#And yet she calms down enough to give herself the satisfaction of inflicting an eternal torture on him

[fragmentedblade]

She watches as the arrogant craftsman falls into mud, and walks up to him like a wraith. "I should kill you first... but you will have your own torment to bear for all eternity..."

So I was right. It was revenge

[twinklysmiles]

Not a Word of This to Anyone! (Or: A Ticklish Spa Day)   Part 2: Full Body Massage

A Star Trek Tickle Fic

Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS Characters: Leonard Bones McCoy, James T. Kirk (McKirk at a stretch), Nyota Uhura, Christine Chapel  Warnings: Tickling (turning into a non-con situation) Word Count: 5,423

Summary: Kirk and McCoy get roped into joining Chapel and Uhura on a spa day, which turns out to be a rather ticklish experience. They seriously regret their decision as they helplessly suffer through a pedicure and a full body massage.

Read Part 1: Pedicure here

Inspired by this gif:  (although I can actually picture AOS Kirk and McCoy even better in this one)

“We’re not due for our facials for another hour,” Uhura grinned. “Maybe we’d better stay close, right here outside their treatment room, and have some more of this delicious herbal tea? Just in case the rest of their bodies is as ticklish as their feet, and they need us to rescue them?”

Giving her friend an appraising look, Chapel asked, “Why do I get the impression that you’re secretly hoping for the massage to turn out as ticklish as the pedicure, and just want to be here to listen to their helpless laughter?”

Uhura looked away and blushed, then mumbled, “It was quite hot to watch, though, wasn’t it? Them being so incredibly ticklish, and those girls shamelessly taking advantage of it, I mean.”

“It certainly was,” Chapel grinned, hardly believing that Uhura obviously had a thing for tickling, too. “And going by the naughty wink Leonard’s pedicurist gave us, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear some serious laughter again any minute now.”

“Mhm, my thoughts exactly,” Uhura agreed, “let’s get some tea and make ourselves comfortable out here in the sun. This resort is so beautiful! But let’s hurry, I wouldn’t want to miss anything. Jim’s laughter is just too cute! I wish I could tickle him myself.”

‘And you haven’t even heard him in full hysterics yet,’ Chapel thought, grinning to herself as she remembered all the times she’d witnessed the captain roaring with uncontrollable laughter in sickbay, even though McCoy had clearly tried his hardest not to tickle him during his abdominal examinations.

“Actually, I found Leonard’s reactions even more delightful,” the nurse countered. “He was so adorably embarrassed about being ticklish, yet completely helpless to stop himself from thrashing around and laughing his head off.”

oOoOoOoOoOo

Kirk and McCoy stripped down to their briefs as requested, and climbed onto the two massage tables that were standing side by side in the centre of the room.

“Face down please, gentlemen!” McCoy’s pedicurist, who had introduced herself as Pixie, instructed. “Apart from the big hole for your face, you’ll find that you can thread your hands comfortably through the little gaps between the two parts of the armrests.”

The two men obliged, shifting around until they felt comfortable, and then tried to relax for the upcoming massage.

After a few moments, McCoy felt two warm, oily hands starting to gently stroke his neck and back, from his spine to his shoulders. And although it was a very light touch, certainly bordering on ticklish on the doctor’s sensitive skin, it actually felt very nice and surprisingly relaxing. Closing his eyes contentedly, as Pixie lightly raked her fingers in slow waves over his back, he found himself practically purring with pleasure, and heard similar sounds coming from Jim on the table next to him.

But as Pixie’s hands gradually travelled further down his back, he began to wish she’d apply a little more pressure, biting his lip as he was reminded just how ticklish the small of his back was. With every feathering stroke across his lumbar area, his body tensed up a little more, and he found it harder and harder to keep his breathing even, desperately willing her to move upwards again, and hoping he’d be able to stand the irritating touches until she did.

Naturally, she lingered on his lower back for an excruciating eternity, and, clamping his mouth shut, McCoy couldn't help flinching a little every time the devious fingers returned to the spots that really bothered him, seriously making him want to arch his back and twist out of reach. By the time the ticklish touches were finally inching up his harried back again, the doctor was ready to crawl out of his skin, taking shallow breaths and hardly able to hold back the giggles any longer.

“Don’t tell me even your back is ticklish!” Pixie chuckled, but thankfully kept moving her hands towards safer areas when McCoy chose to ignore her, the feathering fingers slowly wandering back up to his neck and shoulders, where he could actually enjoy their touches.

As McCoy gradually relaxed again, Kirk started to giggle next to him.

“A little more firmly, please,” the captain all but squeaked, and the doctor could hear him squirming around on his table. “You’re tickling me!”

“Relax, Captain,” Rosie, Kirk’s pedicurist-turned-massage therapist drawled. “It’s supposed to be soft and gentle. This technique has proven far more effective than the high-pressure muscle kneading you’re probably used to.”

“How can I relax when you keep tickling me?” the captain spluttered, his giggles turning into guffaws.

McCoy didn’t catch the last of Kirk’s words, as he got distracted by Pixie’s fingers now grazing his sides every time she fanned them from his spine outwards and back, running her hands in ever wider strokes up and down his back. Just barely, and probably not even deliberately, but his sides were so horribly ticklish, there was no way he could enjoy the massage anymore.

Too embarrassed to admit how much it tickled and ask her to stop the harrowing touches, the doctor gritted his teeth and frantically tried to suppress the involuntary jerks of his body every time Pixie’s fingers brushed his sides. God, he hated being tickled. And he hated being so helplessly, excruciatingly ticklish.

Desperately holding back the laughter, the doctor got more and more restless as Pixie continued to lightly trail her fingernails a little further around his sensitive sides with every stroke, her touch getting more unbearable the closer it came to his belly. Finally, he just couldn't handle it anymore and let out a gasp and a snort, before dissolving into bright, helpless laughter, his body spasming under the devilish touches, and ticklish tears spilling from his eyes.

Next to him, Kirk wasn’t faring any better. The captain was shaking with helpless mirth, as Rosie’s fingers inflicted serious tickle torture on his body.

“Don’t!” the captain cried out between bouts of laughter. “It tickles too mu-hu-hu-huch!”

“But you asked for more pressure,” Rosie smiled innocently, continuing her torturous ministrations. “You said my touch was too light and therefore ticklish. Make up your mind, Captain! You just asked me to knead, and not feather, remember?”

“But not my ri-hi-hi-hibs!” Kirk was cackling away in earnest now, as Rosie gleefully clawed and prodded up and down his sensitive sides and ribs, while Pixie, at the other table, elicited peals of impotent laughter from a frenzied McCoy, fiendishly scribbling her fingers all over the doctor’s sides and every inch of his belly she could access underneath him, dropping every pretence of not doing it on purpose.

Relenting a little when the captain started to cough, Rosie and Pixie let the men catch their breath, rubbing their backs with proper massage strokes and waiting for them to calm down again.

“You’re really quite the ticklish pair, aren’t you?” Pixie giggled, and Rosie wickedly added, “I wonder, where else they might be ticklish!”

And before McCoy had the chance to pull himself back together enough to even think about getting up and escaping his unbearable predicament, Pixie leaned down, lightly ran a devious finger around his waist, from his belly to the small of his back and on to the other side of his belly, and murmured in his ear, “Now tell me, Dr. McCoy, where are you and your captain most ticklish?”

The doctor tensed up, shivering under the harrowing touch, but determined not to break again and give this sadistic woman the satisfaction of showing how torturous a single fingernail tracing his waistline was for him. He couldn't quite stop his muscles from twitching at the ticklish sensations, though.

Anyway, McCoy was spared from having to come up with a clever retort, when Rosie happened upon Kirk’s absolutely worst spot, and the captain erupted into hysterical laughter, frantically, and almost unintelligibly, begging for mercy in between howls of ticklish agony.

“Not there! AAAAHAHAHAHA! Anywhere but there! AAAHAHAHA! Please STOHOHOHOHP! God, NOHOHOHOHO! I really can’t AAAAHAHAHAH stand this! AAAHAHAHAH! I’m dying! AAAHAHAHAH! Too ticklish! AAAAHAHAHAH! Mercy! AAAAHAHAHAH! Please! AAAAHAHAHAH! Bones! AAAAHAHAHAH!"

“Gosh, I think I struck gold there,” Rosie exclaimed happily as Pixie watched in awe. “What a ticklish, ticklish belly the captain has! And there I thought his feet were bad.”

Forgetting his own ticklish predicament for a moment, McCoy grew seriously angry now and demanded of the women to stop their vicious assault. This wasn’t funny anymore. Despite him lying on his stomach, Rosie had found out how unbearably ticklish Jim was on his belly. But not just that, by the sound of him, she had also discovered his absolute death spots. The ones that Leonard had to avoid at all costs during physical exams, knowing only too well, as Kirk’s doctor and friend, how he couldn't stand to be touched there at all.

Watching his friend bucking and thrashing violently, while desperately begging for mercy through his howls of tortured laughter as Rosie fiendishly reached underneath Jim’s belly from both sides and evilly exploited the newly found weak spots, McCoy made to get off his table in order to hurry over to help Jim and put an end to this madness. Only to discover that he couldn't, because his arms were stuck in the armrests.

That was when fury gave way to panic, as the doctor realised in horror, that his own death spots were now completely exposed and vulnerable, too. This whole scenario was his very worst nightmare come true.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Outside the treatment room, Uhura and Chapel were practically glued to the door, enraptured by the development inside. Quite obviously, Kirk and McCoy had a lot of tickle spots, which the girls seemed to be discovering one after the other. And even worse ones than their feet, it appeared, judging from how the giggles and mild laughter from the first few minutes of the “massage” had grown into full-blown hysterics.

Especially Kirk’s, who was currently beside himself with ticklish hilarity, actually begging for mercy, and making the women wonder what exactly had elicited this kind of crazed laughter from the captain.

“Leave his belly alone!” they heard McCoy roar, sounding truly pissed off. “Can’t you see he’s had enough? That he really can’t stand it there? You’re killing him!”

“So, Jim’s belly, eh?” Uhura turned to Chapel, raising an amused eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with glee over this new piece of information.

“Deathly,” Christine confirmed, trying to picture Kirk being purposely tickled on his belly, when even just McCoy’s careful and considerate touches had been enough to tickle him out of his mind and render him completely helpless. “You have no idea!”

“You knew?” Uhura gaped at her friend.

“I am the head nurse,” Chapel smiled by way of explanation.

“Oh. My. God. He sounds hysterical. Is his belly really that bad?” Uhura was still trying to get her head around the captain being so insanely ticklish.

“Off the charts,” Christine nodded.

“Good, they stopped,” Uhura was actually relieved. “For a moment there, they almost had me worried about Jim. McCoy sounded genuinely concerned. Certainly angry enough to bite their heads off. Or maybe he was just on edge, because there are still some similarly torturous tickle spots waiting to be discovered on his own body?”

The mischievous gleam was back in Uhura’s eyes.

“Well, the good doctor certainly knows how acutely ticklish the captain’s belly is,” Chapel chuckled. “He had to perform a number of abdomen checks over the years.”

Uhura smirked, trying to picture super-ticklish Kirk and McCoy in sickbay, the latter attempting to perform an actual physical on a frantically cackling and squirming captain.

“At least he got those “tickle-therapists” to stand down,” she smiled. “Made them realise that it was really too much for poor Jim to take.”

“Or the captain might have fallen into silent laughter,” Chapel smirked mischievously. “He sometimes does, when his belly gets tickled too long.”

Uhura frowned. “You think he’s all right?”

“Sure. Leonard is very protective of Jim. He’d never let them seriously torture him. Besides, their time is nearly up, anyway.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than McCoy suddenly started to laugh hysterically, too.

“Is that the doctor squealing like a little girl?” Uhura asked taken aback. Although it was unmistakably Leonard’s voice, she’d never heard him like that. “Sounds like they hit quite a death spot there!”

Mesmerised, the two friends leaned in closer, straining to hear everything that was going on behind that door.

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

McCoy was unquestionably in ticklish agony.

Then one of the therapists’ voices, softly counting.

“Three…”

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

“Four…”

“Maybe she’s counting his toes?” Uhura took a guess. “Remember how badly he was suffering during the pedicure? His feet are awfully ticklish, they’re surely hard to beat.”

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

Shrieking, cackling, more cackling.

“Seven…”

“Ok, not the toes then,” Uhura giggled, eager to know where the doctor could be more ticklish than on his feet.

“I think she’s counting his ribs,” Chapel suggested, then shuddered. “My dad used to do that to me.”

“Yeah, you might be right,” Uhura agreed, fascinated by McCoy’s audibly unendurable ordeal. “Oh my God, someone has seriously ticklish ribs.”

oOoOoOoOoOo

McCoy was in tickle hell. He’d totally forgotten how insanely ticklish he really was. And with Jim helpless with ticklish laughter beside him, too, he was suddenly afraid they might actually die in this very room today. All the dangers and diseases space held, that he’d always been afraid of, and now he was getting himself tickled to death on shore leave.

He’d scared Rosie into giving Kirk a break from the nightmare of having his hyper-sensitive and helplessly exposed belly mercilessly tickled while not being able to do a damn thing to protect it. But once the captain had recovered, she’d started tickling him with renewed vigour. Exploring Jim’s body for further tickle spots, she kept coming back to his ridiculously ticklish belly. It was just too good a spot, and she clearly enjoyed inflicting such unbearably ticklish agony on the poor man.

But now that Pixie was devilishly scouring every inch of McCoy’s own body for more tickle spots, the doctor couldn't even help himself anymore, let alone his suffering friend. After the young woman had discovered the ticklish distress she could cause the doctor with the lightest touches on his sides, she was just finding out how much worse his ribs were, and what incredible fun it was for her to “count” them.

Starting from the bottom, she fiendishly took her time to poke and scratch every single rib, and then lingered even longer on the especially harrowing spots in between, drilling a diabolical finger between each pair of ribs on either side, making the doctor howl and roar and buck and thrash and generally die laughing while longing to jump out of his skin.

“What’s wrong with you?” McCoy barked, when he was finally able to form words again, before being consumed by uncontrollable laughter once more.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, Doctor,” Pixie rolled her eyes, but relented a little anyway, just lightly tapping her fingers on the pair of ribs she’d just counted, which still tickled terribly enough. “We’re just having a little fun.

“Well it’s no fun for us,” Kirk wheezed, finding his voice again as Rosie eased up on his belly. “Let us go!”

“Not yet, we can’t,” Rosie laughed, taking her fingers off his belly and attacking his armpits and the back of his thighs instead, setting the captain off cackling again. “We still have 15 minutes left.”

“You’re just so much fun to tickle,” Pixie eagerly added. “I knew right at the pedicure how much fun a massage would be. It’s not often that we get such good-looking and deliciously, torturously ticklish men out here.” Poking McCoy’s ribs with every word for emphasis, she nearly made him fall off the table.

Then Pixie let her fingers glide back down to molest the doctor’s sides and lower back with feathering touches again, which was awful, but at least away from his ribs and just about bearable, while Rosie took to alternating between Kirk’s belly and armpits, which were horrendously ticklish as well, but anywhere was better than his belly. And while the captain was hardly able to stand the tickling in his underarms, nor on his thighs or feet, which she was including now, too, he always dreaded the moment she’d go back to his belly. Which she unfailingly did once every minute or so.

As soon as Pixie noticed that her “patient” had recovered and was merely giggling anymore, she went straight back to McCoy’s ribs, a wicked grin on her face.

“Let’s start counting from the bottom again,” she announced cheerfully, “because it’s just so much fun!”

McCoy groaned, although it came out rather as a shriek, when the devilish fingers started drilling into the space between his bottom ribs once more. After less than five seconds, the doctor was screaming laughter again, unable to deal with the diabolical tickling. And he actually started to hyperventilate as the tormenting fingers made their ticklish way upwards, their destination clearly being the spot the doctor feared more than anything else, knowing he simply couldn’t survive being tickled there like this.

“No, please, not there,” he begged between long bouts of uncontrollable laughter, then stupidly cried, “It tickles, it tickles!” much to Pixie’s amusement, who chuckled, “It does, doesn’t it?” as she continued to “count”.

When she was halfway up McCoy’s sides, she asked in a curious tone, “Is it just me? Or are you really getting even more ticklish the higher I go?”

McCoy was helpless with laughter now and couldn't get a word out if he wanted to.

“Well, if you’re not telling me, I guess I’ll just have to find out myself,” Pixie concluded and happily continued on her way up the doctor’s ticklish ribs.

The tickle torture became unbearable, and McCoy was losing all coherent thought, getting more hysterical the closer the wicked hands came to his pits and blabbering incoherent pleas for mercy whenever he could find enough breath.

“Don’t go any higher, please! *wheeze* You don’t understand! GAH-HAHA! I’ll die! BAWAHAHAH! Not funny! *wheeze* Please don’t! HUH-HUH-HUH! Can’t stand it there! AAAAHAHAHAH! Insanely ticklish there! *wheeze* Really, please! *wheeze* This is torture! GAH-HAHA-HAH! No, no, no, you don’t understand! HAHAHA! Not just a little ticklish there! BAWAHAH! More of a *wheeze* pathological *wheeze’ condition! OHOH-HOHOHOH! Hypersensitivity! HUH-HUH-HUH! I’ll go insane, if you *wheeze* tickle me there! EEEEH! Stop! No higher! AAAAAHAHAHAH!"

McCoy went ballistic when Pixie finally reached his underarms, exploding into bellowing laughter and thinking he’d die, as she scribbled and poked around his helpless armpits. And just as he thought it couldn’t get any worse, she stumbled upon his number one death spot and he lost it completely.

Nothing worse than that spot in his underarms, right above his top ribs. No matter how violently he thrashed around, nearly breaking the armrests in the process, he just couldn't pull his arms against his sides to protect himself. He was trapped in the worst possible and most vulnerable position he could imagine. And soon too weak from laughing to do anything about it anyway.

Even being as ticklish as he was and having suffered many a tickle attack from family and friends when he was younger, McCoy had never been subjected to such cruel and relentless tickle torture. Those girls had gone off the rails, they were in a veritable tickle frenzy, and unless someone came and stopped them, he and Jim were certainly done for.

Through his own heinous torture, the doctor could hear Jim suffer just as much beside him, as Rosie was focused on tormenting the captain’s belly again, killing him with the lightest wriggling of her fingers, her nails deviously fluttering up and down his sides and as far as they could go underneath his belly as he frantically rocked from side to side.

Thankfully, when she realised that he had actual difficulties breathing, Pixie eased up on McCoy’s underarms and trailed her fingers lightly down his body and legs until she reached his heels, which she knew to be beyond ticklish, too. Kirk, however, was still dying from unbearable belly tickling on the next table.

Knowing they were completely at the mercy of these two tickle fiends, annoyingly helpless and defenceless against their atrocious tickle attacks, McCoy was aware that their only chance was to be calm and diplomatic, and try to reason with the girls. Not an easy feat while being viciously tickled beyond your limits.

“You’ve had your fun,” the doctor panted, clenching his fists and scrunching up his face in an attempt to talk through the harrowing tickles on his soles. “Now just let us go, and …”

He broke off, when the scribbling fingers on his heels sped up, the unbearably ticklish sensation momentarily taking his breath away.

“At least get away from Jim’s belly” he pleaded, snorting and giggling like a maniac, as the hyper-ticklish backs of his knees were suddenly attacked. “Can’t you see that it’s killing him? You’re AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAH! NOOOOHOHOHO! PLEASE STOOOHOHOHOP!”

Pixie’s hands had returned to the doctor’s ribs, her fingers going straight up to his worst spots, and instantly rendering him completely powerless again, helpless to do anything but surrender to the hellish torture and fight for breath through his bellowing laughter.

“Leave his underarms alone!” he suddenly heard Kirk bark with real anger, as the captain somehow managed to overcome his own anguish in order to help his friend. “Why are you doing this? AHAHAH-notmythighsplease-AHAHAH! He told you he can’t stand it there! AHAHAH-pleasepleasenotmyfeet-AHAHAH! Can’t you see that this is actual torture for him? AHAHAH-nottheregodimtooticklishthere-AHAHAH!”

It clearly took Kirk a lot of effort to get the words out, as his sensitive thighs, feet, and armpits were randomly attacked, but when Rosie’s devious fingers crept underneath his belly again, aiming right at his worst spots and viciously scrabbling and spidering there, he was thrown right back into tickle hell, way beyond the power of speech or even coherent thought, trapped in torturous silent laughter once again.

For a couple of minutes, the captain and his CMO were suffering in silence side by side, their bodies jerking and shaking with hysterical laughter, but no sound coming out of their wide-open mouths, as the sadistic “therapists” tickled the hell out of their very worst spots and subjected them to the most unbearable as well as humiliating torture of their lives.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Outside, Uhura and Chapel were starting to wonder if the guys actually needed to be rescued. Amused by how unspeakably ticklish Jim and Leonard obviously were, they still thought that their almost incessant laughter had started to sound really desperate and hysterical.

“Those girls sure know how to tickle a man out of his mind,” Chapel said. “To think that two grown, strong, well-trained Starfleet officers can be reduced to helpless laughter like this just by tickling.”

“And I never even knew!” Uhura laughed. “It’ll be really hard to keep myself from “accidentally” brushing against Jim’s belly or Leonard’s ribs in the future. My fingers will constantly be itching to tickle those two dorks.”

“Believe me,” Christine chuckled, “knowing all about people’s tickle spots and not being allowed to take advantage of that knowledge is the worst part of working in sickbay.”

“But do you think they’re all right in there?” Uhura asked, feeling a little bad about drawing so much joy from their friends’ clearly harrowing weakness. “They sounded pretty frantic right now. Maybe they’re even more ticklish than we think? And the girls were already pretty merciless at the pedicure. Maybe they really can’t stand it any longer?”

“What, just because they were laughing their heads off and actually begging for mercy?” Chapel joked, but then sobered. After all, she knew that having his belly tickled was definitely no fun but pure torture for Kirk. And if McCoy’s ribs were really worse than his feet, then being tickled there might indeed be extremely harrowing for him. “Tell you what, Ny. It’s pretty quiet again now, so, who knows? Maybe the guys are finally getting their well-deserved relaxing massage after all, in these final five minutes. But if they start tickling them again in earnest, we’ll go in, all right?”

Uhura nodded, and the two women went back to eavesdropping, both hoping and not hoping to hear some more hysterics. Of course, they didn’t want their friends to suffer, but Jim and Leonard being so insanely ticklish and therefore somehow so vulnerable was just too hot. And their adorable laughter was music to the women’s ears.

It was really quiet inside now. The only thing Uhura and Chapel could hear were the men’s low voices as they seemed to softly discuss their ticklish experience with each other.

“Bones … pfpfpf … so bad … pfpfpf … belly … nails right on spots … pfpfpf … can’t … pfpfpf … way too ticklish … pfpfpf … not there … please … pfpfpf … so ticklish … please … I’m so ticklish … pfpfpf”

“I know Jim … chrchrchr … your belly … bad … chrchrchr … but my … spots … chrchrchr … deadly … torture … chrchrchr … can’t take … chrchrchr … tickles so bad … chrchrchr … killing me … chrchrchr”

What Uhura and Chapel didn’t see, were the ticklish tears running down the men’s faces as they wheezed and thrashed around, still caught in silent laughter and trying to beg for mercy whenever they could draw enough breath.

oOoOoOoOoOo

“Let’s give them a break, Rosie,” Pixie nodded at her friend. “Wouldn’t want them to pass out or anything. How can anyone even be this ticklish?”

“No idea,” Rosie replied, dragging her fingers off the captain’s belly with one final, diabolical wiggle in just the right spot. “I’ve certainly never seen anything like it. I mean, we’re only tickling them, right? And they’re strong and important men. Starfleet officers, no less!”

Kirk and McCoy were just lying there limply, enduring the humiliating teasing, panting and squirming, and desperately hoping that the torturous tickling had come to an end, and that their evil ticklers would finally release them from the massage tables they’d so sneakily been trapped on. But Rosie and Pixie had other ideas.

“Ok, last five minutes,” Rosie announced, just as the men had calmed down a little. “Let’s try something special for the Grand Finale!”

McCoy’s heart sank. He didn’t even want to know what she had in mind. Hard to imagine as it was, but those girls could doubtlessly come up with something even more ticklish than what he and Jim had just been through.

“Let’s give your belly the best tickling yet, Captain, to keep you laughing for a minute while I help out my friend here,” Rosie told a flustered Jim, teasingly fluttering her fingers from his sides to his belly, making him guffaw and buck violently despite stopping short of his death spots.

Then she went to a shelf on the wall and retrieved two large, soft body brushes from a basket, which she fiendishly placed underneath Kirk’s belly right at his sweet spots on either side, so that when he started to wiggle and rock from side to side, they would tickle him exactly where he could least stand it.

And rock from side to side he did, screaming laughter at the first contact of the atrocious brushes against his cursed belly, uselessly trying to escape the devilish bristles that tickled worse than fingers or, in fact, anything the captain had ever felt. It was pure, unadulterated torture.

Leaving the captain to deal with this new, unendurable level of belly tickling, Rosie stepped over to McCoy’s table, and, locking eyes with Pixie behind the unsuspecting ticklish doctor’s back, viciously set to work on his sensitive soles at the same time as Pixie dug into his death spots, right between his armpits and ribs, once again.

It was unbearable. With his two most ticklish spots being so cruelly exploited at once, McCoy went ballistic and actually started to scream for help. Scared – and tickled – to death, he didn’t care anymore who saw him like this or found out about his excruciating ticklishness. And knowing that Jim, still rolling with helpless laughter, was unable to join in his shouts for help, the doctor grew really desperate.

But just as he thought he couldn’t take another second of this vicious torment, the door burst open and Nyota and Christine came barging in, pulling the girls and their diabolical fingers off him and ending his excruciating tickle torture. Poor Jim had to endure a few more seconds of this harrowing ordeal, until Uhura finally discovered what had him in such ticklish hysterics, and pulled the deadly brushes out from under the captain’s abused belly.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Beyond embarrassed, but nevertheless immensely grateful to their friends for having saved them, Kirk and McCoy were frantically trying to free their arms, anxious to avoid finding themselves helplessly exposed and vulnerable to another tickle attack.

“OK guys, massage is over, let’s get out of here!” Chapel exclaimed cheerfully, unable to resist poking the doctor’s ribs and delighting in how that brief touch made him jump.

When he wiggled around on the table, but still didn’t get up, she poked him again, to the same reaction plus an irritated growl, and asked, “What’s taking so long? Come on already!”

“I can’t,” he mumbled, visibly annoyed with his predicament, “You’ll have to help me free my arms.”

Chapel took a closer look, only now realising that McCoy’s hands were stuck in the armrests.

“This?” she chuckled incredulously. “Really? Getting a little tangled up in those flimsy armrests was all it took to render you completely helpless and vulnerable? How ticklish are you?”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in, Christine,” the doctor grumbled. “Now just give me a hand here, will you?”

“Let’s just hope the Klingons and Romulans don’t get wind of this,” Uhura laughed, and Kirk let out a frustrated groan, he and McCoy turning pale at the very idea, the fear of being captured and tickle-tortured for real, for information, probably forever planted in their minds now.

“So, you really couldn't stop me from doing this to you?” Chapel asked, wickedly poking and clawing at McCoy’s ribs a few more times and eliciting frantic guffaws and some violent thrashing from the doctor.

“GAH! Dammit, Christine! AHAHAH! Don’t! AHAHAH! I’m warning you!”

“Sorry, Leonard, but I had to see it myself to believe it.”

“So, those brushes were really killing you, weren’t they?” Uhura grinned mischievously at Kirk, placing her hands on his sides, seizing her chance while he was still immobilised. “About here? On your belly?” She couldn't help it, she needed to coax that adorable laugh out of him once more. And seeing him practically hit the ceiling and fall into helpless, frenzied laughter from just barely wiggling her fingers against the sides of his belly, was simply the cutest thing ever.

“AAAHAHAHAH! Don’t be mean, Ny! GOD! STOHOHOHOP PLEASE! I can’t! AAAAHAHAHAH! Stop tickling me! AAAAAHAHAHAH!” Kirk spluttered, frantically squirming until she reluctantly stopped her assault.

Pixie and Rosie had long fled from the room, and Chapel and Uhura had stopped their teasing and were helping their friends off the tables and out of their ticklish predicament now. But not without indulging in some more “collateral” tickles, careful to make them look accidental, which wasn’t difficult in the highly sensitised state the men were in, and enjoying every single “accident”.

Once freed, the men quickly threw on their clothes and hurried out the door into the sunshine. They couldn’t get out fast enough, still panting heavily, sweat glistening on their foreheads and running down their necks, repeatedly smoothing down their shirts and trying to brush off the lingering ghost tickles.

“Do you want to press charges?” Uhura asked. “That was pretty unprofessional behaviour.”

“God, no!” the men glanced at each other, horrified, and Kirk gave Uhura and Chapel a stern look. “Not a word of this to anyone!”

“All right,” the women laughed. “We’re not telling a soul. But no more massages for you two! You’re way too ticklish, and we might not always be there to rescue you!”

“No more massages!” Kirk and McCoy promised from the bottom of their hearts. They were certainly never going to set another foot in a spa.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing of Star Trek

[swtorramblings]

The Last Gunfighter of Zakuul: Duel

Art by the always wonderful @fleeting-sanity, thank you very much. He does not actually have the hat in this story, I asked for it because it amused me.

In the aftermath of the Battle of Korriban, a family continues to break apart. 3300 words. Includes the Zombie Apocalypse section.

She stood overlooking the battlefield. She had saved as many as she could, and killed as few as she could, but the dead still stretched in all directions. Too many to count. And there would be more. There were always more dead, her failures outnumbering her successes. This had not been what she wanted when she fled home. What was the point?

Oh. Of course. This again.

“Father.”

“Vaylin. I cannot believe what you have done to your brother. Was Senya not enough?”

Oh, how she hated him. “Do not speak to me of Mother. I know my weakness put her in danger, but I was a child, and she was in danger from YOU. Because she stood up to you. Every time you mention her name to me is another moment of pain I will some day inflict on you. I’m keeping track.”

“She still died for you. And what of Arcann?”

Vaylin still held onto hope that her mother lived. He lied as he breathed, and hopefully would not be doing either much longer. “I am sorry about Arcann. We should not have fought. But you filled him with rage, then brought about this war that pit us against each other. Do not pretend that you are not responsible, ‘Father’.” She paused, shocked that the realization had not come sooner. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? What you did to him, this war, my vision. Jarak. All of this was part of your plan. All to get to me?”

He appeared in the dream, smiling at her. “You think too highly of yourself, but only just. Forcing you to return is important, yes, but your brother was weak. Even without remembering his trials, they make him strong, a more powerful weapon in my service. That was also important, to make him equal or exceed his brother.”

She had not thought knowing why he’d done it would make her hate him more than that he’d done it. She’d been wrong. Torturing a child, and he called it “trials”, thought they made Arcann stronger, were doing him some kind of favor. “Your own son. Your wife. Your family.”

“A god has no need of family. You were all an interesting distraction for a time, but I was always going to pursue my ends.”

She scowled at that, saying, “You only need one end, and I am going to give it to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot harm me.”

“I have beaten everything you have sent my way.”

“But do you not see? You have had some success, yes, but ultimately, you have done nothing but bring about more pain. To your own family, to any friends you may have made. Come home. Your power, as muted as it is, can be put to better use. Take your place with your family.”

She could not believe it. He was actually trying to blame her for the monstrous things he had done. All she said was, “Muted? You think my power is muted?”

“That is what the Gunslingers did. Made themselves weak. You are a fool to have so much faith in their ways. I freed Zakuul of them, perfected the Knights. Gave them something to believe in. And my own daughter makes herself one of a dead order. It is why you will fail.”

“Oh, Father. You think you’re winning. However many times I overcome you, you still think you are the strong one.”

“You are merely…”

“Yes, yes. Every time we speak, you tell me how weak I am, how unworthy I am. How you care and want to protect me. But I am not weak. And your protection comes at too high a price. And this was a good conversation, but it is over.”

“You have no say in that.”

Images of her twin blasters appeared in her hands and she opened fire, not stopping until there was nothing left of the Emperor’s projection. “I believe I do.”

"But, Brother, you cannot do this! She is our sister!"

"We have no sister. She hasn't been since she killed our mother. She has no right."

"But it's not true." Thexan was losing hope. He'd wanted Arcann to accept this, to realize that his hate was misplaced. What more could he say?

"I know you believe that. You are wrong. She has tricked you, and I have paid the price. I do not blame you. She was always clever, manipulative. But you must not try to stop me."

Thexan felt something he never thought he would. He was afraid of his brother. He had been afraid for him, but now that had changed. "What will yo tell Father?"

"The truth. That she was there, that she caused my injuries. That she has betrayed Zakuul and her own family."

"And what of me?"

"I would never betray you. You are family."

Thexan and Arcann knelt before their father. All they had returned with was their injuries, especially Arcann. Finally, the Eternal Emperor spoke. "I sent you out to be conquerors. You have returned with nothing. What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Arcann answered. "We are not completely without success."

Thexan's heart sank. Arcann would betray their sister. His hate was just too strong.

Valkorion responded, "And what is that, son?"

"Vaylin opposes us. She was on Korriban. My injuries were due to her treachery."

There was a long pause. Their father turned from them, staring out at the stars. He loved the stars so, and someday they would be his. Fueling him. In the meantime, he would deal with his sons and wayward daughter. "I expected as much. There was no way she would remain away from my interests forever. She lives in the galaxy, and the galaxy is mine."

"Please, Father, I request a ship, troops. Allow me to hunt her down for what she has done to me, to our family. For her betrayal of the Eternal Throne." Arcann was shouting, furious at their failure.

Valkorion thought about that. She was not yet ready for his needs. She had taken her own power and locked it away. She would need to be forced to unleash it, to be what she should have been. "No, Son. She will be dealt with, but not by you. The forces of the Eternal Throne shall find her again, have no doubt. And then she will pay for her crimes."

Arcann fumed, but did not object. Thexan broke the silence. "What task do you have for us, Father?"

"None at this time. Go, enjoy your home, heal from your injuries as best you can. I will plan our next steps and summon you when I have a use for you. Now, leave me."

The twins left the throne room, both with their own renewed purpose.  Thexan and Arcann had always been able to read each other, to know what they were feeling. Thexan could read nothing from his brother now but his hatred. When they parted, Thexan said, "Good night, Brother."

Arcann closed the door without a word.

He'd had the lightsaber since childhood, when he and Thexan had crafted them against their father's wishes. Now, thanks to Vaylin, he only had the crystal itself left. Thexan had been sure to recover it for him. He sat, staring at it in his left hand, comforted by its glow. He had lost so much to her. She would be made to pay.

No one could know that he was leaving, or why. Thexan believed her lies, and if Valkorion discovered this, Thexan would be punished. He would have no aid. It needed to be done. She needed to die.

He would prepare himself. He had found the recordings that she had used in determining her path, and he would follow them, as well. He had already crafted his new weapon, begun to practice a new way of war. He had modifications to his arm and the mask he wore to be able to counter her Force based abilities, leaving his own power unfettered, unlike hers. He would kill Vaylin on her own terms, with her own weapons.

Only when she was dead would he return home.

He holstered his weapon and went to the space port.

Thexan was brooding. He could not believe they could not reach a compromise on their sister. Why couldn't Arcann see what he had seen? Was there a way to break through to him?

Then, he felt it. An absence that he had rarely felt. His brother had left Zakuul.

It was over. His best friend, closest family, and he had left without a word to kill their sister. How had this happened?

There. He had found her. He called to her. “Vaylin.”

She stiffened, turned. “Brother.”

He was calm this time as he responded, “I told you not to call me that. You have no right.”

“Is Thexan all right?”

“What? Of course Thexan is all right. Why would I hurt him?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Because you didn’t believe him. Because you almost killed him once already.”

He controlled his anger at her lies. “What are you talking about?”

She was surprised. “You really don’t remember? When I confronted you on Korriban. You tried to kill me. He stopped you. You were ready to cut him down in your rage.”

“What is this nonsense? He pulled me away from you to protect me, then you tried to kill us both.”

No. How could he believe that? How could he believe that nonsense over his own senses? Thexan had seen. How could Arcann not?

Father. Jarak had put his mind back, as best he could. That did not mean it had been put back well.

“Arcann, please. I know you’re hurting…”

“Because of you.”

“No. You’ve been deceived. Damaged. I should have realized.”

“No, Vaylin. No more lies. No more stalling. I have found you for only one purpose. To end your life. Are you prepared?”

“Please. I can’t do this. I won’t fight you.”

“You have no choice. You will fight, or you will die. You will die, anyway, but it will give me more satisfaction if you are a challenge, at least.”

Finally, she straightened up, dropped her hands to her sides. She hadn’t noticed, he was sporting a blaster pistol himself. Large, matte black, deadly looking. She could feel its energy. It felt like it was straining to escape, to destroy. To destroy her. Was there really nothing left of him? No way to save him? “Very well, Brother.”

This time, he did not object. “Goodbye, Sister.”

They stared at each other across the field. Assessing. Planning for the moment.

“Draw your weapons.”

Three hands reached for three pistols, almost simultaneously, but she was still faster.

She began firing before his pistol could clear its holster. He was impressed. He had adjusted and improved his artificial arm, increasing its speed to several times what any living arm’s. And yet, she was still faster. He grinned under his mask. He had never intended to rely on his speed alone. He lifted his right hand, placing a barrier between himself and Vaylin. The blaster fire glanced harmlessly off of it, and he fired back.

She had to defend herself. His barrier would be too strong to breach while she could not concentrate fire. She jumped back, landing behind the rubble. He had been studying the Gunslinger ways, but was not using them. She could tell, his technique showed that he had practiced how to kill her. She did not know if she could stop him. One of them was going to die here.

No, she would not accept it. There had to be a way to live through this without hurting him. She had no idea what it could be.

Suddenly, her cover exploded, spraying her with shrapnel, forcing her to back away, covering her face. He towered over her, blaster aimed, his face showing a joy she had not seen on it since they were children together. Joy at being able to kill her.

He was too close. She could not avoid the blast as he fired. It was so powerful, it made her armor glow and crackle where it hit. She could feel the heat through it, the terrible pain. She could not help but scream, and fell to her knees. She holstered her blasters, a reflex of countless hours of training. Her arms wrapped around the injury. It was useless, but she couldn’t help it. She felt the barrel pressed to her head. She’d fought so hard, come so far, only to be killed by her own brother. Both victims of their father.

She closed her eyes, could almost feel his hand tense, the trigger being squeezed. She tilted her head out of the way just as the blaster fired. The sound was deafening, and she felt as though the side of her face was burning. “Not dead yet, Brother.”

“It won’t be long now, Vaylin.”

He did not use his blaster, this time simply lashing out with the Force. She was too hurt to resist, and he lifted her into the air, attempting to slam her into the ground, but he was standing too close. Her foot lashed out, kicking him in the uninjured side of his face. The blow was hard enough to knock him to the ground, and he dropped her. She finally had the pain under control, and was able to draw her weapons again. She leaped away, but this time did not bother trying to find cover. It would not last. She aimed her blasters down at him mid-leap, and he erected another barrier rather than firing at her for a moment. The crucial moment she needed.

She fired, not at him, but at the outcropping of stone they had fought beneath. Injured as she was, she still had no difficulty hitting key points, and the rock began to plummet towards him. She was hoping to distract him with tons of stone and dirt.

She was shocked to see that, instead of trying to get to safety, he was aiming at her again. She could see the targeting sensor in the mask, calculating her arc. Not moving.

The great idiot was going to kill them both.

She didn’t need time for calculations. She simply fired on instinct. The falling outcropping was blasted apart, and a falling chunk of rock exploded directly in front of her. That blast would likely have cut her in half.

Arcann was disgusted with himself. The fight had turned almost immediately against his enemy, and he still was unable to finish her. If she weren’t so badly hurt, she might escape. She might still. He exerted his will, knocking the falling stone from the air, striding forward towards where she had leaped. When the air overhead was clear, he reached out and pulled down the wall she was hiding behind. He never thought she was a coward.

She was ready this time. As the wall was falling, she had prepared one of the mini-rockets under her coat. The wall hit the ground and she fired.

He brought his arms up and put up another shield, just in time. It shattered, and he was flung back. He landed on his feet only to have the electronet settle over him. His muscles seized, and he staggered for a moment, but then he simply swept it away with his metal arm, which was unaffected. Surely she did not think this would stop him?

In fact, he could see she didn’t. Her ship flying overhead, her being helped on board by her blasted malfunctioning droid. Before he could take aim, they were out of range. She had escaped. He had beaten her, though, and would continue to dog her until she was dust.

Cassian had wanted to unload the ship’s weapons an him. Vaylin might never recover from the injuries he’d inflicted on her. Of course, the droid had said that several times during their association (she knew Vaylin would say friendship), but she just kept pushing herself further and further.

Vaylin’s last words before she lost consciousness were to not kill him. Of course, Cassian complied.

Her face was burned on the right side. She had internal organ damage and still more burns on her torso. She was bruised and battered and probably concussed. It had been a very near thing. Cassian treated her as she could, placed the mask over her face, and dropped her into the kolto tank at the back of the ship. All she could do was hope for the best.

She looked down at Jarak’s face, twisted in death as she’d left him. She looked around the cave, seeing the bodies of the villagers. Men, women, children, cut down by her blasters. An entire village, and she had slaughtered them.

This wasn’t right. They had been transformed. They had not died as themselves. They had died as rakghouls. But it was still her fault. She could have protected them if she had acted sooner instead of watching.

The bodies shuffled to their feet, looking to her accusingly. Their faces were destroyed, all except their eyes, staring at Vaylin. They were coming for her, to finally take her with them. As she deserved. But, though she had resigned herself, she still fled, and the villagers gave chase.

She reached to where her holsters should be, to put those poor people back to rest, but there was nothing there. She looked down at her hands. A child’s hands. She stumbled and fell in her shock.

She rolled to her side, sighing, and got back to her feet. She gripped the staff more firmly, as the knight stepped forward to test her again. She saw his crushed armor and fear filled eyes. He swung, she attempted to reach out and stop him. Her power was as absent as her blasters. She collapsed again from the blow, as the villagers poured into the arena.

She saw her father, started to call out to him for help, but stopped herself. It was not worth the price. He appeared to chuckle, and turned his back on her, vanishing into the darkness.

The arena was on fire. Destroyed Skytroopers had been smashed on the ground. Her mother had joined the dead Knights and villagers, her body broken, her face a horror. They all pointed to Vaylin, and they were closing in. They would finally end her life for her crimes, both the ones she committed and allowed.

Senya drew her saber pike and walked forward. Vaylin had no defense. Her mother drew back and prepared to finish her.

Wait. No. That couldn’t be right. The others, she could believe. She had wronged so many. But she knew her mother loved her, and would never stop loving her, would never give up on her.

Suddenly, her mother was whole, smiling down at her. She helped Vaylin to her feet, now an adult again, now the Gunslinger she had grown to be. Still, she was also a daughter who had lost her mother so long ago, and wanted these few moments to spend with her. She embraced Senya tightly, and was embraced in return.

The nightmare had become a dream, the dead still present, but no longer accusing. She had her guilt and pain, and perhaps that was enough punishment, or perhaps they forgave her. Regardless, she knew her mother did.

She opened her eyes, and had to wait to be released from the tank. That was all right. She returned to sleep, unafraid, for the first time she could remember, to dream.