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

[fabricatings]

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

[fabricatings]

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?"

[fabricatings]

"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!"

[fabricatings]

"Not me," Mike managed, voice strangely determined despite the hands around his neck. A right arm swings a punch at Colin, determined. He can take the physical no problem--apparently hearing he's a junkie practically enrages him.

He's trying, rather heavy handedly, to get the other off of him. Mike just needs a way to get to the opposite car door...

[heroeswork]

Billy dropped the tape, catching Mike's wrist as he lunged back to avoid the swing. By pure chance, at that moment a car passed outside, giving him just enough light to see the damage on Mike's knuckles. The obvious signs of having recently been in a fight. Usually, he didn't pay much attention to the scrapes and blemishes on junkies. But this certainly wasn't track marks.

"Someone's been fighting," he commented. He slammed the arm down hard against Mike's chest, determined to not let the man up. "I'd better find Kelly in one piece. He's good for business."

[fabricatings]

Two. And Briggs will panic when mike doesn't come home, knowing he left with a bit of temper. Kelly... It didn't make sense. Mike was a pretty good customer, always paying. Never bringing any heat.

Anything else he could think of was immediately dismantled. His chest, just above the stomach. Why he needed the oxy in the first place. Remnants if an old pain, either real or imaginary.

He grunts in pain, scrunching his entire face up. "Roommate," he managed. Not a complete lie, and it reminded the other that eventually people will look for him.

[heroeswork]

Junkies usually roomed with other junkies, so Billy wasn't worried int he least. Days could pass before they were noticed as missing. And by then he could be through. Feed Mike enough Oxy that he'd be written off as an OD, no questions asked.

"Hope he's not expecting you back by curfew," Billy remarked, seemingly unconcerned. He just grabbed the fallen roll of tape. And with some careful maneuvering he set to taping both wrists together. Not exactly concerned with things like comfort or circulation.

[fabricatings]

It shows. Mike's wrists are tied tight together and he swears he can feel his pulse with just how little room there is. It's one of the strangest feelings in the world.

All of this stress, all of whatever he's doing--mike is feeling in pain again. He swears so, especially with where the other hit him.

"Earlier you gave me what I wanted," he says quickly. oxy. "Why?"

[heroeswork]

Billy didn't respond right away. He was distracted by tearing the duct tape and ensuring the other's wrists were secure. With one hand and his teeth, he tore off a long strip of tape and pushed Mike's wrists up closer to the door. And started using that long strip to secure the wrists to the leather handle, where one would grip to pull the door shut.

"Wanted to make sure you'd be able to keep it up," Billy said with an apparent smirk in his voice. "Had to get rid of those withdrawal symptoms if we were gonna have any fun tonight." He let go of his work with one hand to give Make a firm pat on the cheek.

[fabricatings]

The cheek makes him wince, too intimate for his liking. Far too intimate--he turns his head away, purposely, with the pat. He at least tries to, though being in his position it's a little hard to stop the physical contact.

"You don't give a shit about dealing," He realized, shifting his weight, still trying to struggle. "You just lure people out here."

[heroeswork]

When Mike tries to pull away, the pat turns into a gentle caress. His thumb traces over the other's cheek, almost gently. Soft. Intimate.

"On the contrary," Billy said, leaning closer. "You were just far too tempting to resist." His fingers trailed down over the side of Mike's neck, before returning to the task of securing the man's wrists to the door. They were going to need a knife to get all of that tape free.

[47redbirds]

"Fuck you," He managed. This wasn't what he wanted to hear--too tempting to resist? He's a normal guy. Someone that needs a little leeway to get by. Not... This.

The duct tape was a lot--he could maybe have ripped through it if he was stronger and if there wasn't so much, and his arms flexed as he tried to do exactly that. No go.

Shit. He was trapped. Trapped with Colin, trapped in a goddamn car on the edge of a highway.

[heroeswork]

Billy picked up the roll to apply one final twist around Mike's wrists, securing the strips a little further. He took loving care to smooth down all the edges, thumbs gliding over tape and wrists.

"Perfect..." He mused as his hands slid over arms. He didn't sound like he was talking about a simple tape job.

His hands continued down over Mike's sides, before finally moving up over the other's chest. He seized the zipper of the junkie's hoodie and slowly started to drag it down. "Just...perfect."

[47redbirds]

He's wearing a tank top, nothing else--grubby, in need of a watch if he's being honest, but it's hard to remember to do laundry when all you need is your next fix and your roommate is chomping at the bit for more heroin.

"You're sick," He manages, wincing as he tries a second time to try to get the tape off of his hands. How the fuck did he even get himself into this situation? "This help you get off?" He challenged. "Making sure people don't have a chance to fight back?"

[heroeswork]

"You had your chance," Billy said, either missing the proper question or opting to ignore it, intentionally. "And look where it got you."

Shoving the hoodie open, Billy ran his hands up over the tank top. Just as filthy as he expected. One hand stayed on Mike's chest, the other reached into his own jacket pocket. He produced a knife. A rather wicked looking thing that he flipped open with a flick of his wrist. And with careful precision, he started to cut. Just the dirty white fabric. Slowly slicing upward.

[47redbirds]

"A gun in the mouth," He snapped. Maybe not the wisest choice, but the other was literally cutting off his shirt. He can feel the cold knife on his chest, causing him to tense. He'd shake his head but he's watching, entranced, at that cold metal. As if somehow he wasn't actually in his own body. Shock?

"C'mon, man, you don't have to do this..."

[heroeswork]

Billy stayed silent, intently watching his own work. The knife ever so slowly tearing through fabric. Until at last he came to the top. And with a sharp flick, he sliced through that final barrier. The knife came up, pressing under Mike's chin without breaking the skin. "But I do..."

The knife pulled back and ever so slowly, started tracing down Mike's exposed chest with the tip. Still not doing any damage, but close enough that if Mike moved to fast or too hard, there would be nothing Billy could do. "I very much do..." there was a breathless lust in his voice. Possessive and demanding.

[47redbirds]

"No, you don't," Was he just crazy? The final flick made Mike genuinely flinch, the knife to his throat biting at him. Not breaking the skin but gripping him, making him feel like he can't move. If he does, he gets tabbed. Pure and simple.

The knife moves down, down, and his breath hitches, stomach clenching. Willing himself to stay still: he'd rather not die, not now. It's the tone that bothers him the most, though. Predatory. Full of something he can't quite place, full of something he hasn't heard in a long time: lust.

"No, you don't," He argues. "You can be better than this, alright? You can--push through whatever urges you're having right now."

[heroeswork]

With a click, the knife folded and Billy tucked it away. Freeing up both his hands, he could push them over that exposed skin. Nudge aside the grungy shirt and take in what he'd finally captured. It was better than he'd anticipated. That brief glimpse in the bar had been nothing more than a tease. This was exquisite.

"Can you push through?" Billy asked, leaning down, his lips finding Mike's collar bone. Slowly, he moved backwards. Lips caressing skin with the lightest touch. As if they were gentle lovers. "When it starts to hurt...when it starts to itch." He let out a low chuckle. "You're better than the pills." He found the scar with his fingers first. His lips moving to it as if a mere kiss could heal the old wound. "Just...one more...to get you through..."

[47redbirds]

Lips. Lips on him, gentle and wonderful and Mike reminds himself that this isn't Paige, this is a psycho from the street. He'd heard stories of people taking hookers for this kind of shit--attractive girls. Attractive men on rare occasion. Not people like him. Not for this.

Pill poppers were just quick and steady murder. This isn't.

Billy kisses down his chest and Mike visibly flinches, visibly shudders, half-dressed and suddenly all-too-cold in the cramped compartment of the car.

Mike can block out the other's voice. Could, until those lips move to the low scar--the knife wound, the bullet sound, grouped so near each other. How he'd never thought the scars would matter until now. Mike feels, suddenly, like he's going to throw up.

"Stop," He managed, sounding amazingly commanding despite his position. "Stop and think about what you're doing and work through it, you know this is wrong."

And now Mike knows he's a hypocrite.