Jo

Mike just looked at him. “You tickle me all the time. I tickle you all the time.”

“Yeah, but I want to do it good to prove you’re more ticklish than me.”

Mike felt his cheeks heat up the slightest amount, but he couldn’t help rolling his eyes with a grin. “Okay, one, there’s no way I’m more ticklish than you.”

Mike clasped his hand on Will’s knee - no squeezing or pinching or wiggling fingers, just simply holding - and huffed out a quiet laugh from his nose when Will immediately flinched his leg away with a breathy giggle and grabbed at Mike’s hand. “Two, like I said, you tickle me all the time.”

“But you always tickle back, so I don’t get the chance to test what I want to.”

It was true. For all his lank and long limbs, Mike was pretty good at overpowering others during tickle fights - except against Lucas, who had just enough braun and skill to perfectly pin anyone in the friend group and tickle them until he was satisfied. Against Will, tickle fights were reasonably matched, but Will was just a little more ticklish and Mike was just a little better at getting away; even if Will was getting him good, Mike could ultimately turn the tables in the end and have Will be the one pleading through desperate laughter.

“‘Test what you want’? What does that even mean?” Mike asked.

“It means I’m pretty sure I can get you to give up just from soft tickles where you’re the worst, but there’s no way I’d be able to try it without you letting me.”

Gentle tickles did get Mike pretty bad. Sometimes dragging nails made him go crazier than squeezing or digging fingers. Especially where he was the most ticklish, where he almost never let anyone’s hands get close enough to tickle.

The two boys stared at each other for a few moments in a silent stand-off. Big, pleading doe eyes met narrowed, reluctant ones.

But both knew what the outcome would be.

“Fine. But I honestly doubt you’ll succeed in getting what you want,” Mike conceded. He couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.

Will grinned. “Want to make a bet? If I get you to surrender, I get to pick all the movies we watch for the next week. If I don’t, then you get to pi-“

“Then I get to tickle you.”

“No. You tickle me all the time anyways!”

“Those are my terms,” Mike stated firmly, suppressing a grin when Will blushed. It was always fun to make Will blush.

“Fine.” Will stuck out his chin in a silent challenge and reached his hand out for Mike to shake, which he did.

And so, moments later, Mike was lying on his back on the sofa and Will was sitting on his hips. Will was pressing his knees tightly against Mike’s upper arms, just above his elbows, to keep Mike from lifting his arms (and, ultimately, from hiking his shoulders up).

“Ready?” Will looked way too excited.

Mike swallowed. “Ready.”

Fingernails gently started dragging across his shoulders, and Mike felt like the resulting goosebumps had nearly exploded out of his skin with how fast they erupted all along his arms and down his back and up the nape of his neck. He could bear this, though. Deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth.

Will’s hands converged inwards to gently scratch at Mike’s collarbones, one finger on each. When he started the slow flicking of his fingers, back and forth touches that barely had his nails touching Mike, Mike really had to fight the yip that so desperately hung in his throat; he could feel his arms shaking, the touch just ticklish enough that he don’t have the control to stop any unconscious reactions.

“This isn’t - hng - isn’t even that b-bad,” Mike said, trying for nonchalance but instead sounding like a choking Jar Jar Binks.

“Okay, sure,” Will supplied, and Mike couldn’t decide what was worse - the way he could feel his entire body blushing, the way he could hear Will laughing softly at him, or the way his nerves were alighting like little ticklish sparks as Will’s fingernails continued on their path of destruction.

“Oh my God - oh my God, Will!”

Yeah. Definitely Will’s fingernails.

Will’s greedy fingers had finally reached their ultimate destination to Mike’s neck, scratching nonsensical patterns up and down the sides where the skin was thin and sensitive, and Mike could hardly believe the sharp shriek resounding in the air had come from himself.

Mike had a really unique laugh, high and pitchy and all over the place - especially when he was being tickled, with that dash of desperation thrown in there that made it even more uncontrollable and wild. To be honest, Mike wasn’t a huge fan of his own laugh; he thought it was too shrill, too grating, too annoying, especially when compared to people like Will who had giggly, bubbly laughter. He typically tried to hide it with scoffing snorts and holding it back as much as possible, even with some of his friends.

Not from Will, though. Never from Will.

Not that he could stop his laughter from pouring out of him at this point, even if he wanted to.

Mike felt his shoulders fighting to come up and defend his neck against those evil fingernails, but Will really had him pinned good. He tried turning his head to either side, but it just left the opposite side of his neck wide open to Will’s tickles. He tried bringing an ear down to his shoulder since his shoulder couldn’t come up, but it wouldn’t reach.

Will’s slid his nails up below Mike’s jaw and kept doing the wiggly-scratching pattern that had Mike in absolute stitches. Mike had never had his neck tickled like this before - he always knew that was where he was the most ticklish, even with the neck typically being a second-thought spot for tickles. Quick squeezes and squishes of fingers definitely happened and had been used against him before, but this was crazy and Mike felt like his body was trying to vibrate out of his skin. It tickled, and he apparently felt like he had to let Will know.

“It tickles!”

As if Will couldn’t tell from the shrieky, pitchy laughter pouring out of his boyfriend.

When Mike tried pressing his chin down to block the sensation, Will simply moved his fingers to flutter against Mike’s ears and against the back of his neck as much as he could. It made Mike arch his neck up so beautifully to escape the feeling - and made it perfect for Will to tickle under his chin until it pressed desperately down again.

Mike was dizzy with giggles and shrill laughter and the insane fun of it all. Through watery eyes he could see Will grinning at him, and it made him laugh harder.

“Okay, okay, I give!”

Will pulled his hands away immediately - he apparently couldn’t resist leaning down and kissing Mike’s throat, though, laughing against the skin when Mike let out one more giggly shriek (which made it tickle even more). Will leaned back enough to release Mike’s arms, and in his freedom Mike could only grab Will’s hands and try to calm his shoulder that kept trying to tick up and protect against the phantom tickles that had him still giggling quietly. “Holy shit. Okay, yeah. That tickled.”

Will was looking at him with such a huge grin. “I really love your laugh.” No teasing. No sarcasm. Just a matter-of-fact statement that had Mike flushing all over again.

“Can you even call that a laugh? It’s like, squeaky brakes. Or a banshee,” Mike joked. But Will could always see through him.

“It’s adorable. It makes me smile,” Will said.

And Mike could tell he meant it. Was he ever going to stop blushing today?

“You know what makes me smile?”

Will was giggling even before Mike sat up and managed to reverse their positions, straddling him and holding his hands inches from Will’s sides. Will tried pushing Mike’s hands away, squealing, “wait, wait, th-this wasn’t the deal! I won!”

Mike grinned. “I know, I know. But guess what?” He leaned down. “I don’t care.”

On some level, Jesper knew that, he wouldn’t have agreed to stay behind otherwise.

Those two had a strong bond. It was obvious to anyone who knew where to look.

Or, at least, it was to Wylan, who spent half of his time trying to emulate Kaz’s body language and the other half trying to convince himself that it was normal to stare at Jesper. Everyone did it. He was objectively attractive

“Earth to Wylan? Anyone in there?” Wylan blinked a couple times as Jesper snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. “Where did you go?”

Wylan could feel his face warming under Jesper’s concerned gaze, so he tried to cover it up with a scoff. “I was just imagining the horrible consequences of giving you a bomb. I think I went into preemptive shock.”

“That’s not fair! It would be for science! You like science!” Jesper was clearly trying a new angle, and Wylan was honestly a little tempted to just give him an empty box and watch him try to detonate it.

But he wouldn’t do that.

Not yet, at least.

Even though he knew it was probably a mistake, Wylan turned his back on Jesper to check on his compound. “It’s not science when I already know the result. The result being mass destruction”

“Look, let me just—what was that?” Wylan had turned around just as Jesper was trying to reach past him, and Jesper ended up accidentally jabbing him in the ribs. To say that Wylan jumped would be an understatement.

He’d basically folded in half, letting out a loud yelp and curling in on himself and cursing his instincts for the blatantly obvious reaction.

Reluctantly, Wylan straightened back up, unwilling to face the ridicule he was sure Jesper was just waiting to unleash on him. But, instead of the disdainful sneer he’d been expecting, Wylan looked up to see a fond smile of Jesper’s face, his eyes dancing with unrestrained delight.

The moment their gazed locked, Jesper’s grin took on a sharp, mischievous edge and Wylan automatically took half a step backwards, only to bump into his work table.

“Where are you going, Merchling?” Jesper asked teasingly. “This is a new discovery, and it needs to be documented. Now this is some science that I can get behind!”

Jesper took another step forward, quickly cutting off Wylan’s already limited exits.

“I am not above blowing up your kneecaps,” Wylan threatened.

“Well,” Jesper shot back, leaning closer to loom over him, “You’re not above many things, are you?”

Wylan rolled his eyes, because it’s not like he hasn’t heard that before. If Jesper wasn’t making some sort of comment about Wylan’s height, he was resting an elbow on top of his head, or exaggeratedly leaning down in order to look him in the eye.

In the split-second he took his eyes off Jesper, he realized that he’d made a crucial mistake. A warm hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him close, spinning Wylan around faster than he could blink until his back was pressed flush against Jesper’s chest.

Before his face could go completely red, though, fingers curled expertly into his sides and Wylan let out a loud squeak. Jesper seemed to chase the sound, fingers pinching up his ribs until the squeak broke into full-fledged laughter, and Wylan was trying his damndest to fight him off.

And failing miserably.

How had he not realized how strong Jesper was?

It was only when Jesper fluttered a couple of fingers against Wylan’s neck that he managed to find his words. “Jesper! Quihihihit it! Nohoho not there!”

Which might as well have been a flashing neon sign that said TICKLE HERE in big letters.

Jesper leaned in close, his lips brushing against Wylan’s ear in a way that made him squeal, and said, “Why not? It’s for science!” He blew a sharp puff of air into Wylan’s ear, chuckling lowly at the shriek he let out.

“Now, this” Jesper said, skittering his fingers across Wylan’s stomach, “This could keep me entertained for ages. Who needs cards when I can just do this? Just me and you, doing our fun little science experiments together. And do you want to know my conclusion?

He went back to squeezing Wylan’s sides, drawing out a choked-off snort as he frantically shook his head. “No! Yohohou—you didn’t even have a hypothesis!”

“You’re right!” Jesper said, “Okay, how about: Wylan has the cutest, squeakiest laughter out of everyone in the whole Barrel?”

Oh God, this was humiliating. Wylan was never going to be able to live this down.

But, if this is what it took to keep Jesper away from Makker’s Wheel, Wylan would just have to suffer through it. Just so that Kaz wouldn’t kill him, at least.

Not any other reason that may or may not involve being held against Jesper as his hands drew increasingly embarassing noises out of Wylan.

Definitely not.

“And my conclusion is,” Jesper continued pointedly. “I was absolutely right.”

As soon as he said that, Wylan heard him take a deep breath and plant his lips on the back of his neck. Before he had the chance to feel any particular way about that, Jesper blew the most horrible raspberry that Wylan had ever experienced. It sent electrick shocks down his spine as warning signals started blaring in his brain.

Over his cackling, he could just barely hear someone’s voice go, “Jesper, you have to let him breathe.”

And just like that, Wylan was being lowered onto a chair, riding out the lingering giggles as he sucked some much-needed air into his lungs.

He knew what would be waiting for him when he finally opened his eyes, but Wylan was still mortified to see Kaz standing in his makeshift lab, leaning on his cane, expression stony but looking at them with what might’ve been a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Tonight went according to plan, we’ll meet in the morning to discuss next steps.” It was mostly directed a Jesper, but then Kaz’s stare shifted over to him. Wylan could just barely catch the dip of his chin as he nodded in—what? Gratitude? Appreciation? Simple acknowledgement of what Wylan just put himself through?

Whatever it was, it vanished as soon as it appeared, and Kaz turned on his heel, the thump of his cane echoing as he walked towards the door.

Just before crossing the threshold, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Wylan, if you want revenge, make sure to go for the knees.”

And then he was gone, but not before Wylan could catch a decidedly smug grin ghosting across his lips.

After a second, Kaz’s words registered in his head and Wylan slowly turned to face Jesper. It sent a wave of satisfaction through him to note the panic in his eyes and waver in his voice as he said, “Merchling—Wylan. You really don’t have to do this!”

Wylan didn’t bother wasting any time, tackling Jesper to the ground before he had a chance to run for it.

“Oh, but I really do,” he said. “After all, it’s for science!”

In the end, there were two new discoveries made that night.

The first was that Wylan had the cutest, squeakiest laughter out of everyone in the whole Barrel.

And the second was that Jesper could absolutely not handle what he dished out. In fact, he seemed to be worse than Wylan himself.

There was something in the way Edwin said it that seemed off, but that Charles couldn’t quite parse. Looking at the plants, Charles could see that they looked, well, they looked like plants. Slightly wooden and sturdy, kind of like bamboo, but Charles figured he could probably pull some out at the root and be done with it.

Boy, was he wrong.

The moment Charles stepped into the patch, the ground shifted under him and the stalks started to twist and wind themselves around him.

“Uh, Edwin? Mate? A little help here?” His panic didn’t seem to make much of a difference to Edwin, who continued calmly going through his bag and removing various instruments. “Edwin!”

Finally, Edwin glanced up at him, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “Not to worry, Charles. You will not be harmed. I simply required a…distraction for this harvest.”

Before Charles could respond, because what, one of the stalks slipped under his shirt, curling curiously around his ribs and “Ah! Get out of thehehere! Wait no—”

The plant was much softer than it looked. There was a velvety, nearly imperceptible fuzz that covered it. Of course, just because he couldn’t see it, didn’t mean that Charles could feel the damn thing as it dragged across his stomach, another one coming to rub against his neck like an affectionate cat.

He tried to seal his lips together, but Edwin gave him a scolding look. “You should laugh, Charles. The plant feeds on mirth, and it pays less attention to its surroundings when it’s feeding. The fuller it gets, the more lethargic it becomes, and therefore the easier it is to harvest without ending up in your situation myself.”

Oh, that bastard. When Charles got out of this he was going to—

“Hehey! Edwin you trahahaitor! Wait—Leave me alone you buggers! That tihihickles!”

A second stalk had found its way under Charles’ shirt and was, very slowly, tracing up Charles’ spine. Unfortunately, even as a ghost, Charles did not have the ability to curl up backwards, so he simply scrunched up as much as he could and let the high pitched giggles tumble out.

And they were strong, too. Charles’ efforts to push them away went unnoticed. Every time he tried to fold over, or fall to the ground, or try to escape, they held him up with ease.

Eventually, two came to wrap around Charles’ wrists, pulling them slightly away from his torso. Close enough that he could almost reach them and try to defend himself, but not close enough to actually get in their way.

It also allowed for the plant on his stomach to move up to explore to new space near his upper ribs and under his arms.

Edwin smiled fondly at Charles’ resulting shriek, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn’t enjoying this.

“Me? A traitor?” Edwin placed a hand on his chest in mock-affront, “I am no such thing. I asked you to come along on this harvest, and you did so of your own volition.”

“Yeah, to use me as bait—NO NOHOHOT THERE!” A smaller, more vine-like plant made itself a comfortable, wriggly home in between Charles’ shoulder blades. Occasionally, it would reach up to trace along the nape of his neck and up the shell of his ears, drawing out panicked squeals from its victim.

Edwin shrugged. “It’s not my fault that you weren’t listening when I was telling you about this specimen. Now, I’m ready to begin harvesting, so keep them distracted. You’re doing an excellent job, Charles.”

Up until now, Charles would’ve described the attack—or feeding, if Edwin was to be believed—as playful. For a moment, the plants didn’t seem to notice when Edwin started carefully clipping the stalks at their roots.

After that moment was over, though, was another story.

They still didn’t hurt him, probably because that would defeat the purpose of the whole thing, but the tickling certainly became a bit more frenzied. A stalk wrapped around Charles’ leg, squeezing up and down sporadically, leaving him to kick helplessly at empty air.

Another one was rather pleased when it found the soft spot behind Charles’ knee, flicking across it oh-so gently in a way that was driving him mad. Sending sparks of electricity shooting through his body, dragging out a hiccupping snort with every brush.

Nothing ever settled into a steady rhythm, always keeping Charles guessing as to what would be next. It was overwhelming, but not so much so as to cause genuine distress. They weren’t aggressive, but persistent and intuitive as to what would draw out the strongest, brightest laughter.

Even when his knees gave out, a few of the stronger plants wrapped around his waist, holding him upright and within easy reach of their grasp. Of course, they weren’t so kind as to let him curl up his legs, pulling at his ankles so Charles couldn’t block them out.

It was only when a thin strand slipped in his ear to lightly trace the inner shell that Charles cried out again, “Edwin! Hehehehelp me!”

“Have patience, Charles. My task is already completed and, as soon as the sun fully sets, they shall release you as they fall into a peaceful slumber. It should be any minute now.”

Charles’ eyes shot open, glaring at Edwin through helpless tears. He was just standing there, watching him, with a carefully wrapped bundle of whatever the hell these were tucked under his arm.

Opening his mouth only resulted in more laughter but, eventually, Charles managed to get out “I hahahate you!”

“No, you don’t.”

“When I get out of here you’re so dehehead—NO SHIHIHIT!”

“No, I won’t be. You would never harm me and, also, I am already dead, so it’s a moot point.”

Edwin was having way too much fun with this, in Charles’ opinion. Standing there, calm as you please, while Charles was being methodically and ruthlessly reduced to a shrieking mess by a bunch of plants. It just wasn’t fair.

But, as always, Edwin was right. As the last of the sun’s rays disappeared, the stalks and vines unwound from around Charles’ body, curling on the ground as though asleep. Some even dragged through his hair, as though they were petting him, calming him after the torment and thanking him for providing a full meal.

They gently lowered Charles to the ground where finally, finally, he could curl up and ride out the lingering sensations, giggling softly into the forest floor.

After a moment, he blearily opened his eyes to see Edwin standing over him, one arm extended down to help him up which Charles gratefully took.

Edwin tugged his tired partner to lean against him as they started walking and said, “You did wonderfully, Charles, let’s get you home so you can rest.”

“Mmph,” was all Charles could muster as Edwin stepped gracefully into a reflective enough puddle, pulling them back into the office and settling Charles on the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you,” he said, his voice terrifyingly low. “I will tickle you if we win-” His finger ghosted over the hem of Shane’s shirt. “-and I will tickle you if we lose.”

Shane swallowed. “I remember.”

A hint of a smile settled over Ilya’s lips. “Have you been nervous? Or excited?” He slipped a finger beneath the shirt. “Or both?”

Shane averted his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Both then. Exciting for me.”

“Oh god, please-”

“Please what?” Ilya tilted his head. “Please have mercy? You know I cannot do that.”

Boston didn’t even win, and so Ilya came with vengeance. He came with vengeance because he knew Shane was ready for it. Knew he had been craving it the entire time. A phone call hadn’t been enough. The texts Ilya kept sending him were not enough.

“Remember,” he said, taking a step closer so that Shane was fully trapped between him and the edge of the bed. “Stay still.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“You will try. I will be gentle.” His grin was lethal. “At first.”

Shane felt silly for laughing as he was tackled to the bed, but maybe it helped them both. The playfulness of it all. Ilya pinned him to the mattress and captured his mouth with his own, let Shane get into it, back-archingly, moaningly, embarrassingly into it, before he finally snuck a hand to the curve of his side. It could be just any touch had Shane not been anticipating it, and so he knew it had started when he stiffened and Ilya didn’t stop. Ilya always stopped if he thought something was wrong, but his fingers kept curling, even as Shane whined.

“Stay still,” he mumbled into his lips before he broke the kiss, much to Shane’s chagrin. Not that he had much time to lament over it anyway, what with Ilya’s fingers becoming limber, becoming gentler and much more ticklish against his skin. He leaned back and tickled both of Shane’s sides, grinning at how obviously he was fighting back against his instincts to squirm.

Shane leaned his head back and switched between shutting his eyes and keeping them wide open, not sure which was better or worse. On one hand, seeing Ilya grinning over him made it all the more unbearable, on the other it became a lot harder to be still when he couldn’t see what he was doing. Ilya did this thing, he had come to realize, where his expression changed each time he planned on switching something up. It was terrifying to watch and not know what would change. Shane loved every minute of it.

“F-fuck.” He grabbed the headboard and Ilya’s hand started its slow ascent toward his pit, spidering over each rib with agonizing precision. The other hand remained glued to his side, switching between a curl and a squeeze and Shane found he couldn’t lift his other arm. Found he wasn’t brave enough to leave himself that open.

“Is this what you imagined during our call?” Ilya asked, his voice almost hoarse. As if he, too, was holding his breath and biting his tongue to keep some ounce of control over himself.

Shane exhaled. “Maybe.”

“Is a yes or no question, Hollander.”

“Yes, okay? Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.” He closed his eyes, opened them as soon as Ilya reached the softness just beneath the hollow of his arm. “Is this what you imagined when we beat you?” His lips twitched when Ilya huffed. “Did it distract you?”

“Careful, Hollander,” Ilya warned. “You know I am being gentle with you.”

“You said you would.”

“Yes. At first. If you are cocky I might speed up.” He stilled his fingers, giving Shane momentary relief. “Ah, unless that is what you want me to do.”

“I don’t,” Shane mumbled, not knowing if he was being truthful or not. Ilya could do anything to him and he would take it and beg for either mercy or something else, something he couldn’t fully verbalize but that Ilya would understand anyway.

“Hmm. I don’t believe you, but is okay.” He grinned and drummed his fingers over Shane’s skin. “Your body doesn’t lie. Not to me.”

He didn’t start tickling him suddenly or roughly, but Shane found it all the more unbearable when he started again, as gentle as before, sending ticklish shocks through him which he didn’t know how to handle. His arm shot down, ultimately trapping Ilya’s hand in his armpit, which helped but not much. Whatever sound he made - a cry, a shriek, something else entirely - had Ilya laughing in surprise.

“I said stay still.” But there was no venom in his voice. Only amusement. It was almost embarrassing to hear and Shane found he had to look away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, gripping Ilya’s wrist but not pushing his hand off of his side. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I turned you on.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Ilya tapped his side with his index finger. “You feel more sensitive, no?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hollander.”

“Okay, yes, maybe a little bit.”

“Mmm. You like it when I tease you. That is why.”

Shane couldn’t even deny it, because his body decided to prove Ilya right. They both looked down at it, Shane with burning cheeks which burned all the more when Ilya looked back up at him with raised eyebrows. He was still wiggling his fingers under his arm, still curling his fingers against his side. None of that helped. It didn’t help at all.

“Hollander,” he sang, that damn smirk growing on his lips. “Be patient.”

“I am patient, you goddamn tease.”

Ilya laughed, loud and clear and beautiful. “I will take my time. I will make it so good. But remember.” He leaned in, pressed a kiss to Shane’s lips. “Be still.”

How Shane stayed still was a fucking miracle, but as Ilya slowly unraveled him, prying his arm up to free his hand so that he could claw at his stomach, his other hand moving downward to squeeze at his thigh, Shane remained mostly entirely still, sans his heels digging into the mattress, his back arching ever so slightly, his head moving back and forth. The only thing indicating that he was in ticklish agony were the sounds he was making, which ranged from groans to something that sounded a lot closer to moans if he was being honest with himself.

“You can laugh, you know,” Ilya said quietly, and it was the gentle fondness in his voice which broke the dam in the end. It turned out it was a lot harder to be still when you were laughing. Not that Ilya seemed to mind. He pinned him properly to keep his thrashing at bay and all but destroyed him, stopping only when Shane came hard.

The fact that the only person who ever tickled him in a way that made him feel safe was his mother - his dead, long gone, wonderful mother - was probably the biggest part of it, though he buried it deep down. It was easier to blame everything else. Easier to pretend it couldn’t be fun in the right circumstances.

Shane never tickled him. Not on purpose, anyway. Ilya had discovered his sensitivity early on, tucked between roaming hands and moans laced with a laugh which could mean anything, really, had Ilya not slowly gotten to know every inch of that body. He knew to steer clear of Shane’s feet, to use more pressure on his inner thighs, to not nuzzle into his neck for too long. He wondered if he showed him the same consideration, or if Ilya had just gotten so good at reigning in his reactions that he had no idea.

He had been tickled by him though, accidentally, when he grabbed his knees to adjust himself, or dug his fingers into Ilya’s sides when something felt good. Innocent actions. Certainly not ticklish enough for Ilya to laugh, though he did remember himself twitching in surprise. If Shane had noticed, he never brought it up. Most importantly he never used it against him.

Ilya tried not to use it against him either, only it became harder once they got closer, once they were boyfriends, and their life was littered with playfulness and domesticity and not just sex. Wrestling Shane to the bed with a deeply ingrained instinct to jam his fingers into his ribs. He was already laughing. Already relaxed and happy and trusting him fully. And the trust was the reason he didn’t. Was the reason he simply pinned his arms to the side and leaned down to kiss him. Mornings of wrapping his arms around his waist in the kitchen, with the sudden urge to curl his fingers over his belly just to make him giggle and squirm into him. A moment of safety, which Ilya could ruin in the disguise of play.

That morning was different. Shane was sprawled out on the bed, sleepy after Ilya had gone down on him twice, and each time he made a sudden movement Shane would twitch and laugh, untouched and yet.

“What is it?” Ilya finally asked, relishing in that smile. All giddiness. All because of him.

Shane pushed his hand away, even though he still hadn’t touched him. “Tickles.”

“What?”

A blush was coloring his cheeks, but Shane wasn’t clinging onto denial or pretence. “I feel really ticklish right now, so I keep thinking you’ll tickle me.”

“I have never tickled you.” Ilya crossed his arms to show he was keeping them to himself. “Wait, how do you feel ticklish?”

Shane shrugged. “Extra sensitive. Giggly. Tired. Safe. I don’t know.”

“Safe?”

He averted his gaze. “I mean, yeah.”

“But you keep thinking I will tickle you?”

He shrugged again.

“So in that case you don’t feel safe.”

“But I do.”

Ilya wet his lips. “Explain.”

“I mean, it’s fun, right? And I trust you would stop when I needed you to.” He was bright red now, but he spoke in earnest.

Ilya hummed.

Another part of why he didn’t like being tickled: it was almost always done without his consent. Ilya didn’t like not giving his consent. Didn’t like that people thought they could just take and take in the guise of fun.

He tilted his head at Shane. Maybe not everyone thought the same way as him. “Do you want me to tickle you?”

Shane let out a strangled laugh. “That sounds stupid when you put it like that.”

“I won’t do it unless you want me to.” Ilya didn’t mean to tease, but he did enjoy the way Shane’s embarrassment shifted form and turned into something sweet. Something shy.

He reached out slowly and allowed himself to touch now, cradling Shane’s cheek in the palm of his hand. He leaned into the touch and said, “We’ve never had any tickle fights.”

Ilya shifted. “We haven’t.”

“Why is that?”

He didn’t have to explain to him that much of their relationship had been a constant tiptoeing of lines they were afraid to cross, and once they did, a quick retreat. For much too long it had been that, until suddenly it wasn’t. It was true that most people would be eager to explore the other side, and it wasn’t that they were afraid, not more than they had to be.

But Ilya didn’t know how to approach this. How something this silly could be so serious to him. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”

“You could’ve found out.”

“Would you have wanted me to? On my own, I mean?”

“It’s weird to have to tell you about it.”

“Hmm, I lied, actually. I knew about it.”

Shane’s head snapped to the side. “Wait, you did?”

“Yes. For a long time.” He grinned at Shane’s look. “What can I say? I am a gentleman.”

“Ilya,” he whined, giving his chest a light slap. “Why would you not have taken advantage of that?”

Ilya laughed. “It really sounds like you want me to tickle you, Hollander.”

“Don’t Hollander me, Rozanov.”

“You think you can provoke it out of me, huh?”

“That’s usually how it works.”

“I need you to ask for it.” He moved his hand from his cheek to his jaw. “I need you to tell me you will enjoy it, or at the least not mind me doing it.”

Shane’s breath caught. “Why?”

“Because-” He stroked his chin with his thumb. “-I do not want to do something to you that you don’t want me to do.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“Of course.”

“Most people don’t want to be tickled.”

“Are you most people?”

He exhaled slowly. “Some people think it’s fun.”

“And are you some people?” He smiled at him, attempting to keep it light, but Shane looked away anyway. It was cute. It was so cute Ilya nearly crossed his own boundary then and there.

“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled. “It’s been years, and it’s never been like this.”

“Like how?”

“With someone I love. Like this.”

Ilya’s heart was about to burst out of his chest.

He leaned in to press his lips to Shane’s temple. “I love you too much to do something you don’t want me to do. I am not trying to be difficult.”

Shane’s gaze softened. “I know you’re not.”

“And I don’t mean to embarrass you when I tell you I need you to ask for it.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Though I do enjoy your blush.”

“Ilya.”

Ilya hummed as he stroked Shane’s cheek with his knuckles. “Tell me.”

“I’m- not sure I would like it, but- I mean, I would like us to be like that, you know?”

“I know.”

“So.” He seemed to brace himself. Ilya found it unbearably adorable. “Could you tickle me? Please?”

Ilya grabbed his wrist. “Say it again.”

“Ilya-”

“Okay, okay.” He laughed at his impatience. “I need you to tell me when to stop, okay?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“Say ‘hockey’, okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine, hockey it is. Now can you get on with it? I hate the anticipation.”

Ilya grinned. “You love the anticipation,” and he pounced, before Shane had time to protest. Neither of them really expected it, that Ilya would straddle him, that he would take his task so seriously. He wasn’t being merciless about it, though. He didn’t pin Shane’s hands, or dig his fingers into spots that would make him twitch with laughter, twitch and jerk and lose control of his limbs. He kept it light, which, when he thought about it, which he would, many times, probably drove Shane all the more crazy.

“Wahahait,” was all he managed to say at first, a constant begging for Ilya to cut it out, to leave him alone, to stop taking advantage of his sensitivity like this. Only Ilya knew his protests didn’t mean anything, at the very least weren’t a proper call for this to end. He cradled the consent in his bare hands, holding it close as he listened to Shane’s begging, listened to him slowly falling apart without feeling like a monster for it.

“You’re so-” He wasn’t even sure what he meant to say, only knew that Shane’s laughter, which was filling the room almost entirely now, made him feel both excited and strangely powerful for being allowed this. “-fucking cute.”

“Shut up!” Shane spat back, but he had his head thrown back, his hands constantly chasing Ilya’s which skirted over his torso, side, rib, armpit, neck, and back. A chase which could drive anyone mad, but was still simply- fun. For them both.

“I didn’t know you would be so easy to break,” he said, treading somewhat unknown water. But he liked riling Shane up, and Shane and his biting mouth always enjoyed the challenge of having to deal with him.

He all but growled now, all giggly giddiness from before enveloped in something else, something determined. He dug his feet into the mattress and Ilya realized belatedly that he was trying to buck him off, that he was probably aiming to turn the tables, and while that didn’t mean he wanted this to stop, because the safe word was still nowhere near his tongue, it did mean Shane enjoyed the idea of this being mutual. Of this being bodily and competitive, and Ilya wasn’t certain if he wanted that. Ilya was about to ruin a perfectly good consensual thing because he hadn’t thought to bring himself into the equation.

Only when he found himself hesitating and Shane had the perfect opportunity to turn this around, he still remained glued to his back, knees which he had pulled up to Ilya’s sides relaxing, visibly forcing himself to take this with nothing but his shielding hands. Ilya realized it then. That Shane would never do something to him which he hadn’t consented to. That this meant as much to Shane as it did to him.

God knew how Ilya didn’t cry right there and then.

He leaned down and wrapped his arms around him, taking in his surprised exhale and relishing in how he started squirming the minute he realized that Ilya was still tickling him even now. Fingers curling over his upper ribs, with Shane trapped between him and the bed and giggling into his neck, which tickled him a bit and he found that he didn’t care. He was safe here.

“You’re so ticklish,” he mumbled into Shane’s hair, which had Shane slapping his back and laughingly telling him to shut up. “What? Is true. You cannot deny it.”

“You don’t have to be so mean about it,” he said, whining when Ilya hit a particularly bad spot. “Fuck, this tickles so much, Ilya, get off.”

“Hmm, do you really want me to?”

“I- ah! I need you to allow me to squirm.”

Ilya sat up reluctantly. “Fine. Thank you for telling me. I can continue, yes?”

Shane covered his face with his hands. “Yes, god, please continue.”

“Can I tickle your knees?”

“This is gonna be the death of me- yes, you can tickle my knees.”

“Good. I think they will be very bad.”

“I will kick you.”

“Ah, maybe, but as long as you don’t say hockey I will continue.” He poked his belly. “Until we are both satisfied.”

“Domestic life is so weird,” Shane said, very obviously trying to redirect his embarrassment.

Ilya decided to bite. “This can’t be normal domestic life, though, can it?”

“Maybe not.”

“We’re so much less boring. Even you.”

“Oh, ha ha, please tickle me so I will laugh.”

But it was always the quiet moments that had Shane snap into the reality of the situation. The mundaneness of it all, which once hadn’t been a part of all this and had slowly been creeping into it when they stopped exclusively having sex in hotels. It shouldn’t have surprised him that a bedroom with comfortable pillows and blankets in case you got cold would be different to the staleness of hotels, but he blinked into the darkness that very first time he realized something was changing and he didn’t know what to do with it.

That was Ilya’s fault, mostly. It was difficult to think when someone was tickling you.

To his credit, he had no idea he was doing it. To Shane’s credit, he was really fucking good at staying still.

Ilya was good at aftercare. He was good at all of it, but the aftercare had surprised him the first time. Grabbing towels, stroking his hair, saying things under his breath which were comforting either way. Recently he’d started taking his time with it. Shane wondered, during weak moments, if he was stalling on purpose. He spent ages running his hands over skin, even though they were breathing normally. Who was Shane to deny him this quiet desire?

But this was different. He couldn’t just turn his brain off and overthink it later. This was physical. This was bodily. “Hng.”

“Hm?”

“What?”

“Did you say something?” His voice was low in the dark, as if hesitant to slice through it.

“No.”

“Okay.” His hand kept running up and down his side, so very gently. If he only put slightly more pressure into it Shane would’ve been fine, but acknowledging it was forbidden. They didn’t do that. They just didn’t.

He slipped his eyes shut and tried to breathe through it. He hadn’t yet hit that spot just above his hipbone that always made itself known, but he kept cutting close, which was almost worse. The way they were laying, with Shane resting his head in the crook of Ilya’s neck, twisted in a way that made it easy for him to access the left side of his body and very difficult for Shane to move away at all. This could get ruined so easily, and despite his ticklish predicament Shane wasn’t ready for him to get up and shower and leave. Wasn’t ready for a night accompanied only by his racing thoughts.

So he fought it. He really really did fight it.

But in his plight he seemed to have forgotten that Ilya knew every inch of his body and, even though they both refused to admit it, his mind as well. “Is this okay?” There was something in his voice that Shane couldn’t fully identify.

“Yeah, of course.”

“You are stoic.”

“What?”

“You know.” He snapped his fingers, giving Shane momentary relief. “Still. Uncomfortable.”

“Tense.”

“Yes, tense.”

“I’m not.”

“You are lying.” He placed his hand back on his side, though he kept it still. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

He was acknowledging this. He was acknowledging it because he thought Shane was uncomfortable.

Jesus Christ.

“You’re not doing anything wrong, Rozanov,” he mumbled.

Ilya huffed. “Okay. I can keep going?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“You like what I do?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not ‘of course’. You were tense. How am I to know?”

“I’m sorry- ah.” He resumed his stroking without warning, and Shane couldn’t help the way he twitched away now. “No, no, keep going.”

But Ilya was leaning back in an attempt to look at him. “Hollander.”

“Y-yeah?”

“You are ticklish.”

“What, no, not at all.”

Ilya laughed then, and had it been brighter in there Shane was sure he would find a shit-eating grin. His laugh alone was certainly terrifying. “I understand now why you were tense. You did a good job keeping still. I’m proud.”

“Oh, shut up, it only tickled a little.”

Ilya hummed. “So you won’t mind if I continue?”

“Not at all.”

“Okay.” Oh his tone was lethal. “Can you keep still or will I have to restrain you?”

Shane felt his whole body blush. “I can keep still.”

“Uh huh.” He was scraping his nails slowly over his skin now, moving toward his stomach, which really wasn’t much better than his hip. “We’ll see about that.”

“Rozanov.” Shane pressed his face into his chest and tried to breathe. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

“Liar.”

“Oh, but you don’t always want nice, Hollander. Not my fault.” He was moving back toward his side, opting for his previous route of going up and down it, only this time he was much more thorough. This time he went from upper ribs to hip, which would be Shane’s demise.

It was strange, giggling into Ilya’s skin and squirming in his arms and having him be so very gentle about it all. Uncharted territory, but not something they could ignore in the moment. You couldn’t just ignore someone tickling you like that. Couldn’t just ignore someone allowing himself to be vulnerable with you like this.

“You were doing so good,” Ilya said, having flipped them around so that he could pin Shane to the mattress. “Maybe I will reward you for it.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane was still blushing. Shane would be blushing for the rest of the weekend.

“Or perhaps I should punish you. I haven’t decided.”

“What would my punishment be?”

“A very ticklish blowjob, I think.”

Shane almost choked on his own spit. “And my reward?”

“Oh, the same.”

*

He became an expert at staying still after this, but he knew he only succeeded because Ilya wanted him to. Because he kept the touch so light and slow that Shane was able to keep at least an ounce of control when it started. It was slightly embarrassing to know that Ilya knew exactly what he was doing now and did it anyway. Lazy fingertips over his collarbones. Lips kissing gently over his lower back.

It was, he had to admit, a miracle he’d been able to keep his sensitivity a secret for this long. It was different during sex. Shane didn’t feel ticklish then, only turned on, desperate, wanting to be touched. It was the moments after, when he was exhausted and vulnerable and extra sensitive, that could make him squirm like that. And other moments of his life, which Ilya hadn’t had the privy to witness yet. Sitting on the couch and having his mother scribble her fingers over his sole while walking past. Hayden wrestling him onto the floor when he wouldn’t tell him about Lily. Ilya hadn’t seen those moments because Ilya only really existed tangled up in sheets.

They were in a hotel room this very snowy night. Shane hadn’t missed those - all stale lighting and impersonal wall decor - but he did appreciate not having to drive all the way home, which always took longer and always left him exhausted. Ilya’s team had crushed them and he felt pissed enough that he needed him to pin him to the nearest horizontal space they could find and fuck him senseless for him to feel okay about this. A hotel room worked just as well. Maybe it was better, keeping things impersonal.

Ilya was in a good mood, that fucker. Strutting into the room and looking around, as if it mattered at all what it looked like. Shane grabbed onto the belt loop of his pants and he allowed himself to be pulled in, only he placed a finger on Shane’s mouth when he leaned in. “Ah ah. Patience, Hollander.”

“I will kill you, Rozanov.”

“How will you do that? When all I need to do is tickle you to overpower you?”

That was the first time it had been acknowledged aloud since the discovery. Shane really wasn’t in the mood to blush, so he shoved him away and started undressing on his own. Ilya leaned against the wall and watched him, head tilted in that way that drove him feral. When he’d stripped down to absolutely nothing, Ilya was still fully dressed, hoodie and all.

Shane grabbed his chin. “Fuck me.”

“Soon.”

“Now.”

“Oh, but you are all wound up and angry and I do not like that.” He put his hand on the side of Shane’s neck, thumb brushing his jaw. “I help you relax, okay?”

“You can help by fu-”

“Hollander.” He laughed when Shane snapped his mouth shut. “You will do as I say or I will not be touching you at all.”

“Stupid fucking Russian menace,” Shane muttered and turned around to grab his boxers. “Okay, fine, do whatever you want.”

Ilya tutted behind him. “Who said I want you to get dressed?”

He was pushing him toward the bed the moment Shane turned around again, being rough enough about it that he felt a brief wave of satisfaction when he hit the mattress. He climbed on top of him, one hand in his hair while the other had a firm grip of his hip. Ilya grinned when Shane exhaled.

“Now,” he said, tugging lightly at his hair. “What do I have to do to get you to be happy, hm? Except fuck you, I mean.”

Shane whined. “I don’t know.”

“Think.”

“Let us win the next game.”

“Oohh, don’t be stupid, Hollander.” He suddenly dug into Shane’s hip. “You know I can’t do that.”

Shane grabbed his wrist. “Fuck, dohon’t!”

“But it makes you laugh, so it makes you happy, no?”

“That’s not how it works- stop!”

Ilya used his other hand to dig into his side, and none of this was gentle but all of it was playful. Though they were teetering the line of something else, something sensual which was making Shane embarrassingly hard. Maybe the combination of Ilya teasing him while also overpowering him was making him confused, but whatever it was, it really didn’t help his case here. Ilya ignored his pleas and instead noticed his predicament, causing him to tickle him harder.

“Okay, okay, I am happy, I am, just stop!”

“I didn’t think you would give up so quickly.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“I do- shit!”

Ilya grabbed both his hips and pulled him closer. “So be good and maybe I will.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rozanov.”

He leaned down suddenly to press his mouth to Shane’s hipbone, biting it slightly in a way he knew drove him crazy. “This is your consolation prize.”

Shane gripped the sheets with a moan. “Lucky me.”

“You can’t be cocky when I have your sweet spot under my mouth, Hollander.”

Maybe his team should lose to his more often, he briefly thought, knowing he wasn’t thinking straight.

*

Shane was tired. Honestly, it wasn’t unusual for them both to melt into the mattress after. The sex itself combined with a taxing game always had that effect on them, but this particular night Shane felt sleepy. Curl-into-a-ball-and-mumble-incomprehensibly-and balance-the-line-between-sleep-and-awake kind of sleepy.

“Hollander.” Ilya didn’t sound much more awake, though he still seemed to have the ability to speak. “You said you needed to shower twenty minutes ago.”

Shane hummed. “Soon.”

Ilya slapped his arm lightly. “You told me you need to get up early tomorrow. You will be tired.”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I don’t. Just don’t want you to be whiny tomorrow. You get so annoying.”

Shane snorted. “You’ll barely be seeing me tomorrow.”

“You whine on text.”

“Hah. Funny.”

He felt Ilya shuffle next to him. “You really are falling asleep.”

“Tired.”

He felt a poke on his back. “Hollander.”

“Soon.”

Another poke, this time on his side. “Hollander.”

Shane groaned. “Don’t.”

Obviously Ilya never listened to him and poked him once more. “Get up.”

“Don’t wanna- stop.”

He wasn’t being particularly rough about it, but this was familiar enough to them that Shane felt no need to pretend it wasn’t happening. Therefore, even though he would deny it to his core the very next day, Shane started giggling.

The situation seemed to have reenergized Ilya, because he was now leaning over him and poking all over his back and sides, ignoring his pleas for mercy. “Get up,” he kept saying over Shane’s laughter, the lilt to his voice almost the worst of it all.

Shane cried out each time he switched spots, which left him in a limbo of constant noise that he couldn’t control. He would’ve been embarrassed had he been more alert. “Rozanov, please, I’ll get up!”

“But it was just getting fun.” Ilya gripped both of his sides. “You still feel sleepy, no?”

“Well, yeah-”

“So I must tickle you more to properly wake you.”

“Wait, no- no, no!”

He pressed his face into the pillow to muffle his giggles, even though they were at Ilya’s place and no one could hear him. It was second nature to them, trying to keep quiet. One simply didn’t stop after this many years. Maybe that was why Ilya wasn’t being overbearing. This was rare enough that it made them both slightly uncertain.

That was what Shane would tell himself anyway, much later, when he’d showered and driven himself home, having spent five minutes squirming under Ilya’s hands and pretending that he wouldn’t be spending the rest of the week thinking about the kiss he pressed to the nape of his neck when he was done. It never did him any good, thinking too much of this. Only recently he found he couldn’t stop.

Shane grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. “I don’t remember anyone knocking into you.”

“Not hurt, Hollander. Sore.”

“Oh.”

Ilya placed a finger on Shane’s throat. “Didn’t warm up enough.” His grin was lethal. “I guess I was as impatient as you are.”

“I always warm up.”

“Not in bed.”

“Oh.” He felt his face grow hot. It always surprised him that Ilya could make him blush. “Wait, shut up.”

Ilya laughed and let himself be pulled down to the bed, where he immediately took over the gears as was their custom. 

Much later, when night had fully engulfed the room, Shane said, “I have a massage gun.”

Ilya hummed somewhere above him. “Are you threatening me?”

Shane slapped his stomach lightly. “For your sore leg. Where does it hurt?”

He saw the outline of Ilya’s face in the darkness. “Thigh. Front and back. Mostly back. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you want help using it.” He heaved himself off the bed and tried not to linger on the whine that escaped from Ilya. “It’s in my closet. Wait here.”

Ilya was still curled up when Shane returned and seemed to not appreciate the light being turned on. “Flip over.”

“Is this your way of asking for another round?”

“I’m trying to help you, you asshole. Get on your stomach.”

Ilya grumbled something in Russian and turned over slowly, giving Shane full access to the back of his thigh. He was still very much naked and Shane did his best to behave as he kneeled over him. “Is it your right leg?”

“Yes.”

Shane placed his hand on it. “Around here?”

“Higher.”

“Rozanov.”

“Is true.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and could’ve sworn he heard Ilya laugh. Asshole. He turned on the massage gun. “Okay, tell me if it hurts too much.”

Whatever sound Ilya made was drowned out by the massage gun and- whatever other sound Ilya made which replaced it. Shane was too busy navigating the gun to pay him any mind, knowing he was dramatic and tired and pretending he was fine, but it became harder to ignore him when he started thrashing beneath him.

“Hey, hey,” he said, pulling the gun away. “Be still, you drama queen.”

“You are drama queen,” Ilya bit back, craning his neck to look back at him. “Get off, I don’t like it.”

“It’s not about liking, Rozanov. You need some rehab.”

“I need sleep and a blowjob.”

Shane huffed out a laugh. “You can get that afterward, you know. If you ask nicely.”

“Oh, as if you wouldn’t beg me for it- dohon’t!”

Shane had pressed the massage gun into his thigh again, but Ilya’s reaction made him withdraw it quickly. “What? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Ilya seemed to be speaking through gritted teeth. “Put that thing away.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Oh, he thinks he’s funny.” Ilya tried to roll over, but Shane was still very much straddling his legs.

“Hold on for like five minutes, it will help, I promise.”

“No- no! Hollander, I will-” But whatever else he was about to say was overpowered by the massage gun and his laughter, which had Shane absolutely mesmerized until he realized why he was laughing.

“Oh my god, you’re ticklish.”

“Hollander.” Ilya reached back blindly to knock the gun away. “Enough.”

“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” he said, allowing him to turn over onto his back.

“Stop looking so happy about it,” he growled. “I am not.”

“That’s not what I just saw.”

“You hit a nerve.”

“Right, right.” Shane pointed the massage gun at him, which was still on. “So if I massaged the front of your thigh it wouldn’t bother you?”

Ilya clenched his jaw. “No.”

Shane let out a laugh. “So may I?”

It was strangely fun watching him have a silent battle with himself, which was only really visible through the way he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Yes.”

Shane was expecting it now. The twitch and the laugh, the way he did everything to keep his body still as the massage gun was pressing into his muscle. He had to admit it was endearing. He had to admit he felt strangely proud that, despite pretending not to, Ilya was allowing him to see this.

A spasm went through his body and he reached out, grabbing Shane’s arm and pulling him down, and Shane turned the massage gun off and laughed into his his chest as he waited for him to calm down. “So,” he said, dragging the word out. “A little ticklish?”

He growled, which was both hot and terrifying. “You are a dead man, Hollander.”

He took another swig of his beer. He’d asked Robin to come - Eddie had said he could bring her - but she was spending New Year’s Eve away. A family thing, she’d said, just like he was sure Nancy and Jonathan were also spending the last evening of the year. Family things, possibly together. Not for him.

“How come you’re not gonna be with your uncle?” Steve didn’t ask him, though he’d wondered. Eddie was leaning closer to Gareth now, both of them laughing at something Steve wasn’t able to hear from where he was standing.

The house wasn’t spilling over with bodies like the parties he used to attend when he was younger, though people were rowdy enough. Laughter was filling each space of the house, and some people were dancing much more than Eddie’s rendition of it. Wildly. Drunkely. The music was loud, but it varied in genre, and Steve could see how this was a place for the outcasts more than it was a space for him. He wasn’t King Steve anymore, but he wasn’t this, either. In between them all and belonging to no one. God, he needed a cigarette. And to get fucking laid. He drank the last of his beer and discarded the can on the kitchen island, took one more look at Eddie, who was listening intently to whatever Gareth was saying now, and left the room.

He moved through the crowd slowly, aiming for the backyard, where deck chairs were once lined neatly alongside the house, but had been spaced out throughout the garden as the night progressed. There, he could probably find one that was free, far enough that he could take a moment to breathe, but not far enough that he would look like a loner. He hated that he still cared about what people would think. Hated that it mattered so much to him.

It was closing in on midnight. He had one single cigarette on him, because he’d technically quit years ago, but had always kept that emergency one on in his jacket. Robin would disown him if she knew, but Robin wasn’t there. And besides, he could smoke it now to end this strange, strange year, and then start fresh in the new one. He could be poetic about it, if he’d been in the mindspace, which he kind of wasn’t.

He pulled it out of his pocket and promptly realized he didn’t carry a lighter. And that might’ve been his last fucking straw.

“Here.”

Eddie came out of nowhere, tossing a lighter his way. It hit Steve in the chest and fell onto his lap, and he picked it up without asking why Eddie had followed him out, or for how long he’d been watching him sit and stare into the night before he’d decided to smoke. “Thanks.”

“It comes with one condition, though,” he said, sitting down beside him.

He lit the cigarette. “Which is?”

Eddie broke into a grin. “We share that.”

Steve huffed out a laugh and handed it over. “Do the honors, then.”

Eddie took a drag, agonizingly slowly, but there was something beautiful about the way he took pleasure in the entire act. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” Steve took it back, was much more in a rush. “Well, not anymore. Don’t you dare tell Robin about this.”

“My lips are sealed.”

He took it back when Steve was done, and they sat like that for a while, passing the cigarette between them, the music getting louder each time someone opened the door. Steve kind of wished he’d grabbed his coat on the way out. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and let Eddie smoke up the rest.

“So.” Eddie threw the butt onto the ground, crushed it with his shoe. “You having fun?”

“Oh, the time of my life.”

Eddie huffed. “Fuckin’ liar.”

Steve let out a laugh. “Sorry. I’m in a weird mood.”

“Isn’t that the usual end of year tradition.”

“I guess.”

“I’m glad you came, though.” Eddie was looking at the ground, still crushing the cigarette butt. “Even if you’ve forgotten how to socialize.”

“Oh, shut up.” Steve shoved his shoulder and Eddie smiled, and neither of them mentioned the first part of what he said.

“You got any resolutions?”

Steve hummed. “Not really?”

“You’re not a resolutions guy, then?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“I am.”

“Oh? Do share.”

Eddie shook his head. “Nuh uh. Not happening.”

“Oh, come on. You’re the one who brought it up.” Steve leaned closer and poked his chest. “Now I’m curious.”

Eddie pushed his hand away. “Stay curious, Ponyboy.”

Steve poked him again. He wasn’t sure when they became playful with each other, but it came easily to him now, a couple of beers in. He aimed his poke lower this time, hitting Eddie in the upper ribs, and he twisted away with something so similar to a laugh that Steve did it again.

He grabbed his wrist. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Harrington,” he said, voice low.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You don’t know this yet.” He leaned closer, as if confiding him in a secret. “But I’m a really fucking good tickler.”

It was like his life shifted. It was funny, how something like that could happen in a stranger’s backyard, from just a few simple words coming from a guy he barely knew a year ago. Steve sat there, still slightly too cold, and felt his soul do somersaults. And Eddie, who probably had no idea that what he’d said would soon define everything, smirked.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You really that ticklish?”

Steve had never felt so shy so suddenly. “No.”

“No?”

“I mean-”

“Oh my god, you’re so flustered.” Eddie’s smile softened, though it was still absolutely merciless. “It doesn’t really help your case, if I’m being honest. But I might be nice. I might wait until we’re alone.”

Steve could tell that he was blushing, and he didn’t know what to do with that. “I- oh.”

People were suddenly rushing outside, giddy and laughing, and soon they were all counting down from ten, and Steve realized the clock was striking twelve, and it took everything in him to pull his attention away from Eddie and stand up, join in, looking at Eddie as everyone screamed out for the new year. He was looking back. He was smiling, but there was something reserved about it.

“Happy new year,” he said and leaned in, pausing only to allow Steve to protest, before pressing their lips together, briefly, hidden in the shadows as the sky lit up with fireworks, and if Steve thought his life was about to change earlier, it was nothing compared to this.

*

He woke up hungover in a bed he didn’t recognize at first. First thought: he was dying of thirst.

“Hnngg.” He tried to sit up, but the room was bright enough - what the hell - that he rolled back over to press his face into the pillow, which was kind of weirdly hairy.

“You could say that again.”

He opened his eyes fully. “Eddie.”

“Stevie.” Eddie was clearly feeling as groggy as he was. “Stop fussing, it’s too early.”

“Thirsty.”

“Oh my god.” He waved his hand around. “There’s a glass by your side of the bed, I’m pretty sure. And aspirin, if you need it.”

“So considerate.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Not my doing. Wayne’s.”

“Your uncle?”

“He picked us up, remember?”

Steve positively did not remember. “How much did I drink last night?”

“Not too much.” Eddie let out an amused sound. “Though you downed about five shots in way too little time.”

“Oh my god, Eddie, why did you let me do that?” he groaned and rolled over onto his back. “I’m too old for shit like that.”

“You’re barely 20, dude, relax.”

Steve tried to sit up again, head spinning, when the wave of nausea hit and he found himself fumbling out of the bed, knocking the glass over in the process and just barely getting to the bathroom in time once he managed to find it to puke his guts up. Eddie must’ve not had as much to drink as him - had probably skipped the five shots - because by the time he returned to the bedroom he was wiping the water off of the floor with what looked like a t-shirt. “I think I’m gonna die. This is it for me.”

He crawled back into the bed and closed his eyes, willing death, or at the very least sleep, to seize him.

A hand in his hair. “I’ll get you some more water, okay?”

Steve remained where he was, willing himself not to think too much. Thinking never did him very good, he’d come to realize. Eddie returned quickly, quietly, this time tapping him on the arm to get his attention. “Drink.”

He sat up again. Drank. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Eddie settled beside him again, so very close. Did they really sleep this close? He was still wearing his shirt from last night, but his jeans had been exchanged for a pair of slightly too big shorts, similar to the ones Eddie was wearing. He tried not to imagine what that had been like, taking his pants off while he was blackout drunk.

“You okay? Need to throw up again?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no, I’m good. I think it helped. Throwing up, that is.”

“It usually does.”

Steve leaned back again, hesitating for a moment before raising his arms above his head. It was comfortable, but he would be a liar to say he only did it for comfort. He kept his gaze on the wall as he said, “Tell me what I did last night.”

Eddie snorted. “What didn’t you do?”

“Oh my god, Eddie, don’t say that.”

“Danced on the table with Gareth, for one.”

“What the fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly! I bet he feels worse than you today, if it brings you any comfort.”

“It really doesn’t.”

Eddie’s smile softened. “Despite how you might feel today, I think maybe you really needed to just let loose. Don’t be embarrassed. It was better than you brooding in the corner.”

“I wasn’t brooding.”

“You totally were.”

“No, really, I-” He lowered one arm. Needed the movement for emphasis. “I just felt out of place, all right? I know what people think of me and I know what I was like back in school, but I’m different now and I guess I still haven’t really found my place and I was standing there and just didn’t know how to act.”

“You were insecure.” Eddie said it as if he just realized it.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“And shy.”

“Hey now.”

“It was really unfairly cute actually.”

“I- what?”

Eddie just grinned, as if he hadn’t unraveled Steve at least three times in the span of 12 hours. Speaking of.

He raised his arm again, almost as if to test him. If Eddie had caught on, or even remembered, he didn’t let it show. “So I reckon you didn’t down five shots in one hour then.”

“I took two. Figured someone had to take care of you.”

“Who took care of Gareth?”

“Oh, Gareth was entirely sober. I think he likes you.”

“Only took me making a fool out of myself.”

“Letting loose,” Eddie corrected him.

“Letting loose. Whatever.”

“Did you have fun, at least?”

“Hmm. I don’t remember most of the night, but I’m sure I did.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, before asking, “How much do you remember?”

Ah. Okay. He was allowing Steve the freedom of making a choice. All right then.

“I remember you dancing.”

“Excuse me?” Eddie laughed, so loudly and suddenly that Steve had to grin. “I never danced!”

“Not, like, properly. But I remember you swaying to the beat.”

“That’s hardly dancing.”

“It was cute either way.”

Eddie huffed. “All right, what else?”

“Us smoking.”

“And not to tell Robin. Or Wayne, for that matter.”

“And-”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“Ah. Well then.” Eddie suddenly reached for him and Steve pulled his arms down quickly without really thinking. “Relax, I’m just grabbing the aspirins.”

“Right.”

He reached over him for the bottle which he’d placed on the nightstand. “I do remember that.”

“What?”

He opened the bottle. “You panicking when I threatened to tickle you. I have a feeling you remember it as well, but I digress.”

“I wasn’t panicking.”

“You so were. Here. Take one.”

“I- thanks. I was not.”

“Mmm, don’t believe you. I think you, Steve Harrington, are really ticklish.” Eddie’s grin was lethal. “And would you look at that. We’re alone.”

“Eddie-”

“Except for my uncle, of course.” Eddie cocked his head. “So not fully alone after all.”

Steve exhaled. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” In ways Eddie probably didn’t realize.

He laughed. “I’ll make you breakfast. How does some real greasy bacon sound?”

*

Steve couldn’t let it go. Steve has a mission. Maybe a resolution, even, which had settled in his bones as the sky had exploded with fireworks. Just once, though preferably more. He was greedy, he knew. He couldn’t let it fucking go.

They hung out more now. It was their thing. Smoking on Eddie’s porch and watching movies late into the night and going for drives when the town felt a little too stifling for them both. And they did most of it alone, too, but Eddie was either leaving him hanging on purpose or was just oblivious to it. Steve couldn’t decide which one was more believable.

They also hung out with Eddie’s other friends. Gareth had settled on liking Steve one day and being indifferent to him the next, which kept him on his toes more than he would like to admit. Eddie told him not to mind him. That he was used to Eddie bringing people into their group whenever he scoped out newcomings who needed it, but that Steve wasn’t his usual kind. Steve had lowered his gaze when he’d said it, but Eddie had reached for his chin and dropped his hand with a laugh when he’d flinched away.

They spent time with Robin, and obviously Dustin, who seemed to be in a limbo of being jealous of their new friendship and over the moon about it. Sometimes they even hung out with Nancy and Jonathan. Sometimes all of them together in strange combinations, though that was rare. Mostly Steve couldn’t let go of the fact that it made much more sense for Eddie to hang out with Jonathan and Nancy and Dustin and Robin than it did for him to hang out with him.

And yet.

They still hadn’t talked about the kiss. And they never did kiss again. Steve wasn’t sure why he’d expected it. It would be infinitely easier to get Eddie to tickle him than to kiss him again, and that was really fucking hard, as it turned out.

“You okay?”

She had been doing that recently. Watching him and his erratic behavior. He would have found it sweet had he not been a nervous wreck as it was without onlookers. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Will I have to force it out of you?”

Steve looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. He wasn’t picky. If Eddie wasn’t going to tickle him, Robin for sure was. She’d never done it before, but it wouldn’t be abnormal behavior. It wouldn’t be unusual for her to lunge at him and figure out a thing or two and then keep going.

“Mind your business, okay?” he snapped, and maybe she would’ve done something had Eddie not showed up just then, carrying a plastic bag filled with beers into Steve’s living room. When Steve looked back at her, she was already busy with something else.

How ironic for him to interrupt something Steve only did because he wouldn’t. He didn’t feel brave enough to do it when he was around, but he realized he became bolder when he wasn’t there. Provoking them all. Sometimes he even started tickling them himself, which he never had before and which for some reason never resulted in revenge. He also became cuddlier, longing for scratches along his back to become gentler, to make him squirm. If any of them, Robin, Nancy and Jonathan, found that he was acting strange, they didn’t bring it up.

He remained untickled. And so he was back to the source.

Not every moment he spent alone with Eddie was laced with this longing. Sometimes he really did just exist, leaning against the armrest of the couch as they were watching a movie or pouring Wayne a cup of coffee before he left for work in the evenings. He didn’t know when he became so comfortable there, but Eddie had told him many a times that both him and Wayne found it weird whenever he’d not been around for more than a couple of days.

The late March sun was blinding him, but he was too lazy to get up and close the blinds. “Eddie,” he called out weakly. “Help.”

“What is it?”

“Sun.”

Eddie stuck his head into the room. “What?”

“Sun.”

“Okay? I- oh my god, you did not just call me in here to close the fucking blinds.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound very sorry.” He moved closer slowly, and Steve felt a sudden wave of anticipation hit him. Maybe. Maybe. But Eddie only walked over to the window to do what he was asked. “Better?”

“Mm, yeah.”

“You absolute princess.”

Steve laughed. “Sorry.”

Eddie loomed over him on the bed, and Steve did his best to lay entirely still. Wayne was at work. They were alone and Steve had inconvenienced him. Surely that would be enough. He grinned up at him, all but batting his eyelashes, and Eddie rolled his eyes. “Scoot over.”

“There’s plenty of room on the other side of the bed.”

“I said-” A finger in his face. So close. So close. “Scoot over.”

Steve jutted his chin out. “Make me.”

“Oho. You’re forgetting, Steve.” Eddie’s smirk was lethal. “I know a thing or two about how to knock you down a peg. I mean, I might not have seen you get wrecked-” He leaned closer. “But I’ve seen how you’ve reacted when I threaten to do it. And I’ve seen the way you flinch if I get too close. So I would be careful if I were you. You’ve really been asking for it recently, being so bratty and all but teasing me with your spots.” He paused, something flickering across his face.

Oh no.

“Wait.”

Oh no.

“Have you-” For the first time since Steve got to know him, Eddie looked uncertain. “You- you’ve not been doing it on purpose, have you?”

Steve didn’t reply.

“Steve.”

“Hm, what? Doing what?”

“You know.” Amusement in the corner of his lips. God, Steve didn’t know what to do with that.

He looked away. “Ah. That.”

Eddie rounded the bed and sat down beside him on his other side, making the mattress dip ever so slightly so that Steve felt himself lean toward him. “Hey. We can totally drop it if you don’t wanna talk about it, but I would like to understand.”

“What, my weird desire to get tickled by you?”

“It’s not weird, I don’t think, but-” He shrugged. “Yeah, that.” A smile. “I’m especially interested in the ‘by me’ part.”

Steve bumped their shoulders together. “Don’t get a big head about it. It’s your fault for threatening me on New Year’s Eve.”

“Is that why you became all flustered?”

“Oh my god, I think this conversation will be the death of me, but- yeah. Whatever.” He picked at a loose thread on Eddie’s comforter. “I’ve always- liked it. In some way. At first I thought I liked the roughhousing I used to do with friends when I was younger. But when I started getting into relationships. I mean, obviously I would do it to them. Just to tease, you know. Flirt. And sometimes they would do it back, which, oh my god, I didn’t realize it was the actual tickling I liked, but.” He trailed off, embarrassed. “Anyway. I always found no one ever did it for long enough or often enough to satisfy me, but I kinda had bigger problems, so I haven’t thought about it for a long time.”

“Until our talk during New Year’s.”

“Exactly. Just the way you made it sound as if you wouldn’t make it last for only thirty seconds. Oh, god.” Steve slid down the bed and hid his face under the covers. “This is humiliating.”

A hand on top of his head. “Why? Have I shown any judgment?”

“Well, no.”

“Have I made it sound as if I don’t find this incredibly sweet and hot?”

“I mean, no, but you’ve also not said that.”

“That’s fair.” His hand traced the side of Steve’s face, until he gently gripped his chin. “Come out, please. I want to say it to your face.”

Steve let himself get pulled back into the light, and Eddie let his hand linger on his face, all the things they’d left unsaid filling the room. That was the crux of it. That Steve’s desire came with so much more than just the tickling. That he wanted Eddie to do it to him. That he wanted Eddie and no one else to pin him and unravel him and laugh into his neck and kiss him when Steve couldn’t take it anymore. That was why it never worked, provoking anyone else. It was as if they could all tell that that wasn’t theirs to do. How could he make all of this known, when he couldn’t even acknowledge that he remembered their kiss, how gentle Eddie had been, how they’d dragged it out for longer than was needed. How Steve stupidly hadn’t known how to interpret it and had run away, and how Eddie had never held that against him even though he kept coming around, desperate for something without feeling brave enough to ask for it.

If Eddie saw any of that on his face, he didn’t say anything. Only dropped his hand, much to Steve’s chagrin, and smiled. That beautiful fucking smile.

“I think it’s really sweet,” he said, leaning back a bit as if to see him better. “and really hot, that you want to be tickled by me. That you want to be tickled in general, but especially by me.”

Steve nodded. “All right. Okay. Cool.”

He laughed. “And I think it’s really endearing how shy you are about it, but I’ll digress.” He exhaled. “Right. My turn, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“To confess.” He scratched the back of his neck, the very image of bashfulness which would have made Steve gone feral had he not been in the trenches of his own embarrassment. “You see, me threatening to tickle you was a bit calculated. I mean.” He let out a laugh. “You made it so easy for me, it was amazing. It made me wonder if you’d somehow figured it out, even though it made no sense because I’d made a very conscious decision not to pursue you until I knew if I stood a chance.”

“Pursue me.”

“In more than one way, but I think you know I like you, Steve, you have to know that.”

Steve’s heart was doing somersaults. “I-”

“No, wait, one confession at a time.” Eddie looked away. “Anyway. I’m not trying to be a creep about it, I promise you, but the thought of tickling you, even for just a moment, still makes me go crazy. And when you reacted like that.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know how to interpret it, so I just haven’t done it. I sometimes felt like all the signs I’m now sure you’ve shown were things I made up in my head.”

Steve groaned. “I thought I would go crazy from how oblivious you seemed.”

Eddie burst into laughter. “I’m sorry, but what would you have done in my shoes?”

“I have literally no idea.” Steve pulled his arms out from under the covers. “So. You like me.” The fear that briefly crossed Eddie’s face made him scramble to say, “I like you too.”

“You do?”

“Obviously, Eddie, oh my god.”

Eddie held out his hands. “Just checking.”

Steve shook his head. “Stupid.”

“Hey, watch your tone now.”

“And what if I don’t?”

Eddie seemed delighted. “Then I have no choice but to withhold tickles.”

“Aw, man, that’s not fair.”

“I need to ask you something,” he suddenly said. “Before I wreck you. Do you really not remember our kiss?”

Steve licked his lips. “Of course I remember. I panicked, I’m sorry.”

Eddie put his knuckles against his cheek. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Really.”

“It was still a stupid thing to lie about. I should’ve just been honest.” Steve leaned into the touch. “Speaking of. I lied about another thing. When you asked if I had any resolutions for the new year. Well, I didn’t then, but I do now.”

“Oh? Do share.”

Steve shook his head with a laugh. “Nuh uh. Not happening.”

Eddie grabbed his jaw. “Well, I better force it out of you then.”

Most fantasies were never as good in real life, but this was something else. From the way Eddie was suddenly straddling his lap, using his body to pin him to the mattress and making Steve’s entire being fill up with butterflies, to the way he was grinning, such playfulness, such unwavering confidence in what he was doing. It would be a lie to say he would be happy with just this, with simply the foreplay of it all. If Eddie would stop now, simply back off and leave Steve entirely untickled, he was pretty certain he would die.

But Eddie didn’t stop. Eddie had barely started, as it turned out.

“Any last words, Harrington?” he asked, looming over him as he pinned his arms to each side of his head.

“Three, actually.” He felt himself flush. “Make it good.”

“Oho, that I will. I can promise you that.”

The seconds before Eddie started felt like an eternity. Partly because he seemed to allow himself a moment to simply watch him, tilting his head with that ghost of a smile on his lips that always made Steve feel things in much more normal circumstances. Steve felt his whole body twitching from the anticipation. He was so exposed, underarms and all. And maybe he would be able to squirm away, struggle with all his might and escape, but something told him Eddie would make sure he didn’t until he really truly wanted out. He could tell that Eddie would know, somehow, when he’d had enough. He felt, he realized with a jolt, entirely safe.

That didn’t mean his body didn’t physically try to escape the very moment Eddie let go of one of his arms and placed his fingertips on his upper ribs. He wasn’t even tickling him, really, and yet Steve felt something seize him, something like panic and anticipation and something he couldn’t fully identify. He didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know what to do with it at all, so when he finally got what he wanted, what he’d spent the past few months and years and his whole life wanting so desperately, he forgot to enjoy it. All he could do was struggle back, as if it was too much, and maybe it was.

“Hey hey.” Eddie’s hand on his cheek. Eddie wearing a look of concern which made him even prettier, somehow. “You’re okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, really, it’s okay.”

Steve exhaled. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, I can’t tell you what you’re feeling, but I can share my theory.”

“Please do.” Steve couldn’t look at him, but Eddie let him turn his head away. Eddie, who was still straddling him but now kept his hands to himself.

“I mean, this is a super vulnerable thing, right? Allowing yourself to be touched like this on already sensitive spots. I know I’ve been teasing you and all, but it really is okay to be nervous about it or to change your mind. This isn’t a very common situation. You freaked out, that’s all.”

Steve pressed his palms against his eyes. “Right.”

“We can stop.” He made a move to get off, Steve could feel it, but he reached out to grab his arm.

“Wait, no.”

Eddie’s smile was soft. “No?”

“I don’t wanna stop.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Just.” Steve waved a hand around, suddenly impatient. “Just do it, okay? Don’t give me time to overthink.”

“If you say so.”

Eddie’s hands were on him instantly, curling over his sides in such an unbearable way that he started laughing almost immediately. He still struggled back, gripped Eddie’s wrists and dug his heels into the mattress, only this time it looked different. It wasn’t the same desperation to flee, but simply to get a moment of relief. It was fun, he realized, to shove insisting hands away only for them to return. Call him a masochist. He couldn’t help being built this way. He couldn’t believe he’d found someone who fit his puzzle piece so effortlessly, as cheesy as it sounded.

“Oh my god, no- please- Eddie- shit!”

“Having fun?”

“Shut uhuhup!”

“Oohh, feisty, are we. It must tickle like crazy and I’ve only tried one spot.” Eddie laughed along with him. “My, my, how will this go?”

Eddie couldn’t know what spots of his made him react in certain ways, but Steve could tell he was taking it in as he moved over his torso. He was analyzing and learning. Steve realized, in the midst of trying to curl in on himself as Eddie vibrated his fingers over his lower stomach, that he had been right. He was a really good tickler. It wasn’t just about the tickling itself, but he knew just how to keep Steve pinned to the mattress with his thighs, how to tease him just right to make it all the more exhilarating and, had Steve been someone else, frustrating. Not to mention that he knew exactly how to move his hands over his body, as if he’d been doing this for years. But Eddie had found out about him allegedly being ticklish only months ago.

“Who else have you been tickling?” he didn’t ask, though he wondered, something sour and ugly settling over his chest at the thought of it. It lasted only a second, because Eddie had just discovered that one spot on his hip and Steve was now busy howling and bucking for his life.

“Eddie, fuck! Not there, no-” Steve grabbed his wrists, squeezing the bones but he didn’t try to shove him away. He felt he had a level of control like this, which Eddie must’ve realized because he didn’t try to slip free. Instead he let Steve hang on as he switched spots, settling on his lower ribs and sending Steve into a giggle fit. It was nice, not needing to thrash. But it tickled. It tickled so bad he would for sure go crazy with time.

“Imagine how bad this would be if I went under your shirt,” Eddie murmured, circling the same spot over and over. “I’m sure I could make you beg even more, but I’m enjoying your laughter too much to push you that far so early.”

“You’re so fucking- shit!”

“Ah, sweet spot?”

How he’d longed for this. Two decades of trying to figure it out and Eddie unraveled it all within minutes.

He threw his head back as the giggles wracked through his body, and Eddie finally moved on to another, equally ticklish spot, and their dance continued. It was only once he reached his neck that Steve started fighting back in earnest, which seemed to be Eddie’s cue to stop.

“You did so good,” he told him, which, wow, okay, Steve could totally be normal about that. “How was it? How do you feel?”

“I feel- like mush. But like. Static-y at the same time.”

Eddie let out a laugh. “That’s good?”

“Oh, it is. I just-” Steve rubbed at his neck. “I feel tickly.”

“Well, I would sure hope so, considering I just tickled you.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Shut up. I’m not in a position to make sense.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Something crossed his face. Something Steve could now recognize as timidness. “Was it good?”

“So good, Jesus, Eddie, you fucking beautiful genius.”

They laughed together, which wasn’t new, but this felt different now. Everything had been unlocked with each curl of Eddie’s fingers. He leaned down to laugh into Steve’s chest, his hair tickling his face, and Steve wrapped his arms around him because he couldn’t handle not to. He tangled his fingers into his hair and felt Eddie inch his fingers into his underarms. When he clamped his arms down, laughter already pouring out of his throat and spilling out into the bedroom, he caught Eddie raising his head to beam at him.

And then Wayne came home. Because of course he did.

*

Steve spent the night without needing to make up a reason for it. He settled on Eddie’s bed and allowed himself to scoot closer under the covers, and when his mind tried to sabotage him, as it often did, Eddie pressed his lips to his cheek and it was so very easy to turn his head to capture his mouth with his own. He didn’t run away this time, and Eddie wasn’t afraid of touching him now. There was something about laughing into his lips when he felt fingertips spider over his spine, just shy of ticklish, that had Steve addicted.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asked him, running his hand over his side. “Would you prefer not to get tickled right now?”

“No, no, it’s okay.”

“You like it.”

“I do, yeah.”

“Good.” Eddie bumped their foreheads together. “I like it too. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Stepping back, Ilya watched as Shane undressed, lust melding with something akin to exasperated fondness when Shane carefully folded each article of clothing and set them off to the side.

He left his socks on, of course. The idea of anything touching his feet was disturbing enough to make any potential embarrassment worth it, but Ilya never commented on it.

Only when Shane was lying back on the bed did Ilya follow suit. Shane unashamedly traced the lines of his muscles with his eyes as Ilya pulled off his shirt. Almost as though he felt Shane’s gaze on him, Ilya took his time, always willing to put on a bit of a show, both in and out of the bedroom.

Finally, Ilya stood at the foot of the bed, naked, eyes languidly trailing over Shane’s body in a way that made him feel oddly vulnerable. Only most of his blood rushed to his face; the rest of it travelling somewhere else entirely.

That seemed to spur Ilya into motion, climbing on top of Shane with all the predatorial grace of a mountain cat. He settled atop Shane’s hips and leaned down, skimming his fingertips along Shane’s cheekbones, along the bridge of his nose, tracing the slope of his jaw.

Growing impatient, Shane reached out to grasp Ilya’s shoulders with the intent of pulling him down.

Faster than he could blink, his wrists were wrapped in Ilya’s callused hands, pressed back down to the mattress as Ilya gave him a scornful look.

“You do not get to touch,” he said, “Right now, only I get to touch, and your hands will stay where they are.” Ilya let go of Shane’s wrists, patting them with a sense of finality. “Then, if I think you have been good, then you can touch. If you touch before I give you permission, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

Shane tangled his fingers into the sheets and gave a jerky nod, only to gasp when Ilya grabbed hold of his jaw with a nearly painful grip.

“I said, do you understand?” Beneath his intimidating stare, Shane caught a glimmer of amusement, and the corners of his lips were just barely twitching up in the ghost of a grin.

Ilya was having fun with this.

Suddenly, Shane’s words found him again and he managed to say, “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” Ilya patted his cheek approvingly, “I am going to touch you now.”

It was the little things like that, things that Ilya might not even fully realize that he was doing, that warmed Shane to his core. The clear instructions, stating his next move and, within that statement, giving Shane the opportunity to protest if he wasn’t comfortable.

Fingers touched down on his shoulders, pulling Shane from his thoughts.

“You are thinking too loudly,” said Ilya. “Try to relax.”

Whatever Shane had been expecting, it wasn’t this. He’d been ready for rough, possessive touches, ones that had him struggling to keep his hands to himself as he writhed and pleaded for more.

This was different. Ilya skimmed his palms across Shane’s shoulders, lightening his touch to skim his fingers down his chest in such a gentle way that it felt like a caress. He traced the lines of his body, the scars and freckles that littered his skin, with a curious touch.

And it was relaxing. Shane could feel his muscles loosen, noticed how his mind quieted as all that mattered was Ilya’s fingers on him, committing the ridges and slopes of his chest to memory. The attention was overwhelming in the most wonderful way, setting his nerves alight with every brush.

Then me moved lower, ghosting over Shane’s ribs, and suddenly his nerves were alight in an entirely different way.

“My, my. We are certainly sensitive, aren’t we, Hollander?” Ilya asked when shivers began to travel through Shane’s body.

He pressed his lips together, willing his hands to stay at his sides so he wouldn’t give himself away.

But Ilya lingered, tracing up and down Shane’s ribs and it really fucking tickled. His chest trembled with the effort to restrain his laughter, but Shane couldn’t help the smile that was slowly forcing its way across his face.

Looking at Ilya, Shane saw a mixture of confusion, amusement, and a slow, dawning realization overtake his features. He crawled his fingers down to Shane’s sides and across his stomach, and the dam that Shane had so tenuously built came crashing down in moments.

“Roz—Rozanov! Don’t you dahare! Shihihit—” Laughter spilled out of his lips, Ilya tracing the lines of his stomach with more purpose now that he knew what effect it was having.

“What is this, Hollander? Certainly more than sensitive. Are you, ah…” Ilya trailed off for a moment, searching for the word, “ticklish! Are you ticklish, Hollander?”

Smug glee dripped from his voice, his movements growing more certain with each passing second.

“Nohohoho! I’m not ti—fuck, I’m just nohohot!” Shane couldn’t bring himself to actually say the word, breath catching in his throat. And then he made a terrible mistake by doing the one thing he’d been told not to do.

Shane reached up and grabbed Ilya’s forearms, trying to push him away.

Immediately, Ilya froze, staring down at him with a look that made icy cold fear slide down his spine while a strange heat burned in his stomach.

“Hollander, I thought that I had made myself very clear,” he said, deliberately removing his hands only to take hold of Shane’s wrists once more. “I said no touching. I also said that if you touched before I gave you permission, that there would be consequences. Do you remember?”

Out of a rare sense of self-preservation, Shane didn’t fight it when Ilya pinned his hands under his knees, offering a shaky nod in response.

“Yeah. Yes, I remember.”

Ilya leaned closer, a dangerous grin sharpening his face. “And yet you touched anyway. You are a very brave man, Shane Hollander, I must admit. I only hope that some of your spark will remain after you have faced your punishment.”

“What’s, uh—” Shane cleared his throat, mouth suddenly very dry, “what’s my punishment?”

His question was ignored, or perhaps answered, by one of Ilya’s own:

“Tell me, where else are you ticklish?”

Fingers returned to Shane’s torso, but this time more precise. Finding the spots that made him flinch just a little harder and zeroing on them like a bloodhound. Ilya seemed to be a natural at breaking past Shane’s meagre defenses and seeing through any front he tried to put up to hide when Ilya discovered a particularly devastating method.

Laughter came easier this time, but it was also softer now that he knew what was coming. Ilya seemed to enjoy having Shane giggling and twitching under his fingers, but quickly grew bored and went in search of something bigger.

Spidering his nails over Shane’s hips earned him a snort, his giggling pitching up into something slightly more frantic, but Ilya still wasn’t satisfied. Nonetheless, he remained there for a moment, enjoying how Shane’s snorts grew more and more frequent the longer he drew nonsensical shapes and patterns into the bone. He seemed particularly pleased when he figured out that the occasional squeeze would earn him a squeaky yelp.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered in a tone of voice that undoubtedly meant adorable, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

Meanwhile, Shane was pretty sure that he was actively dying. It’s been years since he’d been tickled, and in that time he’d convinced himself that being ticklish was for kids. And on top of that, he’d convinced himself that it wouldn’t affect him anymore even if someone did try it which, up until now, nobody ever had.

He was so wrong. The sensation on bare skin was driving him insane, and Shane was suddenly wishing that he’d kept at least one layer on as some sort of barrier between himself and Ilya’s electric touch.

What’s more, is that Shane should hate it. He didn’t open himself up to touch, but he tolerated it for the sake of the people who care about him. Something like this, something so intimate and so totally out of his control, should have him scrambling to get away.

But this was Ilya, and the rules had never quite applied to him. So Shane squirmed, and he kicked, but he never really tried to get away.

At least, not until Ilya reached behind himself and dragged his nails down his thighs.

“FUCK!” Shane’s heels started scrabbling against the bed in earnest, never getting enough leverage to try and buck Ilya off his hips. “Go awahahahay! Rozanov—Not thehere!”

Ilya didn’t respond. Instead, he levelled Shane with an unimpressed stare, reaching back even further to scribble his blunt nails across Shane’s kneecaps, drawing another shout out of him.

It was slightly more bearable, but only in the way that Shane could get in a bit more air between fits of laughter. And also because the way Ilya was leaning backwards really accentuated his sharp lines and elegant strength in a way that Shane couldn’t help but appreciate despite the situation he found himself in. Once he felt like he could, he tossed out a half-hearted plea for mercy, “Ohmygod—wahahahahait! You’re so mehehean! Just—let me go!”

For a moment, Ilya removed his hands, letting Shane catch his breath.

He told himself that the pit in his stomach was relief; not disappointment.

“Perhaps I would consider stopping,” Ilya said, his intense gaze pinning him in place more effectively than his body ever could, “if you agreed to let me score a goal on you in our next game. Does that sound fair to you, Hollander?”

When Shane opened his mouth to answer, Ilya’s hands shot back down to his thighs, giving the muscle there sharp, precise squeezes that had him barking out increasingly desperate laughter.

“Oho fuck you, Rozanohov!” He managed to spit out. “Leave me alohohohone!”

Ilya’s fingers managed to worm their way to Shane’s inner thighs despite his best efforts, dancing across the skin before digging into the muscle, and Shane threw his head back, mind fuzzy and eyes suspiciously wet.

The tears clearly didn’t go unnoticed, because Shane could hear the grin in Ilya’s voice as he said, “I would never do such a thing. Especially not when you like it so much.”

Those last words had been whispered close to his ear, Ilya’s lips brushing against the skin in a way that was so distracting that Shane almost didn’t register his words. “What?! No—I dohohohon’t—Shitshitshit Ilya!”

“There is no need to pretend, Shane.” Ilya bared his teeth and rolled his hips, making Shane’s laughter catch on something much more guttural. “You forget that I am literally on your dick. You cannot lie to me about this.”

At a loss for words, Shane could feel the red heat of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and he turned his head to the side in an attempt to hide his face in the pillows.

Ilya seemed to notice as well, since he tacked on, “I do not mind it, to be clear. In fact, I enjoy having you in my control in this way. At my mercy.” Shane’s laughter picked up at that, and, curse Ilya’s perceptiveness because he caught on to that too.

“I could just keep you here forever,” he carried on. “Your laugh has such a wonderful sound, especially combined with your other noises.”

A thumb brushed lightly over Shane’s nipple and a keening noise was ripped out of his throat before he could stop it.

“Wonderful example, Hollander!” Ilya praised teasingly, and Shane had a feeling that he would be clapping if his hands weren’t otherwise occupied. “See? There is nothing to be embarrassed about. Well, except for how ticklish you are, but I think it is fitting. It wouldn’t be nearly as fun if you did not enjoy it as well. Which you do.”

Once he got out of this, he was going to kill Ilya.

If he got out of this.

Fuck.

“Plehehease! Just shut up!” With that terrifying thought, Shane fell further into hysteria, letting the sensations wash over him.

“Me? Shut up?” Ilya seemed offended at the very notion, picking up on his attack in retaliation. “You do not know me very well if you are asking me to stop teasing. And I do not think that you are in a position to make any demands at the moment.”

He zeroed in on a spot that made Shane’s laughter pitch into silence, happily carrying on. “And begging? You must be above that, Hollander. Imagine if Canada knew that their precious hockey star could be reduced to begging by just a little tickling. It is pathetic, truly.”

With the way Ilya kept speaking to him and how he kept touching him, making Shane squirm against him and pushing him closer and closer to the edge, Shane was abruptly struck with the realization that he wouldn’t last much longer.

Shane tried to squeak out a warning, but Ilya’s eyes only lit up in his evilly delighted way as he stayed exactly where he was.

The hot coil within Shane snapped and he collapsed back against the bed with a sound that was somewhere between a choked giggle and a moan. Torturous fingers finally withdrew, only to be replaced with firm hands smoothing over his hyper-sensitive skin, helping Shane come down from whatever high he’d just been subjected to.

After a moment of catching his breath, his eyes met Ilya’s once more. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” Ilya echoed.

Another beat of silence, and then Ilya tentatively asked, “Was that okay? Did you enjoy yourself?”

An incredulous laugh tore out of Shane, his cooling face suddenly flushed once more.

“Did I—? Yes, you asshole. I think it’s pretty clear that I fucking enjoyed myself.”

A proud grin settled on Ilya’s lips, and he leaned down to kiss Shane soundly. “Good,” he muttered against his lips. “Because I would like to have a repeat of this as often as possible, if that is okay with you.”

Then quieter, “You are beautiful when you laugh.”

The words wound around Shane’s heart, making themselves a warm home next to all of the soft things Ilya says just for him.

“Thank you,” Shane murmurs. “But I think that I should probably return the favour. Take care of you.”

For the first time today, Ilya actually seemed a little flustered. “Ah, there is no need for that,” he said, glancing down between them.

Shane followed his gaze and saw that the sheets were more of a mess than they should’ve been, and that Ilya was soft as well.

Which meant…

“Did you—”

“Yes,” Ilya quickly cut him off. “You kept moving. It was to be expected.”

A tinge of embarrassment shone though Ilya’s typically indifferent demeanour, so Shane pulled him down next to him, pressing into his side.

“I’m flattered that you think I’m that hot,” he teased, silently cheering when Ilya relaxed against him.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Ilya muttered into his hair, sounding half-asleep already. “So, what do you say, should we make this a regular occurrance?”

Count on Ilya to always manage to turn things around on Shane. “Sure, but I want a turn next time.”

Ilya snorted at that, “Good luck trying anything when I know how easily you crumble. I am not afraid to use your newfound weakness against you.”

A finger wiggled against Shane’s side and he batted it away with a sleepy giggle. Ilya was probably right, but that wouldn’t keep Shane from trying. It would probably only encourage him to try more often, if he was being perfectly honest.

But that, along with cleaning his sheets, was a fight for another day. So for now, Shane just settled more comfortably against Ilya and said, “Goodnight, Rozanov.”

“Mmph. Goodnight, Hollander.”

Jonathan slowly reached his hand out and placed it gently on Will’s knee. If Mike noticed, he didn’t say anything. Will didn’t stir. But when Jonathan sharply pinched his fingers around his kneecap, he jolted with a yelp and nearly headbutted Mike in the face.

“Hey!” Will sleepily glared at Jonathan, trying to push his hand away. “Why?”

“You’re sleeping,” Jonathan supplied. “I’m just trying to help you stay awake for the movie.”

“I am not sleeping…” Will mumbled, but everyone knew it was true. Mike was grinning. Jonathan squeezed Will’s knee again and was rewarded with another yelp and a hissed stop it from his brother.

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you could stay awake. I’m just being a good brother.”

“You’re not being a good brother, you’re just being an a - ah!”

“Mhm, yeah, finish that sentence, Will.”

Jonathan had placed his hand on the centre of Will’s belly, vibrating his fingers and grinning at the sudden, bubbly laughter pouring out of Will. “Jonathan!” He squealed.

Jonathan shifted enough to stuff his fingers into Will’s underarms - he was still waking up and his body wasn’t coordinated yet, so he wasn’t quick enough in slamming his arms down. Will jolted forward into Jonathan’s chest, his body’s desperate attempt at stopping the attack. Pleading could be heard amongst the cackling, but it was stuttered and kept getting lost.

“Jonath - why! No, I - dohohon’t!”

Jonathan laughed right along with him. Will may be getting older, but he’d always be Jonathan’s little brother and best (and cutest) source of entertainment. Jonathan looked up and saw Mike smiling - when they made eye contact and Jonathan quirked up his eyebrows, Mike grinned even wider.

Will squeaked rather loudly when fingers squashed into the side of his neck, right in the conjunction where it met his shoulder and tickled the most, turtling up yet failing to protect the area.

“No, Mike,” he whined. “N-not you toohoo-“

“You sounded like a mouse just now.”

“Shut uhup!”

Will’s eyes were half shut from the force of his smile and laughter, so he couldn’t see the fond grin on Mike’s face.

Jonathan could, though.

Usually only Jonathan could tickle Will into the current state he was in. His friends could definitely get him hysterical, there was no doubt about it (and fairly easy, with how sensitive Will was); but Jonathan knew just how to adjust his fingers to send his brother over the edge, knew all the secret little techniques and ticklish spots that had him laughing the hardest (such as the gentle pinching motion with fingernails across the skin on the back of Will’s flanks, as Jonathan was currently doing, eyebrows shooting up when Will was so desperate to get away from the feeling that he practically jumped into Mike’s lap with a shriek so high it could break glass).

But every touch of Mike’s seemed to have Will in almost the same state; he had grabbed the top of Will’s ear between his thumb and the side of his pointer finger, holding it so gently and moving his fingers so microscopically yet intentionally and perfectly that Will nearly sobbed when Mike’s hand stayed right there, basically paralyzing him to the point where he couldn’t even begin comprehending an attempt to flee. Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was because Mike possibly knew Will nearly as well as Jonathan, or because literally anything Mike did had such a dizzying effect on Will that he lost all control.

Jonathan supposed it was a bit of both.

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad,” Jonathan teased. Will tried to retort, but when he opened his mouth Jonathan scuttled his fingers across Will’s stomach, making him snort instead. Will’s hands moved from covering his mouth to reaching for Jonathan or Mike’s hands to waving desperately in front of him, head tilted back and shoulders shaking with bright laughter.

When Mike moved his hands to press his fingertips into the creases between Will’s hips and thighs while Jonathan latched his hands onto Will’s knees again, Will shrieked so loud that both his attackers burst out laughing and stopped ticking him.

“Ouch, Will,” Jonathan said, jokingly rubbing his own ears. “You’re going to make us go deaf!”

“You’re going to wake Holly with a sound like that!” Mike added, but he was smiling.

Will could only continue giggling as he caught his breath. “It’s… not my fault…”

“See, this is why it’s safer to stay awake during movies,” Jonathan said.

“But… hah… did you hahave to wake me up that way?” Seriously, Will’s residual giggles were unfairly sweet.

“Older brother rights.”

“Mike’s not my older brother!”

“Okay, fine. Older brother and Mike rights.”

Will groaned dramatically, but his cheeks definitely reddened. Jonathan stored that away for later. “What about Will rights?” Will asked.

Mike started poking sporadically across Will’s chest and collarbones, restarting Will’s bubbly giggles and making him try and curl up.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” Mike said in a mock-serious voice.

“Mihike! Are you- ah! Are you seriously giving me m-my Miranda rights? Ahah!”

“…you have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you…”

Will finally managed to roll back over to Jonathan, who could only throw an arm around his shoulders and laugh along. “Okay, okay. Your rights state that we’ll leave you alone now… if you stay awake for the rest of the movie.”

Will grinned shyly, giggled once more. “I’ll really try.”

However, the ticking seemed to completely wear Will out. Within 15 minutes he was leaning into Jonathan, fast asleep again.

It was a good thing the tickling seemed to tire out Jonathan, too, his head leaned against the back of the couch, soft snores leaving his nose.

Mike quietly leaned into Will. He managed to make it to the end credits before he fell asleep. And when Nancy found them like that a couple hours later, she simply covered them all with a blanket, kissed each forehead, and smiled.

Annabeth doesn't make him feel that way. Her little quips are always clever, usually harmless. Even her nickname for him, "seaweed brain" doesn't annoy him as much as he pretends it does. Annabeth, as well as his friends at Camp Half-Blood, don't make him feel like an outsider.

Percy has become flustered around Annabeth for a whole new reason, though, much to his horror. She had snuck up on him in her stupid Yankee's cap, invisible, and grabbed him from behind to scare him. However, his shout (which she described as a "squeal", which he vehemently denied) was less about fear and more due to the fact that she had grabbed his sides and squeezed.

"Are you ticklish, Seaweed Brain?" she had asked once the cap was off and she'd revealed herself, with that mischievous grin painted on her face.

Percy scoffed. "No," he said, unconvincingly.

And the rest was history.

He still won't admit that he's ticklish. It's ridiculous, because he so obviously is, but it's some weird pride thing that Percy can't shake. Now, every time she tickles him, she asks him again: "Are you ticklish?" and every time, no matter how hard he's laughing, Percy tells her no.

Annabeth has taken every chance she's gotten to tickle him, and he's been on edge ever since. Unfortunately, those demigod battle instincts didn't seem to protect him in the case of a one-sided tickle fight, and he didn't stand a chance trying to strategize against a daughter of Athena.

So, he jumps at every little sound and often keeps his arms wrapped around his middle just in case of an attack, which Grover finds incredibly amusing.

It's a sunny day at camp when Percy lets his guard down, too busy chatting with Grover by the water to remember his absolute pest of a friend and her shenanigans, when Annabeth creeps up behind him, not even bothering to turn herself invisible this time, and latches onto his ribs, and he nearly goes tumbling into the water.

Grover makes an indignant noise at being splashed, but Percy and Annabeth are too busy grappling to acknowledge him.

"Just admit it, and I'll leave you alone!" Annabeth says, giggling. Her fingers on his ribs are unbearably ticklish, and he can't believe how easily she's found his weak spots. Too smart, too methodical for her own damn good.

"Never!" Percy shouts, trying to grab her hands and failing miserably.

It continues like this for a moment, her trying to stick her hands into his armpits and him cackling like mad, but when she finally gets her fingers under his arms, Percy's laughter reaches a new octave, and before he can process what he's done, a small wave crashes over them both, as well as Grover who is still sitting nearby, and Annabeth crashes against his chest, spluttering.

"Oh, you jerk!" she cries, her hair sopping wet and dripping onto his face. For a moment, he worries that he's actually upset her, but she just begins tickling him with twice as much vigor.

"No, I'm sorry! Okay, okay, I'll admit it!"

Annabeth stops. "Wow. Never thought I'd witness this," she grins. "Go on then. Admit it."

She's still sitting on top of him, looking down at him with smug look on her face. Her hands are poised above his belly, like she'll strike again if he hesitates.

So, Percy swallows his pride. "I'm ticklish," he says, and instead of that white-hot humiliation, the embarrassment he feels is more akin to butterflies in his stomach. He briefly wonders if that's because of the confession, or the fact that she looks so pretty sitting on his legs, hair wet and smile beaming, but he quickly pushes that thought away.

Although, also a blessing, because if you already didn’t think Mike and Will were practically born attached to the hip, them ending up living together would’ve started to change your mind in a heartbeat.

Will was no longer a few minute bike ride down the street for Mike, instead a few steps down to the basement in the comfort of his own home. Whenever boredom struck either boy when there wasn’t any scheduled crawl happening later that night, they found each other in less than a second to hangout. They soak in each other’s company more than ever, and being childhood friends left them with the ability to do even the smallest things together and still be able to manage to create some great memories they’ll look back on.

Like right now, for example.

The basement only had Mike and Will in there, Jonathan leaving half an hour ago with Nancy. It was perfect, as today the fall wind seems to have an extra chill in the air that would make it too hard to enjoy anything outdoors.

A simple glance over at the corner where Will’s art supplies could be found was enough for an idea to pop into Mike’s head, grabbing some color pencils that looked like they needed to be sharpened and pointed at a nearby chair for Will to take a seat in.

Who has been sitting for a good three minutes by now, growing anxious each time Mike looks up at him then scribbles away at the paper he’s covering with half of his arm with newfound inspiration.

He shifts a little, earning him a small creak from the chair. “Mike, you really don’t have to—“

“Sssh.” Is all he’s been met with every time he speaks up. Mike has never stopped adoring Will’s love for art, and how he turned it into his own love language to gift the people he cares about paintings and sketches of their favorite character from a tv show or a beautiful portrait of themselves in a breathtaking scenery behind them. He puts his feelings and emotions into these drawings, and hopes the people he gives them to see it, as having his love for others be put into words isn’t something that comes so easily to Will.

Mike has been Will’s favorite person to give these types of gifts to, and no doubt does it give such a warm fuzzy feeling in Mike’s chest he can’t quite explain what it is, but takes the time to appreciate every artwork and hang some of them up in his room while the others are neatly stacked in a box sitting on his shelf to look through from time to time.

Although, he does sit to wonder if Will ever wished to be on the receiving end for a sweet change, putting his talents to a rest as someone gives him a painting they worked hard on.

Mike wanted to be the first to do so, but too bad for Will it won’t look like Picasso himself made it for him. Maybe almost like a five year old did, instead.

“Okay, finished!” Mike suddenly spoke up, getting Will to jump a little in his seat. He moves his arm that’s been blocking Will’s view in case he ever tries to steal a peek, holding the paper up so the sun leaking through the curtains can shine directly on it to show every single detail.

For a split second, all that could be heard was the tree branches lightly scratching against the window from the breeze.

“Is that… really supposed to be me?” Is what finally broke the quietness, Will pointing at the paper with a slight disbelief expression written on his face.

Mike somehow not being able to pick up his tone was beyond Will, as he started to break down every detail of the drawing like his question was him genuinely asking.

“Well, of course. See, look..” He pointed first at the eyes, which held a striking resemblance of a thousand yard stare that gives Will the shivers the longer he stares at it. “These are your green eyes, and I even added the little brown you have in them.”

Will feels the beginning of his cheeks heating up, a small detail like that he himself even sometimes forgets, because there’s no reason for him to stare that closely into his own eyes to see every inkling of color it holds. Although, I guess Mike has no problem doing that.

“Oh, and these dots? Those are your freckles. One right here, here, also here…” Mike points in different places on Will’s face of the portrait he drew, and it did not help whatsoever to Will’s current flustered state. Freckles he was never aware of he had in certain areas. How much was Mike observing? Or is this just knowledge he’s always had about him?

And he just kept going.

A point to the hair. “I see some curls coming in, so I added that in for your hair. That’s what the swooshes are, if you couldn’t tell.”

A point to the smile. “Oh, and here I was trying to capture your smile as best as I could. That line right there is supposed to be a dimple. I don’t think you’re aware you have one, but it comes out whenever you’re talking about your special interests, or recalling a really funny embarrassing moment of Jonathan, or when you’re talking to m—“

“Okay, okay, Mike! I got it, it really is a portrait of me…” Will was quick to cut off Mike’s sentence before it got too much, needing a break from his poor cheeks burning up with every detail Mike goes into explanation of, oblivious to how observant of his best friend’s facial features brings Will to an understandably flustered mess.

Mike sets the paper down on the table beside him, giving it a glance before bringing his eyes back on Will who isn’t meeting his gaze currently. “You don’t believe me.”

“What..?” Now Will is looking at him.

“You think this looks nothing like you.” His tone is playful, but he leans a little back in his chair with arms crossed to put up a front that he’s a little hurt. “I put a lot of time and effort into this—“

“It only took you three minutes—“

“—and I made sure to get it as accurate as possible. Is my art skills really that bad? It’s okay, you can say it. I forgot who I’m with.”

Mike’s dramatics earns him a eyeroll from the other, who ignores the question that has an obvious answer as he leans a little closer to the table to get a better look at the drawing.

“I’m trying to look at it through your eyes, and I can kinda see it. But…” he taps at the fainted line on the left side of the portrait’s cheek. “I do not have a dimple. You completely made that up, for whatever reason.”

Mike’s eyebrows knit together, dumbfounded to say the least. “Are you kidding?” He grabs the paper, holding it up next to Will’s face, eyeing between the two. “Smile for me.”

Will ignores how such a simple request from Mike made his cheeks become a little tinted pink, lips tugging into a weak smile that made Mike scoff and put the drawing back down on the table.

“Dude, you’re not even trying—“

“Well, it’s awkward when someone just tells you to smile!”

It took one singular glance up and down at Will for the gears in Mike’s brain to start churning out an idea he hasn’t acted upon in such a long time, almost forgetting how often they used to do this to each other when both were younger and would get on each other’s nerves, or just wanted to be pestering little shits.

“No no, it’s okay.” Mike said ever so calmly, not wanting to foil his intentions that will soon become evident in just a few seconds. “I think I know what will make it show.”

All Will did was blink, and suddenly his back was against the floor with the help of blankets and pillows being scattered around to lessen the pain the tackle gave him. Mike straddled his hips before Will could do so much as think to get up, his tone catching a nervous shake to it.

“Mike, what are you doIHIHING— WAIT!” Laughter was soon to cut him off once he felt nimble fingers worming its way up his sides, getting higher and higher to his underarms which if Mike’s hazy memory is serving him right, it’s a spot that turns Will’s frantic giggles into tiny hiccups he can’t hold back on.

Will tried to be one step ahead of him, slamming his arms down to block the spot but Mike was surprisingly quick, jamming his fingers there as soon as it happened which led to them being trapped for now. Mike wasn’t complaining at all about his predicament, however.

Took only twenty seconds until Will’s dimple Mike was certain he had started to faintly show on his left cheek, becoming more prominent with each hard drill of his thumbs into the hollows of his armpits to fish out another hiccup that brings Mike to his own fits of giggles.

“See? There it is. Making me think I’m just going crazy.” Mike said with a shake of his head, starting to slow down at the first sight of tears already starting to prickle in his best friend’s eyes. The semi-given break had Will flutter his eyes open, hands grabbing ahold of Mike’s wrists but not putting much up of a fight to twist them away.

“Ohohokay, ohohokay! You’re right and I was wrong, so ple—“

“Do you think your knees are just as bad as they were when we were younger?” Mike asked, but wasn’t expecting an answer, more so leaning in on the option of finding out himself. Once Mike got his hands behind him, he didn’t even get the chance to start latching onto his knees as Will was already attempting to find purchase on the floor with the heels of his shoes to buck him off.

“No! It’s nohot, it’s not! They aren’t!” Will did a terrible job of convincing, his constant squirming and giggles lacing behind his voice was giving him up completely that Mike couldn’t help but let out a sympathetic huff of a chuckle through his nose.

“Yet you’re still giggling, if not more when I just hover my hands over them.” And he did, shaping them to be almost like claws and did a couple of squeeze motions in the air, absolutely enjoying every second how much effect the anticipation is killing Will.

Will can’t possibly imagine how terribly flushed his face must be, legs still kicking out to avoid the hands that try to follow along. From what he can remember from his tickle fights with Mike in their younger days, when Mike does the tickling, there is no pleading that boy will take into consideration and just have it go in one ear and out the other. Will further worsened it when he started to complain to the friend group he didn’t want to be treated so fragile, to be babied constantly by everyone around him. So Mike without hesitation took it upon himself to show that he listens, but also made it apply to their tickle fights which ends in Will nearly gasping for air. By then, Will knew it was far too late to now retract back his statement.

“You’re being soho mean..” is all Will can find himself to say, and didn’t like how it only got Mike to respond with a quirked up brow and a growing smirk.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll be nicer and just cut to the chase, then.”

And boy did he, ignoring the shrieking ‘no!’ coming out of Will before being overtaken by his squeaky laughter yet again, knees receiving rapid squeezes to the bone with a tight latched grip to follow the violent kicks.

Will couldn’t muster enough energy to fight back properly, aiming weak punches to the chest as one hand even resorted to just clutching onto the fabric of Mike’s shirt, yet staying there with no push or pull to get him off. The buck of his hips didn’t seem to work either, so Will was left to believe this truly is just his fate he’s forced to succumb to until Mike’s entertainment meter was filled to the brim.

However, a spot like his knees was only ever built for a few seconds of tickling, Mike not wanting to be on trial for murder as he finally leaves them be and decides on scribbling back to his sides, an easy target that still promises priceless reactions.

Such as a snort.

It seemed like it not only caught Mike by surprise, but Will as well, caused by the fast switch up of spots he couldn’t get used to in time.

“Oh man, I think I’ll have to start making this a habit again.” Mike chuckled, putting his tickles to a halt when he took the snort as a sign that Will needs a breather. Will was more than relieved to eventually bless his lungs with air, letting the leftover giggles get all out of his chest before deadpanning up at him.

“Funny how you’re acting like you’re not just as ticklish as me. In fact, even worse if I remember correctly..”

Mike shot out grips to both of Will’s wrists the second he saw them move to test his memory, not needing the tables to be turned so swiftly on him.

“Well, you’re not.”

“Uh huh, then let go of my wrists.” Will gives them a pull, but they barely budge as Mike only tightens his hold.

“Uh, sorry, no can do.”

“Mike,” Will resorts to reasoning, it being far too long of him pinned on the floor as Mike could very much go for round two if he ever feels like it, but there won’t be any waiting around to see if that becomes true, getting a bit hungry now for his own revenge. “Seriously let me up, you had your fun—“

The door to the basement suddenly swings open out of the blue, pulling both of their attention away from each other as it lands on Jonathan who takes a few steps down.

Yet stops, seeing the state the two of them are currently.

“…What are you guys doing?” It sounded like he almost didn’t want to question, and should've made his and Nancy’s date go on a little longer.

Mike gives him a grin, one that kickstarts Will’s squirming all over again.

Ilya. The way he remembers saying it, how easily it lined up with his own name said aloud. Only he now knows it might’ve been the first time Ilya said his first name, but it hadn’t been Shane’s. It doesn’t occur to him to think that maybe Ilya heard him that time and remembered it, and that it made it easier to choke out Shane’s name first as he fucked him on the couch. He’s too busy freaking out over everything and trying to get himself to enjoy sleeping with a woman. Rose is gorgeous and funny and so fucking kind it makes him want to cry. And she knows, he will soon find out, that she’s not doing it for him. Maybe it happens when he allows himself to picture Ilya rather than her. Maybe when memories of him start infiltrating other parts of his life. Maybe she would realize eventually anyway. She’s clever enough.

He leans against the counter and tries not to think of that morning. That is how it starts, with him trying to redirect his thoughts but still being so stuck on Ilya that they find him anyway, in a memory he thought he’d forgotten. It’s late in that memory, but they finished getting each other off a while ago. It’s the earlier days, before Shane has allowed Ilya to fuck him. His first night not leaving immediately, though he will leave soon. He remembers that. That he walks through the hotel corridor with the feeling of hands on him still lingering.

Whatever Shane had said, because Ilya had reached out in playful exasperation, had left them tussling on the bed, with Ilya winning because Shane’s not used to those things. And besides, it makes him feel strangely aroused to be manhandled like that. Ilya will notice, and maybe that is why he stops and doesn’t ever mention the saying of his name. Shane remembers it now. How he waddles out of the hotel room still kind of hard, because Ilya refuses to do anything about it.

“Haven’t I already satisfied you?” he says in that stupid fucking way he knows drives Shane crazy. “Why so greedy, Hollander?”

In retrospect, maybe using his surname was a way for him to reestablish the boundaries they never spoke about. Shane doesn’t see that then, because he doesn’t realize he’s crossed them.

“Ilya,” he remembers choking out. “S-stop.”

And to his credit, he had. He’d not even teased him about it when he so easily could’ve.

*

Several months later, Ilya brings it up.

“I remember that,” he says as Shane slaps his hand away.

“You do?” He tries to will his blush away, but it only grows when Ilya grins.

“Yes. I found it cute.”

“Oh, shut up, you fucking asshole.” But he says it fondly, as he finds he’s been doing for the past few years.

“Come on. Don’t you agree that it’s cute?” He spiders his fingers down Shane’s chest, laughing when he tenses. “I can make you do anything with just a touch.”

“Oh, so you’re a sadist.”

“Only for you. I like seeing you squirm. And do as I say.” He pauses at Shane’s lower ribs. “And I like it when you giggle.”

“I don’t giggle.”

“Oh, you giggle very much but very rarely.”

“That makes no sense- ah, please don’t.”

“I remember you being ticklish,” he says as he curls his fingers over Shane’s ribs. “And I remember you liking it.”

“That’s a lie- Ilya, oh my god!” The laughter comes out easily, in a way it didn’t use to before, but now Ilya is laughing too. He hadn’t last time. It had been so quick, tucked between Shane rolling over and Ilya pinning him to the mattress. Lost between flying limbs and exclamations. Easy to miss had you not been paying attention.

Evidently Ilya had.

“I’m barely touching you,” he says, sitting up more properly so that he can maneuver Shane’s flailing hands. Shane can’t help it. It’s second nature to fight him off, to try to escape the sensation. It doesn’t come as a surprise when Ilya straddles him, having moved so quickly he hadn’t stood a chance. The sound that comes out of him does surprise him though. Something high pitched and panicked. Something he can’t control.

Ilya has his hands on his hips, as he’s done many times, but his thumbs are drilling into the bone in a way that makes him buck them, calling out his name over and over. Later, when Shane thinks back on this, he wonders if his doing that is what eventually made Ilya become tender with him. Things change, once someone’s had a mouthful of your name. Much more than having a cock in your mouth, they find out.

Shane grabs his wrists, but they merely work as handles as Ilya doesn’t move a single inch. Whatever evil thing he’s doing with his hands sends shocks though his body and it’s clear that Shane isn’t used to this, isn’t used to losing control in this way, and coupled with the laughter that surrounds his pleas it really isn’t a surprise that he becomes hard. Not when tickling is nothing but touching and toying and controlling. It will take him a long time to realize that it’s more, but this is what he tells himself when Ilya tuts at his dick, all the while continuing to pull him apart.

“Ilya, please, mercy, fuck-”

“Oh, but I haven’t tried your thighs yet.”

From the amount of times Shane’s had them wrapped around him, one would think he wouldn’t have been able to keep his sensitivity a secret, but he had and Ilya rips that secret out of his hands with a simple squeeze to his flesh that has him howling. It’s that type of laughter when something kind of hurts and kind of tickles at the same time, and Shane feels his whole body jerk with each squeeze. Ilya managed to slip out of his grip easily, and now he finds he can’t seem to grab him again, and so he tries to twist, he kicks, he and his hardening dick beneath Ilya Rozanov and his fucking muscles. He’s all sweat now. Both of them are. The sheets are more of a mess than usual. Good thing he’s not the one sleeping there tonight, only he’s not sure if that’s true anymore.

“You are going crazy,” Ilya says with a laugh, almost sounding impressed. “Does it tickle that badly?”

“I will kill you, Rozanov.”

“Oh, no, Hollander. I don’t think you will. Who’s gonna take care of that if not me?”

Shane slaps his hand away. “Don’t point at my dick. You’re offending it.”

“Hah! He thinks he’s funny, but he’s the one giggling.”

“For the last time, I don’t giggl- ah!”

“I even have evidence and yet you still deny.” Ilya leans forward suddenly, face first really, and knocks them both down onto the bed again, Ilya laying flat over Shane with his face pressed into the curve of his neck, and Shane nearly thinks it’s over until he starts nuzzling him with a little too much vigor.

“Ilya.”

“I always suspected your neck is ticklish.”

“Oh my god, I’m gonna die.”

“So dramatic.”

“I’m gonna die tickled and horny.”

“Mm, I can help you if you ask nicely. But I will keep tickling you.”

“Fucking sadist.”

“It’s cute that you think I don’t see that you like it.” He pulls away suddenly, leaving Shane’s body cold and lonely during the seconds it takes him to move downward. He does it slower than usual, with an expression Shane can’t read but that makes him blush anyway, and when he leans down again to take him into his mouth, he does so while curling his fingers over Shane’s waist.

“Ah, oh fuck, Ilya-” Shane grips the comforter tightly and leans his head back, his whole body on edge as Ilya does what he does best. The tickling isn’t constant, but frequent enough that Shane moans and laughs in tandem. It’s the sound that Ilya makes that has him coming. Something low and content, almost fond, which he does in response to whatever abomination of a noise Shane lets out. He’s not really sure what his body’s doing at that point, other than the fact that he’s dug his heels into the mattress and grabbed a hold of one of Ilya’s wrists again without stopping him. The tickling pauses briefly as he finishes in Ilya’s mouth, and then it returns, gentle and slow and way too much for him now.

“Don’t,” he says and finally pushes him off. “I can’t bear it.”

Ilya hums, that smile back on his face as he leans down and presses a kiss to his lower belly.

“I think we need to tie you up next time,” he mumbles into the skin and Shane gulps not out of fear and they both know it. “I want to see you lose control when I tickle you after you’ve come without you being able to stop me.”

Shane exhales loudly. “We can’t do that in a hotel room.”