Smile hostage refuge [chapter two]
Title: Smile Hostage Refuge
Pairing: Max/Craig, Max/Ronnie
Rating: R
POV: Third
Disclaimer: I do not know any of the people in this fic. Title belongs to The Used.
Max is acutely aware of a couple things in particular: his feet are freezing (was he ever wearing socks?), his veins are burning with a dirty want, and he’s goddamned tired of being kept in the dark (literally).
He’s far past trying to convince himself that he’s skeptical of the situation - now he’s just scared out of his mind. He’s fucking terrified.
Max wonders if he is going to die.
He holds completely still, forcing his breathing to slow. His chest shudders with each controlled exhale, his thin t-shirt sticking wetly to his skin.
And upon listening intently and hearing nothing, he comes to the quick conclusion that he is alone in the room. Max heaves a sigh of relief through his nose, ignoring the sound when it comes out as more of a wheezy whine, and begins to rub the side of his face against his pillow in hopes of getting his blindfold to slip off. He doesn’t get far before a chilling voice causes him to stop dead, fear lodging thick and tight in his throat.
“You’ll regret ever trying that again. I promise.”
Voicing his response, and speaking in general, also proves to be a bad idea, since his mouth is so dry that it actually hurts, and the (what he can only assume is) duct tape across his face stings his lips and constricts their movement. He can feel his skin pull.
And even though Max is holding stock still, the guy proceeds to threaten him.
“Should I shoot you another dose or would you like to cooperate and get some answers? I can be very generous with information if you give me the chance...”
The tape is ripped from his mouth, leaving the area smarting and feeling uncomfortably different from the rest of his face. Max moans and his hand tries to come up on reflex but they're still bound, and the skin around his wrists where the rope is cutting him open burns with an unspeakable fury.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Max blurts, voice hoarse and scratchy with panic. “I won’t fucking say a word, man, just let -”
Short, blunt nails scrape against Max’s scalp as his captor grabs a fistful of his hair and jerks roughly so that Max’s chin is tilted upwards and his neck is angled awkwardly.
Max’s eyes flicker wildly beneath his blindfold and his mouth falls open to emit heavy, frightened pants. After a moment void of words, the man drops Max’s head back onto the pillow.
“I’ll advise you now that talking about your release is a waste of time, and I don’t give you permission to bring it up again.”
“Eat shit and die,” Max spits.
He can’t quite believe he gets the words out without pissing himself, but no one talks to Max Green like he’s a dog. Ronnie taught him that.
A second of hesitation, and then low, dark chuckling. Max instantly knows he’s gotten himself in trouble. He snaps his head to the side as the pad of a finger begins to roam his raw, chewed lips.
“I’ll show you what I can do with my mouth as soon as we shut yours. Since you’re too moronic to ask your questions, I’ll kindly give you the answers you need to keep the... anticipation from eating away at you.”
Max wisely says nothing, but remains facing in the opposite direction to convey his defiance. He wishes the antagonistic fuckass would leave so that he could go about freeing his hands.
“My birth name is Chase Mathers.” Max wants to scoff, but figures he’s already gone too far. Mathers beats him to it, anyhow. “And no, that is not what you’ll be addressing me as, and I severely doubt you’ll have the opportunity to report me. I’m telling you only because I’m curious to see if you remember me.”
Honestly, Max has never heard the name. It means nothing to him, and he shakes his head minutely before he can be manhandled for his lack of response.
“That’s fine,” Mathers says, and Max can hear the smile in his voice. “This is nothing personal, nothing against you. Just so you know. But I’ll give you a name you are familiar with: Craig Mabbitt.
“You’re here because of him. Calm down, I can almost see your little heart thumpin’ away in your chest. You know, you and I have something in common - we don’t appreciate being talked down to. And that’s exactly what Mabbitt did to me. Belittled me during the Las Vegas show last year. I’ve waited a year to take my vengeance on him. And waiting a year made me think. I realized I could load on guilt and nightmares to poor Mabbitt’s shoulders, hurt him worse than if I were to kill him.”
“He doesn’t fucking know you! What the hell are you talking about?”
“Shut up. You were the one who didn’t want to ask questions.”
“Don’t do this!” Max snarls, his nose and lungs both prickling with desperation. “Just drop it. I’ll -”
“Shut up!” Fingers with the intent to harm are suddenly grasping at his belt’s buckle, simply holding it within a white-knuckled, unrelenting grip. Knees press into his sides. It’s the fastest he’s ever been straddled, and the first time it hasn’t been in his best interest.
“This is about control, Max,” Mathers continues, his tone husky now. “This thing between you and I. I’m going to strip away your will, your confidence, until you have nothing and nobody but me. I’ll be your everything, and you’ll depend on me -”
Max opens his mouth in the shape of an infuriated snarl, but Chase doesn’t halt his tirade.
“- until you get to the point where you grovel at my feet for a drink of water. And it’ll absolutely crush Mabbitt. I hope. Taking your reaction into consideration, I’d say I’m right.
“And, to top it all off, I’m feeding your bloodstream dirty, impure heroin that’ll hook you like a greedy fish in no time at all. Then you’ll really be at my mercy...”
Now the hands are unclasping his belt, popping his button and tugging down his zipper. But Max doesn’t feel it, doesn’t comprehend what it means. He’s numb, his mind locked in a still-frame. He’s going back on drugs. He’s going to be an addict, like he was just a few years ago with Ronnie, sleeping in a different bed in shady, unfamiliar surroundings every night, like when he was sick all the time and broke and bumming off smarter people who made smarter choices. Back when the two of them were on the road to self-destruction.
Back into the dark.
“... costing me a pretty penny...”
Everything stops. Max is limp, prone, and unresponsive as a disgusting mouth moves like a slug up his navel, leaving behind in its path a moist trail of saliva and bite marks.
Pairing: Max/Craig, Max/Ronnie
Rating: R
POV: Third
Disclaimer: I do not know any of the people in this fic. Title belongs to The Used.
Max is acutely aware of a couple things in particular: his feet are freezing (was he ever wearing socks?), his veins are burning with a dirty want, and he’s goddamned tired of being kept in the dark (literally).
He’s far past trying to convince himself that he’s skeptical of the situation - now he’s just scared out of his mind. He’s fucking terrified.
Max wonders if he is going to die.
He holds completely still, forcing his breathing to slow. His chest shudders with each controlled exhale, his thin t-shirt sticking wetly to his skin.
And upon listening intently and hearing nothing, he comes to the quick conclusion that he is alone in the room. Max heaves a sigh of relief through his nose, ignoring the sound when it comes out as more of a wheezy whine, and begins to rub the side of his face against his pillow in hopes of getting his blindfold to slip off. He doesn’t get far before a chilling voice causes him to stop dead, fear lodging thick and tight in his throat.
“You’ll regret ever trying that again. I promise.”
Voicing his response, and speaking in general, also proves to be a bad idea, since his mouth is so dry that it actually hurts, and the (what he can only assume is) duct tape across his face stings his lips and constricts their movement. He can feel his skin pull.
And even though Max is holding stock still, the guy proceeds to threaten him.
“Should I shoot you another dose or would you like to cooperate and get some answers? I can be very generous with information if you give me the chance...”
The tape is ripped from his mouth, leaving the area smarting and feeling uncomfortably different from the rest of his face. Max moans and his hand tries to come up on reflex but they're still bound, and the skin around his wrists where the rope is cutting him open burns with an unspeakable fury.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Max blurts, voice hoarse and scratchy with panic. “I won’t fucking say a word, man, just let -”
Short, blunt nails scrape against Max’s scalp as his captor grabs a fistful of his hair and jerks roughly so that Max’s chin is tilted upwards and his neck is angled awkwardly.
Max’s eyes flicker wildly beneath his blindfold and his mouth falls open to emit heavy, frightened pants. After a moment void of words, the man drops Max’s head back onto the pillow.
“I’ll advise you now that talking about your release is a waste of time, and I don’t give you permission to bring it up again.”
“Eat shit and die,” Max spits.
He can’t quite believe he gets the words out without pissing himself, but no one talks to Max Green like he’s a dog. Ronnie taught him that.
A second of hesitation, and then low, dark chuckling. Max instantly knows he’s gotten himself in trouble. He snaps his head to the side as the pad of a finger begins to roam his raw, chewed lips.
“I’ll show you what I can do with my mouth as soon as we shut yours. Since you’re too moronic to ask your questions, I’ll kindly give you the answers you need to keep the... anticipation from eating away at you.”
Max wisely says nothing, but remains facing in the opposite direction to convey his defiance. He wishes the antagonistic fuckass would leave so that he could go about freeing his hands.
“My birth name is Chase Mathers.” Max wants to scoff, but figures he’s already gone too far. Mathers beats him to it, anyhow. “And no, that is not what you’ll be addressing me as, and I severely doubt you’ll have the opportunity to report me. I’m telling you only because I’m curious to see if you remember me.”
Honestly, Max has never heard the name. It means nothing to him, and he shakes his head minutely before he can be manhandled for his lack of response.
“That’s fine,” Mathers says, and Max can hear the smile in his voice. “This is nothing personal, nothing against you. Just so you know. But I’ll give you a name you are familiar with: Craig Mabbitt.
“You’re here because of him. Calm down, I can almost see your little heart thumpin’ away in your chest. You know, you and I have something in common - we don’t appreciate being talked down to. And that’s exactly what Mabbitt did to me. Belittled me during the Las Vegas show last year. I’ve waited a year to take my vengeance on him. And waiting a year made me think. I realized I could load on guilt and nightmares to poor Mabbitt’s shoulders, hurt him worse than if I were to kill him.”
“He doesn’t fucking know you! What the hell are you talking about?”
“Shut up. You were the one who didn’t want to ask questions.”
“Don’t do this!” Max snarls, his nose and lungs both prickling with desperation. “Just drop it. I’ll -”
“Shut up!” Fingers with the intent to harm are suddenly grasping at his belt’s buckle, simply holding it within a white-knuckled, unrelenting grip. Knees press into his sides. It’s the fastest he’s ever been straddled, and the first time it hasn’t been in his best interest.
“This is about control, Max,” Mathers continues, his tone husky now. “This thing between you and I. I’m going to strip away your will, your confidence, until you have nothing and nobody but me. I’ll be your everything, and you’ll depend on me -”
Max opens his mouth in the shape of an infuriated snarl, but Chase doesn’t halt his tirade.
“- until you get to the point where you grovel at my feet for a drink of water. And it’ll absolutely crush Mabbitt. I hope. Taking your reaction into consideration, I’d say I’m right.
“And, to top it all off, I’m feeding your bloodstream dirty, impure heroin that’ll hook you like a greedy fish in no time at all. Then you’ll really be at my mercy...”
Now the hands are unclasping his belt, popping his button and tugging down his zipper. But Max doesn’t feel it, doesn’t comprehend what it means. He’s numb, his mind locked in a still-frame. He’s going back on drugs. He’s going to be an addict, like he was just a few years ago with Ronnie, sleeping in a different bed in shady, unfamiliar surroundings every night, like when he was sick all the time and broke and bumming off smarter people who made smarter choices. Back when the two of them were on the road to self-destruction.
Back into the dark.
“... costing me a pretty penny...”
Everything stops. Max is limp, prone, and unresponsive as a disgusting mouth moves like a slug up his navel, leaving behind in its path a moist trail of saliva and bite marks.