“Hey! My hair is my glory–”

Vax waves a hand. “It’s all floppy–”

“Bouncy.”

“–and gets helmet-head–”

“Like your windblown rat’s nest is any better,” Taryon sniffs.

“–and it’s– hey now. Rule number one, don’t insult the one you’re trying to impress, dumbass.”

Taryon slaps at Vax’s reproving finger jabbing at his shoulder. One less cup of wine and he’d probably have succeeded, Vax presumes; as it is, he tips a little too far backwards on the bench and flails for balance before Vax catches his arm. Taryon grunts in annoyance.

“Didn’t know I was practicing on you next.”

“No, I’m the counsel here, not the target.” Vax takes both Taryon’s upper arms and sets him upright. An idea comes to him. “But yeah, let’s try a more controlled scenario. Hey, Perce,” he calls over his shoulder.

Taryon begins to flush. “Wait, don’t–”

But the bespectacled object of Taryon’s quiet little infatuation is already approaching the table, his own drink in hand. “Yes?”

“Have a seat,” Vax offers. “We need you for a moment.”

“No, we don’t,” Taryon says quickly. “I don’t. I, ah…”

Percy sits down and sips his drink with one brow raised curiously while the two of them have a quiet battle of hissed words and batting hands. It ends with Vax pressed up behind Taryon on the bench, firm hands gripping his shoulders to keep him facing Percy.

“Now,” Vax says, leaning in to coach at Taryon’s ear, “you’ve invited him to join you and he’s graciously accepted. What’s the first thing you’ll say to pique his attention?”

A look of realization comes over Percy’s face. With a coloring of amusement, he says, “Oh, this ought to be fun.” Bless him for being game.

“I… um…” Taryon stammers. “H-have you heard of the Darrington name?”

“Wrong.” Vax gives him a little shake. “Try again.”

“I’ve… I’ve slain beholders and rakshasas, but I’d love to add you to my list of accomplishments–”

“No, no, and no,” Vax sighs, while Percy hides his mouth behind a fist. “New rule number two: your first sentence cannot use the word ‘I.’”

“But…!”

Percy interrupts, “If I may – perhaps we reverse it for a moment. Let’s say I’ve just invited you to sit. Now…” He clears his throat and settles himself into character, tilts his shoulder slightly toward Taryon in an interested lean. He holds his cup in front of his lips for an extended moment while his gaze explores Taryon’s flushing face.

“I don’t mean to stare,” he says, as his timbre falls to a low, intimate level between them, “but the gems in your armor set off your eyes handsomely. And I’ve seen your companion there.” Percy gestures his cup gently toward the corner, where the automaton Doty stands vigilant. “He seems quite loyal. Did you animate him yourself?”

Taryon opens his mouth with a small, pitched sound that doesn’t quite make a word as Percy holds eye contact and slowly takes a sip.

Vax gives the moment a chance to resolve… but it doesn’t, so he pokes at the back of Taryon’s neck. “This is the part where you answer.”

Taryon squeaks and hunches his shoulders, which – hmm – bears noting. He turns his head to glare, but Vax sets a palm on his cheek and turns him back toward his conversation partner.

“I, uh,” Taryon stammers. “I did. I built him, too, you know, which requires incredible skill that few possess–”

He breaks off with another squeak when Vax pinches his side. Yes, this method will do nicely. Like spritzing a wayward cat.

“No bragging,” Vax advises.

Taryon groans miserably. “This makes no sense. And why am I even trying to take advice from you? I’ve never seen you pick up anyone.”

“Because I’m taken, fartface.”

Percy, unwavering from his chosen role, ignores their exchange and leans forward eagerly. “You built him? Oh, you must tell me more about that. What was that process even like?”

Taryon tenses in anticipation before he even begins. “Um. I. I’m very good at– ehee!”

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Percy says, while Vax keeps his fingers pressed on Taryon’s sides behind the open edges of his breastplate.

Taryon turns again to look imploringly over his shoulder. There’s a glint of dismay in his eyes, which Vax might read as please don’t embarrass me in front of my crush like the lovable idiot I am. But, oh dear, Vax seems to have misplaced his reading comprehension. What a shame. He’s sure he’ll find it in the morning.

He worms his fingers two inches further under the plate. “The attractive man asked you a question, potential suitor.”

Taryon chokes on a sound.

“Tell you what,” Percy declares, slapping the table. “How about I go and get us another drink, and then you can ravish me with tales of your brilliance.”

Taryon goes utterly still. Vax is quite sure the young man has short-circuited like his automaton, until he sees Percy pause in pushing himself up from the table. The charmingly rare de Rolo smile holds for a beat, then slips a little into something more foxlike.

“Oh,” Percy observes. He sinks back into his seat, eyes sharp behind the round lenses of his spectacles. “But, perhaps,” he purrs, “you’d prefer me to ravish you. Is that it?”

Honestly, Vax almost feels bad for the kid – almost. But there’s still no response coming from him, and that just won’t do.

“Do you not know how to speak apart from boasting?” Vax asks at the shell of Taryon’s ear, and begins tickling in earnest beneath the breastplate edges.

In a delightful twist on Vax’s expectations, Taryon doesn’t just yelp; he crumbles with a ringing laugh as golden as his armor. He folds over his own lap with arms clamping uselessly over the plate. Vax hugs tight to his back, having no qualms about curling over him to keep a close grip on the spots that appear dreadfully ticklish – especially when Vax scribbles like so, or squeezes just there. Oh yes, this is fun.

“Stoppit, stoppit,” Taryon chokes out. “Don’t tickle, oh god please, aa-ahah!”

Vax shows a sporting bit of mercy, mostly for the sake of pulling out one hand so he can wrap it across Taryon’s chest and lever him upright again.

“So you can speak. Go on, then.” Vax keeps his remaining set of fingers rippling slowly into that soft flesh that’s never seen a day of hunger. Taryon wriggles against him, halfway breathless with half-formed pleas and half-swallowed giggles.

“I ca– I can’t– I, hee…”

“Well, that’s adorable,” says Percy, who then downs the last of his cup and smoothly slides forward on the bench. To Taryon’s palpable distress, he only stops once their knees are touching and Percy’s face is mere inches from his.

“Something you may not yet know about me,” Percy says secretively, “is that when something so very interesting presents itself, I can’t help but poke at it. As a fellow tinkerer, I’m sure you understand. And when I recognize a susceptibility to be pressed… well. As someone accustomed to money, you must understand that, too. So do forgive me, but…”

Percy’s hand rises between them and alights on Taryon’s jaw with a soft, lifting touch. The rest of Taryon’s body, pressing back against Vax’s chest, continues to squirm in response to the gently unrepentant tickle crawling under his armor, but his head stills in a moment of spellbound suspension. His breathing is so shallow Vax is certain he’ll stop altogether.

Then Percy’s fingertips skitter under his chin, and Taryon crumples into a squeaking laugh that sets both Vax and Percy chuckling.

They block him in, hind and front, and by unspoken agreement begin delightedly tickling him senseless.

Vax quickly concurs with Percy’s judgement of adorable. Taryon loses every ounce of bluster and defensiveness when tickled, becoming a squishy ball of rich giggles. Vax imagines it must be quite the warring feeling for one’s puppy love to be both witness and participant in such a stripping. Though it can’t be too terrible, curling helplessly into a lap that has likely been the setting of much fantasy.

No, Vax doesn’t feel bad in the slightest.

He keeps to his territory of Taryon’s flanks while Percy more thoroughly explores the neck and ears. The golden helmet that normally protects them sits serenely on the table, glinting in the chandelier torchlight, perfectly useless just now. There’s something there, some lesson Vax cannot bother synthesizing for his chosen charge; something about being pretty yet unpurposed, capable yet untapped. Maybe it’ll come together after the wine has worked its way out of their systems.

Percy must discover an interesting spot, because he suddenly says, “Oh, right there?”

Vax can hear it, then: the sucking, wheezing inhales that are growing in volume the longer Percy persists at wherever-the-spot-is. The noise is somewhat reminiscent of a donkey, or– no, a zebra. How fantastic. Vax laughs, too, and god it’s all such a reprieve from the long-accumulated tension of… well, everything.

He revels a moment longer before catching Percy’s eye and nodding them both off. Percy takes half a scoot back in order to reach his cup, and Vax would be fairly confident in saying he looks just as gratified as Vax feels.

“Alright, alright,” Vax murmurs, as he’s left holding Taryon around the middle to keep him from liquefying straight onto the floor. “Over now. You’re okay. C’mon, sit up. There you go.”

“I dare say, if you do that,” Percy says, gesturing vaguely at the gold and pink disarray that is Taryon, “you’ll endear yourself to just about anybody. Keep up the good work.”

Taryon mewls some abashed little sound and swivels to bury his face in his arms on the table.