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

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.

He doesn't think he's ever been to the top of the floor. He can't even remember if he'd been here before, with how muddled his mind had been lately. Difficult doesn't quite begin to describe it.

He's pissed Liam off. He knows he has but he's getting frustrated again, and as much as he knows not to get irritated or show his anger--or any emotion other than compliance--to Liam, he's done it anyway. It's not a case of the drugs this time, it's the case of Mike being probably one of the most stubborn people in the universe.

Being dragged is undignified, and so is stooping so he doesn't choke himself, but he'll do it. He'll do it with minimal protest, despite his heart hammering in his chest. He regrets his cock is hard, too, but there's not a lot he can do as he grabs the railing to steady himself from a particular nasty stumble.

"I hoped you'd make an exception, sir." No harm in reasoning. "To help get you off."

Liam swiveled to stare down at Mike as they reached the top of the stairs. That fire had returned to his eyes, brighter and fiercer than ever. He really had let Mike stray too far too long if he thought speaking like that was ever appropriate behavior.

"You've been making a great many assumptions about what I'd like, Mikey." He took Mike by the shoulder, gripping him firmly and half pushing back. All while pulling hard on the belt. Not choking the man yet, but threatening to. Holding him between choking or shoving him down the stairs.

"And it's becoming rather dangerous to your health."

Something shifts in Liam's eyes and Mike opens his mouth, though he's not sure whether to gasp or speak. He finds he can't do either right away because he's being half-pushed back, and his hands desperately try to grab the railing. It takes him a few scared gropes, eyes wide, and he doesn't trust Liam's hands.

He doesn't trust Liam.

Liam is giving him a warning, giving him a talking to, and Mike is trying. Really trying, but his perception is off and his emotions are off and he's spent too much time thinking that he and Liam were on some sort of shared level, like they had some sort of bond. He's not sure they do anymore, and, shaking, he's amazed at how steady his voice is eve if the fear is evident in his voice.

"I don't know what you want! I don't know--how to fix whatever.. Whatever--I want to to trust me, but every time I try I'm fucking up."

Mike's first mistake was assuming they could ever be even close to equal. He would be subservient to Liam always, no matter what else might change. And Liam apparently needed to drive that point home. At least now Mike was afraid, as he should be.

"What I want is for you to do as I've taught you." There was tension in his voice. Combined with the tightening grip on Mike's shoulder, it showed just how hard he was fighting the urge to just shove the man and be done with this all. Or at least that's what he wanted Mike to assume. He liked seeing the man tremble.

But finally, he hauled Mike away from the stairs more by the belt than his shoulder. Instead of pushing him down the stairs, he was shoved hard to the floor in the general direction of the hallway. "I'll never trust you, so stop trying. A junkie like you shouldn't be trying for things so complex. Make it easier. Simply do as you're told."

He roughs involuntarily from the yank to the belt and as Liam pushed him down he barely catches his feet from underneath him. HE straights up in time to grab the part where his belt is on him, curling around his neck, and shakes his head, nearly stumbling backwards.

It's hard to remain calm when he can sense the tension in the other's voice. The strained quality to it. Especially after he was almost chucked down the stairs. He's breathing heavily through his nose, looking at the other as he backs up as much as he can. He's well aware that Liam is herding him, but unable to do anything about it.

Junkie. He was just a junkie, wasn't he? An oxy addicted idiot--Mikey, they oxy junkie. No one would miss him. No one cares enough.

"I want to help you, sir." He states and he's amazed at how soft it is, how desperate. "I know I'm..." He's frustrated, and at one of his low points, so he just goes ahead and says it. "I know I'm a worthless junkie but I can help you, sir, I can do so much if you'll let me.."

Liam did not look pleased. Still Mike couldn't listen to simple reason. He just needed to shut his mouth and do as he was told. Simple, really. Well, actually it was something of a struggle for Liam to not show how much he liked this. For a worthless junkie, Mike was incredibly resilient. Left to wander, he comes back almost as stubborn and difficult as he'd been at the very start. It meant Liam got to break him all over again. But he couldn't let on to that. He had to keep the junkie scared.

Grabbing a fistful of Mike's hair, Liam shoved him hard against the wall. His other arm pressed across his shoulders, forcing him face-first against the solid surface. He leaned hard against the man, pressing his body against his back.

"What did I just say, hm?" He growled against Mike's ear. "Stop trying. You just said it, you're worthless. Meaning you offer nothing. You exist for me to use and for no other reason. Do I make myself clear, or should we go to the basement instead?" It wasn't the same as where he'd kept Mike before, but it was incredibly similar.

Mike wanders, and Mike gets ideas in his head. All it took as some careful wording and he's got the marshal's office against the Crowders and have the Bennett family looming in the wings. He can orchestrate that, and while it's not easy he seems to do it almost effortlessly.

He knows he can't trick Liam into anything--from the bottom of his heart. But he didn't think that he wouldn't be able to actually talk his way out of something. He should know better. Liam has the upper hand, Liam always has the upper hand and as his face is brutally slammed into the wall he's reminded of that.

He grunts, and Billy leans forward. Mike can feel his erection against his back, can feel it, and some sick and twisted part of him wants Liam to just fuck with him and be done instead of all this.

He needs to stop trying. Mike needs to shut his busy little mind off, needs to keep himself from doing anything. Liam hisses in his ear and he murmurs inaudibly at it, a small noise in the back of his throat until the other mentions basements. The basement of the warehouse comes to mind immediately, and he tenses up completely, trying to shake his head as much as he can.

He's outright panicking.

"No--no, no no no no no, no. I'll be good, I'll be good--not the basement. Not the basement, sir."

"That's what I thought," Liam said, sounding rather amused suddenly. Though part of him wished for an excuse to move down there. It's where some of his heavier equipment lived. Then again, he hadn't quite let go of the idea of sticking Mike in a cage. Curled up, unable to wander. Gagged and cuffed, unable to forget his place. But that was something he'd need to save for another time.

Using the grip on Mike's hair, he hauled the man off the wall. His other hand found the belt again, twisting it around so the buckle was at the back of his neck. With both of these, he steered Mike toward the room at the end of the hall. What most people would have used as a guest bedroom in a properly set up house.

This room was possibly the nicest in the house. It wasn't exactly pretty, with the paper taped over the windows and the marks that the house wasn't maintained properly. But it was clean. The focal point was a wrought iron four-post bed. Liam didn't direct Mike to it, instead forced the junkie to his knees near the foot of it. "You're not going to try anything stupid if I let go, are you?"

"No sir," He manages to get out once he's shoved near the foot of it. He still has fight and resilience, but he knows not to try to escape. One of the very many dichotomies he's learned under Liam's tutelage.

He's breathing and trying to keep it steady, an in and out that tries to calm himself. It's not working because he's eyeing that cage.

Liam's watching, though. Liam's probably fucking watching him and counting on him to mess up. It sends a shot of panic to him and he forces his gaze onto the bed, licking already swollen lips. He won't try anything stupid. He's past that.

After a moment of consideration, Liam slowly released his grip on the belt. He left it still cinched around Mike's neck, perhaps a reminder to behave. A necessary one since the door remained wide open. A test of Mike's will to stay. A test of his loyalty. Any man, especially a junkie, merely playing at being loyal to such a sadistic man would bolt at the first possible opening. And here it was. Liam moved away from Mike, his back turned. Nothing held the junkie there, no chains this time.

Liam ran his fingers over the cage as he passed it. It was a very serious affair, a box made entirely of iron. From the door hung a large pad lock. He lingered, briefly, looking down through the bars on the top, the faintest smile on his lips. Eventually Mike would fuck up and require such treatment. Perhaps he already had. Wandering far and finding new conquests without permission. Maybe if--when--he was able to get Tim back here, Mike could watch his new boyfriend being bound and violated from this particular vantage point. Perhaps even spend the night there.

Turning that idea over he moved over to the closet and tugged open the door. Inside hung a wide array of items, mostly of harsh black leather. The door itself held a rack full of all manner of straps, arranged in so many different ways. He flicked through the items hanging on the bar, some of them too strict to use just yet, to select one that stood out a bit from the rest. Rather than black leather it was white canvas. A jacket that practically bristled with brown leather straps.

He turned to Mike, inspecting the garment and his captive. "I think this is about your size..." He remarked, lifting one of the long sleeves.

The cinched belt, even though it's not tight, is enough to keep him excited and alert. He's not going to move, and the thought doesn't even cross his mind.

This is what it comes down to. He's a worthless junkie, Liam has made sure that's embedded into his brain. He shifts, nervous, and finds himself licking his lips apprehensively as Liam and his narrow hips move to the closet. He's never really been up here, or if he was he was so out of it he can't remember. That isn't exactly unheard of.

Straps and he swears he sees a whip or something there, and the only time he takes his eyes off of the closet is to look, worried, at the cage. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like anything here.

He almost--almost--wishes he was in the basement.

His gaze snaps back when the other speaks, and the confusion on his face is evident.

"Is that a straightjacket?"

As Liam moved away from the closet, he left it standing wide open, leaving a full view of everything on display inside. Whips, crops, canes, paddles. A whole array of striking implements. Blindfolds, gags, hoods. Several varieties of harnesses. There were leather shops with smaller selections that what was contained in that closet.

"It is," Liam said, flicking an imaginary bit of dust off the canvas. "And it's yours until I decide otherwise." He looked up at Mike, his face unreadable beyond it's sternness.

When he spoke again it was a single word, but it carried with it incredible amounts of authority. Stern and severe. The sort of tone that expected to be obeyed. He simply said, "strip."

He's apprehensive about it. Apprehensive and he doesn't like it and it shows on his face, clear as ever, but his eyes meet Liam's and he realizes he doesn't have time to worry about any of this. It's an order with such a tone that Mike knows he can't disobey.

He doesn't want to end up fucking dead, after all. He shoves his tank top over his head hastily, and it's not from excitement--it's fear, if he's being honest. Fear is a powerful motivator when it's Liam wielding it. Shoes and socks go next, and then his pants and, with only a quick glance at the other, his boxers.

It wasn't exactly a secret that he's hard, though he should have probably paused and wondered why a situation like this would ever get him turned on. Liam showed him what was actually sexy compared to what he thought was, anyway. He owes Liam a lot.

"How lo--" He immediately cuts himself off. Liam doesn't want questions. Liam just wanted him to strip, and so he does and awaits instructions.

Liam watches, silent and cold. His sharp gaze follows Mike's movements, as if he were evaluating the entire performance. So far he was getting rather high marks for showing just how afraid he was, and how eager he was to obey. He'd learned well that disobedience could lead to bad places. The sort of place he was already headed, and not making it worse.

Or so Liam thought.

An eyebrow lifted as Mike started to speak. "How long?" He asked, cruel and mocking. He crossed the remaining distance in just a few strides, seizing Mike by the hair. "You should already know the answer to that: as long as it takes for you to learn your lesson. As long as it takes for me to be satisfied. I would have thought by now that you'd learned to not ask me such things."

No. No, no no, he cut himself off. It didn't count, right? It couldn't count. He'd been good, he'd stripped and obeyed and he didn't falter once.

And yet, Liam has a particularly good grip on his hair and Mike doesn't bother to hide the wince of pain, though he doesn't cry out.

...When did this whole thing start to feel good? He was scared. Frightened of Liam, always had been, but his senses were crosswired. Part of him, deep down, thought this entire thing was hot. He's terrified that Liam is going to kill him and dump his corpse into a ditch, but he looks up and licks his lips, throat suddenly dry.

"Sorry, sir," He apologizes right away, because there's something about looking up at the other that makes him feel small.

For the moment, Liam sets aside the jacket. He lowers one knee to the floor, back still straight, still somewhat above Mike even if they're on the same level. It was more in his attitude than his actual position. He dragged Mike's head back further, watching him with a frigid, stern air.

"I'm starting to get the feeling you enjoy this," he said, bordering on mocking. On the emphasized word, he dragged his fingers over Mike's cock. "That deep down you do it intentionally. Because maybe you're just a sick little pervert who likes to be smacked around but is too afraid to ask for it." Then something seemed to click into place, and he tilted his head slightly, eyebrows rising. "Or have you done something you've not told me about. Something that demands punishment beyond speaking or acting out of turn. Hm?"

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