FicWad

That afternoon in Professor Grey's class was starting to come to an end. Bobby and John were sitting across from each other at the back of the room. John wasn't paying any attention as she droned on. Bobby, as usual, was sitting upright, listening attentively, as if every word was of the utmost importance. His eyes flicked to John and saw how disinterested he was. Bobby's mischievous streak kicked in.

Underneath the table, Bobby gently kicked John's ankle.

John stiffened and shot Bobby a warning look, but it only made Bobby smile. He waited a beat before he kicked John again.

Not one to back down, John kicked Bobby right back, his face still composed as if nothing was happening. It was all too predictable, and Bobby found it utterly hilarious. They continued trading kicks beneath the table, a silent game of irritation escalating with each jab.

Bobby had something else in mind.

With a quick, unexpected move, Bobby caught John's ankle with his hand, trapping it before John had a chance to react. John, unable to pull his foot back, glared at Bobby, but the iceman's grin only widened. Before John could protest, Bobby reached down under the table and pulled John's shoe off.

John's eyes widened slightly, realizing what was about to happen.

"Bobby—" he started in a hushed tone, trying to maintain his composure. But it was too late.

With a swift movement, Bobby pulled off John's sock, leaving his foot bare. John, now slightly panicking but determined not to make a scene in front of the class, gave Bobby a sharp, warning look, his eyes darting around the table to see if anyone had noticed. But everyone else was too engaged in the conversation to pay them any attention.

Bobby, suppressing a chuckle, raised his hand and lightly ran his fingers along the bottom of John's foot.

John's entire body jolted at the touch, his lips pressing together tightly to stifle a reaction. He glared at Bobby, silently warning him to stop, but Bobby just grinned and continued his light tickling, his fingers moving slowly along John's sole, from the heel to the arch.

John shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to maintain his stoic demeanor, but the tickling sensation was making it nearly impossible. Bobby's fingers danced over the sensitive skin of his arch, tracing patterns that sent shivers up John's spine. John gripped his pen a little tighter, his knuckles whitening as he tried to focus on the conversation around him.

Bobby's fingers grew more daring, moving up to the ball of John's foot, then underneath his toes. He wriggled his fingers in quick, playful strokes, and John had to fight the urge to yank his foot away. He could feel his body trembling slightly as the tickling intensified. His toes curled in reflex, but Bobby just continued, his touch light but relentless.

John bit down on his lip, his eyes darting around the table again, praying no one noticed his sudden discomfort. Bobby was good, too good at this game. His fingers were like spiders, crawling up and down John's sole, grazing his instep, and teasing the sensitive skin underneath his toes. John could feel the laughter building in his chest, but he clenched his jaw, determined not to give Bobby the satisfaction.

Bobby, sensing how close John was to breaking, leaned over slightly, his voice barely a whisper.

"What's the matter, John? Losing your composure?" His fingers continued their torment.

John clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare as he struggled to keep his cool. The last thing he needed was to break down in the middle of class, especially with Professor Grey just a few feet away. He could feel the ticklish sensation intensifying, Bobby's fingers dancing over his bare foot, the light touch sending jolts of involuntary reactions through his body.

"Bobby..." John hissed under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to yank his foot back. But Bobby had him trapped, his ankle firmly in Bobby's grasp. Every nerve in John's foot was alive, betraying him as he fought the overwhelming urge to squirm.

Bobby, grinning like a Cheshire cat, leaned closer, his voice dripping with mock concern.

"What’s wrong? You look a little...tense." He ran his fingers under John's toes again, causing John to nearly jump out of his seat.

John inhaled sharply, his face heating up as he desperately tried to ignore the sensation. His mind raced for a way out of this without losing his dignity. He could feel the soft scrape of Bobby’s fingers exploring every ticklish spot on his sole, and the more he tried to fight it, the worse it got.

The corners of John's lips twitched, threatening to betray him as he tried to bite back the laughter building up in his chest. His foot flexed and twitched, his toes curling in futile attempts to escape the relentless tickling. His breathing became shallow, and he shot Bobby another death glare, though his resolve was beginning to crumble.

Bobby, noticing this, only upped the ante. "Come on, Pyro," he whispered teasingly, "you're not gonna let a little tickling get to you, are you?" John was close to losing it.

He bit his lip hard, stifling a chuckle that almost escaped his throat. His hands were gripping the edge of the table now. He shot a glance around the room, but no one else seemed to be paying attention, thankfully.

If anyone saw him in this state, he’d never live it down.

Finally, as Bobby’s fingers slid back down his arch with maddening precision, John couldn’t take it anymore. A small, barely audible snicker escaped his lips before he managed to clamp his hand over his mouth. Bobby’s eyes sparkled with triumph.

“There it is,” he whispered, continuing his torment with the same relentless energy. John squirmed, trying to kick Bobby’s hand away, but his best friend only held on tighter, enjoying every second of his victory.

“Alright, alright!” John finally muttered through gritted teeth, doing his best to sound annoyed even as his voice wavered with restrained laughter. “You win, just—just stop!”

Bobby, clearly satisfied with his work, gave John’s foot one final tickle before releasing his ankle, grinning.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

John quickly pulled his foot back, shoving it under the table and out of Bobby’s reach as he shot him a venomous look. His face was flushed, but whether from embarrassment or anger, it was hard to tell.

“You're dead,” John whispered with a dark edge to his voice, though the fire that usually accompanied his anger was dimmed by the fact that he was still struggling to regain his composure.

Bobby just smirked and leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered.

"You say that every time, John. But you’re always the one getting roasted."

John narrowed his eyes, the promise of revenge flickering behind them. He’d make Bobby pay for this, just as soon as they were out of Professor Grey’s class.

For now, though, he let it go, slumping back in his chair and crossing his arms, his foot tucked safely out of reach. But as the class continued, John’s mind was already scheming for a way to get even. Bobby wouldn’t know what hit him.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.