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

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

It wasn't often that Billy let those he'd trap walk free. He'd play with them until they were all used up, then dispose of them. Or they were unable to pass his little tests. More than a few just swallowed a handful of pills rather than face what he'd do to them. But Mike was different. Special. So Billy got curious. After he'd played with him for long enough, he still wasn't used up. And he hadn't stuffed the pills into his mouth. So now came the rarest test of all.

He'd made plenty of promises of keeping Mike well stocked in his vices, and for so much cheaper than Kelly ever could do for him. But sitting in his usual perch in that dive bar, he wasn't shocked, but mildly surprised when just a few days later Mike walked in. He'd expected at least a month to pass before he'd see the boy again. A token effort of resistance.

Billy could have done the deal then and there, but he couldn't resist toying with the man. So he followed the same processes as before. Getting him out to the truck. Driving far, far from the bar. Only this time when they stopped it wasn't the side of the road or an old warehouse. It was a house that had seen better days. The place Billy currently called home.

He led Mike inside without a word. Tossed his coat over an old arm chair. Went into the kitchen to grab a drink. All without a word. Just waiting to see what Mike was really after. He couldn't have gone through his stash already, could he?

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He's never loved and hated so much at the same time. The pain he'd acclimatized to, at least to some degree, but it was the mental aspect that was the hardest. His whole body is shaking with effort and frustration and a myriad of emotions and it's only magnified by the pain.

He's bleeding and then, just lower, is the same harshness. It blossoms red almost immediately as Mike's entire body jerks forward, unable to keep himself up for much longer. He yells loudly, sharply, the sound echoing across the walls and only barely manages to remember.

"Thirteen, sir." It's strained, though it's hard to tell if the strain is from anger or pain or the desperate need to come. It's all three of them to some degree, and his legs feel like they're made out of lead, though he forces himself to get back into position. His left leg gives out but he's scrambling to put himself upright again, panting with the effort. HE can't take much more.

"Up, up, up," Liam demanded harshly as he tapped the tip of the cane rapidly against Mike's inner thigh. He made especially sure to sound as absolutely irritated as possible while Mike righted himself. That was however the opposite of the truth, as he was content to wait and watch as Mike struggled to stay in position. Trembling and bleeding and oh so distressed. It was just how Mike should always be.

"There you go," he said, voice glowing with praise. "You're doing so good, and you've only got two more to go." Okay, maybe he was slipping toward mockery, tipping his hand in the simple fact that he had no intention of making this easy. As he spoke, his hand slid between Mike's legs, fingers wrapping firmly around his cock. "I know you're going to keep being a good boy," as if he were speaking to a dog rather than a person, "aren't you? Doing exactly what you're told." He started to stroke. Not the light, teasing strokes from before. These were long, firm, and earnest. As if he meant to get Mike off then and there.

He's breathing so heavily he thinks his heart is going to explode, the stinging of the cane still feeling like it's prickling through his skin. There are already a multitude of bruises on his ass, littered around, but even the cuts are turning a purple-yellow colour around the blood. Mike is trying his best not to whimper.

It fails when Liam sounds agitated, sounds angry and Mike whimpers, finally finding his footing and something magical happens. Something he'd honestly never thought would happen.

It doesn't even occur to Mike that Liam's being sarcastic, or he's being treated like a dog. All that matters is it's praise and he needs it, he craves it, now, more than Oxy, he thinks. He's being good. He's being a good boy.

Fuck. This whole thing is absolutely humiliating. It will sink in later, when that hand isn't on his cock and making it feel so good, when he isn't half-laying down half raising his ass up and in a straight jacket. His eyes are shut tight, breathing heavily, wanting so much to say anything he could. He's not even sure if he can respond to Liam's words. Right now, all he can do is moan, loud and needy as his cock finally gets the attention it craves.

This is all he wanted. This is worth the pain, he tells himself, the humiliation and degradation.

Liam continued to stroke, slow and steady, listening to Mike's rapid, desperate breathing. Listening to those beautiful moans. Mike had changed so much in the last few months. When this all started, those sounds would have been far more angry and restrained. This was so much more open and accepting. That in a way was far more thrilling than the former, knowing he'd shaped and changed Mike so profoundly.

When he could feel the tell-tale signs of Mike getting close, involuntary twitching and quivering, he slowly withdrew his hand. Dragging it up and over his ass. Kneading for a moment over those angry welts and bruises, digging his fingers and the heels of his hands into them. "Such a good boy..." he said, some how purring out the words while also sounding incredibly sarcastic and mocking. "Just two more..."

And that was all the warning he got before Liam snapped the cane across the upper few inches of his thighs. It wasn't as hard as the other blows, but he knew just how sensitive Mike would be when he was so stimulated.

He's going to come. He's going to come and it's going to be great--the greatest thing that will ever happen to him. Finally, he'll blow his load. Times with cock rings have been easier than this--but Liam wants him to come, he's saying he's good.

"Fuh--" He shushes himself so it's more just a noise than an attempt at an actual word, nails pressing palms, shuddering, spasming, and then--

--the cane is over him and he howls with pain, his whole body shuddering as he sobs brokenly and he quickly, quickly shouts out the words. It comes off as 'fourteensirfourteen' but he's done it, breath ragged, entire body feeling like it's raw and exposed. He's too sensitive--that blow may have had less of an impact on his skin than the others with not as much power, but with the adrenaline and dopamine flowing from his brain it's impossible to tell.

He's cracking and he's honestly not sure, whimpering and barely able to keep straight, if he's going to last through the next one.

Liam's hands returned to kneading Mike's ass, letting out a sound of his own that was almost a moan in its own right. God, Mike sounded good when he was so very undone. Well, it was more that he'd pushed Mike to that point that was doing it for him than anything. The knowledge that months of work had pushed Mike to a point where he wanted to get off. Where he was still counting and obeying, even as he fell apart.

One hand pulled away for a moment as he put his finger into his mouth. He took his time, not giving any indication of what he was actually doing, until he lowered his hand and let that damp finger press against Mike's hole. He didn't press it inside, but just slowly circled with it, teasing and threatening. Nothing but his saliva to serve as lubrication.

"Just one more. Are you going to be good and take it?" There was a warning in his voice, as if he didn't think Mike would be able to follow through for this last step. As if it could possibly ever be the last.

He has to. He's about to say that, too, but he visibly shuts his mouth, pushing his teeth against his lower lip to silence himself. He's got to be quiet, that's part of the rules, but he's going to come absolutely undone.

This is it. He's going to fucking come, coming undone right here and now, and he can't help the whimper in his throat. He can't believe how far he's fallen, wanting Liam. He's close to begging, too--to get it over with. It's just one more, one more hit, and he can undo himself. He prays for no more rules, and no more anything but getting off and falling into a corner.

He doesn't want to think about what comes after that.

He just wants Liam.

Mike nods, one swift motion. Murmurs a high noise of agreement, because he's not sure if he has permission to talk again.

"Yes....good boy..." Liam purrs as his finger continues to tease. He takes his time, murmuring soft, wordless praise, content little sounds unlike anything he's uttered before. In letting Mike fly free, he'd become more than just clay. In coming back, things inside him had broken further than Liam could have ever done himself. And with each moment more, he could see just how far Mike had come. He wasn't fighting, he wasn't a broken lump. He was obedient and responsive. Trained. Oh, where could they go from here?

His finger made slow, gentle circles. Dipping toward the center with a firm, teasing pressure without actually pushing inside. Just taking a moment to enjoy the fact that Mike continued to follow the rules. Continued to stay in position. It was better than any high any drug could provide. The rush of it all.

"Just one...more," He breathed out as his hand dragged down, firm fingers sliding down to ever so briefly cup the other's balls. Then there was a brief pause as he pulled his arm back before the cane snapped, hard and fast across the crease right at the top of Mike's thighs. Harder than the last strike, but no where near as hard as it could have been.

He doesn't say fifteen, sir, so much as he screams it as loud as he can. He's bent and broken and all of this, he knows, is his fault. Liam says it's his fault, so it is, as simple as that. Arguing didn't work--nothing did. Nothing but accepting Liam's word as law.

He wants that hand, wants that finger circling his asshole again. He wants that palm on his balls as he hears that praise--he wants to fuck, or be fucked, he just wants some kind of release.

Mostly, he wants Liam.

Funny, how a few months back he would gladly stab the other the first chance he got. It's a miracle that the strike leaves him upright, because that spot just at the top of Mike's thighs is sensitive, still stinging. This is different than a belt, or a crop, this is a sharp, stinging panging over his thighs.

He's never been so grateful that the number wasn't 20 until now. He's visibly shaking, panting loudly, unable to help anything. He can't even adjust himself, arms bound in a straight jacket.

He just wants to come.

Hearing that shout, Liam sucks in a breath through his teeth like he's inhaling the sound itself. He mutters something barely audible, the utter pleasure of it easier to pick out than the words. God, he wanted to keep Mike right there, like this, for as long as possible. Every last person he'd dug his claws into crumpled. They dried up and became as entertaining as dust. Usually in a matter of days. He'd had one last nearly a month. But none had been like Mike. He wanted to keep Mike, not throw him away.

They had all the time in the world, until Liam decided it was time to go fetch the little boyfriend. How long could he keep Mike there? Keep him wanting and burning? Keep him screaming?

Firm hands pushed Mike over, shoved and manhandled him onto his back. Dragging him so his ass slid on the sheets. He seemed to know just the right ways to move the bound man to emphasize those red, angry welts across his ass.

"You did it, Mike," he said, softly. Practically glowing with praise. "You made it to fifteen." As he spoke, he climbed onto the bed, knees straddling Mike's hips. "I knew you could do it." His hand slid over the straight jacket, arms and chest. Caressing his neck through the collar. "You finally learned, you finally know how to be good, Mike." He caught the other's hair in a tight fist.

He leaned close. Close enough for his breath to fall over Mike's lips. "My good boy..." he said, barely a whisper. He leaned closer still, giving Mike that one thing he'd been wanting, craving, for so long. A kiss. A slow, gentle, lover's kiss.

He's shoved--no, flipped--onto his back, crying out in pain as his ass slides against the sheets. Half of his mind reminds himself it's sheets, because it could easily be concrete, but it's still an incredibly uncomfortable feeling that leaves his entire backside stinging peculiarly.

Something happens that actually causes Mike, frustrated and in pain, to smile. It's an unsure one, wondering when the rug is going to be pulled out from underneath him, but it's there. Liam is praising him. He's saying he did it--he's encouraging, and for a brief moment he lets out an unsure, shakey chuckle. He can't believe Liam climbing onto the bed, too, and even if his arms are uncomfortable as he's lying on them, it doesn't matter. His knees are by Mike's hips, the weight something he never knew he wanted--even with how his ass presses into the mattress because of it.

The hair Liam holds barely registers, because Liam is so close, and Mike knows the other can feel his erection, and his breath is falling on Mike's lips and Mike feels himself breathing faster with anticipation.

He's good. He's Liam's.

And Liam kisses him. Not rough or fast though Mike would gladly take that--but slow, and soft, and Mike eagerly kisses back despite trying to be gentle and exploratory. This is all he's fucking dreamed about. It's obvious Liam loves Mike, he's just teaching him how to be a better lover. That's all.

Never before had Liam reached a point with anyone where he could actually be gentle with them. Never before had he wanted to be gentle with them. The thrill always came from all the pain he could cause them. Teasing them. Giving them things and taking them away. Slowly breaking them down until they stopped begging for their life, stopped begging for freedom, and simply begged for a different kind of release. Even now, it wasn't truly about being gentle. It was giving Mike something to be taken away. Allowing him to think that such gentle, loving treatment was even a possibility.

False hope was so much sweeter than simple despair. It sharpened it and made it so much better.

The kiss was no fleeting thing. It lasted and lasted until both of them needed to stop for air. Until Liam reluctantly pulled back, lips dragging away just enough so he could let out a heated breath. His hand let go of Mike's hair, fingers trailing over his cheek until he could grab the lower half of the other's face, the crook of his thumb just under his lip.

"You survived your punishment, Mike. But that doesn't mean you've earned...your reward." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You've got a ways to go before you get that, don't you?"

Really, he just wanted to see Mike cry in desperation. It had been far too long.

The kiss was raw--real--and everything Mike craved. When Liam pulls back Mike moves with him, just for a split second, wanting it and never wanting to stop. If he could spend the rest of the moment with his lips attached to Liam, he would.

But Liam grabs his face and he feels his heart stuttering in his chest, blue eyes trained on blue; listening to every word so intently he feels like he's going to miss a single syllable. That's when his heart sinks, lips parting to protest. It takes a moment, still, for his mind to catch up to his mouth.

"Please," he mumbles, eyes wide, voice nearly cracking. "I've been good, right? I followed the rules and everything--please." He's not sure he can take it. He closes his eyes and closes them tight before forging on:

"What do I have to do?"

As Mike talks, Liam's eyes start to widen. Slowly. He can't believe that Mike has already forgotten his instructions. His little pet is so good at breaking the rules, at handing out reasons for further punishment. Liam thought perhaps finally it was time to start laying out more elaborate methods, things that seemed simple but eventually led to failure.

He pulls back as Mike closes his eyes. And the answer to the question comes swiftly and clearly. A hard, ringing back-hand across the face. But before the sting even properly sets in, Liam grabs him by the face again, forcing his head back into position.

"For starters," he sneered, "You answer as you've been instructed. The only way to respond is 'yes, sir' and nothing more." His fingers dug into Mike's cheeks, hard. "And you should already know that a successful punishment does not earn rewards. Don't you?!"

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Mike doesn't think, he panics, and his arms instinctively jerk towards something. They hit nothing but canvas, and he tries to sit up, tries to do something, but he winds up trying to make himself physically smaller. It doesn't work. He'd thought that section was just for the punishment. He was wrong.

He's always fucking wrong.

"Yes, sir," he manages, voice smaller than he'd hoped, desperate and cracking with worry fear and, somehow, he's still horny. He's almost started to crave Liam handling him roughly, almost as much as he craves those fingers around his neck.

"Yessir," he says, and it's louder, ringing off the walls.

"Much better," but he didn't sound happy about it. A cruel twist in his words, sounding more disappointed than anything. As if lessons like this shouldn't be necessary. Teaching a high school senior how to add and subtract. He pats Mike roughly on the cheek, before his fingers drag up to grab a fistful of the junkie's hair.

His free hand slides up, fingers stopping at Mike's throat, dragging his head back against the bed by his hair. "I'd hoped to give you some sort of reward today, that maybe. Just maybe. You'd be good enough. But I see now I was wrong. Unless you want me to keep punishing you. Is that what you want, Mikey?" With the name, his fingers started to squeeze. Not enough to stop Mike from breathing, but enough to make it rather difficult.

Yes. Yes, Mike wants to say, but he can't, he can only answer questions. He can't say it like this, even though he wants to--those hands wrap around his throat and he knows Liam can feel his pulse pick up, quickening with both anticipation and the need to force himself to breathe.

His eyes flicker closed, just for a moment, and his hips arch up, needy, rock hard against what ever of Liam he can find. He hates the name, he fucking hates the name but those hands are dangerously close to cutting off his air supply and he's never been more turned on in his entire fucking life. Even the welts on his ass pale in comparison to this, and he wonders if this is his reward. If this is what Liam knows he loves.

He didn't realize he loved it until Tim, he thinks. Does Liam know? Liam knows fucking everything.

"Yes, sir," he manages, voice low, because that's the only thing he can say in an attempt to coax him to press harder.

Liam had known Mike had a strong reaction to being choked, but at the time it was hard to tell what was positive and what was just involuntary responses to all Liam had already done to Mike. But now? Now he could see it for what it was. Even without the utter words, Mike didn't seem at all scared or frantic the way he had when he'd been slapped. This was a completely different reaction.

At the words, Liam yanked his hands away from Mike's throat. His eyes narrowed in the brief pause that followed, finally putting the piece together. So. The junkie enjoyed being strangled. That was incredibly useful, but not for his purpose at the moment. The pause and realization took only as long as two heartbeats. At which moment he firmly slapped Mike hard across the face and promptly grabbed him by the hair.

"No." He growled, switching to anger swiftly enough to still be effective. "The correct answer is no. You do not want to be punished. Good little junkies don't want punishment. But it seems you've got a few...interests you've not told me about, don't you Mikey?" As he said it, he used his free hand to trail over the faint redness he'd left behind from his failed attempt to choke the other.

The slap jolts him out of it, and his eyes go white with unexpected terror. He hadn't pictured this as the next step, but he can never picture any next steps--just Liam, just Liam being one step ahead like he always is.

His hair is grabbed and he breathes out shakily, Liam's anger visibly shaking him. He hadn't thought about this-he hasn't thought about anything at all. Maybe that's the problem, except if he thinks, if he tries to predict, he fucks up.

Damned if you do and damned if you don't. Right now he has to try to diffuse Liam's anger over a simple mistake: he'd been told he can only say 'yes, sir,' after all. That hand on his neck makes him wince, not because of pain but because of pure uncertainty.

"Yessir," he admits, fast and all almost one syllable. There's no use trying to hide it, and it's not like it's too much of a secret that he's been fucking around with Tim.

He continued to let his fingers trace over the lines of Mike's throat, enthralled by the way Mike reacted to the touch. So high strung, even after all this time. The way Mike seemed to always try so hard hinted at the ruins of what was once probably great intelligence. Even the moderately intelligent ones stopped trying to anticipate or guess. They learned to just follow rules without thinking about them. It made him wonder what Mike could have been like without the drugs. Could he have been something to contend with, or would have been just as much of a waste?

"I guess we found your reward, didn't we?" He said with a faint smirk, his anger fading. "I had intended to just fuck you, but this..." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Actually, a reward should be something you choose. So. Once you've earned it, you have a choice. Either I fuck you and you get to cum and be satisfied. Or I choke you until you've found whatever high it gives you...but you don't get off. You leave frustrated." He tilted his head, letting his hand settled over Mike's throat as a promise.

"So tell me, Mikey..." His other hand moved down to gently wrap around the other's cock, not yet stroking it. "Do you want to cum?"

Rewards were supposed to be something he chose, sure, but an ultimatum like this seemed to him like another game of Liam's--and it most definitely was, he thinks. A game. Everything was to Liam and Mike is under his thumb, unable to properly move out of it. Unable to do a damn thing. And that hand, so promising on his neck--coupled with the one on his cock, both of them unmoving, a flicker of something comes over his face.

Was this another lesson? Something nestled in Liam's voice, and he has to read between the lines? He's far too paranoid now, far too mentally--and physically--exhausted. He does want that high--he craves it--that's no secret.

But he wants Liam. His eyes rake over him, chest heaving. He's well aware that the clause is 'once he's earned it,' too.

Fuck.

Eventually, he settles on the shortest route. He still doesn't know if it's a test, and he hopes not, but at the end of all of this he's going to want Liam.

"Yes, sir," he confirms, breathing rough and ragged. He can experiment with belts on his neck another time.

Once Mike finally responded, Liam watching his every shift, every flicker, with rapt attention, he looked rather impressed. While it wasn't the correct answer, it was an honest one. Said without whimpering or unnecessary begging. An incomplete lesson, but still better progress than before.

He pulled his hand away from Mike's cock, letting his fingers drag slowly and lightly over it. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, as disappointment fell like a shadow over his feature. "No, Mikey..." he drawled, as he climbed on top of the junkie. "...you don't want to cum."

He settled across the other's stomach, positioning himself to provide absolutely no contact where Mike wanted it most. His hand, however, clamped over the junkie's mouth, leaning close enough to look him dead in the eye at point-blank range. "Sure, you need to cum. You ache for it, like a hunger. But you don't want to, because I don't want you to." He tilted his head, fingers digging hard into Mike's face, "I would have thought by now you understood. Your release is mine and mine alone. What you want is irrelevant."

His heart stutters in his chest, and the slight amount of panic is easy to see flash across his face--but he's at that stage where he's drained, and it's a miracle he's even putting up a fight. He's honestly not sure if he can take it anymore--Mike can fight through a lot of things, but Liam had always been his particular brand of intense.

And he got it wrong.

Mike bites at his own lip--tries to, but Liam's hand is in the way--and after a brief moment he screws his eyes shut, pained, trying to think of something--anything--to say.

He doesn't want to come. He needs to--but Liam is teaching him an extremely valuable lesson. That anything he wants is irrelevant. All that matters is what Liam wants, and if he doesn't do it, he'll be punished.

Mike is fairly certain he's going to start crying again, though this time most likely just from the constant duress of stress and a number of other things. All of them inflicted by Liam. He's bound by the jacket, unable to move, and he lets out a shaky breath. Liam's hands are warm and calloused and cruel. He breathes through his nose, trying his best to nod.

What he wants is irrelevant. But lord, does he just want to be touched. He just wants to come, and have Liam do it.

That was more like it. Mike looking so completely distressed but trying so hard to comply. Liam took in a slow, breath, as if savoring the moment, savoring that hot breath on his hand, that tension around Mike's eyes. The junkie had come so very far already, but there would always be new lessons to teach. The hand over his mouth wasn't to silence him, not entirely. But instead proved one simple fact. When Mike was first brought into Liam's custody, he would have bitten that hand, without a moment's hesitation. Vicious and desperate. But now? Now he didn't even try. He didn't thrash or struggle. He simply accepted it. Just as he would eventually accept this new rule. A rule that they'd building up to since the beginning.

"There, you see?" He spoke almost lovingly. "You'll have just one more task to see if you've earned your reward. Do it well, and you'll be in my best graces. Fail, and you will be performing your next favor for me more frustrated than you've ever felt in your life." His hand tightened further, forcing the other's head back against the bed. "Either way, by the time you get there, you'll understand that the very air your breathe..." His free hand came up to join the first, simply resting there at first. "...is by my will alone..." Slowly, his fingers started to close against Mike's nose, cutting off his air completely.

One more. One more task, and Mike tries to focus on the love in the other's voice--in the blissful happiness of someday actually fulfilling the other's wishes, not so he can get a break, but so he can see Liam happy.

He nods as best as he can--he does see, he wants to say, but he knows he can't. He can't say or do anything because Liam doesn't want him to. It's that simple--that known. apparently not known enough, because he has to keep reminding himself. Because Liam keeps getting disappointed.

His cock is hard, to an almost painful degree, and he laments the fact that, currently, he's unable to do anything about it. But it's not about him, is it? It never was.

Mike is cut off from this fleeting thought when Liam continues, and Mike listens as well as he can before those deft fingers pitch his nose and his eyes widen, unable to get any air in his system.

His face is already growing read by the time he thrashes--and it's not out of habit or his own will, it's pure instinct--against Liam, desperately trying to rid himself of the jacket by yanking and moving as hard as he can. He sounds pained, but anything he's saying--if he's saying anything at all--is muffled as his face turns read, and allhe can think about is air.

It's dizzying. It's tantalising. He loves it, and if Liam keeps it up he's going to start seeing black spots in the corner of his eyes.

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