heroeswork | Walk, come with me now, I'm gonna take you down

It's hard to concentrate when Liam is jerking him off, and it's killing him that he isn't using his own hands. They're currently balled into fists, knuckles pressed into the palm of his hands, as Billy jerks his hand up and down in a steady rhythm, Mike brings his hips up, breathing hard through his nose before responding, eyes slipping shut.

"I don't, sir--accept it, I'm not..." A deep breath. He feels like he's going to build up too much, almost, with how his mind is starting and stopping and how that hand is downright magical.

"I'm not like this, but with you, I---yeah--I'm always hard." He's trying to tell himself out loud that it's just Liam that makes him some sort of fucked up freak, but he's far too distracted with both the pain and the fear, both underneath the cotton fog in his mind courtesy of the oxy.

"You're different, sir."

Liam shifted his hand, fingers curling around the back of Mike's neck, strong as a vice. His other hand was relentless as he stroked. Watching how it slowly unraveled Mike. Broke him down. All the while exploring that clear boundary. Everything before the breaking point and everything after.

It seemed he'd already blurred the breaking point itself, with Mike having identified his current state with the warehouse itself. Sure, the gradual wearing down was part of it, but it was that breaking point that defined it. That was the line Mike wasn't seeing. The warehouse itself created a broader, easier to identify border. The point at which their lives intersected.

"The only thing different about me is that I'm the only one to ever give you what you always wanted." His hand shifted as he spoke, slowing down, paying better attention to the sweet spots. He let out a soft laugh as if the whole idea he was about to propose was preposterous. "I can't make you like these things."

The hand on the back of his neck grounds him, strangely, and Liam continues to stroke his cock with such skill that he moans in between his words, leaning his head down to star at said hand doing it's work. He's beginning to sweat, now.

"I wasn't gay before you," He tries to point out. "I had no interest in men and--and now you're here. It's you, it's always you. I don't want to get hurt but you--" A shattered breath and he shakes his head.

"I want to come," He murmurs. Something about the proximity of the other, he guesses, and Mike slips his eyes closed. It had been a while since he'd been like this, and they've barely gotten started. Maybe Liam will just take pity on him. Maybe he can sort through his fucked up feelings or just grab some more oxy and forget.

When Mike states what he wants, Liam pulls his hand away. It isn't an obvious refusal, but more a coincidence that he decided right then to remove his hand and slide it up over Mike's torso. Fingers wandering and exploring the man's chest. He did so enjoy it when the junkie begged for it. He'd come so far from denying it so firmly.

"That's not how it works," he said with a small laugh. "Sexual preference can't be taught like that, Mikey. Besides, if it were just me, you wouldn't be asking me about your little marshal and his boyfriend, now would you."

His hand moved from the back of Mike's neck to pat his cheek, condescending and firm. "You've still got so much to learn."

Every touch Liam instills to him, every movement along his chest and Mike is staring at the ground, trying not to flinch or show much of anything, but it's difficult--immensely difficult--when there's a hand missing on your cock. He's not stupid enough to try to kiss him again, not after, but he wants to. Oh, he wants to.

He's doing his best to ignore it--the verbal punches Liam's throwing. 'Mikey' gets his usual annoyed look, though it's cut down significantly because he's trying to do the mental math. It's exhausting.

"You taught me what to do," Mike explains, leaning up, straightening him shoulders while he's still on his knees. Confident in his words. "You taught me."

"All I did was show you what you'd been denying yourself." A lie, but few things were truth when they passed through Liam's lips. He did doubt that his interest in this marshal was some strange gay-by-stockholm-syndrome situation. Repressed bisexuality was far too common in this society obsessed with hyper masculinity. He could go one quite a bit about it given the chance, but he doubted his audience would appreciate it.

"Speaking of which..." He dragged both hands away, reaching for the jacket he'd set aside. "Let's get you into this, shall we? Show you a few things you've not yet seen." There was nothing kind in the smile that flit across his face. He had things in mind that he'd not yet subjected Mike to before. Well, at least not quite in this way.

He backs up and off, almost immediately--wary. Not because of Liam and trust, but that he doesn't like what he's saying in the least. He'd been denying himself, maybe, but it's more complicated than that. There's still some tiny, tiny spark--the same gut instinct that helps him still pull strings when he's high--that knows Liam's bullshitting him. Who knows Liam's always bullshitting him.

"I don't really want to," he mumbles, but it's not defiant of accusatory: it's simple fact, and he eyes it uncomfortably. He has no doubt that he needs to let Liam do his thing and he'll learn to love this, too, but his gaze flicks over at Liam, hopeful anyway. It takes barely a second before he reaches up to take the jacket.

It'll never work, he's stuck whether he wants it or not.

Liam's expression changes in an instant at those words. That teasing, cruel smile dropped into something just shy of irritation. Mike didn't want to. He'd just need to change that. He was prepared to force the point when the other started reaching for the jacket, which Liam moved out of reach.

"Nuh-uh, this isn't something you can do yourself. All you need to do is be...co-operative." He adjusted the canvas in his hands, holding it gathered and open, the way one might do when helping someone on with a regular coat. Only this one went the wrong way around and didn't have openings at the ends of it's incredibly long sleeves.

It's degrading. It's flat out degrading, literally being helped into his own personal torture device. He hates it already.

He supposes that he no longer has a say in what's degrading and what isn't, either, and his hands move, slowly and cautiously, into the straight jacket. It's not something he's looking forward to, and it shows on his face, even if his cock is still hard.

He wants to have some control of his self, and he'd been so good about his hands this time--Mike's amping himself up for the worst, so much so he's already half-wincing as he goes through everything that happened in the warehouse. How he still has scars from some of the things.

"Why do you always make it so I can't fight back?" He asks, and there's genuine curiosity.

The question earned a sharp but brief look from Liam. Mike's tone alone saved him from immediate repercussions. The answer really should have been obvious, but that meant Mike realizing the truth of his situation. Ensuring that he couldn't fight back, even before putting up a proper resistance was both demeaning and demoralizing. Take a way any means of fighting back and the subject gives up much sooner. There's also the general state of mind it conjures. A reinforcement of all he'd already taught Mike.

But saying any of that meant revealing his true intentions. And he couldn't have that, now could he.

"It's not about fighting back, Mikey." His tone was calm and softly condescending. Like speaking to a child. And as he spoke, he started to settle the jacket properly on Mike. Tugging and adjusting the canvas. It fit snugly, not the blousy, loose fit of a real straight jacket. This wasn't made for humane treatment. "It's merely a reminder to behave. You could not mind your own hinds, so they must be minded for you."

He left Mike's arms loose for now, the sleeves long and trailing, as he moved around the back to start fastening the thing shut. It was a complicated arrangement of laces and buckles, which he navigated with ease. The canvas hugged to Mike's body. It was already clear that there would be little room for movement once the process was done. But for now, Liam took his time fastening the back.

Mike looks uncomfortable, but a few shifts and it's a little easier for him. A little. It's not something he's used to or cares About, but it would do.

He looks up, taking a moment to breathe in, and looks up at Liam, uncomfortable and visibly so.

He can do this. He can.

"And after this, we're--we're okay? No more?"

Mike couldn't see Liam's face as he started buckling the series of straps at the back, but anything even resembling warmth faded from his face. It wasn't the hard, cold look that so often came with his irritation. This was flat, devoid most things that made people human. A glimpse at his actual core. It went well beyond mere unfeeling.

There would always be more. Especially with Mike. There was never an end to be found. Never a point at which Mike behaved well enough to be exempt from punishment. There would always be new rules, new obstacles, new pits for Mike to fall into. It was never about the lessons or Mike learning to behave. It was about the control. And he would always find new ways to show that he was always the one in control.

"Oh, don't talk like that, Mike." His voice belied some of what had shown on his face. His tone sounded almost mechanical. "There will always be something new to learn about yourself." Some of that subtle mocking at least started to come back into his voice as he cinched the second highest buckle closed. The top most was around the collar, which would wait until the very end. "Unless you're thinking of giving up your habits, or getting them from someone else. You're not thinking of leaving me, are you, Mikey?"

He sounded genuinely sad, like someone who was worried about losing someone they cared about but understood why. But really, it was a test. Lose-lose for Mike, however. Confirm he'd come back, and it gave Liam open license to do as he wished. Say he'd leave, and Liam would prove why no one got away from him. Either way, this would be a lot of fun. As he said it, he started threading one of Mike's arms through the strap on the front of the jacket.

He's seen it in movies so he at least sort of knows what's going on. He's not expecting it to be as tight or as snug as it is, but it fits him oddly and he isn't sure if Liam is doing it on purpose or not.

Probably on purpose.

That voice gets to him, and so does the way he swears Liam's breath seems to tickle the back of his neck has him on edge already. He shifts his shoulders, pulling his arms over and to examine them and the type of sleeves--or lack thereof--it is. His stomach twists in knots.

He glances over, craning his neck around afterwards and listening to the other.

Mike. He's clinging on to the fact that the word 'mike' was said, not 'mikey.' It's a slow start but it's something. His lips twist up, but it's not out of amusement. Liam's right. Liam's stuff is the best on the market, and he wouldn't give up his habit. He can't, it hurt too much, caused too much pain.

He'll learn it. Like Liam's been teaching him what it really means to do this sort of stuff, to really belong. Liam's taught him how to love. It's that simple--he loves Liam. He'll never say that out loud, not to him or anyone, but he does. He just wishes part of loving someone wasn't physically hurting, or driving himself to the point of exhaustion, or going through withdrawal.

That's why he decides to answer earnestly.

"I can't leave you, even if I wanted to, Liam." His voice is strangely resigned, like he's thought this through. "You'll find me, and if this doesn't happen something even worse will."

He'd expected Mike to stall or hesitate. Something to avoid answering either way. But in his answer, he gave so much more than he actually said. That resignation, that honesty. It made Liam realize just how deeply he'd gotten his hooks into this one. He was used to them fighting, breaking, and giving up. They became hollow and useless. Mike wasn't just resilient. He'd broken and he was filled with something else, now. Something that was a mix of both of them. It kept Mike whole but made him Liam's more than he could fathom. Just how deep did it go?

"That's right. I'm keeping you safe from filth like Kelly. Stick with me, and you'll never have to deal with them again." With only one arm through the strap, he didn't go for the second. Instead, he shifted so he was almost beside Mike instead of behind him. His fingers gently touched the junkie's chin, turning his head to look at him. "I'll take care of you."

He leaned down to kiss Mike. This wasn't the teasing brush of lips he'd given before, nor was it the bruising force he usually used. Instead, it was just what Mike had been wanting. Firm, deep and intense. The sort of kiss that was only traded between lovers, brimming with passion and need. The sort of kiss that stole breath away. A rare gift from the likes of Liam.

He can handle Kelly. He has no problem handling Kelly--never had until Odin dropped him and he let that anger and desperation for the drugs take him away. That's what got him here, too, half in a straight jacket and saying things he wasn't even sure he meant.

Liam kisses him and it's all worth it, all doubts completely gone as Liam kisses with such passionate, such fire and Mike doesn't bother holding back the moan. He's been stroked and fucked and has come multiple times under Liam's reign, but nothing compares to that.

And it's different than before, is Mike's reasoning, bringing his other hand around to touch Liam's back. He needs to deepen the kiss, he needs to make sure Liam knows how much he loves it. This is all he wanted.

Strange, how a simple kiss can be as intoxicating as drugs. Liam knew what he was doing.

Liam didn't break the kiss as he reached up to take Mike by the wrist. His fingers dug into those delicate tendons, through the rough canvas, as he forced the man's hand away. As he did, he dragged his teeth over Mike's lower lip. Gentle at first, but with increasing pressure until he was just shy of bruising his captive.

Still gripping Mike's wrist, he spoke right against his lips. "You are still incapable of retaining your lesson, even in the middle of your punishment for your last infraction." His eyes were cold again as he leaned back.

Using far more force than was necessary, he shoved that offending arm through the strap, his arms crossed over his stomach. Liam started yanking and tugging the ends of the sleeves, as if he didn't care if he accidently hurt Mike in the process. "I should have known," he said with a sigh. "Using such misleading words to distract me from a very important lesson."

"No no--no," Mike's words are quick even as he's wrenched around, and he finds himself speaking quickly and desperately as Liam bends his arms painfully, like he didn't care.

No, Liam definitely didn't care. Mike had messed up, yet again, with the same thing he's been told not to do multiple times. It was different, he thought, with how gentle, how amazing that kiss was. Mike is losing it. Mike is losing Liam.

"I didn't mean to, I just thought that--we were going somewhere else," He manages. "I thought you understood me, sir, I thought.."

It sounds ridiculous in his throat, but he takes a deep breath.

"I thought that kiss meant something."

Meant something. After everything, did Mike really think a simple kiss could hold some meaning? Was he really so easily led astray by false words? He'd already seen this went deeper than he'd thought, but now he wondered how fundamentally Mike felt all of this. He'd not just broken and rebuilt the junkie, he'd created something new. Something unlike anything he'd done before. It was something he didn't quite know what to do with.

"Oh, it did mean something. But it's you who doesn't understand. Nothing negates the rules I've given you." He yanked hard as he fastened the buckle to hold the sleeves in place. "Nothing. But you can't seem to understand that." Next came broad, canvas straps that fastened around Mike's chest and arms, further trapping them against his body. Each of these were just as rough. "I keep thinking maybe, just maybe I can trust you. But you keep reminding me that a junkie should never be trusted."

He really can't move his arms very well, and he tests them not out of curiousity, but because he's starting to panic. Just a touch, but it's there, and a fraction of it shows on his eyes.

Nothing negates the rules.

He's willingly in a straight jacket, now. Liam's plaything. He feels foolish, but the other's words are still in his ear as he grunts in protest and winces at how tight his arms are and how rough they're being placed.

"I can be trusted," He manages. "I just--I--I get confused," It's the drugs and the pressure, but Mike screws his face up, tight. "I can do whatever you want, I just messed up this time, sir. I just--I fucked it up a little."

It sounds hollow as it escapes his throat.

Liam checks the vital buckles, making sure all of the straps are properly tight. He knows they are, but it adds a little extra emphasis as he tugs at each one. A reminder of just how secure Mike is in this thing. The sight of Mike's panic alone is soothing his irritation. There was such delight in ripping away a solace someone assumed to be a sure thing. Watching them reach for a support that was never there. It leaves them so unbalanced.

"Perhaps after we're done, you'll be less confused." He ran his fingers through Mike's hair, before grasping a handful and forcing his head back. Making Mike look up at him, backward and upside down. "Maybe you'll remember this the next time you try to disobey the rules." Stern, firm, ominous. As if this were Mike's last chance.

Using that grip, he forced Mike's head forward down, so he could access the back of the junkie's neck. He grabbed the belt that was still wrapped around Mike's neck, slowly pulling it tighter while keeping his grip on his hair. "Do you understand?"

His hair is smoothed, and just as Mike closes his eyes to enjoy it he's yanked back. His eyes snap open, staring at Liam upside down, and his breathing is already far more rapid than it should be.

It's fear, he thinks. It's fear and arousal and more feelings he can't understand or control and he wants nothing more than to give up and just withdraw completely. Curling into a blanks space in his head meant it would be over soon, even if it was too early in the game.

This was a game. To Liam, at least.

The belt presses around his neck, slowly, and Mike swears it's inviting, because he loves it, he loves going to that strange place or getting a sense of it and only Liam and Tim know this, both from complete accidents. Liam has to be doing it on purpose, now, and he moves his hips forward, trying to nod.

"Yes sir," He mumbles, but he looks Liam right in the eye. "Yes."

At first, Liam didn't budge. Even with the placating words, he didn't seem satisfied. A tension had settled over his face, as if fighting some internal struggle. A tension that could also be felt in his hands, holding himself back from pulling as hard as he could on the bet. He wanted Mike to think his life could end at any possible moment. That one wrong word could do push him passed that point. The closer to such an edge a person was, the more they panicked. The less able they were to find stable ground upon which to stand.

Then, all at once, he loosened his grip. "Good," was all he said as he started to loosen the belt. Once he pulled it away, he ran his fingers over the red marks left behind, wondering how easily they would bruise.

As soon as he set the bet aside, he started fastening the collar of the jacket. It was a rather high collar for such a thing, mostly leather. The sort of thing that discouraged struggling for all the ways it might shift or press against vital areas. "It seems, however, that you are very much in need of a proper lesson. Something to ensure you behave. Something more...rigid." As he spoke he checked and re-checked the straps. "After this, there will be a three-strike policy. Touch me without express permission three times, and you will be right back here, in one form or another." He leaned close, his breath falling over Mike's ear. "And what is about to happen today will be a preview of any further infractions. Understand?"

His eyes flutter closed, hands soft on his neck. He knows there's marks and is positive there will be bruises. But it felt so nice after the rough treatment, and he's beginning to realize why. He anticipates the pain and associates it not with Liam being cruel, but about it being necessary. He focuses on the soft touches and the rare glimpses of kindness.

After all, it's Mike that fucks up. Liam is just trying to teach him.

The jacket is snug, and he winces as he tries to move once the clasps are all fully done up and double checked. It's difficult, to say the least, and it's also hard to disguise his squirming as anything but uncomfortable. He grunts, barely audible, while Liam talks.

"Three-strike rule," He echoes, to show he understands. He closes his eyes a second time when he feels that hot breath right over his ear, and shifts as the tone goes straight to his cock.

He doesn't want this, he tells himself. And yet here he is, still with erection and waiting on every word. "Understood--sir."

Sir. End everything with sir. He has to remember that, for real. He shifts again, leaning slightly to the left, trying to see if there's any way his shoulder can be a little more comfortable. There's not.

"See, you're already learning," Liam said, holding to that fine line between condescending and approving, without clearly being on either side. He ran his hands briefly through Mike's hair before moving down over the man's neck and shoulders. He squeezed, gentle and firm. A reassuring sort of touch. As if to say he was there for comfort and support.

Liam and learned from a very young age that rewarding people in small but seemingly genuine ways got such better results than simply hurting them all the time. His brother had been his first test subject for these things. After long stretches of yelling at his brother to stop crying, or threatening to hurt him more if he ever told, it was always those seemingly insignificant gestures of kindness that got Billy to do what he wanted. And the more he toyed with that, the better he got at it. He was sure that if even now he could get Billy wrapped around his finger once more, just with a show of relief that his dear brother was still alive.

"We're almost there..." he said softly, right against Mike's ear. His fingers dragged over the man's sides, the touch teasing through the canvas.

He found the very last straps. Two dangling from the front of the coat, made of canvas rather than leather. He reached for the first one by sliding a hand over Mike's backside, his fingers teasing over the crease at the top of his thigh, before snagging the strap. All without touching that needy cock. As he secured the loose end to the back of the jacket, the strap pressed and rubbed in all manner of frustrating ways, and would do so with every shift Mike made inside the jacket. He repeated the process, even slower, with the second strap. Drawing it out as if that final anchoring point was something to be savored.

He let out a slow, unsteady breath that fell just short of a moan, before saying, "there. All done."

It's agony. He can't keep it straight but every touch Liam does to him burns on his skin through the canvas, and Mike is tyring his best to contrl his breathing. To not squirm. He's gotten so much reinforcement from the other--the hand on his shoulders, squeezing. The gentle touches as that voice was in his ear, letting his eyes close and allowing him to fantasize as he ran his hands down Mike's body. He visibly shivers when the hand moves over the top of his thigh, but he keeps it together. He only barely lets out a keening noise as Liam brushes over him and gets almost close to his cock.

It's not better the second time. He's uncomfortable, visibly so, but he exhales loudly through his mouth, as if bracing himself. He is, in a way, because he has no idea what Liam's going to do next.

Moan, apparently--maybe Liam actually didn't, but Mike heard a moan. Mike heard a moan that meant he was doing something to please Liam, which was good. It meant more praise and kind treatment, and a flicker of a smile almost reaches his face.

"It's--it's stiff," he remarks, but it's a comment meant for himself and himself only. It's not a complaint, only an observation, and he tries to straighten up, only to have the confining fabric tug him back over into a half slump.

"What next, sir?" He asks, and that is to Liam as he tries in vain to get situated and comfortable.

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