This story takes place three months after the events of ‘How Harry Won His Grammy’
Wembley Stadium,
London,
10.30 pm
The cheers and chants of tens of thousands of hysterical people echoed throughout Wembley Stadium, shaking its towering walls and wobbling its plastic numbered seats as a mid-July rain fell down over a swarm of hungry crowd currently calling out for the return of one man, and one man only.
“… HARRY! HARRY! HARRY! HARRY!…”
The man in question, Mr. Harry Styles, stood drenched in weather and sweat, behind a giant speaker twice the size of his six foot frame.
His head hung over his chest as he took a considered moment to catch his breath, curls of brown hair dangled over wide, crystal green eyes, his fingers curled and stretched outward, his hands aching from holding the microphone stand so tightly, for so long, during the twelve song set he’d just performed in the wet, Saturday night time.
For now, he remained hidden.
He smiled to himself, knowing that all of the many individuals on the other side of the stage knew that he’d return, sooner rather than later.
He enjoyed the calling, the shouts and the applause.
He could hear their movement, their foot-stomping, their clapping and their cries.
He could physically feel it travel through the ground, where it vibrated beneath the soles of his Adidas trainer-clad feet …
Harry adjusted the right strap of his plunging glittery green jumpsuit, his chest exposed, his tattoos on show, his underarms glistening with perspiration …
‘C’mon Harry we wanna say goodnight to you!’
As the number one hit began, Harry jumped out from behind the speaker and with all of the strength in his body, he sprinted across the puddle-littered stage, where he snatched the microphone away from its stand.
The applause - deafening.
The rain - heavier than expected.
Harry spun on his heels and rocked his hips, he bounced around on his toes and he twirled around on the spot …
🎵 Holding me back 🎵 he sung, 🎵 Gravity’s holding me back 🎵 The audience sung with him, 🎵 I want you to hold out the palm of your hand, why don’t we leave it at that … 🎵
Harry’s throat felt sore.
This had been his third performance of the week.
His energy levels were running low, but he wouldn’t hold back on giving the fans what they deserved.
So, he continued to sing with passion and ferocity - and at times where he couldn’t expel his voice any harder, he held the microphone out into the ginormous expanse of crowd, where they would finish the chorus for him.
Harry ran from one side of the stage to the other, breathing in rain as he readied himself for the bridge, 🎵 Go go get ahead high speed internet, I don’t wanna talk about the way that it was… 🎵
As the crowd belted their favourite part out loud, “Leave America two kids follow her I don’t wanna talk about who’s doing it first!” Harry glared out into the golden circle, where his eyes travelled past young girls, their mothers, boyfriends and girlfriends, his gaze searching in a fierce attempt to locate one person …
… He’s not here.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and jumped up and down, kicking his feet and punching the air as the song rolled to a finish.
The crowd exploded into passionate cheers as fireworks erupted out of the stadiums open rooftop, lighting raindrops a faint red and pink, whilst Harry blew kisses out to hundreds of thousands.
“Thank you, London!” He called out breathlessly, “I will remember this, forever!”
He then dropped the mic and took a few well timed steps back …
He pulled out his ear piece, allowing the wire to dangle around his neck …
As he walked backwards, away from the edge of the stage, into the confines of the speakers, the band, the instruments and the fire exit doors, his eyes continued to dart from left to right, over to the seated areas, up into the heavens of the stadium he had just performed in …
He’s not bloody here, he thought.
He could feel it.
He knew it.
He didn’t show up.
🪶
Harry leant back on his hotel room door, closing it with the weight of his body.
He dropped his rucksack at his feet, placed both palms over his face and then took in a huge, long breath, exhaling a deep, heavy sigh afterwards.
His hands slid over his lips, where his arms dangled by his sides, aching and tired from such an energetic performance on stage.
The worlds biggest pop star kicked off his chequered Vans and took white Nike socked feet over hotel room carpet, towards the kitchen, where he eventually arrived at the refrigerator.
Harry’s hotel room was more like an apartment.
It had a main bedroom, a guest room, a living room combined with a kitchen …
There were wall to ceiling windows, outlined by heavy silk curtains, framing rain-stained glass that looked out over a London still bustling, even at this 12.30 am hour.
Harry pulled a cold bottle of Evian out from the fridge.
He really wanted a glass of wine, but he forced himself to not drink whilst out on tour.
So, with a huff, he uncapped the bottle and took a long, thirsty swing.
With every minute, it appeared clearer that he wouldn’t be coming back tonight.
Maybe he’s out on the piss.
Wouldn’t be surprised.
Harry stifled a yawn, acknowledging that he didn’t feel too much ‘in the mood’ for sex tonight anyway.
He didn’t want to be touched, or to make any effort on someone else pleasures; not after the day he’d had, not after such a gruelling, non-stop, fast paced set that the U.K’s press were already hailing as ‘the best live performance Wembley Stadium has seen since Freddie Mercury in 1986’…
No, Harry had something else in mind.
He carried his water into his bedroom, throwing it onto the neatly made bed where it bounced a few times on the mattress before landing softly by a few oversized pillows.
Harry peeled off his t-shirt, revealing a tanned, well formed, toned upper torso, decorated in dozens of tattoo’s and a few specs of chest hair …
He screwed the t-shirt into a ball with one hand whilst picking up his suitcase with the other.
He plonked the suitcase on the bed and then unzipped it.
He shoved the t-shirt inside whilst pulling out his MacBook.
Harry laid the MacBook out by his bottle of water, whilst perching himself down on the edge of the bed.
He yanked off his socks, throwing these into the corner of the room, as he laid his back down over the mattress whilst staring up at the ceiling.
His eyes sparkled at the chandelier dangling six foot above him.
He tapped his tummy with his hands in thought.
He hadn’t been able to get that video out of his mind, since Wednesday.
You can’t.
Not again.
That would be four times, in a row.
Harry felt a tug within his underwear, as a muscle below his waist told him to ignore his brain and to focus on a different part of his body instead.
Harry hooked his left thumb over the waist band of his jeans, tugging them down away from his hips.
He paused, biting his lip, as his eyes shifted over to the MacBook, still innocently laying in its closed down position a metre or so away.
Fuck it.
Fuck this, fuck him.
Harry pulled off his jeans, kicking them away from his feet.
He grabbed his MacBook and opened it up, laying back down on the bed, where his head rested gently on a white cotton pillow.
A hardening excitement had started to shape up within Harry’s white Calvin Klein briefs.
He rested his laptop over a growing bulge, where his fingertips danced over the keyboard, typing out the studio link in the address bar …
‘MyBuddiesFeet.com’
The MyBuddiesFeet website popped up.
Harry clicked the ‘sign in button’.
He typed in his username; ‘howfmember439’ …
He typed out his provided password …
He located his favourite video …
And then he hit play.
Harry tucked his left hand behind his head whilst massaging his expanding arousal with his right hand.
In the chosen video, singer Johnny Orlando sits restrained on a table, where he is mercilessly tickled by two men.
Harry loved that The House had finally nabbed the handsome, talented twenty year old.
After all, Harry had a little crush on Johnny, especially after Johnny had referred to Harry as an inspiration …
And now, there he was, breathless and panting as the two ticklers invaded his underarms with their fingers.
Johnny did all the things Harry loved.
All the things Harry wanted to see happen, to his own helpless victim …
… All the things Harry had experienced himself, at the hands of The Masked Tickler, The Clown, Miller and all the other high paying tormenters he had once hated but grown to admire …
So much had changed since Harry had given his own ticklish body to The House of White Feathers.
After enduring such torture, he himself had developed an interest in the fetish, an interest he found himself thinking about almost every day …
He had been too busy with touring to even consider reaching out to The House, even if their calling card did stare back at him every time he opened up his wallet …
And then there was …
“Grrr!”
Harry expressed his frustration out loud.
He’d never understand.
Harry bit his lip, making a conscious effort to push away intrusive thoughts that were currently doing a great job at distracting him from Johnny’s session.
Fuck, this is so hot.
He’s so fucking ticklish.
Harry slid his hands beneath his underwear, taking hold of the large length now sitting comfortably around his fingers.
He began to rub himself, parting his jaw in gentle satisfaction as a feeling of pleasure began to bubble between his thighs.
Johnny had developed a layer of sweat all over his body.
His face had become a red, flustered, stuffy version of its once clean shaven self.
He sat hysterical, his feet now tormented by two fast moving hairbrushes.
The reactions are incredible.
F-Fuck …
I couldn’t take the brush.
Fuck, I couldn’t take the brush!
Neither can he!
Look at his face, look at his face,
Fuck, the panic, the alarm, the hysteria, mnn—
“—Mnn— Mnn— Mnn!”
Harry’s eyes widened as he felt his orgasm arrive, far quicker than he expected.
And as he ejaculated all over his stomach, the person who failed to show up at the concert earlier this evening, now stood quietly by the bedroom door …
… Where he watched, in silence, his boyfriend cum over a video of Johnny Orlando being tickled …
Three hours earlier …
There’d be no point calling or texting him, he’d be on stage by now and his iPhone would be with his assistant …
Fuck, you can’t miss it again.
Third time in a row …
He’s gonna go nuts ...
Louis Tomlinson leaned forwards, urging his Uber driver to speed up, despite it being a thirty mile per hour zone in central London.
“Lad, d’ya mind going a bit faster?”
Louis caught the glance of his driver’s glare in the wing mirror, a glare that simply said ‘no’.
Louis sat back in his seat and folded his arms impatiently.
He bobbed his knee nervously as the Uber casually strolled in-between traffic, where it annoyingly paused at yet another red light.
By now, he’d be almost half way through the show.
You’ll have to make it up to him.
Again.
“Fucking hell …” Louis mumbled under his breath.
He didn’t even really want to see the performance anyway.
He’d been present, in secret of course, during the Atlanta, New York and Florida shows.
Why’s it so bloody important I go to all the London gigs too?
Got stuff of my own to get on with.
Don’t even like his songs.
Louis chuckled to himself.
I could never tell him that, of course.
Ironically, the Uber driver turned up the volume to the radio.
“… And up next, this week’s number one for ten weeks in a row,” The DJ announced, “You got it, it’s Harry Styles and ‘As It Was’…!”
Louis rolled his eyes.
As the song began to play, the Uber sped up, where it whizzed over a roundabout and then sped through the Blackwall Tunnel.
“Yes, lad!” Louis cheered, “This is more like it!”
The Uber driver smirked.
“You’re worried about being late?” He asked.
Louis sent eager eyes out the passenger window.
“Yeah, I can’t miss my boy …” Louis leaned forward, “… Mate, who’s your favourite from One Direction?”
The Uber driver pursed his lips in thought.
“Hmm. It’s probably—”
—Boom!
Louis held onto the seat as the Uber driver manoeuvred the shaking vehicle towards the side of the tunnel.
As other cars beeped their horns furiously, Louis felt the bottom left side of the car dip down.
A creek, a flapping sound of loose rubber, and then a gentle moan to a stop informed Louis that bad luck had reared its head for the final time tonight.
“—Shit,” the Uber driver pulled open his door and stepped out of the taxi, “Fuck, sorry buddy …”
He walked around to Louis side, acknowledging a now flat tyre.
“… You may have to get out and walk,” he said.
Louis squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.
“Bollocks,” he hissed, curling his fists into shaking chunks, “Fuck!” He shouted.
When he opened his eyes, they fell on a green road sign hanging just above the broken down Uber.
A sign that read:
‘Wembley Stadium - 5 miles’
🪶
Without signal and in the middle of the Blackwall tunnel, Louis had no choice but to sit in the back of the taxi and wait for the tyre to be replaced.
He could walk the four miles, but it would be a pointless venture - he’d still miss the concert.
Louis leaned into the fact that he now sat in a lose/lose situation.
He’d explain everything once they were at the hotel.
A boring wait later, Louis arrived in the heart of Mayfair, his glance landing on some fans who had caught wind of where Harry would be staying for the week.
Their presence garnered additional attention from the press, and now, outside the lobby, a large crowd had gathered.
Flashes from cameras lit up strangers faces in the nighttime, as they hung around in the desperate hope to catch a glimpse of the Harry Styles, who they thought might pop out for autographs or selfies.
Little did they know, Harry lay ten stories above, in his underwear, enjoying himself in ways the many fans below could only dream of witnessing.
Louis tapped the Uber driver on the shoulder.
“Nah, lad, we’re gonna ‘afta go round the back…”
The Uber driver shrugged.
“For me, it’s easier to just park up at the front …”
Louis shook his head, he couldn’t risk the crowds spotting him.
It would only further more add fuel to a ‘Larry’ conspiracy, that had been bubbling since 2012 in the realms of fan fiction and online speculation …
Fiction that, ultimately, had become a top secret reality.
“Please, lad, I’ll tip you proper big …” Louis gave his best puppy dog eye look to his Uber driver, “… I’ll give you five stars, which, can I just add, I probably shouldn’t be giving, considering the tyre went fla—“
“—Okay, okay …” the Uber drive curled his hands around the steering wheel in reluctance, “… I’ll go round the back.”
Louis sat away from the windows, pulling his Yankee’s cap further down over the top of his head as he text Harry’s assistant with fast moving thumbs.
To the screaming fans outside the hotel, his passing car was no different to any other.
Their cries for Harry faded away as Louis’ Uber passed around the corner of the building, rolling to a stop at the rear exit of the hotel.
“Thanks, lad, have a good one.”
Louis stepped out of the vehicle and then hopped up the metal staircase he’d been creeping up most evenings this week.
Harry’s assistant met Louis at a large, rusty fire exit door.
“You want me to tell him you’re finally here?” She asked, with raised eyebrows.
Louis tutted.
“Nah you’re alright,” he brushed past, heading directly for the first set of elevators, “I’m gonna surprise the bastard.”
A few minutes later and Louis had arrived at Harry’s hotel room — their hotel room — but of course, only they knew that.
Louis used his keycard to gain entry, closing the door quietly behind him.
He slid off his Converse and then took bare size nine’s silently across the living room.
He expected Harry to be in the shower, or the bath, something he often did after a big show.
Instead, the hotel room felt eerily quiet.
Maybe he’s gone out.
Balls.
He best not be seeing Olivia.
Louis arrived on tip toes, at the door of their bedroom.
He peered around the door frame, his eyes landing on Harry pressing play on a video on his laptop.
Louis watched Harry slide his hand down his underwear, where he started to touch himself.
Cheeky buggar.
Louis wanted to step forwards, to inform Harry of his arrival, to butt into this private moment between Harry and his right hand …
But the content Harry viewed made Louis fasten his mouth shut.
Instead, he folded his arms and gazed on curiously.
What’s happening to that guy?
Is he being …
… Tickled?
NOW.
Harry lay there, breathless and covered in his own orgasm, as he stared at the chandelier twinkling above him.
He slammed the MacBook shut and then wiped some sweat away from his upper lip.
He swung his feet off the bed and then travelled casually to the bathroom, where he switched on the shower and slipped off his underwear.
Droplets of white, still staining his stomach, dripped down to his thighs just as Harry turned around to find Louis standing at the bathroom door.
Harry jolted back, his naked form almost slipping on the tiles.
“Jesus, Louis! You scared the shit out of—“
“—Someone’s been enjoying themselves… ” Louis noted smugly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his black skinny jeans.
Harry glanced down at his stomach, wanting to wipe away the sticky result of his moment to himself, whilst also acknowledging it would soon be washed away by the shower heating up behind him.
Harry let his hands dangle at his sides as he stood unapologetically naked before Louis.
“I had to make other arrangements,” he sniped, “Seeing as someone left me hanging again.”
Louis lifted his shoulders.
“Lad, you won’t believe it, right, but my taxi got a flat tyre and I—“
Harry chuckled, lowering his head.
“So, a broken down taxi tonight, food poisoning yesterday …” he tilted his head, staring at the tiles beneath his feet, “… Can’t even remember what the excuse was for night one.”
Louis narrowed his eyes.
“They’re not excuses, Harry. They’re reasons. I’m not purposefully avoiding seeing you perform.”
Harry lifted his head, where his gaze caught Louis stare in a tight grip.
“Bloody feels like it.”
Steam began to roll out of the shower, the mirrors began to fog, the air became humid and clammy.
Harry turned his back to Louis.
Louis couldn’t help but drop his stare over Harry’s neck; the thin gold chain hanging around it, the delve at the bottom of his spine, the plump juiciness of his rear …
Louis licked his lips, taking a step away, where he folded his arms around his chest.
“As if,” Louis cleared his throat, “It’s just , it’s just circumstance, I, I can’t make it to all of your shows.”
Harry rolled his neck, cracking out some pressure.
He ran his hands under the shower, checking the water’s temperature.
“Liv thinks you’re jealous,” Harry announced, using his now wet hand to smear away the cold droplets of orgasm still lingering around his structured, tanned abs.
Louis’ eyes widened.
“You what …?” He unfolded his arms and took a fierce step forward, “Liv can fuck off!”
Harry turned to face Louis, who now stood a metre away from him.
“Don’t be nasty.”
Louis rolled his tongue over the roof of his mouth.
“Nah,” he shook his hands dismissively, “Get dressed,” he ordered, “I’m not having this conversation with you bollock naked.”
Harry couldn’t help but smile.
“Why, am I distracting you?”
Louis felt the pull, the weight of Harry’s charm.
It began to overshadow the subject at hand, like some hypnotic, masterful spell.
Louis broke himself out of the trickery by coughing into his fist.
“I’m not jealous,” he confirmed, “Why on earth would I be jealous? Because, because you’ve got to perform at Wembley, and I haven’t? Who, wh-who said I even want to …”
Harry chuckled, turning towards the shower.
“I think I’ve hit a nerve,” he teased, taking one step inside.
As Harry’s foot pressed onto a boiling puddle, Louis appeared behind him almost too suddenly.
“You’re Queen, I’m Oasis, alright?” Louis pointed into Harry’s back, his index finger poking the middle of his right shoulder blade, “We’re two different entities, I don’t want or need the success you have.”
Harry twisted around, grabbing at Louis hand at the same time.
“Oasis? You’re from bloody Doncaster, you daft twat.”
Louis clenched his teeth, unable to admit that Harry was right.
He has hit a nerve.
Harry acknowledged Louis silent response.
He let go of his hand, where he burned an intense gaze into Louis chest.
“I can take missing one show, even two …” Harry gulped down a moment of vulnerability, “… But three in a row? When I went to all of yours?” He shook his head, “I get we’ve got to be careful, I get we’ve got to watch in the sidelines, I … I get it isn’t easy…” Harry moved away from Louis, where he stepped into the shower, “… But it is achievable.”
Louis ran a hand through his messy brown hair.
He watched Harry shut the shower door, where he then submerged himself in steaming water.
Louis recognised a look on Harry’s face that he hadn’t seen in years, since back before they recognised they had feelings for each other.
A look Louis didn’t want to see, especially when it was the result of something Louis had done.
He isn’t pissed off.
He isn’t even sad about it.
He’s disappointed.
It was then Louis knew that he couldn’t keep avoiding Harry’s shows, no matter how big they were, no matter how high the praise or how incredible the critical acclaim.
But, above all else, he realised he had some making up to do …
… And he knew exactly how to do it.
🪶
Harry stood in bright green wellington boots, daisy-print dungaree’s and a giant yellow cowboy hat.
The make up artist finished grooming Harry’s eyebrows, where she then took a step back to admire her work.
Harry grinned playfully.
“Am I pretty?” He asked.
The make up artist hid a giggle with the back of her hand.
“Stunning,” she blushed.
Harry nudged her shoulder as the rest of the photography team got into position.
“Alright, Harry. Just be you,” advised the photographer, as he lifted his camera up to his face.
Harry nodded, standing to the side, where he shook some floppy strands of hair over his eyes, turning to smoulder towards the lens.
Flashes of light burst throughout the studio as Harry angled and shaped his body in various positions.
Click! Click! Click!
The session lasted around twenty minutes, until the photographer felt content with the digital slides residing within his Canon ESD.
“These are fabulous,” he announced, waving Harry towards him.
Harry peered over the photographers shoulder, smiling in satisfaction at the many shots of himself prancing around and dancing about.
“Works of art,” he elbowed the photographer, offering him a flirtatious wink.
Btzzzz - btzzzz —
Harry took his attention to his iPhone, which sat vibrating beside his MacBook over at the refreshments table.
He picked it up, swiping his thumb upward to unlock the screen.
LT - iMessage
Harry couldn’t help but feel a pinch of reassurance, after seeing a text from Louis.
He’s got the hint.
He’s making effort.
Harry opened up the message.
‘H, I’m sorry. I should’ve been there. I will be there. Let me make it right. I’ll be home at 7. At that time, be wearing what you wore last night in the bathroom. LT x’
Harry pinched his lower lip, thinking to their conversation, their ‘almost argument’ outside the shower.
I wasn’t wearing anyth…
Harry grinned.
He typed out his reply, his mind telling him to wait at least an hour before doing so, his heart telling him, fuck it, do it now.
He gave Louis an open door.
‘Sounds chilly…’
Harry endured butterflies as the message sent.
His eyes widened as three tiny dots bobbed up and down, underneath his text.
‘…’
Louis walked right through it, replying with exactly what Harry wanted him to reply with.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be warming you up 🔥’.
🪶
At 7pm, Harry arrived back at the hotel, where he casually approached Louis, who sat perched and ready at the end of their double bed.
He wore a navy blue Adidas tracksuit zip-up, black skinny jeans and bright white sports socks.
He smiled at Harry as he leaned back on the mattress, placing both hands behind him.
“Alright, lad?”
Harry dropped his gym back and removed his Ray-Ban sunglasses.
He pocketed them carefully, sending cautious eyes over to Louis.
Harry offered no verbal response.
He just watched Louis with interest, his gaze travelling over the young mans thighs, down his well structured calves, over to the tips of his socked feet.
“I feel unashamedly observed…” Louis mumbled, unable to hide the blush currently exploding on either cheek.
Harry wanted to take a step forward, however, to his own surprise he found himself planting his feet down harder on the surface of the carpet.
“I expected, after a text like that, to find you a little less dressed,” said Harry.
Louis got up slowly from the bed.
“Nah,” he said, with confidence filling his voice, “It’s just you naked, tonight.”
Harry ran a hand over the stubble of his own jaw.
He’d never admit it, but, during this very moment in time, he felt—
“—You look nervous,” Louis acknowledged.
Harry wiped his nose, shrugging casually.
He had no reservation in being honest
“I am,” he admitted, “You’ve … Never sent me a text like that, before. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever—“
Louis placed his index finger gently over Harry’s lips, silencing him.
“—If you’re about to say I’ve never apologised, you’re wrong. That, or you weren’t listening.”
Harry felt like he couldn’t argue back, not because he didn’t want to, but because he felt physically disallowed, with Louis finger pressed down over his mouth.
“Go on then,” Louis nodded down at Harry, from the neck below, “Ready yourself.”
Louis finger slipped away, just as he took some steps around Harry’s left side.
Harry hesitated at first, but as the seconds ticked by, he became curious as to what Louis had planned.
So, he pulled off his t-shirt, revealing his tattooed upper body.
He threw it over to the corner couch, where it landed on its leather surface with a plop.
He then started to remove his trainers.
“Slower…” Louis ordered, now circling Harry at a gradual, panther-like pace.
Harry stood still, taking a minute to realise that, unlike most of the time he and Louis were intimate, on this occasion, Harry wouldn’t be as in control.
Harry, doing as he were told, took more time at unlacing his footwear.
He then stepped out of his trainers, his eyes glancing around the room, at any clue or suggestion of what Louis might be planning.
He could note nothing.
“What have you got up your sleeve?” Harry asked, whilst carefully peeling away his socks from his feet.
Louis continued his circled pace.
“I’ve been doing my research,” he hinted, “Introducing myself to a new world …”
Harry felt nerves reach his throat.
He unbuttoned his jeans and shuffled them down to his kneecaps.
“Is that so?” Harry felt Louis eyes dance over his thighs and bulge.
Louis kept quiet, admiring Harry’s beauty as he stepped out of his Levi’s and then pulled down his underwear.
He stood, as Louis had asked in his text, completely naked, just like in the bathroom the evening before.
“Right, lad,” Louis clapped his hands, “Lay down on the bed.”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head.
“What’s the magic word?”
Louis scoffed, widening his jaw.
“… Lay down … On the bed…” he repeated, this time with a tinge of authority to his tone.
Harry resisted.
“No. Not till you tell me what’s going on.”
Louis pointed at Harry’s chest.
“You gonna let me make it up to you, or what?”
Harry held his hands up in surrender.
He climbed onto the bed, laying down on his back.
Louis flashed his eyebrows upward, at the sight of Harry’s growing excitement.
“I haven’t even touched you yet…” Louis knelt over the mattress, his hands going into the backs of his skinny jeans.
Harry tucked both hands behind his head, revealing armpits deep with hair and the gentle sparkle of sweat.
“I’m uh, I’m actually finding this quite sexy,” Harry revealed, “You suit the dominant chat.”
Louis pulled out a blindfold, where he dangled it from the fingers of his right hand.
“No more talking…” he whispered.
Harry sat up, slowly.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa …” he eyed the blindfold suspiciously, “This … What’s gotten into you?”
Louis shuffled forwards, planting the palm of his left hand on Harry’s chest.
“I’ve learnt something,” he said, pushing Harry back down.
Harry submitted, as he watched Louis attach the blindfold to his head, removing his sight entirely.
Harry looked from side to side, coming to terms with the fact that one of his main senses had now been taken away from him.
He felt Louis’ fingers curl around his right wrist.
He allowed Louis to pull his arm upward, to the top corner of the bed.
He then acknowledged the feeling of warm leather, tying him down - a restraint that had been hidden beneath the mattress, along with three others.
Harry twisted out of the bondage suddenly, taking the blind fold away from his face, his movements so quick that they startled Louis.
“It’s alright, lad! It’s just a bit of kin—”
“'—Is it just you?” Harry asked, a genuine concern in his tone, “No one else?”
Harry pictured being restrained … Exposed, vulnerable, his boyfriend informing him that The House had been in touch, they’d reached out to him, that tonight would lead to gang tickling and insane hysteria …
But Louis simply stared back at Harry, confused and bewildered.
“Who else would join us?” He asked, tilting his head.
Harry swallowed down his moment of alarm.
It’s still my secret.
He kept his eyes on Louis.
“What have you learned?” He asked.
Louis adjusted the blindfold around Harry’s face so that it sat snug back over his eyes.
Harry then allowed Louis to lay him down on the mattress where he continued to restrain each of his arms to both corners of the bed.
“You’ll soon find out …” Louis murmured, hopping off the mattress.
He strolled to the foot of the bed, where Harry’s feet slid across the cotton sheets impatiently.
“Did … Someone give you a calling card?” Harry asked, rolling his hips from side to side.
Louis took Harry’s right ankle and yanked it with force, to the bottom right corner of the bed.
“Calling card? What are you on about, lad?”
Harry felt himself stretch out, his mouth parting into a ‘O’ shape.
Louis pinned Harry’s ankle into position by strapping it down with another leather restraint, tied beneath the bed.
Harry mumbled anxiously, “… So, you just became Mr. Grey over night?”
Louis shh’d his boyfriend.
“Stop asking questions,” he snapped, pulling Harry’s left foot towards him, “And do as you’re told…”
Harry closed his mouth as Louis tied his ankle to the corner of the bed.
Harry now lay, entirely naked, in a star fish position; blindfolded, aroused, confused …
He gasped as Louis hand appeared around his girth, biting his upper lip as his boyfriend began to harden the excitement in a gradual, slow, developing stroke …
“Mmn …” Harry couldn’t hold back verbal pleasure, “… I think, I think you sh-should take a seat, on, on—“
Harry shuddered as Louis cupped Harry’s balls, whilst stiffening his boyfriends muscle further.
Louis fingertips then left the tip of Harry’s arousal.
Harry felt Louis’ weight return to the mattress.
Louis straddled Harry’s waist, teasing him with the suggestion that they’d have sex, like this, by pressing his ass against the length of Harry’s erection.
From here, Louis looked down at Harry, who lay calm, turned on, his hands tied above him, his eyes unable to see anything thanks to the blindfold strapped around his head.
Louis lifted his hands, hovering them quietly over Harry’s chest.
Does he know what I’m about to do? Louis thought.
How I’m about to make him feel?
He’s probably never been tickled like this.
I’m gonna drive him bananas!
Louis took his fingers and circled Harry’s nipples.
He watched goosebumps flicker over Harry’s chest, up to his neck and throat.
Harry began to huff, the closer Louis’ fingers neared his armpits.
When they eventually made their way in, Harry jolted upward in a violent, rebellious shift—
“—No—”
Louis paused, taken back by Harry’s growled response.
“No?”
Harry shook his head, grunting aggressively into the pillow.
“No. No way, not you—”
Louis cocked an eyebrow, wiggling his fingers deeper into the delves of Harry’s sweaty, hairy pits.
“Not me?”
Harry twisted to the left, staring madly through the blindfold.
“No, Louis, seriously…” he spoke with demand, with sudden, panicked dread, “… Please, stop—”
Louis felt a tug of excitement beneath his jeans.
He was enjoying this more than he thought he would …
“But, you like it …” Louis tested, whilst continuing to tickle Harry’s underarms, “… I saw you wanking to it, last night…”
Harry couldn’t hide the embarrassment drenching his voice.
“Oh ffffffffff—uck—” he arched his back, as Louis went in deeper, “—No, no, you’ve, you’ve got it wrong…!”
Louis took his tickling fingers over to Harry’s chest, where they danced down towards his tattooed abs.
“It looked pretty obvious to me… I recognised the lad, too. Wasn’t that Johnny Or—”
—Harry tried to pull himself upwards as Louis travelled into his bellybutton.
“No, stop, honestly, honestly wait, Louis, you’re missing a lot, l, let me, let me ex-explain…”
Louis continued his invasion, lifting himself up gently to allow Harry’s hard on to smack down over his stomach.
He then sat back down, resting on the tops of Harry’s thighs, as his fingers left Harry’s navel and then worked their way towards his hips.
“How can you explain if you can’t talk?' Louis teased.
Harry jerked, unintentionally allowing a high pitched shrill to leave his lips.
“WAIT, FOR A SECOND!”
Louis stopped, lifting his hands up into the air, knowing if they were to remain closer to Harry’s skin, that he would just keep on going.
Harry, already breathless, licked his lips and he rested his head back over the pillow.
“Yeah, alright—” he sniffed, “I’ve, I’ve got a thing, for, for tickling…”
Louis cheered.
“He reveals himself!”
Harry sighed, wriggling his nose in an attempt to remove an itch.
“But, it’s more, more me doing the tickling … Not, not the one being tickled.”
Louis deflated his weight in his straddled position.
“Oh,” he mumbled.
He knew, deep down, he should untie Harry.
He knew this wasn’t what Harry wanted.
But, seeing him here, naked, strapped down, unable to do anything about it …
… The tables turned, the powerful one, the successful one, under control …
By me.
All mine, to do what I want with.
It had shifted something, deep within Louis. Something he couldn’t ignore.
Harry grimaced, displaying walls of white teeth as he felt Louis claw his fingers above his pits, without actually touching them.
A sixth sense, between two young men, unspoken but clearly visible.
Louis relaxed the rigid-ness of his fingers and then gently tidied up some of Harry’s loose strands of hair, as he contemplated the situation at hand.
Harry, now laying with his breath fully caught, looked up at Louis for a response.
“Untie me, Lou. I’d much rather be the one on top.”
Louis sat up, straightening his back, his body stiffening at the mere suggestion of being restrained in the same way as Harry.
“Ahh, I dunno, lad. I …” he chewed his right thumbnail in cautious consideration, “… You know how ticklish I am.”
Louis felt Harry harden beneath him.
“I do …” Harry spoke at Louis, whilst looking at him from behind the blindfold, “… If you let me, I’d never expect anything from you again. I mean it …”
Louis took both index fingers and began to run them slowly over Harry’s abs.
Harry squeezed his lips shut, enduring the sensitive lines being drawn up and down his tummy.
“Come on, Lou …” Harry jolted, as Louis fingers made their way towards each of his pits, “… I’ve, I’ve made myself clear …”
Louis toyed with Harry’s armpit hair as he thought about being restrained and tickled.
Nah, fuck that.
I’d die.
“I couldn’t take it…” Louis declared, “It would be too much…”
Harry swallowed down hardened excitement, mixed with unbearable, ticklish impatience, the faster Louis played with the curls of brown protruding from the sweaty depths of his pits.
“You’re, you’re winding me up,” Harry exhaled, his brow frowning into a straight line, “I told you what’s what! Stop!” He angled his face down to his left armpit, a pit explored by Louis’ hand, “Get out of there!”
Louis sensed anger in Harry’s voice, an anger that suggested he knows what this feels like; he’s been in this position before, he’s been pushed to the limit, and he doesn’t want to do it again.
He slid his hands away and rested them over Harry’s chest.
He patted Harry’s butterfly tattoos, whilst mulling over what to do next.
In all honesty.
I’m sort of enjoying myself.
“How about,” Louis cleared his throat, readying himself to present his proposal, “How about, if you let me do this to you, tonight …” Louis lowered his tone, speaking quietly, as if unsure about his next set of words, “… Then, I let you do it to me, tomorrow night.”
Harry huffed.
“Can you take my bloody blindfold off, for a second at least?”
Louis compromised.
He leaned forwards, sliding the blindfold away from Harry’s face.
Harry blinked a few times, focusing twinkling eyes back up at Louis.
“That’s better,” he muttered.
Louis laid the blindfold out over Harry’s shoulder - a gentle act of reassurance that he was serious about his idea.
Harry curled his fingers around the restraints tying each of his wrists above his head.
In a beat of silence, he eyed Louis, sitting over his waist.
He took in his firm thighs, his messy hair and sharp cheekbones …
He had to have him, tied down, naked and exposed.
He had to live out his fantasy, on someone he was so attracted to, someone he had dreamt of pushing to their absolute limit since he himself had been pushed to his absolute limit three months ago …
Tell him, Harry thought.
Tell him everything.
Make it make sense.
The times Harry had screamed and begged, the knuckles he had bitten into as The Masked Tickler ran an electric toothbrush around his left pinkie …
… The sweat and the stocks and the feathers and the ball gags …
… It had all led to this …
… His boyfriend catching him wanking to tickle porn, through an exclusive website …
… His boyfriend wrongly assuming Harry was into being tickled …
… And so far, with no understanding of calling cards, The House of White Feathers, clowns or masks …
… Just an innocent suggestion at apologising for missing a gig.
It couldn’t of worked out better.
Harry smirked internally.
He doesn’t know what you’ve done.
Where you’ve been, the ordeals you’ve faced.
But, you are tied up. And if you want this, you have to endure the hardship first.
I’ve been through worse.
“Alright,” Harry agreed, “But, seeing as this is, my kink … You get a little bit with me, but I get an hour with you.”
Louis laughed into his palms.
“Are you daft? As if…!” He rolled his eyes, “It needs to be fair. An hour each.”
Harry found Louis bargaining more arousing than he expected.
He informed Louis of this by allowing his growth to twitch, under Louis, who sat straddling it beneath his jeans.
Louis felt the press, flashing a flirtatious glance at the young man tied down under him.
Harry spoke in a deep drawl, his Manchester accent stronger than ever.
“It’s a done deal.”
Louis displayed his joy with a bright, white smile …
… A smile that soon faded, when he realised that he’d be in Harry’s position, in just over an hour.
“Fuck…” he chuckled, closing his eyes in a mixture of sweet success and dire defeat, “… Fuck.”
Harry curled his toes, his body so stretched out that his muscles had started to throb.
“Yup,” Harry grinned, already counting down the minutes till Louis’ session, “Just know that if you go hard on me, I’ll just go harder on you when it’s your turn.”
Louis picked up Harry’s blindfold, where he began to hook it back around Harry’s head.
“You don’t scare me, lad. Besides, you’re more ticklish than I am. You’re screwed.”
Harry pursed his lips.
“Honestly, if you think you’re goi—“
Louis chose to use the blindfold as a gag instead, sliding it past Harry’s eyes, over his nose and into his mouth.
“—Mmmph!”
Harry bit down on the cotton, his eyes narrowing up at Louis.
“I think it works better like that,” Louis decided.
Louis then hopped off Harry’s waist, taking himself off the bed, where he grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it off of his upper body.
He then yanked off his socks.
He turned to face Harry, now standing in the hotel room in just a pair of black skinny jeans.
Harry, gagged and bound, could do nothing but admire Louis in his partially stripped position.
Louis, bare foot and hungry to tickle, simply eyed Harry, naked and tied, his lean, taunt body pinned down, exposed, ticklish beyond understanding …
… Entirely explorable and vulnerable.
All spots - achievable.
Louis bounced on his toes, rubbing his palms together.
“I’m actually so excited, lad!”
Harry tried to speak through the gag.
“Pug un a chimer…” he gulped, “… Pug un a chimer …”
Louis frowned, “No, I’m not putting on a timer …” he nodded to the digital clock at the bedside, “It’s 7.30, I’ll just stop at 8.30…”
Harry clenched his teeth around the cotton.
“Yu begger!”
Louis took out his iPhone and re-opened the tickle videos on Porn Hub that he had been looking at for a few hours before Harry had arrived.
Research, and all that, Louis grinned.
“I didn’t get the name of that website you were on …” he tapped his index finger over his lips as he scrolled through videos where guys were tickled with hairbrushes, electric massagers, feathers and vibrating toothbrushes, “… And I googled Johnny Orlando. Couldn’t find anything on him making tickle content, so it must’ve been something pretty special you have access to … Maybe when tonights over you can log in and we can have a look at wanking over that together?”
Louis locked his phone and casually made his way to the bathroom.
Harry watched him, whilst pulling at his bonds.
“Mmmphh! Mpmhh? Mmnnnpphh—” Harry tried to explain that the log in was given to him; that it wasn’t something he purchased, that he had no involvement with Johnny, or the people tickling him, or—
—Harry huffed into his gag when he realised Louis was too stupid to ask the right questions.
He then lay in silence, his erection still present, his ankles still bound apart.
Louis returned with Harry’s electric toothbrush.
Harry’s eyes widened.
“Nu, nu …” he pleaded, knowing full well how effective that would be, after his own experience with the ticklers Louis still knew nothing about …
“No? No?” Louis switched on the toothbrush, where it spun with a speedy whizz, “Yes, yes…”
He then stood at the foot of the bed, where he began to press the toothbrushes vibrating bristles under the arching space beneath the toes of Harry’s left foot.
As soon as the tool made contact, Harry’s leg jolted.
Louis pressed in further.
Harry arched his back, kicking his feet wildly, screaming into the gag.
Louis had to grab Harry’s ankle and hold it down in place.
He then used the toothbrush to explore the rest of Harry’s left foot, gliding it past hyper sensitive, long toes, across a silky soft arch and down to a thick, bulbous heel.
Harry twisted and turned, bounced his head over the pillow, his manic laughter drowned out by the sound of the toothbrushes whizzing, and the hysteric heaves of giggling pressing against a gag now soaked with saliva.
Louis took the toothbrush around Harry’s ankle, past clenched, toned calves and up to solid but boney knees …
Harry, in his splayed out, bollock naked position, could do nothing but writhe around like a fish out of water.
“Mphhh! Mphh! Mphhh! Mphhh!” Harry shouted through his gag as the toothbrush made its way between Harry’s thighs, over his balls and up the length of what Louis had now discovered to be a ticklish, twitching cock.
The vibrations made the muscle harden - so, as Harry squirmed, the thickness of the erection smacked against his stomach, wobbling from side to side in its rock solid shape.
Louis began to run the toothbrush around Harry’s taint - the delicately soft area between his balls and the middle of his ass …
Harry relaxed, closing his eyes.
He caught his breath, chewing the gag in relief as the bristles vibrated against his g-spot.
To Louis surprise, this didn’t tickle Harry, it instead turned him on.
Louis watched Harry’s erection grow thicker and harder than he’d seen it grow in quite some time.
The end bulged red, the veins protruded … Harry’s eyes had begun to water.
Louis watched Harry lift his head, where he looked over at Louis in a trembling, shaking shudder.
But, this was not meant to be a pleasing moment for Harry.
It was meant to be wild, torturous, unbearable …
So, Louis took the toothbrush away from Harry’s taint and began to slide it up his hips, past his waist and over his stomach.
The breathless giggles returned …
The kicking, the pulling, the yanking of each arm; it all came back in a violent, thunderous rage.
Louis couldn’t help but laugh.
Seeing Harry this way, in this position, so helpless.
… It’s what he deserves.
Harry, the pop star, the celebrity, the multi-platinum selling artist; the one adored by girls all over the world, the writer of number one hits, the performer, the critically acclaimed …
He now belonged entirely to Louis.
Reduced, from singing successful sensation …
To a dribbling, convulsed, sweating mess …
Harry began to question if he’d made the right choice as the toothbrush reached his armpits.
He shook his head, glaring at Louis.
Maybe the deal would have to be cut.
Maybe just open up MyBuddiesFeet.
Explain how the male models on the website are for ordinary people…
And that once you’ve logged in, there’s access to celebrities who had been tickled, for money, extra fame, financial gain …
Explain how MyBuddiesFeet is just ONE extension of The House!
There are dozens of others!
Louis could be part of it too!
“Mppph! Mmph! Mnnp? Mmm, mnnpph, mphhh!” Harry tried to say, through the gag, ‘we need to talk! We need to talk!’
“What you saying, lad?” Louis teased, sending the toothbrush closer towards the depths of Harry’s left pit, “All I’m getting is muffled madness …”
Harry groaned in uncomfortable desperation as the toothbrush violated the centre of his underarm.
He wriggled his elbows and bucked his hips, his erection flaying about wildly as he did so.
Louis grinned sadistically.
“Christ, someone is getting angry!”
Suddenly, the toothbrush began to slow down.
It whizzed to a stop, without warning, where its buzz faded into an ending twirl.
Btzzzzzzzz … Btzzz …. Tzzzz<
Louis assessed the plastic tickle tool with a frown.
“You’re lucky,” he declared, “Batteries are out …”
Harry laid his head down on the pillow with a disgruntled pant.
He coughed through the gag, his stomach lifting up and down, up and down, up and down, as he tried to fill his body with air.
Louis laid the toothbrush down by the digital clock.
Forty five minutes to go…
“Ages left, lad,” he said, mostly to himself, “Right then, gonna stop with the tools for a bit, use these talented fingers of mine…”
Louis jumped back onto the bed and returned to the straddling position.
Harry grunted as Louis’ weight returned heavily over his waist.
Harry shook his head as Louis hovered wiggling hands over his sides and pits.
“Mphh, mpph! Mphhh—” he begged, “—Mphh, mphh? Mmph. Mmphh—” he swallowed down more saliva, created by the pressure and intensity of the gag in his mouth.
Louis pressed his fingertips into Harry’s waist, ignoring his boyfriends plea and choosing to wind him up instead.
“This is for all the times you used to tickle me and the lads on tour, you little perv…!”
Louis then began to tickle Harry's sides, dancing strong, fast moving fingers up and down Harry’s ribcage and waist.
Harry fell into a instant, violent rage.
He twisted from left to right; he laughed out loud, uncontrollable hysteria past black cotton, he threw his head down over the pillow, repeatedly, non stop …
Louis nearly fell off Harry, more than once, but he tightened his thighs around Harry’s waist, securing his position over his ticklish subject.
Louis tickled Harry, harder and more aggressively than he had ever tickled anyone before, taking pure pleasure out of his dominant, controlling position.
He caught a glimpse in Harry’s eyes, just for a moment - of visceral, undeniable agony.
An pupil bulging, bloodshot, furious glare that shot straight through Louis.
A look that said, ‘please, for the love of god, stop, stop now!’
But Louis didn't stop …
He went in with curiosity and the want to search, to discover.
When he found areas that made Harry’s squeals go high pitched, he would violate them until Harry couldn’t take it anymore.
Muscles above the hips, the area beneath Harry’s pecs, the very depths of his right armpit, and his right armpit only …
Even Harry’s neck was ticklish.
Louis sent fingers around Harry’s jaw and throat, under his chin and behind his head.
Harry could do nothing but allow his face to redden, his lips and cheeks to swell…
It was then he began to beg, with a serious, almost threatening tone; like he had been broken, a snap had occurred, a push that had been shoved too far.
“MPHHH! MNNNPPPHH! MPHHH? MPHHHH? MPHHHH! MMMMNNNPHHH!—”
The gag permitted sentences from forming properly, but Harry continued to try, regardless.
Louis shuffled back, over Harry’s knees, where he straddled Harry’s left leg.
He then angled his body so that he could reach over to Harry’s right foot, taking the tickling suddenly from his upper body, to his lower body.
Harry had a second or two worth of a break, before Louis began sending his surprisingly expert tickling fingers up and down the sole of Harry’s right foot.
Harry screamed into the ceiling, he thrashed his legs around and he arched his back, so high up that Louis thought his spine might break.
Louis curled his hand around Harry’s right ankle, keeping Harry’s foot in place, as it twisted and writhed around under Louis attacks.
“It’s the toes, lad! It’s your pits and your toes!”
As Louis cheered himself on, in tickling success, Harry begged and pleaded for his torture to stop, until he tried to sit up, within his bonds, in an attempt to shout profanities towards Louis.
“GRAHHHSGSSTHOPPP, FUGGING BAGTERD FUGGING WANGER SGOHAHAHAHAPPP…”
Louis couldn’t make out a word.
Not a damn word.
But, he knew, with twenty five minutes left, to ensure Harry didn’t go as hard on him tomorrow night, that he would have to give the boy a break.
So Louis’ fingers slid away from Harry’s toes, where they returned to his own lap.
Louis stood up, on the bed, towering above Harry, who lay there panting through his gag, his stomach toned with shaped laughter, his chest heaving up and down …
Louis wiped some sweat away from his own forehead.
“I’ll give you five minutes,” he announced, “And then we’re going again.”
As Louis hopped off the bed, mostly to go grab a few beers from the mini bar, Harry felt his body flatten down over a mattress now soaked with body moisture.
“Mphh, mhh, mpphh mmph, mph?” Harry asked …
… The translation being,
‘Can you at least take off my gag?’
🪶
By the time Louis had returned to the bed side, Harry had only just caught his breath.
He pressed his tongue against his gag, swallowing down the need to choke.
The material, stuffed so far between his teeth, had started to overwhelm him - amongst the mixture of stuffy hotel room heat and unbearable tickle torture.
This might be worse than my time with Miller and The Clown, Harry thought.
Louis sensed Harry’s discomfort.
Whilst keen to place him in a more relaxed position, he also liked the idea of being able to hear Harry beg, laugh and moan, once he’d continued.
So, with mercy, Louis took Harry’s gag away and dropped it to the floor.
Harry licked his lips, pressing them together in an attempt to cover them in moisture - they’d been driven into a cracked, dry appearance, after Harry’s constant shouting and screaming.
“About bloody time,” Harry managed.
Louis reminded Harry he still stood in control by placing the two beer bottles down by the alarm clock, where he suddenly dug an index finger into the centre of Harry’s left armpit.
“GAH!” Harry barked, pulling his body to the right in an animalistic, jolting shift.
Louis hunched over, laughing into his knees.
“Lad, you are fucking ticklish! This is …” he sniffed in entertained giggles, “… This is gold!”
Harry stretched out his torso, curling his hands around his wrist restraints above.
“Well I’m flippin’ glad you’re having a nice time …”
Louis smirked, picking up a beer, where he offered it to Harry.
“You fancy taking the edge off? Or you still not drinking?”
Harry closed his eyes, unable to push away the persistent feeling of total exposure.
“Oh I’m drinking tonight. One hundred percent.”
Louis chuckled, pressing the bottle neck towards Harry’s lips, where he fed him ice cold, fizzy booze.
Harry wrapped his mouth around the end of the bottle, sucking down the beer like a hungry baby glugging down milk.
“Alright, alright, you’ll need some for later …” Louis pulled the beer away from Harry, where some of it foamed down past Harry’s chin and neck.
Harry sighed heavily, allowing the drink to warm his stomach, taking some intensity off the entire evening.
Louis opened up his own bottle of beer, where he took a long swig.
He wiped his lips, placing the beer bottle down beside Harry’s, where then turned away and began to circle the bed, with careful, hunter-like steps.
“You look sweaty,” Louis acknowledged.
Harry blew some curls of hair away from his forehead.
“I wonder why.”
Louis arrived at the bottom of the bed.
“I think, it’s because you’re more ticklish than you let on …” Louis took his hands, where he slowly began to run his fingertips up and down the bottoms of Harry’s feet, at the same time.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his body reacting naturally by scrunching up long toes and twisting even longer legs to the side.
“I won’t lie,” Harry groaned, “I’ve kept it to myself.”
Harry shifted forwards, where he tried to plant the soles of his feet down over the surface of the bed.
Louis fingers continued their relentless scratch.
“Where’s the worst part, so far?” He asked, out of genuine interest.
Harry arched his back, as Louis discovered and exceptionally sensitive area, around the sides of his feet.
“NOPE—“ Harry threw his head over his chest so hard that his hair flung over his face, “—ALRIGHT, STOP IT NOW.”
Louis raised his eyebrows, frustrated that Harry hadn’t answered his question.
I’ll sort that out later…
“Stop what?” He asked, whilst sending his desperate drag under the fleshy length of Harry’s ten toes.
Harry bounced up and down over the bed, his face growing red once again, with sweat now forming over each of his cheeks.
“S-sstop —“ Harry had to clear his throat, to get his words out, “Ss-t-oh-p … Tickling m-me …”
Louis focused on one sole, pinching Harry’s big toe to keep the foot still.
“Stop tickling you where?” He teased, using his other hand to tickle the very middle of Harry’s arch.
Harry pulled so hard on his wrist restraints that the leather squeaked, the rope stretched …
“STOP-TICKLING-MY-FEET!” Harry yelped, all at once.
Louis clapped his hands, stepping away from Harry’s curling toes.
“Ahh lad, this is brilliant…” Louis climbed back onto the mattress.
He sat between Harry’s thighs, pressing his legs apart, where he glanced down at Harry’s hard on, a rock solid muscle laying over his toned, panting stomach.
“Such a lovely willy,” Louis winked.
Harry glared up into the ceiling, wiggling his toes free of recent tickles.
“Did you just say willy…?” Harry asked, breathlessly.
Louis curled his fingers around the girth, stroking it gently, easily, carefully…
Harry closed his eyes, rolling his shoulders as his boyfriend offered some pleasure, instead of torture.
“You love this, don’t you?” Louis rubbed his thumb softly over the tip of Harry’s arousal.
Harry shook his head.
“Just thinkin’ about tomorrow night …”
Louis couldn’t help but gulp.
He chose to push away the thought of events taking place in less than twenty four hours time, and to instead just enjoy this moment instead.
He shot a look over at the alarm clock.
“Twenty minutes left…” Louis’ fingers left Harry’s twitching growth, “… I think I’m gonna go for it.”
Harry lifted his head in dread.
“Go… Go for it?”
Louis nodded.
“Yeah, I’m gonna drive you nuts, lad.”
Harry’s eyes widened as Louis jumped off the bed.
He landed with the elegance of a small cat.
Harry watched Louis head back into the bathroom, where he took his beer with him.
“L-Lou, where, where a—“
Before Harry could ask his question, Louis returned with his answer.
In Louis right hand sat a bottle of baby oil.
This bottle had often been used for massages, between both boys, but also for Harry’s skin, after bubble baths and hot showers - a useful tool to keep his body shining, moisturised and glowing, after a big performance on stage.
Now, it would be used for something else.
Harry knew baby oil made areas of the body transform from hyper ticklish, to ultra ticklish.
Thankfully, Louis didn’t hold a hairbrush in his other hand.
He couldn’t handle that.
That… That would be too much.
Maybe Louis hadn’t done his ‘research’ thoroughly enough.
Or maybe a hairbrush would make an appearance.
I fucking hope not, thought Harry.
Still, he eyed the baby oil with fear, knowing not to ask ‘what’s that for?’ simply because he already understood the bottles power.
Louis climbed back into position, this time straddling Harry’s left thigh.
From here, he had perfect access to Harry’s right thigh, his cock, balls, stomach, hips, waist, chest and armpits.
Harry could kick his leg as much as he wanted, but Louis would remain well seated here - unlike earlier, when straddling Harry’s waist felt like riding a bucking bronco.
“Don’t go too wild,” Harry warned, “That stuff is expensive.”
Louis rolled his eyes, pulling the cap off the bottle, where he began to drizzle it whole heartedly, all over Harry’s body.
“Oh yeah right, because the world’s biggest pop star is skint …” he muttered sarcastically.
Harry gasped as the cold liquid landed over his stomach, waist and hips.
“Jesus, Louis …” Harry watched Louis pour it over his chest, pits and face, where he closed his eyes and scrunched up his nose as the droplets rolled over his mouth, cheeks and chin, “Pfftt!” Harry spat, “You’re bloody drowning me in it!”
Louis nodded in confidence, “Indeed I am …”
He poured a generous amount on Harry’s erection, over his thigh, and then squirted a final amount over his right foot.
Harry lay there, soaked in sweat, as well as baby oil, and now reeking of the scent of coconut.
“Christ sake…” Harry addressed the bed, “ … The hotel are gonna do me in, you’ve covered the sheets n’ everything!”
Louis shrugged, capping the bottle and placing it beside the two beers and alarm clock.
“I think they’ll be too busy dealing with other complaints …”
Harry bit his lip as Louis began to rub the oil into his chest.
“Com-complaints…?”
Louis nodded, sending his fingers down Harry’s abs, rubbing the baby oil in further, whilst tickling him at the same time.
“… Noise complaints…”
Harry jolted from side to side, whilst watching Louis rub and tickle in the oil, now over his hips and waist.
“Bu-but p-people can’t k-know I’m h-here!”
Louis ran his now baby oil covered palms over Harry’s erection, pulling it away from his body.
Harry sat up as much as his wrist restraints would allow.
“Fuck, ow, fuck!”
Louis let go of the hard on, allowing it to smack back against Harry’s stomach, a move that created a little splash, considering how drenched by oil Harry’s tummy had become.
“I think, in a bit, it’s going to be very obvious that you’re here…” Louis flirted out some of his rebellious side, the need to press against the naughty, the what if, the idea un-suggested …
Louis rubbed baby oil into Harry’s balls, causing Harry to jerk and twist from side to side.
Harry tried to bend his knees inwards, his eyes widening as his mouth exploded into a manic grin.
“FUCK, LOUIS NO, NOT THERE.”
Louis felt a wave of sadistic control flush over him.
“Not here?”
Louis abused a new discovery, an extremely ticklish spot between the base of Harry’s erection, and the two, juicy balls currently being abused by Louis’ grabbing fingers.
Harry kicked in a mad, rampant rage as Louis tickled the spot with little to no mercy.
“FUCK, FUCK NO!” Harry kicked so hard that bedsheets began to make their way off the mattress, “FUCK, NO, N-N-NO-OH-OH-OH-AGH-HAHA-HAA-FUCK, FUCK!”
Louis bit his tongue in focus as he grabbed and pinched at the ticklish chunks, an area so sensitive it had thrown Harry into a messy, flabbergasted state.
Louis took his tickle around Harry’s throbbing balls, promising to return their later.
For now, he needed to ensure Harry lay completely covered in lubrication.
So, he continued down his tattooed calves and over to the top of his right foot.
He rubbed and tickled in baby oil, all over Harry’s toes, sole and heel.
Harry shook his head, the liquid making the feeling of Louis fingernails running over the bottom of his foot borderline unbearable.
“…STOP, ENOUGH, ENOUGH WITH THE FEET…”
Louis found himself almost breathless with his own entertained laughter.
He couldn’t quite believe how ticklish Harry was, how amazing his reactions were…
How much he himself enjoyed this.
Louis finished tickling Harry’s foot by pinching his middle toe - sending Harry into an angry hiss, where he shouted out the word ‘OW!”
Louis then slid his fingers back up Harry’s neck, over his erection, and past his stomach.
“Right lad, you ready …?”
Harry watched both of Louis’ hands trail towards his pits, pits now soaked with baby oil, body odour and sweat.
Harry shot his head down, from side to side, left to right, watching the hands glide further inwards, as if in slow motion, as if there were the deadliest things to head towards Harry’s underarms.
“No, wait, no, ha-hang on, wait, wait a second,” Harry’s panicked glance had become so fast moving that his hair had now fallen over most of his face, covering his wide, open eyes.
“I’m going in…” Louis taunted, “… And I won’t be coming out till the time is up…”
Harry clenched his teeth, wheezing out a shocked, concerned cry.
“No, Lou, I, I can’t, not in there, not for the last fifteen minutes, come on …”
Louis smirked, his fingertips arriving at the armpit hair, where the teasingly paused.
Harry held his breath.
“You really don’t want me to do it, do you?” Louis glanced up at his boyfriend.
Harry swallowed down self respect, shame, pride, everything that had kept him in a reserved, confident position, up until now.
“I… I … “
Go on, just beg.
You have no choice.
Doesn’t matter if he thinks you’re weak, or pathetic.
You can’t handle this.
You’ve never been able to handle this.
Louis waited for Harry to finish his attempt at pleading.
“… I, I can’t, Lou. You’ll kill me, it’ll, it’ll kill me…Pl-please don’t do it … ”
Louis travelled in close, both hands now in each of Harry’s armpits, but not tickling - just slowly, ever so slowly playing with the ends of his armpit hair.
Harry felt his throat thicken, his neck cramp up.
“They’re too sensitive,” he admitted, “My, my armpits are, are t-too sensitive …”
Louis continued his tease, gaining enough armpit hair around one index finger, that he had to pull his finger away to slide the curl off.
The movement made Harry wince, as some of his armpit hairs were yanked in unison.
“But, this is the deal,” Louis reminded, “I tickle torture you, you tickle torture me …”
Harry nodded in understanding, almost too quickly.
“I, I know, but, but I didn’t realise you were, you were, you were—”
“— This hardcore?” Louis finished Harry’s sentence for him.
Harry sighed in defeat.
“I can’t take it,” he explained, his eyes still shooting down fierce, worried looks at each of his pits, the more Louis’ hands remained around them, “I can’t take it, seriously!”
Louis looked at the alarm clock.
Thirteen minutes left.
“Then, in that case, I have one thing to say, lad …” Louis spoke in a northern whisper.
Harry remained silent, his naked body, stretched out, shimmering in baby oil, reluctantly ready for whatever Louis had planned, for the last now twelve and a half minutes.
“What, what’s th-that?” Harry asked, cautiously.
Louis swallowed down lack of regret.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
It was then Louis sent his fingers directly into each of Harry’s pits, creating an explosive, back-arching, hysterical cry from his bound and helpless boyfriend.
And as Louis actioned his most relentless armpit tickling yet, he glared at the alarm clock in concentration, his body shifting all over the place the more Harry squirmed.
Because, deep down Louis knew that even when the twelve and a half minutes were up, he’d still carry on regardless …
‘HARRY’S SECRET’ CONTINUES IN ‘HARRY’S SECRET, PART TWO’