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

"No," Mike says, and the entire time he's staring enviously at those lips. The fact Liam has his cigarette doesn't bother him at all. It's a reminder of his place, and he's not exactly happy about it, but he understands why. It's a part of Liam.

mike doesn't kid himself, he knows he doesn't know all about Liam and how he works. Sometimes, though, he thinks he knows some of it.

"I wasn't exactly asking about his life story, Liam, I was fucking horny and Tim was there."

Liam just watched Mike, unconcerned, as he took another drag off the cigarette. Those harsh words. Not even an apology for any of it. It had been too long since he'd put Mike properly in his place, that's what this was. It wasn't just a remaining spark of defiance. He'd let his control slip. Mike needed a reminder. Even if he didn't know something didn't mean he could talk like that.

Exhaling the smoke, he dropped the remaining stick in the glass Mike had been using for an ashtray. The thing had barely left his fingers when he twisted around all at once and back-handed Mike hard across the cheek.

Fingers still stinging, he gripped the junkie by the chin, forcing the man to look at him. "What makes you think you have any right to speak to me in such a way?" He knew that letting Mike get comfortable would lead to letting something slip.

Mike was too casual. He knows that now--just because he isn't sure what to say to please Liam doesn't mean he should speak his mind. He's struck and while it's not hard he still tastes copper in his mouth from biting his teeth.

Then his chin was forced upwards and Mike, despite himself, finds his heart beating in his chest. He needs to focus, needs to calm Liam down. He knows how to do it by now unless the other is just looking for a reason, and he has to gauge that.

Despite the pain, he winces through it and speaks: "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry," he apologizes. He's under whether to call Liam master, sir, or just plain Liam, so he keeps that out. Instead, he's yanked towards the other by his chin and winces.

His hands are up in the air, as if he surrenders.

"I just thought I needed to express what was going on in my head," he mumbles quickly, and sends a panicked glance to the door.

Liam's gaze follows Mike's, much slower and much more obviously. A slow drag to the door, then just as slowly back to Mike, an eyebrow lifted. He didn't really need to say anything. That look would say enough. He'd given it to the junkie far too often before. The look that said Mike was treading on very thin ice.

Then again, Liam was always looking for excuses. He did so like breaking this particular plaything.

Maybe Mike twitched, maybe he moved, maybe he didn't. But Liam would say he did. Obvious disobedience would not be tolerated. Still gripping Mike's face, he slid onto the couch, straddling the other's lap. His free hand planted on the couch above Mike's shoulder, trapping him completely. Looming over him, tilting his head to look up at Liam directly.

"You will express yourself properly," Liam hissed.

He'd fucked up. He'd fucked up and he opens his mouth to fix it, to try to turn the situation around. The problem is that some of the stuff that comes out of his mouth, the words--he can't control it.

He does shift, only to angle himself better to explain that he was high and he won't do it again when Liam nestles in himself on top of him. It would be sweet and gentle if the hand wasn't gripping his face and it wasn't Liam.

He has to weigh his options here. Either he can try to defend himself and get Liam angry with something he said, or he could say nothing and get reprimanded for not answering. He goes with trying to talk his way out of it, and tries to hide the trapped feeling in his eyes. He's not sure he succeeds.

"I'm sorry," he says for the second time. "It won't happen again, I swear."

It will, though. Get him high enough and it will. He sniffs, unsure, and it's reflected as he looks up over at the man looming over him. His hands go up, into the air, like he's not armed and he swallows, hard.

"I promise."

Liam lets out a slow breath, seeing that look. There was no hiding it when it was exactly what he'd been looking for. That signal that Mike knew just where this was going. That he knew there was no escape no escape until Liam deemed it so. He did so miss keeping Mike all to himself. He was proud to know he'd gone out in the world in a whole new form than when he'd been taken in. But still, he did not like the idea of Mike enjoying himself with others. It was strange to hold both at once, and yet he did.

His fingers loosened from Mike's face, giving him a moment of reprieve. Well, almost. Those fingers ghosted down over the man's throat, tracing the subtle lines in his skin. Liam remembered just how well Mike had responded to being choked. It had been such a wonderful tool in the beginning. And he wondered if it would be so still.

"You promise...what?" There was that warning tone. There was only one correct response. Could Mike find it?

"I promise to express myself properly," his voice is quick and crisp and it's said as fast as he can. The real problem is he doesn't know. He doesn't know what will help get that tone soothed because he can't read the other's mind.

He knows better than to ask, though, because that gets Liam's ire even more. So he scrambles for what he can use, what he can do and guess and he prays he's right.

Maybe there's more, though. Those fingers on his neck are making his pulse beat faster, the room get warmer, and he brings his hands up, slowly, to Liam's face. "I promise," he repeats, and lifts his lips up so he can kiss the other softly.Try to disarm him.

There were times when such a move from Mike may have diffused the situation. A simple show of subservience, anything to show he wanted to please Liam. But that's not what he was looking for right now. And he showed his displeasure at the wrong answer very firmly.

All at once, he grabbed one of Mike's wrists. Using that and the hand at his throat, he slammed the junkie hard against the back of the couch. The grip on the wrist was almost crushing, but the one at his throat wasn't enough to block his airway. It was only enough to get his attention.

"You've been away too long, Mikey," he said, his tone dark and dangerous. "You've already forgotten." Then a razor sharp edge started to creep into it, "But what else can I expect from a worthless junkie like you?"

Here it comes. Mike half expects to black out because of the hand on his throat but it's not the problem--oh, no. The problem is the look in Liam's eyes, the warning and the fact that as soon as he opens his mouth, Liam is going to say things that cut to his core.

He can already feel his wrist bruising, already feel his hands shaking with the effort of trying to push back. It's useless. He knows it is, but it's still instinctive.

And then Liam says it. 'Mikey,' and 'junkie,' and all of the things that make Mike mad. The worst part is that Liam knows it makes him angry. He's pushing buttons. He wants Mike to step out of line.

Mike's eyes narrow, glaring.

"I haven't forgotten anything. I came here on my own, and I apologized," he tries to explain. "Multiple times. This isn't fair."

It was never about fairness, though, was it?

They were long passed Mike's protest against such things. At least, the obvious, vocal sort. But Liam knew just what nerve he'd struck, and that look confirmed it. Still raw after all this time. Something he could scrape his nails over any time he wanted to get Mike's attention.

"It isn't fair..." Liam repeated, his hand tightening an ominous fraction on Mike's throat. "...that you think it's okay to bed anyone you wish." He leaned closer, those ice blue eyes at point-blank range. "That you assume I'd just give you more pills because you gave yours away..."

He let go of Mike's wrist, to instead push his fingers through the man's hair. "But what's truly unfair," His fingers closed into a tight fist, forcing the man's head back against the couch. "Is that I allow you to wander, and already you've forgotten to call me 'sir'." On that word, snarled with his distaste for Mike's behavior, he started to squeeze. The junkie had precious seconds to rectify his mistake before he lost the ability to breathe.

He'd fucked up. Mike always fucks up, it seems--every time. Even this. It was all Mike could do, it seemed, just constantly make mistakes.

Had he been sober, he would haven known it was going to happen. Had he been sober he would have anticipated it. He isn't, though--he never is anymore. Liam's eyes are close and glaring and his head is pressed against the back of the ratty couch thanks to the other's hand. Liam keeps talking and starts squeezing and Mike's entire body lifts, desperate.

The sad part is that he likes it. He loves it, and fear is mixing with his usual dose of opiates. It's also mixing with the fact that he's being choked, squeezed and he smells rain, eyes shut tightly, before he chokes it out:

"Sir," He coughs. "Sir--I didn't call you sir," He manages, though his face is already turning red, veins showing just near his temple as Liam squeezes. His hips buck again, instinctual.

He can't concentrate on what the other actually said: that he shouldn't have wandered, shouldn't have slept with anyone. Shouldn't have used the pills despite thinking Liam would be proud of him.

It won't happen again, he wants to say, but his eyes screw shut and he swears he sees a field.

Liam was incredibly proud of Mike, there was no denying that. But pride and jealousy were like a viper in one hand and a mongoose in the other. If he didn't keep them far apart, they'd tear each other apart. He was proud that he'd influenced the junkie so profoundly that he sougt to spread it to others in every way possible. A completely unintended side effect. He was impressed and curious, wanting to know what would cause such a strange shift. He'd never seen it before, and doubted he would ever see it again. Mike was, in a word, unique.

Perhaps that was why Liam decided to let up before consciousness could fade. He needed to know. In one way or another. Just what made Mike tick. And he couldn't figure that out if the man couldn't breathe. And those bucking hips certainly gave him ideas.

All at once, he let go of Mike's thoat. He didn't just loosen his grasp, but he pulled his hand away completely. All so he could grab Mike's free hand and pin that to the couch as well. He shifted his position slightly, his own hips pressing down firmly against Mike's. Chest against chest. Pinning him completely.

"Now..." Liam said, his tone ominous and warning, his lips close enough to Mike's to feel his breath. "Why don't you try that again, Mikey."

If this was before he'd gotten used to anything, he'd be ashamed, but he's too high and the feelings are too intense--Liam lets go of his neck and he coughs, careful to angle his face away from the other, skin red and eyes feeling puffy. That feeling around his neck, the sensation of how everything tingles and goes black, then that smell and the images and the pleasure.

Even before he'd met Liam, he got off on choking himself sometimes. This just sped up the process, and he's already half hard with Liam on top of him, both of his hands pinned behind him. Liam's lips are close--so close--and Mike leans forward as much as he can to try to catch them.

Liam knew it. Every single weakness, from getting angry when he called him Mikey to loving the feeling of being touched while choked. The only other person who knew that was Tim, and that had been an accident--he hadn't planned to tell anyone.

He's warring with himself, precisely because of 'mikey,' but he can get out a glare as he's breathing heavily.

"I'll word things better," he manages. "Sir." And he spits the last word out, as if it were poison.

Liam moved back, ensuring that Mike couldn't catch his lips. Not without his permission. A lesson he'd taught long ago.

The acid in that word makes Liam narrow his eyes. Pride and jealousy were set aside. They didn't matter right now, because Mike didn't deserve either. He'd shown that, now. Liam had gotten ahead of himself. Put too much value on something that was still a work in progress. Something that still needed to be trained.

"Will you?" He said, sounding less than pleased. "Or do you need to be taught..." he dipped his head ever so slightly, letting his lips brush over Mike's. "...how to watch your mouth." He thought of that first day with Mike. He hadn't used that metal gag much after that, but perhaps it was just the reminder the junkie needed.

"I will," Mike says and it's almost above a whisper. He leans forward again, wanting desperately to kiss the other. His lips are right there and Mike just knows somehow that if he kisses the other he can be convinced and this can turn into something else.

He's pinned, though, and his hips rise up with need. He doesn't want to be taught how to watch his mouth, he wants those hands on his neck again--or a belt, or rope, or anything--while Billy kisses him. Touches him.

He no longer things of escaping, no longer thinks it's twisted. It's Liam, and Mike doesn't love Liam, but he's learned to depend on Liam. Including stuff like this.

"I'll be good, sir," He promises, voice breathy and rough from the choking. He wants those lips back on his. "I'll be good."

Liam moves his head with Mike's, never letting their lips touch any further. The faintest smile tugs onto Liam'ss lips at that promise, almost amused. He didn't want Mike to be good. He wanted Mike to struggle and fight back, to mess up and provide excuses to punish him. Really, truly punish him. The sort of things that left him shivering and panting and unable to move. Whether restrained or simply too exhausted.

But to be effective, he couldn't jump to that right away.

"You say that..." Liam said with a dangerous tone as he leaned back a little further, "and yet you can't seem to sit still." His hips rocked against Mike's, grinding down in the other man's lap. "Do you need to be taught how, again?" A lesson he was desperate to re-teach.

"No," Mike assures, but Liam's hips moving, grinding against him--he feels like he has no control over himself. His hips buck up anyway and all he wants to do is kiss the other, all he wants to do is get something happening. His wrists struggle against Liam pinning him down, but the junkie never wins. He knows he never wins, but he tries anyway.

"I remember," he murmurs, and the next sentence is almost a whisper as his hips move again, trying desperately not to groan. It fails. "I just want--I want this, I want you to touch me," his words are coming out in a rush, unable to stop himself. "I want this with you and Tim and Billy, please--let me kiss you." His next words Are a whisper. "Let me kiss you, sir."

Liam finds himself torn. He longed to drag Mike down to the basement, or upstairs. Anywhere that wasn't the living room. Anywhere there was something he could strap Mike to and keep him there for days on end. Exhaust him. Break him all over again. That time spent with Mike was something Liam would relive over and over on his nights alone. But he couldn't keep Mike, not for long. He needed Mike to go get those two for him, so he could know for sure. So he could see what was so special about this Tim.

Those words, however, sway him. Begging so easily sent a shiver down Liam's spine. It was less that he wanted to give Mike what he wanted and more that he wanted to hear the man beg further. Hear true desperation in his words.

"If I give you want you want..." he nudged at Mike's lips with his own, without actually kissing him, "....right now...you'll owe me." An especially hard grind of his hips punctuated the emphasis. "If I just give it to you, then you haven't earned it, have you?"

"I've earned it!" Mike thinks quickly--or as quickly as he can for someone in his predicament. He wants the love without the pain--they'd been doing so good before, so perfect before he fucked up. This is his chance to save it. This is his chance to play it.

"I've earned it," his voice is quieter, a little more level even though he moans as Liam grinds against him. "Tim. Tim--Tim is a US Marshal. He's--he's addicted to your stuff now. That makes him yours. That makes him yours, and I'm the one that did it."

His breath is shaky, because he's not sure how this is going to play out. It's a gamble: either Liam likes the news because he can use it, or he gets into shit for being stupid enough to get a cop. He can avoid the fact that he's a CI, he knows he can. Just claim Tim is undercover.

Now that gave him pause. He didn't have much dealings with marshals, it was usually locals and the feds that he tangled with. Were marshals even something he'd need to worry about? He didn't even know off hand what sort of things they covered. It could be a set up, if they were anything like the FBI. Faking it to get close to someone, use that someone to get close to him. He wouldn't put it passed Mike to be stupid enough to fall into that trap while high.

Liam needed to assess this issue properly, on neutral ground, where he could figure out the marshal's angle. He let go of one of Mike's wrists, his fingers returning to the man's throat. Just lightly curling his fingers around it for now. By contrast, the slow grind of his hips was bordering on brutal.

"Tell me, Mikey, how did you hook up with this marshal?" His tone was guarded, and obviously so. Dangerously calm. Neither pleased nor angry.

The fingers on his throat make him shiver, and visibly, too. Between that grinding on his hips, heavy and hot on his hard cock, he's still unsure. He know he has to play his cards right.

He knows he has to do something, because that was information he hadn't even planned to slip out--but Liam was so, so good at getting what he wanted. Even if he resisted. He still wants to resist, too. Still wants to fight back.

"In hotel rooms," he says carefully, though he knows exactly what Liam's fishing for. He needs to buy himself a bit more time, but there's that small fire in his eyes--the one that normally denotes he's working on something in his head. A plan, maybe, or something else.

His free hand reaches out and touches Liam's face, soft and gentle, like how he likes it when Liam does it. He strokes the other's jaw.

"It's okay," he assures, and tries some of the things Tim's done to Billy that he remembers. "It's going to be fine. He doesn't know anything, he's hooked on the pills and I know--I know they're good, because they're yours. I just wanna show him, a little bit. Like you showed me."

That fire in Mike's eyes was answered with something in Liam's that could burn just as easy, but it was bitterly cold. He was growing less and less happy by the moment. Mike may have returned on his own, might be spreading it all to others without being asked, but he was far from being obedient. But Mike was only ever obedient when he'd been beaten down and existed in a state of sheer desperation. Whether it was withdrawal, hunger, lust, or anything Liam had cooked up. No matter what he did, outside of dire circumstances, Mike always held on to the smallest spark of resilience. Of stubbornness. Always trying to buck whatever Liam was doing.

It infuriated and delighted him all at once. He could never crush it, no matter how hard he tried. But he could keep doing it, over and over.

In one firm stroke, he knocked Mike's hand from his face. In another, he slapped Mike as hard as he could at such close range across the cheek. And finally, he wrapped his fingers in a fistful of the man's hair and forced his head hard against the back of the couch. He let go of Mike's wrist finally, his hand shoving into his pocket. There was a brief flash, something akin to curiosity, his eyes flashing down to his hand. To cover this, his hips rolled against Mike's, hard, his entire body moving with it. "That's what I meant, and you know it," he growled. "How did you first meet him. Give me a straight answer, Mikey, or..." He pulled out the cause of the glance. A shiny metal cock ring he'd used on the man many times before. He held it up for Mike to see, before tapping him on the nose with it. "...we start to have some real fun."

He said something wrong. What, he doesn't know, but it was wrong and he knows that a fraction of a second after he gets slapped in the face. His entire body jerks as he faces the other way, forcefully staring at the hallway to the kitchen. He barely has a chance to peel his eyes off of it to look at Billy before his hair is grabbed and the back of his head hits the back of the couch. He's grateful that it's not the wall.

"Li--" Liam grinds his hips and the name dies in Mike's throat. He moves with it, erection throbbing, and he tries not to whimper. Liam is saying things, growling warning words from his mouth.

"Drugs," Mike starts to say as soon as he sees the cock ring. He remembers what felt like hours on end, not being able to come, even if he wanted to. Even with Liam touching and fucking him, even though his whole body was shaking.

"He arrested me for drugs, way before I met you." It's the truth. A straight answer, or what comes close enough to one that it satisfied Liam. "Oxy. Pot--I was working for a guy named Odin." Still sort of is.

"Odin...Rossi?" The astonishment in his voice was genuine. Perhaps the first truly genuine reaction out of him in their time together. There wasn't a criminal in the city that didn't at least know the name. Liam had thought him to be the stuff of legend or myth. A bogey man to scare all the little street rats into behaving. Liam had received many warnings about Odin when he'd started to set up his little operation. But as long as he stayed out of the heroin business, he had no reasons to cross paths with the king pin.

Then how the fuck did he end up with one of the legend's lackeys on a leash? It meant a number of things. The most likely was that Mike was fucking with him, twisting the truth. Another was that this was all a set up, but could a junkie survive undercover work like that? And finally, if it were true, either it actually was past tense or Odin didn't give a fuck about his lackeys.

"Oh, I've heard stories about him. He's a very bad man. No wonder you were so rough with Kelly. It couldn't have been easy working with someone like that." He sounded almost sympathetic. He dropped the ring into his hand, catching it with his little finger so he could cup the side of Mike's face. A gentle counterpart to the hand in his hair. "Is he who got you hooked in the first place?"

"Odin Rossi," Mike confirms, and confusion moves across his face. He's not sure if Liam is edging towards reward or punishment, and he's not sure how he should react. That, in and of itself, is terrifying.

He's given up on getting anything kinky or advice on how to get it--never mind he can't afford it. He just wants his medication and to go home. His skull is throbbing thanks to the hold on his hair, though, but the stroking of his cheek is encouraging.

He just wishes he knew what Liam wanted.

"No. I mean--I don't know." And it's the honest truth. "I worked with him before, uh--with a bunch of others, before I got hospitalized." An that pretty much started his sharp, sharp decline into oxy.

Tagging while waiting for the couple.

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