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

[heroeswork]

The question made Kelly hesitated as he dug in his pockets for the pills. But Mike's impatience was enough to help him cover. "You hear things, you know?" He said, with only a slight tension in his voice. "Word-of-mouth and all that. Never even met the guy. You know how it is."

Producing the required amount of pills. "Never had any complaints about the guy before." He handed the pills off to Mike. "There you go, you'll be right as rain in no time, buddy. No reason for anyone to be unhappy tonight."

Meanwhile, Billy waited. Listening. He'd make his move once Mike and Kelly parted. The last thing he wanted was Kelly knowing the truth. Better to keep him thinking Mike's the bad guy in all of this. An easy enough story to buy.

[47redbirds]

"Yeah," Mike said after a while. Smiles, all genuine and witty and grateful. "Yeah, no reason to be unhappy tonight. You ever stop by the drop I'll buy you a beer for the other day, alright?" He meant it. Mostly. Being on friendly terms with Kelly would probably help him in the long run, as long as he could control himself when he's getting fucked over.

Judging from the bloodied knuckles as he hands the money over, he couldn't.

[heroeswork]

Those bloodied knuckles had Kelly obviously worried. He glanced down at them as he took the money, remembering Billy's tale. And he wondered if Mike had spent the week roughing up dealers. And for probably the first time, wondered just where his customer's money had come from. "Yeah...that sounds...good..." Kelly said, taking a slow step back. "I'll take you up on that some day."

He was already retreating into the alley. Putting as much distance between him and Mike as possible. Meanwhile, eager to move, Billy peeked around the corner, waiting for Mike to move. If he didn't follow Kelly, he'd start following Mike.

[47redbirds]

Mike has no reason to be anywhere but home, now, the deal done. Hanging out with Kelly a second longer than he has to reminds him, mostly, of the thing he swears he's not: an addict. He's a degenerate, maybe, and not strictly doing anything legal, but Mike is not an addict.

Even if, as he walks down the alley, opening the baggie and taking a round white pill out, all he can remember is Billy's breathy, desperate words in his ear. About how much he needs it and can't stop, just like Mike. But that hadn't been drugs. That had been...

That had been something else entirely.

He turns the corner, about to pop the pill like candy, and goes to get onto the main drag and back home. He's got to clean the house up since he left it in a mess after Carlito.

[heroeswork]

Billy followed at a safe distance, head bowed and hands in his pockets. His plan was to stick close enough to keep Mike in sight and make his move once they were far from prying eyes. But Mike didn't take the route Billy expected. Out on the busy street, even at this hour, he could lose his target in a heartbeat.

In a snap decision, he rushed forward. He couldn't have Mike slip away so easily. Not this soon. Before Mike could step out onto the street, Billy's hands snapped out, one going for his arm the other to cover his mouth.

[47redbirds]

Mike wasn't expecting it, of course. Mike is paranoid by nature, paranoid by both his personality and how the world works. He's doing something illegal, after all. But shit, why wouldn't Kelly hire some muscle to give Mike a little scare? It's why he'd gone over to the busy street.

The pill nearly sticks in his mouth with how quick the jerking moment is, his attacker's arms snapping whip-quick. Mike is dragged into the shadows, off guard enough to be pulled away from the main drag but not so much he can't fight back once it all clicks into place.

Time to make his knuckles sore a second time today, it seems, and he manages to get out of Billy's grip on his arm just long enough to swing a left hook at the figure's face.

[heroeswork]

The blow was enough to knock Billy back. His grip faltered completely and he staggered back. A thrill shot through him as the pain blossomed in his face. He'd left Mike in such a way that would have absolutely shattered a fair number of people. At least for a short period of time. And yet he still had the full fight in him. This was going to be worth every possible moment.

"Still got some fight, huh?" Billy said, wanting Mike to run. Wanting him to bolt. Wanting to hunt him.

[47redbirds]

Mike doesn't hesitate--he throws his elbow back, trying to connect with Billy's face again--thank god for self-defense lessons as a kid--and immediately bolts. He's woozy, but not as woozy as he'd be without anything in his system. Endorphines are mixing with the painkillers, making him feel almost invincible, almost giving the same effect as cocaine.

He could stay and fight or run, but the last time he had stayed with Billy, it was trouble. He blocks what's in his mind--of duct tape, of how irrational he now gets over checking every car door handle before getting in to make sure it's not rigged--and takes off, ratty sneakers hitting the pavement.

He just has to get out into the main area, maybe duck down another alley and hop a fence....

[heroeswork]

Despite the second blow, Billy took off after Mike rather quickly. Boots dug hard against pavement, following out on to the main street. He was fast. He'd already shown Mike just how strong he was in the truck, but strength didn't always mean speed. He ducked obstacles, knocking into a person here and there without apology. Always letting Mike stay just ahead of him. As if no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite catch up.

He made the sharp turn into the alley shortly behind Mike. And he stopped holding back. Mike hit the fence and Billy was right behind him. He caught the other's ankle before he could go over, fingers closing on it in an iron grip.

"Don't think you can get away that easy," Billy said, with a broad smile.

[47redbirds]

There's panic in the curse word, hovering as the other has his ankle. He'd been about to hop it, and he was close--so close--just ready to go into a neighbours yard before a hand clamps around his ankle.

He'd thought he'd won. He honestly thought Mike could get away, because Billy had been so far behind. He swore it--but that meant Billy was toying with him. Billy was playing with his fucking food.

He can't hit the other with his other foot, as he's still on the fence, fingers clinging to the chainlink with a rattle as he tries his best to stay on it. He's not worried about the fall, it's only a few feet--he's worried about Billy.

Billy and that broad, broad smile.

"Get the fuck away from me."

[heroeswork]

Despite being slightly out of breath from the sprint, Billy seemed unhurried now that he hand hands on Mike. Even as he struggled to hold his grip as Mike tried to fight or escape.

His other hand shot up, grabbing Mike by the back of the sweatshirt. Intent on dragging him off the fence. Throwing him to the ground. Getting on top of him. Anything to keep him from running again. He didn't seem to care if Mike fought back.

[47redbirds]

Mike does fight back--or rather, tries to. With Billy's strong grip on his sweatshirt and his ankle, any attempts at lifting himself back over the fence would be met with Billy's weight and while the other wasn't large by any stretch--except for the obvious--Mike couldn't take the other's weight with just his arms. Himself, yes, but this?

Eventually, even with Mike fussing, Billy can finally get Mike on his stomach where he fell naturally, already cutting himself from the asphalt as he tries in vein to escape. To literally claw his way out. It can't work, and Mike is face-first on the ground, chin against the pavement, arms free and trying in vain to pull himself up.

Mike begins to try to scream for help.

[heroeswork]

Billy fell on top of Mike with ease. Straddling his hips, an arm pressed across his shoulders. That freed his other hand to reach into his pocket to pull out the very same knife he'd used before. There was an audible click and he pressed the very tip of the blade against Mike's cheek. Just enough to draw the smallest trickle of blood.

"You're not stupid enough to scream again, are you?" Billy said quietly, pressing close enough that his lips nearly pressed into Mike's hair.

[47redbirds]

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That knife presses near his cheek and his entire body tenses like he's just been electrocuted. Even his hands are splayed out on the pavement, and he forgets how to breathe.

No yelling.

Billy's serious. Mike believes Billy's serious because he's seen that look in his eyes, heard that voice in his ear. 'But it hurts,' the dealer had said. 'Just one more... Just give me what I need. Please.'

"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck--Colin. Colin, I don't have anything. I have no money, nothing, okay?" Because it's money, Mike tries to tell himself. Collin's after money.

[heroeswork]

Billy lets out a low, soft chuckle as Mike tried to beg. It was endearing. Really. He twisted the knife against the other's cheek. Not to dig it deeper, but just to keep him aware it was there.

"Oh, it's not money I want," he breathed out. The tip of the knife slowly trailed down over Mike's cheek. "But you must know what I want. I don't doubt you've thought about it. When you're alone. At night." The knife moved to Mike's throat. "I know I have...I couldn't stop thinking about you..."

[47redbirds]

Mike grits his teeth, jaw set the moment that knife trails down his cheek and to his throat, but the hair on the nape of his neck rises and his back arches as if to get away, instinctual.

He swears that Colin would probably be able to tell how he swallows before he tries to say anything else just by the knife near his adams apple as it rises and falls.

He couldn't get the guy out of his head either, but most of that was because he'd wake up with a start if he dreamed about the horrific experience, or when he needed to buy a new phone--which he didn't, getting about as far as the parking lot before remembering how close it was to the bar. Maybe Colin is another type of junkie. One that gets off on fucking straight guys.

...But was he straight?

He breathes heavily out his nose, grunting in anger as he tries half-heartedly to push away, not wanting the other to drag a knife across his jugular. He can't scream, not now. Can't get help. He's screwed.

"All I've thought about is how much you need professional goddamn help, you know that?"

[heroeswork]

Billy almost casually traces the tip of that blade down Mike's neck, following the line of that ever so precious artery. Teasing and threatening all at once. He watched Mike, so obviously trapped between wanting to fight back and not wanting to be hurt. Not willing to just give in, but unwilling to die. It's exactly what Billy wanted. Passionate yet smart. He'd last a good long time.

"Oh, but I've got all the hell I need, right here."

He pulled the knife away, dipping his head to drag his tongue over the spot where it had been. He let out a soft, satisfied sound. "Just like I remember," he breathed out, nuzzling against Mike's throat.

[47redbirds]

Colin licks his throat and Mike's entire body furls, trying his best to make sure it's unwanted without drawing the attention to it. This whole thing is making his heart hammer in his chest, his senses playing out the memories before him. The feeling of the car seat on his back. Billy's hands. Mike's legs up above him like some whore.

The dealer pushing into him, and the strangely breathy way he'd moaned into his ear. Much like now, the other's nose and lips pressed into his throat. Mike exhales, sharply, and remembers he has to breathe himself.

"We're in public," He reminds, trying to find a way to talk him out of this. "This isn't a back road, Colin, someone's going to find you even if I don't yell."

[heroeswork]

Billy let out the softest chuckle. Reason. That wasn't something he was accustomed to in these situations. Fairly sound reason at that. They'd been seen running into the alley, their struggle must have been heard by at least a few. But it was night, in one of the shadiest corners of the city. They were at the deadend of an alley that was poorly lit. Anyone out on the street wouldn't be able to see them unless they stepped out of the safety of the street lights.

He let his lips drag over Mike's throat again, as if just breathing him in. Not able to get enough of him. Smart and so very, very desperate. "Oh, don't worry about that..." he said, leaning back slightly. "We won't be here long."

With that, he cracked the butt of the knife hard against Mike temple. Precise, with just the right force to knock him out cold.

***

Billy worked fast and efficient. He'd used his downtime to plan it all out. Getting Mike to the truck. Cuffing him and putting a hood over his head in the event he woke up. But it was a short trip. To an old industrial building that Billy knew had no security and no surveillance anywhere nearby. Excellent sound proofing so they could be as loud as the wanted to be.

He'd stripped Mike of his clothes and given him two small items instead. The first was a thick leather collar. Fastened snugly around his neck and held in place with a lock, adorned with several rings which Billy fully intended to put to proper use. The second was far heavier. A solid metal shackle fixed around his ankle. A chain fixed to it, attached at the other end to a bolt in the concrete floor. He was in the corner of the dark basement. Billy was nowhere to be seen.

[47redbirds]

He dreams. He dreams of those birds, all flying from the tree line. The smell, the same one he swore he sensed while I'm Billy's car. There was even the same, muffled sense of peace. Like calm was being fed to him through a white noise monitor, leaving everything humming and bright.

Those birds, he knew what they were. New why there were exactly 47. New why Colin was doing this to him. When he wakes, the white noise turns into a splitting screech, head feeling like it's pounding. Especially at the temple. The calm has been replaced by the indescribable emotion of loss and confusion, swirling inside him as he jerks awake. The chain on his ankle rattles but he doesn't notice yet.

What he notices is the collar, first, and bruised and bloodied knuckles move up to grab at it. Leather. Like some of those sex shows Paige liked to go to. He tugs on it, grunting with the effort, but finds it impossible. Finds himself met with a lock, secure and unable to pick--mike can pick locks, but not like this.

He observes his surroundings: dark. Dark and not dingy, but something close. Poorly lit, regardless. He could run away and--

Fuck. His leg is chained. It still feels like his head is about to explode, and every rattle the links give reminds him of tape from the car. The weird sense of panic.

He gives the hardest tank as he can, as if pulling on the chain is going to work. I doesn't, but his blood runs cold as he turns around.

....Billy's no where to be found. Thank god.

[heroeswork]

Footsteps echo on metal stairs somewhere in the darkness beyond. The sound alone gives a sense of the space, vast and open. Slow, methodical steps. Unhurried. A man who has all the time in the world. There was a loud click and a few lights flicker on in the high ceiling above. Florescent and industrial, unsteady and humming as they warmed up. Just the first switch was thrown, activating just a quarter of the lights. And only a portion were functional. There were dim shapes on the other side of the large room. Things that could have been tables, things covered in sheets, some taller than Mike himself.

Another click and a lamp set into the wall above Mike illuminated his corner. It was far newer than the rest of the place. Billy slowly approached from the stairwell in the center of the wall to the left. He carried what looked to be a large took box at his side, his other hand in the pocket of his jacket.

"Comfortable, I hope," Billy asked as he came to a stop, watching Mike from a few feet away. Seemingly unworried, as he set the toolbox down.

[47redbirds]

He gives another hard yank on the chain, swearing low to his breath. Trying to ignore the chill around the air, trying to forget what this means. He just has to focus on getting out. That's all Mike has to do, just get out. He can think later.

He hears the footsteps and just yanks even harder, not at all blind to what they are. Whose they are. It's Billy. Mike forces himself not to panic, forces himself to instead examine the lock on the collar. Try to figure out how to get out of it.

If he can bide his time and take something from the other, he can probably pick it. It seems like he can get into it, anyway. Mike just has to be patient. Just has to wait.

He can do this. He can do this, even if he's naked and terrified and the lights are flickering on, slowly and slowly and the drug dealer is coming towards him. Fuck his head hurt. The flickering of the florescent isn't helping him no matter how run-down, and the winces is apparent.

Mike's still forcing himself to calm down, taking in everything. Sheets on the tables. He's not sure he wants to know what's underneath, but the lamplight flicks on and he finally tears his gaze away from the surroundings, looking over at how his corner is illumnated.

His eyes bounce from the lamp above him to Billy to the box to the hand in the other's pocket, and he licks his lips, swallowing hard. Mike has to fight the fear. He has to.

"Very funny," He manages, sarcasm wrapped in venom.

[heroeswork]

Billy smiled, confident and amused. He was no longer trying to hide his face. Or anything about himself. He spoke in his natural accent and allowed Mike to proper see him. In the truck and in the bar, he'd always been shrouded in shadow. But not here. He wasn't afraid of Mike being able to identify him. He'd done a little research in his downtime.

He was also confident that Mike couldn't easily escape. Even if he did remove the collar, there was still the shackle. Which was closed with a screw that required a specifically sized allen wrench. Sunken into the metal, so the top was flush. Everything else was welded and bolted. Not easy to escape from.

"If you perform well, I'll at least find you something a bit more...accommodating." He shrugged off the jacket, and draped it over the tool box. He wore a plain teeshirt beneath. "Otherwise, I may need to resort to...extreme measures." His hands planted on his hips, as though he were trying to figure out what to do first. "And here, we need not worry about being heard. Be as loud as you wish."

[47redbirds]

Mike is still positive he can--he has to hold out on that. Needs to. He has to hold on to something that isn't the other's words, and..

Wait, the other's words. They weren't clipped like they usually were. Instead, there's a musical quality to it. A lilt. An accent. Scottish, maybe? Or Irish. That meant two things. One, that the other was dropping pretenses or making some sort of mark. Two, that he was either comfortable enough that Mike wasn't a threat or that mike was no longer a threat because the dealer was just going to kill him.

Either way, all Mike had to do was get through this. Bide his time, try to take something he could shimmy the lock with. Something he could manipulate. He could still do this, he promises himself.

"I'm not a monkey," He points out, trying to keep his cool. Perform well? Perform well with what?

Accommodations, though. That held promise. That held compromise. For now.

[heroeswork]

Billy crouched down. A slow, graceful movement. One knee was lowered almost to the floor, elbows resting on his thighs and hands drooping toward the floor. He was complete at ease. Watching. Observing. Basking. This was all his doing and he was loving every moment of it.

"A monkey wouldn't be nearly as fun," he commented and turned his attention to the tool box. He pulled it closer to himself, opening it so Mike couldn't see inside right away. "But you fail to see what exactly is happening here. You have no way to escape. You're here for my needs and entertainment alone. I hold your very life in my hands. I control everything." He glanced up with a sly smirk, letting Mike tease out the details of that. After a moment, he added, "And I do intend to keep you here for quite some time."

He started pulling up the hinged trays so he could access the deeper compartment of the large tool box. In those trays there certainly weren't any sort of standard tools. There were a few screws, similar to what held the shackle closed. But besides that, there were clamps of several varieties. Cock rings of several sizes and materials. Several items of jewelry. And if Mike were adept enough to recognize them, a few needles frequently used in larger gauge piercings.