignity. I myself once—”

“Edward. If he doesn’t stop talking now—”

“You’re not really in the position to be making that argument.” Ed arched a brow. “Are you Izzy?”

There followed a silent exchanging of glances between the two, a world of conversation and argument translated in mere seconds. Ed pursed his lips, shrugging somewhat. Izzy’s brow tightened and turned up, the closest he would get to pleading.

After a while, not taking his eyes off of Izzy, Ed said, “Stede, mate, maybe lay off him a bit. No need to make his suffering worse.”

Izzy exhaled, nodding, but his relief was short lived when Ed returned to checking his ankle, focusing far more on his foot than seemed really necessary. And his hands were deliberately light now, fingers curling and dragging in certain spots. His eyes never left Izzy’s, a challenge in them that was bound to fail.

There was an intimacy to the moment that sparked the strange fluttering once more in Stede’s chest. He tried to ignore it, unable to tell if it was a positive or negative feeling.

It was too much. Ed was doing it on purpose now and Izzy was only human. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling and gasping, tensing and grunting, leg jerking against the couch.

“Keep your leg still, Iz, or I’ll have to start all over again."

“Keep your fucking leg still—shit!”

“Something wrong?”

“Stop—”

But Izzy never finished that sentence, instead opting to press his lips together to fight off a growing smile. His whole foot jerked when Ed’s touch passed over his toes, an occurrence that was becoming more and more frequent the longer the examination went on. Izzy coughed to cover a sound that was definitely a laugh. He refused to look at either of them. His face was bright red, embarrassment radiating off of him so intensely that even Stede cringed a little to watch.

“Ticklish?” Ed asked, scraping his a nail over his arch. Izzy lurched in his seat, his own nails digging marks into his arms, his knuckles white.

He shot him a look that seemed to demand, Let me go.

Ed’s answering smile said, Not yet.

Izzy, reluctantly, stayed in his seat, though he hissed out, “Edward.”

“I’m not done yet, just a couple more minutes.”

Stede was certain they had forgotten he was there. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should move onto making the splint. These kinds of injuries can get out of hand so easily.”

“In a minute,” Ed dismissed. There was barely a pretense now. His fingers scribbled over his soles and Izzy curled forward so that his forehead nearly touched his knees. His shoulders shook, a grin peeking out under his hair which had fallen forward. “There’s a few spots I still need to check.”

Perhaps the most interesting part of this all why Izzy was staying. Ed had a certain amount of influence over him, that much Stede had sussed out. But even still, surely this would be humiliating enough to push past that base respect. He was barely squirming, either, though his muscles looked so tense that he might shatter if pushed.

Stede smiled, just slightly, as the truth came to him.

Izzy was laughing now, whether he wanted to admit it or not. It was muffled into his arms and occasionally resembled a growl, but it was laughter. Ed was scratching a spot underneath his toes that made Izzy’s free leg kick out and stamp furiously on the ground.

“Quite ticklish, isn’t he?” Stede commented. He felt safe enough in Ed’s protection to tease. Besides, any anger Izzy had was being seeped out by the tickling. “Seems like a hazard, perhaps, to have a first mate that’s so ticklish.”

Izzy barked out a string of obscenities, his leg trembling.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ed agreed, grinning and speeding up his fingers. “If anyone were to get ahold of him, who knows how much trusted information might leak into the wrong hands.”

Izzy’s head shot up. “I would nehehever—!” He was forced to cut the sentence off quickly, clapping a hand over his own mouth when Ed reached up to squeeze his knee. He snorted, squirming in place, too busy focusing on hiding his laughter to properly fight back.

“Luckily,” Ed continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “He’s a pretty decent pirate. One of the best.” Neither of them missed the way Izzy flushed with pride, his shoulders straightening just slightly despite his embarrassing position. “So I’m not too worried about his getting captured. Which is why—” he pinched up Izzy’s thigh and the other flailed and sunk into the couch, his hands scrambling to shove him off—“it’s important that he takes care of himself.”

“I-Is that what thihis is about?” Izzy exclaimed, struggling more ferevently now as Ed abandoned his feet to poke or prod at any spot he could reach. “I’ll sit for the fuhuhucking splint, Edward, just cuhuhut it ohohout!”

He was giggling. Steve placed a hand over his own mouth, somewhat shocked by the occurrence. Ed kept pinching at a spot near his hips which was prompting the reaction as Izzy jerked his spine near in half in protection each time.

“You promise?”

“Yehehes, yes, I prohohomise!”

“Stede?”

Both pairs of eyes turned to him, one teasing, one desperate. Stede spluttered, unsure whose side to take, but eventually decided that mercy was the safer option. “He does look like he means it.”

With a sigh, Ed relented at last, pulling back and returning to a firm grip on his ankle once more. “You’re lucky Stede is more merciful than I am. You should thank him after this, do something nice to show your appreciation.”

Izzy’s body language said he was possibly going to murder Stede after this, followed quickly by Ed and anyone else who happened to be in his way. The rest of the examination went quickly, and Ed applied the splint with a practiced ease that left Stede impressed. True to his word, he did not sneak in any more tickling, but the anticipation was enough to keep Izzy jumpy.

When they finished, Ed helped the other to his feet, though Izzy quickly jerked himself out of his grip none too gently. “You’re welcome,” he called after him, though Izzy only grumbled in response, hobbling off to his own quarters.

Stede stood beside Ed, watching him leave. “You don’t think we went too far?”

“Nah,” Ed said, a fondness in his eyes as Izzy disappeared around the corner. “He’ll never say it, but I have a suspicion he likes it. I think it’s the audience he hates more than anything.”

Later, in his own room, Izzy lay on his cot, staring up at the ceiling in furious contemplation. His ankle throbbed where it lay rested up on some blankets he had shoved together to elevate it. It hadn’t been broken, luckily, but it hurt much more than he had let on. More than that, though, was the way his body buzzed, his nerves alight from earlier.

He growled in the darkness. Fucking Bonnet. Always sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. He does look like he means it. He blushed, shaking the memory off. Of all the people to come to his aid

He wished he could be more mad about it—furious that Blackbeard had dared to reveal something so intimate to that bumbling idiot. But he couldn’t truly find it in him.

Edward’s hands on him. Edward’s eyes on him, his warm, gruff voice, his teasing words. His full attention, pivoted for a moment on Izzy. Just like the old days. His stomach squirmed.

And Stede watching him, another part of his mind piped up. Stede smirking at him. Stede, with a teasing lilt to his voice that Izzy had never heard before. Stede feeling like he could tease him. Edward letting him.

Whatever train of thought that was, he brushed it off. Stede was an idiot. That much he knew. Any other feelings that might arise were irrelevant and should be disregarded as distortions of the unorthodox events of the day. Content in this knowledge, he closed his eyes, resting his arm over his face as he prepared to get some rest after their battle.

"Th-This is childish, Remus. Stop this a-at once," Logan replied, trying to keep his voice even and cursing himself silently for the way his words stuttered silently with his breath.

"Why? Thought I don't make any real impact on you. This shouldn't be bothering you, dork." Remus replied with a manic cackle.

Logan went to make a logical retort, still insistent on talking his way out of this situation, but his breath hitched and his words were lost when the nails Remus was dragging up and down his bare sides skittered up higher than their trail had been before, threatening to dip under his exposed arms.

That was the situation he was trapped in, it seemed. Standing in his own room, his arms trapped above his head, hands wrapped in one of Remus' tentacles to keep them easily out of the way. Remus standing behind him, hands shoved under Logan's shirt which had been haphazardously untucked from his pants in the beginning of this.... ridiculousness. At first, Logan was concerned that the Duke was going to attempt act out one of his very vocal sexual fantasies he loved to share with the world, but when the sharp nails of his hands came into contact with his sides and began a slow, ticklish trail up and down, up and down- uncharacteristically light and slow for the hyperactive, manic side- Logan realized what the Duke was hoping to accomplish.

And God damn him, it was working.

Sure, Logan had yet to utter a sound, even managing some sharp words without giving away his blight, but he was terribly sensitive and wasn't prepared for how badly the technique was getting to him. It didn't help that even though he knew, from a logical standpoint, that it made sense that he was ticklish- what with being part of Thomas, who was- the fact that it was working and sending shivers down his spine and making it more and more difficult to keep his composure made him frustrated and exasperated. He should be above such... such childish things!

And God damn it all would he just let up already??

He was so lost in his frustration and the tingles wracking his upper body that he lost track of time, and was aggressively brought back to earth by the voice of Remus.

"Alright, nerdy wolverine, I'm getting bored. Break for me bitch!" Remus suddenly declared loudly.

Before Logan could question the declaration, Remus abandoned his agonizing dragging of claws, kneading deep, near-painful pinching motions into Logan's lower ribs.

“A-aHAHA! N-no!”

The dam broke, and laughter poured out of the logical side as he doubled over as much as he was able. Once that flood was freed, it was impossible to keep it in as his laughter flowed unbroken now.

"Wait- Wahahahait!!" Logan protested, squirming under the devilish attack on his nerves. He couldn't believe the noises coming out of his mouth. He yelped as Remus sporadically changed spots, seeming to be searching for a spot that ignited the most laughter.

Remus settled at Logan's upper ribs since he seemed to like the reactions he received there. He drilled his thumbs into the back of his ribs as he wiggled the rest of his fingers where they were. Logan jerked forward as much as he could, shoulders shaking as he tried to get away from that devastating technique, his cackling tampering of into a snort as the air seemed to be pushed from his lungs when he failed to move away.

"Holy shit, was that a snort??" Remus asked, delighted. He repeated the gesture and earned another, then another, and another, all a few seconds apart between light cackles.

“Enohohohough!” Logan whined after finally finding his words again. His entire body felt like it was fizzling like soda, and his ribs and sides were starting to feel sore from the roughness. "R-Remus PUHLEHEHEHEHEASE!" He cried out, his feet scrambling against the ground as he stamped his feet, trying to get away as those fingers found his underarms.

"No way, this is too good," Remus said delightedly.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours to the logical side as Remus continued tickling him sporadically and expertly. He kicked his feet in an attempt to get anywhere, and, finally, kicked backwards, hoping to catch Remus and end this ridiculousness.

He gasped when the tickling stopped suddenly, and his ankle was captured by a hand. He gasped for breath, taking the break to regain his composure, but it felt impossible as dread filled him when his ankle was not released.

"Remus-"

"Well, well, what do I have here?" The man hummed, ignoring Logan's call. He held him steadfastly still, showing no signs of releasing his foot. "Seems you were begging for me to switch to here, huh nerdy wolverine?"

Logan's stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies, even if that was biologically impossible. "Let me go." His foot was bare, and he knew if Remus' manic tickling moved to that spot, he was done for. "This ridiculousness has gone on long enough, you've made your point, now let me go so I can return to my work-"

"Sounds to me like someone's begging," Remus purred, sounding delighted. "Is that nervousness I see, dork?"

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but nails were suddenly scribbling up and down his soles, and Logan lost it. Roaring laughter poured from him as he yanked at his foot and scrambled with the free one for any sort of leverage.

"REHEHEHEMUS!!" He shrieked. "STOP- STOHOHOHOP STOP NOHOHOHO!"

"Oooohh good spot!" Remus declared, scribbling at the sensitive skin. "How exciting!"

The assault on his nerves was too much, it felt like his nervous system was alight with fireworks and no amount of squirming seemed to let it up. He was keenly aware of how helpless he was, and that knowledge left him in a giddy sort of panic. He couldn't handle it!

“PLEHEHEHEASE!” Logan pleaded, unable to handle the assault on his worst spot. “IHIHI CAHAHAN’T!” He let out another snort as his toes were pinched. “LEHEHEHET ME GOHOHO!”

“Awww, poor ticklish Logan!” Remus cooed. "Tickle tickle little nerd~ Aww, too bad I can't reach your other foot!"

Logan was hysterical under Remus' hands. He couldn't get away, he couldn't lower his arms, he couldn't free his ankle, all he could do was laugh, and laugh, and laugh. And laugh he did, as Remus showed no sign of stopping any time soon.

"Logan, what's with all the noise-"

Virgil froze in the doorway, hand still on the half-open door, blinking in bewilderment at the scene before him.

"What..?"

And Logan for once, damn his dignity, didn't even care, he just saw another person, a shot at freedom, and he'd grasp for it.

"V-VIRHIRHIR-VIRGIHIHIL!! PL-PLEHEHEHEHEASE!! HEHEHELP!!" Logan cried out between his shrieks, shaking his head like his life depended on it.

Virgil snapped out of his shocked daze and stomped forward. His cheeks were pink, eyes still wide, but his voice was stern as he shouted, "Remus!! Drop him!"

Remus rolled his eyes, grinning at the emo side. "Ohhhh~ So commanding, Virgey," he drawled, and Virgil cringed. He shook it off, though, and stepped forward, crossing his arms.

"I said. Drop. Him. He's done, Remus, now back off," Virgil reiterated, voice still raised to be heard over Logan's hysterics, though it was tappering off into fits of silent laughter by now.

"Aww, you're no fun," Remus pouted, but sighed dramatically and obeyed, stepping away from Logan at last and letting his arms and foot go. Logan collapsed to his hands and knees, one arm clasped over his stomach, gasping in greedy gulps of air as giggles and titters continued to flow from him.

"Thanks for playing with me, teach~!" Remus sing-songed, grinning from ear to ear. "I had a lot of fun! Can't wait to do this again sometime, ohhh, maybe with some fun toys next time! I'll let Tickle-Me-Emo take it from here." And with that, Remus strolled out of the room and shut the door loudly behind himself.

Virgil glared after Remus before closing the distance between himself and the panting side on the floor. Logan's giggling had finally died down, face still flushed as he shoved up his glasses and wiped the mirthful tears that had gathered in his eyes with his sleeve.

"You okay, Lo?"

"F-Fine," Logan replied, voice still slightly pitched and a little sore from his previous hysterics. He felt an awkward hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off after a second for both their sakes, too overstimulated and knowing Virgil was anxious and not sure what to do. "Quite fine, thank you, Virgil."

There was a moment in silence as Logan briefly considered sinking into the floor, not to transfer positions, but to simply stop existing. Then he could hear shuffling as Virgil crouched next to him, and he hesitantly looked up as a bottle of water was offered to him, Virgil's awkward, embarrassed smile greeting him.

Logan took the offering, thankful, and he didn't protest and Virgil removed his glasses from his head and busied himself with cleaning them while Logan drank.

"So... You're ticklish?" Virgil spoke up after a moment, and there was a teasing to his tone. The warmth in Logan's face quickly returned from where it'd started to fade, and he ducked his head with a quiet groan.

"Unfortunately," he grumbled. "It makes sense, we're all a part of Thomas, but still."