No way you can deny, you feel the most alive when you are terrified
His grin clips away every last bit of muttering and grumbling, unable to tamp it down any longer when her artistic sway with logic is on such a grand gallery display. "Is that what you were doing?" The wonder leaves him with a head tilt and a faint tsk of his tongue. "Awwwww, babe," he croons, the words cavity-sweet. "My fault. Your kind consideration totally looked like a well-crafted and hostile tag team effort. I've just never heard of the snowball icing technique, is that new?" Sport medicine these days, always changing. Right up there with the health benefits of dunking said loving and thoughtful wife repeatedly in the pool.
The element of surprise is the only lead he has when he untangles himself from her underwater. While she drives for the surface, her breath not as prepared as his, he's striving for distance. He shoves off the bottom of the pool at an angle so that he's sent forward as well as up, breath streaming out in readiness as turbulent bubbles through the water just before he breaks to back above water, sucking in a fresh breath and immediately losing it to a burst of helpless, giddy laughter. He doesn't spare a moment, run-wading through the shallow end in a series of dramatic splashes. He can hear her behind him though, and when he chances a glance back, the pitch of his laughter climbs immediately as he realizes just how close she is to catching hold of him. "No no no nonono!" he shouts with a curl of dramatic dismay, one that breaks apart into a purely feral sound of terror at the notion of long distance tickling.
"That's pure evil!" he admonishes futily, voice warping into a high and shrill screech normally reserved for when she's actually tickling him. His laughter almost takes him out, as if the threat alone has set his skin to spasm, while he scrambles up the steps and out of the pool. It's such a gangly rush of water and windmilling, reaching limbs that it's a wonder he doesn't faceplant immediately onto the concrete.
The moment he's on solid ground, he side-skips away from her, arms lifted up like an inflatable man outside a shop, side bowing away from any stray reach or suddenly long feeling she might be able to muster on the spot. His cheeks are flushed and bright, amber stare holding her in place (never turn your back on the threat), as he turns and backs up towards where the inflatable tumseas are. "You tickle me again Flo-ro and I will be forced to curse you with the taste of your own medicine." Just in case she thinks this is hollow, he tacks on much more gravely, "I swear it." An enchanted bottle of shampoo, a cursed water bottle. Whatever it takes, he'll find a way to magically make her ticklish and he will be ruthless with his use of it.
The element of surprise is the only lead he has when he untangles himself from her underwater. While she drives for the surface, her breath not as prepared as his, he's striving for distance. He shoves off the bottom of the pool at an angle so that he's sent forward as well as up, breath streaming out in readiness as turbulent bubbles through the water just before he breaks to back above water, sucking in a fresh breath and immediately losing it to a burst of helpless, giddy laughter. He doesn't spare a moment, run-wading through the shallow end in a series of dramatic splashes. He can hear her behind him though, and when he chances a glance back, the pitch of his laughter climbs immediately as he realizes just how close she is to catching hold of him. "No no no nonono!" he shouts with a curl of dramatic dismay, one that breaks apart into a purely feral sound of terror at the notion of long distance tickling.
"That's pure evil!" he admonishes futily, voice warping into a high and shrill screech normally reserved for when she's actually tickling him. His laughter almost takes him out, as if the threat alone has set his skin to spasm, while he scrambles up the steps and out of the pool. It's such a gangly rush of water and windmilling, reaching limbs that it's a wonder he doesn't faceplant immediately onto the concrete.
The moment he's on solid ground, he side-skips away from her, arms lifted up like an inflatable man outside a shop, side bowing away from any stray reach or suddenly long feeling she might be able to muster on the spot. His cheeks are flushed and bright, amber stare holding her in place (never turn your back on the threat), as he turns and backs up towards where the inflatable tumseas are. "You tickle me again Flo-ro and I will be forced to curse you with the taste of your own medicine." Just in case she thinks this is hollow, he tacks on much more gravely, "I swear it." An enchanted bottle of shampoo, a cursed water bottle. Whatever it takes, he'll find a way to magically make her ticklish and he will be ruthless with his use of it.
Kaisel
I'm a daredevil on the highway to hell
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
