#dirtballs

He's ticklish, a fact you discovered and cataloged maybe a sweep ago in case you ever needed it.

And ohhh boy did you need it now! You knock him to the ground and straddle his hips as he spits out an expletive and winces. 

"Come ooon," you goad, lacing his fingers with yours and leaning over him, pinning his hands to the floor. He bends up like a bow and struggles to break free of you. However, you have a natural defense: the strength of highbloods. Well, at least you think you're higher-blooded than him. You've honestly never sensed anything but deafening steel around him. 

"What are you doing, Terezi?" You peck him on his smooth black lips and substitute one hand, giving you five free fingers to run down the side of his sweater-clad rib cage. He coughs and his voice raises a hair when he tells you to stop that.

"Stop what?" You flutter your fingers over his pulse in his neck and you can smell it. Faint, warm, and spicy, almost citrusy.  And oh, it smelled good. You repeat your earlier actions, digging your fingers into his fleshy abdomen, finding a cloth-covered divet where his childhood appendages once sprouted and he laughs. His involuntary smile tastes delicious beneath your completely intentional one and he laughs again. 

"Terezi! Cut- haha- cut that out!" You work your hand up under his sweater and across the apparently very sensitive skin of his abdomen. He erupts in laughter, yet manages to maintain his usual level of "I swear to god Terezi if you dont fucking stop tickling me i promise you that you will neve- OH MY GAHHAHAHA" He seems distracted enough for you to release his hands and attack him with two hands full of dancing digits. He flexes and curls onto his side, unintentionally baring a new expanse of smooth, sensitive skin to you. However, before you can lay to work some sick ticklemoves, his hands are in your armpits, fingers fluttering against the fabric of your shirt and you melt. You dissolve into giggles matching his. He twists his legs and you're under him now, his blunt nails scratching lightly at your stomach.

He's taller than you by just a hair, and his torso is just too far away for you to attack him back. However, your feet are close enough to his for you to drag one toe along the sole. His leg kicks out in reflex, toppling himself over. You take the dominant stance again.

"Say I won." "Won what?" "You know exactly what, Mister Vantas." You give him a wicked look over the edge of your glasses and he snorts.  "Oh no not more of this courtroom bullsh-" "This is not the excrement of a bullbeast, Mister Vantas, this is justice!" You punctuate justice with a fluttery stab at his side.  "Alright, alright! Fine, fine! You won. Call me guilty or whatever-" You cut him off by pulling his wooly coat over his head and trapping his hands with it. "What the fuck, Terezi?" "That was the most incincerest forfeit this jury has seen! The court requests you please examine the evidence before you." "What evidence?" You laugh and trace your fingers into the symmetrical smooth spots on his torso and that spicy warm smell cracks through the metallic sheet of grey except its candy coated now. It drips into your sensory pads like syrup and it baffles you that you still can't pick up on what it means in relation to his blood colour. 

Perhaps Mister Vantas could use some more evidence.  You reach under him and play with the small bit of hide at the base of his spine. He arches up, a sarcastic snort issuing from his nose.  "Terezi, c-come on," he laughs. "This is ridiculous." "You're ridiculous," you expertly retort. Leaning down, you run just the tip of your tongue against his cheek. Sweet hot fire slides across your senses, and it' amazing. "Bright delicious red?" You half-ask and he freezes. He shoves you off of him and stand up, fixing his sweater back over him properly. Dumbly, you lean back on your hands, eyebrows twisting in confusion. "Karkat?"