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The mission was a cakewalk: infiltrate the bunker, snag the top-secret documents, and slip out before anyone noticed—a job so simple it was practically an insult to his skills as the White Faction’s top agent.
White’s lips curled into a smug grin as he glided through the empty corridors, his pristine white trench coat billowing dramatically behind him. This is almost too easy, he thought, his ego swelling like a balloon. I’ll be back at the embassy by lunch, waving these papers in the boss’s face and demanding a fat raise.
It took him less than ten minutes to find the jackpot: a safe tucked behind a creepy painting of a clown in the head office. Even better, the idiot in charge had scribbled the combination on a sticky note and left it on the desk, like a gift wrapped in stupidity.
White chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Amateurs. He sauntered over to the safe, fingers dancing across the dial with the confidence of a man who knew he was untouchable. The first number clicked into place, and he could already taste the whiskey he’d pour to celebrate his inevitable promotion.
“I’d hold it right there if I were you.”
White’s heart lurched into his throat as the unmistakable click of a gun cocking echoed behind him.
That voice, cocky and dripping with malice, was burned into his brain like a brand: Black Spy, the Black Faction’s best agent and his lifelong nemesis.
How the fuck did he get the drop on me? White cursed himself, his mind racing. He’d swept every inch of this building, checked every shadow, every corner.
Yet here was Black, slinking in like a fucking ghost.
Slowly, White turned, clutching the crumpled sticky note like a tiny lifeline. Black leaned against the doorway, his black trench coat blending into the shadows, a pistol aimed square at White’s face. His grin was pure venom, his white pupils glinting with sadistic glee. “C’mon, don’t be stupid,” Black drawled, extending his free hand and beckoning with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Hand over the code, and I might not paint the walls with your brains.”
White’s eyes flicked to the note, then back to Black, his mind churning through options.
Option one: hand over the code, fail the mission, and crawl back to the embassy with his tail between his legs. Unacceptable.
Option two: get shot, die, and spend a full day regenerating while missing a day’s pay. Painful, annoying and costly, but he’d live.
Option three: draw his own gun and hope Black’s aim was off. Suicide, plain and simple. Black was faster, always had been.
So White went with option four: the dumbest, most desperate play in his arsenal. He shoved the note into his mouth and started chewing like a starved animal. The dry paper scraped his tongue, tasting like ink and regret.
Black’s jaw dropped, his gun wavering for a split second. Before he could bark a protest, White swallowed hard, gagging as the wad slid down his throat. He pounded his chest, forcing it down, and let out a loud, triumphant belch. “Ahhh,” he sighed, smirking.
Black stared, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Y-You—you idiot!” he finally roared, his face twisting with rage. White hissed with laughter, his signature wheezy cackle bouncing off the walls. Black’s eyes narrowed to slits as he stormed forward, shoving the pistol into White’s big nose. “Tell me the combo. Now.”
White’s smirk didn’t falter. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he taunted, leaning into the gun barrel just to fuck with him. The paper had tasted like shit, and he’d probably have indigestion later, but Black’s apoplectic expression made it all worthwhile.
Black’s teeth ground so hard White could hear them creak. Any other day, he’d have blown White’s head off and cracked the safe with a stick of dynamite.
But today, like a fucking moron, he’d brought only his pistol and a knife, expecting a quick in and out job.
Why did I think this would be easy? Black thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. It’s never easy with this pointy-nosed bastard. His only shot at the documents now was getting White to spill the combo, and he knew that smug prick would rather die than cooperate.
While Black stewed, White braced for a fight. Drawing his gun was a nonstarter, but Black’s distraction gave him an opening. Gotta take him down, grab his weapon. White calculated, muscles tensing. The second Black’s hand moved, White launched himself like a missile.
“What the fu—!” Black yelped as White tackled him, the two crashing to the floor with a bone-jarring thud. Black’s pistol skittered across the room, and he scrambled to grab White’s leg as he dove for it. White yanked free, but Black was on him again, and the two devolved into a snarling, punching, choking mess of spies rolling across the ground.
They traded blows, White landing a solid fist to Black’s cheek, Black retaliating with an elbow to White’s gut. Finally, White pinned Black beneath him, straddling his torso and trapping his arms with one hand. His other hand yanked out his pistol, cocking it with a triumphant snicker. “Say goodnight, Black,” he hissed, savoring the moment.
Big fucking mistake.
Black’s legs were free, and he drove a knee into White’s stomach with the force of a mule kick. White flew backward, crashing into the wall with a THUD that shook the room. Above him, a rickety metal shelf bolted to the wall groaned, its load of dusty office junk and an old typewriter teetering dangerously.
White groaned, trying to stand, but the shelf gave a final creak, and—CLONK—the typewriter plummeted, smacking him square on the head. He crumpled to the floor, stars circling his noggin, knocked out cold.
Black huffed a laugh, brushing dust off his coat. “You’re nothing but trouble,” he spat, glaring at the unconscious White. His scowl twisted into a wicked grin. “But now I’ve got no one left to stop me.”
“Get up already, you pointy-nosed fuck!” Black barked, kicking White’s shin with a satisfying crunch.
White’s eyes shot open, crying out in pain as he jolted awake. He glared up at his rival. “Was that really necessary?” he grumbled, his face scrunching up. “And who’re you calling pointy-nose, pointy?” His head pounded like a hangover from hell, but when he tried to rub it, his arms wouldn’t move.
Glancing down, White’s stomach dropped. He was tied to a chair, ropes binding his wrists behind his back and his legs to the chair’s legs, leaving him completely helpless. Fuck me sideways, he thought, panic creeping in. Tied up, at Black’s mercy—this was bad.
Really fucking bad.
Black rolled his eyes, taking out his knife and twirling it with a flourish. “Took you long enough to notice you’re fucked,” he sneered. “Now, we doing this the easy way, or the hard way?”
White eyed the blade, its edge reflecting the overhead light with a promise of pain. He’d been carved up by that very knife enough times to know it hurt like a bitch.
But he wasn’t wasn’t about to give in. Not to Black. Not without a fight.
“Do your worst,” he spat, locking eyes with Black’s and giving him a defiant smirk. “I’m not telling you jack shit.”
Black’s eye twitched, but his grin widened, all teeth and cruelty. “Hard way it is.”
White tensed as Black stalked closer, the knife pressing against his neck, not hard enough to cut, but enough to sting his skin from the sharpness. He won’t kill me, White told himself, he needs the code.
But that was cold comfort. Black was a sadistic fucker, and White knew from experience that he could endure hours of pain before his body gave out.
Gotta think fast.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” White said, forcing his voice to stay cool. Black raised a brow, curious. White leaned into the lie. “I’ve got a tracker on me. My comrades are probably already on their way, and they won’t be thrilled to find me bleeding.”
Black froze, eyes widening. Then he scoffed, pressing the knife harder, a bead of blood welling up. “Bullshit. I searched you while you were out. No tracker.”
White doubled down, his smirk unwavering. “Of course you didn't find it. It's tiny and sends out a signal that only the White Faction can track,” He couldn’t help but throw in an insult. “And also because you’re the biggest dumbass I know.”
Black’s face paled, taking the bait, and White barely stifled a snicker. He’s actually buying this shit? Fucking priceless.
Black snarled, dropping the knife and lunging to pat White down. “Where is it?!” he demanded, hands frantically groping his rival. If White really did have a tracker on him, he’d have to find and get rid of it fast before he was surrounded and killed by other White Faction agents.
White cringed and bit his lip as Black grasped at his legs before moving up towards his midsection, the sensation tickling him like crazy. He managed to stay silent, clenching his jaw and tensing his muscles—until Black suddenly shoved his hands under his coat and squeezed his sides. White jerked and yelped, making Black pause.
Black frowned, confused. “What? Is it here?” he asked, kneading the same spots harder, trying to feel for any tiny devices. “Quit fucking around and tell me where it is already, dammit!”
White jerked again. “N-No!” he growled, fighting the giggles bubbling up. “It’s too small to find, you idiot!” Black ignored him, prodding relentlessly, and White’s control shattered. He threw his head back, laughter erupting as his body shook.
Black blinked in confusion and stopped. “The hell are you laughing at?” he snapped, glaring at a panting White. He narrowed his eyes. “You better not be fucking with me, or I swear I’ll—” He jabbed White’s sides again, and White yelped, another burst of giggles spilling out.
Black froze, staring at his rival blankly. Then it clicked, and his scowl morphed into a sadistic grin, a glint of pure evil shining in his eyes. “Oooh, I get it now,” he purred, reaching down and pinching White’s knees. White spasmed, grunting, and Black’s smile grew wider. “You’re ticklish.”
White’s blood ran cold, suddenly hyper aware of just how vulnerable he really was. Fuck me, I’m so screwed, he thought, cursing himself for his “bright” idea. He stayed silent, refusing to confirm or deny, unwilling to show any weakness.
Black laughed, sensing his rival’s discomfort like a shark sensing blood in the water. “No comment? Guess you won’t mind this, then.” He squeezed White’s thighs, snickering as he flinched. “Oh man, this is too good!” he crowed, his hands creeping back up to White’s sides. He snickered as White’s face flushed from embarrassment. “And I bet there’s no tracker, huh? You filthy fucking liar. But who cares about that—now I’ve got a better way to break you.”
White’s face drained of color. Black laughed again. “So, what’ll it be? You gonna cough up that code, or am I gonna have to torture it outta you?”
“Go to hell,” White snapped, glaring daggers, his pride making him stay defiant. Black just smiled.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Black’s fingers scribbled over White’s sides, and White’s reaction was instant. Now that Black was tickling him deliberately, it was so, so much worse. Wild laughter burst free, his body thrashing against the ropes.
This wasn’t his usual wheezy cackle—this was raw, desperate, painful laughter.
“DAHAHAHAMMIT!” he screeched, bucking uselessly.
“Ready to talk yet?” Black taunted, drilling his fingers into White’s bony hips, smirking as he squealed.
“FUHUHUCK OHOHOFF!” White shouted, tears pricking his eyes. He squeezed them shut, refusing to let them fall. Black’s fingers danced to his ribs, pinching each one, and White’s resolve crumbled further. This is fucking torture, he thought frantically, I’m gonna kill this fucker as violently as possibly as soon as I’m free. His anger and willpower were keeping him from truly losing it, but both were fading fast.
Black, meanwhile, was having the time of his life, unable to believe how effective this was. Who knew the great White Spy was this weak? he thought, shaking his head. His greatest enemy could take being shot, beaten and stabbed, but couldn’t handle a few measly minutes of tickling?
He was so going to use this against him any chance he got from now on. He dug his fingers deep into White's sensitive flesh, trying to make it as unbearable as possible.
But a small, traitorous part of Black couldn’t help but notice how…cute White’s laughter was. His flushed face, wide grin, those little gasps—
Fuck, stop thinking like that, Black scolded himself, shaking it off. He moved to White’s armpits, scratching at the hollows viciously.
White exploded.
“FUHUHUCK—NOHOHOHOHO!” he screamed, thrashing so hard the chair nearly tipped over.
Black grinned impossibly wider. “Found your weak spot, huh? Maybe I’ll stay here till you sing.”
“YOHOHOHOHOU BAHAHAHASTAHAHARD!” White howled in ticklish agony. He shook his head side to side, his tears still not falling—the last thing he needed was for his rival to see him crying. His hat, which had somehow managed to stay on his head this entire time, went flying off and landed on the floor.
“What’s that? You want me to tickle you more? Well, since you asked so nicely, who am I to deny such a request?” Black teased, upping his tickle attack. He began to rapidly move his hands around White's entire torso, squeezing and tickling everywhere he could, taking fiendish delight in White’s uncontrollable squeaks and cackles.
“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!” White shrieked. His pride was in absolute tatters, but he clung desperately to the remaining shreds, like someone trying to sleep in a tent during a hurricane. I won’t break, he vowed, even as his laughter turned hysterical.
Black added more insult to injury, leaning in close and mocking him with a singsong, “Coochie coochie coo~” He snorted as he watched White’s red face turn a shade darker.
Black didn’t even care about the code anymore—he just wanted to hear more of those adorable squeals.
After what felt like an eternity, White was done.
His laughter had faded to pitiful wheezes, his body twitching, his red face hurting from his forced smile. “MERCY! MEHEHERCEEHEEHEE!” he wailed, dizzy and broken, the tears he had managed to hold in now flowing freely. “STAHAHAHAP!”
“Oh, you’re ready to talk now?” Black teased. “I’ll stop—if you say please.”
“PLEASEPLEASEPLEHEHEASE!” White screeched, eyes bulging. He felt like he would go mad if the torture didn’t stop this instant. Black finally relented, stepping back as White slumped, gasping and giggling faintly, almost passing out from sheer relief.
Black waited for White to recover a little, then crossed his arms. “So. Let’s hear that combo,” he said, smug.
White, still panting, closed his eyes, his mind churning. He knew that he’d have to give up the real code if he wanted any chance of getting out of this. He mumbled the number combination, his voice raw and scratchy, his throat hoarse.
Black’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he smirked. “Theeere we go,” he purred, reaching out and ruffling White’s sweaty, disheveled hair. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?“ He let out a wheezy snicker. “This better be the right combo, or you’re getting round two.” Black smirked mischievously, reaching out and giving the poor, overstimulated spy one last pinch on his side, making him squeal. He laughed as his rival glared at him before turning around and strolling over to the safe.
White, fueled by rage and a need for revenge, carefully moved his hands and slid out his hidden sleeve blade. Luckily for him, it had managed to stay in place even amongst his crazed flailing.
Even luckier, Black hadn't found it when he had searched him. Dumbass, he thought, slicing the ropes open.
White grinned madly as the bindings came loose, right as Black was reaching for the documents. Getting up, he quietly slunk over to Black like a cat hunting its prey—and just as Black turned around, he pounced, tackling him to the floor.
The papers flew out of his hand as Black hit the ground, the force making his head swim as he landed. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision, then froze in fear as he looked up to see White pinning him, holding his knife inches from his face with a crazed smile.
He gulped, fear flashing in his eyes, his white pupils narrowing. I’m fucked.
White’s mind raced with vengeance—Cut off his fingers, gouge out his eyes, make him eat his own tongue?
Then inspiration struck.
He tossed the knife aside and dove his hands under Black’s coat, tickling mercilessly.
“WHAHAHAT?! NOHOHOHO!” Black shrieked, flailing, desperately trying to escape the ticklish sensation.
White laughed, gleeful. “You called me ticklish? Look at you, losing your shit!” He scribbled his fingers over Black’s stomach, relishing his agonized squeals and squeaks.
“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP!” Black screamed, tears already streaming down his crimson face. He cursed his own ticklishness, too overwhelmed to think.
White drank in his rival’s adorable agony, feeling oddly…fond?
Look at that smile.
He had never seen Black fall apart like this, and him being the cause made him feel strangely warm and fuzzy inside.
The immense satisfaction and schadenfreude at Black’s suffering was also a bonus.
But Black, desperate for this to end, shot his hands to White’s sides, tickling back. “TAHAHAKE THIHIHIS!” he roared through his own hysterics, clawing at his ribs.
White yelped, his body jerking, but he didn’t let up, digging even harder into Black’s stomach with a vengeance. “YOUHOHOHO FUHUHUHUCKER!” he screamed, his laughter spiking as Black’s fingers found a sensitive spot just below his armpits. “STAHAHAHAP IHIHIT, YOU DIHIHICK!”
“NOHOHO WAHAHAY, YOU STAHAHAHAP!” Black howled back, frantically trying to match his rival’s ferocity.
“YOHOHOU STAHAHARTED THIS, YOU PRIHIHICK!”
Their legs tangled as they rolled across the floor, a chaotic mess of flailing limbs, tangled coats, and unhinged cackles echoing off the bunker walls. They rolled again, crashing into the desk, papers scattering as their laughter grew deafening, both spies locked in a desperate, ticklish stalemate. Their faces were red, tears streaming, sweat soaking their coats, but neither would yield, each fueled by pride and a twisted, unspoken thrill at seeing the other unravel.
Finally, they collapsed, sprawled on the floor, panting, blushing, tears streaking their faces. White glanced at Black, his chest heaving, and felt a pang of…something.
He looks…kinda cute, he thought, then mentally slapped himself.
Black caught his eye, equally mortified. Fuck, why’s he gotta look so good all messed up? he thought, annoyed at himself.
Then, remembering why they were both there in the first place, they scrambled up, lunging for the documents—only to find them gone.
In their place was a polaroid of them tickle-fighting, Black on top, both laughing like idiots. A note scrawled on it read:
Thanks for the show, darlings.
~Grey Spy
Their faces erupted into flames as they stared at the photo, Black’s chagrined scowl mirroring White’s wide-eyed horror.
Grey Spy, that conniving bitch, White hissed internally, his stomach churning at the thought of that sneaky fucker watching their pathetic tickle brawl.
Black’s hands shook as he reached out and crumpled the edges of the polaroid, his white pupils darting to White, then away, as if meeting his rival’s gaze would make this nightmare more real. “Never speak of this,” he growled shakily, barely holding together. He shoved the polaroid into his coat pocket. I’ll burn this later, he vowed, then hunt Grey Spy down for this bullshit.
“Agreed,” White muttered, his own voice hoarse from screaming so much. He avoided Black’s eyes, wiping the tear stains from his flushed cheeks, his fingers still tingling from their tickle fight.
He saw me lose it. He saw me fucking cry.
The shame was suffocating, but worse was the strange warmth in his chest when he glanced at Black’s disheveled appearance.
Why the fuck does he look so…so—
White shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought like a splinter.
They stood in tense silence, the bunker’s cold air doing nothing to cool their burning embarrassment. The documents were gone, both their missions fucked, and Grey Spy was probably cackling somewhere with the prize.
White clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. The image of Black’s helpless laughter kept creeping back, making his pulse race for reasons he refused to name.
Black cleared his throat, awkwardly breaking the silence. “We…we should get out of here. Now.” His voice was gruff, but there was a crack in it, like he was fighting the same confusing feelings. He turned toward the exit, his coat swishing, but hesitated, glancing back at White.
For a split second, their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them—a mix of loathing, respect, and something neither dared to admit.
White nodded curtly, brushing past Black toward the door, their shoulders grazing just enough to send a jolt through him. Fuck, get it together, he scolded himself, quickening his pace. Black followed, his steps heavy, each spy hyperaware of the other’s presence as they fled the bunker into the night, hearts pounding, vowing to bury this humiliating day forever.
But deep down, both knew this memory was a secret they’d trip over every time their paths crossed.