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“The rules are simple. Similar to our normal tag, there is one Griever and two Runners. But this time, there’s an added twist … “ A voice can be heard echoing through the tree’s and against the South and West wall corner of the Glade.
“Minho can you get on with it please. We gotta start the game before it gets dark.” Thomas complains, looking up at Minho pleadingly from where he sits in the grass beneath a shady birch tree. Newt giggles at his grumpy comment, lying against the trunk a few feet away.
Thomas is rather fond of the different games they play in the evening, it gives him something to look forward to in this dreary place. He gets to spend time with his friends, have fun, and even get a semblance of normal life. Granted, in normal life, Thomas reckons they don’t play tag as Greivers and Runners.
“You’re no fun. Fine, I’ll cut to the chase.” Minho says in feigned-dejectedness before continuing. “This time, if you get caught first, you’re tickled senseless until the Greiver is satisfied. Whoever isn’t caught becomes the next Greiver, the loser is stuck as a Runner until they aren’t caught first.” Minho spews out the rules he came up with while running in the Maze that afternoon.
It sounded like a fun way to add more mischief to their normal antics. Plus, Minho knows a certain pair of Glader’s that have been eyeing each other for weeks but haven’t made a move on either side. Oh well, looks like Minho will have to make the move for them.
Thomas looks rather intrigued by the idea, his eyes deep in thought as he comprehends the rules. Newt however, looks utterly terrified. His back now sits ridged against the birch trunk, eyes lit with panic.
“W-wait, so you’re saying there’s a chance that if someone is caught first over and over, they’ll have to be tickled over and over?” Newt says in a higher pitched voice than his usual timbre. “Not ‘a chance’, they WILL be tickled over and over.” Minho corrects him with a knowing smirk.
“S-so if a certain person has, I don’t know, a LIMP. You don’t think that’s an unfair disadvantage?” Newt asks frantically, rising to his feet. “Sounds like someone’s ticklish.” Thomas says with a grin that lets Newt know he’s not going to receiving any defense this from the dark haired teen. Newt swallows hard, this isn’t looking good for him.
“Sounds like someone should start running. The game has already begun.” Minho adds on teasingly, his eyes glinting with his mischievous intentions.
“But - this isn’t - I can’t - Awe damn you shanks!” Newt whines before he turns tail to begin power limping away (we’ll pretend power limping is a normal thing to write.)
~~~
“Shuck shuck shuck shuck-“ Newt mumbles absently to himself as he puts as much distance as he can between himself and his smirking friends.
Under normal circumstances, Newt wouldn’t mind being tickled. It’s not an uncommon occurrence in the Glade and it’s a great way to let loose and bond.
But the idea of being tickled by Thomas …
There is no hope Newt will be able to hide his affections for the boy. His desired to be touched by Thomas’ hands. ‘Damn you Minho! I know you did this on purpose.’ Newt thinks to himself in panicked frustration as he winds around another random tree trunk.
He barley suppresses a scream of surprise a moment later as he sees Thomas just around the bend. “Relax, Minho’s the Greiver first.” Thomas says with a chuckle when Newt begins taking nervous steps backwards. The blonde boy breathes a sign of relief.
“That being said, I still want a turn tickling you. Which means I have to win.” Thomas adds on, making Newt’s stomach both drop and do a front flip. Overall just making him want to throw up as Thomas’ words sink in.
“Tommy wait-“ Before Newt can finish his protest, the taller boy takes a deep breath “Hey Minho! He’s over here!” The dark haired Glader shouts before turning away with an unapologetic smirk. Dashing away into the bushes to the left.
For a few moments, Newt finds himself unable to move. Thomas wants to tickle him? Why? ‘This is no time to think about that. Run you imbecile!’ Newts internal voice of reason scolds him and he quickly begins limping away, quietly cursing as he goes. He opts to go opposite direction that Thomas went. Can’t be making the same mistake twice.
“Well what do we have here?”
It‘s not the same mistake twice, but it is two mistakes in a row. Which is just as bad.
Newt freezes in panic as he spots Minho a few yards in front of him. A triumphant smile across his face. He doesn’t even bother running up to Newt to tag him, they both already know who won.
“Minho, please. Let’s be reasonable. We both know why you’re actually doing this.” The blonde teen starts taking minuscule steps backwards as Minho begins cracking his knuckles. “Then we both know why this is necessary.” The taller boy responds ominously as he stalks closer to his cornered prey.
There’s no chance of running, Newt would be caught within seconds. No chance of overpowering Minho either. The only option is to take his unfair loss with dignity.
“Just get this over with.” Newt laments with a sigh of defeat. Minho chuckles as he closes the final few feet between them. “As you wish.” He responds, immediately digging all ten fingers into Newt’s ribs.
The blonde boy erupts in to laughter the moment his fingers make contact. Newt folds in on himself, feeling is his knees buckle and collapse. Minho follows him to the foliage below, fingers still scribbling all over the sensitive ribs as he mounts his friends legs to keep him still(ish).
“Ohkay! Okahay! Yohou wihin, yohou can stahap nohow!” Newt begs as the wiggling fingers inch downwards to claw at his belly. “Weren’t you paying attention when I said the rules? It stops when the Greiver is satisfied.” Minho says smugly, digging his infers into a particularly sensitive spot in the center of his stomach.
“NAHAHA STAHAHAP!” Newt pleads incoherently as Minho accelerates his pace. Thumbs digging into Newt’s hips while the other fingers continue clawing at that wretched spot just below his belly button. Grinning at the sight of Newt uselessly kicking his legs in the leafs below him as his body reacts in ticklish panic.
“Hmm I’m not quite satisfied yet. But you’re almost there.” Minho says after a brief moment of feigned consideration. He begins moving his fingers upwards, searching for another weak spot. It doesn’t take long before he locates one. Newts growing panic the closer Minho moves towards his armpits is a dead giveaway.
“NONONONO NOT THEHERE! PLEAHASE!” Newt is in full hysterics after less than a minute of tickling. Minho can’t help but feel sympathy for him, knowing full well how merciless Thomas is going to be when he inevitably catches Newt.
However, he’s not feeling sympathetic enough to actually stop.
Minhos wiggling fingers cease their ascent just inches below Newts underarms. Which are currently pressed shut with his shoulder and forearms firmly held against them. “Oh dear. Have we found your worst spot?” Minho coos teasingly, well aware a new presence is emerging from the trees behind him, hearing all of this. Thomas.
“SHUHUT UHUP, SHAHANK!” Newt manages to get a single snarky comment through his laughter. However, he immediately regrets it. “Hmm, shall we tell Thomas this weak spot then?” Minho asks teasingly, laughing at the utter horror that cross Newt’s face in reaction to his threat.
“N-NO! YOU CAHANT! P-PLEASE DOHONT TELL HIHIM!” Newt begs as he desperately pushes against Minho’s wrists, but the grip is too stubborn. Continuing its relentless assault just below Newt’s worst spot. “Why not?” Minho crows as he forms his hands into claws.
“YOU KNOHOW WHY!” Newt cries out, his laughter gaining new levels of volume now that Minho’s clawing hands have resumed inching upwards towards his armpits.
“I don’t believe I know why. Care to enlighten me?” Newt would have frozen in panic again at the sound of Thomas’ voice in front of him, if he wasn’t already preoccupied by his frantic thrashing beneath Minho’s fingers.
“MINHO LEHET ME UP RIHIGHT NOW! PLEAHAHSE!” The blonde Glader begs as Thomas takes another advancing step towards them. “Hmm, not quite. I still have some time, right Thomas?” Minho asks cheekily, shooting a knowing grin at the taller teen where he now stands a few feet away. His arms crossed as he fondly accesses the scene unfolding before him.
“Yes that’s right. About fifteen seconds in fact. Though you would usually use this time for a head start.” Thomas responds mischievously, staring Newt directly in the eyes as he says this to make sure his intentions were correctly perceived. The heightened panic in Newt’s gaze confirms they were.
“MINHO DONT DO THIHIS PLEAHSE!” The blonde haired teen is rolling back and forth beneath Minho’s ticklish grip on his ribs. Every so often wiggling a finger into Newts under arms. But Minho only chuckles in response, though he does lessen the degree of his attack enough to allow the boy to breath just a bit.
He’ll be laughing again soon enough by another’s hand. And Minho well aware that Newt wants this to happen too, deep down.
Amittedly very deep down at the present moment as Thomas begins counting down.
“Ten.”
“M-Minho cohome on!”
“Nine.”
“You c-cant do thihis!”
“Eight.”
“Don’t yohou wahant to ruhun?”
“Seven.”
“Minho I sweahar- AHAHA”
“Six.”
“STA-STAHAP! PLEAHASE!
“Five.”
“MINHO PLEAHASE LET ME GO!”
“Four.”
“MINHO!”
“Three.”
“That’s my cue to leave.”
“Two”
“W-wait, I can barley breath!”
“One.”
“N-nonono, wouldn’t you rather go chase Minho?”
“Zero.”
“I-I doubt he made it far! Nononono NAHAHAHA DOHOHONT!”
Newt is barley able to scramble backwards a few feet after Minho released him, before Thomas pounces and he’s immobilized once more. “THIHIS ISNT FAHAIR!” Newt cries out after only a few seconds of resumed rib tickles. But the dark haired boy only snickers in response.
Either Minho was holding back, or Thomas is truly ruthless at tickling. More than likely it’s a mix of both.
“THIS ISNT FAHAIR!” The blonde haired boy repeats through his laughter. “All is fair in love and war.” Thomas retorts, digging his thumbs into Newt’s hips while assaulting that dreadful spot just below his belly button with the other eight fingers. It’s exactly what Minho was doing earlier but it feels so much different now.
Worse yet better. Torturous yet blissful.
‘Which is this then? Love or war?’ Newt barley registers the thought as Thomas’ hands begin inching upwards. Upwards to where Minho so kindly left neglected. Upwards to his worst spot.
“D-DOHONT!” Newt forces out though his panicked laughter. But Thomas pays him no mind as his fingers close the distance and begin wiggling in the space between Newt’s armpits and inner arm.
The blonde haired teen fights desperately to keep his biceps and forearms pressed protectively against his underarms, but the act it’s hopeless. Thomas’ slender fingers easily slip between the gap to begin wiggling with abandon.
“Not happening. I’m nowhere near satisfied yet.” Thomas crows as he grabs Newt’s left forearm to pry the wrist away. After a brief struggle, the dark haired Glader is able to force the arm over Newt’s head.
The pinned teen is clearly conflicted. He doesn’t want to release the protective position of right arm. But now that his left side is so helplessly exposed he can’t just do nothing? Can he?
Yet another conflicted thought passes through Newt’s mind. Does he really want to stop this? Does he really want Thomas to stop touching him? Does he really mind the situation as much as he is pretending to?
The answer to these questions is obvious.
The blonde Glader keeps his right arm firmly against his side, mentally lying to himself that it is merely the smartest choice. In reality, the tickling may be torture, but when Thomas is the one doing it … Newt supposes he can deal with that.
Though his resolve does waver when Thomas’ fingers brush against the base of his underarms. “G-GAAH! Stay awahay f-from there Tommy!” He cries out, his right arm twitching reflexively towards the exposed area. But Newt refrains himself from fully stopping Thomas, clenching his forearm back down against his right side.
If Thomas notices Newt’s restraint, he makes no sign of it. Grinning as he lightly scribbles his fingers on the blonde teens lower bicep. “Hmmm, I don’t want to.” Thomas responds lazily, Newt jerks and squeaks but still make no motions to stop the dark haired Glader’s ticklish assault.
After another minute of the playful tickles, Thomas begins make a connection. “I don’t think you want me to stop either.” Thomas says as he abruptly begins clawing at the center of Newt’s ribs.
The sentence was phrased upwards as if asking a question. However, the tone he used and the certain look in his eye suggests it is actually more of a statement being clarified aloud.
“I-I’M NOHOT SURE W-WHAT YOHOU MEAHAN?” Newt elects to play dumb, unable to think of a viable excuse for why he’s clearly not fighting back. “Ha! And I’m ten feet tall.” Thomas retorts in an unimpressed tone. “Guess there’s only be way to find out.” Thomas continues, the ominous shift in tone gets Newt’s attention as the larger Glader pauses his wiggling fingers.
“W-wait whahat do yohou me-AHAHAHAN! NAHAHAHA TOHOHOMMY!” The blonde teen is immediately lost in frantic laughter as Thomas remounts his attack. The fingers on his free hand scribbling all around the exposed hollow of Newt’s underarm.
At this point, reflex kicks in and Newt’s right arm instinctively attempts to grab Thomas’. But the act is hopeless, the laughter and ticklish sensations have wrecked his functioning ability. It’s currently taking all his mental focus to grab quick breaths between his bouts of hysterical laughter.
“PLEAHAHASE! I C-CAHANT!” Newt begs, the back to back tickle assaults are starting to weigh on him. If it doesn’t stop soon, Newt fears he will truly go insane.
Thomas, sensing his friend it nearing his limit, elects to start his grand finale. Tired of fighting against Newt’s free hand, the dark haired Glader releases his grip on the pinned boy’s wrist to claw at his stomach. All while his other hand still scribbles mercilessly into the sensitive armpit.
Newts laughter hitches up and gains more of a panicked and squeaky tone. His begging is frantic as his hands wildly thrash between his stomach and underarm, unable to truly protect either of them amidst his hysterics.
“NAHAHAHA TOHOHOMMY! IM BEGGING YOHOU!” The blonde teen cries out, truly unable to take anymore. His laughter falls silent as his head leans back into the grass in defeat and acceptance.
Deciding he is satisfied - for now, Thomas ceases his wiggling fingers. Grinning down at the disheveled boy beneath him.
Newt lays there for many moments, gasping for air as he giggles, still feeling the traces of Thomas’ fingers over his skin. “Thahat was SO unfahair.” The blonde Glader whines after another minute of giggly panting.
“All is fair in love and war.” Thomas repeats with a shrug. Though he doesn’t know where the phrase came from. He doesn’t recall learning it in the outside world and yet it’s still placed inside his head. Just like his ability to speak, read … and love.
“You consider tickle tag a war?” Newt mumbles in amusement, still hyper-aware that Thomas has yet to move off his hips. “I do not. This is clearly a one sided battle against you, a war must have two sides.” Thomas responds cheekily with a wink.
The blonde boy freezes at Thomas’ words, his face blooming into a brilliant shade of red. Thomas realizes his misstep. If it’s not war, then that means it has to be-
“You lot are done already? Didn’t peg you for being the merciful type Thomas.” Minho’s voice interrupts from behind them, starting the two teens. “Ready for round three?” Minho adds on in a more mischievous tone. His words clearly directed at Newt, who attempts to shrink deeper into the leafs beneath him.
Thankfully, Thomas springs to his defense. “I think the poor lad has had enough for today. Plus, we have … other things to discuss.” The dark haired Glader responds, a flash of victory crosses Minho’s eyes. Clearly smug that his master plan worked so well.
“Ah I see, of course of course. Take your time, I’ll round the boys up for bed.” Minho responds casually with a shrug, but his beaming smile betrays his true thoughts.
“Yeah yeah.” Newt mumbles as he passes, refusing to meet Minho’s triumphant gaze. “Thanks.” Thomas adds on, the tone of his statement suggests something deeper than just a curt reply to Minho’s words.
Thomas had caught on to the runner’s original intentions as well.
“You are very welcome.” Minho responds as he disappears out of sight. The soft smile on his face following him all he way back to the Homestead.
~~~
“Sooo, you wanted to discuss something?” Newt asks hesitantly, unsure of how to proceed. “Uh yes. Yes I did. I mean, I do.” Thomas responds, suddenly feeling very anxious at the idea now that Minho is gone.
“Does it involve you still being on top of me?” Newt asks teasingly, attempting to ease up the mood with a joke. Thomas can feel his ears burning as he mutters an apology. Thomas quickly dismounts his friends hips, allowing the blonde boy to sit up with a chuckle.
Now that he’s not in any danger, Newt is back to his usual sarcastic self. Not that Thomas minds of course, it reminds him why he has to say what he’s feeling. Why he cares for Newt so much.
“Not so brave now, huh?” Newt asks with a giggle, knowing the only way to get Thomas to react is to be a pest. The effectiveness of his plan is immediate, with a grunt Thomas launches back into an impromptu attack.
“Thihis isn’t whahat I mehahant you shahank!” The blonde boy protests, though it is again evident that his words do not match his true intentions as he barley struggles beneath the larger boy. “Well too bad, this is what happens when you’re a little twerp.” Thomas responds with a shrug, ceasing his attack now that he got his dose of courage.
“N-noted, I’ll be s-sure to be a little twerp around you more often.” Newt responds bravely through the residual giggles, nothing left to lose now. “Well for you, you can always just ask.” The dark haired Glader responds, inching slightly closer to the still-giggling boy.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Newt answers with a shrug, not shying away as Thomas’ face inches closer. An unreadable expression in his eyes, the corner of his lip held by the edge of his tooth as he studies Newt.
“Well you were the one complaining about how it’s oh so unfair.” Thomas counters, he is mere inches away, they could share the same breath if they wanted to. That is, if Newt was breathing right now, instead of holding his breath as if the moment will end if he so much as inhales.
“And you’re the one who said all is fair in love and war.” Newt whispers, his eyes locked on Thomas’. Though for a moment, they seem to flick down to his lips, the glance was too quick for Thomas to be certain. But he feels his own lip ache slightly as he bites deeper into it. The dull pain barley distracting him from his pounding heart.
“That I did.” The brunette whispers in response, his right hand hesitantly rising from his lap to brush against the side of Newt’s face.
One moment of bravery is all he needs.
With a deep breath, Thomas forgets all his worries and leans forward. His doesn’t hesitate or ease into the kiss. It is immediate and almost hungry, yet still gentle.
The sounds of the breeze rustling through the trees, the consciousness of how dark it is getting, all of it fades away as their lips collide.
It feels like an eternity before they pull away, smiling. Eternity, yet not long enough.
Newt wants to kiss him again. He wants to, so he will. He can. He can kiss Thomas now.
The thought releases giddy butterflies in his stomach before Newt leans forward again. Closing the distance for a more passionate kiss. No residual anxiety is clouding their actions now. They are free to fully embrace each other.
When they finally pull away for the second time it is merely because they need to breath. “Stupid lungs, who needs breathing when I’ve got this.” Thomas jokes through his panting. Motioning towards Newt where the blonde is catching his breath with a mirroring grin. He has a dazed expression that Thomas is certain reflects his own.
“Agreed, it’s not fair.” Newt replies, the glint in his eyes suggests the wording of his responds was intentional. “Well I happen to know a little phrase about fairness. It may boost your spirits.” Thomas responds, playing into the game.
“Is that so? I’d love to hear it.” Newt replies in exaggerated enthusiasm. His beaming smile turns Thomas’ heart into a molten river, flowing through every part of his body with its nearly unbearable warmth.
“Life isn’t fair.” Thomas retorts teasingly, holding in his laughter at Newt’s indignant face. “That’s not how it go-“ The blonde teens statement is cut off by Thomas’ grinning lips. Any amused-annoyance within Newt immediately withers away at the feeling of his contact.
It’s as if a beam of sunlight is cutting through the darkness, only illuminating them.
Life may not always be fair, but right now, life feels pretty damn amazing.
And for now, that is more than good enough.