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.

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Billy pocketed the clip and seemed to relax even further when Mike didn't attack. So far, the play was working. It continued to work. And Mike continued to behave. He's tense, but not fighting. Has he learned to pick his battles? He doesn't seem resigned to his fate, not entirely. Billy hadn't ruled out a fight entirely, but for now it didn't seem like it would happen.

"Did you think both of these were for just you?" Billy asked with a smirk. "Cleaning up after you works up an appetite." Without anything more, he snagged a piece of the veggie pizza and took a hearty bite. For all the world, he looked completely at ease, completely off his guard. But he was ready. Inviting the attack that he knew was inevitable. Testing to see how tamed Mike was at the moment.

Doesn't mean Mike has to bend over backwards to accommodate the other. On the contrary--Mike shot the other a half-glare, just a small bit of attitude that he couldn't resist.

Absolutely. Fucking. Crazy.

He waits, though. Mike waits and waits and he's finished his second piece of pizza, gobbling them up fairly quickly, when he looks over at the other. A quick glance.

And, suddenly, he strikes--as quick as his motor reflexes will allow, one of his hands around the other's throat, the other picking up the slack of the chain. His plan is to wrap it around the other's neck and pull.

He has to get rid of this. Now. He has to get free.

Billy went down with the strike. Hard. He dropped the pizza he'd been eating, hitting the hard concrete floor. So very predictable. What wasn't predictable was that hand on his throat. Billy's hands grabbed Mike by the wrist, trying to pry his arm free. It was only because of that he was able to react in time to the chain wrapping around his throat, getting his wrist in between his neck and the chain.

Even with that, he started to laugh. A hoarse, gasping laugh. "If you...kill me...you'll never...get out of here..." His words trailed off with a laugh. Since he had no intent of moving Mike for a while, he'd made sure to leave the tiny wrench for the shackle up with the rest of the toys.

It was satisfying. So very satisfying, seeing Billy on the floor, feeling him cave so quickly, so surprised. Mike didn't bother to hide his smile, knowing full well he could just kill him, grab the pills and run. No one would care about someone like this. Some fucking torture dungeon.

Then Colin laughed. He laughed and Mike's satisfied look turned a little more dangerous, a little more wary. Was Colin telling the truth? Was the key upstairs? There was no toolbox. Just pizza and drinks.

Colin was lying. had to be lying. He needed to count on Colin lying if he could get through this. If he hesitated, even once, Billy was going to find a way to fuck him over. Mike just wished he'd had military training like Billy did.

"You raped me," Mike growled, moving himself so he was straddling the other. He was getting emotional given the situation. Killing Colin. Remembering what had happened.

That shift in Mike's face just made Billy's smile grow. He could play nice, feign fear and keep their little happy house play going. But why, when he could have an excuse to make Mike cry all over again? Deny him pills until he was shaking and sweating. Until he begged for release and relief.

"Twice," Billy reminded, with twisted glee. His hand balled into a fist, trying to loosen the chain Mike had around his throat. As Mike climbed on top of him, his free hand found the man's knee, pushing up his leg. Proving he was far from beaten. "Don't tell me you're after a little...revenge. Eye for an eye, is that your style? Or should I say..." He rolled his hips under Mike's weight, "Cock for a cock?"

Twice. Twice, and Mike's scowl turned into something else entirely, his own face red from the sheer exertion. Trying to cut Colin's air supply, trying to stop him from doing anything. He couldn't grab anything else--not while Colin was trying to get out.

"You'd like that too much, you sick fuck," Mike hissed, grip slackening a brief second as the other rolled his hips, grinding his bare cock against the other's pants. Enough for Billy to press that, if he was waiting. Mike, however, was far too determined to kill him. Certainly not an eye for an eye in that aspect. there was nothing Mike could do to Billy but end his life and to call on Billy's bluff.

With the training at Billy's disposal, he could have flipped this around at any time, really. He'd shown remarkable skill already, but now? Now it was just fun. Watching Mike thinking he had a chance. Watching as he tried to fight.

But he did take advantage of that slackened grip. His free hand shot back to Mike's wrist. Instead. of just grabbing it like a desperate fool, as he'd done before, his fingers curled around it. Digging into the tendon with incredible force. Making it impossible to hold the chain. Only then did he start to slowly pull his arm away from his neck, loosening the links.

"What do you think you're going to do, Mikey? Killing me won't erase what's been done. It won't free you. What's a junkie like you going to do with no escape?" He grinned, knowing that both the nickname and the accusation where things Mike very much didn't want to hear.

His wrist, grabbed, makes his grunts of effort morph into grunts of pain, hands moving backwards of seemingly their own accord. It's Billy's fingers jabbed into the inside of his wrist, his hand slowly going numb.

This wasn't fair, this wasn't fair this wasn't fair. Mike just needed a little more time, be a little stronger---

And then two things happened. One, Colin called him Mikey. Paige's name for him. Two, Colin called him a junkie. He did not wind up here, bruised and battered and trying to kill someone, because he was an addict. It was because of Kelly, that's all.

Doesn't stop the rage from getting a hold of him. He's too blinded, to angry to do anything other than attack. The 'irritability' symptom of oxy, or so it seemed. Or maybe he was just sick of Colin's shit.

"You shut the fuck up," Mike hisses, manages to still hold onto the chain for at least a few more seconds before the hand relents and Mike, still acting on instinct, uses his free hand to punch the other in the face.

Those two buttons were just too hard to resist. They were like giant, glaring and red. Labeled clearly and bordered in yellow and black caution markers. Logically, they should be left alone because they were dangerous. But who could fight temptation like that? Especially when the result was always so very explosive.

At last, he was able to yank the chain safely away from his throat. But just as he was free of it, knuckles collided with his face. His head whipped to the side and for a moment he was visibly stunned. Mike had a fair bit of fight left in him. Slowly, a grin stretched over his face again and he laughed. A loud, scoffing laugh.

"Oooh, you're still so feisty," his tone making it sound incredibly suggestive. "Is that how you like it, Mikey? Being on top? Being the one in control?"

Mikey. The only people that could call him that were his parents, once upon a time. Or Charlie or Paige. Not Colin. Not the man who's raped him twice.

"Away from you!" Is what he roars in response. It's a yell, explosive as his gaze and unable to stop as his fist connects with the others' jaw once more.

It's not about escape now. It's about killing Colin to end this nightmare as quickly as possible. He's seeing red, all too angry and all too worked up by Billy's mocking laughter and insistence this was sexual was goading him. His fist came down a second time and this time, there was no break in between as mike warren decided to yell.

He's trying to beat billy to death in a fit of blind rage.

Billy continued to laugh. Cruel and mocking. It only paused when the blows struck. The fist to his jaw made his head whip to the side, his laugh cutting off instantly. As he lifted his head again and started laughing, blood tricked out of his mouth from having bitten his tongue. He didn't seem to mind. The second one brought a spout of blood from his nose, but it didn't seem to deter his laugh.

As the third blow came down, Billy's hand shot up and in an instant his expression changed. The laugh stopped and a fierceness settled into his face. He kicked and twisted. It wasn't the frantic flailing of a victim, but skill of a well trained man. He reversed them, slamming Mike's back against the floor, his arm coming down on the man's chest to pin him there, his victim's legs still around his waist.

"Away?" He mocked, blood dripping from his nose and chin. "There is no away. I was going to play nice. Feed you. Pamper you. Give you all you needed. But that's only for good little pets." A broad grin split his face, exposing blood stained teeth. "Hope you enjoyed your last pill. Because it was your last."

Mike drops off of the bed and to the floor with a hollow thump, and it comes as a complete surprise. One minute he'd been so sure he could beat Billy to death, to unleash all of his rage and pain from everything Billy had done.

Now, though? Now the roles were reversed and Mike is on the floor, pinned by his chest, some of Billy's blood dripping and hitting the side of Mike's neck as he automatically, instinctively moves his head away from the other.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It's like ice water has been poured all over him, and while it didn't distill his temper a horrifying realization had just hit him: Billy allowed Mike to hit him. That was why it happened, he'd been tricked. He'd been tricked and he actually stopped his arms from moving up to try to take another swing when the other spoke.

There's more, isn't there? In his breast pocket. If he could find a way to grab it... Or--or something. Or anything, he could--he could win this right? He could win this, he...

...He was beginning to lose hope.

"No," He refuses. "I'm tired of your shit, Colin."

"My shit?" Billy said with a low chuckle. He leaned closer, digging his elbow into the man's chest. "I'm just cleaning up the streets, Mikey. Attacking drug drealers? Really? That's bad for business, laddy. For everyone."

He was mere inches from Mike's face, letting the blood drip freely from what he suspected was a broken nose. "I was just going to make my point clear, have my fun, then let you go. But now? Now...you've given me reason to keep you here. To watch you as you slowly fall apart, and shatter you once you've hit your breaking point."

Mike is breathing heavily, from rage and frustration, and mostly because he doesn't know whether or not to follow what the other is saying. Was he lying, and giving false hope? Trying to guilt Mike, only to yank it from under his feet? Or was this real? Was Colin telling the truth? For all Mike knew,Colin expected Mike to push back.

"You're looking for an excuse. Anything, as long as it--satisfies you, aren't you? You wanted me to try to kill you. To think I had the upper hand."

Billy drove his arm harder against Mike's chest, more to remind Mike that he was still in control. That he was the one calling the shots.

"I wanted to make sure you'd behave," he snarled. "I gave you the opportunity to show you'd learned your lesson. If I wanted you to do that, why would I have brought THIS for you?!"

From his breast pocket, he pulled a small glass pipe and shoved it in Mike's face. A few drops of blood splattered it and his own hand before he pulled it away. "I was giving you a chance!"

Against his chest, the arm made him feel almost winded from how hard it was. He was about to try to get at the other's face again, to physically move and hurt him so he can escape. So he can fight back.

He doesn't, though. Because Billy is pulling out a pipe and everything clicks. The way he was patting his breast pocket. The strange teasings.

He wasn't trying to get Mike to attack him at all. He was actually doing an act of kindness. Like when he tucked Mike into bed before this ordeal. Like how, in the car, he had almost felt love from the other at some points.

Mike doesn't feel too much sympathy, or at least he tries not to--his mind is flooded with other emotions, most of the still a numb surprise as he stops fighting back, mouth still open from the struggle.

Billy might have let him go.

"Colin..." He trails off his own question, still shocked.

Billy shrugged, tucking the pipe back in his pocket. He seemed unmoved by the look on Mike's face. Or the tone in his voice. But he was incredibly moved. Maybe not in the way Mike would have wanted, but moved none the less. It stirred something deep inside him. A thirst. A driving need. But he forced himself to wait.

"You had your chance," Billy reminded. "And now you're going to have to stay down here. Alone. While I get my face fixed. Might even require a trip to the hospital. I could be gone for hours. But you're going to get one final chance...can I leave your hands free, or do you need restraint while I'm gone?"

He lifted his eyebrows before releasing his grip. He leaned back slowly, watching Mike carefully to see what he'd do.

One last chance. Billy leaned back and the words were ringing in Mike's ear. The pipe. If he was 'good.' One more chance.

He doesn't want the pills, he tells himself. He doesn't like the threat of someone cutting him off. Billy had been honest with him before and Mike blew it. Maybe now he could make this a do-over of sorts. Then escape when he's sure.

It isn't the pills and the promise of losing them. It isn't. It can't be.

"Yeah." Slowly, he brings his hands up and near his head, making sure they're where Billy can see them. "Yeah, leave them free, there's no need to restrain me, Colin."

He's aware, still, of the other's blood on his face. All Mike had wanted to do was kill him... He didn't think he was capable of that until now.

All he needs to do is play nice until Billy's out. That's all.

Billy reached up to his face as he leaned back, wiping at the excessive blood. If it wasn't broken, he'd be shocked. Mike had done quite a number on it. "That's a good boy," he said with a smirk, reaching down to not only pat Mike's cheek, but to smear blood across it.

In one fluid motion, he pushed back and rocked onto his feet, rising to his full height. "If you play nice when I get back, maybe, just maybe, you'll get what you want."

He snatched up the sack of drinks, not wanting to leave Mike with the metal of the cans, and simply headed away from the bed. Whether he needed to go to the ER or not, he intended to leave Mike long enough for withdrawal to really start setting in.

Mike's cheek was smeared with blood and he doesn't bother hiding his disgust, the coppery smell in his nostrils, the liquid going to dry in his stubble. He can't exactly bat the other's hand away, not now, so the moment the other moved back to his feet Mike sat up, watching the other leave. He could do this.

----

It's at least 5 hours later, even if it feels like it's closer to 10. Mike knows because it's starting to happen. He had started off simply--finishing an entire pizza by himself, drinking more water. Exploring. Dizziness kicked in long after Mike got the shakes--he didn't realize the shakes were a thing with his body anymore.

He passed out, after a while of nothing. Kept feeling it worse and worse, and by the end of everything he was curled up on the bed. The shackle didn't even seem that bad, trying to let his mind loose and stop thinking about how much everything hurt.

It did, though. The dull pain was getting sharper, and not just where he'd been shot or the knife. He was sweating, too, even naked and not ontop of a sheet. It had to be just 5 hours. It was more than that, of course, but Mike only knew that time seemed to drag on forever when you can't get your pill and has already given up trying to tell. He can't get that fix. And he hurt.

Billy had lost track of time. Getting his face patched up didn't take nearly as long as he'd said it would, but he didn't need a doctor. He just needed to call in a favor. Thankfully, it wasn't broken. But he was developing a pretty nasty black eye from it, plus the other bruises from his tussle with Mike.

After getting his face assessed, he got himself some food since his meal had been interrupted, then found a nice place to take a nap. The nap turned into several hours of incredibly restful sleep. Then it was off to get some coffee, as if he were starting his day.

He wandered down into the basement of the warehouse, keeping his footfalls quiet. He'd left his jacket behind, leaving him in a teeshirt. Over his shoulder was the tote bag full of striking implements, and it seemed he'd added a few more items as it bulged far more than before. He leaned against the near the light switch, having left the lights on before. Oh, what a sight Mike had become. In...what was it? Six? Maybe seven hours?

"Fairing well, I see," he remarked with a cool smirk. Only tainted by the swelling on one side of his face. Thank goodness for his own supply of pain killers to dull the after effects.

"Colin," He hadn't moved. Hadn't even seen or heard Billy come down to this area. The lights had been left on but even if they hadn't. Mike doubt'ed he'd even notice if he heard the switch or saw the difference in the light.

The voice, though. The voice cut through everything like a knife, piercing into his skull, almost, and he grunted with the effort of sitting up. His arms were visibly shaking, forehead slick with sweat as he noticed the other. Smirking, because he knows exactly how Mike feels.

"Where--" Right, hospital. He manages to sit, trying to blink away the effects. Trying to focus on Billy and not the pain. It was extremely difficult, and he winces with the effort. "You look better," A remark. Inhaling sharply. "Was it broken?"

Billy took a slow step closer, watching Mike carefully. His smirk shifted, as if he were completely flattered by the comment and the question. "Thankfully no. I'm just going to be a bit of a raccoon for a while." He came to a stop at a point that seemed completely arbitrary, but he knew to be just barely outside the reach of the chain and whatever Mike himself could manage beyond that.

"Hurts quite a bit, though. The jaw more than the nose, strangely enough." As he spoke, he dug into the pocket of his jeans. "But thankfully I've got..." He pulled free a small white pill and showed it to Mike. "...a little something to take the edge off when I need it."

Mike is about to say something. Try his best to show he's fine, he's not shaking as much as this is, or sweating, or anything. It's nothing. Just symptoms left over from how emotionally traumatized he was or something of the sort.

His gaze, though, snaps immediately when he finds Billy's hand. The pill. Oxy.

Billy had fucking oxy. He knew, and Mike knew he knew, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips as he sits up a little straighter, trying to appear casual. Trying to act like it doesn't bother him, but eyeing it hungrily.

"Colin, you know I'm in pain, too, that's--you need give me some. Please."

Billy tilted his head, looking at the pill in his hand then back to Mike with a quizzical lift of his eyebrow. He could see how eager the man was. Perking up like a dog when the treats came out. Still claiming to not be a junkie, and yet shaking and sweating after less than twelve hours without a pill.

"This?" He asked, tilting his hand. "Oh, I know I put you through your paces, but I like to keep my toys in tact. But don't worry, I won't leave you hurting." He reached into the bag and produced a small bottle of Advil. He looked over the label, then back to Mike. "Fast acting, AND an anti-inflammatory. To help with those more...tender regions." With a smirk, he tossed the bottle toward Mike.

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