CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN - ‘DOLL’

2016

Somewhere in Italy…

Twenty year old Timothée Chalamet lay on the grass in a pair of swimming shorts and a stripy t-shirt, with navy blue espadrilles on his feet.

He popped sunglasses over his eyes, the blinding sun and burning blue sky above overwhelming in its persistent beat.

As he ran his hands through short curls of hair, he felt the presence of new friend Armie Hammer sitting down beside him.

By now he had got used to Armie’s weight, the scent of his cologne, the way he moved …

Even with his eyes closed he knew it was his co-star arriving to make conversation, script in hand.

“Can’t leave me alone for five minutes?” Tim teased, kicking off his espadrilles with the toe of each foot.

Armie’s eyes landed on Tim’s now bare feet.

He watched Tim curl his toes as the warm air drifted through their betweens. 

Armie cleared his throat, flapping the sheets of paper in his grasp so that they straightened out.

“I’ve got something I wanna ad lib, you cocky bastard,“ Armie announced.

Tim tucked his hands behind his head, revealing armpits full of mousy brown tufts of hair.

Armie licked his lips.

He’s fucking killing me.

“Shoot,” Tim nodded.

Armie sat with his legs stretched out, one hand leaning behind him.

“When you get your nosebleed and I massage your feet … I’m going to kiss your foot. It’s not in the script, but it’s something I can see Oliver doing.”

Tim smiled, his complete and utter nativity to Armie’s real intentions more present than ever.

“I like that.”

Armie sat back in internal relief as he rested the script over a patch of garden.

“I’m glad.”

Tim took his hands away from the back of his head and rested his arms at either of his sides.

He spoke in a slow, sleepy drawl, the early starts of each day and the humid weather getting the better of him after weeks and weeks of shooting.

“It says so much without saying anything at all,” Tim wafted away a bug temporarily landing on his nose, “Oliver is falling for Elio, every part of him, from head to toe.”

Armie could see Tim’s eyes closing behind his sunglasses.

This would be his chance to take his stare away from Tim’s face and down to his feet.

There they were, laid out on the grass; still, perfect, unattainable.

He thinks he knows me.

He thinks we’re close.

He has no idea.

Armie thought about how it would feel, later in the afternoon, where they’d soon be surrounded by cameras, Luca, assistants and boom mics. 

He’ll have a tissue under his nose, I’ll have his foot in my lap.

It’s a chance. Do it without him knowing.

A scratch under the toes. A thumb into the arch.

I wonder how he’ll react…

A slight snore broke Armie from his daze.

Tim wriggled his nose, his mouth parting, his chest lifting slowly.

“Timothée?”

No response.

Just insects and crickets and the buzz of Summer.

The boy is asleep.

Armie crawled over to Tim’s feet, making only a slight rustling noise over the grass.

He lay down on his front, his head facing Tim’s right sole.

He picked out a long strand of greenery.

He used it to stroke the length of Tim’s index toe, a part of Tim that had caught his eye the very first day Tim had taken off his shoes and socks, on set. 

Tim’s foot twitched.

Armie felt his throat stiffen, his lips dry up.

He sent the grass carefully between Tim’s index toe and big toe.

Tim’s toes curled, stretching out into the humid summer air.

He then crossed his legs at the ankle, his toes flexing out the random itch, an itch that felt ticklish enough to react but not constant enough to question.

Armie was clever enough to know when to stop, to not push it, to not raise suspicion. 

He twirled the strand of grass between his finger and thumb, rolling over to his back, squinting his eyes up at a blanket of blistering blue.

Tim would never be like the many other hundreds of other young men and women Armie had tickled in his past.

He’d never be able to get him in a position like that.

Bound, naked, consented and dribbling.

For now, what he had; the random armpit invasions, the jabs at his side, the grass between the toes … 

It would be enough.

After all, a man can dream.

Eighteen days into The Agreement.

Twelve days left …

Tim woke up to the warm feeling of a tongue curling around the toes of his right foot.

His left remained fixed to the corner of the mattress with the usual ankle restraint.

As Tim opened his eyes, a smooth palm held onto his leg, securing it in place.

At the end of the bed, on the floor, Armie knelt naked, his mouth now devouring all five of Tim’s toes at once.

His saliva drenched muscle invaded their fleshy lengths, their sensitive, plump ends.

His fingers trailed down the leg hairs of Tim’s calf, where they gently held onto the sides of Tim’s foot.

Tim inhaled sharply through flared nostrils as sunlight flickered over his eyes from the tiny gap between two pulled curtains. 

“What … What time is it …?”

He wanted to reach for his iPhone but his movements were put on hold thanks to the unbearable need to sit up and grab at Armie, just when the tongue began its journey around his right index toe.

Over crumpled bed sheets and skin-scented linen, Tim clawed his hand out towards Armie’s head, his fingers taking hold of his blonde tufts of hair.

Armie kept Tim’s toes in his mouth, his foot held with both hands, as blue eyes peered up in an innocent, puppy dog gaze.

Tim’s tightened grip on Armie’s sandy strands loosened.

“What are you doing?” He asked quietly, unable to hide his smile.

Armie slid Tim’s toes out of his mouth.

He eyed them in concentration, taking in their shape, their smell, their overall beauty.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Armie licked his lips, “There’s no one else here …” he kissed Tim’s big toe, “… It’s just you and me, finally, just like we wanted …”

Tim smirked to himself as he watched Armie kiss each toe individually.

“You’ve done this once before,” Tim noted, in a gravelly voice still waking up, “But you wore more clothes last time.”

Armie’s lips made their way over to Tim’s little toe.

He took it between his teeth, applying pressure, already fastening his grip on Tim’s ankle.

Tim scrunched his nose, tilted his head, lifted his shoulders.

“I can get dressed if you like…” Armie began to suck the toe as if it were a small piece of candy.

Tim slowly lay down on his back, his naked weight sinking further into the bed.

He stared up at the ceiling, his right hand taking hold of the growing arousal hidden underneath the sheets.

“No…” he croaked, “Keep doing what you’re doing. Just … Don’t bite …”

Tim pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, his stiffening muscle now resting in his palm.

“Noted…” Armie spoke into Tim’s toes, sucking them, kissing them, licking them as he delivered his words, “… No biting …” his index finger pressed gently against Tim’s right heel, “… Am I allowed to do this?”

Tim peeled his eyes open and clenched his teeth as Armie slowly took his finger up the sole of his foot, where it stopped under his third toe, its arrival announced by a persistent scratch.

Tim jerked his foot back a little, his left fist clenching into a ball, his right hand still so very much wanting to stay curled around a now entirely hard erection.

“You’ll kill me if you do that,” he hissed.

Armie grinned into Tim’s arch, breathing in the musk of his silky soft skin.

“I know those words …”

Tim moaned, the rub against his hard-on speeding up.

Armie ran his tongue over the side of Tim’s foot, planting it at the end of the mattress carefully and neatly, like a delicate artefact. 

He then stood slowly; his triumphant, tanned physique towering over Tim, his own erection standing to full attention.

“Stop touching yourself,” Armie ordered.

Tim took his right hand away from his chance at relief where it moved up to his face, his palm now covering his forehead. 

He huffed, keeping his eyes shut.

“How’s your neck?” Armie asked, folding long arms over a broad, hairy chest.

Tim’s fingertips slid away from his head, down past his chin, where they soothed over a dark bruise between his jaw and collarbone: evidence of how Armie can switch so quickly from a kind, caring friend to a vampiric, lusting animal devout only to pure and undeniable control.

“It’s just a love bite…” Tim mumbled, lifting his shoulders, “… I’d forgotten it was even there.”

He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, glancing out of the bedroom window casually, his stance suggesting he didn’t really care nor pay much attention to Armie’s attempts at edging him the way he did the night before.

Armie smiled flatly, admiring Tim’s attempt to act so unbothered.

“Show me your balls,” he demanded.

Tim frowned, shuffling a little further up the bed where he rested his back on two plump pillows.

“What? Wh-why?”

Armie strengthened the fold of his arms around his chest, keeping his eyes on Tim.

Tim didn’t want to keep looking at Armie’s erection, but …

The thing keeps staring me in the face.

Damn, I forgot how big it …

… That’s gonna h—

“—Now … ” Armie demanded.

Tim cleared his throat, both hands holding onto the bed sheets.

He peeled them away from his lower body.

He sat, cross legged, his balls and erection on display.

“Hm…” Armie knelt down on the bed and leaned in, his right hand cupping Tim’s balls carefully.

Tim inhaled sharply, biting his lower lip afterward.

Armie lifted them within the palm of his hand, assessing their weight, their size, the amount of orgasm contained within them.

“Go take a shower,” Armie’s fingers moved up to the base of Tim’s solid shaft, where his index finger and thumb curled around it, “Be no longer than thirty minutes…” he tightened his hold, causing the twenty three year old to sit up and glare at Armie with fierce confusion, much like he had whilst pressed up against the hallway wall yesterday evening, “… And get dressed, fully, in an outfit … As if you were going out for the day …”

Tim widened his jaw, his face creasing up in pain as Armie continued to fasten his grip.

“Man, why the fuck do you keep—“

“—And make sure,” Armie spoke calmly, his gradual, polite way of talking a complete contrast to Tim’s panicked, breathless presentation, “That you impress me with your style …”

Tim’s fingers clawed at the pillow behind him, his legs lifting slightly off the mattress.

“Okay okay okay okay okay—” 

Armie let go of Tim, who collapsed into a ball over bedsheets creased by alarm.

He stood away from the bed, licking his fingers, tasting Tim’s skin from their tips.

“I’ll see you in half an hour,” he said.

***

Armie sat in the middle of Sub Zero, on a large black leather armchair. 

He was dressed in a tight navy t-shirt, smart stone coloured trousers and suede Chelsea boots. 

Surrounding him was nothing but the wide, empty expanse of clinical flooring, long white walls and a brightly lit ceiling made up of square lights. 

He watched the corner of the room as the elevator arrived from the basement above with an unsteady clank.

Tim pulled the doors apart and stepped out onto reflective flooring, his leather combat boots making a high pitched squeak.  

Armie smiled, his previous request successfully fulfilled.

“You look … Sensational.”

Tim hid a blush by lowering his head, curls of hair littering his face.

He approached Armie in a confident stride.

Once a few metres opposite him, he stood with his hands behind his back, his feet a little apart.

He presented himself in camouflage print shorts, a black crop top, an oversized leather jacket, with silver rings in various shapes and sizes decorating his fingers.

Armie stood - he paced around Tim and stopped when he arrived behind him. 

He lifted the hem of Tim’s jacket, revealing the flesh of his lower spine, on display thanks to the shortened length of the crop top.

Armie bit his lip, with one thought and one thought only landing in his head.

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Armie then paced back around Tim, returning to face him.

He glanced down at Tim’s exposed stomach, his tiny belly button, the grooved ‘V’ that made up the skinny yet muscular shapes of his hips and waist.

An area he had tickled dozens of times before, an area that only up until now had the power in itself to create a giant arousal within Armie’s trousers.

He gently pressed his index finger over Tim’s front, drawing circles around his navel.

Tim lowered his head, his green eyes watching Armie’s finger carefully, urging it not to tickle, not to move anywhere else besides where it currently circled.

Armie’s entire current entity spoke words Armie didn’t need to verbalise by mouth.

His soft breathing, his calm yet curious stare over Tim’s intentionally revealed space of skin communicated how provocative he thought Tim’s ensemble. It felt mind-blowing for Armie to watch someone transform from stylish and attractive, to masculine and sexy, just by presenting a small gap of flesh.

Armie gathered his thoughts and then returned both hands to his side.

“Sit down.”

Tim did as ordered and stepped back towards the leather chair.

He took a seat, his behind appreciating the warmth left by Armie. 

Tim looked from side to side.

He relaxed into the padded confines, entwining his ring decorated fingers between each other, resting his hands over his bare stomach.

“No straps … No bondage … No equipment…” Tim raised his eyebrows, stroking his jaw, laughter falling out of his mouth, it’s bellow echoing out into the clear white expanse of Sub Zero,  “… Is this a date?”

Armie chuckled, both hands sliding into his trouser pockets.

“Timothée … All of our sessions have been dates. You should know that by now.”

Tim nodded in understanding, mouthing the word ‘oh’.

Armie continued his pace, this time slower, around Tim’s chair.

“Although, today will be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced,” Armie announced, “And once it’s over, you may not even remember experiencing it.” 

Tim blinked a few times, squinting his eyes in focus, offering no verbal response, just a concentrated expression and listening ears. 

Armie arrived to the left of Tim, where he paused to further explain the session.

“It’ll be acute… Extraordinary … Intense, as you may expect. And, like you’ve already noted, you won’t be bound … You won’t be blindfolded … You won’t be gagged … You won’t be given a safe word …” 

Armie leant into the side of Tim’s head, whispering into his ear, “… It’s likely you’ll wake up feeling far different to how you feel right now.”

Tim clenched his jaw as he watched Armie head towards the right side wall.

“Uh … Wake, wake up?”

Armie slid his hand into the pack of his trouser pocket and pulled out the same tiny remote he had handled during Tim’s session in The Box.

He pressed a button and just as before, a section of the wall slid silently upward, where it disappeared into the ceiling completely.

In the now revealed space of wall sat a small cotton doll, its head, arms and legs propped up by individual plastic stands. 

The Doll had button eyes, rosy cheeks and a little red line for a mouth that had been woven to shape out a pleasant smile. From its head sprouted curly brown woollen hair and it wore no clothes except for white pants hand stitched to look like Calvin Kleins. 

Tim sat up, using the arms of the chair to lift himself a little from his seat; he stretched his body so that he could peer around Armie, who currently blocked out the wall's contents. 

Armie picked up The Doll and returned to his standing position opposite Tim.

He then handed The Doll to his lee.

Tim’s face exploded into an entertained, surprised smile.

Completely speechless, he could do nothing but cup his jaw in disbelief, Armie nudging The Doll closer towards Tim.

“Say hello to you.”

Tim carefully took The Doll from Armie, resting it gently over his lap.

He sat in silence, admiring the little details such as the stitched nipples and belly button, the lines that made up fingers and toes.

“He’s  …” Tim smiled, poking The Doll’s face, “… He’s cute.” 

Armie held out his hand, curling his fingers around The Doll as Tim handed it back, “… He’s ticklish, too.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at The Doll as it dangled in Armie’s grasp.

“Did you … Make that—” Tim corrected himself immediately, conscious not to offend, “—Him, him, I mean…”

Armie held The Doll at his side, taking a few steps away from Tim.

“So what if I did?” He shot back.

Tim raised his eyebrows and hands at the same time, readjusting himself within the seat.

Armie held The Doll close to his chest, tilting his head to the left.

“Do … You see where this is going?” He asked.

Tim fingered his chin in thought, his gaze trailing over the cotton limbs that made up the miniature version of himself.

He sat back, a sense of success wafting over him as he slouched into his seat.

“Hypnosis,” he declared.

Armie turned his back on Tim as he went to the corner of Sub Zero to retrieve the same stool he had sat on just yesterday.

He grabbed it and then plonked it down opposite his lee.

“Correct,” he perched, “You came to the conclusion faster than I expected…”

Tim smirked, raising both eyebrows in a high arch.

“It’s a voodoo doll, Armie. It … Kinda speaks for itself.”

Armie crossed both legs casually at the knee.

“Have you ever been hypnotised before?” He asked.

Tim shook his head.

“No… “ he then leant forward, his curiosity lifting, “Is, is that something you can do?” 

Armie pursed his lips.

“Oh, I’m a professional…”

Armie rested The Doll on his right knee.

He then lifted his index finger into the middle of the space of air between himself and Tim.

Tim’s eyes crossed into Armie’s index finger where they blinked a few times before fixing into a widened stare.

“Alright,” Armie cleared his throat, “You’ll slip into this without noticing. And when I snap my fingers, you’ll be out.”

Tim nodded slowly. “Okay. And, uh … Thanks,” Tim huffed, “For not tying me up this time.”

“You’re welcome,” Armie began to wave his finger from side to side, “I figured, after such a restrictive session yesterday, this time you deserved to be a little more … Free …”

Tim smiled, his head following the finger, his eyes now blinking normally.

“Well, I appreciate it.”

Armie nodded, suddenly keeping his finger still.

“Now, keep your eyes on my finger, Tim. It’s an important finger, isn’t it … It’s been inside you. Follow it’s importance, and don’t take your eyes off of it.”

Tim’s facial expression fell blank as he focused on Armie’s finger.

Armie moved the finger slowly from left to right.

“Tick … Tock … Tick… Tock …” he whispered, as Tim’s body began to relax.

Left to right, left to right, left to right …

“You’re starting to feel sleepy, Tim. My voice is starting to fade away …”

Tim’s eyelids began to feel heavy.

Focusing on Armie’s finger became far more challenging than he’d anticipated.

“Tick … Tock … Tick … Tock …” Armie continued, “... Tiredness overwhelms you, Tim. Your toes feel like jelly, and that sensation continues around your feet and ankles. Up your legs and past your waist, all the way through the muscles of your torso, your shoulders, your neck…”

Tim closed his eyes.

His head fell a little forward, slumping over his chest.

“The feeling has now made it’s way down your arms, over your hands, to the very ends of your fingertips … Can you feel it, Tim?”

Tim nodded slowly.

Armie placed both hands down and addressed Tim in a quiet murmur.

“Timothee … Can you hear me?”

A long pause and then a jerk of Tim’s head as he sat up straight, looking Armie directly in the eye.

“Yeah…” he breathed in a sharp take of air through flared nostrils, now fully under hypnosis, “I can hear you.”

“Good,” Armie smiled, noticing how glazed over Tim’s eyes seemed to be, “I must say, picking a crop top for an outfit around someone with a tickling fetish, it’s a risky choice. One might come to the conclusion that you’re asking for it.”

Tim, in an oblivious yet casual trance, peered down to his exposed stomach, his eyes travelling over the leather jacket covering his arms.

“It’s just a stomach,” Tim spoke quietly, a gradual smile taking over his lips.

Armie shook his head slowly.

“… ‘It’s just a love bite’ … ‘It’s just a stomach’…” he tutted, “… You should know by now that there is no ‘it’s just’ in this building…”

Tim whispered, mostly in an attempt to reassure himself.

“… It’s just tickling.”

Armie tapped the middle of The Doll’s chest with his index finger.

Tim cleared his throat, an uncomfortable itch appearing over his right nipple.

Tim rubbed it away, sitting up straight.

Armie then tapped The Doll’s left foot.

Tim’s left foot began to squirm within the confines of his sock and boot.

Another clear of the throat, this time more forceful.

“Everything alright, Timothée?”

Tim scratched the back of his neck, before quickly scratching at his left side.

“Uh, yeah. I’m, I’m good …”

Armie arched an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” He asked, “You seem a little … Itchy.”

Tim chuckled nervously, his right hand reaching up his crop top and into his right armpit, where he began to scratch aggressively.

“N-No, it’s fine I uh — damn — I just, it’s just …”

“… It’s ‘just an itch’ …?” Armie pressed.

Tim kicked out his left foot.

“Yo! Fuck!”

He scratched his armpit with one hand whilst sending the fingers of his other into the gap of his left boot, where they clawed down the side of his ankle, making further scratches.

“What’s wrong, Tim? Getting itchy feet?”

Tim took in a deep slice of breath through pursed lips.

He then began to shrug off his leather jacket.

“Is there something fucking on me, man? I can’t deal—“ Tim removed his jacket, scratching his fingers up and down his arms, his legs kicking out the more he sensed itchiness over the bottoms of his feet.

Armie hid laughter with the back of his hand.

This is funner than I thought it would be.

“Hmm. Maybe, maybe it’s your clothes that are itchy…” Armie acted up, as if trying to help, “… Maybe the best thing to do is to take them all off?”

Tim nodded, a creased sense of concern now displayed over his face.

“You’re, you’re right—“ he began with his boots, the itchiness over the tops and sides of his feet too much to bare, “Fuck, this is insane! Why, why is this h-happening?”

Armie played dumb as he watched Tim yank off his right boot.

“You must have ants in your pants.”

Tim winced, dropping the boot immediately, his hands grasping the betweens of his thighs.

“Damn, man, fuck! Oh god— Oh shit!”

He stood abruptly, now enduring an overwhelming itch beneath his underwear, whilst having to handle an overwhelming and persistent itch over the rest of his body.

Tim pulled his shorts down to his ankles and then started to scratch in and around his balls.

He jumped on the spot, hoping each land would eliminate itchiness taking place around his toes.

Armie sat comfortably, watching Tim panic in a frantic twist of scratching and rubbing.

“I think, quite honestly, the best thing to do is to just strip yourself, Tim.”

Tim sent fingers into the curls of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut as the itchiness travelled over his scalp.

“But th, that means I’ll be—“

“—Naked,” Armie confirmed, nodding just once, “Just like your doll.”

Tim stomped his feet, giving in straight away, his hands now pulling his crop top over his head where he threw it across the wide, empty expanse of Sub Zero.

As it landed on the crystal clear reflective floor, Tim then yanked off his remaining boot.

He kicked away his underwear and shorts; he scratched at the itches that crawled over his sides, legs, knees, elbows, shins and feet.

Tim plonked himself down over the leather seat, hooking his right foot over his left knee.

He pulled off his sock, gasping in relief, now able to fully scratch away at the bare sole of his foot.

He did the same with his left, arching his back as increasing itches arrived at the bottom of his spine, working their way up his shoulder blades and neck.

He sat there, entirely nude besides some rings on his fingers, scratching at every new itch formed, his face red with fluster, curls of hair hiding his eyes.

He began to press down his feet, his bare soles making no noise at all over the clean white floor.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He cried, “Make it stop, Armie, please, man, make it fucking stop!”

Armie raised his left hand.

"When I snap my fingers, it'll stop. Do you want me to snap my fingers, Tim?"

Tim buried his face into his palms.

"Click your damn fingers, man! Please! Click your damn f--"

Armie clicked his fingers.

Snap!

Tim, breathless and dishevelled, rubbed away dying itches as he slumped into the leather of his chair.

“Damn,” he sniffed, wiping some emotion away from his nose, “Th, thank you …”

Armie smiled, closing his eyes slowly, nodding into his chest.

“Feeling better?” He asked.

Tim eyed his clothes, now littering the space around him.

“Feeling … Naked,” he blushed, pushing curls of hair back over his head.

Armie licked his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“No itch, between your left big and index toe?”

Tim went to shake his head, but before he could do so, an itch appeared in the exact same spot Armie had just enquired.

Tim grabbed hold of his left foot and rubbed away at his big toe and index toe, his fingers invading the betweens in a desperate attempt to scratch away the irritating sensation.

“Shit, mother fuc—“ Tim squeezed his lips together, the veins beneath his love bite stiffening into a thick bulge, “—this fucking sucks!”

Armie held up his left hand.

“It should ease, now…”

The itch faded as soon as Armie’s hand lowered.

Tim sighed out relief, slouching back into the chair, his palms still brushing over areas of his skin that still presented a slight tingle.

Armie, still with The Doll perched over his right knee, took his index finger towards Tim and then pointed at the floor.

“Now, sit with your back against the chair and place both feet down, firmly on the ground.”

Tim sat back, surprised by his lack of questioning Armie as to why he had to move into such a strict position - the words were in his mind, but he couldn’t speak them.

Without wanting to, he found himself planting both feet down over the shiny surface of Sub Zero’s floor, his back straightening, his soles resting over a reflective glimmer, his ability to control his own movements somewhat missing.

Armie pressed another button on the remote.

The sound of tweeting birds, chirping crickets and trickling water came through hidden speakers contained within the corners of the room. 

“You’re outside,” Armie announced, “Isn’t the weather gorgeous?”

Tim closed his eyes, a peaceful smile working its way over his face.

“Just like Italy.”

Armie tapped each of The Doll’s cotton feet.

“Yes, just like Italy. You’re on your set chair, the sky is blue, the sun is warming your skin …” Armie smoothed his own jaw as he waited for Tim to react, “… And the grass is between your toes.”

Tim curled his toes upwards, his calmed posture now flinching into a sudden jolt.

“The uh … The grass is, is moving …”

Armie watched Tim’s toes wiggle, like worms fresh out of morning soil.

“It is? Does it tickle?”

Tim’s grin tightened as he squashed his jaw into his left shoulder. 

“Fuck, yes!”

Armie adopted a confused tone.

“Well, move your feet, kid! Why can’t you lift your feet from the grass?”

Tim clawed each arm of the chair, his knuckles burning white.

“I uh …” he tried to move his legs, “… I, I can’t — I can’t move my damn—“

Armie continued to entertain Tim’s ordeal.

“You can’t? Not even a little? Not even now that the grass is starting to move faster between your toes?”

Tim collapsed into deep, grainy giggles, shaking his head quickly.

“I, I fucking can’t, man! I’m telling you! I can’t lift my feet!”

The muscles in Tim’s legs revealed themselves as Tim tried to bring his feet up and towards the seat, but they remained practically glued to the floor.

“Goodness, that must be so annoying …” Armie grinned, “… It looks like it’s starting to tickle the bottoms of your feet…”

Tim reached over his thighs, grabbing at ‘the strands of grass’ beneath his feet and between his toes, strands now growing and curling in their maddening torment, so clearly visible to him but so utterly invisible and non-existent for Armie.

“It’s fucking insane, man!” Tim growled, his shoulders slamming against the back of the chair, his teeth clenched, his throat expelling hysterical laughter.

Armie peered down over Tim’s feet.

“Is there something else sprouting from the ground, Timothée?” 

Tim chewed into his palms, his toes flexing and stretching out in a manic curl.

“Fuck!” Fear washed over reddening cheeks, “There is? What, what—”

Armie narrated the visuals, his imagination formulating any scenario he wanted to mould against and around his lee.

“It looks like a, a thick vine, of some kind …” Armie began, “Oh, Tim, watch out! It’s wrapping around your left ankle …”

Tim used his hands to grab at ‘the vine’, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“It’s making its way up your leg…!” Armie took excited eyes over Tim’s flaccid penis, to his stomach, up his chest, “It’s curling around your body and it’s making its way towards your head, oh fuck, Tim, it’s going inside your mouth…!”

Tim started to gag, his hands now grabbing at his own throat, his belly still forcing out laughter thanks to the intense grass tickling the bottoms of his feet.

“Pl-ple-eease,” Tim choked, his knees bouncing up and down in terror, “He-help m-m-me—“

Armie clicked his finger once again.

Snap!

Tim slumped into the chair, heaving in much needed oxygen via a lengthy, heaving gasp.

Silence then filled Sub Zero as Armie quietly hooked one leg over his knee.

Tim coughed into his fist, spluttering and hacking until he felt his throat was free of garden.

Once convinced, he blinked, lifting his feet up above the floor.

He wiggled his toes, rubbing his hand over the back of his head in a confused state.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—“

Armie raised his right hand.

“Take a breath … And relax…”

Tim did as asked, breathing in … 

… And then breathing out.

His chest lifted and lowered, lifted and lowered, until he finally sat still and a little less flustered.

Armie bit the nail of his right thumb as he watched Tim tidy up curls of hair.

“How are you finding it, so far?” He asked.

Tim straightened his back, returning both hands to each arm of the chair in confidence.

“I … I can take it,” he declared.

Armie flashed eyebrows upward in surprise.

“Your confidence has grown, kid. Do you realise how different you are compared to when you first stepped foot inside this building?”

Tim wiped away some sweat from his upper lip.

“A lot’s changed,” Tim couldn’t help but glance down at the growing bulge in Armie’s chinos.

Armie cleared his throat, closing his legs a little.

“Touché.”

Tim, almost arrogantly, slid deeper into the chair, a flirtatious smirk decorating his mouth.

Armie felt his throat tighten.

Tim’s actions had started to intimidate him, and that was something Armie couldn’t allow.

“Alright,” Armie drew a circle in the air, around Tim’s left side, keen to regain control, “What do you see?”

Tim took in his surroundings, his head shifting from left to right.

“I see you … I see The, The Doll … The chair I’m sat on, the, the empty space ar—“

“—Excellent,” Armie swallowed down the need to pounce Tim, to devour him right there and then, “Now, keep your hands where they are, over each arm of the chair,” Armie drew another circle over the space of air around Tim’s right side.

Tim burrowed his face into an angry frown, hissing in resentment as he tried to pull his hands back towards himself.

“Ah, man, come on, you, you said you weren’t going to tie me down …”

Armie drew circles near Tim’s ankles and thighs, as Tim witnessed leather straps lift from the seat and curl around his limbs, securing him in place.

Armie watched Tim struggle to move, ‘tied’ to a seat with bondage that was not there.

“But I haven’t, Tim. There’s nothing keeping you from getting up and going wherever you’d like …”

Tim curled his fists into balls, frustration overwhelming him.

“I’m serious, man, I, I can’t—” he growled under his breath, “… I can’t fucking move!”

Armie held The Doll in his right hand whilst his left hand wiggled over The Doll’s left foot.

“Oh, you can’t? I’m sorry about that …”

Despite not being touched physically, Armie’s press over The Doll’s left cotton foot sent Tim into maddened laughter.

“You’re not fucking sorry!” He cried, “You’re anything but fucking sorry!”

He thrashed his head from side to side, hair littering his face, his widened jaw stretched out in a fierce display of uncontrollable lunacy.

“Right there,” Armie teased, “Just above your heel…”

Tim tried to move his feet, to kick and punch, to peel his back away from the chair, but he remained stuck to the seat, his soles pressed firmly against the floor.

“Man, no, come on, come on—“ He buried his face into his chest, catching his own skin between his teeth, “Stop, stop, stop, stop—”

Armie then fingered under The Doll’s right armpit.

Tim jolted to the right, trying to pull his arm inward, but his ‘wrist restraint’ kept him from doing so.

“Okay, Timmy, let’s play a game. How does that sound?”

Tim’s head hung over his chest, his eyes shooting up behind curls at his tickler with a glare that said, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to make this stop’…

“We’re going to count to ten. And you’re going to repeat each number. Until the countdown is done, you’ll continue to feel the tickle torture you currently feel - is that understood?” 

Tim faced the ceiling as Armie continued to wiggle his fingers over the woollen ends of The Doll’s feet.

“Alright, alright, alright!”

Armie sent his finger up between The Dolls thighs, where it remained pressed between an area that created an unbearable sensation across Tim’s physical taint.

“Okay, let’s begin… One …”

Tim bounced around on the seat, still fastened into position by restraints he felt convinced were there, his body morphing into scrunched up shapes whilst the sensitive area between his ass and balls suffered an excruciatingly ticklish attack.

“ONE!”

Armie then took his finger to The Doll’s sides, tapping the woollen surface gently just once. 

“… Two…”

Tim twisted into himself, arching his back and wriggling his waist.

“DAMN—” He cried, his voice filled with distress, “TWO—”

Armie then laid The Doll out over his lap, taking two index fingers into each of The Doll’s underarms.

“… Three…”

Tim exploded into mania as one of his worst spots became violated without mercy.

“OH GOD THREE, FUCKING THREE—”

Armie then spun The Doll around, sending his fingers over a stitched together back.

“… Four …”

Tim twisted in agony, saliva seeping out of his mouth as his laughter became constant, it’s deep bellow filling the expanse of Sub Zero.

“FOUR, FOUR, FOUR—”

Armie stayed over that spot with one finger whilst the other returned to The Doll’s left foot.

“… Five …” 

Armie continued his fingers wriggles, the squashiness of The Doll easily felt beneath his tickle, 

“… Six …”

The chair Tim had been ‘tied’ to shook from side to side, its occupier now a sweaty, naked mess with only a manic grin dressed across his face.

“… F-F-FIVE … S-S-SIX …—”

Armie took his index finger away from The Doll’s back and then toward its neck, whilst keeping his other finger at The Doll’s left foot.

“… Seven …”

Tim squeezed watering eyes shut, pressing his jaw against his chest, his fingers flexing, his toes scrunching up.

“—SEVEN, FUCK, STOP, STOP, PLEASE—“

Armie then returned to both armpits, each finger wiggling into each cotton depth.

“… Eight … Nine …”

Tim gave into erratic spasms, his curls of hair falling into thousands of wavy strands occupying his sight, his strained body enduring the heaves of laughter that currently distorted his stomach into the solid bulges that made up his muscular abs.

“—EIGHT,” he screamed, his eyes now bloodshot, “NINE—“

Armie smirked, his fingers remaining within The Doll’s underarms.

“Nine…” 

He teased, holding off on reaching ten, “… Nine … Nine …”

Tim shot a confused, ferocious glare at Armie, his hair covering most of his red-tinted face.

“NO—” Tim cried, his eyes wide, his busy eyebrows straightened into a flat burrow, “—TEN, NO, FUCK, COME ON MAN, TEN, FUCKING GOD DAMN TEN—“

Armie continued to scratch The Doll’s underarms.

“… Nine …” he chuckled in amusement, “… Nine …”

Tim tried to clasp his arms against his sides, throwing his head into a violent, circular twist.

“… TEN! TEN! COME ON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? TEN, TEN, TEN!”

Armie’s fingers left The Doll.

He smiled, resting the object back over his left knee as Tim slumped into the seat, his sweat-soaked skin squeaking against its leather.

As he began to attempt to catch his breath, Armie licked his lips and in a complete opposite to Tim’s current state, he calmly said the word, 

“Ten”.

***

Armie stood before Tim, his shadow blanketing the young man’s slim, hyper sensitive frame.

“Hold out your hand,” Armie commanded.

Tim watched his own right hand leave the arm of the chair, where it unwillingly turned through the air, facing Armie palm up.

Armie placed The Doll into Tim’s hand.

“Hold this, and do not let go.”

Tim nodded quickly, anxiety bubbling within the pit of his stomach.

Armie returned to his stool, taking a seat quietly.

As Tim curled his fingers around the cotton body of The Doll in his grasp, he adjusted himself in his seat, now with his breath fully caught, the thin layer of sweat once covering his body now all dried up.

Armie pointed at Tim’s crotch, drawing a circle in the space of air above his thighs.

“You can feel your legs opening, can’t you, Tim?”

Tim looked down at each leg.

His eyes widened as they slowly began to part, spreading outward, without his consent or control. 

Tim tried to speak the words in his head, words unable to leave his lips.

What are you doing?

What’s happening next?

Where, where am I?

He even tried to pull his legs back together.

But his feet slid outward also, his soles planting down over the squeaky clean floor below.

Tim now sat up straight, The Doll in hand, his legs so forcefully pulled apart that the insides of his thighs began to burn.

“Can you feel that, Tim?”

Tim began to lose his breath.

He glanced down into his lap.

“That unexpected feeling of arousal?” Armie nodded at the space between Tim’s legs, “It starts small, but then it grows, more intense … Second by second?”

Tim nodded in surprise, his eyes widening in shock, a pleasurable ache forming above his balls.

From his perspective, he spoke his thoughts clearly, but for Armie all that came out was mumbled gibberish. 

Armie placed both hands on each of his own knees as he began to address Tim in a soothing, deep tone.

“Tell me, Timothée. Did you ever once, before getting to know the real me, consider that I might not just have a thing for tickling, but instead, a thing for tickling you and you only?”

Tim gulped down a dry bubble of air.

He thought back to the dozens of times Armie had tickled him on the set of Call Me By Your Name.

Times where such actions weren’t included in the script or under Luca’s direction.

Times by a window in the nighttime, where Armie’s hands would violate his underarms aggressively, unexpectedly, sending Tim into a dishevelled, scrunched up ball.

Times even away from Italy, on the red carpet instead, where Armie would suddenly tackle Tim, his fingers always finding their way into the depths of his sides or the crevasses of his underarms, caught on camera by surrounding press. 

The internet might have had its theories, but Tim didn’t.

He had always put it down to Armie being playful.

Tim wanted to say ‘no’, but his hypnosis wouldn’t allow it.

So he simply shook his head.

Armie began to shape something in the air, using both of his hands, as if working with an invisible pottery machine.

“Isn’t it strange how I can touch the air here, right in front of you, but you feel me touching your dick, Tim …” Armie narrowed his eyes in focus, “... It feels pretty extreme, doesn’t it?”

Tim felt his breath leave his throat in a gentle shudder as his limp penis had started to harden.

The more Armie moved his hands, the further Tim’s arousal stiffened, to the point where it began to lift away from the leather surface of the seat between his spread apart thighs.

Tim watched it grow, he watched it increase in size without his control, until his gaze was snapped away by Armie’s clicking fingers.

Tim couldn’t help but let the words, “Oh God,” leave his lips.

Suddenly, Tim seemed to have gained back the ability to speak.

As his erection presented itself fully, Tim’s grip tightened around The Doll in his right hand.

“So you’re telling me,” Armie continued, his hands returning to each kneecap, “That despite my constant attempts at tickling you, not once or twice, three times or four times … You didn’t once suspect anything?”

Tim narrowed his eyes.

He willed himself to think harder, to provide Armie with the most genuine answer he possibly could.

“It … It was always my underarms,” Tim admitted, licking dry lips wet, “You tried my feet, that one time … But, I remember it mostly …” Tim used his left hand to brush the curls of hair under his armpit, “… It was mostly here.”

Armie smiled.

Hearing Tim recount the times he’d been tickled by Armie made Armie so aroused that he began to rub his own hard on squashed beneath his trousers.

“How did that make you feel?” He asked.

Tim arched his back a little, his erection now twitching, standing to full attention.

“In… Invasive…” Tim pursed his lips, “It always made me feel on edge. You…” Tim gulped, the feeling of warmth now curling around his shaft further suggesting that today might be the day he’d experience relief, “… You did it so often, I, I always felt …” Tim looked down at the solid muscle bobbing over his stomach, “… Stiff … Alert … Always watching …”

Armie spoke in a gentle whisper.

“Will lubrication help?”

Tim nodded quickly.

Armie watched Tim’s erection throb as he delivered his next narrative, “Baby oil is now seeping over your cock. A warm hand is now massaging it in … You feel incredible, the sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.”

Tim let out a silent whimper, his eyes closing unintentionally.

“Mnn…”

Despite there being no baby oil or touch at all, Tim still felt the liquid roll all over his arousal, he could still physically acknowledge the touch of a smooth palm and long fingers rubbing the lubrication into the solid length of his skin.

“What did you think, the first time I tickled you…?” Armie asked, his eyes taking in Tim’s curling toes, his trembling lip, his now pulsating tip, “Can you remember?”

Tim tried to move his feet and his hands, but they felt stuck again.

He wanted so desperately to touch himself, to speed up his relief, but his hands felt tied once more by bonds not there.

All he could do was squeeze The Doll, whilst enduring the questions and the overwhelming pleasure rolling up and down, up and down, up and down his cock.

“It w-was …” Tim exhaled a shaky shudder, “… Fuck, it … It was by the w-window …”

Armie nodded, “Go on…”

Tim smirked, glancing up at the ceiling momentarily, before dropping his head back over his chest.

“Th-the sssss-script,” Tim lifted one shoulder, a jolt of excitement tickling down his left side, further stiffening his arousal, “The sssscript said, play fight … But you, you t-tickled me, fucking… Hard…”

Armie began to massage the air with the fingers of his right hand.

Tim widened his eyes.

“Oh m-man,” he gasped.

The feeling of gut wrenching, daunting release began its approach.

Tim wanted it more than anything, but he also didn’t want it to arrive because, when it eventually did, he knew this erotically comfortable feeling would therefore be over.

But he didn’t have a choice.

He sat out of control, submissive, under a literal spell, with invisible strings tied to his wrists and ankles, a puppet much like the one he held in his hand, dancing along to Armie’s tune.

“Did you expect it? Talk me through it, Timmy …” Armie continued to work Tim’s edging with his index finger and thumb, kneading the air in a repetitive swirl, “… If I recall, we took that shot in one take…”

Tim nodded, curls of hair falling past cheeks flushed pink.

His eyes began to water, his fingers started to flex.

Any minute now…

Tim looked down at his erection, the pulsating end shining, pre cum oozing from the tiny, fleshy dot staring back at him.

“Timmy…” Armie reminded Tim to answer his question, instead of losing himself in his mind numbing arousal.

Tim blinked himself out of his spiral into an Earth shattering orgasm, his ‘moment’ kept away from him for now, although its delivery felt beyond imminent.

“No,” Tim breathed out, “I, I didn’t e-expect it, I … You were just so, so rough …” 

Tim thought back to Luca shouting ‘action!’, to laughter and moments of peace, to his own forehead resting on Armie’s chest, before Armie sent a hand into his right armpit and then, too suddenly, a hand into his left side.

“I’d never b-been t-tickled, like that before,” Tim admitted, his mind replaying the feeling of Armie’s ten fingers wiggling over his ribcage, to the point where Tim had to travel Armie away from the window and onto the bed, where the tickling continued until Luca shouted cut.

Armie smirked in self accomplishment.

His smirk then transformed into a content smile at the knowledge of all that had taken place since then, in this apartment, in this Sub Zero, in the basement above and in the bedrooms and the living room and in Atlanta …

All of the dreams and the fantasies that had come true.

“I played the movie with commentary,” Armie announced, his fingers still working the space of air that took Tim into breathless oblivion, “During that scene, you even said yourself, ‘You can’t fake this, this is me doing—“

“—Self protection,” Tim finished Armie’s sentence, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

Both young men looked at each other, aware of how a simple act of tickling by a window had transformed into … This, this beast, this monstrous set up, these life changing four weeks.

“Now,” Armie spoke in a gradual murmur, “With all we discussed, looking back, and you really didn’t think I was an expert?”

Tim’s ass cheeks clenched, his fingers flexed out in an agonising stretch.

He quite simply had never been this erect, this firm, this solid before, in his entire life …

The more Armie entranced him to think into the past, to understand the details of his tickling by the window, the more his arousal hardened.

“You must get as turned on as I do thinking about that time …” Armie whispered.

“You …” Tim could barely speak, “… You pinned m-my arm, on th-the bed … “ He gasped, orgasm teasing it’s arrival by expelling a gentle, singular drop of cum from his tip, “… You p-p-put your b-b-body weight on m-m-me and you w-went in o-on my, my, my…”

Armie speeded up the twirl of his fingers.

“Your what, Timothée …?”

Tim clenched his teeth, a tear leaving his left eye, where it rolled quietly down his cheek.

“… My b-b-body …” Tim didn’t want to say the word stomach, or pits, he didn’t want to aim focus on those areas, spaces on him he so desperately no longer wanted Armie to explore, be it by hand, or by current forms of magic.

So, Armie made it happen instead.

“… Where did I go in, Timothée…?”

Tim arched his back into a gentle curve, the length of his stomach tightening, the glisten of sweat outlining the shape of developing abs.

“… My armpits, my, my stomach, I, I couldn’t take it, I, I remember fuck, fucking begging you to s-stop…”

Armie moved his finger and thumb into a shape where it looked as if he were holding onto an invisible handle, a handle he pretended to vigorously rub.

“… The first of many times I’d hear you beg…” Armie licked his lips, "You’re close, aren’t you?”

Tim nodded as the tear fell off his chin, landing on his right thigh, sinking into his skin.

“You want this so, so badly, don’t you?”

Tim nodded again, biting his lower lip, a lip that had swelled with all the vibration currently humming through an electrified body.

Armie began to narrate Tim’s orgasm.

“It’s in your stomach, Timmy … Now it’s in your balls … You can feel it tighten everything up, like you’re a wire stretched too far …” Armie watched Tim lose his breath, “… It's moving its way towards the middle of your cock, and now it’s shooting upward, at the speed of light …”

Tim gasped, and gasped, and gasped…

His mouth fell open, his eyes bulged white, his back arched so hard it clicked.

“Yes, yes, yes…” Tim sat up in excitement, “… Fuck, I’m, I’m c-c-c—“

Armie snapped his fingers.

Tim slumped into the chair.

He swallowed down, his mouth closing, his shaken stare looking down at his twitching cock, a cock denied of orgasm, edged so utterly close that Tim thought, just for a second, that he might still explode, it might still happen…

Come on!

Please…

Twitch, twitch, twitch …

Tim tried to move his hands, he tried to hold onto his own arousal.

They remained pinned to the chair by hypnotic force.

Tim shuddered out defeat, his glare offering Armie a fierce look that said,

Bastard.

“When you hear me snap my fingers twice, you’re going to awake,” Armie declared, “You’re going to feel refreshed and rested, however, you’re not going to remember anything about what we’ve just done, since I put you under…”

Armie snapped his fingers twice.

Click! Click!

Tim heaved inward, his eyes widening in shock.

Now woken completely from hypnosis, his current state presented itself as entirely new to him.

The last thing he recalled was sitting, fully clothed in this chair, talking with Armie.

And now he could feel the intense tingle at the tip of his arousal, the dull, throbbing ache in his shaft, the tease of orgasm flirting with the length of his denied muscle.

“Fff— Fff …”

Overwhelmed by disbelief, Tim could only offer Armie a face saturated with dire confusion.

“It’s alright,” Armie placed a hand on Tim’s leg, urging him to relax into his seat, “You’re alright.”

Tim began to tremble.

He had no memory of tickling grass or curling vines, forced down limbs or the process of his once limp penis made solid…

The sweat over his lip, the twitch of his cock, the lack of clothes, the soreness in his throat from laughter, crying and pleading he had no recollection of expelling - it all washed over him in an enormous, all consuming wave of disorientation. 

“What the f —“ Tim hugged his knees, removing them from Armie’s touch, startled eyes shifting from left to right, “—What the fuck is going o—“

Armie urgently shuffled the stool forwards.

“Timothée, listen to me …” Armie didn’t blink, he just stared at his lee with intense focus, “… Look at me, kid …”

When Armie realised Tim needed something more aggressive to break him from his daze, he grabbed the boy’s jaw and fixed Tim’s head in a forward facing position.

“Look at me!” He shouted.

Tim, with squashed up cheeks, shot a concerned look directly at Armie.

“You were under hypnosis, like we discussed. Take a moment to understand you’ve been missing for the best part of an hour…” Armie let go of Tim’s jaw, “… Let everything settle in.”

Tim slouched into the seat with a heavy sigh, his right hand travelling towards his semi erect growth.

Before his fingertips could reach a muscle desperate for relief, Armie snatched a hold of Tim’s wrist.

“… No …” he said sternly. 

Tim closed his eyes, pinching his nose with his free hand.

“Tell me,” Armie whispered, “How do you feel?”

Tim reminded himself to be patient, to once again explain himself for Armie’s entertainment.

“I…” he spoke through tightly closed lips, “… I can’t remember anything. I feel…” he lifted his shoulders, “… I feel fucking weird. Like, I’ve jumped forward in time …” he rubbed his throat, wincing at how dry everything tasted, “… I, I need a glass of water.”

Armie nodded, a brush of concern landing over his face.

He stood, holding his hand out to Tim.

Tim looked at the hand in hesitation.

Armie felt a pinch in his chest.

Have I gone too far?

He suddenly questioned if he hadn’t set boundaries properly, if he hadn’t laid out the right expectations, if hadn’t of made everything clear…

To Armie’s relief, Tim grabbed onto his hand.

Armie lifted him into a standing position. 

He then held onto Tim’s waist, his eyes aiming at Tim’s mouth.

“It’s over, Tim. Are you okay?” He asked.

Tim watched Armie’s lips as they moved.

“Yeah,” he forced a smile, wishing he didn’t feel so dizzy, “I’m … I’m okay.”

Armie leaned in quietly, kissing the love bite on Tim’s neck.

“You’re lying,” he spoke into Tim’s flesh.

Tim smirked, glancing up into the brightness of Sub Zero’s ceiling.

“I’m settling,” Tim corrected, “Like you just said. Just, just gimme a second, man.”

Armie kissed Tim’s collarbone, his chest, installing butterfly pecks around his right shoulder.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Tim felt Armie’s palms press against his hips, shuffling him into a position where he now stood with his back towards Armie.

“Kneel on the chair,” Armie nudged the middle of Tim’s spine with the knuckles of his right hand.

Tim did as asked, lifting his left leg first and then his right, kneeling in position, the Tim of his pre-cum stained cock gently pressing against the back of the seat, causing him to bite his lower lip.

Armie stood back and admired Tim’s posture.

“You did excellent, Timothée. Even if you don’t recall.”

He clenched his fists, containing excitement, as he took one step forward and placed an index finger on the back of Tim’s neck.

“Tonight, I’m cooking us dinner. We need something …” he began to send his finger down Tim’s back, journeying slowly over the silky smooth pale expanse of flawless skin, “… Delicious.”

Tim didn’t want to smirk, he didn’t want to acknowledge the fulfilment he felt from being so wanted, so lusted after, by someone he felt angered by, by someone who had toyed with him like a doll without him even knowing.

But still, he knelt there, smiling in strange satisfaction, enjoying the goosebumps rolling across his sides as Armie’s fingertip continued its travels down towards the bottom of his spine.

“What’s on the menu?” Tim asked, a flirtatious tone occupying his voice, in the hope that Armie might continue where he left off.

Armie’s finger inched closer towards Tim’s behind, its presence lingering around each of Tim’s ass cheeks, its intention obvious, but reserved.

Armie spoke into Tim’s back, his breath warm against Tim’s flesh.

“You.”

***

Once Tim had showered away perplexity and bewilderment from his time under hypnosis, he met Armie downstairs for dinner.

Armie had cooked a glorious offering of roasted chicken, vegetables and mashed potatoes - all of the nutrients both he, and Timothée especially, needed after way too many slices of pizza and bottles of beer from the dozen or so nights before.

Their casual conversation and casual chat about everything but tickling consumed the entirety of their moment opposite each other, whilst scoffing down food and chugging down water.

Once again, the contrast between now and the events that had taken place in Sub Zero were stark to say the least.

Despite his efforts at apologising with actions such as cooking and providing comfort, Armie needed to physically hear that Tim was in a good place with him, after such a mind boggling, once in a lifetime session three floors below.

Pausing Tim on taking a huge bite out of his chicken leg, Armie placed a hand over Tim’s right arm.

Tim, mouth wide open and ready to clamp down on meat, held the leg between his teeth and stayed entirely still, his eyes on Armie.

“We’re good, aren’t we? Earlier today was, it was an experiment, for you and for me, and I wanted to make su—“

Tim slowly laid the chicken leg down on a plate full with gravy.

He licked his lips, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then cleared his throat.

“Man, you …” he winced, trying to find the right words to explain what he needed, “… You gotta let me have a moment of doubt, or, or hesitation, when it comes to doing stuff like that. I’m…” he bit his upper lip, raising his eyebrows so high that they nearly hit the ceiling, “… I was basically knocked out. And when I came to, I was in, like, a totally different position to how I was when I sat down. That’s…” he chuckled, shaking his head, “… Pretty fucking crazy.”

Armie sat back on the kitchen stool in a slump of realisation.

He’s right.

You expect him to just bounce back, to be okay, to be one hundred percent present, aware … After something so exceptional, something so harsh, something so …

“ … Powerful …” Armie spoke his thoughts out loud, “… What we did today, it was powerful. And you’re right. You’re allowed to recover from that…” Armie squeezed his eyes shut, regretting his hand grabbing at Tim’s jaw, the firmness of his grip, the volume of his shout, “… I’m sorry I didn’t give you the time.”

Tim slid off his kitchen stool and made his way around the island.

He arrived at Armie’s side, taking his friend in a hug.

He rested his chin on Armie’s shoulder, “It’s cool, man. We’re cool…” he kissed Armie’s neck, “…We’re always cool…” he then returned to his stool.

Armie smiled, his reassurance returning, if only just for now.

***

When arriving in the living room after such a heavy meal, an unspoken and natural scenario played itself out without the need for verbal communication or vocalised discussion. 

There was no swift removal of clothes, no love bites or grabs of the neck.

Instead, Armie pressed play on an already downloaded Call Me By Your Name whilst Tim fell down into the comfort of the sofa with a playful bounce.

Armie sat next to him, flicking on the side lamp, lighting the room a warming yellow.

Tim turned towards his tickler, his eyes always landing on Armie’s mouth first before flicking up to his blue eyed gaze.

They moved in to kiss each other, their actions speaking far louder than words.

Tim wore one of Armie’s sweatshirts. Its sleeves hung way past his fingertips. In just underwear, he clearly presented a visible arousal, but in this moment that wouldn’t be addressed.

Instead, they brushed lips and pressed noses against skin, breathing in each other's pure and solid existence.

Tim then shuffled closer into Armie, nesting into his side as Armie wrapped a long muscular arm around Tim’s shoulder.

Within five minutes, Tim had his head on Armie’s chest.

In ten minutes it had made his way to his lap.

Fifteen minutes later, Armie had sunk further into the couch, kicking off his loafers, unbuttoning the collar to his polo shirt.

Tim now lay in a heavy sleep beside Armie, his slim body squashed between his ticklers and the back of the couch.

Armie embraced Tim fully, one palm resting over the twenty three year olds back whilst the other sat squashed under his own waist, now going numb due to both of their weight.

As Armie watched Oliver and Elio kiss on the grass, his eyelids began to drop.

He stifled a yawn, giving into his own exhaustion …

Being this in control can take it out of you.

Whilst the movie played out a fictional version of their current reality, Armie reluctantly joined Tim in much needed blissful sleep.

***

At around midnight, Tim woke Armie with a gentle nudge.

“We fell asleep,” he grumbled.

Armie breathed in, widening his eyes, sitting up in a stifled startle.

As TV adverts rolled, Tim and Armie climbed off of each other and made their way upstairs in a post-nap daze.

Tim began his approach to his own bedroom, readying himself for the same routine as every night - the removal of clothes, the attachment of an ankle restraint, the closing of a door…

… Until Armie’s hand curled around the baggy sleeve of his borrowed sweater.

Tim turned around, curls of hair littering his face.

“Stay with me tonight,” Armie purred, pulling Tim closer, “Nothing physical. Just sleep, with me, tonight.”

Tim smiled, unable to pull his gaze away from Armie’s jaw.

“No,” Tim whispered, pressing his forehead against Armie’s chest, keeping it there for a few seconds before pushing Armie away with it.

Armie took a few steps back, his fingers still clinging onto Tim’s sleeve.

“No?” He wished he could hide the surprise in his tone.

Tim reaffirmed his decision.

“No,” he nodded to his open bedroom door, “But I could do with not having that thing attached to my leg… I think it’s safe to say I’m not going anywhere.”

Armie couldn’t blink, he couldn’t move, he just narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly.

“Of course…” he let go of Tim’s sleeve.

Tim took bare feet backwards, his soles making no noise over varnished floorboards.

Armie’s hands dangled helplessly at his sides.

“Timothée…” he swallowed down hard, he lifted his chest, he told himself to just go for it, “… Why… Aren’t you sleeping with me tonight?”

Tim half entered his bedroom, pressing the front of his body against the doorframe, holding onto it with both hands, half of him hidden by the wall.

He smiled, a flirtatious sparkle resonating from his glowingly white skin.

“I can edge too,” he said.

Armie’s mouth fell open as Tim slid into his bedroom, closing the door behind him, leaving Armie startled, aroused and above all else …

… Thirsty for revenge.

TCTLR continues in Chapter Twenty Eight - ‘Bite The Pillow’ …