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

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.

"Oh, yes. I've seen the scars," Liam remarked, leaning closer again. He'd drawn quite a bit attention to those scars without ever uttering a word. His little way of saying he could probably guess where the habit came from. It was so common. And he did so like how Mike squirmed when he ran his tongue over those slashes on his abdomen.

Liam was torn between punishment and reward. Because he didn't know which way to trust on this. Did Mike come back because he was truly owned, or had Odin forced him back? If the former was the truth, this was the best news he'd ever heard. If the latter was true, he had for more to worry about than he'd ever thought possible.

He needed a test. Something to reveal Mike's true intentions. But for now, he finally closed that kiss. Hard and deep, crushing against Mike's lips with bruising force. But it didn't last long. Barely a few heartbeats. He dragged his lips away, head bowing, as he shook it.

"Oh...Mikey..." He sounded so troubled, like he were conflicted and worried for the man. His hand finally let go of Mike's hair, fingers dragging over his cheek. "You really..." He lifted his head, his face showing that same conflicted note from his voice. "Really." All at once his face shifted, becoming harder, irritated and angry, as he gripped Mike's chin hard. "Should have told me sooner." His tone matched, forced and incredibly unhappy.

He kisses back, almost immediately. It's hard and full of need and want; unable to stop himself or how desperate he is. It bruises his lips, but Mike doesn't care. This is what he wants. This is what he needs.

It's over and it's not quite teasing but it's not enough and Mike moves his head up to follow before catching himself. It's not like he has time, anyway, because those fingers are dragging down his face and Mike's heart is hammering in his chest.

Fuck. That tone of voice tells him everything else, and he can't meet his gaze as fingers grab his chin. His tone isn't immediately apologetic, but that's because the other called him Mikey.

Again.

"It wasn't pertinent to getting oxy," he states quietly.

Liam's fingers dig hard against Mike's cheeks. He forces the man's head back against the couch as he shifts his own position, looming over him and staring directly down at the junkie's face. He seems to make no attempt to hide just how angry he is, knowing how much it would scare Mike in the end. Fear was wonderful at loosening tongues.

"But it was pertinent to everything else." He gave Mike's face a jerk, emphasizing his words even further. "But I don't expect a junkie like you to ever understand the ramifications of what we've done." His free hand moved down between them, angrily tugging at the other's belt, fumbling to get it free. "Did you think you could just keep hiding information like that from me?"

What we've done? The words are spinning, mostly because Mike is simply staring at Liam. He's not quite frozen, but that belt comes off and unsure, unsteady hands move to the other's shoulders. He's not sure if he should push or pull Liam closer.

"If--If I wanted to use it against you," because that's surely what Liam entails, "I would have mentioned it sooner--he ditched me, it's not even an issue!"

There it is. Panicked. Half angry because the word 'junkie' came over Liam's lips and his ears are burning. He swallows, hard, and the hands on Liam's shoulders move to grab his wrists.

"I don't work for him anymore. That's why I was after Kelly."

That tone sparked something vicious within Liam. The implied threat didn't help matters. It shown in his face, a flare of intense anger unlike anything he'd shown before. However, the panic and the mention of being ditched did help Mike's case, but it wasn't clear yet. The junkie could be playing him.

It was the grab for his wrists that sparked him to action. His movements were lightning quick, far more speed and force than he'd ever really needed to use before. The sort of movements that belied his former training. Smooth and graceful but brutal and efficient. The belt was ripped free from Mike's pants, dragged around his neck and cinched tight. Both of Mike's wrists clapped firmly together, the free end of the belt wrapped firmly around them. It was far from permanent as he needed to keep hold of the last remaining end to keep it in place, but it was more to make a point. It was done in a matter of seconds.

"If you wanted to use it against me?" He repeated Mike's statement, daring him to try again. Warning him against any mis-steps.

He never knows how Liam does it. Never knows how the other can move so quickly, so goddamn swiftly each and every time Mike doesn't even realize he's fucked up until it's too late.

The belt on his neck, though. He can feel the leather biting in and he tips his head back, grunting, trying desperately to think of something other than the compromising position. With Liam, this was all perfectly normal, but there's still some amount that Mike can't get used to. Liam is unpredictable, and he knows all of Mike's weak points by now.

His hands are less of a problem but it's more to prove a point, Mike suspects, though his heart is hammering in his chest and he already looks partially worried.

"I wouldn't--" His voice is quick and clipped and he grunts, low in his throat. His legs have spread a little wider, sheer conditioning making him do it unconsciously, and he flexes his fingers, testing the belt.

"I wouldn't. I won't--I'd never." He's not even sure what he can say to quell the other.

Liam's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his jaw flexing as he grit his teeth together. All a show of how irate he was, how this would not calm him. But he was carefully weighing Mike's responses. What each of them meant. The implied threat, no matter how accidental it had been, was rather damning. But the way he reacted, spreading his legs wider, immediately swearing it wouldn't happen, did help a little.

But still, he wasn't convinced either way. He'd been doing so well for so long. How did he go this long without seeing any sign that Mike had once been one of Odin's lackeys? The obvious answer was that Mike was full of shit. Maybe he'd been dealing and briefly encountered the legend. Or was part of the network that distributed the legend's goods but never even encountered him.

After a moment of irritated contemplation, he moved again. He unwound the belt from Mike's wrists, wrapping it around his own hand as he backed off the couch. He used that grip to drag Mike up, but no higher than chest level. "You'd never what?" he demanded, still warning and rife with tightly controlled anger.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Mike's tongue darts out to wet dry lips, feeling the bruises and the how swollen they are just from kissing the other. He sees that look and if Mike can pride himself on anything, it's reading Liam fairly well.

His pride had left him a long, long time ago, though. Probably around the third month.

He's being pulled, neck constricted as he's half-sitting half-standing up, but he doesn't want to complain or even think to try to sit back down or stand tall. These are the moments that scare him--when he can't figure out what Liam wants him to do.

"I'd never sell you out. Never use Odin against you--sir." It's said with so much haste he's half tripping over his words, and he looks up and directly at Liam, eyes narrowed not because he's full of malice, but because he's trying to figure out what the other wants.

The most frustrating part is that either way, Mike will lose.

Liam continued to hold him there. He gripped the belt tighter as Mike stammered through the promises, the leather creaking in his hand. All it would take was a hand on the man's shoulder and a bit more pressure to make him stop talking. Because as Liam knew well, words were flimsy. He needed proof. Solid, undeniable proof that Mike was loyal to him and him alone.

That narrowing of Mike's eyes made him react very immediately. He jerked down with the belt, to direct the man to his knees with slamming force.

"You're going to prove it. First here. Then again tomorrow night." He started unfastening his own belt. "Do well tonight, and you'll leave here without anything to guarantee your return." He'd threatened Mike with a cage more than once, but had yet to actually use it.

He's been through this before, at least, and as his knees hit the floor he winces but doesn't make a single noise. It's something he's used to.

They're getting somewhere. He thinks they're getting somewhere--it's progression, not fucking limbo, and at this point Mike will take that over anything. The other starts unfastening his belt and Mike has to wonder if he wore his own subconsciously or not. Maybe he wanted this to happen.

That's what Liam would probably say. He swears not to bring too much attention to it. Besides, he has something to concentrate on. Surviving.

"Okay," His voice is soft, though that's because of the belt around his neck. "I'll do well." It's as close to a promise as he can get, still on his knees, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "I swear I wouldn't do anything to compromise what we--what you--have."

Liam stopped, hand on the button of his jeans. It wasn't what Mike said this time, it was what he neglected to say. He was more than happy to move this along, but his little captive couldn't seem to control his mouth.

His hand left his jeans, grabbing a fistful of Mike's unruly locks. He dragged Mike's head back, staring down at him. He no longer looked angry. He didn't even look disappointed. He just looked completely and utterly fed up. That was also reflected in his voice. "If you continue to neglect addressing me as Sir, I'll give you that little...gift right now and force you to endure it until tomorrow."

But now that he'd seized on the idea, he was just looking for an excuse. He'd been looking for one for a while for this particular torment. The idea of Mike going out in the world, still completely and physically owned. Forced to return just to achieve some measure of relief, or else facing dire consequences. But it was severe enough that Mike had yet to actually reach the threshold of misbehavior to warrant it.

"You've avoided the need for any sort of cage until now. You don't want to change that by being careless, do you?"

Oh, God. Liam freezes and so Mike does, too, deer in headlights as he looks briefly panicked. Sir.

Sir, he always forgets sir. He doesn't know why but he has to remember, he's been trained, Liam has made Mike aware of it and Mike knows he's supposed to say it all the time but he keeps forgetting and now it's going to get him even worse punishment. If he thinks too hard about it he fucks up, if he goes just by instinct he fucks up, and he can't find a happy medium. He's never been able to find a happy medium.

Mike, coming down from his eye, squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can and until he sees spots before opening them once more and speaking. He does not want a cage--he does not want a reminder of Liam. Doesn't want Tim to notice, or Billy to see.

"I don't, sir," he breathes once he seems to have collected himself, and he opens his eyes to look not at Liam, but slightly below his gaze, unable to make proper eye contact. "I don't want to be careless at all, sir. I... I want to apologize for running my mouth." A pause. "Sir."

If he says it enough, he won't forget it. Not again.

For a moment, nothing about Liam shifted. He just continued staring down at Mike, holding him by the hair and the makeshift leash. Another opportunity ruined. For now. Oh, but it thrilled him to think of it. Of Mike so completely trapped that he couldn't even get hard. Hurting and aching any time his body tried to betray him. Squirming and begging for release while being teased or fucked hard. But then there was also the idea of an actual cage. He did have one. The sort made to hold a large dog. The very idea of locking Mike up in that iron box thrilled him. He'd not taken the cage to the warehouse, but here they could explore so many new things.

Finally, Liam's hand left the other's hair, moving down to caress his cheek. "That's better..." he said, but he still didn't sound entirely pleased. "But I'm still not convinced you know how to make your tongue behave."

As he spoke, he finally unfastened his jeans. He tugged them open and down around his thighs, but didn't touch his snug boxer briefs. Despite all of his irritation and scolding, he was still incredibly hard. Both from grinding against Mike on the couch and just thinking of ways to punish the man. He tugged the belt, dragging Mike closer. "So you're going to prove it."

It's better. It's better, and Mike clings to those words because he's doing something right--he remembers a time where he'd flat out tell Liam to go fuck himself, and for a brief moment, he considers it before the death grip on his hair is released and he lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. The leather around his neck feels fucking amazing, and he can't kid himself anymore. He likes it. He likes the feel but more importantly he likes the way it fits, leaving him unsure what the other's going to do. He hates it at the same time, but he's almost come to terms with that sort of duality.

Use his tongue. He's done that before, more than once, and he wets his lips as the other's pants finally go down and those snug boxer briefs are revealed. Liam has a boner, large and ready, and Mike glances down.

He should be ashamed--he has one, too, aching and ready for him to start jerking himself off. He has half a mind to start but he realizes he needs to be good. He needs to prove it. That tug on the makeshift leash is a reminder and he breathes heavily through his nose.

This shouldn't be hot. He should be disgusted. He should try to run. And yet? He's shifting to better accommodate his own dick before he opens his mouth and licks the other's cock through the fabric. It tastes weird and dry in his mouth but he forces spit to the front, lips wrapping around the side of Liam's cock and moving from side to side, tongue swiping at the fabric.

Liam let out a soft sound of approval, brushing his fingers through Mike's hair. Such a beautiful change from where they'd been so long ago. It was so much easier to get Mike to do as he should now, even if it was still something of a struggle. The only regret was that now he had so few reasons to push Mike to tears. The memory of those desperate, terrified tears from those early dies kept Liam company on so many nights.

He kept a firm grip on the belt, holding Mike as close and firm as he could without choking him outright. Though if the junkie tried to pull back at all, he wouldn't allow him the slack to do so and any choking would be his own fault.

"You've learned so well," Liam said, continuing to stroke Mike's hair. "And you've come so far from when we began. No more need for ring gags." He almost sounded disappointed, but still proud in a way. Mild praise, at the very least. "If only you learned so well in other areas."

There's only so much a druggie can retain, and as smart as he can be and how he manages to play other people is a mystery at this point. Sometimes, even to him--with the addition of Liam his habit got worse, and he's dangerously spiraling out of control with the addition of Tim and now Billy.

God, they looked similar. That thought was yanked out of his mind as Liam strokes his hair, soft and gentle with a lull in his voice. No more need for ring gags. He was behaving. He was being good, he reminds himself, and his saliva soaks through the fabric of Liam's underwear as he sucks along the exposed parts of his dick, right through the fabric.

For a minute, he thinks he misses them, the feel of being left at Liam's mercy. If only because the end of all of the torture was always more pills and more often than not a pat on the head. He brings his hands up to the other's waist, tugging at the underwear without even thinking about it.

Liam didn't utter any further praise, but he did made soft, satisfied sounds as Mike worked. As much as he missed those tears, this more than made up for it. He'd taken the man who insisted he wasn't gay and taught him how to properly handle a cock with his mouth. It wasn't a perfect trade, but it was as close as he could get.

But then he felt those hands at his waist, trying to remove his underwear.

Without so much as a verbal warning, he snapped up with the belt, making it tight enough to restrict the man's breathing somewhat, and dragging him back to chest level. This time, Liam leaned closer, fury burning bright in his eyes. "Did I give you permission to touch me with anything but your mouth?" Despite the fire in his gaze, his words are dangerously calm, strictly controlled.

Mike hates that he loves this--hates that he's doing this and he's getting off on it, jaw tight, and the mix of confusing feelings is normal for him at this point. It's enough to drive anyone nuts if he didn't have the comforting numbness of oxy.

He'd fucked up, though. The belt snaps up and he gasps sharply at the small intake of air being taken away, just a bit. His cock responds in turn, and he tries to ignore his erection; tries to ignore everything he doesn't like about this situation. He can focus on the good. He has to.

"I was trying to please you, sir," He explains but his tone is far more defiant than anything. He's frustrated, and it shows. From his internal monologue right down to the fact that he's back to square one without realizing it.

If it had not been for that tone, Liam may have let it slide with nothing more than a warning. But he could not ignore the defiance with which Mike addressed him. He pulled up a little more on the belt and leaned just a little closer. Their faces were inches apart. That anger seemed to cool, his gaze becoming hard as steel.

"You know better than to act without asking for permission. Especially when you've been told to use nothing but your mouth."

He stood up straight again, still gripping the belt hard. "It seems a lesson is in order. One to help your hands behave."

Turning on his heel, he dragged Mike as he headed for the stairs. He started running through what he had stashed up there. He doubted Mike was flexible enough for a reverse prayer tie, though that would be the most effective lesson. But rope may not be enough. This called for other materials. Mitts, perhaps? No, more secure. Could the arm binder accommodate those biceps? As he reached the top of the stairs, he already knew what needed to be used. Something he'd been saving for a special occasion, and this seemed to be the right time.

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