eon-cintran - Tumblr blog

eon-cintran · 4 days

Text

so ive been mega hyperfixated on tma recently (like. binged all 200 eps in under two weeks kind of hyperfixated) and THIS FIC. op you make me so insane already but holy SHIT this. this is one of my favorite fics ever. i loved it even before i knew who any of the characters were, and having all this context just makes it even better, i hope you know this will be in my brain forever and ever thank you for your service

Ignoring It

Summary: Tim has a Thing for tickling that he's not keen on bringing up with his partners. Doing his best to ignore it works, until it really doesn't. Polychives, light angst with a happy ending.

Words: 5.3k

If Tim refused to think about it, it wasn’t a problem. So he was refusing to think about it.

He was refusing to think about The Tickling Thing, a Thing which he kinda wished was not a Thing for him in the first place. For some reason, his brain had always seemed to shine some kind of spotlight on the act — replaying moments he saw it happen over and over, getting stuck on the sound of particularly endearing laughter, dispatching unreasonable amounts of butterflies to his stomach at the thought of being loomed over with wiggly fingers, and so on. Tim had never managed to figure out why he had this Thing (if there even was a reason apart from his default settings) but he was very conscious about it being unusual. The more he dwelled on it, the more of a Thing it became, so he tried to box it up in a corner of his brain and focus on the more standard types of affection he liked. Simpler that way.

That worked great, until he found himself in a relationship that defied his previous understanding of how relationships could work at all, with not one but three partners, and there were suddenly a lot of cute laughs and smirks and playful moments to be tempted by. Ignoring it was impossible, what with Sasha making jokes until Jon’s stubbornness crumbled and he couldn’t help but break into a smile, and Martin looking away with a blush when one of them complimented him, and Sasha reaching up to tie her hair into a ponytail with nimble fingers, Jon giving Tim those fond-exasperated looks at his every wisecrack, Martin getting that light in his eyes when he made a playful remark, Sash—

No. Nope. He was going to be chill about this. And the more he thought about it, the more he wanted it all, taking them apart with his fingers alone, them doing the same back to him, huge chaotic tickle fights… He was left with no choice but to ignore and endure the best he could.

Though, he figured it fit well enough with his general nature for him to give into the urge to tickle his partners every once in awhile without being suspicious. And he’d been doing it since before he really identified how deep the Thing really went for him, so he’d already established that enjoyed doing it to others. At least it could be passed off as, y’know, a typical level of enjoyment despite the blazing spotlights in his mind. Indulging occasionally was better than nothing.

Letting himself receive it was a very different story. He knew himself, or at least knew how he’d been with previous lovers. He could stand it at first, but as it went on he would get gigglier and deeper into that delicious floaty headspace until he lost the ability to do anything but give in and hope for more. In, like, a super obvious way. Or at least obvious enough that his partners would surely pick up on it, because they knew him too damn well (not to mention Jon’s supernatural shit) for him to get away with things like that. He’d melt, flop over, bury his face in something instead of fighting back, forget to protest, leave spots open for attack, something that would expose him. And he didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of that.

He was— he was fuckin’ embarrassed about it, okay? Embarrassed over how easy it was to incapacitate him and how much he loved it. And, on the other end, embarrassed over how fixated he could get on one of their reactions. There was an extra little worry that it’d come off as creepy or something, but at least Jon could use his Eye stuff to confirm he meant what he’d tell them about his intentions and concern with their comfort vastly outweighing his impulses. But as long as Tim kept The Tickling Thing to himself, there would be no awkward conversations and potential weirding out in the first place, so he resolved not to let himself slip into the headspace that risked exposing it.

Going after the others, naturally, meant they sometimes tried to turn it around on him. More than okay in theory, but he had an image to maintain and a Thing to keep to himself. Luckily, he prided himself on being a slippery bastard (Sasha’s words), and that plus his tickle monster prowess meant he only ever got tickled for a few seconds at a time before he got away or regained control. Never long enough to get him to that point of giddy delirium that would expose him. Nothing like the delightfully drawn out sessions of him dishing it out on them. God he loved doing that. He really should do it more oft—

Nope. Ignoring it.

Frankly, he was proud of his impulse control. He wasn’t overdoing it.

Or so he thought. Until the afternoon they decided to team up on him.

It wasn’t out of nowhere, to be fair. He’d gone after each of them at least once in the past few days, and had just made some cheeky comment or other when Sasha clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Okay, that’s it. Martin, Jon?”

Jon sighed and put down his book. Martin stepped closer to Tim and gave a look of almost-regret.

“Sorry, Tim, but this has to be done.”

And all of a sudden he started wrestling Tim down onto the carpet of their living room. Tim could’ve slipped away without any trouble like he had so many times if Martin was working alone, but this time, Sasha and Jon weren’t far behind. Three against one? He didn’t stand a chance.

He was pinned and winded in short order. Jon was above his head looking at him from upside down, keeping Tim’s wrists pinned so his arms were raised. Martin sat on his thighs. And Sasha made herself smugly comfortable laying down on her side next to Tim like lounging royalty waiting to be fed grapes. But he knew her, and knew she was also very ready to jump into action again if he made an escape attempt. Basically, he was fucked. Completely at their mercy.

Tim’s heart pounded frantically, and he knew it wasn’t just from exertion.

“Alright Tim. We want answers,” Sasha said. “Specifically about why you’re always such a little shit.” Thankfully, he recognized the light in her eyes that meant it was playful irritation at worst.

“You do have a lot to answer for,” Jon said.

“Especially all the tickling,” Martin added. He had been the most recent victim of a prolonged attack, and even as nervous as Tim was right now, the memory was a hit of proud delight. The way Martin had snorted—

Sasha poked Tim in the side, jolting him out of the memory and back to the present. “Right. So we figured you deserved a taste of your own medicine.”

Shit.

(Not that it was at all surprising. But a guy can hope.)

“Are you going to cooperate? Or do we have to do this the hard way?”

Tim glared defiantly at her and kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure if he could get words out in a steady voice, and he didn’t intend to find out. He pulled at his arms hard and twisted his hips as best as he could to try to throw Jon and Martin off, but he’d only gotten Martin halfway unseated and one arm free when Sasha scribbled fingers on his stomach and he was useless. In a moment, Tim was right back where he was before pinned under his partners… and now in much deeper trouble.

Well, no one could say he went down without a fight.

Martin was smirking. “I was hoping you’d pick the hard way.”

Sasha gave Jon a you’re up gesture, and he met Tim’s eyes with sharp, supernatural focus.

“Timothy Stoker. Where… are you… most……. ticklish?”

Oh no. “Generally my ribs and sides, but if you do this one particular thing to my ankles I want to crawl out of my skin. Hips are a solid runner up. Also, no one’s ever t-tickled me on my back before,” (the stumble on the word, though subtle, was missed by none), “so that might be something, I really don’t know.”

For a long second, no one spoke. Then Tim, voice back under his control, broke the silence. “Using your spooky Eye powers is entirely unfair.” His indignation did nothing to hide the mortification in his eyes over all the information he’d just spilled.

“You know what else isn’t fair?” Jon said. (“Ankles?” Martin whispered disbelievingly to Sasha.) “Sneaking up on someone while they’re recording a statement.”

“Or tickling someone while they’re tangled up in blankets and not awake enough to get away,” Sasha chimed in.

“Or standing in the only doorway out so someone can’t leave without getting within reach,” Martin added.

“Or doing it in a library.”

“Taking someone’s favorite mug and putting it up too high so they have to stretch to reach it, then ambushing…”

“Replacing someone’s bookmark with a feather?”

Tim couldn’t help a grin at the affronted look on Martin’s face. “Okay, maybe that one was a bit much.”

“You think?”

“So if we’re talking ‘fair,’” Sasha concluded, “this is long overdue, babe.”

Unable to argue, Tim settled for something put-out and definitely not a pout.

“So. That was a very detailed list of your tickle spots,” Jon said.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Martin said, soft, less teasing than the others. A hint of a smirk snuck onto his face anyway. “Even though you didn’t have much choice.”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Sasha was fully grinning.

“No- shut up!”

“You sure don’t let us get you back much though. What’s that about?”

Tim’s jaw clenched, and Martin looked to Jon, worried they might be going too far.

Jon caught on and delivered his question with his truth compelling powers. “Tim, how do you feel about all of this right now?”

“Having to say this stuff is probably the most embarrassing thing in the world,” Tim said, cursing himself as he did, “but I don’t think I’d ever be able to get it out otherwise. If— when you guys do it, I won’t be able to hold out long, and that’s… a lot.”

He was grateful Jon hadn’t done the thing that squeezed every ounce of truth out of a person — that was a hard limit in their relationship, one that Jon himself had set when checking how comfortable the others were with him using the less forceful version in situations like this. Tim had to be honest, but was left with enough agency to phrase it ambiguously. ‘Hold out’ didn’t refer to his ability to withstand the tickling he was surely about to receive; it referred to his ability to maintain a façade of normalcy about it after the first few seconds. His pride was already hurting from it.

“‘A lot’… in a bad way? Should we stop?” Martin asked.

It was Martin. Tim could answer however he wanted. But… he was already in this deep. The truth was bound to come out eventually, might as well see this to the end rather than have to start the whole process over again later. Screw it.

He hoped a scoff would cover his embarrassment. “I suppose I do deserve it.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Sasha sat up, and Tim knew all too well what that meant— she was getting in position to strike. Butterflies swarmed inside him. He couldn’t find it in himself to dread it entirely; that craving for this kind of thing, after all the effort he’d put into it, could no longer be ignored.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re really worked up over this, aren’t you?”

Tim felt himself flush. “Sasha!” he protested.

“I mean, I’ve never seen you do this before.” She leaned over past Martin and tapped his socked foot which was jiggling incessantly from pent up energy.

Fuck, he hadn’t even realized he was doing it until she pointed it out. He reflexively went to shove Sasha away, or cover his face, or something, but Jon’s hold was secure.

“Can we start already?” Martin said, fingers hovering over Tim’s hips. “I want my revenge.”

“Of course, darling.” And, always a supportive partner, Sasha dove into tickling Tim just as enthusiastically as Martin. Jon was content to just watch and put his efforts into keeping him still while Martin dug his thumbs into the dips of his hips and Sasha went for his stomach again. Tim cried out in surprise. There was zero build up, and he’d never been tickled by multiple people at once like this before, let alone while securely pinned down, unable to do a thing about it. He was right: it was a lot.

Not in a bad way. Very much not.

Before he knew it, he was dissolving into laughter. His body demanded to curl up, push their hands off, get away, but he could do none of those. Whatever the hell Martin was doing to his hips was especially bad, and yeah, maybe he deserved it or whatever, but holy shit he didn’t think Martin was going to be that mean.

“So this is why you never let us get back at you,” Sasha said. “You’re, like, ridiculously ticklish.”

A whine ripped out of Tim. That wasn’t fair, he was being teamed up on! If he could conscript them to turn against one another later, he’d show them how hard it was to handle.

He wished he could say as much, but it was hard to do anything except laugh. Sasha raked nails up and down his ribs, while Martin stayed at his hips, and Tim was utterly gone. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him — he was rapidly approaching that headspace, the dangerous one that would reveal how much he loved this, and the only way to save himself was to get free right now.

It sparked one final burst of desperate defiance, and he pulled and bucked and twisted and thrashed as hard as he could. To no avail. He was stuck there for as long as they wanted, lost to laughter until they had their fill.

He hoped they’d make the most of it.

————————

They certainly were, and by the time they gave him a break, he was heaving for air. Even as he recovered, he couldn’t stop giggling — it didn’t help that Sasha was keeping him jumping with the quickest erratic scritches to spots that had proven to be effective so far.

He was well and truly in that floaty, happy zone. Far too deep to school his reaction at all when Martin said, terribly affectionate for someone supposedly getting revenge, “Having fun down there?”

Normal Tim would’ve shaken his head, growled out some complaint or insult or denial, use the reprieve to make another escape attempt. But Floaty Tim tipped his head back to giggle a little harder — it was as if the words were compounding on the physical sensation, increasing the potency of both.

“There’s still something I wanna know,” Sasha said, hand continuing to bounce from spot to spot. She looked Tim in the eyes, a wicked (beautiful) smile decorating her face. “You said your ankles were really bad. Tell us more about that.”

But the thought of it alone just made him even gigglier. There was no way he was going to be able to answer on his own. It wasn’t even a matter of embarrassment or trying to hide something or provoke a reaction anymore. He couldn’t answer because his head was spinning too much and he couldn’t formulate the words even in theory, let alone get them out coherently. Telling was hard. Being known would be worth it.

“Jonnn,” he whined, flapping his hands to get Jon’s attention.

Jon smirked down at him. “Need help saying it?”

Sasha’s fingers found a spot on Tim’s ribs and he twitched, scrunching his eyes closed as he nodded giddily.

“Alright. Tim, when you said your ankles drove you crazy if someone tickled them a certain way, what did you mean? What is that way?”

It was still punctuated by giggles (Sasha wasn’t stopping!), but the answer was clear enough for all three to understand:

“Super light tracing and spidering and scritching. Especially behind the bone that sticks out a bit. Makes me kick really bad so you have to be careful.”

“Noted.” Jon gave the other two a gesture to say go ahead, and Sasha relented as Martin turned around to face Tim’s feet.

The first touch of fingertips on his right ankle was whisper-soft, but even so made Tim flinch and his smile widen a fraction. As soon as they started to leisurely trace a twirling, spiraling pattern, he broke into helpless snickers, his leg trying to kick to get away despite how much he wanted to welcome the affection.

“Woah, he wasn’t kidding,” Martin said, scootching further down to put his weight on Tim’s calves instead.

“Nooooo,” Tim whined.

“‘No’ don’t do it or ‘no’ you weren’t kidding?” Jon asked, well aware of the answer but wanting to tease anyway. Tim just shook his head as residual laughter trickled out.

Martin went right back to work on Tim’s ankles, this time both of them, a single finger trailing a tickly path on the outside of each. Tim squeaked and broke down into giggles, feet flinching uselessly.

“He’s cute like this, huh?” Sasha said to Jon as she repositioned to get close to Tim’s feet too, obviously meaning to be heard by Tim himself, and it worked. He whined in complaint yet again, but at this point everyone knew he didn’t really mean it.

After an entertaining minute or two of Martin and Sasha exploring his ankles and the tops of his feet, Jon told them to pause and let Tim think enough to answer a question.

“It’s been very fun watching you like this, but I haven’t gotten to tickle you at all myself yet and I think I’m still owed some revenge. Do you think, if I let your arms go, you can keep them up for us?”

“Uh-hummm…” For them, for more of this, anything. “Y-yeah, I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask for.” Jon kissed him on the forehead, and that alone felt like reward enough for agreeing. Jon gave a final squeeze to Tim’s wrists then let go, leaving Tim with only his own willpower to help him ride the wave of endorphins and mind-scrambling affection for all it was worth. He put his arms more behind his head and grabbed his own wrists to brace himself for the fight against his reflexes — this was much more doable than trying to keep them straight up.

After a moment to see if Tim would stay put — he very much did — Jon repositioned to be to by Tim’s side at shoulder level. “I think you deserve a big finale, don’t you?” Jon said, and whereas before he seemed to be acting the moderator, now he was teasing too.

(Later, Tim would wonder whether Jon meant he “deserved it” as punishment or “deserved it” as an indulgence. Either worked.)

Tim didn’t have a hope of answering aloud. But he shakily pressed his elbows back in solicitation. His partners looked between themselves, mischief ready to boil over.

Then six hands descended at once, and everything else vacated his brain except the rush of ticklishness and that it was Jon and Sasha and Martin attacking him with affection and he loved it. He was lost in laughter immediately. God, what he wouldn’t give to return the favor(to all three at once if he somehow had enough arms) right now, they were so endearing each in their own way, but there was zero chance of Tim doing anything now except curl up and shriek, and fuck, not like he was complaining about that either.

If Martin kept doing that to his ankles, he was going to go fucking delirious.

Or Jon doing that to his ribs.

Or Sasha doing that to his kneecaps.

Tim kinda hoped they would.

———————————

“Meeting in the big bedroom,” Tim announced to the rest of the house from within it, then flopped face down onto it their king sized bed (one of their best investments). His partners found him there laying motionless, and they hesitated.

“Tim?” Martin said, as if approaching a spooked animal.

“Get comfy, this might be a bit,” Tim mumbled, just intelligible enough for the others to catch.

Sasha came over and sat on the edge of the mattress up by his head. “If you say so.”

Jon and Martin followed suit, and Tim felt someone’s hand bury itself in his hair comfortingly. They were too good to him. He hoped he wasn’t about to fuck it all up.

“So. Meeting?” Jon said.

“Wanted to talk about yesterday. When you…”

“Pinned you down and wrecked your shit?” Sasha’s proud grin was oh so audible.

“Sasha,” Martin scolded, “be nice. He’s having a hard enough time as it is.”

If Tim haven’t been flushed before, he certainly was now. Even Martin taking his side like that was embarrassing! They were probably going to end him with teases once they knew he was more than down.

Which they would very soon.

Fuck.

“We’re listening,” Jon said, which coming from him wasn’t always the most comforting thing, but Tim knew how he meant it.

“I—” Tim tried. His voice got caught in his throat. “So there’s this— Um, so I…” Nope. This wasn’t going to work, despite all the times he practiced this in his head. Dammit, he didn’t want to have to resort to this, but— “Jon?”

“Mmhm?”

“Can you… help?”

“Are you asking me to use my powers and make you talk?” It was a rare occurrence in their relationship for someone to request it, especially as they’d grown comfortable to speak openly with one another, but not unheard of. This was the first time Tim had, though (apart from yesterday when he was… rather loopy).

Tim chucked sheepishly into the blankets, then turned his head enough to look at Jon. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Jon raised his eyebrows — are you sure?

Tim nodded.

“Alright, Tim.” Jon took a deep breath and channeled his powers. “What were you meaning to tell us regarding the other day?”

The flow of the truth, as embarrassing as it was, was a relief. He’d never shared this with anyone, nothing beyond reassuring a lover he didn’t mind receiving it. Even if this went bad, at least he wasn’t keeping it bottled up anymore.

“I’ve always had this… Thing for tickling. It just kind of sticks in my head, and I wanna do it all the time. Both sides. And I wish we could do it more together, it’s my favorite type of affection and intimacy, but I don’t want to overdo it on you guys or make you think I was weird if I wanted you to do it to me.”

There was a long pause. Sasha broke it. “Well for one thing, I don’t think any of us would complain about being allowed to tickle you, it’s pretty fun.”

“Hey!” He didn’t know why he was so immediately defensive when what she’d said wasn’t actually one of the many bad reactions he’d feared. But he was. Force of habit.

“What? Thought we were sharing here.” Sasha said.

“Okay, but that isn’t the point.”

“What is the point then?” Martin said.

“I’ve been holding this in for a long time. After yesterday, though…”

Jon softly laughed. “Yeah. It was pretty apparent you were enjoying yourself.” Tim’s face scrunched in an embarrassed scowl. Jon’s smile grew a little more, but his voice softened. “Sorry, guess I shouldn’t be teasing you right now, should I?”

Though Jon clearly meant it rhetorically, some combination of the spooky shit’s need for information and Tim’s conflicting want/fear to be known dragged the words out of him anyway. He managed to muffle them into the bedspread, but the message got through regardless. “No, it’s good. It’s one of my favorite parts.”

“Really?” By Sasha’s tone, you’d think Christmas had come early. “Tim, if you don’t take that back right now I’m never letting you live that down.”

Of course she wouldn’t. “I take it back,” Tim groaned.

“Do you really mean that?” Jon said.

“No.” Betrayed, Tim shoved Jon. “Oh, fuck you.”

“Do you mean that?”

“No.” So unfair.

Martin’s hand — Tim had figured out it was his — found Tim’s scalp again after all the sudden head motions stopped. “What do you find fun about it? The tickling, the teasing, everything.”

After yet another bout of stammering, Tim gave up and nudged Jon.

“What’s fun about it all?” Jon repeated.

“A million things. Laughs are cute, especially when it’s from someone you love and you’re the one causing it. It’s fun messing around, play-fighting, using up some extra energy in way that isn’t destructive. When I’m getting one of you really good, it’s the biggest power trip. And when I’m being —” Tim faltered, made an awkward hand motion. “—yeah. …I like the attention. Sorta fun to be put in my place sometimes. Feels good to just be super present with another person and lose your shit laughing until you’re all floaty.”

Tim’s face burned, but the truth kept flowing. “And the teasing makes it all so much more. I get butterflies like mad, and if you do both at the same time for some reason it makes it t-tickle more, and… I dunno. Affection. And if you’re saying stuff like that I know you’re having fun too, which is good because I’d feel bad if it was a chore.”

The supernatural powers apparently sated, Tim found himself able to stop baring his soul, and he yanked the nearest pillow toward him to bury his face in. He thought briefly of a bird sticking its head in the sand.

“Well first off,” came Jon’s voice, “thank you for sharing. Especially with it being so hard.”

Though Jon was being genuine, not a hint of tease in his delivery, Tim groaned into the pillow anyway. “Would you stop pointing it out?”

“What was that?” Martin asked with a light chuckle, not having made it out.

“He said to stop pointing it out,” Jon said. “But, well, he doesn’t seem to mean it all the way. Do you, Tim?”

“It’s more complicated than that.” He managed to turn his head enough to un-muffle himself, embarrassed as he was. “Depends if you’re pointing it out cuz you think it’s stupid and you’re mocking me, or cuz you still like me and are trying to have fun with it.”

(It was weird. He was starting to lose track of what information he was volunteering and what was being pulled from him. That was a good thing, he supposed? A sign that he was getting more comfortable opening up? Or at least desensitized to the mortification.)

“The second one, definitely,” Jon said quickly. “None of us are weirded out or anything, I promise.”

“You could let us speak for ourselves, y’know,” Martin said. Despite the irritation towards Jon, Tim felt the hand in his hair give a little affirming scritch that made his toes curl.

“I usually would, but I was trying to be efficient.”

“Appreciate it,” Tim said.

He felt a shifting of weight, then the tiniest kiss on the shell of his ear that made him twitch away. “To elaborate on what Jon said,” Sasha murmured, most definitely teasing but still so warm that it made Tim’s insides flutter, “I think this may be the best thing I’ve ever learned about you.”

Tim choked on a breath. That was simultaneously the most embarrassing and reassuring thing he’d ever heard.

“I mean, come on, tickling? I haven’t thought about it as much as you, clearly, but you’re right, it’s fun. And you’re asking for more? That is the cutest, most you thing ever.”

“It’s— what’s that supposed to mean!?” Tim protested.

“She’s kinda right,” Martin said, mischief creeping into his voice too. “You like being a little shit. You like laughing at stuff and making other people laugh. You like bullying us. You like being the center of attention. You like being in our space. You like—“

“Okay, I get it!” Yeah, he was already kinda aware it fit his personality, but the detailed callout was rude. Even though he’d asked.

“Did we get to everything you wanted to talk about?” Jon said, evenness diffusing the tension.

Tim could feel he was no longer being compelled, but answered truthfully anyway. “Wanted to know what each of you thinks about it, knowing it’s a… Thing for me. What you’re comfortable with doing and stuff.”

Martin began, running fingers through Tim’s hair as he did. “Full steam ahead for me. If I get to get back at you, I’m okay with being tickled. I mean… as long as you don’t actually murder me, you’re mean sometimes.”

Tim found himself grinning from the affection, the feedback, and the prospect. “No promises.”

Sasha went next, back upright instead of right by Tim’s ear, thankfully. “I already said I think it’s fun. You should be more worried about all the rest of the revenge I need to get on you, cuz you’re in for it now.”

A thrill shot up Tim’s spine. There was a lot for her to get revenge for, and he had no doubt she meant to follow through on that threat. He hadn’t let himself entertain the idea before, but now that he could allow himself to go there…

“If you start to overdo it, I’ll let you know,” Jon said, refocusing him once again. Then, quieter, almost wry: “Don’t think that’ll happen though.”

“You haven’t seen me at full force.”

“I’m sure I will soon. As for me tickling you, I’m sure you’ll give me plenty of reasons to and I’d never say no to that.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“God, is he about to get more annoying?” Martin playfully complained to the others.

“We’ll see,” Tim said, his self-assuredness settling back into place inside him. They didn’t hate him, didn’t think he was weird, didn’t find it uncomfortable; they saw it as a good thing, and were open to more. And he didn’t have to avoid being the recipient anymore. He could fly.

But he was also exhausted. The emotional toll of confessing after years worried about how it might go really took a lot out of him. “Okay, I’m done. We can be done talking about it now.”

“Good,” said Sasha. “Is this the part where we tickle the rest of the stress out of you then? Is this the right time?”

Tim flinched, not expecting that. He’d figured they might want a bit to process before anything more happened. On one hand, he very much would not complain if they skipped straight to the fun part. But on the other…

“You don’t have to do it all my benefit. Just because you know now doesn’t mean you ever have to—”

“Oh, Tim,” Jon interrupted, seeping Tim’s name in play-pity.

“Sasha’s literally been sitting on her hands ever since you said you want us to tickle you,” Martin said.

“I was trying to be mature!” Sasha sounded betrayed.

Tim risked a peek, and indeed, Sasha was sitting on her hands, eyes raking over his still face-down body eagerly. Fuck, she wanted to get him that bad? He had never felt anything like this, such an overwhelming cocktail of embarrassment, excitement, nerves, affection, relief, and giddiness that it made his head spin.

“Tim, please can I?” Sasha said. How someone could manage puppy dog eyes and metaphorical devil horns at the same time like that was beyond him. Damn if he wasn’t a fan though. He took a deep, decisive breath.

“…Well, since you said ‘please’…”

And that was the last fully coherent thing to come out of Tim’s mouth for a good while.

#fic recs with eon #eon reblogs #tickle fic #tma tickles #ler!tim #(sorta???)#implied ler!tim #lee!tim #ler!jon #ler!sasha #ler!martin #THE CREAM OF THE CROP. DELICIOUS FIC. 11/10.

279 notes · View notes