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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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.

But Liam doesn't let go. He just holds more firmly, his position allowing him to minimize Mike's thrashing. Elbows digging hit his chest, body weighting down his torso. Strategically placed so nothing Mike could do could dislodge his hands. And just as he'd suspected, it wasn't the same reaction as being choked. Closing off the the throat had a more immediate and stilling effect. Simply sealing off airways, the body continued trying to suck air, even when it was futile. Involuntary and desperate. Just the lesson he wanted to teach.

"There we go..." he said, almost a purr. He knew Mike wouldn't consciously hear him, but words had a way of sinking in deeper. "Now you see that everything belongs to me. If you breathe, it's because I allow it. Because I give you permission to. In everything. Right down to the air you breathe..."

He watched and waited, drawing out the words. He could feel Mike's lungs beneath him desperately trying to draw in more air. He waited until that vital function started to weaken. Until Mike seemed almost on the verge of losing consciousness. Then he suddenly let go, just freeing his nose. Watching with delight as he pulled his hand back.

It's different. it's a different sort of feeling, and while that blind panic is setting in, and while his vision is blurring and fading, and while Mike is yelling as loud as he can even though no one can hear him and Liam doesn't care, he's struck with the fact that all of this is moot. Nothing matters.

Nothing matters, even breathing, unless Liam wants it.

His yell turns into a whimper and gradually turns into nothing at all--and he stills, because energy is oxygen and he barely has any--when Liam takes his hand off of his nose. Mike gasps, breathing heavily, eyes snapping open, and while he doesn't jerk around anymore--he's literally exhausted himself--his eyes are a mixture of fear and confusion, head spinning, feeling more than light headed. He doesn't bother to stop the whimper in his throat, either.

Instead, he starts to shake. He understands--he understands perfectly, even if only half of it had registered.

"You see?" Liam said as he smiled softly. "If you've earned it, I'll give you what you think you want." He could have kept going, a whole monologue about how he should be grateful that he was allowed various luxuries, like breathing, so very often. But it would be a bit much at the moment. And he doubted Mike was in much of a receptive state at the moment.

Keeping his hand firmly over the other's mouth, he adjusted his position so he could reach behind himself. His fingers wrapped around Mike's cock, stroking him firmly. "There's just one thing to do before I let you cum. Are you going to do it for me?"

It didn't matter what he wanted, or that he hadn't yet stated what that thing was. No matter what, there was really only one correct answer.

Finally. It's just a single stroke but it's enough to arch his hips despite the pain on his back for doing so. The whimper is hard to hide, even with Liam's hand over his mouth, gaze stern, voice pointed, and Mike realises with a strange sort of detached horror that he doesn't care.

He cares about Liam--but he doesn't care about whatever it is that he's supposed to do. He doesn't care he doesn't know what it is and he doesn't care that Liam is going to hold it over him. A while ago, he would have fought. Spit in Liam's face, even. Now? Now he just nods, trying in earnest not to seem too eager.

Anything. Right now, he'd do fucking anything.

Giving the tip of Mike's cock one last swipe of his thumb across the tip, Liam pulled his hand free. That eagerness was what he wanted to see. Mike desperate and eager not for release, but to please. Jumping at the chance to simply do as he was told. Blindly willing to follow any command. They were still miles from where he wanted Mike to be, but it was a step in the right direction. He needed to know if he could break such a willful, intelligent man down to nothing more than a mindless plaything.

"Atta boy, Mike. You've got it," he said with glowing praise as he pulled his hand away from Mike's mouth to pat his cheek. "You're starting to learn the right answers." Don't think, just agree.

In one fluid motion, he not only got off Mike, but the bed entirely. "I always knew you had it in you. Now you'll just have to keep it up, until it becomes a habit." Liam talked while he moved around the bed to pick up something he'd set aside. And he returned to the bed just as easily. He didn't ask, he didn't explain. He just grabbed Mike's leg and set to fastening a bent around it, lashing calf to thigh. "If you learn it quickly, it's going to help you with the favor you're going to do for me."

He's got it. He's done it!

Mike doesn't smile because he knows that's the wrong move to make--but he soaks up all of attention, all of that love in his tone, and his nostrils flare, pleased. He lifts his head up as best as he can to watch but he doesn't dare move, doesn't dare step out of line. things are starting to go well. Finally.

All he has to do is shut up and obey.

There was a time he'd fight back. He's still thinking about it--how he can try to kick free of Liam before his leg is pushed to bend and he's tethered. But he doesn't. His breathing does pick up, Mike knowing he shouldn't speak. He feels like he should let the other know he understands but he fights that urge, too.

He just has to focus on the fact that it's going to work. That finally, he understands just a bit more of Liam.

He's never been happier.

Liam took his time, fastening and adjusting the first belt. He gave Mike more than enough chances to struggle, to fight, to try to break free. To even just argue. But he didn't move, he didn't even flinch. Breath, it seemed, was the motivator all along. Really, he should have seen it sooner. It wasn't the choking after all. It wasn't the sex, or the pain, or the need. It was just the air in his lungs.

He moved on to the other leg. If he'd tried this before, at the warehouse, he might have lost some teeth. Mike had been quite a force, needing to be strapped down, drugged up, or left in withdrawal until he was too weak to fight. But now, he didn't even need to be told to sit still. He just obeyed. For now.

As he tugged the second belt to make sure it was secure, he said "You've been so impressively good I think you've earned a little something..." His hands slid over the insides of Mike's thighs, up onto his canvas clad stomach. "...something I'm sure you think you need..." He settled back, hands falling away from Mike as he reached into his own pocket. From it he pulled something Mike likely knew well: a glass hitter. He held it up so Mike could see, toying with it between his slender fingers. "Do you think you've earned it?"

The first belt is adjusted and Mike is briefly caught off guard by the fact that it isn't too tight or constricting. He can't move and he'll probably have marks from it, and it'll be uncomfortable, and probably wind up resenting it in some fashion but it doesn't feel like he's going to lose circulation.

The second one, too, and Mike can't believe his ears. Those hands on the insides of his thigh seem to give him shivers just from the simple touch alone, and then they move to his stomach, and Mike's mouth is dry as the other speaks.

Has he? Has he finally got it? Has he finally learned what Liam wants?

That glass hitter causes his entire demeanour to shift. It's not his fault--it's hardwired into his brain, trying to be a little straighter, trying to lean towards it. It's unconscious but it's there, and Mike's gaze doesn't leave the pipe.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't say anything other than yes. He licks his dry lips, and is about to say yes, when he stops.

Instead, he looks to Liam, not quite unsure on how to proceed. He wants to say something--something other than yes or no--and he isn't sure if that rule is still in effect. He doesn't want to say anything, or the hitter will, no doubt, go away. Heart racing fast, he tries to find a middle ground.

"Sir?" Permission to say something?

That shift in Mike was all Liam needed for confirmation. Like pulling treats out in front of a dog. Immediately alert and nothing else matters. There wasn't even anything in it. It was just a small bit of glass in a very specific shape. The way Mike looked, he didn't want to ruin it. That tension and uncertainty. Wanting it but knowing he shouldn't ask for it. Wanting to beg but knowing it would get him in trouble. He'd finally learned. And Liam wanted to take his time to savor that tension and conflict.

Slowly, he closed his fingers around the hitter as a sly smile curved his lips. This is right where he'd wanted Mike. Desperate beyond reason on every possible level. This was his own personal high. Satisfied, he slid off the bed, leaving Mike completely alone. He moved to a spot he knew he couldn't be seen unless the little junkie strained hard enough. And even then, he had his back to the bed as he used the night stand to slowly crush a pill. Making sure to reduce every small piece to uniform dust.

He understands. Liam understands but that doesn't make it any less frustrating, and he grinds his teeth audibly. He disappears from view and Mike cranes his neck, discovers he can't see anything, and grunts with the effort of trying to see.

It's sad. It's sad and pathetic but Mike isn't sure he has pride left--not anymore. He instead tries to get a better look, neck at a twisted, odd angle, and he catches a glimpse of Liam and Liam's backside, hearing the subtle, quiet crush of something familiar.

It's oxy. He knows that--it's unmistakable--it's oxy, and Mike could almost cry with how pleased he is. He's anxious--too anxious--and he can feel his skin crawl. He opens his mouth to say something, almost lets out a syllable before it catches in his throat.

He's intent and watching, though--and the worst part is that he knows that Liam is blatantly aware of it.

At one point, Liam glances over his shoulder, staring right at Mike, one eyebrow raised. He is aware of everything Mike is doing and not doing, everything he must be feeling. And he wants Mike to know that fact. There's nothing he can hide anymore. Not in this room.

Eventually, he turns back to his work with the pill. If Mike's paying close enough attention he might even hear the faint sound of powder falling against glass. He takes his time with this, as well. Getting as much of the powder into the hitter, getting it settled. Making it just right.

Finally, he moves back to the bed. Still without a word, he reclaims his spot, climbing onto the bed, straddling Mike's stomach. Only this time he was a few inches further back, making sure his jeans rubbed right up against Mike's cock, seeming almost careless. He didn't even look at the junkie beneath him as he held the hitter.

He didn't make a habit of dipping into his own product. It wasn't even a treat here and there. If he let himself get foggy, he'd lose his edge. But sometimes, he had to be sure what he was selling was worth his price tag. Or on the very rare occasions he felt he'd reached a point he could relax or celebrate. Having Mike in such a state was definitely both. So he didn't hesitate as he applied his lighter to the glass, far more focused on it than on Mike.

It might as well be porn. His ass aches from the welts, and so does lower legs, but the moment Liam sides and his arms are gently pinned beneath him due to the coat, and none of it matters. what matters is Liam on top of him, not giving him the time of day but his jeans rub up against Mike's cock and he stifles a moan. Shit.

He's trying his best to be good--to wait--and he almost--almost--wishes he has a gag. It's much easier than trying to hold his tongue.

The powder in the hitter, the lighter near it, all sounds and sights Mike desperately craved. Liam had hit it in just the right window of time--he was uncomfortable when he got here from not having any, now it was starting to get agonizing. That, compared with the pain he'd felt already, was rough. This was rough. But Liam had all the answers.

He's practically drooling, even though Liam hasn't done a damn thing. It's those lips that curl around the pipe, the amazing way he inhales--Mike wants to see that far more often. Mike wants to see Liam like this, pleased, even if he's not paying attention to him.

He licks his lips, and he swears he can feel his heart beating in his chest a little faster, swallowing hard and thick.

He has to be good. He has to stay silent.

Another test passed. He'd expected Mike to start begging for it. He would have allowed one or two words, but he'd really expected an overflowing of desperate words. But Mike stayed silent. Usually, Liam would have been disappointed to not have a reason to give any further punishment. But he could see and feel the younger man's utter desperation. The fact that he managed to hold his tongue was frankly impressive.

The first hit, he took for himself. Drawing in deep and slow. It had been months since he'd touched the stuff, long before Mike wandered into his life. And because of that, it was better than the first time. Feeling it settling deep into his lungs as he leaned back. He held it there, head thrown back, perfectly still for a long moment. Then he finally exhaled, feeling as though every nerve in his body were calming all at once.

As he drew in the second hit, however, he dropped the lighter on the bed so he could grab a fistful of Mike's hair. Finally, he looked down at the junkie, his face utterly impassive as he lowered the hitter, holding his breath. He leaned down, practically nuzzling against Mike's lips. Slowly sinking into what could have been a kiss, if not for the smoke he breathed into the other's eager mouth.

Oh, fuck.

Is it possible to come without being touched? Probably not, but Liam leans down and mike leans up and he moves his body as much as he can towards that gentle waft of smoke. Their lips barely touch and Mike's breathing is ragged as he finally, finally gets some form of oxyconton in his system.

His eyes fluttered closed--this moment, he needs to enjoy. It's not a full dose but it's damn close, and he can feel his brain pleasantly numbing, his ass not hurt nearly as much as it did moments ago.

He moans, and he's unashamed of it, letting the drug sift through his head before he opens his eyes to Liam.

He smiles, and it's genuine, despite his slightly unfocused gaze--he's calmer, just knowing that he's able to please Liam enough for a tiny, tiny hit.

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

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