READER RESTRICTIONS: 13+
Disclaimer(s): language, non-consensual tickling, some sexual themes
publish date:
Originally published on September 16, 2024
MAIN TIMELINE
His confidence is infectious.
He enjoys showing off...
...his voice, his smile, his charm, his body...
My eyes trace the grooves of his biceps and the valleys of his armpits, my attention tangling in his dark underarm hairs.
"Get your hands in the air!" he shouts.
I remember an old One Direction video I had seen years ago, in which Louis--one of Niall's bandmates--is asking him about a certain sensitivity on behalf of the fans...
"Are you ticklish?" Louis asks.
"Yes," says a baby-faced, blond Niall with a guilty grin.
"Where?"
"In me armpits," Niall admits in that croaky Irish accent of his, then breaks off into a giggle as Louis starts asking the next question before even taking a moment to listen to the response.
It was both glorious and infuriating.
It's hard to believe that I'm standing so close to him now.
Watching him...
Waiting...
I've been following his social media posts for months now, seeing all the highlights from his concerts spanning The Show, his current tour.
And now, here I am.
And I've never been more certain about what I want.
It was with the same certainty that I put out the call for Nico back in April, though my consultant didn't deliver as well as I would've hoped.
No matter. He's been dealt with.
I know this time, however, that I will get more than what I pay for...
I'm calling in a favor, and, by extent, an expert.
END OF JULY 2024
SOMEWHERE outside of AUSTIN, texas
The man sits in his car, parked in the empty lot of the little roadside motel. His heart pounds nervously and he wrings his red-brown hands together. His phone is on the dash, dark screen facing upward.
Any moment now...
As anticipated, the phone lights up with a sharp vibration. A notification appears.
He jumps. "Shit," he whispers to himself. He runs a hand through his long, jet-black hair, then leans forward, grabs the phone, and reads the message or, rather, three strings of text that had all arrived in quick succession:
Room 202.
Give phrase.
Show mark.
He sets the phone down and stares forward into the motel's nearly empty parking lot. He nervously runs his thumb over the small tattoo on his wrist.
His heartrate starts to accelerate. He feels the prickle of perspiration at the fringe of his scalp. He hears the voice of his primo Ben encourage him from somewhere in the back of his head:
"Ándale, Teo. You can do this. For the family."
He nods. "For the family," he mutters. As he opens the car door, welcoming in the sounds of crickets and the distant whisper of passing cars on the desert highway, he hears his cousin's voice again:
"It's just a bit of tickling," he says.
TWO DAYS LATER
AUSTIN, texas
Niall. Was. Glowing.
What a crowd!
What a night!
What a show!
And his last in The States. His tour had been wondrous thus far, and he would soon be returning to his homeland for the next leg. He stepped forward to the edge of the stage and lifted his arms high into the air. The crowd responded as if under his command, bustling bodies rippling with excitement and energy, screams and cheers belting up into the air.
"Thank you, Texas!" shouted Niall into the microphone, nearly trembling beneath the heat and intensity of the stage lights. His biceps, exposed by the blue collared vest he wore, shimmered under a layer of sweat. He raised his hands higher, balling the hand that wasn't holding his mic into a fist. "I love youuuuuuuu!" he roared and the voices of the undulating audience intensified.
He could still hear his last song playing out over the venue, an echo, assuredly...
He flashed another blinding smile, heart racing, spirit swelling, and he made to lower his arms.
And found that he couldn't.
Ni-all, Ni-all, Niall, his fans cheered.
Niall kept smiling, and again tried to lower his arms, but found that they were stuck, somehow suspended above him.
His smile started to fade as concern flooded his chest.
He tried harder. He pulled, muscles straining, and then--
- - -
What the hell...?
- - -
Niall's eyes snapped open.
Awake.
Immediately, he felt the weight of exhaustion like mud in his mind. His head was swimming. He moaned a few times and tried to reach down to rub at his eyes, but found that he could not.
Huh?
His arms refused to cooperate, just as they had done a moment ago in his dream.
"O-oy..." he mumbled. He pulled, noting that his wrists were catching on something. As the realization dawned on him that his hands were actually restrained, his consciousness was able to break through the surface of his heavy slumber.
"W-what's--?" he said, trying to pull his arms down in vain.
He was, indeed, still in the large queen-sized bed of his hotel suite. He was shirtless, given the hot Texas summer night; in fact, the only article of clothing he was wearing was a pair of black gym shorts on his waist. He remembered falling asleep on his front atop the comforter of the bed, but now, he was on his back, face up, and his arms had, somehow, been secured to the headboard above him. As he turned his head, he saw that his wrists were each tightly gripped by what looked to be some sort of fabric cuffs--it was hard to tell in the darkness. They were soft, but they were tight. Each pull yielded no give. He kicked and rolled and squirmed back and forth, his legs curiously still free.
"What's going on?" Niall said, still mumbling and muttering. "What is this?" he asked. His heart started racing.
There was no way someone broke into his room and did this, right? His security was top notch. He tried to justify his precarious position--perhaps this was some sort of prank? He began to filter through the friends in his crew: Dani, Em, John, Jake, Alex...
Suddenly, there came a distinct click! and warm light flooded into the spacious suite, its source the floor lamp in the far corner beside the table.
"Oh, hello, Niall."
It was a deep, male's voice. Even, calm, almost...soothing? There was a slight accent that Niall immediately tried to place--the hint of Spanish, maybe? In any case, it was a voice that Niall most definitely did not recognize. He craned his neck to look at the speaker, which proved difficult given his restrained position on the bed.
"Who are you?" he stammered. "How did you get in here? What 'ave you done?" His first instinct was not to react with aggression, but rather anxiety. He tried to keep his voice as even as his visitor's.
The stranger stood from the chair he had been sitting in, positioned at the table. Niall got a better look at him. He was tall and muscular--a wide chest and solid arms. His identity was obscured; he was wearing a mask. A Spider-Man mask; more specifically, it was a Miles Morales mask, black with red-rimmed wide, white eyes. (Niall kept up with his pop culture.) The rest of the man's outfit was on theme--a slim-fitting assortment of blacks and reds down to his high-tops. His hands were the only parts of him that remained bared. In the low lighting, they appeared brown and spindly.
"Why are you dressed like that?" Niall asked.
"Why do any superheroes wear costumes?" the man said, voice lilting on a laugh. "Anonymity." The soft undertone of his Spanish accent sharpened at the word. He approached the bed and crossed his arms, staring down at Niall who, once again, pulled at the bonds around his wrists with all of his might.
"This is a joke, right?" said Niall, who was growing frustrated that he was not going anywhere. "Who put you up to this?" He tried to affect a smile.
"No joke, I'm afraid," said the stranger. "The person that put me up to this is just as much of a stranger to you as I am."
Niall chuckled and cleared his throat. "Look, I don't know what this is, but--"
"I'll tell you," the man interjected, holding up a hand. "I don't have time to beat around the bush. I'm on a tight schedule."
"What?" Niall pulled again, his biceps starting to feel strained. He spat and spluttered as he tugged and tugged. The headboard groaned a bit, but the cuffs held fast and firm.
"You can call me La Araña," said the man. The Spider. Okay, so he was definitely Spanish. "I'm here to do a job."
Niall turned his head in the direction of the dark vestibule that led out to the main hall. "Oy!" he yelled. "Oy! This isn't funny! C'mon, guys!" He was still convinced that this had to be some sort of prank. That, or maybe...
He was still dreaming?
"My client is paying me a lot of money to make a little movie with you," said La Araña.
"The hell you on about?" Niall's anxiety was starting to metamorphose into anger. Again he tugged at his restraints, but was met with the same result. "Tell me what's going on."
"I just told you." The man gestured over to the media console on the wall parallel to the bed. On it, was a small tripod supporting what looked to be an iPhone. "We're going to make a movie. A short film, if you will."
Niall decided to stop playing along. He suddenly bucked and kicked violently from the bed and started to shout. "OY! HELP! HEY! BAZ!" He projected his voice in the direction of the hall again. Surely someone would hear him from outside or, at the very least, through the walls of the hotel.
"Yeah, yeah, keep shouting." La Araña turned and tapped on the screen of the phone. With a distinct chime, the light next to the camera activated as did--Niall assumed--the camera. "No one will come."
"'Ey! Hello! Someone! Help!"
"Your security is taking a little break," said La Araña ominously.
"How did you--? What do you mean, my security's taking a 'break'?"
"Let's just say the client that's paying me has some...pull."
"This is fucked," Niall griped, slamming his head back against the pillows.
"Ah, there's that sailor mouth you Irishmen are known for," the stranger said with a laugh. "Look, if it's any consolation, I'm not going to hurt you."
"This is-- This isn't happening." Niall grunted. "This is, like, me being punked or somethin', 'ey? Please. Please, mate. You got me, ookay?" His accent extended the sound of the prominent vowel in the word. "Now, let me up."
"Not until I finish my little movie."
"What movie? What are you on about?"
"Well, here's what I'm going to do. You may be wondering why you're tied up like that, right? Arms up?"
Niall glanced up at the cuffs around his wrists. His hands were clenched into fists. As he pulled at his restraints, his biceps flexed.
"Apparently, my client has been a little frustrated with you lately. Doesn't like that you've been flaunting those armpits of yours so much, teasing him..."
Niall glanced down to either side of him. "Me armpits? Teasing who?"
"Yep. Nearly every show now, you've been wearing some sort of sleeveless top or vest. You like showing off those pretty arms of yours, don'tcha?"
Niall didn't respond. He merely frowned and avoided eye contact.
"Been workin' out a lot? You're gettin' pretty buff there." The man approached the bed. Niall tensed up and did his best to shift away from him as far as possible. It still did nothing to prevent the man from reaching over and giving one of his biceps a gentle squeeze.
"Get the fuck off me."
"Oh, this is nothing yet," said La Araña. "I'm about to be all over you."
"I'm warnin' ya, mate. I'll... I'll--"
The costumed man crossed his arms again and cocked his head. "You'll what?"
"I'll...scream."
"Go ahead. There'll be plenty of screaming in a second, I'm sure."
Niall's eyes widened. "What do ya mean by that?"
La Araña ignored his question. Instead, he said, "But, just in case you do get a little loud..." He turned and walk back towards the table in the corner where he had been originally seated. From beside one of the chairs, he pulled a small black cylinder from a nylon bag. A Bluetooth speaker. He placed it on the table and turned it on. Then, from his pocket, he procured another phone. He tapped on the screen a few times.
Niall heard what sounded like a little chime, then the first few notes of a song, a very familiar song...
1.
NICE TO MEET YA
The man began to swing and sway as he made his way back over to the bed, snapping his fingers in time with the beat of Niall's song.
Niall, in turn, grimaced and braced himself, watching as his captor took slow, swaggering steps towards him. He heard his own voice sing out:
I want your number tattooed on my arm in ink, I swear /
'Cause when the morning comes, I know you won't be there...
Would this be the case for the masked stranger? Would he be gone come morning? What did he plan on doing with Niall?
The chorus of the song kicked in:
Nice to meet ya (I got love for you)
What's your name?
Ironic, all things considered. Niall knew this cryptic intruder's name and it was most certainly not nice meeting him.
La Araña took a seat on the side of the bed, masked face tilted towards him, those large eyes of the Spider-Man mask so disconcertingly blank.
"What are you doing?" Niall muttered, entire body still tense. His legs were free though... Could he...? He shifted his weight to the right and tried to bring up his leg to kick at the man on the edge of the bed.
"Ah, ah," the man tsked. He slid up higher on the mattress so that he was now positioned above Niall's waist. "None of that."
"Fucker," whispered Niall. He realized that he was starting to sweat. His arms hurt from the strain.
"Look. This can be rather quick and painless if you just stop fighting."
"That's a good one," Niall said bitterly. He turned away from La Araña, eyes falling to the camera positioned on the dresser, which was still filming him. He still hoped, beyond anything else, that this was somehow just some lewd prank.
"I already said, I'm not going to hurt you."
Niall didn't reply.
"My client just wants me to teach these attractive armpits of yours a lesson."
"What does that mean then?"
"Well, many of us in, erm, my...community know that you happen to be reeeeeally sensitive right... here." The man reached forward and poked his bare, slender finger into the soft, hairy flesh just beneath Niall's shoulder.
Niall felt the sensation like a bullet. It shot through him and ricocheted around his nervous system. His eyes widened, and he whipped his face back around to face his captor, eyes as large as saucers. "Whoa no..."
"What?" asked the man innocently.
"C'mon, man. Not that. No."
"Not...what?"
"C'mon, really. Who put you up to this?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
"It wasn't one of the boys, was it? Li?" It had been a very long time since he had spoken to Liam, let alone engaged him in a tickle fight. Niall encountered a very brief flash of a memory--he and Liam in their Singapore hotel, tickling the hell out of one another as a means to cope with their anxieties. The good old days...
"The...boys?" The Spider asked for clarification.
"Yeah. They know I'm...ticklish," Niall admitted bashfully.
"Who knows?" asked La Araña.
"Th-they...they all know. Please."
"Look." The man poked Niall's underarm again, causing the Irish singer to wrack his body violently to the left. The cuffs at the headboard rung out loudly as he pulled at them. "It doesn't matter who's paying me to do this. Stop asking. All you need to know is I have my assignment. Three songs. And I'm gonna tickle these armpits of your until you're begging me to stop." He shrugged. "Ready?"
"No, no, no, hold on, mate," said Niall quickly as his captor began to reach for him. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, it's 'mate' now, huh? A few seconds ago, it was 'fucker.'" La Araña kept his hands poised over Niall's exposed pits.
"Look, man. C'mon. You've had your fun. You got me, ookay? You, uh, win. Scared the shit out of me, yeah? All on camera. Now...just...let me outta here, and I'll--"
"If I release you, you'll either try to fight me or try to flee," the man said matter-of-factly. "Look, this is happening. So, try to enjoy it. It's just a little tickling. I get what my client's paid for, then I'll be on my way. You'll never see from or hear from me again. Promise. So..." He clapped his hands, then rubbed his palms together, before readying them like claws over Niall's arms. "Get ready 'cuz we're wasting time." He turned and looked back in the direction of the Bluetooth speaker. Niall's song was already halfway through.
You know what I need, you know what I want /
You know what I need now,
You know what I need now...
Niall didn't have time to process anything else or ask any more questions. He felt La Arana's spindly finger drag a trail from his left wrist down along his arm to his shoulder, goosebumps pursuing the point of contact. Then, very slowly, The Spider traced a line down around the Irishman's shoulder and into his sensitive armpit.
Niall immediately hissed again and tugged more violently at his restraints. "P-please," he said.
"Just the reaction we're looking for," said La Araña. "Good." While he kept the invasive finger in Niall's left armpit, he brought his other hand up and slowly did the same thing to Niall's right arm--finger trailing from wrist to shoulder to pit.
"No! NO! J-just stop this," Niall said through clenched teeth. "Get...the fuck off me."
"No can do." La Araña pressed his fingers into Niall's armpits and slowly began to move them in slow, soft circles. "Does this tickle?"
"M-motherf-fucker..." Niall said, squirming in his restraints. He bit down on his lower lip and began to breathe profusely through his nostrils.
"Just some light teasing to start us off." The man continued to trace unbearable circles gently around the expanse of Niall's broad, hairy armpits, and as he did so, the sensation pooling in his stomach, and rising in his chest, grew more and more powerful.
"St-stop," Niall muttered again, his breathing rapid and uneven, whistling as it rushed into, and then escaped from, his nose on repeat. He would not give this man the satisfaction. This was humiliating. And just straight up...bizarre. Why was this happening? HOW was this happening? Regardless, Niall resolved to fight. Even as the sensations grew more and more intolerable, he told himself not to crack. He was not some sick bastard's clown--dance, monkey, dance!--or rather--laugh, Niall, laugh!
He would be having none of it.
NONE OF--!
La Araña suddenly brought the rest of his fingers into play, his thumbs touching down on the sides of Niall's pecs while his index, middle, ring, and pinky fingers wriggled their way into the soft skin of his underarms.
All ten fingers softly tickling under his arms.
It was...too much. After a few more grunts through gritted teeth, and the smashing shut of his eyes, Niall's mouth broke apart into an impossible smile, and from the depths of his throat came a deep, desperate sound:
"Ohhhhhohohohohahahahaha!"
"There we go. There it is," teased The Spider. "Didn't take long."
There was no going back now. The dam had not only cracked, but suddenly burst: "HAHAHAFUCKINGHELL! STOHOHOHP IT! BLOODYBAHAHAHSTARD!" laughed Niall.
"Yeah, yeah, sing for me, Irish boy." The man switched back and forth between light gentle strokes, his fingers dancing delicately among the hairs, and sudden, sharp scribbles, right in the center of each armpit.
"FUCK! OH, FUCK! AHAHAHAHAHA!" Niall's mouth opened wider and his laugh grew louder still. He threw his head back, veins bulging in his neck.
"Now, now. Take it easy." The man removed his fingers from Niall's pits and began to scamper them up his arms again. They paused for a moment at the insides of his elbows, where the singer's laughter softened to a storm of giggles and profanities. Then, when he felt that Niall had caught his breath, he brought them back down into his hairy underarms again.
"OOH! NONONOHOHOHO! OHHHHFUCKYOUHOOHOO!"
The Spider tickled incessantly and Niall cackled and roared, trying to twist his body away. Only his hips rotated and his legs flailed, but his arms were held fast above his head, leaving his beautiful, ticklish underarms exposed for his captor's devilish exploration.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, La Araña's fingers retreated, and the bound, brunette singer was allowed to flop back onto the mattress, his pores already tingling with the onset of sweat.
"F-fucking 'ell..." Niall panted heavily, his lungs expanding and contracting rapidly. It was in this strange moment of respite that he heard the last lyrics of his song cut out with the snap! of his fingers. He regained his breath--and a bit of his dignity--but he refused to look at his tormentor, instead focusing up at the high arching ceiling of his hotel suite. "Fuck," he whispered again. It was the only thing he could think to say, his only means of fighting back. He couldn't remember the last time he had cussed so much.
"Wow. You are really ticklish." The stranger chuckled. "How you holding up?"
"Go. To. Hell." Niall said in between heavy breaths.
"I'd rather keep you there, if you don't mind," said La Araña. "And, mi amigo, we're just getting started."
2.
SLOW HANDS
The next song started up--deep drum beats and the cool twang of an electric guitar. The music cued Niall's captor to suddenly stand and reposition himself on the bed. With a smooth, swift motion, he swung his leg up and over Niall's waist, and the Irish singer suddenly found himself being straddled.
"No! Get off of me!" he hissed. "No! Oy!" He tried to buck the man off of him, but with his arms bound, there was simply far too much weight on his waist for him to do anything but kick his legs futilely. "F-fuck!"
"You mind changing up your protests? They're gettin' kinda old," said The Spider and, with a smirk behind his mask, he brought his hands back down--slowly, slowly--into Niall's bared armpits. The lyrics of the second song began:
"We should take this back to my place" /
That's what she said right to my face
'Cause I want you bad...
Yeah, I want you, baby...
With the very tips of his fingernails, La Araña began to tease and titillate the fine, velvety hairs of Niall's armpits again, the pads of his fingers ever so often touching down on soft, sweaty skin. Even with this intentional, light approach, there was hardly any buildup in Niall's reaction, which, again, was immediate.
"N-nonononono," repeated the Irish singer quickly. Then came the rapid breathing, the tensing of his upper body and arms, the vibrating of his torso as he tried his best to fight the laughter that was conjured up from within his belly. "Ohhhhh....OHSHIT!" he yelped as his tormentor would suddenly increasure the pressure of his fingers against his sensitive skin.
"Nice and slow. Easy there. Niiiiiice and slowwwwww..." La Araña teased.
Slow, slow hands...
Like sweat dripping down our dirty laundry...
The Spider indeed moved his hands in time with the music, singing along teasingly as his fingers mingled about Niall's underarms, again traipsing in circular motions, spidering subtly this way and that, scribbling up towards the biceps, then down towards his pecs.
"SHIHIHIHAHAHAHAHA!" Niall yelped and giggled, eyes shut, smile wide, head tossing and turning back and forth.
The intruder kept at his craft until Niall was completely overwhelmed by the sensations scurrying about in the hollows of his ticklish pits. The Irishman's face became flushed as he spluttered and spat out frantic, fearful laughter.
"OHOHOHOHOHOHAHA! OH PLEEHEEHEEASE! PLEASE! EEENOOOOUGHH!!! ENOUHOOHOOHOOF!" Niall squealed.
La Araña didn't listen. His fingers crept their way towards Niall's nipples--small, round, pink and erect. They navigated a small patch of furry hair, wispy and dark, just like the little groves beneath his underarms, then, every so sneakily, The Spider's hands tickled their way down Niall's sides.
"OHAHAHAHAHAHAW-HAW-HAAAAAA! NO! Y-YOU SAID JUST ME ARMPITS! AHHHHAHAHA!" Niall's laugh intensified further--desperate, deep-throated syllables of sound that burst up from his esophagus and slowly broke apart into the charged air. His eyebrows knitted together, his Adam's apple bobbed as he titled his chin up. His mouth was a smiling, gaping geyser of tormented mirth. "OHNO-HO-HO-HAW-HAW-HAW!" He began to violently twist back and forth, his body shaking and trembling under The Spider's touch as his curious fingers continued to creep from his flanks towards his belly button and back again. His brain was on fire, consumed with the tickling--sensory overload. He was beginning to hope that he would black out or that his merciful God would tear him from this nightmare.
Oh please, wake up. Please--
"Okay, take it easy. Breathe. Breeeeeathe." The Spider pulled away and Niall gasped loudly as if he were breaking through the surface of water, lungs desperate for air.
"Oh God, thank you. Thank you..."
The man patted Niall's belly a few times. "Don't want you hyperventilating. Shit, Horan--you are one of the most ticklish güeritos I've ever had the pleasure of getting my hands on."
"F-fu..." Niall's stomach rose and fell as he inhaled and exhaled. He couldn't even bring himself to cuss out his tormentor. What good would it do? He was just grateful for the break. In the background, the song continued on.
I just wanna take my time /
We could do this, baby, all night, yeah...
Niall could most certainly not do this all night. In fact, he was certain only another minute or two of this torture would kill him. "P-please," he finally whispered. "Please. I can't do this anymore."
"Oh, for fuck's sake." The Spider snorted. "It's just tickling, Niall. Stop being so dramatic."
"N-no. I c-can't."
His captor shook his head. "We just have another song and a half to go," he said, almost with some encouragement. "Toughen up."
"W-why are ya doing this?"
"I already told you. It's my job."
"Y-you'll pay for this," Niall muttered. "Ye won't get away with it, ya hear? You won't!"
"Haven't I already?" The Spider said, placing the palms of his hands down on Niall's ribs.
Again, the Irish singer stiffened up and inhaled. "N-no, ya 'aven't No! No! Heh. Heh-heh!" He started to protest and laugh before gritting his teeth in determination. His ribs were ticklish, but it was not as unbearable as the sensitivity of his armpits.
"Glad you're making me work for it a bit. I believe my client enjoys that."
Niall grunted. He tried to focus on something else--anything else, even his own voice singing back to him from the Bluetooth speaker:
Fingertips puttin' on a show
Got me now and I can't say no...
No! That was worse! Those words--those lyrics--were directly speaking to the sensations he was experiencing now. The utter, horrible helplessness...
The man called 'La Araña' began to tickle harder, alternating between skittering fingertips and light squeezes of his flanks, which caused him to jump and jolt each time.
"Tickle tickle, Niall," he teased. "I love these little lonjas of yours." He kept kneading away at the flesh.
"N-no! ARRRRRRGH!"
"Kitchy kitchy kooooo...."
Niall's gritted teeth again betrayed him with a smile. The verbal taunting was only exacerbating the electric sensations jumping across his skin. He spluttered again, face turning pink as he did his best to keep the snickering song at bay.
"Don't you want to laugh?" said The Spider. "Aren't you already tired of resisting? C'mon. Let it out..." He massaged Niall's ribcage, tickled around his pecs, then gave a few more pokes to his sides--fleshy and soft and sensitive.
"F-fuck! HAHA!" Niall barked out a laugh.
"There we are."
"No! NOHO!"
Without warning, The Spider returned his attention to Niall's armpits, immediately breaking him.
"AHHHHAWHAWHAW-HAW-HAW-HAAAAW!" screamed the singer.
"Perfect," said The Spider, riding the high of his victim's reaction. He dragged his fingertips all over his solid, stocky torso--down his sides, striking down into his abs, then around his hips, his waist (which happened to produce an adorable reaction of frantic, desperate giggles and screeches) before returning up his chest.
"OH, STOP! OH, PLEEHEEHEEASE! OH, I'M BEGGIN' YA!" Niall slammed his head back against his pillows, over and over again. His dark hair was starting to leave marks of damp sweat in the linens. He twisted and writhed in vain.
"Not yet," said the man, noting that this second song was nearing its end.
I, I know /
Yeah, I already know that there ain't no stoppin' /
Slow Hands...
And indeed, The Spider's hands did not stop. In fact, they dug in, for the first time, hard into the divots of flesh beneath Niall's shoulders, the pads of the tormentor's fingers massaging into the hairy hollows of the Irishman's pits.
Niall roared with laughter: "WAH-HAH-HAH-HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! BLOOHOOHOODY HEHEHEHELL!"
"Laugh for me. That's right."
"PLEEEEEHEEHEEASE, MAN! YOU'RE KIHIHIHIHILLING MEEHEEHEEHEE! AHHHHAHAHA!"
"No one's every died from a little bit of tickling."
"BAHAHAHAHAHAHA-HAW-HAW-HAWWWW!"
La Araña raked his fingers down--slow, slow, slowly--towards his victim's hips again, squeezing and chomping into his flanks with his hands. Niall twisted away from him again, but there was nowhere his body could go. He was being double-teamed by the tormentor's hands on both sides. So, he bucked and screamed and laughed, pulling and pulling and pulling at his bonds with no effect.
Niall didn't know if he'd ever felt so helpless in his life.
Please, oh merciful Lord, he prayed. Let this end!
As if answering him, The Spider pulled his hands away again and rolled off of Niall's waist just as the last lyrics of Niall's song rang out:
Slow hands.
"Oh f-fuck.... Oh fuck...." Niall muttered endlessly on repeat as he struggled to regain some semblance of control over his breathing. His heart was hammering away in his chest. He watched with contempt as his intruder made his way back over to the table, kneeling down to retrieve something else from his bag. Niall wanted so desperately to yell out again, to call for help, but he was so exhausted. He had already been pulled from sleep unexpectedly and now...this? It was one of the most intense workouts he had ever experienced. Liam had never, ever tickled him like this.
What had the man said? Three songs? Was this...almost over?
"Catch your breath there. We're not through yet," said La Araña, as if he had been reading Niall's mind. "There's one more song and one more thing I've been ordered to do. But, I'll need your energy up. So, take a moment."
Niall realized that the suite had gone silent.
"H-help," he tried to shout, but it came out more like a whimper. "S-someone."
"No one's coming, Niall," said the man, almost in a pitying tone. "You're making me feel bad. I promise we're almost done."
"Please, mate," Niall croaked. "Th-this is torture. Ya realize that, don't ya? I-it's inhumane."
"Again, Niall. It's tickling. And it's been, like, five minutes." The Spider shook his head and laughed again. "Never pegged you to be such a baby. I've tickled many guys like you. And most of 'em have been able to handle it a lot better than you have."
"Y-yer sick, mate."
"No, no. Not sick, man. I'm just trying to make ends meet. We all can't afford to live the lifestyle of the rich and famous."
Niall did not know how to respond to this. He was still having a hard time grasping that this stranger, standing in his hotel room in a Miles Morales Spider-Man outfit, was some sort of consulting tickler. He watched as his captor withdrew from the bag a black case. He placed it on the table, opened it, and from it withdrew a feather.
Oh no.
The signature symbolic tool of tickling.
"Check this out," said La Araña. He turned around and presented it. "It's a beaut, isn't it?"
Niall did not answer him. The feather was on the larger side, about the length of a forearm from end to end. It was a brilliant shade of green.
"Don't know why my client was so set on me using this, but I'd say that it'll do the job nicely, don't you?" The man ran his bare fingers over the feather's plume. "Man, it tickles my hand, just doing this." He snickered as he approached the bed again, then climbed up onto it, reassuming his straddling position. Niall grunted and moaned as the man's weight pinned him once more.
"Ready for the finale?"
Niall closed his eyes and turned his head away in defiance.
"Perfect," La Araña said.
3.
IF YOU LEAVE ME /
EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD
The cheers started. They sounded just like they had in Niall's dream, just like they had in the Moody Center venue at the University of Texas. Then, Niall heard his own voice:
How we doin' over here?
Miserable, thanks, he answered himself. Bloody miserable. Not to mention that this was, in essence, two songs in one.
The bloody cheat.
La Araña rolled his shoulders to the rhythm of the music. His body bounced, nearly thrusting into Niall's waist. He played with the feather's plume again before bringing its soft bristles down towards Niall's bared armpits.
The touch elicited an immediate reaction. Niall could have spent eons preparing for the onslaught of tickles at the hand of his captor, and he still would have lacked the resolve to brace himself against the feather's caress. His mind and body were already worn down by the rounds of tickling that had come before. And so, as soon as he felt the delicate bristles of the feather whisper across the sensitive, flushed flesh of his armpit, he began to giggle.
"Ohhhhohohohoshihihihit."
The Spider drew the feather's bristles back and forth, switching between each of Niall's exposed underarms.
"Sh-shihihit man! Ahahaheeheeheehee! Th-that's horr-horrible!"
"Ha. Funny. The way you say it." The man shook his head, expression indiscernible behind the mask. "You know, I used to date a Brit. Subject him to stuff like this here and there. He would say it just like that, whenever I'd use a particularly effective tool on him. 'That's horrible.'" He affected a British accent.
Niall ignored his tangent, ignored the wistful tone in his captor's voice. He struggled and snickered and squirmed, barely able to maintain a semblance of sanity.
La Araña said, "What if I do this?" and he spun the feather around, using the tip of its quill instead to scritch and scratch at the skin.
Bam. It struck Niall like a blow. "OHHHHNOHOHONOHAWHAWHAWHAW!" he screamed, devastated by the feather's touch. His squeals bubbled away into loud bursts of raucous laughter. His throat was starting to hurt. "STOP, MATE! STAWHAWHAWP! OY! OYHOYHOY! HAHAHAHAHA-HAW-HAW!"
But The Spider did not stop. He continued to draw and sketch circles and scribbles into Niall's sweaty, hairy hollows--shapes and patterns and even his name. First--
L-A---A-R-A-Ñ-A---(the Ñ produced a particularly enjoyable reaction from Niall)
and then--
M-A-T-E-O
"EEEEHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUCK! FUCK! I CAHAHAHAN'T STAHAHAND IT!" Niall screeched and giggled and roared. His smiling mouth remained open, a maw spewing tormented mirth. "LEAVE ME ARMPITS ALONE! NO MORE IN ME ARMPITS!" His Irish accent hardened as he screamed and guffawed in despair.
"All right," said The Spider. "How about down here then?" He employed the green feather's emerald bristles again.
As the song played on:
Oh, I think that I just might lose it completely, yeah...
...
...you're sentencing me to a life on my knees...
Niall was certainly losing it completely. He had been brought to his proverbial knees. It was worse, hearing a joyous version of himself rocking out to the energy of the crowd and the sway and rhythm of the music. The only rhythm commanding him now was that of his pounding heart.
La Araña began to drag the feature around Niall's sides and stomach. Its touch was fire electric, lightning strikes and buzzing, skin-crawling skittering. It forced from the singer relentless cackling, loud guffaws ejecting upward from his grinning geyser mouth, bright pearly teeth popping against the lamplight. Sweat was now pooling from each of his pores as he, again, twisted and turned on the damp mattress. After a moment or two, he brought the emerald feather down to Niall's navel and began to swirl it around as if it were caught in the current of a whirlpool, its soft bristles drawing ever closer to his bellybutton with each rotation.
"Ohhhhhh...." Niall gasped at began to giggle and splutter again, the intense waterfall laughter spewing from him before reduced to a bubbling brook of tittering, constant sound. "Heheheheheheh." He shuddered and sucked in his stomach, but his tormentor merely dropped the feather lower, its tip still teasing his skin, playing with the little brown hairs around his innie.
"Insane how effective a feather is right here," said La Araña. "Look at you. You're a mess."
Niall's eyes were squeezed shut. His face was red and perspiring. He continued to groan and grasp as the feather swirled and danced on his belly, occasionally wisping over his actual belly button, stroking at the little indent over and over.
"Uhhh...h-haa.......oh! O-oh! Haha. Hee. Ahhh.....Ah." Interspersed amid the rushing stream of Niall's giggles were panting, gasping, almost lustful breaths of air. The shape of Niall's lips oscillated between a grin and an 'O' at first, but the longer the emerald feather teased and tickled his bellybutton, the sensations concentrated in that single spot, the more his bared teeth were forcibly locked into a ceaseless smile. "Ohhhhhherrrrrggghhh. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease," he groaned.
"Please what?" asked the man. "Keep going? We still have plenty of song left. So, gladly."
I'm in too deep /
Swimmin' in your sea
So tell me where you want to go...
The feather went deeper still, bristles brushing around the innermost depths of Niall's navel, swimming in sweaty, soft skin; the ears of La Araña relishing in the sound of the Irishman's tormented amusement.
After a few more moments, during which the ambient song shifted into another chorus--If you leave me / Oh, I think that I just might lose it completely, yeah--Niall suddenly lifted his head, neck craning, veins bulging, face contorted in a tight grimace. His whole torso vibrated and rocked violently left and right.
"So, this is a sweet spot, is it?" said The Spider. He watched as Niall looked down at the feather, watching his own belly undergo its tickling torture. His brown eyes bulged a moment before he relinquished himself to the sensations, and slammed his sweaty head back onto the pillow. His hissing and breathing dissolved into squealing laughter.
"EEEHEEEHEEHEEHEE!"
The feather danced and danced.
Niall whipped his head forward again, squirming and cussing and seething. He looked at the feather again with an agonizing smile, then once more, thrust his head back. He tried to buck and writhe his way out of the feather's reach, but it was no use.
"AAAAGHHEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!"
"Niall Horan has a ticklish little bellybutton." The Spider chuckled.
"Ohhhmygawhawhawd!"
"How you holding up there, buddy?"
"EeehahahAWWWWWWW!" The last syllable of laughter was drawn out, nearly a bellow. Another violent rocking of his torso and shaking of his head. "STOOOOP!" he demanded. "GO SOMEWHERE ELSE!"
"Aw, but you seem to be enjoying it so much."
"NOOOOO! NOHOHOHAHAHAHA-HAW-HAAAAWW!"
"Whoa," said The Spider with another laugh as he was nearly thrown backward. The motions of Niall's body did not deter his use of the feather around Niall's heaving, sweating stomach.
"Pleasepleasepleeheeheease!" begged the Irishman. He rocked and rolled and swayed and bucked and lunged, doing whatever he could to shift the feather away from his sensitive navel.
La Araña swore that the vibrations of his ticklee's body were resonating up through the feather in his hands. In fact, it was almost as if the feather itself were quivering of its own accord. A strange sensation overtook him. Something wild and free and...and...
Hungry?
No, aroused.
No....both.
The man behind the Spider-Man mask had always been a ticklephile. It was how he had come to be attached to his current job alongside his primo, who shared such a fixation--a consulting tickler for wealthy clients the nation over, high and might members of the same community who had the means to not only make their own desires realities, but the likes of his as well. The sound of a man's laughter, especially when associated with tickling, did something to him that he could not quite explain. It excited him in ways that he wished could be permanent...
But this...
The feeling he was experiencing now, as if the feather in his hand were the cause of it all...
This was something else entirely.
And he wasn't the only one experiencing it.
Niall was horrified to feel something surge down below too. The burning blood in his body--itself a vessel already hot and sweaty and trembling under the effects of ticklish torment--was flowing southward towards his groin.
The brunette Irish singer was...
He was...
Turned on...?
No, insisted Niall to himself. No. He was NOT enjoying this. He was NOT.
The song in the background began its transition:
If you ever (leave) (if you ever) /
If you ever, you ever /
If you ever, you ever/
If you ever, you ever... ah!
Another cheer of the crowd.
Then La Araña, feeding off of his surge of newfound energy, placed the feather down on Niall's quivering stomach and instead bent forward, clawed hands--fingers like fangs--chomping into the Irishman's armpits simultaneously.
"OHHHHHOHOHFOOOOOOCCK!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Niall roared. It was too much. It was far too much. "NOOOOOOOHOOHOOHOHOHOHOHO!" He bucked again, thrusting upward into his attacker, his own erection making contact with the apparent erection of the masked man as well.
What was happening?
What was this?
"Keep laughing!" said The Spider. He drilled his fingers into the centers of each of Niall's pits and firmly massaged the sensitive skin. This drove Niall completely wild.
"AAARRRHARHARHAHAHA! STOP! OHOHOHAHAHASTOP!"
"Sorry, buddy. Not quite."
There's no turning back...
Even while we sleep...
We will find you...
Wake up, Niall urged himself. Wake up, wake up, wake UP.
La Araña's tickling rolled downward from his underarms back to his nipples, then to his ribs, his sides, his tormented stomach, even his waistline, where he made note of his tented gym shorts. "You're enjoying this too, I see," he said.
Niall shook his head in protest. "I'm nawhawt!" he screamed. "I dohohon't know why that's h-hapenning! Pleeeheeheease! No more! Please, mate! I can't do this anymohohohore!"
Stop, Niall begged internally.
Don't stop, he thought as well, though, again, that made no sense. He was, in all honesty, in utter and complete hell.
This.
Was.
Hell.
His skin was on fire. His blood was boiling. He felt a surge in his groin. His lungs hurt. His arms hurt. His cheeks hurt from smiling.
The emerald feather on his stomach seemed to be pulsing with its own strange rhythm, its own strange...beat. His delusional mind must have been playing tricks on him because, in that long and desperate moment, as the lyrics in the background swelled with the roars of the recorded live crowd (Everybody wants to rule the world...), he thought he saw the bristles of the green feather on his heaving stomach flickering with light.
Most of freedom and of pleasure /
Nothing ever lasts forever /
(Everybody wants to rule the--
Niall did not remember when 'The Spider' stopped exactly. His mind had succumbed to the sensations scurrying about his every nerve-ending. His poor, muddled, exhausted mind was on overdrive, using fuel it did not have. Niall just knew that his armpits were being decimated with a storm of overwhelming stimulation that he had never known before. The fact that he could not bring his arms down, not defend himself, made it wholly worse.
He had no choice, but to feel it all and let his body dictate his brain.
He was not in control.
He surrendered to the spirit of what was happening.
--his tono--
("tono"? what did that even mean? Where had that word come from?)
Niall didn't know.
All he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh...
And it was the worst hell imaginable.
But it was also...completely freeing.
And empowering...
And--
The roars of the crowd emanating from the Bluetooth speaker rolled into the Irishman's consciousness some time later, and he slowly realized that the song had ended and, with it, his paradoxical plight. The room settled into a soft silence, the only sounds were Niall's heavy breathing and moans of exhaustion. La Araña had removed himself from the bed and had returned his belongings--phones, tripod, case and feather--to his bag.
"You gonna be all right there?" He reached forward and patted Niall's flat stomach again, causing the singer to flinch. "Need a little help with that?" He pointed over to the stocky, vaulting evidence of Niall's arousal, pitched pulsing and strong beneath the thin polyester of his shorts. Before Niall could protest, the stranger laughed. "Kidding," he said. "I would never. I respect some boundaries. But I gotta say, I wasn't expecting it." The stranger shrugged on the bag over his shoulder.
Niall's head was spinning. He could barely keep his focus. He was so grateful for this nightmare to be over. A deep and desperate sleep was dragging him down.
"That's right. Rest. My colleague will be up in a moment to let you out. It's best that you not be awake for that," said La Araña. "Now, look. One more thing. What happened here tonight? It'll be our little secret, entiendes? Yours. Mine. And my client's. No one else will know about this. You have my word. Hey, hey!" He snapped, commanding Niall to look at him.
"Y-you won't g-get away with this," the Irishman warned groggily.
"That's the thing, Horan. I will. Because if you say a word of this to anyone, what you've experienced tonight will be the least of your problems, I can promise you that." He reached down and gave the singer's side another quick little squeeze. "The people I know, they can make your life very difficult. Take it from me. So, please. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Just keep it to yourself. Nothing happened. It was...all a dream, eh?"
"W-what?"
All a dream...?
The Spider's voice started to fade out as Niall's eyes fluttered close.
"My client has one last request," said the stranger. "Don't stop showing off those armpits, you got me? Or I'll have to make another visit..."
Niall didn't remember falling asleep.
When he awoke in the early hours of the morning, gray light streaming in through the hotel window, he found himself once more on his front. His wrists had been freed and any evidence of his strange ordeal was gone, save for the soreness in his arms.
twenty DAYS LATER
DUBLIN, IRELAND
Niall stepped out onto the stage of the Royal Hospital Kilmainham. It was a crisp night. He was cold, and his stylist had insisted he wear a white shirt over his usual tank top.
He raised his hands up to welcome the roaring crowd before him--a massive sea of adoring fans--and, though weeks had since gone by since the incident in his hotel room back in Austin, he could still feel the phantom fingers in the hollows of his underarms, still feel the rush of excitement somewhere deep within his groin.
He shivered, and then smiled, wondering if his wearing this shirt, with its billowing sleeves which obstructed a clear view of his armpits, would somehow be seen as an act of defiance...
"Hello, Dublin!" said Niall to the masses. "How are ya tonight?" He kept his arms up for a moment longer, the ghostly sensations persisting, and he wondered who, out there, was watching him.
Author's notes:
What more is there to say? I, myself, have never been fortunate enough to attend a Niall Horan concert, but I've been hungrily following his social media for a while now. God, every time he posts--that gorgeous, playful smile, those arms, those pits! This story pretty much wrote itself!
DISCLAIMER:
Though this story features actual persons and references actual events, it is entirely a work of fiction and is in no way affiliated with, or endorsed by, those individuals. It is written solely for the purposes of entertainment and should not be taken seriously.
READER REACTIONS:
"Arms Up was great! Niall's reactions were so hot and so was La Araña toying with him. Anyone who teases their pits like that has to know what they're doing, although maybe Niall is the exception. He knows now though. Separately, now you've got me worried about what happened to Ben..."
"Yup. Well done. Nice thing to wake up to. You got me late for work...Love the in-universe continuity with other stories. And I really appreciate the armpit focus!"
"I'd been looking forward to this one for quite some time and of course, you did not disappoint! The kicker for me was *how* sensitive Niall's armpits are, along with his upper body. That vulnerability on show is so amazing to see written down, along with his complex mindset that is also increased in regards to his levels of confusion, thanks to the emerald feather. He really does go through an emotional and rather physical session! I absolutely loved it. Even down to the detail where his feet weren't tied -- the freeness to kick was a great contrast (and also a form of torment in itself) compared to the focus on his arms being tied above. Again, the fact this was a 'armpit focused' story in itself just makes it so special. 'Eyes as large as saucers' -- fantastic descriptions. Thank you for bringing this to the community!"
"Mother fucking wow...Literally a game changer for you man...The fact you made [Niall] get turned on by the tickling! This instantly became one of my top favorite fics released this year."
