Christmas, 2014

The One Direction, ‘On The Road Again’ Tour Bus, Osaka, Japan …

In the middle of the night, whilst the rest of the band and the tour team partied into the early hours of the morning in a nearby Japanese bar, Zayn sat in the middle of one lower bunk bed and Harry sat in the middle of another lower bunk bed opposite.

Zayn wore a baggy white vest, his slender frame barely holding the material hanging over his shoulders. His legs were dressed in torn skinny jeans and beer bottles surrounded the tightly laced Converse on his feet. Harry was topless, as always, his toned but slim body still waiting for many more tattoos that would draw their way onto his skin over the next decade.

Harry tucked shoulder length hair behind his ears as his then smooth baby face glanced up at Zayn, who appeared slumped and defeated, his eyes filled with emotion, that famous curl of black hair dangling over the top half of his head as he sniffed and turned away from Harry, his brown eyes glancing down the carpeted hall of a tour bus lit by moonlight.

“Please tell me you’re joking …” Harry mumbled quietly, “… And don’t raise your voice … Not again … No one, and I mean no one can hear what you just said …”

Zayn narrowed his eyes into the darkness; he refused to look at Harry, to allow him to see his face so scrunched up with sorrow, he would not give him that satisfaction. Instead, he wiped tears away from his cheeks and took in a simple breath, delivering his answer in a downcast sigh.

“You do what you want, Harry …” Zayn stood away from the bunk bed, slid his hands into his back pocket and retrieved a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, “You always have …” Zayn lit his cigarette and inhaled its toxins, finally turning to face Harry below him where he blew smoke down at someone he thought he had a future with, “You always will …”

As Zayn went to walk away, Harry reached up and grabbed hold of Zayn’s wrist; at first, the grasp was firm and assertive, but as soon as Harry realised he had made Zayn stop in his exit, the snatch lessened into a gentler touch.

Zayn looked into the amber of his cigarette as he readied himself for whatever it was Harry had to say.

“I don’t want you to have to pay for this,” Harry could not help but tinge his tone with a droplet of warning, “You will pay for this, Malik …”

Zayn raised his eyebrows in disbelief; he pulled his hand away from Harry, glared up at the tour bus ceiling and smiled, Harry’s words being all he needed to confirm what he had to do.

“I think it’s time I go home,” he said.

____________

Zayn hid inside the kitchen as Harry took a selfie with the Deliveroo driver at the front door of his home.

“… Cheers, mate. Have a good one …” were the words Zayn could make out as the door closed and Harry made his way back into the kitchen, wearing slippers, a red pearl necklace, gym shorts and a tight white vest.

In his right hand he carried a large McDonalds bag containing their breakfast.

Zayn, wearing only his underwear, a white tee and a pair of Nike socks, went back to making two cups of tea as Harry started to unpack the food.

“An hour … ” Harry began his negotiation as he pulled out Zayn’s Sausage and Egg McMuffin, “… Without the toe ties …”

Zayn spooned one lump of sugar into his cup of tea, “Haz, mate, no,” he rolled his eyes, “A world of no …”

Harry pulled out his own Sausage and Egg McMuffin, minus the egg, “Forty five minutes …” he bargained, “… No stocks, just freestyle.”

Zayn spooned two lumps of sugar into Harry’s cup of tea, “Right, you’re doing my head in. What even are ‘stocks’, anyway?”

“I’ll show you,” Harry pulled out two hash browns contained in a small grease stained paper parcel, “After we’ve eaten, I’m bloody starvin’ …”

Both boys sat at the kitchen table; Harry provided the McDonalds breakfast whilst Zayn provided cups of tea. The flames Harry had lit in the living room fireplace were now full-roar. It warmed the small cottage almost immediately, allowing Zayn to sit comfortably in such little clothing. The windows filled with condensation as the rain hammered the tiny home outside.

Harry smirked as he bit into his Sausage and Egg-less McMuffin.

“What are you smiling at?” Zayn asked, taking a sip from his tea before making a start on his hash brown, “Why do you always get it without the egg? That’s the best part.”

Harry did not have the time to explain to Zayn that he had to be in a specific mood to handle the egg, as well as the sausage patty, cheese and muffin so early in the morning; sometimes the taste was too much, the egg too salty, the feeling afterwards too filling. Instead, he chose to focus on the more important question out of the two.

“Last time you were sat in that chair,” Harry chewed his food and wiped some flour away from his upper lip, “You were tied to it.”

Zayn cocked an eyebrow and threw the rest of his hash brown into his mouth, offering Harry no verbal response due to the amount of crispy potato stuffed in his cheeks; all he did was nod slowly and stare into his cup of tea, this entire set up still feeling just as bizarre as it had done almost three days ago.

“Thirty minutes,” Harry took a large bite out of his McMuffin, “Foot mashage, no tickling,” he suggested, with his mouthful.

Zayn shook his head and picked up his own McMuffin, “Why do you want them so bad?” He took a bite, however, unlike Harry, Zayn chose to chew his food and swallow it first before continuing to talk, “They’re just feet …”

Harry smirked again, “I could say the same to you … What’s so bad about having your feet played with? It’s just tickling …”

Zayn shuffled his feet under the chair, laying his breakfast down over the table as he picked up his cup of tea, “I just … I don’t like it, alright? I know how ticklish they are. I know how it’ll make me feel,” he almost shivered, “It’s different to everywhere else, I really can’t stand having them touched, Haz. I’ll —”

—Zayn’s eyes dropped to Harry’s crotch, as Harry began to rub his growing arousal whilst finishing his McMuffin; for Harry, hearing Zayn describe his level of ticklishness only turned Harry on, it only made him want Zayn’s feet more, it only made matters worse …

Zayn pressed his lips shut and hid his mouth with his cup of tea.

“Fifteen minutes … “ Harry muttered reluctantly “… That’s half an episode of Friends …! Come on …” Harry threw the final chunk of McMuffin into his mouth, wiping grease stained fingertips over his gym shorts as he glared at Zayn in excited enthusiasm.

Zayn took a sip from his tea and narrowed his eyes at Harry. He paused, allowing silence to fill the kitchen, allowing Harry to work himself up, allowing him to bounce his knees nervously, to grin after he had finished chewing his food, to feel like there might be a pinch of possibility that he might just get what he wants …

“No,” now Zayn was the one smirking, placing his tea down calmly before picking up the rest of his McMuffin, “You can tickle me anywhere else. I’ve made that clear from the start. My pits, my fucking … Legs … My cock! My sides my face, my ears, I don’t care! … Just not my feet … ” he pointed at Harry’s chest, “ … Just like the paperwork said. Sorry to disappoint you, mate.”

Harry blinked as he picked up his hash brown and took a tiny, quiet bite out of the end.

Thunder rumbled miles away as the rain continued to slam against the tiny kitchen windows.

For a moment, Zayn felt a little awkward. He had nothing to say, no words to change the subject. It was almost as if Harry had convinced himself that he would get his own way, and now that he had been told otherwise, the strange silence that stiffened the both of them within this small, warm kitchen had started to feel just as unbearable as the tickling itself.

“Listen, Haz, mate,” Zayn did not know what to do, so he leant on the only thing in his hand that he thought might make Harry feel better, “Do, do you want the rest of my—”

Before Zayn could hand over his McMuffin, Harry stood away from his chair and walked out of the kitchen, hash brown in hand.

Zayn dropped his shoulders and huffed into his chest.

“Bollocks,” he whispered, taking a large bite out of his McMuffin as Harry stomped up the staircase, his feet pounding over the carpet that made up the floor above whilst Zayn sat with the remains of his breakfast, an almost empty cup of tea and nothing but the sound of rain for company.

Zayn swallowed down his food, finished his morning brew and then stood up, “Harry!” Zayn called up to his friend in a commanding shout, “Mate! Come back down, we can—” Zayn folded his arms as he looked at the kitchen ceiling, where his eyes followed the sound of Harry’s footsteps; they stormed across his bedroom and back to the top of the staircase, where Harry galloped back down and into the kitchen, chewing the last of his hash brown, cradling a set of wooden stocks close to his chest.

Zayn chuckled in disbelief, stepping back so that his waist pressed against the cooker, his curious stare watching Harry as Harry placed the stocks down over the kitchen table.

“… These are stocks,” Harry announced, “And these are for string, to tie your toes back,” Harry ran his fingertips over the silver hooks nailed into the top of the stocks, their trail now circling the two holes in the centre of the wooden panel, “Your ankles go in here, and the base gets tied to the bed, so your feet are stuck.”

Zayn stroked his jaw and opened his mouth, pausing momentarily before offering his response.

“And this is you selling the idea to me?” He scoffed, “You have heard everything that’s come out of my mouth, over the past ten minutes, right?”

Harry covered his face with his palms and frustratedly paced around the kitchen, “Zayn! Please!” He spoke into his hands, his voice a little muffled, “This is the one and only time I’ll get to do this with you!” His hands slid down by his sides, his fists clenching into balls, “You’ll never have to go through it ever again. Just fifteen minutes! It’s all I ask. You nodded, yesterday, when we … You, you’ve practically already said yes! Why are you going back on your word? Can we, can we at least talk about it? Can we at least discuss some options?" Harry stood a few metres opposite Zayn, his eyes watering with desperation, his nostrils flared, “Please…?” He whined.

Zayn closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He pictured a reality where he sat on Harry’s bed, his feet locked in the stocks currently sitting on the kitchen table, his soles totally exposed and vulnerable for Harry to do whatever he liked with them; a scenario they had never been in, a scenario he had never planned for them to be in, a scenario he did not think he would be able to handle, not for a minute, or two minutes, or six or seven or ten, not even fifteen, the requested time Harry had currently so hopelessly proposed.

Fifteen minutes.

Zayn remembered first hearing about this, about what Harry wanted to do to him, over the three days.

He recalled his first three thoughts; this is weird, this could be fun, and, as long as he leaves my feet alone …

Contracts, paper work and documents had been created with that specific detail legalised and written out, signed for and authorised by a group of powerful people far removed from Zayn’s life.

As long as he leaves my feet alone.

Fifteen minutes.

Zayn huffed as he folded his arms tighter and paced around Harry, circling him quietly as he considered how to handle Harry’s brutal level of stubborn-ness; Harry was proving harder to let down than Zayn thought he would be, he was relentless in his attempts, as ruthless as he had been towards Zayn when Zayn had been tied to the couch and tickled with Harry’s cock in his mouth …

It had become quite apparent that Harry would do almost anything to get his hands on Zayn’s feet, a theory proved true when Harry delivered his next effort in the form of a stern and resisting offer.

“I’ll transfer another million, for fifteen minutes.”

Zayn’s jaw dropped.

He unfolded his arms and pointed down at his own two feet.

“They’re just feet, Harry! What the fuck, mate!”

Harry shook his head.

“They’re not just feet, Zayn. You know that, come on, mate.”

Zayn made his way to the refrigerator and opened it up, stepping close towards it as he peered inside the top half, his face greeted by a cold press of air.

Harry grinned, it had been a long time since he had seen Zayn try to hide himself in a way only Zayn knew how.

Zayn glanced down at Harry’s hands as they slid under the bottom of his t-shirt and arrived at his stomach; he then felt Harry’s erection press against his ass as Harry moved in closer, planting his chest against Zayn’s back.

As Zayn continued to look inside the refrigerator, taking in the sights of cold butter on a dish, some leftover pizza in plastic tupperware, an out of date carton of orange juice, a packet of bacon, two bottles of white wine that were clearly Harrys, three cans of Stella that were clearly Louis’ …

… He endured Harry’s lips blowing air over the back of his neck, where they eventually landed on his left shoulder in the form of delicate kisses.

“We fucked last night,” Harry kissed Zayn’s left shoulder and then the corner of his jaw, “Did you enjoy it?”

Zayn felt his own cock swell as Harry delivered such an unneeded reminder of what had taken place upstairs for the majority of yesterday afternoon and then on into the evening; he nodded quietly and arched his back as Harry ran an index finger gently down his spine.

“Did you feel safe?” Harry asked, “Did you feel relaxed? Did you trust me, the deeper I went inside you, the deepest I’ve ever been … ” Harry’s whisper was so quiet Zayn had to narrow his eyes to hear his words, “… With anyone …” Harry said.

Zayn found himself nodding once again, rather reluctantly; he knew what Harry was up to, he could see through Harry’s tricks.

“If you can trust me then, you can trust me in the stocks,” Harry’s erection was now planted firmly against the bottom of Zayn’s back, “If you turn down a million, I’ll offer two … If you turn down two, I’ll offer you three,” Harry kissed the top of Zayn’s spine and then breathed in the crispness of the white material that made up his t-shirt, “If you turn down three, I’ll offer you four …” his lips arrived at Zayn’s right ear, “… Do you see where this is going?”

Zayn nodded for a third time as he felt his own cock straighten into a semi erect girth wedged behind the cotton of his underwear.

“You’re going to w, want more, than fifteen minutes … I know you will …” Zayn almost trembled as he muttered out his words.

Harry curled his arms around Zayn’s stomach, gently pulling Zayn towards him so that Zayn’s back pressed entirely against the front of his torso.

“You’ve come this far,” Harry smiled, as he began to nibble on Zayn’s right earlobe, “Give them to me, Zayn, no time limit, just us and you giving in …”

Zayn clenched his teeth and tilted his head.

“I, I want a safe word,” he swallowed a developing dry bubble that had arrived as soon as Harry’s hands had arrived at his tummy, “If we do this, I need a safe word … You didn’t give me one yesterday,” Zayn reminded, his face lit up by the bright lights beaming from the inside of the refrigerator, “Or the day before …”

Harry positioned Zayn so that Zayn was facing him, their faces now inches apart.

“You get a safe word,” Harry’s eyes remained at Zayn’s lips, “But you can only say it once, and it only grants you a five minute break …”

Zayn’s eyelashes fluttered shut as he felt Harry’s touch arrive at his own erection, where Harry began to massage the growing structure beneath Zayn’s underwear; Harry’s other hand now sliding behind Zayn, his fingers gliding under the waistband of Zayn’s pants where his palm cupped Zayn’s left ass cheek.

Zayn allowed a small puff of air to leave his mouth as his eyebrows lifted and he stood on tip toes, just in time for Harry to move his index finger between Zayn’s ass.

“Do we have a deal…?” Harry whispered into Zayn’s neck.

Zayn looked through the darkness provided by eyes closed tightly; how had this been made possible? How had he stood in this kitchen only five minutes ago so entirely adamant that Harry would not lay one finger on his feet? How had Harry transformed Zayn into someone willing to nod frantically, to agree to such an absurd set up?

“Why can’t it just be for fifteen minutes …” Zayn felt Harry’s finger apply pressure, his voice quiet and soft, “ … Why are you making me do this?”

Harry’s lips brushed against the space of flesh between Zayn’s neck and the top of his jaw as he spoke, “Because I want you, and you want me. Because, when the stocks are unlocked, I’ll give you however much you want. I’ll give you everything. And then I’ll never touch your feet again …”

Zayn nodded quickly, as Harry’s index finger entered Zayn effortlessly, with no force at all; his touch was kind, delicate and considered, enough for Zayn to now stand fully erect and throbbing, reduced to a state where he practically begged for his foot tickling to start, just so it could be over.

“—Please—” Zayn bit his lower lip, “—Get it done, fucking break me, like I know you will …” Zayn’s hands rested over Harry’s waist where they then journeyed down to his best friends arousal, an arousal stuffed rigid and tight under his gym shorts, “… Then after, I’m fucking you, for the rest of the day, non stop …” he held onto Harry’s cock tightly, confidently reasserting some control within the agreement.

Harry’s index finger slid out of Zayn as Harry rested his hands on each of Zayn’s ass cheeks.

“I’ll have my team write up a new contract,” he said.

Zayn watched Harry lock the stocks.

He squeezed his eyes shut and aimed his face at the bedroom ceiling.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

Harry giggled mischievously and pulled down his gym shorts, kicking them away from his feet, now standing at the foot of the bed in just a vest and a pearl necklace, his hands on his hips, his erection standing tall and strong at the sight before him.

And boy oh boy, what a sight, Harry thought.

Zayn sat in the middle of Harry’s bed with his feet secured in the stocks, stocks built by Harry weeks before Zayn’s arrival, stocks kindly gifted to Harry by The House of White Feathers. The stocks themselves had been tightly tied to the bottom of the bed with leather straps; no matter how hard Zayn kicked or squirmed, the stocks would remain in place, therefore ensuring Zayn’s feet would be going nowhere.

Zayn looked nervous, his forehead creased, his eyes the perfect example of ‘puppy dog’; his feet were still socked, his toes scrunched up despite not yet being touched, his hands untied and resting in his lap.

Harry knelt down at the foot of the bed, “Right, no time to waste … I need to make the most of this …” he straightened the index finger of his left hand and pressed it gently against the socked sole of Zayn’s right foot, “What’s your safe word?”

Zayn’s feet twisted over each other suddenly, his eyes widening, both of his hands reaching out where they grabbed at Harry’s fingers.

“Wait!” He winced, “Wait! Give me, give me a sec …”

Harry snorted, “Give you a sec?” He smacked Zayn’s hands away, “I haven’t even started!” He then began to scratch the arch of Zayn’s right foot with his index finger, “Put your hands behind your back, Malik,” Harry grunted, his finger having to fight past Zayn’s attempt to snatch at it, “Now, I won’t ask again, what’s your safe word?”

Zayn ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth as he forced his hands away from his feet, choosing to sit on them instead as he watched Harry tickle his right foot, Harry’s bright yellow index fingernail scribbling over his sole rather gently, however even the slightest of touch against Zayn’s sole caused him to pull a face of grimace, to grab the pillow behind him and bury his face deep within the cushioned surface.

“Nah, nah, mate. No way. I’m not gonna be able to take this,” Zayn admitted as he groaned into the pillow, “Seriously, mate, I’m, I’m not gonna be able to take this,” he repeated, “If I, if I tell you my safe word, does that mean I’m saying it? Does, does that mean I don’t get to use it again?” Zayn’s toes pointed down to the mattress, “Nah, mate, let me out, seeeeeeriously …”

Harry felt his erection stiffen as he watched Zayn break after just ten seconds of attention on the arch of Zayn’s right foot, a foot that was protected by a thick white sock; Harry knew that he would barely be able to contain his excitement once Zayn had experienced a far greater level of tickling, once his socks had been removed …

“This is nothing …” Harry explained, “… The people who have given me this opportunity would have you strapped and stocked in the tickle chair, if there were more time …” Harry took his index fingers scratch closer towards the curling toes of Zayn’s right foot, “… X Factor …” Harry smirked, “… That’ll be your safe word.”

Zayn threw the pillow to the side, “A tickle chair?!” He gasped, bending the knee of his right leg, “What the fuck is a tickle chair?!” He wiped the air with both hands, “Nah, fuck that, I, I don’t wanna know,” he huffed, both of his feet twisting over each other in an attempt to block Harry’s finger, “You’re a lucky little bastard, you know that? I don’t let anyone do shit like this. No one touches my feet, mate! This is fucking mental!” Zayn laughed in disbelief, growling out in frustration as Harry provided one sharp swipe up Zayn’s sole, causing Zayn to jump up, cross his feet once again and, much to Harry’s annoyance, reach forwards and snatch hold of Harry’s hands, “Nah mate, that’s enough, let me the fuck out! You’re already being a bitch …” Zayn hissed.

Harry yanked his hand away from Zayn and then used his index finger to issue a warning, instead of another tickle.

“Okay, Zayn Fuckin’ Malik, if you’re gonna get through this you have to promise to stop reaching over here,” Harry tapped the top of the stocks, “Yeah? You got it? You cheeky shit.”

Zayn cleared his throat and then sat back over his hands once again, dropping his head over his chest as his eyes landed on Harry, their size expanding, their brown colour shimmering with worry, “Seriously, Haz, is it … Is it too late to change my mind?" He asked, his left foot rubbing away the itchiness still present over his right arch, “I, I’m done in already and you haven’t even used any of the shit in that bloody box …”

Harry could not help but grin, his hands returning to Zayn’s right foot, this time to remove the protective layer of cotton Zayn had so furiously screamed for Harry to keep on whilst he was strapped to The Bench just yesterday, “Hmm, let’s see … Would you rather … Let me suck on your big toe for an hour, or lay in a bath of cold beans for two hours …?” Harry felt Zayn’s right foot stretch to the left, in an attempt to fight back at the sock removal, but Harry’s determined strength ensured that the sock would make its way up to Zayn’s toes, where it remained for now, expertly presenting the silky, creamy smooth sole of Zayn’s right foot from heel to the base of his toes.

“Beans,” Zayn did not have to hesitate before providing his answer, “Oi, no, no baby oil, that’s gonna make it worse …” Zayn shuffled forwards in alarm as he watched Harry pick out a bottle from the tool box, “ … No, Haz, mate, please, that stuff sucks! It makes it worse!” Zayn chewed on his lower lip as Harry gently sent his index finger across Zayn’s right heel, causing Zayn to writhe his foot from side to side in a speedy squirm, where he unintentionally kicked his sock off of his foot, “Shit!” Zayn grunted into his chest, “You’re bloody loving this, aren’t you?” Zayn did not think Harry’s grin could get wider, but, second by second, it seemed to expand in width the more Harry toyed with his feet.

Harry whipped Zayn’s left sock off in a flash, causing Zayn to shape his mouth into an ‘O’, his eyes almost bulging out of his head as his left foot was so suddenly exposed and made bare, all five of his left toes curling into a defensive scrunch, “Such pretty feet, Malik. One hundred percent the best feet out of all of us, you really should get them out more often …” Harry began to rub and flick away tiny dots of white fluff caught between Zayn’s toes, causing Zayn to twitch his feet away from Harry as Harry picked out the remains of Zayn’s socks, “… Christ, you really, really, really hate having your feet touched, don’t you, mate …”

Zayn glared into the ceiling, his cheeks boiling read, his face creasing into a disgusted expression as Harry’s fingertips ‘accidentally’ stroked across the bottoms of his feet as he continued to ‘attempt’ to remove white fluff that was no longer there, his feet writhing under Harry’s touch with such force that his ankles had started to ache.

“Fffffff—” Zayn forced his weight over his hands, as soon as he felt the need to reach over the stocks and grab at Harry, “—Fuck this!” Zayn inhaled deeply as he spoke, another laugh leaving his mouth as he started to understand the horror of this reluctant set up, “I swear to god, Haz, you better bloody go easy, I, I know you won’t but you better bloody ea, ease me in oth, otherwise I’ll fucking kill you mate, you hearing what I’m saying? You get me? I’ll blow your nuts off, mate,” Zayn’s eyebrows lifted in concern as he watched Harry unscrew the lid to the baby oil, where he generously poured a shimmering lashing of sparkling liquid over Zayn’s soles; Zayn wanted to say, ‘oi, that’s too much! Don’t do that, mate, for fucks sake!’ but he knew that no matter what he said, no matter how hard he tried to bargain, Harry would be doing whatever he wanted with his feet for however long he wanted …

Zayn huffed and focused on sitting on his hands instead, where he remained completely unaware that he had already kicked up a fuss far greater than other ticklees in his position, who had endured far worse than what Zayn had currently endured so far.

“This is tame, compared to what I’ve been through,” Harry licked his lips as he massaged the oil into Zayn’s right foot, “Imagine ten on you at a time, aye? Five on your feet, two on your stomach, two on your pits …” Harry had to firm up his application, due to Zayn’s writhing at anytime Harry’s fingers ‘unintentionally’ scraped against the bottom of his foot, “… One jerking you off at the same time, forcing you to understand the meaning of pleasure whilst dealing with a sensory overload where your ticklers attack all your worst spots at once … Now, that is hell …”

Zayn, now feeling overwhelmingly warm and breathless, shuddered out some breath as his feet flexed and twisted from left to right, as Harry persisted in ensuring every inch of his soles and toes were coated in the oil, “You’ve, you’ve b, been through that?” Zayn winced as Harry rubbed the oil into an exceptionally hyper sensitive spot on Zayn’s left foot - the base of his little toe - causing Zayn to give in and lift his butt, reach his hands forwards in a manic stretch, his clawed grasp catching Harry’s hand tightly, his apology leaving his throat in a high pitched shout, “—I’m sorry, mate! That’s too much, fuck!—”

Harry glared at Zayn, his fingers still clasped around Zayn’s little toe.

“… Malik …” Harry’s voice was deep, his delivery slow.

Zayn kept his hands around Harry’s.

“… Styles …” Zayn was not authoritative with his tone, instead it left his lips in the form of a needy whine, “… Please? … “

Harry spoke calmly, his fingernails nudging against the base of Zayn’s left little toe, causing Zayn to tilt his head and clench his teeth, “… If you do that again, I terminate the contract …”

Zayn hesitated at first, but after considering the severity of Harry’s threat, he slid his hands away from Harry’s and sat back on top of them, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth as Harry finished massaging the baby oil into his soles by rubbing one final, ticklish rub against each of his heels.

Harry sat back and admired the glossy, ultra ticklish landscape locked inches away from him, a sight that made his mouth water.

Zayn curled his toes as he scowled at his own feet, the feeling of having them so soaked, so drenched in cold, thick, shiny oil causing him to bury his face into his shoulder and bite into the material of his t-shirt.

“Don’t be a bitch—” Zayn spoke with cotton caught between his teeth, “—Please, don’t be a bitch …”

Harry picked up the seagull feather as if it were a quill pen, “Zayn, mate, I could breathe on your toes and you’d think I’m a bitch …” his eyes shifted from Zayn’s right foot to his left, from his left to his right, “You’re screwed no matter what I do. I could just stare at them and you’d get pissed off …” Harry decided to start with Zayn’s right foot, “ … Fuck, there’s hardly a mark on these bad boys, mate. If your albums stop selling you should consider a career in foot modelling …”

Zayn peered over the stocks as he watched Harry with his feathered tool, “Oh, oh yeah, that’s exactly what I want,” he had no intention in hiding the sarcasm in his voice, “People taking fucking photo’s of my fucking feet, yeah, sounds right up my alley—” Zayn scrunched all ten of his toes tightly as the sharp nib of the feather arrived at the arch of his right foot, “—Ah! Oh! Oh fuck, what are you doing! Use the soft end, you prick!”

Harry flipped the feather, “Oh, you mean the fluffy part?” He then used his free hand to un-scrunch the toes of Zayn’s right foot, an act in itself that caused Zayn to shout in surprise, where he then slid the edge of the feather between Zayn’s big and index toes, “Is that any better?”

Both of Zayn’s hands clawed over the bedsheets; his left foot stretching over to his right, where he used it to try and bat Harry’s hand away, “No, don’t touch my toes, not my toes! Oi, mate, listen, don’t fucking touch my toes, you knob!” His hands then landed over his face where he groaned out a desperate, “—Aghhhhhh! This is so, so sick!—” into his palms, his head shaking from left to right, right to left, left to right, until a fierce and shocked gasp of air heaved through his throat as soon as Harry returned the sharp nib back to his arch, where he then blew it out in the form of a raspberry, “—PFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTT!—” Zayn had never felt a sensation like it; it was invasive, mind blowing, intense and constant, it made him open his eyes wide, force himself not to blink, where he simply stared at Harry in bewilderment, who had expertly held Zayn’s right foot in place whilst drawing shapes and letters, circles and lines up and down Zayn’s right sole with the sharpness of the feathers nib - an act that made Zayn begin to expel his anguish in the form of breathless, uncontrollable giggles.

Harry watched Zayn’s hysteria arrive far quicker than he assumed it would. He himself knew the power of the feathers nib, The Masked Tickler had used it on his own soles dozens of times before. He was aware of how insane it felt, that horrific pin point dragging relentlessly over the soft, silky landscape that was highly ticklish from toe nail to heel. It had made Harry use his safe word many, many times, however Zayn’s circumstance was different to Harry’s - if Zayn used his safe word, he would not be able to use it again, and considering he had no idea how long Harry intended to spend on his feet, keeping his safe word as unspoken ammunition was one of the most important things to him, he could not do this without it - that thought alone was enough for Zayn to decide to instead just release the despair, laugh out the crazy, of course, without reaching across the stocks to try to stop Harry, a movement he so very much wanted to act out.

Zayn gave up using his left foot to try and nudge Harry’s hand out of the way, his ankle was aching too much and he had stupidly convinced himself that trying such a method of defence would actually work. Instead, he threw his back onto the bed and thrashed around across the sheets, punching the air, biting his knuckles, giggling and giggling and giggling till his stomach began to burn and his chest started to feel empty, the feathers nib now working its way along the base of his toes, causing Zayn to jump forwards and curl his fists into balls, an enraged and determined, “—Harry! Please, stop, please!—” leaving his mouth as his toes flexed and squirmed beneath the nib, “—Harry! Please! Stop, please, stop! Please, come on, that’s enough!—” he threw himself back again, his torso bouncing over the mattress as he thumped his fists over the pillows, “—Harry! Please, mate, stop! Please! Please! Stopstopstopstopstopstop!—” as he thrashed, he had no idea how much his begging turned Harry on, how much it fuelled Harry to tickle harder, how much it made him transform from friend to tickler, a tickler void of mercy or compassion, a tickler who understood how it felt to be helpless in the stocks, ravaged by tools built to create the sound leaving Zayn’s mouth, the sound of complete and utter visceral mania.

Zayn’s begs and whines turned into commanding, deeply toned shouts as he began to voice a fair request, “—Harry! Wait, I’m so hot! Haz, mate, please! Stop! Lemme take off my tee! Please, Harry, fuck!—” Harry could tell Zayn was serious because he had stopped calling him names; gone was ‘knob’ and ‘prick’, instead they were replaced with ‘Haz’ or ‘Harry’, which was Zayn’s natural way of informing Harry that he wanted him to listen, he wanted to connect, that his ask needed to be heard and not ignored.

Harry let go of Zayn’s foot and slid the feather nib away from the base of Zayn’s toes, causing Zayn to slump his upper body over the bed in a defeated bounce.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, “This is fucking incredible …” as Zayn sat up and removed his t-shirt, his now bare, tattooed torso on show, “Are your feet as ticklish as you thought they’d be?” Harry asked, dropping the feather back into his tool box, his hands returning to Zayn’s feet, this time his left, where he massaged it firmly, “Be detailed, when you answer …”

Zayn screwed his t-shirt into a ball and threw it at Harry’s head, “Yeah—” he said breathlessly, sniffing up some emotion, “—Way more ticklish. This is fucking hell,” he chuckled, wiping some sweat away from his upper lip, “Eeee, eeeven the massage tickles,” he tucked his hands behind his head, unintentionally showing off his hairy pits, squeezing his eyes shut as his left foot squirmed underneath Harry’s rubbing fingertips, “Don’t use that feather again, mate, that was too much, you almost made me bloody cry …”

Harry laughed into Zayn’s feet, “Cry? Jesus, lad, I thought you were a tough man? Tough man Zayn can’t take a bit of foot tickling?” Harry kissed Zayn’s left big toe, keeping his lips at its tip as he looked Zayn in the eye, “You hate it, don’t you?” Harry kissed Zayn’s big toe again, knowing all too well how much Zayn would be cringing inside as Harry’s mouth pressed against his big toe for a third time, “Tell me, Zayn, tell me how much you hate this …”

Zayn held onto his knees and shifted his left foot away from Harry’s lips, “Don’t, Haz, please, don’t even think about it …”

Harry held onto Zayn’s right foot, “Wow, you didn’t even try to explain, you went straight to the begging … You must really not want me to do it …” Harry grinned, his mouth opening, its aim Zayn’s left big toe, “How about I suck on your toe till lunch time, aye? No bath of cold beans here, just me and my tongue, and your big toe …”

Zayn clenched his teeth and pressed his lips together, his left foot trying its best to writhe out of Harry’s grasp, “—Mnn, mnn, n, no, Haz, mate, no—” he then felt his jaw widen as he watched Harry take his left big toe in his mouth, where he began to suck on it with the slimy, wet length of his long, talented tongue, “—Bleerggghhh Harry! Get off, mate! You prick! Don’t suck my feet, mate, ahhh, that’s not right, what are you doing!—” Zayn turned his face away from the situation taking place at the foot of the bed as Harry’s suck moved down to Zayn’s left index toe, a nightmare turned reality form someone who had made a conscious effort to not have their feet touched this way, so far, throughout their life.

“For someone who hates having their feet even looked at, this must be fucking torture, Malik,” Harry commented, slurping up some dribble as he moved to Zayn’s left middle toe, licking its silky structure and smooth, round end, where he then took his teeth and nipped at the toe beside Zayn’s middle, “My intention is to make it nice, to give you a break from the tickling … Just relax, Zayn, just let me do it, alright? Try to enjoy it, okay?” Harry arrived at Zayn’s left pinkie, where he began to chew and lick on it as if it were a boiled sweet.

Zayn hissed and winced, biting into the knuckles of his right hand and then into the knuckles of his left, “—Enjoy it! Enjoy it? I’m gonna break out of these fucking stocks in a minute you soddin’ cu—” his own tongue peeped out of his mouth, where it hooked over his upper lip, “—Ah! Ah! J, just, n, no b, biting them, ahhh fuck!—” he buried his head in his hands once again as Harry shuffled over to Zayn’s right foot and began to suck and lick on his heel.

Harry had worshipped feet before - the meaty size nines that belonged to his partner, Louis Tomlinson - however, Louis’ feet were the total opposite to Zayn’s … They were not ticklish in the slightest. So, for Harry, to simply feel Zayn’s feet and toes squirm and twist under his tongue was an experience Harry already felt very sure he would never forget. He had grown so used to Louis’ soles remaining peacefully still as he grazed his teeth over his high arches or bulbous big toes that having Zayn’s feet flex and wriggle anytime Harry’s tongue slid across the ultra sensitive landscape that made up the bottoms of Zayn’s feet was considered a pure gift, a pleasurable adventure that made Harry send his spare hand down to his own cock, where he began to rub and stroke it as he sucked on Zayn’s forever curling toes.

Zayn could not stand this level of attention on his feet. He pressed his palms over the mattress and lifted his butt away from the bedsheets, squeezing his eyes shut as all ten of his toes curled into a tight scrunch. He would hide his feet in socks, only be barefoot if by a pool; he never let anyone touch them, massage them or look at them. He would blush and shuffle them out of sight if he saw anyone notice them. He had even ordered his agent to try and remove his profile from the WikiFeet website. He had only allowed this because of the additional however many millions of dollar payment, even if it did feel truly torturous, unbelievably weird and undeniably uncomfortable.

He allowed this, because it was Harry.

Much to Zayn’s relief, Harry’s tongue and lips departed from his feet, where Harry then wiped his mouth clear of drool. Zayn’s relief was then quite suddenly washed away by dread when he watched Harry start to finger through the tool box, where he casually produced a set of handcuffs dangling from the end of his index finger.

“Harry, mate!” Zayn tutted, “I’ve been sitting on my hands! I haven’t reached across since you—” he shook his head, “—Nah, mate, there’s no need, there’s no need!” Zayn found himself laughing in shock as Harry jumped onto the bed, “—There’s no bloody need!—” He cried.

As Harry began to tackle Zayn, he dodged a punch from his tickler and then he ducked another fierce swipe, where he then snatched hold of Zayn’s right wrist. Zayn threw another punch at Harry with his left fist, “—There’s no bloody need!—”, a punch that smacked with furious impact into Harry’s shoulder, but Harry winced through the pain, instead successfully grabbing at Zayn’s left wrist where he pulled Zayn’s hands behind his back.

Zayn grunted, giggled and cursed, he kicked his legs and spun his torso from side to side; anytime he freed his hands, Harry would snatch them back, forcing them to the bottom of Zayn’s spine where Zayn eventually felt the touch of cold steel land around his wrists. Zayn squirmed so hard that a layer of sweat had started to form over his forehead; he was beyond desperate to not allow Harry to cuff his hands behind his back that he began to resort to an severer layer of physical violence by throwing his head back into Harry, “—There’s no bloody need!—”, his head now being his only free body part to help defend itself, “—I was sitting on my hands just fine you bloody prick!—” he spat.

Harry’s muscles were bigger, his hands more practised, however his need to achieve his goal was fuelled with the same unapologetic rage as Zayn’s, the only difference was that Harry had the ability to move his feet and legs, they were not trapped in stocks like Zayn’s. For Zayn, having that disadvantage of fair movement left him in a circumstance where he was overwhelmed by force, his wrists now officially cuffed together, —click!—, Harry’s breathless panting inches away from his face as the twenty nine year old tickler hunched over Zayn, who heaved and swore a grainy, “—You, you cunt—” into his own chest.

Both boys caught their breath as they arrived in a moment of quiet and blunt realisation; Harry had consumed and succeeded, Zayn had been consumed and had failed. He was now unable to reach across to the stocks, his feet, the only part of his body he physically could not take being touched, completely at Harry’s mercy for however long Harry decided - a concept Zayn struggled to compartmentalise within the few seconds that took place after Harry’s victorious attempt at restraining him further.

Harry bear hugged Zayn and whispered into his left ear, “—You’ve fought me since the start. Stop fighting me—”

Zayn nodded quickly, but before he could express his reasonings for wanting to resist Harry’s cuffing, Harry shoved one of Zayn’s socks inside Zayn’s mouth.

“—Mnnphhh!—” Zayn’s vision blurred as Harry continued to force the sock deep inside, until the dryness of the cotton could be felt at the back of Zayn’s tongue, where the makeshift gag pushed Zayn’s ability to communicate deep down inside his neck, “—Mphh! Mnnph … Mnphhh!—” Zayn bit down on his sock and tried to push it out past his lips with his own tongue, but the sock had been wedged in too tight, too deep, leaving Zayn as a gagged, breathless, cuffed and stocked ticklee who was gradually coming to the realisation that this might become far more intense than he ever could have anticipated.

“Best to go out with a bang, aye old boy?” Harry unwrapped his arms, patted Zayn’s shoulder, slid off the mattress and then returned to the foot of the bed.

With Zayn now cuffed and physically unable to reach across the stocks, Harry allowed himself to successfully attach string to Zayn’s toes in any way he desired; to keep them fully restricted, he had decided to loop a length of string around each of Zayn’s big toes, pinning Zayn’s soles back somewhat, keeping them fixed still and neatly in position for Harry to act act whatever he wanted on Zayn’s highly sensitive nine and a half’s.

At the start of these three days, Zayn had entered Harry’s home with the mindset, and assumption, that his feet would be off limits, yet, here he sat, in the middle of the last day, with his feet bound and secured in a way they had never been before; a sight and feeling that caused Zayn to groan despairingly into the socked stuffed into his mouth, as Harry pulled out several different items from his tool box.

First, two electric toothbrushes; their presence caused Zayn to grunt hard into his make-shift gag as he tried to pull his wrists free from the handcuffs keeping his hands tight behind him.

Secondly, a hairbrush; this tool alarmed Zayn the most - the idea of something like that being pressed against the soles of his feet made him splutter so hard in fury that he was able to spit the sock free from his mouth, where the damp length of cotton landed quietly into his lap.

“—Put the hairbrush back—” Zayn ordered, his tongue running over his bottom lip, “—Put the hairbrush back, mate, come on,” he shook his head as he watched Harry eye the electric toothbrushes first, “I’m, I’m happy to do this shit, but you’re not using that, no fucking way, no fucking w—”

“—Why did you leave the band?” Harry asked, rather suddenly, picking up both electric toothbrushes, where he switched them on at the same time …

Click! Bzzzzzzzzzzzz …

Zayn looked from side to side, as if searching for support, but nobody was here, it was just he and Harry in this room; one of them bound and helpless, free to be tormented, the other unrestrained, in control and free to torment, “Wh, what? Haz, mate, you, you know why! Fuck, you, you know why, mate!” Zayn shuffled forwards in distress, his knees pressing against his chest as he begrudgingly watched Harry press both electric toothbrushes over his heels, a simplistic act that made Zayn clamp his lips shut and hiss in the word, “—No—”, the feeling of the vibrating bristles against his heels almost overwhelming to handle, his feet trying their best to cross inward, the toe ties keeping them in place, “—Not my feet—” Zayn huffed, “—Why my feet? Why my fucking feet!—”

“—No, not why my feet, it’s why did you leave the band?—” Harry asked again, now taking both electric toothbrushes further up Zayn’s soles, where the whizzing tips began to journey over both of Zayn’s silky arches.

Zayn exploded, his mouth and eyes widening as he tried to stretch his hands and arms around his waist in an attempt to reach out towards his feet, a mindless act that he only attempted thanks to the desperation saturating his thought process; he could not answer Harry, because the laughter leaving his lungs was too forceful, too non stop, too persistent - it was a cry for a help, a loud and keen cry that only Harry could hear, a cry that Harry enjoyed listening to, a cry that Harry would happily listen to again and again and again.

X Factor …

X Factor …

X Factor, Zayn felt his safe word land at the tip of his tongue as soon as Harry travelled each toothbrush nearer to the base of his toes, even if he were more than aware that it was too soon to shout it out and, if doing so, would therefore land him in a situation where he would be made to continue to endure this hell with no safe word at all, an existence and role he had no intention of experiencing; so Zayn continued with his begging, his breathless giggles getting in the way of formulating clear and well structured pleas, his ‘oh my god, please stops’ flustered and muttered as he threw his back over the mattress in a fierce bounce, howls of laughter filling the room as Harry explored all ten toes with both electric toothbrushes at the same time.

“I want the truth, Zayn,” Harry growled, “I want closure … Why did you leave the band …?” He asked, for a third time.

Zayn, still bouncing on his back with his eyes squeezed shut, found a break between his bellows to shout out and inform Harry that, “—I can barely speak!—” four words that reminded Harry he would need to either stop or slow down the tickling, to give Zayn a chance to explain himself. “—Mate, please, stop! Let me talk!—” he declared.

Harry took the electric toothbrushes away from Zayn’s toes and whizzed them down the sides of Zayn’s squirming feet where he instead decided to run the buzzing bristles over and around Zayn’s ankles - an area that was ticklish to touch, but no where near as sensitive as Zayn’s soles. This allowed Zayn to relax somewhat, where he sat up and sighed out exhaustion, his abs more defined than ever, his forehead shining with perspiration.

“Al, alright, al, alright,” Zayn sniffed, “If I, if I tell you, you, you have to promise to leave, leave my toes alone, t, tickle someplace else, anywhere else, just not my toes, not anymore …” he looked Harry in the eye, his shoulders stiff and on guard, his free eight, unpinned toes curling away itchiness as he awaited Harry’s response, “Harry, mate?”

Harry tilted his head, “You know I can’t promise that, Zayn. And besides, like I said at the beginning of day one, I’m calling the shots … It’s more of a case of me telling you that if you don’t answer me, I won’t stop tickling your toes, whether you say your safe word or not … Do you understand?”

Zayn nodded quickly, his feet twitching as Harry continued to press the toothbrushes around his ankles, the buzzing bristles nearing his heels every other second, causing Zayn to jolt his legs and clench his teeth, “—Okayokayokay!—” He repeated, his very core so very desperate to take the focus off his toes that he was willing to disregard the interrogation narrative and swallow his pride, where he would respond to Harry honestly and whole heartedly, his announcement leaving his lips in a grainy whisper, “—Fine! I give, I’ll do whatever you want!—” Zayn dropped his head over his chest as Harry switched off the electric toothbrushes, “—I’ll do whatever you want …”

Bzzzzzz - click!

Harry laid the electric toothbrushes over the floor and then picked up the hairbrush, “I want to hear you say it,” he said.

Zayn stretched his feet outward and away from the hairbrush as Harry moved it slowly towards Zayn’s soles, the big toe ties squeaking as they kept Zayn’s feet from moving too far, “Mnn, alright, okay, I, I, I left,” his toes were now so flexed they were splayed, “I, I left because I couldn’t take it anymore! I, I couldn’t stand seeing you with him, not anymore, al, alright? Please, mate, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, don’t use the hairbrush, not that, please …”

Harry watched the hairbrushes bristles press against Zayn’s left sole, where he then watched Zayn’s foot retract so hard that the stocks shook, all five of his toes curling into a fierce scrunch, “You couldn’t take it anymore? You couldn’t stand it?” Harry began the hairbrushes rub.

Zayn gasped, his head shaking so fast that his cheeks wobbled, “—I can’t take it anymore! I can’t stand it!—” Both Zayn and Harry were now confused as to what Zayn was referring to'; the relentless focus on a body part he could not stand to be touched, or how he felt about Harry and Louis over a decade ago, “—Please, alright, that’s enough, enough with my feet, stop, stop, stopstopstop, I hate this, mate! I can’t do this, it’s too much, I, I’m literally begging you to stop! I don’t want the money anymore, take it back, alright! Just let me fucking go!—”

“—You want it to stop so bad, say your safe word,” Harry urged, the hairbrush now running rather smoothly over Zayn’s creamy soft left sole, where it scrubbed up to Zayn’s toes and then down to his heel, a sensation unlike anything Zayn had ever felt in his life, “Go on, mate, just say it … X Factor …”

Zayn bit into his right shoulder as he watched Harry use his free hand to tickle his right foot, causing Zayn to chuckle suddenly, and then giggle breathlessly, and then laugh extremely hard as his body thrashed about over the bedsheets, his legs kicking, his torso twisting, his bellows commanding, loud and filled with shouts and screams as he cackled into a nearby pillow and then arched his back, bucking over the mattress with such strength that the bed creaked and shook, the panels beneath squeaked, the wooden legs that made up the base of the bed now shifting a few inches across the floor …

“I told you …” Harry grinned, “… Honesty will set you free …”

Zayn threw his body up, his chest planted over his knees, his head so stretched forwards that it almost reached over the stocks, “—And I told you!—” Zayn heaved, “—I told you want you wanted to hear!—” he threw his body back once again, his shoulders pounding the mattress where he then bounced himself forwards for a second time, “—You didn’t even need to tickle it out of me, mate! I’m giv, guh-HIVING you everything! How long is left! Just stop, sssSSSSsss-stop it now,” Zayn shook his head, his Bradford accent coming through thick and strong, “Nah, ma, mate, stop it, st, sssstop it now, Haz, ‘av a lahahahaugh, I’m done, mate, howlongisleft, I’m done! Ssss, ssseriously, fucking hell! I’m gonna say my safe word if you’re not bloody careful!” He spluttered most of his wording out in one breath, leaving him to inhale sharply once again, only to exhale the air in the form of breathless laughter where words were no longer possible to produce, “—Alright, that’s enough now, oh god, please, oh god please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeeeehehehahahahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahahahah-ahahahahaaaaaassssssszzzzzzzzz!—”

“I was so hurt when you left,” Harry snarled, his fingers tickling the toes of Zayn’s right foot whilst his hairbrush tickled Zayn’s left sole, “You made it out to the world like the boys and I had done something wrong, when it was you, you were the one who made a choice, not us …”

Zayn hunched forwards and glared at his left foot as the hairbrush scrubbed from side to side across his oiled up arch, “—I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!—” he cried, “—Please, Haz, stop, please! Please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeaahahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahaha-ahahahahaha-ahahahahah nomorenomorenomorenomorenomorenomorenomore ohohohaghhhhhhhhh!—”

Within less than half an hour, Harry had broken Zayn; he had manipulated him into allowing his feet to be tickled, then he had interrogated him into revealing something personal, something Harry knew had been true all along, where he then punished him for it, right here, right now, inflicting an act he always knew he would inflict, on someone he had specifically chosen to destroy, to provide closure, to help him forget the angst caused over the past ten years or so …

Words spoken between them both during the morning of day one echoed through the bedroom and swindled their way between the bellows of mania leaving Zayn’s mouth, “—Why are you really doing this?—”, Zayn had asked in the comfort of the kitchen downstairs, “—You know fucking why—” Harry had responded.

Zayn knew there would be some vengeful passion behind Harry’s actions, but he did not expect them to be this ruthless; he knew deep down that he could not take this anymore, as he had expressed to Harry time and time again over the past six or seven minutes, he knew that Harry had chosen this specific moment, this specific body part, to get the answer he needed, to hear the words he wanted to hear. He knew that if he said his safe word, he would be allowed a chance to think, to breathe, to relax, but then he would have to go through it all again without a break. He knew that if he did not say his safe word, he would end up either passing out or pissing himself; Zayn, in the midst of his delirium realised one thing and one thing only; he was in the very meaning of a rock and a hard place.

Such an epiphany made Zayn naturally display a varied amount of reactions that fell under themes of his unique personality; as much as Harry himself was a character with a purpose, with ways of delivering his intentions, with wants and desires, needs and fantasies to fulfil, Zayn too had functions that he would have to holster as a way to get what he wanted, however unlike Harry’s controlled functions, Zayn’s were expelled uncontrollably, mostly due to the fact that Harry had now decided to use not one, but two hairbrushes over Zayn’s soles - one over his left and another over his right.

First came gut wrenching anger, anger that had been formed by Harry so nonchalantly doing as he pleased on a body part Zayn had contractually stated to avoid; Zayn made the conscious effort to leap up from the bed and stretch his cuffed hands around his waist, his fingers clawing out into the air as he began to shout, Harry’s brushes now running from left to right, right to left, left to right over the fleshy lengths of Zayn’s toes, “—No, not there! Not my fucking toes, you fucking idiot!—” Zayn barked, his eyes almost burning through Harry as he delivered his acidic roar, “—Not my fucking toes, not my toes, not my fucking toes, you dickhead! Get the fuck off of my feet, you fuck! You’re a fuck, you fucking fuck!—” Presenting such aggressive words with such a blunt, Bradford, British accent made Zayn seem all the more harsh as he shouted at Harry, his face stern, spit leaving his lips with every howl.

Harry did not stop.

Metaphorically, Zayn disabled the anger and swapped it with desperation, his voice lifting from deep and growl-like to high pitched and whiney, his back falling over the now creased up bedsheets in another heavy bounce as he wailed into the ceiling, “—Pleeeeeeeeeease, Harry! Please, please, please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease stop with the feet!—” he pursed his lips together, exchanging all of the horrible names he had just called his tickler with his tickler’s actual name, as a way to connect with him personally, a tactic he had used many times over the past three days, a tactic he had used many times over the past thirteen years, “—Harry, Hahahahahahahahaarry! Please! Mate, please! Enough with my feet, I can’t take this, Harry, I can’t stand it, ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, HarryHarryHarryHarryHarry pleasepleaseplease!—” he whined, Harry now running the hairbrush over both of Zayn’s arches in unison.

Harry did not stop.

With two of his strongest functions clearly not working, Zayn fell into a third, which was expressing pure, undeniable bewilderment; he could not quite understand what was happening to him, he could not quite grapple with how ticklish his feet were, how intense the hairbrushes felt, how he had been made to endure something he practically feared, something he had been sure would not take place, yet here it was, happening in this little cottage, at the bottom of the stocks, in a far worse way than he could possibly of imagined - having them stroked or massaged, licked or sucked on was enough to blow Zayn’s mind, but this? - Zayn’s eyes kept rolling to the back of his head, his giggles and shrieks leaving him short of breath, his bewilderment almost sending him into such a dizzy daze that he could of said his safe word in that very moment, but a fourth and final function kept him from shouting out ‘X FACTOR!’ at the top of his lungs, a function in the form of malice.

Caught in such a trap boiled Zayn in such a way that he found himself attempting to hurt Harry with the same level of malice that Harry had towards his soles; he breathed in through the heaving, the yelling, the groans, the grunts and the bucking and started to scream at Harry, to call him out for who he really was, “—All you do is think about yourself! You’re a fucking cheater!You’ll never find peace!—” Zayn shrieked, Harry now using both brushes to tickle Zayn’s right sole only, “Agh! Agh! Agahahahahahaha! Agh! Aghahahaha! You, you, yoohoohooohooohohohooohooo always want to be the best!—” Zayn spat, his toes scrunching, his right foot squirming with such vigour that it broke free from the toe tie, “—Ah! Ahahahaha! Ahahaahah! You, you, yoohohoohohohooohooohohooo-alwahahahahahahahahays want to be the best, the best pop star, the behehehehehehehest in the band, the behehehest ticklehehehehahahahahahahahahahahahahah-ahahahahahaha-ahahahahaar!—” Zayn embraced Harry’s sadism by curling his fingers around the cuffs securing his wrists behind his back where he hunched forwards and yelled at Harry, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face, “—You have to PUSH someone into admitting they love you!—” Zayn heaved in through flared nostrils, trying his hardest to contain the laughter at the back of his throat as he delivered one final blow to Harry, “—You’re pathetic!—” he hissed.

Harry dropped the brushes.

He held onto the stocks.

He caught his own breath as the ache in his arms continued to throb and sting, after moving his wrists and hands from side to side so repetitively; Zayn fell backwards, as if gravity had taken hold of his torso and yanked him down to the mattress, where he bounced into a heavy sink, his weight resting over the middle of a bed creased with sheets and stained with sweat.

… Huff, huff, huff, huff, huff …

Harry glared at Zayn’s smooth soles as he took in the words Zayn had shouted into his cottage rooftop; words that told Harry that Zayn was right, he was pathetic, he was desperate for affirmation, for attention, for fulfilment. Harry lifted his head and glared at Zayn, speaking to him calmly, however his tone was still tinged with a sense of authority.

“Yeah, I’m all of that,” Harry agreed, wiping some sweat away from his upper lip, “But I’m all of that because of you … You walking out after I did what I did, it’s turned me into this. I said it at the start, Zayn …” Harry got to his feet and began to make his way to the side of the bed, “… You’ve only got yourself to blame …”

Zayn, once again rendered speechless, could only watch Harry arrive behind his back, where his tickler gently removed the handcuffs from his wrists.

Zayn’s mouth fell open as he felt the steel depart, only to be replaced with the firm grasp of Harry’s hands.

Zayn grunted hard as he tried to pull himself away, but Harry used all of his body strength to yank Zayn’s arms to the top of the bed, where he quickly dropped his body over Zayn’s elbows in a knelt position, trapping them beneath his legs.

Zayn wriggled his hips and twisted his waist as he tried to pull his arms out from under Harry, “—Mnn—”, but as the seconds went by and the tighter Harry clamped his knees down over each of Zayn’s arms, the clearer it became that Zayn’s armpits would become the next spot for Harry to devour, “—Alright, Haz, mate, I didn’t mean it, I, I, I—”, their hairy, deep, sweaty caverns completely on show; one stuffed beside the right side of Zayn’s face, the other stuffed beside the left side of Zayn’s face, catching Zayn in a flustered moment of dire regret, “—Please, Harry, this is fucked! You’ve done my pits so much, you’re taking the piss! Give me a break!—” he pleaded.

Harry every so gently landed all ten of his fingernails over Zayn’s underarms, five over his left and five over his right, where he began to carefully comb his way through Zayn’s armpit hair, causing Zayn to giggle feverishly almost immediately, “You want a break? Say your safe word,” Harry reminded, his fingers wiggling through the curls of black until they arrived at the moist, soft centre of Zayn’s pits.

Zayn kicked his legs, his feet shaking within the stocks, as his upper body bucked and bounced over the bedsheets, his head twisting from side to side as he stretched out his jaw in an attempt to bite at Harry’s fingers, his giggles coarse and relentless, his attempts at nipping on Harry’s hands failing miserably, mostly due to Harry’s touch being too far away for Zayn’s neck to stretch; all Zayn could do was writhe his head between Harry’s thighs, his brown eyes taking in the sight of Harry’s erection as it bobbed just inches away from his face - could he bite that instead? - Zayn giggled and giggled and giggled as he lifted his head and tried to snap at Harry’s cock, but he once again was not able, his attempts too distracted by the insane level of ticklishness taking place deep inside each of his underarms.

Zayn had been pushed far and hard, he had been driven to a state of complete and utter exhaustion, his voice dry, his chest burning; he no longer wanted to say his safe word, he needed to say it, otherwise he would black out or soak the bed with the build up of tea currently swelling his bladder. If he had to go on for the rest of this session without a break, so be it, he thought. In this very instance, he had to experience a pause, his mouth only able to produce the word, “—stop—” between each heave of laughter, a word he said once, twice, three times, four times, “—stop—” he would heave, and then he would giggle, “—stop—” he would heave again, and then he would giggle, “—stop—” he huffed, the word going ignored, so much so that Zayn had no choice but to breath in and squeeze his eyes shut, shouting out the word, “—X FACTOR!—” with such strength that his back arched and a tear rolled down the side of his face.

Unbeknownst to Zayn, Harry had built up an extreme level of arousal as he had knelt here with Zayn’s arms pinned under his legs, his cock stiff and ready to expel, the release of pleasure urgent and positioning itself at the tip of Harry’s cock, its journey there arriving without Harry even needing to touch himself, a testament to how much Zayn’s reactions turned Harry on; Harry shuddered as Zayn yelled out his safe word, a word that summarised the desperate need for this to end, proof that Zayn really could not take this anymore, a sight and sound that made Harry keep his left hand in Zayn’s armpit whilst this right hand helped him out, his fingers curling around the end of his erection where he rubbed his orgasm free.

Zayn flinched as cum splashed all over his face, much like it had done during day one; his eyes squeezed shut, his nose scrunched up, his torso twisted to the left as his mouth and jaw were greeted with warm gushes of joy.

Harry, breathless and shaking, oozed out the remains of his release where he let them drop down over Zayn’s burrowed eyebrows; he then hunched over Zayn and kissed the tip of his nose, the fingers within Zayn’s left armpit returning to their comb-like stroke, causing Zayn to wince and shuffle his upper body to the right.

“—No—” Zayn panted, “—Please, I need a rest, just a, just a, a sec—” he had said his safe word after all, surely the five minutes would be allowed?

Harry’s lips remained by Zayn’s nose as he whispered out words that made Zayn jolt in alarm,

“… No rest …”

Harry then spoke words that made Zayn’s weight sink beneath Harry’s weight.

“… It’s over. It’s your turn to cum.”

Once Zayn had relieved himself with the need to pee, another kind of relief was on its way in the form of Harry deciding to exchange his harsh actions with kind actions instead.

The third day would be over soon and after all Zayn had been put through, after everything they had both experienced within such a short space of time, Harry did not feel comfortable seeing him off with any resentment or bad feelings residing between them.

In the living room, Zayn sat naked and blindfolded on the armchair. His wrists had been roped over the back of the chair, causing his elbows to bend around his head, his armpits once again on full display; his ankles had been roped to the bottom feet of the chair itself, Zayn’s left ankle tied to the left foot of the chair, his right ankle tied to the right foot, therefore ensuring his thighs were neatly spread.

His skin glistened with sweat as Harry continued to stroke Zayn’s cock, a cock that had stiffened into its strongest, most thickest shape yet, thanks to the baby oil and perspiration gathered beneath Harry’s palm, a palm that had been massaging Zayn’s arousal for the best part of eight and a half minutes.

The fireplace roared with heat, the flames licking the coal and burning up through the chimney, expelling strong tufts of smoke out from the clay spouts poking out of the cottages rooftop; the heat made both boys shine, especially Zayn, who sat now covered in a thin layer of sweat, his toes curling, his tongue running across his upper lip, his pits looking so delicious that Harry had to force his free hand to remain by his side as his right continued to grasp Zayn’s cock, where it edged him gradually to a point where he thought he might soon cum.

“I’m, I’m close,” Zayn announced, those curled toes squeezing into a determined scrunch, “I’m, I’m close …” he repeated.

Harry, also completely naked, speeded up his stroke until he heard Zayn begin to lose his breath, until he watched Zayn’s mouth open, until he felt the thickness of Zayn’s cock swell beneath his palm, until there was no sound at all, but the crackle of amber in the fireplace …

Harry let go of Zayn’s cock, transforming his sub from ready and trembling to frustrated and tricked, his back arching as if doing so would release at least a drop or two of the pleasure he was just so fiercely denied.

“You prick—” Zayn chuckled into his chest, his head turning from left to right as he felt Harry shuffle closer, “—You fucking prick …”

Harry waited a few seconds for the bubble of joy at the base of Zayn’s cock to subside - returning his touch too soon might ease Zayn’s orgasm out of him and that was something Harry did not want to do just yet.

“That’s for calling me pathetic,” Harry grinned, his index finger trailing around Zayn’s navel, “Even if you were correct in saying so,” Zayn glanced his blindfolded head down to his stomach as he sucked in his tummy, “Thank you, Zayn,” Harry murmured as he watched Zayn hold back giggles, “I know it’s been a lot, the past few days, but I think we’ve both needed it …”

Zayn could make out footsteps, he could feel Harry move around him, he could tell that he was no longer at the knelt position between his thighs; suddenly, the invasive feeling of fingers arriving inside both of his pits caused Zayn to thrash so hard within the armchair that it shifted an inch across the floorboards, the fingers leaving as quickly as they arrived, Zayn’s tall standing cock wobbling as he actioned his panicked writhe.

“You’re, you’re still punishing me, aren’t you …” Zayn’s entire body stiffened as he waited for a softer touch to take place around his cock, the fire still burning within the fireplace as hands returned to his erection, where they began to smooth and stroke the throbbing arousal, causing Zayn’s rigid exterior to slouch into a more bound slump, “Haven’t you got the closure you needed, yet?” Zayn asked, his voice shaking, his fists curling into balls, “That’s what all this was about, r, right?”

Harry nodded quietly, “I did,” he said, a content smile lifting his lips, “I knew the real reason why you left, I just wanted to hear you say it, I had to …”

Zayn’s nostrils flared as he felt the grasp become firmer, its rub quick and dedicated to the tip of Zayn’s cock, “We, we would never have worked, Haz,” Zayn bit his upper lip, “Nah, not us, mnn, we’re too fierce, mate, you and I …” Zayn blinked behind the blindfold, nothing but black as his view as he felt his orgasm arrive once again around his hips, where it boiled towards his taint; his balls began to plump up, the end of his cock started to glimmer …

“I agree,” Harry panted, the fireplace producing droplets of sweat over his forehead, “And I’m glad you’re as happy about that as I am … Doesn’t mean the last seventy two hours haven’t been a blast, right?”

Zayn’s nippled thickened into sharp points as he started to find it hard to focus, his eyelashes brushing against the behinds of his blindfold as he blinked in alarm, his orgasm now entirely taking over his body, from the top of his head down to the tips of toes he could barely stand being touched.

“You’ve, you’ve been a, a wanker—” Zayn huffed, his hands holding onto the arms of the chair, “I, I only did this b, b, because I wanted to, ssss, ssspend time, with, with you …You wanker …” he admitted, his cheeks flushing red, droplets of sweat oozing out from his pits where they trickled down his sides, “Mate, Harry, please,” Zayn whined as he felt the rope around his left ankle be released, his heel leaving the floor, a hand take hold of his ankle, lips and a tongue consuming the toes of his right foot, “Mnn, no, Harry, oh god, oh god, please …”

Just the right amount of speed and pressure was applied to Zayn’s cock, to keep his orgasm just where Harry wanted it - almost ready to leave, but forced to stay, just for a minute or so more …

“Would you do it again?” Harry asked breathlessly.

To Harry’s surprise, Zayn nodded quickly.

“The tickling, y, yes …” Zayn clenched his teeth, wincing through his nose as teeth chewed over his second to last toe, “The feet, no … The fucking …” it took everything in Zayn to say the words, “… The fucking, no …”

Harry tried not to sound disappointed, “… You didn’t enjoy that? You don’t like me touching you, like I’m touching you now?”

Zayn’s eyes watered behind his blindfold as Harry ran the pad of his thumb over the tip of Zayn’s cock, “It’s not f, fair, mate … Not on L, Lou …”

Harry felt Zayn put him in his place, once again. If he were not bound and shuddering against the armchair, near eruption and soaked in sweat, Zayn might as well have carefully held onto Harry’s shoulders and gently positioned him into a different corner to the one Harry had so firmly cemented himself in. He might as well have said, ‘No, you think you belong here, you think you’re this person, well you’re wrong. You belong here, instead’, in a corner that did not represent betrayal, arrogance, a relentless force that did whatever they pleased whenever they please, but instead a corner that represented loyalty, respect to ones partner and a care for another’s physical and mental wellbeing.

Within that moment, Zayn confirmed his real purpose within these three days at Harry’s House; it was not to be Harry’s tickle slave, his toy or his tall standing piece of flesh to stroke, scratch, poke and play with … It was to be the person who would help Harry regain some much needed perspective.

With that considered, Harry allowed Zayn to cum, all whilst Louis stood in the living room doorway smiling, his arms folded, his fears and anxieties washed away forever at the sound of Zayn’s loyal and heartfelt words, “You were my first secret …” Harry whispered, his eyes glancing over at Louis, who had quietly arrived home just before Zayn had got out of the shower and had been blindfolded by Harry for their final session.

Zayn shuddered and grunted as his cock erupted, his fingers flexing, his jaw widening, his eyes bulging behind the blindfold as he was practically gifted as a way of thanks with one of the most intense orgasms of his life, after enduring so much tickle terror since he arrived here just three days ago; he sat there panting, his tongue hanging over his lower lip, his cock twitching within Harry’s grasp as Harry delivered some final words to a boy he had used to not only further expand his skill set as a tickler, but to provide a much needed conclusion between a relationship that was once uncertain and uncomfortable, a relationship that was now highly intimate and crystal clear in its future.

“… You’ve missed me, haven’t you …” Harry whispered the words he had whispered to Zayn in the kitchen over forty eight hours ago, as Louis stood smiling and listening in the background, “… You’ve been thinking about me everyday, since you left the band, haven’t you …”

Unlike before, where Zayn refused to answer Harry’s question, this time, a blindfolded Zayn, currently tied to Harry’s armchair, still trembling from his release, nodded quietly as he smiled into his chest.

“I have missed you, mate,” Zayn felt Harry pinch the blindfold, just as Louis turned away from the living room and tip toed up the staircase, into hiding, “And yeah, I, I’ve been thinking about you, everyday,” Zayn huffed, his breathless still present after shooting out such a strong release, “Since I left the band …” as Zayn’s blindfold was removed and a tall standing, nude Harry was presented before himm besides a roaring fire, Zayn blinked at his temporary tickler as he concluded their time together with six simple words …

“… But now, it’s time I go home.”

________________________________________

As the House of White Feathers helicopter flew over Harry’s House, where it aimed to land in the same nearby field it had landed in three days ago, Zayn stood at Harry’s open front door in the same things he had arrived in; a pair of briefs, with a ball gag dangling from his right hand and a hood dangling from his left.

Goosebumps brushed over the side of his neck as his nipples stiffened, the chilly and wet early evening air greeting his chest as Harry, also in just his underwear, arrived behind Zayn and placed a comforting hand over his shoulder.

“Was it everything you thought it would be?” Harry asked, as Zayn turned around to face his friend.

Zayn chuckled as he leant against the door frame, where he felt surprised to see Harry take a step closer towards him. That that was not the only thing Zayn felt; he also felt the tingle of the hairbrush still present over the bottoms of his feet, the itch of Harry’s fingernails in the middle of his armpits and the dampness of baby oil still lingering around the shape of his cock, “You sound like you expected me to have high hopes, like I was looking forward to it, or somethin’…” Zayn lifted his shoulders and glanced down at the butterflies tattooed on Harry’s chest, “It was …” Zayn kept his eyes off of Harry’s stare as he continued to take in the details of Harry’s tattoos, “… It was, way better—” Zayn sighed heavily, as if admitting that he had fun for the majority of his stay was a challenge in itself, “—Way, way better than I anything I had in mind. You’re a great tickler, Harry. You’re gonna drive a lot of guys fucking insane, you know that?” Zayn smiled as he placed his arm around Harry’s neck.

Harry smiled and shuffled into Zayn, resting his forehead against his chest as he closed his eyes.

“Thanks, mate …” he then began to tweak both of Zayn’s nipples with his thumbs and index fingers, “… You’re a great ticklee. If you ever fancy earning a few extra bob, you know where I am …”

Zayn chuckled into Harry’s head of hair as he kissed his scalp and twisted away from him, smacking his hands away from his nipples as the sound of footsteps treading over gravel began to approach Harry’s cottage.

Two Masked Henchmen soldiered towards both boys, where they then positioned themselves with straight backs and their hands at their sides, a foot or so away from both Harry and Zayn.

“Like I said,” Zayn stepped away from Harry, his bare soles pressing down over the many stones that made up Harry’s front drive, “Only if Louis’ is alright with it …” he nodded to the staircase, winking at Harry, “… Go ask him, after all, he’s been back for a while …” The Masked Henchmen began to cuff Zayn’s hands behind his back as the took the ball gag and hood away from him.

Harry cocked an eyebrow as he watched his tickler be manhandled back into the same position he had been delivered in.

“You saucy sod,” Harry scoffed, “How did you know? I thought we—”

—Zayn stood with his hands restrained behind his back, his mouth parting as The Masked Henchmen neared the ball gag towards his lips.

“Ah, mate …You’re not always as in control as you think you are,” Zayn said, his farewell being the last words he would say to Harry for the foreseeable future before he was gagged, “Take care, Haz … And tell Lou I said hello,” his mouth took the ball of plastic as The Masked Henchmen covered his handsome features with the hood.

Zayn was then escorted away from Harry’s House, leaving Harry with a final lesson learned.

***

“… And in three days, it’ll all be over. We’ll be back on that sofa, I’ll order that favourite Chinese you like … We’ll have some beers, do a couple of lines, watch Jurassic Park …” Harry grinned as he watched Louis smile, “… You feeling more chilled yet?”

***

Jurassic Park played on the television as Harry and Louis tucked into a Chinese takeaway, both seated so closely side by side that their shoulders rubbed every time they would dig their fork into the plastic container filled with chow mein.

Whilst things had felt more or less normal since Zayn had left, Harry could not shift the longer lengths of silence that had decided to show up between he and Louis, lengths of silence that were not there before Zayn had arrived. Before Harry could swallow down his noodles and turn towards his boyfriend, where he would ask if he were okay, Louis spoke …

“… I told you, lad, we’re not talking about it,” Louis kept his eyes on the velociraptors’s chasing the two children through the kitchen as he shoved a fork-full of chicken, pork and noodles into the back of his mouth, “I shaid that before he got here,” Louis explained, his mouth filled with food, “Whatever you both got up to,” Louis swallowed down, “I’m not bothered. Yeah, you let me see some of it, the bit at the end, I …” Louis placed the fork into the plastic container and turned towards Harry, finally giving him his face, “… I get that it got intimate, I, I knew it would … Because, I knew it had to, for everything to move on …” Louis wiped his mouth clear of grease as Harry continued to listen quietly, “Us boys know each other in ways I think we sometimes underestimate.”

Harry pursed his lips as he looked down into his takeaway box and nodded slowly, a tiny burp leaving his lips; if anything, Zayn simply knowing that Louis had come home earlier, no matter how well he had kept himself out of the way, was proof of Louis’ statement.

For Louis, those were pretty wise words, words spoken by someone who had endured their own form of torture, not the kind actioned by electric toothbrushes or feathers, but the kind created by anxiety, the not knowing, paranoia and the desperate need for their own form of closure, their own reassurance that the two friends he had unintentionally torn apart were now glued back together, in just the way he wanted them to be.

Harry placed his takeaway beside him and then hugged his knees, angling his body so that it faced Louis; hearing Louis be so open and vulnerable, not just now but three days ago also, informed Harry that Louis really did mean what he said in the warmth of his bed over seventy two hours ago. Louis did not care about what Harry and Zayn had been up to, within this living room, inside the kitchen, in the bedrooms upstairs; he did not care about the level of screaming, the erections and arousals, the fingertips brushing over taints or the lips pressed against shoulder blades … All Louis cared about was that his two friends were happy again.

Harry spoke in a deep toned, Mancunian mumble.

“I love you, Lou.”

Louis blinked quietly as he looked down at Harry’s mouth; he tried his hardest not to smile, not to let the feeling of pure elation completely take over his body, where it had already filled the muscles beneath his skin as soon as Harry said what he said, causing him to smile regardless of his attempts, his eyes falling shut as he and Harry leaned into each other and began to kiss …

T H R E E D A Y S L A T E R . . .

Whilst Louis screamed into his ball gag, strapped to The Bench downstairs with three electric toothbrushes taped to his taint, Harry sat naked at the kitchen table with his laptop open.

… Files uploading … 97% complete …

Since Zayn had been transported back to The States, The House of White Feathers had contacted Harry and informed him that when The Masked Tickler had spent a week with Harry, The HOWF had expertly broke their way into Harry’s cottage and installed several hidden cameras in areas of his home, prior to Zayn’s arrival; this way, they could capture Zayn’s reactions and Harry’s techniques without either boys knowing they were being filmed.

Harry was on strict orders to not inform Zayn of this set up. The content would soon be sold to thousands of exclusive House of White Feathers members, making millions for the cult, so much so that they could even afford to pay Harry back the money he gave Zayn, after he allowed Harry to tickle his feet at such a high price.

A one of a kind narrative that even Harry was not aware of, within the very place he lived …

Once the files were uploaded, Harry had been told that a decision would be made within the next hour.

As the fifty ninth minute passed, an email landed in Harry’s inbox.

Harry smiled in satisfaction as he downloaded the emails attachment …

… Tickets to Sweden.

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