On the Wednesday of the second week of The Agreement, a sudden and unexpected change presented itself.
The Visitor became The Host.
No longer would Miller be arriving at Armie’s apartment, with a proposal and a chance to meet ‘the’ Timothée Chalamet, as he kept putting it.
Instead, Timothée Chalamet and Armie Hammer had been invited to his studio.
Tim hated that the meeting would take place in the early hours of the evening.
That meant he had to wait all day, with nerves crunching his insides and anxiety playing with his stomach, until he’d stand toe to toe with Miller.
Armie had picked up breakfast for Tim whilst out for his morning run.
Armie showered in his ensuite bathroom, leaving Tim and his morning meal below in the kitchen.
Tim, seated on the kitchen stool, stared over a half eaten bagel whilst bobbing his knees up and down - a habit Armie had told him to stop doing, way back in the Call Me By Your Name promo tour days.
He craned his jaw, stretching out a still-present ache created by yesterday’s ball gag.
Tim didn’t have to ask himself why he felt so worried.
Miller currently existed as a stranger.
The studio would be a place Tim hadn’t step foot in before.
The intentions of this man, and Tickle Fest, and whatever lay in-between, were entirely unknown.
Tim, like all the times Armie had tied him up and pushed him above and beyond, sat completely out of control.
He poked his bagel with his index finger.
He toyed with the idea of taking another bite, but the butterflies …
… More like bats, he thought …
… Were flapping about too hard.
He popped the hood of his hoodie over his head and yanked it closed by pulling on the draw string.
As he hid himself away from the world, Armie entered the kitchen with just a towel wrapped around his waist.
The sound of Armie’s bare feet patting over the kitchen floor tiles made Tim look up.
Armie approached the fridge, opened it’s doors and reached one long arm in.
Tim’s eyes trailed over Armie’s muscular legs, his tanned, still-wet back and his soaked, dark blonde hair.
He hadn’t viewed him like this before.
He had always acknowledged Armie as an attractive man …
… But for the first time, Tim sat there, with his half eaten bagel, finding him attractive.
Armie shut the fridge door, now with a bottle of orange juice in his right hand.
“Not hungry?” He asked, glancing down at Tim’s sorry looking bagel.
Tim slid the hood back over his shoulders and popped one of the draw strings into his mouth.
Instead of admitting he felt too anxious to eat, he simply said,
“It’s more filling than you think.”
Armie didn’t buy that for a second.
He walked towards Tim, placed the orange juice down on the marble island and then landed both hands on the back of Tim’s neck, offering it a reassuring squeeze.
“He won’t bite, Tim.”
Tim lowered his head, still chewing on his hoodies draw string.
Without wanting to, he allowed himself to crumble.
He turned on the stool and pressed his forehead against Armie’s chest.
Armie, sensing Tim’s display of vulnerability, took his hands off the boys neck, wrapping his arms around his shoulders instead.
“You okay, kid?”
Tim nodded his face into Armie’s skin.
“I was just used to doing all this stuff, just us, y'know?"
Armie endured a sharp sting of guilt, right in the pit of his stomach.
He looked up at the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut, mouthing the word ‘fuck’ to himself.
Tim shuffled out of Armie’s embrace, glancing up at his ‘ler.
Armie took a few careful steps away from Tim and then tried to act as calmly and as casually as possible.
“A-about that,” Armie picked up his bottle of juice, “Miller has … Requested, to be your temporary 'ler. Before we sit down, and talk about his proposal …”
Tim chuckled into the back of his hand.
“He’s got balls.”
Armie uncapped the juice and took a quick swig.
“Yeah. He’s pretty confident, to say the least,” Armie said, wiping his mouth with his arm.
Tim hooked his feet over the lower rungs of the stool.
“You, you said no, right?”
Armie took another swing from his juice.
At this rate, if he kept doing that to avoid speaking to Tim about this properly, there’d be no juice left.
Tim’s voice deepened.
“… You said no … Right?”
Armie swallowed down some acidity.
“I said yes, actually.”
Tim’s jaw fell open.
“… What?”
Armie held his hands up in defence.
“Look, Tim, I, I told you … Miller and I, we have a past, we have a history…”
Tim sat still, lips still apart, awaiting Armie’s explanation.
Armie continued, “To, to cut a long story short, he… Well, he used to be me. And…” Armie refrained from taking another sip of his juice, placing it down on the kitchen side instead, “… And I used to be you.”
Tim slid off the stool quietly.
“He was your ‘ler?”
Armie nodded just the once.
He felt suddenly exposed, not just because he stood there in only a towel, but because he had revealed something to Tim that he hadn’t planned on revealing so soon.
It felt like the only thing he could say, the only strong ammunition, to make Tim understand why he had approved Miller’s request.
In an attempt to regain control, Armie spoke before Tim could say the words he had readied his mouth to say.
“— I have to give him what he wants, Tim. Miller … He’s, he’s done a lot for me. I owe him more than you know. He’s kept a lot of personal situations, a lot of … Secrets for me…” Armie rubbed some remnants of shower away from the side of his head, “… Secrets I need kept safe.”
A creased frown burrowed over the top of Tim’s face.
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets as he shuffled his feet from side to side.
“Does he still … Do that to you, now?”
Armie shook his head.
“Things have changed.”
Tim tucked some curls of hair behind his ears.
“I’m not gonna lie, I’m … I’m kinda pissed,” he said.
Another sting of guilt.
This one sharper, more forceful.
Armie took some steps forward, as Tim took some steps back.
“Tim, I … Look, he’s a great guy! I wouldn’t dare introduce you to him otherwise … I’m, I’m painting him out to be this … Monster. He’s not! We can trust him, entirely. But, giving him what he wants, can sometimes make things easier, for me.”
Tim couldn’t shake the frown.
Nor the blush of anger currently residing over his cheeks.
He avoided Armie’s eyes by looking down at the floor.
“W-what does he want to do?” He asked.
Armie took a chance at warming the situation by taking another two steps towards Tim.
This time, Tim remained where he stood.
“His tickling fetish is purely foot focused. He wants you in stocks, in your underwear. For fifteen minutes.”
Tim pinched the tip of his nose as he stared at the kitchen floor.
“Can’t you just … Tickle me, in front of him, or something?”
Armie shook his head.
“He wants them himself, Tim. He wants … His own … Experience.”
Tim trailed his eyes away from the floor, up Armie’s cotton towel, where they landed on his chest.
Tim didn’t understand Armie’s predicament.
He had no idea about these ‘secrets’, this past, this history.
Despite being one to always ask questions, about this world he found himself so far in, he chose not to enquire any further.
Tim felt too distracted by that flutter, that sense of worth, that knowing that he was wanted.
So much so, by Armie, and now this stranger.
A stranger who had no choice but to ask, to want, to try and get Tim in a position he so madly wanted him in.
Tim embraced the submissive value.
Only he could satisfy these men, their fetish, their hunger.
Own it.
The feeling of anger, regarding Armie’s announcement, faded away almost too suddenly.
Instead, Tim felt overwhelmed by something he hadn’t had his hands on since stepping foot in this apartment, eight days ago.
He felt power.
And on top of that, Miller’s arrogant request had been a catalyst of knowledge for Tim, on two things;
1) He wouldn’t much like this guy
And 2) He knew how he’d handle the meeting.
Behaviours like this were telling.
It became predictable to Tim, on what Miller might suggest, on what this Proposal might consist of.
Tim felt the anxiety trickle away.
He felt prepared, ready and certain.
Thankful that the moment of clarity had swiftly landed on him, as gently as it had.
Tim turned away from Armie and picked up his bagel.
“I’ll do it … ” Tim took a bite out of his breakfast, his hunger fast returning, “… Lemme know when you wanna go, I’m gonna finish this in my room.”
Armie watched Tim walk away …
… For the first time, with the intention to spend time away from Armie.
Armie’s hands dangled at his sides.
He sighed, taking in the fact that, after all these years, Miller still had a tight hold over him, far more than he had dared to realise.
***
The Uber from Armie’s apartment to Greenwich Village consisted of no radio and no small talk from the driver …
… Just face masks and quiet.
Tim stared out one window whilst Armie stared out the other.
Despite his new feeling of power, Tim still had to endure natural nerves that came along with meeting a new person, in such an abnormal way, in such a unique scenario.
He spent most of the taxi journey watching New York roll by, with a hand planted over his chest, in an effort to control his heartbeat and breathing.
Armie opened the door for Tim as the Uber arrived outside Miller’s building.
The sky had grown cloudy, blanketing the city in a hazy, greyish blue.
Drizzled rain started to fall over sidewalks and newly opened umbrella’s as Armie and Tim made their way through glass double doors, towards the lobby elevator.
Tim hadn’t changed all day.
He wore the same hoodie and jeans as this morning, with Reeboks on his feet and a cap on his head.
Armie wore a roll neck, wax jacket and smart trousers.
In his hands he carried a bottle of red wine, after being ordered by Miller to ‘bring the Merlot’.
As they stepped inside the elevator, Tim leant against it’s walls and pulled his hood down.
“He better go easy on me …” he spoke in a deep mumble, whilst removing his cap.
The elevator doors closed.
Armie turned to face Tim.
“Look, Tim, you, you really don’t have to do this. I, I thought he wanted to just … Talk, and now, if you’re not feeling right about it, we can jus—“
“—No,” Tim unfolded his arms and ran both hands through his hair, “I’m doing it. For you. You can’t say what you said earlier, and then expect me to back down.”
Armie parted his mouth, a croaked attempt at speaking creeping out slowly.
“Tim, I … I … I—“
“—Secrets, history …” Tim interrupted Armie once again.
Floor three…
Floor four …
Two more floors to go …
“… That didn’t sit right with me,” Tim announced, “When you’re ready, we’re talking about that.”
Armie blinked.
He tightened his grip on the neck of the bottle as his mouth dried up.
Ping!
The elevator arrived at the sixth floor.
It’s doors slid open.
Tim nodded Armie out, whilst popping his cap back on his head.
This was his friend, after all. He’d have to lead the way.
Armie slid out of the elevator, walking into a dimly lit corridor.
Tim followed, acknowledging the sound of Opera music as it echoed through the building.
They passed a few closed doors, an expensive looking mirror nailed to the wall, and then eventually they made their way through an opening.
Tim and Armie walked into a giant studio, with high ceilings and glass panel windows looking out to a New York full of glittering skyscrapers surrounded by a navy, rainy 6pm sky.
Random lamps lit areas of the studio, plugged into old sockets in the corners of the rooms open brick work walls.
The entire space was set as open plan - to the right, a kitchen area - to the left, a few vintage couches, a tall plant and a TV on top of a huge stack of 90’s fashion magazines.
In the middle of the studio - a table, with a pair of black stocks at the end.
Positioned a few feet away from that - a camcorder, attached to a plastic stand.
Tim smirked.
Lines would already need to be drawn.
“Well, if it isn’t Armie Hammer…”
Tim and Armie turned to face Miller, who approached them with three empty wine glasses in his left hand.
He wore a tight fitting black t-shirt, dark denim jeans and expensive looking Chelsea boots.
He displayed a shark-like smile, his teeth a blinding white.
The first thing Tim thought, when seeing Miller for the first time, was
Whoa. He’s …
… Handsome.
Miller had a thick head of light brown, ashy grey hair.
He must be in his early fifties …
His eyes were icy blue.
Far lighter than Armies …
His tee clung to wide shoulders, a broad chest and slim waist.
Despite all apprehension, he seemed …
Nice?
“Miller, hey … So good to see you,” Armie handed Miller the bottle of red wine as they both embraced each other in a hug.
Tim stood quietly, his nerves already subsiding.
Miller patted Armie’s back with strength, broke the hug and then turned to face Tim.
“And, look who it is … The Timothée Chalamet …” Miller cupped his hand in disbelief, “… It’s, well, an absolute honour, seriously, I’m … I’m a huge fan, you don’t realise how much this means to me,” Miller glanced to Armie, “To us, to, to people like us.”
Miller held out his hand.
Tim dropped his head down momentarily, something he couldn’t help but do anytime anyone offered him a compliment.
He then stepped towards Miller with a smile, taking his hand firmly in a handshake.
“Hey, man, good to meet you.”
“Wow,” Miller spoke in awe, “I can’t believe he’s here…” He looked from Armie to Tim, from Tim to Armie, “… Isn’t this awesome?”
Armie chuckled, almost too nervously.
“It’s definitely not how I thought I’d be spending my evening,” Armie mumbled with a smile.
Miller kept his hand around Tim’s as he lead him towards the table and stocks.
Tim felt awkward, holding onto another man’s hand for so long, especially one he’d only known for two minutes.
“I know, I know, apologies. I thought, ‘could I just sit at Armie’s place, and chat away…’, or, ‘can I bite the bullet and get them to come here …” Miller squeezed Tim’s hand, “… You don’t get if you don’t ask, right?”
Finally, Miller let go of Tim.
Tim casually slid both hands back into his jeans pockets.
Outside, the rain started to fall heavier.
It patted against the glass windows lining the studio whilst traffic on the streets below tainted the roads a twinkling red.
Miller placed the wine glasses down on the table and then unscrewed the cap to the bottle of wine.
“So, kid, I firstly want to express my thanks,” Miller started to pour Merlot into each individual glass, “As someone who has tickled hundreds, and I mean, hundreds of men, I can honestly say, tonight is a dream come true. Allowing me this is, well,” Miller handed Tim his glass, “I am forever grateful.”
Tim took the wine and nodded slowly.
Kid.
He hoped Miller wouldn’t call him that again.
“I uh, I find myself in a … Financially tricky, situation…” Tim cleared his throat and worded his sentences carefully, “… If this is part of the process, part of what I have to … Do … To fulfil my agreement with,” Tim nodded at Armie, “… With my friend here, then, then that’s cool.”
Armie took the glass of wine Miller handed him, whilst struggling to understand why Tim had referred to him as ‘my friend here’.
He watched the boy stand with feet apart.
A hand on the other wrist.
Not taking a sip of his drink.
He had a smouldering look in the eye.
He spoke with a deep tone.
His jaw looked more structured than usual.
It all reminded Armie of how Tim acted when he —
Well, when he acts.
This was a performance.
It was charm, personified.
The sort of thing he does on the red carpet, at a premiere, behind the camera.
This is Tim’s way of getting through tonight.
By appearing … Pretending to be confident, pretending to be something else.
Something More.
Armie sipped his wine with a smirk.
He felt proud to of noticed this, whilst also feeling proud that Tim had found the initiative and confidence to lean into this situation the best way he knew how.
“Yeah, I get that,” Miller poured his own wine last, “Cinema, the movie industry, it’s a little fucked, right? Until the pandemic’s over, I guess…”
Tim nodded, still keeping his wine down at his waist.
“Most of my projects are on hold and uh, this … It’s a temporary, quick fix.”
Another sting.
How many more could Armie take?
He shot a look at Tim.
A look that said
What?
A quick fix?
I thought this was more…
Maybe it was, up until now.
Tim didn’t catch Armie’s glance, but he could feel his eyes burning into the side of his head.
“A quick fix that I guess has been pretty interesting, huh kid?” Miller took a sip of his wine, “Pretty intense too, I gather?” He strolled to the couch, picking a remote off it’s arm, where he switched off the stereo playing out Italian Opera.
Tim chuckled, nodding into his chest as silence overwhelmed the studio.
“Yessir, you could say that.”
Sir?
Armie shuffled on the spot, taking another sip to calm down the strange amount of gathering emotions in his throat.
Miller gestured to the stocks.
“Well, if anything, this for me is, like I said, it’s, it’s a dream come true …” He stepped back, standing beside Armie, “… But it’s also a chance to, to get an idea of, of just how ticklish you are, before we all go away for a couple of days …” Miller went to take a sip of his wine, but then paused, “… You are coming, right? I’m not standing here like a dummy, wasting my breath?”
Tim laughed into his glass, finally deciding to take a sip.
“No,” he swallowed down the alcohol, allowing it to dampen out any residing nerves, “You’re not wasting your breath. I’m going.”
Miller smacked his thigh in excitement.
“God damn!” He laughed and turned to Armie, who smiled back with fake enthusiasm, “This might just be the best few days of my life…” Miller exhaled quietly, taking a breath in an effort to calm himself down, “… But, we’ll get to that after. Let’s, let’s take things a step at a time.”
Tim went to take a second sip, but limited himself by pausing.
Miller patted the table, turning to look at Tim with a mischievous expression, “You sure you can’t handle more than fifteen minutes?”
Tim shook his head, spinning on his heels to face the camera stand.
“Nope … And uh, that’s…” Tim pointed at the camera lens, “… That’s not going to happen.”
Miller raised his eyebrows as Armie looked at Tim with pursed lips.
“Oh…?” Miller turned towards Armie, “Well, Hammer here can back me up - I am entirely trust worthy. That footage wouldn’t see the light of day, it wouldn’t even—“
Tim held up his hands.
“No can do, man. I… I can’t commit to being filmed, like that…” he stood his ground by keeping his feet planted steadily on the studios concrete apartment floor, “Doing this tonight … It’s, it’s already a gesture of goodwill, on my part.”
Miller nodded slowly, unable to hide his disappointment.
“Okay… A-alright,” he finished his wine in one quick swoop, “I respect that. I get it, I mean, you're Timothée fucking Chalamet, for Christs sakes…” Miller shook his head, swallowing down the booze, “… Sorry, I, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Tim stepped forward, “Man, listen, it’s cool, I uh, I just wanted to be clear…”
Miller placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, “Timothée, your boundaries are more important than some fifteen minute video, believe me.”
Tim smiled whilst bobbing his head.
This Miller guy isn’t so bad after all.
Armie dangled his wine by his left thigh.
“See, Tim … I told you he wouldn’t bite.”
Tim smirked at Armie, taking a step away from Miller and returning to his ‘lers side.
Armie moved into Tim, so their shoulders touched.
For now, he had to feel him close, he needed that reassurance that Tim was still his, still here, with him.
Tim took a sip of his wine, unaware of Armie’s movements, a little too engulfed by the situation at hand.
Miller clenched his teeth, already sourcing the self control within himself to not burst into excited hysterics.
“Christ, this is happening! … Alright,” he turned to Tim, “There’s uh, there’s a side room, where models get styled, this is, actually a studio for fashion photography, despite what the uh, the current set up might suggest…” Miller chuckled nervously, “Feel free to get undressed in there…”
Tim lifted his eyebrows.
“Oh, cool, so you’re a photographer?” He asked casually.
Armie smiled at how genuinely polite Tim could be.
It reminded him of times around the press, being interviewed by journalists … Tim would always be the one to ask how they were, what school they went to, if they wanted to come to the after party.
Miller looked surprise at Tim’s authentic interest.
“Yes, I am,” he even looked a little shy, something Armie hadn’t seen in Miller before, “I’ve been behind the camera since 1988… Kate Moss, Boy George, Madonna, they’ve all been in this studio…”
“Whoa,” Tim pinched his lips with his fingers, “That’s pretty awesome.”
Miller laughed, glancing down at the floor, still resonating disbelief.
“Nowhere near as awesome as this…”
Tim turned to face a curtained door at the far end of the studio.
“Through there?”
Miller nodded.
“Through there…”
Tim smiled politely and handed his glass to Armie.
“‘Kay, cool, I’ll uh… I’ll get to it…”
As Tim turned to walk away, Miller called out to him.
“Hey, kid!”
Tim paused.
Kid.
There it is again.
He turned to face Miller.
“Leave your shoes and socks on, will you?” Miller smiled.
Tim nodded in understanding.
He then turned and headed towards the changing room…
… Leaving Armie standing, redundant and waiting, with two half empty wine glasses in each of his hands …
… And a grinning Miller beside him.
***
See, this is going okay.
You’re calling the shots.
You have been, all day.
No more being pushed around.
Tim took off his cap.
Then he threw his hoodie over his head.
No more being told what to do.
Fuck.
Who are you kidding?
Tim yanked off his sneakers.
You’re literally *doing* something, right now, that you’ve been *told* to do.
Tim pulled off his t-shirt.
Damnit.
Well, whatever I’m doing … It’s making me feel good.
So, keep on doing it.
He unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down to his ankles.
“Get this over with … Hear him out … Get back to Armie’s apartment…” Tim whispered his thoughts out loud, “ … And then I can—“
Suddenly, the curtains drew apart.
Tim spun around, with his jeans still at his feet, standing in socks and just white briefs.
“Fuck, Armie … You, you scared the shit outta me.”
Armie slid into the small make-shift changing room.
“You talking to yourself, Tim?”
He pulled the curtains closed behind him.
Tim shook his head, stepping out of his jeans.
“N-no, no … I, I was just, verbalising my—”
Armie spoke in a silent mumble.
“—I heard my name …”
Tim shrugged.
“Well, you heard wrong…”
Tim went to pick up his Reeboks, but Armie held onto his arm with a tight grip.
“Hey. What’s up.”
Tim looked down at Armie’s hand, clutching onto his elbow.
His ‘lers tone didn’t sound like a question.
“What’s up with you?” Tim threw back.
Armie let go of Tim’s arm.
“Look,” Armie huffed, “This is your second warning. You don’t have to do this. I can try and push back. I'm glad you both seem to be getting along, but, if you don’t feel—“
“—I’m doing it,” Tim snapped, pulling his Reeboks back onto his feet, “I’m doing it, because of what you said. I'm doing it for you… And …” Tim bit his lip, curling his fists into balls, speaking in a rushed whisper, “… More importantly, because I can! It’s my choice,” Tim thumbed his own bare chest, “Understood?”
Armie looked down at Tim, who stared up at Armie.
Armie had to break the exchange.
Now even Tim had started to make him feel nervous.
Or maybe it’s this place, being back here, after all this time …
“I get it, Tim. I appreciate that. I didn’t expect him to ask what he’s asked. All I’m saying is, you don’t have to…” Armie found himself arriving at the thing he’d been avoiding wanting to say, the thing that would expose more of his vulnerability, “… You know, if, if you still want it to be, just us …”
Tim revelled in the control, the ability to assert himself this way.
Within twelve hours he had transformed Armie into jelly, by turning the tables more than once.
Tim pointed at Armie’s chest, poking his index finger into the merino of his roll neck.
“It’s fifteen minutes. Chill out, man.”
Armie took in a breath.
That wasn’t the reassurance he’d hoped for.
Armie nodded, almost apologetically, whilst peeling apart the curtains.
“Come on,” he whispered, “Let’s go get this done.”
***
“So, Tim …” Miller filled another glass of wine, this time for himself first, and then for his guests soon after, “… Wait, do you prefer Timothée … Timmy… Or …”
Tim sat on the table, in his white briefs, eyeing the stocks attached at the other end.
His sneaker-clad feet dangled over the floor as he lifted his shoulders casually.
“Uh, Tim’s fine …” he smiled, taking the glass of red Miller handed to him, whilst shooting a glance over a the camera stand, “… That’s uh, that’s off, right?” Tim directed his question to Armie instead of Miller.
Armie stepped towards the camera and a blank recording screen.
“It’s off, Timmy…” Armie smiled at his sub, “… Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
Miller chuckled, “How comes he gets to call you Timmy?”
Tim pulled an awkward face, hiding his mouth with his glass, “You can call me whatever, man. It’s cool."
Miller smirked, “… Ok, Tim … Timmy …” He handed Armie a second glass of wine, “ … Where, on your feet, are you most ticklish?”
Armie stood triumphant, smirking, taking his drink.
He knew that answer, he had that knowledge, Miller didn’t.
Armie felt surprised by how good it made him feel.
Tim placed his lips around the rim of his glass, hesitating before answering.
“That’s between Armie and I …”
Tim glanced up at Armie, smiling quietly before taking a sip of wine.
Armie’s eyes sparkled as he took in Tim’s words.
Words he translated into - ‘it’s still just us’.
Miller placed his glass down on the concrete, before taking a walk to a chest of drawers pushed up against the studios wall.
“Now aint that cute,” Miller pulled open the top drawer, “I guess I’ll be finding out myself, over the next fifteen minutes …”
From inside the drawer, Miller retrieved a seagull feather, a bottle of lotion, some white string and a hair brush.
He carried them in his arms to the table.
Tim eyed the tools carefully, knowing full well the effects such simple objects would soon have on him.
Miller laid out the tools on the tables corner, on his side of the stocks.
He pulled up the stocks, patting the open ankle holes with his palm.
“Place your feet in here for me…”
Tim swung his feet up onto the table, wine still in hand.
Then he shuffled towards the stocks, landing his ankles carefully in the grooves Miller had just tapped.
The inside of the grooves were lined with a soft, black, fluffy material, offering Tim immediate comfort as soon as Miller closed down the top half of the stocks.
He flicked the latch down, locking Tim’s feet in.
Miller stepped back, running fingertips over a jaw covered with neatly shaved, ashy stubble.
Miller directed his statement to Armie, without looking at him.
“You’re one lucky bastard.”
Armie smiled behind his glass of wine.
He shot a look at Tim, who quietly placed his hands behind him, leaning back a little on the table.
Miller placed a hand on his chest, taking in a deep breath, as he looked down at Tim’s feet.
Tim watched Miller compose himself.
“This is, this is quite a big deal, for me …” Miller dropped his hands to his sides and took a few steps away from the stocks, “… I remember watching Call Me By Your Name, with my husband, a-and…” Miller glanced over at Armie, “… Seeing you, get to take hold of his foot, and, and fucking kiss it!” Miller clapped his hands once, “I knew you’d be loving life, right then …”
Miller cupped his mouth with his right hand, speaking into his palm.
“… Loving life, like I’m about to …” Miller chuckled, taking his eyes back to Tim, his temporary ‘lee, “… Sorry, you’re probably weirded out. I’m just, such a fan …”
Tim lowered his head, smiling into his chest.
“Honestly, thank you, man. I appreciate that …”
Miller blinked quietly, an honoured smile decorating his red wine stained lips.
He then lifted his arm, shooting eyes down at his expensive Rolex.
“Right,” he declared, “Fifteen minutes. Here we go …”
Miller approached the stocks, placing delicate hands around Tim’s right sneaker.
“So,” he provided a gentle tug, “You excited, for the next few days?”
Tim watched Miller slowly remove his shoe.
“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Tim flexed his toes within the white cotton of his sports socks, “I'm looking forward to meeting new people, seeing new things …”
Miller wanted to wait, till Tim’s feet were bare, but he couldn’t resist.
“Armie tells me you want to wear a mask, sunglasses, hoodie, cap, the whole shebang…” Miller took an index finger and ran it gently down Tim’s right sole.
Tim looked up at the ceiling, scrunching his toes tightly.
“Pfffttttt …” Tim spoke through clenched teeth, “… Yeah, I hope no offence is taken but …” Miller stroked Tim’s sole, this time with two fingers, “… Ffffffffttttt ... I kinda don’t wanna get noticed…”
Tim twisted his foot away from Miller’s hand.
Miller smirked, excitement already growing beneath his jeans.
“No. I’m sorry, I can’t have that beautiful face hidden, not at Tickle Fest …” Miller curled his hands around Tim’s left sneaker, “… That’s why I’ve decided to make the entire event discreet. Taking it to another location, with heightened security, and …” Miller pulled off Tim’s shoe, “… With every attendee made to sign an NDA, with a ‘leave all iPhone and recording equipment at the door’, as a non negotiable rule …”
Tim raised his eyebrows.
“So, even if people recognise me, it’s kept … A secret?”
Miller nodded, placing both of Tim’s sneakers neatly together on the concrete.
Whilst down there, he picked up his wine.
“More than a secret, Tim. A legally bound, contracted agreement of silence.”
Miller sipped his drink, keeping his eyes on Tim.
Tim took his wine too, whilst looking over at Armie for clarification that a document such as the one Miller described would be reliant on ensuring Tim’s privacy.
“Sounds legit,” Armie commented, tucking one hand into his pocket whilst the other swirled his Merlot, “We’d need to read the NDA, prior to it being handed out to the attendee’s, obviously…”
Miller nodded, placing his glass back down on the floor.
“Of course. It’s a three day event, I can’t have him walking around hiding himself,” Miller held onto Tim’s socked feet, admiring their length, their structure, “You need to feel comfortable, relaxed, able to be yourself…”
Tim appreciated Miller’s gentle touch, as much as he appreciated his consideration towards his own ability to walk around freely.
Tim opened his mouth, ready to express his thanks, but Miller continued before Tim got the chance to do so.
“That’s not all. As you know,” Miller shifted his eyes to Armie, whilst still quietly massaging Tim’s socked feet, “There are events, within the event. Models, we hire, to try out new forms of restraint, upgraded tickle tools …” Miller applied pressure under Tim’s toes, causing Tim to squeeze his eyes shut, “… We’d like Mr. Chalamet to take part, with a considered payment, of course.”
Tim’s eyes snapped open.
He’d made it clear he wouldn’t be tickled, during the convention.
He didn’t even feel entirely sure he could handle more than one person on him.
Being tickled by Armie alone was suffering enough.
Tim shook his head with a smirk.
“Uh … I don’t think I could take that.”
Miller and Armie chuckled at the same time.
“You have no idea how erotic it is, for us, to hear you say that …” Miller let go of Tim’s feet.
Armie took another sip of his wine.
“What would he need to do?” He asked.
Tim looked over at Armie, with a glance that said, ‘why are you even asking?’
Armie could feel Tim looking at him, but decided to keep his eyes on Miller.
“Well, one scenario could be in The Tickle Chair,” Miller looked towards Tim, “I believe that’s how you and Armie started this whole thing, right?”
Tim felt the need for alcohol.
He reached for the wine he’d place beside him, picked up his glass and took two heavy glugs.
“Th-that’s right,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“And the second would be at an exclusive party, held in the conference hall. You’d be bound, tickled, with other models …” Miller grinned at Tim, “… And believe me, they won’t be getting paid anywhere near as much as we’re offering you.”
Miller went to pick at the tip of Tim’s right sock, but paused before doing so.
He turned slowly to face Armie.
“You start. I feel like I’m about to cook a speciality dish, and the chef responsible for creating the recipe is standing right beside me …”
Tim shifted his eyes from Armie, to Miller, from Miller to Armie.
To Tim’s surprise, Armie did as he were told, without hesitation.
He put down his glass, approached the stocks and then eyed Tim with a comforting stare.
Tim put his hands back behind him.
“Don’t be a bitch,” he warned.
Both men chuckled.
Armie placed all ten fingertips against both of Tim’s soles.
He gave Tim a friendly wink, reassuring him he’d go slow.
Armie lightly ran his fingers down and then up the cotton covered length of Tim’s feet.
Tim’s toes flexed beneath his socks as he held his breath.
He watched Armie with narrowed eyes, as Armie started to apply faster pressure.
Tim used his hands to lift his butt off the table.
His toes scrunched up, his grin widened, his eyes narrowed.
His feet twisted from left to right as Armie began to attack his arches.
Tim expelled kept-in air outward, in the form of bellowed laughter.
Miller edged closer towards the camera stand.
As Armie tickled Tim’s socked feet, Miller hit the record button.
He then tucked his hands behind his back and casually returned into position.
“So ticklish, even with socks on …” Miller nodded once at Tim, verbalising the mental notes on Tim’s sensitivity, “The guys are going to have a lot of fun, I can tell …”
Armie pulled the toes of Tim’s left foot up, where he actioned an aggressive tickle between each of them.
Tim threw his head back, his butt slamming onto on the table with a thud.
“Alright, alright!” Tim protested.
Miller held up his hand, speaking with stern authority.
“Stop.”
Armie’s fingers slid away from Tim’s feet.
Miller pointed to the other side of the table, by one of the rain drenched windows.
“Stand over there for me.”
Armie stepped away from the stocks, edging backwards, until he felt the cold press of glass against his back.
Miller approached the table, his eyes now on Tim’s feet.
Tim ran a hand through his hair, wiggling some itchiness out from under his toes.
“Fuck,” he said to himself.
Miller began to pull Tim’s right sock off his foot.
He did so slowly, revealing Tim’s bare sole, inch by inch.
Tim placed his hands behind him once again, leaning back slightly.
“So, what do you think, about the two events?” Miller asked.
Tim watched Miller peel off his sock completely.
“D-depends how much you’re offering …”
Miller admired the beauty of Tim’s now bare right foot.
He lowered his jaw whilst crunching the sock into a ball.
“They’re even prettier in person…” he whispered, throwing the sock over at Tim playfully.
Tim watched the sock land on his chest, roll down his stomach and then fall off the table.
It landed with a bounce, right by Armie’s feet.
Miller started to pull off the other sock, whilst Armie knelt down and picked up the cotton ball.
“We’ll get to costs …” once the sock was removed, he kept it in his hands and quietly walked towards Tim’s upper body, “… I want to make the most of the next …” he checked his Rolex, “… Twelve minutes, or so …”
Miller held the sock under Tim’s nose.
Tim raised his eyebrows, shifting his eyes from left to right.
“Smell good?” Miller asked.
Tim burrowed his forehead into a frown, taking a sniff of the clammy material at his mouth.
“I guess…?”
Tim felt unsure how to answer that kind of question
Miller smiled, bringing the sock towards his own face.
He closed his eyes whilst breathing in the scent fully.
“Astonishing …” he whispered.
He then turned, throwing the sock at Armie.
Armie caught it with one hand, now holding onto both of Tim’s socks.
He looked after them by placing them in each of his trouser pockets.
Miller returned to the stocks, where he continued to admire Tim’s bare feet.
He then picked up the string, tying it to one of the hooks nailed into the top of the stocks.
“So, Tim … What’s been your most intense moment yet, with Mr. Hammer…?” Miller held onto Tim’s right foot, pushing it back a little, as he hooped the string around Tim’s big toe, “… And none of this, ‘that’s between Armie and I’ response …” Miller shot a grinned look up at Armie, “… We’re all friends here.”
Tim winced as he endured the string sliding between his big and index toe.
Miller stood back, assessing how successfully he had pinned Tim’s foot against the top of the stock.
“Uhh …” Tim tried to pull his foot to the side, but his big toe in it’s pinned back position offered little to no relief, “… There’s been a few situations, similar to this, where he’s uh … Pushed me, further than I thought possible …”
Armie stood blushing.
Miller took another piece of string, tying Tim’s left big toe to the next hook.
“How’s that make you feel, Hammer?” Miller asked, whilst concentrating on tightening the strings knot.
Armie felt surprised to be asked that question.
He considered his response.
Unlike Tim, no ‘uhms’ and ‘uhhs’ fell out of his lips.
Armie had everything structured, everything planned.
Everything in control.
“It makes me feel honoured,” Armie answered.
Miller smiled, stepping back from Tim’s bound feet, “I bet it fucking does.”
Tim tried to wiggle his feet, but they remained pinned back stiff.
“You uh, you’re not tying all of them back, are you?”
Tim had been in that position before.
He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be in that position again.
“Your toes?” Miller shook his head, “No. Just the big ones. I like to see some movement, whilst I’m … Applying the torture.”
Tim nodded slowly, running fingertips over the bottom of his lip.
Miller picked up the bottle of lotion, uncapping it.
“You uh … You didn’t fully answer my question,” he murmured, whilst drizzling oil over Tim’s left foot, “Out of the ‘situations’ you speak of, which has been the worst…?”
Tim placed both hands behind him as the shining liquid cascaded over his toes, down his arch, where it dripped off his heels.
“Uh, okay, uh … There, there was this one time …” Tim jolted his elbow towards Armie, “… He uh, had me tied to the bed, uh, n-naked … He, he found a spot, a spot I uh,” Tim chuckled like a nerd, “I spot I can’t disclose …” he ran a hand through his curls, “… Yeah, he hit that for a good thirty minutes, three quarters of an hour … It drove me…” Tim looked at Armie, narrowing his eyes, “… Fucking insane.”
Miller drizzled more oil, this time over Tim’s right foot.
“Goodness … What an incredible experience, for you both. Such a unique, interesting … Erotic development, between two close friends …” Miller capped the lotion, placing the bottle down on the concrete, “… Isn’t it funny to think, if covid hadn’t of happened, we wouldn’t be in this studio, doing this right now…?”
Tim and Armie kept each other in a single stare, acknowledging Miller’s words for a few seconds.
“Agh!”
Suddenly, Tim felt his entire body jolt as Miller sent an index finger up his left sole.
“Fuck,” he hissed, twisting his upper body to the right as Miller started to tickle the lotion into his feet, without warning.
Armie spoke with a deep tone.
“Be gentle with him, Miller.”
Miller sent all ten fingers into both of Tim’s soles, tickling up and down at an unexpected, speedy rate.
Tim hooked his arms under his thighs and buried his face into his knees.
Miller’s nails were long, the lotion slippery … His fingers moving too quickly.
“Fuck, this is fucking —“ Tim kept air in his cheeks, “—Jesus, man!”
Miller’s tickling felt sharp and invasive, brutal and overwhelming.
Tim snapped quicker than he thought.
A movement took place in him, one he couldn’t control.
Tim pulled his body towards the stocks, his hands reaching out over them, in an attempt to grab at Miller’s fingers.
“Oh!” Miller snatched onto Tim’s hands, “No, no, no… ! That’s not allowed …!”
Tim curled his fingers around Miller’s wrists.
“Come on man, go easy …”
Miller laughed into his shoulder.
“Go easy? I’ve got Timothée Chalamet, toe tied in stocks - I won’t be going easy …” Miller squeezed Tim’s hands in reassurance, “Now, keep these hands to yourself… Or I tie them to the ceiling ..."
Tim sat back, letting go of Miller.
Miller held onto Tim’s right foot, “Can you do that? Can you promise me?”
Tim nodded, curls of hair dangling over his face.
“I want to hear it,” Miller warned.
Tim tucked his hands under his butt, clamping them down purposefully in place.
“I, I promise,” he huffed.
“Good…” Miller curled his finger around Tim’s left Index Toe.
He rubbed it slowly, admiring it’s length and shape.
“Now, let’s acknowledge this one … This one has to be my favourite …” he whispered.
Tim clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Y-yeah that’s … That’s s-something you and Armie ha-have in common…”
Miller started to investigate the rest of the toes of Tim’s left foot, by invading the in-betweens with his fingers.
“Amongst many things,” Miller teased.
Tim bit into the knuckles of his right hand.
He tried to clench his toes, to hide the spaces Miller seemed so intent at infiltrating, but having his big toe strung back made such movements challenging.
“Do you not want me to go further down?” Miller tested.
Tim shook his head, clamping his lips shut.
“I can’t hear you…” Miller pressed.
Tim spoke through gritted teeth.
“Please, p-please don't ..."
Miller took wiggling fingers away from Tim’s toes, further down to his arch.
“Like this?”
Tim burst into hysterics, throwing his body back against the table.
Miller then started to tickle both of Tim’s oil drenched soles at the same time.
Tim bellowed mania out into the ceilings open pipe work, trashing his waist from side to side as he screamed out into the studios muggy atmosphere.
Miller slowed down his tickling.
Tim used his elbows to prop himself up.
He panted, wiping his face with the back of his arm.
“Shit,” he hissed, licking dry lips wet.
Miller kept one index finger against Tim’s left sole, toying with it slowly, whilst using his other hand to pick up the feather.
He spun it round, so that the sharpness of the nib rested just under the toes of Tim’s right foot.
Tim’s eyes widened.
“No, don't, don’t use that … The feather fucking sucks …”
Miller started to scribble over the soft, ticklish expanse of Tim’s right foot.
“The feather SUCKS!” Tim cried, throwing his body back once again towards the tables surface, “THE FEATHER FUCKING SUCKS!”
Armie, for the first time ever, watched Tim get tickled by someone that wasn’t him.
To his surprise, he felt more aroused than jealous.
He knew Tim would never be Millers.
He knew this situation, this set up, would only be temporary.
He felt so sure of it.
Maybe that’s why the jealously didn’t once creep in.
Miller tickled Tim’s left foot with his fingers, and his right with the feather’s nib.
He spoke loudly, over Tim’s howls.
“See, this is why it’s great to pin your toes back… It keeps each foot painstakingly still, allowing me to do what I like!”
Tim threw his body forwards, resisting the urge so desperately to reach over the stocks and stop Miller with his hands once again.
“I’m fucking happy for you, man!” Tim punched the tables surface with his fists, glaring forwards at the torment taking place beneath his soles, “Ahhh Jesus, Jesus fucking Christ!”
Miller continued, but only for another minute or two.
Conscious of his limited time, he drew the nib to a gradual stop, once he had reduced Tim to a salivating mess.
Tim lay on his side, breathless and spluttering.
Miller laid the feather down and smoothed Tim’s soles with his fingertips.
He’d pinch Tim’s toes, scratch at his heels, glide his index finger over his arches, in-between the comforting massage.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!”
Tim yelped with each teasing tickle.
Miller’s hands left Tim’s feet, where they then picked up the hair brush.
Tim sat up just in time to see Miller hold the brush in the air.
Tim shook his head.
“O-okay, man, this is it, right? The last bit?”
Miller nodded.
“C-can, can I at least have a safe word, o-or something?” Tim tucked some hair behind his ears, looking at Miller for mercy.
Miller wagged his finger.
“Oh no, no, I don’t believe in them …”
Tim’s jaw dropped.
“You don’t believe in them?” He turned to face Armie.
Armie lifted his shoulders and raised his eyebrows.
“Imagine how I used to cope…” he smirked.
Miller chuckled, placing the brushes plastic bristles inches away from Tim’s right sole.
“You’ve got around seven minutes left …”
Tim widened his eyes, jaw still to the floor.
“Seven minutes of … That... ?”
Tim pointed at the hairbrush in Miller’s hands.
Miller nodded.
“Would it make you feel better if I were to tell you that, if you were to par-take in the two events at Tickle Fest, myself and my community would be happy to pay you one million dollars?”
Tim clenched his teeth as the hairbrush pressed into the sole of his right foot.
“Fffffttttt ….” Tim twisted his foot away from the brush as much as he could.
Armie folded his arms, eyeing Miller.
“How does your husband feel about that?”
Miller grinned sadistically, running the brush up slowly up to Tim’s toes, then down his sole, to his heel.
Tim pressed his palms down on the table, lifting his entire body up a few inches.
“Okay man, fuck, come on, don’t do that …” Tim took in a breath, “… Please don’t do that …”
Miller used his fingers to tickle Tim’s left foot, whilst using the brush now forcefully on his right.
“Hammer! This is Timothée Damn Chalamet! I don’t care what my husband thinks!”
Tim hid his face with his hands as he screamed into his palms.
“How’s that sound, kid?” Armie kept his eyes on Miller whilst applying his question to Tim.
Tim kept his face hidden, kicking his legs as much as the stocks would allow.
“Fuck FUCK, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT STOP!”
His voice came out high pitched, his tone panicked.
“I can’t take the brush, man! I draw the LINE AT THE fucking brush!”
Tim exploded into hysteria as he shot wide eyes to the floor, bellowing out shouts and cries at the concrete.
“One million it is …” Miller concluded, satisfyingly.
“-FOUR MILLION!” Tim hissed, punching the air, the table, his thighs, his shoulders, “FUCKING STOP!”
The brush continued it’s maddening torture.
Armie glanced at Miller, who giggled into his own chest.
“Four million? Don’t be absurd …” Miller tickled under Tim’s toes, whilst running the brush from side to side over Tim’s arch.
Tim hid his face once again, twisting his upper body from side to side in an attempt to block out the ticklish agony nesting in the centre of his mind.
His voice sounded deep and grainy as he shouted into his palms.
“I’M ONLY DOING IT FOR FOUR MILLION, MAN!”
Armie raised his eyebrows, smirking at Miller.
Miller tutted, “Jesus …” He now applied all focus to the brush, and one foot.
Tim buried his face in his lap, as Miller discovered the spot just above his heel that drove him wild.
“… Two million …” Miller continued his bargain.
Tim bit his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut.
The brush persisted in it’s glide, over the shimmering, baby soft skin.
Slow and hard …
… Then fast and rapid.
“Fucking three million!” Tim cried, “I’ll do it for fucking three!”
Miller looked at Armie in disbelief.
“You’ll do it for free? Oh, I see!”
Armie hid gentle laughter with the back of his hand.
“Okay,” Miller slowed the brush down, keeping it at a gentle scrub over Tim’s right arch.
Tim hissed and swore under his breath, sitting on his hands once again in an attempt to keep them to himself.
“Agree to one million, and then I’ll stop …” Miller checked his Rolex.
The session had now exceeded fifteen minutes.
Tim shook his head, groaning into his armpit as the brush rubbed harder.
Miller admired the boys confidence.
“You’re willing to endure this, to keep your price?” Miller wiped some saliva from the bottom of his lip, running the brush over Tim’s left foot, “That is rather impressive …”
Tim held onto his calves as he glared at the brush destroying him at the other side of the stocks.
Miller glanced over at Armie, “Get another, from the top drawer.”
Armie pointed at himself.
“Two at once?”
Miller nodded.
Tim looked at Armie in hysteric concern.
“Do it, Hammer …” Miller pressed, “… We’ll make him break …”
Armie held his hands up.
“Uh, Miller … I honestly don’t think he’ll be able to take two brushes, at the same ti—“
"-Do it..." Miller's tone sounded like a warning.
Tim reached out for Armie as Armie walked towards the large chest of drawers.
“No! Wait, what, what?”
Tim curled his fists into balls, biting already bitten knuckles, as Armie returned to the stocks with a second hair brush.
Armie hesitated, looking up at his ‘ler.
“What are you waiting for?” Cried Miller, still tickling Tim’s left foot with his own brush.
Armie mouthed the words ‘sorry kid’, before applying the hair brush to Tim’s right foot.
“NO,” Tim lifted himself off the table, “NO, WAIT, WHAT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Two brushes.
On each oil drenched sole.
Non.
Stop.
Tim exploded.
He fell into confused, angered hysteria.
He landed on his side, his face red, his upper body sweating.
His toes curled and clenched, his legs kicked, his fists beat at the table.
He glared at the brushes with menacing, unforgiving eyes.
“NO, STOP, STOP!” He growled, “STOP, I CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT, I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” Tim’s pleas sounded genuine in their high pitched confusion, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
The tickling continued.
Miller grabbed the lotion and dribbled the liquid all over Tim’s soles.
The brush captured the droplets, rubbing them into Tim’s hyper sensitive skin.
“NO, COME ON! THAT’S ENOUGH THAT’S ENOUGH, NO MORE OIL, MAN COME ON! STOP I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!”
More oil, over toes, ankles, heels and arches.
More brushing, more tickling, more mind blowing madness.
“THAT’S ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE FUCKING OIL, STOP IT, FUCKING STOP IT ALREADY!”
Tim took a tight hold on either side of the table.
He started to use his weight to force it over.
He wanted to topple, he wanted to fall to the floor.
If it meant breaking a leg or an arm doing so, then fine.
“COME ON, FUCK, I’M GONNA FUCKING TAKE THE TABLE DOWN!”
Miller’s cackle sounded borderline evil.
“I’d like too see you try!”
Armie willed Tim to give in.
He watched him suffer, aroused, but filled with guilt also.
Come on.
Take the one mil.
“Take it, kid…” He verbalised his thoughts, “Take the one mil…”
Miller used his fingers and the hair brush, on one foot, “Take your friends advice, Tim! And then we’ll stop!”
Tim pressed his fists against his eyes.
He couldn’t handle this.
It had been half hour.
What if Miller went on all night?
No safe word, a drawer full of tools …
This is mind numbing.
Armie slowed down his brushing.
“Miller …”
He looked his ex-Tickler in the eye.
“Miller, stop…”
Miller continued.
“He needs to accept the one million …” he said breathlessly, “… Then, I’ll stop…”
Tim threw himself around desperately.
Armie grabbed Miller’s hands, pulling them and the brush away from Tim’s feet.
“STOP.”
Armie tightened his grip on Miller and then shoved him away forcefully.
Miller stumbled back a few steps.
Tim fell against the table like a rag doll.
As he coughed and wheezed into his chest, Miller dropped the hair brush.
Armie stood with feet apart, his fists clenched, staring at a man that used to own him.
Miller held up his hands, “Alright, alright …”
Tim lay down on his back, staring up at the studio ceiling.
“Fuck…” huff, huff, “… Holy shit …” huff, huff ...
He sat forwards, reaching to the string binding his toes.
He started to pull his feet free, clambering around for the latch.
Armie opened the stocks for Tim, turning his attention back to Miller soon after.
As Tim pulled his feet towards him, hugging his knees in exhausted relief, Miller ran a hand through his own head of hair and simply said,
“Let’s get that contract written up.”
***
In the couch area of the studio, Tim sat curled up on an armchair in his underwear and hoodie.
Armie perched on the edge of the opposite sofa, whilst Miller stood by a desk area, facing towards the window.
A printer at his waist popped out sheets of written agreements, one million dollar deals, NDA data and other privacy requirements discussed during this longer than expected session.
As the printer ejected the contract sheet by sheet, Miller switched off the cam corder he had rested on a stack of self produced tickle porn DVD’s.
He smiled to himself.
Success.
He then turned to face Tim and Armie, taking the paper work with him as returned to his side of the couch.
“There you have it, Timothée … One million dollars. Three days at Tickle Fest, all attendee’s to sign NDA’s, no footage filmed… And you par-take in two events.”
Miller handed the paper work to Tim.
Armie got to his feet and took the contract instead.
He sat down and started to flick through it as Tim reached down to the floor and picked up his socks, sneakers and jeans.
“That all good…?” Miller shifted his eyes between Armie and Tim.
Armie shot blue orbs over paragraphs of information, wetting his thumb to turn the page.
“I think we have a —“
“— No,” interrupted Tim, whilst hooking his left sock onto his left foot.
Miller stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.
“No?”
Tim pulled on his second sock.
Then he grabbed his jeans, stepping into them, pulling them up to his waist.
“I’m doing it for four million. I’ll do the events, and I’m only staying for two days …” Tim turned to his ‘ler, “That's our proposal …”
Armie opened his mouth, however no sound travelled past his lips.
Miller dropped his hands by his side.
“That, that isn’t what we just—“
Tim pulled on his sneakers.
Once dressed, he pointed down at his feet.
“What you just experienced … It was pretty awesome for you, wasn’t it …”
Tim didn’t speak with a tone that suggested a question. Instead, it came out like a statement.
Miller shuffled on the spot.
“O-of course, it was … Extraordinary …”
Tim smiled flatly.
“Then you’ll get it again. But … Only, for four million. And Armie is protected through all NDA’s, too.”
Tim stepped forwards, leaning over Armie, who remained flabbergasted.
Tim held out his hand, “Do we have a deal?”
Miller chewed his lower lip.
He eyed Tim’s palm, his long fingers, his well-kept fingernails.
“Timothée Chalamet is standing right here…” he said to himself, “… I’ve just tickled the living shit out of him…” Miller took in a breath, holding it at the back of this throat, “… An incredible experience … Utterly real reactions … And that was just your feet.”
Miller thought about what effect this might have, on he and his husband.
The financial decisions they’d need to make, the cost, the house they’d need to sell in Malibu …
“… I never did quite like that house anyway,” Miller smiled, taking Tim’s hand and shaking it firmly.
Armie sat between them, looking up, having to remind himself to close his mouth.
“Well, kid,” Miller squeezed Tim’s hand, “You’re gonna be one wealthy mother fucker when this is all over…”
***
Tim and Armie stepped inside the elevator.
The opera music from the studio came back on as Miller continued his evening, but soon faded away as the elevator doors closed.
Armie turned to Tim as the elevator began to make it’s way down.
“Tim, I … You were … I, I don’t even know where to st—“
“— I gave him your bank details,” Tim leant his back against the mirror lining the elevator’s wall, “Not mine.”
Armie frowned, shooting a look at Tim’s chest.
“What?”
Tim ran hands through messy, shaken around hair.
“It’s yours, you’re getting something out of this, out of knowing him …” Tim pushed himself away from the wall with his left foot.
He approached Armie, in just two steps.
“You’ll be short, once you’ve paid me. It’s the least I can do.”
Armie looked over Tim’s neck and jaw.
His kindness, his sudden act, it glowed from Tim’s skin with an attractive warmth that Armie hadn’t felt, up until now.
“I could kiss you,” Armie whispered.
The elevator bobbed to a stop.
Ping!
The doors slid open.
Tim walked out of the elevator and into the lobby.
And, like most of the evening, Armie had no choice but to follow.
TCTLR continues in Chapter Seventeen - ‘11 Days In’ …