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

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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.

Comments

[heroeswork]

"What I want," Billy said, his voice dropping to almost a growl, "is for you to shut up..."

The soft fabric of the other's pants was so very easily to work through. Far better than the denim he wore. The jeans he'd been all too aware of the entire drive here. And just how tight they'd been growing the more he thought about just what he was going to do. It was the only reason he'd stayed so quiet. Others, he'd charm and chat with, casual as ever. But he didn't want to give the game away. He wanted Mike scared. Paranoid. And the best way to do that was silence. Keep him guessing.

"You'll get what you came for, if you behave."

His hand moved, fingers pushing beneath the waistband. He grabbed the other's cock, firmly. Stroking it hard while watching his face in the dark. Listening. Knowing just how much Mike must be hurting.

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Mike's lips part, almost about to protest, and he's dimly aware of his hair in his face obscuring his eyes slightly. Part of him is glad, the other part is far too focused on that hand on his cock, touching him. He noticeably tenses, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

The problem is that Mike can't understand. Can't grasp why this is a thing, and not road head or whatever it was he's supposed to be doing. Why he's being paid attention to and--

"Fuck," He manages, though it's a bit more mumbled than usual with the hand on his throat. There's a sudden spasm that has nothing to do with the hand on his dick--one of his hand twitches and he swears it just got a little colder in the truck.

Shit. He just needs at least a pill before he can do this, just one. Maybe then he can make sense of why the stranger's touching him, the hand on his neck. He has to be quiet and behave, that's obvious, but it's more than awkward. Mike has no idea how to handle this. That's the biggest reason why Mike is about to panic and freak out. Something he never, ever does.

[heroeswork]

That confusion, that panic, that's what he wanted to see. He can feel it under his fingers. That thready, panicked pulse. Hear it in the other's breathing. But more than anything was the response to his touch. Mike wasn't so far down into withdrawal that his body was ignoring the touch. Good to know.

He had his reasons for this. The first being it stopped the claims of not being gay real quick of the other was hard. But that dwarfed in comparison to the thrill of control. To get someone who was completely unwilling to squirm and pant was better than any high from any drug.

The harder he stroked, the tighter his grip on Mike's throat. It didn't take long before he cut off the other's air completely.

oh my god this tag became so fucked up

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It felt good. Oddly good, given the situation. He could feel his pulse in his ears, that was for sure, heart beating rapidly. Mike didn't know what else to do except for sit there, awkward and strangely aroused before the hand began to clamp down on his trachea more.

He did something wrong. He had to, that hand on his throat. He had to, and he almost immediately starts to panic. Not being able to breathe some people could handle for more than others, but the whole reason he got into this mess, the entire hospital visit--how he had died. Literally.

Mike was panicking, now, as the other tightened his grip with how hard he stroked. He needed the drugs and he needed the drugs badly but this was reminding him of the hospital, reminding him of dying and he couldn't handle that, not now, not without the drugs. He lets out a murmured, muffled noise of protest just as the other shuts out all the air completely.

Something amazing happens.

Mike smells, just for a second, that spring day. The coniferous and deciduous trees. How it had just rained, that all-too familiar earthy smell he always got when he was near the treeline. His eyes shoot open, wide and dilated, and he's overcome with something. He's not sure what--the smell, the hand stroking him as he does so. He locks eyes with the other's blue ones, a look of complete and utter confusion on his face. Asking why. But he's not fighting back. Not as much as he can. No kicking, no trying for the door like he normally could. Mike's hands are still trying to pry the other off, but shaking hands in withdrawal are nothing compared to a dealers.

He smells it, the place with the 47 red birds. It's indescribable. It's exciting. It's so much more than words can describe.

Oh Mike honey you messed up child

[heroeswork]

It wasn't the sort of response Billy expected. He was used to a fight from those he picked. It's why he picked them. Men who thought they could fight back, though they stood a chance. So they would trash and flail and kick. But not Mike. And he didn't cry, either. It always ruined it if they cried too soon. It didn't count for much if he could break them in a few minutes.

But it was that Mike didn't seem to be fighting for breath. Not really. He'd stumbled upon others who found it arousing, but this was different. In the light of passing cars, he saw the other's face. Wide-eyed and confused. Seemingly half-hearted attempts to dislodge the choking hand, but no more struggle than that. Mike truly was a strange one.

However, Billy had insisted the other behave himself. Perhaps what he saw as confusion was more of a question. "Is this what you want?" Billy imagined him asking, with a look like that. He wasn't sure if he liked it when they followed commands so easily. But Mike was rather desperate for those pills. Perhaps that what drove him to behave.

"I suppose," he said finally, as if Mike had been a part of the conversation he'd been having with himself, "Every good dog deserves a treat." He dug in his pocket as he spoke. He produced a small, round pill. Slowly, he slackened his grip. Just enough for Mike to start breathing again. Anticipating the involuntary intake of breath, he was ready to place the small pill on the other's tongue at that exact moment.

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The smell is gone and Mike snaps out of it, eyes wide and red rimmed,and the moment he gasps for air the pill goes in. He actually nearly spits it out, not sure what the fuck is happening, still confused and disoriented--but he gets it, now, what's going on. The pill goes down dry and he feels it coating his throat, sticky and trying to push it's way down, and he's not sure if it's relief that's flooding through him or the reality of the situation.

At likes this Colin guy is actually giving him what he wants. His meds. The scratching, the pain, it can stop and will stop soon. So, so soon, it's almost blissful.

Or would be, if he didn't have a hard on and the other's hands were on his throat. Had he seriously just choked him while trying to jerk him off? What the fuck was this guy?

"Let go of me," He stated, now that he was out of the field, out of the treeline. Grabs the other's arm and yanks. "Proved your point, alright?"

[heroeswork]

But they were far from done. Billy's fun had only just started. Instead of returning his hand to the other's cock, he just pressed closer. A knee on the seat between Mike's legs, the hand still at his throat.

"And what point is that?" He asked, tugging his hat off. There was no reason for it in the dark.

Tossing the hat to the dashboard, the hand returned to Mike's body. Fingers pushing up under his sweatshirt. Feeling over his skin. His mind wandered to the building behind Mike's head. There was a basement, all cold concrete and metal beams. How no one would bat an eye after a junkie went missing. It didn't matter if they'd been seen leaving the bar together, no one would care. It had been so long since he'd found someone who he'd thought could survive a few days. And Mike seemed he might last longer still.

This wicked dream of a plan shone on his face with a sharp and twisted smile. Almost invisible in the dark, as his hand explored Mike's torso.

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God. Mike didn't smack the other's hand away, not quite, but he does grab the other's wrists and pry them off of him. This was...Odd, to say the least. Fucked up was actually the first things that came to mind.

"I mean I've got it. You're the dealer, I have to do what I say, that sort of stuff." He can only guess that this is some sort of weird power trip. "Like I said, point proven." He can only bow his head so much. Especially since he isn't a junkie--not an addict.

The birds, though. That's still disorienting him. But it doesn't matter--he has it, now. He has his Oxy.

[heroeswork]

Billy moved back a little, his hand finally pulling away from Mike's throat. His hands fell to the other's hips, yanking him hard so he laid down on the seat. Not at all caring if Mike hit his head on the door in the process.

"If that's all you think, if you think it's just doing what I say, then you've not yet grasped the gravity of this situation." He loomed over Mike, his fingers starting to pull down those track pants.

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No, he understands perfectly, and he'll take his chances somewhere not here. This whole situation is fucked and once he feels his whole body slowly start to adjust. It's not immediate, but the shakes are gone. The coldness is gone.

"Get off me," He snaps, head hitting the door. He barely feels it, his left leg moving up to try to kick the other away from him. Laying on the car seat, underneath someone he barely knew. Some guy he barely knew. He gets just enough leeway to sit himself up again, back against the door, hand going for the handle.

That's right. It was a trap. Fuck.

"Touch me again and I'll break you." He means it, too.

[heroeswork]

There it was. The fire. The fight. Apparently it had been on a delayed fuse. Accelerated by just the right fuel. The pill. It would make breaking him so much more satisfying. And again he found himself wondering how easily he could find a chain and a few padlocks...

He let the other fight, watching with a completely bland face, almost severe.

"You could try," he said, drawing it out, leaning closer again. He seized Mike's arms, forcing them back against the door. "But it's who who will be broken before we're through."

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Mike has enough. He's here for oxy, not a jerk-around. He doesn't understand one bit of this Colins guy and doesn't want to, not after all of this. It's confusing and fucking infuriating, and Mike is tired of being jerked around. Treated like shit. He had the money, now he had the Oxy. Services paid for.

Fuck, he even let the other choke him and for a brief, brief moment he thought it was something he could live with. Now? His arms are seized so he can't clock the other with his fist, so all that's left his his legs. He knees the other, hard, and tries to pull up his leg enough to give him a quick sharp kick in the chest so he could at least use his arms. Try to get the guy unconscious for an escape.

Always been a fighter.

[heroeswork]

The kick dislodged Billy, more out of surprise than anything. His finger slipped free and he fell back against the driver's side door. His elbow brushed the horn, letting out a loud blast.

Fury flashed over his face. Passion. Elation. This wouldn't be an easy conquest. And worth every heart-pounding moment. He shoved immediately off the door, one hand planting on Mike's thigh. The other reaching into his jacket.

There was an audible and tell-tale click as a gun whipped out. Pressed under Mike's chin. "I wouldn't try that again if you want to keep that pretty head of yours."

[fabricatings]

The gun under his chin doesn't make him stop struggling altogether, but it certainly gives him time to reassess the situation. The cold metal of the gun being pushed into his chin...

He didn't want to just lay down and take it. No, he couldn't. His gaze was forced upwards with his chin, and he was surprisingly very good at keeping his breath even. He's talked his way out of situations like this before. He can do it again. He closes his eyes, tongue darting out, reaching to wet his lips.

"You have my money, you have everything..." Echoing what he's said already. He has to think of something, some way.

Play into his hands? His heart's already beating rapidly, and he slowly, slowly moves his hand to the other. All he has to do is survive this. He mirrors the hand on his thigh, even tries to lean in closer.

Just enough to get him to settle down so Mike could grab the gun. That's all he had to do.

[heroeswork]

The faintest smile played over Billy's face as he watched Mike. He'd seen such tactics before, whether in deals or conquests. They never worked because Billy was always several steps ahead of them. No one had ever bested him one-on-one. No one. With the exception of that damned agent he'd tangled with, some ugly bastard by the name of Malick. But only because he was too cold, too stiff to read. And in the end, Billy still got away, if with a few scars.

The hand touches his and for a moment, he just seems to stiffen, as if he hadn't expected such a touch. But it was nothing more than anticipation. And another fleeting thought passed through his mind. Locking a chain around Mike's neck. Stringing it up through one of those exposed beams in the middle of the floor. Pulling him just high enough that he could just barely stand on his toes. It was a rather delightful image. Far better than his attempts to snatch the gun.

Rather than let Mike take it, Billy jerked his hand away and brought the weapon hard across he side of Mike's face. It wasn't enough force to knock him out, but to certainly get his attention.

"Not everything," Billy said, almost sweetly. "There's so much more that I want from you."

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Being struck across the face would normally do it, but a gun was so much worse. He bounces back surprisingly quickly for someone in his state. He rears his head back up, brows furrowed. Angry.

"What the fuck do you want?!" He asked, sounding exasperated. A lot more than he'd like to, at least. And all he got out of this? One pill.

One little tiny pill.

[heroeswork]

Billy's hand moved to grasp Mike's chin. His fingers dug into his jaw, to force his mouth open. And he had the gun to help, slowly and almost gently nudging and wedging it between Mike's teeth. Far enough in that the other could taste the metal.

"What I want," Billy said calmly, "Is to break you. Completely." He leaned closer. Close enough that his breath could be felt around the gun barrel. "Even if I have to hurt you to do it. You see, this was never about the pills or the money. Not for me." He let go of Mike's chin, to reach over to the glove compartment. From it, he pulled thick roll of duct tape, which he held up for Mike to see in the dim light.

"We're going to put this to every possible use I can think of," he said, sounding almost wistful. "And from there...well, I'm sure you have an imagination somewhere in there..." he edge of the roll to Mike's forehead to make his point clear. "...that you can put to use.

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He's forced to swallow the gun, and all he can taste is bitter metal and all he can think of is how this is it--he's going to die in a fucking pick up truck with some guy who's face he hasn't even seen properly, save for the brief moment when the lights flash.

The car horn and honked, and no one was there. Billy wanted to--who the fuck knew? Mike was probably going to die. He's starting to shake, just a little, and he has a feeling it has nothing to do with withdrawal.

All he wanted was some fucking oxy. Why would Kelly give him to this guy? He pays. He always pays. Mike's never fucked up. Kelly obviously knew this guy--his thoughts were interrupted as the roll of duct tape rolled across his forehead, and when Mike looked up, it was a glare.

He was not a fucking thing. Some junkie. He couldn't say anything, didn't risk it, but the look said it all.

[heroeswork]

Billy was already ticking over plans in his mind. What he could do to get Mike restrained. Unconscious. Into the abandoned warehouse. Billy had been in there before. Checked out the acoustics and how well sound could be heard outside. The nearest place even remotely in use was several blocks away. It would be a breeze to carry Mike inside...

No, he needed to focus. On the here and now. Now he had Mike right where he wanted. Shaking and unable to escape. Slowly, he pulled the gun free, to allow Mike room enough to speak. "Before you say anything," He said as he pulled it free. "You need to understand that I have no qualms putting a bullet through your head."

[fabricatings]

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He had been reaching for the handle, thinking he could pry it off or rig it somehow, but immediately stopped once he realized that Billy was serious. Knows because Mike has that same look about him, too, sometimes.

One day, Briggs gave him a gun. Just to borrow. Was afraid people would get at him, needed some backup. Mike discovered two things: one, he was a crack shot, and two, he liked the power it gave him.

"You've made that clear," He states. Voice far less hard than it was before, but still angry. More than annoyed--furious. What the fuck was he supposed to do?

It was one pill. One fucking pill of oxycodone.

"What if Kelly figures out the one reliable guy he has disappeared after looking for you, Colin?"

[heroeswork]

"You wouldn't be the first..." Billy said in a tone that implied very clearly that he wouldn't be the last, either. But the few who had vanished hadn't been in his truck. They'd tried to cross him. Thought they could get away with stiffing him. They'd all met rather violent ends. And that was just in this city.

"Kelly's resourceful. He'll find new customers when he needs to." Slowly, he put the gun away, watching Mike carefully.

Slipping the roll of tape to his wrist to keep it close at hand, he grabbed Mike by the hips again, to drag him back into place. He was even rougher than the first time. "I don't need to remind you what will happen if you don't stay put, do I?"

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"No," Mike said immediately, trying to roll with it. It was as much as he could do, in this sort of a situation. Try to ease himself into a situation where he can escape. Mike has no doubt Billy will kill them--absolutely no doubt--but bullets can miss, if he gets a head start.

If he gets the gun.

He's jammed roughly back to the seat and Mike is still racking his brain, still thinking. The problem is that Mike's not a normal junkie. He needs Oxy, needs it, but he can think. He can still do stuff like this.

"Doesn't this make more sense, from a business standpoint, if you leave me alive? It's not like I can call the cops on you anyway, man, and I can help you. Give you more people, set you up with other people like me. What is it--blonde men? Blue eyes? I can help."

[heroeswork]

Billy didn't seem to be listening. For a moment, he was focused on the roll of tape in his hands, fingers tracing around it as eye found the end of it. Deft and practiced, even in the dark. It only took a moment.

Seizing Mike's wrist, he roughly started winding the tape around it, unless Mike started fighting back. "I don't want more people," he explained with an incredibly calm, conversational tone. "I get more than enough business. One junkie isn't going to ruin business. Besides, I don't want people LIKE you. I want you. Specifically."

[fabricatings]

He's mad, but he doesn't struggle too much once the first loop is around him. He's trying to think, trying to find a way to get something, and then it happens. The Colin guy says the magic word.

Junkie.

Mike Warren was not a junkie.

It happens immediately, fueled by rage, and Mike snaps as he pulls his wrist out of the other's grasp and spends zero time moving, sitting up a second time and trying to shove the other against the car door himself.

"I am not a junkie," He hisses. "That's the difference between me and someone else. That's why you want me. I am not a fucking addict."

[heroeswork]

But Billy had been ready for it this time. The kick had caught him off guard, but this wouldn't throw him. He had his hand at Mike's throat in an instant, trying to force him back down onto the seat, not afraid to cut off his air again.

"I only deal with junkies," he said with a strange note of glee in his voice. This is what he'd wanted. A fight. An argument. A struggle. "Because they're the only ones desperate enough to need me!"