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Aug. 15th, 2013 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
theletterelleTitle: Spectacular Tentacular
Author:theletterelle
Pairing: Mikey Way/OAC
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1023
Series: Slantverse
Summary: Mikey’s sixteenth birthday is the culmination of his life.
Prompt used: Tentacles for kink bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Mikey Way stands in the lobby of Imagine Studios. He’s heard about it, he’s seen the virtual tour online, and now he’s here.
It’s better than he could ever have anticipated.
The list-- the menu-- is miles long, rooms for every possible slant and every possible fantasy, stuff that Mikey’s never even heard of. There’s so much here he feels almost sick, like he’s eaten an entire box of Twinkies and slugged down a two-liter of Coke. He has to take a few deep breaths. It’s okay. He doesn’t have to do everything right now. There’s enough to keep him going for years.
So okay. Pete had volunteered to come with him, and normally Mikey would be cool with that, but today is for himself alone. Him and his slant and his fantasies and no one else. And since there’s too much to even read through and decide on, he closes his eyes, flips to a random page, and stabs his finger into it. He opens his eyes.
Outer Space.
Fuck yeah.
***
The room isn’t zero-gravity, which disappoints Mikey until he gives himself a mental shake. Did he really expect a door onto outer space? Well, kind of, yeah, but that’s not realistic, so he’ll let it go. Instead it’s a blank room, the walls smooth aluminum panels inset with luminous tracks. The room glows softly. The hiss of the air circulating is loud, and there’s a deep hum, as if massive engines are propelling them through vacuum. For a second, Mikey just breathes.
The only thing in the room is a curved metal chair, all one piece including arms and leg rest. He studies it, walking around it slowly. There’s a recessed button on the left armrest, but no other features. He presses it. It pops out, and cuffs curve up from the sides of the armrests and leg rest. Oh. He presses it again, and the cuffs retract. Hmm.
Yes.
He strips his clothes off and drops them in a corner, deciding to keep his glasses on at the last minute. If there’s anything to see, he wants to see it. He slides into the chair, hissing as his ass touches the metal of the chair-- God, that’s fucking cold-- and settling back against the seat. He closes his eyes for a second and swallows before saying his safeword.
“Marvel.”
He presses the button and waits.
The cuffs slide over his wrists and ankles and tighten. Mikey kicks to test them. Flexible plastic, padded edges, restraint without pain. The chair begins to lean back. He jumps, then relaxes back against it. The armrests lower, spread; the leg rest straightens out, and soon he’s lying flat with his arms extended. He fumbles for the button and is comforted to find it under his fingers. Not that he needs comfort. He wants this. He’s just-- it’s just a new thing, okay, and he’s understandably nervous. He read the rules and reassurances, he marked off his limits and his squicks, but it’s still his first time and he’s allowed to be a little nervous.
A panel opens in the ceiling and Mikey’s heartrate spikes. Okay. More than a little nervous.
What comes out of the ceiling at first looks like a rope, dull ochre, flexing as it descends. It’s not till the end comes up of its own accord that Mikey realizes what’s going on. The appendage strokes its tip down Mikey’s arm, rubbery and slick. He shivers. It strokes him again, petting him like he’s a puppy, lulling him so he doesn’t see the other ones until they begin stroking his chest, his thigh, his hip. He jerks at first, flinching when the tentacles run over a sensitive spot, but it’s easy to relax back into the sensation, and soon he’s moaning in appreciation and contentment.
He’s not sure when the stroking turns into stroking. When he realizes it, he’s already hard, and his moans aren’t contented anymore. One tentacle drags over his chest to brush against his nipples, while another curls itself around the back of his neck (and how did he/it/they know Mikey had a Neck Thing?) and two more glide down his thighs. They press. His legs move as the part of the table that had been the leg rest separates and drags his ankles apart. The tentacles-- no, the alien, okay, the alien whose ship he’s in, whose prisoner he is-- the alien takes immediate advantage and slides its limbs up to nuzzle at his balls, and oh shit, Mikey’s about to lose it right there. His entire body tightens, and that must be a clue to the alien, because it backs off and lets him calm down.
Mikey’s whole body is sweating. He’d slip off the table if he wasn’t held down. The tentacles at his neck and chest quieten, and lay heavily on him. He pants in gasps until his heart stops pounding and he can open his eyes again. The tentacles are hanging loose, waiting for him. He breathes deeply and says “Okay.”
Immediately they’re back at him, caressing and rubbing and massaging until he’s lost count of how many there are and gives himself up to the sensations. One butts against his hole and he groans, arches up as best he can to let it in. It’s not thick, so it doesn’t hurt; it just feels like it’s massaging him from the inside out. He doesn’t try to keep quiet. It feels too good to be quiet.
When the alien starts concentrating on his prostate, Mikey’s too far gone to realize this is it. His orgasm doesn’t feel like a release, but another part of the buildup that’s going to end in him losing his fucking mind. It feels like it lasts minutes. Maybe it does.
Mikey comes back to himself slick with sweat and come, tentacles draped over him like the arms of a lover. He smiles dazedly. This isn’t just his birthday. This is the first day of the rest of his life.
Author:
theletterellePairing: Mikey Way/OAC
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1023
Series: Slantverse
Summary: Mikey’s sixteenth birthday is the culmination of his life.
Prompt used: Tentacles for kink bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Mikey Way stands in the lobby of Imagine Studios. He’s heard about it, he’s seen the virtual tour online, and now he’s here.
It’s better than he could ever have anticipated.
The list-- the menu-- is miles long, rooms for every possible slant and every possible fantasy, stuff that Mikey’s never even heard of. There’s so much here he feels almost sick, like he’s eaten an entire box of Twinkies and slugged down a two-liter of Coke. He has to take a few deep breaths. It’s okay. He doesn’t have to do everything right now. There’s enough to keep him going for years.
So okay. Pete had volunteered to come with him, and normally Mikey would be cool with that, but today is for himself alone. Him and his slant and his fantasies and no one else. And since there’s too much to even read through and decide on, he closes his eyes, flips to a random page, and stabs his finger into it. He opens his eyes.
Outer Space.
Fuck yeah.
***
The room isn’t zero-gravity, which disappoints Mikey until he gives himself a mental shake. Did he really expect a door onto outer space? Well, kind of, yeah, but that’s not realistic, so he’ll let it go. Instead it’s a blank room, the walls smooth aluminum panels inset with luminous tracks. The room glows softly. The hiss of the air circulating is loud, and there’s a deep hum, as if massive engines are propelling them through vacuum. For a second, Mikey just breathes.
The only thing in the room is a curved metal chair, all one piece including arms and leg rest. He studies it, walking around it slowly. There’s a recessed button on the left armrest, but no other features. He presses it. It pops out, and cuffs curve up from the sides of the armrests and leg rest. Oh. He presses it again, and the cuffs retract. Hmm.
Yes.
He strips his clothes off and drops them in a corner, deciding to keep his glasses on at the last minute. If there’s anything to see, he wants to see it. He slides into the chair, hissing as his ass touches the metal of the chair-- God, that’s fucking cold-- and settling back against the seat. He closes his eyes for a second and swallows before saying his safeword.
“Marvel.”
He presses the button and waits.
The cuffs slide over his wrists and ankles and tighten. Mikey kicks to test them. Flexible plastic, padded edges, restraint without pain. The chair begins to lean back. He jumps, then relaxes back against it. The armrests lower, spread; the leg rest straightens out, and soon he’s lying flat with his arms extended. He fumbles for the button and is comforted to find it under his fingers. Not that he needs comfort. He wants this. He’s just-- it’s just a new thing, okay, and he’s understandably nervous. He read the rules and reassurances, he marked off his limits and his squicks, but it’s still his first time and he’s allowed to be a little nervous.
A panel opens in the ceiling and Mikey’s heartrate spikes. Okay. More than a little nervous.
What comes out of the ceiling at first looks like a rope, dull ochre, flexing as it descends. It’s not till the end comes up of its own accord that Mikey realizes what’s going on. The appendage strokes its tip down Mikey’s arm, rubbery and slick. He shivers. It strokes him again, petting him like he’s a puppy, lulling him so he doesn’t see the other ones until they begin stroking his chest, his thigh, his hip. He jerks at first, flinching when the tentacles run over a sensitive spot, but it’s easy to relax back into the sensation, and soon he’s moaning in appreciation and contentment.
He’s not sure when the stroking turns into stroking. When he realizes it, he’s already hard, and his moans aren’t contented anymore. One tentacle drags over his chest to brush against his nipples, while another curls itself around the back of his neck (and how did he/it/they know Mikey had a Neck Thing?) and two more glide down his thighs. They press. His legs move as the part of the table that had been the leg rest separates and drags his ankles apart. The tentacles-- no, the alien, okay, the alien whose ship he’s in, whose prisoner he is-- the alien takes immediate advantage and slides its limbs up to nuzzle at his balls, and oh shit, Mikey’s about to lose it right there. His entire body tightens, and that must be a clue to the alien, because it backs off and lets him calm down.
Mikey’s whole body is sweating. He’d slip off the table if he wasn’t held down. The tentacles at his neck and chest quieten, and lay heavily on him. He pants in gasps until his heart stops pounding and he can open his eyes again. The tentacles are hanging loose, waiting for him. He breathes deeply and says “Okay.”
Immediately they’re back at him, caressing and rubbing and massaging until he’s lost count of how many there are and gives himself up to the sensations. One butts against his hole and he groans, arches up as best he can to let it in. It’s not thick, so it doesn’t hurt; it just feels like it’s massaging him from the inside out. He doesn’t try to keep quiet. It feels too good to be quiet.
When the alien starts concentrating on his prostate, Mikey’s too far gone to realize this is it. His orgasm doesn’t feel like a release, but another part of the buildup that’s going to end in him losing his fucking mind. It feels like it lasts minutes. Maybe it does.
Mikey comes back to himself slick with sweat and come, tentacles draped over him like the arms of a lover. He smiles dazedly. This isn’t just his birthday. This is the first day of the rest of his life.
