1 . 3 0 P M
s o m e w h e r e o u t s i d e h o l l y w o o d . . .
“Foot worship?”
Tom asked his question with raised eyebrows and a smudge of mustard on his upper lip.
Andrew tapped his own mouth whilst nodding at Tom’s face.
“Mate, you’ve uh, you’ve got some sauce on your—“
—Tom used the back of his hand to wipe the yellow smear away, his other hand slowly laying down the cheese burger he’d been feasting on for the past three minutes.
Andrew chuckled, impressed by how quickly he was able to render the twenty six year old speechless.
“Everything alright over there?” He asked.
Andrew kept his own cheeseburger in his hands, moving it towards his mouth where he took another large bite.
Both friends sat opposite each other in a booth in the middle of a quiet highway diner.
“That … Wasn’t what I expected you to say, when I asked for advice,” Tom blinked, watching Andrew devour his lunch, his own shoulders dropping as his curiosity lifted, “What’s it about? Like, people getting off on sucking toes and stuff? I mean, each to their own I guess but—”
Andrew spoke with his mouthful, his right hand reaching into the middle of the table where he clawed into the bowl of french fries, a generous bundle going into his mouth without hesitation.
“—Everyonsh doing it,” he chomped “Bieber, Pattinson, Bassett,” Andrew gulped down some beef, “And then I also heard that Henry Cavill went to this party and he let people touch him up and, before you know it—“
Tom’s eyes widened, “—No, no way! You’re telling me that’s how he got back into Superman? Bloody hell …”
He picked up his cheeseburger, a plop of mayonnaise landing on his plate, “I mean, I knew Hollywood could be weird but this? This is something else …”
Andrew tilted his head, eyeing Tom with sympathy, “Really, Holland? Come on, you don’t have any fetishes? Any kinks? You’d make a bomb, with dogs like yours.”
Tom smirked, sitting up, wiggling his upper body like a peacock, “Dogs like mine, aye?” He took a bite out of his burger, chewing it and swallowing it down before speaking, “Wait, by ‘dogs’, you mean feet, right? Hang on, how, how do you know what my feet even look li—“
Andrew hid a burp with his right fist.
“You know something? I’m surprised. You seem like someone who would’ve checked out your own Wikifeet page.”
Tom’s fingers curled tighter around the sesame seed bun of his burger, “Nah,” he readied his mouth to take another bite, “That sort of stuff makes me a little uncomf—“
“—Truth be told,” Andrew popped another french fry into his mouth, “I had a little browse last night. You’ve got over one thousand and forty votes and your rating is a strong five …”
Andrew finished his burger by throwing the last thumb sized chunk past his lips, “You have no idea, the power you have, all because those …”
Andrew checked under the table, swallowing down his lunch, eyeing Tom’s white pump dressed feet, “… Size tens, eleven …?”
Tom slid his feet underneath his seat.
Andrew sat back up, “All because they look attractive? It’s bonkers, madness that you’ve never considered this kind of thing before… “ he mumbled, some gristle popping out of his mouth.
Tom shuffled awkwardly in his seat, uncomfortable at the sight of Andrew unapologetically speaking with so much food in his mouth, while his brain reminded him that this is not only the longest he’d chatted about his feet …
… But the longest he chatted about his feet to a guy.
“Ugh, God, okay, so, so let me get this straight,” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, “Right, I, I meet with these people, let them …” he cringed, the visuals landing in his head making his toes curl, “… Do … Stuff to me, from the ankles down an, and then what? I can’t imagine suddenly … Landing Oscar nominated roles the next day, mate…”
Andrew sucked some burger juice off of his thumb, his eyes arriving at Tom’s chest where they flirtatiously travelled up to his own hesitant gaze.
“How do you think I got my first Oscar nomination?”
Tom dropped his burger over his plate with a thud.
“What — but, you’re, you’re twice Oscar nominated … Twice!”
Andrew nodded, picking up another long, crispy french fry, holding it over the table with his index finger and thumb, admiring its length.
“It’s funny, they didn’t really care much for my feet,” Andrew explained, “And I’ve got some really nice feet. For them, they just wanted my pits.”
In went the fry, his teeth chewing down on it quickly, “Yup, armpit worship is a thing too, Holland. Your tiny mind must be exploding right now …”
Tom hung his head over his chest, stifling a genuine laugh in disbelief.
“Wow. Okay. And there I was, spending years auditioning for stuff when I could’ve just … Bloody, shoved my feet in someones face and—“
“—No,” Andrew shook his head, picking up his milkshake, slurping the contents through a white paper straw, “They don’t work with unknowns. Only famous people. They can get any handsome unassuming lad off the street. But, people like us? …”
Andrew placed the milkshake carefully down over the table, “… We’re special,” he said.
A beat of silence rested between both young men as the waitress came back over with a large jug of tap water, her red lips blowing out a blue bubble from her gum.
“Guys, how you doin’?” The bubble popped, “You ready for dessert?”
Tom’s burger had gotten cold, the more he had listened to Andrew.
He could really do with some breaded chicken strips, or maybe a slice of that chocolate cake he’d seen on the menu, but the politeness in him made him shake his head with a smile.
“We’re good, thank you—“
“—Just the check,” Andrew said.
The waitress left the table, leaving Tom staring at Andrew and Andrew staring at Tom.
“You’re having a think, aren’t you, Holland.”
A statement, not a question.
Tom bit his upper lip and then shot his eyes into his half eaten burger, offering Andrew a flat smile.
“Don’t do that …” he sighed, “… You, you always push me into doing stuff I, I …
Andrew smirked, taking a tooth pick from a tiny jar besides the salt and pepper.
He slouched back into the leather of his seat and began to pick the tiny wooden stick around the insides of his mouth.
“Listen, I … I know someone,” Andrew revealed, “Someone who, if they were to receive, say … A five minute video … Well, they’d be over the moon. So over the moon, they’d be more than happy to take you out of that fucking Marvel Cinematic Universe and into something more … Well, you know … Interesting …”
Tom decided to put the burger down once and for all.
He wiped his fingers over his jeans, folded his arms across his chest and rested his elbows over the diner table.
“What makes you think I want out of the MCU?”
Andrew scratched his chin.
“I’ve literally been you, Tom. I’ve worn the suit. I’ve swung on the web. I know, after all you’ve done, you want something that lasts longer than a popcorn fuelled franchise … ” Andrew declared, “… Something that lasts forever.”
Tom picked up his napkin and patted his lips.
Only now had he realised how much he hated how well Andrew knew him.
Maybe even better than I know myself, Tom thought.
“And who is this ‘someone’ …?” Tom screwed up the napkin and dropped it over the table.
Andrew chewed on some bacon fat, the toothpick still scratching away at his back teeth.
“Well, it’s … It’s … Someone who could … Nudge the right producers, send the right emails to the right directors … Someone who could make the same things happen for you as they did for me.”
Andrew sat forwards, dropping the toothpick onto his grease stained plate, “I’m living proof it works, Holland. You just gotta be open minded enough.”
Tom shifted his eyes from left to right, the passing traffic on the motorway outside filling the void of quiet that hung over the diner table as Tom considered this sudden and unexpected opportunity.
He was done with Spider-Man.
He had lost all interest in green screen, blue screen, stunt doubles and video game remakes …
He knew, deep down, that his acting abilities wouldn’t get him into the sort of critically acclaimed projects some of his other actor friends were auditioning for.
He huffed in defeat.
“And I’d just have to do five minutes?”
Andrew placed an index finger over his lips as the waitress returned with the check.
Tom glanced up at her with a grin, “Thank you.”
As the waitress went back to the kitchen, Andrew reached into his jeans pocket for his wallet.
“Listen. How about you let me do it.”
Another statement. Another non question.
Tom didn’t want his mouth to fall open, but it did anyway.
“You’ve … Sucked another guy's toes before, haven’t you? Andrew, you freaky little tyke!”
Andrew chuckled, laying dollar bills out over the check and then pinning it down with a pepper jar.
“Holland, I’m one of your best mates. I’ve dabbled in this before. I’ve got the guy's contact details … I’ve got the equipment …”
He sat back in his seat and rested both hands in his lap, his muscles bulging beneath his tight grey t-shirt, “… Come over tomorrow; we film it. We send it. We see what happens.”
Tom rubbed the back of his head with his right hand.
“Uhhh …” he looked around the diner for a reason not to do this, “… I, I dunno, mate. I, I think it’s … A little odd, if I’m being totally hone—“
“—Of course it’s weird!” Andrew smacked his own thighs with his palms, “The system is run on beauty, sex, attraction …! And some actors biggest career developments have happened because of people's willingness to give others what they want, even if what they want is fucked …”
Andrew spoke quietly, leaning closer towards Tom as if he were revealing something secret.
“You think Chalamet got the Bob Dylan biopic through his agent?” Andrew scoffed, sitting back, running his tongue over the top of his mouth, “And his feet are rated higher than yours on—“
“—Okay,” Tom said bluntly, jealousy boiling over his cheeks, “Let’s do it.”
Andrew grinned, his white teeth all perfectly inline.
Tom had seen Timothée rise and rise in prestigious praise over the past four years.
It was something he had been desperate to replicate himself.
But achieving such acclaim was always going to be a challenge.
If Timmy can do it, I can too, he thought.
“Alriggghhhtt!” Andrew cheered, “We’re on! I’ll let him know tonight and then … I guess, be at mine tomorrow morning? Get it done and dusted?”
Tom slumped in his seat, the waitress returning to take the payment, both friends forced into silencing their unconventional conversation for a moment until she had thanked them and they had thanked her.
As she walked away, Tom shuffled forwards.
“An, and it’s just … Licking my feet and stuff, right? You’re not going to, I dunno …” Tom frowned as he tried to compartmentalise his thoughts, “Overstep the mark?”
Andrew blew his lips together, “Christ, Holland, get over yourself! I’ve got a girlfriend, Jesus …”
Tom winced, embarrassed by the question but too keen to ask another.
“Will, will my face be in the video? What if it gets out?” He pointed at his chest, “What if my girlfriend sees—“
“—Tom,” Andrew reached across the table and placed his palm over the boys mouth.
Tom blinked
“Have you ever seen videos of me online? Or any other actors you know? Doing the sort of stuff we’ve just been speaking about?” Andrew asked.
Tom shook his head, his mouth still cupped by Andrew’s hand.
“Well then - stop worrying …” Andrew slid his hand away from Tom’s jaw. “… You’re in safe hands,” he smiled.
Tom dropped his shoulders, reassured by Andrew’s words.
“Okay, al, alright, tomorrow it is then,” Tom straightened his back, excited by the prospect of achieving the next step in his career by doing something so easy, “Can we do it crack of dawn? I don’t think I can spend all day feeling nervo—“
Andrew picked up his leather jacket, throwing it over his shoulder as he stood up from the booth.
“—It’s a date,” he winked, “You bring the coffee, the donuts … I’ll bring the foot worship.”
Tom chuckled, standing up and turning towards the diner’s exit door, “Definitely the most normal thing you’ve ever said …”
As Tom went one way and Andrew went the other, Andrew took his iPhone out of his pocket and began to type a text to a number attached to a name labelled simply as ‘Miller’.
The text simply said:
We’ve got him.
t h e n e x t d a y . . .
The next day, Tom did not show up.
Andrew sat on the edge of his bed and text him around two hours after morning had passed.
Andrew: No show?
Andrew: Seriously?
Andrew looked up into the ceiling of his bedroom and patted his iPhone against his knee repeatedly.
Ping!
Tom: …
Tom: …
Andrew huffed as he awaited Tom’s reply.
Tom: 😂
Tom: I thought we were joking????
Tom: 🙈
Tom: Wait
Tom: Andrew
Tom: You didn’t think I was serious????
Andrew felt embarrassment boil over his cheeks.
His thumbs typed furiously over the screen of his iPhone.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Andrew: I messaged him and everything.
Andrew: He’s expecting the content TODAY Holland.
Andrew: He’s gonna be pissed.
Andrew: 🤬
Tom: …
Tom: …
Tom: I can’t tell if you’re winding me up or not … 🙃
Andrew squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Andrew: Why would I make something like this up?
Andrew: Why would I suggest something so random if it wasn’t genuine?
Andrew: Get your arse over here now.
Tom: …
Tom: …
Tom: 😩
Tom: But I’ve just left the gym!
Tom: I stink.
Andrew: Aw, how adorable.
Andrew: 🙄
Andrew: I expect you here by 3pm.
Tom: …
Tom: Andy, you can’t MAKE me do this. I’m not letting you suck my feet!
Tom: Perv.
Tom: 😅
Andrew sighed, shaking his head, standing away from the mattress where he began to pace around his giant bedroom.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Andrew: I promised him we’d send something.
Andrew took a few seconds to think about how he’d get Tom here quicker.
A lightbulb moment.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Andrew: He’s already started to put the cogs in motion.
Andrew: He’s already made a few calls.
Andrew: He said something about a Spielberg audition for you, next week I think.
Andrew winced.
Spielberg better be available, he thought.
Tom: …
Tom: …
Tom: Spielberg?
Andrew smirked.
Bingo.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Andrew: Spielberg.
Tom: …
Tom: 😐
Tom: Prove it.
Andrew ran his hand through thick, messy, unwashed tufts of hair.
He’s harder to pin down than I thought.
He clicked his fingers.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Andrew: Tom.
Andrew: We’re brothers.
Andrew: I thought you trusted me 😔
A beat of silence, Andrew bit into his thumb nail.
Ping!
Tom: 😒
Tom: Sorry, mate.
Before Andrew could send a response, Tom text again.
Ping!
Tom: I’ll be over in ten.
Andrew dropped the phone over his bed, curled his fists into balls and punched the air with a grin.
Bingo indeed.
n i n e a n d a h a l f
m i n u t e s l a t e r . . .
Bzzzzzzzz!
Two tall steel gates opened inward, allowing Tom to step foot on a gravel pathway that led around a large trickling fountain and towards Andrew’s ridiculously sized Beverly Hills mansion.
Thick oak wooden doors boomed open, revealing a pristine marble floor, spacious lobby and a wide spiral staircase.
Tom craned his neck up and around, his brown eyes taking in twinkling chandeliers, stone pillars and floor to ceiling embroidered silk curtains.
Tom’s voice echoed around the lavish home as he called out his friends name.
“Andrew?”
Tom stood in silence, wearing running trainers, white Nike socks pulled up over black work out leggings, gym shorts and an oversized grey hoodie.
His hair was messy and unwashed, his plan to get out of bed, hit the gym all day and then crash out with a takeout and his girlfriend now shattered, thanks to Andrew’s reminder that he was indeed serious about his proposal.
“This is nuts,” Tom mumbled to himself, digging his hands into his hoodie pockets, kicking the ground with his feet as he waited for Andrew to come downstairs and greet him.
Ping!
Tom pulled out his iPhone.
Andrew: Come up.
Andrew: I’m the second bedroom to the right.
Tom huffed, pocketing his phone and heading towards the spiral staircase.
He bolted up in a fierce sprint, keen to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.
When at the top, Tom caught his breath and wiped some sweat from his upper lip, the climb a lot more exhausting than he had predicted.
“Jesus …” Tom panted, “… Your place is ginormous …” he walked down a carpeted corridor lined with statue heads and modern art on either side of the wall until he reached the second bedroom on the right, “… What got you this, the first Spider-Man or the second?”
Tom walked in to find Andrew knelt on his large king sized bed, dressed in just a pair of sweat pants, his hands fiddling with some rope and leather cuffs attached to the metal bars that made up the headboard of the bed.
“Ohh, kinky,” Tom chuckled, “It’s alright, you can leave them where they are, no judgement here, no judgement …”
“They’re for you,” Andrew snapped, “I set them up and then started to take them down because I thought you weren’t coming …”
Tom frowned, his eyes shifting to the bottom of the bed where a tripod camera stand stood in position.
“Yeah, you’re hilarious,” Tom threw the hood of his hoodie over his head, “Just admit it, you’re a frisky little bas—“
“—Tom,” Andrew slid off the mattress, planting bare feet down over his bedroom floor, standing a little taller than his shorter friend, “Believe me when I say, they’re for you …” he repeated, picking some stray cotton off of Tom’s left cheek.
Tom scrunched his face up.
Andrew turned away, returning to the corner of his bed where he folded his arms and assessed the set up.
A length of white rope had been tied to the right corner bar of the headboard, a leather cuff attached to its end.
Another length of white rope had been tied to the left corner bar of the headboard, a leather cuff attached to its end also …
Andrew nodded to himself, dropping to his knees, crawling to the foot of the bed where he pulled out some more white rope that had been attached to the beds panelling underneath.
Tom remained speechless, disturbed by Andrew’s perfectionist behaviour, confused by the bondage and the scenario currently playing itself out as an entirely different situation to what had been suggested.
“You’re … You're not tying me up, Andrew,” Tom announced, wrapping his arms around his chest, “Not to your own bed. No way. That’s not what we discussed …”
Andrew got back to his feet, running both hands through his hair with a sigh.
“I’m not?” He asked, adjusting the camera stand accordingly, “Why aren’t I?”
Tom opened his mouth, raised his eyebrows, thought about all the good enough reasons …
“Errr,” he blinked, “Because, because … It’s not what we talk about? I don’t want you to? It’s a little bit strange? To, to tie up your mates?”
Andrew lifted his shoulders and titled his head in agreeance.
“Yeah, sure, it’s a, it’s a little bit weird. But, this isn’t your standard audition …”
Tom shot an impatient look into Andrew’s bedroom ceiling.
“Fttt — oh, so this is an audition now?” He tested.
Andrew picked his phone up from his vanity desk and swiped it open, his other hand reaching down to an icy gin and tonic that his housekeeper had made him shortly before Tom had arrived.
“He wants you in your underwear, tied up, your feet worshipped. Five minutes …” Andrew turned his iPhone around so that the screen faced Tom, “You can read the emails,” he took a swig of his drink, chewing down on some ice, “It’s all here for you to check over…’
Tom rolled his eyes, stepping back, pressing his palms outward in surrender.
“You’re not tying me up! Fucking hell, in my underwear? What? How, how has this escalated so quickly, it’s bloody—“
Andrew crunched down on the ice.
He tucked his drink under his right armpit, taking the phone in both hands where his thumbs began to type out a reply.
“Alright,” Andrew licked the taste of gin off his lips, “… Dear Mister Producer … Sorry to let you down … My friend Tom is too much of a pussy …”
tap, tap, tap, tap
“… We can’t film the video, so please tell Mr. Spielberg that Mr. Holland won’t be arriving at the meeting next week …”
Andrew spun on his heels and strolled casually around his bedroom, his eyes never leaving his iPhone screen as his thumbs continued to tap, tap, tap away …
“… If possible, and if it’s not too much of an inconvenience, could you please send the far more open minded, far more good looking, far more talented Timmy Chalamet inst—“
“—Alright!” Tom clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, “Alright … Fuck, don’t send that email…”
Andrew had his back facing Tom.
He held his iPhone in the air, teasing Tom with the possibility of terminating the meeting with Spielberg by hovering his thumb over the send button.
Tom raised his eyebrows, a faint, “… Please …” leaving his lips in a quiet whine.
A sinister smirk spread across Andrew’s face, his iPhone still in the air, his body still and waiting …
… His quiet exterior milking Tom of more pitiful bargaining.
“I’ll do it. Let’s, let’s just get it done,” Tom gave in, “Where do you want me?”
Andrew’s smirk splayed out into an excited grin, his expressions hidden from the unsuspecting twenty six year old behind him.
“On the bed,” Andrew said, pocketing his iPhone, “And lay on your back.”
He finally turned around to face Tom, who had started to pick off his trainers, undressing himself reluctantly whilst Andrew admired the moment in silence, a simple word landing in the forefront of his mind.
Gotcha.
s u r p r i s e . . .
Tom allowed Andrew to take his right hand and slide it through the leather cuff.
He lay slouched over some pillows, dressed in only a pair of thin grey cotton boxer shorts - the same underwear he had woken up in, the same underwear he had worn to the gym …
“What’s with the clown mask?” Tom asked, nodding over to the corner of Andrew’s large bedroom.
Hooked onto a black leather jumpsuit hanging inside Andrew’s open wardrobe of clothes was a plastic Clown mask, its fixed grin sinister and wide, its teeth sharp and yellow…
“Oh,” Andrew tightened the restraint around Tom’s right wrist, “That’s just for a role I’m preparing for,” he then made his way around the bed where he gently took a hold of Tom’s left arm, “You know I said I filmed some armpit stuff for these guys? Well, they got me that job. See, it really is as easy as it seems…”
Tom cocked an eyebrow as he watched his left wrist slide through the leather cuff, Andrew tightening it so it sat snug around his skin.
“They … Got you a movie role where you’re playing … An evil clown?”
Andrew changed the subject, keen to not shed any further light on the ‘hobbies’ he takes part in outside of this bedroom.
“Okay, try pulling your hands towards your chest,” Andrew suggested.
Tom pressed his lips together, attempting to pull his hands towards his chest, unable to do so due to how well they had been secured to the poles of the headboard behind him.
“So, I take it …” Tom grunted, another attempt to break free, “Mnn, this, this guy has a thing for bondage too?” Tom yanked his right hand towards him, his arm muscle bulging as he did so, the rope giving no budge, “Mate, you tied these tight …”
Andrew walked towards the foot of the bed, reaching towards the carpet to pick up a white bundle of rope.
“I uh, I didn’t want to say, but he uh, he actually asked for a lot more….” Andrew ran his fingers through the rope, “… But I told him, as this is your first time, it’s best we ease you in gradually …”
Tom tried to shuffle further up the bed but Andrew caught his left ankle and pulled him back down.
“Oi…!” Tom slid across the mattress, his arms now stretched to each corner, his underarms entirely on show, “Careful! I pulled a muscle in the gym earlier!” Tom protested.
Andrew chuckled, kneeling down as he grabbed Tom’s left ankle, making a point to gently place it beside his right.
“Yup,” Andrew began to tie Tom’s ankles together, “He originally wanted you naked, on your front, so that perky butt of yours was on show …”
Andrew wound the rope tightly, building up a thin layer of sweat as he did so.
“… He even suggested some golden shower action,” Andrew continued his act, “Even I had to put my foot down on that one …”
Tom grinned, peering over his chest as Andrew yanked the rope under the beds structure, fully securing Tom’s feet over the bottom middle edge of the mattress.
“Seriously? I do that with Zendaya all the time! Would’ve been a breeze …”
Andrew paused, still knelt, looking over Tom’s bare feet towards his face where he tilted his head in surprise.
“… I’m joking …” Tom said flatly.
Andrew smirked, standing up.
“You had me for a second there, Holland.”
Tom tried to pull his legs towards him, but his feet were tied so tightly to the bottom of the bed he could barely bend his knees.
He then squeezed his eyes shut as Andrew aimed his iPhone at him.
“Oh for Gods sake, no, don’t take a picture …”
Andrew made sure Tom’s entire body was in the shot.
“He often needs proof,” Andrew explained, “Reassurance that we’re serious, so he can start getting things in order,” Andrew noticed Tom’s hair was still a little too messy after his time at the gym, “Hold on …”
He walked towards the top of the bed and licked the palm of his right hand.
“Oh, Andrew, gross!”
Tom winced as Andrew began to slide his wet fingers through his hair, slicking it back to a neater, in-shape style.
“That’s better,” Andrew sighed in content, returning to the foot of the bed where he re-aimed the camera at Tom, “Now, say cheese!”
Tom remained silent, clenching his fists into balls, looking at the camera without giving a smile, an unenthusiastic, “Cheeeese,” droning out of his mouth.
Andrew tapped his index finger over the screen.
Click!
“Christ, you could’ve at least pretended to make out that you’re enjoying yourself…” Andrew began to secure his iPhone to the top of the tripod, pressing the record button once attached.
Beep!
“Funnily enough,” Tom tutted, “Letting one of my best mates tie me to their bed and suck my feet isn’t my idea of fun …”
Andrew knelt down on the foot of the bed where he gathered Tom’s bound feet in an armlock.
“Who said I’m going to suck?”
Suddenly and without warning, he closed his eyes and then began to lick underneath Tom’s toes.
Tom jolted, his eyes bulging open.
“Wait—” His toes scrunched up, “—We’re, we’re starting already?”
Tom kicked his legs just once, the sort of shifted kick that would suggest to Andrew that enough was enough already, when it had only been one and half seconds …
“Mnn,” he grunted, his mind readying to say the words ‘be careful’, but he decided to keep his mouth clamped shut.
Andrew sent his tongue gently around the plump length of each of Tom’s big toes, its wet curl gliding across the soft pads in a delicate exploration, his lips consuming them both at the same time, his mind acknowledging how salty they tasted.
“How’s that feel?” Andrew asked, “Enjoying yourself up there?”
Tom made every effort to avoid answering Andrew’s question, shaking his head in a huff as he glared up into the ceiling, irritated by how Andrew always spoke with his mouthful, even if this time it was not a cheeseburger between his lips.
“I’m, I’m counting down the seconds, Garfield—” Tom bit his lower lip, his toes curling out into a manic stretch as Andrew’s tongue infiltrated their betweens, “Fi, five minutes, right …”
It was then Tom realised that he had no control over how long Andrew would do this …
He had, stupidly, allowed Andrew to tie him up.
And at only fifty three seconds in, Tom became viscerally aware of how hugely uncomfortable this was, far more uncomfortable than he had predicted it to be …
There was no escape.
“Ow!”
Tom hissed as Andrew took his right little toe into his mouth, nibbling on it gently.
Andrew spoke with the toe between his teeth, “You know what, Tom? I think you’re a little ticklish …”
Tom arched his back, clenching his teeth, his chin pressing over his chest as he sent a fierce glare down at Andrew.
“No—“ Tom shook his head, “I’m, I’m not,” he lied, “It just, it just feels weird …” his fingers curled tightly around the rope, “… Just, just stop it for a second,” he raised his voice as Andrew began to lightly chew on the toe, “STOP b-b-biting—“
Andrew giggled to himself as he began to stroke the bottoms of Tom’s feet whilst he sucked on the toes of his right foot.
“—I’ve got news for you, Holland …”
Tom’s feet squirmed under Andrews touch and tongue, his hips rolling from side to side, “Mate, alright — that’s enough, han, hands off—”
“—This was never going to be a ‘foot worship video’…” Andrew revealed, “… This was never going to be five minutes …”
Tom began to pant, alarm saturating his face.
Andrew stopped licking Tom’s toes and instead focused on securing Tom’s ankles tighter in his armlock.
“… This was never just for one person …” he then began to dance his fingertips up and down the bottom of Tom’s feet, “… This is for me, too.”
Tom’s immediate reaction was to try and kick his feet out of the way.
His legs sprung forwards and backwards, his thighs tensing as he used all of the strength in his lower body to avoid Andrew’s touch.
“No, stop,” Tom warned, “I, I mean it—“
No matter how much Tom tried to kick his feet from out of Andrew’s underarm, Andrew’s armlock remained tight and secure, Tom’s bare feet poking out the other side, squashed up neatly by Andrew’s chest, his smooth, milky soles expertly positioned so they faced the camera.
“Oh, oh don’t be a twat,” Tom yanked on his wrist restraints, not just once, but two, three, four times, “Wh-what are you—” yank “—What are you do—“
—yank, yank, yank—
“What do you think I’m doing to you, Holland?” Andrew looked down at Tom’s feet, catching his big toes under his thumb and index finger to keep Tom’s feet still, his free hand now unapologetically tickling their bottoms with relentless, undiscussed speed, “Go on, say it, I want you to say it out loud …”
Tom’s teeth scrunched down over the entirety of his bottom lip, his nostrils flaring, his muscular body thrusting on the bed so hard that the structure beneath him creaked with the passionate pull of his weight.
Shit, he thought.
huff, huff, huff
You’re fucked.
pant, pant, pant
“Ss, sss, stop it, mate, come, come on,” he spoke with a tremble in his voice, a heavy load of uncontrollable giggles caught in the back of his throat for now, “You’ve had your fun! Go, go back to the li, licking!”
He felt keen to not reveal his level of ticklishness, concerned as to what Andrew might do with that information if it came out too soon, “Don’t do this, please, please don’t, don’t do this,” he urged, his tone high pitched, the sense of urgency clear within his voice …
Andrew began to draw circles around Tom’s left arch.
“You can’t even say it, can you?” he teased, “Holland, say it, clearly and without stuttering … What am I doing to you… ?”
Tom breathed in, trying to keep his concern contained, his chest lifting …
In defeat, he did as Andrew asked, no choice but to obey his violator's request.
“You’re …” Tom gulped down resentment, “… You’re tickling me …” he answered reluctantly, his eyes trailing up to Andrew's bedroom ceiling where he focused on the details and cracks that made up the surface …
… Anything to distract himself from the sensation taking place over the soles of his feet, “There, I said it … Now st, stop …”
Andrew scratched his fingernails under Tom’s ten toes.
“Stop what, Tom?”
The feeling of such a sharp glide around such a sensitive area of his body caused Tom to arch his back and give in to the reactions he had so far successfully held back.
He exploded in a heavy, deep eruption of laughter, the sound of his hysteria filling Andrew’s bedroom.
Mania consumed Tom’s body as Andrew cackled in success, his fingernails working the silky soft shapes of Tom’s toes as the twenty six year old began to jolt about over the mattress in a violent, heavy bounce.
Andrew expected to hear Tom respond with a high pitched cry …
‘Stop tickling me!’ He imagined he’d say, ‘Stop tickling my feet!’
But instead all he got, much to his own satisfaction, was intense, gut wrenching laughter, the kind that has different pitches and tones, that is from the very depths of your belly, that has no want to pause or pay respect to your lungs, abs, throat or head …
Andrew’s eyes widened as he shifted around over the carpet, struggling to keep Tom’s ankles in place as the boy bucked around over the bedsheets.
“Oh wow! You’re far more ticklish that I thought!” Andrew admired, “And I haven’t even reached those stinky armpits of yours yet …”
Tom threw a fierce glare over his chest, his eyes burning through Andrew’s back, his face strained with a mixture of forced laughter, joy, agony and anguish.
“NO—“ Tom warned, his demand low pitched and filled with aggression, “You are not touching those, you bloody—“
Another kick of the legs, another strong pull at the rope tied around the steel bars of the head board.
Tom erupted once again, his bout of hysteria bursting out of his mouth in an insanity riddled explosion, his eyes wide, his eyebrows raised, his mouth splayed in a maddened open stretch.
“This—”
shocked face
“—Is fucking—”
pant, pant
“—Horrible—”
Andrew pulled a puppy dog face expression, taking Tom’s left index toe in his mouth as he sucked on it, while tickling Tom’s right sole with his fingernails.
“You’re absolutely screwed, Holland … All strung up and nowhere to go. It’s quite perfect, actually. I think the sweat you built up at the gym has made your feet more ticklish. And they’re all mine. In fact, all of you belongs to me, every sensitive inch … ”
Tom shot frantic eyes to his right wrist.
“Andrew! You bastard—”
The realisation that he had been fooled landed heavily in the pit of his stomach.
“This has to be a joke—” he heaved, “—you’re not seriously going to do this—“
Tom tried to pull his hand through the cuff, but the restraint had been secured too tightly.
Andrew sent his tongue around Tom’s flexing toes, his fingernails scratching lines over his heels.
“You’re an absolute mug!” Andrew laughed, “And you wanna know the best thing about it all? I plan on tickling you from head to toe, non stop, all … Fucking … Day …”
Tom shot frantic eyes to his left wrist, a whispered, “… No! … ” leaving his mouth.
He tried to pull his hand through the restraint, the squeak of leather informing him his hand would be going nowhere.
“Nah, mate, mate, enough—” Tom drenched his tone with an element of pure seriousness, “—Mate, get me the fuck out of this, I swear to God I’m gonna fucking kill you if you—”
Suddenly, a fingernail around just the pad of his right big toe.
Tom threw his head into the pillow in a repetitive bounce, laughter dribbling out past swollen lips, his neck thickening, his face glowing pink.
“Make this bloody stop, you absolu-huh-huhahaha-hoo-hoote shit he-ehehheh-ehehe-ehehehe-ehehead—“
Andrew continued to state the obvious, chewing down playfully on Tom’s second to last toe as he tickled the surface of Tom’s right big toe with the nail of his index finger.
“That’s right …” he snarled, “… Aaaaaaaaaall day long, maybe even into the night … Tickled non stop, shown no mercy, without a break … It’ll no doubt be the worst experience you’ll ever have in your privileged little life…”
Tom shook his head in disbelief, emotion bursting out of his nose as he coughed and cackled into his shoulder, his toes clenching and flexing so much they had started to ache.
“This, this—” pant, pant “—This can’t be happening—”
Tom heaved in air, his once slicked back hair now messy and unkept after so much head bashing against the pillow, “—This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening—”
“—Oh, it’s happening,” Andrew confirmed, his lips leaving Tom’s toes, all ten fingertips now exploring the soft sides of both of Tom’s feet, “I can see the video title now, Tom Holland, Surprise Tickled …” Andrew shuffled back and forth as Tom continued to kick, “… Gosh, I can’t wait for the sequels,” Andrew said to himself.
As Tom continued to expel strained giggles breathlessly into the now humid expanse of bedroom air, Andrew reached under the bed, where he had secretly stashed a selection of tickle tools.
He pulled out a bottle of baby oil and an electric toothbrush.
As he uncapped the bottle of baby oil, he gave Tom a few seconds to gather himself.
Tom spent this generous moment catching his breath, relieved that the tickling had stopped …
Until he could smell the baby oil.
He jumped as the cold liquid landed over his toes, the shining ooze trickling down the soles of his feet.
“What … What …” Tom licked his lips, “… What the fuck is that?”
Any hope that Andrew had simply taken a dumb joke too far and would now be giving him a massage was suddenly squashed as Andrew began to tickle and rub the baby oil into Tom’s soles.
Tom’s waist bucked around as he growled into the pillow, Andrew expertly and professionally making sure his fingers spread the baby oil between all of Tom’s toes.
“Andrew, Andrew, Androoooooooooooooo-FUCK-stop! Fuck that’s too much, fuck that’s too much—“
Andrew knew he had already pushed Tom past his limits because of all the swearing.
“I can tell you’re pissed,” Andrew scratched the baby oil into Tom’s arches, “You only swear when you’ve really lost your temper …”
Btzzzzzzzzz!
Tom fixed himself still, unblinking, his wide eyes staring down at Andrew, Andrew’s back blocking off the sight of any tool or method Andrew currently planned on using or actioning …
“Is that, is that a—“ Tom clenched his teeth, his upper body peeling away from the mattress as he tried to stretch his neck to the right in an attempt to see what Andrew had just turned on, “Is that a—”
Btzzzzzzzzz!
—Unable to control such a reaction, Tom threw his entire body into a convulsed spasm, a giant gasp flooding his mouth as the tip of the electric toothbrush pressed down between his left big toe and his left index toe.
His cheeks ballooned as he pressed his lips shut, his eyes watering, his fingers stretching out in panic, an electric toothbrush only ever touching his teeth in his life time, not the tips of his toes …
“Ooft, a sweet spot,” Andrew acknowledged, his eyes taking in quickly and vigorously Tom’s toes began to flex and curl, “They were right, you really are one of the most ticklish subjects we’ve ever had. I knew you’d find it hard, but this is another level!”
Tom kept the air in his cheeks, the veins in the sides of his head bulging as he twisted his neck and leaned forwards in shock, a tear leaning his left eye and rolling down the side of his face.
“BFFFTTTT—“
Andrew sent the electric toothbrush down to the next toe, a toe that appeared to be even more hyper sensitive compared to the one it had just left.
“BBFFTT—PAHH—!!“
Tom widened his jaw and sent the laughter out in a deafening shout, his face soaked in panic, his upper body pulling forward, his arms kept stretched out behind him
“—Aahah-ahaha-ahah—ahahahah-ahaha-alright,” he spat, “You ahaha-ahahaha—ave to st, st, st-ohahahaaaa, ahahaha, ahahaap, plea-eahahahahaeeease—“
—Leaning so far forward, watching the toothbrush glide so effortlessly around his toes, taking in the mere sight of horror all felt like things that would make this ordeal feel more manageable, but if anything it made it so much worse.
So Tom fell back over the mattress, his arms pulling at his restraints with aggressive strength, his laughter not stopping, its constant expel breathless and continuous and draining, his stomach tight, his chest burning …
“—The oil ma-hahaha-ahahahakes it so much wor, worse!” Tom declared, without Andrew even needing to ask, “This is so bad, so bad, so, so, so ba-ahahaha-ahahaha-ad—“
Between incessant giggling, Tom hissed and winced, the toothbrush whizzing and buzzing over both big toes at the same time, “Come on, come on, come on, please, please, please—“ Tom had started to sound desperate, “Isn’t there a, a sa, safe word or s, so, som, something for this sort of sh—”
Andrew scoffed, shaking his head, sending the toothbrush down the soles of Tom’s baby oil soaked feet.
“—Oh I don’t believe in safe words,” he revealed, “You’re just going to have to take it until I decide to give you a break and, let’s just be upfront with each other, I’m a pretty sadistic tickler …”
Tom huffed, bulging his chest, his mouth wide open, no noise being made as he managed to contain his shouts and pleas for just a moment as the electric toothbrush travelled around his heels, catching parts of them he had no idea could even be that ticklish …
Tom fell back into heaves of laughter when the toothbrush returned to the middles of his soles, its irritating spin journeying over the soft, sleek landscape that made up the bottoms of his feet.
“You ever been tickled like this before, Holland?” Andrew asked.
Tom threw his head from side to side, the sensation of the electric toothbrushes sharp, whizzing bristles vibrating across his soles proving too intense to handle.
“I can’t hear you!” Andrew pressed.
Tom’s reply came out in a gravelly, strained shout.
“… Never! …”
The bed shifted forwards as Tom actioned his strongest jump yet, “I wish the bloody, p, p, p, police would come, or, or something!” He cried.
Andrew could not contain his own laughter, entertained by Tom’s dire and hopeless despair.
“No one is coming for you, Holland. I told you, we’re doing this for as long as I want!”
Andrews' reminders on how utterly trapped, exposed and vulnerable Tom was only further instilled an unsettling amount of panic within his chest.
Questions of concern began to flood his mind as the electric toothbrush infiltrated the betweens of his toes, one by one.
Will he really do this all day?
Can I physically handle it?
If I scream loud enough, will his neighbours or, or a passer by hear?
“Andrew, please, mate, come on! Stop this, this is fucking insane—” Tom’s shouts had started to sound frustrated, exasperated, bitter and enraged, “Come on, mate, you can’t just do this, I can’t fucking take it anym—“
No matter how much Tom tried to bargain, Andrew persisted, discovering more ticklish areas on Tom’s feet that Tom himself had no idea existed, increasing an already horrific and present element of surprise that refused to go away.
Tom had now become so physically pushed that he had been reduced to a begging mess, his pleas mumbled and breathless, his face swollen with how much energy and volume he had expelled past his throat, curls of hair littering his forehead ../
“Please, please, please, please, please,” Tom muttered, his eyebrows raised in terror, “Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop …”
Andrew did not stop.
Between Tom’s ‘please please please please’ and his ‘stop, stop, stop, stop’, a repetitive rhythm he had convinced himself would make Andrew at least pause for a minute or two, Tom would breathe out a sentence that summed up how tormented he felt.
He would take in air and then expel his sentence all in one breath.
“Come on give me a break just a second JUST a second I need a breather I need a breather—“
And a few seconds later, another intake of breath and then,
“—Please, please, oh my god! Please I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe…”
Huff, huff, huff, huff, huff …
Pant, pant, pant, pant, pant …
And then came the coughing, the spluttered angst, the whining and the struggling to physically stay afloat.
Tom’s feet were far too ticklish for this to go on without him refilling his lungs with a substantial amount of oxygen.
Andrew glanced over his shoulder, catching Tom’s facial expression, an expression creased with lines of agony and distress, his skin tight, his cheeks blotchy and red.
He looked violated, ruined, disturbed and above all else …
Angry.
Andrew then turned his attention back to Tom’s feet.
His toes were pointed like a ballet dancers, a shape his feet were no doubt used to forming after all the years Tom had danced as a teenager.
Andrew grappled with the idea of going on and on and on …
Or …
… Andrew switched off the toothbrush and released Tom’s feet from his armlock.
He then stood, turning to face Tom.
Both young men were beyond breathless.
Andrew’s exhaustion came from actioning such a sudden and ruthless tickle to Tom’s feet, whilst grappling with the boy's forceful movements and physical reactions.
Tom’s exhaustion came from being put through an unexpected ordeal, his level of overwhelming shock matching his level of tiredness.
Andrew licked some baby oil off of his thumb, taking in the sight of Tom tied to the bed, his glistening body slumped over bed sheets that were once neatly made and were now creased and damp with sweat.
Tom panted, his tight, toned stomach lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping, lifting and dropping …
His hands hung limply from the cuffs, perspiration shining over his face.
“You… You…” Tom gulped, his throat dry, his tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth, “… You fucked me over…” he said, “… You always planned to, to do, to do this …”
Not a question.
A statement.
Andrew lifted his shoulders.
He refused to answer the question.
Instead he folded his arms and stood casually, his eyes never leaving Tom’s face.
“You know you only have your girlfriend to blame, right?”
Tom’s eyebrows burrowed into a flat frown, a trickle of sweat leaving his left pit, the scent of perspiration filling Andrew’s bedroom.
“What the fuck are you t—“
“—YouTube,” Andrew interrupted, dropping his arms by his sides as he paced slowly over carpet, kicking the electric toothbrush back under the bed, “The video of your girlfriend revealing your ultimate weakness … The way you reacted, how quickly you jumped …” Andrew pressed his thumb over his bottom lip in astonishment, “… Without even being touched …”
Tom turned his head away from Andrew, his bloodshot eyes burning through the ropes tied around his wrists.
More yanking, more kicking, more shuffling across the bed as he tried to pull himself free, this time in a more panicked attempt than the previous ones.
“Untie me you fucking wanker—“ he grunted, “—This isn’t fucking right!”
Andrew chuckled, positioning himself at the corner of the bed.
“As soon as we saw that video, we knew we had to have you.”
Tom swallowed down, peeling his head away from the pillow, narrowing his eyes at someone that used to be his friend, someone who now purely existed as his tickler.
“Pl, please, Andrew,” Tom spoke with genuine concern, “Don’t d-do this, this, this isn’t cool, you can’t just, tie me up and, and fucking do this to me without asking me first, it’s, it’s bloody m—“
Andrew tilted his head.
“What do you mean by do this …?” He asked.
Tom rubbed his feet together in an attempt to get rid of the itchiness still dancing over his soles.
“Well, tic, tickling me, like, like this, you daft—“ he scowled, choosing to narrow his eyes instead of swear, “Why are you doing this? Is this, a, a thing for you? Why, why didn’t you just ask? I, I, I …”
Andrew bit into his right thumbnail.
“You would’ve let me, if I asked?”
Tom breathed in through flared nostrils.
“Well, n, no, probably not,” Tom laughed, the first time he had not taken this nightmare too seriously, “But it, it would’ve been the, the polite thing to do, instead of just, bullshitting me like th—“
Andrew wiped some sweat from his upper lip.
“—Do I come across as a polite person, Holland?” He asked
Tom shifted his eyes from left to right.
“Errr, I, I thought so? I didn’t expect you to, to ever do something like this to me, I, I, I,”
Andrew mimicked Tom, putting on a posh British accent, dancing on tiptoes.
“… I, I, I …” Andrew jumped on the bed, where he straddled Tom’s waist with both of his long, heavy thighs, “…. I, I, I, I … “
Tom tried to lift his hips but Andrew was too heavy.
“… I’m about to fucking ruin you …” Andrew warned.
Tom’s eyes stretched open, his entire body stiffening as Andrew’s fingers shaped out into claws.
They neared his underarms, their travel towards Tom’s pits slow and tortuous, an area once almost touched by Zendaya’s playful attacks during that interview, an interview that seemed to of got Tom into far more trouble than he’d ever dare to realise …
Tom said nothing, his face coloured with fright and panic, his expression simply saying,
‘Don’t do this’.
Andrew’s mouth had arched into an evil smirk, his thick eyebrows deepening as his fingers wiggled closer to an exceptionally ticklish area of Tom’s upper body.
An expression painted over his face that said,
This is only the beginning.
O N E W E E K L A T E R
Andrew pushed Tom’s cheese burger closer towards him, his fingers pressing against the plate where it slid slowly across the diner table.
“Your food’s getting cold,” he said.
Tom sat slouched in the booth seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his eyes narrowed at Andrew like they had been for the best part of five minutes.
“I told you,” Tom spoke in a croak, his throat still a little sore from his tickling just one week ago, “I’m not letting you do it again …”
Tom laughed to himself, glancing out the window beside him, “… I didn’t even let you in the first place. You took the piss, mate, you went way, way too far and that’s ju—“
“—You haven’t got a choice,” Andrew said bluntly, picking up his milkshake, the straw nudging against his lower lip, “If you refuse, they’ll just share what I filmed with the rest of Hollywood …”
Andrew slurped the thick chocolatey liquid down his throat, gulping the cold substance into his chest, “… You’ll be a joke, within seconds.”
Tom felt his cheeks boil red.
He unfolded his arms and hid his face with his hands.
“Fuck,” he whispered into his palms.
Andrew placed the milkshake down over the diner table.
“How did your meeting with Spielberg go, anyway?” He asked.
Tom kept his hands over his face, muffling out his reply.
“I got the role.”
Andrew clapped, not bothered about disturbing other guests at the diner, considering the only other occupants of the restaurant consisted of a homeless man by the bar and an elderly couple seated by the entrance.
“See!” Andrew reached forwards, his hands curling around Tom’s wrists where he tried to pull Tom’s hands away from his face, “It sucked, it was the worst, you hated every minute, but it paid off, just like I said it would …”
Tom yanked his hands away from Andrew, offering him an angry glare afterwards that simply said, ‘don’t touch me’…
Andrew pressed his lips together, sinking back down into his seat.
Tom looked down at his lunch, too filled with anxiety to eat it.
“Andrew … ” Tom shifted his eyes from left to right, “… It wasn’t the tickling that fucked me off. Sure, that was … hell …” Tom gulped at the memory of the electric toothbrush running between his toes, “I just don’t get why you had to sell it as something else? Why did you have to spring it on me like that? Why did you make it go on for so long … You, you spent all afternoon on my armpits, you didn’t stop …” Tom wrapped his arms around his chest, “ … You said it would just be foot worship. I mean, I, I, I nearly pissed mys—“
—Tom closed his eyes and bit his upper lip in an attempt to control his temper.
Andrew allowed a beat of silence to land between him and Tom.
“Surprise tickling,” Andrew announced, “Intense, overwhelming tickle torture. The main guy, who runs all these … Operations … He has a thing for it. He … Gets off on the idea that the ticklee has no idea that it’s going to happen; he likes that they’re overwhelmed by shock whilst having to endure the torment at the same time, he thrives on them having to grapple with the unexpected, not knowing when it’ll end or how long it’ll go on for. He, he loves the breathlessness, the inability to—“
“—Alright,” Tom snapped, “I get it.”
Andrew shut his mouth and slowly took his eyes away from Tom’s face and down to his cheeseburger.
“You er, you gonna start on that, or, or …”
Tom pushed the plate over to Andrew in an aggressive shove.
The plate slid over to the edge of the table, where Andrew had to place his fingertips over the burger bun to stop it from landing on his lap.
“Look, Andrew …” Tom scratched the tip of his nose, sighing in annoyance, “… I, I don’t think I can even do something like that again. It was physically draining, I could barely breathe throughout most of it, I’m, I’m too ticklish … I’m not built for that sort of thing, it, it, it …”
Tom shook his head, keeping his mouth open, ready to finish his sentence …
… But Andrew did it for him, by saying something Tom did not expect him to say.
“… It makes you perfect,” he declared, “For what they want.”
He picked up the cheeseburger and took a giant bite, “Do you understand?” Andrew asked, chomping on his food.
Tom lowered his head and nodded quietly to himself.
“I’ve … I’ve never been tickled like that,” he looked up at Andrew, “You’re fucking sadistic, mate. You’ve clearly done that a few times before …”
Andrew swallowed down, wiping some grease away from his lips with the back of his hand.
“Oh, a few hundred times, more like…”
Tom raised his eyebrows.
“What, wait. So, I’m one of many? That you’ve talked into … Situations like the shit-show I’m in now?”
Tom hoped Andrew would lie.
He wanted reassurance that the person he thought he knew still existed, in some shape or form.
Instead, Andrew nodded, taking another bite out of Tom’s cheese burger, speaking with his mouthful as expected.
“You’re one of many, many” he confirmed, “But, you might jusht be the besht of many,” he gulped, taking another large bite, the burger already half gone, “The feedback wash senshashonal, the content hash changed everything. Clientsh are already requesting videos in their dozens,” he didn’t even attempt to hide his mouth, the food developing around his tongue and teeth clearly visible for Tom to see.
Tom scrunched up his face, turning away from Andrew, his eyes looking back through the diner window once again.
He watched cars whizz by the highway, a few birds fly through the blue sky above …
A world he once saw as a world where he did not have to be tickled on demand …
A world that had now seemingly changed forever.
“You’re meant to be my friend,” Tom said quietly, his fingertips stroking his chin in thought, “You’ve always looked after me, had my back, checked in when I’ve been a bit fed up …” Tom smiled at the idea of the Andrew he used to know, if only for a moment, before his smile began to fade.
“Instead,” he said, “La, last week, you were merciless, you, you were hard core, you … You didn’t hold back …”
Andrew shook his head, smirking as he took another bite out of the burger.
“I told you,” he chewed, “I’m one sadistic tickler,” another bite, this one bigger, “And besides, I have to do as I’m told too, Holland,” he ignored the chunk of beef that fell past his chin, “You’re not the only one whose under their thumb …”
Tom clenched his fists into balls, his patience running thin.
“First of all, a few suggestions,” he squinted his eyes, pointing at the burger in Andrews hand, “Can you please try not speaking with your mouthful? Your behaviour’s been gross already, and eating like that just makes me dislike you even more…”
Andrew raised his eyebrows, taking one final bite out of the burger.
“Meow …” he said, unapologetically speaking with his mouthful, yet again.
Tom sighed.
“And s, secondly,” he said, “Can’t we just, I don’t know, act it up? Can’t you go slow? And I ham up the reactions? We are actors, after all—“
“—No,” Andrew said, his voice deep and authoritative, “They can smell a faker from miles away. If they get wind on you or I trying to blag it, well, then we’re fucked. The both of us.”
Tom’s heart sank.
“Al, alright, oh, okay …” he sat up straight, “Can you at least give me a hint about what they want me to do nex—“
“—No,” Andrew repeated, picking up a napkin and clearing his jaw and mouth of any excess sauce, “Remember, the element of surprise is a key factor to all of his requested sessions, and all future sessions he requests after that … ”
Tom’s adjusted the collar of his tee, “… Future sessions …? Nah,” he shook his head, chuckling into his chest, “There’s no way I’m doing more than two—“
“—Oh?” Andrew sat forward in interest, “So you are going to do this second one? You’re submitting already?"
Tom took Andrew’s milkshake in his grasp, placing the straw between his lips.
“Well … I can’t let that video see the light of day. I can’t let everyone realise how …”
Andrew crossed his legs at the knee.
“… How ticklish you are?”
Tom slurped on the milkshake, swallowing down thick, creamy liquid.
“No,” his eyes watered with brain freeze, “How desperate I am,” he said, squirming in his seat.
Andrew winced at Tom's reality check.
“Christ. You are a sensitive young man, aren’t you, Holland …”
Andrew reached over and took the milkshake away from his friend, “… I should’ve known how easy it would’ve been to reduce you to a sweaty, defeated mess … I mean, your reactions in that hot wing challenge were pretty intense …”
Tom avoided Andrew's gaze.
“Do you just … Get off?” He asked, “On seeing me get destroyed?”
Andrew arrived at the end of the milkshake, his straw refusing to pick up any more chocolatey remains.
“I wouldn’t say get off … ” Andrew slid the empty glass back over to Tom, tucking his hands behind his head, revealing his own ticklish yet untouched armpits beneath the cottons of his t-shirt, “… But yeah, I’d be lying if I said I … And a circle of others … Didn’t receive a thrill from it all.”
Tom remained silent, staring into his lap as he compartmentalised his thoughts.
Clients? he thought.
A circle of others?
What the hell have I gotten myself into …
A few more cars whizzed by the highway on the opposite side of the window, and then …
“… If I do this,” Tom sniffed, “Will you leave me alone?”
Andrew ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth.
“It’s just tickling, Holland. You give them what they want, they give you what you want.”
Tom chuckled into his fist, rolling his eyes up into the diners brightly lit ceiling.
“… ‘Just tickling’ …” he mumbled, almost insulted by how much Andrew tried to strip away the seriousness of what he had just endured.
Tom looked at his iPhone laying over the table.
A phone that now had Spielberg's personal phone number in its address book, unlike this time last week.
A phone that had text messages and missed calls from the director himself.
A phone that had emails with contracts attached, contracts confirming millions of dollars of payment that would come along with the role he had just signed onto; the magazine deals that came along with it, the interviews and the events and the rise in status …
His life had already changed, after one session.
A gruelling, unbearable, horrendous session …
But just one, and he had already got more than close with *the* biggest director in the world.
Tom took in a breath, his chest lifting.
“I’m, I’m sorry … ” Tom kept the breath in the back of his throat.
Andrew’s face dropped as he readied himself for Tom to back out.
“… I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to have some idea of what this next one is about,” Tom said.
Andrew smiled, relief lifting his mood.
He sat forwards, as if allowing Tom in on a big secret.
“Alright,” he announced, “All I say is: what you endured with me? That’s tame, compared to what’s in store next … And top top it all off?”
Tom’s eyes widened as Andrew finished his words,
“… You'll be strapped to The Tickle Chair …”
‘OBEY’ CONTINUES IN PART TWO, ‘GANG TICKLE’