Dealing with all of these cursed boys has been equally the most painful and rewarding life path you've been essentially forced to take. Unquestionably, meeting all the guys and forming wonderful bonds with them has been quite worth it. Whether it was getting drunk and exchanging shoulder rubs with William, jamming some Beatles covers with Myx, or doing bad movie night with Poe, Volks, and Anon, almost no day out of the year got to the point of being any level of boring. However, no other guy has been, for lack of better terminology, dragging your dick around, quite nearly so much as that bloody rainbow head.
Eli. Nobody teases you even remotely as much as he does whenever you go to see him or he comes around to visit you. It frustrates you to no end, just how good he is at doing it—it is, after all, his livelihood. And he knows exactly what you're feeling, as if you just want to pound his ass as soon as you see it. And he loves it, and you know that, and you also know very well that he is above and beyond capable of fully satisfying you every single time, making all the yanking and yoinking worth it in the end somehow.
Today, however, fate would place you firmly in the driver's seat.
Late afternoon, after a long and hefty day of baking, coffee slinging, car repairing, mystery solving, and running for office (and the rest), you come home, breathe a deep sigh, and turn the corner off the stairs into the hallway. Blocking the doorway to your bedroom in the most ridiculous position seen yet, is where and how you now saw him.
Some sort of chin-up bar with suction cups affixed to either end adorns the frame of the doorway. Stuck holding onto the bar, wrapped to it with duct tape, lie the rainbow boy's hands. He swooshily swings his head to face you. He has some pouty poufy expression on his face that screams exactly what he apparently wants today.
He says to you some one-liner a la Aki—something cheesy or half-suave with a slightly whiny vocal tone. You don't exactly register in your head exactly what he said—it could have been something like "Oh no, stepbro, I'm stuck, uwu," or something about exercise and being sweaty and heaving, all with that classic kitty-face demeanor that is just one of the million things he does that get you on edge.
He is also adorned with his typical summer outfit—flip-flops, daisy dukes, and a pink crop top. This is, as you know well enough, a prime and healthy level of skin exposure to absolute wreckage. You know exactly what you must do at this moment—and for the next several minutes, for that matter.
You walk up to stand behind him and spend a couple of seconds feigning assistance, fondling the bar and his taped hands upon it. Without any further messing around, you dig in. Tickling is something you have shamelessly done many times, to many of the boys, and it is always a highly delectable thing to do, especially in the first few seconds.
His well-toned and maintained abdomen is simply delicious to touch. You exert no effort on attempting to be sensual, slow, and delicate. Your dexterous digits go ham on that tummy and those sides, relentlessly kneading and poking at all that nerve-riddled flesh. The hyena within his throat is cackling up a storm, only rarely interjected with the occasional pleas to cease. His laughter only increases in pitch and intensity once you begin to dig into his armpits. Shaved, just the way you like them, they allow your fingers to essentially glide right along and absolutely murder the nerves within.
The mirth exuding from him infects and invigorates you with a sense of stimulation you could never imagine getting from any drug. Unquestionably, it wakes you up down there as well. But you hold that in for now—you must put your focus solely on teaching him a lesson. And for just that, you begin to swap to a different tickle spot—a much more fun one, in some ways.
You pay no attention to his wide eyes and instant double-time pleading in reaction to you grabbing his foot, yoinking the flip-flop on it straight off. He had asked to be taken down a peg when he set himself up like this, and you both know that indubitably. Hungrily, you rake and scrape and scribble all over that tender arch, trying your hardest to maintain that iron grip on that foot's ankle.
Nimh would have surely passed out by this point. An adrenaline-filled Volks may have actually broken free from the tape, and Garret likely would have broken the bar or the door frame by accident. Rainbow-head, on the other hand, is clearly loving every second of this, even if it wasn't entirely what he would have expected to happen. You know that, and he knows that as long as you're having fun, he minds it not one bit. Still, he is going to flaunt the theatricality of writhing and wriggling against the tickles during the entire time, for that is simply the kind of person he is.
He really starts to get a fair bit sweaty, which you know he doesn't love to get outside of the bedroom. However, being the shameless hedonist that he is, you also know that it is far from the end of the world with that situation.
No matter which spot you focus on, you tickle him with a lustful vigor, the finesse of a skilled artist, and the sheer persistence of a demon. And since you know him so well, you can be at that higher level of cleverness in destroying his senses of guard and familiarity with every few passing seconds.
Finally, after a good several minutes longer, you start to hear his pleadings ramp up more in frequency still. Eventually, you unmistakably hear his tone of voice signal to you that the consent has ended and he truly wishes for it all to stop. You caringly oblige, cutting his hands free and carrying him off to the couch princess-style for a bit of light snuggly aftercare.
You are both well aware that all you both have to do is communicate with one another normally, and just retain some amount of courtesy when simply asking for a session of passion. But you also are well aware that he simply cannot help being the insane flirt and tease that he is.
It would not surprise you in the least should he add this little bit of technique knowledge to his personal repertoire for going out on the town. It won't be long, you are quite sure, before he takes what he has learned from you today and does something quite silly and adorable, such as engaging in a tickle fight with Nimh over which of them is the baby-est of bois, or perhaps even trying to get Poe to produce a smile one a while. And you will most definitely be right there alongside him, for most if not all activities of this nature are better with two.
A silly little escapade that just might promptly turn into, as Eli would say, something "freaky in the sheets", this ticklish little antic would be something that neither of you would ever quite so conveniently forget. After all, fun is a core tenet that keeps the spark alive in his and every other of your various manimal relationships.