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The last day of April	By : ginseng Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Slipknot Views: 1992 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. It didn't happen. This fiction in no way represents the people mentioned within. I do not know any of the members of Slipknot. I do not profit from these stories.

Chapter List
- 1-The last day of April
- 1
Title: The last day of April
Author: ginseng
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mick/Jim Mick/Joey
POV: Mick
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. It didn’t happen. This fiction in no way represents the people mentioned within. I do not know any of the members of Slipknot. I do not profit from these stories.

I love Joey.

And I know I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing. I love him and I want to be with him. But this is not about love, not at all. It’s about sex. Sex and lust and want. It has nothing to do with Joey. It’s me.

I admit it. I have no moral fiber what so ever. I‘m a terrible person. Joey’s not the first person I’ve cheated on. I’ve never been able to be monogamous and I was faithful to Joey longer than to any other partner I’ve ever had. It’s not that I’m trying to seek approval but what’s the harm? Really? Joey will never know. And I crave variety.

There’s nothing quite like the feel of something new. A new shirt, clean guitar strings, newly washed sheets or a brand new toothbrush. New is always special. More fun. Better. If I cheat I’m a much better partner to Joey. I’ll be nice and more attentive. Happier. It keeps me on my toes.

I have needs; physical desires. I’m aching for satisfaction, for the feel of skin against skin. Joey has been gone for over three weeks, touring with some band or another. It would be different if he stayed at home. I’m in desperate need for release.

Bored and by myself, restless, with all those wicked thoughts poisoning my brain. No matter how big you are some things are hard to resist. I’ve always given in too easily to temptation. And who wouldn’t cave in to those lovely green eyes? I turn hard the minute he shows up at my doorstep; tall and demanding.

He tells me his girlfriend’s out of town and places the six-pack on the hallway floor. This is not the first time. He knows I understand his intentions. Without a word I let him in. Barely five o’clock but we start drinking anyways. Alcohol is an important part of our transgression. I’m not totally coldhearted, I know I’m wrong and need a good buzz to be able to go through with it, to block out the small trace of doubt lingering in the back of my head.

Anticipation, I love that feeling, when you know something good or exciting is about to happen. The hunt is my biggest addiction. The holy moment right before I know I might just get what I want. I can’t help it. I love doing forbidden, stupid stuff. Wrong. Bad. It’s too good and I want it too much. So I do it. Without a thought of Joey or Jim’s girlfriend.

I never know why he comes to me but I really don’t care. Jim puts on another cd and when he returns to the couch he sits even closer to me. It’s a bit silly. We both know what he has come for. It’s just a matter of getting things started. One of us has to take the first step.

I grab him by the hair. It’s getting longer again, which I like. A firm grip backed up with a decisive stare into those large, green pools of lust. Then I pull him towards me, slow but indisputably closer.

Nothing with Jim is ever easy. It’s more like fighting or struggling for power. I’m stronger than him but he puts up a good fight. I get on top of him and kiss him hard on the mouth. I love the way I don’t have to worry about crushing him underneath me. With him I don’t have to think at all, we were all bodies and no brains, pure raw lust.

It’s hard to explain. You might think that Joey would be the perfect partner for someone like me; large and dominant. And he is. I do love him. But sometimes it’s more fun getting some resistance. And Jim can really give me a run for my money. He’s not even playing fair. I appreciate the way he resorts to pulling my hair and biting and the way his neck looks when I force his head backwards.

I move fast, using the element of surprise. I grab him by the wrist, pull him off the couch and drag him behind me. It takes a second or so until he get his poise back and starts pulling the other way, refusing to go along with me. He puts his heels into the carpet and uses his entire bodyweight to try to stop me. Sweet, seductive struggle - his tightening muscles, that green fire burning underneath a serious frown. But eventually we get into the bedroom and I push him hard, down onto the bed. I love the way I can really put some force behind my punches.

He has prepared. He wears an old t-shirt and worn out jeans. I climb on top of him and fight hard to get his hands above his head. The headboard is tall and made of cast iron. It looks like an old hospital bed, like something you might find in a horror movie. Joey had it custom made for my birthday. Sturdy bars perfect for tying someone to. I have the most wonderful pair of handcuffs but they’re for Joe and him only. With Jim I use the shibari silk rope.

If you were watching you might think that I’m actually in control of Jim. But if you look closely you’d seen that I have to let his wrists go for quite some time to be able to tie him to the bed. But he doesn’t move. He wants it as badly as I do.

I admire his hands as I coil the rope around his wrists, large and strong. Joey’s hands might actually be his most masculine body part. Wiry and callused the drummer way; on both hands and on nearly every segment of his fingers. Unlike Jim’s, they’re different and I like different. I make a tight knot and get off him. I strip down to my boxers, making sure I stand where he can see me.

I have to go all the way out to the garage to get the knife that I want. It’s not that big but very sharp. I have learned the hard way that dull knives are actually the most dangerous ones. You slip easily when you have to use force. This one cuts through denim like its satin. Just what I need.

I pause in the doorway and make sure he’s looking. Five steps and I’m at the foot of the bed. There’s no way I could deny that I’m excited. My boxers bulge in the front and I can’t keep myself from smiling. I feel like a child at Christmas, don’t know where to start. 6’6” of luscious body all there just for me. I put the knife in between my teeth and crawl up on the bed.

I catch the neckline of his worn t-shirt, look Jim deep in the eyes, and begin to cut the fabric off his body. I slide the knife from the neck down his stomach. A small whimper and Jim bites his lower lip. I tare the sleeves and tossed the ruined piece of clothing on the floor. The skin that’s exposed by my actions is covered with goose bumps. I let him feel the cold steel of the blade. He gasps for air and bucks underneath me. Careful not to hurt him too much I sink the tip of the knife into his chest. Just a small nip but enough to draw a drop or two of blood. I remove them immediately with my tongue.

I cut the jeans off at the sides. There’s no way I would go near his groin with the knife. He knows that and trusts me. I grin when I remove his pants and discover that he’s commando. Quickly discarding shoes and socks, I straighten up and take a good look at the naked man before me.

We’re both getting older. His facial hair is sprinkled with strands of grey and he’s getting slightly less toned. But that’s one of the things I like about him, he’s grown up and masculine. Besides Jim, Joey looks like a teenage girl - thin, short and hairless. I wish that Jim’s girlfriend would be gone for more than the weekend. With her coming back so soon I can’t really hurt him. A few bruises and a cut or two would be all right but to really work him over would have to wait. He hasn’t got enough excuses to explain the bruises. He would need time to heal.

I admire his tattoos. No matter what I tell Joey he won’t even consider getting inked. I can’t understand why; tattoos are great. And I love Jim’s. For a short moment I almost get gentle and outline the name on his arm but then I get back to business.

I start out slowly by pinching his right nipple, hard. I sit on his thighs and he writhes underneath me. But it’s all in vain; there’s no way he can get out of there, tied to the headboard and with me on top. His enticing cock trembles.

I remember out first time together so clearly. How I hesitated, how he convinced me that it would be just that time, just once. His assertive eyes filled with want, staring me down. He told me so clearly what he wanted but with that undertone of backbite that always gets to me. With him it could never be just once. Jim’s addictive. His taste, the way he feels, the resistance, his smell. But it isn’t love.

I slap him. His whimper turns quickly into a moan. I reward him by leaning in closer; my hair tickles his stomach as I pinch his left nipple. Joey likes when I talk dirty to him, calling him names. That is not the way with Jim. He curses me out when I hurt him and I keep mostly quiet. We never play the degrading game. To shut him up I bite his lover lip. I feel him grow even harder, our cocks pressed together in between us.

I try to figure out my next move. I reject the knife. I would love to use the cane; it makes such a lovely swooshing sound but leaves charming read welts so it’s out of the question. But since he hasn’t got the time to heal I’ll have to put all my thoughts of inflicting severe pain out of my mind and try to come up with of ways to hurt him without leaving any marks.

Jim looks almost angry when I get off him and walk out of the bedroom. He shouts curses at my back, calls me a coward, challenging me. The bed frame rattles as he pulls his restraints. I don’t want to leave him for too long so I walk around the house quickly, collecting a few things I find useful; a candle, a feather duster, duct tape, a bowl of ice cubes and a flexible plastic ruler.

I put the items on the bedroom floor. Jim lifts his head off the bed, trying to see what I’m doing. I smile and think to myself that curiosity will definitely kill this cat.

There’s no better way to incapacitate Jim than to tickle him so I start out with the feather duster. It’s fun and effective and it won’t leave any marks. He curses loudly the second he sees the duster. But the words stuck in his throat as I gently drag the feathers over the sole of his right foot. Oh how I love to see that tall man squirm. He retracts his long legs trying desperately to get away from me. But he’s not going anywhere. He moves around franticly. I stand still. No matter how hard he tries I still can reach his feet without much effort. A long stream of giggles, curses and whimpers urge me on. But soon enough the cat and mouse game bores me. I put the duster down.

I let him catch his breath. Let him wait. Not until he whispers “more” I climb on top of him, placing myself on his thighs so that he can’t move his legs. I’ve never done this before so I’m not sure how it will work out but it’s definitely worth a try. I hold the role of duct tape in my left hand and tear an eight-inch piece of tape. The look in Jim’s eyes tells me he’s skeptical. I bet he thinks I’m going to gag him. But I’m not.

I look him over and find a nice spot right at the end of his sternum. He hasn’t got that much chest hair but there is a small patch in the middle of his chest and I place the tape carefully at the lower edge of it, patting it good, making sure the hair gets stuck to the tape. Jim’s protests grow louder and sound a bit more serious. I hesitate.

By lifting my left eyebrow I ask him silently for permission. He quiets down and takes a deep breath that he holds, bracing himself for the pain to come. I watching him closely and pull the tape off. His eyes widen and I can literally see his pupils dilate. An outcry of pain is followed by a gasp, then a whimper and at last a moan. He looks absolutely amazing and I fold my hand around him, enhancing the sensation he’s so obviously experiencing. Panting, his and mine, tells me its time to rap things up.

When tying him up I left enough slack to give him room to maneuver so I command him to turn around. While he slithers around I arrange my equipment on the nightstand and light the candle. I pull him up on hands and knees by the hair, getting us both in a suitable position.

I watch him, contemplating on which order to do things. He takes a good hold of the headboard bars. Ready and willing. Nothing goes together as well as strong, large hands, black silk rope and cast iron. My hand trembles slightly when I grip the candle. I touch myself and try to control my breathing. The flame flickers and makes a hissing sound when I tilt the candle to the side and pour the hot wax onto Jim’s slightly tanned skin. He arches his back, it’s a spontaneous effect but still very enticing. I let it drip all over, tainting him with smoldering wax.

Working quickly to really get a contradicting effect I pick up an ice cube and push it inside of him. His small hissing whine makes me shiver. One more. Then more wax. My left hand works my aching need. So close. I let the candle go and grab the small bottle right next to it. I use it liberally even though I work quickly, too impatient. Want him ready but not too well prepared. He needs the dull ache. It’s hard to tell what amount of preparation that is just right and even though he’s not doing this as often as Joey he won’t tell me when, that is for sure. But the way he moves gives me a hint that he’s ready so I pull out and replace my fingers with my member. Grab him by the hair, pull his head back, stretching his neck and push inside.

A bizarre feeling since he’s colder than usual due to the ice but it feels amazing. With Joey I tease, refusing to touch him so that he’ll resort to begging. Jim would never let me do that. The second I’m into the hilt he commands me to jerk him off and I do. Small flakes of wax fall off his back and sprinkle the bed sheets as I move faster. Just as we find the perfect pace, getting closer, I decide that he needs to cool off. I place an ice cube at the base of his neck and watch it slide down his back. It melts before it reaches me. He shivers and I repeat a couple of times. With a low grunt he lets me know that I haven’t got the multitasking capacity to play with ice, jerk him off and hit his spot at the same time. So I let the remaining ice rest in the bowl and concentrate on my right hand work.

Trusting hard, moving faster I feel him tightening around me. At this point I wouldn’t let Joey come but I can’t deny Jim anything. He’ll always get what he wants. His guttural growl catches me by surprise and I have to steady him since he’s the one who’s got our balance. I decrease my pace letting him ride it out before I grab his hips with both my hands and finish myself off, emptying my load deep inside of him.

When I withdraw he lays down flat on the bed. I’m on my knees. Silence. Awkward silence.

He cracks his neck and move around a little.

“So…” His voice is muffled by the mattress and he tugs insinuatingly on the ropes.

“Yeah…”

I move up and untie him. He’s still on his stomach and I lie down besides him, but not too close. A minute pass. I can’t stop myself from picking at the hardened wax on his back. It got to come of sooner or later and he’s not gonna reach it. His skin is cold and wet from the melted ice, covered with goose bumps.

“Shit it’s freezing in here,” he mumbles.

“If you want me to be real mean I can always cuff you to the radiator and leave you there naked for the rest of the night,” I snicker.

“Yeah right…”

I pick off the last spots of wax.

“I’m cold.” He turns and faces me, shivering. “Hold me.”

I open my arms and embrace his large, cold body. It doesn’t take long until we fall asleep.

When I wake up I get out of bed as carefully as I possibly can and flee to the kitchen. I have no idea what compels me to make a huge breakfast. I usually have just a cup of coffee, maybe a doughnut, but I’m scrambling eggs and frying sausages like I am some kind of Martha Stewart wannabe.

I hate this. In the aftermath follows bad conscience and the feeling in my stomach that resembles a hangover. I hear him move around and remember that he has nothing to wear. Clothes ruined on the bedroom floor. But when he appears in the kitchen door way he’s wearing my Morbid Angle t-shirt and a pair of jersey shorts, holding the clothes he wore yesterday in his right hand and his cell phone in the left.

“Better get going, she must be wondering what I’m up to… I’ve got thirteen missed calls and three voicemails…”

“Okay…”

It’s been three days since Joey called.

The end
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The last day of April