A main part of Armie’s contract that Tim had asked to rectify sat in the fourth paragraph of the third page.

‘With no current work scheduled, Timothée must offer full flexibility in being physically present for all sessions’.

Whilst Tim knew he’d be able to offer more time to this agreement than anything else in his life right now, he still wanted Armie to respect that acting remained as his main job and, if he needed to attend any meetings or jump on any calls relating to the many on-hold projects he’d signed up to prior to the current Tickle Agreement, Armie would have to allow that.

Since the success of Call Me By Your Name, Armie's career hadn't lifted as much as Tim's.

But that didn’t stop him from understanding how important it felt to be in demand and to maintain professional work as an actor.

So, Armie rectified that part of the contract without question and instead admitted that selfishness had got the better of him.

During the late afternoon on the Friday of the first week of The Agreement, an example of Hollywood creeping in presented itself in the form of Timothée’s Agent, Brian, requesting a zoom conversation regarding Dune, The French Dispatch and Wonka.

Of course, they would’ve met in person, if the city was not still in lockdown and if COVID cases were not on such a rapid rise.

Armie allowed Tim the day to prepare whilst Armie himself got ready for something a little different downstairs, in the kitchen.

Tim sat in his giant en-suite bedroom with his hands tucked between his thighs and his face staring down at the MacBook screen.

Instead of sweat pants, socks and another oversized tee, Tim had decided to dress up for the meeting, in an attempt to show Brian that he wasn’t just lounging about in his friends apartment.

If anything, that was something Tim wished he’d got more of a chance to do, instead of enduring the relentless tickle torture he’d experienced, in The Incubator and most recently, in the humidity of Armie’s candle lit basement.

So, Tim sat in a pair of red Vans, thick white socks gathered at the ankle, black slim-fit jeans and a patterned shirt unbuttoned, revealing the Gorillaz tee he wore underneath.

He’d wanted to wear a cap, but his curls were now too long and they poked out from behind his ears - a look Tim didn’t feel keen on.

So, the cap sat on the desk, next to a warm cup of coffee and a half eaten cheese and ham bagel, provided kindly by Armie.

“ … So that takes us to Dune. Now, Dune, they *really* want to continue with,” Brian reassured, “They want it to be the next Star Wars, they want like, three parts and they want Zendaya and all of this big budget stuff, so on that one I’d say - don’t worry, it’s happening. They’ve approved budget costs, they’ve set locations, they’ve finished the script …”

Tim nodded as he curled his hands around the cup of coffee.

“But, French Dispatch and Wonka, we’re not so sure. The latter would mean staying in London for a few months, which would be challenging - their travel restrictions are pretty strict right now and all of their hotels are closed. So, Wonka, we’re gonna have to can, for the moment. Now, French Dispatch …” Brian chewed his pen in hesitation, “To put it bluntly, Tim, only one of your jobs is happening. Everyone is in the same boat. And to be honest, I basically think, you and the rest of Hollywood will be back to work at the start of 2021.”

Tim felt his shoulders sink.

“That’s nearly a year away,” he bobbed his knees up and down in an attempt to smoothen out returning anxiety, “But, I, I get it … It’s cool. I can wait. You know where to find me.”

On the other side of the screen, Brian lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

“Yeah. At Armie Hammer’s house, right? You were papped at the start of the week, arriving at his—“

Tim took a sip of his coffee and then rushed down the swallow.

“No his house house is outside of the city, this uh ... This is an apartment he owns, in Manhattan. But yeah, I’m with Armie. We haven’t seen each other in so long and we’re just kinda, isolating ya know? Watching movies, playing the guitar, uhm… k-keeping… Keeping safe … ”

Tim found himself lying, right there on the spot.

What else could he say?

“ … He has an insane tickle fetish and he’s made me sign this contract where I’m his tickle sub for a month and I get tickle tortured every day to help compensate me financially whilst you, Brian, continue to make no effort what so ever in ensuring the projects I’m actually meant to be working on, actually go ahead …”

Tim blinked out of his mini day dream.

“ … Uhm, he has an insanely huge space here, far bigger than uh, far bigger than my Mom’s, so it makes sense to kinda hole up here for a while … “ Tim shuffled in his seat as he made an effort to change the subject, “ … How are you anyway, you uh, you isolating too?”

Brian rolled his eyes and hovered his index finger over the mouse, “It’s just the flu, Tim. This whole pandemic thing, it’s nothing to worry about. I bet you fifty bucks, in a few months it’ll all be over.”

Tim tilted his head with a smile full of uncertainty, “Uhm, I’m not sure about that, Bri—”

“—Mark my words, Chalamet, it’ll be finished sooner than you think.”

An iMessage notification pinged up on Tim’s desktop.

“Uh, Brian, I uhm, I gotta go …” Tim’s eyes trailed over the message.

‘Tim,

I want to give you something to say my thanks, after all the hard work you’ve put in during this agreement.

Meet me in the kitchen, with an empty stomach, at seven.

Armie’.

“No problem, Tim. Listen, keep your head up. We made it! You’re a successful actor, you’re Oscar nominated …” Brian grinned into the camera, “The hard part is over, we just need this flu to disappear and you’ll be back at work, in no time, okay?”

Tim placed his cup of coffee back down on the desk.

“Thanks, Brian. I appreciate it, really … “ Tim nodded with a smile, happy with the attempted reassurance that he’d one day soon be able to achieve income that didn't involve a hairbrush and his two bare feet.

As he closed the MacBook, he slumped back into the desk chair and considered a world where he no longer had fame and fortune, a world where COVID would be part of he and everyone else’s life forever.

Tim loved to act.

The celebrity was something he enjoyed too, but he had always been bought up to understand that the red carpets and flashing lights were just an additional materialistic element, a luxury, something never guaranteed to last.

Tim looked around the ensuite bedroom.

His eyes flicked up to the communication device wired into the ceiling.

They darted down to the leather ankle cuff attached to the corner of the giant king sized bed,

Then, they trailed over to the end of the mattress, where his feet had once been trapped by Armie’s thighs …

… Where they had been drenched in baby oil, tickled, stroked and eventually covered in Armie’s seam—

—Tim felt his cock stiffen in his underwear.

He squirmed awkwardly on his seat and rubbed his crotch with the butt of his right hand.

His balls ached, now more than ever.

Tim bit his lip and turned his attention back to the MacBook.

His fingertips hovered over the keyboard.

He so desperately wanted to search the internet for porn,

To sit here, with his jeans unbuckled and his cock in his hands.

To relieve himself, quickly and aggressively,

To end the throb, the swell, the invasive thoughts of women, breasts, lips and—

—Armie’s message.

Tim’s fingertips typed, but they didn’t spell out anything that he’d usually type into PornHub’s search bar.

Instead, they typed out a reply to Armie.

‘Sounds amazing, I’ll be there’.

***

7 PM

Tim had climbed out of some of his zoom call attire and arrived downstairs in the kitchen, on time, as Armie had requested.

Unlike his meeting with Brian, Tim had decided to lean back into relaxing casual-wear.

So, he stood at the kitchen entrance in black Adidas tracksuit bottoms tucked into white socks and an oversized black hoodie.

A neat little silver chain hung around his neck and on his right hand, on his index finger and thumb, Tim displayed two individual silver rings.

He waved that hand at Armie, who stood over the modern looking stove dressed in a smart blue shirt, jeans and Chelsea boots.

“Hey,” Tim smiled.

“Oh hey,” Armie’s eyes caught the glimmer of Tim’s jewellery, “I’m loving the ice - they new?”

Tim looked at his hand and then, as he took a seat on the stool by the kitchen counter, he fingered the rings and glanced back up at Armie.

“Uhm, kinda … I got these in England, in Camden.”

Armie smiled with a nod as he heated an oil-less pan, whilst walking towards the fridge.

“Little Women promo?” He asked.

Tim chuckled, “Yeah,” He bounced his head up and down, unable to help but smile, “You’ve always got tabs on me, huh?”

Armie opened the fridge door and searched through the shelving for two large pieces of rump steak.

“I’m a fan of more than just your feet, Tim,” Armie admitted.

Tim placed his palms on the cool, marble surface of the kitchen counter whilst lowering his head, in an attempt to hide an expected presence of blush.

Armie acknowledged Tim’s awkwardness, so he decided to shift the focus.

“So, tonight, I’m treating you to a home cooked meal. We’ll be having celery salt-seasoned rump steak … “ Armie laid the meat out onto a wooden chopping board and then started to look through cupboards for mentioned seasoning, “… And, that is being served with *triple cooked* fries and buttered asparagus …”

Tim raised his eyebrows.

“Whoa,” he hooked his feet over the circular, lower metal rim of the stool he sat on and peered over at the laid out steaks, “I mean, you, you really don’t have to do all of that, we could’ve just ordered a—“

Armie shook his head, “—No, no more pizza. After all you’ve endured in your first week, you deserve something special.”

Tim eyed the fries cooking away in the oven.

He felt the insides of his mouth water.

“I won’t argue with that,” he said.

Armie seasoned the steaks with the celery salt and then hovered his palm over the pan, in an attempt to check how hot it felt.

Both young men turned their attention to the kitchen windows as rain started to fall outside.

As the rain fell heavier, Armie picked up the steaks with metal tweezers and then laid them out onto the pan, where they sizzled immediately and began to turn from red to brown.

Within seconds, the kitchen became full with the scent of fried meat, carby potatoes and boiling asparagus.

Armie nodded to a bottle of red wine by the microwave and an accompanying bottle opener beside it, “It’s raining. There’s my excuse to drink. Care to do the honours?”

Tim slid off his stool in agreement and made his way to the red wine as the steaks continued to sizzle in the pan.

As Tim opened the wine and began to search around the kitchen for glasses, a thought landed in his head.

“I’ve got you sussed, Armie.”

Using the tweezers still, Armie picked up the steaks carefully and flipped them over, so the other side could endure the same amount of heat from the pan.

“Oh?” He chuckled, “Go on …”

Tim located the glasses in a cupboard above the kettle, “There’s no in-between, with you. It’s either sweet and, and normal, or …” Tim picked out two wine glasses and carefully placed them on the kitchen counter, “… Or it’s the other thing.”

Armie kept his back towards Tim as he pressed his thumbs against the steak, to test their level of cooked-ness.

“The other thing?”

Tim poured the wine into the glasses.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

Once happy with the amount in each glass, Tim made his way towards Armie and nudged him with his elbow, red wine in the other hand.

“All of this … And, and the pizza, and, and the movie … It’s awesome,” Tim gave Armie his wine, “But … Flash forward a day or two, and … And you’re gonna be ... The other Armie. The one who doesn't stop."

Armie lifted his shoulders quietly.

Tim took his own glass towards his lips, but he paused on taking a sip when he saw Armie shrug.

“… Aren’t you?” Tim spoke into his glass.

Armie removed the steaks and laid them out individually on two cream china plates as thunder began to rumble outside.

Then, he opened up the oven and carefully removed the triple cooked fries, shaking out a generous amount around each individual slab of meat.

Tim took a sip of his wine in silence.

Armie then used the same metal tweezers to pick cooked asparagus out of the pot of boiling water.

“I’m going to give you two days off,” Armie announced.

Tim’s mouth opened as his eyebrows straightened into a line.

“Y-you are?”

Armie nodded, whilst switching off the gas of the oven.

He took two well presented plates of food to the kitchen island, where he pulled up a stool.

“Come take a seat,” he ordered.

Tim took his wine to the stool opposite Armie and then sat down.

They had been in this position before, seated informally like this, only last time, the Tickle Agreement sat in Armie’s mind as an idea …

… Now, it existed as current reality.

Armie placed Tim’s dinner in front of him and then went to a nearby draw to fish out some cutlery.

“I have some in-person meetings I need to attend, outside of New York. So, I’ll be away. And the apartment will be all yours. This … Entire thing … Has been intense for you, I can tell …” Armie handed Tim a knife and fork, “… And that isn’t because I can physically see the exhaustion in you, or anything like that … It’s because I have common sense,” Armie took a seat on the stool, “Please, dig in.”

Tim forgot about the steak staring at him on the plate below and, after being nudged by Armie, decided to start cutting into it.

“Any person in a situation like this, enduring such extreme, physical torture on a basis as regular as The Agreement states, would need a pause, if not for their mental health, above all else,” Armie cut into the steak and then popped a large piece into his mouth.

He closed his eyes as Tim popped a piece into his mouth too.

“Whoa,” Tim’s eyes widened, “Armie,” he couldn’t help but speak with his mouthful, “Thish ish fuggin’ good …”

Armie chuckled and swallowed down his meat, “Thank you,” he said soon after.

Armie continued his explanation.

“It’s the weekend tomorrow,” he declared, “You can go and do whatever you like. No ropes attached,” Armie twirled his fork in the air as he eyed the meal on his plate, "And then, we resume.”

Armie popped a fry into his mouth.

Tim swallowed down his food and then picked up a piece of asparagus with his fingers.

He looked at it quietly as he thought about Armie’s proposal.

“Do whatever I want…?” Tim narrowed his eyes at the green stick of veg in his grasp, “Does that mean I can … I can finally …”

Armie cut a sharp slice of meat from his slab of steak.

“No,” He answered sternly, “And don’t even try. Believe me, after the two days are up, I’ll know if you have.”

Tim huffed and then chomped off the end of the asparagus.

His time for relief would come, but only when Armie would allow it.

“Look, d-don’t get me wrong,” Tim swallowed down the vegetable, “I … I totally appreciate what you’re saying, believe me … But, we’re in Lockdown, with everything being shut …” Tim chewed off another part of the asparagus as he looked up to the ceiling, “ … I can’t do much.”

Armie shook his head, “Nonsense. You can see your parents, go for a walk with your sister, FaceTime your friends. Go for a run … Get some fresh air. Go make some young girls happy by taking some selfies with them,” Armie cut off another piece of steak as he made the piece sign with his other hand, “Or whatever it is you guys do with your fans these days.”

Tim smiled as he forked some food around on his plate.

“Are you sure?” He tested.

Armie used a napkin to dab his mouth dry.

“Do you want me to retract my offer?” He asked, folding the napkin up neatly, “Do you want me to count each individual armpit hair of yours, with my fingers?”

Tim held his hands up in forceful surrender.

“No! No… No armpit … Stuff…” He slid his hands through his hair, “Thank you, honestly.”

Tim felt a sense of joy brush over his chest as he allowed himself to consider a weekend without bondage or tickling … Or hairbrushes, or his ribs being jabbed by Armie’s fingers.

That last session had been his most intense yet, a break would be more than welcomed.

“So be it,” Armie fingered some steak out from the back of his mouth, “From midnight tonight, your time off begins and you ca—“

--Pewwwwwwwwwwwww.

Suddenly, all of the lights in Armie’s apartment went out.

Both Tim and Armie sat devoured in darkness.

After two seconds of silence, Tim left his thoughts aside and murmured out the words, “Oh shit.”

Armie sighed, carefully placing his knife and fork down over his still half-full plate.

“It was too perfect, right?”

Tim popped a fry into his mouth and then hid some laughter with his hand.

“Do me a favour,” Armie slid off his stool and started to search blindly through kitchen drawers for a lighter, “In the room next to yours, there’s a storage cupboard with a tool box, you know … house hold stuff inside … I believe there’s an emergency power-cut kit on the top shelf, next to the first aid—“

“—On it,” Tim said assertively, leaving his stool where he soon left the kitchen and then the first floor itself.

Whilst Tim searched one corner of the apartment, Armie spent his time rifling through the kitchen.

He gathered a total of thirty tea-light candles, as well as two lighters … When Tim would get back, they’d light the kitchen and living room with what they had until the power came back on.

Tim arrived at a door next to his bedroom and with a nudge of his shoulder, he popped the door open and stepped into the storage cupboard.

He retrieved a plastic box containing a large torch, spare batteries, a box of matches and two long wax candles.

The power-cut kit had a handle, so Tim carried it like a briefcase when exiting the cupboard.

With the apartment swallowed in darkness and with Armie still setting up downstairs, Tim allowed curiosity to get the better of him.

As thunder rumbled over New York, on the other side of Armie’s rain drenched apartment windows, Tim tip-toed across the floorboards of the hall where he eventually arrived at the only door he hadn’t yet walked through, since signing The Agreement:

Armie’s bedroom.

Tim used his free hand to quietly turn the doors handle whilst clenching his teeth in anticipation.

The door made no noise as Tim slowly pushed it inwards.

The room Tim stepped into was far bigger than Tim’s already huge en-suite.

Tim’s bedroom had been decorated in shades of cream and white - whilst it was lavish, it also existed as a space providing a neutral aesthetic, for any guest.

Armie’s bedroom displayed character.

Through the darkness, Tim could make out that the carpets and towering silk curtains displayed a soft pink colour.

Armie’s bed - larger and wider than Tim’s - and with many more pillows, all neatly positioned with a karate chop in the middle, stood defiantly against the middle of the main wall.

It’s four poster wooden columns held up a linen roof - as if the bed had been made for a King.

Tim trailed his fingertips over soft wallpaper as he crept through Armie’s bedroom and towards an ajar door in the corner of the space.

Tim nudged the door open with the toe of his left foot.

He peered into a long walk-in wardrobe.

The walls were lined with neatly hanging suits and crisp white shirts, chino trousers and ties of various colours.

The ceiling hung low.

Tim stared into the depths of the walk in wardrobe, although the power cut held him back from discovering any further details.

His eyes narrowed down at the floor’s open cubby-holes, clean and sharp in their square shape, containing smart leather loafers inside.

There were brogues, sandals, cream coloured sneakers …

His style was far different to Armies.

Tim would only ever consider wearing this sort of stuff on the red carpet, whilst Armie seemed to enjoy dressing in it on a daily basis.

At breakfast, in meetings, whilst sitting on the sofa …

But also, whilst covered in sweat, and strapping Tim up for whatever he had in mind for him at that time.

In the left wall, on the top shelf, and neatly placed directly in the middle with nothing else around it, sat a medium sized pale wooden box.

Tim placed the power-cut kit down onto the carpet.

Then, he took The Box away from the shelf and held it in both hands.

On the lid of the Box, a feather illustration had been inscribed.

Tim gently ran his thumbs over the etched-in drawing, and then down to the gold key hole.

When Tim tried to open The Box, he realised it had been securely locked.

“Hm.”

Tim used his fingers to try and pull the box open, but it remained fastened shut.

He then told himself off.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He whispered.

Tim splashed cold water over his fire of curiosity and placed The Box exactly back where he found it.

Then, he picked up the power-cut kit and walked back out of the walk in wardrobe, where he then tip toed his exit out of Armie’s room.

He closed the door as quietly as he possibly could and then turned to face an empty hall, much to his relief.

Another flash of lightning.

Another rumble of thunder.

Tim then acted as casually as his talents would allow and started to head back to the kitchen.

***

Both Tim and Armie found themselves back on the sofa.

With bellies full of steak and chips, they had no need to order in pizza, so they just sat there sharing a second bottle of red wine, surrounded by candle light.

Tim shivered a little as he swallowed down a small sip of alcohol.

Armie stood from the sofa and walked to a small armchair in the corner of the living room.

Draped over it - a heavy, snug looking woollen blanket.

Armie handed it to Tim and then returned to his spot next to him.

As Tim wrapped the blanket over his shoulders, he pulled his socked feet up onto the couch and then he stared down into his wine glass blankly.

“I can’t believe it’s been a week already,” Tim mumbled.

Armie smirked as he took a sip of his wine.

“I know. One week, and you’ve already become a professional, fully fledged, full time tickle slave.”

Tim rolled his eyes and hid his smile with his wine glass.

“In your dreams."

Armie widened his eyes in realisation.

He cosied himself deeper into the couch and then rested his glass on his chest.

“It’s funny you say that,” Armie looked into the darkness of the blank TV screen attached to the wall, “This whole thing, this entire set up … It was a dream, a fantasy, up until now. Now, I’m living it.”

Tim awkwardly ran his fingertips around the edge of his glass.

In an effort to bring the focus away from himself, he asked, “Are there any other people you’ve dreamt of uh … Dreamt of doing this to?”

Armie swallowed down disappointment. He didn’t want to talk about anyone else.

But, he played ball.

“Harry Styles,” Armie announced, “And Tom Holland …” Armie had no intention of tickling the names he’d just thrown into the living room, but they were as close to an interest as he could get.

Armie set his gaze on Tim.

“Why do you ask?”

Tim felt Armie look straight through him.

“Uhh,” Tim tried to not let the intimidating stare get the better of him, “I guess I’m just curious. Why them?”

Armie rested the back of his head on the top of the sofa.

“They both look as if they’d be extremely ticklish. I expect, if I were to put them in similar situations I’ve recently put you in, well, they’d probably offer me the same satisfaction, in regards to their reactions …” Armie looked up into the darkness of the ceiling as the candles around them continued to flicker.

“I know them both,” Tim spoke into his glass, “I can see if they’d be up fo—“

Armie shook his head and placed his hand down on Tim’s leg.

His voice sounded firm, decisive.

“No."

Tim paused before taking a sip of his wine.

Armie didn’t have to say ‘I just want you’ … His movements, his authoritative tone, it all said enough.

Tim felt pathetic, at his lazy attempt to turn Armie’s focus off of him and onto the likes of Styles or Holland.

He also felt a little stupid.

You need this money …

… You're already a week in.

“You thinking of a way out?” Armie asked, as if reading Tim’s mind.

Tim reshuffled his position on the couch as the rain continued to slam against Armie’s apartment windows.

“N-no,” Tim lacked confidence in his answer, and he knew it, “I just, uh …” To reassert his position and to reassure both himself and Armie that he could handle all of this, Tim decided to be honest, “I guess the last session was uh, it was ... Kinda intense.”

Armie lifted his head slowly off the back of the sofa and turned to face Tim.

He sensed a discomfort in him, a vibe that made Armie feel suddenly keen to gage it head on.

“It was meant to be too much,” Armie rested his glass of wine over his own knee, “My intention was to push you further, further than you’ve—“

Tim found himself interrupting Armie. He blamed it on the red.

“—Oh, you did. You pushed me … Fucking far,” Tim chuckled into his arm as he went to take a sip of his wine, but realised it was empty before he could do so.

Armie reached across the coffee table and picked up the bottle.

“And it scares you to think I’ll push you that far again?” Asked Armie, as he refilled Tim’s glass with a generous splash of Merlot.

Tim watched the red wine swirl into his glass and then rest easy, where it casually stared back up at him.

He thought about his answer whilst Armie readjusted himself on the sofa.

It did scare Tim.

He hadn’t felt anything like that before.

Each session sent him further and further to breaking point.

The Incubator had turned him into a dribbling, blindfolded mess.

Armie’s portable stocks had him toe tied, begging, almost unable to catch his own breath.

The most recent session, in the humidity of Armie’s basement, saw Tim’s armpits tickled beyond comprehension, where he had been reduced into a sweating, lifeless puppet.

Tim didn’t want to admit to his fear of that ‘wall hitting moment’, that raw, animalistic feeling of mind numbing, unexplainable madness.

He didn't want to accept that one day soon, he'd be forced to feel it again.

“Let’s just say,” Tim took a sip from his glass, increasing the tipsy buzz in his forehead, “I’m never going to be able to comb my hair again, without being reminded of this unique and interesting time in my life."

Armie smiled as he topped up his own glass, “That hairbrush works wonders on you.”

Tim closed his eyes and nodded sheepishly in agreement.

Armie couldn’t help but sense that, despite how awful the tickling made Tim feel, Tim seemed to find this entire situation ‘special’ instead of strange.

And as he watched Tim take another sip of his wine, he found comfort in that idea.

Maybe it was because there had been a signed ending point.

Maybe it was because Tim knew it wouldn’t last forever.

Maybe it was the millions of dollars, a thing to do in Lockdown, or a distraction from his career worries.

Armie didn’t have to ask.

He had Tim, right beside him, contracted to stay here for four weeks … And to be tickled, whenever Armie pleased.

Armie felt the tug of excitement beneath his jeans.

The tug reminded Armie that Tim, currently and technically, belonged to him.

So, why not fucking do something about it?

Why does it have to include feathers and stocks, restraints and basements …

… Why can’t it happen, right here and right now?

Armie went to put down his glass of wine, but before he could, Tim spoke.

“So, what’s next?” Tim stifled a hiccup, in an attempt to hide the fact that his tipsy-ness might’ve evolved to the starts of being drunk.

Armie slowly sat back down on the couch.

“Well,” despite the fact they had ploughed through nearly two bottles of wine, Armie felt sober as a fox, “What do you expect, to be next?”

Armie couldn’t help but look down at Tim’s crotch, currently covered by the thickness of the woollen blanket.

Tim read Armie’s movements.

“Uh I …” Tim placed his glass of red over his lap, almost as if attempting to hide the area beneath, “I guess something … As intense as last time, if you’re uh, being so nice as to let me have a few days off…”

Armie made an ‘oh’ face as he smelt the inside of his glass.

“So you think you’ve got the rhythm worked out already, after one week?” Armie took a sip and then left the wine in his mouth as the taste sent dull aches into his cheeks.

He swallowed with a gulp, “Nasty, then nice … Nasty, then nice?”

Tim scratched his left eyebrow as he clambered around for a response.

“N-no, not at, not at all …” Another hiccup, this one harder to hide, “I mean, you tell me, you’re the … You’re the …”

“ … I’m the one in control,” Armie finished Tim’s sentence in a fact, not a question.

Tim nodded slowly.

“Well,” Armie took in a breath, “The long and short of it, Tim, is that I won’t be telling you what’s next. I’m a big believer in the element of surprise. I want to keep you on those beautiful toes of yours. I want you to *not* know,” he sipped some more red and then placed the glass down on the coffee table.

Tim, unable to be so calm and elegant when drinking wine because, in all honesty, it had gone to his head, simply smiled, then sipped, and then wiped some red droplets forming at the corners of his mouth.

Armie came to the conclusion that Tim didn’t drink red wine often.

“Can I offer you some advice, Tim?”

Tim glanced up at Armie with unintentional puppy-dog eyes.

“Lean into the not knowing. Embrace the lack of control,” Armie used his hands to formulate his wording, “Let go of any anxiety that causes you to worry. Acknowledge the nerves and face them, head on. Because, it’s all part of it. It’s all part of the process.”

Tim huffed a little as he picked at some stray cotton poking out of the blanket draped around him.

“I just think knowing …” He pinched the air, “… Just a *little* more, would be—“

“—You know, Tim …” Armie pressed his index finger over the rim of his glass, “… There is, far more I want to do with you. The type of thing I mentioned, the other day.”

Tim wasn’t sure if it were the red wine making his cheeks burn, or Armie’s words.

Tim recalled their conversation perfectly, mostly because he had been taking note on almost everything since stepping foot in this apartment - everything said, every session, every movement…

He put that down to a coping mechanism, or maybe a subconscious will to protect and defend himself, in some form.

“The uh, the edging stuff …?” Tim asked, whilst staring down into the circle of red over his lap.

Armie’s blue eyes stared into Tim.

“Are you warming up to the idea … ?” Armie felt like it might be too soon to ask, within the first week.

Tim thought about how incredible the release would be.

He pictured himself, naked with Armie … His friend, someone who wasn’t a woman, someone who wasn’t his lover … Someone who he had kissed many times in front of the camera, someone he had acted passion, care and heartbreak with.

Someone who offered a sexual experience within this reality, instead of on a movie set.

Tim could do it.

He had never not been inclined to explore his sexuality further.

It was what Armie could do in-between the edging that worried him.

Tim took in a breath,

“Yeah,” he said, “M-maybe.”

Armie struggled to contain his excitement, at a possible session where he’d be able to edge Tim towards a much needed orgasm.

He wanted to say,

Maybe?

How much maybe?

When?

Now?

But his confident, statuesque posture and calming exterior remained just as so.

“That’s made my day,” Armie controlled his reply.

Tim took another sip from his glass and then wiped his mouth.

Armie sat staring, smitten.

“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m just so glad this is happening, Tim. I think it’s a great uh … A great …” For the first time in the evening, Armie found himself searching hard for his words.

At the same time, both young men finished the sentence together.

Armie said ‘relationship’, whist Tim said ‘partnership’.

A sudden silence, and then thankfully, a semi-drunken Tim to help break the awkwardness.

“Ahh man, that’s …” Tim clicked his fingers repeatedly, “That’s one of those moments where you’re jusssst hoping the ground swallows you whole, right?”

As Tim grinned at Armie, Armie put his glass of wine back down on the coffee table.

“You feeling good about that, Tim?”

Tim lifted his shoulders as he tried to contain laughter, “Well yeah, you’re all thinkin’ you’re in control when actually, you’re totally n—“

Armie couldn’t hear him say it.

So, he moved in on Tim and curled his right arm around Tim’s neck, holding him in a headlock.

Then, with his free hand, Armie sent his fingers into Tim’s right armpit.

“Agh!” Tim squealed and then jolted inwards.

His glass of red spilled and landed all over Armie’s jeans.

“Shhhhit,” Tim hissed, as Armie automatically retreated.

“No, it’s fine, it’s ju—“ Armie watched Tim grab the woollen blanket where he clumsily reached out and began to dab Armie’s crotch.

The first thing Tim felt was Armie’s rock solid erection.

He dropped the blanket in his hands whilst lightning set the living room a gentle white.

Armie cleared his throat as thunder shook the apartment windows.

“S-sorry,” Tim carefully placed his now empty wine glass on the coffee table, “You went straight for under my arm and I —“

“--Tim …” Armie lifted the blanket off his bulge and dropped it down on the living room floor, “It’s okay, it’s just wine …” He smiled at his ‘lee and then patted the wine dry with the sides of his hands, “… And it’s just a hard on.”

Tim shifted his eyes from left to right.

“I uh, I guess I’m just still trying to uh, get my head around how you feel, h-how you’ve uh, how you’ve felt, the —“

“—How I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you?” Armie asked, “The things I want to do to you, right now? Right this second?”

Tim looked up at Armie, almost asking for mercy before anything had begun.

Armie rested one hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Would you allow me, Tim? To start warming you up?”

Tim felt like Armie had given him a key to a door, and the door had been slightly opened …

… Tim had peered through, and within this moment, Armie had now invited him to take a step further inside.

Tim looked at Armie’s hand on his shoulder and then, he looked directly into Armie’s eyes.

“What do you want to do?” Tim asked carefully.

Armie didn’t hesitate when expressing his desires.

“I want you to give me a foot-job,” Armie announced.

Tim blinked.

“Do you know what that is?” Asked Armie

Tim was naive to some of these scenarios, but he wasn’t stupid.

“I uh…” Tim swallowed down the dryness created by the red wine, “… I use my uh, my feet to … To jerk you off?”

Armie felt a shiver run up his spine as Tim explained the situation for him.

“Correct.”

Tim chewed his nails as he ran the entire thing through his head.

This wasn’t tickling.

This wasn’t bondage.

This wasn’t screaming for his life, or crying into the air with a voice filled with desperation.

For Tim, this would be new, once again …

… But above all, it would be easy.

“Would you feel comfortable, doing something like that, with me, tonight?” Armie pressed.

Tim removed his nails from his teeth and dropped his hands onto his lap.

It seemed clear that sooner or later, within the remaining three weeks, Armie would start to shift the gear stick, just like he had done over the past five days.

He had accepted that more erotic and sexual events either might, or would, happen between them, even if they included Tim having to endure sessions that were far more out of his comfort zone than they currently were.

Tim decided to try and see Armie’s suggestion as a starter to all of that, in a similar way as he allowed Armie to ejaculate over his soles some days ago.

Tim’s second homoerotic experience would take place in the same building, in the same week, with the same man.

“Shh… Sure,” Tim managed.

Armie smiled.

Another flicker of lightning, another rumble of thunder.

Another tug, beneath Armie’s jeans.

A tug that said, ‘well, what are you waiting for?’

“Lay on your front,” Armie ordered, using his index finger to suggest Tim twirl over.

Tim shuffled around the couch, on all fours, where he then planted himself down onto his stomach.

“Shuffle up,” Armie patted Tim’s ass in an effort to get him to move, whilst Armie left the living room and excitedly headed back to the staircase.

Tim rested his jaw on a pillow at the end of the couch.

“Where are you going?” He called.

Armie didn’t respond.

Instead, he swiftly passed flickering candlelight, where he eventually arrived at his bedroom.

He stepped in and walked past the leather recliner and towards the bathroom, all the while totally unaware that Tim had been in here snooping a few hours before.

Armie took some hand lotion from the many moisturising products neatly laid out around his marble sink and then he walked towards his walk in wardrobe.

Armie passed hanging suits and shirts, as well as the special Box neatly displayed on the top shelf, where he landed at a blank square space within the wardrobe.

Armie pressed his fingertips against it.

The square space popped open to become an entrance to something.

Armie pulled it open and stared at the contents inside - glass shelves neatly displaying various handcuffs, leather restraints, rope, ball gags, toe ties and blind folds.

Armie grabbed what he needed and then excitedly made his way back down stairs.

When Armie returned, he found Tim still in his laid out position, staring into the darkness of the living room, at his own fingerprints on an empty glass of red.

Tim’s green eyes landed on the restraints and lotion in Armie’s hands.

He lifted his head from the pillow, “Wait, I thought this was, I thought you were—“

“—This is *my* style of foot job,” Armie explained.

Tim kept his head lifted as Armie made his way to the end of the sofa.

Tim started to feel hot and stuffy beneath his oversized hoodie.

“Are you gonna tickle me?” Tim knew he wouldn’t of asked that if he hadn’t of had so much red wine.

Armie offered Tim no reply as he kicked off his Chelsea boots and then unbuckled his belt.

He then unzipped red wine stained jeans and pulled them down to his ankles.

He turned his back to Tim as his erection bounced out of his trousers and stood upright and throbbing, in a space displaying a different type of electricity compared to the sort that used to light this room.

Armie then sat down at the other end of the sofa, with his back against the arm.

He folded his legs in a cross legged position and eyed Tim’s feet, laid out on the sofa before him, with the rest of his body.

Tim’s size 11’s, dressed in crisp white socks, tickled many times before by Armie, were displayed just as perfectly as the steak and chips on the china plate, some hours ago.

They were all his.

Tim tried to push away nerves as Armie held onto his ankles and began to move his feet closer towards his crotch.

Tim shuffled his hands under his chest as Armie slowly began to peel off his socks.

The evening air rolled against Tim’s bare feet as the socks were removed and dropped to the living room floor.

Armie felt his erection stiffen and twitch, at the sight of Tim’s silky soft, flawless soles.

Armie licked his lips as Tim’s toes flexed outward and curled up.

He loved seeing Tim’s toes bound so tightly to stocks, but he also took just as much enjoyment watching them stretch out so freely.

Tim’s feet now sat on Armie’s lap.

Armie connected Tim’s ankles together, using the pair of leather restraints.

Armie took in a breath as he began to unscrew the bottle of lotion.

Tim let out a quick gasp as the cold liquid fell over his soles.

Tim squirmed a little on the sofa as he tried to twist his neck back over his shoulder, to see what Armie was up to.

Armie continued to dribble the lotion over Tim’s soles and over his own erection.

Once happy with the application, Armie screwed the lid back onto the bottle and placed this down on the coffee table, next to the two now empty bottles of red wine.

Then, Armie began.

With one hand, he held the small chain connecting Tim’s ankle cuffs together.

Tim could feel Armie’s thickness between his feet.

With the other hand, Armie began to rub and tickle the lotion into Tim’s soles.

Tim bit the pillow as Armie’s fingers danced over his slippery expanse of ticklish flesh.

Naturally, Tim’s feet began to wiggle and squirm.

And without even meaning to, they therefore rubbed and slid up the sides of Armie’s cock.

“See wh-haha-hahat I me-me-mean,” Tim babbled into the couch’s arm, “One minute y-your you, and the ne-he-he-hext you’re …”

Armie felt his lips swell, his cheeks blush red.

“Jesus,” He said breathlessly, “That feels so good …”

Tim moaned into the squashy arm of the couch as Armie continued to rub and tickle the lotion into the sensitive areas of Tim’s soles.

Tim tried to move his legs and feet, but any additional writhing just sent his soles sliding up and down Armie’s cock, further edging Armie closer to orgasm.

Armie increased the pressure of the tickling, now that he had rubbed most of the lotion into Tim’s feet.

With his free hand, he clawed at Tim’s soles by dragging his fingernails over the flesh, in up and down movements.

Tim grabbed a nearby pillow and buried his face into it.

Armie took pleasure in hearing Tim try to muffle his own screams.

Armie grinned sadistically as he kept his eyes on Tim’s soles.

He watched them flap around and twist inwards.

They would unintentionally catch Armie’s cock between them. Then, when Armie would tickle them harder, still holding the ankle chain in place, they would squirm and writhe about faster, therefore, they would rub quicker, up and down Armie’s erection.

“Jesus,” Armie could barely speak, overwhelmed by the unbelievably arousing sight before him.

Armie’s hardness wobbled around, constantly held within the friction of Tim’s squirming, slippery, lotion-drenched feet.

This got Armie close.

Armie stopped tickling, much to Tim’s writhing relief.

“Look at me,” Armie growled.

Tim did his best to twist his head over his shoulder, where his flustered face stared back at Armie.

Curls hung over his green eyes.

“Use your feet to rub, as hard as you can…” Armie directed, “Don’t stop.”

Tim nodded, his cheeks squashed against the sofa pillow.

He then began to frantically rub his feet, using his ankles and calf muscles to send his soles up and down the strength of Armie’s erection.

Even the veins and bumps of Armie’s hard on tickled Tim’s soles, but that was something he would have to endure.

With one hand still holding the cuffs chain, Armie had a free hand to also rub his own cock as Tim continued to slide his feet around the throbbing shaft of Armie’s arousal.

Armie’s eyes widened as the roll of pure pleasure began to travel through his waist and hips.

Tim could now only try to rub, as he went back to reactively wiggling his feet, as Armie decided to go back to tickling.

Tim bit the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.

"The baby oil makes it so much worse!" Tim spoke with a mouthful of cotton.

Armie began to lose his breath.

Without touching himself, Armie exploded in orgasm as he watched Tim’s soles slip and slide around Armie’s now erupting erection.

Armie’s cum drenched Tim’s feet, from his heels to his toes.

Splurts of white landed all over Tim’s ticklish expanse, until Armie let go of the ankle cuffs chain and stopped tickling Tim entirely.

Tim’s feet slowly rested either side of Armie’s shaking penis.

Armie’s hard on continued to ooze out more cum as Armie wiped his forehead and then ran his hands through the blonde strands of his hair.

“Oh my god …” Armie shivered at the sight of Tim’s feet, covered in his cum, “That was … That was incredible.”

Armie used his fingertips to gently tickle his cum further into Tim’s soles.

Tim, without his ankle restraints being held down, could now move his knees and pull his feet back up towards him.

Tim rolled around to his side, his hands sliding out from under his chest, where they reached down and covered the bottoms of his feet, in an effort to protect them.

Without thinking, Tim had now covered his hands in Armie's cum.

Armie caught his breath.

He then un-cuffed Tim’s ankles and then let Tim crawl back to a seated position, where he politely left his feet hovering over the carpet.

They were soaked in orgasm and baby oil.

Armie watched Tim pull his hoodie over his lap, as Armie got to his feet

“Are you hard?” He asked.

Tim frowned as he tidied some curls of hair behind his ears.

“What? N-no.”

Armie smirked.

He then went to tidying up the living room, as if nothing had happened.

Tim swallowed down the lie he’d just told.

“Was that uh… Was that all, alright, the right way to uh, to do…”

Armie picked up a bottle of wine and then held his hand out to Tim.

“Tim, you don’t even need to ask. It was perfect. Beyond perfect, actually.”

Tim smiled, in relief.

He wondered if he’d done a great enough job, that maybe he could ask Armie if he were allowed to relief himself, from the comfort of his own bedro—

—Suddenly, the lights in the apartment came back on.

Both young men were swamped, once again, in electric brightness.

Tim squinted his eyes as Armie winced.

Tim slumped into the couch as Armie checked the silver watch on his wrist.

“Midnight, Tim,” Armie announced, “Your time off starts right now.”

TCTLR continues in Chapter Twelve - ‘TAINT’