Written by Guest Author @nathantickle_35
This story is set in the present time.
_____
Timothée walked into the bedroom, wearing a hoodie and a pair of boxer briefs.
He removed the light grey, cosy fabric covering his upper body and climbed into the bed, sinking down beside the man he had not been able to spend time with in months, the man The House of White Feathers had torn him away from ...
He rested his forehead on Armie’s chest, where he felt his tickler’s heartbeat.
“Hey, kid …” Armie blinked as he woke up mere minutes later, wrapping his arms around Tim.
“How are you feeling?” Timothée asked, looking up, “I probably could’ve held back a bit this morning," he smiled, "I really didn’t mean to knock you out this hard.”
“Held back? You think I hold back when I’m tickling The Timothée Chalamet? It’s only fair you go as hard on me, Timmy,” Armie chuckled, “Not that you’d ever be as good a tickler as I am, of course,” he winked, grabbing at Timothée’s sides with both hands, pinching just once, which proved enough to make his ticklee bring his knees to his chest and clamp his arms against his torso in an attempt to shield it.
A beat of silence.
“This week’s been great, hasn’t it?” Armie kissed the top of Tim’s head as the two men hugged each other, thinking about the week they’d spent in each other's company; tickling, dinners, sex, showers, all shared simply because Leo had managed to convince Miller to allow Tim to be free for the week, as a means to give the boy a break.
"I really don't wanna go back, Armie," Tim's voice broke, "Being here with you, feeling the non dread ... I miss it."
"Don't underestimate yourself, kid," Armie shoved the overwhelming jealousy he felt aside in an effort to reassure his lee, "If this week has proved anything it's that you're able to handle yourself …"
An undisclosed location …
Tim knelt in a dark room, his limbs restrained by a metal hogtie.
Miller ran his fingertips faintly across Tim's jaw, lifting his chin so that he could face his tormentor.
It took every bit of willpower Timothée had not to break - he trembled and sniggered, his giggles still present after what felt like an eternity of specialised focus on his ribs, actioned by the most talented tickler he had ever come across...
“Y’know, when you and Armie took part in TickleFest a couple years ago, he said something to me …”
Timothée burrowed his eyebrows in curiosity.
“He told me,” Miller explained, “And I quote, ‘He could ruin my life, Miller. And I’d let him’ …”
Timothée blinked, remembering words he hadn’t thought about in years. [Author’s note: see TCTLR Chapter Twenty Six, ‘The Box’].
Miller noticed Tim’s moment of recollection instantly, placing his hand on Tim's head, carefully directing his gaze back up.
‘Oh. You heard it too …” he clapped his hands together slowly, sarcastically applauding Tim, “Well, bravo, kid. You did it. You ruined his life…”
A sting of emotion caused Tim's nostrils to flare.
Miller's words were laced with jealousy, “And he still treats you as if you put the stars in the sky…”
Tim did his best to speak, “Don’t tell me you’re mad he chose me...” he almost sounded amused, entertained.
If looks could kill, Timothée would be a mere memory.
Miller took a breath and chuckled.
“Fuck, kid! Lerman’s really about to get it, thanks to you," he began his stride through thick, hot, air toward the door of the dark room, leaving Tim behind, “Just be glad it's Evans taking care of the rest of the session, and not me. I am in no forgiving mood,” he opened the door and stepped out, allowing a muscular silhouette to step into the room, ball gag and blindfold in hand.
"Hey there, Timmy..." Evans sneered.
________
"Yeah, I, I know" Timothée blinked, attempting to push a memory he hadn't stopped thinking about to the side. "It's just a lot, you know? I met this one guy, Te—"
"—Teddy?" Armie felt his stomach sink. "H-how was he?" Had Tim not been so preoccupied with still trying to mentally come to terms with what he was about to return to, he undoubtedly would've noticed Armie's jealousy.
"He ..." Tim paused, "... He absolutely ruined me, and then he wanted me to thank him," he looked up at his tickler.
"Yeah, that's more or less his 'thing', if you wanna call it that," Armie forced a chuckle, "So, did you break? Did you thank him?"
"What do you think?” Tim scoffed, “Miller introduced the guy as having, and I quote, 'a unique way to teach people that obeying is in their best interest' … Of course I broke, I've only done this a couple years!" Tim felt so many emotions so intensely, he almost felt as if he was about to burst out laughing at how ridiculous his situation would've seemed a couple years ago.
He's definitely tickling people left and right these days … Tim thought, … Does he even still want me?
The worry troubled Tim more than he ever thought it could, so he just pressed his face against Armie's chest - while Tim did a better job at hiding it, both he and Armie constantly had their minds consumed by jealousy and fear of the other losing interest.
"Still, Timmy," Armie chuckled, planting a kiss on top of Tim’s head, "You're not the same guy you were in 2020, breaking in an instant. We've both come a long way since then..."
A beat of silence, broken by a snigger leaving Tim's lips.
"We've come a lot of different ways since then … " he smirked up at Armie.
"Oh, have we now?" Armie grabbed at Timothée's sides again, consequently producing a high pitched yell followed by giggling.
"H-HEY! Caaaham on, man!" Tim started clawing at Armie's ribs in revenge, failing miserably. "Don't take the piss!"
Armie burst out laughing. "How much time have you spent with Tom, kid? You're turning British!"
Realising what he'd said, Timothée started chuckling too, "I don't know, man, just stop tickling me! I've had enough!"
"I say when you've had enough" Armie's tone turned authoritative. "Do you know why?"
Timothée chuckles slowly faded, and he looked up with excited trepidation.
A highly unwelcome thought crossed Armie's mind.
Is this gonna drive him away? Does he still want me to give him orders?
Either way, he couldn't stop now, he'd already started it.
"W-why?" Tim burrowed his eyebrows into a flat line.
Armie wiggled his fingers against Tim's cheeks, making the younger man giggle.
"Whose cheeks are these?" Armie asked.
"Yours!" Tim grabbed his tickler's hands and pulled them away from his face.
"Keep your hands down," Armie ordered.
Tim simply nodded, still slightly confused at the sudden change in Armie's tone.
"Whose feet are these?" Armie simply pointed toward Tim's feet, allowing his ticklee the mercy of a break for the soft, ticklish, skin that made up his soles.
"—Yours—", Timothée understood what Armie was doing, and felt relief stronger than he could comprehend.
He still wants me … he thought.
But was Timothée still number one? Had he been beat out by one of the ticklees he was so convinced Armie spent his time tormenting, whilst he and Tim had been separated?
"This rib?" Armie pushed his thumbs against Tim's lowest rib, forcing the ticklee to have to deal with the torment of being tickled while not allowed to stop it from happening, the torment that was having to contain himself.
"Yours!” Tim giggled, “—Youhohohours!—"
"How about this one?" Armie's thumbs landed on the rib above the one he'd just tickled.
"You know it's yours! Hahaahahaha, come on!—"
"This one, then?" He went up another rib.
Tim gave in - he scrunched into a ball and pushed Armie's hands away, “They're all yours! You don't have to do them individually, man, come on!—"
Armie chuckled, before his serious expression creeped back - he uttered a question he was terrified to ask, a question that, answered wrong, could lead him into a realm of overthinking he'd happily avoid.
“Who are you?”
Tim froze. His instinct was to scream out 'Yours!' as loud as he could. He wanted to, he really did, but...
What if this is just something he's doing with all his lees? Tim narrowed his eyes in thought … What if he interprets it as me being ok with being one of multiple people he plays with? Am I still special to him?
Timothée decided to dodge the question entirely.
"Hey," Tim tried putting on his most confidently excited voice, praying that Armie wasn't seeing right through his facade. "I have an idea …”
"Are you completely sure?" I tied the last rope, entirely restraining Tim.
"I am, Armie. Just please, do it …"
"Timothée," I sat down on the bed, "You ordered The Noise over a year ago … [author's note: see CLOWN Chapter Five, ‘The Noise’], and I couldn't manage to match the same sound as Daley’s. What makes you think I'll be able to do it now?"
"Last time,” Tim replied, “I had a safe word …"
I was speechless. After the recorded session at Christmas [see TCTLR: ‘The Exchange: Part Two’] I'd been downright afraid to really let loose on him, and now he wanted me to tickle him without a safe word?
In 2020, I'd allowed myself to go too far, I made him break down in genuine, broken, tears [see TCTLR Chapter Twenty Eight, ‘Bite The Pillow’]. After The Agreement was over, and he decided to return, I decided never to let that side of me out again, I decided to take control and not become the monster I'd seen so many become.
I can't go too hard. I can't push him away like I did that time, not again.
I stood up and peered over Tim.
The room was quiet, filled only with the soft rustle of the bedsheets as Tim shifted slightly, adjusting to his restrained position. He was face down on the bed, his limbs spread out in a classic spread-eagle position, wrists and ankles secured to the bedposts with soft, but firm, restraints. It was far from first time I’d been in this situation with him, but the anticipation of what was to come still sent a thrill through my spine, mingling with the nervous energy I felt building in my chest.
As beautiful as he was, as smooth as his skin looked, as perfect as he'd become, in every way, he seemed immensely tense.
Does he not want me to do this? It was his idea?
I was consumed by doubt, by fear. Fear that the most spectacular man I'd ever met now resented me for his endless torment at the hands of people who only really had regard for how to make his torment as entertaining as possible.
As much as I wanted to let loose and entirely wreck him, the fear of going too hard and losing him was far greater than that want.
The only thing that, in my eyes, was worth more than tickling Timothée, was Timothée himself. His presence, his voice, his smooth skin, his eyes, his silky hair, the way he made me feel, I refused to risk pushing him away.
And so, I began.
My fingers hovered above his hips, before I started lightly brushing his skin.
The reaction was immediate, Tim's entire body twitched, as a giggle escaped his lips.
I continued my brush and brought it down, toward the base of his buttocks.
His entire body stiffened up, he'd never been able to properly compartmentalise any kind of tickling around this area. His shaft was mindblowingly ticklish, his ass simply paralysed him, and his taint was no less than an unspeakable torment for him to deal with.
I, of course, made sure not to go too hard. After a short couple of seconds at the flesh right between his butt and legs, I moved my touch upward.
He twitched again.
Those shoulder blades almost escaped the confines of his skin, in a way that turned me on far beyond words could describe.
I couldn't stop myself.
I straddled him, planting our buttocks against each other and allowing my length to lay on his spine.
I hooked my legs under his thighs and pulled both of back a bit, stretching his upper body even more than I already had.
I took my right index finger and pressed it against a single rib on the right side of his torso.
His entire back twisted.
The right shoulder blade popped out, the vast expanse of perfect, soft, skin that covered his back tightened, and even from behind I could see how hard he'd inhaled, how tense every nerve of his was.
He was bracing himself.
I continued.
A single fingertip grazed his left hip.
Again, he twisted.
Again, he braced himself.
Again, I got to witness one of the best parts about tickling Timothée; his anticipation.
He knew what he'd asked of me, he knew I was eventually going to go hard. He was constantly trying to prepare for it.
For now, though, the sight him trying to prepare for a form of torment he was aware he couldn't ever prepare for brought me way more joy than actually executing the torment itself.
By that point it'd been a couple seconds since I last touched him.
As soon as I noticed his tight grip of the rope attached to the cuffs around his wrists loosen ever so slightly, I struck again.
I placed all ten of my fingertips on both sides of his ribcage within half a second.
His entire body stiffened up. His slender fingers gripped rope and his arms pulled toward his torso for protection that would never arrive.
His back arched so far you could use it as a slope.
Legs stopped moving entirely.
Face buried in the pillow in front of him.
Even his hair stopped moving.
He was now, in his entirety, enduring the torment of waiting. Waiting for the sweet release of someone he trusted to drive him to the depths of insanity he'd been driven to by strangers who viewed him as little more than a fun activity they could pay money for.
Who can blame them?
He looks like he was crafted out of marble by a God, every part of him sets a new standard for perfection.
Those people paid for him.
They'd never understand the privilege that was knowing him, truly seeing him, loving him.
He was still just as stiff as before, but my fingers did not move.
It was a spectacular sight.
Every muscle in his entire body had tensed up.
He lifted his head up, and I could hear him breathe for the first time since I placed my fingers on his ribcage.
He held his breath again.
I was waiting.
Waiting for him to allow himself to breathe, to exhale.
As soon as I heard it, I moved every finger once, simultaneously.
He let out an irritated grunt, and I snapped back into reality.
I have to stop, I can't make him mad. Not right now.
I decided to get The Noise out of him as quickly as possible to minimise the risk of irritating him too much, which meant hitting his taint.
I quickly got off of him, and heard a loud exhale.
I walked back to the bottom of bed and untied his right ankle. I threw the rope forward, where it landed on his shoulder.
I grabbed his leg and pulled it to the side, stretching the area between his thighs more and more.
I sat down on the back of his thigh to keep his leg in place, after I'd stretched it properly.
The skin of his taint was now entirely exposed, as his rock hard length lay flat against the surface of the mattress.
He once again buried his face in the pillow in front of him.
I pressed a single finger against the sensitive flesh, and his entire body thrashed. He let out a loud shriek, muffled by the pillow.
As I began my finger's scratch, I saw his ribcage begin to vibrate.
He lifted his head up, and the heavenly sound of his desperate laughter filled the room.
Or, wait.
Maybe I shouldn't say laughter.
This wasn't just laughter.
This was pure, visceral, uncontrolled, escaping, desperation.
I added a second finger. The scratch continued.
He was screaming, at this point.
During a single second, when I gave him the chance to inhale once before continuing, I almost heard him say something.
It sounded like the word 'taint' was in there, but I didn't pay his words much mind.
They were the equivalent of a whisper in the windstorm that was his laughter.
A third finger.
His back was now constantly arched, his arms propping him up as he howled out the intensity of what I was making him feel.
I spanked him, just once.
He collapsed back down.
I stopped for a second, to look over and make sure he was okay.
He looked back at me and we locked eyes, the excited dread in his gaze making my entire body tingle.
After a couple seconds on silence, I spoke.
"Y-you okay?"
"Yours," he said.
I blinked.
"Wha—"
"—You asked who I am,” he interrupted me, "I'm Yours."
It felt like I'd been hit by a tsunami … Relief unlike anything I'd ever felt washed over me, consumed me entirely.
He was mine. He still wanted to be mine. I needed to make it happen, I needed to make him scream loud enough for the stars to hear, if only to remind him who could truly make him feel alive.
I realised he didn't want me to contain that side. He wasn't just okay with it, he wanted to feel it, its lust, its power over both of us.
I got off his leg and rushed to the front of the bed.
I put my hands on either side of his face, and the room fell away. I had never gotten so lost in a kiss before, and moments later, the space between us exploded. My heart wouldn’t stop missing beats, and my hands physically couldn't bring him close enough to me, because close enough simply did not exist. I tasted him and I realised I’d been starving. I’d loved before, but it didn’t feel like this. I’d kissed him before, but it didn’t burn me alive. Maybe it lasted a minute, maybe it was an hour.
All I know is that kiss, and how soft his lips were when they brushed against mine.
Armie brought out 2 electric toothbrushes.
I was untied, sitting at the top of the bed. I had absolutely no idea what position I was about to be put in, Armie hadn't said a word after our kiss.
He took out a tape roll aswell, and I immediately understood what he wanted to do.
As he grabbed my foot and prepared to place the toothbrush against my sole, I snatched it out of his hand.
"Let me," I said.
He grabbed my face and pulled me closer to him.
"Beg me," I felt my own erection grow, his voice turned me on in ways I can't describe.
"Please," I begged, too exhilarated to try and get free of his grip, "Let me … "
He let me go and gave me an approving nod.
"I want them between your index and big toes," he sternly ordered.
"Understood," as much as I dreaded doing this to myself, I needed to show him I was still all in, I needed him to want me, not the others - I placed them exactly in a way that we both knew would destroy me.
I winced as I taped the second toothbrush to my left sole, never breaking eye contact with Armie.
The moment I was done, he pushed me back. He grabbed my right wrist and pulled it up to the right corner of the bed, locking it into a leather cuff. At this point, I didn't even bother checking how strong the rope binding me was, I knew I wasn't going anywhere.
He did the same to my left wrist, and then grazed both my armpits at the same time.
My chest puffed up - he kissed it.
Then he looked up toward my face, pushed me back down, and devoured me.
He kissed me hard. So hard I flinched at his beard poking me, something I knew entertained him.
Suddenly, he pulled away.
I tried lifting my face along with him. I tried getting as much out of the kiss as I could.
He pushed me back down.
"I guess I'm getting dom Armie now, huh?" I tried making conversation, as my inner voice screamed at me to just shut up and do what he told me to.
"Dom?" He almost chuckled at me, "We both know someone as extraordinary as you is the dom in a session. Every time I touch you, you consume me even more."
He said it so casually, as if it was obvious, from his position above me, with his arms on the bed right under my pits.
After this he stopped talking, and so did I.
He laid himself on me again, and slid down.
His chest hair tickled me, like it always did, and I let out a giggle I knew he wanted to hear.
Then, as suddenly as usual, he grabbed my left ankle.
He pushed it up to the top left corner of the bed, and I was folded in half.
I still remember my first thought.
Of course it's this. The one thing I told him I couldn't handle.
I'd made my bed when I made my request, and now it was time to lay tied and screaming in it.
Without a word, he grabbed my right ankle and finally secured me entirely to the bed.
I shuffled up a bit, so I could easier see him, but I realised this only stretched my taint open even more. I forced myself to just live with it.
Entirely without warning, his fingers started dancing across the flesh of my taint, and I felt the laughter bubble up in my stomach before making it's way out of my mouth in the form of a howl.
It'd been years, and I still had no more ability to handle this than day one.
His fingertips spent a bit of time there, and then just jumped right into my armpits.
It didn't matter how many times or how often I did this. I'd never be able to control my reactions, even a little.
I felt my body start thrashing. My legs kicked against the bedframe and my arms pulled the rope restraining me toward my chest.
Being tickled is almost like watching your body being taken over by someone else. You can feel everything being done to you, but you have zero control over what you do.
Whether you want to or not, you'll laugh, scream, beg, and thrash.
He continued violating my armpits, and I continued howling out my mania.
After a bit of time, he moved down to my ribs. I was used to it at this point.
A tickler will rarely spend much time in one place, they want the entertainment of your differing reactions, so they'll keep moving around to confuse you. After a while you just give up and accept the fact that for the duration of the session, you simply exist to react.
He pressed two of my ribs with his thumbs, and I screamed. He always knew exactly how to get me going beserk.
Gradually, more fingers were added, and I felt myself groan and laugh both louder and stronger.
He didn't let up.
Next, he moved to my ass.
It was like he was on a mission, like he wanted to explore every fucking crevice of me.
The room was hot by now, really hot, and so was I.
The more I sweat, the more lubrication he had, and the more ticklish I felt, the more I sweat. It was an evil cycle he did not hesitate to take advantage of.
He rubbed every drop of sweat into my asscheeks and went to town, I almost felt like my vocal chords were going to rip.
Out of nowhere, he went back to my taint.
Seems he was back to trying to get The Noise.
The thing that really shook me that time, though, was the use of his mouth. He'd used his tongue before, which tickled like a mother fucker, but this time he used his entire mouth.
I thought he devoured me before, but I was sorely mistaken. In that moment, I felt his lust stronger than ever.
He rubbed his tongue at the very bottom of my ass. It was mind-altering, no other way to put it.
He stared into my eyes and brought his tongue up to right under my balls.
He chewed my taint skin ever so slightly.
It felt like he set my blood on fire, but I physically could not break eye contact.
As loud as I screamed, as much as I thrashed, for some reason my first priority was constantly keeping eye contact with Armie.
Until it was broken.
But not by us, by the light bulb in the chandelier over the bed simply going out …
… Somewhere in Italy
The room was entirely dark.
Timothée lay on his back.
His left wrist was tied above his head, his elbow bent on the bed's edge.
Armie sat on top of him, straddling his upper body.
Timothée's right hand moved along the length of Armie's erection.
Both of Armie's hands invaded Tim's left armpit.
As Armie remembered the last time he and Tim had been in complete darkness, as he remembered one of the most erotic moments of both their lives, he decided to finally push harder than he had before.
Without hesitation, he used Tim's leg as guides to find the feet he could no longer see, and he turned on both of the toothbrushes, his tongue momentarily leaving Tim's taint.
As soon as the countless bristles began their vibration, the young brunette exploded.
He let out a shriek louder than any sound he'd produced in years.
The combination of the tingles still present between his thighs, the hundreds of bristles between two of his toes, and the realisation of what was coming right then and there simply proved too much.
Armie placed his mouth back onto the most sensitive flesh on Timothée's body, absolutely feasting on his love's sensitivity.
After this initial shriek, Tim's heaving began.
He inhaled breaths of a size only Armie could make him inhale, before he let out a stream of laughter so long it almost worried Armie.
But every time he thought about stopping to give the boy a break, another heave would break the stream. It was almost as if Timothée's body was in sync with Armie's mind, constantly reassuring him that his victim could take more.
Do not fucking stop.
"I—!", Tim exclaimed. "—CAN'TBREATHE—", he attempted his second beg of the session.
Armie knew him inside and out by now, he knew how much he could take.
"Then don't!" He lifted his head, for just a second, "Don't breathe! Just scream!"
He went back to gorging on Tim's skin, but this time, his hands joined in as well.
He first sent them scribbling across the back of Timothée's knees, but right as the ticklee began to wrap his head around what was now happening, he sent them into his armpits.
Then his hips, then scribbling across his ass cheeks.
Every time Tim was starting to understand what was being done to him, it would change.
Suddenly, Armie's hands started moving independently.
One was squeezing a side as the other scribbled in an armpit. After half a second, one would spank as the other spidered within the back of a knee.
This pushed Timothée over the edge.
As every ticklish wave turned minutes to hours, he realised he couldn't beg. The tickling in itself was working as a gag.
The hope he'd held onto, the delusion with which he'd convinced himself he could handle this, immediately crumbled.
He was falling out of a tree with no branches to hold onto.
He was drowning, and no matter how hard or fast he swam, the water pulled him down.
There was no up, down, left, right, future, past. There was only this.
This relentless, horrible, amazing, tormenting, incredible, stimulation.
And after some time, something inevitably broke.
Tim broke.
As he was tickled by someone who felt like an animal, the nerves he'd felt in his stomach were long gone. All that was left now was something manic, something that needed to be let out, set free.
He heaved the hardest he had so far.
'The Noise' took place.
A visceral scream from the very depths of Timothée's being, a high pitched howl that served as a fierce form of incredible torment, but also as a relief unlike any other.
Timothée's hysteria was finally free.
The next morning …
Armie was awoken by the wind from an open window hitting his armpit hair.
He grinned, before scratching the ticklish itch away and pulling his arm down.
Tim was still asleep.
That gorgeous, peaceful, sleep he always needed after a session as intense as the one that took place the night before.
Armie placed his hand on the side of Timothée's face, painted alive by the sunlight shining through the windows. God, he was so beautiful. So beautifully stunning Armie wanted nothing more than to spend years just laying here, memorising every piece that made him, him.
A couple minutes later, Timothée blinked awake as well.
"You're staring," he smiled up at his tickler.
"I can't stop," Armie spoke unapologetically.
He kissed Tim on the nose, right before he was straddled by the younger actor.
Dark curls rested against Armie's chest.
"You, you really wrecked me,” Tim admitted, “I thought I knew what to expect, when I asked you to do it," he almost stuttered, "I didn't," he came to his conclusion after a bit of a pause.
"You didn't seem too mad, afterward,” Armie chuckled, running his hand through Tim's hair.
Both of them remembered what'd gone down after the session …
Timothée was pushed up against a wall, Armie holding him up while throbbing inside him, the shower head making the room literally steamy.
They washed each other off, something that had to be done multiple times, as they both reached climax in perfect concert.
...
"Well, it wasn't all bad," Tim was growing just thinking about it, "But, I mean it. It really was intense. Can you," he paused, “Just be here for a bit?"
"Always,” Armie whispered.
Tim's heart skipped a beat.
"It's not always, though. Is it?" He sounded mad, a contrast to the sensitive and emotional tone he'd held just a second ago, "After this, we'll wait. We'll wait for the next time they allow us to meet, for the next time that fucking house doesn't have me strapped down at a party as a goddamn toy! We'll wait until I can sneak away, we'll wait for the next distraction or excuse, and then we'll hug each other and pretend everything's fine. Maybe if I he gives me permission again, we'll meet, but we'll have to wait for that aswell." he teared up, his voice breaking, "All we fucking do is wait."
"Timothée,” Armie gulped, “I—"
"—And for what?" Tim's angry tone returned, "Because Miller wants us to? Because he has that USB?"
Tim hesitated, speechless at the thought that went crossed his mind.
Let him release it. I don't fucking care.
Timothée was so shocked at his own feelings, he just took a breath.
"This is all my fault, Tim," Armie spoke after a couple seconds of silence, "You're desperate, tired, tormented," he grabbed his lee's face, making them lock eyes, "Had I not taken you to Miller's studio that day none of this would've happened."
"No—", Timothée was mad Armie would even think something like that, "Do not say that. Everything you've done since that day has been for my sake. You went through multiple sessions with Miller, just for me! TickleFest, Christmas, the attempts at taking them down. You've been putting yourself at risk for years. Fuck, I bet you have some other deal with Miller where he gets you for some time, in exchange for this week!"
Armie forced himself to ask the question he'd been avoiding since Christmas, "Do you forgive me?"
Tim looked confused.
"There's nothing to forgive!" He exclaimed, "You've told me everything, there are no more secrets …"
Yes, there are … Armie thought … You don't know where I got the money for The Agreement.
And as badly as Armie wanted to come clean, to truly have Timothée forgive everything, he simply couldn't risk what little of his lee he had left.
Another couple beats of silence.
"You're incredible, Timothée," Armie started speaking, entirely unable to control himself, "I haven't touched anyone since I've had you, and I'd kill to have you be my last ever ticklee…"
Timothée felt a gut punch of relief.
He hasn't played with others, Tim sighed internally ... He still wants just me.
"My mind is so consumed by you, I can hardly call it my own,” Armie announced, “I want to drown in you, I was completely levelled at first glance. You make me forget myself, you make it hard to breathe."
Now, it was Tim's turn to be dumbfounded as Armie said ten words Tim realised he would never forget.
"… And my last breath will be your name. I'm Yours."
