After they ate, Michael and Fiona sauntered back to their bedroom. Michael got into bed, but Fiona leaned up against the wall near the door, facing him and grinning.
"Yes?" Michael said, grinning back. "Something on your mind?"
She continued her gaze, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Fiona? Do I get to be part of whatever it is you're fantasizing about over there?"
"I want you to be Neal," she said in a low, sultry voice.
Michael looked at her for a moment. "You want me to be Neal," he repeated flatly.
"Yep."
"Well, Fi, that is literally the last thing in the world I expected you to say."
Fiona just kept staring at him with a devilish smirk.
"Huh. Neal. You know I don't speak Tongan."
More staring.
"I hope to god you're not asking me to hyperventilate from stupidity."
More staring, and this time she shook her head no.
"So am I to assume you want me to tie you up?" he asked.
"Badly."
"You want me to tie you up badly or you badly want me to tie you up?
"Both."
Michael cracked up. "Okay," he said, trying to stop laughing. "And why exactly do you want me to tie you up badly?"
"Because then I'm going to escape and tie you up very unbadly."
"I see. Lucky me. All right, sure. What the hell. Go get whatever you want to use. I'll work on my Neal."
And off she went.
As a physical matter, tying and being tied don't do anything for Michael. Occupational hazard, probably. Between the two of them, he and Fiona had probably restrained a few hundred people in the last 20 years. A lot of his were when he was doing military operations, helping to capture whole cadres of bad guys at a time. Pretty much all of Fiona's were, well, unsanctioned is probably the most charitable way to put it. And both of them had been captured by their enemies or the police their fair share. Just part of the job. At best Michael was neutral about the whole thing. Usually he was annoyed at having to take the time to tie someone or untie himself.
Playing with Fi was deliciously fun, though, and the fun outweighed whatever discomfort or annoyance he felt. By a lot. The pre-grilled cheese sex was physical and emotional. A release. And it was wonderful. But playing with Fiona was cerebral and hilarious and exactly what they needed tonight.
Fiona reappeared with a small, rolling suitcase. She unzipped it to reveal six rolls of duct tape (two traditional silver, one hot pink, two black, and one multicolored floral); four boxes of cable ties in assorted colors and sizes; four pairs of handcuffs; two pillowcases; and a bunch of sleeping masks, bandanas, scarves, and belts.
"Jesus Christ, Fiona. Where'd we get all that?" Michael asked incredulously.
"Uhhh . . . with the exception of the handcuffs, Target."
Michael halfheartedly dug through the contents of the suitcase with one hand. "Floral duct tape, Fi? Really?"
"It's cute!"
He just shook his head. "All right, you ready?"
"Mm-hmm," she smiled.
"You want a true re-creation of what Neal did, or am I allowed to add my own signature?"
"I want Neal," she purred.
"Listen, Fi, I'm gonna do this because you want me to, but you gotta stop saying Neal. Worse than a cold shower."
"Fine," she sighed.
"Okay, uhhh, go out, give me five seconds, and then come back in," he instructed.
She strutted out slowly, never moving her gaze from Michael. When she left, he found a white cable tie in the suitcase. He slipped the end through the slot and left it loose. Then he slid the zip tie in the back waistband of his PJ pants and stood behind the slightly ajar door.
The door burst open, and Fiona fake-bounced into the room, just as she'd done for the real Neal. Except this time she was naked. She'd pulled on one of Michael's t-shirts when they went to the kitchen, but she'd ditched when she was waiting in the hallway. So that added a level of intrigue to it all.
Still disturbed by the inspiration for Fi's choice of foreplay, Michael just shook his head and rolled his eyes as he pushed the door shut and closed the distance between them with one long stride. He bear hugged her from behind and put his mouth next to her right ear.
"So here's the thing, Fi. I couldn't be as dumb as Neal if I tried. It hurts me to think about it, really. So instead of me fumbling around for 16 seconds, we're going to kiss for 16 seconds, and then I'll tie your wrists badly, and that way we both have some fun."
Fiona tried to stay in character, but Michael could see the corners of her mouth shaking as she stifled a laugh. She turned her head to the right, he turned his to the left, and they enjoyed a much more productive 16 seconds than poor old Neal did.
After the sixteenth Mississippi, Michael reached behind his back with his right hand and grabbed the cable tie. He went to put Fiona's wrists through it, at which point he discovered her arms flaccid and her hands palm to palm, which is exactly the opposite of what she did for Neal.
"Seriously, Fiona? You're making it hard for me to do this badly?"
Fiona smirked.
"Oh, for Christ's sakes, gimme your hands," he muttered. He piled her left wrist on top of her right and pulled the cable tie around the X of wrists. He tightened it but left about an inch of slack.
She backed away from him, still with that unwavering, devilish gaze, and made her way to the other side of the room.
"Do I have to try to push you down?" he asked.
She nodded.
Michael shook his head again and walked towards her. When he was about a foot away, Fiona suddenly raised her two-arm unit and tried to sock him in the jaw. Thanks to Michael's having zero alcohol in him and Fiona's shoulders' being at unnatural angles, he managed to block the blow.
"What the fuck, Fiona?"
"You got to improvise. I do, too."
"I improvised by kissing you, not coldcocking you. Jesus."
"Fine, if you're gonna be a baby about it," she teased.
Now Michael had no qualms about trying to push her down. Or actually pushing her down. So he did. And down she went. She righted herself and then sat with her back against the wall, still smirking.
Michael looked down at her. "I suppose it's pointless to ask if you're serious about the duct tape."
"One hundred percent pointless."
Michael allowed a small smile to escape his lips. "FINE," he sighed in the best put-upon voice he could muster. He walked across the room to the suitcase and retrieved a role of silver duct tape. He pulled about eight inches off, then thought better of it and pulled another four. He let the foot-long sticky strip dangle from his finger, taunting her.
He squatted down on one knee and centered the tape over her mouth. He massaged the middle four inches into her skin and left the rest hanging loose, because Michael, as much as he wanted to please Fi, wasn't willing to actually hurt her. And having her very long hair pulled out by the roots would hurt, he imagined.
He rose, brushed off his hands, and looked at her. You know how when one of your senses doesn't work, the other four are heightened? When her mouth was hidden from view, Fiona's eyes twinkled and danced that much more.
Plus she was still naked.
"All right? We good?" Michael asked eventually.
She nodded.
"Sooooo . . . what now?"
Fiona gestured with her head to the door, letting Michael know he should leave. So he left.
Eight seconds later, Fiona joined him in the hallway, untethered, untaped, and still naked. "Mmmmm," she purred.
"Good god, you have the strangest turn-ons."
She smiled broadly. "Your turn."
"Once again, lemme just make sure I have this right," Michael began. "You're pissed at Neal for groping you and pulling your hair out with tape. That translates into you making me recreate the whole thing, then you trying to punch me, and now you get to tie me up as well as you can, which should be pretty damn well, if history holds." Michael was laying out his points like he was defending a dissertation. "So Neal got to cop a feel, but I was nearly assaulted and will probably be quite uncomfortable for the foreseeable future," he concluded. "Did I miss anything?"
"Nope."
"Nope. Delightful. All right, gimme a minute and I'll be back." Michael headed into their bathroom. "And do not talk to me."
Fiona busied herself selecting her favorite items from the suitcase.
The toilet flushed. Michael washed his hands, then came out stretching his arms and back. "Where to?" he asked.
"Bed," Fiona answered.
"Hmm-mmm," Michael said in a tone suggesting pleasant surprise. "The bed. You think there's a game or somethin' to watch while we do this?" he deadpanned.
"Keep it up, Michael. I'm keeping count of every time you irritate me, and I shall exact my revenge at a time and in a method of my choosing."
He grinned at her. "All right. To bed. Can I use your pillow?"
She nodded, trying not to let him see her smile. Michael put Fi's pillow on top of his own and got himself situated, propped up against the headboard. He noticed as he leaned against it that it gave more than usual. He twisted around and peered down to where it joined the bed, trying to see if something was loose. "Hey, remind me we gotta look at this later, okay?"
"Michael, I am in a euphoric, sensual, heightened state of being. Do not speak to me about a headboard," said Fiona calmly, closing her eyes.
"I'm just saying the longer we leave it, the more likely something is to snap and then it'll be a pain in the ass to fix," Michael explained.
"Michael," Fiona warned, her eyes still closed, "so help me, if you say anoth – "
"Okay, okay, okay. Fine. I'm done. No more headboard talk."
"Roll over," she instructed.
He did, putting his head on the bed instead of the pillows.
"Give me your hands." He did that, too.
Fiona pulled his hands to the small of his back. She peeled off a length of duct tape and wrapped it around his wrists over and over. Michael tried not to count, but he was Michael, so he couldn't not count. Eight times. He sighed internally. Eight layers of duct tape would take some effort to pierce.
She helped him roll back over and sit up against the pillows. She, too, felt the headboard give. Michael was staring at her, so he knew she felt it, and he knew she was trying to pretend like she didn't feel it, and she knew he knew all that. "Shut up," she told him, though he hadn't said a word.
Fi scooted down the bed to pull his legs together. Michael groaned, audibly this time. Tape around the legs is easier in some ways, because you can see it, but having your legs stuck together screws up your balance, not to mention makes it damn near impossible to walk, and that just makes everything more annoying.
And duct tape is a pain in the ass generally because it pulls the hair off everything. Wrists, ankles, beards, everything.
Then Michael saw the tape Fiona was using.
"Are you kidding me with that?" he demanded. "The floral tape, Fiona? Am I not doing all of this for you? You gotta use the world's most effeminate duct tape?"
"I'm doing you a favor. It will help you remember never to mock me."
Michael closed his eyes, exhaled strongly, and leaned his head back. She was going to blow herself up with me and she went to prison for me, he kept repeating to himself. When he thought about her sacrifices for him, especially those two, bitching about duct tape seemed to lack class.
Fiona finished with his legs – ten times around, but she was thoughtful enough to do it around his PJ pants, which solved the hair problem – and retrieved a small bandana from the foot of the bed. She wadded it up and moved forward on her knees. "Open up," she said, again with that goddamn grin.
"No way. I don't want that thing in my mouth," he said firmly.
"C'mon," she cajoled.
"No, Fi, my jaw still doesn't close right since that thing in Hallandale. You can get your rocks off without dislocating my mandible."
She pouted. "Fine," she sighed. "Can I tie a scarf around your mouth?"
"Yes, but nothing floral or turquoise or anything like that. Find something manly," he ordered.
She leaned off the bed and pulled the suitcase closer, inspecting its contents. "I've got steel gray or navy blue. Take your pick."
"You know this is one of the more bizarre conversations we've had, right?" Michael remarked.
"Gray?"
"Sure."
Fiona twisted the scarf into a long, cottony snake. She sat astride Michael and leaned forward, pushing the middle of it behind his teeth. Then she took it out and kissed him for a while instead. Then she put it back in. She wrapped it around his head – just once, mercifully – and knotted it at the nape of his neck. Her hair tickled his face and upper body throughout this process.
She kissed his nose, then his chin, then his neck, and then she kissed her way down his chest and onto his abdomen. She paused after kissing his belly button and looked in his eyes.
"It's 10:35. Get yourself free by 10:45 and I'll continue in that direction," she said, her eyes twinkling again.
Michael groaned and rolled his eyes as Fiona got up and left the room.
There are pros and cons to which part of your body you try to free first. Obviously your hands would be the most useful, but they take a very long time to get loose if they were tied by someone who knew what they were doing. And Michael's were. Having your legs separated would allow you to transport yourself quickly and easily, which would be important if a tool you needed to free your hands was located more than a few feet away. Removing a gag is arguably the least important thing to do, but it puts your teeth back into the equation, and teeth can be very handy in other areas.
These are the things Michael learned when the rest of us were skipping our morning classes.
He decided to start with the gag, because he knew he could get it out quickly. Plus it was annoying the crap out of him. Once he wasn't preoccupied with the bowl of sand it felt like he was eating, he could focus and work more efficiently.
Michael sat up and bent his knees up as close to his face as he could get. Then he rubbed his face against his knees, creating movement anywhere and everywhere on the scarf he could. Between that movement and his pushing on the scarf with his tongue, the gag popped out of his mouth in about 15 seconds. He shook his head until it ringed his neck. Then he moved his jaw around until it felt right and moistened his mouth the best he could.
He swung his bound legs off the bed and scooted around the perimeter until he got to Fi's night table. He backed up to it, found the drawer handle with his fingers, pulled the drawer open, and felt around inside until he touched her nail file. He hated, HATED, that she filed her nails in bed, but she wouldn't stop, probably just to annoy him. Today he was glad for her vengefulness. He moved it around until he was holding the point towards the outer layers of duct tape. And then he shoved and poked and stabbed until finally, about six minutes later, the integrity of the tape was so weakened that he could pull it apart. He yanked his right arm, the stronger of the two, away from the tape. Like pulling off a band aid off skin, except he was pulling skin off the band aid. It was about as much fun as it sounds. Michael exhaled at the most painful part, trying to lessen the sting.
From there, he brought his left arm around to the front and carefully removed the tape. Then he unwrapped his legs, unknotted the scarf, wadded up the sticky bindings, and walked into the living room. Just as the clock display changed to 10:43, he threw the ball of used tape directly onto Fiona's head.
"Time to pay up," he announced, extending his hand to help her up.
A/N: See? Funnies! This one was SO fun to write. I suppose the subject matter is mature, but this has got to be the farthest thing from erotica has ever seen. Thank you again for reading.