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Tied Up	By : feathergirl89 Category: +1 through F > Fillmore! Views: 3767 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the cartoons of Disney Studios, nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Tied Up
- 1
Tied Up

Fillmore listened silently as Arthur Stanley poured out his heart to the two Safety Patrollers. On an objective level, Fillmore could understand his actions. He knew what it was like to be so committed to what you were doing that it was nearly impossible to stop. Only difference was, was that he was driven to stop crimes, and Arthur was driven to committing them.

“Let’s go man, the game is finished.” He might have understood Arthur’s motives, might have accepted his apology, but Cornelius Fillmore was a Safety Patroller he couldn’t let someone go just because he saw where they were coming from.

“Can I at least grab my game satchel?” Stanley asked. Fillmore nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small frown flitter across Ingrid’s face. Following his partner’s gaze, he watched as Arthur carefully lifted his satchel off the peg on the wall, rather than pulling at it like any other kid would have done.

As the weight left the peg, it shot upwards causing the cogs lining to roof to creak and turn. Too late, Fillmore realised his mistake. He had a fleeting moment to register the look of shock and realisation on Ingrid’s face, before the sand bag fell and they were hoisted into the air by white polymer net.

Looking down, Fillmore saw the smirking face of Arthur Stanley. Slinging his satchel over one shoulder, the Maestro of Mayhem looked up at his prize.

“The game’s never over Officers.”

Fillmore sighed at the Arthur’s cavalier nature.

“Isn’t it? What now Arthur?”

Beneath him, Stanley frowned. “What do you mean?”

Fillmore’s anger erupted. His frustration with Stanley’s narcissism and his embarrassment at being caught out by the thief combined and poured from between his lips in a verbal onslaught.

“What’s you next game? Who are you going to hurt next? Who’s going to be playing so you can keep playing? Some girls who like you? Some Ultra-Box fans? A couple of Safety Patrol officers who wanted to give you a second chance? You think you’ve won, but you’re wrong. I don’t see a winner Arthur Stanley, I see a loser. Someone who’s lost his life to games. There are people in this world maestro, not pawns. You’re not living man, you’re just playing. You’re just playing yourself.”

Stanley blinked once, and then burst into malicious laughter. “Nice speech Officer, very touching. But it doesn’t change the fact that I won.” The blond haired boy smirked up at the couple and gave them a mock salute. “Have a nice day.” Still laughing to himself, Arthur Stanley walked out the door.

Ingrid sighed at looked over at her partner. “Well, that went well.” She smirked, shifting her position slightly in an attempt to get more comfortable. “He was right about one thing though…”

Fillmore looked over at his partner, meeting her gaze. “Oh?”

She chuckled, “It was a nice speech.”

Fillmore groaned and closed his eyes. He could almost feel Ingrid smirking at him. Opening his eyes, he glowered at his partner.

“You’re not helping you know.” This comment only seemed to heighten Ingrid’s amusement. Though her face showed no outward sign of it, the light in her eyes increased. Shaking his head at his own folly, and his partner’s amusement at his expense, Fillmore lent forward to examine the net they were trapped in.

“It’s a low-density, medium-strength, polymer plastic.” Ingrid said, her voice cutting through his wonderings. “There’s no use pulling at it, it won’t break. The only way to dismantle it would be to cut it.”

Fillmore frowned and ran a hand over the plastic netting. He pushed against it fruitlessly, more out of a need to be doing something than because he doubted his partner’s words. Suddenly, like a switch being thrown in the darkness, realisation dawned. Rocking forward onto the balls of his feet, Fillmore braced his shoulder and knees against the netting in an attempt to maintain his balance. Reaching back with his right hand, he dug around in his back pocket, for the penknife he usually kept there.

Coming up empty, Fillmore frowned and tried his other pocket, only to be rewarded with nothing.

“If you’re looking for your penknife,” Ingrid said, “it’s on the floor over there. It must have fallen out of your pocket when we got caught.” Twisting his upper body around in order to look over his shoulder, Fillmore saw the black and silver pocket knife lying several feet below them. He briefly contemplated trying to reach for it but gave the idea up almost immediately. They were more than five feet off the ground, and his arm span just wasn’t that long.

Glancing back over at his partner, Fillmore saw Ingrid had her eyes closed, and a small frown of pain contorted her features. Looking down, he noticed that her legs were contorted under her at an unnatural angle, and that her right arm was trapped beneath her body weight against the side of the net.

Her attempts to relieve her situation seemed to have resulted, merely in more pain, as the flexible nature of the net resulted in her becoming hopelessly entangled each time she tried to lever herself off it.

Shifting his weight, Fillmore instantly regretted it as the change in pressure caused his partner to wince in pain.

“You alright Third?” he asked. He knew it was a foolish question – she was obviously uncomfortable – but he knew he could gauge the level of her pain depending on her answer. If she said ‘yes’, it would be a lie, but it meant that the pain was bearable. If she said ‘no’ however, it meant that the pain was such that she couldn’t keep her game-face.

There was a moments pause, in which you could have heard a pin drop, before Ingrid said, “No.” The word hissed out from between her lips in a breath of pain. Looking at her more closely, Fillmore could see the tightness around her mouth and eyes, the way her lower lip was caught, ever so slightly, between her teeth.

“Is there anything I can do?” Fillmore asked. He wasn’t sure he could do that much but he hated seeing Ingrid in any form of pain.

Ingrid’s voice came out clipped and tense. “Any way you can help me move my legs?” she asked, looking at him.

Fillmore frowned for a moment before nodding. Slowly, he tried to take once step closer towards Ingrid, carefully placing his foot on a point where the sections of the plastic met. Unfortunately, it was like walking on a trampoline and Fillmore’s slight movement caused the net to shift once more, making Ingrid wince again in pain.

Freezing, Fillmore concentrated on not rocking the net any more than he had done. Thinking rapidly he examined their situation. Relatively unbreakable net, approximately five feet off the ground. Not an unbearable height, but high enough that if they dropped without warning they could sprain an appendage or two. The net was flexible enough to mould itself to any movement they made, but it was narrow enough that if he concentrated, he might be able to place enough pressure on certain parts of the net, to allow Ingrid to move her legs with relative ease. It wouldn’t get them any closer to escape, but at least his partner wouldn’t be in such pain anymore. Running his eyes over the net, he searched for the best vantage points.

“Ingrid, I think I’ve got a way for you to stretch your legs. I’m gonna try and keep the net steady for as long as possible. I’ll have to lean forward to brace myself against the pieces of the net by you. It may hurt at first but you’re gonna have to move your legs real quickly once I’m holding the net okay?”

Ingrid nodded, blinking furiously as a tear welled up in her eye. Her legs were in agony. Bent up behind her at a 45 degree angle, the pressure was building in her hamstrings and behind her knees. Silently, she hoped Fillmore knew what he was doing because she certainly did not want to start crying in front of her partner.

As she screwed her eyes shut in an attempt to control the tears, she felt Fillmore lean forward over her. The plastic of the net shifted, increasing the pressure on her legs muscles almost unbearably. Just as quickly however, she felt Fillmore place his hands either side of her body, pushing the net downwards with all his strength. The pressure lessened and Ingrid arched her body, scrambling to drag her legs out from under her.

Fillmore’s eyes went wide as Ingrid’s neck, chest and torso arched towards him as she tried to pull her legs into a more comfortable position. He was excruciatingly aware of the heat radiating of her body, and of the soft rise and fall over her shoulders every time she took a breath. Fighting second nature, Fillmore fought to keep his eyes from drifting south, focusing on a spot on the floor, visible between the gaps in the net. He desperately tried to think of anything other than the feeling of her lithe body underneath his, and the way the fabric of her dress brushed against his hands as she moved.

Mentally, he was yelling at himself for thinking of his partner in such an unprofessional manner. He would have had to have been blind not to notice that Ingrid was stunning, but being male and a teenager was no excuse for thinking of his friend like that. She’d probably kick his ass into the middle of next week if she knew what he was thinking.

He swallowed a groan, when Ingrid’s leg brushed against his inner thigh, in her fight to get herself into a more comfortable position. Closing his eyes, Fillmore worked on regulating his breathing, sure that at this close a proximity Ingrid would be sure to notice if his breathing suddenly sped up and she would certainly notice if blood suddenly started flowing south.

Suddenly, he felt the net shift and lurch as Ingrid finally managed to free herself. He fought to keep his hands steady, but at the last minute, his right hand slipped, falling through the gap in the net, and sending him crashing down on top of his partner.

Ingrid let out an indignant squeak of surprise as Fillmore’s full weight collapsed on top of her. Biting her lip, she desperately tried to control the blush that was spreading rapidly across her cheeks. She was acutely aware of all the places his body pressed against hers, the feel of his jean clad legs entwined with hers set her nerves on fire, making her feel slightly light-headed.

Opening her eyes – when she had closed them she couldn’t remember – she looked up into the liquid chocolate eyes of Cornelius Fillmore. As their eyes met, something in his gaze changed. Her breath hitched as she watched his eyes darken, and a look she couldn’t describe passed across his face. His weight settled more firmly on top of her, her legs automatically falling sideways to accommodate him.

They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, each angle and each contour perfectly aligned. Ingrid’s gaze tentatively travelled over her partner’s face. He had never looked at her this way before; it was a hungry, almost predatory look.

“Fillmore?” Ingrid said. She winced internally at the sound of her own voice: breathy, needy and more than a little confused. She was sure she had never sounded more pathetic in her entire life.

Fillmore however disagreed. Looking down at her, eyes wide, cheeks flushed and saying his name – he thought she’d never looked better. With something remarkably akin to a growl, Fillmore dropped his head those last few inches and captured Third’s lips in a searing kiss.

Ingrid moaned. The feel of his lips against hers was torture. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. She felt as though someone set her on fire. Her skin burned, her nerves were on fire. Without conscious thought, her arms came up and wrapped around Fillmore’s neck, pulling him more securely against her.

Fillmore let out a guttural sound, grinding his hips against the girl beneath him, causing her to respond in kind. His mouth left Ingrid’s trailing a line of hot, wet kisses along her jaw and down her throat. A gasp tore itself from Ingrid’s throat and she arched upwards, pressing herself more firmly against her partner.

As she ran her hands down Fillmore’s back, a corner of Ingrid’s mind asked her if she really knew she was doing? The raven-haired Safety Patroller viciously suppressed this thought, as her fingers made contact with the bare skin of Fillmore’s back just above his waistband. She felt him shudder involuntarily above her, and Ingrid felt a thrill of triumph run through her. She smiled as Fillmore returned his attention to his exploration of the skin behind her left ear.

Dragging her hands back up Fillmore’s torso, Ingrid made sure to push the shirt up as well, taking care to explore every inch of skin she came across. Reaching his chest, Ingrid ran her fingers experimentally over his nipples, relishing in the groan she received in response. Digging her heels into the holes in the net, Ingrid wiggled down until she was on level with Fillmore’s chest. The movement caused her dress to bunch around her hips but she didn’t notice.

Fillmore braced himself as best he could against the malleable netting as his partner’s hot, wet tongue flicked out to taste salty skin. As the tip of her tongue ran teasingly across his right nipple, her hands pushed the shirt he was wearing higher. In one swift movement, Fillmore reached one hand up and tore the shirt off from over his head, switching hands only to discard the item and throw it over his shoulder.

His movement’s hadn’t distracted Third who was now steadily working her way lower leaving smudges of blood-red lipstick against his skin. Her thighs were rubbing provocatively against his own, her hips deliberately brushing against his groin. He felt her lips curve in a smile as she felt his growing erection.

With a growl, Fillmore reached down and hauled Third back up towards him by the neckline of her dress.

“Off.” He demanded, as soon as her eyes were once again level with his own. Ingrid’s lips parted in a seductive smile as she reached down and grabbed the hem of her dress, joining Fillmore in his attempts to divest her of the garment. Within moments it was gone, leaving Ingrid in only in the matching black bra and panties set she had chosen to wear to school that day.

Fillmore ran his gaze over her hungrily. Pale, pale skin, against black cloth. With a smirk, he bent his head and began gently nipping and sucking his way down Ingrid’s body. Reaching the right mound of her budding breasts, Fillmore bit down just hard enough to leave a light impression of teeth marks on the soft flesh. Ingrid moaned, her head falling back as Fillmore reached around to unsnap her bra. Dragging it away and throwing it over his shoulder.

A strangled keening sound passed Ingrid’s lips as Fillmore whirled his tongue around the dusky nipple, smirking in satisfaction as it hardened even more in his mouth. Sucking gently, he let the nipple go with a wet pop. Switching sides, Fillmore used one hand to brace himself as his other hand wound down between their bodies and brushed over the damp cloth between Ingrid’s spread legs. Ingrid shuddered as Fillmore flicked his fingers causing rough cloth to rub over sensitive flesh.

Pulling the crotch of his partner’s panties aside, Fillmore slipped his fingers between the damp folds, teasing and spreading the velvet warmth. Ingrid’s eyes rolled back in her head, her hands clutching at her partner’s back, as Fillmore plunged a finger into her heated depths, whilst expertly finding her clit with his thumb. It didn’t take long for him to bring Ingrid’s virgin body to orgasm. As waves of pleasure raced through her, Fillmore captured her mouth in a heated kiss. Her lips parted at his insistence and his tongue swept into her mouth.

The two slick muscles battled for dominance, as Ingrid dragged her nails lightly down Fillmore’s back, tracing the waistband of his jeans until she reached the front. Snapping the button on them quickly, Ingrid deftly slid zipper down, freeing Fillmore’s straining erection.

Fillmore’s breath left a rush as he felt his partner’s small hands burrow down into his boxers. As cool hands encased hard flesh, Fillmore closed his eyes. The blissful sensation was cut short however, when Ingrid removed her hands and started to slither back down beneath Fillmore’s body, gently urging him to raise his hips with her hands.

His protests that she wouldn’t be able to do this in such a confined space died on his lips as Ingrid hot mouth engulfed his whole length. Fillmore almost shot his load right there, the sensation of Ingrid’s warm, wet mouth surrounding him was incredible. Fighting for control, Fillmore groaned as Ingrid started to move. Drawing her head back slightly, she swirled her tongue around the head of Fillmore’s cock, flicking it over the leaking slit, before sucking back down on the length. She gradually quickened her pace, periodically breaking off to flick her tongue against the sensitive head of Fillmore’s member. With a horse yell, Fillmore came shooting his seed deep into Ingrid’s throat. She swallowed every drop, before slowly easing her way back up his body.

Fillmore watched her through heavy lidded eyes, the lazy smile on her lips prompting him to kiss her once again. Ingrid laughed softly, and Fillmore rolled off here, resting beside her in the tight confines of the netting. Their feet were hopelessly tangled in the article of clothing they had disposed of, and he didn’t even want to begin contemplating how they were going to redress themselves.

A slight groaning creek was all the warning he had, before Fillmore felt the rope holding the net up snap with a whip-like crack. Instinctively, Fillmore reached for Ingrid, twisting so that he hit the floor first with her resting on top of him. The breath was knocked from their lungs with a woosh and for a moment they both lay there stunned, before Ingrid rolled off Fillmore, and sat up.

“You okay?”

Fillmore nodded, raising himself up onto his elbows. Ingrid sat there, pale skin gleaming with sweat in the late afternoon sun, hair mussed, and naked except for a pair of black panties. She didn’t move to cover herself but instead sat there, letting him stare, as her own eyes ran over his exposed flesh. Their eyes met, and Ingrid blushed at the heat in Fillmore’s gaze.

“We should get dressed.” Ingrid said, her voice quiet as she looked around for her clothes.

Fillmore nodded, “We should also do this again sometime.” It was a corny line, but Ingrid smiled.

“Tomorrow night sound good to you?”

Fillmore laughed. “It’s a date.”
- 1
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Tied Up