Tim stumbled away awkwardly, spun on his heels and bee-lined straight towards the bathrooms open door.
Once inside, he shut the door behind him and locked it.
The music, the talking, the laughing all faded away into a drowned out mumble as Tim stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.
His eyes looked glazed over, his lips puffy.
He tidied up his hair as the bathrooms surroundings swayed from side to side.
He checked the time on his iPhone.
We've been here for two hours already …
Tim wasn’t sure if he were having fun because everyone here seemed so nice, or if it were all of the booze he and Armie had consumed in such a short space of time.
Tim could still make out the begging and the hysterical pleading from the model currently tied to the bed next door.
Tim flapped the hem of his t-shirt.
He felt hot, anxious, stuffy.
He turned away from the mirror and leant on the edge of the sink.
His blurred focus travelled over framed pictures of Atlanta’s skyline, and other generic hotel decor littering this expensive bathroom.
He stared down at his feet, bare and sock-less, because he’d been told they have to be …
Tim had been to many parties before in his life, but this one, despite having sprinkles of similarities to all of the house the parties Tim had been to, still felt so very different.
Tim cleared his throat.
He ended his own time out, completely forgetting to pee.
He downed the rest of his beer, unlocked the bathroom door and then headed back into the party.
***
Ten Hours Earlier...
“I won’t bull shit,” Tim announced, “I’m kinda relieved he isn’t here.”
Armie watched the air hostess pour champagne into his glass as he delivered his reply.
“That’s to be expected. He’s got quite the presence.”
Armie took a sip from his glass as the air hostess dangled the bottle over Tim.
Tim shook his head, gesturing to the still-full glass between his legs.
“I’m good, thanks …”
As the air hostess walked back down the aisle of Miller’s private jet, Tim angled his face to the tiny circular window inches away from him.
“How much money does this man have … ” he asked, mostly to himself, as he watched the clouds float past below.
Armie chuckled, crossing his chino-dressed legs at the knee.
“Too much.”
Both young men sat opposite each other, in giant, cream leather seats.
A table hovered between them, attached to the planes carpeted wall.
On the table - a bowl of salted nuts and two paper pamphlets with ‘Tickle Fest 2020’ decorating the cover in pink font, surrounded by illustrated feathers, ball gags and rope.
Armie and Tim were the private jet’s only two passengers.
Miller had offered the mode of transport to Tim as an apology, for introducing him to a ‘two hair brushes at once’ scenario.
They had been in the air for just over an hour.
“So, uh, when we land… What’s, what’s the plan?” Tim asked, taking a sip from his glass.
Armie smoothed fingertips over a jaw decorated in blonde stubble.
“We check into the hotel, and then we do what we like … The action doesn’t kick off until tomorrow.”
That news, as well as Miller not travelling with them today, gave Tim even more relief.
“Oh …” Tim relaxed deeper into his seat, “… So, we can get room service, watch shitty TV or, or something?”
Armie sent a mischievous glance over to Tim.
“Or something …” he said, with a sparkle in his eyes.
Tim flattened a smile, knowing all too well Armie’s ‘or something’ might include a feather or two.
“Did you pack that kinda stuff …?” Tim asked, as if reading his ‘lers mind.
Armie rested his glass of champagne over his knee as the jet bumped over some turbulence.
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
Tim rolled his eyes up to the jets ceiling, a foot or two above him.
“You’re really making the most of this, aren’t you …”
Tim necked the rest of his champagne, all at once.
Armie lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
Tim endured the gathering bubbles in his cheeks, wiping his lips as he swallowed down the fizz.
He turned to the air hostess, who took the hint immediately and pulled a bottle of champagne from out of the ice bucket.
“Nervous?” Armie inquired.
Tim thought about his answer whilst the air hostess refilled his glass.
Now who’s asking the rhetorical questions …
Tim lifted his shoulders as the air hostess returned to her seat, “ … I, I guess? I’m about to be tickled-the-fuck-out by total strangers. I’m just glad we’re getting paid …”
Armie couldn’t help but sink, every time Tim mentioned doing all of this for money.
It sat as another sharp reminder that if ten million dollars weren’t involved, Tim simply wouldn’t be here at all, and all of the things he and Armie had experienced, over the past twelve days, wouldn’t of happened.
Armie pushed crushing thoughts aside as another bump of turbulence shifted the plane from left to right.
“How about we cure your anxiety by reading up on the agenda?” Armie suggested, whilst looking at the pamphlets on the table.
Tim took one more sip of his drink and placed his glass down by the pamphlet.
He picked up his copy, slouched back in his seat and then propped his feet up in the empty seat beside Armie, crossing his legs at the ankle.
Armie placed his hand gently over the laces of Tim’s left Reebook as he too picked up his own pamphlet.
Tim flicked through the pages.
He read over the disclaimer, the ‘strictly no recording’ rule, the fact everyone attending the event had to provide a negative covid test, the check in times, the check out times, the importance of the signed NDA's ...
… The mention of ‘Mr. Chalamet and Mr. Hammer’ being present at the event …
… A ‘once in a life time opportunity’.
He trailed eyes over pictures of guys in stocks, from previous years, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of ticklers …
… Theatrical stages, with tickle sessions and demonstrations played out by models and ticklee’s …
… Guys dressed in leather harnesses, beautiful, voluptuous women standing with feathers and chains …
… And then the schedule, in the form of a timetable.
“Fuck,” Tim pressed his lower lip with his index finger, “He’s given me, like, the two most intense sessions …”
Armie flicked to the page Tim had open.
“Hmm. Looks like you’re in Session Two aaaaand …” Armie trailed his eyes down the timetable, “... Session Four … Yes, the two most … Unique sounding sessions also, by the looks of it.”
Armie pursed his lips, glancing over his pamphlet to Tim.
“You okay about that?” He asked.
Tim shuffled in his seat, keeping his eyes on the pages in his lap.
“I, I don’t know how I’ll even handle them. Session Two looks worse than a rollercoaster …” Tim winced at the description of the second session of day one, darting green eyes over details regarding the sessions prior and post, sessions other models would endure, “… Look at Session Eight! That guy gets tickled by three girls! Why couldn’t I of got that one?”
Armie endured a sting in his chest.
A sting that reminded him of two things;
One - Tim was, at his core, still a straight-ish twenty three year old boy … Despite all they had experienced together.
And two - these sharp stings …
… I hate how I’m getting used to them.
Armie cleared his throat.
“You … Have no idea how lucky these people will feel, Tim. You’re a tickle fetishists dream, a celebrity, there are Instagram accounts devoted to your feet, accounts the people attending Tickle Fest no doubt follow … They’ll be able to touch you in person, make you squirm, live out scenarios they never thought possible …”
Armie closed up his pamphlet, speaking into the bubbles of his champagne, “… Miller isn’t going to make it easy for you, kid. He’s going to give his community what they want.”
Tim looked out of the private jet’s window.
Armie’s reality-check sat heavy on his shoulders.
Whilst feeling glad Armie had delivered such a warning, Tim could only manage the word,
“Damn.”
Armie’s serious, determined face spread into a reassuring smile.
He leaned over to Tim and placed a hand on his knee.
“You’ve got this, Tim. And I’ve got you.”
Armie applied a squeezed pressure to his touch.
Tim folded up the pamphlet in half, then in quarters, until it couldn’t be folded up any further.
“What the fuck am I doing?” He asked, whilst covering his face with his palms.
Armie’s hand slid off Tim’s leg as he rested back into the leather of his seat.
“I’ve been asking myself that for the past twenty years.”
Tim glanced over at Armie.
He folded his arms over his chest, eyeing his Tickler carefully.
“When this is all over, I … I don’t want anything to do with Miller again… I … I want it to be—“
“—Just us?” Armie caught Tim’s glance, holding it in place.
Tim nodded, offering his hand out above the table.
“Just us,” he said.
Armie curled his hand around Tim’s, where best friends agreed their next steps, post Tickle Fest, with a firm handshake.
***
Regency Hotel, Atlanta
Once Miller’s private jet had landed at Atlanta airport, Armie and Tim were escorted into a limousine where they started the drive towards the luxurious Regency Hotel.
Armie’s iPhone buzzed in his hand.
Tim watched him sigh, shove the iPhone back into his pocket and then glare out of the limousines window.
“Everything alright?” Tim asked.
Armie’s blue eyes flickered from side to side as they focused on the hundreds of cars whizzing by behind them.
“All good, kid.”
Fifteen minutes later and they had arrived.
Tim stepped out to an humid afternoon air, blue sky and an accommodating steward dressed in a smart red uniform, who happily took his suitcase and rucksack.
Armie popped sunglasses over his eyes as he left the limo and joined Tim at his side.
The Hotel stood fifteen stories high, with palm trees lining it’s outside perimeter.
It glowed with a modern exterior, it’s guests consisting of just Tickle Fest attendee’s.
“It’s huge,” Tim gawped, his neck arching backwards as he stared up to the top of the hotel, “Has he filled every room?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised …” Armie said under his breath as he handed another steward his luggage.
Armie placed his hand on the back of Tim’s shoulders as they walked towards the hotel lobby.
Once at the reception desk, Armie took the lead and informed the hotel that their rooms were booked under ‘Miller Vaughn’.
The lady at the desk typed some information into her computer, clicked a few clicks over her mouse and then glanced up at the hotel’s latest guests.
“Mr. Hammer and Mr. Chalamet, welcome. You’ll both be in Room 136,” she slid a single plastic key card towards Armie, “However, Mr. Vaughn would like you to go straight to Room 74, where a private party is being held. We’ve just informed him of your arrival.”
Tim shifted his eyes towards Armie, unsure if he felt more awkward about the fact they’d be sharing a bed, or that they’d be seeing Miller so soon.
Armie acknowledged Tim’s nervous glance, whilst choosing to keeping his eyes on The Receptionist.
“He wants us there right now?”
The Receptionist peered over Armie’s shoulder, at the line of other guests waiting to check in.
“Yes, right now.”
Tim turned to face the line.
Around twelve men, in couples, stood with suitcases.
They were all dressed in either polo’s or floral, short sleeved shirts, khaki shorts, sunglasses…
… They all seemed …
Normal.
A guy wearing a red golf cap waved at Tim, mouthing the words ‘I loved you in Call Me By Your Name…!’
Tim managed a smile whilst noticing that half of the men were staring down at his feet.
“Alright,” Armie took the key card and slid it into his chino’s pocket, “I guess we better head on up.”
***
Tim and Armie stared at the hotel room door.
Tim’s eyes trailed over the number ’74’.
He turned to Armie and swallowed down apprehension.
He said nothing, but his wide eyes and dry looking lips communicated how nervous he felt.
Opera music could be heard from inside the room.
Chatter, laughter and general conversation could also be made out.
It had been around thirty seconds since Armie had knocked.
“Maybe we should just go,” suggested Tim.
Armie shook his head.
“It’s only a party.”
Tim shuffled on the spot.
He decided to get through this the same way he did back in New York, back in Miller’s studio.
He turned back to Armie.
“We’re actors, right?”
Armie blinked, nodding just the once.
“So,” Tim took in a breath, “Let’s act.”
Armie smiled.
Suddenly, approaching footsteps.
Louder, closing in …
Armie and Tim embraced characters, people who wanted to be here, who would enjoy every second …
They faced the door, adopted positive smiles and then …
The door swung inwards, revealing Miller.
“Guys! Hey! Welcome, welcome…”
Armie exploded into an enthusiastic, open armed offer of an embrace.
“Miller! Hi!”
Miller wrapped his arms around Armie and pulled him in for a giant bear hug.
Tim showcased his most photogenic, Hollywood smile, in the form of a white-toothed grin.
Miller broke the hug from Armie and then went in to hug Tim, hesitating almost immediately.
He instead offered out his hand.
“Timothée! So, so wonderful to see you again…”
Tim tilted his head.
“Aw, c’mere ...”
He grabbed Miller and gave him a friendly hug.
Miller, wide eyed and surprised, flung his arms around the special guest, pulling him close to his chest.
Tim breathed in the scent of red wine and musky, expensive cologne as his nose squashed up against Miller’s neck.
Miller broke the hug, glancing down at Tim’s Reeboks.
“It’s a no shoes and socks policy tonight, so …” He looked at Armie’s loafers, “… Take ‘em off, boys!”
Tim looked at Armie, who fulfilled Miller’s order straight away.
He toed off his loafers and placed them neatly beside the many other party guests footwear lined up by Miller’s closet.
Tim held onto Armie for support, yanking off his sneakers and socks whilst hopping about on the spot.
He placed them down beside Armie’s loafers, joining his Tickler in entering Miller’s bustling hotel room.
As they stepped bare feet onto soft carpet, they were greeted by a large number of other Tickler’s and Ticklee’s - some men, some women, some older, some younger …
… Tim raised his eyebrows at the sight of a drag queen, perched outside on the railings of Miller’s rooftop balcony, smoking a cigarette and talking with a few young men, who looked to be around Armie’s age.
“Everyone! Most of you know Mr. Hammer … “ Miller turned to the crowd, who sat on sofas chatting, or stood drinking champagne, whilst opera played in the background, “… And most of you, of course, know of Timothée Chalamet …”
Miller held onto Tim’s shoulders, placing him in front of him, as if on display.
“… Please be kind, be respectful, be warm, be welcoming, we’re all friends here, and …” Miller squeezed Tim’s shoulders, whispering into Tim’s left ear, “… I really just can’t wait for tomorrow.”
Tim faked a grin as the people at the party waved at he and Armie.
To Tim’s surprise, most of the guests turned away and continued their conversations.
Miller’s hands left Tim’s shoulders, “See, they’re just people.”
Tim felt himself relax as he returned to Armie’s side.
“Can I get you boys a drink?” Miller asked, his eyes shooting over Tim’s body, then up and down Armie’s.
Armie stood confidently, his hands sliding into the depths of his trouser pockets.
“We’ll take two beers, each.”
Tim shot a surprised look at ‘Mr. Hammer’.
“That’s a choice right there…”
Miller smirked, nodding at Armie’s request.
“Dutch courage it is…”
As Miller went off to retrieve the beers, Tim glanced over at the thirty or so people squashed inside Miller’s huge hotel room.
“This is more of an apartment …” Tim glanced up at the chandeliers dangling from the ceiling, the Greek-style singular stone pillar in the centre of the room …
“I told you,” Armie murmered, “He’s got too much money…”
Miller returned with just a beer each, handing both Armie and Tim their drinks.
“Can you believe I was able to hire out the entire hotel?” Miller picked up his own glass of red wine, taking a sip, “I know someone high up in the APD and they been able to wave off the restrictions for us.”
Armie spoke into the neck of his beer before chugging down a few gulps.
“Well, you are used to getting what you want, so, I’m not surprised …”
Miller hovered his nose over his glass of red, taking in it’s oaky scent.
“You’re damn right about that,” he said, glancing down at Armie’s feet.
Tim acknowledged the intense exchange between the two men.
“Uh,” he turned to the crowd, then back to Miller, “So, how, how do you know everyone? Is everyone here a uh … Does everyone here have a uh …”
“… Knismolagnia?” Miller shook his head, “No. I’d say around sixty percent of them do, others are charity fundraisers, sponsors of the events, some are just friends …” Miller took a sip of his wine, “… In fact, I have someone I want you to meet …” Miller curled his hand around Tim’s waist, pulling him carefully away from Armie.
As Armie went to follow, another drag queen approached him with a smile and the intention to flirt.
Armie watched Tim get taken away …
“He’s twenty three, just like you. His name is Aaron … And if I’m honest with you, kid, he’s the only person here you’ll have something in common with …” Miller escorted Tim through couples, people discussing their vacation last year in France, past a women showing off pictures on her phone of a man, gagged and strapped to gym equipment …
Tim tightened his grip on his beer as he turned over his shoulder, to see Armie fall into reluctant conversation with a few of the parties guests.
“I appreciate that, Miller, but uh, I’m kinda happy sticking with just Ar—“
“—Nonsense,” Miller interrupted, “This is the perfect chance to make friends.”
Miller plonked Tim in front of a handsome, young blonde model, who had just lit his second cigarette of the late afternoon.
“Aaron, this is …”
Aaron held out his hand as the cigarette dangled at his lips.
“I know who he is,” he smirked.
Tim shook Aaron’s hand, acknowledging Miller’s touch leaving his waist.
As Miller returned to the depths of his party, Tim ran a hand through his hair and eyed the white stick bobbing at the end of Aaron’s mouth.
“I don’t suppose you gotta spare?” He asked.
Aaron leant against the railings of the balcony, the navy 5pm sky buzzing gently behind him.
He fingered the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
He handed the packet to Tim, along with a pink lighter.
Tim took the pack with a smile, pulled out a single cigarette and lit it up, using his other hand to block the warm Atlanta breeze from the lighters flame.
Tim breathed in the nicotine and closed his eyes, exhaling through his nostrils.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Aaron addressed Tim as if he knew him.
“I don’t,” Tim explained, “But tonight, I do …” he handed the pack back to Aaron.
Tim then stood on tip toes, in an effort to peer over heads.
Where the fuck is Armie?
“It’s okay. He’s talking with last years winner of Drag Race …” Aaron took his cigarette off Tim, sensing his anxiety, “… She’s been flirting with me all day. I think she’s here, with Ru Paul. Everyone here is cool. You’ve got nothing to worry about. They pay pretty well, too…”
Tim took another drag, this time holding the buzz at the back of his throat.
“Ru Paul is a Tickler?” Smoke puffed out of Tim’s lips as he spoke.
Aaron shrugged, “Apparently so.”
Tim watched a smartly dressed waiter approach he and Aaron with a silver tray full of tiny cheese burgers.
Aaron grabbed one, whilst Tim politely declined.
As the waiter walked off to offer other guests the canapés, Tim eyed Aaron whilst he tucked into the burgers.
He stood barefoot in white jeans and a white vest.
He looked like he’d been pulled straight out of 1997 …
… Boyband style, floppy blonde hair, tiny eyes and bushy eyebrows, tanned skin, a lean figure …
… A necklace around his neck with a silver feather attached to it’s end …
… Tim glanced down at Aaron’s well kept feet.
“S-so, uh, are, are you a … A lee, or a ler?” He asked.
Aaron swallowed down the second burger, wiping ketchup from his mouth afterwards.
“A lee. You know the lingo?”
Tim blew smoke into the Atlanta air.
“I’m, I’m getting there…” Tim rolled up the right sleeve of his t-shirt nervously, “I’ve uh … This is uh …”
Aaron spoke smoke as he finished Tim’s question for him, “… The weirdest shit you’ve ever done?”
Tim chuckled, “I uh, I was gonna say overwhelming but uh, yeah … That too.”
Aaron took a long drag of his cigarette.
“You’re a movie star,” he stated, “I take it you’re not doing this for the money?”
Tim winced internally.
“Actually, I uh, I am …” Tim watched his own cigarette burn, the amber line getting closer to his fingertips, “… It’s a quick fix.”
Tim felt grateful Armie wasn’t in earshot, to hear him refer to their Agreement in that way again.
Aaron caught the glance of another person at the party, who waved him over.
“Well, if you need anything, I’m Room 90…” he tucked the lighter into his pack of cigarettes, forcing them into Tim’s chest, before leaving to accommodate his own Tickler, “… Have them, something tells me you’ll be needing the buzz more than me.”
Tim stood alone with the pack of Marlboro Reds as Aaron’s bright white outfit slid into the crowd occupying Miller’s giant hotel room.
The opera music glitched to a stop as someone changed tracks.
Unexpectedly, drum and base started to vibrate through the balcony floor.
Armie slid out from the crowd, joining Tim at the balcony’s railing.
“You okay?”
Tim sighed thankfully at Armie as he returned at his side.
“I’m good …” he pocketed the cigarettes whilst crushing his dead one over the waist hight surface of the balcony’s railing.
“You’re smoking?” Armie narrowed his eyes.
“Tonight I am,” Tim repeated.
Some laughter could be heard from inside Miller’s hotel room.
Both Tim and Armie peered through the crowds as the laughter became manic and hysterical.
Tim peered over someones shoulder, where he watched Aaron endure a rib tickling from two Ticklers; one a tall African American man dressed in a suit, the other a red headed woman dressed in a pink gown.
A loud ‘cheers!’ took place on the other side of the room, whilst the drum and base glitched to a pause, suddenly replaced with One Direction’s ‘That’s What Makes You Beautiful’.
Tim frowned in confusion.
“There’s, there’s so much going on, everything is so, so fucking random… ” he turned to face Armie, “… The tickling is just a part of it, isn’t it … It just, happens? People are more here to just … Have a good time?”
Armie nodded whilst taking a swig of his beer.
“It’s mostly conversational. It’s embraced, part of the flow of the moment. My advice for you would be to—“
“—If you say ‘lean into it’ one more time…” Tim smirked at Armie, before taking a sip of his own beer.
Armie chuckled.
“I was about to say … Fully involve yourself … Think about nothing else. Allow it to consume you. This is us, for the next two days. These people, this hotel, the tickling … It’s everything we’ll know, everything we’ll learn, we’ll witness, we’ll see, we’ll hear … And then …”
“… And then it’s over,” Tim took in a breath, almost too hopeful for time to speed by, “And then we go back to New York.”
Armie nodded, wrapping his arm around Tim.
He wanted to kiss him on the head, to hold him tighter.
But instead he found himself just repeating Tim’s words.
“And then we go back to New York.”
Tim went to take another sip of his beer, but the echo pushing against his lips informed him his bottle was empty.
“I’m out.”
Armie hid a hiccup with his arm, “Me too,” he then held onto Tim’s shoulder and led him back into the crowd, “Let’s sort that out.”
As they made their way to Miller’s mini bar, Tim watched various guests take glances down at his feet.
He flicked his head, allowing brown curls to hide his face.
Miller greeted more arrivals at his room door, the same way he had done with Armie and Tim: A big hello, a huge hug, and a request for them to remove their shoes and socks.
Once at the bar, Armie nudged a person standing beside him - a bald man wearing flamingo sunglasses.
“Do you just help yourself?” Armie asked, having to raise his voice as the music’s volume increased.
The bald man nodded, “He said it’s all on him!”
Tim fist pumped the air as Armie leaned over and snatched a bottle of whiskey from the pile.
Tim fingered around for two glasses.
“I don’t know about you kid, but I’m gonna get wasted,” Armie poured the whiskey into each of the glasses Tim held at his chest.
Tim nodded, the boom, boom, boom of the music’s base now travelling through the hotel room with a strong shudder.
“I’m down with that!”
Armie clicked his glass against Tim’s.
“Down in one?”
Tim held the drink close to his lips, “Down in one!”
Both Tim and Armie necked their shot.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut as he swallowed down the intense burn of alcohol.
Armie did the same, wiping his mouth clear in achievement straight after.
“Come on, another …” Armie began to pour a second shot.
Tim licked whiskey stained lips, “Jesus! Now who’s feeling nervous…”
Armie shrugged, clinking his drink against Tim’s once again.
Both young men took their next shot, within less than thirty seconds of their first.
The party began to pick up, louder and faster, within each fifteen minutes passing.
More beers were grabbed, more whiskeys were downed.
More guests walked through the door.
More laughter could be heard, from people having a great time, and from people being tickled.
The music went from pop to country, to drum and base again … And then to rap …
Before Tim knew it, the view past the balcony no longer existed as navy 5pm sky, but star scattered night time instead.
The more drunk people got, the more confident they became.
Tim felt a jab of fingers against his waist.
He squirmed into Armie, twisting around to face a couple.
The couple consisted of a tall blonde woman with too much botox in her face, and her short, round husband who stood dressed in a tuxedo, at around five foot tall.
“We just wanted to say hello!” The woman spoke loudly over the music, in a strong Texan drawl, “We’re huge fans of you both!”
The husband beside her nodded in agreement, “Especially you, young man,” he tilted his glass of champagne towards Tim.
Tim smiled, nodding curls over his face.
“Great to meet you!” He shouted, over laughter from a nearby crowd.
The woman took a step forwards, placing sharp, pink nails gently against Tim’s jaw.
“We would love to get you in our stocks, back home in Austin … Pete here would pay a generous buck, to work on a handsome, famous boy like you …”
Armie wrapped his arm around Tim, squeezing him to his side.
“He’ll think about it …” Armie had to raise his voice over the background noise, trying hard to not present his words in an angered shout.
He then angled Tim away from the couple.
Miller approached them next, now with his shirt open and a cowboy hat on his head.
He shot pretend guns into the air as he danced to the music, poking his fingers towards Tim’s stomach as he passed by.
Tim dodged the attack, moving further into Armie as he did so.
As Miller slithered back into a crowd and towards another group about to pop open their fourth bottle of champagne, Tim acknowledged the need to pee.
He stood on tip toes and shouted into Armie’s ear.
“I’m going to the bathroom!”
The volume of the music increased as soon as Madonna’s ‘Like A Prayer’ came on.
“What?!” Armie squinted at Tim’s mouth in an attempt to lip read his repeated shout.
“I’m … Going … To … The … Bathroom!” Tim tried once again.
Armie pressed an index finger into his own chest, suggesting he come with Tim.
Tim shook his head, giving Armie the thumbs up.
Armie played out the act of taking a shot, raising his eyebrows at Tim.
Tim nodded enthusiastically, “Get two!”
Tim took a swig of his beer as he stumbled carefully through the increasingly large crowd of people now squashed into a hotel room made for a family of four.
A man in his mid forties stopped Tim in his tracks.
“Thank you for coming, Timothée! You look awesome, you look great! I check your wiki feet page every day!”
The guy grabbed Tim’s shoulder and shook it enthusiastically.
Tim wobbled from side to side, offering a tipsy, goofy smile.
“Uh, cool, g-great to meet you!” He repeated.
As the man in his mid forties headed off to greet others, Tim slid away and walked speedily down a hall, taking bare feet over feather littered carpets and past an open bedroom, where another young man similar looking to Aaron lay tied, fully clothed, to the bedrooms bed.
Two female Ticklers knelt at the foot of the bed, where they ran electric toothbrushes over the Ticklee’s soles.
Tim snatched his eyes away from the situation, bee-lining straight towards the bathrooms open door.
Once inside, he shut the door behind him and locked it.
The music, the talking, the laughing all faded away into a drowned out mumble as Tim stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.
His eyes looked glazed over, his lips puffy.
He tidied up his hair as the bathrooms surroundings swayed from side to side.
He checked the time on his iPhone.
We've been here for two hours already …
Tim wasn’t sure if he were having fun because everyone here seemed so nice, or, if it were all of the booze he and Armie had consumed in such a short space of time.
Tim could still make out the begging and the hysterical pleading from the model currently tied to the bed next door.
Tim flapped the hem of his t-shirt.
He felt hot, anxious, stuffy.
He turned away from the mirror and leant on the edge of the sink.
His blurred focus travelled over framed pictures of Atlanta’s skyline, and other generic hotel decor littering this expensive bathroom.
He stared down at his feet, bare and sock-less, because he’d been told they have to be …
Tim had been to many parties before in his life, but this one, despite having sprinkles of similarities to all of the house the parties Tim had been to, still felt so very different.
Tim cleared his throat.
He ended his own time out, completely forgetting to pee.
He downed the rest of his beer, unlocked the bathroom door and then headed back into the party.
As Tim tried to locate Armie, someone tapped him on the back.
Tim turned around, faced with a broad, bare, hairy chest.
His eyes trailed all the way up to a tall, beefy man with a moustache and leather cap on his head.
“Yo, buddie…” The man had to lower himself down to Tim’s level, “… Can I get five minutes with you and those toes?”
He spoke into Tim’s ear with a deep, gravelly voice.
“Uhh…” Tim took a step back, confused yet in awe by the stranger’s confidence, “S-Sorry, man …”
Tim awkwardly shuffled back through the increasing numbers of people, until he heard a ‘cheers!’ in a voice that sounded like Armie’s.
Tim squeezed his way through a group of eight, past the Greek pillar (now with an older man tied to it) and then eventually back into the living area of the hotel room, where Armie and several other strangers all sat in a circle with an empty wine bottle in the middle of their gathering.
“Timmy!” Armie held a glass of whiskey in each hand, “Come join us, we’re playing spin the bottle!”
Tim ran a hand through his hair and tip toed towards Armie, where he sat down in the cross legged position beside him.
Next to Tim sat a woman with jet black hair, wearing a tight fitting leather dress.
Her lips were painted a deep red, her make up almost vampiric.
In her lap, she cradled a velvet top hat full of torn up pieces of paper.
Tim found himself staring, observing the studded collar around her neck, the leather cuffs around her wrists.
Before he could turn away, the woman leaned into him and started to explain the rules of the game.
“Whoever’s turn it is, they pick out their position from the hat,” The woman angled her face towards Tim as she spoke into his ear, “Then that person spins the bottle … Where the bottle lands, that’s the person they either tickle, or get tickled by…”
Tim nodded slowly in understanding, watching the woman’s mouth to fully make out her words.
“It’s so loud in here!”
The woman nodded with a pained expression, “I know … I hate Madonna!”
Tim laughed, turning his attention back to Armie, who had nudged his side.
“You’re sitting next to the highest paid Dominatrix in America,” Armie’s shout turned into a deep, private warning, spoken into Tim’s neck, “Be careful…”
Tim nodded nervously as the bottle made it's way to Armie, signalling his turn.
Armie reached over Tim and picked a piece of paper out of the hat resting in the Dominatrix’s lace glove covered hands.
He peeled it open, revealing the handwritten word ‘Ticklee’.
“Ohhhhhh!” The crowd drummed up the tension, with some of them thumping their fists on the floor.
Armie screwed up the paper and flung it over his shoulder.
Tim darted his eyes from left to right as he acknowledged the fact that he would see Armie tickled for the first time in his life.
His glance stiffened as soon as Miller joined the circle.
Still in his cowboy hat and now looking bleary eyed, he crouched down between people, positioning himself directly opposite Tim.
Tim gulped as Armie spun the bottle.
As it twirled on it’s spot, Madonna glitched to a stop, revealing the loudness of the guests chatter, laughter and cheering for a few seconds, before the noise of social celebration became overshadowed by the loud volume of a Cher song.
Tim eyed the group who made up this circle; Aaron, the young man he’d met earlier, Miller, the Texan lady and her husband, a girl with red hair in a Queen t-shirt, The Dominatrix, another wealthy looking gay couple, as well as many other diverse, interesting looking characters.
Who would get to tickle Armie?
What if the bottle lands on Miller?
What if the bottle lands on me?
The bottle spun to a gradual stop, it’s neck pointing at Aaron.
To Tim’s surprise, he felt a pinch of jealousy.
He chewed his lower lip as he endured the circles cheers, as well as a fierce burn across his cheeks.
Aaron grinned in delight.
He crawled across the open, carpeted space between the circled group, whilst Armie placed his hands behind him, leaning back with a semi-drunken smirk.
Aaron grabbed Armie’s shoulders.
For someone so lean and young, someone so clearly a ticklee, a sub in this strange world Tim had dived head first into …
… Aaron did a great job at adopting the dominant role.
“Make him howl!” Shouted the Texan lady.
Aaron threw Armie onto his back, in the middle of the circle.
Armie landed with a hefty ‘oof!’, surprised by the boys strength.
Aaron straddled Armie’s waist, a move that made the circle erupt in a deafening cheer.
Tim’s eyes widened as he watched Aaron pull Armie’s polo shirt over his head, trapping it behind his neck, exposing his long torso, his tanned stomach, his muscular, hairy chest.
All eyes fell on Armie’s body.
Tim shifted his gaze to Miller, who watched the scene take place with a serious, silent glare.
Aaron used his left hand to pin Armie’s wrists above his head, whilst his other hand threatened Armie with the prospect of tickling.
Aaron wriggled his fingers in the air, aiming towards Armie’s left armpit.
Armie giggled on the floor, kicking his feet across the carpet.
Tim watched on in gentle reservation.
Aaron licked his fingers before throwing them down into Armie’s pit, actioning a severe tickle that sent Armie’s body into a convulsed, electric rage.
Tim and The Dominatrix leaned back to protect themselves from Armie’s kicking feet.
Suddenly, The Dominatrix snatched Armie’s left ankle, pinning it to the floor.
As Armie bucked under Aaron’s tickling, laughing into a hotel room full with the scent of cigarette smoke and booze, The Dominatrix began to tickle Armie’s left foot.
“Hey, stop, that’s breaking the rules!” Armie cried.
The Dominatrix shot a green eyed look at Tim.
“Get the other!”
Tim watched Armie’s right foot flail about as he endured a tickling from Aaron and The Dominatrix.
As the crowd continued to cheer, Tim pressed his lips together and grabbed Armie’s right ankle.
“No, Tim, no!”
Miller watched Tim with folded arms.
Tim eyed Miller with a flirtatious glare.
Unsure if the whiskey, the beers or the cigarette buzz might be responsible for his next move, Tim pushed all over-thinking aside and began to tickle Armie’s right foot.
Armie writhed about on the spot, tickled now by three people, in the middle of the circle.
Applause and more fists thumping repeatedly on the floor helped drum up the drama whilst Armie endured Aaron at his pits and Tim and The Dominatrix at his feet.
“Okay, I give, I give!” Armie cried.
Aaron patted Armie’s chest as The Dominatrix released Armie’s ankle from her grip.
As Aaron climbed off Tim’s Tickler, Tim let go of Armie’s right foot.
Armie sat up, yanking his polo shirt off entirely.
He lifted his arms in achievement as the crowd around him cheered and clapped.
Everyone returned to position as a gathering crowd started to form around the circle.
The game itself had started to become a focus of interest, within the party.
A now topless Armie sat back down next to Tim, pulling him close to his lips.
“You’re gonna pay for that, kid... ” Armie said, with a smile, sending his fingers into Tim’s sides.
Tim scrunched up into a ball as the bottle landed in front of him.
Armie took some chugs of his whiskey, pushing Tim to do the same.
Tim un-scrunched himself, glugged down a quarter of his amber coloured booze, and then held onto the empty wine bottle.
The Dominatrix hovered the hat under Tim’s nose.
Tim squeezed his eyes shut and reached into the hat, fingering through torn pieces of paper for a few seconds until he pulled a piece out.
He peeled it open
“Ticklee …” he murmured, a word unheard by anyone due to the volume of the music and the sound of cheering and talking from the now fifty plus amount of people in this hotel room.
Armie chuckled at the word hand written in the piece of paper in Tim’s hands.
“Story of your life, Tim!”
Tim screwed the paper into a ball and flicked it out into the circle.
The knowledge that Tim had been positioned as Ticklee spread through the party like wildfire.
Before Tim could even place the bottle into the middle of the circle, an additional fifteen to twenty people had gathered around the game.
Tim felt eyes on him as he lay the bottle down on the carpet.
He spun the bottle, sitting back in his cross legged position beside Armie straight away.
As the bottle twirled, the crowd started a low pitched, “Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—“ that gathered up to a enthusiastic, excited cheer, finishing in a loud, “—aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!” as soon as the bottle reached it’s stop.
The neck pointed directly at Miller.
As the crowd applauded, Tim’s heart sank.
Armie felt that familiar sting in his stomach.
He sent a warning look to Miller, who grinned and clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together, as if readying himself to devour a tasty meal.
Miller stepped into the circle as ‘Tainted Love’ by Marilyn Manson played in the background.
Aaron bit his nails as he watched Miller kneel down.
Miller then crawled towards Tim, who sat completely overshadowed by intimidation.
Miller curled his finger in a ‘come here’ movement.
Tim shuffled forwards, abiding by the games rules, playing ball, for now.
Almost everyone at the party had turned their attention to the game.
Miller sat himself down in front of Tim, with his back facing the twenty three year old.
He then reached behind, patting both hands around the carpet until he found Tim’s feet.
Tim allowed Miller to hold onto each of his ankles.
Miller bought both of them around his own left and right side.
Miller then tucked each of Tim’s ankles under each of his armpits.
Tim’s bare feet poked out, either side of Miller’s chest.
He sat with his legs spread apart, his hands pressed down on the floor, fingers squashed into the carpet nervously.
To Tim’s surprise, Miller turned towards Armie.
“He’s all yours…”
Tim looked at Armie with a face that requested mercy, before anything had even happened.
Armie didn’t realise his payback would come so soon.
Armie downed the rest of his whiskey as the crowd cheered Armie on.
He crawled around Miller, kneeling in front of him.
Armie eyed each of Tim’s soles, soles that stared him in the face.
He took each of his index fingers and pressed them against each of Tim’s arches.
Tim’s toes scrunched up.
He laid his back down on the carpet and covered his face with his hands.
The gathered crowd gasped in unison as Armie tickled Tim’s feet, both of them, at the same time, with scribbling fingers.
Tim bounced around on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut as he endured Armie’s attacks.
His legs yanked and pulled under Miller’s tight arm hold, around either of his ankles.
Armie played Tim like a piano, kneeling calmly, wiggling talented fingers over Tim’s soles and toes, which, for now, might as well of been piano keys.
Tim toes curled and flexed, his feet twisted and writhed…
… His attempt to hold in laughter failed as he burst into hysterics.
Aaron widened his eyes.
“Fuck, he’s ticklish …”
Tim slid his palms off his face as the Texan woman’s husband from earlier arrived at his chest.
Then, another guy, a total stranger Tim hadn’t seen before.
Then, another man, in a baseball cap …
… Aaron joined in on the fun, arriving at Armie’s side and partnering with him at tickling each of Tim’s feet.
Tim arched his back and bellowed out a loud 'NO!' into the ceiling as twenty individual fingers made their way up and down his soles.
One Tickler straddled Tim and pinned his arms above his head.
Another from behind knelt down over Tim’s wrists.
Cheering, applauding, chanting …
… All drowning out Tim’s manic pleas and begging.
“Wait, come on! Miller no! There's too many, no!”
The Ticklers around Tim’s torso yanked up his t-shirt and began to grab at his sides and waist, his hips and stomach ...
… Tim exploded into manic desperation, pulling his arms and hands towards him, only to find them being forced back above.
“No, fuck, no!” Tim growled in a demanding shout, “Fuck, stop, FUCK, come ON!"
The Ticklers took advantage of Timothée Chalamet, this celebrity, this ticklish attendee, this dream come true …
… More Ticklers stumbled out from the depths of the party.
Some knelt down and tickled Tim’s neck.
Their fingers jabbed under his jaw, into his collarbone, behind his head.
Some grabbed this forearms and thighs, they pulled at his fingers and thumbs.
Others sent wet fingers into his ears, others grabbed at his big toes…
… At one point he even felt teeth biting down at his heels.
Tim could barely control his movements, or the agonising laughter forced out of his chest.
"No, fu-huhahahaha-ahhhah-AH!-uck, who, who-hoo-hoo-hoo is biting my fe-eheeheeheeet fuck, stop, stop, stop!"
Miller leaned forwards.
He took Tim’s feet with him, stretching out his legs.
The guys pinning Tim’s arms above his head pulled them further apart.
Tim lay exposed, in a star fish, surrounded by strangers, tickled by around eighteen, nineteen, twenty people, non stop.
He squirmed and writhed, screamed and shouted, his upper body and soles ravaged in a constant gang-tickle attack.
"Ple-ee-ee-ee-eehee-eease sto-oh-oh-ap, I ca-ha-hahahan't take th-eheheeis!"
The guy with a moustache and leather cap squeezed through the chaos, kneeling down besides Aaron and Armie, finally getting his chance with Tim’s toes, just like he had asked twenty minutes ago.
He held onto Tim’s left foot, in an effort to keep it still.
Tim endured the ticklish sensation of a warm tongue gliding between his toes.
He exploded into mind-numbing, out of control, senseless hysteria.
"Wha-ahahaha-ah-ahaat the fu-hu-huahaaack? Get off my to-oh-oh-oeeeees!"
… Suddenly, a flash blinded Tim.
The Dominatrix stood over him with a polaroid camera by her face.
Another flash, this one stronger, brighter.
Tim squirmed to the right, shielding his face with his shoulder.
Tim kicked his legs repeatedly, he rolled from side to side.
Aaron worked his arches, the guy with the moustache soaked his toes, Armie scribbled over his heels.
The strangers overwhelming him sent hundreds of fingers into his pits, his sides, his hips …
… A woman’s tongue rolled over his navel.
It became too much, too non-stop, too invasive.
“I f-f-fu-huhhuhuhcking me-ee-ee-ean it, STOP, or I'll fu-huh-huh-hahaaacking LEAVE!"
Armie placed his hands over the entire expanse of each of Tim’s soles, protecting them from Aaron’s fingers, from the moustache man’s teeth.
Miller lifted his arms, dropping Tim’s ankles out from under his pits.
The people tickling Tim’s upper body removed themselves from Tim’s space.
Tim, breathless and limp, rolled his t-shirt back down over his body.
He sat up, wiping his lips clear of dribble, as the other people attacking him stepped away, returning to their drinks, returning to the party …
… As Miller stood, his movement away from the circle revealed Armie kneeling a few feet opposite Tim, with a look that said,
Are you okay?
Tim ran a hand through his hair, shooting a look back at Armie that said.
I’m getting the fuck out of here.
***
Armie flung his polo shirt over his bare shoulder as he tapped the keycard against the electric door lock to Room 136.
Both he and Tim, still barefoot, carried their shoes into their hotel room as soon as the door swung open.
Armie stood by the door as Tim walked into the room, dropping his Reeboks at the bedside.
Armie slowly closed the door behind him.
Both young men stood a little exhausted, a little drunk.
Tim eyed the large double bed in the middle of the carpet.
He then shot a look at Armie, who folded up his polo shirt and laid it out on the rooms desk chair.
“I'll start packing,” Armie said.
Tim slid his hand into the back pocket of his jeans as he walked towards the rooms floor to ceiling window.
He glared out at Atlanta’s sky scrapers, blanketed by night time, as he pulled Aaron’s pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
He unhooked the top half of the window, popping it open, allowing a warm breeze to flood into the room.
He then lit a cigarette.
Armie stood, waiting for Tim’s response, as he watched Tim plop himself down on a single chair by a tall lamp.
The hotel room looked modern and clean, decorated in shades of grey and cream.
It consisted of the chair Tim sat on, a desk, a stool, a double bed and a bathroom with a tub and shower.
A large TV, pinned to the wall, came on as soon as Armie located the remote.
“… Or, am I getting us another drink…?” Armie tested.
He left the TV on the Atlanta News channel, as he knelt down by a small cupboard attached to the desk.
He pulled open it’s doors, revealing a tiny black fridge.
Armie pulled out two small bottles of vodka, throwing one to Tim.
Despite the amount of whiskey and beer Tim had drank, he still managed to catch the bottle in his right hand, mid air.
Tim kept the cigarette hanging off his lips as he twisted the cap off the bottle of vodka.
He then placed his cigarette between his fingers, blew smoke out of the window and then took a swing.
He pulled a face, wiping his mouth soon after.
“We’re not leaving …” Tim said, through the burn of liquor sliding down his throat.
Armie unscrewed his bottle and took a glug.
He sat on the corner of the bed, in just chinos.
Tim stared at Armie’s stomach, almost unapologetically.
“We’re not?” Armie asked.
Tim shook his head.
He then burped quietly.
Armie chuckled.
“You’re drunk …”
Tim lifted his shoulders.
“So are, so are you.”
Armie nodded slowly.
“Indeed, I am …”
He stood from the corner of the bed and walked quietly across the carpet, to Tim.
Then, he knelt down at Tim’s knees.
He rested his chin on Tim’s left kneecap.
He sent blue, bloodshot eyes up at Tim’s face.
“They, they got excited, Tim. They, they should’ve contained themselves. But… It’s Timothée Fucking Chalamet, at Tickle Fest … They took their chance to…”
Tim rolled his eyes.
“I, I don’t care, about that …” He avoided Armie’s blue-eyed gaze by staring up at the hotel room ceiling, “… I googled these events, I’ve seen pictures of guys, gang tickled, in far worse situations th-than I was just in … I kinda expected it, to be honest …”
“Oh?” Armie removed his chin from Tim’s knee and then sat back on his heels, “Because you’re so sexy, so handsome, so amazing…?”
Tim smirked.
The vodka rolling into his stomach gave him the fuel to banter back.
“Yeah,” he said, resting into the chair, “They literally couldn’t keep their hands off me…”
Armie narrowed his eyes.
He licked his lips, speaking softly, the vodka smoothening out the tone of his once gravelly, whiskey abused voice.
“Who can blame them.”
Tim lowered his head in a blush, curls of hair hanging over his face.
Armie kept his eyes on Tim, even if Tim couldn't find the courage to look at him.
“And what happened, just then, with everyone … It hasn’t put you off?”
Tim shook his head.
“I’m not letting people’s lack of self control take away our payment. It’s just tickling, it’s not like they were hurting me, or, or shoving stuff places they shouldn’t. I just had to get out of there, it got a little too much …” Tim took a drag of his cigarette, speaking smoke as he finished his sentence, “… If I'm honest, it felt pretty wild. Like, sure, I wanted it to stop as soon as it started but, man, I've never been tickled like that before. Even by you.”
Armie chuckled.
"I counted twenty people on you at once, at one point."
Tim rolled his shoulders, taking another drag of his cigarette.
He then took his eyes towards Armie’s face, where an unexpected moment of silence arrived between both young men …
… A moment of clarity, of understanding, of in-sync knowing that they had arrived …
… They had endured Miller, they had broken the ice …
… They had allowed nerves to subside, met new people, got drunk, got tickled, witnessed the madness and the perverse ability …
… And now, it was 2 o’clock in the morning.
Now, it was time for bed.
Time to sleep, beside each other.
Not apart, not with ankle attachments, not separately in Armie’s apartment.
But here, side by side, on the hotel’s double mattress.
Both Tim and Armie looked at each other.
Since starting This Agreement, they had grown their friendship into Something More.
Armie had explored Tim's body, sexually, in a ways he never thought he'd be allowed.
Tim had consensually introduced himself to experiences, positions and situations that had pushed him further than his mind thought possible.
They’d made ... Everything between them different.
Stronger.
More solid.
Harder.
More brutal.
At the start, there had been nothing to lose.
Now, things felt changed.
“We … We don’t have to do anything, Tim …” Armie spoke quietly, his eyes staring into the carpet, “… Not if you don’t want to.”
Tim sat forwards in his seat, holding the tiny bottle of vodka in his fingertips.
He lifted Armie’s head up, so that he faced him, by pressing under his chin.
“What if I do want to?”
Armie blinked, his blue orbs gazing over Tim’s lips.
Tim threw the cigarette out of the window, slid off the couch and knelt down in front of Armie.
He spoke with a dry throat, anxiety filling his chest.
“Can I … Try s-something?”
Armie nodded slowly.
Tim closed his eyes.
He leant in, closer to his Tickler.
His lips brushed against Armie’s.
The scent of vodka rolled up Tim’s nostrils.
Tim placed both of his hands on Armie’s shoulders.
He went to do something he’d done, hundreds of times before, behind the lens of a camera, in the heat of Italy, surrounded by sound crew, Summer Sun and insects.
But this time, it wouldn’t be fictional, or scripted, or pulled from a book.
This time, it would be rea—
Btzzz! Btzzz!
Armie’s phone vibrated in his pocket.
Tim opened his eyes.
Armie sighed into Tim’s mouth.
Tim slumped against the carpet, his back pressing against the chair he had just slid from.
Armie pulled his iPhone from out of his chinos.
He glanced down at a message from Miller.
Armie kept the screen of his phone facing him, away from Tim.
“Wh-who is it?” Tim asked.
Armie read the message out, in his mind.
‘Party’s over. Come here. Now.’
“I uh… I gotta go…”
Armie stood, pocketing his phone.
Tim frowned, wiping vodka from his lips.
He stood with a wobble.
“W-what?”
Armie pulled on his polo shirt and slid on his loafers.
“I’ll be back in a sec … “ He smiled at Tim, “… Don't consume all of the fridge at once …”
Tim took a step forwards.
He wanted to say, wait, hang on …
… He even lifted his arm, in an attempt to reach out.
But Armie left the room before Tim could do anything.
***
Tim lay on his back, in the middle of the hotel bed, in creased boxer shorts.
Expensive, white linen sheets covered his body as he stared up into the darkness of the hotel room ceiling.
It had been over an hour and a half since Armie had left.
Tim rolled over to his iPhone, plugged in to charge on the bedside table.
The screen lit Tim’s face a bright white, as he checked for any messages or missed calls from his Tickler …
… From his friend …
… From Armie.
Tim sighed at the sight of nothing.
He laid down on his side, squashing pillows under his head, pulling bedsheets up over his shoulders.
His hangover had started to kick in already.
His soles still buzzed, his stomach felt tight from the hysterical pleas he had cried only hours ago
Tim licked dry lips and closed his eyes.
He tried to push away invasive thoughts, pictures of Armie and Miller together, doing whatever they might be doing, right now.
He tried to resist the urge to go back to Room 74, to knock on the door, to find out why Armie had to leave so suddenly.
“I’ll be back in a sec…”
Maybe Armie hadn’t gone to see Miller at all…
Maybe Tim's drunken paranoia had started to get the better of him.
Ask him in the morning.
Tim tried to stay awake.
He tried to wait for Armie to come back.
He tried to lift himself from the sinking feel of much needed rest, falling heavier into the mattress, second by second.
And then, without expecting it, Tim fell into a sudden, deep sleep…
… A sleep that would take place alone, in this Atlanta hotel, without Armie beside him.
TCTLR continues in Chapter Nineteen - ‘Timothée & The Wheel’ …