A/N: Perc’ahlia gang rise! They both seem the type to be ticklish but in denial about it and embarrassed. Revenge would be wicked.
Words: 480
—
Percy’s fingers work their way down along Vex’s shoulder blades, tending to the sore muscles. As he works out a particularly tense knot, she lets out a delighted little sigh of relief.
Smiling down at her, Percy leans in to kiss the skin along the back of her neck. It shudders under his lips, another small noise escaping her throat—this time —she quickly transforms it into a sound of pleasure. It’s a clever disguise, but one that Percy could see through any time with ease.
“Ticklish there? Sorry.”
“What? No, not at all, darling.”
He leans back down to her neck; unlucky for Vex’ahlia, she can’t see the smirk on his face from her angle.
She hears him take a deep breath, tries to turn to ask him what he’s doing, and then the room erupts with noise. Loudest of them all is Vex’s shriek of surprised laughter. There’s the thumping of squirming limbs against the mattress, the silly sound rippling out of Percival’s mouth and across the skin of her neck, the laugh he lets out a moment later when he pulls back and starts massaging again, pretending as though nothing happened.
“You little bastard!” Vex hisses, barely holding in a laugh. She turns, pushes him away, and he’s smiling wide as he falls next to her on the bed.
Percy turns to take her in—blushing and failing to hold back a smile.
“‘Not at all’ ticklish, hmm?” He prods. “That seemed rather ticklish.” He skitters his fingers along the backs of her ribs.
“Not.” She digs in her heels, biting her lip to fight back a smile. Then, Vex’ahlia is on him, fingers wiggling deftly into his sides.
Neither of them are fighting off their laughter now, Percival from the tickling nails climbing under his nightshirt and Vex from the high of turning the tables on him.
“See how you fucking like it–” Percy hears her grumble before she’s ripping his shirt up and throwing the bottom of the fabric onto his chest and in his face.
“NO–” He utters, pawing the shirt back away from his face just as she leans in to blow raspberry after raspberry on his stomach.
Percy’s hands are tangled in her hair a moment later, his feet beating against the mattress as hers were just a minute earlier. He cries out a desperate laugh as she takes her time, fucks with him a bit longer, until he calls out. “Fuck, mercy! Please!”
She relents, satisfied in her victory to make up for the prematurely ended massage.
Percy heaves a few breaths. “Remind me never, ever to piss you off.”
“Better not even dream of it.”
She’s not sure she wants to push for him to get back to the massage tonight, though… despite what he may say, the temptation of revenge would be much too inviting, and she didn’t feel like taking any losses tonight.
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"What?" She snapped, looking up from her computer.
Percy smirked and held up a crudely drawn photo of Hera with a cow head labeled 'the queen'.
Annabeth chuckled and rolled her eyes. "We're supposed to be working on college applications, Percy."
He frowned. "But we've been doing that for hours! Can't we take a break?"
"No. The sooner we get it done, the sooner we will finish." She replied, focusing back on her computer.
He sighed, slumping into his chair. He shoved a few blueberries -courtesy of the wonderful mother of demigods, Sally Jackson- in his mouth and tried to focus. He tapped his foot and squinted at the screen, chewing the berries quite aggressively.
Annabeth glanced at him as he exhaled loudly and adjusted his posture. "Fine, you can take a break." She relented, typing away.
"But I want us both to have a break!" He muttered, closing his laptop. "When do you think you'll be done?" He asked a little louder.
"Soon." Was the only answer he got. He sighed and flopped onto his bed, ready to wait.
After five minutes, he decided he wasn't ready to wait that long.
He stood up and inspected his girlfriend. She was slouched slightly, her foot tapping in a steady rhythm. Her gray eyes were dark as she stared at her screen. The tapping of the keyboard seemed to be the only thing she could hear.
Percy slowly moved to stand behind her. Despite her demigod training, she didn't notice him peek over her shoulder.
Her cursor was speeding across the Word document way too quickly. He tried to follow, but the words were too big and his brain was already fried from working on his own essay.
He pinched his nose. How to interrupt a child of Athena from sharing their knowledge? From his experience, there were only three ways to accomplish that with minimal casualties.
First, a monster attack, which Percy himself didn't want to deal with. Second was something he didn't feel like doing right now. The last thing was…
Percy smiled from ear to ear and crept a few inches closer, his hands slowly moved towards Annabeth. He paused a moment, making sure she truly was lost to the computer, before latching his hands onto her sides.
She gasped and froze. Percy could see her reflection on her screen. Her eyes were wide.
"Percy…" she said, like talking slowly would save her from her fate. "Don't. You. Dare."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." He said as deadpan as he could manage. "I'm just watching you work. So keep going."
She hesitated, glancing up at his face through the reflection. He assumed he did well at keeping a straight face, cause she looked back at her document.
He let her type approximately ten words before he slowly curled his fingers. She froze again. A shuddering breath exited her lungs and she arched away.
"Percy." She said, a little more sternly.
"What? Why'd you stop?" He blinked innocently, uncurling his fingers just as slowly.
"Percy!" She yelped, finally twisting away. She turned in her chair to face him. There was quite a fearsome scowl on her face. "Stop it!"
He tilted his head. "Stop what?"
"Tickling me!" She replied, her face going a slight shade of pink.
Percy let his grin show. "Well, I wasn't tickling you before, but I can now!"
He turned her chair, making her yelp again. She tried to stand up, but Percy caught her in a hug. He pulled her close, squishing her face into his chest, and dug his fingers into her sides.
Her knees buckled instantly. "PEHERCIHIUS JAHACKSOHON!" She shrieked as he followed her down. His grin widened and he carefully put her down on her back before continuing his attack.
"That is indeed my full name." He said as she failed to escape from underneath him. "Any other mind blowing information you'd like to share?"
Evidently, she only had a few Greek curses to say. Or were they curses? It was hard to tell with the hysterical laughter in the way.
He paused, letting her catch her breath. "Are you gonna stop working and take a break?"
She glared at him. "No, we haHAHA! PEHERCY!" He dug his fingers back into her sides, his thumbs wiggling against her bottom ribs.
"Just take a break!"
"NAHAHO!"
"Don't make me do it, Wise Girl!"
"DOHOHOHON'T YOUHO DAHARE!"
"Agree to take a break, and I won't."
"WEHE GOHOTTA FIHINISH-"
Percy ducked his head and blew a raspberry against her side. She screamed and tried to push his head away to no avail. The Son of Poseidon would not be refused.
"FIHIHINE!" She relented, her laughter starting to go silent.
Percy stopped and helped her sit up. He patted her back as she caught her breath.
"Youhou suhuck." She stated, glaring at him. It would be scary, except for the fact that her face was red and she couldn't stop smiling.
"I know." Percy replied, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows. "But you love me anyway."
She rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek. "I guess I do."
"You wanna go downstairs for water?" Percy asked after a short pause. "And to tell my mom that I didn't murder you."
Annabeth nodded. She stood up and Percy followed suit. When they got to the door, she put her hand on his chest.
"Oh, and Percy?" He gulped at the look in her eyes. "When we get back up here, we are going to work on the essays. Or else."
Prompted for Critical Role: Vox Machina – "I'd love to see ler Vax, lee Taryon. Maybe someone is insecure and needs a giggle from his roguish friend?"
Words: 1,900
(Publishing today in honor of TickleTober day 12: Stuck.)
—
“Now, see, you’ve almost got it,” Vax encourages. His eyes track the figure making their way hastily to the tavern door. “That was… so close.”
Taryon thumps his elbows on the table and rubs his hands over his face with a lamenting sigh. “Don’t patronize me,” he says. “That was awful. I’m awful.”
“...It was pretty awful, yeah.” Vax takes another sip of his wine, hums around it and gulps it down. “But listen, you’re on the right path. We just need to get you focused on what the other person wants to hear, rather than what you want to hear about yourself.”
“But don’t they want to hear about me? How else will they decide that I’m– I’m…” He sighs again, and finishes quietly, “Worth it.”
Vax slings an arm around his shoulders. “Hey. You are worth it. We all decided that, didn’t we? The whole group of us. You’re part of Vox Machina now.”
A hesitant smile hints on Taryon’s lips. “Yes, I suppose you did. But still, that’s not the same as–”
“Being desirable?” Vax cuts in. He sits back, thumbing the edge of his cup as his eyes wander – mostly teasing, but not entirely disinterested if he’s honest with himself – over Taryon’s form. He says after a moment, “Could stand a haircut, but that’s just me.”
“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.
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.
Vax nods as he reclaims his drink. “Mhmm. This is progress.” He rubs a reassuring hand over Taryon’s back a few times before clapping his shoulder. “We’ll just have to keep practicing.”
