#ticklish!jon

~~~

The next day, Martin found Jon lounging on the couch, wearing his new socks. Martin paused, noticing writing on the bottom of the socks. Jon was busy watching the newest episode of The Holiday Baking Championship and didn't notice the smirk now creeping on his partner's face.

He sat down on the couch, lifting Jon's legs to make room for himself before placing them in his lap.

Martin waited for the next commercial break before putting his plan into motion. He loudly sniffed the air a few times, trying to grab his partner's attention. He glanced over to see Jon watching him with a quizzical expression.

"Is something wrong?"

"You don't smell that?" Martin asked, feigning shock.

"Smell what?"

"Something stinks!" he exclaimed, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Jon took a few deep whiffs, but he still couldn't smell what he was talking about.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I can't smell anything."

"Ugh, it's like moldy cheese or something!"

"Well I just took out the trash, so it can't be that," Jon reasoned. His brows were knit together in concentration as he thought of what it could be. He watched in confusion as Martin sniffed his own underarm, as if he were the source of the supposed foul stench. And then, much to his dismay, he leaned in closer and took a deep breath.

"Wha- it's not me!" Jon cried indignantly, shoving him away with his foot. Martin grabbed his ankle, holding his leg still as he sniffed near his foot.

"PEEEEYEEEEW!" he yelled, leaning away as he made an exaggerated grossed out expression. Jon gawked at him, yanking his leg away defensively.

"Hey!" Jon snapped, blushing lightly out of embarrassment. He knew his feet didn't smell that bad.

"Jon, those socks stink!"

"What? No they don't."

"They do too! Look, it even says so!"

"Well they're the ones you got me, so-" Jon stopped mid sentence, seemingly catching on. "Wait, what?"

"If you don't believe me, see for yourself!" Martin justified, gesturing for him to go ahead. Jon glared at him before grabbing his leg, holding it so he could read the bottom of his socks.

THESE SOCKS STINK.

Jon leveled him with an unamused look as Martin broke out in a fit of giggles.

"That was mean," he deadpanned, though he had to fight off his own amusement.

"Oh come on, it was pretty funny!"

Jon shook his head and crossed his arms, leaning back against the couch to pout.

"Not to me."

"I can see you trying not to smile," Martin pointed out, prompting him to turn away, hiding his growing smile.

"Am not."

"Are too," Martin teased, scratching the bottom of his foot with a single, teasing finger.

Jon yelped, yanking his leg back with a giddy, nervous grin twitching at his lips. "Don't," he warned, but they both knew he didn't really mean it. They'd played this game enough times to know.

Martin walked his hands closer.

"I mean it." He didn't.

Ignoring the warning, he snatched his foot, earning a squeal of shock. "Mahahartin!"

"I'm sorry, do you need something?" he asked, teasingly nonchalant as he scribbled blunt nails against his foot.

"I need you to- noho, not thehehere!" Jon cut himself off when he felt mischievous fingers sneak under his toes.

“Not where?” Martin asked, feigning cluelessness as he pinched his big toe. “You mean here?” Jon let out a shriek of laughter, using his other leg to try and protect himself and shove away his offender.

“Nohohoooo!” he wailed, voice bordering on a giggly whine.

“Oh I’m sorry, how silly of me. This foot is feeling left out!” Martin noted, grabbing ahold of the flailing limb. Jon’s eyes widened in an excited kind of panic, shaking his head as his smile stretched wider across his face.

“Not what I meheheant!” his protest melted into sweet, bubbly laughter as Martin continued the torture on his other foot. He didn’t fight back- not really. Sure he thrashed about and kicked his legs on reflex, but he didn’t do anything to stop him or try to get away. He simply relaxed into the back of the couch, head thrown back in wild, carefree laughter.

“It’s not? But why else would it get in the way of my tickly fingers?” he asked teasingly.

Jon blushed darker at his words, curling in on himself as his giggles raised in pitch. “For protection!” he justified, though they both knew he was full of it.

“That’s a pretty weak defense…”

“Oho shuhut up!”

Martin let out an exaggerated gasp. “How rude!”

“Nohoho wait, Ihi didn’t mehehean ihihit!” but Jon’s pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Yeah yeah, talk to the hand- er, hands,” he corrected himself, recovering from the little slip up by wiggling his fingers in a teasingly threatening manner.

“I’d rather nohot…”

“Really? I rather would,” Martin countered, reaching up to squeeze his knees. Jon threw his head back in hysterics, reaching for a pillow to muffle the sound.

"Ah ah, no hiding," Martin scolded playfully, shaking his head in disapproval. Jon rolled his eyes and mustered the strength to slap the pillow down atop his assailant's head. Martin scoffed in shock, hands coming to a stop.

"Serves you right," Jon said, not even bothering to hide his smug smirk.

Now it was Martin's turn to roll his eyes. "You know you don't have to provoke me. I wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon," Martin spoke plainly, as if it should be obvious. Jon flinched as he was called out, a rosy blush dusting his cheeks as he met his eyes with a shy smile.

"Maybe so... But it's more fun,  wouldn't you agree?"

Martin's grin stretched so wide, he feared it would split his face in two. Without warning, he yanked Jon closer by the ankles, drawing out a giggly yelp.

The sparkle of mischief in Martin’s gaze that was so fondly and evilly fixed on Jon was too flustering for the poor archivist. He didn’t have to Know Martin’s thoughts to know exactly how his teasing costume would be broken in, but Jon, too, had an idea of what that process may entail, and he couldn’t bear the thought of it, nor the fact that it wasn’t happening at present. A hopelessly happy smile longed to spread across his face, and Jon bit his lip, knowing Martin would only tease him more for it. A minute ago, Jon had nearly burrowed into the top sheet in his arms, but, now, he implemented the defense another way, throwing the fabric up and over Martin’s head. “There. A ghost. Simple, but classic,” Jon said with a huff, praying the sheet was just thick enough that Martin couldn’t see through it to see how Jon was unable to curb the giddy smile at the thought of having his own personal tickle monster for Halloween. The novelty and silliness of it all was too sweet. “If you’re going to half-ass costumes this year anyway,” he tacked on, hoping to sound less excited and more of his usual calm and grumbling style. That effort was as fruitless as biting down his smile, which he didn’t know if Martin could see, but Jon knew he could hear Martin giggling beneath his shroud, and the archivist couldn’t help the soft smile that warmed his cheeks at the sound.

“I’m genuinely curious,” said Martin. “Is it less flustering when you can’t see me?”

And Jon could hear the grin in Martin’s words. His smile went wobbly and his cheeks went rosy at the familiarly teasing lilt to Martin’s voice, and the sensitive nerves under his arms and in his chest and behind his knees tingled in anticipation. Jon scoffed, glad Martin couldn’t see him pouting either. “No,” he admitted, reaching up to pull the sheet off Martin’s head.

The avatar of the all-seeing Eye realized several things simultaneously, and all of them too late. Firstly, his lifting of his own arms offered the perfect unintentionally opening for a very impish Martin to attack. If Martin were still in front of him. Because, secondly, Jon realized that there was no one under the sheet. It was like a middle school or social media magic trick, except Jon was never one for magic, and he certainly hadn’t conjured any hocus pocus to make his partner vanish. Thirdly, he realized Martin hadn’t vanished. Exactly. He’d teleported, in his invisible Lonely way, right behind Jon. And from where he stood just behind Jon, Martin took good advantage of Jon’s elevated arms, striking under them with wiggling fingers.

Dropping the sheet with a yelp, Jon’s arms crashed down against his sides, effectively trapping Martin’s hands in the archivist’s armpits. The rest of Jon crashed as well, prompting him to stumble back against Martin’s chest as laughter burst from his own lungs. “Martin!”

Martin withdrew his hands from Jon’s armpits, drawing him in for a hug that allowed him to hold Jon close whilst scribbling his fingers into the archivist’s belly. “Maybe I could be the ghost of a tickle monster,” he mused as though his boyfriend wasn’t cackling in his arms. “Seems I’ve already got the characteristics for both down pat, don’t you think?”

Jon was sure his being adamant in not answering Martin’s earlier question was the reason Martin now was tickling him too hard to let him even think about forming a response. When his fingers drifted to Jon’s hips and the poor chortling man’s knees buckled, Martin did pull back, just embracing Jon from behind until he could stand again and his breathing had slowed, even if the dizzy smile he wore was still beautifully present.

The mischief was far from over, it seemed, as Martin leaned in to chuckle into Jon’s ear. “Remind me again, Jon,” he said, the brush of his lips against Jon’s ear making him shiver, and the sudden vanishing of his arms around Jon making the archivist gulp. “Is it less flustering when you can’t see me?”

It took a brief glance for Jon to realize he was the only visible occupant in the room, and the unknown but inevitable promise of Martin’s next attack had butterflies winging in his stomach. “If you expect me to finish this bed by myself—” Jon said, trying hopelessly to sound stern despite his eager grin.

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend staying in one place,” Martin teased, his voice fading in and out, louder and softer, as he presumably moved around Jon to keep his hackles raised. “Tickle monsters belong to the Hunt, you know.”

The words had hardly left Martin’s invisible lips before Jon had dashed out the door. He hardly had an avatar tailing him that wasn’t out for his blood or general destruction, so it was something of a relief to be able to run and know he was still safe. Fun. His heart pounded in his ears and his cheeks ached from the grin he wore. The corridor ended all too soon, and Jon screeched to a halt in the living room. Curse their flat for being so small. He couldn’t run far, and his options for hiding were scant. Subconsciously, Jon could feel Martin’s mind as it flitted and faded in and out around him, sashaying in close before darting away, keeping Jon from getting a grasp on his location. Curse the Lonely for having such helpful power. Curse the Eye for having no physical power to help Jon now. Having no course of action before him, Jon swiftly turned around, hoping against hope he could beat Martin to a room with a lock and that the Lonely would be too polite to warp inside. He felt Martin’s mind go amusedly blank in surprise, which was satisfying both for the expression Jon imagined on Martin’s face and for the fact that the archivist could See clearly now that Martin was at his back. With the tiny advantage he had, Jon ran.

Only to slam straight into Martin’s chest upon rounding the corner to duck back into the bedroom.

“Ah—!” Jon gasped, Martin’s thumbs catching the belt loops of his jeans before he could try to flee once more. “You— you knew where I’d go.” Jon definitely wasn’t pouting again.

“You Knew where I was going,” Martin replied, only a little accusatory.

“Thought we were going all out with cheating and powers,” Jon huffed, half crossing his arms and half shielding as many tickle spots as he could.

Martin chuckled, pressing a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “Would you like to know where I’m going to go, Jon?”

“No.”

“You sure? You’re welcome to, if you like.”

Jon couldn’t resist. Martin’s lips still rested on his forehead; it was as familiar and easy an invitation to follow as anything. The softness of that kiss juxtaposed harshly against the images he saw in Martin’s imagination—of Jon, breathless and howling, as Martin pinned him to the unmade bed and tickled him until there were stars outside the window to see—and Jon buried his face in Martin’s sweater. “Fuck.”

“Albeit,” said Martin, easily lifting Jon up to carry him to bed, the archivist naturally melting into the hold like a koala, seated at Martin’s waist with his arms around Martin’s neck, face still hidden, “I could be nice if there’s somewhere you’d rather I go.”

“To the store to get a real costume,” Jon replied, hoping the fabric of his new sweater mask didn’t dull the sarcasm in his words. It certainly didn’t muffle his squeak when Martin gave a chastising pinch to either of the backs of his thighs.

Martin lay Jon on the bed, quick to squish him to the fitted sheet and pin his arms above his head. “Nice offer rescinded,” Martin smiled, shaking his head. “The nicest I’ll be now is that I didn’t make you wait for this. Not to mention, waiting until after we got the bed made; we’d have to redo it all with how much you squirm.”

Oh, he had a cute smile. “No worries!” Martin said, trying for casual and probably failing. Shit shit shit! Without saying anything more, he fled.

Shit. It was bad enough having some passing acknowledgment that his mean boss was kind of hot, it was another to start getting lost in his eyes and having stomach flips over his smile.

Stop it. He begged himself internally. Just because he’s started being civil doesn’t mean you have to fall over yourself for him!

Part of Martin knew though. He was doomed.

--

Martin had been through a lot. Jon knew that. He also knew that it was almost entirely his fault. He’d pushed Martin into taking more and more risks to prove himself, had admitted as much himself, and nothing had made Jon feel quite that sick in a long time.

He was trying to be better. It was hard not to snap sometimes, Martin’s good-natured inquiries into his health feeling unbearably patronising, but Jon tried to stay patient. Martin might be coping well given the circumstances, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been through something traumatic.

All that said, when Martin carefully cracked his office door open one night with a cup of tea and a quietly cheerful, “Knock knock.” Jon couldn’t stop himself.

His hand slammed onto his desk in shock, making both of them jump. “Must you- shit, sorry, sorry.”

Martin was blinking at him. Jon chose to interpret it as surprise at his outburst rather than at his apology.

He swallowed. “I shouldn’t have- have snapped, sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Martin said that too quickly. He always did, Jon had noticed. He looked down. “Look, I know it’s not the- the most professional, it’s just… knocking on doors has been sort of getting to me lately.”

If Jon had less self-control, he might have laughed. “I… understand.”

Something in Martin’s face relaxed. It was a nice look on him. “So, it’s- it’s okay if I say that. I-instead?”

Jon cringed. How did he even begin to explain? “I… is there any alternative?” He felt like he was begging. He wished it didn’t feel like that.

Martin frowned, and entered the room fully, placing the tea on Jon’s desk and sitting in the free chair usually used by statement givers. “Um, probably? Is it, is it the talking? Don’t want me interrupting a statement?”

God, that would be convenient, wouldn’t it? “N-no, there’s um- interludes in statements all the time.”

“Okaaay.” Jon stared at the cup of tea in front of him. It was easier than looking at those big blue eyes. Martin sighed softly. “Um, can you tell me what it is that you don’t like about me saying… that?”

Jon’s throat was suddenly bone dry. He took a sip of the tea, burning his tongue but helping him gain some courage at least. “The words.”

He waited for Martin to ask, to laugh, to push or say something about how ridiculous that was. Instead, he nodded. “What if I just said hello instead?”

What?

“What?”

Martin fidgeted. “I just thought… if it’s me saying the words that’s a problem, then I could say… something else?”

Jon stared.

“Look if that’s not- if it’s not a good idea-”

“No!” Jon yelped, coming back to himself. “No, yes, um, that- that should be fine, yes.”

Martin nodded. “Okay good, and you- um- you’re alright with me not… tapping on the door.”

“Of course.”

“Cool.” He gave a little smile and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll um- leave you to it.”

“Thank you.” Jon felt frozen. He felt like he had to say something; part of him wanted to tell Martin all of it, about the book he’d found as a child and the horrors contained in it. Why he felt that way, Jon couldn’t fathom. He hadn’t told anyone about that before, but he wanted Martin to know. At the very least, so that he felt less alone after his own terrors.

But God, actually opening up? He’d never been able to do that. “M-Martin!” He burst out, before he could leave, noting how Martin stopped at the door. “I-I do understand… how it feels.”

Martin watched him for a moment, then smiled sadly. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He murmured, and slipped out.

--

Much as Martin was sure Jon wouldn’t like to admit it, they had gotten closer. Lunches had started appearing for him at shockingly regular intervals, in conjunction with Martin ordering extra take-out of an evening, sliding noodles or pasta or curry onto Jon’s desk along with an evening cup of tea. Jon had mellowed considerably since Martin had moved in. Probably because someone had been making sure he actually went home of an evening and ate something, he mused.

It was more than that though. Jon was… kind. Martin would never have believed it before, but he was kind and awkward and adorable.

That last part was horribly inconvenient, but it was still an improvement.

They were more familiar now, Martin could tease Jon without feeling like he was being misunderstood, and he’d started to notice the subtle twitch of Jon’s cheek that meant he was joking or having Martin on. It was nice. Martin would even say they were friends.

And as Jon’s friend…

“You have to go home!”

“Martin it’s fine, honestly, I went home last night, got plenty of rest!”

Martin groaned, “You’re supposed to go home every night!”

Jon frowned, then pouted thoughtfully. “Well, that doesn’t sound right.”

Fuck you, no. Martin thought, fighting a grin. It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t cute, no matter how hard Jon tried to make it either of those things. He could see the sparkle in Jon’s eyes and the ghost of a smirk that told Martin he had noticed him trying not to smile.

Fine. Fine. If Jon was going to use his dumb cute face to get out of this, Martin could use his own tricks as well. “If you think I won’t carry you out of here, you’re sorely mistaken.” He said loftily.

Jon’s eyes narrowed. He appeared to be appraising the situation. “You’re bluffing.”

Martin laughed. “Oh, am I?” He took a step forward, delighting in how Jon drew back.

He swallowed. “I’m your boss.” But there was no bite, no annoyance. His voice was flimsy and weak and… oh? Was Jon now the one fighting against a smile?

“Mmm, I’m not actually on the clock at the moment.” Martin said. “Neither are you. In fact, I’ve got permission to be here after hours, you’re technically trespassing.”

Oh, there it was, nervousness leading Jon’s little smile to sneak through. “You-you have permission from me!”

Martin tutted. “Well, unfortunately Jon, you don’t have my permission to be here after hours, and as there’s no security guards here at this exact moment, I’ll have to do that job myself and remove you from the premises.”

Jon wheeled his office chair away with a snicker. He knew there wasn’t any real escape, but he’d known that from the moment he’d engaged Martin in this little argument of theirs. On one hand he sort of did want to get his work done, but on the other he liked his and Martin’s little fights. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him smile. Made him happy.

It also made him yelp, when Martin’s hands gripped him from behind and lifted him, struggling not to laugh from the sheer silliness, from his chair. Fingertips curled into his ribcage, making Jon snort and try to double over, and burst out, “Aahaha- don’t tickle!”

Martin stilled, and Jon realised he’d just made a terrible mistake.

Martin blinked slowly, processing Jon’s protest. There was really only one reason he’d say that, wasn’t there? “What was that?”

Jon felt his face go warm. “I-um, nothing, nothing… will you put me down?”

A smug grin had started to spread across Martin’s cheeks. “I don’t know, it sounded to me like you said-”

“I said nothing!”

“That you’re ticklish.” Martin finished, still holding Jon up like a misbehaving cat.

Jon thanked God that a blush didn’t usually show on him and that Martin couldn’t see his expression. His face was on fire. Every twitch of fingers had him trying not to flinch or squeak or melt. He got the distinct feeling that he was doomed. “W-well I’m not. That would be um- faintly ridiculous.”

“Mmm? How’s that?”

“Ah, I-” Oh no, those fingers twitching more and more. He was definitely doomed. “I mean I’m, um, I’m a grown man after all, with a lot of- serious work to do, so it’s very unlikely that I’m…” Oh dear. He couldn’t say the word.

“Hmm?” Martin sounded so smug.

Jon wriggled and tried not to smile. “Martin please, my shoulders are starting to hurt.” It wasn’t true, but he hoped it was a believable enough lie to get him out of this.

“Oh! Right, sorry, of course.” Martin sounded genuinely surprised and concerned, making Jon feel a little guilty until he realised Martin’s solution was not, in fact, to put him down. Instead, he turned Jon around in his hold, now holding him in a bear hug. He grinned smugly. “Better?”

Jon cringed back as far as he could, ducking his head in embarrassment. No, this was not better. Now Martin could see everything, including his wobbly smile and his flushed cheeks. Not long ago, the thought of Martin seeing him like this would have been unbearable, but now it… well, it was still unbearable, but not in the same way.

Martin laughed quietly. “Alright, good! Now as I was saying before, you should really go home, you agree?”

This was an out, Jon realised dimly amidst the disconcertingly powerful urge to crush his face into that soft jumper. Martin was offering him a way out of this with his dignity somewhat intact. And yet… “But I’m almost done!” He said, squirming against Martin’s hold back towards his desk.

Martin sighed, sounding incredibly put-upon and utterly delighted all at once. “Alright, if you insist!”

The moment those soft fingers dug into his underarms, Jon let out a sound that could only be described as a scream, quickly devolving into loud cackling when Martin eased off to a gentler touch. It was mad, Jon had always been embarrassed by his laugh, it was never quite what he wanted it to be, all messy and snorting and high-pitched and loud.

Martin snickered. “You, um- you’re sure you’re not ticklish?”

Jon kicked his feet weakly, more to vent out the excess energy than anything else. He tried to convince himself that he hated this, wrapped up in a warm, soft hug with laughter being teased out of him, but no part of that was anything less than delightful.

That didn’t mean he was going to be quiet about it. “Nono- no, Martin plehease!”

“Ready to go home yet?” His fingers continued their agonisingly soft scratching, even through Jon’s cardigan it was enough to have him squealing.

Jon’s hands bunched in the back of Martin’s jumper, his eyes screwing shut from laughing. “This- this is cruel!”

“Uh huh?”

He landed a weak punch against Martin’s back when one hand migrated to pinch at his side and stomach, snorting helplessly. “AHA- c-cruel and unusual punishMENT!”

Martin laughed, not quite trusting that slipping a hand under Jon’s shirt would be okay. Little steps. “Say you’ll go home and I’ll stop.” It hadn’t escaped his notice that Jon’s protests had so far lacked any pleading for him to actually stop. Good God, he was cute when he laughed.

Those awful, wonderful fingers continued to play across his stomach, sides, and ribs, not digging in, not even really lingering on some of Jon’s apparently squeal-inducing spots, simply poking and wiggling up and down his torso enough to keep him in silly fits of laughter and squirming.

He hiccupped. “Ma-Martin wahahait!”

Martin’s fingers stilled. “Hmm?” Jon refused to look at him, hiding his face in his shoulder, but he sounded unbearably smug.

The smile wouldn’t go away. “U-um, common article three of the Geneva conventions actually prohibits cruel treatment and torture of um- of civilians, so technically you’re committing a war crime.”

It was silly. It was silly, Jon knew that, which was why when Martin burst out laughing, his only reaction was to bite his lip in anticipation.

He was doomed.

“Oooh, a war crime, huh?” Martin teased. “Hey, do you think they’ll throw me on trial at Nuremberg for this?”

And then his fingers were digging, vibrating into Jon’s ribcage, sending him right into screeching cackles that he had no chance of holding back even a little, kicking and squirming as Martin’s hands moved up and down, snorting and squealing whenever he found a tender spot and lingered there for a moment longer, his cheeks aching from the wild, silly smile painted across his face.

He felt shaken up, carbonated, bubbling over with laughter and giddiness that he’d normally never allow himself to feel, let alone have a cause to, but this? Jon barely had a choice in the matter, and wasn’t that just a little bit thrilling.

Barely though, as his bones melted into goo and his resolve wavered, he was aware that the helplessness was an illusion. He could stop this any time he wanted. And, regrettably, his stomach was starting to ache. “A-alright!” He snorted, batting at Martin’s hands as best he could. “I surrender!”

Martin chuckled and stilled his hands. “Alright, alright.” He said, giving Jon a moment to catch his breath before letting him down. Seeing Jon’s giddy, bashful grin made him feel all warm and fuzzy.

He took a half step away. “Sorry if I overdid it.”

Jon’s eyes widened and he immediately ducked his head to stare at the ground. Thankfully any of the heat in his cheeks could be blamed on a lack of oxygen, but that did nothing to help him figure out what to say now. He couldn’t be angry, even if he wanted to; he was still giddy and smiling after all. And he didn’t want to be angry, he didn’t want Martin to think that he’d hated that. It was fun. Nice to be close to someone in that playful way.

And besides, Martin was very warm.

Jon coughed, embarrassed. “It’s- ah, it’s alright.” He muttered, impressed at how relatively calm the words sounded. “I-I know it’s um- all in good fun.”

Martin tried to bottle his surprise. “Oh, um, yeah.” He grinned to himself. “Good.”

Jon hoped that he’d be able to hold onto this giddy, floating feeling at least until he got home. “I suppose I should be off, then.” Though as he went back to get his bag, he noted the slight wobbliness in his legs.

The snort from behind him said that Martin had noticed too. “Sure you don’t need a minute to catch your breath?”

Jon never usually smiled this much. “Apparently so.”

“Come sit in the breakroom with me then, I can make tea. Herbal tea.” He added pointedly.

Jon huffed a laugh. “Alright.” He said softly, feeling an odd burst of affection at the offer. Heard Martin’s footsteps retreat and briefly considered going back to work if only to aggravate him, before gathering his things and joining him in the breakroom.

He entered just as Martin was adding a spoonful of honey to each cup, and couldn’t resist. “Sugar, at this time of night? Martin, how ever will you sleep?”

“Oh, ha ha.” He rolled his eyes. “As if I could trust you to ever drink anything that doesn’t have sugar in.”

Jon held back his smile. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Uh huh, of course you don’t.” Martin said fondly, tossing the spoons in the sink and turning with both cups in hand. “Go on, sit down, you’re meant to be getting your energy back so you don’t collapse on the tube.”

Jon rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. He liked how much closer he’d gotten with Martin. Liked their playful back and forth. “Thank you.” He said, taking the cup.

“Anytime.” Martin sat beside him.

“It almost is anytime.” Jon smiled, the steam swirling up into the air between them. “It’s… good of you, to make everyone tea all the time.”

Martin flushed, both hands gripping the burning ceramic. “It’s- it’s not a big deal.” He muttered. “It’s just tea.”

Jon shrugged. “It’s nice.”

“Oh.” Martin took a sip of his tea to buy time. “Um, thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

Jon smiled and had a sip of his own tea. “I do.”

Martin let out a contented sigh. “You’ve seemed… better, lately. More rested, I guess?”

There was laughter in Jon’s voice. “Well naturally, when someone’s forcing me out of here every day.”

“Oh, so I should be taking credit for you looking less like a zombie?”

“Now you’re just twisting my words.”

“Of course.” He grinned into his tea. “There’s obviously a different reason you’re suddenly getting enough sleep.”

Jon stifled a yawn. “For all you know I’ve just gotten a new mattress.”

“Mmm.” Martin hummed, putting his almost empty mug down. “Nice mattress?”

“Feather down.” Jon replied, sinking back into the couch.

Martin chuckled sleepily. “Feather mattress? Surely that’s too soft. Can’t be good for your back.”

“Maybe not.” Jon admitted, imagining the softness of such a mattress. Couldn’t be as comfortable as Martin’s jumper looked. “S’nice though.”

Martin’s limbs felt very heavy. “Sounds it.” He mumbled. It did. It was so easy to imagine being swallowed up by a big, soft, comfy pillow. Like sleeping in a cloud.

Yeah, he thought, letting his eyes rest for a moment. That would be nice.

--

Martin woke feeling quite well rested, slightly stiff, and a little cold. He shifted, blinking away the sleep from his eyes, and realised that he was still on the breakroom couch.

Ah.

And, it seemed, he was not the only one there. Jon was still there next to him, his head rested comfortably against Martin’s shoulder, one hand gripping his arm, almost cuddling it.

Before he had the time to process that, there was the subtle bang of the breakroom door, followed by what he could definitely hear as stifled giggles and shushing. Great.

Martin had just resolved to wake Jon when he started to blink awake himself, seemingly not terribly bothered by snuggling up to his coworker in his sleep. Or maybe just that groggy. “Mmm? Where- oh. I see.”

When Jon realised where he was, he shifted away, apparently awake in an instant. “U-um, I’m sorry about- about that, Martin, I um- didn’t mean to.”

Martin blinked, trying to process. Oh, of course. “Oh, uh, it’s okay,” He hoped it wasn’t obvious just how okay it was. “I mean you- it was an accident, not like your cardigan could keep you warm enough.”

“Oh… alright.” Jon hesitated, then huffed a laugh, sitting up. “How did forcing me to go home go, then?”

“Oh, shut up.” Martin groaned, shoving him. “Too early for this.”

“It’s a good thing I’ve got a change of clothes, at least.” Jon said, stretching and getting to his feet. He patted Martin gently on the shoulder. “Better luck next time!”

Martin pulled a face at him as he left, vowing revenge, and set about making himself a morning cup of tea. There was barely enough time for the kettle to click before the door opened again, this time to reveal a very smug sounding Tim. “So…”

Martin tried not to think about how Jon had snuggled up to him. Tried not to think about his eyes, his smile, oh god, his laugh? Martin had almost forgotten until that moment. That radiant smile, the squeaky, bubbly laugh. God it was so cute.

Wait…

He turned, holding up a finger to stop Tim before he could speak. “I have an offer for you.”

Tim crossed his arms, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hm!” Martin felt more confident as the seconds went by. “You don’t make fun of me for any of… that, and I’ll let you in on some fun gossip.”

Tim pulled a thoughtful face. “Hmmm, how fun are we talking?”

Martin smiled to himself. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Don’t suppose I can reserve judgement until after I’ve heard this hot goss.”

Martin stirred his tea, mulling it over. “As long as I can trust you to be fair.” He mused. There wasn’t really any chance that Tim wouldn’t be delighted by what he was about to tell him.

Tim chuckled, fishing his own mug out of the cabinet along with Sasha’s. “Hand to god, if I find this goss remotely hot, not a word about you and Jon all snuggled up.”

Just hearing the words had blood rushing to his cheeks. “Tim!” He choked, unable to come up with anything else.

He laughed, mussing Martin’s hair playfully. “Deal’s not valid until you give me the goss Martin!”

Martin batted at him, still flushed, but laughing as well. All in good fun, after all. Like Jon had said. He grinned at the counter. “Jon’s ticklish.”

Silence followed, confusing Martin for the moment. Was he wrong? Was Tim just going to tease him more, asking how he knew that? Did Tim know already? His brain had the chance to throw all those questions at him in the second it took for him to look up and register the look of stunned shock on Tim’s face.

“No.”

Martin grinned. “Yeah.”

“No!”

He snickered. “Yes! Really um- quite badly.”

Tim seemed caught between shock and delight. “No way! Mister bossman, stick up his arse, scowl-y face is ticklish?!”

Martin snorted. “I know.”

He stiffened. “And he never told me?!” With that outraged exclamation, Tim turned and barrelled out the door.

Martin let out a chuckle and, because Tim had just left them there, poured his and Sasha’s tea. And Jon’s for good measure.

He’d just stepped out into the main office when there was a loud screech from down the hall, followed by a triumphant laugh.

“Oh my god, it’s true!”

“Tim- Tim no let me go, Tim!”

That familiar bubbly laughter echoed through the archives, making Martin grin and Sasha giggle.

“MARTIN! Traitor! TRAITOR!” Jon shrieked dramatically.

Martin laughed, noting Sasha doing the same. “Sorry, what? Can’t hear you!”

Jon’s threats of vengeance were barely coherent through his giggly squeals, but Martin wasn’t terribly worried.

"Fuckin' stop!" he snapped, snatching the offending hand by the wrist. He immediately regretted taking his anger out on him and let go, looking away. Tormund was different. He was crass, playful, and extremely bold, but above all else, he wanted to be entertained. He didn't hold it against him, but he had to admit it could grate on the nerves. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose in an effort to calm down. "Sorry, didn't mean to yell."

Tormund was grinning from ear to ear. "I fuckin' knew it," he said breathlessly before barking out a hearty laugh. "I knew it! You're ticklish!"

"I'm also very busy," he warned, making sure to keep a safe distance between them.

"With what? Standin' around staring at fuckin' trees? You looked downright miserable," he pointed out, stalking closer. Jon's pride refused to let him back away, and he stood a little taller, squaring his shoulders. If he took so much as one step backwards, Tormund wouldn't let him live it down.

"I was just thinking."

"Miserable thoughts, I'm sure."

Okay, that was a good one, Jon had to admit. He ducked his head with a shy smile, allowing a short chuckle to slip out. Tormund grinned wider and pointed a wagging finger at him.

"Aaah, I was right! So tell me Jon Snow, why do you like being so miserable?" he asked, closing the distance and slinging a heavy arm around Jon's shoulder.

"I don't," he balked at him, brows furrowed and body tense where he stood. Tormund sighed.

"Coulda fooled me," he shrugged.

"And I suppose you're happy right now?" Jon countered.

"I'm trying to be," Tormund huffed. He waited a beat, striking when he thought Jon's guard was down. He managed to dig his hand under his arm, drawing out a shocked peal of laughter.

"T-Tohohormund, stohop! Wehehe don't hahave time for thihihis!" Jon hated how quickly he crumbled, but he'd never been able to hold out for very long.

"Don't wanna laugh one last time before the end of the world?" he asked, adding his other hand to the fray.

Well duh, what kind of a question was that?

"Try telling aha johohoke!"

"None of you crows think I'm funny!" Tormund growled playfully, digging his fingers under his arms, fighting against the layers of clothing. "This is easier. And much more fun, don't you agree Snow?"

"Y-you're ahahacting like a chihild!" he half heartedly scolded.

"Oh yeah, because it's such a crime to have fun," he taunted.

Jon managed to twist around, snatching Tormund's wrists with both hands and pushing him away. His hair was tussled and he sported a faint blush, and for once, a genuine smile.

"You're bloody ridiculous, you know that?" he panted, trying to catch his breath.

"I've been told," he bragged in response. "And you're too scared to tickle a wildling," he challenged, yanking a hand free to shove his chest. His words were taunting, but his eyes looked... expectant? Hopeful? Like Ghost when he was begging for scraps.

Jon arched a brow, looking his friend up and down. "What?" he asked in disbelief, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. No way was he actually asking to get tickled. Then again, it was Tormund, and he was unpredictable like that. He's done crazier things. "Wait do you... want me to tickle you?" He just needed some clarification, and he's learned that it's best to be blunt with the free folk.

"Come on Snow, you act like you've never heard of a tickle fight," he teased, barking out a laugh as he bumped their shoulders together roughly.

"You call that a tickle fight?" he scoffed, unable to hold back a smile of disbelief. He remembered back when they were all just kids, how rowdy and rambunctious their playful spats could get. How one by one, they were all dragged into the fray no matter how hard you tried to avoid it. He had always tried to avoid it, unless of course, he had started it. But he normally didn't acted alone. If he struck first, Robb was almost always at his side, instigating and encouraging him every step of the way. Until he inevitably decided to turn on him and help one of their younger siblings. He knew what a real tickle fight was. "That's just tickling."

Tormund almost looked offended. "Because you didn't fuckin' fight back!"

"I didn't know we were playing this game," he hummed, stalking around him like a wolf.

He followed his movements with a skeptical eye, turning around to keep Jon in his sights. "Oho this ain't no game."

"You're right. It's more of a sport." He lunged forward, giving him no time for a counter attack before he swiped his feet out from under him. Tormund landed on his back with the air knocked out of him, still struggling for the upper hand, but that fucking crow was always quicker than he gave him credit for.

He grappled with Jon's hands, a determined look settled on his face despite his growing smile.

"That's more like it," he growled. Tormund grabbed his wrists, shoving them back, but he used his leverage to twist free. He flashed him a proud grin, "Remember, you asked for this." The bastard had the audacity to fuckin' wink at him. Ohoho, he was so in for it.

But Tormund didn't get very far in his retaliation before carefree laughter echoed off the stone walls, loud and unabashed. He threw his head back, writhing and kicking on the ground. One of his flailing arms managed to latch onto Jon's knee, squeezing like his life depended on it. It sure felt like it did.

Jon's leg jerked beneath the touch as he snorted out a laugh, ducking his head. Encouraged, Tormund's other hand shot down to grab his other knee.

"Noho, don't!" Jon barked out, drilling circles under his arms. Tormund yelled out a colorful string of curses, severely diminished by the surprisingly high pitched cackles that escaped him. He scratched blunt nails over Jon's kneecaps, and a choked off squeal filled the air. Jon wobbled on his perch as deep chuckles slowly morphed to frantic giggles. He snorted and fumbled to grab Tormund's hand, falling to the side.

As soon as he was freed, he rolled over to pin Jon to the ground. He put up a hell of a fight, and Tormund gave up on grappling with his hands. What was the point of a tickle fight if he couldn't fight back?

Not that he'd make it easy for him.

He scribbled his fingers over his belly, digging in at random to make his laughter turn to cackles.

Jon threw his head back, allowing himself a second to just let go and enjoy this fun, goofy moment with a good friend. He closed his eyes, and he was a child again, rolling on the floor between his siblings with a forced, yet still completely genuine smile on his face. He was chasing Arya and Rickon through the winding halls, wiggling his fingers and yelling threats. So many memories flooded back. Revenge for the perfect prank, cheering him up when he felt like an outcast, attacking him just for the sake of it...

It had all seemed so mundane back then, and dare he say, stupid at times. But he never realized how cherished those memories actually were to him until he came to The Wall, until he lost half his family. Never again would he see Rickon's sweet smile with shining dimples, or hear Robb's deep, boisterous laugh. He almost envied it.

Robb was loud and unashamed in everything he did, and he never bothered to try masking his laughter. Jon was the complete opposite, quiet and reserved at all times. All of his siblings liked to poke fun at it, begging him to let loose, and he always would brush them off. Even when giggling helplessly, his voice remained a fairly even tone. Only now does he realize all that annoyance and playful torment had been out of love. All they ever wanted for him was to feel free, and happy, and... loved.

He didn't appreciate it the way he should've back then. He wasn't about to do the same now.

Tormund would never say it, not in a million years, but he was scared. He could see it in the way he paced like a caged animal. He was nervous and twitchy, and he spent most of his time following Jon around aimlessly. But the most telling part were his eyes. It's always the eyes.

He was scared, and he needed a friend. He needed a laugh. To throw all his cares and worries away, if only for a moment.

He finally mustered up the strength to reach up and grab his hips, squeezing relentlessly. Tormond swore as he lost his balance and came crashing down on top of Jon. He wheezed as the air was knocked out of him, but he continued with his mission.

The wildling shrieked when fingers spidered their way over his ribs before diving beneath his arms. He snorted, which opened the floodgates for booming hysterics. Jon's smile was tinged with sadness.

Nothing was certain. They weren't guaranteed tomorrow, so they would make good use of the air in their lungs while they were still breathing.

"Wanna bet?" he asked with a crooked grin, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Martin opened his mouth but abruptly snapped it shut when Jon walked into the break room. Tim also shut up, hands shoved in his pockets. Jon looked between them and snorted, walking to the counter.

"If you're going to talk behind my back, I suggest making it less apparent," he casually teased.

"N-no, it's nothing like that!" Martin assured him.

"I was just telling Martin what great friends we are!"

"Hm, that's news to me." Jon barely hid his smirk  at the way Tim cried out indignantly.

"Ouch. I'm hurt Jon. You hurt me," he said, pointing an accusing finger. Jon grinned smugly, turning back to the kettle. He poured himself a cup as Tim walked back to the couch, flopping down next to Martin with a pout. Martin looked about as smug as Jon.

"What?" he snapped.

"You're so full of it," he said softly, an amused smile firmly in place. Tim shoved his shoulder.

"Oh sod off! You know, that last part was actually true," he said, and something in his voice seemed genuine enough for Martin to feel inclined to believe him.

"Really?" he asked, casting a quick glance Jon's direction. Tim followed it, nodding.

“Oh yeah. It’s a little magic power of mine,” he bragged, wiggling his fingers in a twinkly magic kind of way. Martin snorted in amusement.

“Magic, okay, sure,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh you don’t believe me? Here, I’ll prove it,” he said matter of factly. He hopped to his feet, sauntering over to the counter next to Jon. He looked over his shoulder at Martin, smug smirk already in place. He turned his attention to Jon, leaning his hip against the countertop.

“So how’s your day been so far?” he asked casually. Jon snorted.

“The same as every other damn day, what do you think?” When he looked up from adding the smallest amount of sugar to his tea, he froze like a deer in headlights.

Tim was giving him The Look. The one he always gave him before he pounced and turned him into a hysterical mess. His eyes were glowing with mischievous intent, deviously smug smirk peaking out from behind his mustache. Jon took a step back, a nervous grin already tugging at his lips. He glanced over at Martin- oh God, he was going to do it in front of Martin! He looked at Tim with wide eyes, shaking his head. His smile stretched ear to ear and quite literally lit up the room. Martin stared on in shock, a faint blush dusting his cheeks at the sight of their boss looking so adorable.

“Tim-“ Jon started, hoping to negotiate his way out of this.

“You sure it’s just another boring day?” he asked, cutting him off. When he wiggled his eyebrows at him, Jon giggled, actually giggled, bumping into the corner of the fridge when he backed up further.

“Tim I swear-“

“What? I’m just asking about your day. You seem to be rather chipper, thought I’d see what that’s all about,” he teased further. Jon was starting to visibly flush, and he was at a loss for words.

“Oh you bastard,” he huffed, turning away. Tim stepped in front of him.

“Where did this hostility come from? I think someone ought to teach you some manners,” he said, winking at him. Jon felt his blood run cold.

He turned to run, but Tim hooked an arm around his waist, immediately digging his fingers in his sides. Jon doubled over, choking back laughter that still forced its way out through quick bursts of giggles, snorts, and uncharacteristic shrieks. Martin was in awe.

But he couldn’t let himself look or act as lovestruck as he felt, so he just sat there in shock.

“Tihihim! Wha- whahahat dihid I dohoho?” he asked through an onslaught of helpless snickers. Tim brought his other hand into the fray, kneading his sides like a cat making biscuits. Jon snorted, knees buckling when devious hands made contact with his ribs. Those torturous fingers prodded every space between the bones, leaving him sputtering through laughter.

“Oh nothing, nothing at all. You just looked like an easy target,” he reasoned and Jon whined. He found the uppermost ribs and Jon arched his back with a giggly squeal.

Tim only kept at it for a while longer before he released him. He gave Jon a pat on the back as he caught his breath. Tim looked over at Martin and flashed a wide, cocky grin.

“See, what’d I tell ya? Magic,” he said with a grand flourish, making Martin snort in amusement. And if he noticed the way Jon was slowly creeping up behind Tim, fingers flexed and ready to strike, well, he didn’t say anything.

Jon was frantic. Why now, of all days? He was so ready to walk through his front door, kick off his shoes and enjoy a nice hot frozen meal on his couch. It really was the least he could ask for, and yet, he couldn't even have that. The only saving grace was the fact that he was in the archive tunnels instead of whatever weird pocket dimension the Distortion liked to trap people in. His lungs ached as his feet pounded against the hard, dirt floor, eyes searching through the dark for something, anything to register with him and give him a clue as to his whereabouts, but it all looked the same.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!" the voice was shrill and empty, the words hollowed out and stuffed to the brim with static. It echoed through the tunnels, and Jon couldn't tell where it came from, but the echo made it sound so fucking close and that sent him into a panic.

He ran ahead, ducking in a small alcove to catch his breath. He felt like he'd put a sufficient distance between them to be safe enough to do so. He gulped down air until the burn in his lungs subsided. He raised two fingers to his neck, checking his racing pulse and willed himself to calm down. Every reaction was just giving Michael exactly what he wants.

He needed to conserve his energy, move slower to remain quiet and keep his wits about him. He was pretty sure he had his bearings now, which was a plus. But if he really was where he thought he was, then they were deep in the underground maze. It took the better part of 30 minutes to even get to this point in the tunnels!

At least he knew where he was, he told himself, forcing himself to focus on the bright side of things. He walked at a brisk pace, a borderline jog really. He wanted to get out of here quickly, but he didn't want to give Michael the satisfaction of causing him to panic.

"Believe it or not, I don't want to hurt you, archivist. I simply want to have some simple, haaarmless funnn together, ehehehehehe!" His voice went shrill and warbly and distorted towards the end of his unnerving giggle so much that it became almost inaudible. And fuck, if it didn't make Jon run.

Could you blame him though? There was no way that- that thing actually meant what it said. It was absolutely going to hurt him. And it was probably going to do so in the most terrible ways imaginable.

Jon hated the deep, guttural scream that ripped from his throat when he rounded a corner and came face to face with the blonde monster.

His feet scrambled on the packed dirt and he was already turning around, but arms that were too long wrapped around him from behind, dragging him back as they retracted to a more normal length. He was screaming and kicking the air, arms fighting to free themselves.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?" he chastised, holding a single finger to Jon's lips to quiet him. He went silent out of shock more than actual compliance.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?" Jon demanded, mustering enough confidence to glare him down. Michael just laughed.

"Like I said, I'm just looking for some fun. You humans aren't the only ones who get bored you know," he said condescendingly. Jon remained silent.

"I tend to- peak in, from time to time, just to see how my favorite sheeple are holding up," he mused, causing Jon to visibly cringe and roll his eyes.

"Good to know there's actual reason behind always feeling like I'm being watched," he grumbled.

"Oh no, I'm not the only one, but trust me, I'm your favorite."

"Quite the opposite."

"Well, I will be your favorite," he winked and giggled to himself. "But last week, I noticed you playing with your friends. You looked soooo happy then... I'd like to make you happy like that too, Jon."

What a nice sentiment from such a not nice entity, not to mention he had no clue what he was talking about. "Bullshit, you don't want to make me happy, you want to ruin my life!" he snapped, still continuing his struggle.

"Oh, but can't I do both? Life ruining is such a long process, and I'd really like to hear that laugh in person."

Realization dawned on him the same time terror wracked his body, body going stiff and eyes bugging out. Michael cocked his head, that unnaturally large smile forming into a curious pout.

"Why archivist, if I didn't know better I'd say you look frightened," he cooed. "There's no need for that. You didn't have that look when Martin snuck up on you in the break room," he pointed out.

"You keep his name out your fucking mouth," Jon growled, and in a moment he was pressing into the Distortion's space. He had grabbed him by the shirt collar and jerked him so hard his neck snapped at the momentum, their noses almost touching. A few flecks of spit even landed on Michael's cheek from the force of Jon's rage. It genuinely took him aback before a wicked grin took over.

"Your boy toy's off limits, lesson learned."

"He's not my-" Jon cut himself off, seeing no use in arguing with him. His eyes were closed and he pressed a free hand to his temple. "Look. You said you wanted your sick fun, but all you've done since capturing me is talk. I'm a smart man, I know I can't escape this. But I'm fucking tired, and I just wanna go home, so the sooner you shut up and get on with it, the better."

There was a beat of silence, and then a shit eating grin followed by, "If you wanted me to tickle you already, you could've just said so."

"No, I want to go home you assho-" Jon cut off his own rambling mid sentence as Michael started fluttering his fingers over his sides, prompting him to clamp his mouth shut. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm doing this so I can hear that cute, funny laugh of yours archivist! The longer you hold out the longer I have to tickle tickle tickle you!" his taunt echoed off the walls. Jon flushed and hid his face in his hands.

"Y-you're sohoho fucking weheheird!" His voice pitched higher towards the end of his sentence when Michael tweaked his sides before drilling in his thumb. He tossed his head back with a discordant cackle of his own, seemingly amused by the response.

"Is that really the best insult you can come up with? How adorably pathetic!" he cooed, reaching around with his other hand to knead his belly. Jon writhed in his grip, snickering and squealing with no way to escape.

"Shut up or Ihihi'll- nohoho wahahait!" the threat died on his tongue, melting into frantic giggles. He kicked his feet in the air and gently shoved at the offending tickly hands, but to no avail. He slumped in his hold, leaning back over his arm and covered his face with his hands.

"Oh? And what exactly am I waiting for?" Michael asked, cocking his head. The way he was so calm while picking Jon apart made it all the more maddening. Those long, spindly fingers were able to work their way into every tickle spot they could find, and it was perhaps the most horrendous thing he's ever felt in his life.

"I-Ihihi dohon't knohohow!" he whined, yelping when Michael pinched and prodded at his soft tummy. "Just shuhut up!"

"Hm, I don't think I will. Especially if it gets you all worked up like that," he taunted. Ironically, he started tracing a large spiral over his stomach, closing in on his bellybutton. Jon snorted, covering his face with one hand while trying to push Michael away with the other.

"Ohoho you've gotta behehe johoking," Jon groaned through his giddy laughter, rolling his eyes.

"What? It's my signature, I simply have to," he said casually, closing in on the center of his stomach. Jon's deep chuckles morphed until they were high pitched and bubbly. He was blushing like a fool behind his hand, shrieking and wiggling in Michael's arms all the while.

~~~

Tim had the worst luck. He had been halfway home when he realized he'd not only left his wallet, but his keys as well, at the institute. He backtracked, grumbling to himself the whole time.

He hated nothing more than being alone in the archives. It was bad enough being there during the day surrounded by people, but at night when those endless halls and rooms were empty? It might as well be straight out of a horror game.

He was trying to get to his office as fast as possible, but slowed as he neared Jon's office. The light was off, and he couldn't hear talking, sure, but the door was left open. Jon never left his door open.  The sight filled Tim with dread.

"Boss? You still here?" he called out, but received no answer. He walked to the door and peeked inside, greeted only by a dark and empty room.

Maybe he just forgot to shut the door when he left, he tried to reason with himself. But none of them were that lucky, especially not Jon. Still, he went back to retrieve his things and be on his way.

Execpt that's when he heard it.

Muffled screaming. Coming from below.

Tim froze, unsure if what he was hearing was true. He bent down, putting his ear to the floor and listened.

He could just make it out.

"Please, no, have mercyyyyy!"

That was someone pleading for their life. That was Jon pleading for his life... He raced to the trapped doors.

He had the sickening feeling that he'd walk in on Elias standing over Jon's body, having killed him deep within the tunnels just as he did Gertrude. Well not today.

He descended into the tunnels, pausing when he heard frantic, hysterical screams echoing down the halls, but he could swear it sounded like... laughter. And now that he was within the tunnels, he could hear that it was undeniably Jon's.

Just what the hell was going on?

~~~

Jon knew he was going to die here, in these godforsaken tunnels. He had no way of stopping this, and Michael proved to be just as relentless now as he's ever been. And those long fucking fingers of his were absolute torture. Just one hand was big enough to vibrate over his entire stomach and still wrap around to dig  into his sides and scribble at the base of his spine. Jon was effectively in hysterics, shrieking and giggling with no end in sight.

He should hate this. Should hate that it was Michael of all people doing this to him, but an overwhelming part of him was relieved that he wasn't subjected to legitimate torture. A more foolish part of him thought that maybe Michael was warming up to them: that maybe he wasn't so downright malicious after all.

And then he felt sharp nails scratching behind both his ears, and that thought was gone as soon as it had arrived. If he hadn't been cackling so loud, perhaps they would've heard Tim calling out for Jon, telling him to just hold on, he'll be right there.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

If Jon hadn't been so preoccupied, he'd have jumped and shrieked in fright, though he was shrieking for an entirely different reason at the moment. Michael on the other hand, did startle, having been caught red handed. He almost seemed embarrassed, and dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Jon landed flat on his back, the breath being knocked out of his already breathless lungs. Tim was frozen in place, taking in the scene. He was knocked out of his daze when he saw Jon hit the ground, and he immediately rushed over to help him up.

Jon was gasping and wheezing, face red and hair messy, but he still had that rare, genuine smile on his face.

"Sorry you had to see that, I had thought the archives was empty," Michael said in lieu of an explanation.

"Yeah, it was. Good thing I had to come back," Tim snapped. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, he's perfectly fine. I didn't harm a single hair on his head."

"You fucking dropped me!"

Michael let out a shrill chuckle. "And that was a complete accident! But you can't really blame me for wanting to have my own fun with you. Especially after everyone else made it look like so much fun."

"Hey, you stay away from him! Only we're allowed to torture Jon like that!" Tim scolded weakly, but it was all he could think to say. Which just made him feel stupid when Michael continued to laugh at them.

"Oh, so you're the only ones who can toy with the archivist, is that it?" he asked tauntingly, cocking his head. Tim opens his mouth to answer, but stops short. Jon is sitting curled in a ball, hiding his face in his knees.

"No, you've got it wrong. We do it because we care about him, and want him to be happy, even if it's short lived. You do it for your own sick kicks!" Tim accused. Jon's head snapped up when he admitted their reasoning for why they always seem to tickle him out of the blue. It brought a shy smile to his face as he recovered from the ordeal.

"... Well that's a rude assumption. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Tim snorted, "My point exactly." They were all quiet, the three of them engaged in a bit of a stalemate. "Aren't you going to show yourself the door?" he boldly prompted. Jon choked on his own spit in shock.

Michael's smile widened. "You know, I wasn't quite finished yet. And I'd hate for you to feel left out," he playfully threatened, and his limbs stretched ever so slightly as he spoke. Tim took a step back, eyes wide. Jon was just now making to stand, and pointed at him sternly.

"No." He stood up and dusted himself off, glasses askew on his face. He straightened them and cleared his throat. "Haven't you had enough? You leave him, and everyone else alone." And just because he knows better than to trust Michael, added, "That includes me too."

"I'll think about it. It'd be easier if you weren't so fun to tickle. Isn't that right Tim?" Michael asked, even winking at the pair. Jon blushed and turned away, and Tim failed to fight back a smile.

"Heh. Right." He shook himself out of it, glaring at Michael as he stood by Jon protectively. "B-but you just mind your business."

"Ha! Unlikely, diet archivist."

"Hey!" Tim snapped at the insulted and Jon stifled an amused  snicker. He was just about to give him a piece of his mind when Michael opened a door that hadn't been there a second ago, standing in the doorway.

"Until we meet again," he waved at them, closing the door behind him, leaving them stunned and alone.

Now that Michael was gone, Tim turned to Jon with a teasing smirk. "You okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'll be fine. I'm honestly... more confused than anything." Tim barked out a laugh and patted his shoulder.

"You and me both."

They began their trek out of the tunnels, walking side by side quietly until Tim broke the silence.

"So, what's it like being tickled senseless by the Distortion?" he asked in a teasing tone. Jon flushed and shot a glare his way, but he had that happy, sheepish grin plastered on his fast, just like every other time they wrecked him.

"Oh, should I have let you find out for yourself?" Jon quipped to mask his own embarrassment.

Tim looked down with a faint blush. "Fair point." A beat, and then, "You know we have to tell the others, right?"

Jon choked on his own spit, and Tim stopped walking to give him a moment. He looked at him expectantly, while Jon looked at him with a floored look.

"Are you joking?" he asked.

"As much as I wish I were, no." The shit eating grin on his face said otherwise. "You heard what that thing said. We're all fair game in his eyes." Jon gave a noncommittal hum. "They deserve a bit of a warning, don't you think?" It was true, but he didn't have to be so damn smug about it.

"Yes," Jon begrudgingly agreed through a growl.

"Think it might be best if you made a statement. You know, so we have an accurate account for the record."

Jon groaned and hid behind his hair. "I would literally rather die." Tim barked out a laugh and threw an arm over his shoulders.

"Always with the dramatics! So you're saying you'd rather tell them in person? Look them in the eyes and admit how I saved you-"

"Don't-"

"From the big bad ti-"

Jon didn't think he'd ever been so embarrassed. "Stop!"

"The big bad tickle monster named Michael!" Tim rushed out in one breath, laughing at the flustered squeak he made as he marched ahead. It took him no time at all to catch up, thanks to his long legs. "Oh come on, you know it's funny!"

Jon huffed, unable to hide his lingering smile. "Only because it wasn't you, asshole."

They continued their playful banter back and forth, unaware of the tape recorder that had appeared in Jon's pocket the moment he entered the tunnels, listening in and capturing every word.

~~~

Tim was relieved when he made it back home, slipping his key in the door and stepping inside. Strange, how he didn't seem to notice the change from handle to doorknob.

His eyes flew open when he was met with the sight of an endless, shifting corridor. He felt sick. A chill ran down his spine, his ears were ringing, his head filled with static and he stumbled in an attempt to get his bearings. There was a sinking feeling in his gut, and he felt so trapped.

Michael walked out from the nothingness, grin much too wide for his face. Tim hugged his arms to his body and stepped back, fighting an involuntary smile tugging at his lips.

"Y-you stay back! I'll fuck you up!" Tim cried, bravely putting his hands up, balled into fists and ready to swing. Michael laughed, and it was a sound that unsettled Tim to his very core. He held his hands up, and Tim couldn't help but flinch at the movement.

"Believe it or not, I'm not here to torture you. I'll save that for a rainy day," he added, chuckling at his own joke. Tim lowered his arms, staring at him skeptically.

"Okaaaay. So what the hell are you doing in my home?"

"But I brought you to my home," he corrected, and that wide grin turned just a tad condescending. Tim narrowed his eyes and set his jaw.

"Yeah, through my front door!" he argued before sighing in defeat, pinching the bride of his nose. "So what do you want?"

"I wanted to give you something." Tim perked up, looking at him in shock. He jumped and yelped when Michael was standing right in front of him. He held out the tape recorder.

"A little... souvenir from earlier. I doubt Sasha and Martin will believe you without proof." He placed the tape in Tim's hand, leaving him dumbstruck. "And I really have a hard time believing Jon will corroborate your story, don't you?"

Tim didn't know what to say. "Um... thank you?"

Michael winked at him. "You're welcome." And because he couldn't help himself, he skittered his fingers over his belly. Tim jerked back with a surprised laugh, a blush and a growing look of fear on his face.

"Relax. Like I said, rainy day."

He gave him a small wave and opened a door off to the side and left. Everything melted into his flat, and he was safe in the middle of his living room.

~~~

Jon walked into work the next day as if it were any other, eager to forget the events of last night. He went to the break room for a cup of coffee to start the day and walked in to see Sasha, Martin, and of course, Tim, huddled around a tape recorder. They all wore a look of concern. Well, except for Tim.

"What're you listening to?" he asked. Sasha and Martin jumped out of their skin when they heard his voice, whipping around to meet him. They looked rather guilty, but more concerning, they looked worried.

The next thing he knew, Martin was hugging him.

"I'm sorry, what's-" A voice on the tape interrupts him.

"Joooon, come out come out wherever you are!"

"I-I'm so sorry, we left you here alone, and Tim said Michael got you and-"

"Did he now?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Now Jon, is that any way to speak to your knight in shining armor?"

"Oh please, you're not my bloody knight." He spoke over the sound of his own erratic breathing and feet pounding against hard packed dirt.

"Were you even gonna tell us Michael attacked you?" Sasha asked, brows furrowed with worry. "Because I really doubt it."

Jon floundered for an answer, face going red. "Um- it- look, it really wasn't as serious as Tim undoubtedly made it seem." He glanced up at his smiling face and said, "Would he really be grinning like that if it was?"

Of course, as soon as they looked at him, he schooled his features into a serious expression, but they each caught a glimpse of a fading smirk.

"Okay what's... what's happening right now?" Martin asked, looking between the two.

"You wanna tell them yourself Jon? Or uh, let the tape do the talking for you?" he asked, holding up the tape.

"Shh shh shhhh, would you relax? What part of I don't want to hurt you did you not understand?"

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. Now what do you really want?"

Jon refused to meet his friends' gaze as he spoke over his previous conversation. "Look, I'm fine. He didn't hurt me, didn't psychologically scar me, the only thing damaged was my pride."

The tape played on in the background as Jon tried to explain himself. Michael's endless talk of having fun did nothing to calm Sasha and Martin's nerves for past-Jon. "I-I don't really know why he t- uuh, did what he did, but he seemed almost... friendly isn't exactly the word I'd use, maybe tame? Toned down?" That was about the time Michael mentioned the rest of them, and how they all "played" with Jon. A hesitant smile ghosted over Sasha's lips as she thought she knew what he was hinting at, and judging by Jon's reaction, she might be right, but there was just no way... Was there?

"Jon, did Michael-"

"Yes," he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. "Yeah, he uh, said you all made it look like fun, so he decided to try it out," he said, staring at the faded break room carpet.

"Wait, so it's our fault?" Martin asked, and Jon immediately felt guilty for saying it like that.

"No! God no, you guys are just trying to make me loosen up. Michael's just... morbidly curious."

"Right," Tim agreed, suddenly more serious. "He uh, told me he was waiting for a rainy day. So obviously, he has his sights set on all of us. Which is... unnerving to say the least." He locked eyes with Jon, a soft smile on his face. "So I'm not just doing this to fuck with you. But that is an excellent perk!" Jon couldn't help but chuckle. "But I thought everyone deserved a bit of a heads up. And maybe ease some worry while I'm at it." "Where'd you even get this?" Jon asked, pointing at the recorder just as his own bubbly giggles  started pouring out.

"Michael gave it to me."

"Very funny." When Tim's expression didn't change, his jaw dropped, "You're serious."

"Where else would I have gotten it from?"

"Fair point."

A loud shriek followed by shrill cackling and snorts emitted from the tape. All heads snapped over to look at him with amused grins and fond expressions.

"Right. Well, I lived through this once already. No need to stick around for a second time," he said, cheeks burning from embarrassment. He paused in the door. "I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I?"

"Not likely."

"Nope!"

"Absolutely not."

“So!” Tim said enthusiastically. “Jason Bourne?”

Sasha scoffed. “No.”

“Aww, Jon come on, back me up here!”

Jon startled. “Oh- um, I don’t really watch many films. Mostly documentaries, really.”

Sasha gasped. “Ooh, you might like the Martian!”

“No!” Tim groaned. “Not the Martian again Sasha, we’ve watched it like five times!”

“It’s good!”

“It’s not good five times.”

She grinned. “Well maybe it’ll be good six times!”

“No. I refuse to watch the Martian ever again in my life. You can’t make me.”

Sasha’s grin turned wicked. “Oh, can’t I?”

Tim must have caught something in her eye that Jon didn’t, because he shot off the couch, out of her reach. “Not if you can’t catch me!”

Jon watched bemusedly as Sasha caught him with ease, playfully tackling him to the floor, and the next thing he knew Tim was shrieking with laughter, stirring an odd, sour feeling in Jon’s stomach.

Sasha laughed evilly. “Say we’ll watch the Martian! Say it!”

Tim batted at her, snorting. “N-never!!”

She tutted. “So be it.” And slid one hand up his shirt to tickle at his stomach.

Jon rolled his eyes half-heartedly. “Must you always be so childish?” He grumbled, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the odd emotion stirring inside him.

Sasha released Tim with one last pinch of his stomach. “Yep, more fun.” She countered.

Tim crawled onto the sofa beside Jon, still grinning widely. “I take it you’re not ticklish then?” He asked, and before Jon had the chance to reply with ‘of course not’, reached over and gave his side a quick squeeze.

The touch sent an odd sensation shooting up Jon’s spine, eliciting a yelp he couldn’t contain and… oh. It seemed he was suddenly on the floor.

And Tim and Sasha were both grinning at him.

Oh.

“Ah. U-um…”

Tim’s smile grew. “Oh, I have never been happier to be wrong in my life.”

Jon felt like he had become prey. “Wait- wait, Tim!”

Tim pounced with no preamble, hands immediately latching onto Jon’s sides and wiggling, and how did it feel like that? Admittedly Jon wasn’t someone well versed on physical contact, but Tim’s fingers felt like lightning, he had no chance to resist, no hope of doing anything but… laughing?

God, it was so strange! Tim was just poking at him, really, and it- it tickled, Jon accepted, curled up into a ball on the living room floor, squeaky giggles that he was certain he had never produced in his life bubbling forth from his mouth.

Well, this is new.

All of a sudden, Tim stopped. “Okay, okay, I won’t be too cruel.” He chuckled, ruffling Jon’s hair.

Jon looked up at him with wide eyes. Cruel? That wasn’t cruel, it was… fun. New and surprising and- nice. “Wait!” He blurted impulsively. “Try that again?”

They both snorted. “No chance you’re convincing us you’re not ticklish now.” Tim joked, poking him in the ribs and sending another bolt of sensation through Jon’s form, which was endlessly fascinating.

Jon’s hand wrapped around the spot as if to savour the lingering feeling. He poked experimentally, but felt nothing.

Sasha’s smiled softened when she realised what had happened. “Jon.” She said. “Did you know that you’re ticklish?”

Jon looked up at her in surprise, his expression closing in more to being defensive when he caught the amusement. “I- no one ever told me!” He blustered. “I-I thought it was some odd personality quirk or something!”

Tim snorted into his hand, trying not to find this too funny. “Personality quirk?”

“Well how was I supposed to know it was a-an actual sensation?”

Sasha smirked, leaning forwards on the arm of the sofa, ready to attack. “I bet you’ve got other spots too.”

Tim snorted. “Don’t kill him, Sasha.”

“I’m just curious!” She countered, lowering herself to their level on the carpeted floor but keeping her hands to herself for now. “Besides, you did say to try that again, right Jon?”

“Run.” Tim joked. “While you still can.”

Sasha glared playfully and, because she could, pounced towards Tim, digging her fingers into his stomach, and making him burst into silly cackles. “Didn’t take your own advice, hmm?”

“Sash!” Tim shrieked, half curling into a ball and clinging to her wrists, but clearly not pushing her away very hard.

Jon watched their playful tussle curiously. They both looked so happy, smiling and laughing like that. Knowing that Tim’s squealing laughter was utterly beyond his control did make it feel that bit less obnoxious. Perhaps he’d just been jealous of their closeness.

Oh.

Yes, he’d definitely been jealous.

A hand closed around Jon’s ankle, making him yelp loudly even as he realised he was being dragged into the fray. Tim wheezed a laugh. “Bad move, not paying attention!”

Jon probably could have fought back if he’d wanted to, kicked, or squirmed free, but… he couldn’t find a good reason to resist. He wanted this, even past his own curiosity. Tim and Sasha were his friends, that was certain now, and they were just playing. They were dragging him over there because they wanted him to do the same, wanted to make him laugh and smile like they were, and Jon didn’t want to fight against that.

That said, he couldn’t exactly stop himself from twisting away from the grabby hand squeezing at his side, making him squeak loudly. Unfortunately, moving away from one hand sent him right into another, this one gently spidering over his stomach, and the next thing Jon knew he’d curled up into a ball and clamped his hands over his face, squealing at every new touch.

Tim laughed, holding Jon’s elbow with one hand and poking at his side with the other. “Aw, you’re like a squeaky toy.” He teased.

Sasha was grinning too; Jon could just about see her through his fingers and his twitching. “So, sides and stomach, not a bad start.”

“I dunno, we haven’t confirmed it yet.” Tim said. “Hey Jon, for research purposes, does this tickle?”

His hand switched from poking to grabbing Jon’s side in some kind of vibrating claw that made him shriek and burst out into bright laughter, his arm finally pushing back to try to defend the spot.

The claw quickly froze, though Sasha’s nails scratching and tapping over his stomach was more than enough to keep Jon giggling, much as he tried to stop.

Tim put a hand over his heart. “Sasha, look.” He said, only half teasing. “Jon can smile.”

Sasha snickered, “I don’t know.” She poked at Jon’s upper ribs, trying to worm a finger under his arm. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jon’s hands stayed firmly clamped over his increasingly flushed face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard. Could barely remember the last time he’d laughed at all. And now he was here, lying on the floor between his mischievous friends as they tickled all that laughter out of him, and he- he loved it.

Sasha’s nails shifted from wiggling at his ribs to gently scratching about his neck and ears. Jon was fairly certain his voice couldn’t actually go that high, but apparently not. “C’mon, let me see that smile.” She teased.

Having a fight to win only made Jon more stubborn, even when she found a spot just behind his right ear that made him honest-to-god snort. Part of him wanted to fight back, wanted to push at them and try to tickle them just because he could, because he wanted to play like that and see them smile and laugh like this, but his limbs felt like they were made of lead and he felt more than a little giddy from… everything.

Sasha giggled. “Oh, I think I can see it there!” She teased, fingers moving to trace over the parts of his jaw and cheeks not covered by his hands.

Jon squeaked, melting into the ground, trying to will his hands to cover more of his still widening grin. This was ridiculous, he knew, they’d definitely seen him smile before and anyway, it was hardly a secret or something to hide, but that somehow only made it worse. The knowledge that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed or flustered only made him feel more embarrassed and flustered, especially when all he wanted was for this to continue.

A hand started squeezing at his kneecap and Jon shrieked, kicking and rolling from side to side in an attempt to shake Tim loose, his giggles giving way to pitchy laughter.

Sasha fluttered her fingers behind his ears, catching Tim’s eye and grinning. This was too much fun. “Such a cute little smile!” She cooed, the edges of it now quite visible around Jon’s twitchy hands.

“N-no!” He protested, not even sure why.

“Sorry, evidence says I’m right,” Sasha laughed. “Very cute smile.”

In a last-ditch effort to retain some modicum of dignity, Jon swung hard and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the carpet, his now free hands batting at Sasha’s, still trying to kick away Tim to no avail.

Tim and Sasha laughed at his meagre defence, the sound making Jon want to curl up into a smiley melted ball. His thoughts had been reduced to giggly mush.

Those wicked nails wiggled into a particularly bad spot behind his ear, and Jon snorted and turned his head to block them on impulse. Then he opened his eyes and saw Sasha smiling back at him, alerting him too late to her trap.

“There, see?” She teased, wiggling her fingers until his chin. “Such a cute smile.”

Jon squeaked and buried his chin in his chest, but didn’t otherwise hide his face. He wasn’t sure he even had the energy to, as drunk on laughter as he was. He did squeeze his eyes shut, if only because he couldn’t stand the gentle affection in Sasha’s eyes.

Sasha couldn’t stop smiling if she wanted to. Jon was honestly too cute. “Had enough?”

Jon didn’t answer, giggling and jerking from Tim’s fingers dancing in the spots behind his knees.

She laughed. “I think you’re done, hmm? Last thing anyone wants is for you to die laughing.”

Privately, Jon didn’t think that was a bad way to go. Once Tim had stopped, he curled up into a ball, shaking with residual giggles. Sasha pressed a somewhat hesitant kiss to his cheek, which only made him feel even more melted.

Tim chuckled, ruffling Jon’s hair. “Documentary then?”

Sasha nodded. “As if anyone could say no to that face.”

Jon said nothing. In honesty he was a little confused about how he was supposed to exist now, all bubbly and giddy. Tim seized the remote from the sofa, Sasha dragged the throw pillows down, tugging Jon into a sitting position and shoving a pillow behind his back. The familiar sounds of the BBC filled his ears, replacing the jumpy happiness with something softer and more peaceful.