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Tue, Aug. 7th, 2012, 11:46 pm
srmarybadass:

Title: cryme and punishment
Rating: R
Pairing: Tony/Mike/Peter
Summary: Mike's in trouble. 
Disclaimer: : Inspired by two probably separate incidents that I have combined for purposes of this fic. Any similarity between the fictional version of the person or persons portrayed here and the actual person or persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person(s) on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person or persons). I am not casting aspersions on the sexual orientation or activity of the characters represented within. Please pardon the horrible, horrible pun of the title.



Fuck!

That was the only thing he could think as he stormed off the stage. The show had practically gone down in flames, and all because the stupid equipment hadn’t worked properly. There hadn’t been anything wrong with the band, oh no, it had all been a bloody mechanical failure! He could barely hear his own bass through the buzz and feedback –

With a cry of frustration, he threw the offending instrument down on the ground with a resounding clatter. Despite the noise around them, there was suddenly silence backstage.

“Mike, mate,” Phil said quietly, and Mike whirled on him. The drummer took a visible step back. “They want us out there for an encore.”

“No.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d had time to even consider them. After a show like that? Why humiliate themselves further?

“But they-”

“I said no.”

“Phil, Steve, you two go and get things set up. I’ll take care of this,” Tony’s voice suddenly broke through the red haze of Mike’s vision. Normally it would have been calming, but now everything felt like nails on a chalkboard to Mike. He couldn’t do a fucking encore, he had to go somewhere and calm the hell down – maybe take a nice long walk, or smoke a nice long joint.

They left, and there was only Tony. “Mike. Pick up your bass and act like an adult.”

“Fuck you,” Mike said flippantly, starting to stalk off.

“We’re going to be professional, damn it, and that means an encore!” Tony bent down and picked up the bass himself. “I hope you didn’t damage this in your little tantrum-”

Sod the fucking bass!” Mike shouted. Without thinking, he picked up the nearest object – which happened to be a metal folding chair – and hurled it at Tony. Tony dodged, and the chair hit the ground with a clang.

Tony locked eyes with Mike, and if Mike was filled with fiery rage, Tony was all ice. But he was no less angry for it – he was simply keeping better control of himself than Mike. Mike found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, as Tony put the bass back down, walked up to him, and slapped him right across the face.

There was a little gasp from the corner. Mike’s head shot up, cheek still stinging, and he saw Peter standing there, eyes wide.

Tony grabbed him by the chin, yanking his focus back down.

“Now, this is what’s going to happen,” he said, voice very quiet and very commanding. There would be no arguing. “You are going to pick up your bass. We are going to play an encore. And when we get back to the hotel, I’m going to teach you a lesson or two.”

Mike couldn’t deny that a thrill rushed through his body – a prickle of fear and anticipation. Judging from the shaky exhale from Peter, over in the corner, he wasn’t the only one.


“Do you understand me?”

Mike swallowed. “Yes.”

Tony didn’t let him go, though. It seemed like he was waiting for something, eyebrow cocked. Mike ran through a bunch of options very quickly in his head before he realized.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered, rage already beginning to ebb.

Tony grinned. “Good boy.” He patted Mike’s cheek harshly, the same one he’d slapped, the pain an almost enjoyable jolt. He let go, and turned to Peter. “Come on, then. Let’s get out there.”

Peter nodded and scampered off. Mike picked up the damn bass and went out for an encore. Suddenly, he found himself hoping it lasted the night. Anything to avoid getting back to a room with Tony.

So, of course, the next thing he knew, he was back in the hotel and the door was being shut and locked behind him. The encore had gone as well as could really be expected, but he’d done his job, and played to the best of his ability. After, Phil and Steve had decided to go out and get drunk to drown their sorrows, but the rest of them had begged off with various excuses. Mike wondered if the others were beginning to suspect what was going on with the three of them, but he didn’t really have time to worry about it, not with Tony looking at him like that.

“Strip,” he ordered.

“So romantic,” Mike said sarcastically.

“Don’t make me gag you,” Tony warned.

“He’ll do it, too,” Peter piped up. “He used to do it to me all the time until-” Tony shot Peter a look. “-until I learned to be good,” the singer finished meekly.

“That still doesn’t stop you from being a chatterbox,” Tony sighed fondly. “You know, sometimes I think you aggravate me on purpose.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Peter asked cheekily. Tony arched an eyebrow, but let it go. Peter wasn’t the one in trouble tonight.

Mike shimmied out of his clothes quickly, shivering slightly in the cool room. He curled his toes into the soft carpet, which he was soon grateful for when Tony said “kneel.”

To help him along, Tony put a hand on his shoulder and pressed down. Mike hit the floor with a thump.

Suddenly, Mike was half the height of everyone else, which was very disconcerting for him, because he was used to being the tallest in the room. He was even more unsettled when Tony threaded a hand into his long hair and smiled at Peter.

“Go and get the kit, would you?”

Peter scampered over to the dresser and pulled out an unassuming black travel case. If Mike had seen it before, he might have thought it was a shaving kit. Now, of course, he knew better. Tony took the bag and unzipped it. Mike tried to turn his head, to see what Tony was pulling out, but he was interrupted with a sharp “eyes front.”

Mike focused on the bed, where Peter sat, eagerly awaiting whatever happened next. There was a slight metallic clinking noise, and Peter’s face lit up. “Ooh! That looks like-”

Tony pulled Mike’s wrists behind his back and locked a pair of handcuffs over them.

“What the-” Mike began, trying to swivel around, forgetting the warning. He remembered when Tony clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Lesson one. Don’t argue. Something you clearly need to learn.”

Mike considered trying to bite the hand, but he really didn’t want to find out what Tony would do if he did. Instead, he quieted down. “Good boy.” Tony let go of him, for the moment. “Judging from your actions today, you could learn a little something about teamwork and showmanship from Peter. He sang the whole concert and went on for the encore without complaining, even though his throat was sore and he nearly lost his voice. Isn’t that right, Peter?”

Peter nodded, eyes wide.

“He’s been very good. Maybe later I’ll have you make him a cup of tea, but for now I want you to suck his cock.”

Peter got naked very, very quickly. Mike couldn’t deny that his mouth watered a bit at the sight, but he was apprehensive, too. He hadn’t – not really – he’d been drunk, all right. Tony must have seen the tension in his shoulders, because he said, almost gently, “It’s okay. You’ll learn. That’s what tonight’s all about. Get a little closer, then.”

Mike had to shuffle forward on his knees, his hands trapped behind his back, and the action was just on the right side of humiliation – as Tony planned, no doubt. He looked up at Peter from between his legs, meeting his eyes, which were clouded with lust. For no particular reason other than it struck him as the right thing to do – and, all right, he wanted to tease Peter a bit – he nuzzled the soft skin at the inside of his thigh, giving it a little nip. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Go on, then. Have a taste.” Tony’s voice was gentle and encouraging. Mike ran his tongue up the shaft, and Peter shuddered. Without being prompted, he opened his mouth and took Peter in, slowly and carefully, getting used to the weight on his tongue. He found that he rather liked it. And he definitely like the breathy noises Peter was making. So pretty…

A hand tangled in his hair. Tony’s. “More,” he ordered, pushing gently but firmly down on Mike’s head, forcing him to take Peter in further. His body automatically fought for a moment. “Breathe. That’s it. Good boy.” Lord help him, but he did want to be good for Tony. Peter was trying to be good, too, twisting his hands in the sheets and not rocking his hips as much as perhaps he would like – Mike could sense the tension in his body as he restrained himself. It was the same tension present in all of them.

At Tony’s murmured direction, he sucked harder, faster, sliding off when the hand in his hair pulled and taking him back in when the hand pushed. He found it quite arousing, but with his hands behind his back, he had no outlet but through pleasuring Peter, which caused the singer to emit a series of impressively vocal groans, which turned Mike on even more, which caused him to become even more enthusiastic – it was a brilliant loop of positive feedback that only came to an end when Peter did.

Mike swallowed, of course. He would have even if Tony hadn’t been holding him firmly in place.

“I’m going to uncuff you now,” Tony said, “but you’d better not touch yourself.”

Mike whined – he was starting to get seriously uncomfortable – but he nodded. There was a clinking, and his wrists were free. He rolled his shoulders a few times, stretching, but he kept his hands off himself.

“Against the wall.”

He gladly pulled himself up and went over to the wall.

“Bend over a bit-” Tony’s hands were on his back and legs, adjusting his position. “Excellent. You might want to brace yourself a bit. Peter, could you toss me the-”

“Gotcha,” Peter said, handing Tony something. Mike kept his face to the wall, understanding instinctively that that was what Tony wanted. He heard a creak as Peter settled back on the bed – probably lounging against the pillows to watch his punishment, the prat.

He heard the pop of a bottle being uncapped right before a slick finger probed at his entrance. He hissed a little, at the cold and at the suddenness, but he tried to relax. It was difficult, though, with Tony standing close enough to him that Mike could almost feel the heat radiating off him. Maybe he was imaging it – after all, Tony was still fully clothed. Somehow, that made him feel even more vulnerable.

Fuck, but Tony had talented fingers. Not that he doubted that – how many times had he watched them fly across keyboards? – but somehow it was a bit different now that they were stretching him open. And not just perfunctorily – they were going deeper, until- fuck!

Mike made a vaguely embarrassing yelping noise, his body jolting with the sudden shock of pleasure. Please please please again please he thought, jaw clamped tightly shut to avoid saying the words again. He wasn’t ready to beg, not just yet. But the urge was rising quickly – his pride was paling before his need for relief. There was quiet for long minutes as Tony simply fingered him, delicate hands leaving him trembling with need.

“Are you ready to ask politely now?” Tony murmured quietly.

He wasn’t.

“Still so stubborn,” he admonished. “A little stubbornness can be good, Michael – you know that – but you need to know when to give in.”

“What, like for our shit encore?” Mike snapped, only realizing that he shouldn’t have said that after the words were out. Strangely enough, he could sense a smile in Tony’s voice.

“Exactly. I’d really like to make some sort of horrid joke about the best stallions needing to be broken before they’re ridden, but I won’t. Peter, if you would?”

“The whip?”

“Yes.”

Mike’s eyes widened, and he caught a glimpse of sleek black leather in Peter’s hands before Tony grabbed his hair and forced his head away, towards the wall.

“If I were you, I’d try to relax,” he warned, before there was a slight whistling and a loud crack. Mike gasped, feeling the contact right before he felt the pain blossom across his back. It shot a jolt of electricity right through his body.

Just as the initial sting started to fade, there came another strike, right on top of the first. Mike felt his whole body jerk in response. It hurt worse than the first, but it felt better. The pattern repeated – strike, pause, strike – for another five blows, and Mike found his fingers scrabbling against the smooth wall for some sort of hold, but there was nothing.

Then, Tony spoke. “Peter, would you like a turn?”

“Oh, well, yes, if that’s-”

“Mhmm.” There was a rustling, as Tony (Mike presumed) passed the whip to Peter. “He’s really quite good, you see, but he doesn’t get much practice.” Mike could imagine why not – Tony didn’t seem the sort to let himself get whipped.

Peter’s strikes were different than Tony’s. They were delicate – not lighter, not any less intense, but more precise. Mike could feel the pattern of crisscrosses Peter was laying into his flesh, and he thought about the marks it would leave. Peter was an artist in everything he did, and the wide expanse of Mike’s back was his canvas.

God, everything ached. His back from the whip, his muscles from supporting him, and especially his cock, hanging hard and heavy between his spread legs. And he knew there would be no relief, not until he begged.

As if sensing his weakening – through his labored breath, or his whimpers, perhaps – Peter increased the speed with which he cracked the whip, setting Mike’s skin ablaze all over. The sharp pain blended with his overwhelming arousal to create a nearly trancelike state, more potent than any drug.

Please,” he whispered quietly, so quiet that he thought they might not have heard them. But they had.

“Please, what?” Tony prompted.

“Please f-fuck me.” His voice cracked.

Tony manhandled him off the wall and flung him unceremoniously facedown on the bed. Then he was on him and in him, fucking him mercilessly and Mike nearly sobbed with relief. His cries were muffled when Tony slapped a hand over his mouth, his other hand holding Mike firmly in place, so that all he could do was tangle his fingers in the sheets and take what Tony gave him. It went on for forever, or perhaps for not very long at all, but he could hear the soft gasps, the little cracks in his iron self-control that signaled Tony was getting near the edge. When he came, he bit down into Mike’s shoulder, and everything went blank with white-hot bliss.

When he came down from the high of his orgasm, Peter was cleaning him up and there was a warm, solid weight of support behind him, holding him. Tony.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, voice low.

Mike nodded, not trusting his voice yet.

Tony reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a glass of water, holding it to Mike’s lips. “Drink this.” He did, not realizing how thirsty he was until half the glass was gone. “Good boy.” Tony put it back and grinned at him. “And what did you learn tonight?”

“Always listen to Tony,” he answered.

Tony laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I was thinking of something more abstract, maybe, but that works too. Come on, under the covers.”

With an effort, mostly on Tony’s part, he managed to get himself under the covers. His back stung pleasantly as Tony snuggled up to it, curling an arm over him. He shivered a little as Peter removed the top blanket and chucked it into a corner – Mike would probably feel bad about getting it all messy later, he’d have to make sure to leave a nice tip for the cleaning service– but quickly warmed up as Peter nestled against his chest, kissing the skin over his heart lightly.

“I’m supposed to make you tea,” Mike murmured sleepily, eyes already closing.

“You can make me tea later,” Peter replied, yawning.

“With honey,” Tony added, and with that, they all drifted off to sleep, tangled up together.