Armie sat on the single arm chair in their hotel room, with his legs folded at the knee, where he quietly watched Timothée sleeping in the middle of their double bed.

Still in the white briefs he had worn during his session on The Wheel, he lay sprawled out and exhausted, with sheets blanketing him from the waist down.

Once Armie felt happy with how deep Tim’s sleep had fallen, he peeled back the bottom of the bed covers, ensuring Tim’s bare feet were on display.

Armie took blue eyes over Tim’s shoulder blades, down the smoothness of his back, over the hotel linen and down to the softness of each of his recently violated soles.

Armie wondered which of Miller’s assistants would be given the job of cleaning up the pile of vomit, on the hall's carpet, outside the hotel’s main convention area, an area still bustling with tickle session after tickle session, an area still full with hundreds of Tickle Fest’s attendee’s, a few floors below.

Armie and Tim would sit out tonights events.

Tim had been booked in for only one more session anyway, and that took place tomorrow.

But, above all else, Armie wanted to avoid Miller, and Tim needed the rest.

A gentle knock at the door announced the start of their evening.

Tim grumbled into a pillow, waking after an almost two hour nap, whilst Armie got to his feet and made his way to the hotel room door.

He pulled it open, revealing a hotel steward holding onto the handles of a trolly.

“Room service?” She asked.

Armie nodded, stepping aside.

“Please, come in.”

The steward wheeled the trolly inside the hotel room, politely acknowledging the twenty three year old in the middle of the bed, as Tim slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes.

The steward nodded to Armie, and then slipped out of the room, allowing Armie to close the door behind her.

Tim yawned, taking in the trolley’s contents;

Two plates covered by a silver dish.

An ice bucket, with one bottle of expensive looking champagne squashed inside.

Crystal glasses, a bowl of fresh fruit, two ice cold, capped bottles of still spring water …

Armie wheeled the trolly to the foot of the bed.

He then pulled the singular armchair across the carpet, placing it on the other side of the trolly.

As he took a seat, he invited Tim to dinner.

“I bet your starving.”

Tim used his heels to drag himself across the mattress, where he slid his feet off the edge, his bare stomach pressing agains the cold edge of the trolly.

“All we need now is candle light …” Tim smirked, his voice still sore from the screaming, the laughing, the shouting, the begging, “… Th-thanks, for this…”

Armie curled his hands around the bottle of pre opened champagne, aiming the neck towards Tim’s glass.

“You deserve it, after that.”

Tim blocked the top of his champagne glass with his hand, shooting a frown up to Armie.

“Not for me … I still feel a, a little …”

Armie nudged Tim’s hand out of the way with the bottle of champagne.

“Nonsense …” he filled Tim’s glass after Tim’s hand rested on the trolly’s surface, “… You need the energy.”

Tim smiled, watching the bubbles lift to the glasses edge, as he took in a breath and let out an almighty sigh.

“That nap was … Epic …” Tim tucked some curls of hair behind his ears, “… Sorry, I uh, I didn’t think I’d be out for that long.”

Armie shrugged as he slid the champagne bottle back into the ice bucket with a splosh.

“I can deny you of many things, Tim, but a recharge after a session like that is something I’ll happily allow.”

Tim lifted the silver lid off the plate in front of him, revealing a tall, triple stacked cheese and bacon burger.

Tim felt the insides of his mouth fill with water.

“Holy shit.”

Armie chuckled, whilst also removing his own silver lid, revealing the same dish.

“You going to be able to manage that? After chuckin' your guts?"

Armie’s question found it’s answer as Tim picked up the burger and took one huge, giant bite out of it’s centre.

“—I guess so,” Armie smiled, as he watched BBQ sauce and burger juice fall over Tim’s lap, staining his briefs.

Droplets started to pat against the hotel room’s window.

From their spot, the view of Atlanta had now been blanketed by a dark shade of grey.  

Clouds rolled in and, by Tim’s third bite, a heavy rainfall began its drench over the city.

Armie tucked into his burger, as Tim revealed another plate full of crispy French fries.

“Thish ish fuggin’ aweshom,” Tim cupped his mouthful with his free hand as he spoke. 

Armie nodded in enthusiastic agreeance.


“I know right,” Armie couldn’t help but express his shock at just how good the burger tasted by speaking with his mouthful too, “One of the besht I’ve hagd…”

Tim chewed down on the meat whilst picking up a French fry and popping it in his mouth.

The room fell cold, the quicker the weather outside worsened.

“You’re an asshole,” Tim declared, swallowing down his food.

Armie’s eyes widened as he gulped down some of the burger.

“Excuse me?” He asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Tim carefully laid his half eaten burger down on the plate.

“I heard you, shouting from the audience, telling them where to tickle me …” Tim offered Armie a playful expression, his facial movements vibrating risky accusation, “… That’s asshole behaviour.”

Armie read Tim’s face, deciding to receive the announcement as a confident flirt that informed Armie, just like with the two-brushes-at-once-scenario in Miller's studio, that what he had done was wrong.

Armie bit his lip, stopping himself from saying sorry, because deep down, he knew that he wasn’t sorry at all.

“I know your weak spots, Tim … I’m going to share that knowledge, if I want a good show…” Armie popped a French fry into his mouth.

Tim flashed his eyebrows upward, surprised to see Armie stand by his actions so willingly.

“And … Was it, a good show?” He asked.

Tim picked his burger back up and took another huge, hungry bite.

Armie popped another French fry into his mouth, and then another …

He paused before replying, watching Tim look up at him with a mouthful of food, politely and nervously awaiting Armie’s response. 

“No, it wasn’t a good show …” Armie swallowed down French fries as Tim deflated at the end of the mattress, “… It was a fucking incredible show …” Armie lifted his glass of champagne, hovering it over the surface of the trolley as Tim sat up with a smile, “… Cheers, to you, for enduring such intense torture, yet again …”

Tim wiped grease away from his lips with the back of his hand, curled his fingers around his champagne glass and then lifted it towards Armie’s.

“I wish I could say I’m getting used to it …” Tim and Armie’s glasses clinked together in cheers.

Tim sipped the fizz, closing his eyes as the alcohol pushed away nausea he’d felt since waking up this morning. 

“I’m pretty impressed with Miller. The entire set up looked expensive, unique, original …” Armie sipped his champagne, sitting back in the armchair, the burger filling him up quicker than he realised, “… What was the hardest part?” He asked, out of aroused curiosity. 

Tim looked up at the ceiling, pressing his lips together in thought.

“The toes …” he nodded, “… That bit, between, the, the bit you…” Tim lowered his head, glaring at Armie with narrowed eyes, “… The area you suggested they tickle…”

Armie pursed his lips over his champagne glass.

“The space between your big toe and your index toe …” Armie practically purred as he spoke.

Tim grimaced, shaking curls over his face.

“That fucking sucks.”

Armie chuckled, sitting forward, attempting another round with his burger.

Tim continued, as if revelling in the opportunity to get it all off his chest.

“And, and the fucking spinning …” Tim balled his fists, “… I swear to God, they were lucky I didn’t hurl all over them ten minutes in …”

Armie took a bite from his burger, nodding with a smile as he chewed down on his food. 

He swallowed down, before asking his next question. 

“And how about at the end, when they all joined in…?”

Tim held onto a French fry, staying still before throwing it into his mouth.

“Does me telling you, how it feels, for me …” in goes the fry, “… Does that turn you on?” He chews.

Armie went to take another bite, hesitating as his mouth neared the burger.

“Of course,” he answered, laying the burger back down on the plate, “If I'm honest, every single fibre of your ticklish being turns me on, Tim. I've never known, or witnessed, anyone as sensitive as you. Getting to understand more about how you feel whilst the torture is actioned - it's a must."

Tim stared down at his burger as he took in Armie’s words.

“Are you," Tim cleared his throat, "Uh, are you, are you turned on now?” He asked, taking a gentle bite out of some stray bacon hanging out of the side of the bun.

Armie cleared some cheese off his own jaw, providing his answer without hesitance.

“I’ve been aroused, constantly, since you signed my contract. And yes, I’m turned on, right now.”

Tim gulped down some of the bacons gristle.

“But, we’re, we’re not even doing anything… We’re, we’re just talking …”

Armie smirked, folding his napkin up into quarters.

“I … I think you underestimate the visual, of Timothée Chalamet, sitting at the end of a bed, in his underwear, eating a burger and talking about how it feels to be tickle tortured," Armie’s eyes sparkled in excitement as he picked up his glass of champagne, “Are you aware of how attractive you are right now?” 

Tim finished his burger in one final, open jawed chomp.

He lifted his shoulders, tackling a full-cheeked, mouth full of food, his head shaking ‘no’ in reply.

“Hm …” Armie rested his champagne glass back down and then slid both hands under the trolly.

Tim jolted as he felt Armie’s cold fingers curl around his feet.

Tim swallowed down his food, twisting his feet around each other as Armie’s hands successfully caught onto each of Tim’s ankles.

“Armie, no, c-come on, can’t we ju—“

Armie lifted Tim’s feet off of the carpet and placed them over his own arousal, currently hardening beneath his chinos.

“Kid … I’m not going to tickle you … “ Armie pressed Tim’s soles over his crotch, “… I just wanted to show you.”

Tim sat back on the edge of the mattress as he curled his toes over the cotton of Armie’s chinos, chinos covering a thick, pulsating strength.

Tim watched his own feet, poking out the other side of the beneath of the trolley, rub quietly and softly around the zipper of Armie’s trouser.

Armie felt himself fall breathless.

“See?” He whispered, with closed eyes.

He then picked Tim’s feet up gently, returning them back underneath the trolly.

Tim planted his feet back on the surface of the carpet. 

A rumble of thunder outside the hotel window filled the moment of silence between Ticklee and Tickler, between Sub and Dom. 

Tim had planned, when they had the chance, to say thank you to Armie.

This would’ve been a great time to do so.

But Tim found himself staring into the depths of the pile of French fry’s beside him instead.

He couldn’t find the strength, or justification, to acknowledge how Armie had made effort to make him feel so protected, whilst here at Tickle Fest.

Sure, the hand on the back, the comforting lead through crowds, the checking in and the reassuring smiles …

… This burger and the champagne and the ‘allowed’ two hour nap were all things Tim felt grateful for.

But he couldn’t forget the shout out from the crowd, the urge to instruct the Ticklers at The Wheel to focus on parts of Tim’s feet that Armie knew would drive him insane …

… He couldn’t forget the gang tickling at the party, the fact that Armie kept it going for a few minutes longer than he should have …

… Tim then considered his own actions.

He too had tickled Armie, whilst at the party, without asking, without Armie expecting it. 

He too had actively tested the power-play between them both, in an effort to put Armie in his place.

Tim ran his hands through his hair, as if pushing the thoughts to the back of his head.

It’s just tickling.

No, he over stepped the line.

You can handle what he throws at you.

Is he going to edge me again?

Will we still talk, after all of this?

Am I gay?

Should I kiss him, or compliment his hair, or say something—

— Stop over thinking!

You literally told yourself this morning that you wouldn’t do that anymore.

Fuck, I’m so full.

Tim took in a big breath, exhaling out deflated air afterwards, as rain continued to throw itself against the hotel room window.

“Everything alright in there?” Armie asked, glancing up at Tim’s head.

Tim chuckled, closing his eyes, sliding his hands between his legs.

“Yeah. The uh, the burger, the champagne … It’s doing the trick, that’s all.”

Tim patted his tummy, goosebumps rolling up his sides and collar bone.

Armie noticed Tim’s chill.

He stood, in an attempt to grab the fluffy gown from the bathroom, but a vibration in his back pocket distracted him.

Midway from leaving the trolly, Armie pulled his iPhone out from his back pocket, his eyes focusing on it’s screen.

Tim watched Armie’s face slowly drop.

“I uh, I gotta go, kid …” Armie kept his iPhone in his hand as he stepped away from the make-shift table.

Tim sat up slowly, a boil of jealousy and sickening confusion flooding his throat far quicker than he’d expected it to.

“He … He wants to see you, again?”

Armie nodded, whilst checking his face in the mirror attached to the hotel room wall.

“I promise, I, I won’t be as long as last time …”

Tim tutted, shooting a frustrated glare into the ceiling.

“You only … You only just saw him last night …” Tim slid through the gap between the edge of the bed and the edge of the trolly until he stood, in burger stained underwear, on the carpet, in the middle of the room, with clenched fists, “What’s going on, with you two?”

Armie flapped his hands at Tim, dismissing his paranoia, “Absolutely nothing … Honestly, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tim breathed in sharply through flared nostrils.

“But, but this…” Tim gestured his right hand to the room service, “… Th-the burgers, the champagne, the … The French fries …” He dropped his shoulders, looking down at his feet, “… I, I was having, a uh, a really …”

Armie tucked his hands into his chino pockets, taking some quiet steps towards his clearly disgruntled Ticklee.

“… A nice time?” Armie finished.

Tim nodded slowly, avoiding Armie’s gaze entirely.

Armie pressed further, knowing he’d be a little late for Miller, willing to take the punishment, if required.

“Why are you so upset?” He asked.

Tim’s cheeks grew red as he folded his arms over his chest.

“I’m not upset?” He made a ‘pfft’ noise with his lips, laughing into his shoulder, “I, I just …”

Armie adopted an authoritative tone, a deep, ordering voice that rolled out of his throat and off his lips in what sounded more like a warning above anything else.

“Be honest with me, Timothée.”

Tim clenched his teeth, struggling to shrug off the feeling of being told off.

He unfolded his arms, allowing them to dangle tiredly at his sides.

“I, I just … I guess I was … Looking forward, t-to spending the night …” Tim chewed the inside of his mouth nervously, trying hard not to glance at the bed, although it happened without him even knowing it, “… With you.”

Armie relaxed broad shoulders, keeping his hands in his pockets, as he stepped quietly towards his ‘lee.

He closed his eyes and kissed the top of Tim’s head.

He breathed in the scent of sweat, created by intense torture on The Wheel, rife within Tim’s curls of hair.

Armie stepped back, untucking his hands from his pockets, heading for the hotel room door.

“Make sure you finish the champagne... It wasn’t cheap.”

Tim stood in silence as Armie left him alone, once again, with nothing but a half eaten burger and some stale French fries for company. 

***

At around 11 pm, Tim wondered one thing:

Why the fuck am I here?

He had finished the bottle of champagne, as well as the plate of French fries … And Armie’s burger.

A little tipsy and contently full, he lay in bed, the sheets up to his nose, in the star fish position.

He stared at the ceiling, in complete darkness.

What was the point of doing all of this, of coming all this way, if he and Armie didn’t spend time with each other?

Why is he choosing Miller over me?

Tim tried to find relief in Armie’s second disappearance.

He tried to convince himself he were lucky.

If he were here, he’d probably have me tied up some way.

I’d only be put through the same shit I went through this afternoon.

Tim acknowledged a dull ache in his chest, an internal, unexpected message that told him he’d rather be tied and tickled by Armie, in this hotel room, then spend the night alone, knowing that Armie would rather be somewhere else, with someone else.

I’m gonna have to act up, when we’re back in New York.

Prove to Armie that I’m still the best ticklee he’s ever had.

Miller will be a thing of the past, mark my words.

Tim rolled onto his front, frowning into the pillow.

What the fuck?

Did you just hear yourself?

Who even are you?

“I can’t stand this …” Tim mumbled into the mattress, keeping his face planted against the bed.

He breathed in Armie’s scent, the musk of his cologne, the remnants of his presence here for a few hours last night, whilst Tim slept too drunk to even be aware he’d returned.

Tim lay on his side.

His roll over sent the champagne and burger into the pit of his stomach.

Tim tried to put off the feeling.

Laziness had overwhelmed him.

The idea of getting up no different to the idea of climbing a mountain.

Tim gave in.

I need to pee.

He sighed, sitting up, stumbling off the bed.

He walked over hotel carpet towards the bathroom, his right hand smacking around the wallpaper for a light switch he couldn’t find.

He pulled down his briefs and aimed into the toilet.

As the roll of release began to leave his bladder, approaching footsteps from outside the hotel door made Tim’s ears prick.

Then, the shuffling of hands in pockets, searching for a key card.

Fuck, no.

Tim held his pee in, his hands still readied in position.

It looks like I’ve been waiting for him.

Tim pulled his briefs back up, just when his bladder thought relief would be on it’s way.

He spun on his heels and darted back into the depths of the double bed as soon as Armie opened the hotel room door.

Tim pretended to be asleep.

He could make out Armie removing loafers, pulling off his shirt, opening up his suitcase, fingering through packed items …

Tim lay on his side, as still as he could.

Armie’s weight climbed onto the bed.

Tim felt the warmth of a hairy chest press against his shoulder blades.

He felt surprised to feel the brush of Armie’s lips over the back of his neck.

Tim shuffled through the bed sheets, turning around to face Armie, who now lay inches away from him.

“You’re back …” Tim acted in surprise.

“I’m back …” Armie whispered.

Both young men lay in darkness, their faces now centimetres opposite each other.

Tim felt his arousal grow in a pained strength, mixed with pleasure and the sting of still needing to pee.

Butterflies attacked his insides, his throat stiffened, his eyes watered.

You can’t go now.

Go in a minute.

You’ve waited this long, for him to return.

Stay.

Armie took long, muscular arms around Tim, pulling him closer inward.

Tim felt his own body squash up against Armie’s, his face pressed against Armie’s shoulder. 

Tim closed his eyes, breathing in Armie’s skin, skin that smelt like sweat and baby oil.

A scent that made him ask the question,

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Tim felt Armie rest his chin on the top of his head.

“No,” Armie swallowed down, his throat bobbing against Tim’s forehead.

Tim spoke into Armie’s bicep, his own words creating hot air around his mouth.

“Then why do you go?” He asked.

Both Tim and Armie lay squashed together in silence as the rain continued to patter against the hotel room’s window.

So far, their physical interactions with each other had been intense, reactive, extreme and vigorous …

But lately, and mostly since arriving at Atlanta, they’d been delicate, calm, intimate …

Almost coupled.

“I don’t know …” Armie spoke truthfully, “… Maybe because it reminds me, of how things were.”

Tim had kept his hands by his side, like some stiff, awkward teddy bear for Armie to hug …

… Up until now.

He moved his hands up Armie’s stomach, around his waist, where they met at his back.

Tim wondered why Armie needed reminding of ‘how things were’ … When he had him, as his ticklee, for another two and a bit weeks …

His ‘how things are now’ were meant to be special, too.

“I think he’s blackmailing you,” said Tim, moving his face fully into Armie’s chest, “The secrets, the things you said he keeps for you … You do whatever he wants, because, you’re scared that if you don’t—“

“—Tim …” Armie shuffled back, keeping the twenty three year old in his arms as he did so, “… In all truth, why do you care?”

Tim stared blankly into Armie’s chest, the details of it’s landscape still concealed by darkness.

That’s a good question, he thought.

Had Armie unintentionally lead Tim into a world of feelings and care, toward this erotic, strange, masterful set up?

Had I not realised it had been happening, all this time?

Had that index finger that travelled so slowly into Tim, during his first ever edging session with a man, with his best friend …

… Had it done something Tim hadn’t even been aware of, up till now?

Tim spoke in a drawl. 

“That’s an awful thing to ask …”

He tried to move away from Armie, but Armie tightened his hold.

“Is it? Should I assume all of your questions suggest otherwise?”

Tim slid his arms back inside his own lap.

He lay there, trapped by Armie’s embrace, bound without rope.

Tim tried to struggle, he tried to squirm away.

His own arousal rubbed against Armie’s as he did so, further increasing the buzz and want to relieve himself, in more ways than one, deep within the muscles of his waist. 

He acknowledged the fact he still felt hard, despite feeling so physically tight and anxious on the inside.

An imperfect balance of physical attraction mixed with gut wrenching uncertainty. 

Tim gave up, slumping into Armie’s chest.

He felt stuffy and hot, within the muscular confines, confines that were also blanketed by bed sheets.

“He, he said you ‘loved every minute’…” Tim revealed, quietly, in the form of a pained whisper.

Armie clamped his fingers together, around Tim’s waist, securing him there for the foreseeable future.

“That’s what he made me say, to make him stop…” Armie spoke into the hotel room air, lifting his head away from Tim’s momentarily. 

Tim scoffed into Armie’s collarbone.

“Fttt, you think I’m gonna buy that?”

Armie returned his chin to Tim’s head, planting it down gently.

“You can either believe me, or not … That’s entirely your choice …” 

Armie relaxed his body into Tim’s as another rain-against-window-silence fell over them.

Tim shuffled within Armie’s embrace, turning around so that his back pressed up against Armie’s chest.

Tim could feel Armie’s erection, squashed up against the bottom of his spine.

He seemed to still be in chinos, despite the intimacy of the situation.

Tim suddenly regretted moving into this position.

By doing so, he might’ve accidentally suggested to Armie that he wanted to have sex, that he would be ‘ready’ for the next step.

You haven’t even kissed …

No, but he’s jerked you off.

That was a session, nothing more.

Tim could feel his thoughts bicker against each other.

It’s paid. All of this is paid. That’s why you’re doing this.

Then go sleep on the floor, or ask for another hotel room.

I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

Tim felt Armie roll his hips.

Fuck, he’s rock solid …

“I uhh …” Tim swallowed down apprehension, “… I don’t know if I uh, if we, if we sh-shh-sh…”

Tim couldn’t help but acknowledge excitement as he felt Armie’s arms slide away from their wrapped position, where his fingers hooked around the elastic waistband of Tim’s underwear.

See, he’s come back, and he’s here, and when you go back to New York you can—

“All I think about is you, Tim …” Armie spoke in a hungry whisper, “… Every single fucking minute …” he began to pull Tim’s underwear down to his thighs, “… I am consumed, by you. By your reactions, the shape of your toes, the softness of your soles, the way your mouth moves ..."

Tim’s erection sprung free as his underwear slid down past the swollen plump-ness of his balls, straight down to his knees.

He smiled to himself, happy to receive confirmation that he was still admired and obsessed over, happy to feel that this visit to Atlanta had been justified by Something More than just strangers and staged tickle sessions and Goddamn Miller Vaughn …

Tim twisted around as Armie continued to pull his underwear down, now towards his ankles.

Armie’s topless, tanned form stared Tim in the face.

“Don’t leave like that again, alright?” Tim pressed his index finger into Armie’s chest as he became stripped by his Tickler, “Promise me …”

Armie moved his lips down Tim’s throat, whispering the word, “Promise,” into Tim’s chest as his mouth brushed down towards Tim’s stomach.

Fuck, what is this.

Tim felt his arousal twitch and flex as Armie made his way down his body, kissing his waist and hips.

He expected the underwear to leave his feet, but Armie gathered the material around Tim's ankles, clutching hold of the waist band tightly.

Tim could no longer move his legs.

He gasped as the sensation of a warm tongue slid around the length of the hardness now deep within Armie’s mouth, something Armie had also actioned only too recently whilst they packed for this very trip.

“Ffff-fuck,” Tim blurted, out into the darkness of the hotel room.

As rain continued to patter against the window, Armie disappeared under the bedsheets …

… His mouth and tongue consuming Timothée’s erection entirely …

… Leaving Tim covered in goosebumps, where he lay scrunched, partly aware and partly unaware, of what would happen next.

TCTLR continues in Chapter Twenty One - ‘OMORASHI, Part Two’