#sfwtwords

"There you are," the deep voice spoke menacingly, "Coward."

Oh no. Odysseus had heard that voice before. Years and years ago, when he still had his crew, before he got trapped on Ogygia with Calypso, before he fought Charbydis. He knew that voice. It was one he'd never forget. The man who killed most of his crew, the man who showed no mercy unlike what Odysseus had shown his son. No - not a man. A god. The God of the Ocean.

"I've been waiting for this moment. For the perfect time to strike." Poseidon's deep voice rumbled around Odysseus.

The man held onto his handmade raft for dear life. Silently praying to the other gods to keep him safe.

"When your home's so close and you've reached your coast; that's when our paths collide." Poseidon's body emerged from the tides, glaring a deadly look at the worn king. "I've got a reputation, I've got a name to uphold. So I can't go letting you walk or else the world forgets I'm cold." The god of the seas points the prongs of his trident towards Odysseus' stomach. "Now get in the water."

Odysseus listened to the god's words. He was so close. So close to home, to his wife, to his son, to his people. The gods just loved messing with him, didn't they? Let him get close enough to see the shores of his homeland, and then prevent him from getting there. First, it was Athena, abandoning him for having mercy on the cyclops. Now Poseidon wanted to mess with his head, too. He could hardly handle it anymore. All he had was a dinky raft and the dirty clothes on his back. Why now? Why, when he was so close to getting home?

"Get in the water." Poseidon repeated. "Or I'll raise the tides so high, all of Ithaca will die," He pressed his trident into Odysseus' stomach. The man stepped backward on instinct.

The god of the sea should really, really stop poking him with that trident. The prongs of the trident were sharp, but not too sharp. Instead of hurting or drawing blood, it felt like someone's nails were pressed into his skin. And oh gods, did it tickle.

"Wait," Odysseus pleaded.

"Get in the water." Poseidon cut him off.

"Stop this, please!"

"I'll make tidal waves so profound, both your wife and your son will drown."

"No!"

"Get in the water!" Poseidon demanded, shoving the sharp trident further into his stomach. Odysseus squeaked at the tickly poke, realizing a second too late that he gave himself away. He slapped a hand over his mouth, praying to the gods that Poseidon doesn't notice, that he thinks the sound was just some of the wind hitting the raft weirdly, that him putting his hand over his mouth was a product of him being upset and not wanting to lose his family.

But Poseidon did notice. He noticed the squeak, and the hand Odysseus put over his mouth to stop the noise a second too late. He was confused by the mortal's sound, by his action. Why would the mortal make such a noise? Then, Poseidon remembered the step back from the trident. Curiously, he pokes the man with the prongs of his trident again.

Odysseus stepped back again, looking up at Poseidon warily.

"What's this?" The god asked, his tone lilted.

"What's... what's what, Lord Poseidon?" Odysseus asked, feigning ignorance. The god of the sea was not amused.

"Your steps back. Your noise. Your hand over your mouth. But only when my trident touches you. I wasn't even pressing that hard. It couldn't have hurt you."

Odysseus wasn't sure what to say. He could lie and say it did hurt, but then he'd look weak. Pathetic, even, in front of this god that already wants him dead. Or, he could tell the truth. And admit to Poseidon that it felt like a tickly poke. But he was the King of Ithaca. No way would he admit he's ticklish. He had a reputation. Maybe not one as grand as Poseidon's, but a king couldn't be reduced to something as childish as a ticklish boy.

Of course, Poseidon was far from stupid. He was a kid once, many years ago. He had two brothers and a whole ton of nieces and nephews. He knew that his trident could be a bit ticklish, if he poked gently enough, and in the right spot. He didn't mean to tickle Odysseus, of course. The wretched, cowardly mortal had blinded one of his sons.

Perhaps, Poseidon mused, this could be used to his advantage.

"Are you ticklish, Odysseus of Ithaca?" He asked, rather bluntly.

Now, Odysseus was no stranger to this question. He had many friends over the years, he had Penelope back home. Unfortunately, even with all those times being asked, it never got any easier to answer. Maybe he should lie, to save his pride? No. He's lied before, and it's only ever gotten him tickled, and teased relentlessly. It's probably an even worse idea to lie to a god, not to mention that Poseidon is one of The Big Three. Maybe he should tell the truth? No. It'd be awkward, and he'd be teased for being a ticklish king. A king should try to preserve his pride and reputation.

So what option does that leave?

"I am a king, just as well as you. I, too, have a name to uphold. You may not tickle me."

"Oh, I 'may not,' hm? Well, that's just too bad, little mortal. Because I will teach you a lesson, some way, somehow. Regrettably for you, I believe I've just found the perfect means to do so."

Poseidon shrunk down his form, still towering over the mortal, joining him on the raft. Odysseus scurried as far away from the god as possible. It was a little raft, built by only his hands, so it wasn't very far.

"Lord Poseidon, surely we can talk about this? You are a civil god. You seem to want to do right by your child. I want to do right by my child, as well. So, I need to get home to him."

"Ah, trying to get out of this, are you?" Poseidon chuckles, inching closer to the mortal. "No."

Poseidon grabs Odysseus' ankle, hauling the man into his lap. Then, he pulls the smaller one up so his back is against his chest.

The King of Ithaca is immediately squirming, fighting to be released from the hold. Poseidon may very well drown him, here and now. But he couldn't die. Not when he's this close to getting home. Not when he's this close to seeing his wife and son again.

"No! Let me go!"

"Hey- stop moving!" Poseidon demands and grabs his wrists. He yanks the smaller king's wrists, pushing them into his chest. "Stay still."

Odysseus was scared out of his mind. Here he was, tired, hungry, and dirty, on a tiny raft, almost home. Now he's stopped by Poseidon, held in his lap like a toddler. Poseidon, who had wanted to kill him for about a decade now. Why wasn't he just getting it over with? He's going to kill him, if only to avenge his son, he needed to escape.

"I'm not going to kill you."

Odysseus freezes. Did he say all that out loud?

"I think humiliation might teach a better lesson to a cocky and quick-witted soul such as yourself."

"What?" The king of Ithaca asks. And then feels a tweak on his side. The first of many. "Wait- wait wait wait-"

Poseidon had to admit, it felt good to watch the mortal squirm. It was nice to finally get revenge on him for blinding his son, albeit in an unconventional way.

"Why should I, hm?" Poseidon asks, using the hand that wasn't holding Odysseus' hands to his chest to pinch gently up and down his sides. He leaned close to the mortal's ear, whispering, to blow air on it so he'll shiver. "Why should I grant you mercy, when you didn't give my son mercy? And now he has to suffer through life, blind as a bat? Mourning the sight he once had? Now he can never see his friends again, you know."

"We were trying to get away! We only hurt him to disarm him! Stop that!" Odysseus says quickly, getting the words out before the laughter could come. He would not laugh in front of the God of the Sea. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"You said that last time. And no, I won't stop it."

"Poseidon!"

"Hm?"

This was it. Odysseus well and truly hated the sea god now. There was no way this was happening. It must be a dream, or some hallucination from the lack of people around. He tried to squirm to the opposite side, but Poseidon's fingers just followed him. But he wouldn't laugh. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Stop it!"

"No."

The mortal groaned. Trying to lean his body away. Maybe he could roll out from his stuck position. But Poseidon was stronger than him, and kept him mostly upright, his hands still pinned to his chest.

"Stay still, mortal. I need to teach you a lesson."

"I learned it already!"

"No, clearly you haven't."

"I learned more than you!" Poseidon pauses at the mortal's words.

"Oh, have you now?" Poseidon offered a chance to redeem himself. But Odysseus just loved to dig his own grave.

"Yeah!"

"Yeah?" Poseidon leans down to growl in his ear. He was going to use the type of teasing he used to use to get his niece, Athena. "Then how about you explain to me how I should tickle you?"

"What?"

"Explain how I should tickle you."

May the gods help him. Athena used to do this to him. He didn't understand it, never knew how to answer. He couldn't very well answer that question truthfully. He'd never live it down. No, he'll just say what he does when it's Athena tickling him.

"I don't know if you're qualified to tickle me, with how ticklish you are."

The dark chuckle that rumbled against his back was all Odysseus needed to realize he messed up.

The squeezing fingers on his lower tummy only confirmed it.

"Wait!" Odysseus pleaded.

"Not after that comment." Poseidon tutted. "Maybe if you were kinder, I'd consider it. But no, you just had to go and say something like that."

Odysseus wouldn't laugh. He wouldn't. Not as the god of the sea was tickling him. Not the one guy who had killed most of his crew. But dear gods, it was hard.

"Wait!" Odysseus tried, but then closed his mouth. He realized that if he kept it open, he would start to laugh. He was absolutely not laughing. No. He wouldn't let Poseidon win.

"Nope. You've gone with no repercussions for far too long. Now, it's time to face the consequences of your actions." He moved his hand to gently start brushing his fingers over Odysseus' ribs. The other hand still holding the mortal's hands to his chest.

Odysseus arched his back, biting his lip. The fingers made his nerves spark with energy, made his lungs bubble, and fill up with laughter.

Poseidon was amused that the mortal was fighting his laughter so valiantly. Of course, it wouldn't last forever. He just had to be patient. It seems like his ribs were a good spot; he'd just stay there for a while. Skittering and poking and spidering.

It was when he dug into a divot between two of the bones that Odysseus broke.

"No- nohoho- wahahait!" He squirmed, trying to get his hands back from Poseidon's grip.

"Couldn't hold out any longer? And you call yourself the reigning king of Ithaca. Pathetic." Poseidon asks, a healthy bit of condescension in his voice.

"Poho- Poseidon!"

"Hm?"

Odysseus wasn't really sure how to respond. He didn't quite know what to do in this situation. How could he respond? Tell him to stop? He wouldn't listen. Athena usually tickled him to cheer him up, or when he was being a bit too cocky. But she always stopped when he was done. He was a little worried Poseidon wouldn't stop when he was done, which was making him even more anxious. Athena knew his limits and would stop once he was pushed too far. Poseidon didn't know his limits. Or he did, but he wouldn't care. This is all for revenge to him. It wasn't playful revenge, either.

"What is it, mortal?"

"Gehet- off!" Odysseus tried to squirm away again, but Poseidon held him still.

"Hm... no. Let's see if we can find your tickle spot, shall we?"

"NO!" Odysseus protested loudly, but Poseidon didn't listen. He tried the mortal's armpits, making him giggle and press his arms to his sides as much as he could. "Nooohohohoho!"

"Does it tickle here? Hm?" Poseidon asks.

Odysseus shook his head no. The god might've won the game of not laughing, but he couldn't force the king of Ithaca to admit he's ticklish.

"No? It doesn't tickle? That's too bad. We'll have to try another spot, then." He removed his hand from his armpit, instead fluttering his fingers over his neck and collarbone. Odysseus tried to shrug up his shoulders, as if that would help. He tilted his head to the side the fingers were wiggling on. But that only exposed the other side of his neck. Poseidon seized the opportunity to gently nibble on his neck. Odysseus squeaked, not expecting this.

"Naha- nohoho!"

"Mm, so tasty." The god teased, rubbing his beard over the mortal's neck. Still holding Odysseus' wrists, Poseidon moved his other hand down to his hip to squeeze.

The king of Ithaca was so embarrassed by his reaction. He tried to kick out, but that didn't work because the god's legs were crossed on top of his. He tried pressing backwards, but of course Poseidon's body was there, preventing him from escaping. So then he tried bucking his hips up, only forcing Poseidon's evil fingers deeper into his flesh. It tickled so badly, it felt like his nerves were lit up brighter than a Christmas tree. The tingly feeling shot up his spine, laughter bubbling in his chest.

"Wahait! WAHAIT!" He begged. He was playing it up a little bit. His hips weren't his worst spot. It was up there, but certainly not his worst. But if he could convince Poseidon that they were, maybe he wouldn't find his real worst spot.

"Why should I wait? You seem to be having so much fun. Just listen to all that laughter."

"Ihihi'm NOHOHOT!"

"Sure. Whatever you say, mortal." Poseidon let go of Odysseus' hands, and now both hands are squeezing his hips. He presses his thumbs into the divots, massaging in little circles.

Odysseus didn't even realize his hands were released. All he could focus on were the tickles. He didn't even realize he could move his hands now. He was feeling giddy and elated. Maybe the tickles weren't so bad. He soon noticed that his hands were now free, and moved them to grab at Poseidon's wrists.

"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to move your hands."

"M-myhyhy brahahain! Ihit's fuhuzzy..." Odysseus tried to explain.

"Is it?" Poseidon clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. "Poor mortal. You just can't stand it, can you?" Poseidon moved his hands down to squeeze at his thighs.

That's when Odysseus lost it.

He screamed, going silent for a second.

"WAHAHAIT- STAHAHAP, PLEHEHE-!" His desperate pleas were interrupted by hiccups, his body needing more air.

"Oh, is this your spot? How pathetic. The King of Ithaca, captain to all those men, godlike general in the war- and yet, you cannot handle being tickled. You're weak."

Odysseus couldn't handle it. He tried to squirm away, tried to get him to stop. Soon enough, his laughter went completely silent. Only hiccups broke through, his lungs desperate for air.

Poseidon realized this was a genuine problem. Mortals needed to breathe. So he stopped, simply holding him instead.

"I forgot that you mortals need to breathe." He spoke hesitantly. He knew it was his mistake.

"It's... okahay..." Odysseus said, riding out the giggle high. "It... thahat tickled..."

"As it was supposed to." The god rubbed his arms comfortingly. "Take a moment to breathe... I believe you've been humiliated enough. You've learned your lesson, right? Don't go blinding my sons. Or daughters, for that matter. And showing "mercy," as it is ruthlessness in disguise."

Odysseus nods, not wanting to be tickled anymore.

"Then I believe my work here is done." Poseidon lowered him to rest on the raft, and stepped down into the water.

It was quiet in the living room. Too quiet, for it being Steve, Tony, and Bucky. Bucky was quiet, but that was normal. The other two, though, they were always arguing about something or another. Honestly, the way they argued, nobody was sure if they were friends or not.

"Bucky goes through the five stages of grief every time he's tickled." Steve says casually.

Bucky looks up from his book. He should leave. He should leave, now, before Steve decided to show Tony what he meant by that. He stood up, closing his book quietly.

"How do you mean?" Tony asked.

"I'll show you." Steve says, quite evilly for Captain America. Bucky immediately tried to run the other direction. Fortunately, being trained as a soldier - and then his years with HYDRA - had taught him to always search for an exit before a situation he'd need it.

Unfortunately, Steve was a super soldier, too.

"PUT ME DOWN!" Bucky demanded, shoving at Steve's shoulder. This was much different from when they were kids. Steve would probably crumple and die if he tried to pick Bucky up back then.

"Yes, yes, in a second." Steve brings Bucky back to the couch, dropping him down unceremoniously. Bucky's first thought was to scamper, but he was not quick enough before Steve sat on his upper legs. Their hands grappled, neither one wanting to give.

"Get off!"

"No, I gotta show Tony that you go through the five stages of grief when you're tickled!"

"I do not! Get off of me!"

"See, Tony? This is denial. The first stage."

"Oh, I see." Tony commented unhelpfully, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. Bucky sputtered, glancing over at Tony. Oh, that was how Steve was playing this.

Unfortunately, during his momentary distraction, Steve had gotten out of the grapple and immediately went to squeeze at his sides. Bucky's attention returned, and he grabbed at Steve's wrists, squeezing tight.

"NO! Steve!"

"Hm? What's up, Buck?"

"Stop this!"

"Stop what?"

"THIS!" Bucky wished he could do a grand gesture, pointing to all of his stupidity right now, but alas, holding onto the wrists was more important.

"What am I supposed to be stopping?" Steve teases.

"Rogers!" He growls, fighting back the giggles that were bubbling up in his chest. He is Bucky Barnes, for crying out loud! He was an assassin for 70 years! He does not giggle like a child! Steve shouldn't even feel comfortable tickling him, he's killed people!

That thought hits him. Steve is still, after all these years, after all the things he's done wrong, comfortable enough to tickle him. That meant something. It made him feel soft inside his chest.

"And now, he's moved on to anger. Stage 2." Steve explains to Tony.

"I see." The smaller man nods, watching carefully.

"I hate you." Bucky's tone was more like a threat, but Steve knew that he didn't actually hate him. It was Bucky, his best friend from before everything. Bucky could never hate Steve, not really.

"Mhm." Steve punished his words by instead digging his thumbs into his hips, doing those slow circles that drove him crazy.

"NOHO!" Bucky yelped, now holding on tight to the blondes wrists. "Steve! Steheheve, please!"

"Bargaining." Captain America smirks down at him. What an infuriating face.

Tony, across the room, just smiles and nods, watching the two get along so well. Or maybe Bucky would kill Steve after this. Guess he'll have to wait and see.

Bucky made a growling noise that was quickly covered up by helpless giggles. He just couldn't stop them from coming out. He tried to push Steve's hands away, squirming in place. He couldn't get very far, though, considering another super soldier just about as strong as him was sitting on his waist.

And then Steve moved his horrible fingers to his ribs.

"STEHEHEVE!" His squirming picked up tenfold, shoving and hitting at Steve's arms. He'd probably get bruises. Luckily, he heals pretty fast. "STOHOP, I'M GONNA DIE!"

"Oh, you're not gonna die. Stop being dramatic." Steve fondly rolls his eyes, then glances at Tony. "Depression stage."

Bucky hit the couch over and over again, getting a bit overwhelmed by the tickly sensations. Steve, having tickled him a million times before, recognized this. He moved to Bucky's sides, using much lighter tickles. His nails seemed to skim right over the fabric of Bucky's shirt. And Bucky's shirt did absolutely nothing to dull the sensation.

"Nohoho." Bucky's voice was definitely complaining.

"No? Do you want me to go back to your ribs, then? I could count them for you, make sure they're all there." Steve teased with that stupid, beautiful, comforting smirk plastered on his face.

"No!"

"I didn't think so. Just hold still, Buck. I've got you."

Bucky just giggled. That's all he could do, really. His hands held onto Steve's wrists, but they weren't doing much to help. His head tilted back, completely worn and unable to fight the tickly sensations anymore. He didn't even try to stop his laughter anymore.

"There you are." Steve coos. "Stage five, acceptance."

"Huh. He really did go through the five stages of grief." Tony says, watching the boys quietly from his seat. He was very curious. He had cataloged that Bucky seemed overprotective of his ribs. That must be his tickle spot. He wondered distantly what would happen if Tony ever tried to tickle him. More importantly, however, was that he wondered what Bucky would do in retaliation. Which he assumed would happen in the very near future to Steve.

"Yes, he does." Steve hums, taking his hands away from Bucky now. He is just smiling down at him fondly.

Bucky, meanwhile, was taking in deep breaths like he had been starved of air. Which he had been, thank you very much. That was such an experience. The adrenaline, the sparks of lightning up his spine, the stupid tingly sensation that he hated to admit, wasn't so bad, at least coming from Steve. He might gut someone else if they try.

"Steve." Bucky said in a low tone, carefully neutral. The usually happy Captain stiffened at the tone.

"I think I'm gonna go... fold the dishes." Steve quickly got off of Bucky and left the room.

Bucky groaned as he woke up, all his muscles burning in pain. He must've blacked out, he didn't even remember what had happened. He tried to stretch.

He was a little confused when he couldn't move his metal arm. He looked over and found it stuck underneath a hydraulic press. He grabs the table with his flesh arm, trying to pull away, using his flesh hand to push for leverage.

"Hey cap!"

He heard a voice call out. He looked up just in time to see Sam and Steve coming into the room. Bucky grabbed the table again, fighting against his pained muscles to pull his head up enough to see them.

"Steve."

But Steve crossed his arms. They couldn't trust him just yet. How did they know this wasn't Winter Soldier Bucky just pretending to be nice so he could escape the hydraulic press and start fighting again?

"I'll have to find out which Bucky I'm talking to."

Oh no, he thought as Steve approached him. Steve wouldn't hurt him. Right? This wasn't a HYDRA officer. This was Captain America. He watched warily as Steve knelt down in front of him.

Steve smiled that stupid, kind smile that always put everyone at ease, and then he grabbed onto Bucky's sides, squeezing.

Bucky gasped, grasping at Steve's wrist with the hand that could move. His metal arm tried to pull in, to protect himself, if out of instinct alone. But it was firmly stuck under the hydraulic press.

"Steve!" He hissed.

"What is it?" Bucky didn't know how to respond to that. He obviously couldn't admit that it tickled. That was well beneath him at this point.

"Steve!" The man just smiled, a little bit apologetically, a little bit evilly.

"Sorry. I have to make sure you're normal you and not Winter Soldier you."

"I am normal m-me!" Steve did that awful thing where he massaged his thumbs in circles, right in the dip of his hips. It felt like electric shocks right to his spine. It was so hard to save face when his body was telling him to smile and laugh and just overall act like a child.

"How can I be so sure?" Steve asked thoughtfully. "I'll need to run some more experiments. I want to be certain." He pressed his fingers deeper, smiling fondly when Bucky doubled forward, sputtering out a laugh.

"Steheheve!" He'd complain, but the man would only chuckle at him. But Steve would soon get bored of his hips. He never did stick to one spot, even when they were younger, even before Bucky got drafted for the army, before everything.

And then moved up his sides, right to his ribs. His worst spot.

"Wait!" Bucky would try to twist away, trying to maneuver himself in a way where he could either get his arm unstuck or at least make it help cover that horrible, dreadful spot that made his nerves light up and put a smile on his face without even trying.

Steve smiled at Bucky's squirming, scritching gently right below where the metal connected on his left ribs and all over his right ribs. "Still a bad spot, hm?"

"God- wahAHAIT! STEHEHEVE!" Bucky tried to curl up, trying to fend him off with his free hand, that was feeling uncharacteristically weak at the moment.

"Aww, look at you." Steve coos. Bucky tries standing up quickly, trying to move away from the sensation. Steve decided Bucky was probably done, and dropped his hands. "Y'know, Sam, I think he's normal Bucky right now."

"He would've probably strangled you if he wasn't." Sam nods.

Bucky slumps down again, barely even realizing that Steve was freeing his metal arm. "Thanks."

"Oh, uncle!" Hermes sang as he entered the palace. Poseidon sighed as he heard the irritating voice.

"What is it, Hermes?"

"Odysseus tells me that you've messed with him and his crew."

"Well, did he also tell you he blinded my son?" Hermes sighs and flies around Poseidon.

"Uncle, that doesn't give you the right to drown most of his crew."

"It does." Poseidon replied simply. Hermes didn't know why that bothered him so much. Usually, he didn't get involved with the affairs of mortals. His great-grandson had been through a lot, he supposed. He left his wife and child for war. Had to commit some heinous acts during the war. Got caught up with that cyclops. Maybe that's why he cared so much.

"You killed his crew for injuring his son. That's not an eye for an eye at all. Yours was way worse."

"I did what I had to do." Hermes fluttered behind him.

"Then I'll do what I must."

"What?"

Hermes' fingers quickly tased into his sides, and then he fluttered away, out of reach, as Poseidon's arms instinctually snapped down. The messenger god's smile turned smug.

"Nephew," Poseidon warned, "Do not-"

"-tickle you?" Hermes asked. "But why not, uncle? Surely, one of the big three can handle a little bit of tickling."

Hermes knew exactly how to target his pride. It was working.

"Of course I can handle it." Poseidon was firm in his words.

"Great!" Hermes responded by scribbling his fingers along Poseidon's tummy. The god of the sea tried to catch the smaller god's wrists, but he was too quick and flew away.

"No! Hermes, do not."

"Do not what?" He taunted. Poseidon glared, knowing that trick. The playful god shrugged. "Worth a shot." Hermes immediately fluttered close and squeezed just above Poseidon's knees, causing him to stumble back against the wall. The mischievous god's hands darted from place to place, whenever there was an opening. Tasing his sides, scribbling his tummy, scratching at his ribs. Hermes followed as Poseidon slid down the wall.

"That is quite enough!" His voice boomed, clearly holding back laughter.

"Hm, I don't think you've learned your lesson." Hermes taunted playfully, focusing fully on Poseidon's ribs. The elder god grabbed his wrists, slowly descending into deep laughter.

"Enohohough!"

"Not enough." Hermes smirked, lightening his touch as he swirled around Poseidon's gills.

Clearly, his worst spot.

His head threw back and his heels dug into the floor. His back arched against the wall, unable to do anything other than squeeze the younger god's wrists. His laugh started to sound more like giggles, as if he was underwater.

"STAHAHA!" Poseidon gasped, though Hermes wasn't sure why. It's not like gods really needed air like humans did.

"You know," Hermes muses, "I'm pretty sure you could get out of this if you really wanted to."

Poseidon pressed his head back against the wall, closing his eyes tightly. He tried to close his mouth, making his giggles sound muffled and adorably pathetic.

"Wh- whyhyhyhy?!"

"Because you're a god, and you're stronger than me." Hermes gently stroked one of the flaps of his gills with a fingernail. Poseidon lurched forward, his head dipping as he shook his head no. "You like that?"

"Nohohoho!"

"Oh, come on. Look at you." Hermes smiles at the god before him, looking more and more childlike every second he tickles this bad spot.

"Stahahap! I-I'll kihihihill you!" He threatens.

"Not like this, you won't." Hermes taunts.

"Stop- stahahahap and I wihihihill!"

"Kill me if I do tickle you, kill me if I don't tickle you." Hermes clicks his tongue in mock-disappointment. "There's just no winning with you, is there?" The messenger god didn't miss the slight tension as he said the word. "Ah, is that what gets you?" Poseidon was very confused at his nephew's words. And so, stupidly, his laughter-addled brain made a stupid decision to ask.

"Whahahahat are you-" He gasped, pressing his body back against the wall. "Tahahahalking about?" Hermes smirked.

"Tickle tickle tickle! Does this tickle, dear uncle? Awe, you're so ticklish!" Hermes teased in a babyish voice. Poseidon's face blushed, his mind unsure how to handle such infantile teasing. He turned his head away, once again closing his mouth, so his giggles sounded adorably pathetic.

"Awe, uncle, look at you!" Hermes cooed, scratching soft fingers along his gills. "Have you learned your lesson?"

In his attack, the younger god forgot to keep up his guard, and so didn't quite notice when Poseidon's hands slipped off his wrists, and onto his sides, squeezing. Hermes immediately started giggling and flew backwards, away from his uncle's grasp. Poseidon took a few minutes to settle his laughter and collect himself.

"Oh, Hermes. I'm going to kill you." Poseidon threatened as he stood. But his voice was playful, not serious, and Hermes knew he was in for a wrecking. Like an idiot, Hermes smirked, and taunted back.

"Mr. Stark, I totally beat him!"

"Yeah, kid, you also could've gotten yourself killed."

"But I didn't!"

Tony sighs. Peter had snuck out and fought some villains without his permission. Tony had found out through a story on the news. Tony was worried sick about the boy, but it wasn't like he was going to admit it. Peter, of course, was never going to admit that he fell hard on the sidewalk, unable to catch himself with his webs before he hit the ground.

"Come on. Let me check you for injuries."

Peter begrudgingly decides to let Tony check him. As he worriedly checks for bruises and broken bones, his thumb slips and brushes over the kid's belly.

Peter yelped, before covering his mouth.

"What was that?" Tony asked, checking the area for a bruise or red mark. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, Mr. Stark, I'm okay, really! Okay, I'm not injured, so I can go now, right?"

"No, kid. What was that?" He brushed his finger over his belly again, this time on purpose, which made it worse. Peter let out a giggle.

That's when Tony figured it out.

"Oh. You're ticklish." Peter didn't miss the tiny smirk that crossed Tony's face.

"Mr. Stark, dohon't." Peter giggled, trying to cover his stomach with his shirt. He was already giggling with anticipation.

"I won't, I won't." Tony concedes. Peter didn't want to admit he felt a little disappointed.

Tony continued his physical exam, careful not to accidentally tickle him. Peter was fine, really. It's a bit of bruising, sure, but nothing dangerous. It was a good thing Tony had upgraded his suit the week prior to be a little thicker than before.

But, of course, Peter needed a punishment for being so deceitful and ending up in a situation where he could've gotten seriously hurt. So, Tony sighs.

"I suppose you're alright."

"Okay. Thanks, Mr. Stark-"

"Wait." Tony stops him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer, lifting his shirt to expose his belly. "I thought I saw a scratch right here." He punctuated his words with a gentle scratch to his belly.

"Mr. Stark! There's no scratch!" Peter jumps, barely even registering when the older grabs his other wrist as well, now holding both in one hand.

"Are you sure? Maybe it was here on this side." He uses his free hand to squeeze at Peter's other side, illiciting some squirming and giggles.

"Mr. Stahark!" Peter giggles, half-heartedly pulling at his wrists.

"What is it, kid?"

"Stohohop!"

"Stop what?"

But Peter knew that trick, and just shook his head as he laughed. Tony smirked, only digging in deeper to his tummy.

"You could've gotten hurt." Tony reminds him.

"Buhuhut- I dihihidn't!"

"You did. You've got some bruises. And it could've been so much worse. Don't put yourself in a situation like that again. Do you hear me?"

Peter nods frantically, his knees buckling under him. As this happened, the boy slowly descended to the floor.

"Say it." Tony commands. But Peter felt like he could barely speak with all the laughter. Peter shook his head no. "No? Then I guess you don't understand. I'll have to keep tickling you until you do." Tony said with faux-sympathy.

"I- I dohoho! Mr. Stahahark!" Peter pleads before Tony moves up to tickle at his armpits. Despite being Spiderman, and despite that being a very exposed spot in his line of work, it was his most ticklish spot. Peter makes a noise best described as a squeal. "WAHAHAIT!"

"Why should I wait, Parker? You have to learn that these missions are dangerous. You have to be more careful." Tony clicks his tongue. Peter was getting desperate now, basically curled up in a ball on the floor.

"I-I'LL BE CAHAREFUL! MR. STAHAHARK! PLEHEHEASE!"

Tony looked over Peter's face. It was red and split wide with a smile. He loved to see Peter smiling, it was much better than him being sad. He didn't necessarily want to let this moment go, but he decided it was for the best. After all, he was probably lacking on oxygen, and probably needed some water after this encounter. So, he slowly removed his hands from Peter.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah..." Peter sighs out, sucking in breath like a man starved. He looked over at Tony. "I promise I'll be more careful."

"Good." Tony nodded, then offered a hand to help him up. "Come on. Let's go get you some water."

Stupid, stupid boy. Getting in a fight with Antinous. Eurymachus dragged Telemachus away from the fight. He had a bloodied nose and a busted lip, getting his blood all over his face.

Antinous was lucky Eurymachus considered him necessary to his plan. Otherwise, he wouldn't have dragged Telemachus away when he did. Antinous would've broken his bones. Every single one. Perhaps even killed the boy. Antinous is lucky. Good thing Telemachus didn't have the strength to fight off Eurymachus. It would've ended badly for him. And if Antinous would've killed the prince, Queen Penelope would have another excuse to weave another funeral shroud, and it'd be another ten years before she would choose a suitor.

"Hey! Let go of me!"

The suitor didn't respond.

Eurymachus forced him to kneel by a bucket of water. He grabbed the boy by the nape of his neck, forcing his head to lean over the bucket.

"Ack- stop!"

The suitor, again, didn't respond. He dipped his hand in the cool liquid, his hand like a cup to bring it to his face. Letting it run down his lips.

Eurymachus brought more water to his face. Even more. He wiped his face with his thumb.

What a stupid boy. Getting hit, when he knows good and well Antinous is bigger and stronger than him. Why would he start a fight he knew he couldn't win? Stupid boy.

"Let go of me!"

The suitor didn't respond.

"Why won't you listen?!" Telemachus smacked away his hand.

"I'm trying to help you, stupid boy." Eurymachus cupped his hand, bringing more water to wash off his face. "Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon, that attitude may be your doom."

"I-" But Eurymachus doesn't let him defend himself. He let go of the back of his neck, instead grabbing his chin and forcing the boy to face him.

"Why do you always say what you believe? You're giving free ammunition to your enemies." Telemachus shoved his hand away and tried to scoot back. Eurymachus reached his hand out to grab him, accidentally brushing on the side of his ribs. Telemachus gasped and curled up.

Eurymachus was worried. Had Antinous broken a rib, too? Stupid, stupid man. Now Penelope would never marry him. Not if she finds out he hurt her son. A broken rib was hard to hide.

The suitor approaches Telemachus, lifting his shirt to look at his rib.

"Hey-!" Telemachus shoved his shirt back down. Eurymachus was getting tired of his fighting, grabbing his wrists and forcing them out of the way, keeping them pinned just above his head. He pulled the boy's shirt up to check around his ribs.

It wasn't bruised, cut, indented, swollen. Just pale skin. Weird. Eurymachus brushed his free hand over it.

"Does this hurt?"

"No! Get off!" Telemachus said, trying to jerk his arms down.

"Don't lie to me, boy. Why are you reacting like this if you aren't hurt?"

"It just tickles." Eurymachus was a bit confused. How easily he said that, just giving away a weakness. Had Telemachus learned nothing from the suitors who constantly bully and harass him?

"Stupid boy. Giving away a weakness." The suitor was curious now. A sick and twisted sort of curiosity that would get him beheaded if King Odysseus ever found out. So he brushes Telemachus' rib again, this time with purpose. Watching the involuntary flinch, listening to the breath that gets caught in his throat.

"Don't." Telemachus tried to pull his arms down again. But it was useless. Eurymachus was strong. Probably not as strong as Antinous, but strong enough. He needed to escape. So Telemachus turned to the side Eurymachus sat on, and kicked his back with his knees.

The suitor scowled and removed his hands to now hold the prince's knees down. He squeezed experimentally just above the bone. The boy gave involuntary kicks. Not as bad as what Eurymachus would do, he thought distantly. His knees were really ticklish for some reason.

He snapped out of his thoughts, why would he think about being tickled himself? The strangeness of his mind. He moved up to tickle Telemachus' sides now.

"Stohohop! Eurymachus, stahahap!"

He hesitated. What would happen to him if he didn't listen to royalty? That would surely be a traitorous crime. He would never take the crown if he committed treason. So he did stop, staring at the boy.

Telemachus was grateful for the relief, and took a few greedy breaths. He covered his tummy now with his arms.

"You're evil."

"None of this would've happened if you didn't get into a fight with someone much stronger than you. Do you even have any training, boy?"

"Well- some."

"Some is not enough. He is larger than you, he is proud, he is violent. Choose your enemies wisely, boy. Pick a fight with someone you can win against."

"He's your enemy too. He's a suitor, too."

"Sure. But I do not wander around throwing punches at people larger than me." Telemachus scoffs.

Stupid, young boy. Too naive to understand what he's put himself up against.

"You'd do well to listen to me, boy."

"I would rather not listen to the likes of you."

"I wonder how Antinous might react to finding out you're ticklish." Eurymachus was calm, casual. But the subtle threat scared Telemachus.

"No, don't tell."

"Then I suggest you stop fighting people who are bigger and stronger than you." Telemachus hesitates. But the man had a point, he supposed.

"Fine."

Eurymachus left the room. He'd keep his plans close to his chest. Helping Telemachus like this was just to convince Queen Penelope to marry him. Telemachus would surely tell his mother of the suitor's misdeeds. But should she ask what Eurymachus has done - well, nothing horrible. Helped him wash his face, checked for injuries. Tickled him a little, stopped when asked. And gave him good advice.