Multi-Fandom Tickles

It’s a warm night—as far as nights in Liyue go—though there’s a persistent breeze that keeps the air from getting too humid or heavy. Xiao can’t say it’s a coincidence.

Barba— Venti, who sits across from him, made that clear when Xiao gave a passing comment on the heat. Perks of the Anemo Archon, he supposes.

When Venti suggested that Xiao make the trip to Mondstat to ‘catch up,’ Xiao had to decline. A day’s notice was far too short to make preparations, and a trip to the City of Freedom didn’t ‘free’ him of his duties to Liyue.

So when Venti showed up, unannounced, at Wangshu Inn asking for an adeptus—

Luckily Xiao was able to pick out his voice quickly, and drag him off to a quieter space, away from people.

The small parlor by the top of the inn is usually empty. Xiao doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone lounging at the table they have set there, not that he’s ever really kept an eye out. That made it the perfect spot for him to take his ‘surprise visitor.’

And though the arrival was — unexpected, something about Venti’s pleasant smile, after being rushed up a flight of stairs without so much as a greeting, is — calming.

The tension in Xiao’s shoulders disappears about as quickly as it came. And before long, they’re wrapped up in conversation. One would think that over centuries it would be easy to run out of things to talk about. But no, that’s never been the case. Not with Venti.

The unfortunate addendum to that is the fact that conversation often veers into the most strange and off-topic things.

“Your palms are...what?”

Venti giggles, Xiao doesn’t know if it’s at him or not. He doesn’t ask.

“My palms are ticklish. It’s weird. I don’t know how I never knew that before!”

Xiao doesn’t know why he knows this now, or why anyone would be expected to know that. He doesn’t even know what Venti means entirely.

“How can your palms be ticklish?”

Venti laughs again, bright and bubbly, almost certainly at Xiao now.

“Like this!”

And just like that, Venti has Xiao’s hand in his own. He’s got it facing palm up and he gives no warning before sliding his fingertips from the bottom up.

It — ah, what.

There’s no conscious thought behind it, but Xiao’s hand clams up immediately. An unexpected noise tangles in his throat, getting partially out before he can bottle it.

For the first time since he brought Venti up, all he can hear is the whistle of the wind.

“No way.”

Xiao sees Venti’s sparkling eyes for a second before they’re glued to Xiao’s hand. He tries to pry it back open, but with Xiao consciously clenching his fist, there’s no chance Venti would be able to do it. Not unless he wanted to drop the bard act and start some rumors in Liyue.

When this becomes clear to Venti, he changes tactics, peering back at Xiao, eyes big and lips pouting.

As if Xiao hasn’t been exposed to that for decades. He stares back, unfazed.

Venti groans, tugging at Xiao’s hand in his. “Come on, Xiao! I thought you wanted to know what I meant! Please? Just a little?”

His voice is whiny, pleading and child-like, and Xiao must once again remind himself that archons come in all forms.

And yet—

It’s — somewhat frustrating. He holds no contracts with this god but—

Venti keeps staring, eyes stubborn and bright.

Xiao’s fist slowly relaxes.

Venti doesn’t seem to believe it at first, but the titter of laughter that bursts in the air shows he’s pleased. It also leads Xiao to believe this is the opposite of a good idea.

This time he takes Xiao’s hand in both of his, resting his own on the table top. Xiao can already feel the muscles in his arm tensing up, but—

Venti rubs his thumbs into the base of his hand, moving up and out. The motion repeats, stretching along the bottom of his hand and out towards the sides. He massages in a circular motion across the skin, smoothing it out with firm strokes of his fingers.

It’s nice.

It’s so nice that when the massage starts turning into something else, Xiao doesn’t pick up on it right away.

The touches become lighter, less rubbing into the skin and more skimming on top of it.

Then he changes positions, resting Xiao’s hand on top one of his while the other brushes along the lines of his palm.

His hand is lax from the massage, but Xiao can feel pinpricks of tingling sensation start to bloom. Feeling that makes his fingers curl up a fraction. Venti smoothes them back down.

His fingers persist, tracing the lines in his skin and then making his own. Swirling shapes and symbols onto the canvas of Xiao’s palm with a small smile of his face.

Xiao...can feel it growing. The tingling feeling from before, almost like when his uses his vision. A light prickle at the end of his arm accompanied by a coolness from the wind.

This is just — more. More tingling, a feeling that sparks in his palm and trickles up his arm. It’s also different, because it’s not cool. If anything, it’s warm. He can feel it in the building tightness of his arm, in the heat by his neck.

He feels a pull at his lip. He bites back before it can be seen.

Venti keeps going, light brushes that leave no space untouched. Focus that goes over and over the places that make his fingers twitch.

Eventually Xiao finds himself pressing his face into his other arm, flat on the table. He’s hardly moved and yet he breathes heavily through his nose. His arm is tense, buzzing with built up sensation, but his hand remains open.

Venti stops for a moment. Xiao takes a shaky breath. Then he scribbles all four of his fingers, short nails and all, from the bottom to the top of Xiao’s palm, a wavy waterfall motion.

Finally, Xiao’s hand curls up, catching Venti’s fingers in his own.

His head jerks up from the table, a breathy ‘s-stohop’ falling his lips.

In looking back at Venti, still lost for breath, Xiao finds him staring back. His gaze is locked on, equal parts fond and mischievous. It makes Xiao’s throat tighten up, makes the hairs of his neck stand on edge.

It’s a good thing his self-defense skills have been honed over centuries.

He puts his hand out, cupping it distinctively. He’s looking to hold something, not offer himself up for more of the bard’s demonstration.

Venti looks confused for a moment. Xiao pointedly looks at his hand.

“It’s only fair.”

Then it clicks, and Venti laughs, pulling his hand out of Xiao’s before placing it—palm up—in his outstretched one.

Xiao quickly finds that Venti shows no restraint in his reactions, though that would be expected of the God of Freedom.

He’s not coordinated enough to get himself free most of the time, but—Barbatos above—he will still try his hardest. Kicking, jerking, wiggling whatever he can like it’ll dampen any of the ticklish feelings coursing through his body.

Albedo knows this. He’s also come to realize something that happens as a result.

Something he could use to his advantage.

Because Kaeya can keep from laughing, reacting much at all really, for a long time early on. He’s almost impossible to break if he’s not attacked swiftly, in a place too sensitive for him to stop himself.

But—

If Albedo plans accordingly, he can take advantage of his newfound information.

The first time he tries it out, he has a prediction, but he’s not certain how things will end up. That’s a test for you.

But when he shifts beside Kaeya in bed, rolling onto his side—over Kaeya’s arm that rests underneath him—to grab his other arm, he’s able to pin it above his head without much resistance.

Kaeya can barely raise his eyebrow before he’s wide-eyed and holding his breath.

Albedo’s free hand traces firm, slow circles under his arm. Two fingers, a careful pace, pressing with enough pressure that there’s no way to ignore the electric current zipping up and down his left side.

Kaeya doesn’t laugh, it’s not—it’s not that bad, but his shoulder twitches, elbow making it an inch down before Albedo’s hand tugs back.

Oh—wow—he’s, um—

Kaeya blinks once, twice. He can feel heat building by his ears, washing down his neck. Albedo...hasn’t changed his pace, his method, but it...tickles more.

Why does it tickle more?

Kaeya can feel his throat spasm around compressed laughter. His eyes squeeze shut, head falling back when Albedo does a quick spiral into the center of the hollow.

It—it tickles. Why does it tickle so much—

He doesn’t notice the noise he’s making, the clipped off whines that catch in his throat before they can free the laughter that flutters in his chest. He’s focused. He’s so focused. Because it tickles so much more than he’s used to, and he can’t bring his arm down. He can’t stop it. He can’t—

The same slow, circular track. It never changes. Never speeds up. But it’s all it takes for Kaeya to crack, arching his back—the bit of movement he can do—before bursting into frantic, panicked giggles.

Albedo smiles, continuing the same consistent pace.

Test complete, with rather positive results he must say.

So yes, Kaeya is very squirmy. So what happens when that’s taken away from him?

Well, it’s obviously not something he encounters often, and in the throws of sensation and confusion, there’s not much room to think clearly, even if it’s there’s only one thing on his mind.

An echo chamber of his own making. Unable to move and release the energy pent up and brimming inside him, but unable to stop trying, to stop thinking of it. It must really take a toll on his defenses.

“AHA! A-Albedo! Let—ha!—let go! Plehease stop! Plehehehehease!”

Oh this will be fun to experiment with.

———

Albedo is eternally curious, and infamously intelligent. Kaeya (and himself) are usually his test subjects.

Kaeya is one (1) squirmy wormy, and if he cannot squirm, his grip on his cool lowers exponentially.

To get anything out of Kaeya, Albedo must be quick and deadly. Being too little of either has definitely resulted in positions being reversed.