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Pluto dormiens numquam titillandus

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For some reason, Sebastian had never fully registered exactly how prodigiously strong Pluto was. Sure, his armour probably weighted a good abundant half of what Sebastian himself did, but Pluto wore it with such apparent ease that it was hard to remember it. The sword and the shield were pretty heavy too, but Pluto handled them as if they were straws. He was perfectly capable of running, jumping and moving at full speed wearing some 50plus pounds of steel, and the sorcerer had, for some reason, never stopped to consider that a man strong enough to accomplish that feat should not have been provoked lightly.

And now, Pluto was handling him as if he was made of straws, having thrown the sorcerer over his shoulder like a sack of laundry.

Indeed, thought Sebastian, tickling Pluto while he slept now seemed the worst idea of all history of bad ideas.

“Pluto, what are you doing? Nononono, I was joking, Pluto I’m sorraaaaahhhhhh!” his undignified squeal ended up in a gurgle as the river water closed on him. The warrior had no intention of letting him drown, at least: after a few seconds of agitated immersion, Sebastian felt Pluto’s large hand grab him by the clothes and pull him up effortlessly.

As soon as he emerged, he spluttered and sputtered and inhaled great gulps of air: Pluto dropped him unceremoniously on the river bank, with arms crossed and smirking.

“Lesson learned” panted Sebastian, laying down. “I won’t tickle you while you sleep, promise.”

Pluto broke out in a full, shit eating grin. “Good for you. Now, I demand a kiss.”

“A kiss??” sputtered Sebastian indignantly. “You almost drowned me! Talk about an overreaction!”

“That was for tickling me. Now I want compensation for having been woken up so rudely” retorted Pluto, sitting next to his favourite sorcerer.

“Umpf” snorted Sebastian, but he already was leaning towards the warrior, who grabbed him possessively with those strong, muscled arms.