Fic: It's My Show, Baby (Do What I Say) | Mike/Kevin | NC-17
Title: It's My Show, Baby (Do What I Say)
Fandom: Bandom (TAI)/Jonas Brothers
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Wordcount: ~3,060
Warnings: Established relationship, bondage, D/s, possible dub-con. May be triggering for some readers.
Summary: Kevin says they never talk anymore, and it's true: they never talk, but Kevin talks all the time. All Mike wants, freshly back from touring, is to relax and to have sex with his boyfriend, but to accomplish his goals, he first has to make Kevin shut up and listen.
Notes: This one goes out to akire_yta and wayfarersgirl, who came up with the idea. I just made off with it like a thief in the night. *G* Thanks to akire_yta for the encouragement and beta work! <3
It's possible this is for my hc_bingo "Character is Shown the Error of His/Her Ways" square, but I'm not sure it counts. *considers*
Their couples' therapist is named Marina. She's a tiny woman with chin-length brown hair cut in a no-nonsense bob, and when she looks over the top rims of her glasses at Mike, he can tell that her withering glare might be deadly. Luckily, she has never had cause to give Mike the withering glare he knows she is capable of, because she is too preoccupied with giving him looks of intense sympathy.
Kevin says they never talk anymore. Considering that in three two-hour sessions with Marina the Couples' Therapist, Mike has gotten perhaps five sentences in edgewise, he sort of agrees (one of those sentences was, "Hi, I'm Mike"). They never talk anymore. Kevin, however, talks incessantly, and Mike didn't mind (actually, he didn't really notice) until they started these therapy sessions, because he had just finished the second of two back-to-back tours and basically he just wants to chill out and play Halo and have sex with his boyfriend.
Instead, they're spending their shared afternoons sitting on Marina's comfortable-ish patient couch, Kevin unburdening his soul for hours at a time (complete with hand-waving for emphasis) while Mike goes over chord progressions in his head and tunes in whenever it seems like Kevin is saying something he should pay attention to. Kevin seems to be currently wandering between talking about his and Mike's conflicting tour schedules and about a stuffed duck named Mortimer he'd had as a child, and Mike turns his thoughts to TAI's newest song until Marina's little timer dings and she ushers them out the door with a charming smile and promises to see them again soon.
Fuck. No. Mike thinks, surprising himself with his own vehemence. But he can't fault himself for the thought. If he has to spend another two hours staring at Marina the Couples' Therapist's walls, he is going to gouge his own eyes out with Kevin's favorite guitar pick.
They go back to Mike's house, and he's glad that despite all the discussions about talking, they're still on the same wavelength when it comes to sex. (That's good, and so is the sex.) And maybe it's sneaky and underhanded, but Mike is really glad that Kevin tends to crash completely afterwards, dead to the world and snoring into Mike's pillows, because it gives him the opportunity to enact his plan without being forced to drug his boyfriend and/or hit him over the head with a frying pan. When Kevin's asleep he's asleep, all dead weight and pliable limbs, and he's heavy but Mike's spent most of his life lugging equipment on and off trucks, so it's not that hard to arrange his sleeping boyfriend to his satisfaction.
When Kevin wakes up, he is securely bound to that annoying dining room chair with the armrests that Mike had left shoved in a corner as punishment for its uselessness--wrists, elbows, ankles and knees tied to the frame by a careful selection of Kevin's more hideous scarves (Mike saw no reason his plan couldn't have side benefits), and perhaps the most hideous of all is looped through Kevin's mouth, tied behind his head. It's the tying of it that wakes him up, actually, because Kevin has a lot of hair at the moment and Mike is not exactly an expert gag tie-er. He's glad he saved that one for last.
So Kevin is in his boxers, tied to a chair, and Mike's dick is getting pretty interested in these proceedings, but he gives it a very stern mental warning. Partially because Kevin's eyes are wide and nearly hysterical, so it's time for explanations.
"I'm not taking off the gag, so deal with it." Mike says, coming to stand directly in front of Kevin's chair. Kevin makes a squeaky sound, but stops pulling on his restraints for the moment.
"I am not," Mike says, "Going back to the couples' therapist. Ever. Again." He emphasizes the final words, to make sure they sink in. They appear to. Kevin nods several times, very fast, and makes a sound that would probably be the word, "Okay," if it wasn't muffled by the gag. But he doesn't get it, Mike knows. He just wants to be untied, and that's fine, Mike's going to untie him, once he's said what he needs to.
"Do you know why I'm not going back to the couples' therapist?" He asks, and Kevin shakes his head hesitantly but doesn't try to say anything. Mike smiles approvingly at him, and Kevin seems confused but he relaxes a little bit more and looks straight at Mike.
"Because," Mike continues, "We were going to the couples' therapist because you said we didn't talk anymore. And you're right, Kev, you're totally right, because you talk all the time. You talk constantly. And I love you, Kev, and I wanna hear what you have to say, okay? But I just got off tour and I'm exhausted, and instead of relaxing with my boyfriend, I have spent the past three days sitting on a couch listening to you talk about how we never talk. So all I really want to do, right now, is chill the fuck out, and make up for all the sex we haven't been having. We are going to sit here," Mike says, "and watch Family Guy, and then I'm going to blow you. Any objections?"
Kevin's hair moves more than his head, but no, no objections, so Mike switches on the TV and steps around Kevin's chair to the kitchen to grab himself a beer, cracking it as he returns to flop down on the couch. Kevin's chair is just to his right, and Kevin's seated a little higher but that's okay. Mike reaches over and takes Kevin's hand--the angle is awkward with Kevin's wrist bound to the armrest, but he manages it. Kevin grips his hand hard, really hard, but Mike can feel that he's not trying to punish; he's clinging, and Mike looks up to meet Kevin's worried eyes and rubs his thumb across Kevin's knuckles. Kevin's grip loosens abruptly and bloodflow returns to Mike's fingertips, but he doesn't let go of Kevin's hand.
The Griffin family gets into some predicament that Mike doesn't actually care about, though that fighting chicken shows up so the half hour isn't a total waste, and by the time the credits are rolling, Kevin's hand is slack in Mike's and he's sitting in the chair like it's totally normal for him to watch TV tied to a dining chair. Mike flips off the TV and crouches down in front of the chair, reluctantly releasing Kevin's hand but gripping his knees lightly.
"Okay?" he asks, looking up at Kevin's face. Kevin nods once; he's breathing a little heavily and Mike can see him grip the arms of the chair. He smiles. "Okay then." Mike plants his knees on the carpet between Kevin's bound legs, sliding his hands up Kevin's thighs to the waistband of his boxers. "Can you lift up a little?"
Mike did a good job with the restraints, but Kevin's flexible enough and has enough wiggle room that he can lift himself off the seat just far enough for Mike to slide his boxers down over the curve of his ass and past his thighs. Mike has to leave them trapped around Kevin's knees--maybe he should have just taken them off Kevin before tying him up, but Kevin is...Kevin, and if he'd reacted badly to Mike's plan, Mike hadn't wanted to compound the issue by stripping him as well. Besides, the pressure of the elastic warring with the ties keeping Kevin's knees apart is making his thighs strain, and Mike likes running his fingers over the quivering muscles there.
The positioning isn't ideal--if Kevin could slide forward an extra couple of inches on the chair, it would make the whole thing much easier--but Mike is making a point, here. And it's not like he has to do much work to get Kevin's dick interested in the proceedings; Kevin loves blowjobs, even if he still sometimes blushes at the use of the word (Mike doesn't know why he finds this charming, but he does). And, well, Mike loves Kevin, and Kevin's dick, so that's pretty much a match made in heaven. He leans forward and takes the tip of it between his lips, resisting the urge to go further when Kevin makes a strangled sound. Mike leans back and gives him a warning look.
"Quiet." He commands, squeezing Kevin's thighs for emphasis, and Kevin's eyes fly open wide. Mike waits until he gets another confirming nod before he leans back in and licks a stripe up the underside of Kevin's cock, wet and sloppy. He can feel the way Kevin's muscles tense under his hands, and hear the movement of the restraints against the chair. Kevin doesn't make a sound, though, and Mike rewards him by wrapping his lips around the head of his cock again and tonguing the slit, and that little dent underneath, where he's so sensitive... The wood of the chair is creaking, but Kevin's still silent, and Mike's sort of ridiculously proud. He releases Kevin with a wet pop and buries his nose in the curls at the base of Kevin's cock, nuzzling and breathing in the musky, boy smell of him. He looks up and Kevin is watching him, his chest rising and falling in deep, harsh breaths.
"You're doing so good, baby," Mike tells him, kissing the crease of his thigh and moving down to lave his tongue over the soft skin of Kevin's balls. He can hear Kevin gulp, but the only noise is the groaning of the chair as Kevin tenses up even more. Mike smirks to himself and turns his attentions back to Kevin's cock, full and red and leaking precome everywhere, a line of it where Mike's cheek brushes against him. Kevin twitches at every light touch, and Mike makes the most of it by dragging the tip of his tongue along the trails of Kevin's veins, then along imaginary lines he makes up himself--never more than just the tip of his tongue against Kevin's dick, and the way Kevin's breathing, hot and heavy, his head thrown back, has Mike rock hard in his shorts.
Kevin lets out a little whimper then, pained and needy, and Mike nips his belly in punishment, but his muscles are aching from the awkward positioning, and Kevin needs it so bad... Mike swallows him down, inch by inch until the tip of Kevin's cock is nudging the back of his throat, and then swallows again hard and that's it for Kevin, who comes down Mike's throat with a gag-muffled howl.
Mike pulls off just before he starts to really choke, and he sits back on his heels to wait for Kevin to recover enough to watch. When Kevin's eyes are tracking the same direction again, Mike slides his own shorts down just enough to free his cock, and he can't help but love that Kevin's dick gives a half-hearted twitch of interest at that. He spits into his hand for a little extra lubrication then fists himself tightly, stroking hard. He locks eyes with Kevin the whole time, which isn't much time at all, even as he comes all over his hand and his stomach.
He sits there for a minute, waiting for his muscles to stop fluttering enough that he can pick himself off the carpet, and then goes into the bathroom to dampen a washcloth. Mike cleans himself off, tucking himself back into his shorts, then goes out to untie Kevin. He starts at his feet, gently loosening the knots and freeing Kevin's ankles, then his knees. He taps Kevin's thigh to get him to lift up, then slides his boxers back over his hips. His elbows come next, then Mike pauses, contemplating, before moving on to Kevin's wrists. He lets the scarves flutter to the floor, then stands up and takes a step back, leaving Kevin to remove the gag himself.
"Now's your chance to punch me, if you want," Mike says, eyes trained somewhere around Kevin's left shoulder, keeping his hands at his sides. Kevin stands up tentatively, like maybe his limbs had fallen asleep while he sat there, but he straightens up and scuffs at the carpet with his toes, curling them in the plush.
"Uhm." He licks his lips, and Mike holds himself still, because he didn't give Kevin a choice about this and it would be totally, completely within his rights to break Mike's nose and walk out the door. He takes a step forward, and Mike tenses momentarily but Kevin's arms wrap around his middle and Mike can't not hug him back.
"I'm sorry," Kevin says, and Mike starts because, uh, no, that's probably his line, but Kevin continues, "About the talking, and the therapist, and everything." He tucks his face against Mike's neck. "I just... I get nervous, so I talk too much." He sighs, and Mike rubs a hand down the ridge of his spine.
"What are you nervous about?" He asks, and it's almost a joke, because what? He's known Kevin to be a lot of things, and yeah, nervous was one of them back when they'd first started this relationship, but Kevin hasn't been nervous around Mike for months and months now.
"You?" Kevin offers quietly, and Mike grips his shoulders and pushes him away enough to look at him face-to-face.
"You gotta explain that one, Kev," he says, feeling inexplicably hurt. He's in this and Kevin knows he's in this, even if it means they can't really go out on real 'dates' or announce it anywhere.
Kevin's voice is mournful, when he speaks. "I--I'm such a dork, sometimes, and I love you but I worry that... that you'll wake up someday and wonder what you were thinking." His eyes are big and bright and sad and Mike's got no choice but to gather him in close and kiss him, long and thorough.
"I'm not gonna do that," Mike tells him, still hurt, but he understands that sort of fear. It's the same fear he gets every time Kevin has to go out to one of those Disney mixers with a publicist-appointed date on his arm, knowing that it would be so much easier for Kevin if he were dating one of those girls for real. Just because it's irrational doesn't mean it doesn't tear at him--at them, apparently.
"I know, I know," Kevin says, and he clings for a little while longer before they mutually agree that Kevin should go back to his own house, at least for the night.
Mike cleans up the remains of their dinner (neglected, earlier in the evening, when Mike's bed had been far more inviting than the prospect of doing dishes), and he's about to take the trash out to the curb when his cell phone buzzes on the countertop.
"Hey," he answers when a glance at the caller ID confirms it's 'KJ' on the other end of the line. He doesn't know what this conversation is going to be, good or bad, so he sits down on the sofa and waits for Kevin to speak.
"What you did, earlier?" Kevin starts, "With the chair and the scarves?" Mike makes a confirming if non-committal noise. He's okay with talking about it.
"Are you still okay?" Mike asks, wondering if he needs to go over there (secrecy be damned) or if he needs instead to back gracefully (if painfully) out of Kevin's life now.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I'm fine," he says, and Mike feels better instantly. "I'm actually--" Kevin pauses, "I'm really good, actually. I, um. I wanted to say that I... I liked it. Doing that."
Mike blinks, well aware that Kevin can't see his reaction, and he sits up on the edge of the couch cushions. "Which part of it?" Mike asks, because Kevin liking blowjobs is nothing new, but the rest of this...
There's a long silence on the end of the line, and Mike can imagine Kevin sitting there, thinking about his words the way he does when it's something really important to him.
"I liked...being tied up. It was nice," he says in a rush, "feeling...owned, like that. Like you owned me. And you were taking care of me. And I didn't have to worry, or be nervous." Kevin stops there, his voice tightening up toward the end, and Mike sits and breathes for a second.
He's done this, a couple of times. Playing around sometimes with girlfriends and boyfriends and adventurous one-night-stands, but never with real intent behind it, not when it really meant something like this.
"Mike?" Kevin asks, after a long silence, and Mike swallows the lump in his throat.
"I--I need to think about this, okay?" Mike says, and it's the most he can offer at the moment, because playing around is fun, and having Kevin like that, tied and obedient, had been a huge turn-on, but this is ... a lot. It's a lot, and Mike needs time.
He can feel Kevin nodding, even through the phone. "Okay," he agrees, and the line goes dead before Mike can say anything else.
~*~
When Kevin gets home from the studio the next day, he nearly brains Mike with his messenger bag before he realizes it's him.
(In Kevin's defense, though Mike's had his own key for several months and known where the spare was kept for nearly a year, he's never actually used it to let himself in before.)
The third thing Kevin realizes, after someone's in the house and "someone" is Mike, is that there are two sets of black, leather cuffs sitting on the table, silver D-rings reflecting the chandelier light. Kevin stares at them, fingertips itching to touch. He sets his bag down by the door and steps through the entryway and into the dining room, and with a quick glance at Mike to confirm it's okay, picks one of them up. There are two smaller ones and two larger--wrists and ankles, Kevin realizes--made of soft, supple leather that warms instantly in Kevin's hands.
Mike stands up and steps behind Kevin, hooking his chin over Kevin's shoulder and reaching around to encircle Kevin's wrists with his hands, ever so gently.
"Here are the rules," Mike starts, and Kevin leans back into him and listens, not saying a word.
Fandom: Bandom (TAI)/Jonas Brothers
Pairing: Mike Carden/Kevin Jonas
Rating: NC-17/FRAO
Wordcount: ~3,060
Warnings: Established relationship, bondage, D/s, possible dub-con. May be triggering for some readers.
Summary: Kevin says they never talk anymore, and it's true: they never talk, but Kevin talks all the time. All Mike wants, freshly back from touring, is to relax and to have sex with his boyfriend, but to accomplish his goals, he first has to make Kevin shut up and listen.
Notes: This one goes out to akire_yta and wayfarersgirl, who came up with the idea. I just made off with it like a thief in the night. *G* Thanks to akire_yta for the encouragement and beta work! <3
It's possible this is for my hc_bingo "Character is Shown the Error of His/Her Ways" square, but I'm not sure it counts. *considers*
Their couples' therapist is named Marina. She's a tiny woman with chin-length brown hair cut in a no-nonsense bob, and when she looks over the top rims of her glasses at Mike, he can tell that her withering glare might be deadly. Luckily, she has never had cause to give Mike the withering glare he knows she is capable of, because she is too preoccupied with giving him looks of intense sympathy.
Kevin says they never talk anymore. Considering that in three two-hour sessions with Marina the Couples' Therapist, Mike has gotten perhaps five sentences in edgewise, he sort of agrees (one of those sentences was, "Hi, I'm Mike"). They never talk anymore. Kevin, however, talks incessantly, and Mike didn't mind (actually, he didn't really notice) until they started these therapy sessions, because he had just finished the second of two back-to-back tours and basically he just wants to chill out and play Halo and have sex with his boyfriend.
Instead, they're spending their shared afternoons sitting on Marina's comfortable-ish patient couch, Kevin unburdening his soul for hours at a time (complete with hand-waving for emphasis) while Mike goes over chord progressions in his head and tunes in whenever it seems like Kevin is saying something he should pay attention to. Kevin seems to be currently wandering between talking about his and Mike's conflicting tour schedules and about a stuffed duck named Mortimer he'd had as a child, and Mike turns his thoughts to TAI's newest song until Marina's little timer dings and she ushers them out the door with a charming smile and promises to see them again soon.
Fuck. No. Mike thinks, surprising himself with his own vehemence. But he can't fault himself for the thought. If he has to spend another two hours staring at Marina the Couples' Therapist's walls, he is going to gouge his own eyes out with Kevin's favorite guitar pick.
They go back to Mike's house, and he's glad that despite all the discussions about talking, they're still on the same wavelength when it comes to sex. (That's good, and so is the sex.) And maybe it's sneaky and underhanded, but Mike is really glad that Kevin tends to crash completely afterwards, dead to the world and snoring into Mike's pillows, because it gives him the opportunity to enact his plan without being forced to drug his boyfriend and/or hit him over the head with a frying pan. When Kevin's asleep he's asleep, all dead weight and pliable limbs, and he's heavy but Mike's spent most of his life lugging equipment on and off trucks, so it's not that hard to arrange his sleeping boyfriend to his satisfaction.
When Kevin wakes up, he is securely bound to that annoying dining room chair with the armrests that Mike had left shoved in a corner as punishment for its uselessness--wrists, elbows, ankles and knees tied to the frame by a careful selection of Kevin's more hideous scarves (Mike saw no reason his plan couldn't have side benefits), and perhaps the most hideous of all is looped through Kevin's mouth, tied behind his head. It's the tying of it that wakes him up, actually, because Kevin has a lot of hair at the moment and Mike is not exactly an expert gag tie-er. He's glad he saved that one for last.
So Kevin is in his boxers, tied to a chair, and Mike's dick is getting pretty interested in these proceedings, but he gives it a very stern mental warning. Partially because Kevin's eyes are wide and nearly hysterical, so it's time for explanations.
"I'm not taking off the gag, so deal with it." Mike says, coming to stand directly in front of Kevin's chair. Kevin makes a squeaky sound, but stops pulling on his restraints for the moment.
"I am not," Mike says, "Going back to the couples' therapist. Ever. Again." He emphasizes the final words, to make sure they sink in. They appear to. Kevin nods several times, very fast, and makes a sound that would probably be the word, "Okay," if it wasn't muffled by the gag. But he doesn't get it, Mike knows. He just wants to be untied, and that's fine, Mike's going to untie him, once he's said what he needs to.
"Do you know why I'm not going back to the couples' therapist?" He asks, and Kevin shakes his head hesitantly but doesn't try to say anything. Mike smiles approvingly at him, and Kevin seems confused but he relaxes a little bit more and looks straight at Mike.
"Because," Mike continues, "We were going to the couples' therapist because you said we didn't talk anymore. And you're right, Kev, you're totally right, because you talk all the time. You talk constantly. And I love you, Kev, and I wanna hear what you have to say, okay? But I just got off tour and I'm exhausted, and instead of relaxing with my boyfriend, I have spent the past three days sitting on a couch listening to you talk about how we never talk. So all I really want to do, right now, is chill the fuck out, and make up for all the sex we haven't been having. We are going to sit here," Mike says, "and watch Family Guy, and then I'm going to blow you. Any objections?"
Kevin's hair moves more than his head, but no, no objections, so Mike switches on the TV and steps around Kevin's chair to the kitchen to grab himself a beer, cracking it as he returns to flop down on the couch. Kevin's chair is just to his right, and Kevin's seated a little higher but that's okay. Mike reaches over and takes Kevin's hand--the angle is awkward with Kevin's wrist bound to the armrest, but he manages it. Kevin grips his hand hard, really hard, but Mike can feel that he's not trying to punish; he's clinging, and Mike looks up to meet Kevin's worried eyes and rubs his thumb across Kevin's knuckles. Kevin's grip loosens abruptly and bloodflow returns to Mike's fingertips, but he doesn't let go of Kevin's hand.
The Griffin family gets into some predicament that Mike doesn't actually care about, though that fighting chicken shows up so the half hour isn't a total waste, and by the time the credits are rolling, Kevin's hand is slack in Mike's and he's sitting in the chair like it's totally normal for him to watch TV tied to a dining chair. Mike flips off the TV and crouches down in front of the chair, reluctantly releasing Kevin's hand but gripping his knees lightly.
"Okay?" he asks, looking up at Kevin's face. Kevin nods once; he's breathing a little heavily and Mike can see him grip the arms of the chair. He smiles. "Okay then." Mike plants his knees on the carpet between Kevin's bound legs, sliding his hands up Kevin's thighs to the waistband of his boxers. "Can you lift up a little?"
Mike did a good job with the restraints, but Kevin's flexible enough and has enough wiggle room that he can lift himself off the seat just far enough for Mike to slide his boxers down over the curve of his ass and past his thighs. Mike has to leave them trapped around Kevin's knees--maybe he should have just taken them off Kevin before tying him up, but Kevin is...Kevin, and if he'd reacted badly to Mike's plan, Mike hadn't wanted to compound the issue by stripping him as well. Besides, the pressure of the elastic warring with the ties keeping Kevin's knees apart is making his thighs strain, and Mike likes running his fingers over the quivering muscles there.
The positioning isn't ideal--if Kevin could slide forward an extra couple of inches on the chair, it would make the whole thing much easier--but Mike is making a point, here. And it's not like he has to do much work to get Kevin's dick interested in the proceedings; Kevin loves blowjobs, even if he still sometimes blushes at the use of the word (Mike doesn't know why he finds this charming, but he does). And, well, Mike loves Kevin, and Kevin's dick, so that's pretty much a match made in heaven. He leans forward and takes the tip of it between his lips, resisting the urge to go further when Kevin makes a strangled sound. Mike leans back and gives him a warning look.
"Quiet." He commands, squeezing Kevin's thighs for emphasis, and Kevin's eyes fly open wide. Mike waits until he gets another confirming nod before he leans back in and licks a stripe up the underside of Kevin's cock, wet and sloppy. He can feel the way Kevin's muscles tense under his hands, and hear the movement of the restraints against the chair. Kevin doesn't make a sound, though, and Mike rewards him by wrapping his lips around the head of his cock again and tonguing the slit, and that little dent underneath, where he's so sensitive... The wood of the chair is creaking, but Kevin's still silent, and Mike's sort of ridiculously proud. He releases Kevin with a wet pop and buries his nose in the curls at the base of Kevin's cock, nuzzling and breathing in the musky, boy smell of him. He looks up and Kevin is watching him, his chest rising and falling in deep, harsh breaths.
"You're doing so good, baby," Mike tells him, kissing the crease of his thigh and moving down to lave his tongue over the soft skin of Kevin's balls. He can hear Kevin gulp, but the only noise is the groaning of the chair as Kevin tenses up even more. Mike smirks to himself and turns his attentions back to Kevin's cock, full and red and leaking precome everywhere, a line of it where Mike's cheek brushes against him. Kevin twitches at every light touch, and Mike makes the most of it by dragging the tip of his tongue along the trails of Kevin's veins, then along imaginary lines he makes up himself--never more than just the tip of his tongue against Kevin's dick, and the way Kevin's breathing, hot and heavy, his head thrown back, has Mike rock hard in his shorts.
Kevin lets out a little whimper then, pained and needy, and Mike nips his belly in punishment, but his muscles are aching from the awkward positioning, and Kevin needs it so bad... Mike swallows him down, inch by inch until the tip of Kevin's cock is nudging the back of his throat, and then swallows again hard and that's it for Kevin, who comes down Mike's throat with a gag-muffled howl.
Mike pulls off just before he starts to really choke, and he sits back on his heels to wait for Kevin to recover enough to watch. When Kevin's eyes are tracking the same direction again, Mike slides his own shorts down just enough to free his cock, and he can't help but love that Kevin's dick gives a half-hearted twitch of interest at that. He spits into his hand for a little extra lubrication then fists himself tightly, stroking hard. He locks eyes with Kevin the whole time, which isn't much time at all, even as he comes all over his hand and his stomach.
He sits there for a minute, waiting for his muscles to stop fluttering enough that he can pick himself off the carpet, and then goes into the bathroom to dampen a washcloth. Mike cleans himself off, tucking himself back into his shorts, then goes out to untie Kevin. He starts at his feet, gently loosening the knots and freeing Kevin's ankles, then his knees. He taps Kevin's thigh to get him to lift up, then slides his boxers back over his hips. His elbows come next, then Mike pauses, contemplating, before moving on to Kevin's wrists. He lets the scarves flutter to the floor, then stands up and takes a step back, leaving Kevin to remove the gag himself.
"Now's your chance to punch me, if you want," Mike says, eyes trained somewhere around Kevin's left shoulder, keeping his hands at his sides. Kevin stands up tentatively, like maybe his limbs had fallen asleep while he sat there, but he straightens up and scuffs at the carpet with his toes, curling them in the plush.
"Uhm." He licks his lips, and Mike holds himself still, because he didn't give Kevin a choice about this and it would be totally, completely within his rights to break Mike's nose and walk out the door. He takes a step forward, and Mike tenses momentarily but Kevin's arms wrap around his middle and Mike can't not hug him back.
"I'm sorry," Kevin says, and Mike starts because, uh, no, that's probably his line, but Kevin continues, "About the talking, and the therapist, and everything." He tucks his face against Mike's neck. "I just... I get nervous, so I talk too much." He sighs, and Mike rubs a hand down the ridge of his spine.
"What are you nervous about?" He asks, and it's almost a joke, because what? He's known Kevin to be a lot of things, and yeah, nervous was one of them back when they'd first started this relationship, but Kevin hasn't been nervous around Mike for months and months now.
"You?" Kevin offers quietly, and Mike grips his shoulders and pushes him away enough to look at him face-to-face.
"You gotta explain that one, Kev," he says, feeling inexplicably hurt. He's in this and Kevin knows he's in this, even if it means they can't really go out on real 'dates' or announce it anywhere.
Kevin's voice is mournful, when he speaks. "I--I'm such a dork, sometimes, and I love you but I worry that... that you'll wake up someday and wonder what you were thinking." His eyes are big and bright and sad and Mike's got no choice but to gather him in close and kiss him, long and thorough.
"I'm not gonna do that," Mike tells him, still hurt, but he understands that sort of fear. It's the same fear he gets every time Kevin has to go out to one of those Disney mixers with a publicist-appointed date on his arm, knowing that it would be so much easier for Kevin if he were dating one of those girls for real. Just because it's irrational doesn't mean it doesn't tear at him--at them, apparently.
"I know, I know," Kevin says, and he clings for a little while longer before they mutually agree that Kevin should go back to his own house, at least for the night.
Mike cleans up the remains of their dinner (neglected, earlier in the evening, when Mike's bed had been far more inviting than the prospect of doing dishes), and he's about to take the trash out to the curb when his cell phone buzzes on the countertop.
"Hey," he answers when a glance at the caller ID confirms it's 'KJ' on the other end of the line. He doesn't know what this conversation is going to be, good or bad, so he sits down on the sofa and waits for Kevin to speak.
"What you did, earlier?" Kevin starts, "With the chair and the scarves?" Mike makes a confirming if non-committal noise. He's okay with talking about it.
"Are you still okay?" Mike asks, wondering if he needs to go over there (secrecy be damned) or if he needs instead to back gracefully (if painfully) out of Kevin's life now.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I'm fine," he says, and Mike feels better instantly. "I'm actually--" Kevin pauses, "I'm really good, actually. I, um. I wanted to say that I... I liked it. Doing that."
Mike blinks, well aware that Kevin can't see his reaction, and he sits up on the edge of the couch cushions. "Which part of it?" Mike asks, because Kevin liking blowjobs is nothing new, but the rest of this...
There's a long silence on the end of the line, and Mike can imagine Kevin sitting there, thinking about his words the way he does when it's something really important to him.
"I liked...being tied up. It was nice," he says in a rush, "feeling...owned, like that. Like you owned me. And you were taking care of me. And I didn't have to worry, or be nervous." Kevin stops there, his voice tightening up toward the end, and Mike sits and breathes for a second.
He's done this, a couple of times. Playing around sometimes with girlfriends and boyfriends and adventurous one-night-stands, but never with real intent behind it, not when it really meant something like this.
"Mike?" Kevin asks, after a long silence, and Mike swallows the lump in his throat.
"I--I need to think about this, okay?" Mike says, and it's the most he can offer at the moment, because playing around is fun, and having Kevin like that, tied and obedient, had been a huge turn-on, but this is ... a lot. It's a lot, and Mike needs time.
He can feel Kevin nodding, even through the phone. "Okay," he agrees, and the line goes dead before Mike can say anything else.
~*~
When Kevin gets home from the studio the next day, he nearly brains Mike with his messenger bag before he realizes it's him.
(In Kevin's defense, though Mike's had his own key for several months and known where the spare was kept for nearly a year, he's never actually used it to let himself in before.)
The third thing Kevin realizes, after someone's in the house and "someone" is Mike, is that there are two sets of black, leather cuffs sitting on the table, silver D-rings reflecting the chandelier light. Kevin stares at them, fingertips itching to touch. He sets his bag down by the door and steps through the entryway and into the dining room, and with a quick glance at Mike to confirm it's okay, picks one of them up. There are two smaller ones and two larger--wrists and ankles, Kevin realizes--made of soft, supple leather that warms instantly in Kevin's hands.
Mike stands up and steps behind Kevin, hooking his chin over Kevin's shoulder and reaching around to encircle Kevin's wrists with his hands, ever so gently.
"Here are the rules," Mike starts, and Kevin leans back into him and listens, not saying a word.