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Ronan crossed his arms in front of his chest, sitting back on top of Harpe’s lap while looking down at him like a predator does to its prey. “I’m waiting,” he added, tapping his arm with his finger.
Harpe shuddered at that comment, pressing his eyes shut and scrunching up his shoulders as if he was getting scolded. “B-but… young master, I-”
“It’s an order, Harpe,” Ronan interrupted him, clearly feeling very proud of abusing his powers. This wasn’t the first time Ronan ‘ordered’ him to do… unusual things, but he could clearly see the intentions behind that order. Why else would he request such a thing?
Harpe sighed in defeat, laying back down. “F-fine, you don’t need to order me,” he muttered.
“It seems I, in fact, do,” Ronan added, leaning forward and resting his hands over Harpe’s stomach, feeling his body tremble with anticipation, “since you didn’t obey me yet.”
This wasn’t about authority or loyalty, Harpe thought, knowing he would only dig a deeper grave if he dared to say anything if not what his young master wished to hear. His body, however, wasn’t exactly convinced.
Harpe clenched his hands, but it was like his arms weighed a ton whenever he tried to lift them. He knew what was going to happen, he could see Ronan’s hands poised to strike - how was he supposed to ignore all the red flags and simply lift his arms like that?
“I-I can-”
“Of course you do,” Ronan said, stopping his servant from finishing that sentence as he reached out to one of his wrists, pulling it up and pinning it on the mattress, high above Harpe’s head. The latter’s cheeks burned in a bright shade of pink as Ronan towered over him. “You just need a little push.”
“W-wahAHAHAIT!” Harpe laughed, planting his heels on the mattress and arching his back, nearly losing himself to a single swipe from his lowest rib to the middle of his armpit. “Y-young mahahaster, plehehease!!”
“Don’t beg me, Harpe,” Ronan hummed passionately, loving watching that panicked expression unfold right before his eyes, “you disobeyed your master, we can’t have that, can we?”
“I- ahAHAha, I dihihidn’t!” Harpe whined, gripping at Ronan’s wrist with his free hand.
As Ronan continued to slowly wiggle his fingers over the unprotected spot, Harpe thrashed his head and pressed his eyes shut, holding onto the faint faith that any of that would make the tickling more bearable, would make him less sensitive. Oh, what a sweet lie.
“Don’t worry,” Ronan mused lovingly, shooting his hand down to poke at his servant’s ribs before moving it up again, tickling his underarm some more, “I know how well you do your role… that’s why I’m going to let you off with a lighter sentence ~”
“T-Thihihis is the wohohorst!” Harpe giggled, that embarrassed smile seemingly glued to his face at that point - just like Ronan’s hand to his body.
The young master shook his head, leaning even closer to his servant as he grinned down at him. “Now, since you couldn’t follow my last order, I’ll give you a new one to make up for your mistake: laugh for me, Harpe ~”