fabricatings | I saved up all my pennies and I gave them to this special guy

I saved up all my pennies and I gave them to this special guy

He's not feeling himself. Not right. Something's scratching, clawing, and it's not because of the pain he imagines. It's not because of his life. It's because he needs something--anything. No oxy? Vicodin. No vicodin? Tramadol. Hydromorphone. Pethidine. All that mattered was that they were opioids and they were strong.

He tricks himself into thinking he can last at least a day with one pill. Briggs is convinced someone stole his tranquilizers, and even rounds on Mike. That's what sets it off--junkies aren't exactly ones for a stable environment. Briggs and Mike are both paranoid, powerful individuals who know how the other operates. It starts off as a fist-fight, Briggs claiming Mike took his drugs for drug money. Mike isn't exactly calm when he uproots the small table and begins yelling right back. The fact that he was thinking about it never comes up, but he goes for a walk.

He's still feeling it, the scratching inside his head. Like an insect, wanting to crawl out of his ear. And on top of that, he swears his gut feels like it's being stabbed. Like that knife is being sliced into him, over and over again. His lip is bleeding but he doesn't care--that pain is nothing compared to the flare in his abs, or the way even his teeth seem to be on fire instead of their usual numb state.

It's late by the time he tracks down his dealer after the other doesn't answer his texts. Slams him against the wall, demanding what he wants. Of course his dealer is out. Turns out, by the time Mike has actually beaten the shit out of the guy, the dealer is right. He's out.

"I know a guy, though," He says. "Hangs out at so-and-so a bar."

Mike's going to have to work for his meal, it seems, and he gives one last kick in the ribs to his dealer, tells him pleasantly he'll see him tomorrow and he'd better have some oxy squared away just for him.

To the bar he goes. He looks like shit--hasn't shaved, long hair--but he also doesn't care. All he cares about is the scratching, the pain--he needs that to go away. He just needs to track down who the fuck his dealer was talking about.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Billy practically beamed. Mike wasn't refusing anymore. Wasn't denying what he really wanted. That nod held so much more meaning than simple agreement or acceptance. It meant Mike wasn't fighting any longer. He was embracing it. Or that's how Billy saw it.

He continued to stroke without removing the ring. As if trying to force Mike to get off with it still on. Firm and while not rapid, certainly weren't slow. As that hand worked, the other moved over Mike's ass. Caressing it. It really was the captive's best feature. He gave it a quick slap before at last moving onto his target. He grasped the plug, and slowly started to pull it free. Recalling how difficult it had been for Mike to accommodate the widest part, he was slow. Relentless, but slow.

Mike gave a guttural moan as the plug was removed, his entire body visibly shaking at the feeling of it being pulled out. It was almost exquisite,and he doesn't realize his body raises, ass first, as the other removes it.

With every thrust, though, every steady movement Billy's fingers have around his cock, trying to push his hips into it, trying everything for the other to couch him despite how painful it was, how much he was positive he was going to just pass out from everything that's happening. Mike, even while unable to even think properly, is still able to fight himself in that aspect.

Only once the plug was fully free did Billy shut it off. He wanted Mike's orgasm to be untainted by the vibration. He wanted the captive to feel it completely and utterly produced by Billy's hand alone.

"There you go," Billy cooed, running his hand over Mike's ass and lower back. "I'll bet that feels a lot better...."

As he spoke, he worked his fingers under the ring that held everything back. "And this..." He said as he finally got a grip on it. "Is going to be the best you ever felt..." He knew just how much better it felt when it had built up for so much longer than normal. That blinding rush. The way the body responded. It was better than any high. And it was almost as good watching it happen. With a firm tug, he pulled it free. Letting it fall to the floor so he could return to stroking Mike, relentless and demanding.

Billy's hands on his ass felt comforting, like he was smoothing everything out, but nothing compared to the ring finally coming off of his cock. His dick was throbbing, pulsing with need and everything felt amazing even despite the fact that he had an erection.

It only got better.

Mike doesn't want it, of course not, but it gets better. It only takes a few more strokes once that ring comes off to coax him--his eyes roll to the back of his head, seeing not stars but white lights as his entire body convulses. His toes curl, back arches, and his hips move desperately to ride out the wave. When he comes he sprays his load over everything, Billy's hand included as he strokes him. He doesn't moan or whimper--he yells, surprised and caught off-guard.

It's over.

Finally--finally--it's over and Mike, exhausted, is panting through the gag and trying to lower his heart rate.If it wasn't for the spreader he would have probably simply fallen over.

Billy continued to stroke Mike, his hand unwavering as the man bucked and fought the bar the held him. His own sounds were masked by Mike's cry, soft sounds of encouragement and pleasure. Only when the man was spent did Billy pull his hand away, soiled as it was. He simply wiped it off on his jeans and settled his hand on Mike's back. "There you go..." He said softly. "When you behave, that's the sort of reward you can expect..."

As Mike tried to slump against the floor, Billy moved in front of him. With gentle fingers, he unfastened the buckles that held the gag in place. He soothed over places where the straps bit into skin, almost as though they were lovers. And with careful hands, he pulled the metal of the gag free. "Careful, your jaw's bound to be sore after that." Setting the gag on the floor, he moved both hands to gently massage the man's jaw.

Behaving. Rewards. Mike didn't even register how demeaning that was, or even what the other's saying beyond the fact that it's soothing and sickeningly soft. Disgustingly musical.

Finally, though, that strap around his head was being removed. It was like a weight that that was lifted off his shoulders the moment air hits the part where the straps were, Colin's touch warm and inviting through his hair, and on the parts where he certainly had marks from how tight it was.

Almost immediately he wanted to try to say something, to form some word, and no better relief had ever happened to him than when Colin was massaging his jaw. He couldn't even close it, feeling like his jaw itself didn't exist. He does, however, finally swallow all of the spit he'd had, still tasting Billy, and then proceeds to let out a very small, very shaky sniff. He's still trying to make himself stop crying from just how intense it was, but he's too overwhelmed with what had happened.

"You..."

That's all he had the words to say.

Once Mike was able to close his mouth, Billy reached into a pocket of the jacket he still wore and produced a handkercheif. With hit, he wiped at Mike's tears and the mess on his chin. There was nothing rough or rushed in his touch as he did it. It was tender and almost loving.

"Shh, don't talk, you've put a lot of strain on your throat." As if it were entirely Mike's doing.

Slowly, he let go of Mike's head, and moved around behind him again. Carefully, he unclipped each of the cuffs. And once the support was removed, he helped ease Mike to the floor. The wrist cuffs were connected to each other, in front of the man. And with that done, he set to unfastening the cuffs around his ankles.

He's trying to force himself to come down, trying to regain some semblance of fight, or of anything. Billy is wiping his way his tears like this was just some fucked up BDSM shit and not kidnapping, and Mike realizes hollowly that he barely has enough energy to continue to shake.

The room--it had stopped being hot, slowly cooling down, and as Mike got his hands free from the bar he immediately moved them on his jaw, mimicking the manner of Colin's movements for massaging. Fuck. This whole thing... He's been advised not to talk but Mike tries to anyway, voice hoarse as the other begins unfastening the cuffs around his ankles. He barely registers it.

"What's happening?"

"Shh...." Billy said again as he massaged Mike's ankles. "You're just worn out. Relax, and soon you'll feel better." His touch was incredibly soft and soothing, the sort of thing anyone could have wanted after such an intense scene. "You're dehydrated and exhausted, is all."

His hands moved up Mike's calves his thumbs, easing tension out of the muscles. As he did, he looked Mike over with a loving smile. He'd broken Mike. He'd seen it in his eyes. He'd sobbed openly. And already to seemed he was piecing himself back together. Worn almost to the point of coherence and he was still bouncing back. Billy would have a chance to break him all over again.

"Do you think you can walk, or do your legs feel like noodles?"

"Yeah," He states in response to the question. He tries to close his eyes and even though he wants to, he can't. There's still a dull part, still a vague part, that wants him to run. Every instinct is telling him to just bolt and forget about the fact that he was cuffed like a prisoner.

"Yeah," He needs time, he tells himself, that's all. The adrenaline has long since petered out from how much stamina Mike has, but at the end of the way he still has dopamine flowing through his brain.

"Yeah," He repeats a third time, and actually manages to search for Billy's face, as if desperate for something. He's not even sure what it is himself. Still, he can walk, or at least sort of can--it's the physique that's surprising given his addiction to drugs that's the only reason he's still going to be able to get upright after all of that.

Billy moved, getting to his feet. Stooping down, he pushed an arm around Mike's torso, getting it under his armpits. "Just lean on me, alright? Most people can't stand after that." His other hand guided Mike's bound hands over his head. "We don't have far to go. Ready?"

Regardless of what Mike answered, he hauled Mike off the floor. He was rather strong. Maybe not as strong as Mike, but stronger than he looked. And he could support a great deal of Mike's weight. He'd carried the man down there from the truck, after all. Once Mike was steady on his feet, he'd lead them into the darker section of the floor. All the while muttering soft assurances, and making sure he didn't go too fast for the exhausted man.

Soon, the wall took a hard left, and he followed it. Just after the bend, he reached out and hit a switch on the wall. Dim lights illuminated, strangely, a bed nestled in an alcove made up to mimic a bedroom. It was all made up with lush sheets and cozy blankets, and what appeared to be a night stand. He led Mike over to the bed before gently lower him on to it.

Mike refused, of course, to have to lean on Billy. Instead, he tries to take one step forward because he wasn't 'most people,' he was stronger than that, and instead of proving a point he winds up leaning even more on Billy, temporarily dropping all of his weight on him.

Billy, of course, is able to support him as they make it through the warehouse. Mike, belatedly, thinks of all the places the other could lead him to. An incinerator. A pit. Another wall to be chained to.

Instead, when he's met with more lights, Mike freezes up altogether until his eyes adjust. A bed? A bed room, almost. How much of this was a trick? Some sort of lie?

Before he can protest Billy is leaning him down on the bed and Mike has a terrible realization.

The blankets, the sheets--he's desperate to keep sitting up despite the odd feeling on his ass, but he's not sure he's ever felt things so good. He tries to speak again, tries to encapsulate all of his fear and disgust and absolutely everything, but he only manages to exhale.

"Why did you do that?" He manages, though what he's actually talking about is unclear. It could be a number of things--walking him to the bed. Being kind. Choosing him to fuck with. Getting off on Mike's humiliation. Getting Mike off.

Mike extracted himself from under Mike's arms and gave a small shrug. "You couldn't have made it on your own," he said as if the other were only referring to the walk. "And I figure it was better to bring you over here than leave you on that cold floor while I got you..."

He made a sound as if he'd forgotten something. He moved over to the nightstand. Tugging open one of the drawers, he produced a bottle of water. If Mike were to look, he'd see it wasn't the only one in there. He cracked it open as he stepped back over to Mike and offered it to him.

Billy had a whole reason for this. He knew it came across as strange and disjointed. Kidnapping someone then giving them a nice bed to sleep in after abusing the hell out of them. But abuse was the key word. He knew the cycle well and used it to his advantage. Treating someone poorly, physically beating them down, breaking their spirit followed by kindness and tenderness bred the most interesting results. Once which he sought to create in Mike.

Water.

Absolutely everything Mike had been thinking about flew out the window as soon as he saw water. So the nightstand had water in it. He could drink it, savor it. Bottled, and that cracking noise makes him visibly react, mouth opening, as if he can already taste it. He grabs it with both hands, eager and hasty, and began to drink it as quickly as he could, chugging it like he's trying to do a keg stand or something of the sorts. He doesn't seem bothered about the water dripping down and covering him with how urgently he's drinking.

Billy had hesitated. Had forgotten. It was a strange reminder that all of this, even this bed, was for Billy's amusement. But what amusement would the other get in taking care of Mike? Mike was... Mike was thinking too much when he couldn't even swallow water right.

Mike stopped, suddenly, only to start coughing and coughing loudly. Too much water too quick, it seemed, and he shook his head, wanting to speak despite his current problem trying to catch his breath.

"No," He mumbles. "Why..Why everything?" He meant sexually, trying desperately to search Billy's face. To find something to satisfy him as he tries not to fall backwards and pass out. It's worse than nodding off on drugs, almost.

But Billy was far too good at controlling himself when he needed to. His face was a mask of vague confusion, an eyebrow quirking up at the question. He stared at Mike for a moment as though the question itself were absolutely absurd. The answer should have been obvious. In a way, that wasn't faked. He'd explained it, sort of, that first night in the truck.

He pulled out the handkerchief again, and helped Mike clean off the water that had spilled down his chin and his chest. And now that it was damp, his hand strayed layer to clean off the remains of the mess that had been made before.

"What did I say about talking?" He scolded as he cleaned. "It's a shock you're even upright, still. You need your rest now that you've nearly drowned yourself. But maybe you also need something else..." He crammed the cloth back into his pocket. And from another, he produced something very important to Mike. A singular, round white pill. He held it up for Mike to take. "On the house," he said with a wink.

He's killing mike with kindness. There's so much else he wants to struggle to stay awake and get his mind back for, to ask and to figure out and to leave. To try to escape. To try to do something that wasn't being at the mercy of his captor.

That changed when billy pulled out the pill. Mikes demeanor shifted completely--he forgot his raw mouth, the pain, how tired he was.he snatches it, not even bothering to think it's poison or something, and quickly and without hesitation swallows.

He waits. It doesn't take long, even if mike didn't suck off the protection capsule like he usually does. He's sitting up as straight as he can one minute, the next, pure dopamine floods through him.

Relief.

Mikes eyes are closed, now, mouth half open. It looks like he'd just finished the best orgasm of his life as he allows himself to sink to into the bed, enjoying the high.

Oxy. The only thing he needs.

As Mike swallowed the pill, Billy reached up to gently run his fingers through the man's hair. Soft and encouraging. As if he weren't feeding a dangerous addiction after spending an hour abusing him. "There you go, just what you needed, isn't it?"

With a light touch, he started urging Mike further back on the bed. So he could lie down. So Billy could get him tucked in. So he could rest. "Just relax," he coaxed. "Close your eyes and enjoy it." He wanted Mike to think that he would be left with the cuffs alone. That he could be trusted in this bed with such minimal restraint.

Mike murmurs, sounding almost thankful. He's far too busy with riding the high to care. He feels released, now--uncaged. Metaphorically and physically, now that those restraints were off, only with the cuffs. No more bar forcing him to spread. No more plugs or gags, just water and his oxy.

He actually forgets Billy's there, even though the other's leading him to the bed. He was out of it before but this wasn't tiredness, though that was an element. It's euphoria.

Nothing matters because he's high right now.

Once Mike was settled, Billy pulled the blankets up over him. He even lightly caressed the man's cheek, leaning close. Falling just short of kissing him. Everything about his behavior was loving and caring. Even as he moved back to the foot of the bed and nudged up the blankets from that end.

After a moment, he found Mike's foot, tugging it free of the covers. He gently massaged it for a bit, his movements careful and slow. Nothing to disturb, Mike's euphoria. That is, until cool metal closed around the captive's ankle. A cuff just like before, that Billy set to screwing shut the moment he closed it. The chain on this one was slimmer and nicer. Polished and shiny, unlike the industrial chain from before. This one was also longer, giving Mike more range.

"Nnnn," Is about all he can manage, and blankets are pulled up and Mike actually forgets that it's Colin doing it, that it's Colin being so kind and nice to him. All he wants to believe the past hour or so had been nothing, just a nightmare from bad drugs and worse experiences with Colin.

He's fine. He'll wake up from nodding off. That's all.

The massaging was nice. Blissful, until he felt cold metal around his ankle. He barely lifts his head, unable to between the exhaustion and the oxy, and mumbles, nearly slurring his words.

"No," He manages. Weak. "No more..."

Billy shushed Mike, patting his leg, before returning to the screw. He got it in as deep as he could with his fingers alone. But eventually he needed the small allen wrench to help get it flush. He worked quick and was done in under a minute. "No more," Billy promised, as he settled the blankets back over Mike's legs.

Tucking the wrench away, he crawled up on the bed. He settled down beside Mike, head propped up on one hand, watching him for a moment. His hand reached out, brushing his fingers over the man's cheek. "You just get some rest. I'll be back in a few hours. You'll need something to eat when you wake up, and maybe another pill, hm?" He leaned down and kissed Mike on the forehead. "But for now, just sleep."

He doesn't want Billy to come back. He wants to go home. He wants the shackle off. Wants to move his body, will himself to get up and leave. The other was touching him, touching his cheek, and while it wasn't like ecstasy it was definitely close with how sensitive he still was.

"No more," He said again, wanting Billy to promise a second time.

He was too tired to move. To do anything like fight back, even if he wants to. The comforting, warm numb of the oxy, enveloping him. Cocooning him, wrapping him from everything that's bad. It doesn't hurt anymore.

Finally.

Mike's not sure what happens, though. It's either actual sleep or nodding off but regardless, he welcomes it.

"No more," Billy repeated softly, leaving off the intended "for now." Mike needed to recover if he was going to break the man all over again. Leaving him to rest, Billy slipped out, flipping off the light as he went. It wasn't pitch-dark, the lights elsewhere in the warehouse providing just barely enough illumination to make out rough shapes.

***

As promised, Billy was gone for several hours. First, he needed to clean up the mess they'd made. That he took his time on, because each aspect was like reliving the associated moments all over again. Picking up the gag, plug and cuffs. Wiping up the floor. Taking the items upstairs to clean them. He lingered over the gag the longest, recalling just how beautiful and desperate Mike looked while wearing it. A drooling mess, still trying to argue. Something he already wanted to see again.

He left the warehouse for a while, getting them food and a few supplies. So when more than four hours had passed, he finally made his way back down into the basement. Two pizza boxes in one hand, and a plastic bag with soda and beer in the other. He stopped at the corner with the light switch and hit it with his elbow. He didn't move closer, taking in the scene. He'd measured the chain to ensure that anyone attached to it couldn't reach him where he stood. "Hope you're hungry," he announced, more cheerful than he'd ever been in front of Mike.

He feels like shit.

He's been nodding off, though the majority of that after the first few hours wasn't the exhaustion but instead the drugs. He's splayed out on the bed, head buried underneath a pillow, laying on his stomach despite the hands in front of him--he doesn't control when or how he nods off, the oxy does.

He actually smells the food first instead of what he hears. His head jerks up, instinctively, the moment it registered just what the hell was happening. He's bleary, disoriented, and his shoulders are stiff but he's slept in a bed that was far more comfortable than his own and he's still riding that blissful high. It's dimmed somewhat, but it's still there. Enough that Mike can think clearly.

Or would, if he'd eaten in the past 24 hours. His hair is mussed, but his eyes are surprisingly clear for the usual red-rimmed addict's gaze. Almost immediately, his gaze shifts from the food to the shackle, hands darting for it instinctively even as Billy watches him.

It wasn't a dream.

Billy was both surprised and pleased when there wasn't an ambush waiting for him. Mike was still passed out on the bed. It meant that it was possible to completely wear out that impressive physique after all. He'd had his doubts with how much fight Mike had in him after being knocked out.

He seemed oblivious to Mike checking his shackle as he approached the bed. "I wasn't sure of your preferences so we've got the best of both worlds. One with all the meat, minus anchovies, never much cared for those. And one with all the veggies." He opened each box in turn, revealing the contents and dropping a large wad of napkins between them. "We've got drinks, too." He held up the bag before setting it down on the bed. "I'm sure you're starved. Dig in." Then he grinned. "And when you're through, there's dessert." He patted his breast pocket with a conspiratorial wink.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject