“Stop it!” You thwack Quill’s hand away; he’s been prodding your torso as a means of getting your attention for the past half an hour - mostly since you’re right next to each other on a couch in his ship, but partly to annoy you. He shoots you a quizzical look.
“What, this?” Peter grins, poking you a couple more times in the side. At least he’s fulfilled his goal of annoying you.
“Yehes!” You laugh, pushing at his hands.
He pauses.
“Did you just giggle?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“…it tickles, okay?” Shifting away, you shoot him a look of warning.
“No, no - come back here.” He grins, patting the seat you left.
“Nu-uh.”
“Don’t make me come get you.”
“Promise you won’t tickle me, then.”
A beat. He seems to consider his options for a second, before nodding.
“..okay.” Your brother sits back, and at first you think you’ve escaped a full-blown tickle attack. But the second you move closer, he changes tact, flipping around to pin you to the floor of the Benatar.
“Peter, don’t!”
“Don’t what?”
“Tickle me-WAIT, SHIT-”
“Tickle you? Of course!” Peter laughs maniacally, hands immediately shooting to squeeze up and down your midriff. His fingers quickly lodge in the curve of your sides, thumbs simultaneously drilling into the edges of your tummy - already, it’s almost too much. Your throw your head back in hysterics, legs kicking in a useless sort of escape attempt as Peter practically has a field day tickling you to pieces. Time seems to pass ten times slower, and although it’s probably only been a few seconds since he started, it feels like you’ve been laughing for at least ten minutes. The hands tormenting you pause for a second. They decide to explore your other sensitive spots, spidering up to your ribs and tickling between each one, trying to locate the weakest one. After a brief eternity drawing unadulterated giggles from there, they shift under your arms - then up to you neck, where they gently trace invisible patterns, one hand occasionally shooting down and pinching your hip to elicit a yelp amongst the endless stream of airy giggles flowing from your lips.
“AhahHAHahaha, Peheheter! Plehehehease!” You cry, tears beginning to cloud your vision.
“Alright, alright,” He finally resigns, toning down his attack slightly and instead tracing lightly over your skin to see if he can find any last ticklish spots. His fingers slip slightly as he talks, toward your back. The featherlight touch sends a shockwave through your nervous system, and you arch your back, body twitching violently to get away.
“Aha!” You yelp, and Quill chuckles.
“This is the weirdest place to be ticklish, I swear.” He teases, wriggling a few fingers over the few sensitive nerves he’s found.
“Waitwaitwahahahait ohmygosh stop!” You squeal through more laughter, hands shoving at his arms. Your idiot of a sibling finally yields, and lets you go.
“You are way too ticklish for your own good.”
“Wha- I can’t help it!”
“You’re like, the most ticklish person I know.”
You gasp. “Take that back!”
“Nope.”
“Take. It. Back.”
“Never.” Peter doesn’t see it, but you’ve formed your fingers into a wiggling claw, ready to attack.
“Don’t make me make you.” The only response you receive is a shush as your brother gets up to walk away.
He totally made you.