Work Text:
To say you were uncertain on how you got there would be an understatement. Confusion may have made its way into your mind a while ago, but such was not the focus as your body was under constant attack. Truly, a grave you dug yourself. And in spite of that, in spite of looking death straight in the eyes, into its pink goggles, stained with the blood of the thousands slain by its hands, you fought back. A battle, a war, you knew you could not win. But were you going down without a fight? A warrior like you? Not to an enemy this big.
Still, her curiosity could not be denied, it must not be. For it was of innocence, that, which never blossomed on the battlefield. She knew not such a thing for as long as her memories went back. Life was a constant fight, a struggle between survival and dying. And yet, when she found that her being gentle, a rarity in and of itself, brought you a certain kind of joy, she could not hold back. Wank, silent as usual, watched you for a moment as you squirmed on her lap, a large grin on your face. The thread of destiny started with the fragile flower of love blooming on the callous and cruel wastes of war and led towards the both of you sharing quiet moments together.
Aware of the strength she possessed, she was careful when scratching your stomach, trying her best to make sure to not hurt you even as you tried to wiggle away from her. Why were you? Had she not made her affection and fondness for you clear? You were not in pain as you would not be giggling otherwise, therefore, she concluded, this had to have been the work of something else. And yet, knowing that you did what you could to flee from her curious hands, she could not stop herself, for your joy reached her heart, turning into amusement on her behalf, watering the questions in her mind and having them bud.
A poke on your side, a prod at your ribs and a light squeeze on your hip, all the while she made sure you would not escape her grasp. “Why is this so funny to you?” Surely, there had to be a reason, for laughter was usually not without. Verily, it appeared to be her movements, for when she ceased Wank realised your laughter would subside as well. Your pretty laugh, a sound drowning out the gunshots her mind would force her to hear at almost all times, turned into giggles as you caught your breath, making sure you would not pass out. Perhaps such was not on your mind at the moment, but this was Wank’s responsibility as well.
For a moment, she was what you would deem merciful. Leaning against her once more, putting your forehead against her neck, you responded: “I’m just ticklish. That’s all.” Your words were interrupted by the occasional pant, something no one could blame you for. With her having loosened her grip a bit you closed your eyes, taking her warmth in. Her scent, while not one of a kind, the stench of metal present even after shower and bath, was still hers. Wank was your girlfriend. She may have been rather odd with rather violent tendencies, but that was just Nevada. If nothing else, you had to admit, this more domestic side of hers, albeit a novelty to both of you, was pleasant in its own way. With how she gently ran her fingers up and down your back, you could not help but let out an amalgamation of a giggle and a sigh.
“What’s that mean? I see that S.Q. duo do this from time to time too.”
“It means if you gently, or roughly sometimes works as well, run your fingers over certain spots on a grunt’s body they will start laughing. It’s different for everyone, so not every spot works the same for everyone. And not everyone is ticklish in the first place.” During your small explanation you had to pause every once in a while to hold in your giggles. However, once done, Wank paused for a moment. Either was fine by you as long as you got to be with her. She resumed a few seconds later, running her nails over where your side met your back. It was evident you had piqued her interest.
Over the next few seconds, she had you giggling again in no time, with each tight grasp at her coat of yours fuelling her intent. Soon enough, she switched places again, scratching from your ribs to fluttering her fingers over your thigh. “Darling, where are you ticklish?”
This question made your mind freeze. How was one to respond to that? When truth and lie lead to the same outcome, what was one to choose? And with your focus lying on the matter more so than anything else you were stunned into remaining taciturn, save for some squeals serving as your one reply.
Although invisible to you at the moment, with only the feeling giving you the slightest of hints, Wank tilted her head to the side. Silence is an answer, one she was happy to take. You had mentioned some rougher tickling, yes? Despite the uncertainty of how rough “rough” was supposed to be lingering in the back of her mind, she decided it was worth giving a shot no matter what. With a lack of an excuse, if you were to question her, the truth would suffice. You were her partner, nothing else truly mattered.
Keeping her love for you in both heart and mind she scribbled at the places she could reach, feeling your back rise and fall with every breath. Not as smoothly as when tears of mirth were not forming at the brink of your eyes, but it seemed her amusement and your joy would join into one. Sunshine and soil, allowing for the pulchritude of affection and care to be seen by the outside world. It takes two to form that kind of unity.
Like a miracle, you burst into laughter again, all your attempts to hold it in were in vain. Not that you would deny Wank this sort of happiness. Still, much like you could not control such, you were unable to stay still much longer, resulting in you trying to get away from her tickling hands once more. A disastrous dilemma: The need for proximity fighting the need for security. Naturally, you were in no danger whatsoever, in fact, if you were to simply say “stop” Wank would oblige and do just that. And yet, for as much as you were fighting you actually hoped to be overpowered. Holding you down with her other arm, she put her head on top of yours, reciprocating that feeling, that desire for intimacy.
Eventually, she did show mercy, slowing down her onslaught to simple back rubs, never even once letting go of you. And once you had regained your composure, you simply could not hold back. Staring into those goggles of her, an inorganic material, lifeless as it could be, behind them was such a dulce vivacity. No doubt did she look at you, thinking the same thing. Like a rose in the desert, surviving the hardships given in its environment, you survived. The nectar of life coursed through your veins, sustaining each other.