hey y'all

Bruce knew as well as any parent that hearing his name shouted at volume loud by one of his kids would never not send a spike of panic through his chest. It didn’t matter that this particular evening found him seated in one of the armchairs across from his desk, or that he knew, absolutely knew, that his sons were all safe at home in the Manor. Hearing his oldest son screech out “DAD!” had Bruce bolting out of his chair and down the hall before the wave of icy panic fully sunk into the pit of his stomach. 

He needn’t have bothered. It wasn’t a crisis, because of course it wasn’t, but those parental instincts would never die. 

“Hiya, B!” Dick chirped, looking up at Bruce. 

Bruce just stared at him for a moment. “...how?” 

Dick was hanging upside down from the second-floor railing, his legs wound through two of the posts to anchor him as he dangled over the hallway below. Knees…surely weren’t supposed to bend like that. He’d been inverted long enough that his cheeks had a mild tinge of red from the bloodflow to his head. 

This certainly wasn’t the first time Bruce had stumbled across Dick in a position that shouldn’t have been feasible for any human being, and he was well aware that it wouldn’t be the last time, either. At least it wasn’t the chandelier this time – but those might not even hold Dick’s weight, now. 

Dick curled upwards to grab the posts with his hands and gave Bruce a sunny smile. “I’m stuck.” 

Bruce huffed out a light puff of laughter through his nose. He’d been through this one before, many times. “You’re not stuck, chum, you’re bored.” He reached out anyways, leaning down over the railing so Dick could grab his forearm and pull himself up high enough that he had the leverage to slide his legs free. 

“Maybe I was,” Dick said as he pushed himself up and flipped over to the carpet of the upstairs hallway. As usual, his landing was silent. “Tim and Jason are researching some case, Alfred’s busy, and you’re working. What else am I supposed to do?” There was a slight note of disapproval in his tone, even though he was still smiling. 

Ah, right. Bruce squeezed his shoulder, feeling Dick lean slightly into his grip. “I wasn’t working. The whole week off, right?” 

“Oh.” Dick’s grin turned a little sheepish. “Sorry. You were in your study, I just assumed.” 

“It’s a fair enough deduction.” Still gripping his eldest’s shoulder, Bruce jostled him as they walked towards the stairs. “Just reading, this time.” 

“Anything important?” 

“Just fiction.” Bruce hesitated for a moment, then added, “Never more important than you.” He knew he’d made the right call when Dick ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. As Dick had gotten older – and, perhaps, as he’d seen more and hurt more – he’d grown ever-so-slightly quieter, less open than before. It was a small change; frankly, Bruce was probably the only one who’d noticed, because Dick never let that bleed into his relationships with his brothers. But the movement he’d just made had always been his tell, at least in his interactions with Bruce. 

“But,” Bruce began, trying to inject some levity into his words. “It would be unforgivable to let my son languish in his boredom, so…is there anything you would like to do?” 

“Uh.” Dick chewed on his lower lip for a second, a habit he’d seemed to have picked up from Tim. “Maybe you could spot me on the rings?” 

As if he’d ever needed a spotter. Bruce did recognize, though, that what Dick was really asking for was time. “Of course, chum. Just let me go change.” 

***

Part of Bruce had often wondered if Dick had some yet-undiscovered Meta DNA that allowed him to move with such grace and power whenever he was in the air. The other part of Bruce was busy bursting with pride at the skill, work, and dedication that Dick always displayed whenever he was unleashed on unsuspecting gym equipment. 

Back when Dick was younger, Bruce had decided to outfit the main floor’s exercise room with gymnastics and acrobatic equipment so his kid would have a familiar outlet for the energy that sang through his cells like a live current. He’d kept up with it through the years, occasionally changing out the fixtures as Dick grew, to be sure that everything was still sized appropriately to hold Dick’s weight as he’d started filling out. 

The rings had been one of Dick’s favorites. He could often be found there in the evenings attempting to wring out enough energy to settle down in bed, and still used them whenever he was at the manor. Bruce watched him now from outside the “possibly-getting-kicked-in-the-face” radius, close enough to intervene should Dick require assistance, but far enough that he could see the full range of motion and flexibility that his oldest was capable of executing. 

And it was staggering. 

Dick moved like it was as easy as breathing, each swing and lift flowing into the next, caught up in an elaborate dance with gravity as he worked through a series of conditioning exercises. Once he was warmed up, he switched to combinations of flips and drops that became increasingly complicated, requiring more and more rotations until Bruce couldn’t count them anymore.

He allowed himself to lose track of time. It was easy to get caught up in memories of a younger Dick doing similar things, often staying up there until Bruce climbed up on a footstool to pull him down – or, sometimes, to tickle him until he let go and fell into Bruce’s grasp. 

“Hey, B, catch!” Dick yelled. 

Startled out of his reminiscing, Bruce instinctively stepped forwards to widen his stance as Dick pulled himself up from an iron cross and somersaulted forwards. The weight of his now-grown son punched the air out of Bruce’s lungs for a second, but he still caught him – because, really, what was the point of being able to bench six hundred if he couldn’t also lift his children? 

“Oh my God,” Dick was laughing, head flung backwards. “Sorry, I thought you’d dodge.” 

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Bruce replied, a little breathless. “Of course I’d catch you.” Cradling his twenty-five-year-old as if he were a much younger child, Bruce hitched him up into a more secure hold. 

“And here I was, hoping for a crash landing.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to smile. “Brat.” There was no heat in his voice, and he adjusted the arm under Dick’s knees so he could reach around and squeeze at his leg. 

The startled yipping noise that Dick made ensured that Bruce kept smiling to himself, turning his gaze to his eldest’s face. It was always good to reaffirm that, no matter how old Dick got, there were some things he wouldn’t be outgrowing anytime soon. 

Dick was staring back at him with a grin that Bruce would call delighted, something like anticipation glittering in his eyes. The sight sent a rush of affection churning through his chest. Dick, unlike his younger brothers, found it easier to accept positive attention and was much more open about seeking it. Maybe this entire detour to the gym was Dick asking, in his more direct if still a tad roundabout way, for some one-on-one time with his dad. 

After all, it wasn’t like Dick hadn’t inserted himself into Tim and Jason’s casework before. He was intentionally leaving them be. 

“Really?” Bruce asked as if he didn’t know full well what the answer would be. Doing that always seemed to aggravate his children into flustered sputters of laughter. “Still?” 

“Maybe,” Dick hedged, a faint blush rising to the high points of his cheekbones. 

“Well,” When Bruce let Dick down, he noted the flash of disappointment in his son’s eyes. “What is it you say to your brothers? Ah, yes, you’ll always be my baby.” 

That made Dick flush even darker and looked away. “B.” 

Chuckling quietly, Bruce ruffled his hair until Dick groaned and shoved his hand away. “Sorry, chum, am I embarrassing you?” 

Dick rolled his eyes but didn’t seem too upset as he knocked his shoulder into Bruce’s. “Horribly.” 

Bruce pulled him into a sideways hug, then kissed the top of his head. “Cocoa?” 

“Only if you make it.”

***

“So, what did you get the boys for Christmas?” Dick asked. He’d been content to follow Bruce from the kitchen to his bedroom, and was now sprawled across the bed, head hanging off of one side. 

Bruce set his mug aside and replaced it with one of the books he’d been working through. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“Hey,” Dick craned his head upwards. “I’m not asking about me. Oh, hey, is that Pădurea Spânzuraților?” 

“It is. You’d mentioned reading it a couple months ago, so I thought I’d pick it up.”

The smile that broke out over Dick’s face was nearly blinding. “Let me know when you finish, I’d love to talk about it with you.” 

“I look forward to it,” Bruce said, absently squeezing Dick’s kneecap in what he’d intended to be a comforting gesture. Dick’s leg kicked out under his grip and his eldest squawked. 

Oh, right. Bruce carefully set the book aside then got to his knees, noting that Dick was already scrambling to pull himself all the way off the bed to escape to the floor. That problem was easily solved by pinning Dick down by his ankles. “Going somewhere, Dick?”  

“Trying to,” Dick called back, the words taught with suppressed laughter. He’d almost made it off the mattress, head and shoulders touching the carpet. Bruce couldn’t see his face, but it was easy enough to imagine his flustered grin and scrunched-up cheeks. 

Bruce hummed as he settled both hands just above Dick’s knees.  “And why would you do that?” 

“Oh, you kno-OHOW!” Dick broke off into a screech when Bruce squeezed, alternating hands until Dick’s laughs turned into loud cackles. Then, keeping one hand on Dick’s kneecap and vibrating his fingers into the sides, he used the other to make light scritches on the underside of his other knee. The contrasting sensations made Dick wheeze and snort as he tried to sit up, his legs twitching like they were trying to detach themselves from the rest of him. 

“Bruhuhuce!” Dick cried through wild laughter. “Not that not that!” The blankets wrinkled as he gripped onto them with white-knuckled fists.

“Not what?” Bruce paused his squeezing hand and let his fingers skitter around to the back of that knee, too. “This?” The backs of Dick’s knees were a time-honored tickle spot that was usually enough to send Dick into helpless peals of laughter.

Dick managed to curl himself upwards enough for Bruce to see him nodding furiously, red-faced and grinning. “It’s–it’s too–” 

“Oh. Does it tickle?” 

“Dad!” 

“Dick!” Bruce copied his son’s tone, which earned him a giggly groan. After a few more seconds he backed off the knees and switched to sporadic, nibbling pinches on Dick’s lower thighs. Dick snorted and spasmed again, flopping back down to dangle onto the floor. 

“You’re – you’re sohoho meheheehEAN!” he sputtered as Bruce squeezed at his hips – not nearly as bad for Dick as they were for Jason, but ticklish enough to make him snort. 

“I’m mean?” Bruce asked, grinning even though Dick couldn’t see him. “I think you’re just ticklish, chum.” 

“Nohoho!” 

Bruce had to laugh along with him. “Are you trying to tell me you aren’t?” Leaning forward, he slid his hands up to wiggle into Dick’s sides, grinning when his eldest shrieked and convulsed. “Because, and I do hate to break it to you, it seems like you are.” Now that he was able to see Dick’s face again, he noticed the relaxed quality of Dick’s smile and laughter even though his eyes were getting slightly watery. 

Hm. It would seem that Dick had needed some dad time, as they used to call it, for a while. Being an adult didn’t mean that he didn’t need – or didn’t want – his father. Bruce, of all people, knew that deeply. Maybe he could set aside a block of time on his weekly calendar for Dick, they could get lunch, or coffee or...or even talk on the phone, just something that wasn't related to their night jobs. Something to think about later.

Meanwhile, Dick had apparently given up on protesting and was making rather weak attempts at removing Bruce’s hands from his sides before they could go any higher. His dark hair scrubbed the carpet, probably turning into a mess of knots. Taking momentary pity, Bruce sat back and tugged Dick upright, pulling him back against his chest. It was easy to manhandle his laughter-weakened child; all of Dick’s finely-honed coordination went sailing out the window whenever he was tickled. No one who saw him flailing around would ever think he was an acrobat – or, for that matter, a highly-trained vigilante. 

Bruce started walking his fingers up Dick’s sides, getting a quieter round of hiccupy-sounding giggles for his troubles, and paused just beneath the soft spot underneath his ribs. Immediately, Dick started squirming around like when he was a little kid. 

“B–” 

“You know,” Bruce said, cutting him off. “I think the very first time I did this, Alfred almost came running with his shotgun.” And he squeezed Dick’s lower ribs, turning his hands upside down so he could vibrate his thumb right beneath them. 

Dick screeched like a banshee on the Irish moors and flung his head back against Bruce’s shoulder, twitching and jerking as he laughed in scream-like cackles. It was a bit of a cheap shot, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to regret it when his eldest abruptly relaxed against him in wheezy, almost-silent laughter. 

Bruce tilted his head down to speak directly into Dick’s ear, knowing that the days-old stubble on his face would drive Dick crazy when it touched the crook of his neck. “You are, without a doubt–” Sure enough, Dick squeaked – squeaked – then succumbed to a new wave of giggly snorts. “One of the loudest, squirmiest, most ticklish people in the world.” He emphasized each word with alternating pokes to each of Dick’s twin tickle spots. 

“Such a sap,” Dick gasped out, jerking with each poke. “Softie.” 

To retaliate, Bruce shoved his hands up under Dick’s arms, earning a surprised screech that dissolved into breathless giggles. “And that’s your giggle spot. Tell me, Dickie, are your brothers aware of how ticklish you are?” 

Shaking his head, Dick tried to pin his arms down to his sides, but only succeeded in trapping Bruce’s fingers. “Not – not all of it!” 

“Ah. Well,” Bruce extricated his hands to wrap his arms around Dick, holding him tight so his breathing could come down into normal range. Dick let his head thunk back again, eyes closed. “I’m sure they’ll find out soon.” 

“Is that a threat?” Dick asked, cracking one eye open to look at him. 

Bruce rested his chin on his head, which made Dick relax against him even more. “Not necessarily. Tim’s been observant, lately.” 

“Yeah, he and Jason are up to something.” 

“Your reign of terror might be coming to an end.” Bruce patted his knee and Dick flinched in anticipation of tickles that didn’t come. “Good luck.” This time he did squeeze, getting Dick to squeak. 

“Hehey!” 

“Hey, I’m desensitizing you.” Bruce poked and squeezed his knees and thighs as Dick lay there in a heap of yelps and giggles. “Fatherly duties.” 

For several moments, Dick was content to lean against him and laugh, snorting occasionally like when Bruce reached down to squeeze sporadically at his calves, until he finally flailed out and smacked the bedding twice. 

Bruce immediately released him but Dick just flipped onto one side to get into a more comfortable position, bringing one of his knees up to his chin while his other leg sprawled across Bruce’s, leaning his full weight against Bruce. 

One of Bruce’s arms reached up automatically to hold him steady even though the odds of Dick rolling off were slim. His children had been unusually tactile lately – well, maybe not unusually, but certainly more frequently. It wasn’t anything he’d complain about. 

“You’re a very good brother, you know,” he murmured, kissing Dick’s hair. “I’m very proud of you.”

That, more so than any tickling, made Dick’s blush crawl down his neck. It occurred to Bruce that he should probably say that more often. 

“Thanks, B.”

“And you’re the kind of son every father should want,” Bruce continued. He'd been on a roll with the emotions, lately, and figured that he might as well capitalize on the momentum. The winter holidays had always left Dick a little raw, too, and Bruce had the instinctive feeling that it was important to say these things to him. “You’re kind, brilliant, brave–”

“Bruce,” Dick whined, pressing his face into Bruce’s sweater. His blush now covered his face and neck, and was spreading rapidly to his ears. 

“–no, listen, sweetheart. You’ve become an incredible young man, better than I ever was. I never stopped being so unbelievably proud of you, even when we fought. I still am. And I love you.” 

Dick…sniffled. 

Bruce sat up a little to wrap his oldest child in a tight hug. “Oh, Dickie. ” 

“Thanks,” Dick whispered and for a moment he sounded much younger. Then he cleared his throat and slowly dragged the heel of his hand across his eyes. “Work’s been really busy lately. I think I’ve been a little overwhelmed.” 

Pressing another kiss to the top of his hair, Bruce settled back against his headboard, still keeping his arms in a tight circle around Dick. “I know how that goes. If you want to talk about it, I’d be happy to listen.”

“Maybe later,” Dick said wetly. “It’s – It’s a hard case, right now. All hands on deck. Serial…well, you know.”

Bruce’s heart ached for him. “I’m sorry, honey.” 

After several moments of silence, some of the tension that had seeped back into Dick’s posture eased as his shoulders slumped forwards. He shifted around until Bruce saw his bright, reddened eyes blinking up at him. 

“I love you too, Dad.” 

A warm wave of tender affection rolled through Bruce’s thoughts as he squeezed his oldest son a little harder. He didn’t think Dick would fall asleep here, but he needed the quiet and the physical contact to process through his tangled feelings. 

At some point, scuffles and whispers from the hall drew his attention to the doorway, where Tim and Jason were trying to slink back out of sight. 

“You can come in, boys,” he called, a note of dry amusement creeping into his voice. 

Dick pushed himself up on one arm and squinted blearily at them. “Hey, guys.” 

“Are you okay?” Tim asked, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. Behind him, Jason placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, which sent a twinge of pride through Bruce. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dick said. He yawned wide enough to make his jaw pop. “Just having dad time.” As soon as the words left his mouth the blush returned, like he hadn't intended on referring to it as that.

“He means getting tickled within an inch of his life,” Bruce clarified, winking at his younger sons. A spark of mischief danced in Jason’s eyes even as he kept a neutral expression. Tim looked intrigued but stayed quiet. 

Dick squawked indignantly. “Bruce!” 

“It’s not like we couldn’t hear, Dickwing,” Jason said. “You’re loud.” 

As Dick made a rude gesture at him in answer, Tim ventured closer to the bed, tugging his lower lip between his teeth. His eyes flicked to Bruce uncertainly, then back to Dick. 

“You can come up.” Bruce gestured to the expansive king-sized mattress, hoping to put his more skittish child at ease. Well, not skittish, exactly. More like...hesitant.  “Plenty of room.” 

Dick nodded his agreement, which instantly convinced Tim to scramble up and fling himself over Dick’s legs, making his older brother groan in half-hearted complaint. 

Bruce heard Tim mumble, “It’s late, we were looking for you.” 

Dick’s eyebrows flicked up and he grinned. “Ah. Jaybird, too?” 

“Fuck no,” Jason hissed. He’d wandered closer but now backpeddled to the door. “I’m goin’ to bed, ‘night B!” 

“Goodnight,” Bruce replied, sending him another wink. Jason’s mouth curled up in a brief smirk before he disappeared down the hall to safety. 

“I just wanted to see if you’d gone out or something,” Tim said quickly. He rolled over to look up at Dick, the added pressure on Bruce’s own legs, seeing as he was at the bottom of the pile, making them tingle with pins and needles. “That’s all.” 

But Dick was already grinning at him in a way that would drive the Cheshire cat into fits of envy. “Whatever you say, Timmy.” 

For a few seconds, neither of them moved, suspended in playful tension. Bruce settled back against his headboard again, more than happy to take the observer role for whatever was about to occur (and he was pretty sure he knew ). Then, suddenly, Dick lunged, trying to knock Tim off and pin him down at the same time. He kneed Bruce in the stomach as he did – “Sorry, B!” – and Tim shrieked in surprise and laughter as he went sprawling across the foot of the bed. 

“Hey! You – Dick!” 

Dick just laughed as he straddled Tim’s thighs, shoving his knees forward to pin his hands down. “Your reflexes need some work, Baby Bird.” 

Tim gave him the disgruntled scowl that Bruce had always found adorable, though he’d never admit it out loud because Tim would probably never recover. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Dick said. "What's goin' on? Not tired? Extra energy?" He struck without buildup or warning, digging his fingers into Tim’s lower stomach before he could answer. Tim shouted, tossing his head back against the bedding, then almost immediately melted into a puddle of squeaky giggles. 

“Dihihick!”  

“You’re literally the cutest, babiest brother ever,” Dick replied. “Except for Jason, I think you guys are tied. The Timmy Tummy Tickles might give you an edge, though…maybe I’ll run an experiment one of these days. B, you can help.” 

Tim’s mortified shriek made Bruce laugh despite his commitment to being an observer, not a participant. He shouldn’t have felt surprised when Dick flashed him a wild grin; being around his brothers always brought out this side of him, no matter what else was going on. His undying love for his siblings never failed to make Bruce's eyes sting if he thought about it too long.

“Jay!” Tim yelled. He’d squeezed his eyes shut. “Help mehehee!” 

Jason’s answer echoed from down the hall. “Sorry, giggle brat, you’re on your own!” 

Bruce also shouldn’t have been surprised when Tim turned his head to give him a desperate, pleading look that was weakened by the bubbly giggles pouring out of him. “B? D-dahad?” 

“Hmm.” Bruce pondered potential courses of action for a couple seconds because, on the one hand, watching his children get along and goof off was always delightful and reassuring. On the other hand, to Bruce’s immeasurable delight, Tim had recently started using Dad with him – it had only taken the better part of a decade, but … well, late was better than never – and Bruce selfishly wanted to encourage it. 

He decided to compromise. Instead of knocking Dick off of Tim, he tweaked one of those spots under Dick’s ribs, making his eldest fold sideways with a startled screech. 

Tim’s eyes lit up. 

Bruce kept making quick, nibbling pinches into both spots, alternating how many and which side at random, until Dick gave up and flopped to the side, slapping the tickling hands away. 

“Ooh, It’s a Christmas miracle,” Tim cheered, still coming off his own giggles.

Dick playfully glared at him. “Oh, I’ll show you a Christmas miracle.” But instead of going after Tim again, he turned to Bruce and threw himself forward, hands outstretched. 

“Nice try, chum,” Bruce grunted with the effort it took to stop Dick in place by putting his palms on his shoulders. 

Though he struggled for a moment, Dick eventually gave up and slumped back down. “Okay, okay, fine.” 

Tim dragged himself up onto his hands and knees and stumbled a few paces forwards before collapsing back down, his face pressed into Bruce’s knee. He grumbled something that sounded like, “So mean to me.” 

Dick heard and laughed quietly as he met Bruce’s gaze, and his smile softened into something almost shy. “Hey, I learned from the best.”  

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thank you for reading!! my adhd meds made me lock in on this like a heat-seeking guided missile y'all

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it too vulnerable?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

“Does that make you happy?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You love my overthinking.”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

And who is Ilya to ruin that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t see his face, but he assumed he had his eyes tightly shut. He could certainly feel his nails digging into his shoulders. If Eddie wanted, he could easily turn the tables. But Eddie didn’t want that. Eddie wanted Steve to torture him for as long as he could stand it before finally pinning him to the couch to pull him apart properly. Eddie had made sure to be a brat all day in order to deserve that.

Steve felt himself smiling. They didn’t really talk about this, but he knew he was doing a good job of reading him. In turn, Eddie would reward him greatly later, once he’d stopped gasping for air.

“This is my favorite scene,” he said, having never seen the movie before, and Eddie nodded with a strangled sound that Steve could make him repeat but didn’t. “This movie’s kinda funny, isn’t it?”

Eddie made another sound, this time sliding down a bit so that Steve had perfect access to the strip of skin showing between his shirt and pants, but he remained at Eddie’s armpits, slowly circling them and knowing Eddie was both cursing and thanking the fact that he was wearing a tank top.

“You’re not laughing, though,” he continued. “Don’t you think it’s funny?”

“N-no-”

“Oh, that simply won’t do. Your sense of humor’s broken. We gotta fix that, don’t we?”

As if having waited for Steve’s permission, Eddie started giggling before he’d even done anything different. His laughter, sweet laughter, ping ponged between giddy and hysteric, occasionally teetering into the incomprehensible sounds Steve adored so much. Steve knew he needed to switch tactics if he wanted Eddie to make sillier noises, but he kind of enjoyed the way his partner remained glued to him and letting him do what he wanted. Once the silly noises started, so would the thrashing, which was lovely in itself, but different. Steve was comfortable where he was lying anyway.

“Oh, now you’re laughing, huh?” he said, grinning as Eddie dug his nails even deeper into his skin. “What’s so funny now?”

Eddie turned his face so that he was pressing it into Steve’s arm. Steve could imagine him biting it when it became too much and steeled himself for that possibility. He still was being pretty gentle, but sometimes that was what sent him over the edge. He kept circling the skin, dragging his nails lightly over it. Ticklish shocks keeping Eddie giggling. Steve’s legs keeping him in place. His arms were held up entirely on their own.

“You’re doing so good,” Steve mumbled, his only acknowledgement of what was actually happening. Eddie’s groan made him laugh.

Bruce cleared his throat. In the cavernous space, the sound echoed. 

He may as well have fired off a pistol with how immediately his children froze, all turning looks with varying degrees of guilt on him. Damian shook himself out of it quickly and went back to typing. 

“It’s been a long night,” Bruce said after several seconds had passed. “Upstairs. Now.” 

The growl in the last word spurred Tim into action; he ducked under Jason’s arm and hastily shucked off his gloves and suit, flinging them in the vague direction of the locker room. Then, in his Underarmour compression gear, he gave Bruce an apologetic nod and hurried towards the stairs. 

Jason eventually followed. Neither of them said anything to Bruce – and hopefully wouldn’t to each other, at least until tomorrow. 

Damian, left on his own, kept typing, but his shoulders hunched up to his ears. 

Bruce waited until the older two were safely out of the cave before speaking. When he did, he kept his voice soft. “Damian.” 

No response, except for the continued clacking of the keyboard. 

Instead of saying his name again, Bruce moved closer to see what it was that had Damian so intent on ignoring him. Surprisingly, it was just a report of Robin’s activities that evening. A routine step in debriefing, but not an urgent one. 

Bruce gently touched one of Damian’s tense shoulders. His son stiffened, then relaxed under his hand. 

“Thank you for your diligence,” he murmured. “I appreciate that you’re willing to get this done right away, but it’s more important to me that you get rest.”

Damian shot him an inscrutable look over his shoulder. “I am not a child, Father. Do not coddle me.” 

Ah, this again. Lately, Damian had been chafing at any insinuation – perceived, or otherwise – that his age entitled him to different treatment than his older brothers. 

“It’s not coddling, honey. It’s part of my job to make sure all of you is taken care of, and that means making sure you’re getting enough sleep.” 

Damian gave the spacebar a particularly hard thwack. “You let Timothy stay up.” 

An old, familiar guilt twisted through Bruce’s ribcage. He squeezed Damian’s shoulder once. “I failed Tim, Damian. In his early days. It wasn’t a healthy situation, and I don’t want that for you – none of us do. If I could keep him locked out of the Cave after midnight now, I’d do it in a heartbeat. These days, he doesn’t pull all-nighters down here for me, he does it in spite of me.” 

A muscle ticked in Damian’s jaw, but his typing slowed. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Bruce continued, rubbing his thumb into a stubborn knot near the base of Damian’s neck. “Come upstairs and get ready for bed. If, after forty-five minutes, you’re still awake, you can come back down and finish the report.” 

Damian thought over that for a few seconds, his brow furrowing. “Fine.”

As he pushed the chair back and reluctantly stood, Bruce kept his hand right between Damian’s shoulder blades to steer him towards the stairs, just in case his youngest had any ideas of slipping away. Damian’s feet dragged on each step and he stifled a yawn more than once – yeah, he was certainly tired. 

“Come see me when you’ve changed,” Bruce said, bending down to kiss Damian’s hair even though it made his back twinge. 

Damian silently nodded, then shuffled off towards his room. 

Once he was sure Damian had indeed gone to find sleeping clothes rather than slipping into one of his brothers’ rooms, Bruce flicked on a low light in his own bedroom and hastily changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He efficiently went through the normal evening ablutions, and was pulling back his bedding when the telltale prickle at the back of his neck told him that Damian had arrived. 

Sure enough, Damian was standing in the doorway, wearing an oversized long sleeve t-shirt that had once belonged to Tim and a pair of dark plaid pajama pants. His feet were bare, but that hadn’t stopped him from moving undetected down the hall. These days, Damian probably wasn’t trying to walk silently on purpose - it was just how he’d been taught to move through the world, quiet and unobservable. 

But, since Bruce wasn’t running a cult of assassins, he wanted Damian to take up space in his home and his life, to catch a creaky floorboard now and then or race down the stairs with his brothers. It was why he’d instructed his youngest to come find him after he’d changed out of Robin’s uniform. 

“Come sit,” Bruce said, swinging his legs up onto the mattress and patting the space next to him. He leaned back against the headboard as Damian slipped into the room and joined him. 

Damian settled beside him, still holding himself up with stiff, formal posture. He went easily enough, though, when Bruce slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him down against his side. 

“See the clock?” Bruce pointed towards the nightstand. “Forty-five minutes from now, if you’re still awake, we can go back downstairs.” 

The sheets rustled as Damian bent his legs sideways to lean further into Bruce. His deep, searching eyes roamed over Bruce’s expression for a few seconds, then he nodded once.  

After a few quiet moments, any lingering stiffness bled out of Damian’s posture until he was practically melting into Bruce’s t-shirt. Bruce had begun absentmindedly tracing soft patterns up and down Damian’s arm, partially hoping it would relax Damian enough that he’d give in to the sleep that he clearly needed. 

“Is there a reason you need to finish this report tonight?” Bruce asked eventually. 

Damian made a small, displeased noise and stared at his hands, ruthlessly picking at a hangnail. He didn’t say anything, but Bruce had his own suspicions about some of the thoughts that were preoccupying his youngest kid. 

“I don’t need to you be Tim,” he said, still drawing circles up and down Damian’s bicep. “Or Jason, or Dick. Every Robin is different.” 

“Then why do I have different rules?” The question whipped out of Damian and he immediately pressed his lips together like he hadn’t meant it to escape. “Do you not trust me?” 

That question, where his voice wavered ever-so-slightly, made Bruce’s heart ache. While Damian’s start as Robin had been…tumultuous, unideal, he’d worked hard to learn the ‘new rules’, so to speak, of the world he’d been dropped into. Part of that had been working to show Dick and Bruce that he could be trusted with the mission; a bigger part, whether Damian realized or not, was learning how to be a son to a father he’d never known, and a younger brother. It certainly hadn’t been a smooth process, and there were still friction points that burned hot and bright. But Damian had been trying. 

“Oh, Dami.” Bruce combed through Damian’s hair, breaking some of the leftover gel cast with his fingers. “Of course I trust you. That has nothing to do with wanting you upstairs and asleep instead of writing a report.”

Instead of replying, Damian tapped his fingers together. The same furrow from earlier reappeared in his brow. 

“Robin isn’t just a tool,” Bruce said. “He’s a person, too. And you’re not just my sidekick or partner, honey, you’re also my son. Of course there are things I want you to do, like write reports. But none of that is as important as you, taking care of yourself. Sometimes, in the past, I failed to…to make that explicit, to your brothers. It’s important to me to avoid that same mistake with you.”

He let Damian chew on that for a couple minutes. Then, he gently added, “I trust you with my life, Damian. And you can trust me with yours, too – including life outside the mantle.”

Damian’s hands stilled as he contemplated that. 

“I suppose,” he said at last, and his voice sounded thicker than normal. “That I’ll live with that.” 

It was a very Damian response, and Bruce couldn’t help but smile. He kept running his fingers through Damian’s hair, making sure to give him some of the head scritches that always seemed to relax all of his kids like a universal reset. 

“You are cheating,” Damian muttered.

Bruce tried for innocence. “Oh? How so?”

Damian turned a disapproving scowl on him, but it lacked heat. “You are trying to make me tired.”

“And is it succeeding?” 

Damian’s mouth ticked up in a smile and he shook his head, blinking, like he was steeling himself. 

“Oh, well.” Bruce let out a heavy sigh, exaggerated for Damian’s benefit, and ruffled his hair a little more vigorously. “I tried.” 

“Your tactics are probably outdated.” From the glint in Damian’s eye, it looked like he was teasing – or trying to, at least. It was a good effort.

“Perhaps,” Bruce allowed. “Maybe you’d prefer help staying awake, instead.” 

Damian was too inexperienced with the world of playful affection to see the trap coming, so he didn’t dodge in time when Bruce slid the hand in his hair down to his chin and fluttered his fingers against the delicate skin there. 

Damian fought back his laughter like he did everything, with quiet precision and determination. Rather than squirming or thrashing around, he only squeezed his eyes shut and jerked his chin just enough to dodge Bruce's fingers where they fluttered around his jawline. It was a common tactic for hand-to-hand combat; make only necessary movements to save energy. 

Of course, normal close-quarters brawls didn't involve tiny grins and wrinkled noses, both of which made Damian look, dare Bruce even think it, adorable.

“F-father!” Damian ground out when Bruce scrabbled down the side of his neck. “Ce-ceas-cease!”

“Cease?” Bruce repeated back to him, grinning. “I'm helping you stay awake.”

Damian peeled his eyes open enough to glower at him - he looked so much like a disgruntled cat that Bruce had to chuckle, which just made Damian try harder. 

But even though Damian could go blow for blow with the garden statues when it came to throwing up a stony, stoic facade, Bruce was still his father. Of course he knew how to get his own kid to crack. 

“Damian,” he murmured, lilting the syllables in a soft, near-cooing voice. He had to grin when Damian immediately slammed his eyes shut again and tried to scrunch his shoulders all the way up to his ears. “You must be in there somewhere, honey, hm?” 

Bruce punctuated the teasing question by using one of his index fingers to scrabble over the shell of Damian’s ear before tracing a zig-zagging pattern around to his nape. A shudder wracked through Damian’s hunched shoulders as his hands flew up to bat Bruce’s away. He was biting his lip against the wide, ticklish smile that was desperately trying to burst free.

“Father!” 

“Come on.” Bruce added his other pointer finger, using both to make swirling paths across the back of Damian’s neck that managed to avoid the smaller flailing hands. Damian’s shoulders shook with the effort of putting his whole body into hiding the breathless, relentless giggles that always appeared when anyone tickled around that spot. 

But he was close to breaking, he just needed one more little push…

Without warning, Bruce darted his hand down to Damian’s armpit – now exposed as he clamped his hands around the back of his neck to try and shield himself – and dug in. 

Startled, Damian squawked before bursting out into rolling, stuttering laughter. He tried to clamp his elbow back down to his ribs and folded sideways in the process, tilting over to sprawl across Bruce’s legs. 

“There’s the little bat,” Bruce said in that same soft tone, and Damian made sure to slap him on the knee for it between gulps of laughter. “It seems like he’s a teeny bit ticklish, deep –” he wiggled his fingers a little harder under Damian’s arm. “Deep down in there.” 

“N-nohoho!” Damian growled – or, tried to. Growls weren’t supposed to be so giggly. “Stop ta–tahahlking!” He kicked and squirmed, trying to get his knees underneath him, laughing all the while.

“Oh, I can’t do that,” Bruce replied. “It’s my fatherly duty to inform you how sweet you are when you–”

“Shuhut UP!” 

Bruce laughed. He stopped tickling long enough to use both hands to flip Damian onto his back despite his youngest’s sputtering protests. Red-faced, Damian made a good effort at a glare, but his mouth wobbled when Bruce hovered his hands over Damian’s stomach, not quite making contact but wriggling his fingers just close enough to graze his t-shirt. 

“You have…” Bruce glanced at the clock on his nightstand, then back to where Damian was trying not to look like he was fidgeting. “Twenty-three more minutes to stay awake, honey.”

“I can do it,” Damian said quickly, that familiar stubborn wrinkle forming in his brow. “I am perfectly capable of – of – waihait!” 

Bruce had grabbed Damian’s hands with one of his own and started using his free hand to scrabble over Damian’s belly. It wasn’t his most ticklish spot but it got some bubbly laughter and snorts nonetheless.  

And Bruce was tired, but he wasn’t stupid, especially not four kids deep into parenthood. It was evident that Damian wasn’t fighting as hard as he could to escape. Sure, Damian had some ways to go before he’d be able to put up a real challenge to Bruce, especially in this kind of grapple, so it wasn’t like Bruce had been expecting Damian to actually break free. Between training Damian and seeing him brawl with his brothers, though, Bruce had plenty of examples for what it looked like when Damian was really trying to get away from someone heavier and bulkier. 

“Unhand mehehe!” Damian snickered, wriggling under Bruce’s hand like a puppy excited for a belly rub. Obviously Bruce had to oblige him and dug into the center of his stomach, vibrating his fingers as he did. Damian shrieked out another stuttering laugh, giggles spilling out in rolling waves.

“No,” Bruce replied simply, allowing his amusement to show through in a small grin when Damian let out a strangled protest and succumbed to helpless titters. His nose wrinkled even further as he did.

Bruce scrabbled his fingers down over Damian’s sides just to hear him squawk, then reached for one of his knees. Immediately Damian shouted out something that was lost in loud, shrieking laughter when Bruce’s fingers closed around his kneecap. 

Damian was a grade-A kicker, and all of his brothers had learned to steer clear of his legs by now unless he was soundly pinned. While Dick tended to flail around and Jason was more likely to thrash like some kind of spastic crab – then there was Tim, who just lost track of all his limbs and usually ended up in a heap – Damian kicked enough that he’d managed to land a bruising hit on Bruce’s jaw a few weeks ago. The others hadn’t done that…so far.  

But Damian’s leg flew out in a powerful spasm when Bruce squeezed his knee, vibrating the tips of his fingers into either side. 

“Fa-ahahath-er!” he squealed. It was precious. 

“Yes, little one?” Bruce hummed. 

Somehow Damian flushed even darker as he threw his head back, so submerged in ticklish laughter that he couldn’t scrape together a verbal response. His hands balled into the bedding and Bruce’s sweats. Every time he inhaled he made a quiet snorting sound, and Bruce had to physically hold himself back from cooing. 

Bruce used his free hand to worm two fingers into one of the soft spots of leftover baby fat on Damian’s sides, and Damian tried to jackknife back into a sitting position, cackling. A rogue elbow slammed against Bruce’s fingers – ow – but his wince evidently gave Damian the strength to corral his laughter just enough to shoot Bruce a smug look. It warmed Bruce’s heart, but not enough to stop him from seizing one of Damian’s ankles in an iron grip and preparing to retaliate. 

Damian’s smirk melted into panic. His hands flailed out and he tried to flip onto his stomach, but he only made it halfway because Bruce, in a move as good as any kill shot, started skittering his nails in featherlight swirls across the underside of Damian’s knee. Stuck lying partly on his side, Damian wheezed out a single “Nonono–” before high-pitched giggles bubbled over in frantic peals that left him rocking back and forth, pounding his fists against the bedding. 

“That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for,” Bruce said, trying to convey all the warmth that curled inside his chest with his tone. 

“Ple-pleheahease, Baba!” Damian gasped. He looked up at Bruce with watery eyes and a wide, childlike smile full of glee, though he’d never admit it. 

Pretending that the Baba didn’t make his heart squeeze, Bruce winked at him. “Yes, Dami?” 

When Damian went to say something, Bruce switched to rapid skitters back and forth across the delicate spot, still using only his nails. Damian shrieked, more of those giggles tumbling out of his mouth instead of words. 

“Sorry, son, I couldn’t get that.”  

“Dohohon’t!” 

If it were any of his other sons, Bruce would’ve employed the age-old ‘don’t what, honey?’ that, when deployed with the right kind of paternal concern, threw off the kid in question enough that they’d inevitably blink, too tickled-out to think it through, and say ‘tickle me.’ And, well, there would only be one correct thing to do after that. 

But Damian was losing steam quickly, and this wasn’t the time to push his limits. Not when he was clearly overtired and in desperate need of some rest. 

With a squeeze to the captive ankle, Bruce released Damian’s leg and smoothed his hair out of his face again as leftover ticklish feelings kept him in quiet paroxysms of snickers. Damian wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself, and tucked his chin down to ride out the residual laughter.

Bruce pushed the blankets back to make room, then slid his arm under Damian’s shoulders and drew him up to nestle against his side, even as he still shivered from occasional ghost tickles.

“Hush, habibi, you’re alright,” Bruce murmured, flattening his palm against Damian’s shoulder and rubbing in smooth, grounding circles. He knew that a less tired Damian would probably resent what he’d perceive as babying, but right now, Damian just groaned into Bruce’s shoulder and didn’t move. 

Once the sporadic shudders stopped, Damian turned his head towards Bruce just enough to reveal one eye. His brow was tilted downwards like he was trying to give Bruce his best Dark Look™. 

“The deal still holds,” Damian muttered, even with drowsiness thickening his voice. 

Bruce glanced at the clock. Nine minutes until the agreed-upon time. Then he turned his attention back towards his youngest kid, who for all his efforts looked more like a grumpy kitten than anything else. 

“Alright, Damian. If you can stay awake for nine more minutes, I’ll let you go back down to the cave.”

Damian’s nod against his shoulder was jerky. 

Maybe it was an underhanded trick, but Bruce started combing his fingers through Damian’s mussed hair in slow, rhythmic movements. He made sure to swirl his nails over his son’s scalp in the same swooping patterns from earlier.

As the moments ticked by, Damian scooted down to rest his head on Bruce’s thigh. Yawning, he fumbled for the sheet and dragged it up to his chin. Then he blinked sleepily up at Bruce.

“Cheat.” He made no effort to rouse himself.

Affection bloomed in Bruce’s chest as he leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “Get some rest, honey. You deserve it.” 

It was a testament to how exhausted Damian was that he simply nuzzled further against Bruce with a long, heavy sigh that left him entirely limp.

“Love you, baby,” Bruce whispered. Every time one of his kids fell asleep on him, it felt like being asked to guard the most precious, fragile jewel in the world. 

Well on his way to knocking out, Damian curled his fist into Bruce’s t-shirt and held tight. “Baba.”

When enough time had passed for Bruce to know that Damian was well and truly asleep, he shifted around to grab his phone from his front pocket. He fired off a short text to inform the others that Damian was sleeping, and was not allowed in the Cave for the next two days. A split second after sending that, he amended the prohibition to include Tim, too. Otherwise, he knew that Tim would just smuggle Damian in anyways. Now that his two youngest sons weren’t at each other’s throats all the time, they’d formed quite the formidable duo, especially when it came to circumventing certain rules like curfew. Bruce had meant what he’d told Damian down in the cave, that he’d lock Tim out too if there was a way to actually do it that Tim wouldn’t find a way around. Tim did indeed have his nighttime work sessions in spite of Bruce’s best efforts, these days. 

As Bruce had predicted, Tim himself appeared in the doorway less than thirty seconds later with the look of someone about to launch into a seventy-three-slide persuasive powerpoint. When he saw Damian, though, his face softened. 

Bruce waved him in, patting the spot beside him on the bed. 

Tim padded over and carefully climbed up, scooting up to sit against the headboard with his knees drawn up to his chest. “Hi.” 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

Tim’s gaze swept over Damian, assessing. “He’s really tired, huh?”

“He is.” Bruce reached out to push an escaped strand of hair back behind Tim’s ear. “You’re quite alike, you know.” 

Like it usually did in moments of quiet praise, Tim’s face reddened as he tried for an eyeroll even while leaning into Bruce’s touch. He tucked his chin down against his knees. “He's a good little brother.”

Bruce gently nudged him. “I'm sure he's learned from the best.” 

To his delight, Tim’s blush immediately deepened to scarlet and he tried to bury his whole face in his knees. “Thanks.” 

There were a variety of reasons for Tim to be awake this hour, but hopefully he just hadn’t gone to sleep yet. Bruce rubbed his back even as he kept trying to hide. 

“You’re welcome to sleep here, if you want.”

Tim emerged from his burrow long enough to glance at him. “....Maybe I will.” 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time Bruce started to wake up later that morning, his body was still suffused with the heaviness of sleep, so it took longer than normal for the muffled noises nearby to resolve into actual words. After a couple seconds’ lag, he recognized the noises as voices – Damian and Tim, both of whom had ended up in his room the previous night. 

“–That is an asinine opinion, Drake, and you should eat glass and die.”

“We are literally talking about jam flavors.”

“I don’t care.”

“Y’know, you look like a mangy squirrel right now.”

Yeah, Bruce didn’t have it in him to deal with this first thing in the morning. Luckily, there was a tried-and-true method for getting his sons to quiet down rather quickly. 

Without opening his eyes, he freed his arms and, slinging one around each of his sons, dragged them down on top of him. 

“Sssh,” he muttered, then promptly made that command impossible to follow by wiggling his fingers into whatever tickle spots he could reach. He was rewarded with twin noises of dismayed surprise and a veritable symphony of ticklish squeaks and sputters. And, alright, half asleep or not, the racket was sweet enough to give him cavities. 

“B!” Tim wheezed from his left side, clumsily scrabbling at Bruce’s hand on his stomach. “Sorry – ohohohoshit, – ticklesticklestickles–!” 

Evidently he hadn’t been awake that long either if his brain was already crashing into tickle mode after just a few squeezes.

“Baba,” Damian hissed into Bruce’s chest. “We will be quiet! St-stohohohoppit!” 

“Promise!” added Tim, and the word came dangerously close to being a squeak. 

~~~

Lethargic. That’s how this day was feeling. No amount of doom scrolling on his feeds or playing Subway Surfers was going to help with this sudden decrease in energy. The embodiment of high energy, however, seemed very unfazed by their host’s clear lack of any motivation to do literally anything. Remus scoffed.

“If you’re so bored, then why not hang out with your new fuck buddy?” “I don’t feel like bothering Nico, Remus.”

The sluggish weight on his mind, emotions, and body made him also unfazed by Remus’ antics and dirty word play.

“Well, Thomas~ What the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” “I want you to piss off! That’s what!”

Remus shrugged off the backwards comment.

“You don’t mean that.” “Don’t you have something better to do like finding your fuck buddy?” “I’M TRYING TO HELP YOUR PATHETIC ASS!” “WELL STOP TRYING TO HELP BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT!”

Thomas knew that he couldn’t tune Remus all the way out but he could focus his mind… mind… Logan? Logan! The logical trait rose up in Thomas’ room a few moments later.

“I’m busy! What do you–” “Hey, Whale Penis! Our little skin puppet is being a raging cunt!” “I feel the same about you.” “Hey, Jan-Jan!” “And there goes my attempt to shut you all out.”

The human curled up even more into the pile of blankets, pulling the hoodie to his jacket over his head. Janus merely smirked at how childish Thomas was behaving. He put his hand under the covers to snatch Thomas’ phone out his hands.

“Nooooo~! You’re gonna make me crash– FUCK!!” “That’s what you get for being a sour puss!” “That’s it!”

Thomas launched himself off the bed and attempted to tackle Remus before Logan got in front of him.

“Thomas, stop. You’re not helping either.”

The small spurt of anger subsided as Thomas sighed and with zero buildup, collapsed to the ground, groaning in emotional despair.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” “Because, like it or not, we actually care about you dearly, Thomas. Remus’ way of showing that is a lot more direct than you probably need. There is another way for us to show you that–” “Shut it, Snake Face!”

Thomas was being unusually snarky for some reason. Janus summoned Patton silently, who was cursing quietly under his breath about something. So that might be the source of the problem.

“Patton?”

Patton’s eyes widened as he turned around, acknowledging where he was. He put on that “I’m fine” smile and cheerfully asked what they needed.

“To figure out why Thomas is so… abrasive all of a sudden.” “It’s just unlike Thomas.” “Oh, I’m not entirely sure.” “Ooh, Daddy~! You have the tongue of a Captain!”

Patton’s emotions started flaring up again, for some reason. When he tried speaking again, a croak came out instead. He sighed, giving up entirely on trying to call Remus out on his negative behavior.

“I’ll… I’ll be more careful with emotions.” “Actually, we kind of need your help. I think I’ve come up with an idea to help Thomas.”

Janus placed himself over Thomas’ stretched out arms.

“W-what are you doing, Janus?” “Holding up your arms. Logan, will you secure his ankles?” “My pleasure.”

Thomas started getting this sinking feeling in his stomach.

“You… you’re not planning on getting revenge, are you?” “No. What would ever give you the thought~?”

Remus was now bouncing on his toes.

“Ooh~! Are we going to tickle the douche? I call dibs on his neck!" “The goal isn’t to torture him, Remus." “Awh! Why not?" “Thomas being in a depressed stupor doesn’t give us a reason to be needlessly cruel to him." “I guess…" “‘Ooh~! Is Thomas’ emotions make your dick limp?’” “H-hey! Don’t impersonate me!” “Jan. Be nice.”

For a moment, Thomas had forgotten all about the fact Patton was there. This also made him forget how ruthless his aspects can be when they try to cheer him up. If he was being especially stubborn, they would go for those death spots but would have to cover up his mouth so that he wouldn’t blast their eardrums out.

Janus summoned all six arms and began pinching up and down Thomas’ sides. The latter person burst into airy hysterics, wiggling and shimming to get away from the overwhelming amount of fingers touching him. Those 6 hands soon turned into 10 as the others started kneading his sides too. Remus found one particular spot near his underarms that made him jerk harshly.

“A good spot! Hey, Thomas! How would you feel if I were to start digging, digging–” “REMUS!!” “Yep! This is a great spot!” “Remus. We aren’t torturing Thomas, remember?” “Oh, you three are no fun!” “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!!” “Remus. Slow down.” “That’s what he said!”

There was a momentary pause as the others got Remus’ hips and started an onslaught of squeezes to them. The way Remus’ entire demeanor changed was laughable.

“NO! NONONONOOOOO!! STAHAHAHAPTHAT!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!” “See? It’s no fun being on the other end, now is it, kiddo?” “Ohohohoho… ehehehehehe… gohohoho to hell, you twink!”

The three went back to ganging up on Thomas before two more figures appeared.

“What the hell are you doing to–” “Well, that’s surprising to say the least.” “Vihihihihihigil… Rohohohohohoho… hehehehehelp me!” “What happened?” “Thomas being a jackass so Snakey came up with a plan to fix that.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and plopped down next to Logan.

“I guess I can help you guys out. Wanna help, Roman?”

Roman, already ecstatic about it, summoned claws for everyone to use.

“Of course, Doom and Gloom!”

Again with the feeling of a million fingers, this time amplified because of the claws. Thomas wasn’t going to be able to stand this much long–

“Nohohohohoho! PahahahahahaTTON!” “Oh, look! Thomas also has ‘saddles’.” “Whahat are ‘saddles’?” “They’re like you and Jan’s ‘stirrups’ on the thighs but there on his sides. Just look at how much they can stretch and wiggle. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle~!”

Thomas’ face was so red that even his ears were burning. He covered his face up in his elbow.

“Awh! You’re so shy about this. It’s okay. Logan also has them!”

It was Logan’s turn to flush as he scolded the moral facet for bringing him into the conversation like had not just previously called out how “thick” Roman and Janus were. Thomas’ thrashing became stronger as he was eventually able to turn his wrist around and somehow, consciously and unconsciously, squeezed Janus’ hip. A slight hiss escaped the deceptive trait as he moved back until he realized what he was doing as Thomas tried to sit back up.

“Oh, no you don’t, you little–” “waitwaitwaitwait– I’msorryI’msorryI’msosohohohohohorry!” “Oho, you’re going to be sorry alright~!”

Thomas shook his head as he felt Janus hold down his wrist and place two more over his mouth.

“Remus.” “Yeah?” “… … Get. Him.” “Ha! Thought you would never fucking ask~!”

Thomas thrashed even more as Remus very slowly, so incredibly slowly clawed into the section of the neck closest to the latter person’s shoulder blade. Thomas’ screams were only partially quieted by Janus’ gloves. He was noticeably red all over now that the Sides believed that his feet were also red.

“IHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIH SUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHRREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” “Now, we can’t understand you like that, Thomas? What are you saying? Are you apologizing to us about your terrible behavior from earlier?”

Face. Ears. Hands. Neck. Sides. Stomach. All were red as Rudolph’s nose. Virgil gave them the signal to stop and give Thomas some time to breathe. The six figments waited for Thomas to calm down completely before asking if he felt better.

“Yehehes– Yes, I do.” “Good to hear, kiddo.” “Aww, does that mean there won’t be a round 2?”

Thomas scooted back away from them, covering his sides.

“Nohohot right now, Remus.” “Oh, boo! Fine! Let’s get Janus!” “No! ReMUS!! Get off of me!” “Payback for last week, Snake Boi~!”

The real confessions don’t come at night, in the protection of the darkness. They’re always spread out, thrown into the room without warning, and Ilya struggles not because he doesn’t want Shane to be open and honest with him, but because he’s not sure that Shane says everything consensually.

“It’s not a truth serum, Ilya,” he slurs when he brings it up. “Just makes me braver.”

“You are always brave.”

Shane laughs in that droopy way the painkillers make him laugh. Ilya found it funny at first, but finds he now misses Shane’s usual laugh. “I promise it’s not making me say things I wouldn’t normally say.”

It’s true that Shane’s usual honesty comes in bursts, seemingly out of nowhere. Only Ilya has learned to read his signs better and knows when something is brewing. He also knows not to rush him when he notices. It really isn’t very different to how the past few days have been, only his confessions come more frequently now. Love confessions and fears and memories he’s not yet shared with him from his childhood. Ilya wonders if he’s only worried because this was once his own biggest nightmare.

“I like it when you kiss my inner thigh,” he says later. This time it is dark, and Ilya sees his illuminated form curled up on his lap from the light of the tv. From what he can tell, he has his eyes shut.

“I know that,” Ilya says softly. “You make satisfied noises when I do.”

Shane giggles - fucking adorable - and twists his head so that he’s looking up at him. “I like it because it feels good. And-” He’s not made much of a habit out of choosing his words since his injury, and so Ilya is intrigued at the hesitation.

“Go on,” he says, running his thumb over his temple. “If you want.”

“I do, I just-” He turns his head again, and Ilya wonders if he would be able to see his blush if it was brighter. Shane always blushes with his whole face, though it spreads slowly. It always starts at his ears.

Ilya runs a fingertip over said ear. “I love you,” he says, not only because he wants to and because it’s true, but because he suddenly feels as if Shane needs to hear it.

“I love you too,” he replies, and Ilya leans down to kiss him. When Shane doesn’t immediately speak again, Ilya doesn’t push him. In fact, the end credits of the movie have been running for a full couple of minutes before Shane finally speaks again. “I like it when you kiss my ribs. And belly.”

Ilya hums, not entirely sure why this was being treated like a big secret. “I like kissing you everywhere.”

“I know. It made me nervous at first.”

“Did it?”

“You know I’m ticklish.”

“Ah.” Not the direction Ilya had expected. “I do.”

He can’t help his grin. Shane had been so good at acting nonchalant about it that Ilya only realized that he was aware of certain spots being sensitive many years into this thing of theirs. A twitch hidden between shivers when Ilya ran his tongue over Shane’s armpit. A giggle mixed with a moan when he squeezed at his sides to keep him in place.

He curses the darkness now, though he recognizes that it might be bringing Shane comfort. “So you were nervous that it would tickle more than feel good?”

“I guess.”

Ilya squeezes the nape of his neck. “But you think it feels good?”

“Yes.”

“But it still tickles, yes?”

“Yes, and-” He realizes Shane doesn’t sound as loopy as usual, and promptly remembers he forgot to give him his evening dose of meds. “And I’ve realized that I like it because of it, too. I think. I don’t know.” He makes a move to sit up and Ilya grabs for him in panic.

“Wait, Shane-”

“I won’t leave,” he promises, because they both knew Shane has a habit of running away when overwhelmed. “I’m just embarrassed.”

“Why are you embarrassed?”

“It feels stupid to admit I like it, I don’t know.”

“Is not stupid.” In fact, it was cute as hell, but he didn’t think Shane would appreciate the choice of word. “I like kissing you everywhere. If you like it too, only better, right?”

“Right.” He can hear his smile now. His beautiful, perfect smile. Ilya takes a risk and reaches out in the darkness. Lets his hand collide with Shane’s knee.

“I like hearing you laugh when I kiss you,” he says.

You met Jason Todd on an online book review forum. You thought he was much more well informed than you at first, a lot of his critiques were scathing.

While some were valid, you came to find out that Jason was also just very, very angry at the world. He’d tried to make people hear him in both of the lives he lived. It was never as rewarding as he hoped it would be.

So… he instead took to snarking vaguely on the people who wronged him in these book reviews. It was no wonder they were so reverent.

You sent emails back and forth for a couple weeks. It was awkward with an air of, “Surely this meager online friendship won’t go anywhere. That wouldn’t be safe.”

Wrong, and actually very ironic. On a whim, after saying he was going to be passing through Tricorner, you met in the park at eight o’ clock at night. Looking back, you couldn’t believe how desperate for a friend you were at the time, that was practically a death sentence in this city.

You were meeker than Jason expected. He was bigger than you ever could have predicted. Despite him looking like, for lack of a better word, a thug, you didn’t become part of a statistic.

It was a nice night. You walked around the city with no destination in mind, and you just talked. You both had your guard up, but there was something magnetic behind those walls that drew you together regardless.

Seeing each other once most weekends turned into two or three days out of the week, always preplanned and cordial. That formality began to fall after a few months, and you started seeing each other every free night you had. It was just a given that if you didn’t need to be anywhere else, you wanted to spend that time together.

After a miserable night driving home from out of state, you turned on the lights in your apartment to find Jason sitting on your living room floor, folding the now clean pile of laundry that had started to build up because of just how much he was in and out of your place.

If that wasn’t “a sign” you didn’t know what was.

You remember asking him if he’d been here while you were gone, not at all accusingly. You also remember the look on his face despite that, Jason was so embarrassed.

Getting to know him better, it made sense. Jason didn’t like people very much, and the way you shared your spaces, it served a unique purpose. Regardless of whether or not he was home, going to Jason’s place felt like him, and sometimes that was more than enough.

* * *

You haven’t been living together. You didn’t think you were ready, but for nearly a week now you’ve been staying with him.

Jason pushed himself harder than any person should. It came in peaks and valleys, he’d make himself sick, and even then he would keep going because there was almost no one who could reason with him.

You would consider yourself a non-confrontational person. You weren’t very strong willed, much unlike Jason, you didn’t like to push. You almost couldn’t. He continued to absently acknowledge your suggestions to take care of himself, you escalated to telling him you were worried, nothing changed.

You were so frustrated, but it couldn’t even entirely be with Jason. It was with the situation, and that you weren’t being heard. It didn’t take long for him to notice how dejected you were when you came to see him, you weren’t answering the phone either.

He quietly adjusted his behavior, begrudgingly allowing himself to rest. For your sake, he tried to hide the begrudging part.

You didn’t want to be ignorant in any way, you understood the importance of what he did, and where he did it. It wasn’t wrong for him to take a break, especially when he was burning out like this, and that had to mean it wasn’t wrong of you to press him on it.

The shame weighed heavy on you, and you were starting to have a hard time rationalizing it. The impoverished families in Crime Alley needed Jason, and shouldn’t suffer just because you’re worried. Jason shouldn’t suffer either, though—

“You’re quieter than usual.” He prompted.

You were sitting on the ottoman at the foot of his bed. You came in with something to say, but couldn’t remember what anymore.

“I think I just spaced out. Sorry.” Your vision refocused.

“No, uh… it’s fine.” Neither of you were any good at this. You knew that he probably knew how in your head you were getting. The problem: where do you start with that?

Jason quietly sighed and placed the book he’d been struggling to pay attention to on the nightstand. “C’mere, sit with me.”

You did. When you didn’t have the words to say, naturally, actions came next. You propped up a pillow to support your back and leaned against the headboard, nestling into his side. He pulled you closer with a delicate hand, cheek falling to rest atop your head.

Jason could be so tentative about touch. A delicate hand was something that he’d spent years and years having no use for. He was afraid he might be a little unpracticed, and didn’t want to scare you, not when you were already so skittish.

But you liked that better anyway, and you both regularly reaped the benefits of the fact that you had been and continued to take your time.

He cleared his throat. “What’s on your mind?” That was easy enough.

“Just anxious.” You were telling the truth. That was the big picture.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Jason wasn’t letting you get away with it. While what he said was funny, that was a little too true.

You gave him a look. He grinned and squeezed you against him, jostling you about. An awkward smile twitched on your features.

“Omigod, stawp…” You slurred under your breath. He loosened his grip.

“If you don’t want to tell me, I’m not gonna make you. But, uh… whatever you’re thinking, let it go. I’m sure you came up with some very imaginative what-if scenarios, but none of that is real.”

You frantically nodded along. Jason bit back a smile. Little too much all at once.

“I… didn’t know how to say it before, I’m bad at this. I had to think about it. It’s… it’s special that you kept showing up for me, even if it was hard for you. I knew you were nervous, and I should have said something earlier, I was just… exhausted and not really thinking.” He filled your silence with an awkward cough.

“Wow… fanks.” You said it with a certain cadence, feigning bashfulness. Making a stupid joke felt like the only right answer in that moment. Admittedly, you wanted to stick to your guns. You’d spent long enough being sad.

Jason’s expression was primarily wry as he side eyed you, but there was a twinkle of fondness in those eyes. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Your posture straightened, your closed mouth smile now self assured.

“You look so proud of yourself.” He said with a chuckle in his voice.

“Shouldn’t I be? I, like… domesticated you.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I— Domesticated me??” Jason sounded genuinely caught off guard.

“Like that corny, ‘I’m only soft for you’ bullshit?”

Your silence was telling.

“Well I— I dunno, it’s like that one saying: ‘if the shoe fits…’” You knew you were pushing your luck right now, but every time he’d tried to play-wrestle you in the past, you just laid there. That kind of defeats the purpose, therefore defeating Jason. He would get so worked up about it, it was great.

You failed to consider that he had any other options, and made a garbled yipping noise when he started to poke at you at random. Naturally, you went to poke back, and nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound Jason made, the way he jolted.

You weren’t sure if he was being serious. “…You gonna let me win?” You asked with a small smile.

Jason scoffed, sliding his jacket down his arms and tossing it to the side. He had better mobility in his t-shirt. This was getting serious. You reached out to tweak his side before he could ready himself, and couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He choked out another little squeak, collapsing onto that side.

You were able to draw your hand back before he squished it beneath him. You didn’t waste any time. You couldn’t see yourself scoring an opportunity like this again any time soon. Both your hands jumped around his upper body, you scuttled your fingers across whatever surface you could reach.

With the thought that he was being tickled put into Jason’s head, everything was making him laugh. You weren’t the most experienced play fighter, but felt like you were going through this on easy mode.

“Noho!” He whined, shaking his head about when your fingers found his neck. His hair got all puffy as it created static on the blankets.

“Is this real? Why are you so ticklish?” It was a genuine question.

Jason momentarily lifted his face from the covers to give you an incredulous look. “I don’t know??”

“Aw… why not?” The touch trickled down his shoulders, to his arms, until they eventually reached his hands. You weaved your fingers together, playfully dancing Jason’s hands about with yours while he caught his breath.

You chose to be merciful, he looked so sweet like that. Occasionally something you’d said would catch him by surprise just enough to hear him laugh like that, but it wasn’t often. He always tried to stop himself, like he thought he was being obnoxious.

Objectively, he wasn’t. It was a cute and dainty sounding laugh, especially when compared to Jason being so imposing. Even if it were to be noisy, you still thought the world should get to hear it more. At the very least, you wanted to hear it.

Your swooning was swiftly interrupted. You should have known better, he could be so competitive. He wasn’t going to manhandle you the same way he would with family or a friend, but you weren’t exempt. Jason was still himself.

“…Ah.” Your right hand was pressed beneath his knee, the left held captive over your head on a pillow. He’d settled his weight over your hips. In layman’s terms, your life was over.

“Yeah. Ah.” Jason let out an amused huff.

“Okay, um… you can let me go now.” You put on a polite smile, attempting to sit up. Your lower back didn’t even lift from the bed.

It was worth a try.

“Jason.” You muttered, the closest you could get to scolding him. You were at a bit of a loss, you’d gotten used to him not being able to bring himself to retaliate against you. You didn’t provoke him often to begin with.

Jason smiled down at you. “What?” His pointer finger began to trace a path, starting at your right wrist and moving up. The feeling left goosebumps in its wake, and the corners of your lips twitched.

All the fizzling breaker box in your brain managed to put out was a panicked “buh” sound.

The squint in Jason’s eyes told you he found that funny. “I see.”

His journey continued as it reached your shoulder. Down your side, across your lower tummy, up the other side, then coming to a stop under your arm. He didn’t lift his finger, he just left it there.

You writhed and twisted uncomfortably as anticipation began to pulse throughout your body.

“Wh… Why are you literally strategizing this?? Are you insane?” You breathed out.

“I definitely used to be. Criminally.” Jason tapped his finger twice. You winced, but were mostly snickering at his commentary.

When he decided to stop psychologically torturing you, he took to the tapping again, slowly moving up and making goofy sounds like he was dialing a phone or something. Your face went right into your shoulder, your eyes squeezing shut. It wasn’t at all enough to keep you from laughing, but you could live with that.

Your knees battered against Jason’s back, you scooted up and down on the mattress, trying to dislodge his grip on your wrist. It wasn’t working. You may just die here.

“I can’t, I cahan’t—“ You wheezed through your giggles. You let out a mirthful cry and slammed your face back into your shoulder when he finally cut to the chase, fluttering his fingers against your very much trapped armpit.

It ended as soon as it began, Jason pulling back with a grin.

“You’re an actual supervillain! Just tickle me like a normal person!” You said that with more passion than you thought you would.

Jason sat back with a huff. “Fine.” He scanned you. His eyes landed on where your shirt had ridden up.

“D’aww~ your little belly’s quivering…” He cooed.

Your head jerked down. It was? You properly short circuited, burning in the face. You didn’t, couldn’t, think to defend yourself when he let go of your wrist. Both of his hands slid up your shirt, repeating that same unbearable fluttery motion.

You were starting to think you could lose your voice if this went on too long. You didn’t laugh like this, or at least you didn’t think you did. It must have been in there somewhere, all things considered.

Your hands went to grab at Jason’s wrists. A squeak strained past your lips when he leveraged that to lift your arms again. Just when you didn’t think he could be any worse, his head lowered.

“You—!“

You weren’t sure what you were going to say to him, but your voice cracked and it broke off into a loud whine when he placed a flurry of kisses against your stomach.

Your knees shot up, once again colliding with Jason’s back. You were running out of ideas, which meant it was time to pull out what always worked from your toolbox: playing dead. You were getting tired, it was easy enough to give into him even with your mind all in a tizzy, pushing you to squirm.

Jason was being a pain, but you were safe here.

“I give uhuhup… no more, pretty plehease…” You giggled out.

Jason lifted his head. “Well… since you asked so nicely.” If you’d known it was as simple as a “pretty please,” you would have tried that earlier, but nothing was ever that simple with him.

You clumsily rolled over onto your front once he was off of you, face pressed against the blankets. Somehow, you could sense Jason grinning.

“Am I picking on you? I’m sorry.” He crooned, not meaning a word of it. But his hand came up to card through your hair, you’d accept that as a peace offering.

“You’re too good at that…” You rolled over onto your back to look at him, still a bit winded. Jason tilted his head.

“Do you tickle your siblings a lot or something? I know you have so many of them.”

Jason scoffed. “You think I’m that nice to them?”

The truth was that he was victimized to much more tickling than he could keep up with doling out, but he was going to hide that from you for as long as he could. He had the time between now and until you met Dick, if he had to guess.

“Look, I’m not one of those people that, like… hates being tickled.” You didn’t want Jason to think he did something wrong.

“But that wasn’t nice.” You pressed, your face as stern as it could get.

“You…” He exhaled. “You don’t know how they are. I think the only person you could put me in a room with who I wouldn’t start a fight with is my sister.” She would beat my ass either way.

You took that in. “Oh…”

“It’s better than it used to be.” Jason quietly followed up. “I made some friends and picked you up off the street.”

You smiled when he squished up your face between his hand. He snorted at how silly that made you look.

“Well… yay.” You weren’t the best at being exuberant.

“Yay.” Jason echoed teasingly.

“You’re such a bully today.” You mumbled, aimlessly tugging his arm around in retaliation.

“I am, aren’t I? I normally treat you like a little princess.”

You grimaced at him, and he caved, his voice wobbly with mirth. “Poor baby.”

Your blood pressure began to lower as Jason pulled you against him. The side of your face landed against his chest, a large hand cradling your head. You exhaled and melted into the embrace. You could only handle teasing for so long before you started to overthink it.

~~~

"ADMIT IT! AD! MIT! IT!" "I’M NOT ADMITTING SHIT!"

Every so often, a fight breaks out between the two. It ranged from mixing up alcohol markers with washable ones. All the way to putting hair dye in shampoo or conditioner bottles. Each brother would take turns playing small pranks on each other. That never ended well because of one gaining a super sore ego and wanting revenge.

"Admit it~!" "ROHOHOHOHOHOHO– STAHAHAHAHAHAHA–!!"

Remus was hiccuping between laughs, which was not the weirdest noise he’s made in his life but nonetheless.

"Sorry. I can’t say I know who ‘Ro’ is? But I do know who Roman is." "I HAHAHAHATE YOU!!"

A dramatic gasp left the fanciful aspect’s mouth.

"How DARE you!"

Remus curled up, batting away Roman’s fingers with his tentacles.

"On the 8th day of Christmas, my brother gave to me~"

A middle finger was thrown up in Roman’s direction, causing the other to go silent with laughter as his knees and hips were both being attacked. Remus cackled and snorted like a pig.

"NAHAHAHAHAHAHA– GEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAH!! YOU’RE KIHIHIHILLING MEHEHEHE!!" "Glad that you are having fun! Now onto the side quests!"

Remus was still curled up, trying to buck Roman off of him. A soft buzz sounded throughout the room, as Roman got off of Remus. The younger of the two twins helped Remus up, practically dragging him out of the room. Remus whined that he wasn’t finished.

"So you admit that you enjoy being ti–" "I WAS RELAXED AND THAT’S THAT!" "Right."

Remus scoffed, stating that he was relaxed and that was that. Roman rolled his eyes as he bounced over to the door. A few moments later, the lights softened to a soft blue before Roman entered again, in his leopard form. Remus was already up on his feet again.

"No mercy?" "Not at all! Come at me, brother!"