Dwindling Creativity
Thomas groaned, putting his head in his hands. Heâd been brainstorming and writing and editing and erasing and rewriting and researching and writing again.
âI feel like Iâve used up all the creativity I have,â Thomas grumbled, shoving aside his laptop.
This pause, reluctant as it was, was instigated by Janus. Patton took over from there, leading Thomas to flop on the couch with reruns of the Office to give his mind a chance to rest.
- - -
Roman did not stop working when Thomas did. This was Important to Thomas, and Roman had to get it right.
Thomasâs statement about using up his creativity was very nearly correct. As they had worked, Roman had dwindled away gradually, until now the quill he was holding was nearly as tall as he was. He had to hold it in a two-handed grip, kneeling on the parchment and balancing the unwieldy feather against his shoulder. At least he had a magic quill that didnât run out of ink, so he didnât have to keep getting up and down to re-dip it.
He ignored the click as the door to his room opened, but moments later the quill was snatched out of his grasp.
âHey! Give that back, you- you ruffian!â
Deceit raised an eyebrow. âRuffian? I wouldâve expected a more⌠creative insult.â
Roman glared at him, more tired and grumpy than truly angry. âWellâ! WellâŚâ his mind went blank.
Deceit let him flounder for a retort, twirling the quill in his gloved fingers.
All at once, his inability to come up with a properly applicable insult, a good rhyme, even a solid sentence, slammed into Roman. He crumpled onto the desk. âJust leave me alone, Iâm useless.â
Deceit sat down in Romanâs chair. Roman wasnât looking at him, and was surprised to be lifted by the back of his shirt. He let out a squeak, then decided he was too tired to flail or protest, and merely went limp.
âUseless?â Deceit drawled, his voice dripping with something like sympathy. Knowing him though, it could well be anything, or nothing. âMy dear prince, you and I both know thatâs far from the truth.â
He draped Roman over his other hand, resting on the table. Roman was laying on his stomach, across Deceitâs palm, his arms flopped over his pointer finger.
âI am useless.â Roman asserted. âI canât even make a song. Iâm supposed to be great at songs!â
Deceit stroked the feather over Romanâs back, the smooth, gentle pressure a pleasant sensation. âOr perhaps, youâre holding yourself to too high a standard considering the circumstances.â
Romanâs muscles loosened further as the feather continued stroking over his shirt. âItâs for Thomasâs motherâs birthday, if I canât make something perfect for this, when else could it matter?â
âIâm sure you will make something perfect,â Deceit replied. âBut it may take more time. Time which we have, the birthday is in three weeks.â
Roman dropped his head onto Deceitâs glove. It was cool, rather than warm as he might have expected a hand to be. The feather traced patterns over his shirt, almost like a back rub, melting away his protests.
âYou need rest now. Distraction, to get your mind off of the song and give you time to return to your full strength.â
As Deceit said the word Distraction, the edge of the feather brushed over a small strip on skin on Romanâs side, where his shirt had ridden up. Tingles spread from that spot, making him shiver. It felt nice, nearly tickly.
Roman shifted to dispel the tingles, inconspicuously doing so in a way that made his shirt ride up slightly higher.
For a few moments, Deceit must not have noticed, still stroking the feather over his shirt, but then the tip of the feather was drawn across his lower back, crossing from his shirt to his bare skin. Roman muffled a small giggle, enjoying as tingly sensations ran over him again.
Deceit was saying something else, but Roman was becoming lost in the moment, relishing the soft, gentle strokes and the occasional sparks of tickles.
At some point, he had relaxed so thoroughly as to forget he was hiding his giggles, and let one fully slip out.
âOh, so I have a ticklish little prince?â Deceit said fondly, smiling down at him with a glint in his eyes.
Romanâs first impulse was to protest, especially as Deceit was sure to grow condescendingly teasing, but his enjoyment of his situation battled that impulse, leaving him speechless and blushing.
His internal battle was interrupted by the feather slipping up the back of his shirt, wiggling over his whole back. Roman fell into giggles, kicking his feet gently. The stiff quill feather wasnât the most effective tool for causing tickles at his current size, but his embarrassment had made him more sensitive than usual.
âAwwww,â Deceit cooed. âEnjoying yourself?â
Roman didnât respond other than to blush a bit pinker, though he made no move to block the feather.
Deceit twirled the feather. The strange sensation of the spinning feather under his shirt startled a laugh out of Roman.
âIt seems Iâve found quite a good distraction, havenât I?â Deceit said smugly. âTake all your thoughts away and leave only giggles~â
Roman rolled over, trapping the feather underneath his back as he giggled. Deceit easily pulled it free and teased it over Romanâs front. Here his shirt was better covering him, but the feather coming at him, fluttering at his sides or his stomach or neck, and constantly changing spots had him caught in giggles. He batted at the feather playfully when it came within reach of his hands. Indeed, all his previous difficult thoughts had fled.
âA happy little darling,â Deceit murmured, his voice overwhelmingly fond.
Roman was sure his face was still pink, but he was losing the embarrassment, caught up in the fun and the non-judgemental affection. He shucked his shirt off, clicking his fingers to change the quill in Deceitâs hand to a longer feather with droopy, dangly vanes.
Deceit shook the feather over Roman, the little tips flickering over his skin. Roman curled up into a giggly ball, rolling back and forth in Deceitâs hand. So many little tickly points all over him. It was like being out in a summer rain, if every drop left tingles in its wake.
Roman soaked in the attention, the sensations, the love. His body filled with warmth and joy, releasing the excess with every laugh. His giggles were infectious, and Deceit chuckled at the adorable sight in his hand.
When Roman got breathless, he grabbed at the trailing ends of the feather to stop them. Deceit obligingly switched tactics to long slow strokes of the feather up and down over Roman. It was hardly tickly at all, returning to a relaxing massage-like experience, but Roman couldnât seem to fully stop the remaining giggles.
Slowly, gradually, he melted into Deceitâs palm. After such a height of joy, tiredness draped over him like a blanket. His eyes slipped closed, and the giggles came further and further apart.
Roman didnât notice the ever so gradual shift of the feather into a miniature fringed blanket. He barely noticed when it stopped moving and instead tucked around him. And by the time Deceit gently transferred him into his bed he was sound asleep.
