#Stephen day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

happyandticklish · 2 years

Text

A Magician’s Touch

Notes: Not me writing for the most obscure series out there, as per usual. I sincerely doubt any of you have even read this series, so you probably won’t read this, but if you do, heads up that it’s a tad more NSFW than my other fics. Not enough to put on my NSFW blog, but enough to issue a warning lol. The series itself is half based on their sex life anyways, so it’d be hard to write something without it. Writing this purely to fulfill my own self-indulgence because I had this idea the first time I read the books.

Summary: Stephen is bored at work and decides that Crane will serve as an excellent form of amusement. Unfortunately, Stephen’s plans have a habit of backfiring on him.

He was eating breakfast when it happened.

Crane jumped as he felt something soft and light flutter against the back of his neck. Absently, he slapped his hand over the offending area, assuming it had been a bug. He picked back up his coffee only to nearly choke on it when something poked his ribs. He gripped his sides, looking around, for what he wasn’t certain—a Merrick messing around maybe? If so, he and the manservant were going to have some words about what was and wasn’t an appropriate joke.

No one was there, however. He briefly remembered Merrick saying he had errands to take care of that day, an excuse that Crane was sure translated to getting pummeled out of his mind in some bar. He glanced suspiciously down at his sides, waiting for another attack.

Nothing came. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad to find it was just his imagination. It wasn’t until he stood up to garner clothing for the day that he felt it again. And this time not just in the form of a poke but rather in a flurry of sensation scribbling over his sides.

He squawked in surprise, collapsing where he stood on the stairs. The fingers didn’t stop, either. They continued their relentless assault on his sides, much to the chagrin of Crane who was finding it very difficult to contain the rather ungentlemanly like snorts that threatened to escape him.

For, he realized, the fingers were tickling him. Tickling, of all things. Or he assumed it was fingers, at least; there was nothing visibly there and yet he felt the sensations as real as if there were. Immediately he assumed magic. It was the only real explanation for what was happening, and in his life it wasn’t that much of a stretch to consider. The only real question was who.

Crane choked on a growled laugh as the treacherous touch descended lower, towards his legs. Although the touch was clearly still meant to tickle, occasionally he felt something else as well, tugging firm on the hardening skin of his cock. And that was when he realized.

Stephen.

“Fuhuhucking bahahastard!” he spluttered, his body trying to reconcile the two conflicting feelings at once. “Fuhuhuhucking hehehell!”

It had been a while since he had last been tickled, certainly not in earnest since he was a small child. There was the occasional lover who would discover his sensitivity, but generally they were too wrapped up in other strenuous activities to pay too much attention to it.

The tickling now wasn’t rough, just gentle, light strokes meant to tease and force unattractive giggles from his mouth as he struggled to swat away the feeling. It wouldn’t have been that unbearable were it not for the fact that Stephen was at work and therefore out of reach of Crane’s communication, meaning there was no way to stop it.

He’d just have to endure it.

Crane stumbled to the stairs, making slow and steady progress up the stairs. The touches were focused mostly on his stomach now, and a maddening fluttering around his neck that was going to drive him insane. He sounded crazy, a grown man cackling as he jerked and twitched up the stairs, finally making it to his room. He shoved open the door weakly and collapsed on his bedframe, holding his stomach and banging the mattress in frustration. God, this was the worst. He was going to kill Stephen when he got home, was going to make him regret the first stroke against his skin, but he had to withstand this until he did. He pressed a hand to his face, giggling weakly as his stomach jumped.

“Stohohohop,” he moaned, unable to help the weak pleas despite the lack of a presence to hear him. “I cahahan’t, ohohoho m-my fuhuhucking g-gohod!”

The tickling changed abruptly and he nearly ripped out of his skin as the touch transformed into harsh squeezing on his kneecaps and thighs, activating numerous pressure points somehow all at once.

“Fuhuhuhucking shihihit!” he shrieked, flopping back down on the bed, arching and twisting at the agonizing feelings. He hadn’t even realized that spot was ticklish. He tore at his legs, trying in vain to alleviate the feeling.

For another five minutes the tickling continued, jumping from spot to spot with no discernable pattern as far as Crane could tell. Electricity tingled through his veins and his stomach ached from laughing. When finally the sensations died down Crane was still giggling, one hand held loosely over his face to hide his tired grin. Slowly he sat up, twitching weakly.

He waited.

A minute passed.

Nothing happened.

Relief washed over him in waves, only seconds later followed by irritation. Normally Crane was appreciative of Stephen’s magic touch; it certainly made their nights in bed more interesting. But this… this could not be tolerated. Not if the two were ever to get any peace in that household.

Springing from his bed and gathering up the clothes he had meant to don before the flustering encounter, he devised a plan to show Stephen the consequences of messing with him in such a manner.

It was many hours later before Stephen returned, the early morning light quickly changing into a brisk dusk. He slipped, catlike through the door, and paused at the entrance, listening for the sounds of his lover. Silence. He exhaled gratefully, slowly clicking the door shut behind him. He couldn’t imagine facing Crane now, especially after the events of that morning.

Really, he hadn’t meant to go as overboard as he had. Things had merely gotten out of hand, and once he started he had found it difficult to stop. Meetings were boring things filled with boring people fighting over boring nonsense that in the end never got solved and only resulted in people getting angrier than they already were.

This one had been no different. Stephen, who had tuned out the council’s words almost the second he sat down, desperately desired entertainment. He twitched and sparked his fingers under the table, watching sparks fly and intertangle between them. He wished Crane was here, to serve as some kind of distraction from this tedium. As he wiggled and tapped his fingers, however, he was struck with a sudden idea.

He splayed his fingers in concentration, reaching out with his magic. It took a while, to find some kind of tether. He and Crane had only attempted this kind of long-range connection a few times before, so he still wasn’t perfect at it. Eventually, however, the lines he had thrown out caught onto something, something solid and familiar that sent a different kind of spark shooting down Stephen’s spine.

Crane.

He grinned in triumph, and then, experimentally, he pulled the magic up towards Crane’s neck, curling wisps of it against the skin. He stopped almost as soon as he started, half worried that Crane was gonna come bursting through the door and take his revenge before it was even necessary. After a few, hesitant seconds denied this theory, however, he tried again, this time on his ribs, and then his sides, and finally dancing around his hips.

After that, it was difficult to hold onto any kind of restraint. The mental image of Crane giggling to himself in that empty manor was endlessly amusing, and maybe a bit more than just amusing, if he was being entirely honest. He was disappointed that his magic didn’t allow him to see Crane as well. He would’ve paid a heavy penny to view his lover in such a state. Still, it was probably for the best. If Stephen had been there, his game would have lasted all of two seconds before Crane had him up against a wall.

He kept going, only for ten minutes in all, before he remembered himself and quickly cut the connection. His heart was racing in his chest, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He could practically feel the frustration and confusion that was sure to be radiating off of Crane at this very moment. He tried to school his features, forcing his attention back towards the meeting—not that he took in a word they were saying after that, his thoughts otherwise occupied.

Now, back in his home with Crane’s vengeance a sure thing, his earlier confidence was starting to dwindle. He reached out in the darkness, navigating carefully through an array of chairs and expensive artifacts placed carefully upon desks for the sole purpose of looking pretty. Maybe Crane was out. Maybe he was getting drunk with Merrick. Maybe he had forgotten about this whole thing and was ready to forgive him and settle in for a peaceful night.

Or maybe he was waiting for Stephen in his room with what looked to be the iron handcuffs that Stephen was normally grateful to see.

“Stephen.” Crane’s voice was like a whip in the shadows, smooth, precise, and deadly. He reclined casually on one hand, cocking a brow and looking entirely relaxed—the exact opposite of Stephen. He held Stephen’s gaze carefully, before standing up and stalking over to him—a lion approaching his prey. Stephen held perfectly still, barely breathing as he watched him approach.

“C-Crane, I—”

“How was work?” The room erupted with light as Crane flicked on the switch, reaching past Stephen to do so. His proximity seemed to rear an electricity between them that had Stephen’s hair standing on end. “Boring, I take it? I mean, it must have been, since you seemed to have so much time for unrelated activities. Personally, I’d prefer if my top magicians were paying attention while determining the fate of the city and all its dealings, but I guess the council has other standards.”

Stephen’s breath was caught in his throat, a bubble of nerves sucking in any words he might have tried to say in his defense. A part of him wished he had never messed with Crane, had never invoked what was sure to be a long and merciless revenge, while another part of him realized it was exactly why he had done it.

“Would it help if I said sorry?” Stephen asked, unable to stop the nervous smile quickly spreading across his face. Crane had dropped his hand from the switch, and now it rested on Stephen’s shoulder, blunt nails playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Shudders made their way helplessly down his spine and it was a wonder he remained standing at all.

“What do you think?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe I’ve overestimated your intelligence then.”

For the next couple seconds, it was as though Stephen were under a spell of his own. He said nothing as Crane lifted his wrists, clicking the cuffs around them, and he said nothing as Crane led him to the bed, pressing him down into the mattress and clicking those same cuffs around the bedframe. Nor did he say anything when Crane slung one leg over him, or when he rested his hands against his sides, tapping them in a thoughtful, curious rhythm. Stephen curled his fingers once, reaching out for his magic and finding nothing. His heart quickened in his chest as he realized just how helpless he was. It was an exhilarating feeling, one that was usually followed by intense pleasure or pain, depending on Crane’s mood. However, tonight he knew he was in for a much different treatment, decidedly more unbearable than any of his other methods.

“—word?”

Stephen was barely remembering to breathe, let alone pay attention to the words Crane had been saying. He blinked, trying to mentally catch up. “What?”

“The safeword, do you remember?” Crane repeated patiently. He twitched his hands over his sides, forcing Stephen to tense up as goosebumps scattered across his skin. “I’m sure thinking will be difficult for you soon, so I want to make sure you remember it before you fully surrender your brain over to me. As well as...” A pause. “Other things.”

Another twitch of his hands, a tight-lipped smile, barely held-together composure.

“Magpie,” Stephen said, the word rushed with urgency. “I always remember, you don’t have to check every time.”

He wanted Crane to start already, to move, to bring the laughter waiting on baited breath out of him until he was begging for even an ounce of mercy. He thought back on his actions earlier, repeating the hand movements in his mind. Gentle scratch by the hips, crawling up the torso, digging into the top rib, the one that always made Stephen screech. He hoped Crane remembered too, hoped he used it on him tonight. He had practically given him a guide on the most effective ways to end him that morning—with the added benefit of messing with Crane, of course.

“Maybe,” Crane admitted, curling his fingers now and smiling as Stephen choked over a broken giggle, arching a bit on the bed. “But I’ve seen how lost you can get during these moments, so I feel it’s better to jog your memory now than have you deal with the consequences of forgetting.”

There was an art that Crane held of concealing teasing behind concern, and somehow it managed to throw Stephen off every time. Still, he lifted his chin, facing him with a smug grin, the kind that always drove Crane wild. “If you tickle me like you did last time, I have a feeling I’ll have plenty of time to think, what with the boredom and all.”

There it was. That spark in his eyes—that’s what Stephen craved, more than anything he had ever known. “Oh, I think you’re gonna regret that.”

Breath caught in his throat, a wild flush spreading across beaming cheeks, gaze glittering with the challenge.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

#tickle fic #a charm of magpies #stephen day #lucien vaudrey #stephen x lucien #tickling #fanfiction #spicy

18 notes · View notes