Witzwil Young Offenders Prison, Switzerland
Tom sat in an office with Tobey and Robert, his left foot tucked under the seat, his right foot laid out over a desk.
He had removed his shoe and sock, proudly displaying the Spider-Man symbol tattoo on the middle of his foot to the tattoo artist who currently readied her needle and ink.
“He’s sentenced to a further three months,” Robert tucked his hands into his trouser pockets as he strolled around the desk, “Instead of serving his time in this prison, he’ll serve a ‘different kind of punishment’, the more feathered kind, if you get what I mean …” he turned to face the young stranger who sat on a recliner, his hands untying the lace of his right pump, “… And he’s almost as ticklish as you … ” Robert chuckled, “… Almost … He may have to ham it up a little … ”
Tobey sat on the other side of the desk, his fingertips typing over the keyboard of his laptop as he readied the F.R.S (Facial Reconstruction Software), “I gotta admit, the match is pretty impressive, Rob. Not just his physical features, but his circumstance, too …”
“Uh, hi! My name’s Adrian!” The young offender waved sarcastically, reminding the surrounding visitors that he was very much ‘in the room also’, as he pulled off his pump and then whipped off his sock.
Tom held his hand up in apology, “Sorry, mate. And er, cheers, for doing this …”
Adrian laid down on the recliner and winced as the tattoo artist pressed her buzzing needle against the arch of his foot.
“You don’t mind swapping slimy cold dinners and angry cell mates for daily tickle torment and some masked weirdos, do you, pal?” Robert grinned at Adrian.
Adrian gulped down hard as the same tattoo as Tom’s was inked into his own flesh.
“I’d rather spend the next twelve weeks screaming my ass off, then sitting here, staring at the same four walls all day …”
Tobey shuffled over to a printer-style piece of hardware wired into his laptop, “It’s ready,” he confirmed.
Tom pulled on his shoe and sock and excitedly got to his feet, where both he and Robert made their way to Adrian’s side.
Tobey waited by the printer as it produced a thin layer of fleshy material, containing holes for ears, nostrils and eyes, realistic looking moles and imperfections in the skin, its shape the same as a balaclava.
“It’s mad how much you look like me,” Tom observed Adrian’s face; his thin lips, well structured jaw, high cheek bones, brown eyes and pale skin, “We could be twins.”
Robert landed his palm over Tom’s shoulder, “I deliver, kid,” he watched Adrian wince again as the tattoo artist started to scribble in some of the tattoo’s shading, “I always deliver,” his achievement arrived in a fatherly tone.
Adrian breathed in sharply, the needle now drawing out the legs of the spider, “Looking so much like you used to make me a lot of money, before I ended up in this dump. I had a TikTok account and everything, attended Comic Con, did kids birthday parties …”
Tom chuckled, “Bet you never thought you’d end up doing a job like this, aye?”
Adrian smirked, “Never in my wildest dreams! It’s an honour, I’m a huge fan.”
Tobey carried the mask over to Adrian as if it were a wet cloth; he was careful with the transition from printer to face, he wore rubber gloves, pinched the tips of the mask with his index finger and thumb, he pursed his lips in focus and he stepped cautiously, “This sample alone is worth over two million dollars …”
Tom scratched the back of his head, “Errr … I think I’ll need to sell my Kingston flat, for this …”
Robert tutted and stepped aside, allowing Tobey some room, “Don’t sweat it, underoos, I’ll pick it up.”
Before Tom could lift his jaw from the floor and express his genuine thanks, Tobey had started to place the mask over Adrian’s face.
Adrian closed his eyes and curled his fists into balls, enduring a sting at the centre of his right sole, whilst experiencing a sticky sensation across his nose, forehead and chin as an exact flesh-replica of Tom’s face was attached to his.
“Bloody hell,” Tom cupped his mouth with his hands, “It looks incredible …”
As the tattoo artist finished tattooing the Spider-Man symbol over Adrian’s foot, Tobey took his fingertips away from Adrian’s face.
Adrian sat up from the recliner and slid his palms over a head Robert had paid him to shave.
He turned to face Tom, smiling at him stiffly, every single inch of his features now matching Tom’s perfectly.
“This is unreal …” Tom gawped, a sudden wash of doubt masking his face as quickly as the fleshy replica had masked Adrian’s, his head lowering.
Robert nudged Tom’s head back up by pressing the top of his hand under his chin.
“Talk to me, kid … This is good …”
Tom began his babble without hesitation, “Well, what if he sweats?” He scrunched up his nose, “What if it falls off? What, what if they decide to, I don’t know, go at his face with an electric toothbrush? Will that scrub it away? Will baby oil stain?” He turned to Tobey, breathless with questions, “Will it melt under the sun, will it peel if it gets too hot, will it—”
“—Tom—”, Tobey pulled off his rubber gloves, “It’s officially approved and co-designed by the C.I.A, the application was seamless. Adrian will forget he even has it on … It’s built to endure the strongest expel of perspiration, it’s stuck to him as if it were an additional layer of skin. It’s faultless, but yes, it will eventually deteriorate after three months …”
Tom sighed.
Tobey continued, stepping forwards, his palm arriving gently against Tom’s arm, “ … And that’s the time frame we expected. Like Rob said, this is good. There’s nothing new here, nothing bad. After The House eventually realise the person they have isn’t you, we would’ve already come up with another plan - hey! Maybe even two or three. But till then, Adrian here is doing the hard work for you.”
Tom closed his eyes, “Yeah, I know, I know, I sound like I’m not sure it’ll work but, I am sure. I think? The tattoo helps …”
Adrian hooked his right foot over his knee, showcasing his new tattoo.
“I made it look a little aged, so it appears as if he has had it the same time as Tom has,” the tattoo artist explained, pocketing her one thousand fran in cash, where she then started to pack up her kit, “A little vaseline on it before bed and it should be ready to walk on by tomorrow.”
As Tobey arranged a pick up car, Robert escorted the tattoo artist out of the office.
“Do you need to go over anything?” Tom asked Adrian, a shiver of uncertainty in his voice, “I er, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this!”
Adrian sat on the edge of the recliner, where he caught his reflection in the window opposite.
“I’ve spent the last two weeks reciting your life. I know … Everything … The foods you hate, the movies you love, the school you went to, the subjects you scored A+ at …” Adrian’s fingertips smoothed over his left eyebrow, where he noted a change to its shape - after all, his eyebrows were no longer his, “… And I don’t need to pretend to be as ticklish as you. I’m …” he ran his tongue across the edges of his teeth, “… Pretty fucking ticklish, haha. The next few months are gonna be hell for me …”
Tom nodded at the cells and other inmates on the other side of the office door, “It’ll be a laugh, compared to this. No pun intended …”
Adrian chuckled and nodded in understanding, “So, just be dressed in the clothes you sent, ready for 8 am in the morning, right? Like we discussed? And Jake is gonna pick me up?”
Tobey carefully ejected a tiny flesh coloured disk no bigger than the nail of his little finger, out from the side of his laptop, “Not a minute later,” he held the disk in the palm of his hand, offering it to Adrian as if it were a sweet, “Here, place this against the roof of your mouth. We’ll get Andrew to tip off The Major, get their attention on the train you’ll be on. We’ve got an oxygen mask, a full tank to last for five hours. You got any shows you can download to your phone, whilst you’re laying in the—”
—Robert closed the office door as the tattoo artist made her way out of the prison, where he then returned to the team.
“… Iron Man movies, they’re the best,” Robert confidently declared, throwing some gum into his mouth, “You need the highest quality content to watch, seeing as you’ll be slumped in a locked trunk for the best part of—”
“—Why do I need to do that again?” So far, that seemed to be the only bit Adrian felt uncomfortable in taking part in, “I’m not claustrophobic or anything, it’s just, it’s a little confined …” Adrian picked the disk out of Tobey’s palm, widened his jaw and pressed it against the roof of his mouth, as requested.
Tom placed a reassuring hand on Adrian’s shoulder.
“It has to be believable. If the lads were transporting me somewhere via a train, in secret, they wouldn’t have me sitting in ailse F …”
He looked into Adrian’s face, a face that now appeared exactly like his own.
“… You’re not Adrian, anymore,” Tom said, “You’re me. Say it, with my voice, like we rehearsed …”
Adrian swallowed as the disk, now latched to the roof of his mouth for the next three months, transformed his voice so that it sounded exactly like Tom’s.
“… I’m you …” Adrian said, “… My name is Tom, and I’m The House of White Feathers most ticklish ticklee …”
Thanks to Robert’s young offenders charity, Tobey’s high profile tech contacts and the efforts of his team, the idea of actual escape started to feel genuinely possible for Tom …
… Leading him to think back over the past twelve months, at all of the big events that lead him—
This moment takes place one week after the events of OBEY, Part Three
May, 2023
Odeon Cinema, Kingston Upon Thames, London
______________
Tom sat entirely alone in the middle row of the theatre, slurping an iced cola through a straw as he watched himself play Peter Parker in ‘Spider-Man: No Way Home’.
He had secretly and purposefully arranged for himself to be the only person present in the cinema.
The events taking place on the big screen reflected in Tom’s hazel brown eyes; currently, Doctor Strange was casting a spell for Peter in which everyone in the world would forget that he was Spider-Man.
Sluuurrrrp …
Tom glugged down his cola as he waited for the person he had called on earlier to arrive.
‘Did it work?’ Peter asks.
‘No!’ Doctor Strange barks back, ‘You changed my spell six times!’
‘… Five times …’ Peter meekly mutters as Doctor Strange captures the spell within a shining orb.
Tom shuffled forwards as he watched Andrew walk into the cinema, large bag of popcorn in hand.
As Andrew climbed his way up the aisle, towards row A, seats 5 and 6, the movie continued to play in the background.
‘You changed my spell!’ Doctor Strange growled, ‘You don’t do that! That spell was completely out of control. If I hadn’t shut it down, something catastrophic could have happened!’
‘Stephen, listen, I am so sorry …’ Peter whined.
‘Call me sir,’ Doctor Strange snarled.
Tom’s eyebrows burrowed into a flat line as he watched Andrew choose to not sit beside him, but instead directly within the middle of the row in front of Tom’s.
Tom turned to the projector shining the movie down over the screen, where he nodded his head just once.
Harrison, who sat in the projectors booth, nodded in return and then fingered some buttons, causing the volume of the movie to decrease so that Tom and Andrew could speak comfortably.
Tom turned back to Andrew, as Andrew threw a fist full of popcorn in his mouth, where he grinned at the big screen towering into the theatre’s padded ceiling.
“Which film is this …” He chewed, “… Anyone decent in it?”
Tom rolled his eyes, “Salted or sweet?” He asked.
Andrew raised his bag of popcorn above his head.
“Both, of course.”
Tom scooped up some popcorn and sat back, allowing Andrew to gradually land at the importance of their meeting.
“So, how comes we’re hanging out again so soon?” Andrew angled his body so that he faced Tom, reaching over the seat, where he then picked out Tom’s cola from the cup holder, “After what happened last time, I wasn’t sure you’d want to see us anymore …”
Tom kept his eyes on the movie as he casually threw popcorn into his mouth, resting his Nike clad feet on the seat, crossing his legs at the ankle, almost teasing Andrew with something he could not have.
“I don’t,” Tom smirked, another piece of popcorn thrown past his lips.
Andrew cleared his throat as Tom’s tightly laced trainers sat mere inches from his face.
“Uh, you kinda have to,” Andrew reminded Tom, “You signed a contract. Your next session is scheduled to happen within the next few wee—”
“—It isn’t happening … ” Tom declared, his eyes finally shifting away from the movie down to Andrews surprised stare, as Tom lifted his feet off the seat, planted the rubber soles of his trainers over the sticky floor and leant forwards, resting his elbows over his knees, his face aimed directly at Andrews, his voice deep, stern and authoritative, “… The House of White whatever the bloody fuck they’re called aren’t laying a finger on me ever again …”
Andrew blinked.
Tom could be a lot of things; friendly, kind, funny, witty … He was rarely, if ever, threatening …
… Until now.
“Mn. Is, is that so?” Andrew wished he had not stuttered.
Tom sat back in a relaxed slump.
“Chill, Andy. Not everyone loses out on me backing off,” he entwined his fingers and dropped his hands into his lap, “Wanna hear my proposal?”
Andrew found himself swallowing down a thick feeling of uncertainty as Tom’s composure, tone, body language and verbal delivery clearly suggested the young man had not only thought long and hard about how to derail plans formulated around The House’s greatest find since DiCaprio in ‘97, but he had also decided to psychically snatch hold of the steering wheel and fully hurtle the entire machine off course.
Andrew placed his popcorn down in the empty seat beside him.
“Give me your feet,” he ordered, calmly and quietly.
Tom scoffed into his chest and hid his feet under his seat.
“Do one,” he huffed.
Andrew smiled to himself and scratched the tip of his nose.
“If you want this to go your way …” Andrew allowed the cinema doors to open, where not one, but two Masked Men in black suits strolled into the theatre, both individually taking seats in separate rows, “ … Give me, your feet …”
Tom eyed The Masked Men with caution, reluctantly giving up his feet, where he rested them back in the cross legged position over the top of the row of seats Andrew sat in.
Carefully, Andrew started to unlace Tom’s right trainer as the movie continued to play in the background, the current action sequence flashing various lights and colours against Andrew and Tom as Andrew gave his ticklee permission to proceed, fully regaining control of a situation he almost fell out of control of.
“If you’re about to ask me to talk him out of your agreement, you’ve got another thing coming,” Andrew tugged at Tom’s trainer, effortlessly pulling it away from Tom’s foot, “Miller’s been after a replacement for Leo for decades …”
Tom curled his toes, their long lengths still contained within the thick white cotton confines of his sock.
“Only Zendaya and a few close mates know this but … I’m pulling together a team,” Tom felt comforted by Harrisons presence, even if it was behind a wall ten rows above, “Some of my most trusted people. You know half of them,” Tom pinched his lower lip as he watched Andrew unpick the lace to his right trainer, “With their help, I’m doing whatever it takes to stay away from those lot,” he gestured to the additional members of the audience, masked and silently staring at him several rows below, “And I want … “ Tom closed his eyes, shook his head, swallowed his pride and whispered out his words so quietly that only Andrew would be able to hear, “… I need … Your full involvement.”
Andrew cocked an eyebrow in interest as he gathered Tom’s feet together and positioned them between two seats, snugly containing them side by side, locking them in place.
Tom narrowed his eyes as his feet were secured in place, his socked soles poking between the seats, all ten of his toes curling into a defensive scrunch as Andrew blew air against his heels.
“Wow,” Andrew took the fingertips of his right hand and ever so gently brushed them against Tom’s soles, “You really, really don’t want to do this anymore, do you …” his sentence arrived as a statement of fact, not a question, as he turned to The Masked Men and flapped them away.
Tom’s feet twitched inward as he pressed his butt deeper into the leather of the seat.
The Masked Men stood from their seats, their support no longer required, where they then exited the cinema and made their way to the large van parked outside.
Tom curled his fists into balls as he felt Andrew start to peel away the sock protecting his left foot.
“Promise to keep me away from Miller, that bloody Clown, every single wanker who’s part of that cult …” Tom shuffled forwards, a grin stretching across his face, as Andrew whipped his sock away from his foot, “… And I’m all yours!” Tom squeaked out his proposal, “Ha, have me, however you want, whenever you want,” he used his right socked foot to help out his left, by pressing the top of it against his left sole in a fierce stretch.
Andrew, his back now entirely facing the movie playing behind him, could only hypnotically gaze towards Tom’s perfectly positioned feet; the soft, creamy white colour that made up the bottom of his left, the way his toes tightly scrunched under the sock of his right …
… The fact that these size elevens could, apparently so, just belong to he and he only, if he accepted Tom’s rather desperate offer, caused an agonisingly vibrant sting of excitement within his chest that pinched so hard, Andrew had to compose himself and pause for thought.
“Why me …” Andrew began to unhook Tom’s sock away from his right heel, “Why do I get to be the luckiest man alive?” He knew the answer to his question, he just wanted Tom to say it out loud.
Tom had clenched his fists with such strength his fingernails had started to wedge into the middle of his palms.
“Because if anyone is going to do it,” Tom had to stop himself from reaching forwards, “I’d rather it be you—” he bit into the knuckles of his left hand as Andrew peeled his sock towards the top half of his foot, leaving it in a limp hang from his toes.
Andrew felt surprised by Tom’s reasonings - when he had expected Tom to simply say, ‘Because I trust you’, he had instead thrown something a little more unexpected onto the table; a reminder to Andrew that Tom might actually not trust him anymore at all, but at least he felt physically comfortable around him, to be pushed into such intimate and intense states of hysteria.
“… ‘Have me, however you want, whenever you want’ …” Andrew repeated Tom’s words as he took his index finger and gently began to draw a faint circle over the bottoms of Tom’s now mostly bare feet, “ … Can I have you ball gagged, untied, your soles soaked in oil and tickled by the glove?”
Tom hid the lower half of his face with his t-shirt, unintentionally exposing his stomach as he kicked his legs and giggled into the t-shirts material, “No!” He yelped, “Er, I mean yes, yes!” He growled, his twisting feet discarding the sock hanging off the toes of his right foot in a speedy thrash.
Andrew grinned as he continued to draw shapes into Tom’s soles with his index finger, now scratching with little to no pressure over the arch of his left foot, “Can I tie you in an X, stretch you out naked, expose that hyper sensitive body and work your armpits for hours on end?”
Tom yanked his t-shirt back over his navel and groaned into his fists, “Grahaha! Yes!” He huffed, the idea of having his upper body tickled by a tickler as skilled as Andrew making him feel sweaty and flustered, however much to his reluctance, the consent continued to be provided in the form of giggles and a non stop bellow of, “—Yes, yes, yes!—”
“Can I suspend an electric massager from the ceiling and dangle it inches above your hard on, whilst you’re tied spread eagle, aroused and panting for release?” Andrew’s eyes beamed with glee as he watched Tom’s soles and toes curl and scrunch between the seats, the more they endured Andrew’s index finger.
Tom stretched his arms forwards, his laughter trickling from his throat, his hands covering the bottoms of his feet, blocking away Andrew’s touch, “—Ah! Haha! Grrah! YES!—” He huffed, his knees now bent up to his chest, “—Yes, you bloody sod—”, he panted, as Andrew sat back and chuckled, “However you want, wherever you want,” Tom repeated.
Andrew peeled Tom’s protective hands away from his soles.
Tom grunted as Andrew’s strength overpowered his clawed attempts at hiding his soles with his fingers, leaving him with no choice but to slump back in his seat, as Andrew turned his back to Tom and gathered his feet in an armlock, Tom’s ankles still pressed together and contained between the two seats.
“You want my short answer, or my long answer?” Andrew enquired, now facing the movie as it continued to play, his fingertips brushing across Tom’s soles as if he were carefully stroking a cat in his arms.
Knowing that a longer answer may mean a longer length of current foot tickling, Tom scrambled across the leather of his seat and punched his fists into the arms of his chair, his eyes widening as he stifled giggles at the back of his throat.
“The, the short answer—”, he had no idea why he was trying to stay so quiet, he had ensured the cinema they sat in would be private not public, and that only he and Andrew would be the audience to the movies showing, “Stop, Andrew, oi …!—”, he hissed.
Andrew sat in silence, smirking smugly as Tom’s feet squirmed in his armlock, his silky soft soles unable to handle the gentlest of touch, his ankles causing the betweens of the seat to creak, “The short answer … Is no.”
Andrew stopped tickling Tom at the exact time a conversational scene arrived within the movie, allowing a beat of reserved silence to fill the theatre.
Andrew removed his arm from around Tom’s ankles, allowing Tom to pull his feet free from the seats, where he began to reapply his socks.
“Fine—”, Tom’s face dropped from a strained smiling glare to a disappointed pout, “—I didn’t even expect you to show up, let alone consider to help out one of your best ma—”
—Andrew knelt on his seat and shuffled around so that he faced Tom.
He grabbed at Tom’s hands and stopped him from so speedily yanking on his Nikes.
Tom paused, avoiding Andrew’s gaze as Andrew squeezed Tom’s hands between his palms.
“—I am one of your best mates,” Andrew reassured, “Just because I’m declining the offer, doesn’t mean I won’t do what it takes to keep you off the radar. I’ll lie, I’ll convince, I’ll act … You don’t need to be my tickle slave or my kinky secret to make me do the right thing,” Andrew smiled when Tom finally looked him in the eye, “… I’m a friend, above anything else.”
Tom sat with one sock on, one sock off, his trainers dropping at his feet.
Andrew’s unexpected willingness to keep someone he cared so very much about safe, had seemingly rendered Tom speechless, however the dubious doubt and eye brow raising uncertainty across his face toyed with a very simple yet important question that asked:
‘Can I trust you?’
Andrew nodded just once and kissed the top of Tom’s hands.
He then stood and climbed over the row of seats, where he sat down next to Tom and picked up his iced cola.
“I’ll be your Doctor Strange,” Andrew slurped, “I’ll make The House forget …” he placed the drink back into the cup holder and wriggled into a more comfortable slump.
Tom could not take his eyes off Andrew as he slouched into his seat, where both young men now sat so close side by side that their shoulders rubbed.
“I’m serious, Andy,” Tom no longer cared to put his other sock back on, “I want to be gone,” he said firmly.
Andrew reached over the seats and retrieved his bag of popcorn, his weight dropping back down into his chair causing the row to shake.
“I doubt they’ll be able to replace someone as ticklish as you,” Andrew wanted to be blunt with his reality check for Tom, not only as a way of providing crisp and clear clarity, but also as a way of already asserting himself as a key player within Tom’s ‘team’ - someone he could rely on to be honest and truthful regarding Tom’s one of a kind circumstance, “If anything, your absence will only fuel their desire,” he threw popcorn into his mouth and chewed on the cardboardy-dry, salty and sweet chunks, “I get that you’ve prepared yourself for it, but, the way they’ll try and hunt you down … They’ll go harder than you think …”
Tom listened to Andrew intently as Andrew watched his version of Peter Parker arrive on the screen.
“The question is,” Andrew smiled and clawed onto more popcorn, “Will you be ready for the chase?”
Tom turned his gaze away from Andrew as he slumped in his seat, his eyes returning to the movie.
He smirked, shaking his head as he rested his jaw over his knuckles.
“Nah,” he picked out some popcorn from Andrew’s bag, “The real question is, are they ready …”
This moment takes place after Part One of ‘TCTLR, The Exchange’.
Zendaya’s apartment,
New York City
01.42 am
______________
“It’s been over half a year, and all he’s done is prove himself…” Tom folded his arms and leant back against the refrigerator as snowfall continued to tumble past the window, “… I stopped doubting him a while back.”
Jake poured a dash of vodka into his coffee, “I get that, Tom,” he picked up the mug and a took a sip, “I more meant, can we trust him this evening …” he poured in another dash, “… What if he slips up? What if they know he’s been on our side all along? What if Timothée—”
—Tom slid his palms over his face and sighed into his hands.
“If you stopped drinking as much, Jake, you might feel less paranoid …”
An unexpected hiccup interrupted Tom and Jakes whispered conversation.
Tom’s hands dropped by his sides as he watched Andrew slink into the kitchen, his shoulders slumped, his tuxedo hanging off his drunken body, his right hand clutching hold of an empty bottle of champagne.
Tom pinched the bridge of his nose as Jake lowered his head, the fact that their doubts had clearly been heard by a lingering Andrew causing him to shuffle awkwardly out of the kitchen, where he quietly tiptoed towards the spare bedroom.
“Am I the only one who’s sober … ” Tom huffed, “… How was the party?” He asked, pulling the hood to his hoodie over his head, standing in pizza-stained pyjamas and Adidas sliders whilst Andrew stumbled closer in his snowflake tinged suit.
“Well!” hiccup, “I didn’t fuuuuh-uck up,” Andrew slurred, his lips sucking on a bottle of champagne containing no more booze, his breath wreaking of roasted meat and gravy, “Dessspite what you and Donnie Darko seemed to—” hiccup, “—Think I was goin’ to, do, do …”
Tom carefully took the empty bottle of champagne away from Andrew, “Alright, mate, lets make you some cheese on toast, get you some water, oi!—” Tom had to keep himself quiet as Andrew snuck the fingers of his left hand under Tom’s hoodie, where he pinched at his waist, “—Stop!—”
“—Cootchie cootchie cooooo—” Andrew wrapped his arms around Tom, his hands exploring his sides as Tom bounced on tip toes within his grasp, “—However you want, whenever you want … Fuck Christmas! Fuck Santa … Can’t we go back to Hallo—” hiccup … “—Halloween - I got so close to getting what I …”
“—Shhh!” Tom hushed Andrew quiet and then took hold of both of his hands, “The lads are trying to sleep!” He then pulled Andrew out of the kitchen as Andrew faked loud snoring noises, mimicking Tobey’s grunts as he snoozed in his sleeping bag, “Yes, that’s what we’ll do,” Tom’s sliders squeaked over the kitchen tiles as he tried to escort Andrew to the front door, “We’ll call you a taxi, get you home …”
As they shuffled into the living room, Andrew fell onto the couch, taking Tom with him, “Miller is shuuuch a dick!—”
—Both young men landed with a bounce, where Andrew then kicked off his loafers and shuffled into the fetal position, resting his head on Tom’s lap, “They’re so in love,” his babbled dubiety did not make sense, “It’s, it’s really n, n—’
—Sniff, sniff …
Tom raised both eyebrows.
“You alright, Andy?”
Andrew began to sob quietly, his hands holding onto Tom’s legs, “You … You think this is easy for me?” hiccup, “All this, this lying?…” sniff, “Tonight was so, so hard, Tom! Pretending to not know you were only a few blocks away, fuck! …” hiccup, “… So many people asked me about you,” he whined, “… ‘Where’s Tom?’ … ‘Where’s Tom?’ … ‘Where the fuck is Tom?’ …” hiccup, “… Do you know how many of them ridicule me, for thinking I lost you?” Andrew’s words began to slur into a faint murmur as he sniffed and hiccuped, only the flicker of the Christmas tree fairy lights highlighting the amount of tears soaked over his cheeks.
Tom bit his upper lip and threw a worried stare into the ceiling, Andrew’s emotion feeling warm and wet across his lap.
He allowed a few minutes to pass, mostly to see if Andrew wanted to offload any more - as he waited, he realised he had an opportunity to expose potential truth, after all, ‘drunk words are sober thoughts’ …
“Andy,” Tom rested his hand carefully over Andrew’s head of hair, “Be honest with me. Do you still want to do this? …”
…
“Andrew?”
Tom peered over his lap, where his own tired eyes landed on a best friend fast asleep.
This moment takes place two hours after ‘Croft’s Capture Part Two’
The Cotswolds, Safe House No. 02,
22.30 pm
Tom bounced his basketball as evening rain poured down around him.
One of his first requests, when Robert announced he would be funding the design of several safe houses, was that each one contained a basketball court.
Keen to keep his fitness levels up, if he were to be partaking in fierce runs away from members of a tickle cult, Tom spent most of his nights before dinner shooting hoops and dribbling the ball between imaginary players; in his mind they wore masks, and if he missed a basket his components would add an hour onto a lengthy post game gang tickle session - this made up scenario in Tom’s head always made him dunk the ball harder than he ever had, it always made him win, it always kept his mind on the main goal - to keep hidden, until his plan to dupe himself came to full fruition.
Tom wore Adidas running shoes with no socks; as he jumped across the court and bounced his ball, his feet squelched inside his footwear.
Hugging his slim waist were a pair of baggy black workout shorts that he had to keep tugging upward; his upper body was entirely bare, the rain causing his skin to shimmer - he loved the warm feeling that soaked his torso, the cold droplets mixed with layers of perspiration kept his temperature at a cool level, even if he had been bolting around the court for the best part of an hour.
Unbeknownst to Tom, Andrew had been watching him from the outline of the court.
He stood in a juxtaposed outfit compared to Tom’s; instead of wearing hardly any clothing at all, naturally drenched in weather, face and eyes creased into a determined scowl, Andrew wore a pale pink suit and silk shirt, his own facial features hidden by his House of White Feather’s Founder’s mask.
Andrew tucked both hands inside his trouser pockets, “You’re going to wear yourself out,” he said, “There’s only so long you can try and take your mind off things.”
Tom was not startled by Andrew’s gentle announcement of his own arrival - instead, he stood with his wet back facing his former tickler turned ally, where he looked up at the basket and aimed for a final shoot.
“You stink of fire smoke,” Tom stood on tiptoes, bent his knees, “Good time, I take it?—”, where he then threw the ball into the air, biting his lower lip in focus as he stepped back and watched it land directly through the hoop.
As the ball fell to the court with a bounce, Tom turned to face Andrew.
Andrew carefully removed his mask and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket.
“It’s a long story,” Andrew’s hair had started to get damp, the more the rain fell over him, “Your friend Bash was the star of the show. My ears are still ringing, from how loud he laughed. They asked him, you know … The question on everyone’s lips …” Andrew smirked.
A rumble of thunder echoed into the distance as both he and Andrew said the words, “… Where’s Tom …” at the same time.
They both chuckled to themselves, one of the safe house lights switching off, meaning that either Jake, Tobey or Harrison were the last to bed.
“You wouldn’t be here, if he broke,” Tom placed both hands on his hips.
Andrew began to stroll towards the safe house as Tom followed at his side.
“He did a fantastic job,” Andrew proclaimed, “At this stage in the game, Miller, the entirety of The House, they have absolutely no idea where you are and even better?” He opened the backdoor and allowed Tom to step into the kitchen, “They’re convinced that I’m clueless too.”
Tom did not thank Andrew for an update on their current status, nor did he express any gratitude for the efforts made to get them to this moment of success; in Tom’s eyes, Andrew owed it to him - to keep him safe, from the tickle torment fuelled world he had introduced him to - so instead, he opened up the freezer and pulled out a large tub of chocolate ice cream.
“Fancy an episode of Come Dine With Me …?” Tom kicked off his running trainers and made his way to the cupboards as Andrew shrugged off his smoke-scented jacket.
“Only one,” Andrew switched on the living room lights and slid out of his loafers, whilst Tom took two silver spoons and began to dig large chunks of ice cream out of the tub and into two bowls, “I’ve got a flight back to L.A at nine,” he then reached into the downstairs bathroom and grabbed a towel, chucking it over to Tom, “And dry yourself off before you sit down! The sofas are very expensive …”
Once Tom had purposefully dumped way more scoops of ice cream into his bowl than Andrew’s, he patted his body down with the towel and then, behind the walls of the kitchen and out of view from anyone, he pulled off his shorts and wrapped the towel around his waist.
He carried the bowls into the living room and landed beside Andrew on the couch in a heavy bounce, handing Andrew his bowl as Andrew switched on the television, located Netflix and started to play Come Dine With Me - the living room was small and cosy, Harrison had left the fire on as always and the window ledges were lined with fairy lights and tiny carved out pumpkins, thanks to Tobey’s passionate love for Halloween.
Both young men sat in silence, devouring their ice cream as their wide eyes took in their favourite show; Tom scoffed his ice cream quickly because he was so hungry after playing basketball by himself for so long, whilst Andrew speedily inhaled the chocolatey contents of his bowl thanks to how little he ate at DiCaprio’s House of Horned Devils event.
“Uh!” Tom dropped his head over his chest as some ice cream fell from his spoon and landed over his stomach.
Andrew took the chance as quickly as a crocodile catches a goose at the edge of its river …
“Allow me,” he placed his bowl down over the coffee table and took hold of Tom’s wrists; by this point, keeping Tom still was always an integral part of actioning out a successful tickle to his ultra sensitive body.
“Er …”, Tom still had his hands full; in one hand was his spoon, in the other hand his bowl, the ice cream now working as a tickler in itself, as it trickled into his bellybutton - Andrew used Tom’s predicament as a form of invisible bondage - with his hands so occupied, Tom could not fight back, unless he chose to physically drop the bowl and spoon which would surely mean staining the sofa’s Andrew had made clear were ‘very expensive’, something someone as polite as Tom would be more than happy to avoid.
Tom dug his heels into the floorboards and arched his back as Andrew leant his face over his stomach and began to lick the ice cream away from his navel.
“Er, An, Andy!” Tom huffed and twisted his torso inwards, his weight pressing into the sofa, “Oi, oi!—” he giggled, his wrists still firmly held, his bowl and spoon still tightly contained in his own grasp, “Seriously, come on—”, Tom groaned into his shoulder as Andrew’s tongue slurped up the ice cream, his teeth now barely nibbling and grazing across Tom’s abs, “—Aahaha! Aha-handy! Stop! Stop!—”, Tom thrashed over the sofa and kicked his legs, as if Andrew’s tongue were electrocuting him, the strength of each kick causing his towel to fall lose and for his semi erect cock to spring free.
Andrew raised his eyebrows at the sight of Tom’s arousal.
Tom, breathless and panting, tried to tug his hands free once more, but Andrew tightened his grip around each of Tom’s wrists.
Andrew peered up at Tom as Tom’s erection grew thicker.
Tom looked down at Andrew, Andrew’s head resting over his saliva soaked stomach.
Andrew’s playful gaze said the words, ‘this is new …’
Tom’s uncertain glance said the words, ‘Please, don’t do it …’
Andrew acknowledged and respected Tom’s confusion - he thought back to the times where he had experimented with his sexuality in the past, how he had felt when an unexpected ‘moment’ presented itself; he always let the nerves get the better of him, he always wanted to turn and leave, he never wanted to explore, to discover, to ‘find out’ something about himself that he might not be comfortable with - that thought process was clearly taking place behind Tom’s eyes as doubt fuelled them to shift left and then right …
… Andrew let go of Tom’s wrists and sat up, as Tom grabbed his towel and gathered it back around his waist.
Tom licked his spoon clean and then dropped it in the bowl, placing it beside Andrew’s on the coffee table.
Andrew then reached for the remote, “Let’s get some rest,” he sighed, “It’s been a long day for the both of—”
—Tom placed his hand over Andrew’s, urging him to put the remote back down.
“The last time I obeyed …” Tom swallowed down as rain slammed against the window, “… That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had … The one you an, and Miller … Gave me …”
The living room fell silent.
Andrew sat back, Tom’s blunt and open honesty rendering him speechless.
“I’ll be real,” Tom continued, staring into his lap as he spoke, unsure as to why he was still speaking, bewildered by how the words were coming out of his mouth so clearly, considering how anxious he suddenly felt, how much he had thought about this on a daily basis, “I sometimes wonder why I’m doing this, why I’m hiding from a group of people who could make me experience that again …” Tom lifted his head, now facing Andrew, his admittance being pulled out of his throat like some heavy weight being transported out of the depths of a well, “… I … Do want … To experience that … A, again.”
Andrew gulped down a dry lump.
“The reason …” he adjusted the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat, Tom’s truthful announcement causing him to sweat, “… The reason you’re reserved, is because you don’t trust them …” he placed a hand carefully over Tom’s shoulder, “… Do you trust me?”
Tom had no choice but to tear his eyes away from Andrew’s, where he narrowed them into the fireplace, his once damp skin now dry, his once wet hair now fluffy.
He nodded quickly, “I trust you,” he decided, “After how much you’ve put yourself on the line, time and time again,” Tom smiled to himself, “Yeah, I trust you.”
Andrew pressed his lips together, eager to not make Tom think the only reason he had betrayed The House was so that Tom would ‘allow him the chance’ to have him in all the ways Andrew fantasised about since Tom had signed the first contract.
“Forget that time …” Andrew lifted his hand away from Tom’s shoulder and tidied up some of his curls of hair, “… That was tame, compared to what I could show you …” Andrew was cautious in his approach, fully aware of how special the object in his hands needed to be handled, “… Indescribable and ultimate pleasure, via the form of the most intense tickle torment you’ve ever experienced. Allow me, to—”
“—No,” Tom slid away from the couch, taking the towel with him.
Andrew tried to close his mouth, but his jaw remained hung open as the rain continued to tumble down around the safe house.
“One day,” Tom smirked, “Maybe,” he continued to dangle his carrot before a well behaved Andrew, “No time soon, though. When we’ve won. It’ll be my way … Of thanking you.”
Tom walked bare feet quietly out of the living room and headed up to his bedroom, leaving Andrew with two bowls, two spoons and a puddle of melted ice cream on those ‘very expensive sofas’ …
Collisions, chaos and confrontations …
The Château Voltaire Hotel, Paris, midnight
______________
Tom shoved open the hotel room door and yanked out the communication device from his ear, throwing it out into the luxurious living room, where it landed somewhere underneath the glass coffee table.
“That was too bloody close!” He pulled apart the collar of his sweat stained shirt, Jake, Tobey and Harrison all following him into the room where Harrison frustratedly kicked the door shut behind him.
“The Major had his hands on me!” Tom kicked off his Nikes, “What? We’re involved in car chases now? They were a step ahead! This is getting f …” Tom rarely swore these days - he pressed his lips shut and shrugged off a denim jacket loaned by Andrew, his anger causing him to give in, “… Fucking ridiculous!” He hissed.
Tobey pointed at Jake as Jake fell into an armchair and giggled into his chest, pulling a silver flask out from his coat, taking a swig of more red wine.
“We almost crashed because of your drunk ass!” Tobey had remained calm and patient, in regards to Jake’s developing problem, but after the events of this evening he found himself raising his voice louder than he would have liked, “Get a grip on this, Jake! You could’ve gotten us killed!”
Jake gave Tobey the finger and dropped glazed over eyes into his lap.
Tom pulled the hotel room curtains into a tight close, discarding the view of a glittering Eiffel Tower, “I can’t do this anymore,” he muttered to himself, “We have to do more, I, I’m gonna have to call Zen—”
—Before he could yank the remaining curtains together, where he intended to hide away the Parisian nighttime for the rest of the evening, Harrison snatched hold of his wrist and spun him around, so that he faced him head on.
Tom stumbled back in alarm as Harrisons height towered over him.
“You’re asking for too much!” Harrison nudged his index finger into the middle of Tom’s chest, “It’s just tickling, for christ’s sake! All of this!” Now it was Harrison presenting his words in a stern shout, “All of it, to stop you getting what? Tickled!—”, he pointed at his chest again, the strength of his index fingers nudge causing Tom to step backwards until his shoulders arrived against the wall, “Just give yourself in and see out your contract, you pussy! It’s not like they’re asking for blood!”
As Harrison went to shove his index finger against Tom’s chest for a third time, Tom grabbed his hand in a commanding squeeze, pulling Harrison towards him so that their noses were just an inch apart.
“Have you ever been tickled so hard you can’t breathe—”, Tom growled through clenched teeth, “—Have you ever laughed so much you thought you might pass out, even when you’ve cried out for it stop, after hours and hours and—”
“—Oh, fuck off!—” Harrison pulled his hand free and turned his back to Tom, placing his hands on his hips as Jake swigged his whiskey and Tobey crawled around on the floor, in search for Tom’s discarded communication device, “Don’t act like you didn’t get anything from it! They got you The Crowded Room, the Fred Astaire biopic! You’ve earned millions since they—” Harrison turned to face Tom, his eyes dropping to Tom’s bulge behind his tight black tuxedo trousers, “—What really happened during your last session? What made you suddenly want nothing to do with them, anymore? Have you got the hots for this Miller guy, is that it? Fess up, you bloody—”
“—Stop—”, Tom stepped forwards, “—Stop speaking—”, he requested quietly.
Tobey stood slowly as Jake slouched awkwardly into his chair.
“No …” Harrison snarled, “You don’t fool me, mate … I can see the excitement in your eyes, when just there mere suggestion of being touched by them enters your m—”
—Tom grabbed Harrisons arm and walked him into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind them.
Harrison wasted no time in expressing himself, even if Tom had shoved him against the sink.
“You make out like you hate it, like you can’t stand it,” Harrison watched Tom’s mouth as he spoke out his words in a breathless mutter, as if they had been stored at the back of his throat for the best part of three months, “Like we have no choice but to hide, to escape all this, to sacrifice our personal lives, our jobs, to keep you from what? Having your balls played with for a bloody Oscar? You whined the other day because all of this is stopping you from playing golf, you privileged little—” Harrison’s eyes shifted to Tom’s fist, which had now raised upward, ready to punch Harrison in the face.
Harrison fearlessly looked Tom in the eye.
“… When really, we’re running from something you’re just too afraid to admit you love …” Harrison whispered.
Tom threw his punch, his fist purposefully making impact with the mirror behind Harrison.
SMASH!
Tom shook shards of glass from his bloody knuckles, where he then stormed out of the bathroom, leaving Harrison trembling as he took a seat at the edge of the bathtub.
A top secret location …
The day the team fully assembled …
______________
“And you’re certain you weren’t followed?” Andrew asked.
Tom dropped the rucksack of tickle tools down on the concrete ground with a thud.
“If you ask me that again, you’ll be the one getting tickled, alright?” He aimed the bundle of rope in his hands at Andrew and then dropped it by the singular metal chair positioned in the middle of the warehouse, “My laugh is gonna echo through this place,” Tom noted, his eyes trailing up to the beam-riddled ceiling hundreds of metres above, “It’s huge …”
“Huge—” Andrew knelt down and unzipped the bag, his smirking lips suggesting he was impressed, “—And entirely isolated. The perfect setting for our demonstration,” he fingered through electric toothbrushes, blindfolds and feathers before lifting his head to face Tom, “I hope they don’t keep me waiting. Jake was over half an hour late, the last time we—”
—Tom tucked his hands into his jean pockets and kicked a few stones into the corner of the warehouse, however despite the buildings size the stones never made impact with anything, “—Cut him some slack, Andy. He’s going through a rough patch, and yeah, they’ll be here,” he pulled out his iPhone and showed Andrew a message from Harrison, “See, three minutes away.”
Andrew got to his feet and stepped over the open bag.
Tom blinked as Andrew approached him out of the blue.
“Er …”
Tom gulped at the sight of Andrew’s right hand sliding past his jaw, where it cupped his ear.
Andrew moved into Tom, who closed his eyes and lowered his head, awkwardly dodging Andrew’s attempt to—
“—It’s a communication device,” Andrew chuckled, “I’m not trying to kiss you, Tom … Relax! …”
Tom shaped his mouth into a tiny ‘o’ as he felt Andrew gently attach a small plastic flesh coloured wedge into his ear.
“Oh, erm,” he felt his face warm up, “I know, I, I didn’t think you were—” he frowned as he felt static glitch within his hearing, “—a communication device?” As Andrew stepped back, Tom pressed his index finger against his hear, “Wow, we’re er, we’re going full James Bond …”
< ktsssh >
“Only the best for my favourite Spider-Man …”
Tom’s eyes widened as his mouth beamed into a wide smile at the sound of Tobey’s voice in his ear.
“Tobe!”
Tobey arrived at the warehouse, his fingers also pressing into his own communication device at his ear, as he walked through rusty steel doors with open arms.
Andrew stepped back, allowing Tom and Tobey to throw themselves into a friendly hug.
“Does it work alright? It’s state of the art tech,” Tobey seemed proud at how quickly and effortlessly he and Andrew had been able to source such hardware, “I’ve got spares for everyone, I thought I could also use today to explain how to use them, if that’s al, alright, if, if we have enough time, that is, I—”
“—The floor is yours, after the demonstration,” Andrews hand arrived over Tobey’s shoulder, “How you doing, fellow Peter Parker?”
Tobey hated how Andrew acted so reserved around him, he disliked the distance between them, created by a conspiracy Andrew had made up in his mind; a ‘he must not like me, if I’m connected to the bad guys,’ narrative …
That was not the case at all for Tobey, who only saw Andrew as a life long friend, someone he shared incredible moments with when filming Spider-Man: No Way Home, moments he will never forget …
To reassure Andrew was always and would always be in his good books, Tobey shrugged his hand away from his shoulder and took Andrew in for a tight embrace.
“I’m good, man. We’re good …”
Tom held his hands behind his back and admired the behaviour taking place before him, as all three Spider Men stood within the dusty shine beaming through the warehouse’s floor to ceiling windows.
“Aw, you guys. Too cute,” Tom gushed.
Tobey patted Andrews back and then turned towards Tom, his eyes shifting from him to the red metal chair as Andrew knelt back down and reached into the bag, pulling out leather restraints and more lengths of rope.
“I gotta say, I’m kinda looking forward to this,” Tobey clapped his palms together, “You gonna be alright?”
Tom ran a hand through his hair as he watched Jake’s large SUV pull up outside, Harrison in the passenger seat.
“Yeah, I er, I think so? The way I see it … If I can handle being tickled by masked strangers … ”
Tom eyed the contents of the bag he had delivered himself,
“… I can handle being tickled by friends,” he said.
____________
“Take a seat, Tom,” Andrew nudged the red metal chair forward.
Tom sat down.
Jake shrugged off his coat and removed his sunglasses as he hid a whiskey scented burp with the back of his hand.
“And what, he’s just meant to sit there and take it?” He asked.
Andrew, with the bundle of rope in hand and his iPhone in the other, paced around Tom, who calmly folded his arms across his chest.
“That’s the idea,” Andrew swiped his fingertip across the screen of his iPhone, “It’s vital that you all understand two key factors: one, why The House wants Tom so bad, and two, why Tom wants out … Those two things are connected by the most important element of all: Tom’s level of ticklishness.”
Tom remained quiet as he allowed Andrew to start the demonstration, whilst Tobey and Jake stood opposite him, Harrison working his way between them both as he handed out individual notepads and pens.
Bzz, bzz …
“I’ve just sent a video into our WhatsApp chat,” Andrew announced, “This is what started … Well, everything.”
Both Tobey, Harrison and Jake took out their phones and opened up the video.
Tom sat awkward and blushing, wearing the grey tee and jeans he had arrived in, his feet bare, his shoes and socks discarded into a polite pile beside his chair.
“… ‘Oi, no! Zendaya, no!’ …”
Tobey cocked an eyebrow as he watched Tom’s reactions to potentially being tickled, during a promotional interview for No Way Home …
Jake stroked his beard and chuckled, the sound of Tom’s yelps and shouts as his girlfriend wiggled her fingers towards his sides clearly amusing him.
‘… ‘I don’t like being tickled!’ … ‘Let’s hold hands, shall we?’ …”
When the video ended, Jake, Tobey and Harrison pocketed their phones and returned their attention to Andrew and Tom.
Andrew allowed a beat of silence to fill the warehouse, where he then spoke his next set of words in a whisper, mostly for dramatic effort.
“A level of ticklishness worth one hundred and fifty million dollars …”
Tom straightened his spine and tried to contain a smile, doing his best to hide how proud he was of such a fact.
“What about that video tells you that Tom is special?” Andrew asked, his question blunt and to the point, “Tobey?” He narrowed his eyes at his ‘fellow Spider-Man’.
Tobey shuffled awkwardly on the spot as he felt the surrounding gaze of his new team land directly on him.
“Uh,” Tobey tapped his pen against his notepad, “Well, he clearly can’t stand it. He practically jumps out of his seat, and she barely touches him. It’s as if the world would end, if she succeeded.”
Tom raised his eyebrows and flattened his lips, “You’ve hit the nail on the head there, mate.”
Andrew nodded slowly, “Great observation,” he turned his attention to Jake and Harrison, “Boys?”
Jake cleared his throat, “For me, it’s the volume of his shout, the way he kinda demands that it doesn’t happen. I can only imagine how startled the interviewer must have been, to see him react like that in person.”
Harrison’s smug smirk suggested that he agreed.
“Poke him, and he’s a live wire,” Harrison confirmed.
Tom hid his face with his hands.
“If we’re going to do this right,” Andrew explained, “Each of you need to submerse yourself into the mindset of the people who, believe me, will stop at nothing to get their way. I mean, that’s literally what they do - it’s what I do … We always get our way, all the fucking time …”
Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes, his tired glance saying the words, ‘I still don’t trust you’, without needing to verbalise it.
Andrew clenched his teeth.
He threw the bundle of rope into the rucksack.
“We’re not tying you up,” he decided.
Tom’s hands slid away from his face.
“An, Andrew … Someone’s getting punched! Or kicked! You of all people know I won’t be able to keep still if they—”
“—So, you’ll try …” Andrew made his way behind Tom and placed both hands over each of his shoulders, “I want them to feel what I feel, when I reduce you to a breathless state. And I want you to have to deal with being unable to stop them, not because your hands are tied, but because you have no choice but to let them. Do you understand?”
Tom scrunched up his nose and searched his lap for an answer, “Er, I, I think so?”
Andrew smirked, “It’s about owning who you are …” He stretched out his fingers and then glanced at Jake, Tobey and Harrison, “ … Don’t forget to takes notes,” he smiled playfully.
Tom closed his eyes and breathed in through flared nostrils, exhaling in a deep huff.
Tobey readied his pen over his notepad whilst Jake tucked his hands into his pockets, his eyes never leaving Tom.
Harrison crouched down and observed quietly.
Without bondage, Tom restrained himself the only way he knew how - by sitting on his hands.
“Just watch …” Andrew purred, as he began to gently stroke the edges of Tom’s ears, “… Watch, learn, understand what they’re after …”
Tom tilted his head to the left and raised his shoulders; he shivered, bending his knees and squeezing his eyes shut as Andrew barely brushed the behinds of his ears, “Mnn— goosebumps!” Tom squeaked, biting his lower lip, allowing Andrew to ever so carefully finger his earlobes and then hardly stroke his fingertips down to his neck, where Tom almost leapt away from the seat.
Andrew held onto Tom’s shoulders with a firm grip, keeping him in place.
Tom bit the insides of his cheeks nervously as Andrew’s fingertips continued to slowly travel around his head; they smoothed over the tip of his nose, fluttered past his lips, walked down across his chin …
Tom could not help but giggle, “What are you doing—” he jolted in surprise, “—Oh!”
Andrew reached down to the hem of Tom’s t-shirt, where he then carefully lifted the tee over Tom’s face, exposing his toned abs, defined waist, broad chest and fleshy, plump nipples.
Andrew purposefully kept the t-shirt over Tom’s head, covering him from the neck up, blinding him momentarily.
“Bods looking good, bro,” Jake complimented.
Tom’s torso stiffened up as he awaited Andrew’s touch, his voice muffled behind his tee, “Aw, cheers, mate, oh!—” he then twisted into himself and spluttered out a cackle, as Andrew simply grazed a hovering touch past each of his nipples, “—Oh no!”
Tom kicked his legs outward and giggled into his chest, his weight shifting the chair back a few inches—creeeaaaak!—as Andrew tickled his nipples from squishy and soft into erect and pin-like, “—No, not my nipples!—” he wheezed, Jake, Harrison and Tobey now chortling at Tom’s reactions, “—Oi, not my nips!—” he almost jumped off his hands, so he could use them to stop Andrew, but Andrew’s toying fingers left Tom’s nipples and instead slid the tee away from his face, giving him back his sight, where he then tucked the tee around the back of Tom’s neck.
Tom huffed and licked his lips as he watched his surrounding team laugh.
“I’m glad you lot are finding it funny!” He quipped.
Tobey scribbled over his notepad as Jake pressed the end of his pen against his lips, Harrison leaving his notepad untouched whilst Andrew carefully reached over both of Tom’s shoulders and ever so delicately returned his fingertips to Tom’s bare torso.
Tom heaved and scrunched up, “—Mnn!—”, his chin pressing against his collar bone, his upper body arching inwards, “—Mnn!—”, his knees now at his waist as his eyes widened and took in the sight of Andrew’s claw-like hands arriving at his stomach, “—N, no!”
“Oh, the belly,” Harrison winced, “That’s one of my worst spots …”
Andrew flashed a lustful look at Harrison as he started to stroke Tom’s abs, “Good to know,” he grinned.
Tom thrashed from side to side in a violent spin, still sitting on his hands, his mouth stretching into a fierce grin as he contained a large heap of laughter at the back of his throat, overly keen to not seem too weak so soon in front of some of his far taller, far muscular friends.
“Mnn! Mnn, mnn!”
Andrew wiggled his index fingers and middle fingers around Tom’s navel, ever so faintly stroking the soft flesh of his bellybutton, where he could practically feel Tom erupting internally below him, some hisses and yelps making their way past his lips, all a strong, clear sign that Tom could not take having his stomach tickled in such a teasing way.
Andrew landed on the perfect opportunity to demonstrate the beauty and the brawn behind Tom’s muted and distressed squirming.
“Tell them,” he whispered into Tom’s left ear, even his own breath causing Tom to snatch his head away, “Tell them how much you want it to stop … How much you need it to stop … ” Andrew murmured, his fingers still stroking Tom’s navel.
Tom’s blurred vision boiled down at his stomach as he held onto the edges of his seat, his laughter finally exiting his throat in the form of high pitched giggles as he stomped his feet over the ground and struggled to catch his breath.
“—Morethananything!—” Tom growled.
Andrew stopped.
He stepped away from Tom, who slumped into the chair and wiped a falling tear from his left eye with the back of his hand.
“I’ve got tears in my eyes,” Tom chuckled into his palms.
Andrew licked his fingers, enjoying the taste of Tom’s bellybutton, as he made his way back towards the group and casually delivered a basic description of the unique-ness before them.
“ … You heard what he said … ” Andrew arrived by Tobey first, “… ‘More than anything’ …” he peered down at his notepad, “A simple sentence without any additional details or explanation, just three individual words that sum up how Tom feels, when just these fingers …” Andrew wiggled his index fingers and middle fingers in the air, “… Barely graze his bellybutton. It’s what we at The House usually refer to as ‘lightning in a bottle’…”
Tom cleared his throat and covered his navel with his hands as Tobey shot assessing eyes towards him, his pen still at his notepad.
“I wrote down, ‘lighter touch more effective than harder touch’…” Tobey cocked an eyebrow, “… Am I right?”
Tom tidied up his hair, “It depends where, I guess. The hairbrush isn’t light, but it bloody sucks …” he then pursed his lips in thought, “… But then the feather is soft, and that sucks too … “ he lifted his shoulders, “… Then you’ve got the electric toothbrush, which is sort of a mixture of both …”
Andrew glanced over Jake’s shoulder, where he could just about make out his handwriting over the first page of his notepad.
He had written down, ‘His skin is amazing. Ask what moisturiser he uses’.
Andrew rolled his eyes, arriving beside Harrison next.
“Osterworth, you haven’t written anything at all …”
Harrison looked down at his empty notepad, “It’s Osterfield …” he corrected, “And I don’t know what to write! I know Tom better than he knows himself. He’s been a ticklish mess for years!” Harrison grinned at Tom, “None of this is news to me…”
Tom grinned back.
Andrew pulled open the rucksack, where a large selection of tickle tools lay presented in an unorganised heap.
“Fair enough. So, I’m guessing you won’t want to try him out for yourself?”
Before Harrison could speak, Jake jumped forwards.
“I so want a go!”
Andrew watched Tom sink into his seat as he took a few gradual steps back.
“Be my guest,” he picked out his iPhone and readied a timer, “You get two minutes and two minutes only …”
Jake tutted, “Just two?”
Andrew sneered at Tom, who looked at him for mercy.
“Oh, go on then, make it three …”
Tom moved with hurried frustration, his arms reaching over the back of his head where he went to grab his tee, to pull it back over his chest and stomach, however—click, click, click!
Jake clicked his fingers at Tom and shook his head.
“Keep the t-shirt where it is …” he then began to approach Tom, who reluctantly dropped his hands into his lap, whilst Jake blew imaginary smoke away from his own fingertips, “… No tools for me, I’m gonna stick to these bad boys …”
Tobey jotted down the words, ‘Jake’ and ‘Menacing’ across his notepad.
Harrison got to his feet and readied himself to jump in, if Jake got too much - but as he stood, he felt Andrew’s hand land over the top of his back, the assertive touch reminding him of who was in charge.
“Come on, Spidey …” Jake spoke with a toying tone, his fingers wiggling towards Tom’s upper body, “… Lift your hands above your head, Spidey …”
Tom sat on his hands instead and shook his head quickly.
“Sod off!” He whined, the giggles already tumbling out of his mouth.
“Na-uh,” Jake communicated with Tom as if he were a pet, “Be a good boy, Spidey … Reach up to the ceiling for Uncle Jake …”
Tobey scribbled down the words, ‘Uncle Jake’ and ‘Weird’.
Tom clenched his teeth and cautiously lifted his thighs, taking his hands away from under his legs, where he then slowly stretched them upward, his fingers pointing to the roof of the warehouse.
Doing so exposed Tom’s armpits entirely, the sleeves of his t-shirt gathered around his shoulders and behind his head.
“Ah, mate! Not my pits! I don’t like having my armpits tickled!” Tom admitted, “I don’t like being tickled at all!” His panic made him state the obvious.
“That’s why we’re doing this,” Andrew established, “So they can see what you just said, but in physical form.”
Tom threw his arms back down into his lap as soon as Jake’s fingertips arrived at the ends of his armpits hair.
“OI, NO!—”
Jake leapt back as Tom’s ‘NO’ echoed out into the warehouse, startling a few doves that had gathered at the far right corner of the buildings ceiling.
The flap of their wings was the only sound to be heard, before Jake returned his touch to Tom’s underarms.
“Back up, kid,” Jake nudged his own head towards the ceiling, gesturing for Tom to raise his hands once again, something he did, but with sincere hesitation.
Tom squeezed his eyes shut as Jake’s wiggling fingers arrived back against the very ends of his armpit hair; he stomped his feet once more, his mouth stretching open the closer Jake’s touch invaded the depths of each underarm, his shoulders clamping up around his jaw, his huffs and pants transforming into beggish groans now that Jake had made his way in entirely, his fingertips nudging against the fleshy caverns in the form of a repetitive yet barely-there push.
“No, I can’t take it!—” Tom giggled into Jake’s hand, his breath hot and warm against Jake’s skin, “Please, stop!—” he bought his knees up to his chest and tried to force Jake away, but Jake slid around Tom’s legs and positioned himself behind Tom, “—Oh god! Please!—” Jake, now reaching over Tom’s shoulders and into his armpits, continued his teasing tickle in the form of a gentle brush and gradual stroke, “—Oh, oh, stop!—”, where he then decided to increase pressure, grabbing and pinching into Tom’s armpits, whilst also dancing his fingers around Tom’s pecs and upper sides, “—Jake! No, stop!—”, causing Tom to bounce on the seat and kick out his feet, his toes flexed out in a manic splay, his torso thrashing from left to right in an aggressive twist, his laughter now so loud and filled with force that it made both Tobey and Harrison glance at each other in shock, “—NO, NO! AH! AH-HA! HAHA! OI, NO! — NOAHAHA! AHAHAHA! GRR, GRAHAAHAH! NO, STOP! OH! AH-HA! HAHAHA, PLEASE!—”
Jake took his fingers down to Tom’s nipples and gently held onto them with his index finger and thumb, causing Tom’s laughter to wince to a stop.
Still positioned behind Tom, Jake glanced over at Andrew, “Come on, Garfield,” Jake’s hands slid away from Tom’s nipples and travelled up his raised arms, where he then wrapped his own arms around Tom’s elbows in a firm hug, containing them in a tight lift, further more exposing his armpits, “Go for it, man, I know you want this more than all of us.”
Tom hissed in a quick gasp, “Oh, this isn’t fair!” He whined, ‘Mnn! Don’t be evil!”
Andrew’s smiled beamed at his kindly given opportunity; he walked towards Tom and then sat on his lap, facing him, his hands surprisingly deciding to do the opposite to what Tom and his team expected - they instead rested around Tom’s hips (a gentle touch that still caused Tom to jolt, of course).
Without warning, Andrew moved his face into Tom’s left underarm and started to blow raspberries into his armpit, where he also sucked, licked and slurped his tongue deep into the increasingly hot and deep delve that made up the arch between Tom’s shoulder and his pec.
Tom erupted on the spot, “—OI, NO!—”, he cackled and giggled, shouted and yelped, his feet planting down over the concrete with such force that he almost lifted he and Andrew up and away from the red chair, “—Andrew, please!—” Jake struggled to keep Tom’s arms above his head as Tom tried his best to yank his arms back down to his chest, “—No! Get off! Get out!—”, Tom begged unapologetically hard at the sensation of Andrew’s tongue gliding through his underarm, “—No, stop, aha! Oh, please! Please! Stop, stop, stop!—”
Beep, beep, beep …
Jake growled, tearing his hug away from Tom’s elbows as Andrew stood up away from Tom’s lap, where Jake then patted Tom’s cheek.
“You’re lucky I wasn’t allowed longer, Spidey …”
Tom shoved Jake away and hid breathless laughter behind his t-shirt, “You sod!—”, pulling it back over his head, covering up his torso, his hands wiping away some of Andrew’s dribble from his armpit seconds after, “Ugh, gross! Bloody hell…”
Tobey picked out a feather from the rucksack, placing his pen and notepad into the back of his trouser pocket.
As Andrew went to restart the timer, Tom lifted his feet from the ground and sat on the chair in the cross legged position, his body relaxing somewhat at the sight of something so unthreatening.
“Don’t underestimate the feather, Tom,” Andrew acknowledged Tom’s smug and cocky slouch, “It’s more powerful than it looks.”
Tobey smiled quietly at the feather held between his index finger and thumb, as if he himself had experience with such a tool, a knowing in his eyes that the simplicity of the object could easily produce complex reactions, both mentally and physically.
Tom sat back on his hands as Tobey wiggled the feather around his chin.
The warehouse fell silent once again as Jake and Harrison watched on, Tobey now taking the feather in a gentle stroke towards Tom’s nose.
Tom breathed in quickly and then expelled a hefty sneeze.
“—Ah-choo!—”
Harrison chuckled as more doves were scared into a frantic flutter.
“Bless you,” he said.
“Cheers,” Tom sniffed.
Tobey stroked the feather around Tom’s neck, gliding it over his right bicep and down his forearm.
Tom watched the feather quietly, where it soon arrived at his wrist.
Tobey used his other hand to hold onto Tom’s wrist, where he carefully moved it so Tom’s forearm and right palm were facing upward.
Tobey dragged the feather gently over Tom’s palm and through curling fingers, a now calming quiet filling the warehouse.
Tobey took the feather away from Tom’s fingertips, Tom still watching the feather curiously, as Tobey travelled it over his right leg and towards his right ankle.
Tobey picked up Tom’s right foot, where he allowed the feather to complete its tender journey over the top of Tom’s foot and towards his toes.
The static, ticklish energy surrounding Tom began to spark as the feather slid between his right big toe and index toe, causing Tom’s toes to scrunch and for him to widen his jaw, where he lifted himself off the seat, not needing to leap forward any further once the feather left his toes, causing him to drop back down onto the chair with a bounce.
Andrew pursed his lips, interested in Tobey’s considerate and mellow testing.
Suddenly, Tobey dropped down to his knees.
He pinched the top button of Tom’s jeans and looked his friend in the eye.
“May I?”
Tom wanted to ask, ‘what are you going to do?’ but with Andrew narrowing a stern yet surprised stare at him from a distance, Tom found himself nodding quickly at Tobey as his heart rate began to speed up within his chest.
Jake frowned in confusion as Tobey began to unbutton Tom’s jeans, unzipping his fly, revealing Tom’s larger than expected bulge behind the now open denim.
Tom had to unfold his legs from beneath him, planting both of his bare feet down over the concrete, where he then lifted his butt and allowed Tobey to shuffle his jeans down to his knees.
Tom felt confident in Tobey’s actions; he knew the forty eight year old well, he knew how straight he was, how married he was, how plain and ordinary he could so proudly be … He also knew Tobey was always curious, in more unique ways than the others standing in this warehouse. With that considered, Tom felt comfortable in being handled in such a way by someone he trusted whole-heartedly, even as much as his best friend Harrison.
Seated with his jeans now down at his ankles, Tom gasped as he watched Tobey flutter the feather between his thighs.
“Oh, alright—” Tom wore only briefs, so most of his legs were exposed, the muscular flesh that made up his thighs now victim to Tobey’s feather, “Ah-ha, bloody hell—” Tom snarled, “—That’s so sensitive!—” he huffed, his knees trying to meet, however Tobey used his free hand to force them apart, where he sent the feathers stroke and flicker up and down Tom’s legs, causing the young man to throw his head back over the chair and giggle out in spluttered fury, “—Okay, okay, okay!—” he yelped, “—New ticklish spot unlocked!—” he dug his heels into the floor and leapt away from the seat, “—I’m sorry, I can’t!—”, his hands having no choice but to reach between his legs and grab at the feather, “—Alright alright alright!—”
Andrew paused the timer.
“I said you weren’t allowed to stop them,” he strictly reminded.
Tom and Tobey remained in a heated clench; Tom’s hand clutching the feather, Tobey’s index finger and thumb still pinching the quill, the feather itself still present between Tom’s now twitching thighs.
“But it tickles too much!” Tom whined, “I had no idea my legs were that—”
“—As a form of punishment, Tobey gets to pick an additional tool,” Andrew declared, “Tobey, what are you gonna go for?”
Tobey snatched his hands and the feather away from Tom’s determined gasp; he then picked out an electric toothbrush from the bag and switched it on, as Andrew restarted the timer.
Click! Bzzzzzz …
“Oh bollocks!” Tom sat back on his hands, keen to not incur any further penalties, as Tobey knelt back down and reached into the space between' Tom’s thighs, his aim Tom’s balls, “No, Tobe, come on, mate, really?” Tobey pressed the electric toothbrush against Tom’s taint, allowing the vibrating whizz of the plastic bristles to drive Tom absolutely crazy; he jolted forwards as if he had just been shot in the balls, “—GAH!—”, dribble began to bubble at each corner of his mouth, “—Oh no!—”, as he screamed behind closed lips, “—MMNNNNNN! MNNNN! MNNNN!—”, his eyes unblinking, his face trembling, his cheeks flushing pink, “—OhmygodTobeystop!—” Tom spat, his legs kicking outward in a manic flay, “—PleaseTobeystop!—” he spat again, Tobey now taking the electric toothbrush over Tom’s balls and across the top of his right thigh, “—Jesushowlongisleft!—”
“—All of you, now …” Andrew sneered, as he grabbed Tom in a bear hug and held onto him tightly.
“What! No!” Tom tumbled into a state of astonished bewilderment as Jake took one his left foot in an arm lock and Harrison took hold of his right, tucking it also under his arm, “OI, NO, LADS!” They spread Tom’s legs whilst tickling the soles of each foot contained in their hold, Tobey still working the electric toothbrush over Tom’s balls, “—AHAHAH! LAHAHADS! NOAHAHAHAHA! OI! STOAHAAHAHAHAP!—” Andrew grunted as he struggled to contain Tom, his torso thrashing from side to side as his legs kicked out and in, once, twice, three times …
Beep, beep, beep …
Jake and Harrison dropped Tom’s feet, Andrew slid away and released the bear hug, Tobey switched off the electric toothbrush.
“Nah, that was too much—” Tom announced in a breathy pant, “—You’re all bastards—”, he shook his head, wiping sweat away from his upper lip, chuckling in disbelief, “—You’re all bloody wankers! …”
Andrew clapped his hands in a slow applaud, “Quite the reaction,” he admired, as Tobey switched off the electric toothbrush, retrieved his notepad and pen and bowed to his team, “What made you go for that spot?” Andrew asked.
Tom pulled his jeans back up to his waist as Tobey tucked his pen behind his ear.
“I know I’m super ticklish there,” he announced, “It’s another level of sensitivity, like a brain overload …” he looked at Tom and offered him a sympathetic shrug, “Right?”
Tom ran his hands through his hair and nodded just once, “I could barely think,” he agreed, “Especially when you all jumped in. I, I felt like I was going to—”
“—Explode?” Jake stroked his jaws stubble, “You looked like you were gonna explode.”
Tom smirked and planted his right hand over his abs, acknowledging how tight they felt as he did so, “Yup. And there I was thinking Tobe would be the gentler one,” he chuckled.
As Tobey wrote down the words, ‘they underestimate me’, over his notepad, Harrison picked out a grooming glove from the rucksack.
“Alright, last one …” Andrew set the timer and glanced at Tom from the ankle down, “… Osterworth, you’re not going for his feet?—”
“—Osterfield—” Harrison had started to think Andrew was doing that on purpose, “—Nah, feet freak me out,” he admitted, placing the glove over his right hand, “Arms up, mate,” Harrison nodded at Tom, who sighed heavily and slowly returned his hands to the space of hair above his head, “Whenever I want him to buckle, for whatever reason,” Harrison explained to Tobey and Jake, “I always jab at his pits,” he made his way behind Tom and reached over his best friends torso, picking the hem of his tee away from his stomach and up over his head in a speedy flash, “I once did it in a supermarket. He screamed so loud people around us thought we’d been robbed …” there was a twinkle in Harrisons eyes as he recalled that moment.
Tom laughed so hard he could barely speak, despite the fact Harrison had yet to touch him, “Wh, why! Haha! Why are you, you telling them that!”
As Harrison’s gloved hand arrived over Tom’s left shoulder, the plastic spikes of his palm starting a gradual rub across his chest, causing Tom to twist his neck and press his mouth against Harrisons wrist, his teeth grazing over his skin, their suggestion of a nip informing Harrison, ‘If you take the piss, I will bite you …’
Before Harrison had the chance to curl all five of his gloved fingers into Tom’s left armpit, Andrew switched off the timer and raised his hand.
“Stop,” he commanded.
Harrison paused as Tom blinked quietly.
Tobey and Jake turned their heads; as they peered through the warehouse’s window, a large black van with The House of White Feather’s logo printed to its side, arrived around one hundred yards outside the warehouse’s surrounding fence.
“They’re here,” Tobey whispered.
Harrison pulled off the glove and threw it into the rucksack as Tom jumped to his feet.
“I’m parked out back!” Jake picked up Tom’s shoes and socks as Tom and Andrew made a hurried sprint towards the exit doors.
Tobey caught glimpse of a tall figure climbing out of the van, “What the fuck is that!” But before he could analyse any further, Jake grabbed at his arm and pulled him away.
“Move, move, move!”
Andrew slammed the warehouse doors shut as Jake climbed into the drivers seat of his SUV, allowing all of the team inside his vehicle, where it then speedily hurtled onto the side road and out into the side streets that tangled their way into the depths of Los Angeles.
The front doors of the warehouse exploded inwards, followed by a huge waft of dust and beams of shining sun.
The Major took a step into the now empty building, followed by seven Masked Men.
His leather booted feet crunched over concrete as he approached a tilted over chair on the floor …
Behind the diamonds, jewels and sparkling white crystals that made up his face, he looked down at a notepad and pen on the floor.
The Masked Men searched the area as The Major picked up a notepad hastily dropped to the floor.
He spoke the words scribbled on the second page, his voice stern and deep …
“… ‘He can’t be trusted’ … ”
