#tickle posting

the first time ryland notices, it's subtle.

you're reaching for something on the shelves. out of the corner of his eye, a silver of skin peeks out at him under your shirt. he can't help it: it's right there, all smooth and soft and ticklish.

you were basically begging for it.

that's what justifies the frankly, quite cruel action in ryland's head. he simply couldn't resist- the thought of your body squirming and bright laughter pouring out of you is more than enough to sway his judgement. his hands creep towards you and land a series of rapid squeezes over your bare sides.

"a-ahAHA," you burst into giggles, horrified to find that the element of surprise has made the sensation ten times worse. ryland picks up on it- of course he does. he makes a mental note to sneak up on you more often. his fingers follow you, tickling as you slowly go limp, curling up on the floor.

evidenced by his crinkling smile, ryland finds this ordeal immensely hilarious. he reaches up, easily grabbing the jumpsuit off the locker shelf and handing it to you.

you glare at him, pouting petulantly on the floor, refusing to accept his olive branch. ryland's eyebrow twitches upward. you want more? he seems to question. his hands form claws, opening and closing.

you blush and grab the jumpsuit from his hands, refusing to meet his eyes.

ryland doesn't miss the way you stare at his teasing hands for far too long, nor the ghost of a crestfallen face as you leave to change into your jumpsuit.

the second time ryland notices.

there is something about ryland's hands. they are mesmerizing in a way that makes you stare.

your eyes can't help but trace the outlines of his soft fingers as they shuffle with paperwork, the crevices folding and unfolding. his left hand runs across his blonde hair, carving a path of runes.

his fingers tap, tap, tap across the surface of the table as he ponders over something, and you squirm, almost imperceptible. your brain envisions unholy things- his digits running across your skin. scratching. scribbling. tickling.

what the hell.

ryland's head turns in your direction, ever so slightly. you panic, and occupy yourself with stacking random papers on your desk. out of your peripheral, you can sense the corner of ryland's lip twitch in amusement.

it doesn't help your case at all when your trembling hands knock pieces of paper away from your messy pile, floating and cascading across the room. one lands directly next to ryland. he quirks an eyebrow.

"fuck." you murmur under your breath as you scoot down to pick it up. ryland raises his other brow.

"language.” he emphasises with a quick, gentle scribble at the back of your neck and you fold with a yelp, clutching the floorboards as though you could melt through them if you tried hard enough.

you pick up your piece of paper. the white gleams at you. pointedly. the fluttering traces of ryland’s fingers linger on your neck, teasing but not quite there.

ryland's already turned back to his work: you gawk at him. then back at the piece of paper- a desperate manifestation of your need.

"please tickle me. more." the words are slipping off the tip of your tongue, but your embarrassment swallows them down, down, down your throat and into your stomach until nothing remains.

you miss the entertained spark present in ryland's eye in your tickle-less misery.

the third time, ryland doesn't notice. he confronts.

"you like it."

"hmm?" you can't recall what you're doing, but something in his tone makes you glance up, curious.

"the tickling."

it's abrupt, the splutter that explodes out of you. your insides churn. you open your mouth to protest. then close it. you're half-convinced you look like a gaping fish.

ryland's scrutinising you like he's watching a puppy chase her tail in circles. his eyes are all wide and doting, catching your every miniscule movement.

"that- that wasn't a question." you manage to say.

"that wasn't an answer."

a pause. one that you don't trust. if it were anyone else, you would've thought that they had already let it go. but ryland grace doesn't just let things go. he starts intrigued: then he pushes, and he shoves, until every single one of his hypotheses are proved.

and you've just become his newest experiment.

"noho, look at me."

your eyes flicker hesitantly to meet his lens-covered ones, and to his delight, your cheeks tint a rosy pink.

"so you agree then."

"what?" your voice comes out squeakier than intended.

"you want," ryland whispers tauntingly. "to be tickled by me."

a string of stutters and protests pour out of your mouth. that doesn't deter ryland in the slightest. the way he looks at you, all fond and teasing, is too much to bear.

"okay,” his voice is factual. serious. “i won't tickle you, then."

and you know him well enough- ryland will follow through. a whine of frustration builds up in your throat.

"ryland." you clear your throat. you attempt to bargain with your pleading gaze.

"yes?"

you sigh.

"please." the walls suddenly look very interesting to you.

"please what?" you can practically feel the mischief radiating off of him.

"...please tickle me."

it comes out as a garble of syllables, the dreaded word spreading heat across your face. but despite the incoherency, this just about satisfies ryland. in a split second, he’s already making his way towards you.

oh, fuck.

you scamper across the room, ryland and his smirk swiftly following.

"w-wahait!" your hands are held in front of you as a weak means of defence.

"wait for what?" ryland laughs at the absurdity.

you struggle to find a proper response. instead, you dance around the room, evading his every step. ryland's circling you like prey and you can't help it- an anticipatory giggle bubbles up your throat.

"noho, back off!"

"but if i back off," the cocky grin on ryland's face is contagious. "how will i tickle you?"

he reaches for you and a gasp erupts from your mouth.

"bad grace!" you must be picking up rocky's vocabulary.

"did you just scold me," ryland snorts. "like a dog? you are so dead."

you whimper when ryland lunges for you, managing to duck past his arm. but when he grabs a handful of your shirt and reels you into his chest, a pair of strong arms wrapping around your stomach, you realise that ryland is always right- you are so dead.

"hi," he whispers into your ear for dramatic effect, laughing at your whimper as you glance back at him.

ryland drums his fingers, gently against your waistline. your hands circle his wrists, tugging them away but they don't budge an inch. even now, you can't help but stare at his fingers. intoxicating. calculating. tickling.

ryland notices, flexing them intentionally.

"where should i tickle, baby?"

oh god.

"noho- nohowhehre," your voice breaks off into helpless giggles when he claws gently around your stomach.

"i thought you wanted this!" ryland has the audacity to pout at you.

"shuhut uhp!"

"did you just shush me? hmm?" he vibrates his hands into your ribcage and a squeal escapes from you. "that was pretty rude of you."

you try and fail to pry his wrists away from your torso. ryland conveniently decides to ignore the way you're slowly going limp in his arms, landing stray scribbles over your sides as he holds you upright.

"had enough?"

you look back, mirth-coated eyes meeting his.

"oh my god." ryland laughs, a loud, genuine sound. like this is the funniest fuckin' sight he's ever come across. "oh my god, you really like this."

you forget how to talk.

in your embarrassed state, you spin in his grasp to face him, before your own hands skitter up his sides and into the hollows of his armpits. the result is instantaneous- ryland folds, breaking into tiny, wheezy giggles. you can't help but laugh along with him.

he grabs your wrists in a panicked frenzy and now, you're panicking.

you're pretty sure they could've heard you back down on earth.

Somehow, he’s managed to pin you flat on your spine, and his back is turned as he sits beside you, partially leaned across your chest. All you can do is push at his back and shoulders while he kneads all around your belly and sides, occasionally trailing down just a bit to slot his thumbs into the dips of your hips and squeeze.

He had made a big show of ever so slowly pulling your shirt up just below your ribs, and then reaching down to pull the waistband of your pajama bottoms down just far enough to expose your hips and lower belly before he got started- which seems like forever ago to you right now.

Not that you’ve really been able to keep track of the time, but you’ve taken several minutes of this already, with a couple of small “breaks” that consisted of him lightly trailing his fingertips over your flushed skin.

What had been threats and swears have since turned into nearly incoherent pleading and pitiful giggles. He’s talking. You know he is, he has been this entire time— teasing you when you let out a particularly cute noise, or commenting on how adorable it is that you’re kicking and squirming like it’s actually going to help somehow— but you can’t hear him over yourself. What little you can hear doesn’t register.

The only thing you’re absolutely sure of right now is that he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done this to you— just held you down and played with you until he decides he’s done. He has, on several occasions, told you that he’s pretty sure they just sent you up here as his stress toy- only jokingly of course, though it being a joke doesn’t stop it from flustering you beyond belief.

This time around though, he doesn’t account for visitors, and when he brings his hands to the center of your belly, one clawing at the plush spot below your navel while the other spiders above it, the shrill squeal it draws out evidently catches the attention of a concerned bystander.

You don’t hear the rumbling noise of Rocky’s ball rolling towards the two of you, and you don’t register his voice when he starts squawking at Ryland about your predicament. Everything is fuzzy, and you shudder as you try to blink through the brain fog.

It takes you several seconds to realize that you can breathe, and you seemingly have a moment of reprieve as Ryland tries to calm Rocky down.

When you do manage to get your bearings, you see Rocky shifting from leg to leg and waving his arms wildly at Ryland before he notices that you’re alert, and he very quickly rolls his way beside your head.

“Friend okay, question?”, he asks, his voice high pitched as he taps on his ball, “Breathing okay, question?”. He rattles off several other questions but all you can manage out is a weak “uh huh” and a thumbs up as your chest heaves.

“See, Rock?”, Ryland starts, “They’re perfectly fine. I told you they’re not dying.”

You would have objected to that if you weren’t still in such a compromising position.

“Everything’s okay. It’s just tickling.”

You huff, bringing your hands up to cover your red face as Rocky lets out an inquisitive chirp and rolls back over to Grace.

“Tickling, question?”, he murmurs. You groan, "Rocky please-"

Ryland sighs, waving you and nodding at the alien. He should have known Rocky wouldn’t really know what it is. Even if they have something similar on Erid, it almost definitely would look much different for them.

“Yes, tickling. Think of it like… like- uh, playing, I guess. Most humans are ticklish, which means parts of their body are sensitive to touch— particularly areas that cover vital organs, or spots that aren’t typically exposed to touch.”

“Hmmm…”, Rocky hums, “Why?”

There’s a pause, save for the muffled sound of you grumbling at Ryland to "please stop talking".

“Well, um, I guess it’s like a defense mechanism. To protect those spots. When you touch them in certain ways- like squeezing or poking, that’s what we call tickling, and it makes humans laugh”, he glances back at you, the corner of his lip tilting upwards ever so slightly before he looks back at Rocky, “Or in some cases, squeal. Or beg.”

You turn your head, refusing to look at Ryland out of pettiness and also the sake of your own dignity. Actually, it’s primarily for the sake of your own dignity.! Rocky seems to understand, as well as he can at least, and the brief silence that hangs in the air makes your stomach twist before the both of them speak at the same time. "Show Rocky." "Would you like a demonstration?" You knew it was coming, and still your breath hitches as you twist in Ryland's grip, but you're just as stuck as you were before. The noise you let out can only be described as a whimper, but it's immediately interrupted by a loud squeal when you feel his fingertips trail gently up and down the sides of your belly. "Nononono, Ryland, please-!", you babble out, trying to pull your knees to your chest in a desperate attempt to protect yourself, but you're ignored as Grace pushes them right back down and starts to explain your reaction to Rocky. "Usually, they wouldn't react like that right away, but the longer you tickle someone, the more sensitive those spots get. You can't see this, but this skin right here is already really red." Rocky bounces up and down a bit, paying close attention to Grace's hands, "Red. Why red, question?" You tremble when his hands trail further up, closer to your ribs, just to trail all the way down to your hips. You're in a constant fit of giggles. You know it’s only going to get worse, and the anticipation is driving you mad, but you can tolerate this much better than what he was putting you through just a few minutes ago. "Two reasons, actually. Humans turn red when they're flustered but the tickling itself stimulates blood flow, especially if I were to be just a little bit meaner," your eyes widen, and you shake your head, "like this". You try to arch your back when light tracing turns to quick clawing, but he has a firm hold on you. "You hear that?", he asks when bubbly giggles turn to desperate laughter. "That's because there are different ways to tickle people. Different spots and methods get different reactions." He brings his hands down, squeezing rapidly at your hipbones before he squeezes all the way up your sides to your ribs, and then back down again. You kick uselessly, shaking your head and pleading through cackles, which only encourages him. Rocky can't help but feel just a little bad for you as he rolls over to watch you a little more closely, "Why telling Grace to stop if it's just play, question?" "Because I don't like it!", you whine. You can see Ryland's shoulders shake a bit as he laughs at that. Rocky perks up, slightly concerned as he rolls back over to look at your captor, who speaks before Rocky has a chance to voice his worries. "They're a liar." The way he says it so matter-of-factly would be insulting if it wasn't true. "Most people don't like being tickled. It doesn't really feel... good", he circles his nails around your navel while the other claws at your lower belly. "Think about if you had a really bad itch, and you can't scratch it, and the longer you go without scratching it, the more intense it gets. And maybe it starts in one spot, but it can spread all over your body, and you can't do anything to stop it. That's what tickling feels like." Rocky shifts left to right at the description of it, and it only makes him feel a little worse for you in that moment. "Your friend over here, though...", Ryland starts, and you're so glad you can't see his face because you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. "Well, they love it. They will absolutely never, ever admit that for two reasons. One, they're all embarrassed about it because they think it's weird, blah blah blah", he rolls his eyes. "Two, I would literally never let them live that down, like ever." "Hmm," Rocky hums before letting out a soft trill, "Why ask Grace to stop if they like it, question?" You so desperately want to tell Rocky to please stop asking questions, but you're certain that's much too long of a sentence to get out coherently, and you’re far past the point of intelligible speech.

Grace is thrilled. He gets to do his two very favorite things: bestow knowledge upon an eager to learn mind, and tickle you out of yours.

“Well, it’s an instinct, and human instincts can be weird. Tickling is a really overwhelming sensation, even for someone who likes it. So, they’ll try to make it stop— or, beg for it to stop if they’re otherwise incapacitated.”

As if on queue, you let out a weak, pitiful “please” when he vibrates five fingers in the very center of your belly.

“See, I’m being very, very nice. No matter how much they beg, or squirm, or ask me so very nicely to stop, I know they don’t really wanna get away. Isn’t that right?”.

You can tell from the tone switch the last bit was meant for you— probably the first bit too— but you’re confident that he’s very aware you were not listening. You take a deep, greedy breath when tickling fingertips turn to a firm palm, rubbing soothingly against your skin.

At first, you don’t respond, but, you nod at him when he shifts to face you, still leaned over you with his head propped on your sternum. You have no idea what he was asking you. You don’t really care either. All you can focus on is catching your breath and behaving as well as you possibly can, even as you eye Ryland wearily.

Not that your “behavior” has ever swayed him to be nice.

Rocky rolls around to the two of you, idling at your head. You glance up at him for just a moment, a small smile still on playing at your lips as your breath finally evens out. You hadn’t noticed you were still giggling, and fortunately, neither of them comment on it.

“You got any other questions, bud?”, Grace asks Rocky, but his eyes are on you, and his tone is notably softer.

You’re so relieved it’s over. You can finally let your guard down, relax, and just let Grace take care of you.

And then, Rocky lets out a small chirp, just as you close your eyes and let your head lull to the side.

“Grace said other spots are ticklish too, question?”

Your eyes widen instantly, only for you to be met with the devious grin growing on Ryland’s face.

You should have known Rocky would have more questions, and Ryland definitely wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to torment you in the name of education.

You whimper, giving him an absolutely pitiful little look, but before you can protest, he’s already positioned above your head, pulling your arms up and pinning them under his legs.

“Rocky, bud, I know I’ve already said this but I think you and I are going to get along perfectly.”

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