Copyright (c) Naked Persimmon 2010-11. All Rights Reserved.

Contact Us - Submit Your Stuff

Feedback for the author...

Fic Title *

Feedback *

DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.

 

"Enough Rope"

 

 

Title: Enough Rope
Author: Daytona Demon
Rating: R
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Mike/Peter
Summary: Peter sprains his ankle the day the band has a gig, and he won't stay off his feet. Mike comes up with a way to keep Peter in one place. Immobilization leads to recreation.
Warnings: Explicit sexual language and situations, rope bondage. Yay, bondage!
Disclaimer: This story is about the characters, not the guys who played them, no implication is meant about the men who played the characters, I don't own the characters, and I get no profit from this (except a case of the jollies). So there.

 

 

"OW!"

 

Mike jumped at the sound of Peter's exclamation. "Don't DO that!" he barked at Peter, clutching his chest.

"Sorry," Peter said, looking dejected. "I just tried to get up and grab another magazine to read."

Mike fought the urge to roll his eyes in irritation. "Peter, you know you're supposed to stay off that sprained ankle until the gig tonight. We need you to be able to stand up through as much of the show as possible, 'cause it isn't gonna look good to have you in a chair all evening. Now get back on the couch, put the ice back on your ankle, and sit."

"I'm bored," Peter complained.

Mike walked over to a stack of magazines on a side table, picked them up, and dumped them in Peter's lap. "Knock yourself out."

Peter pushed the magazines onto the floor. "I've read all those."

"So play checkers with Mr. Schneider," Mike snapped.

"He always wins!" Peter yelled. "Stop being mean to me! I didn't sprain my ankle on purpose! I didn't try to ruin our gig or anything." He bit his lip, angry tears in his eyes.

Mike put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm sorry, man. I know, we all get antsy the day we’re playing a show. I'm just glad Micky and Davy went to the beach to work it off, otherwise Mick would be bouncing off the walls and driving the rest of us nuts."

Peter relaxed and laughed. "Yeah, he does get kind of crazy, doesn't he? But it's fun. I wish I wasn't bored. I don't want to stay in one place."

"You have to," Mike said. "Gotta rest that ankle. Wait a minute...I know how to keep you from moving around when you shouldn't. Let me help you over to the dinner table."

Mike helped Peter up off the couch and slung an arm around his waist. "OK, walk with me, real slow and careful now, don't put weight on that ankle."

They made their way to the table, Mike leaning down to help Peter into a chair. "Stay right there. Don't move. I'll be right back." He walked toward his bedroom and turned to look at Peter. "When I come back, I better still see you in that chair."

"No problem," Peter said, shrugging.

Mike knelt by the bed and reached underneath it to pull out a storage box. Cords, cables, guitar picks, notebooks full of scribbled and mostly abandoned songs..."Ah, there it is," Mike said, pulling out a bundle of rope. "I get to use this at last, and it's on Peter instead of a chick. My life...sheesh."

"What? I can't hear you," Peter called from the table.

"Nothing. Never mind," Mike called back, turning red at the realization he'd spoken out loud. He walked over to Peter, unbundling the rope.

"What's that for? Why do you have rope?" Peter asked.

"For, um...robbers. In case someone breaks into the house," Mike lied. "We can tie them up until the cops get here."

"Good thinking!" Peter said, smiling. "I guess that's why you're the leader of the band, huh? You think of everything."

"Some things, I wish I didn't think of," Mike muttered, untangling the end of the rope. He wound a length of rope around both Peter and the chair, tying one end of the rope firmly behind the chair and leaving a small length hanging down from the knot. He began winding the rest of the rope around Peter and the chair.

"Why are you tying me up, if the rope is for robbers?" Peter asked.

"I gotta keep you in one place and off your feet for as long as possible," Mike said. "This is the only way I can think of to do it, and you already showed you won't do it yourself, so I'll do it for you."

"Thanks, I think," Peter said, looking down at the rope coiling around him.

Mike wound the last coil around Peter and tied the end of the rope to the piece he'd left dangling from the initial knot.

"How's that?" Mike asked. "Too tight?"

Peter wiggled in the chair. "Nope. It kind of feels good, actually."

Mike's eyes widened and he took a moment to compose himself. "Um. OK. Try to get free."

Peter struggled harder against the rope. "Nope. I'm not getting out of this until you let me out."

Mike felt a surge of adrenalin go through him, the flash of excitement leaving him feeling a little dizzy, overheated, and confused. "Uh...well, that's good, Peter. That's how it's supposed to work." He leaned against the kitchen sink, breathing slowly and wondering why the sight of Peter tied and struggling against the rope was affecting him so strongly.

Peter continued testing the rope, trying to free himself. Mike had rendered him helpless and unable to move his arms or upper body. The thought didn't frighten him. The more he moved against the rope, the more he liked the feeling of it pressing against him, restricting him. He began to feel warm, almost uncomfortably so.

"Mike?" Peter asked, his voice breaking. He coughed. "Can I have a glass of water?"

"Sure," Mike said, his own voice cracking. "It does feel a little warm in here, doesn't it? I can open a window.”

"The windows are all open," Peter said as Mike set the glass of water on the table in front of him.

"Mike?" Peter asked. "How am I supposed to drink this? Do we have straws?"

Mike cleared his throat. "Um, no. We don't. Sorry, man, I forgot you don't exactly have the use of your hands right now. I, uh..." He paused, thinking for a moment. "I guess I'll have to help you." He lifted the water glass to Peter's lips.

Peter drained the glass dry with a few gulps. Mike set the empty glass next to the kitchen sink and ran the tap, splashing his face and hoping the cold water would help control the heat and throbbing between his legs. He was confused, aggravated, unsure whether it was the sight of the rope or Peter bound within it that was making him so painfully hard.

A few feet away, Peter struggled similarly, with the rope and his growing arousal from being trapped by it. His helplessness, his need to trust Mike completely and rely on him even just for a drink of water, both embarrassed and excited him. He looked down at himself, at the erection he couldn't hide, and shifted uncomfortably in the chair, unable to move enough to relieve the increasing discomfort of his too-tight pants. Every movement made it worse, stoked the fire further, made him short of breath.

"You OK there, buddy?" Mike asked Peter, his voice unsteady. Peter didn't answer and continued to fidget in the chair. Mike walked over to him, standing just behind the chair, pressing himself up against the coils of rope. God, that feels good, he thought, wondering what Peter was feeling and suspecting he knew the answer.

Mike put his hands on Peter's shoulders, leaning down to put his face next to Peter's.  "You didn't answer me. You OK?" he asked.

Peter shivered as Mike's breath tickled his ear. Mike felt impossibly warm to Peter, radiating heat, like having a small furnace behind the chair. Peter flushed red and felt himself break out into a light sweat. He dropped his head, suddenly looking miserable.

"Talk to me," Mike said, rubbing Peter's shoulders, pushing himself up against the chair and the rope again.

Peter swallowed hard, unsure what to say.

"Do you want me to undo the rope? Does it hurt?" Mike asked quietly, leaning down to rest his cheek on the back of Peter's neck. He felt Peter shake his head.

"It doesn't hurt. It feels good," Peter said, his voice low, gritty, trancelike. "But I need..."

"What do you need?" Mike whispered, moving his hands down to Peter's chest, enjoying the roughness of the rope across his palms. "Tell me."

"I need...you," Peter said.

 

Mike brushed his lips against Peter’s cheek and moved lower, taking tiny bites as he kissed Peter’s neck. Peter gasped, straining so hard against the rope that the front legs of the chair reared up off the ground.

“Steady there,” Mike said, wrapping one arm around Peter, forcing the tips of his fingers under the first loop of rope around Peter’s chest. With his other hand, he unfastened his pants, pressing his hard-on against the rope that circled the back of the chair. A low moan escaped his lips as he rocked back and forth, rubbing himself against the rope.

 

Peter tilted his head back, trying to look at Mike. “I know what you’re doing, and I need you to do that for me…please…” he begged. “I didn’t know I’d like this so much.”

 

“Neither did I,” Mike said, moving around to kneel in front of Peter. He looked up and saw the urgency in Peter’s expression. “You do need it bad, don’t you,” he said, caressing Peter’s chest, playing idly with the rope, and resting his hand on Peter’s zipper. “The swelling in your ankle don’t got nothin’ on the one you have in your pants.”

 

Mike unbuttoned Peter’s pants, unzipped him with such excruciating slowness that Peter kicked at him with his uninjured foot, and reached inside to free Peter from the confines of his overly tight trousers. “I need you to move just a little bit here – raise your hips up,” Mike said, putting his hand behind Peter, pushing his ass up off the chair. “Lean toward your good foot…there you go…now I can get these damn pants down.” Mike slid Peter’s pants down toward his knees.

 

Peter leaned his head back and sighed, knowing relief was imminent. Once again, he had to trust Mike implicitly, rely on him to cater to the most basic of needs, and he knew Mike wouldn’t disappoint. He felt Mike’s hands kneading his tight thigh muscles, then carefully grasping his cock and stroking his balls.

 

Mike touched his finger to the slit of Peter’s cock, then ran his finger down the thin trail of sticky fluid that left drops on Peter’s thigh. “Looks like I have some clean-up to do here,” he said, taking Peter’s hard-on into his mouth.

 

Peter bit his lip, moaned, and writhed in the chair, wanting desperately to dig his fingers into Mike’s hair, unable to do anything but clench his fists. Mike teased Peter’s cock gently with his tongue, licking in long strokes from the base to the tip, nibbling slightly, then diving back down to embrace Peter fully with his lips and tongue.

 

As Mike licked and sucked him, Peter trembled in his chair, captive to the pleasure he was receiving. His breathing escalated to gasps as he moved his hips, thrusting into Mike’s mouth.

 

“Mike…I’m…I’m gonna…oh my god…” Peter bucked in the chair as he came, Mike holding on to him and nearly gagging from the force of the hard cock in his mouth and the hot liquid in his throat. Mike felt Peter sag as much as the ropes would let him, Peter’s head lolling to one side as exhaustion washed over him.

 

“Thank you,” Peter breathed. “Thank you, Mike. Thank you.”

 

“Oh, I’m not done just yet,” Mike said, standing up to drop his jeans and underwear. He straddled Peter, lowering himself onto Peter’s lap, unbuttoning his shirt. Peter looked at him, his gaze fuzzy and unfocused.

 

Mike moved his hands up the rope circled around Peter’s chest, pulling Peter’s head down for a kiss. As Mike explored Peter’s mouth with his tongue, he pressed his bare chest to the ropes, once again enjoying the rough feel against his skin.

 

Mike broke the kiss. “Peter, you don’t know how good you look, how good this feels…you’re mine, totally helpless…this is everything I ever wanted it to be.” Peter smiled at Mike, exhaustion giving way to happiness, and Mike dove back in for another kiss, one hand in Peter’s hair, the other hand grasping himself.

 

This time, Peter broke the kiss. “Mike, I wish I could touch you.”

 

“Next time,” Mike whispered. “Next time.” He leaned his head against Peter’s chest, brushing his face against the rope, pumping his own hard cock into his fist, craving release as desperately as Peter had.

 

“So good…so good…oh, FUCK -“ Mike came so fiercely, pushing himself so hard onto Peter, that he knocked the two of them over onto the floor. “Shit! Peter, you all right? God DAMMIT! Ah, hell, I’m so sorry.”

 

Peter, lying flat on his back in the chair, looked up at Mike and smiled. “I’m fine. We might need to do some laundry, though. You just ruined your rope.”

 

Mike looked down at the goopy mess he’d splattered onto Peter and the rope. “That’s OK. It’s washable. You are, too. Seriously, you all right?”

 

Peter wrapped his good foot around Mike’s legs. “I’m great. This was amazing. I never felt anything like it. I never thought anything like it. How do you know this stuff?”

 

Mike shrugged. “I don’t know. I just like what I like, you know? I didn’t know it would turn out like this. I didn’t plan it. It just worked out. Happy accident.”

 

Peter looked thoughtful. “You seem to like the way the rope feels, too. Maybe next time we can try it with you all tied up.”

 

“Me all tied up?” Mike asked. “Next time?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Peter said. “You said, ‘next time’.”

 

Mike imagined the feel of rope winding around him, the roughness against his skin, the exquisite sensation of being bound as Peter pleasured him and attended to his every need.

 

“Oh, yeah. There will be a next time,” Mike said, the heat and hardness returning to his groin. He began to rub himself against Peter, stroking Peter’s hair, feeling the rope against him, feeling Peter’s crotch against his.

 

“Here we go again,” Peter said, grinning as he gave himself up once more to the ecstasy of Mike’s touch and the freedom of restraint.

Slash Fiction Het/Gen Fiction Donatella's Head

General Art Slash Art

General Pictures Professional Art

Submit Your Stuff