Good Morning.

Alex tried to shift or free his hands. Where even was he?..

Actually, it didn't really matter. You don't exactly care to inspect your surroundings when hot, wet breath is brushing against your neck, and someone's neat ass is parked right on your lap.

From behind, warm, dry palms slid along his body from his armpits down to his thighs. Alex exhaled shiveringly. Every touch burned; his body felt scalding hot.

"Something wrong, champ?" a very familiar low voice purred in his ear. Alex couldn't answer; his tongue completely refused to cooperate.

Sharp nails traced up the inside of his thighs. Alex arched his lower back, but escaping was impossible. They kept holding him from behind by his sides, preventing him from even squirming. He couldn't help himself and let out a quiet laugh.

"So obedient today," a second voice praised, thick with a Spanish accent.

The nails returned, occasionally giving way to slender fingers. The hands crept closer and closer to his underwear, and Alex suddenly realized with stark clarity that he wasn't wearing any pants. He was about to voice his indignation over what they were doing to him, but a sudden burst of laughter knocked the wind right out of his lungs. He jerked sharply, but once again, absolutely nothing worked. What the hell.

He could feel insistent fingers digging into his ribs. Even worse was the voice in his ear.

"O-o-one, tw-o-o... How awkward, I lost count. Let's start over. O-o-one..."

Alex choked on his laughter and let his head drop onto the other man's shoulder. He didn't even want to break free anymore. A pleasant warmth spread through his stomach; his breathing was heavy, punctuated by occasional breathless laughs.

The hands that had been terrorizing his thighs switched to the creases between his leg and groin. Alex grew even louder, involuntarily jerking his pelvis.

"I like it when you laugh in my ear," Alex was certain he could come from that voice alone.

The tickling didn't stop for a single second. Done playing with his ribs, Elliot decided to move to his stomach. Alex turned his head, burying his face in Elliot's neck.

Alister had already slipped under his underwear, his fingers fluttering all around the coveted spot, though he hadn't touched it just yet.

"You're practically shaking, sweetness. You want it bad, don't you? Is now a good time? Come on, beg nicely."

Alex could only whimper. The rear front had no intention of resting. His neck was subjected to a new wave of affection: with one hand, Elliot lightly held his neck to keep him from pulling away, kissing him. Greedily, sucking at his skin in a way that would definitely leave a mark. El would love a mark on this pale skin. Or better yet, two. Even better, ten.

Alex tried to grab Alister by the wrists.

"What an impatient boy you are, Lexi. You're already dripping all over. What's wrong? Want me to help you with that?"

Alister's hand finally cupped his cock.

Alex opened his eyes, gasping for air. His ears were ringing. His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. And his body... more than ever, he wanted those hands back, wanted it to never end. He craved that warmth; his boxers felt suffocatingly tight and wet. Damn it, he really was dripping.

Only now did he finally realize what had happened. He'd had a dream. And not just any dream, but a highly erotic one, to put it mildly. And to top it off, with two guys at once.

His body had clearly decided that whatever happened between him and Alister on that mat wasn't enough, painting the rest of the picture on its own and painting it with terrifying generosity, heavily laced with pure lust.

Shame washed over him in a sickening, sticky wave, but the arousal was stronger. His hand instinctively reached down, slipping beneath the waistband of his briefs.

His fingers brushed against the smooth head. His thumb traced his frenulum, making Alex exhale shakily. Wrapping his hand around his hard cock, he stroked it slowly. Alister's image flashed in his mind again. He placed his other hand on his chest, squeezing. Elliot would have done exactly that. Alex groaned long and low with pleasure. He didn't rush, trying to fully recreate his fantasy.

The images from his dream blurred before his eyes again. Alister was setting the pace. Harsh, almost painful. It was as if he wanted to bring Alex to his peak as quickly and efficiently as possible. Right at the moment he was closest, his hand stopped. Digging his heels into the mattress, Alex exhaled through tightly gritted teeth in sheer desperation. No, he wasn't going to finish this early.

Alex kept pleasuring himself, closing his eyes tightly to prevent the visions of his dream from dissolving into the morning twilight. A finger brushed his nipple, and a fresh wave of sparks jolted through his brain. He gripped the base of his cock tighter and tried to catch his breath. Too soon.

After a few seconds, he couldn't take it anymore and picked up the pace again. Alex kept rubbing the head. Fingers slightly calloused scratched the sensitive skin, tickling it. The sensation made his vision go dark with pleasure as the orgasm rolled in with increasing insistence. His hand moved up and down under his underwear. Alex bit down on the flesh of his palm and let out a loud, shuddering breath. Warm white fluid spilled over his hand.

"Pathetic," Alex thought, standing over the sink at four in the morning. His boxers were covered in cum, his hands too, and his face was as red as a schoolboy's after his first time. Why on earth had his body rebelled like this?

How was he supposed to look them in the eye after this?! What a shameful, degenerate mess! And with both of them at once! Seriously, what kind of decent person imagines themselves in a threesome, let alone on the bottom? Exactly, Alex didn't think a decent one did.

The worst part was that it made him want to go to the club with triple the intensity. His body wasn't just asking; it was practically demanding a sequel. Absolutely with those two, and absolutely at the same time.

He repeated it like a mantra: "It's a stress response. It's a stress response. It's a stress response..." Though what kind of damn stress was this? Stress gives you headaches and makes your hair fall out; it doesn't give you a hard-on.

He crashed into his teammates at practice with extra zeal. He didn't dare go to the club just yet, much as he wanted to, so he had to use every means necessary to beat out everything that didn't fit the criteria of "decent." He worked himself to total exhaustion and crashed into bed straight after practice, ensuring no erotic nonsense could find its way into his dreams. His teammates chalked it all up to the upcoming big match. Look at the captain putting in work, training hard. Isn't he an excellent role model?

He held out strong for nearly a week, but a humiliating defeat to his own libido awaited him.

He returned to the club practically dead on his feet. The constant tension, both sexual and ordinary muscle strain, was taking its toll. To make matters worse, he was terribly anxious about seeing the heroes of his fantasies. Just the phrasing made him flinch. What was he, a schoolgirl daydreaming about her favorite character? But there was no other way to put it.

Alex was already walking toward their usual spot at the table when he spotted Alister and Elliot. They were sitting on a mat by the wall, talking. Alex couldn't hear a word they were saying, but just the sight of them made his face flush. The last thing he needed was to blush. He was a grown man, for God's sake!

They noticed him, too. It was hard to miss him.

"Captain!" El called out, gesturing with his hand. Alex obediently trudged over to them.

"Where are Kill and Jess?"

"Jess is on a shift, she'll be late, and Kill, unfortunately, doesn't report to us. He's like a cat. Disappears for God knows how long and pops back up out of nowhere. Take a seat," Elliot patted the mat between them.

"You look tense. Look at those bags under your eyes... Is there anything you want to share with us, Lexi?" Alister reached out with a hint of concern, gently brushing his finger over the dark circle under his eye. Alex softly nudged his hand away.

Sure. Why not tell them that you imagine two of your... whatever they were, in compromising positions, and then happily jerk off to it. Great conversation starter, just perfect. Thanks, Alister.

But Alex only replied:

"My coach has been driving us ragged, we have a game coming up."

Alister put on an understanding expression and nodded sagely.

Elliot just smirked and squeezed his leg. Alex practically jumped. They just had to get handsy.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're awfully jumpy for someone who's just tired," El remarked.

"And your cheeks are pink. Alexander, this is atypical even for you. Are you getting sick?" Alister reached for him again, this time to check his temperature.

Alex only blushed deeper. Why did they have to be so perceptive?

"Come on, spill it, jock," Elliot poked him in the ribs. No way, it was like they conspired against him today!

"I'm just really glad to see you guys!" Alex recoiled as if scalded. And he wasn't even lying. He was so glad that he was practically aching down there.

Alister looked at the two of them and uttered:

"¡Todo esto es porque siempre le estás buscando las cosquillas!" and then he smiled like an idiot.

"Sabes que no entendió el juego de palabras, ¿verdad?" Alex didn't understand a single thing, but Elliot clearly found the phrase amusing too.

"Is that something I'm not supposed to hear?" Alex raised an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't get it, Lex," Elliot leaned against his shoulder, speaking directly into his ear again. What kind of habit was that? Did he do that with everyone? How did people even talk to him? Well, people who weren't Alex.

"You're all red again, don't change the subject," Alister just couldn't let it go.

"Maybe you want us to find out for ourselves?" Now this was entering dangerous territory. Elliot's tone boded no good.

And just like that, he was lying with his back against Elliot's torso, nestled comfortably between his legs. Some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. Should he go buy a lottery ticket or something?

Naturally, Elliot started first. He had zero patience.

His hands slipped under his T-shirt with surprising ease, despite all of Alex's efforts. He automatically tried to crawl away, but at that exact moment, Elliot gleefully dug into his sides. From fleeing, he switched to resisting, but you try resisting him. It felt like trying to push off a playful lion: if he does let you go, it's only to suddenly grab you again. And you couldn't budge the bastard an inch.

His nerves regarding who was doing this only heightened Alex's sensitivity. Naturally, Alister found himself a perfect seat - Alex's thighs. Where else would he sit?

"So what's the matter, Alexander?" Alister drummed his fingertips impatiently against his stomach.

"Calm ho-ho-down your i-hi-hi-diot first."

"Idiot, calm down, don't interrupt our conversation," he waved a hand at Elliot with a tone that said, "Wait, peasant, can't you see the master is speaking?"

"Al, you better not push your luck, or I won't care about the color of your wristband," El snapped back, though he pulled his hands out from under the T-shirt.

"Feel like talking now?"

"I've already said everything," Alex snapped. He was doing a stellar job keeping a straight face. Really impressive, considering his stomach was tied in such tight knots that he could barely keep himself from squirming.

"What you said wasn't particularly convincing. You've had practices before, but you never came back from them looking this wild."

"Do you know what we do to liars, Alex, mm? Especially those who lie straight to our faces so blatantly and terribly."

Alex sucked in his stomach, as if that would help against an attack.

"Lexi, I'm counting to three. Confess, or we will be forced to take action," Alister said in a tone far too serious for such an absurd situation.

"Oh, I love that part," Elliot chipped in ominously. "Come on, Lex. O-o-one..."

His hands hovered over Alex's tense body. He wiggled his fingers, taking immense pleasure in the expression on his victim's face.

Alex closed his eyes, but not watching the catastrophe approach turned out to be even more nerve-wracking, so he opened them, awaiting the attack with anticipation.

"Guys, come on, what about per-he-personal boundaries?" Alex simply couldn't suppress a nervous giggle.

"Their boundaries, cariño, are blurred in the dark."

"And nobody canceled the safeword, dummy. Where were we? Tw-o-o..."

Alex tried to pull his legs up, forcing Alister to shift closer to his stomach, right onto his crotch. The terror on Alex's face was mistaken for anticipation. This was the end, absolutely the end. Now they would start their dirty business, Alex would start squirming, and Alister would end up rubbing his ass all over him. If this kept up, a hard-on was only a matter of time. And judging by the pace, not a lot of time at all.

But the guys didn't see anything provocative about the position.

"Last chance," Alister crooned. Alex just shook his head.

"Three!" Oh, with what sheer delight Elliot dug into his ribs.

Alex held out as best as he could. His chest arched high, his cheeks puffed out. Was he an athlete or what? He locked his pelvis in place and tried not to move too much. Maybe he'd get lucky?

He completely failed to account for Alister's mischievous hands. With the persistence of a seasoned interrogator, Alister launched into a proper enhanced interrogation. That ought to be illegal, by the way! And Alex felt exactly why on his own skin. Tickling someone's hip bones is a literal crime. His plan to hold out and remain motionless failed miserably.

Elliot's hands roamed freely under his T-shirt, lightly scratching his skin with dull nails.

"DON'T-ha-ha-HA-HA!"

The screams only rippled Elliot up, and Alister was casting some rather predatory glances. Alex began to think that mercy truly wasn't on the table. The thought flashed somewhere between "please, just not the armpits" and "I beg you, not the stomach."

Alister traced a line with a single finger through the light fuzz on his stomach down to his belly button, circling it. Alex whimpered, unable to stop laughing.

"Leave me alone-hehe..."

"Refusing to testify automatically counts as a confession of guilt in the eyes of the investigation," judging by his tone, Elliot was smirking. Easy for him to laugh.

"The defendant is resisting," Alister noted as he was jolted upward again. What a... wild stallion.

El rubbed his cheek against his neck, but the tenderness was deceptive. His hands immediately darted into his armpits.

The sensation was unbearable and, because of that, deathly arousing. It couldn't go on like this.

"STO-HO-HO-HO-OP!" Alex roared, "I'LL TELL YOU EV-HE-HE-HE-ERYTHING!"

Elliot and Alister both stopped instantly. Were they really that interested?

Alex gave himself enough time to catch his breath. He needed to act as rationally as possible and try to minimize contact with...

"So, Lex? We're waiting for an answer."

Elliot gave Alex's cheek an expectant pinch, trying to coax him to speak.

Alex stuck out his tongue.

"Oh-ho-ho," yeah, he was probably a dead man now. That was super rational, of course. Not foolish at all.

"Have you ever heard the parable about not sawing off the branch you're sitting on?" Alister seemed genuinely surprised that someone was digging their own grave so stubbornly. And they'd given him a chance!

Alex just drilled him with a stubborn glare. Sheer recklessness and bravado...

Though Elliot actually liked the response. The more excuses to tickle him, the better.

There was no warning this time. All Alex managed to see was Elliot's hands flashing before his face. The next second, his wrists were pinned above his head.

"Come on, no way, guys!" Alex's eyes scanned the club in a panic, as if hoping someone would help him, but who would care?

He tried to suck in his stomach, but that didn't stop Alister's nails from raking across the taut, sensitive skin. The muscles under his fingers contracted wildly, putting his appetizing abs on full display.

"Ali-hi-hi-hister!"

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Alex wanted to reply, but at that moment, Elliot blew a raspberry right on his neck, and he dissolved into laughter again, trying to shield his neck.

"Alexander, you should start talking," Alister poked him right in the belly button, causing Alex to make a series of amusing noises.

"Ho-ha-ha-w?! Sto-he-he-op tickling me!"

"Figure it out. Our trust in you has been compromised."

"No-hi-hi-thing hap-he-pened!"

"Well, look at that, you're dead wrong again," Elliot concluded.

His doom was sealed. El freed one of his hands and finally reached for his armpits.

Alex roared, laughing loudly and shaking his head. Not a single thought remained in his mind.

"Who do we have here that's so ti-"

"Elliot, hold on," Alister waved a hand thoughtfully.

"You're always stopping me from going all out today," El grumbled.

Alister clicked his tongue at him and turned to Alex:

"Cariño, joking aside, is there nothing you want to discuss with us?"

Alex couldn't find the words to answer. He couldn't even bring himself to look at them.

Elliot exchanged a glance with Alister. Alister shifted his weight, making Alex choke on the air.

They both stared at him expectantly.

"Uhh... Well, you... I dreamed about you..."

Alister made a hand gesture indicating they were waiting for the rest.

"Both of you..."

"Dreamed about us. Very interesting. In that way?"

"In that way," Alex breathed out, as if standing before a leap into an abyss.

Silence fell, and a few seconds later, a voice came from behind:

"Want us, Captain?" he purred into his ear.

In Elliot's eyes, Alex saw a hungry glint. It was slightly terrifying. A couple of minutes ago, El had been in his typical laid-back mood, and now it looked like he was about to devour him whole.

"Not here," Alex tried to crawl away.

"In a private room?"

"In a private room," Alister confirmed.

All Alex could do was stand up, not without Elliot's help, and follow them. Everything around him felt like slow motion; arousal always acted on him like a narcotic haze.

The moment the heavy door shut out the noise of the club, Alex seemed to wake up. But there wasn't much time to process what was happening. Alister gave him a soft shove in the chest, and he fell right back into Elliot's arms.

They sank down somewhere. Onto something soft, maybe a sofa or another mat. Alex felt his T-shirt being pulled off insistently and obediently raised his arms. As soon as the unneeded piece of clothing was tossed aside, his hands were locked above his head again. This time in handcuffs.

"Alexander," Alister settled over him comfortably again, "before we begin, you need to understand that we are going to go further than usual. Are you okay with that? Are you ready?"

"Ready," Alex nodded. How could he not be ready when his jeans felt suffocatingly tight, and he was staring at the two most attractive guys he had ever met?

"Alex, this is no joke," the last time he'd seen Elliot look this serious was during their conversation after the ring. "We might be rougher during this, are you sure that-"

"I fucking said I'm ready!" Alex yelled.

"Your wish is our command," Alister raised his hands.

The leather cuffs were soft but perfectly secure. Next to them, Alex felt a button. Safety was accounted for at every step here.

Elliot kissed his neck deeply, his hands wandering across his torso, brushing over his nipples every now and then. He was creeping closer to his armpits.

Alister, for his part, was stroking more than tickling. The gentle touches made him want to curl inward, sending goosebumps skating over his skin. Shifting position slightly, he settled between his legs. His lips brushed against his collarbones, chest, and stomach. Alex tried to suck in his stomach again, but that didn't stop Alister from continuing to kiss and drag his tongue across his skin.

Suddenly, he burst out laughing loudly again and tried to curl up. Elliot, completely unbothered and at a measured pace, moved his fingers against the skin of his armpit. Alex shook his head as if that could save him from the tickling.

"No-ho-ho-ho-o," a grin spread from ear to ear, wide enough to split his face in half.

Alister's hands moved to his fly, carefully catching the fastener. Alex tensed up again. Slowly, savoring the process, Alister unzipped the jeans and finally slid them off, leaving Alex in just his boxers. He groaned in relief, even though he realized how pathetic the wet spot on his underwear looked.

"So responsive," Alister's palm covered the bulge, squeezing lightly, and Alex let out another long groan.

Alister slipped his hands under the waistband, and Alex's vision swam with arousal. Crossing every line of decency, Elliot began to literally knead his ribs, making him lose track of his senses. On one hand, it was ticklish; on the other, having hands in such an intimate spot kept making Alex whimper.

He didn't even notice his last piece of clothing being stripped away, leaving him completely defenseless. Alister slid down lower, his lips pressing against the smooth head. Alex chuckled breathlessly, now shamelessly moaning right into Elliot's ear.

The Spaniard squeezed his balls at the base of his cock, cutting off any path to a quick finish. With his other hand, he stroked the inside of his thigh. From behind, Alex could feel hot breath against the back of his neck. Elliot squeezed his chest, playing with his nipples: alternately pinching and tickling the buds with a single finger.

Alex arched up when Alister suddenly took his entire length into his mouth without flinching. He had expected at least some foreplay, but no one was planning on giving him time to prepare. Alister's skilled tongue ran firmly up and down his length, while the hand that had just been resting peacefully on his thigh slithered like a snake behind his knee, threateningly dancing over the sensitive skin. Startled, Alex jerked his leg sharply and groaned, a sound mixed with laughter, but it didn't stop anyone.

Elliot simply bit his ear - something he'd clearly been dreaming of for a long time, judging by how often his lips used to hover millimeters away from it, whispering things. His fingers kept amusing themselves with his broad, soft chest, driving Alex completely out of his mind.

Alister's sharp nails lightly skimmed over his balls without stopping the tickling behind his knee, and Alex had to bite his lip to keep from squeaking.

He tried to jerk his hands, but only succeeded in making the handcuffs clank loudly. He wanted to grab Alister's hands and finally find release, but the opportunity just wasn't there.

"A-a-ha-lister," stringing sounds into words was barely happening; his tongue refused to obey entirely. Did he want to say something? It was easy to forget when a fresh bite or a fiery kiss landed on his neck.

With a distinct wet sound, Alister pulled away from Alex and surveyed the scene. The view before him was mesmerizing: two meters of pure muscle, unable to string a single word together. Entirely flushed, curls unraveled and scattered across his face, his chest heaving heavily, breaking out in red patches from the sheer excitement.

The sight gave him a massive hard-on, and judging by his partner's intense expression, he was barely keeping himself in his pants, either.

Regardless, this did nothing to ease Alex's plight. Passion hadn't made them any more merciful. Alister still wouldn't let him come, and now he decided to tease him mercilessly. With his other hand, he stroked the dripping cock again, stopping at the head. Using the nail of his index finger, he began tracing circular motions around the tip, slick with pre-cum, making Alex writhe like a fish out of water. The sensation was unbearable, unreal; Alex lost all control over his body. All he could do was lie there and take it as jolts like electricity shot through him. From behind, Elliot groaned in impatience, burying his face deeper into his neck. Seeing Alex like this was mind-blowing.

Alister gave him a few more preventative scrapes with his nails down the entire length. He was dying for it himself by now, and Alex was practically tearing up from overstimulation. He couldn't delay any longer. Sucking down tightly on the cock again, he began moving his head vigorously up and down.

Alex thrashed again; the overstimulation hit him just as hard as the tickling, and he was nearly screaming from the sensations.

Alister finally let go. It didn't take even ten seconds for him to come. Cum shot out instantly from the already hyper-stimulated organ. It wasn't a surprise for Alister, and he took it easily, swallowing.

He and Elliot looked at each other with wild eyes, also trying to catch their breath. That was quite the experience.

The problem manifested almost immediately, both figuratively and quite literally. Alex hadn't even recovered from his intense release, but the two of them were already so worked up they were about to explode. How, pray tell, do you explain that to a person who still has white spots in their vision from an orgasm?

Elliot figured it out first, carefully unhooking Alex from overhead. He lightly slapped his cheek with his palm.

"Hey, jock, wake up, you can't just leave us hanging like this," Elliot's voice sounded a bit strained, though maybe the wild arousal was to blame.

Alex blinked a few times, clearly struggling to snap out of it. He stretched his stiff arms, took in the situation, and reached for Alister's fly. Dressing up was clearly not on Alex's agenda. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he rolled onto his stomach. Now his face was buried right in Alister's crotch, while a plump, freckled ass was arched right up in front of Elliot. Neither of the guys intended to pass up their position.

Managing the zipper and the brief layer of underwear, Alex got to work. Alister's cock wasn't thick, around 16 centimeters long, his tanned pubic area cleanly shaved. Al groaned loudly right away, burying his hands in the soft curls but without pressing down on the back of his head. The pace suited him perfectly.

A lot of interesting things were happening at the back, too. Elliot might be a sadist, but he wasn't a monster; he respected his partner. Alex felt cold, slick lube. Elliot carefully slid two fingers inside, stretching him quite gently, if a bit unhurriedly. He wanted to start as soon as possible. Preferably a couple of minutes ago.

When El found his prostate, Alex groaned right into Alister, who gripped his hair even tighter. He was beginning to doubt his ability to last long like this.

Elliot finally finished preparing him and, having slipped a condom on, began to enter him. Alex involuntarily tensed up, and El stroked his back to soothe him.

"Come on, Lex, don't tense up. Gently now," here he acted with total deliberation, taking his time so as not to cause Alex pain with a sudden thrust.

This caused Alex to lose his rhythm every now and then, making Alister curl his toes and tug at his hair to make him bring the intensity down.

Gradually, El picked up speed, increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts. He entered harder and harder, making Alex gag slightly on Alister.

Consequently, Alex decided to quicken his pace too. Naturally, nobody asked Alister. Lex worked his tongue diligently, holding Alister by the hips. His face contorted with pleasure; he tried to pull Alex away from him again, but Lex stubbornly stayed put, pressing his freckled nose into the tanned stomach. Soon, Al came, collapsing onto his back. Alex, being a polite person, swallowed.

And while Alister was already done, Elliot was only just getting into it. He chose Alex's sides as his main source of amusement. A little kneading there, and Alex would clamp down tightly around him, laughter breaking through his groans. These pathetic twitches riled Elliot up immensely, and with a wild fire in his eyes, he kept hammering in faster. Already hyper-sensitive after his orgasm, Alex began to harden again. The second time promised to be even more shattering than the first.

Lust and power blinded him. How long had he dreamed of this? Ever since he first saw Alex at the club? Since he finally managed to gain complete control in the ring? His desire only grew with every meeting; he honestly didn't know how he'd lasted this long without pinning his athlete down on a table somewhere. And the signs he'd been giving! There wasn't a day where his hand wasn't on Alex's waist, but Lex seemed to think it was completely innocent and very heterosexual. Elliot was ready to make up for all the nights spent fantasizing about this ass.

Alex slapped his palm against the floor, hinting that he wouldn't last long. Not a problem, Elliot found a solution! He followed Alex's earlier example and gripped his balls at the base. Alex groaned painfully; there was absolutely no way to endure a fresh wave of overstimulation, and a fine tremor began to shake his body.

"I can't!" Alex felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"But I can."

Elliot's other hand dropped down too. He began rubbing the head of the already constricted organ with his palm. Alex screamed, squeezing his fists until his knuckles turned white.

He was already cursing Elliot's stamina. The guy didn't alter his frantic pace and still hadn't come. How was that even possible?!

He didn't have time to wonder for long. Elliot let go, and Alex came instantly. It was like he was unplugged: he went completely limp, held up only by Elliot's hands. Was El planning to pull out? Unlikely.

Thrust, thrust, thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin seemed to echo forever. Alex could no longer distinguish the sensations, nor did he try to track whether he had hardened again or finished. His mind was an absolute, all-consuming void.

Elliot amused himself with his body for a few more minutes until, with a quiet sigh, he finally came.

Alister came to his senses near the end. He looked at the two limp bodies beside him. Well, quite a successful first threesome...

Elliot, the tireless terminator, got up and looked around literally a minute later. His eyes met Alister's. They both looked at Alex. He was just lying there, not moving. They sat down together to wait.

"Did you overdo it?" Alister asked with a hint of worry.

"I hope not. He seemed like he was holding up fine."

But time passed, Alex wasn't getting up, and the tension grew. Finally, Alister decided to check his pulse and breathing.

"¿Che razza di bestia sei?" Alister pressed his fingers against the other's wrist.

"I didn't think it would turn out like this," Elliot quietly defended himself.

"Pulse is normal, breathing is steady. He's sleeping. Sleeping very soundly."

"We wore the poor guy out," they exchanged a relieved look.

Since Alex clearly had no intention of waking up anytime soon, it was decided that Alister would stay behind to pay for the private room time, while Elliot would be in charge of taking care of Alex.

El handled his task perfectly; draping Alex's arm over his neck, he managed to lift and carry him. Not on the first try, of course the guy weighed quite a bit but he managed to lug him over to the table.

Everyone was already waiting for them there. Jessica was the first to pounce.

"What did you do?!" she hissed in a panic, instantly rushing over to the sofa where they had laid Alex down.

"He's just sleeping!" Elliot raised his hands.

"Sleeping, my foot! How did you drive a person to unconsciousness, you absolute fools?!" Jess didn't let up, scolding them.

"We didn't do anything crazy, we were just having some fun," Alister tried to interject guiltily.

"Bring some water," Jess snapped without even looking at them. Elliot obediently trotted off to get water.

Kill, after hearing Jess's verdict of "Vitals are normal, but if it were up to me, I'd kill you," calmed down as well.

"Yeah, this is definitely a new record for you guys. I don't remember anyone being brought back passed out from a private room."

"He's been at practice all week, he hasn't slept a wink!" Elliot kept trying to clear his good name. "They have a big game coming up."

Alex really was wildly exhausted after a week of actively avoiding his own thoughts through an inhuman training schedule. After the long-awaited release, he finally let go. That was the result.

They had to take Alex home to sleep it off, no matter how you looked at it. Alister called a cab, while Elliot picked Alex up again. Jess, though she still looked at them with judgment, let them go. They were friends, after all; she trusted them.

Half the ride went by in silence, accompanied by Alex's peaceful snoring on Elliot's shoulder. Alister broke the silence.

"And what are we going to do about all this?"

"What else can we do? Split him down the middle? Someone gets the bottom half, someone gets the top?"

"Not funny at all," Alister nudged him.

"You, my friend, are looking at this from the wrong angle. You and I make a real team. What if... we join forces? We're trying to divide someone who wants to belong to both of us."

Alister grew thoughtful.

"Are you proposing a relationship? To me? To him?"

"To us."

"We'll have to ask Alex first..." Alister said, caught off guard.

"We'll ask him tomorrow. I want to know your opinion."

Alister pinched the bridge of his nose. On one hand, it sounded like a massive gamble. On the other, Elliot was an excellent partner to him in all their delicate endeavors, not to mention a very hot man. He needed both him and Alex. And the prospect of a "+1" addition pleased him more than it fazed him.

It wasn't that Peter wasn't used to his tone, but there had been something particularly embittered about it since Octavius revealed the truth of Ben's origin. The Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man understood why Ben acted this way: the team’s mistrust after his betrayal, a crushing sense of guilt, and the shock of realizing he was a symbiote. But Scarlet was truly painful to watch. He had been walking around like the ghost of Hamlet’s father for the past few days, drifting further away from the team. He still had the strength and the skills, but teamwork was becoming increasingly difficult. As a leader, this worried Spidey; as a friend, it worried Peter Parker even more.

Spider-Man hopped down and pulled off his mask, clearly trying to set an example.

"Let’s head to the room, otherwise we might get into a real sticky situation," Peter said. It wasn't clear if the pun was intentional or just a soft attempt to drag Ben away for a talk. Reilly wasn't a fan of heart-to-hearts; he saw them as attempts to expose his weaknesses. But then again, he could trust Spidey, right? Without much protest, Ben allowed himself to be grabbed by the forearm and led away. "Away" turned out to be Peter's office or so it seemed, judging by the mess and the piles of SHIELD paperwork. Impressive.

"They gave you an office?" Ben finally removed his mask, revealing the large scar across the center of his face.

"Well, being a SHIELD agent is pretty prestigious," Peter said, quickly clearing a stack of papers from the desk. "Though rumors say you’ve been skipping training. And I’ve noticed you’re pulling away from the team, even though we’re trying to trust you again..." Such a serious Spider-Man impressed even Reilly, though he sat down on a hard chair and tried to maintain his usual guarded exterior.

"It doesn’t look like they’re ready for me in the Web Warriors again."

"Are you ready?" Peter asked gently. The wrong tone could easily spook the Scarlet Spider.

"What do you mean?" Ben understood, but his unreadiness could stem from several things, and he wanted to know what he was being accused of.

"Honestly? Everything," Spidey declared. "I don't want to see you like this. We should discuss it, you know you can trust-"

"No," Peter was cut off by a sharp, firm answer. "I’ve used up enough of your trust."

Parker sighed in frustration. Why did it have to be so difficult? Ben was always complicated, but this had stopped being funny. He reminded Peter of... well, perhaps himself, though Peter didn't want to admit that.

"Listen, Scarlet, that’s exactly what we need to talk about. I understand-"

"No," he was interrupted again.

"Do I need to make it an order?" Peter was surprised by how quickly he’d adapted to his SHIELD authority. He didn't know he had it in him.

"You? To me? Kid, I think you’re confused," Scarlet mocked.

Peter waved his SHIELD agent ID in front of him. Smug teenager. Ben rolled his eyes.

"Your little paper isn't very convincing."

"Scarlet, I'm supposed to be the one acting like that," Peter countered. The comparison to a teenager worked; Ben sensed something childish in his own behavior.

"What exactly do you want to know?" Ben asked much more quietly, without the usual hostility. It was more of a defense mechanism than genuine anger.

"I want you to... tell me how you feel. I thought you were dead, and then I get you back and you’re still acting like you’re not quite alive. I don't want to play Aunt May, but do you have any idea how much I worried? How I mourned?" Peter spoke with raw emotion, realizing only after the words left his mouth that he was likely adding to the guilt of the already depressed spider.

Ben thinned his lips.

"I didn't think it was necessary to come back. I caused enough problems without showing up and making things complicated again," he said in that same sincere, quiet, serious tone.

"I... that's not what I meant. When I first saw you, you seemed so much more, well, alive..." Peter didn't intend the pun; it just happened. He would have been proud of himself if the situation weren't so grim. "But after the rescue from that sunken Hydra ship, you just went dark. You can talk to me. Please?" Spidey tried the puppy-dog eyes.

Ben was silent for a long time, weighing the offer. When he finally spoke, it was so sudden that Spider-Man almost jumped.

"I don't even know if I'm living. I'm a creature, a symbiote, not a human. I can't say anything for certain about my life, if you can even call it that. I'm lost in it. And that's not even all the problems from the last month. Without a clear sense of self, I feel like I'm just going crazy." The whole tirade took about a minute as he struggled to find the right words.

Peter sat across from him, trying to digest everything. He wasn't sure how to comfort a friend suffering over being a symbiote. But he didn't have to; once Ben started talking, the words poured out.

"And that’s not counting the fact that I essentially betrayed you and May, my only family, and then came back. Who needs that here? People aren't ready to trust me, and I don't blame them. I don't understand you, Peter. I'm the ultimate bastard who wormed his way into your trust and compromised everything dear to you. I literally stabbed you in the back, and here you are, trying to understand and ease my suffering." His words dripped with regret, protectiveness, guilt, and genuine confusion.

Parker sat back and thought.

"Ben, I can't deny what you did. And I can't deny that it was... well, not great. But the choice you made in the end changes everything. You make the choices that define who you are. And with your last heroic act, you showed you aren't a traitor. You chose us. You chose me. That's what matters. You know me, I believe people make mistakes and deserve second chances. Especially you. I don't blame you."

Ben sat still for a long time. His eyes showed he wasn't entirely convinced, but he looked relieved. Significantly relieved.

"I guess even symbiotes make mistakes and deserve second chances," he said, trying to lower the tension. Peter caught the cue.

"You know, you’re nothing like Venom or Carnage, no offense to Flash and MJ. You don't need a host; you're an individual." Peter noticed his words carried weight. Serious weight. He continued. "Maybe you just need to feel... more human? Feel your own body?"

Reilly raised an eyebrow. "I feel like nothing good will come of this, but it's not like I have many other options." His voice sounded much lighter than the pained tone from moments ago.

Spidey’s eyes practically lit up. There he was—the true scientist, or as Flash would say, the nerd. This was a unique symbiote specimen that he could also help through his research.

"Can you take off the suit?"

"Kid, what are you doing?" It sounded much more playful than Ben's usual flat tone. Surprisingly, this guy could be thawed out.

Peter chuckled. "I mean, assuming you have something on under the suit. I don't need 'harassment' added to my reputation as a 'wall-crawling menace.'"

Under the suit was a t-shirt and, surprisingly, shorts. It was the first time Peter had seen him without the full costume or long pants. It was clear why he preferred coverage—there were plenty of scars.

"Mind if I study you a bit?" Peter sat on the same seat, allowing Ben to lean back on his elbows.

"Be careful," Reilly said, meaningfully twitching his eyebrows.

And Peter began. He was genuinely interested in how the symbiote's texture differed. It was more like a human with symbiote DNA than a full symbiote mimicking a human. Peter shared this conclusion with Ben. The words seemed to calm him, though he admitted he still felt strange in his own body.

The teenager sat in thought. He didn't think Ben had been spoiled by physical affection. It was doubtful Octavius held cuddle sessions every Tuesday or patted him on the head for a job well done. Given that Scarlet was created with the consciousness of an adult but hadn't actually lived long enough to gain life experience, this was a great opportunity for both Spiders to get to know each other.

"Can I continue? I think I have an idea."

"As long as it helps, go ahead." Despite his feigned disinterest, Reilly clearly enjoyed spending time with the boy.

Peter smiled. Ah, naive Scarlet had no idea about his "diabolical" plan. Spidey tentatively placed his hands on Ben's ribs and gave a gentle squeeze. Ben clearly didn't understand the touch or his own reaction.

"What are you doing?"

The teenager paused for a second. Could Scarlet really not understand the concept of tickling? Did he even know what it was? Either way, Peter wasn't going to explain. Well, not yet.

"This? It's a type of special massage." Spider-Man tried squeezing his ribs in several places. On the lower ribs, the reaction was stronger; Ben tried to twist away.

"That... feels weird. You sure this is safe?"

A grin spread across Peter's face. Reilly truly had no idea what was happening. It was magnificent.

"Weird? What do you feel?" Parker asked with mock seriousness.

"A desire to move your hands and laugh. And it’s also... kind of nice? It's very contradictory. What are you doing?" Ben watched with interest as Peter’s fingers moved lower to his sides and stomach.

"You know, you don't have to hold back your reaction. I'm *studying* you, remember?" Oh, Peter felt like a true evil genius. With those words, his fingers began to knead Scarlet's sides and belly. Ben jerked awkwardly and let out a sound like a half-chuckle before bursting into a silly giggle. It was a sound Parker had never heard from him.

"Wow, Mr. Serious actually knows how to giggle?"

Ben, for his part, was lost in the sensations, not knowing if he should run, push Peter's hands away, or just stay put. He ended up just squirming and laughing.

Eventually, the Spider gave the exhausted, laughing Reilly a break. Ben shook his head.

"That is the most contradictory thing I've ever experienced. But you were right, it helps. I literally can't think about anything else while you're doing that." Ben looked surprisingly happy for someone who had just been tickled. Peter smiled.

"Mind if I do it again?"

Ben nodded, looking adorably happy. Peter’s heart melted seeing the block of ice melt away like this. And it really did seem to help Scarlet "feel" his body. Amazing—a symbiote who was ticklish. He definitely needed to try this on the others.

He teasingly ran a fingernail along Ben's side, watching him wince and pull in his stomach. Peter's other hand began squeezing Scarlet's thigh in different spots until it hit a "lethal" spot just above the knee, nearly earning Peter a knee to the ribs. But Spider-strength helped him hold Reilly’s leg as he continued to squeeze that sensitive spot.

Ben looked ready to shriek. His laughter jumped a few octaves and he punched the sofa, but he didn't say a word against it or make a real move to stop him. This only encouraged Peter.

"You actually like this, don't you? You're not even trying to hide how much you want to just relax and laugh." The teenager "scratched" the hero under his knee, hearing such a ridiculous sound that he started laughing himself.

Ben lay there, taking all the tickling Peter gave him, and seemed not to mind at all. Though he couldn't quite handle Peter’s "killer" fingers unceremoniously kneading the lethal spot right by his hip bones. He demanded Peter stop immediately and lay there for a while, unable to speak or even move.

Finally, a quiet, calm voice broke the silence.

"Thanks, Pete. For the talk... and for this 'massage.' Maybe you could do that sometimes when I... you know, lose my way?" It was clear how awkward it was for him to ask.

"Of course, I’d be happy to. Just don't stay silent next time. Now, you should probably get some sleep and come to the Web Warriors' training. The team will be waiting for the 'new' you." Peter smiled.

The perennial receptionist, just like during his first time here, waited patiently for him to make a choice. Blue felt like home now, and Alistair insisted it suited him perfectly... To hell with Alistair. No, Alex wasn't offended. And he wasn't jealous. And he wasn't overthinking things. Well, maybe just a little.

"Have a lovely evening," the girl smiled at him.

On his pale skin, the grey looked somewhat sickly, but it brought a sense of relief. It felt as if a target had been erased from his back. Tonight would be only conversation and drinks.

Alex slumped into the company as usual, brushing his side against Elliot.

"Oh, look who it is," Elliot said, clapping him on the shoulder. He immediately flicked the bracelet with his finger. "What’s with the new look?"

"Well... I just felt like it."

"That is none of your business, Montero," Killian cut in.

"If he wants it that way, then that's how it should be," Jessica agreed.

"Whoa, whoa, easy now, I was just asking," Elliot said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Since this is a night of experiments, why don't you finally order something other than water?" Alistair suggested.

"You know I don't—"

"They have excellent non-alcoholic cocktails here," Alistair persisted.

"If that’s the case..."

"That’s the spirit!" Elliot clapped his hands.

Alistair immediately leaned closer, pointing his finger at the pictures in the menu and offering commentary.

"There’s a virgin mojito, or a pina colada if you’re in the mood for something more exotic. And here’s another..."

After another round of indecision, Alex realized that making choices was absolutely not his forte and left everything in Alistair’s elegant hands.

"I’ll be sure to find you something you’ll love, *cariño*." The nickname made Alex shiver. Did he call everyone that? He had to shake his head to rattle those thoughts loose, but they remained stubbornly in the back of his mind, poisoning his mood.

Killian gave him a questioning look, raising an eyebrow, but Alex pretended not to notice. Killian simply shrugged.

"Julia, honey, come over here," Elliot called out into the hall, and a few seconds later, a waitress appeared. Like every floor staff member, she wore a grey bracelet.

"I’m all ears," she smiled warmly, giving a subtle wave to Jess.

Elliot rattled off their sizable order, and the waitress noted it down before heading off.

"Is all of that for you?" Alex asked incredulously. Elliot burst out laughing.

"Who do you think I am, Captain? I doubt my liver could survive that kind of trial. Besides, I’m not that greedy. I’ll share with the rest of you."

"And you know everything they drink?"

"It's not that hard when you’ve been hanging out with these idiots and Jess for two years."

"You’ve known me for three!" Alistair protested.

"Two and a half," Elliot countered.

"How did you guys even meet?" Alex interjected.

"Oh god, why are you waking up the 'old storyteller' in Elliot?" Killian groaned, covering his eyes with his hand.

"Silence! This is an initiation!" Jess beamed.

"Oh, it’s a great story."

***

Elliot was sitting at the bar, intently scanning the menu, his red bracelet on full display. Back then, no one had heard of panic buttons or proper security systems. It was a place for "insiders." Dimmer lights, less space, fewer people, and consequently, less control.

His reflections on which brandy was superior were interrupted by shrill shouting. He couldn't make out the words, but he got the gist - a damsel in distress. Though he was a cheeky citizen, he was a law-abiding one. He decided to head over and help.

"Look how proud we are. Even though you’re wearing purple," sneered one of the bastards who had grabbed a stunning, tanned beauty.

"¡Vete a la mierda, hijo de puta!" the young lady shouted, fighting back fiercely.

"Exotic," his companion with the red bracelet noted smugly.

"Gentlemen, are you perhaps deaf?" Elliot loomed over them like the wolf from an old English fairy tale. He was smiling, of course, but his teeth made it clear it was more of a predator’s snarl. "I’d be happy to translate the lady’s wishes for you. And she suggests you scumbags get lost."

"You should get out of here, Montero. Playing the hero now, are we?"

"She’s into it, she’s just playing hard to get," the second one chimed in.

"No, gentlemen, you are definitely deaf. If the wind doesn't blow you far away from here, I won't mind getting my hands dirty," Elliot wasn't bluffing. He’d already been banned for a month once for a fight and wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Besides, a month of sobriety never hurt anyone.

The thugs exchanged looks, weighed the pros and cons, and retreated with irritated whispering.

"Are you alright, señorita?" he finally addressed the girl directly.

"Thank you very much. But there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding," the person said, speaking with some difficulty after the ordeal. "I am definitely not a señorita."

"What?" Elliot was stunned. Only now did he get a good look at the beauty he had defended. The "beauty" had a long black ponytail, a graceful figure, sharp cheekbones, and a very visible Adam's apple. Elliot chuckled nervously at the absurdity of the situation. "I thought... I thought you were..."

"Yeah, I know, big surprise," the guy said, clearly having dealt with this before and being thoroughly tired of it. "Do you want a photo or something?"

"No, just, I thought-"

"I’m gay," the guy stated. Usually, after those words, even the most persistent types backed off. He just wanted to go about his business, not listen to more incoherent nonsense about his appearance.

"I’m Elliot, nice to meet you," Elliot replied, completely unfazed by the new acquaintance's remark. He nonchalantly extended his hand.

This time, it was the Spaniard who froze in shock. He hesitantly reached out in return.

"Alistair."

***

"It was a story of long and passionate love," Elliot said, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

"I’m surprised I still put up with you," Alistair said, unable to suppress a smile. Elliot didn't take offense at all. Best friends, after all.

"The first time you came, you wore purple?" Alex asked, surprised.

"I wanted to try everything at once, but after the very first session with Elliot, I realized I’m actually quite comfortable in red."

"It was so easy with you back then, especially when I..."

"¡No me avergüences!" Alistair hissed at him.

"Qué flor tan delicada," Elliot cooed.

Just then, the waitress returned with a large tray full of various cocktails. Alex watched as Julia set down everyone’s drink. Alistair got his usual glass of sherry. Elliot chose the timeless classic - whiskey and coke. Jess got a pink, charmingly strawberry "Barbie," and Killian took a sip of a "Grasshopper." Alex stared at his orange-brown marvel.

"And this is?"

"Bumble coffee with orange juice," Alistair announced proudly, as if he’d invented the recipe himself.

Alex took a tentative sip and, realizing that no one was trying to poison or get him drunk, began to drink calmly. It turned out to be surprisingly pleasant to drink something other than water.

Elliot continued to tease Alistair, who feigned being pouting. Alex listened to their bickering, and the tension within him eased. It was refreshing to participate in the group’s life solely as a conversationalist.

---

But that wasn't enough. Alex returned to the club just a day after his previous visit. He didn't even want to look at the grey. Perhaps Alistair had been right about it matching his eye color... The blue bracelet felt familiar and almost like home on his wrist.

He settled at the bar. Maybe try something new again? Alex had only just opened the menu when he was called.

"Alex!" Thomas was heading toward him, waving his hand warmly.

"Hey," Alex turned on his barstool.

"Relaxing alone today?" The question gave Alex a strange sense of déjà vu.

"Haven't run into any of my crowd yet. You? Where's Mark?"

"On shift," Tom waved it off. "Since you aren't being guarded by the Spanish Inquisition today, maybe I could keep you company? You were amazing with Elliot in the ring."

"It’s a bit awkward being praised for losing," Alex said, smiling sheepishly.

"Losing? You’re exaggerating. First time against Elliot? I’d be begging for mercy in a minute. But you held your own like a warrior. Though, judging by your reaction, you're terribly sensitive," Thomas patted him on the shoulder.

"You watched?" Alex felt a surge of heat rush to his face as he remembered everything that happened in the ring.

"How could I miss it? Plus, Elliot can't keep his mouth shut. He loves bragging about a Blue like you," he winked playfully.

At that statement, Alex began to break out in red blotches. His neck, cheeks, ears, collarbones. A blabbermouth, a total blabbermouth... Just wait until he got hold of Elliot! If Elliot didn't start talking in that tone of his or grab his waist and... Since when did you become such a pervert, Alexander Farley? What did those silver-tongued bastards do to your innocent soul?

"Blushing?" Tom chuckled. "Cute. Don't worry, he was only full of admiration."

Alex suddenly wanted to bury his face in his hands. To avoid looking like a little girl in someone else's eyes, he decided to turn away. At that exact moment, Alistair entered the club. He looked around as if the entire space were his personal domain and smiled upon spotting Alex. However, his smile vanished the moment he saw Thomas, who was practically radiating positivity, standing nearby. Their eyes met, and Alistair turned away with a flick of his black ponytail, heading toward their usual table.

Thomas followed his gaze.

"Oh, the princess. The way he’s staring at you... am I being a third wheel here?"

"There’s nothing between us," Alex frowned. He didn't need another dose of possessiveness from a man who had recently vanished into a private room with some stranger.

His mood was rapidly souring, and Alex was getting tired of the unspoken tension.

"In that case, my offer still stands."

Alex didn't think long. Did he want a release? He did. And he’d get it. The fact that it wasn't with his usual group was actually a plus. No messy feelings, no attachments, and a great chance to show that he was a self-sufficient person who could choose his own partner for the night. Look at him, being all in demand!

"Let’s go. Just not to the ring, okay? I haven't fully recovered from last time," his hand instinctively went to his side, as if feeling a phantom itch. Elliot had certainly done a number on him.

"No problem."

Thomas stood up and started walking, clearly expecting Alex to follow. Alex shook himself out of his thoughts and trailed after his new acquaintance.

Alex settled on a mat, leaning his back against the wall. He looked a bit tense, like a ruffled fledgling - except the "fledgling" weighed nearly a hundred kilograms and stood two meters tall. Tom shook his head.

"Relax, Alex," he crouched down beside him. He was in his late twenties, nearly seven years older than Alex. He seemed experienced; his very gaze was calming. Tom, for his part, clearly found interest in the younger, greener guy. Could anyone blame him? The attractive young man before him was as tense as a coiled spring, all because of his phenomenal sensitivity. What "Red" would turn down a gift like that?

"Easier said than done," Alex rubbed his neck awkwardly. A new person was always a source of stress and uncertainty for him.

"Are you always this wound up before a session?"

"No, not really. I’m just used to things being... well, immediate."

"Ah, you mean Elliot? Yeah, he loves the element of surprise," Tom smiled understandingly. "I’ll start, and if anything is too much, just stop me, don't be shy." His confidence was contagious, and Alex finally began to relax.

Thomas ran a warm, dry hand over Alex’s stomach, and Alex finally exhaled. He hadn't even realized he’d been holding his breath.

As it turned out, appearances were deceiving, and Tom was a deviously "wicked" man. Alex realized this too late right around the moment Tom's hand snaked into the leg of his jeans. And there was no pulling it out now, though Alex tried!

Scurrying away wasn't an option either. The wall was behind him, and his tormentor was in front. Every escape route was blocked.

"Endure it, there’s nowhere left to go," Alex was starting to understand why Elliot and Thomas were friends.

Tom’s fingers began to dance lightly over the skin behind Alex's knee, and Alex let out a wail. Such a small spot, why was it so ticklish?! It was hard to imagine a worse place. Actually, wait, Alex knew a worse place: his armpits. But the realization that things weren't as bad as they *could* be didn't make his current ordeal any easier. The thin skin was terribly sensitive, and he felt a wave of uncontrollable laughter rising in his throat as a silly grin spread across his face.

Thomas, deciding his victim had too much room to maneuver, used his second hand to pull Alex by the hips, shifting him from his seat onto his lower back. Resisting in that position was utterly impossible.

The itch behind his knee was driving him insane, and his leg started jerking wildly. The worst part was that every attempt to resist only pressed the denim of his jeans tighter against Tom’s fingers. That sensation was the most unnerving of all. Not even clenching his teeth could save him; whimpering groans escaped anyway, mingled with breathless giggles.

Thomas, noticing Alex was on the verge of losing it completely, doubled his efforts. He brought his second hand into play, and though the fabric protected his skin from direct contact, when Tom began to squeeze the muscles on his inner thigh, Alex wanted to crawl out of his skin. He tried to dodge, but only worsened his situation by spreading his legs even wider.

"You’re so funny when you can't do anything about it," Tom sounded like he was having as much fun as Alex.

"A-ha-ha-HA-ha!" was the only response Alex could manage.

Thomas’s hand slid a bit lower to his calf. Alex kicked his leg so hard he nearly hit himself. Though, judging by the fleeting sensation he got from that light touch... it might have been better if he’d just passed out right then.

"Oh, bad spot?"

"Aie! No-he-ha-hA-HA-HA! Do-hon't!"

Alex shook his head desperately, hoping it would help, but has anyone ever been saved by frantic denial? There he was, flushed red, terrifyingly giddy and nearly hiccuping from laughter, shaking his head like a bobblehead. He would have died of embarrassment if he could see himself. Fortunately, there were no mirrors in the club, and Thomas clearly liked the view.

Alex was ready to curse Tom's strong hands. His legs were supposed to be like stone after sports, how was this guy kneading his calves with such ease?! Alex tried to catch his hands, but Tom reacted quickly. In an instant, Alex’s wrists were pinned above his head. Seriously, where did this guy get his strength? Pinning a quarterback was no small feat. Of course, it helped that Alex was disoriented and weakened by laughter, but he was still struggling as if for his life.

"A feisty one? Even better, those are more fun to tame," Tom squeezed his calf again, and Alex, covering his face with his arms, went limp like a rag doll. He was practically howling, occasionally breaking into laughter.

Only when he realized he could barely remember the safeword and his breathing was getting difficult did Alex decide to end it.

"Red! Tom!"

He didn't have to say it twice. Thomas immediately pulled his hands out of all the places they shouldn't have been and sat down beside him.

"Alright, well done, champ," he offered a fist-bump, and Alex, barely able to make out his surroundings, managed to return it. Tom patted him on the shoulder.

"Did you and Elliot... go to the same school of sadism?" Alex could barely catch his breath.

"A shared fetish brings people together," Thomas laughed.

A few minutes later, he stood up and offered Alex a hand.

"That was great, Alex. Hope we can do it again sometime."

Alex only nodded in response. His head was still spinning slightly after such "active rest."

Smoothing his clothes and steadying his breath, Alex lazily wandered back to the table. The pleasant heaviness in his legs and the emptiness in his head were exactly the desired effects of tickling that he loved so much.

Seeing him, Jess waved cheerfully and went back to pestering Killian. She seemed to have a penchant for annoying the most irritable person in the group.

Elliot, as usual, reached out to him.

"Why are you so red, Captain? And look at your hair. Oh, you're a mess," he fussed, trying to tidy the curls of the struggling Alex.

"He was busy. With Thomas," Alistair said, not even looking up. He was sitting there, intensely focused on folding a napkin into a crane, as if that crane had personally ruined his life.

A spark flared in Elliot’s eyes, but it looked more like competitive spirit than jealousy.

"Ow, Jess, for f-... Hold on, you brat!" Killian finally grabbed her wrists to join the conversation. "Tom isn't Elliot, but he can be just as exhausting."

"At least it wasn't both of them together. I can only imagine..."

"Oh, you’d love that," the words came out with more bitterness than Alistair intended. He seemed surprised by his own tone.

The atmosphere at the table grew tense. Elliot looked back and forth between Alistair and Alex like he was watching a tennis match. Killian rolled his eyes.

"I’m going to the bar to check on the drinks," Alistair stood up.

Alex watched the Spaniard walk away. He’d bolted.

Elliot immediately started a conversation with Jess, and Killian went back to his phone, only occasionally glancing at Alex. Alex didn't last long.

"I’ll go see how he’s doing. Maybe he needs help... uh... carrying the drinks, yeah."

Elliot nodded approvingly, and Alex went after Alistair. He found him sitting at the bar, poking an olive in his glass with a toothpick.

"Alistair."

"Huh? Alex?" He turned almost fearfully but immediately tried to save face.

Alex sat down beside him in silence. So what? He didn't intend to apologize; he hadn't done anything wrong! He was just sick of the things left unsaid. Alistair kept fiddling with the toothpick. The situation was clearly grating on both of them.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked tentatively. Alex had never heard such uncertainty in his voice before.

"It was fine," Alex shrugged. But that wasn't what they needed to talk about.

Alistair fell silent again for a minute.

"Alex. I realize you might have seen something you... didn't like."

"Maybe," Alex said. That was putting it mildly.

"And you decided to go to him?!" Alistair flared up again. "Anything just to avoid me?"

Alex was stunned. So this was his fault?

"I’m a self-sufficient adult, Alistair, not a reserved table! Do I need to report to you every time I want to try something new?"

"But you were happy with me before!" Alistair argued.

"Before what?"

"Before I left with that Mateo!" Alistair shouted, his voice cracking. Yeah, Alex could see why Elliot had mistaken him for a girl back then.

"Exactly. You go with whoever you want, and I go with whoever I want. A solid plan!"

Alistair pinched the bridge of his nose. He was annoyed that Alex was right, annoyed by the logic, and annoyed with himself.

"Look, that’s different."

"And how is it different?" Alex wasn't great at social nuances, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

Alistair bit his lip. He had no answer.

"Fine, okay, fine. Но you were spending all your time with Elliot!" Alistair blurted out, sounding childishly offended. It was like a soap opera.

"Me?"

"You!" Alistair replied despondently.

"And that’s the best you could come up with? Going to a private room with some random guy? You and Elliot are..."

"Yes, we’re a team, but I want you too! Why does that moron get all the attention while I sit here like some... ¡Cachorro abandonado!"

Alex didn't know the literal translation, but he got the gist: an abandoned puppy.

"Let’s say that's true. What does that have to do with you being jealous of Tom while you run off with the first person you see?"

"Well... I’m a jerk, okay!" Alistair threw his hands up but then slumped. "But I’m sorry. It didn't mean anything, you know?"

Alex looked at him skeptically.

"No, I know, it sounds stupid, but I’m telling the truth. I might be possessive, but I’m not a scumbag. You’re important to me. Not just within the club, but here too. I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise," Alistair looked directly into his soul with those piercing brown eyes. Alex was completely lost. He turned away, hoping he wouldn't start tearing up at such an inopportune moment. Hold it together, Farley, for god's sake.

Alistair had acted like a prick, no question. Но they hadn't actually set any boundaries.

"It’s just-" Alex trailed off and shook his head. Emotions, those damn human emotions. What do people usually do? Cry? Scream? Punch a wall?

Alistair gently took his large hand and stroked his knuckles. The sensation made Alex finally soften. To avoid sobbing like a little girl right in front of Alistair, he impulsively pulled him into a hug. Alistair was about 15 centimeters shorter, and Alex lifted him off the ground with ease, burying his face in the top of his head.

"Does this mean you forgive me, cariño?" Alistair’s voice was muffled against Alex’s chest, but he wasn't complaining. He just wrapped his arms tighter around Alex’s waist.

"Just make up your mind about who your cariño actually is."

They stood like that for a few minutes until Alistair felt Alex’s heartbeat return to normal. Though he didn't want to leave the embrace at all.

"Alex, would you like to... again today?" Alistair pulled back slightly and glanced meaningfully toward the secluded area where he’d given him the massage before.

"Right now?" Alex’s voice was a bit husky from the recent emotions, but a smile was already appearing on his face.

"I’ll be gentle. I just want to show you that you’re the only one for me," Alistair tucked a stray curl behind Alex’s ear.

Alex didn't remember exactly how he ended up pinned under Alistair. He remembered him whispering something in Spanish, his hands gently pushing him onto the mat, and him pulling up his t-shirt.

Alistair’s fingers traced intricate patterns over the skin of his stomach and ribs. It might have been relaxing if it wasn't so ticklish. Alex kept tensing his abs, his muscles jumping under the touch. Alistair only became more enthusiastic, dragging his nails over the ridges of his stomach.

Alistair rested his chin on Alex’s shoulder and nuzzled into his neck, nipping lightly. Alex closed his eyes, smiling blissfully and laughing softly under his breath.

It was intimate. Alistair pinched the soft part just above his hip a bit harder, and Alex bucked his hips, making Alistair bounce.

"Don't kick."

"Ho-ho-how?" Alex giggled quietly again, resting his hands on Alistair’s hips to hold him in place. Alistair smiled into his shoulder.

Alistair’s hands roamed under the t-shirt, scratching his ribs with his nails, moving up toward his chest and back down. Alex squirmed and tightened his grip on Alistair’s hips, earning an appreciative hum.

Alistair fluttered his fingers lightly, making Alex writhe and let out rare, stifled chuckles.

"Do you like it, cariño?" Alistair’s voice, soulful and tender, sent shivers down his spine. This was what had been missing with Thomas. The emotion. The connection they had. Alex nodded vigorously.

He felt Alistair go back to his neck. At first, the light nipping combined with the tickling on his ribs only caused carefree laughter and a weak urge to crawl away. But Alistair grew bolder, and Alex felt a warm, wet kiss on his neck. The erogenous zone sent a blast of endorphins to his brain, and his breathing hitched. Another kiss, then another, and another. Alex’s giggling began to mingle with moans, and Alistair could have sworn it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

His head was swimming from the new sensations, and the tickling showed no sign of stopping. It all caused a tight knot to form in his lower abdomen, leading to very specific sensations. And Alistair was still on top, showing no sign of stopping. When Alistair shifted slightly and things became noticeably "tighter" in Alex’s pants, it hit him like a ton of bricks.

What the hell was he doing?

"A-Alistair..." Alex struggled to detach the Spaniard from himself. Alistair’s eyes were slightly glazed, and clearly not from the sherry. "Not now, not in front of everyone, this isn't the time. Don't."

Alistair ran a hand over his face and focused.

"Yeah. Okay, whatever you say."

"I’ll go clean myself up and we’ll go back to the others, okay?"

"No problem." Was Alistair disappointed by the turn of events? A little. But "not the time" gave him hope that "the time" would definitely come.

Alex ducked into the restroom to compose himself, splashing as much cold water on his face as he could. Everything was under control. He didn't know what the hell that just was, but everything was under control.

When they returned to the table, both were flushed and a bit disheveled, but at least they weren't shooting daggers at each other. The whole group seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Well, now both of you are a mess," Elliot shook his head and began smoothing their hair with the same diligence as before. Neither of them even resisted.

"Morons," Killian grunted. "But I’m glad you don't want to strangle each other anymore."

"Agreed, I like you much better when you're happy," Jess supported him.

"That sounds like a toast!" Elliot raised his glass. Everyone followed suit. "But we’re not sending you two for drinks anymore. You disappear without a trace."

"Go to hell!" Killian snapped, arching his back.

"How rude," Elliot cooed. He was clearly used to this behavior. But being used to it didn't mean he had become merciful.

Elliot’s fingers dug into the muscle right above the pelvic bone, and the skin quickly reddened from the intense pressure. Killian let out a short, hysterical laugh and immediately composed himself. Well, almost. Yelps and squeals escaped him every now and then, but he refused to let himself laugh. Alex didn't share that kind of stubbornness; he thought that under such a targeted attack, he’d be laughing loudly enough to deafen everyone within ten meters. But Killian was actually holding up okay.

"Shut up and get on with it! Your pathetic attempts would only make a child laugh," Killian hissed. Elliot clearly hadn't expected his partner to be so desperate. "Getting old, Monterro?"

Alex used to think *he* was the one who couldn't keep his mouth shut, but looking at Killian, he realized his own antics were nothing in comparison. To provoke Elliot right in the middle of a session, you had to have nerves of steel, a lack of self-preservation, or be a masochist. Killian seemed to be all three. "Stupidity and Courage."

"Get ready—by the time we're done today, you'll forget every word except 'red' and 'please,'" Elliot said, having been thoroughly riled up. Alex braced himself for the show.

At first, it was almost innocent considering that declaration. Elliot slowly ran his fingers along the ribs, pressing lightly on each one. It was obvious Killian was struggling to keep a straight face, but he’d made it a matter of principle. Alex himself would have already been trying to break free and cover his armpits in terror, but for Killian, this was a manageable ordeal. He even managed to keep sniping.

"Is... is that all you’ve got?" Only a slight breathlessness in his speech betrayed how difficult the dialogue was becoming. "Judging by the reactions of your 'fans,' I expected something more impressive."

Elliot didn't feel the need to respond to the jab immediately. He might have been annoyed by the sheer gall of Killian’s continued backtalk, but he intended to prove his point through action, not words. They both understood exactly why Killian was "worsening" his own situation.

While Elliot wrestled with Alex, he played with Killian. Though Killian wasn't weak, he didn't match their physique. Elliot had no trouble handling Killian’s resistance. He carelessly worked his way up toward Killian’s neck.

"Bitch, don't you dare! Don't even think about touching—" Killian tried to tilt his head away as if Elliot were about to rip it off. It didn't help. Despite a slight roughness to his skin, Elliot's fingers danced over him with unbearable lightness. Alex involuntarily tucked his own head into his shoulders. Killian winced as if in physical pain—an interesting way to hide the smile spreading across his face. But Elliot was playing the long game. He knew that sooner or later, the smile would break through; it always did. And once the smile was there, laughter wasn't far behind.

He was damn right. Less than a minute later, Killian's face looked like it might split in half from the grin. It was incredibly unusual to see him like this.

"And where did all that aloofness go, hmm?" A smirk played on Elliot's face, boding nothing good. "I'm barely touching you. What’s going to happen when we *really* start?"

Killian shook his head, hoping to somehow protect the sensitive skin behind his ears. He looked like a puppy shaking its head to brush off a pesky insect. Snorts and muffled curses kept escaping him, which greatly amused Elliot.

The real fun began when Killian managed to kick Elliot in the forearm with his knee. The latter didn't waste time and deftly grabbed his ankle. This time, a flash of genuine fear appeared in Killian’s eyes.

"Can't swallow your own medicine?" Elliot chuckled.

"You wouldn't."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because you—Ai-ha-ha-ha-A-HA-HA!" Killian broke into a shriek. His real laugh turned out to be piercing and hysterical. Elliot wasn't even doing much—he was just running two fingers down the middle of his foot through the sock. But for Killian, that was enough to turn from a reserved guy into a siren.

"What’s the matter, Kill? Cat got your tongue? Oh, what do we have here?" As soon as Alex heard those words, a squeak echoed through the hall, followed by breathless giggling. Alex was certain that decibel level could be classified as a sonic attack. Even Elliot crinkled his nose at the sharp sound, but he had no intention of stopping.

Killian clung desperately to his hand, but it didn't hinder Elliot at all. With his other leg, Killian was still actively trying to kick his tormentor. Elliot neutralized him with the same ease one uses to pick up a hissing kitten.

"No-ehi-hi-hi! EHI-HI-HI-HI!" All the arrogance vanished the moment Elliot pulled his sock off. Killian curled his arms around his torso, rolling around the mat like a child. A smile spread across Alex's face. It was surprisingly pleasant to watch such a "pain in the neck" be turned into a helpless mass of laughter and twitching.

It was clear that Killian was enjoying himself in his own way. The tickling stripped away any possible self-control. His laughter stopped being strained and became unburdened, almost childlike. His pale face turned crimson almost instantly from the non-stop laughing.

"Sadi-hi-hi-hi-hist!"

"Me?!" Elliot turned to him with an expression so offended you'd think it wasn't his hands currently sending a person into hysterics. "You attacked an innocent man and were rude to him. This is self-defense!"

Deciding his companion had too much energy left for accusations, Elliot redoubled his efforts. He pinned both of Killian's feet and began tickling with his other hand. He didn't scratch hard, but those feather-light touches were yielding great results. He didn't let the skin get used to the sensation or even let it get sore from intensity, but that maddeningly itchy tingle made Killian want to climb the walls.

"Aha... Sto-ha... Stop," Killian barely managed a single word.

"I don't hear 'red,'" Elliot parried melodically.

"No-he-het, Elli-hi-hi..." Killian sat up abruptly, trying to pull Elliot away with one hand while clutching his own torso with the other. His forehead rested against Elliot's back, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Alex's throat went dry.

Luckily for him, Killian couldn't see Elliot's face. Alex, however, had the full picture. And he knew that expression well. Elliot sat there with a lazy smirk that contrasted with the focus in his dark eyes. He ran his fingers along the sides of Killian's feet, and Killian burst into shrill laughter again. Elliot was clearly inspired by the reaction, and the "electric" sensation moved to the toes. Killian made another rescue attempt and began drumming on Elliot's back.

"DO-HA-HA-HA-N'T! PLEA-HA-HA-HA-HA-SE! HA-HA-HA-HA!" He squirmed violently, but the mat didn't budge under Elliot's weight.

"Is that a hallucination? Or am I actually hearing something polite from you?"

"Go to-HA-HA-HA!" Killian couldn't finish the phrase.

"You're a terrible conversationalist, you know that?"

Elliot continued to mess with Killian for another couple of minutes until the latter wailed, "RE-HA-HA-HA-D!" He let go of the "victim’s" legs, and Killian immediately collapsed onto the mat, trying to catch his breath.

Elliot couldn't help himself; as soon as Killian's breathing leveled out, he gently ran his fingers under his knee. Killian let out an incoherent moan and slapped his hand away.

"Let me rest, you monster..."

Elliot smiled and leaned his back against the wall. His gaze immediately fell on Alex, who had been watching them. He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and his smile took on a predatory edge. Alex felt a chill run down his spine. The decision to retreat was made instantly.

---

While Alex was panicking during his exit, he ran into Jess again. It was like a curse.

"Oh, Alex, hi! I hope you're not heading for the exit?" She smiled at her own joke.

"Hi," he said, gently catching her by the arm, still thinking about what he’d just seen.

"You're kind of tense. Are you feeling okay? No pain?" Without a second thought, she felt his ribs near his back.

"Ow! What for?" Alex recoiled, pulled out of his recent memories by a sudden and very real sensation.

"Oops, didn't think," Jess replied with a smile, showing no real regret. She squeezed his arm again with scientific interest, but Alex was ready and bore it. "God, you’re like a walking anatomy textbook..."

"I'll take that as a strange compliment," Alex muttered shyly, trying not to draw attention to how much Jess’s hand was unnerving him.

"Alex, honey, you simply *must* let me use you as a mannequin! See, I need to review my anatomy, and this way I’ll definitely remember everything. We’ll spend the time productively and usefully, what do you think?" She tilted her head back and looked into his eyes with that open, warm expression. How could you say no to such a "sunshine" person?

"Why not?"

"That’s the spirit!" Jessica didn't waste time. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled. Alex began to feel a sense of déjà vu. Was it really this easy for petite girls to drag him wherever they wanted? But again, he wasn't given time for reflection.

Jess sat Alex down on a mat and tugged at the hem of his T-shirt.

"Can you take it off?" Unlike his dark-haired tormentors, Jessica at least bothered to ask rather than command. Alex didn't resist; the shirt was neatly folded next to the mat.

Jess settled behind him and ran her fingers down his back. His skin instantly broke out in goosebumps.

"Oh, Alistair wasn't lying—you have a very sensitive back," she noted with slight surprise.

"Thanks for noticing," he grumbled.

"Don't be a grump, I mean well." Her gentle, short fingers with their manicured nails explored the considerable area of his back and shoulders.

He didn't want to be rude to Jessica at all; the sensations were wonderful. Yes, a little ticklish, but wasn't that a plus? From behind, she quietly mumbled the names of muscles, occasionally asking Alex to flex one part of his body or another.

But Jessica was getting bolder, and Alex began to twitch more often. It was especially hard to endure the muscles Jess called by mysterious words like obliquus externus abdominis and teres major. Alex tried to sit still, but he was reflexively trying to dodge the touches.

"Alex, medical mannequins don't squirm. Stay in character."

"Well, I'm not a mannequin. Ee!" Alex arched his back sharply because Jess had decided to go all in and knead the soft part right above his hip. How on earth did Killian endure that?!

Jessica laughed along with him, thoroughly amused by the sight of a giant guy practically squealing under her fragile hands.

"Is that for scientific purposes too?" Alex couldn't help but smile, glancing over his shoulder and seeing her joy. It was impossible to stay mad at her.

"It's for the purpose of entertaining the test subjects. Can't have you getting too relaxed, dear."

After that, the "teasing" turned into full-blown mockery.

"Alex, come on, you're strong. I believe in you."

"I can't keep my hands up while you're poking my biceps!" Alex wasn't lying; he was fully aware of his complete inability to tolerate tickling without being restrained, especially in a spot like that.

"Maybe we should call Elliot? He's good at this..."

"No, I can do it!" Alex immediately threw his hands behind his head. "You trickster."

"I'm just taking advantage of the situation. And the fact that our Elly is a bit of a sadist."

The moment she started, Alex felt the full weight of the situation. He locked his hands tighter, already feeling the laughter bubbling up in his throat. With that same cursed methodical precision, she began to probe the area right above his armpit. Alex erupted into his usual booming laugh, swaying slightly as if that helped him keep his hands up.

"Why didn't I study on you before? You're just a marvel. I should have stolen you away from the guys for an evening a long time ago," she brushed a long curly lock from her forehead and went back to Alex. He crinkled his nose amusingly when she tickled his neck just for the fun of it.

Alex gave up when she reached the armpits. His hands dropped almost the second Jess pressed her fingers into the muscles there. But it didn't save him. She continued to knead the sensitive hollows, even though her movements were somewhat restricted.

"You're so cute when you laugh. I'd never believe such a teddy bear could be a fearsome athlete on the field," on one hand, it sounded deathly humiliating. On the other, Jess spoke with such genuine affection and delight that she probably wasn't even teasing. Just thinking out loud.

He tried to catch her hands, but because she was sitting behind him, he only opened up more space for her to maneuver.

"Je-he-he-he-ss!"

"Yes?" she replied solicitously.

"Can't take it anymore-he-he..." He was truly exhausted. The coach's brutal mood during today's training was taking its toll.

"Red?" She slowed down. Alex could only nod.

Soon, Alex was resting his head on his friend's lap while she affectionately stroked his curly hair.

"Whew... Why do you even need anatomy? Aren't you already working as a nurse?"

"It's mostly an excuse to have fun, sorry, Lexie." She gave him another warm smile. "But I really do have an anatomy exam coming up. I'm still in med school; my nursing shifts are clinical practice. Though the work there is very real. You clearly worked hard today too—you're all knotted up."

"Yeah, training," he explained vaguely, waving a hand.

---

When they returned to their table, Killian and Elliot were already sitting there. Jess tucked herself in next to Killian, who merely waved at them, barely looking up from his phone. Alex sat next to Elliot.

"Did you miss us?" she asked, already reaching for the menu.

"Something like that," Killian replied. "I was starting to worry you’d leave me alone with this idiot."

"Someone’s getting brave, I see," Elliot huffed.

While Jessica told Killian about her recent shift, Elliot put an arm around Alex’s waist again and pulled him close. He ended up right by his ear; Alex was starting to think Elliot didn't quite understand the concept of personal space.

"Did you enjoy the show, Captain?"

Alex froze. He had already forgotten he'd been caught red-handed.

"Now, now—I'm actually flattered by your interest in my sessions. I love an audience, and the audience loves me."

His hot breath tickled Alex's skin and nerves. Alex was already embarrassed enough for standing there like some voyeur, and now Elliot was purring in his ear.

"I know you want to be next, Lex. Did you like what I did to Kill? I could do the same to you. Oh, I could tickle you until you lose your voice. And you'd say thank you, wouldn't you? You love it when I play right where you can't stand it," and after this soulful speech, he looked at Alex in such a way... If Alex had been standing, his knees would have buckled.

He couldn't keep a straight face for long and burst out laughing.

"Alex, *Dios*, stop looking like that, I feel like a monster."

"You can't just... say stuff like that..." Alex, still stunned, tried to respond. He felt the heat rushing to his face.

"Alistair's right when he says you're a peasant. Look how you've spooked the poor guy," Killian finally looked up from his phone for another jab.

"It's called flirting, but that word is foreign to you, you bore."

"By the way, where is Alistair?" Alex finally realized who was missing from the table.

"Who knows where the devil has taken that Casanova," Elliot waved it off.

Alex tuned out of the conversation for a few seconds. He scanned the room and finally spotted the familiar, elegant figure. Alistair was standing there, twirling a lock of hair around his finger next to some guy in blue. He said something, the guy laughed, and Alistair, taking him by the wrist, led him into one of the private rooms.

Something twisted inside Alex. No, he wasn't jealous—of course not. Well, maybe a little. He had no right; there was nothing between him and Alistair, but wasn't it Al who constantly flirted with him, clearly signaling that Alex was more than just another "blue" to him? Wasn't it Alistair who acted like a jealous brat, grabbing his hand and not letting him get a word in when Thomas offered him a session? And now he was just walking off into a private room with someone else? It was a painful blow to both his trust and his pride.

Elliot followed his gaze. He looked at Alex, then at the door, then back at Alex, and let out a whistle, but said nothing.

The evening went on, but Alex became quieter and more pensive. If Alistair could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted, then what was stopping him? His wounded pride still stung, but a plan was beginning to form in his head.

"It’s certainly... ascetic in here," Alister remarked condescendingly, walking into the kitchen. "Where are the hearts? The music? The candles? Rose petals, at the very least!"

"Give it a rest, you Spanish cupid. It’s just that you live in royal chambers. This is a normal, bachelor apartment," Elliot said, making himself right at home as he flopped into a chair.

The ingredients were already laid out on the kitchen counter, and Alex was wearing his favorite, life-worn apron with the word "Housewife" emblazoned across the chest. His teammates had given it to him the first time he brought them his baking after a major victory. Was it a strange hobby? Perhaps. But when his brother finally managed to take Alex in, Alex simply couldn't burden his already overworked sibling with the cooking. He liked the stability and precision of the process—it was almost meditative. Even more, he loved feeding those who were dear to him.

Alister stood behind him, inspecting the ingredients with the air of a professional.

"And what are we 'concocting,' maestro?"

"First of all, we are *baking*. Secondly, the plan for today is cookies. Do either of you have any experience with baking at all?" Given how aggressively the two had asked to join in, Alex assumed they must be fellow baking enthusiasts.

Both shook their heads honestly. It looked like he’d have to host a masterclass...

"Alright, then listen carefully," Alex began.

He was sure that with six hands they would finish much faster, but as it turned out, when you’re working with two idiots, things tend to drag on. Alister and Elliot spent most of their time fooling around, chatting, and bickering. Not that Alex minded. He felt more like he was in *Hell's Kitchen*, simultaneously mixing dough and trying to dodge pesky hands that kept trying to pinch his sides.

"Do you two even know the meaning of the word 'help'?" Alex grumbled, slapping Elliot’s hand away for the umpteenth time.

"I’m telling you, he’s more sensitive on the ribs... Alex, stand still, I need to prove my theory," Elliot tried to settle him.

"That’s why I call you a barbarian, my friend. You can’t see past your own nose. He might laugh louder on the ribs, but have you seen his reaction to the stomach? He wouldn’t last a minute. Right, darling?"

"Is it really necessary to discuss this in front of me?" The subject of the discussion was turning a shade of red that rivaled strawberry glaze.

"Vitally necessary," Ell confirmed seriously.

Half an hour later, when the dough had finally rested and the debaters had calmed down, Alex gave them each a piece of dough, a rolling pin, and some cookie cutters.

"Get sculpting, you drones. Your efficiency is currently leaving much to be desired."

"Look at him, the smart guy," Elliot managed to grab Alex’s hip, causing him to instantly retreat to the safety zone by the oven.

When he turned around ten minutes later to check the progress, he was, to put it mildly, bewildered. Alister hadn't even touched the cookie cutters, clearly considering them beneath his dignity. On the baking sheet before him lay meticulously sculpted male genitalia. Alex looked at this obscenity with universal resignation.

"Al, what is this?"

"The symbol of the holiday, isn't it obvious?" Alister clearly found himself immensely amusing.

Next to him, Elliot was huffing. Alex never thought cutting dough with shapes could be so difficult for someone. In front of him lay torn, crooked hearts. To Alex, these "uglies" seemed almost cute compared to Alister’s indeency.

"It’s coming along great," Alex encouraged sympathetically.

"Of course it is, I’m the one making them," Elliot replied, seemingly unbothered by his lack of skill.

Despite the results, Alex carefully laid out all the creations. No sooner had he put them into the preheated oven than a chin landed on his shoulder from behind.

"Alex, you have a little spot of flour on your neck," Alister said, beginning his latest form of execution. Alex tried to press his shoulder to his ear, but Alister’s head was slightly in the way.

Alister blew softly, as if trying to whisk the flour away, and the warm air hit Alex's neck. It wasn't "truly" ticklish, but the neck is a sensitive, erogenous zone.

"I can do it myself, Alister, don't..." But all attempts to convince Alister that Alex could handle the flour on his own were futile.

Alister’s fingers brushed lightly, almost weightlessly, against the side of his neck, and Alex tried to hide in his shoulders again, letting out a soft, "quacking" sound. This only emboldened the Spanish cupid. He nuzzled into one side of Alex’s neck—thankfully, Alister was always clean-shaven—and tickled him with sharp fingernails on the other. The poor guy couldn't figure out which part to protect. If Alex tilted his head toward Alister’s hand, Alister would start nipping at his neck, making him want to switch tactics immediately and tilt his head the other way—but there, another failure awaited.

"This is te-he-he-he-rture! HA-HA-HA!"

"Oh, it absolutely is," Alister agreed.

Alex was about to beg for help, but it came from an unexpected source. Though, clearly, the help wasn't intended for him.

It was naive to think Elliot would stay on the sidelines. Alex simply hadn't had time to think of him while being so exquisitely tortured. Ell intended to remind him personally.

"You know, we’ve conferred and decided that since we’ve been such good boys..." Elliot stood between Alex and the counter.

"You’re me-he-he-naces! Ow!" Alex really didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. Elliot decided that fingers squeezing the sides of the already dissolving Alex would serve as a good lesson.

"As I was saying, since we worked so hard, I think a gift for such helpful friends as us is absolutely necessary. And since you, our dear Lex, seem to have prepared nothing, we will, graciously, accept *you* as the gift."

"That suits me perfectly," Alister added.

"It doesn't su-hu-hu-it me!" But Alex wasn't given a choice, nor the chance to finish his sentence. Elliot dug into his ribs, and laughter drowned out all protest.

Alex stood on his tiptoes, his body reflexively leaning back, expecting the support of the safe, steady Elliot, but he remembered just in time that Alister was behind him. Leaning on Alister was a bit scary; Alex didn't want to crush him. The thought that he’d have to stay upright entirely on his own made Alex want something to lean on even more. His strong, powerful legs became completely useless and jelly-like under the tickling.

Elliot’s hands moved to his stomach, and Alex grabbed his wrists. It didn't help at all, but Alex wanted at least the illusion of control.

"I told you the ribs work better," Elliot noted, turning to Alister again.

"Tsk, you amateur, you’re doing it all wrong. Stop poking, be gentler." Alister himself switched strategies, moving to Alex’s ribs. Since he was standing behind and was impossible to reach, everything started to feel sharp and unbearable.

"LET GO-HO-HO, YOU MO-HO-NSTERS!"

"No, wait, Alex, let’s settle this. Which is worse: the stomach or the ribs?" Elliot inquired.

Alex shook his head hysterically, still not giving up hope of catching Alister.

"Lexie, if you don't answer us, I might move to the armpits," Alister threatened. This sounded ominous enough for Alex to try and squeeze out an answer.

"I can't-ha-ha-ha! I don't kno-ho-ho-w! ALISTER!" Alister carried out his promise and easily began tickling the "test subject’s" armpits. Alex couldn't take that level of torment and finally collapsed forward into Elliot’s arms.

"Alex, come on, just say the ribs are worse, why are you being difficult?"

"Arm... Armpi-hi-hi-hits," Alex struggled to speak.

"What a goofball, that’s not what I’m asking. What are we going to do with you?"

"Torture him?" Alister suggested.

"With love," Elliot clarified. "It is February 14th, after all."

Alex certainly felt all their "love." Most of it was concentrated on his long-suffering ribs and armpits, though Alister, even from behind, managed to slide his hands under the apron and t-shirt, tracing his nails over Alex’s stomach. That was its own kind of "fun"; he started giggling and, trying to muffle it, bit the first thing he could reach. That happened to be Elliot, who was so "gentlemanly" holding the Alex who kept trying to fall. He paid for it dearly; Elliot proved to be quite unmerciful toward biters.

"Oh, is that how it is? I’m here holding him out of the goodness of my heart, and he bites me! There isn't a drop of gratitude in you, Alexander."

Poor Alexander didn't know where to turn to escape the omnipresent hands. Everywhere he arched, there they were. Decent guests don't behave like this.

In the course of the cross-examination, it was discovered that the ribs and stomach were, to quote: "Equally terrible, leave me alone, you devils!"

They only let Alex go when the oven timer chimed, signaling that the cookies were finally ready. He couldn't even stand on his feet, so Alister and Elliot took the tray out and brought Alex some water. As soon as Alex recovered from the ordeal, the results of their "therapy" were obvious. He became relaxed, kind, and didn't even grumble at the "masterpieces" Alister had sculpted from his dough.

He still couldn't get used to the fact that things like this happened outside the club. It felt unreal, unattainable, almost magical. The club was a wonderful place, truly great, and Alex would never stop going there, but to have this in real life, without a designated venue... this was a new level.

Soon, he was sitting and decorating the cookies with glaze. For him, the process was soothing, while Alister and Elliot were as giddy as small children.

"Alex, maybe we should bake more often?"

"Al, I won't survive this more often."

"Who are you lying to, curly?" Elliot smirked, wiping a drop of glaze off Alex’s cheek with his finger.

Perhaps they really should bake more often.

"Pick another victim, what's the problem?" Alex didn't understand such fanatical enthusiasm directed specifically at him. Does he has a target on his back or something?

"Problem? They're not you, that's the problem. Look around. See anyone of your build? Maybe Mark, but he's a firefighter, not an athlete; I handle him in a minute. I want some thrill! Struggle, resistance. You of all people should understand."

"My struggle is on the field. Here, I'm relaxing."

"With Alistair and his massage? No, massage is good, of course, but it's catastrophically insufficient. You can do more. Probably only you can."

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. As if his regular training wasn't enough, they wanted to take him down here too.

"Or are you scared?" Elliot leaned close to his ear again, switching to a more primitive negotiation tactic. A challenge.

"What, Captain, don't want to lose to a simple fitness trainer? You're already giggling in anticipation; I want to see what happens to you on the ring. And you want it too, I know."

Did Alex understand he was being goaded like a kid? Of course. But would such a banal, unoriginal, blatant manipulation work on him? Without a doubt.

"Repeat the rules," he was already regretting it. His tongue was his enemy.

"Now that's a different story!" Elliot lit up. Like taking candy from a child, "Look, it's simple. First round - stand your ground. Literally. Tickling is allowed, but not as the main element. In broad strokes, you need to take your opponent down. No strikes, no chokes. Grabs, sweeps are allowed. You better wear something sleeveless; better grip on the mat..."

Alex zoned out, losing the thread of the conversation. Grabs. His head spun from the word alone. This was the root reason why he was so resistant and refused.

What made Alex choose football in the first place? With his build, he could have easily gone into wrestling or any other martial art. And he had tried; it went fine. Right up until he had to face a real opponent. The moment he found himself pinned to the floor or trapped in skilled hands, his mind would be filled with awestruck trembling at his helplessness. His nerves turned into a live wire under tension, and any movement made him writhe and shout, verging on a shriek, hoping he could hold back the laughter. Every match was such a humiliating and predetermined failure that he decided to change activities. He chose a sport with mandatory equipment. He really didn't want to repeat that past experience.

And now he was being very insistently offered exactly what had terrified him every time techniques were practiced on him at various clubs. The sound of Elliot's voice pulled him from his tense thoughts.

"Alex, what's that look of horror? You're that afraid of me?" Elliot frowned.

"Dream on. You can continue, I was just thinking."

"Fine. So, when the first round ends, the second one begins, surprisingly. That's where all the fun happens. I won't hold back, don't expect any Spanish tenderness from me. We finish after the safeword, as usual. If I'm not mistaken, the record is 17 minutes, but your goal isn't to beat others' records, but to see how far you can go yourself. Within reason, of course. No stupid stuff," he ruffled Alex's hair. Alex smiled involuntarily.

He was utterly screwed.

That feeling didn't leave him all week. Elliot scheduled it for Wednesday to book the ring while the club wasn't too crowded, but Alex had the feeling he was postponing it just to torment the poor quarterback even more. Alex considered cancelling everything and cowardly hiding back in his hole, but he was sure that if Elliot wanted to, he'd dig him out from under the ground. And who made him agree in the first place?

Nervous anticipation made any kind of training impossible. Alex's thoughts kept returning to his fantasies, and he wasn't sure if they frightened or thrilled him, but his body decided for him. The moment he thought about Elliot pinning him down so he couldn't escape... adrenaline hit not just his head, but lower down. He waited with bated breath.

On Wednesday, as he stood on one side of the ring, barefoot, in a tank top and shorts, and opposite him stood Elliot with a predatory grin and a hungry gaze, Alex felt the same excitement as before his first match. But he had learned to cope with competitive adrenaline. In, out. He weighed more. He was literally trained to be an immovable rock. Elliot simply wouldn't be able to flip him. A glance into the hall shattered all his calm. The whole crew had gathered, plus a few onlookers who just wanted to see the show. The ring area always drew eyes.

"Ready, champ?" Elliot seemed his usual relaxed self, but his movements had lost that lazy feline grace. He was wound up too.

"Ready."

Elliot lunged at him immediately. Where was the damn signal?! But he didn't let the sudden attack take him down. Ell was right, bare feet had much better grip on the mats. He widened his stance, lowering his center of gravity. His opponent's hands dug into his shoulders, pushing Alex into a corner, but he stood completely unmoving.

"You... How much do you even weigh?" Elliot's voice was strained, slightly breathless from the effort.

"It's rude to ask..." Alex retorted in kind.

Alex tried to lean his full weight on him, and Elliot immediately backed off, hoping Alex would lose his balance and fall forward by inertia, but he stabilized instantly. Elliot made a new attempt to push his opponent back. He drove his chest into Alex's torso, legs bent. His arms wrapped around the athlete's body, he tried to lift him for a throw but clearly overestimated his strength. Alex just staggered back slightly. Before he could recover, Elliot kept pushing him. Fingers dug right into his ribs. Alex pushed against Elliot's shoulders with all his might, desperately trying to break free, but panic didn't help at all. This was exactly what he had feared.

"Get the hell off!" Alex yelled, writhing. Amazing how easily the body loses coordination from something as simple as tickling.

Elliot, emboldened by Alex's sudden disorientation, pressed him against the ring ropes, and the elastic cables bounced Alex right back into the firm grip. He was trapped. He immediately lunged forward at Elliot, but this time misjudged his force. The cunning bastard just stepped aside, letting Alex fly face-first onto the mats. His chest hit the surface with a dull thud. Ell was on top of him instantly.

Round two began.

Elliot flipped him onto his back, remaining seated on top. He looked down at him with a wild gleam in his eyes, pressing him into the mat, hands braced on his chest. Alex caught a glimpse of Alistair watching with intense excitement from the corner of his eye. Further back stood Killian, clearly trying to appear uninterested, but he was staring so obviously that denying it would be foolish.

Alex realized he didn't feel resentment or disappointment at the loss. A pleasant, warm lightness spread through his chest. He was having a ridiculous amount of fun from all the tussling, and Elliot's hands on his body were indeed making him emit quiet half-giggles in anticipation.

"Shall we start on the count of three?" Despite the ambient noise, Alex heard Elliot as clearly as if there were no one else in the hall but them.

"O-o-one..." he drawled, and his smile took on a downright bloodthirsty character.

"Three!"

Bastard.

Alex immediately arched his back, feeling Elliot's fingers vibrate against his ribs. A sudden surge of pride ordered him to hold on. He pressed his lips tightly together and grabbed Elliot's wrists, though the smile seemed to almost split his face in two. He didn't last long.

"No way, that won't do," Elliot, with greater effort, overpowered Alex, pinning his wrists above his head.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. This would be worse, much worse than the ribs. Maybe he should start thinking about his will. Elliot just laughed.

"No? Oh, Alex, I don't recall asking what you want. I don't think you quite know how losers are supposed to behave. Don't worry, I'll teach you," with one hand, he lazily traced circles over his tank top. Alex emitted pitiful, whimpering sounds, still unwilling to give in. It only stoked Elliot's interest.

"You're so tough, huh? And not ticklish at all, right?"

Alex would have gladly told him everything he thought of him if he weren't afraid of the consequences. Some instinct of self-preservation remained. Elliot tilted his head slightly, fingers skimming the skin of his armpit. Since Alex was in a tank top, it was exposed. The fingers fluttered over the skin with an uncharacteristic tenderness for Elliot, almost weightless, but that didn't make it easier. Alex jerked his hips so hard that Ell bounced a couple of centimeters off him. That only provoked him further.

"Come on, show me some real resistance. Show me what you can do, Lex."

For the first time, Elliot began studying Alex's reaction to each touch with such rapt attention. Before, his approach had always been simpler: attack, a quick assault on obviously sensitive spots, laughter. But now, with greedy relish, he examined every change on Alex's face. How he puffed his cheeks and pressed his lips tight, trying not to laugh too hard. How that dam shattered the moment he got near his armpits. What amused Elliot most was that Alex couldn't even wait for the real tickling; nervous laughter would burst from him even when Elliot just ran his fingers over his pectoral muscles. He deliberately returned lower to the ribs, making Alex groan in anticipation. Ell was clearly playing the long game, intending to wear his opponent down before the real strike.

"Stop doing that," Alex squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back. He felt if he opened his eyes now and saw that bitchy grin, he probably wouldn't be able to hold himself together.

"Doing what? Like this?" Elliot slowly began moving towards his armpits again. Monster, just a monster.

"You're e-e-e-vil!" Alex yanked his hands again, trying to break free.

"I'm chaotically good," Elliot replied.

At that moment, Elliot's hand slipped under Alex's tank top, and a wave of icy horror ran down his back. The sensations were a thousand times sharper.

"What's with the face, hero?" Elliot smirked, running blunt nails from his armpit all the way to his hip. Alex tried with all his might to bend the other way, but his body remained taut as a bowstring. He let out a muffled groan, looking at Elliot pleadingly. No mercy was forthcoming anytime soon.

Elliot, with a possessiveness that was entirely his own, yanked his tank top up to his chest, exposing the pale, delicate skin of his stomach. Freckles peeked out slightly along his sides, covering his back. He didn't even start immediately, just enjoying the view for a moment. But the respite didn't last long.

First, Ell went for what caught the eye immediately—the delicious-looking abs. They usually weren't so defined, but at that moment Alex was tense and all his muscles were flexed with him. Elliot wiggled his fingers experimentally, causing a series of small muscle twitches. Cute.

"Maybe not there?.."

"Lex, it's my privilege to choose the spot."

And the fun began. Alex's stomach sucked in and out, but he was laughing lightly, without strain. Elliot was starting to get bored with this slow game; he wasn't about to hand over his record to a newbie, was he? He moved his hand to the lower abdomen, slightly lowering the waistband of the shorts. Ell began kneading the spot with his fingers, and Alex broke. He arched his back again and finally erupted into loud, almost screaming laughter. Elliot continued until he got a knee in the back from Alex's convulsively kicking legs. He raised an eyebrow.

"Fighting back? Well, if you insist," he found his thigh with his hand, pinning his leg to the floor with his other hand and squeezing. The powerful muscles of his legs did nothing to save Alex from that terrible, electric, wonderful sensation that seemed to course through his entire body.

"NO-O-O-OHOHO!"

Elliot just added his second hand, tickling Alex's other thigh. The shorts covered absolutely nothing, and Ell easily reached the tender, sensitive skin of his inner thigh under the shorts, causing Alex's laughter to rise in pitch and acquire shrill notes. Testing, he scratched his nails lightly over the thin skin on the inner side, and Alex howled, covering his face with his hands.

"Hey, that wasn't the deal."

Elliot switched his attention back to the ribs, and Alex immediately shoved his hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off. Ell didn't waste a second. His hands immediately slipped into Alex's armpits. Alex realized he'd messed up and pressed his arms down, but it was too late. Elliot began methodically kneading the sensitive hollows. It was the end for Alex. He laughed hysterically, grabbing Elliot's wrists and trying to push his hands away, but only gave him more room to maneuver.

This was exactly as Alex had imagined it. Complete shutdown, pure, unrestrained laughter. But besides clearing his mind of all other thoughts, the tickling literally overloaded his system, completely filling every space with that unbearable, though delightful, feeling. Alex's brain started aggressively sounding the alarm. He was still too weak for the armpits.

He opened his eyes and tried to focus on his tormentor's face. The smirk had completely vanished, and he was watching as Alex literally started hiccupping from laughter with a kind of animalistic insatiability. He didn't just want to tickle; he wanted to see the meaning fade from the eyes of this big, serious guy, giving way to complete dissolution in sensation.

"E-HE-HE-HE-LL!" he tried to appeal, but met the same hungry gaze. He decided to resort to the final measure.

"RE-HE-HE-HE-D!" Speaking through laughter was difficult, but Alex had had enough. He expected Elliot to stop now, but the hands remained in place, and his gaze showed not a hint of comprehension.

"RED!" he shouted louder, writhing under his friend's weight. Elliot thought for a second and then yanked his hands away as if burned.

Alex immediately hugged his arms to his body and rolled onto his side, curling into a ball. He didn't know how long he lay there until the world began to regain its shape and his mind started filling with something other than euphoria.

Elliot sat nearby with his usual smirk, as if that wild fire hadn't just been in his eyes.

"You're a beast, man," Elliot handed him a water bottle.

"Look who's talking..." Alex said hoarsely, sitting up with difficulty and accepting the water, "Is that a rule, that you have to say the safeword twice on the ring?"

"No, no," Elliot looked away slightly, his eyes darting around the club, "I just didn't hear you. Your laugh is something else, champ."

"I thought you heard everything. And your face was so focused; I've never seen you like that before," Alex said thoughtfully, leaning his back against the ropes.

"What could you possibly have seen, Lex?" The smirk didn't leave his face, but a flicker of irritation passed through his eyes for an instant, "You guys always imagine things. Did you like it at least?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure I didn't imagine it," Alex frowned.

"Oh, Captain, I think you're still euphoric. Don't fill your curly blond head with nonsense," he offered his hand, helping him up.

Back at the table, everyone had gathered again. Alistair and Elliot were happily discussing recent events, the former chattering enthusiastically about Alex's endurance and impressive results for a first-timer. Jessica smiled shyly.

"It's very cute that you have freckles on your sides."

"I think I could find a couple of constellations in them," Killian snorted.

Alex instinctively rubbed his side, feeling a phantom itch from Killian's words. If he weren't so tired from the ring, he'd already be actively picturing that scene.

Later in the evening, when most of the group had left and Alex was alone with Elliot, the latter was about to leave, but Alex carefully drew him into conversation. He just couldn't shake the feeling that something was being hidden from him.

He wasn't angry at Elliot for not stopping immediately after the first signal. He just didn't understand why Elliot had to lie. Because he had heard, and they both knew it. And it wasn't even so much about Elliot "not hearing." What piqued Alex's curiosity more was that very look, full of near-obsession. It hadn't happened with him before, and honestly, Alex was more impressed than scared.

"Ell, about the ring..."

"Want a rematch already?" he replied, turning to Alex with a smile, but his movements betrayed tension.

"Maybe. But I wanted to talk about something else," Alex's voice, though a bit more serious, remained generally calm, without a hint of accusation, "It's just... you looked there like you were about to devour me after the session. I've never seen anyone so focused doing this. Even Kill relaxes."

"Alex," Ell looked at him like a child asking a parent where babies come from for the first time. You can't tell the truth, it's awkward to answer, and it's irritating, even if you're trying to be patient, "You're overthinking this. And maybe prying where you shouldn't."

"I thought I could get to know the person who takes me apart," Alex tried to stay as relaxed as possible to not scare Elliot off completely with his overly direct approach, "Have you ever gotten so... 'carried away' before?"

"Oh, didn't know you were a psychoanalyst, Lex. Playing therapist? Expecting some shocking confession? 'Expose' me?" Elliot's tone lost all its nonchalance, turning cold and mocking.

"I just want to understand you. I can't trust someone I don't know," Alex wasn't so easily fazed by a change in tone. He was used to staying calm in less-than-pleasant conversations.

"You think too much. I don't come here to have someone dig around in my head. I come here because I like tickling handsome guys with blue bracelets here. Just forget it and don't complicate things, okay?" Elliot rose from the table, "See you."

"Bye..." Alex said, confused.

Days passed, and Alex couldn't get that conversation out of his head. He tried to figure out what he had said wrong. What could have struck a nerve? He thought he'd been extremely polite... His lack of good social skills clearly wasn't helping. In the end, he made the simplest and most obvious decision for him - to listen to Elliot. Alex didn't want to violate his friend's boundaries. He was told not to pry, and he didn't pry.

Only, after that conversation, Elliot started behaving a little differently. He didn't change completely, didn't ignore Alex or talk to him coldly. He just distanced himself slightly. He spent more time with other blues; he was louder than usual, brighter, brasher. A show-off. Alex maintained this barely changed, yet so unfamiliar dynamic.

Inside, Elliot was utterly horrified. His brain was frantically piecing back together the mask that had shattered with Alex on the ring and was desperately trying to return to his persona as the life of the party, clearly overdoing it at times. The nagging, relentless fear kept repeating that he was an animal, a sadist, a terrible person. He felt control over his image of the good-natured ringleader slipping through his fingers. And it scared him. And it angered him. At first, he blamed Alex. Did he have to start digging into his psyche? Damn archaeologist.

But then, when the initial irritation faded, he plunged into a pit of self-reflection. He had heard the safewords then. Heard and ignored. They could kick him out for that! If Alex had complained to the right people, the door to the club would be closed to him. Forever. They didn't joke about that here. But right now, he was more worried about Alex himself. Was he afraid of him now, after seeing him lose control and turn into something cruel, dominant, and wild? Because it wasn't just tickling; it was a craving to break, dominate, to see this person fall apart.

Elliot just couldn't tear himself away in the moment. He saw how under his fingers, the huge fighter turned into a shrieking mess. And it was arousing. He couldn't help himself, couldn't let go. This person had become his main sexual fantasy. And now there was distance between them. And all because he was a narcissistic bastard, clinging to his image tighter than to the person who sincerely tried to understand him. Guilt was eating him from the inside, and he couldn't keep it up for long.

The following Wednesday, he picked a moment when Alex was alone at the bar and decided it was time to change something. He sat on the stool next to him, turning to him with a completely serious face.

"Alex, can we talk?" His voice was unusually quiet. He was genuinely worried.

"Of course," Alex turned to his friend. Elliot looked troubled, "Did someone die?"

"No, nothing like that, it's about your questions..." Elliot couldn't look at Alex while talking about this. He was afraid to see his serious, calm, deep-set eyes. He took a deep breath and blurted it out in one breath so Alex wouldn't have time to interrupt, "Back on the ring... you really didn't imagine it. It happens to me sometimes, and I'm not proud of it, not at all. I'll understand if after this you don't want to have sessions with me, because it's not normal. But I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't be a loss for me. I just lost control then, and I'm ashamed. I didn't mean to brush you off. I didn't want you to see me as a complete sadist, even though maybe that's what I am. I swear, no more ring stuff, just don't think of me as a monster. I didn't mean to, you understand?"

After this confession, Elliot stared at him, trying to read his reaction. He was terribly vulnerable at that moment. No one had ever heard him admit that he was far from invulnerable.

"Well, okay," Alex continued to look at him, but now with new understanding and, it seemed, relief. The uncertainty had been more stressful for him than Elliot's sudden control mania.

"And that's it?" Elliot looked at him with incomprehension.

"That's all I wanted to know in the first place. Thanks for sharing with me. But you know, you shouldn't worry so much. I'm not made of glass. If I were really scared of you then, you'd have left the ring with a broken nose. Don't you think I can handle people who genuinely make me uncomfortable?" Alex demonstratively flexed his arm, showing the tense muscles. Impressive, "But you took me down with surprising ease; I doubted you'd even win the first round. Where'd you get those skills?"

Elliot felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Alex wasn't angry or scared. Here was a real tough nut to crack.

"Well, I have a hobby..." Noticing Alex's questioning eyebrow raise, he shook his head, "I don't want to talk about it, but I have certain skills."

They fell silent for a moment, and Elliot finally asked.

"So everything's okay? We can keep talking and having sessions?"

"Yeah. And actually, I was planning to break the ring record."

"Wait, what? With me? Seriously? Are you sure? Alex, I can't promise that situation won't happen again. Your resistance... It's real. And it only stirs up a greater desire in me."

"I never said I didn't like it. I didn't have any complaints in the first place. Maybe you should stop overthinking and not fill your dark-haired head with this stuff?" Alex smiled.

Ell laughed, feeling the last of the tension leave him. Alex had accepted him. And it seemed he even liked Elliot's intensity. It was... refreshing. Like a breath of freedom. And with Alex, he didn't have to worry about going too far. In a pinch, the guy would just pin him down.

"You know, we haven't played in over a week," Elliot hinted. Alex noted with relief that the familiar lazy smirk had returned to his face, "I've missed your laugh terribly."

"And what are you suggesting?" Alex had to abruptly focus on the barbecue counter to not betray his embarrassment.

"Hmm, I don't know... You, me, the mats? How about that company for this evening?" Elliot's hand settled familiarly on Alex's waist again.

They spent the rest of the evening shedding the anxiety of the past week.

He spent the whole day lost in these thoughts. Christmas Eve. Their group chat was exploding with messages, mostly from Alistair and Jessica. They were discussing the menu, guessing about Secret Santa gifts, joking about mistletoe, fussing. It only deepened his gloom. So who needs me there anyway? Alex could already picture it: Killian's condescending look, his whole perceptive demeanor screaming that polite offers were meant to be declined. Jessica ruining her own holiday trying to get him to talk. She was a kind soul; she wouldn't leave the gloomy orphan alone, but that's not how she should spend her celebration. Alistair being the perfect host with the most polite smile. And the sigh of relief when Alex finally crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. Elliot trying to crack jokes to lighten the mood instead of enjoying his friends' company. They'd be uncomfortable with him there. And he didn't want that for them. Better to be alone; that was at least familiar and predictable. Anything was better than those staged charity Christmas shows at the orphanage.

He was supposed to be there at three. He was already twenty minutes late. Alex felt terrible. He couldn't bring himself to refuse, nor to agree. His heart was breaking. The decision was made: he'd bail.

"Guys, sorry, can't make it, I have training," he typed and immediately deleted. What kind of training on Christmas Eve?

"Can't, family stuff," — yeah, right, off to visit his brother in Japan. That option was also discarded.

"Not feeling well, have fun, guys," — they'd worry and ask questions, of course, but it was the most plausible scenario.

As he expected, chaos erupted in the chat. Replies flew in instantly, but he only caught a glimpse of a message from Elliot on his screen before switching off his phone. This was better. They'd do the polite thing, express the proper concern for his sake, and he wouldn't ruin anyone's holiday.

Alex entered his old building and headed hopefully to the mailboxes. It was his only lifeline for Christmas spirit. A letter from his brother. Yes, Will was in Japan on business, but he always sent a letter and a card. It had become a tradition since Alex's first lonely Christmas. When William's business took off and he couldn't spend every holiday with him, he always sent a note.

The mailbox was empty. His mood sank completely. Had even his own brother forgotten him? Sure, Will had his own life over there, but it was a family holiday...

Alex shook his head to dispel the thoughts. They weren't helping now. He stubbornly tore his eyes away from the boxes and went to his apartment. He didn't feel any better. He was greeted by the mess he'd completely forgotten to clean up that morning and the tiny, lonely Christmas tree he hadn't bothered to decorate. Without Will around, he tended to forget about festive decorations altogether. Without even turning on the light, he shuffled to the kitchen. The plan: pizza, hot chocolate, and Christmas movies. He'd get through the day like that. Was that so bad? And he wasn't the least bit hurt that the guys were having fun without him, drinking mulled wine and exchanging gifts in Alistair's beautiful, cozy apartment. He had everything here too: a TV and pizza.

He was a terrible liar, especially to himself. But he was used to it. Christmas was always about performance. Before, they'd dressed him up in a cute little suit for charity events; now, out of pity or politeness, they invited him into someone else's beautiful, distant life. He didn't know how to do these holidays of theirs; no one had ever taught him. To drown out his own thoughts, he turned up the TV, but the pit of self-pity was already sucking him in with renewed force.

A sudden knocking jolted him out of it. A neighbor would have rung the bell, but this was someone very insistent... Who could possibly come calling on Christmas Eve?

The answer came immediately.

"Open up, you plague-ridden wretch; death has come," the voice was unmistakable, yet hard to believe. Had Elliot come for him? His heart sank.

He tiptoed to the door.

"Ell, I don't want you to catch it." "You're a coward and a liar, Alexander Farley. A genuine one," the voice in his head insisted.

"I'm wearing a gas mask. Open up, or I'm calling an ambulance, and we'll haul you out that way."

He had to obey. He pitifully opened the door a crack, leaving the security chain dangling, and peeked out.

"What kind of isolation is this? Won't even let me on the doorstep? What do you have, tuberculosis?" Elliot was trying to joke, but he looked genuinely concerned. Alex, steeling himself, let him in.

A gust of fresh, frosty air flew into the apartment with Elliot. Alex shivered. Ell stood before him, dusted with snow, in his leather jacket, shaking moisture from his hair. Almost Santa, just missing the red hat.

"Wow, some atmosphere," he said, putting down a bag that smelled distinctly of tangerines, and glanced at the sad little tree in the corner, the lack of tissues or pills on the table. His gaze shifted to Alex, who stood there looking like a guilty puppy. "I get the feeling the Grinch lives here. Or are you too cool for fairy lights?"

"Elliot, why did you—"

"Because you don't leave sick friends to waste away alone. Even if they're faking. Seriously, what's the deal, Lex? You look more pathetic than sick," he was painfully blunt.

"I changed my mind," Alex evaded.

"Yeah, and chose an evening with Macaulay Culkin over my jokes? Keep lying. Spill it. Why'd you leave your Secret Santa without a gift?"

"I bought one," he defended himself, "and I'd definitely pass it on later. It's just... you know... Anyway, I'm really, really grateful to you all for accepting me and inviting me, seriously, thank you, I appreciate it. But I'm just extra there."

Elliot's eyebrows shot up, but Alex continued.

"You all have your inside jokes, you've known each other forever, and I'm the new guy, plus I talk like a stone statue. I'd just ruin everything."

"Wow, you're quite the little fantasist," Elliot whistled. "Listen to me carefully, sport. Alistair is going out of his mind worried you're dying. Jessica is terribly upset you won't try her gingerbread cookies—she made them in the shape of bracelets. We even made non-alcoholic mulled wine because you, our little fitness freak, don't drink. And get this—even Killian put his phone down and keeps looking at the door. And one very persistent Elliot dragged his ass across the whole city to you with tangerines and a present. Do people do that out of politeness? The only 'extra' thing we have is an empty seat at the table, you idiot."

Alex stared at Elliot in horror. Shame and guilt washed over him anew. He'd let them down. They'd all made such an effort, and he just hadn't shown up. Seeing he wasn't making things better, Elliot softened and stepped closer.

"Alex, do you really think we find you unpleasant? Do you think Alistair, with his precious time and money, would put up with just anyone? Or our Killian, who'd tell you to your face even if he liked you? And who do you think I am? A babysitter to 'politely' tolerate you? And Jess... Jess is just a sweetheart, and she's very sincere. We all consider you a friend. But for some reason, you decided for us that no one needs you."

Alex couldn't find the words to reply, but he felt the treacherous lump rising in his throat. Oh, no. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed out in a slightly trembling voice.

"Thank you..."

"Alright, come on, don't get all weepy," Elliot clapped him on the shoulder and smiled warmly, with genuine affection. "Put on your ugliest Christmas sweater, grab your gift, and let's roll."

Five minutes later, Alex emerged in a green sweater with a reindeer and a crookedly wrapped gift in hand. But he still wasn't... cheerful enough. At least not for Elliot's liking. He was supposed to bring them Alex, not a sad hermit.

"I wanted to give you these in a slightly more romantic setting, but this will do," he said, pulling a small, colorful pouch from his pocket, unwrapping it, and shaking it. Handcuffs. Not the usual kind. Soft, blue cuffs with two little bells that jingled merrily.

"And what is that supposed to—"

He was cut off again. Elliot quickly snapped one cuff around his wrist, looped them over the pull-up bar hanging in Alex's doorway between rooms, and caught his other hand. Now Alex stood there, hands raised above his head, cuffed to the bar. The handcuffs jingled again.

"Right now? Seriously?"

"What did you expect? I came to cheer you up, by the way. And this, as I know, is the best way. Very effective. You know what?"

"Oh, shut up," Alex groaned.

"Come on, Lex, you want to hear it," Elliot slowly approached him, pressing him against the wall like a predator cornering prey. "Tickling. I was going to say you're really, really happy when you get tickled. God, you're always so easy to read; I'll never get tired of it."

He punctuated each word with a poke to Alex's ribs, making him jump and wince. His sadness was indeed turning into anticipation. He didn't understand himself whether he liked how effectively this worked. And those ridiculous little bells announced every movement.

Elliot didn't wait. He slid his hands under the sweater and ran his fingers from Alex's lower stomach up to his armpits. Alex squealed.

"Cold! Your hands are cold! Ge-he-het them oho-out of the-he-re!"

Elliot just responded with a sadistic grin.

"That's the punitive aspect. So you won't want to leave your friends alone on Christmas again. You know, Alistair was right. Your laugh and these bells... Very jingly, real music. What do you think?"

Alex shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, rising on his tiptoes again. It didn't help at all; Elliot just continued his methodical attack on his ribs with renewed enthusiasm. He wasn't sophisticated, but it tickled just as much. The direct approach worked on him with full force.

"I could just not give you back. Let's not go, huh? We're having such a good time here. I'm starting to like your plan, Alex."

"We're go-hoing!" Alex blurted out immediately, scared. Staying here with Elliot all night was a tempting idea, but he was still of sound mind. Almost...

But Elliot didn't let up. He grabbed Alex's hips, digging his thumbs into the dimples there, making Alex squirm and laugh, trying to break free. It was quite a sight.

"What pirouettes! Is that what they teach you in training?"

Alex didn't respond to this jab. It was like electricity was coursing through him. His mind went blank, filled only with one buzzing sensation. A sweet, sweet feeling of freedom. Funny that it came while he was in handcuffs, but he couldn't process that irony of fate right now. When his face had turned sufficiently red, Elliot decided he'd had enough.

"There we go, safe and sound. Was all that squirming really necessary?"

The bastard was still teasing. Alex collapsed onto the sofa, trying to catch his breath.

"Hey, where to? You agreed to go. Let's move, they're all waiting, and you're here having fun," he said contentedly, ruffling Alex's hair. Alex mumbled something but finally got up.

"I'm ready."

The taxi arrived almost instantly. Elliot opened the door for him with exaggerated reverence.

"Mademoiselle."

"Jerk," Alex flicked his nose, though not hiding his smile.

The ride wasn't long. Alex enjoyed the picture-postcard scenery the whole way, while Elliot kept throwing self-satisfied glances at him.

Alistair's apartment turned out to be almost as he'd imagined, only less formal and more... warm, somehow. Right on the doorstep, he was greeted by an abundance of light, aromas, and coziness. The decorations looked like they were from a family Christmas comedy set, but lived-in, homely. Alex was immediately accosted by a Spanish whirlwind in a burgundy sweater with little trees. He smelled of pine and mulled wine.

"¡Cariño, aleluya! Finally!" Alistair hugged him tightly, and all his doubts melted away like snowflakes on his jacket. "We were starting to think he wouldn't bring you back to us."

"The temptation was great," Elliot agreed, hanging up his leather jacket.

Soon, Jessica emerged from the kitchen with a flour smudge on her cheek. She'd clearly come to Alistair's early to help with preparations. Jess looked adorable in a white sweater with a garland pattern. She smelled of gingerbread.

"Found you at last," she gently hugged him around the waist. Well, if you could call what Alex had a waist.

Killian was lying in the large living room under a blanket, meticulously peeling a tangerine with his usual perfectionism. For a couple of seconds, he tore his gaze from the fruit and looked at the newcomers. Seeing Alex joining their ranks, he even smiled slightly. Well, that was the highest form of approval from him.

As soon as Alex placed his gift under the tree with the others, they found a task for him. His strong arms came in handy for carrying dishes from the kitchen to the table, of which there were many.

When everything was ready, the table was groaning with treats. Alex was thoroughly enjoying the non-alcoholic mulled wine made specially for him. He had never been so glad to be dragged out of his house that night. It was time to exchange gifts. Everyone gathered by the tree. Jess was the first to reach for her present.

"Oh, it's just lovely!" she squealed happily, pulling out feather earrings from a small box. They really did look charming, especially on her.

"Oh, belleza," Alistair winked at her. "My turn now."

His slender fingers easily untied the ribbon on the box. Alex watched his reaction with poorly concealed anticipation. He'd racked his brains trying to think of a gift for someone who had everything. His choice fell on a rather intimate set for body art. Alistair's eyes found Alex's, he smirked predatorily, and returned to examining the set.

"Thank you. An interesting specimen..."

Next was Killian. His small box contained a set of metal claws. Everyone knew about his love for experiments and tools. He tapped them experimentally on the floor.

"Baubles," the word seemed dismissive, but he looked at the new little claws like a child eyeing a toy he couldn't wait to play with. "Thanks."

Elliot received a massive set of various BDSM gear. He was a fan of heavy artillery and made no secret of it. On the contrary, he examined the new blindfold with pleasure. A shiver ran down Alex's spine at that look. He already had an idea of who would be testing all the new gifts.

The others stared at him with interest, but Alex had already received his gift. He demonstratively shook the handcuffs, and the cheerful jingle sounded again.

The evening passed easily and pleasantly. Jessica was telling some funny story from her shift, Elliot and Alistair were actively arguing about something, constantly trying to get Alex to agree with one of them, and even gloomy Killian, having forgotten his phone, watched everyone with a soft smile, occasionally inserting sarcastic comments. And Alex felt like a part of it. Not a fifth wheel, but an equal participant.

The mistletoe, of course, played its role. It just so happened that Alex decided to go to the kitchen at the exact moment Jessica was returning from it. They met right in the doorway, under which the mistletoe hung. Alex seemed far more flustered than she was. Jess rose slightly on her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. Disappointed sounds came from the room.

"What kind of kindergarten is this?" Elliot joked indignantly. "Al, come on, let's show them how it's done."

And Ell immediately dragged him toward the mistletoe. Alistair resisted, but it was useless.

"Barbarian! Get off me! Pervert!" Alistair laughed, trying to break free.

With an awful, unacceptably loud, wet smack, Elliot kissed him on the cheek while Alistair wrinkled his nose in displeasure. Killian, still on the sofa, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your heads... And to be honest, I doubt I want to know the answer."

Jessica rolled her eyes and settled on the same sofa at his feet.

"Kill, you can't be such a killjoy on Christmas," her little hands slipped under the blanket, and she gently scratched the sole of his foot with her nails. "Oh, I didn't know you were barefoot."

He looked at her with a mix of panic and anger, immediately pressing his feet against the sofa. He didn't dare kick Jessica; she wasn't Elliot. She raised her hands in surrender.

"It's just preventative. Laughter prolongs life, your doctor is telling you this."

Closer to midnight, Elliot and Alistair decided to liven things up.

"Alex," Alistair drawled, utterly shamelessly invading his friend's personal space. He was practically lying on top of him. "You know Christmas is a time for miracles and granting wishes, right?"

"So we'd like to grant yours," Elliot continued for him.

"What?" Alex, already sleepy and softened by the warmth and calm, had no idea what they wanted.

"During your 'confession,' you said you'd like to see us all as 'lers' at the same time."

Sleep vanished instantly. Suddenly, his position seemed very precarious and vulnerable. Alistair pinned him to the sofa, his head on Elliot's lap, Killian and Jess comfortably settled by his feet. He tried to at least prop himself up on his elbows but was immediately stopped by Elliot, who casually placed a hand on his shoulder, laying him back down.

"Where do you think you're going?"

It started without warning. Elliot secured his hands above his head.

"Come on, guys, you're not really going to— AY!" He was mistaken.

Jessica sat on his calves, Alistair settled comfortably on his thighs as usual. Killian placed his legs on his own lap. It was a cacophony of sensations. Soft little hands wormed their way under his kneecaps, methodically kneading. He curled his toes, feeling something sharp tracing the sole of his foot. A quick guess came to mind—Killian, it seemed, had decided to try out his new toy. But Alistair was the worst. He, as always, was gentle. His fingers fluttered over Alex's stomach, scratched near his belt line. Alex was going completely crazy. The nerves from how close Alistair was getting to his navel made him react even more sharply. He'd suck in his stomach, then arch his back, but Alistair, like an experienced cowboy, managed to stay put. Elliot had chosen a somewhat gentler spot—his neck. That elicited maximum giggles and was comparable to a light breeze. Alistair was saying something, but Alex could hear nothing but his own laughter.

Elliot soon grew bored and moved closer to his armpits. His fingers settled on Alex's biceps, right above the sensitive hollows. A fresh surge of adrenaline shot through Alex's blood, and he desperately shook his head. It was genuinely hard for him to speak because the excitement made him laugh utterly uncontrollably.

"No-no-no-no-NO!"

"Yes-yes-yes," a low, taunting voice echoed right in his ear.

Of course, he started moving his fingers. Alex literally screamed and burst into such a roaring laugh that Alistair had to cover his ears. Elliot was satisfied with his work.

Alex didn't immediately notice that everything had stopped. He lay there for a few more seconds, hugging himself and giggling, before simply burying his face in the cushions. He felt a slight shake on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with Jess.

"Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm okay," Alex answered breathlessly. He was red as Alistair's sweater, tear-streaked, and incredibly happy.

The rest of the evening was a blur in his memory. He drifted off, woke up, participated in discussing some movie, snatched snacks from the table, and fell asleep again.

When it was time to leave, they seemed to stand in the hallway for another hour, hugging and saying goodbye. Alex hugged everyone tightly and stepped out the door.

He walked home slowly, taking in the quiet night streets. And everything seemed so right, so understandable and easy. The only thought circling in his head was: "This is my best Christmas."

He finally reached his apartment. Now even his sparse, unadorned tree seemed festive. He gathered the mail he'd picked up earlier that day. A bright picture fell from the pile. Frowning, Alex picked it up. The inscription read: From William Farley to Alexander Farley. The other envelopes were instantly forgotten. He skimmed the letter. Routine questions about health, best wishes for the New Year, but then his eyes caught the last phrase: "Expect a visit over the holidays. Miss you, William."

This was definitely his best Christmas.

"Hey everyone," a smile involuntarily spread across his face. He suddenly realized how much he had actually missed this.

"Glad to see you here, we thought the crowd tore you apart," Elliot chimed in.

"We were just missing you,"Jess nodded.

Alex finally noticed the table in front of them. Some kind of cards... He reached for them curiously, but Alistair stopped him.

"Ah-ah-ah, no peeking ahead of time."

"What is this anyway?" Alex tilted his head slightly, examining the unfamiliar pieces of paper.

"'Confession.' They have new games here. You might have seen on the website, they host different events. Tonight is Personal Friday..."

"Ironic, considering the number of people in the club tonight. Not very intimate," Killian commented. Elliot was clearly annoyed by the interruption. He rolled his eyes irritably, jabbed the sarcastic bastard in the side, and continued under Killian's scorching glare.

"...so, Personal Friday is an evening of revelations. And this is a game to help with the revelations. All the stars have aligned. Simple rules. The cards have questions. We read them out loud. You can choose and ask any player, for that you need to roll the marble towards them," Elliot spun a small glass marble in his hand, "but then you have to answer one too. You'll figure it out as we play. I'll start."

Alex got the gist. Roughly. A game for those who like to get their nerves tingling. The ambiguity alone sent shivers down his spine. And Elliot was going first. He was an agent of chaos. You never knew what to expect from him.

"Is this a game to break the ice or to gather blackmail material for future sessions?" Alex clarified.

"One doesn't exclude the other," Elliot parried, pulling a card, "perfect for a start. 'When and how did you discover your kink?'"

Alex thought about what his answer would be. But the attempt to remember was unsuccessful. It was as if he had always been drawn to it. Only happy, carefree memories of his brother tickling him as a child came to mind. After their parents died, he had stopped talking altogether; he was barely four years old. His brother always wanted to cheer him up somehow. Alex grew up, became tougher, colder, and it all stopped. His teammates and buddies never dared do anything like that.

The marble rolled to Killian.

"Fine," he made a displeased grimace, but everyone knew if Kill truly didn't want to, he simply wouldn't play, "it was with a friend of mine. I wouldn't say I discovered my interest then, more like realized it was something more than just playing. I brought her a jump rope so she could... Ahem," Alex had never seen Killian look away and get flustered before. Elliot watched this like his favorite show, cheek propped on his hand, "tie me up, basically. I didn't understand why she looked at me like that then, but she agreed a couple of times and... Anyway, your turn, I've said enough," he spun the glass marble in his hands and looked at Elliot challengingly.

"Right at the interesting part!" Alistair complained.

"I did taekwondo as a kid," Ell leaned back against the couch, "There was this one guy, lanky, skinny, but his technique was just perfect. And after training, I got so annoyed, I ambushed him in the locker room. Took him down easily," he boastfully puffed out his muscular chest, as if by accident, "but I didn't want to hurt him. So I started my 'torture.' Who knew taekwondo guys were so ticklish? Anyway, he squealed gloriously, laughed until he cried, and I just couldn't stop. The older guys had to drag me off him. But after that, I learned the thrill and passion of it."

Alex listened with wide eyes and felt the blush rising to his cheeks. He was more involved with sports than all of them combined. Could he imagine something like that happening to him in a locker room? His head spun just thinking about it. Ell described it so vividly, it made him want it.

"Anytime, Lex."

"Did I just say that out loud?!" Alex covered his face with his hands and groaned. Idiot. Jess just giggled softly and patted his shoulder.

"Come on, at least it's honest," she smiled.

Killian picked the next card.

"Have you ever secretly tickled yourself in moments of severe touch starvation?" The question was sharper than the last. Alex didn't even have time to think before the marble rolled to his hands.

"Uh," he looked helplessly at those around him. Alistair and Elliot watched him with near-hunger. Bastards, "well, it has happened..."

"Me too," Killian nodded. Nothing betrayed any nerves except the shredded napkin in his hands.

"That's so sad..." Alistair shook his head. He looked at them with such sympathy and tenderness, as if they had told him some terribly tragic life story. But there was hidden hunger in that gaze. These two lovely guys, wanting to be tickled, had to resort to such measures, while somewhere in the same cold Liverpool lived Alistair, dreaming of making their fantasies come true, "how wonderful that you have us now."

"Praise yourself or no one else will," Killian snorted.

It was Alex's turn. He hesitantly pulled a card.

"What is your deepest, most secret fantasy?" Great... His stomach clenched from such questions. Alex's gaze darted from Elliot to Alistair and back. In the end, he nudged the marble towards Alistair. The latter threw a smug look at Elliot.

"Oh, cielo, I'm so flattered. Well, I'll start. I dream of something closer than just a session at the club. You know, something intimate. Especially if the partner is completely helpless. Straps, ropes, handcuffs, a blindfold—but no gag. I prefer to hear every sound, especially the whimpering. And complete freedom for a few hours, to keep them on the edge for as long as possible," Alistair spoke about it passionately, slowly, and without a hint of embarrassment. He played with the stem of his glass with long fingers.

Alex was stunned. And what was he supposed to say now? And more importantly, how?

"Well, I was just thinking, I don't really have any..."

"Nope, none of that. I laid all my cards on the table, now you lay down yours," Alistair pretended to be offended, tilting his nose up.

"Maybe... Ah, fine, to hell with it. Sometimes I imagine that you all," he gestured at them, "well, do it all together and..."

"Do what?" Alistair instantly interjected.

"What do you mean?" Alex's train of thought derailed from the unexpected question.

"What is 'it' that we all do together with you?" Elliot clarified.

Alex completely froze. Were they idiots? He looked at them all in confusion.

"My God, you're really one of those people who can't say 'tickling,' aren't you?" Alistair looked at him with adoration and delight. Elliot burst out laughing.

"Seriously? Lex, you're almost two meters tall and you're afraid of a word?"

Alex frowned. He was opening his soul to them, it was hard enough, and now they were teasing him!

"Jess, Kill, come on, at least you tell them it's normal?"

"Sorry, Alex, I'm out," she patted his hand with a cheerful smile.

"Can't join in either. Though I do often see this with new people. Apparently it's a 'ticklish' topic, huh?" Even the reserved Killian smiled.

"You're all bastards," Alex awkwardly ran a hand over his face, wiping away an embarrassed smile, "except you, Jess. You're just sassy."

"Sorry, didn't mean to put you in such a 'ticklish' position. Okay, okay, I'm done!" Alistair raised his hands in surrender.

"I hate you." His smile didn't leave his face, taking all the venom out of the words, "so... If you all did it," he glared at everyone to ward off any more 'brilliant' puns, "I'm not sure I could handle it, but when I imagine all your different techniques on me at once, I just... Anyway, next question."

No one insisted on continuing. Alistair was satisfied with the answer and contentedly drew a new card.

"How does your interest reflect on your professional life?"

Without much thought, he sent the marble to Jess.

"Oh, that's an interesting one," she thought for a moment, smiling a bit shyly, "I'm actually a doctor, but I just graduated recently, still finding my feet. Sometimes during check-ups, a patient is very sensitive and any palpation causes giggles and twitches. It's sometimes hard to keep a straight face when you see such an involuntary, genuine reaction."

"There's a special place in hell reserved for you," Alex grumbled, "Every check-up for me is with the team, and all that poking... And I'm the captain! It's very awkward to stand there giggling while they're checking your ribs."

Jess laughed.

"Sorry,dear. I'll be sure to tell my colleagues to be gentler with you. Al, don't slack, your turn."

"Just got lost listening. I inherited my father's business, so now I sit in boring meetings, sign boring papers, and analyze boring data. But at particularly dull meetings, especially when my lovely assistant is sitting next to me, I just want to tickle him. Just to see him look up at me in horror, holding back laughter in a room full of important people, trying to squirm away. But I'm not that much of a villain," he batted his eyelashes innocently.

"We readily believe that," Elliot smirked.

The turn came to Jess. She drew a card and instantly blushed.

"Has tickling ever ended in bed for you?" Her voice was unusually quiet but not uncomfortable. She sent the marble to Elliot.

"Yes, it has, but a long time ago. Need to repeat that," he stretched like a cat and smiled.

"Me too," she lowered her gaze.

Elliot, rolling the marble back and forth, dropped it on the floor with a clatter.

"Oops, sorry," the atmosphere at the table lightened. Ell reached down to pick up the marble.

"Have you guys never played this game before?" Alex wondered. They'd been here a while, surely they must have learned all this about each other through this game.

"Well, I've played with others," Alistair replied.

"I wasn't here that Friday," Jess shrugged.

"I played with Alistair then, and Killian just refused, he's our Mr. Unapproachable," Elliot finished the explanation, emerging from under the table with the marble.

At that moment, a new figure appeared on the horizon. Someone was walking very purposefully towards their table. Alex already thought with distaste that it was Greg again, but then realized he was mistaken. The guy approaching was a bit shorter and more solidly built. When he got close enough to the table, he held out his hand to Elliot. They slapped hands in a handshake. Alex managed to notice a red bracelet on the stranger's wrist. A friend of Elliot's?

"Alex, this is Tom," noticing Alex's curiosity, Ell explained.

"Oh, very nice to meet you, that's exactly why I came over," Tom extended his hand to Alex.

"Likewise," Alex shook his hand firmly, trying to remember. That's right, he was on the mats with some guy when Alex first came to the club.

"Want to try with me? I've seen you with Elliot for a while, you have a great reaction. I like ones like you and Mark, with a bit of spice," he gave a friendly smile.

Alex considered it. The guy didn't seem hostile, seemed to understand the value of consent, and knew Elliot. Sounded like a reliable and safe option. Wasn't it time he started making new acquaintances?

He had just opened his mouth to agree or discuss terms when he heard a voice from the side.

"Thomas, mi amigo, I'm afraid Alex is booked for this evening. And possibly not just this one," Alistair spoke peaceably, but through that friendliness, his fiery Spanish blood was seeping through.

All eyes immediately turned to him. Killian raised an eyebrow, Alex just hadn't processed what was happening yet, Thomas raised his hands.

"Got it. Another time then. Alex, if you're interested, the offer stands," he walked away from the table without any offense or objection.

"And what was that just now?" Elliot asked mockingly.

"I'm not ready to share today, we're having a great time," Alistair grabbed Alex's arm in a death grip. Alex's sore shoulder from training made itself known.

"Ow, Alistair, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but my shoulders are killing me after training," Alex hissed, rubbing the stiff muscle.

"Oh, lo siento, cariño! You know, it's a crime to torture such muscles. Want me to give you a massage? I'm not bad at it."

"He really does have golden hands," Killian quietly confirmed.

"Well, sure, I guess, why not?" Alex agreed uncertainly.

Alistair clapped his hands and carefully took him by the wrist, leading him away from the table.

"Excellent! Friends, I'm stealing Alexander from you, you'll have to endure this loss."

Alex only managed to wave to the others. Alistair was leading him somewhere actively. They ended up roughly in the same spot where he'd been with Killian last time. The place really was very secluded. He sat on the nearest mat, Alistair asked him to wait and left. He returned with a small jar and a towel.

"Are you going to wipe me down?"

"No, this is so you can lie down and not get the mats dirty. Spread it out."

Alex obediently lay down on the towel. Alistair rolled his eyes without malice.

"Take off your shirt, silly."

"You could've said so right away," he pulled off his favorite grey t-shirt.

Alistair sat down beside him and poured some massage oil onto his hands. A pleasant, sweet scent reached Alex. Alistair leaned over his back, placing his hands on his shoulders.

"Al, if it's more comfortable for you, you can sit on my lower back."

Alex immediately felt a pleasant, warm weight pressing slightly on his tailbone. Alistair began. His fingers, slender and skillful, expertly kneaded his shoulders. At first it was a bit painful, but still better than with a chiropractor. He slowly began to relax. Alistair moved his palms down his back, as if chasing away the fatigue. Warm, oiled hands slid easily over the not-so-small area of his back. He wished this would never end. When was the last time he even had a massage? When his legs hurt so much he couldn't play and the coach sent him to a specialist. But that experience didn't even come close to this. Alistair did it with soul, wanting to please Alex. He was melting under his hands like wax on a hot candle. Al was surprisingly strong for someone with such elegant hands. When he moved to the lower back, Alex knew—another couple of minutes and he'd fall asleep right there on the mat. But stop this miraculous massage for that? He wouldn't ask Alistair to stop even at gunpoint right now.

Alistair, meanwhile, wasn't bored. When he noticed Alex had gone completely limp and relaxed, he became bolder. His fingers pressed firmly along the spots where the ribs met the back. Alex felt a herd of goosebumps run down his spine. Ticklish, very ticklish. But not enough to do anything. He decided to try and endure. Alistair, however, didn't give up. His touches remained just as pleasant, but now he kept getting closer to the sensitive areas where the sides and ribs transitioned into the back. Alex would suck in his stomach and freeze each time. Eventually, Alistair grew tired of this teasing. He moved near the area next to the armpits, where the arms began, and gently ran his nails over it. Alex let out an embarrassing squeak, jerked, and groaned.

"Not now..." The words came out heavy, as if his tongue had gone numb.

"You like it, you didn't even move your arms. Don't be shy, accept it, just breathe," Alex could hear the smile in his voice. These gentle words sounded like mockery. He was relaxed, and his body was in a terribly vulnerable position now. Easy for him to say 'accept'!

But Alex didn't get to ponder the injustice for long. Alistair switched to his ribs with the same curiosity. Oh, this was bad, this was very bad! Oil and nails... His mind, paralyzed by complete relaxation, felt jolted by electricity. He tried to press his arms to his sides, but the tickling left him even more helpless and weak.

"Why are you guarding, darling? You like it, we both know. How long have you wanted this? Imagined something like this when you tried to tickle yourself?" Alistair switched to a spot Alex couldn't reach. He ran his nails over his back, turning laughter into giggles. Alex kept shrugging his shoulders. It started to feel like a massage again, but he kept wanting to squeal. His pride wouldn't forgive that, so he bravely clenched the towel in his hand.

When Alistair grew bored again with the milder reaction, he gently tickled his neck, prompting him to raise his shoulders to protect himself. Got him. His hands immediately slipped into the armpits. Alex realized the trick and dropped his arms, but it was too late. He was trapped. How could he fall for something so basic?

"Alistair, please, you know I can't take it," Alex made a desperate attempt at negotiation. He knew Alistair wouldn't listen. The delightful, absolute impossibility of changing the situation sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"Oh, don't talk nonsense, I believe in you," with these words, his 'execution' began. Alistair's hands moved lightly—Alex wasn't pressing with all his might—fluttering in the sensitive hollows, sometimes pressing in and vibrating his fingers. Alex felt traitorous tears stream from his eyes. How could anything be so ticklish?!

But Alistair didn't stop there. He managed to free one hand and stretch Alex's arm out, pinning it above his head. He had to sweat for it; Alex was hellishly strong even in his weakened state, but he managed. Alex was horrified by the position he was in.

"NO!" he managed to yell, but the cry was immediately drowned in laughter.

"Ye-es," Alistair sang calmly, tracing patterns with his finger on the sensitive skin.

The worst was the skin on the inner side of the bicep, right before the armpit. His laughter turned from shrieking to panicked, and his arm began to jerk desperately. Only one thought remained in his head: ticklish, ticklish, ticklish, it's just unbearably ticklish! Alistair felt like he was at a rodeo. Try staying on a bull like that.

Alistair finally stopped only when Alex could only whimper pitifully and shake his head. He released his arm and returned to gentle but firm stroking on his back.

"Shh, it's okay, you held up wonderfully. You liked it, didn't you?"

Alex barely processed the question in his utterly non-functional head and managed a weak nod. Now he would definitely fall asleep in a couple of minutes.

Alistair, noticing his state, decided to call him a taxi.

When he returned to the table without Alex, everyone looked at him suspiciously.

"Where'd you put the curly one?" Elliot asked.

"Sent him home. He almost fell asleep right there. I called him a taxi," Alistair made himself more comfortable and took a sip of wine from his glass.

"A true gentleman," Killian said.

The next morning, Alex didn't remember how he got home, but he remembered perfectly how sweetly he slept that night.

He didn't feel like such an outsider anymore, though he was still nervous. He scanned the space, looking for a familiar face, and when his gaze found no one to latch onto, he felt a pang of disappointment. Alex immediately tried to suppress it. He didn't come here to get attached; he came to enjoy himself. And that was possible even with strangers. "I need to broaden my horizons, socialize a bit," he thought.

He didn't dive straight into the thick of things. Calmly, he approached the bar and ordered water. He was an athlete, after all; no point poisoning himself with alcohol. As he drank, his eyes wandered around the hall again, hoping to spot familiar features in the crowd. His search was interrupted by a voice that suddenly came from the adjacent barstool.

"Resting here all alone?" It sounded a bit cocky, but without the laid-back warmth Elliot's voice had. Alex tensed up.

"Waiting for friends," Alex turned to look at the speaker. A lanky guy with wiry arms, seemingly a bit older than him, stood there. His gaze was sharp, prickly.

"Why wait when you've got the whole club here? I'm Greg. Let's have some fun, huh? Sitting here all alone, looking so sad. I saw you last time with Alistair and Elliot, all loud and squirmy. I like it when they struggle, adds a bit of spice. Especially inexperienced newbies like you," he smirked, giving Alex's imposing frame a once-over.

"I'll have to pass," Alex was put off by everything about him: his tone, his demeanor, his manner of speaking but he hoped a polite refusal would work. After all, they respected the word 'no' here.

"Ah, come on, don't play hard to get. I saw you liked it. Otherwise, why'd you put on that blue bracelet?" It seemed the word "no" meant little to this man. He perceived it as part of the game. His hand reached out to pinch Alex, but Alex intercepted it.

"I said no," he repeated, more sternly. What kind of asshole had latched onto him?

"You all say that, you don't even know what you want," the guy's tenacious fingers grabbed his wrist.

Alex was so angry he froze. Where did this confidence come from? Did he even understand this was against the rules? What was he supposed to do now? Hit the jerk? He'd be thrown out immediately, no questions asked. Press the button? It felt weird: he was a huge grown man, was he really going to be led out of a conflict by the hand like a little boy? And he didn't want to make a scene. Panic washed over him at this forced helplessness, but it was nothing like what he'd felt with Elliot and Alistair. This was a disrespect for his boundaries, a direct invasion of his personal space after he'd made his discomfort clear.

Just as the guy seemed about to try and lead him somewhere while he stood there stunned, Killian materialized beside them as if by magic. He was even colder than during their first meeting. His voice remained level and cut perfectly through the club's noise.

"Greg."

The guy turned reluctantly, as if torn away from his favorite pastime. Alex immediately looked up and breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the familiar face.

"We'll chat later, Kill."

"Let him go. He clearly said no. Or have you forgotten the rules again? Maybe we should go see the manager, I'm sure they'd be happy to remind you. Or better yet, security," his gaze perfectly conveyed all the contempt he felt for such methods. Greg removed his hand.

"God, don't get your panties in a twist, Frey. I didn't know he was yours," the guy raised his hands in surrender.

"He's not mine. You're just crossing a line. Go get some air, maybe the urge to pressure newbies will pass."

"Pfft, stingy," Greg rolled his eyes, "I'll find someone more... agreeable."

Alex was left face to face with Killian. The one who seemed to notice nothing that didn't concern him had just stood up for him.

"You did good, told him straight. Not your fault he's an asshole. He's always sniffing out newbies and pressuring them until they give in. You didn't, I respect that," Killian's voice pulled him out of his shock.

"Yeah, I just... didn't know what to do. Not like I could start a fight..."

"The button under the table is not there for decoration. Asking for help isn't weakness. Weakness is giving scumbags like him what they want," Killian seemed so genuinely irritated that Alex couldn't help but notice it was personal for him. As for someone who wore purple. After all, it contained blue. He could hardly imagine Killian in that role, but if he didn't want to give up control, he'd wear a red bracelet.

Killian looked Alex over from head to toe and gave an approving grunt, as if he'd passed some test.

"I hope Greg didn't ruin your mood too much? I'm not a red, of course, but I know a thing or two. You should unwind."

Alex didn't ponder for long. He trusted Killian; he didn't have that aggressive pushiness that Greg had. On the contrary, he always offered a way out. He didn't demand; he proposed.

"Sure, why not?"

A shadow of a smile flickered across Killian's face and he led the way. Alex followed, and as they crossed the corridor, he started to get nervous that Killian was dragging him to the ring. But they stopped at the cabinet with the tools.

"Alistair said you prefer hands. Have you ever tried tools?"

"No," Alex shook his head. Where would he have tried them? In the orphanage he grew up in? On the team, where the only thing connecting them was sports and purely comradely relations?

"Mind if I use mine?"

He shrugged as if to say he didn't mind.

Killian reached for a lower shelf and pulled a key from his pocket. It seemed the tools really were his personal property. With long fingers and the focus of a surgeon, he retrieved several feathers of different lengths and stiffness, and a couple of soft-bristled brushes from the cabinet.

"Come on, I know a good spot."

In Killian's understanding, 'good' meant the most secluded. They settled in a secluded corner on a mat, Kill carefully layed out all his 'torture' instruments. Alex sat down beside them and stared at the arsenal.

"Take them off," he pointed at Alex's sneakers, "You came from training?"

"I took a shower," Alex reported, pulling off his shoes.

"Excellent. And the socks? You can keep them on, of course, but the sensation won't be the same," he shrugged.

"Picky," Alex took off his socks, stuffing them neatly into his sneakers. His feet weren't small at all, probably a size 12. A flicker of approval crossed Killian's face.

"Not picky, selective. You're free to leave if you don't like something."

But Alex stayed put. He obediently flipped onto his stomach at Killian's instruction and laid his legs across Killian's lap. He couldn't even remember the last time someone had tickled his feet. Maybe his brother in early childhood? In any case, he was about to find out what it was like.

Killian started without warning, slowly, almost imperceptibly. Alex felt something light trace a path along the middle of his sole, but didn't even flinch. He was an athlete, his feet were calloused. Kill wasn't discouraged. Alex hadn't heard him utter a single word since the process began. If Elliot teased him relentlessly and Alistair chattered nonstop, Killian made him nervous with his focused silence. His tormentor decided to change tactics. Alex felt something sharp glide over the ball of his foot and reflexively curled his toes.

"Feel that?" Killian mused thoughtfully.

"Nope, I just twitch for no reason," Alex forced out.

Killian just snorted in response. Alex was already regretting it. Why did he have to sass the guy who was currently sitting at his feet with a feather? Killian didn't retort. He simply took Alex's toes and pulled them back firmly, stretching the sole taut.

"Try to guess what I'm writing."

Alex was about to ask what he meant, but he was interrupted by his own shriek. It turned out that when a sharp point is dragged across a stretched sole, speaking becomes surprisingly difficult. He jerked his foot, but Killian held it fast and kept scribbling something with concentration. Alex twisted his whole body and slammed a fist onto the mat, but this clearly didn't impress Kill. He just sighed.

"You're not even trying. I'll repeat it, and this time, try to figure out which letter I'm writing," that indifferent voice only made it worse.

"Have you lost your mind?! How am I supposed to guess when you're— E-hee-hee-hee-ha-ha-ha!" He couldn't finish the sentence, interrupted by his own laughter. His body was betraying him, responding to every single stroke.

"You do realize I'll keep repeating it until you name the letter, right?" Kill spoke to him in the same tone a parent uses with a dim-witted child. And Alex wasn't even answering anymore. He was just laughing and trying to protect the sensitive skin, which was going absolutely terribly.

This time, he finally decided to try and guess the letter; his foot was starting to itch unbearably.

"T! It's a T!" he shouted through his laughter.

"Excellent. The next one is on the other foot. Ready?"

"What?!"

Killian took that as a yes. And so, Alex's second foot came under attack. The sensations made his insides curl into a tight, warm knot. In precisely this manner, the remaining letters "I", "C", "K", "L", "E" were guessed.

Alex lay there, red as a lobster, still giggling nervously and rubbing his feet together. Killian patted his sole.

"There, there, all done. Good job. You made it," he carefully kneaded Alex's feet, easing the residual ticklish sensation.

Having caught his breath, still euphoric, Alex sat up next to him, leaning against the wall behind them.

"Kill..."

"Hmm?"

"Why did you stick up for me back there?"

"Uh," he was uncharacteristically flustered for a couple of seconds, but then regained his thoughtful, serious expression, "I hate guys like him. I'm on your side of the fence sometimes, you know. It's hard enough to give up control and trust someone, and then jerks like him come along and ruin the whole concept of consent. Just imagining me in a blue bracelet and him reaching for me..." Killian actually shuddered at the thought, "I couldn't not step in. Out of solidarity. And indifference felt like complicity. That sort of thing needs to be nipped in the bud, or they'll get out of hand."

"Yeah," Alex agreed sagely.

"Well, you like being with Elliot and Alistair?" He smiled at him for the first time, "You don't have to answer, I know you do. It's because they get off on you getting off. They're not interested if you're not enjoying it. But Greg... He doesn't care, as long as he sees you squirm. That's the whole difference."

"And you, with them... I mean, do you also...?" This almost two-meter-tall giant looked at Killian with such sincere, innocent curiosity that he couldn't help but smirk.

"None of your business, 'Blue'. Go on, the others have gathered. I'm going to order myself something strong."

As Alex walked towards the table they'd occupied last time, one thought kept circling in his head: Was Killian like that too? After all, purple contained both red and blue. He had just experienced the red side of him today, but he couldn't even imagine the blue side. Killian was too serious, too collected. Imagining him blushing and laughing... He couldn't even begin to guess who Kill would ever grant that honor to.

The usual company was indeed already gathered at the table. Alistair was telling Jessica something expressively, while Elliot watched with his usual condescending expression. Spotting him, all three smiled warmly.

"Alejandro, good evening!" the pleasant Spanish accent rang out.

"Told you we wouldn't scare this one off," Elliot extended a hand for a firm handshake, which Alex approved of.

"Alex, where have you been? We thought you'd run off!" Jess, with her characteristic warmth, clasped Alex's hand in both of hers and shook it.

"Ah, you know, stuff," Alex plopped down heavily next to Alistair and briefly recounted his unpleasant encounter with the new 'acquaintance', the session with Killian, and the quiet conversation afterwards.

"Well, I'll be damned," Elliot whistled.

"He doesn't just let anyone in like that. He's... selective," Alistair looked at Alex with something like reverence, "You've struck a chord with him, mi cielo."

"Kill values trust highly. You could say you passed the integrity check," Jessica gave him a sweet smile.

"Guys, Killian... he's a switch. Have you ever seen him, you know... give up control?" His curiosity was going to get him killed someday.

"Oh, that is a most interesting question," Alistair's eyes practically lit up, "Killian is our Mister Provocateur. He doesn't ask and he doesn't agree; he depends heavily on his partner. A mandatory requirement is being able to tell when his 'go to hell' means 'yes,' and when it's an actual stop signal. But if he does decide to play..."

"He always picks me, the bastard," Elliot chimed in, "You probably figured out from your little show that he has a thing for feet. Well, he usually just sits there, kicking me under the table when he's in the mood. And he's always so deadpan. Waits for a reaction. And I'm happy to oblige."

"But it doesn't happen often; he's usually more of an observer," Jess waved her hand dismissively.

Right about then, Killian approached. He scanned the present company, barely looking up from his beloved device, and silently took his usual spot next to Jessica. The rest of the evening was accompanied by knowing looks from everyone at the table, to which Kill only responded by rolling his eyes.

"Have a pleasant evening. And remember: your bracelet is a silent invitation, but not permission. We respect the word 'no' here. If you need help, there's a red button under the tables; security responds to it," she smiled sweetly and opened the door for him.

Alex muttered something incoherent in response and immediately hurried through the open door. The atmosphere was, to put it mildly, unfamiliar; he had never seen a place like this. The space was softly lit, the semi-darkness helping one to relax. The air was filled with laughter and warm conversations, punctuated by some quiet melody, and colored bracelets flashed before his eyes. Red, red, purple, red, purple, purple. His eyes barely caught a single blue one, but it immediately disappeared into the crowd. He had read the comments on the website; many wanted to see new faces in blue bracelets. It seemed like that should have been reassuring, but Alex felt like a bull in a china shop. Almost 6'7 feet tall and weighing around 240 pounds, he resembled an American football player, which he was, more than someone who would laugh carefree on a soft mat or armchair. And there were plenty of those in the club. His brain wasn't helping either, feeding him unpleasant thoughts. *Idiot. Why did you grab this blue bracelet? Why did you even come here? What a freak you are.*

Alex noticed people glancing at him. That was the last straw. He had tried, he had looked. He'd even lasted a couple of minutes. It didn't work out. Time to bail. In his swift dash for the exit, he wouldn't have even noticed knocking someone over if that someone hadn't let out a yelp. Alex immediately turned around. "Careless prick," flashed through his mind. He had bumped into a fragile girl, short in stature, and knocked her off her feet. She was already getting up, adjusting the soft curves of her airy dress. Alex, of course, immediately offered his hand. Their gazes locked on each other's bracelets. Purple. Alex tried to apologize frantically, but the girl wasn't hearing him anymore. She stood there, staring at his bracelet.

"It's alright, things happen!" she seemed so small next to him, and Alex felt incredibly ashamed. But her kind, green eyes showed nothing but friendliness. "Running for the exit already, huh? You're clearly a newbie. I'm Jess, nice to meet you!"

She cheerfully extended a soft hand, her purple bracelet flashing again. Alex obediently offered his, giving the small palm a gentle squeeze as if afraid of breaking it.

"Alex. Yeah, it's my first time," the words came with difficulty, but he managed.

Jessica didn't pull her hand away; on the contrary, she grabbed it with her other hand and gave it a light shake.

"Always nice to see a new blue in our ranks. I'm here with friends, wanna join us? It's more fun with company. We happen to have an imbalance, not a single blue. Don't worry so much, we don't bite. Everyone remembers about consent; respecting boundaries is the norm here," and she smiled so warmly that Alex felt a weight lift from his soul. He had just started to say something in response when she was already insistently leading him somewhere. This was going to be an interesting night.

He found himself in the far part of the club, in front of a white table attached to the wall. Sofas with high backs stood on either side, sort of fencing off the space from the rest of the club. Jess presented him to the group.

"Look who I found, a newbie! Everyone, this is Alex," she was so joyful and spoke with such sincerity that Alex relaxed a bit. The company gathered before him was an interesting one. On the right sofa sat two guys. One was tanned, with long black hair tied back in a ponytail and delicate facial features. Alex's gaze fell on his hands; his elegant fingers held a wine glass, and on his wrist was a red bracelet. Jessica, pointing at him, introduced him: Alistair.

Next to him, lounging sprawled out, was a larger guy. He had almost the same build as Alex. Dark hair cascaded down, a fringe falling to the side and continuing to his broad shoulders. His gaze was openly predatory, his face wore a permanent, lazy smirk. A light, soft shirt was unbuttoned down to his stomach, revealing a slightly tanned chest. Alex appreciated the sight. This one was named Elliot. On his wrist was the same bright red as Alistair's.

Finally, his gaze fell on the guy sitting on the left sofa. He looked up from his phone with disinterest, gave him an appraising once-over as if he were an exhibit in a showcase, and, his eyes catching on the blue bracelet, raised an eyebrow slightly. This one, as Jess narrated again, was named Killian. Cold, gray eyes looked at him penetratingly. Dark chestnut hair framed a pale face showing traces of recent stubble. There is a purple bracelet on his wrist.

Jessica settled next to Killian, suggesting Alex sit opposite. He forced himself to sit down next to one of the 'reds'.

"Darling, where did you find this treasure?" The voice of the guy next to him was pleasant and lively, with a slight Spanish accent. Alistair was addressing Jessica. She looked expressively at their new acquaintance, inviting him to join the conversation.

"I wasn't paying attention, didn't look where I was going," he began to explain awkwardly.

"Yeah, he was running for the exit," Jess interrupted him, "completely frightened by all the laughter. I couldn't just leave him there alone, especially one so... vulnerable."

She gave a meaningful glance at his bracelet.

The guy by the wall, Elliot it seemed, chuckled. The sound was a bit rough, but it suited him perfectly.

"He doesn't look the timid type. Quite the solid fellow."

Alex was completely stumped. He couldn't respond to such open sabotage of his social skills. The girl slapped Elliot's hand playfully.

"Oh, what are you saying? Can't you see he's having a hard enough time? Don't worry, Alex, it's like this for everyone the first time."

A skeptical voice came from beside her.

"If Elliot doesn't scare him off, Alistair certainly will."

"Me? How can you even say that about me, Kill! I'm pure and fluffy," he dramatically folded his hands over his heart. The Spanish accent turned all his words into a dramatic telenovela where the actors weren't even trying.

"Pure and fluffy psycho," Killian retorted.

Alistair just snorted in response and gave a disarming smile.

"Guilty as charged."

Alex watched this ecosystem where everything worked perfectly and felt like an extra component. But suddenly all eyes were on him, and Alistair, calmly and welcomingly, without extra theatrics, asked:

"Alexander, it's your first time here. Can you tell us what inspired you to visit our little den?"

"Well," he stared at the table as if the answer to the question was written there. And what had inspired him? Fantasies he could no longer suppress? The desire to feel normal among people like him? A passion for control, or rather, for losing it?

"I'm a quarterback for the university team. It's all professional now, so there's a lot of responsibility on me. And in general, I prefer discipline and control in life," his voice was growing more confident. He was embarrassed now, mostly because the blue bracelet shone on him like a brand of vulnerability, but he wasn't a wimp, not at all. "But sometimes... You want to let go of control. Completely."

He chose to omit the part about how he'd been blushing since childhood just hearing the word 'tickle' in a crowd.

About how lately his body was literally craving intense sensations. That he couldn't train properly anymore because he was always on edge with nervous anticipation. That he found himself staring at strangers' hands in a crowd, imagining them on himself.

About how he wanted to show people not just the formidable athlete, but the one hiding underneath. He wanted to loosen up, but couldn't do it himself. He wanted to shed all the layers and just be.

But they seemed satisfied with what he'd decided to share. Alex caught a knowing look from Killian, who had seemed indifferent. But in his eyes was the same silent desire to drop the mask, the desire to lose control.

"Well, welcome to the club, Alex," a smug voice came from the corner. Elliot.

Welcome to the club. It sounded promising. Elliot rubbed his hands together.

"Well, now that everyone's acquainted, I think it's time for a tour. He's still completely green. I mean, blue," he chuckled at his own pun.

Alistair nodded joyfully. His favorite part was beginning. Killian's look unmistakably conveyed his thoughts: they're going to scare him off after all.

Elliot and Alistair volunteered to be the main guides. Alex didn't really understand why he would need a tour. It wasn't like he was blind; he could see the hall perfectly well. Over there were piles of mats and pillows where... He embarrassedly averted his gaze from a girl playfully fending off two reds. A slow, warm knot was forming below. He wanted that too. The thought seemed utterly wrong and frightening, but he tried not to dwell on the shame. That's why he came here. In another part of the club was a bar, but the fun didn't end there either. An indifferent bartender no longer paid attention to someone rolling across his counter, trying to break free from grasping hands. He just moved a drink aside and kept working, his whole demeanor saying: 'Typical Tuesday'. On his wrist was a gray bracelet. Apparently, the staff only wore those, to avoid becoming an outlet for someone's 'good' mood. The rest of the free space was occupied by armchairs, sofas, and tables.

But still, they were insistently leading him somewhere by the arm. Alistair walked alongside, looking like a connoisseur, and explained.

"That's the recovery space. It's for blues and purples, if you want to catch your breath, have some water, or just take a break from the hustle. Behind that curtain is the passage to the second hall, let's go," their small company passed behind a red velvet curtain and found themselves in a space resembling a corridor. There were 3 rooms on either side. Alistair explained again.

"Here, on this side, are the restrooms, and on that side," he smiled conspiratorially, "are rooms for those who want some privacy with a partner. Or partners..."

The corridor led them to the second hall. Everything there seemed more intense. A couple of intriguing-looking contraptions with straps at the ends. Alex's insides curled up at the mere thought of being tied down like that, immobilized, completely helpless before, for example, Alistair's neat manicure.

He was brought back to reality by a voice, this time without the Spanish accent.

"Oh, this is my favorite – the 'ring'."

Alex looked in the opposite direction from the restraints and his gaze indeed fell upon a section of the hall designed like a fighting ring. On it, someone was hysterically squealing; Alex couldn't determine the gender from that wild, uncontrolled sound, and a massive figure looming over them prevented him from making out the 'victim'.

"That's Thomas and Mark having fun again. Mark is trying to beat his record, but he'll give up soon. Thomas will make sure," Elliot smiled approvingly. His gaze fell on the slightly stunned Alex and he hurried to reassure him, "Don't look like that, no one's gonna drag you there if you don't want to. It's for those who like it... rougher."

Alistair immediately tried to divert Alex's attention from such an intense scene. He gently pulled him by the wrist, and they found themselves in front of a cabinet with a huge number of shelves, each storing different tools. Alistair looked at it like a possessed collector. He began explaining again, with the air of a guide.

"Here on these shelves are various feathers; they're changed and disinfected often. These are fake claws for those whose own aren't enough," Alistair demonstratively tapped his own nails on the shelf. "Over there, different brushes, combs, but those are for barbarians. There are paintbrushes too, I prefer those more. Oh, and massage oil as well. What do you like better?"

He looked at Alex with burning eyes, expecting an answer. And Alex was imagining it all on himself: light paintbrushes and feathers sending shivers up his nape, stiff brushes making his toes curl at the sight, sharp little claws running over his oil-slicked torso. He had to shake his head to dispel the blush on his cheeks. He awkwardly forced out,

"Well, I prefer the old-fashioned way, with hands..."

Alistair beamed even brighter.

"Of course! Tactile contact is the most crucial aspect..." Alistair launched into a speech about contact and reactions.

Alex gazed off towards the velvet curtain separating them from the corridor. Suddenly, four fingers dug into his ribs from both sides and began vibrating insistently. A shrill shriek rang out, interrupting Alistair's tirade. Alex tried to twist away, but massive hands held him in a steel grip, pressing him against a warm chest, probing towards his armpits. It was a vulnerable spot, and there was no chance of escape. Nerves and anticipation were no help, and he let out an uncharacteristically loud, broken laugh.

"Having fun? Ticklish, huh? Of course you are," a low, mocking voice burned his ear.

"Ehehlliot!" Alex instinctively tried to rise on his toes to break free, but he was immediately pulled back, the fingers burrowing deeper into his armpits. He helplessly threw his head back onto the other's broad shoulder, laughing now in a completely childish, unstoppable manner. It felt like this electric sensation sent a tickling current through his ribs, forcing him to arch his back.

Alistair, who had been staring at the spectacle before him, finally snapped out of his trance. The picture was indeed astonishing. Their new acquaintance was laughing desperately in Elliot's grasp, occasionally breaking into shrill giggles when Elliot hit a particularly nerve-wracking spot.

"Dios mío," he approached them with a predatory glint in his eyes. Alex couldn't see; he had squeezed his eyes shut, laughing.

Alistair's hands curiously slipped under Alex's t-shirt; he immediately felt the warm skin of Alex's stomach, and experimentally dragged his nails from the chest down to the waistline. Alex made a frightened sound, sucked in his stomach, and tried to lean back, but bumped into Elliot again.

"What a reaction..." Alistair drawled dreamily.

One single thought imprinted itself on his laughter-fogged mind – he was trapped and couldn't get out. Really couldn't. The helplessness was literally intoxicating. It triggered a new fit of hysterical, panicked giggles, immediately flowing into full-blown laughter. Neither of his tormentors hesitated. Alistair traced circles on his sensitive ribs, praising Alex in a sensual whisper right by his ear. In contrast, his other ear was still warmed by Elliot's hot breath, teasing him.

"Haven't met someone this ticklish in a while. You know, you wouldn't guess it by looking at you. So composed at first glance, just like Killian. Well, no matter, we've broken tougher ones. Right, Balmer?"

Alistair didn't answer him. He was too engrossed in his task and in examining Alex's reddening face. The blush on his cheeks deepened at Elliot's words, but he would never admit to that. As if he'd ever admit that stupid teasing got to him.

"Thahahat's not allowed!" Alex blurted out, immediately jumping again as he felt Alistair experimentally poke his navel.

"It is allowed, everything is allowed here," Alex could hear the smirk in Elliot's voice even without seeing his face.

When it became truly impossible to breathe, and tears threatened to well up in his eyes, he managed to pat Elliot's thigh with his hand as best he could. Elliot didn't insist. He signaled to Alistair to wrap it up and pulled his own hands out. Alex remained standing, pressed against Elliot's chest, trying to catch his breath. A soft, warm feeling spread through his body. This was... Exactly what he had dreamed of.

"Not bad, huh? For an introduction, so to speak."

"Alexander, you were magnificent," Alistair whispered reverently.

"Yeah, quite the specimen. You're a rare find, Alex," he clapped him on the shoulder and finally set him back on his feet. Alex ran a hand through his hair.

"Is it always so... sudden?"

"Not always, but it happens. Didn't you like it?" Alistair frowned with concern.

"I liked it!" Alex nodded vigorously and was immediately embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. "Just... unfamiliar."

"Ah, come on, we know all about your 'unfamiliar'. You types never ask until someone starts tickling you," Elliot said without malice. He enjoyed observing the fruits of his labor. Alex, all red and disheveled before him, trying to catch his breath.

Alex knew Elliot was right. That was the essence of their game. No one wanted to ask. Many preferred CNC: it removed the responsibility and guilt for one's own pleasure. The subconscious finally let go with the thought – 'It's not our fault, we were forced.' Alex awkwardly rubbed his neck and gave a slight smile.

"Thank you. Both of you."

"You just make sure to come back, I doubt we'll get such a juicy reaction from anyone else. I'd love to test you out properly, of course, but Jess would tear my arms off," he laughed.

"You always want everything at once. A barbarian, I swear," Alistair waved a hand in his direction. "Come on, Alex, let's get some water, you're still all red."

Alex followed them, thinking about how lucky he was to have run into Jess tonight. He was going to come back here again. And not just once.