Ticklish
"Bren-ji?"
He inhaled a bit sharply but congratulated himself that he had not jumped out of seat. She had approached the edge of his desk and probably could have reached out and touched him from where she stood. He had given his attention wholly to Homer's Odyssey with a luxurious abandon he had not dared since before people starting shooting at him, before other people started carrying guns in his defense. Now, the silent steps and sudden appearances of his bodyguard no longer amazed him.
He looked up from his computer, noting his place. Jago was leaning ever so delicately against his desk and tracked his gaze. "One does not intend to interrupt."
He took in her posture – as closed to relaxed as she could be, standing up – and a note of, was that diffidence? The Odyssey was fascinating, but it had waited for thousands of years. This was a social call.
"If it is an interruption, then it is most welcome." To prove his sincerity, he spun in his chair – bolted in place – to face her. Tall, slim and black as a shadow from silken hair to boots except for the glimmer of golden eyes, Jago examined him. Thoughts he dared not attempt to fathom flickered behind that quiet gaze. Then –
"What is ticklish?"
It took him half a heartbeat to understand the unexpected shipspeak word. He opened his mouth but found himself at a loss. His mind raced to the outer limits of his Ragi, but no equivalent presented itself. He snapped his mouth shut and thought.
"It's a reflex, I suppose. Humans have several. Ticklish is unique, though." He paused, aware that he was flailing. "A protective instinct." He errant brain presented him with a memory that did not help his focus: a tent, a stormy night. Fingertips, curiosity. A very undignified squeak/giggle.
The recollection raised a faint blush he was sure she noted. "I believe sensitivity to tickling – ticklish is the adjective, one tickles or is tickled – varies widely among humans. It is a strange reaction; one laughs but draws away as well." An amusing thought struck him. "A bit of hard-wired diplomacy, perhaps, letting one's attacker know that the touch comes too near vulnerable parts, while maintaining pleasant relations." He trailed off. Jago was still watching with him luminous intensity. He wondered if he were still blushing.
"If one may ask, what prompted this very… thought-provoking inquiry?"
"The human archive presents an opportunity for much learning."
Of course – the source of much entertainment and not infrequent consternation for his staff. "Mm. I am not entirely comfortable with the idea of the Guild gaining intelligence about this particular human vulnerability." He quirked an eyebrow to let her know he was teasing. Mostly.
Her face was the picture of innocence. In retrospect, this should have tipped him off. "One regrets if this is a sensitive topic." Not only innocent but damn near contrite.
He gave a rueful grin. God knew he had asked his share of embarrassing questions, some of which had earned him a turned shoulder and a long, unmoving back. "Not sensitive. Only… one remembers being rather ticklish as a child. One remembers quite well. It is not unpleasant but one feels a bit helpless."
Only then did he perceive the glint in her eye, the barest curve of her lips. Oh, that was not a safe admission.
She moved so fast she blurred, and suddenly his vision to a lovely and rather wicked atevi face.
A poke in the ribs. He jumped.
"Here, Bren-ji?"
"… slightly." He felt like a mouse trapped by a non-violent but determined cat. No claws but a very definite glitter that made his heart race with twelve kinds of anticipation.
A hand slipped beneath his day coat and glided like a feather up his side. He tried not to laugh and succeeded in holding all but a quiet snort.
"Very informative." She kept her gaze trained on his face, doubtless enjoying his struggle to maintain his lordly dignity.
She brushed her short, immaculate fingernails oh so gently across his abdomen. Acting on pure instinct, he swatted at her hand. An infelicitous move, for it allowed her to pin his hands in strong grasp as she continued her exploration. She rounded his waist, her nails flitting like tiny running feet.
He giggled. Utter defeat.
Then her touch changed. His breath caught, hitched. She let his hands escape their confinement, and he reached up to touch her jaw. As matters progressed, he realized their present position was not sustainable. The bed – much too distant. He averted his face just long enough to eye the desk. It was sturdy ship construction and bolted to the floor. The change in their relative heights might be… interesting.
She found three more ticklish spots but was too generous to take advantage. He did not doubt she would remember, though.
After. Breath slowing, skin cooling.
"May one presume that atevi are not ticklish?"
She regarded him under half-closed but always observant eyes. "It may not translate." At her most oblique.
He huffed a little laugh. "Like so much between our peoples."
"But the paidhi is welcome to try."