Hawk held Tim close, his back to him now. "Skippy," he said, over and over again. The name was synonymous with his exhalations.

        Breathe in, breathe out.

        Breathe in, "Skiiiiiippy..." (out)

        Breathe in, "Skippyskippyskippyskippy..." (outoutout)

        He kissed the back of his neck. He focused on the feeling of the man's body in his arms. His solidness. He was there. Really there.

        His heat. Like a warm hearth in winter.

        His heartbeat. Elevated. Thumping steadily.

        (88 beats per minute.)

        Minutes...

                 They were ticking by.

        Hawk already felt the time slip, slip, sliiipp... i   n        g...

        Breathe in, "Mmmskiippy..." (ouuut)

        "Hmm?" muttered Tim.

        Hawk cradled him closer. "Let's... let's have a little...fun." 

        Tim laughed. Hawk felt the push and pull of his vocal chords celebrate the sound, the spasm of his body. "I just called you 'sweet.'"

        Hawk chuckled softly. "I can be sweet and still want a little fun, can't I?"

        Another giggle from Tim. Hawk felt his penis twitch and jolt to life. "C'mon..." He whispered into Tim's ear, lips brushing against his earlobe. Tim's giggling intensified. He tilted his head to the side.

        "Stop that," said Tim.

        "Stop...whaaaaat?" asked Hawk, still persisting in speaking the same way - softly, words and lips brushing, brusssshhhhhhing.

        "Ha-Hawk! Th-that...." 

        "It what?" Hawk now opened his mouth and began to nibble on the tormented earlobe, taking the thin, soft flesh lightly between his teeth.

        Ch-ch-ch-ch-chewing...

        "HeeheeHawk!"

        Hawk pulled away, pretending to be genuinely concerned. "What? What is it?"

        "I said cut that out!" Tim's response was still laced with laughter.

        "Why?"

        "Because." A long pause - a beat. Tim's smile turned sheepish as he looked over at the man in whose arms he was settled. "It tickles."

        Hawk tsked. Tongue click-click-clicking against the roof of his mouth. A look crossed his face - it was one that Tim knew well. Devious. Dominant. But this time, it was...

        ...softer. Gentler.

        "Why, Skippy. I didn't know you were ticklish."

        Tim reddened. Even in the soft, golden glow of the lamplight, Hawk could see it. Something hungered in him, in his groin, in his stomach. Hunger PANGS behind the hammering of his heart.

        (90 beats per minute.)

        Minute...by...minute.

        Pulse. PulsING. Another minute ticking by...

        Too fast, thought Hawk. Too fast. He wanted the world to stop. Couldn't time just--

        S

        T

        O

        P

        "Stop!" Tim yelped, giggling again. Hawk hadn't realized that his fingers had revolted against his brain, wriggling into Tim's solid side, burrowing every so gently into the flesh of his flank. 

       "My, my..." whispered Hawk, breath H-E-A-V-Y and hot... "Skiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippy." Loooooong, slooooooooooow breath in, then-- "You're very ticklish."

        Tim's face scrunched up in embarrassment. "Only a little."

        "Don't lie to me," said Hawk. His fingers played along Tim's flesh, frolicking up along his ribcage towards his underarm.

        "Hawk! Pl-pleeheease! I c-can't! We need to be quiet! Someone will h-EAHEAR meeeEE!" Tim's protests only urged Hawk on.

        Hawk felt the man in his arms wriggle and writhe as he tickled and tickled and tickled - gently, gently - along his naked torso. Tim would flex into him, the solid mound of his ass pressing into his firm, pulsating penis. 

        Tickle - thrust - throb. 

        Hawk moaned softly. 

         Breathe in, "oooooooohhhhh, skiiiiiihhhhhppy...." (ouuuuut). Exhaling, aroused.

        "H-aw-aWWK!" Tim was moaning too, but his was pained, panicked. "Sssssomeone will h-hear!"

        Nonsense, thought Hawk. Sure, the walls around them were thin, but they had guarded much louder, livelier nights than this; they had holstered sounds much more...

        ...intense.

        "Then, keep it down," said Hawk. He pressed his lips to the underside of Tim's quivering jaw.

        "Uhhhooooohhhhhehehe," said Tim, eyes fluttering closed, but body still wriggling under the electric, crackling storm of Hawk Fuller's explorative fingers. "I c-can't h-help it."

       Can't...HELP...it?

       A mistake - mentioning so. The hunger in Hawk's groin intensified. His devious, dominating expression hardened.

        He. Was. Hard.

        HARD.

        HUNGRY.

        "You're going to have to help it," he said - demanded.

        Tim opened his eyes. His brow furrowed. He turned to Hawk and recognized the change in him. He knew this. No longer...'sweet.' No. A soldier. A sergeant. "W-what?" he stammered.

        Hawks' lips curled into a smile. Always such a charming smile. But there was an unsettling energy behind it. A dark charisma. He lifted his hand from Tim's torso and instead brought it to his jaw, pressing his fingers lightly into his cheeks. He turned Tim's face towards him, pulling his gaze directly into his own. "Listen to me, my ticklish boy," he whispered. It was a cold, soft, harsh tone, like the icy rush of a mountain stream.

        Tim gulped. He felt his Adam's apple surge and drop. "Hawk?" A whisper. "What are you--?"

       "Shhhh," said Hawk. "Listen to me. You are going to lie here, and you are going to do your damnedest to keep quiet. Do you understand?" His voice became gravel. Powerful and rough. Like the crackle and pop beneath the car tires. “I’m going to have some fun with you, boy.”

       “Hawwwwk…” Tim whined.

       “I said quiet.” Hawk pulled Tim onto his back. He used the weight of his body to pin Tim's right arm, now extended out, against the bed. With his left hand - palm planted firmly against Tim's bicep and elbow - he lifted and held Tim's left arm up, exposing the supple flesh beneath. Hawk then turned and wrapped his right leg around Tim's legs.

        [His boy was bound.]

       “Hawk, what is this?” asked Tim softly. “What are you doing?”

       “I wonder,” whispered Hawk. He pressed his chest into Tim’s, pressed his penis into Tim's waist, where it labored miserably behind the cell of his trousers. "If you're also ticklish...here?" He let his fingers fall into Tim's forcibly vulnerable underarm.

        Tim's eyes bulged. He bucked forward and tried to lower his left arm, but Hawk would not allow it. He held the arm fast, kept his fingers focused on the hairy expanse of the exposed armpit. The skin was soft, the hairs soft.

        softsoftsoft

        tickletickletickle

        "Ohhhhohohohhhhhhhh! Oh! OHOHO! OH! NO!" Tim's jaw tensed as he did his best not to allow the laughter to burst forth. It churned inside him, sloshing around and pooling as Hawk continued to explore the underarm, fingers creeping and crawling like the limbs of a spider

        d

             o

       w

             n

         --and

       a

            r

       o

            u

       n

            d

        --"Hawk! No! Pl-please! I can't take it!"

       "What's the matter, Skippy?" Hawk couldn't help the amusement in his voice, though he tried to remain assertive -- the one in CONTROL.

        [HARD.

        HARDER.]

        "Haw-awwwwhahawk!" Tim's mouth widened, an O first, then an open U -- lips pulling back, staggering as he writhed beneath the bodily bonds of his lover, mouth opening, OPENing -- straight, white teeth, cracking apart - a canyon around the gushing flow of laughter that streamed forth: heeeheehahahawkhawkhawkhahaheeehee

        "Quiet, Skippy!" ordered Hawk, but he continued allowing his fingers to roam free, to do what they wanted. From his right hand, they began to skitter and scratch along Tim's stomach, and from his left hand, they continued to wriggle and dance in the depths of his underarm.

        Tim bucked.

                Tim convulsed.

                        He labored against Hawk's hold just as Hawk's penis labored against his trousers. 

        HARD.

                This was HARD!

                        Tim wanted to scream.

        S (heheheohoh) C (ohhhhohahahaheeeeeek!) R (hahahaha) E (ohOH! Hawk!) A (ahhh!) M!

        "Someone will hear you!" Hawk hissed. "Be quiet!!"

        "I c-can't! I c-can't! This is--! HAWK!" Tim's voice crackled and thickened. His eyes were squeezed shut. His body spasmed with the electric currents jolting through him from the nods of Hawk's curious fingertips.

       "Do you want someone to hear? Do you?"

       "No! Nohohohahahaha!"

       "Because if someone hears us, you know what that will mean. For both of us..." said Hawk, his words biting with the intensity of his fingerfalls, with the force and thrust of his hips, his groin. The force of his excited HUNGER.

       Cracklesizzlehisspop!

       tickletickletickletickletickle

       Poor, poor Tim! He WRITHED! He TWISTED! He PULLED! He PUSHED! He slammed his head from sidetoside, sidetoside -- WHIPLASH!

       (hahahahahaha!)

       Hawk groped and tickled and scratched and teased. Tim's armpits, his chest, his nipples, his stomach, his sides -- all trapped beneath Hawk's heavy, throbbing, girth and might. He held fast. Tim tried -- he tried to keep the laughter in, to control his movements. But he was on fire. He was not in control.

       Hawk was.

       Hawk was always in control.

       "I CALLED YOU SWEEHEEHEEHEET!" Tim yelled loudly. "HAWK! PLEEEEA---"

        Hawk stopped tickling. He turned, his crashing into Tim's, silencing him. Tim's lips took his in, his jaw clenching, the slap and smack of swollen mouths. Wet and deep. As Hawk kissed and kissed and kisssssssed, he swung around and mounted his boy, leaning over him--

        face to face

        kissssssssssssss

        And as their mouths pulled and pushed against one another, like the ebb and flow of the tide, Hawk balanced his weight on one arm and used his other to begin tickling Tim again. Gently though.

        kisssSss sSSS ss ss      sssssshhhhhheeee  heehehehehehehe!!!

        Their mouths broke, Tim's forced open with surprised elation. He immediately started to beg again: "No! Hawk no! Please! I can't take anymore!"

        "That   can't   be   true,    Skippy..." said Hawk sloooooowly. Calmly. He cooed. "My ticklish boy. My sweet, laughing boy..."

       Tim blushed. He raised his head from the pillow and kissed his soldier, his state official. 

        Hawk Fuller was his.

        His body still buzzing from Hawk's assault, skin rolling with goosebumps and sweat, he lurched upward, challenging the man who was dominating him-- "How about you?" he asked quickly. "How much can you take?" He pushed Hawk off of him, pushed him

        back

                onto his

        back.

        It was Tim's turn, perhaps.

                Perhaps.

        Hawk wasn't one to be dominated. To be made to look the fool.

        Tim swiveled up on top of Hawk's waist, pressing his groin down against the spire erect beneath Hawk's trousers. Hawk moaned instantly.

        Ohhhhhh, Skiiiippy...

       "Let's get you out of that shirt, huh?" said Tim. His fingers worked their way around each button as he made his way back down to Hawk's throbbing waist. He spread the brown expanse of cloth, exposing the white cotton underneath. Then, in a FLASH! he, with some assistance, freed both articles of clothing from his man's rippling torso.

       Hawk's flesh was bared, just as his was.

        Tim stared down at Hawk a moment, his eyes tracing the golden flesh of his stomach, the tone of his muscles. He licked his lips, which were still flushed and wet from the recent onslaught of kisses. 
"So. Hawk," he said. Another beat. "Are you ticklish?"

       Hawk raised a brow, then he raised his arms and placed his hands behind his head. What a display of nonchalance worthy of the cocky soldier, in control. "What do you think?"

       I'm going to be in control now, thought Tim.

        Me.

        "I think..." said Tim, placing his hands gently on Hawk's stomach.

         [SOLID]

        He waited for the subtle clenching of the muscles, the physical anticipation.

        --none came.

        No matter. Tim pressed on. Mentally. Physically. Press, press, pressssing into Hawk's torso. "I think you're actually more ticklish than I am."

        "Let's see." Hawk's posture remained casual.

        His tone:

        --casual--

        Hawk felt his heartbeat starting to        s l   o    w...

        Tim's was revving up.

        (89 beats per minute.)

        His touch was gentle. He glided his fingernails up and around the taut flesh, nibbling into Hawk's flanks. A little jolt of a reaction.

        flinch!

       He tried again. The same area.

        --nothing--

        Tim tried and tried. Again.

        Always trying and trying. 

        He tickled and scratched up and down Hawk's sides, then upwards upwards into his underarms (Tim's armpits still tingled with the phantom touch of Hawk's merciless hands) where he gently pressed in and around the flesh, latent with a film of sweat. He tried to remember how Hawk touched him -- just like that! -- the amount of pressure he applied and where...

        There?

                        No--        here! (nope, nothing)

        How about...

                                                                   here?

Over here? (tickletickle)

                         here?

        Hawk closed his eyes. The little jolts and flinches were fleeting and fast. (going...going...)

        Nothing.

        The crackling energy calmed.

        "You're--" Tim's voice deflated. "You're not... ticklish."

        Hawk clicked his tongue against his mouth, keeping his arms up, biceps bulging. "Tsk, tsk. No, Skippy. I'm not."

​

​

​

​

        A        l     o     n     g        moment.

​

​

​

​

        Tim sat back on his haunches, taking his weight off of Hawk's penis, still erect, but no longer pulsing.

        Hawk caught the look in his eye and chuckled. "I'm...sorry, Skippy. Why don't you come on back up here?" He patted the pillow beside him. "C'mon."

        Tim hesitated. He sighed. One long siiiiiiiiiiigh. He was about to oblige, then--

​

        --WAIT--

​

        Tim locked eyes with Hawk. They flickered. "Just a moment," he said -- a cool, rushing mutter. "You are ticklish," he said.

        Hawk raised a brow again. "What?" A husky syllable.

        "I remember something," said Tim. He removed himself from Hawk's waist, then he lay beside him, his feet stretching up towards the pillows. He propped himself up on one arm, and smiled, looking back up at Hawk, who remained motionless, before slowly turning his gaze down to Hawk's stockinged feet. 

        Hawk followed Tim's eyes, now staring down at his own black silk stockings. He instantly thought back to the night of McCarthy's party, when he made Tim remove the socks from his feet and--

        "Now, open up."

        He curled his toes.

        He could still feel Tim's lips around them, his warm, wet tongue threading its way in and out and around the sensitive flesh. His penis began to pulse again.

        "My...feet?" said Hawk.

        "Your feet," answered Tim. He reached beneath each leg of Hawk's trousers and slowly pulled the black stockings free from Hawk's feet, just as he had done before. Then, he made his move. He was quick. Precise.

        His fingers struck

        d

        o

        w

        n

        onto the soft undersides of Hawk's soles.

        Hawk hisssssed. Sharp! A wild jolt. "Whoa!" he said.

        "Thaaat's the reaction I wanted," said Tim, tone surging with triumph. "I knew it!" His memories served him well -- how Hawk had laughed and flinched when he'd been kissed...here.

        "W-wait a minute," said Hawk, trying to bite back a laugh.

        "No, I've waited long enough. In fact, you kept me waiting up all night." He used his right hand to lock Hawk's left foot against the bed; with the fingers of his left hand, he began to tease and scribble up and down the soft flesh along the instep. He admired how Hawk's foot darted to and fro -- a poor attempt to reel back from the touch.

        "You did not!" Hawk said. "You were asleep!"

        "Because you kept me waiting." Tim began to tickle faster, harder, fingers biting beneath Hawk's toes, down to the heels, then all along the sides of each foot.

        Clumsy, jittery, movements.

        "Th-this is--- Ah! Haha!" Hawk began to laugh. Deep, nervous.

        Music to Tim's ears. His man -- the powerful Hawk Fuller -- was ticklish too.

        "Skippy, wait!"

        "Wait for what?" Tim continued to

        tickle

        "Give m-me a break! Ha-HA."

        "No. I don't want to."

        "P-please."

        "Please?" Tim stopped a moment and looked back up at Hawk -- that charming smile was still there. Bright. A little manic, even.

        "Hawk, you never say please to me."

        Hawk frowned. Tim saw the muscles in his neck and jaw working to reform a stoic (intimidating?) expression on his face. "You heard wrong," he said.

        "Oh, is that right?" said Tim. Keeping his eyes on Hawk, he began to scribble his fingers along the soft, sweaty flesh of Hawk's left foot again. He he could feel the limb tremble, the toes curl up. This time, Hawk remained determined to stay...

        in control.

        "Yes, you d-id."

        "You didn't just plead for me to stop?"

        "No, I didn't." Hawk's tone was matter-of-fact. But there was something -- something -- subtly flickering behind his eyes. There was the faintest twitch of a muscle in his cheek.

        A crack in the facade. 

        "So, I can keep going then?" said Tim, and he reached down and began to tickle both feet again, watching as they flexed and wiggled in agony at his touch. But Hawk was stubborn. His legs remained planted on the bed. He did not pull away, despite the insane, electric buzzing across his soles.

        "Go all you want. It's going to be light soon. You'll need to stop anyway."

        Tim's eyes flickered upward to the window. The black of the night was warming, becoming blue. He shrugged. "Fine. I think I will."

        (left foot) tickletickletickletickle        tickletickletickletickle (right foot)

        Hawk began to tremble. He closed his eyes, his brow growing heavy. He felt it -- the energy welling up in his chest, like the embers of a fire, each igniting. Hot, uncontrollable. He felt the creases in his face give way to a smile. A threat.

        Tim looked ecstatic. "What's wrong, Hawk?"

        Hawk refused to answer. He knew that if he opened his mouth, it would be all over.

        "Hawk?"

        (Don't open your mouth. Don't do it. You'll laugh. God, it TICKLES! It's horrible. OH MY GOD! Please, Skippy. P-please give up. Please don't....make........me..........)

        "Hawk?" said Tim again.

        Hawk was smiling now. He bit down into his lower lip. He refused to let the dam burst. The feeling was overwhelming. It was a lightning strike. The backfiring of an automobile. The bang! of a gun. The eruption of...

        ...eruption.

       Hawk hissed again and with the slightest laugh -- one quick hehe -- he looked down at his groin. Tim noticed. Another look of interest crossed his face.

       "My, my." Tim smirked. "Hawk, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

        "W-what?"

        "You like me touching your feet."

        Hawk refused to confirm nor deny Tim's theory.

        "Do you like it when I tickle them?"

        "Mm."

        "Oh, Hawk..." Tim exhaled a soft laugh. While still lightly scribbling across the undersides of Hawk's feet with his left hand, he reached up with his right hand and began to finger at the hem of Hawk's trousers.

        "W-what are you d-doing?" mumbled Hawk, on the verge of completely breaking.

        quicklittlecracklingtickles

        "Giving you what you want," said Tim. He freed Hawk's aching, throbbing penis from its long-held prison. It rose-- 

        !         

        T

        C

        E

        R

        E 

        Tim wondered at its size, the veins along the shaft, the glistening at its swollen tip. How he loved Hawk's penis. And seeing it stand before him -- it made him hungry too. He let up on the tickling -- just for a moment -- and he wrapped his fingers slowly along the sensitive, aching, trembling length of it. The touch sent shivers scurrying up Hawk's spine. He curled his toes. He thrust his head back against the pillow and, mouth agape, he croaked out a soft moan.

       "Awwwwwhhhhhhhhhhh..... ohhhhhh."

        "How's this?" asked Tim as he began to slowly pump.

        Up. Down. Up. Down.

        "Uuhhhnnngh!" Hawk gasped and thrust upward. He was already close. He was always close with Tim Laughlin. 

        His beautiful boy.

        "Yeah? You like that, Hawk?"

        "Oh, god, yes. Faster," urged Hawk. "Faster!" It was almost a growl.

         Up, down, up, down, up...

         The gyration of Hawk's hips was rhythmic, upward thrusts, that sent the shaft even higher between Tim's slick fingers, the tip trembling with the threat of expulsion.

        But then--

        "Ohhhhhhh!!! OhhhHHHHHOHOHOHO! WAIT! SKIPPY! WH-WHAHAT?! What are youhoohoo--?!"

        Tim began to tickle his feet again. His left hand was back on on the familiar territory of his large soles, with their shapely arches and soft, veiny insteps; his right hand remained firm around the dripping, pulsing shaft of his veiny penis.

        V

            e

        i

            n

          s 

        Network of hot, buzzing blood... 

        flowing

        to all the most sensitive spots of Hawk's trembling, writhing, gyrating body. 

       "Remember -- you have to be quiet," said Tim, reminding Hawk of what he'd just been put through.

       "Ha! HaHA! Ohhh! Oh, Skippy! Th-thihis is toohoo muhuhuch! Oh (yes!) ohh ohhhhohohahahee! Ohhhhhhh! (I'm close!)"

        Tim pumped faster. He tickled harder.

        [HARD!]

        Updownupdownupdown...

        tickletickletickle - up around the bases of Hawk's big toes, along the balls of his feet, down his arches, up his insteps. Soft, golden, veiny, sweaty skin. 

        Hawk's body began to vibrate and tremble. He could feel the pleasure gathering at the base of his shaft, the tingling threat of explosive ecstasy at the tip, and then tormentous tickling at the sensitive soles of his shapely feet.

       ("HA! HEEHAHAHA! OHHHhhhhhOOHOHOHO! OH GOD, YES!") Hawk wanted to shout, to release, to laugh, but he kept himself under as much control as he could muster, letting the moans and splutters and deep, manly snickering escape from him in short, quick, chirping bursts.

        Updownupdownupdown...

        Hawk could no longer close his mouth. His body would not allow it. His nerve-endings were under siege, pleasured in all ways...

        Skin sensors alight!

        Sensitive! S t i m u l a t i n g

        Ticklish feet ablaze and thrashing, twisting... biting shocks along the soles!

        UPDOWNUPDOWNUPDOWN...

                TICKLETICKLETICKLE...

        "How's this feel, Hawk? Tell me you like it!" said Tim, grinning from ear to ear as he witnessed his man succumb to the agonizing pleasure at his own hands.

       "I l-love iiiiiiiiit!!" moaned Hawk.

        "Do you like it when I tickle your feet? When I stroke your cock?"

        "Yes! YES!"

        "Say it! Please," said Tim.

        "I love it when you tickle my feet, Skippy! When you stroke my cock!"

        UPDOWNUPDOWN---MASSIVEPULSINGCOCK! TICKLETICKLEDTICKLINGTICKLISHFEET!

        This was it! The point of no return! The stimulation was too great. The critical point.

         Hawk felt the jolt at the base of his spine, the discharge of nerve impulses to the ducts, glands, and muscles of groin...

       One last UP and DOWN and---!

        "UUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Hawk catapulted upward at the sheer force of his ejaculation. The contractions shook through his abdominals, his shaft. His heart rate peaked:

        (98 beats per minute.)

        Tim watched Hawk jolt and pulse as the expulsion flowed from his erect penis. 

        PULSE...pulse... pulse... 

        He stopped tickling Hawk's feet. And as Hawk settled back onto the bed, moaning and dizzy, and, for the first time since he'd climbed into bed, feeling the chill of residual sweat on his body, Tim kissed the feet of the man he loved - a faint taste of salt and musk - before slowly making his way back up to Hawk's face where their lips met once more.

        "Oh....... oh.... S-Skippy," whispered Hawk after Tim pulled away.

        "How was it?" asked Tim.

        Hawk could barely open his eyes. "I... th-that was-- I sometimes take for granted how talented you are."

        Tim chuckled and kissed him again.

        "I'm serious. You're always finding new ways to give me what I want." Hawk pulled Tim close again, continued to kiss his face softly. His body ached. He felt the cold stickiness of his cum running down his inner thighs. His feet still tingled and itched. 

        After a long stretch of silence, both men heard the rumblings of the cruel world outside starting to awaken.

        Tick...tick...

        They were moving forward again.

​

        The coming and going of a moment. 

 

        Nothing but the steadying rhythm of two heartbeats,

                sidebyside

        (74...72...68 beats per minute.)

        Minute by minute.

        The turn of the hour nearly upon them now...

        Finally, Tim said, "Hawk?"

       "Yes, Skippy?" answered the exhausted man beside him. Again, his voice rumbled through both of their bodies, entwined and connected.

        "Was that...a productive use of our time?" 

        Hawk smiled, pulling his boy further into the heat of his swaying body, the embrace of his strong arms. "I...think it was, Skippy." He kissed him again. "I think it was."

        Soft light began sifting through the window.