This story takes place before Harry or Shawn were aware of The House of White Feathers …
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SHORTS NO. 2 - ‘STUCK’
A few weeks before Christmas …
“Alright,” Shawn announced, “I’m in charge of the decorations, you’re in charge of the lights, got it?”
Harry stepped back and folded his arms across his chest, admiring the bare Christmas tree’s height, standing tall and triumphant in the middle of Shawn’s Los Angeles apartment living room.
“Why do I get the naff job?” Asked Harry, “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have the tree in the first place!”
Harry nudged Shawn’s shoulder playfully.
Shawn chuckled, glancing down at his bare feet, lifting his shoulders casually.
“I appreciate it, man. Finding one this late was always going to be hard work,” Shawn tucked his hands into his sweatpants, pushing down his pride as he acknowledged Harry’s efforts, “Once again, Mr. Styles saves the day …”
Harry smirked, adjusting the pearl choker around his neck, “I’m just the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t I?” He then turned towards Shawn’s large spiral staircase that led to the second floor of his home, “Lights and stuff still under your bed?”
Shawn nodded, his left hand leaving his pocket to pat Harry’s shoulder, “Yup, but don’t sweat it. I’ll get everything, you fix us some drinks …” he then breezed past Harry and bolted up the steps, turning briefly once at the top to call down to the twenty nine year old, “… And make something festive!”
Harry tutted, rolling his eyes as he strolled out of the living room and headed into the kitchen.
“Such a bossy little bastard,” he mumbled.
After raiding Shawn’s cupboards and refrigerator, Harry had created two strong whiskey’s on the rocks, stirring them up with his little finger; he then made his way back into the living room, humming ‘Driving Home for Christmas’ where he plopped himself down on the edge of the couch, waiting for Shawn to return.
Unlike Shawn, who was dressed in casual sweatpants and a white vest, Harry had styled himself in an outfit consisting of a bright red tight fitting t-shirt, acid wash jeans and Adidas trainers.
He stared into the fireplace, the roaring fire reflecting off of his bright green eyes.
After ten minutes had passed, Harry began to wonder where Shawn had gotten to …
“Shawn?” Harry called, getting to his feet, “You need a hand, mate?”
Harry took a sip of his drink, rolling the glass between his thumb and index finger as the ice clinked together, their translucent cube-like shape swamped in rich amber liquid.
“… Shawn?”
Harry became increasingly concerned by his friend's lack of response.
Harry placed both drinks on the side table beside some half eaten gingerbread cookies and then began to head upstairs.
With every footstep, a creak took place on the staircase …
As night began to fall and as the sun began to set, the upper floor of Shawn’s apartment had been lit in a glowing orange haze.
Harry approached Shawn’s bedroom, the door open wide, where he could not help but laugh at his discovery; from underneath the end of Shawn’s bed, Shawn’s two bare feet lay planted on their front, almost too neatly together.
On the mattress lay a large gathering of wired fairy lights - the one thing Shawn had succeeded in retrieving - however some grunts and groans informed Harry that Shawn had since landed himself in a tricky situation.
“Don’t bloody tell me you’re stuck …!”
Shawn muffled out his reply but Harry couldn’t hear him.
“Say that again, mate?” Harry approached the bed, kneeling down beside both of Shawn’s feet.
Another muffle, this one sounding clearer towards the end.
“… My, my arm, it’s, it’s caught up in some more of these damn lights …” Shawn huffed, his predicament frustrating him more than he would dare to admit, “… I, I think the wire is looped around something heavy, can you lift the bed up for a —“
Shawn jolted, his head hitting the roof of the bed with a smack as he felt fingertips run across the bottoms of his feet.
“Ooft! Wait, what, what was th—“
Shawn bit his upper lip as the sensation happened again, the touch causing his body to jump whilst mostly laid out under the bed's structure.
“Dude, what? No, Harry, is, is that you? You son of a—“
Harry laughed into the back of his hand, now seated in the cross legged position as he took his index finger and dragged it gently over the sole of Shawn’s right foot, where he decided to take his chance.
“—This is probably not the best time to refer to me as ‘bitch’, Shawn,” Harry grinned from ear to ear, now taking all five fingers of his right hand over both of Shawn’s trapped, vulnerably exposed soles.
Shawn kicked his feet, his toes flexing as Harry danced fingertips from heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to toe.
“Al, alright! Alright, Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-Harry, c-come on, man, no, stop it, come on!” Shawn began to giggle into the floorboards, his flared nostrils breathing in dust balls that had been living under his bed for months and months.
Harry persisted in his sadistic taunt, giggling himself as he heard Shawn cough and splutter.
“Crikey, you are ticklish aren’t you! I could stay here all day …” Harry used one hand to hold onto Shawn’s left ankle, keeping his foot still, whilst his other hand explored the super soft, silky smooth sole, scratching mint green painted fingernails all over the hyper sensitive flesh.
Shawn’s giggles grew into a deep bellow the harder Harry tickled; he tried to pull his legs towards his chest but he lay on his front, the tight space he had unintentionally trapped himself between proving difficult for him to even wriggle out of.
Harry did nothing but showcase a relentless approach with his devilish opportunity; he poked his tongue out between his teeth as he focused on tickling both of Shawn’s feet at the same time, whilst finding complete joy and satisfaction from the heavy, non-stop laughter taking place from underneath Shawn’s bed.
“What about these lovely looking toes?” Harry teased, “Are they ticklish too?” Harry began to stroke their delicate in-betweens, sending Shawn into a breathless frenzy within seconds.
“No, Ha-ha-ha-ha-haha-haha-ha-Harry, stop, I, I, I mean it, come on—“ Shawn heaved in, expelling laughter through an increasingly dry throat, “—Don’t do this, man, come on, don’t, don’t be an assho-ho-ho-ho-ho-hole seriously ma-ha-ha-han come o—“
Harry then discovered an exceptionally ticklish area around Shawn’s left big toe, transforming the twenty four year old singer from a dishevelled, begging mess into a hysterical, angered jumble.
“Fuck, Ha-ha-ha-haha-haha-ha-ha-haha-Harry, stop, I mean it, you ba-haha-ha-ha-hastard, this isn’t fair man, I’m gonna fucking kill you oh my go-hahaha-hahaha-hahahad what the fuck man, come oh-oh-hahahaha-aaa-an—“
Harry raised his eyebrows as he continued to tickle around Shawn’s left big toe with one hand, whilst his other hand flittered across the sole of Shawn’s right foot.
“Shawn Mendes! You never swear … This must really be bothering you, am I right?”
The bed began to shake as Shawn attempted an escape, his body bucking up, his back pressing against the boards that made up the middle of the bed's structure.
“It’s fucking torture, man! Come on, what the fuck are you doing? This isn’t righ-hi-h-h-hi-hi-hight damn, this su-hu-huh-huh-huh-hucks—“
Harry gave Shawn a moment of relief by pausing on the tickling, curling his fingers around both of Shawn’s ankles and then pulling him out from under the bed, but only by just a bit.
Shawn winced, shouting out to Harry in protest, “Wait, dude, my, my arm is still caught! I’m, I’m still stuck, fuck …”
Harry smirked, looking down at Shawn’s waist, butt and legs now poking out the end of the bed.
“Oh believe me, Shawn I’m fully aware of your circumstance,” Harry then straddled Shawn’s waist, facing his legs and feet.
Shawn grunted, Harry’s weight pinning his still partially trapped body down.
“Harry, get the, get fuck offa me! You’re being a total dick, man, come on—“
Shawn tried to pull his hand away from the fairy lights caught around his wrist, but the wire seemed stuck under something too heavy to budge; suddenly, Shawn could feel Harry’s fingertips exploring his waist and lower back …
They dug into his hips, poking around his stomach and thighs, exploring all lower areas of his body with sporadic and unplanned jabs.
“Fuck! No! Wait! Jesus! No, Harry, Ha-ha-ha-haha-Harry, HA-AAAHHH-ARRRRYYYYYY!”
Shawn exploded into manic, uncontrollable laughter, his eyes wide open as they stared into the darkness of the beds underneath, Harry’s hands grabbing at Shawn’s butt, spanking each cheek with a playful yet sharp tap, to then tickle between Shawn’s thighs and then up and down his calves.
Harry’s tickling was actioned so fast that he had begun to develop a thin layer of sweat over his forehead.
“Oh this is just brilliant …” Harry admitted.
Shawn squirmed and writhed from beneath the bed, his legs kicking out frantically, his feet trying their best to escape Harry’s clutches as he tried to catch a hold of Shawn’s ankles.
“Damn, Ha-ha-ha-Harry, fuck, you, you ba-ha-ha-haha-hastard this is, this is fucking insane, what are you doing?!” Shawn couldn’t quite believe how merciless Harry was being, his intent clearly to taunt him whilst he lay in this particularly unfortunate position, “I, I don’t know what the fuck to do!” Shawn admitted, his laughter now leaving him in a flustered, shocked frenzy, “I, I can’t just fucking take this, man, come on, stop!”
Harry managed to snatch Shawn’s right foot from out of the air, pulling it close towards his chest, tickling the sole with all five fingernails, playing Shawn like a musical instrument, creating heavy laughter and manic giggles with every touch.
“Oh stop, stop, stop, stop, stop—“ Shawn heaved, his movement below the bed suggesting he may of got his hand free, “—Please man come on, come on, come on, come on—“
Harry then grabbed Shawn’s left foot, pulling it towards his chest also, wrapping his arm around the young man's ankles whilst tickling both soles at the same time.
“Alright, Shawny boy, I’ll let you go if you say, ‘I’m a ticklish little bitch’ … ” Harry decided.
Shawn tried to move his way back out from under the bed but Harry’s weight had pinned his lower half to the floor, “Alright, alright!” Shawn submitted quicker than Harry expected.
Damn, he must be hating this, Harry thought.
“I’m a, I’m a t-ticklish little bitch!” Shawn cried, “Okay, al, alright I said it, let me fucking go!”
Harry continued, his fingers scratching away at the arch of Shawn’s left foot.
Shawn tried to block off Harry’s attacks by crossing his feet over one another repeatedly, but his attempts did nothing to stop Harry’s persistent tickling.
“Hmmm, you know what, mate? I changed my mind —” Harry announced, “—I’m not done yet. Now say…” Harry looked up at the bedroom ceiling in thought, “… ’I’m a pussy, stop tickling my feet’ …”
Shawn didn’t hesitate in doing what Harry asked. Right now, he’d give anything to make this sudden and unexpected torture end, so he shouted the request out all at once, his fists thumping down over the floorboards beneath the bed.
“—I’MAPUSSYSTOPTICKLINGMYFEET—“
Harry continued, letting Shawn’s feet go, now working Shawn’s waist by grabbing down on his hips non stop.
Shawn’s legs and feet kicked through the air as he burst into further hysterics, his hands reaching down in an attempt to grab at Harry.
“Fuck, fuck, shit, this is unreal, come on, I DID WHAT YOU ASKED, DUDE!—”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Harry found a spot just below Shawn’s right hip that really got the boy going wild, “I promise to stop after you say, ‘Harry Styles is the best pop star in the world’ …”
To Harry’s surprise, all he heard was breathless giggling and heaved out laughter.
Harry tucked his hands between Shawn’s thighs, tickling at the sensitive muscles around his legs, Shawn’s feet now slicing through the air in a wild flaying movement.
“… Shawn?” Harry tested, “Do you want this to go on forever? By the time I’m done it’ll be Christmas Day…”
Shawn continued with his hesitation, reluctant to boost Harry’s ego, an ego already growing thanks to the current circumstance at hand as well as the number one hits, multi platinum albums and sell out stadium shows, Harry’s success being as relentless and non stop as Harry’s fingers, fingers that were currently working their way under the bed and towards Shawn’s rib cage …
Shawn delivered his words through groaning, gritted teeth, “ALRIGHT! HARRY STYLES IS THE BEST POP STAR IN THE WORLD—“
Harry slid his fingertips away from Shawn’s sides and down over Shawn’s butt, planting both palms over each cheek, where he smacked Shawn’s butt as if Shawn’s cheeks were bongo drums.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! Dang, Harry, for God's sa—“
“—Okay, okay …” Harry declared the end of his playful attack, “… You’ve been through enough …”, he then got to his feet, stepping away from Shawn, who shuffled his way out from under the bed.
Harry chuckled, acknowledging Shawn’s red face and bloodshot eyes, some tears staining his jaw.
Shawn stood, dusting his front off, his wrist attached to some fairy lights that he had torn in half to break free.
He then bolted towards Harry and shoved him away by pushing at his chest.
“You’re an asshole, Styles!” Shawn watched Harry stumble back, struggling to keep his footing from Shawn’s force, “You know I hate being tickled!”
Harry cupped his mouth in alarm, not predicting such a fierce response from Shawn.
Shawn pointed his index finger at Harry, breathless and determined, “How about you try going under there?”
Harry raised his hands, edging himself closer towards the bedroom door.
“I don’t think so, Shawn … Not until you’re out of the room, at least!”
Shawn cocked an eyebrow at Harry.
“Oh? Worried I’ll tickle the shit outta you?”
Harry jumped out of the bedroom, a grin splayed across his face.
“Maybe!”
Shawn rolled his eyes, picking up the tangle of fairy lights as he chased Harry downstairs, ready to action a payback of his own, both young men laughing in jest.
Hey! Thought Shawn.
Fairy lights could work as a form of rope, right?
Have a great Christmas, to all of those who celebrate!