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A Cowboy's Pet	By : Th3_Wick3d_Mus3 Category: +. to F > Black Cat Views: 1556 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit fanfiction which I recieve no payment from. Black Cat and all of it's canon characters, the world, and it's story do not belong to me.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2! Please read and review!

Some of their number had gathered in a large room with a single large oval table, awaiting orders from Creed. They still needed to perform their opening act, the one that would put them and the shady Chronos on the forefront of everyone's mind. To the Apostles, this would be a welcome challenge, and they knew public spectacle would be a serious detriment to the quiet, under the radar organization they were plotting to overthrow and dismantle. Creed was the only one who was seated at the table, sipping at wine while everyone else was in an unorganized and somewhat choppy semi-circle around him. Echidna was, as always, nearly glued to his side with a tender look. Shiki the closest to Creed on the other side, though there was a bit of a berth between them given the recent tension as they had conflicting thoughts on their new member and how to deal with the cowboy's treatment of the newcomer.
The Doctor had just come in and stood rather smugly by the door, giving the cowboy who had also recently walked in a casual assessment. As usual, Blood was not with him, something that was beginning to strain on their leader's already thinned patience. The medical man noted that Durham was missing his bandana once again, meaning it was still lodged in his charge's mouth to stifle the frequent screams... Or were they moans? Anyone could tell by looking at the boy's medical records that he was a born masochist, so he doubted Blood was as much the undeserving victim that the lavender eyed male was making him out to be.
"Is our Blood still unconscious, Durham?" A low grunt was his response, something he was used to. Whenever he referred to the stripper as 'theirs' or even his own person, the Westerner never responded. Only if he referred to the teen strictly as Durham's would he get an answer, something that set Creed on fire but amused the Doctor. The twisted and unusual psychology behind the odd relationship between the gunman and his whore was absolutely fascinating, and he intended to investigate it more once the new Apostle awoke. He chuckled at the thought. "Excuse me, is your Blood still unconscious?" The other's eyes averted, something different as usually the cowboy would laugh about how despite Creed's desire to take Blood away from him that the teen was his for another day... More importantly another night. No laugh, no answer, and if the other wasn't asleep, the conclusion was obvious. "He's awake then. Is he planning on joining us?" Now the familiar laugh erupted from deep in the gunman's throat, as usual echoing with a dark distortion within the metal mask.
"If the kid can manage walkin', prob'ly." Creed shot up from his seat, startling Echidna and making her stumble back, lavender eyes blazing as he pointed to their resident loner.
"He'd be able to walk just fine if you'd let me take care of him!" The Doctor's eyes glinted, adjusting his glasses as he planned on watching the scene unfold before him with no small amount of glee. Shiki, however, spoiled his fun of seeing the pair fight after Durham's inevitable retort would have set them off.
"Creed... Blood chose Durham, if you're going to get angry, put it to your newest charge. You cannot put his mistakes on someone else or he will be the death of all of us." Creed opened his mouth as he turned on his right hand, ready to vent his anger on anyone but the one who actually deserved the bitter chastisement, but was interrupted by a male even angrier than he was.
"DURHAM!! Where are you?!" All heads whirled towards the door to the hallway the voice had come from, the Doctor, sensing another opportunity to see so many alpha males butt heads in an informative fashion, answered while the rest remained silent.
"He's in here, Blood." The cowboy sent him a look that meant death, even moved towards the Doctor in a threatening manner, only to have something shoot through the door and slam into his side at high speed, knocking the Westerner to the ground. It had happened so fast with such a feral growl, it took everyone a second to realize that it was the newcomer who'd attacked the male, and they watched in a lazy daze as the gunman's hat slowly floated down to the floor beside the two bodies.
"God damn it you son of a bitch!" The smaller body took advantage of the larger one being disoriented and having the wind knocked out of it, fists pounding on his chest and scratching at his face. "Who the fuck do you think you are?! I'll kick your ass!" Pain shot up through his fingers all the way up to his elbow as he, in a moment of less than enlightened rage, had his knuckles connect to the well-built metal mask on his face with a less than powerful punch. He cried out and clutched the wounded digits close to his chest, giving the cowboy a moment to process and then turn things around. His larger hands shot up and grabbed the other's arms in what had to be a bruising hold. He then lifted Blood off his body and slammed him onto the hard stone floor beside him, drawing out a pained gasp as this time the wind was knocked out of the other's lungs. Durham smirked behind his mask. Turn about was fair play.
"You're a movin' a hell o' a lot better than I thought you would..." He drawled out slowly, quickly rolling over to straddle his victim, though not at the waist. Wanting to dramatically lessen any chances of the tables being turned a second time, he brought each knee to rest on the upper arms of the stripper, putting his weight on his chest and pinning his head by the neck to restrain any movement. The infuriated bright haired male kicked and flailed beneath him, but his legs weren't doing much good. Those hands however, fingers now tipped with claws, dug into the male's thighs as a loud, distinctly feline hiss tore from his pinned throat. The pain from that action flowed up through his legs up his spine, and it was an exhilarating feeling. Not because it hurt, Durham himself had no love of being wounded, but because he knew that he'd rendered his charge nearly completely immobile. Utterly in his power. He'd felt the same during his fun that week, getting an extra charge whenever the stripper dug his nails into his back or bit at his neck or shoulder. That said, that was then-- Now he had sharp, impressive fangs bared to him and long, piercing claws digging into the muscles of his thighs. While limits were few and far between in regards to how much and what sort of pains he would give to his whore, there were vast and defining limits that he was willing to take himself.
"Little bitch..." He hissed out himself through gritted teeth, not going to betray the amount of pain being inflicted by the sharp nails. "...If you know what's good for you, you'll stop that scratchin'. Now." The last word oozed his outrage as well as potentially deadly intentions, making Blood blink as he thought while still baring his fangs and hissing. Somewhere in the back of his head, there was this... Not even a voice, more like a deep feeling bubbling up, that he should keep going, push for the pain. Once he actually thought the words, as well as feel the bigger man take hold of his hair and pull back hard enough to put even more strain on his neck, the more primitive side kicked in again. He didn't want pain. How could he keep from being hurt? A quick glance around the room, everyone holding still, eyes fixed on the pair to see what was happening. Given how no one stopped the cowboy, despite eyes saying they wanted to... He shifted some under the other's heavy weight, knowing he was trapped. ...Added to how he was physically strong and threatening, the way those green eyes glinted with malice. He'll be the one to cause the pain, he'll be the one to tear the stripper apart, and no one would stop him. Obviously that made him the alpha of this pack.
You never disobey your alpha.
Tentatively, almost expecting to be crushed by the other's weight when he quit his fighting, he stopped hissing and growling, his lips slid down to cover all but the tips of his canines, claws pulled out of the injured flesh. He even stroked the spots gently in apology as his eyes went down, now looking at Durham's crotch but not really seeing anything. He just couldn't look his alpha in the eye, not while he was angry. He inhaled slowly as his eyes slid almost closed, taking in the man's scent. His smell... It was earthy, somehow sharp, powerful... Intoxicating. He inhaled slowly, now deeply, again, wanting more. Somehow he smelt... Angry. He could actually smell what the man was feeling, a stinging jab of something like a spice telling him this emotion was in charge, though there was something else there, a deeper, more exotic scent... Lust. His alpha was horny as well as pissed off. He shifted under the man, hands gently holding onto his thighs. Blood was sure to avoid the painful cuts, his own namesake leaking slowly from the wounds he made. The thought was enough to make his back arch, and the thick, almost smothering scent of the liquid made him groan in appreciation as well as remorse. His alpha was bleeding, he'd done something wrong, terribly wrong. What was worse, a part of him was happy to cut his alpha.
The more primal cat-like male let out a low mewling, almost apologetic sound as he lifted his head as best he could given the powerful body straddling his chest, closed his eyes, and let his tongue snake out of his mouth to give the crotch in his face one long lick. When he breathed, he noted that the scent of lust had spiked, the anger faded. Feeling emboldened by this, he gave a few more shy licks, hands gliding up and down the other's thighs. His ears caught whispers, murmurs, angry barks, and while he could piece together what they were saying as clearly as if it had been right in his ear, he ignored them and instead decided to focus on the way the alpha's heart had sped up, the way his breathing became shallow and he took quick breaths with each lick. Fingers went to his hair again, jerking his head away, and for a second Blood thought he'd done something to make the male angry again. A quick inhale let him know that his alpha wasn't angry, which fueled confusion in his own frame.
Without speaking, without glancing to the other shocked and silent bodies in the room, just keeping his green eyes locked onto the now open and startled orbs of the body underneath him. He narrowed his already hawk like eyes, grasping the male's face easily in one hand. Again, with bruising force, as he loved the sounds that came from that small throat, the shudders that went through Blood made the smaller body rock up against his own in the best of ways. Under the mask, he was smiling. As the fingers of his other hand ran to his own wounds, two of the digits covering themselves in a thick yet runny layer of his own blood, his face went serious as the gunman shifted his hold from the boy's face to his neck.
"Now open your mouth, bitch." The now catlike teen did as he was told, eyes still up looking at the other's. He was afraid to break the alpha's gaze, even as the two fingers were slid into his mouth. "Suck." Durham commanded in an intimidating voice, and again, Blood obeyed, eyes going closed. "I didn't tell you to look away, kid." Those eyes all but popped open, intently holding onto the eye contact as he sucked on the red-drenched fingers. The cowboy smiled again, green orbs shining with a malicious light of amusement. A long moment passed like that, the other Apostles just standing there, each reacting in their own way. Durham took a moment to glance around, knowing that due to his order Blood wouldn't look away or close his eyes again.
The Doctor was smiling softly, adjusting his glasses with one finger as he took in the scene. That bothered the gunman, that he seemed so damned interested in what he and Blood did. Every word, movement, violent act. Echidna had been watching intently... At least until the cowboy began forcing his whore to suck his fingers clean of the blood. She covered her mouth as she fought gags, keeping silent only because she didn't want to upset Creed further. Speaking of the lavender eyed albino, he looked close to exploding at the scene in rage. That prompted Durham to laugh softly, eyes going back to Blood. He didn't bother looking at Shiki, as even without the bandages and proper posture, you never knew what he was thinking or feeling. The man had a hell of a poker face, always the calm one in any situation.
Dutifully, the little stripper had kept sucking and licking as prompted, a small smile gracing the young face as the older male grasped his chin with a gentle squeeze to urge him to open up. After inspecting the obviously carefully cleaned digits, he raised a brow, noting a rather satisfied purr coming from the other's mouth. Blood was a rather smug one, even in his sleep, though this happiness seemed... Different. Expectant, like he was awaiting some form of praise for his obedience. Durham paused at that, not sure what to say, or even if he should say something. He wasn't sure he liked this yet, spending so many days and nights playing with the more rude, pouty, 'is that all you've got' side of the boy. Now he was looking like a damned kicked puppy wanting a treat for listening to his master. Master. Now there was a thought that sent a special surge through the gunman's body. "Are you gonna fight me again?" He spoke in a hoarse tone, deciding to see what happened with the more obedient side of this whore. Blood looked up at him timidly, those eyes conveying complete submission, mouth opening, then closing. He was... What was he doing? Waiting? For what? Then it dawned on Durham, something that he hadn't expected at all. Was he waiting for... Permission? Like a pet? "Speak..." The man had to struggle to keep his tone from coming off questioning rather than demanding.
"No, alpha." The cowboy arched a brow, not commenting on the name but carefully noting it. The larger male raised to his knees, taking his weight off of the smaller frame so Blood could move.
"Get." Durham barked harshly, jerking his chin up to motion him forward. The stripper wasted no time in obeying. He flipped onto his stomach before crawling out from under the cowboy, though the larger male noted that he raised himself a bit as his rear went between his legs, effectively pushing the round cheeks into his groin. The Westerner said nothing, though he clenched his jaw from the brief moment of contact. The whore knew how to tease, even in this state. The fact made his lips twitch into a small smile. Few could pull off being timid and sexy, especially after showing himself to be a spitfire who liked to talk back. This was...interesting.
After following the last order successfully, the pet had knelt on the floor with his eyes up at his alpha. He wasn't sure why he wasn't giving him any sort of positive reinforcement for following his words, especially since the anger had all but faded from his scent. All he knew was to keep his eyes on the male, no one but Durham, as he rose to his feet. He did his best to ignore all the other bodies in the room, but he could feel their presence, take in their scents, hear their whispered words. Each had a unique scent, something he was sure to remember the next time. The Doctor smelt of alcohol, the medicinal kind, very clean. The woman smelled like fine perfumes, something alluring though she wore perfumes over her own scent which nearly overwhelmed his nose, making it crinkle in distaste as he tried to focus on a different one. The bandaged male, his scent was almost as intoxicating as the alpha's earthy musk. He smelled of that strange potion, mixed with exotic spices. The pale man, Creed, smelled of roses, so many roses, with a small hint of lavender like his eyes. Aside from their natural smells, he could pick out what each was feeling. Smug, sick, worry, anger, and...
Blood leaned his head back, eyes sliding closed as he inhaled deeply of the taller man now standing inches from him. That same sharp earth smell, and lust, so much lust, but there was something else there, an unease, shifting to and fro... The new Apostle didn't bother opening his eyes as he shuffled closer to the male while remaining on his knees, pressing his chest up against the other's leg as he breathed. He needed to know exactly what the alpha was feeling, that was the best way to know how to please him. Maybe then he would finally get some praise. Still not able to discern what was dominant aside from the constant presence of lust, he wrapped his arms around the leg he pressed against as he buried and rubbed his face along the limb. Frustration began to come over him as he was unable to find which feeling was dominant, like they were changing so constantly he couldn't get a fix on it.
"Alpha..." He breathed, deciding to play on lust since no matter what he did that feeling wouldn't leave. Perhaps he could make it the dominant feeling for Durham. The stripper arched his back, pressing his crotch against the taller male's leg firmly before slowly going up and down in a tempting manner. No response beyond the hitching of breath and intensifying of the lust scent. He scowled, moving along the leg faster and pressing more insistently. "Durham..." He muttered again, wanting the other to respond in some way, anyway, just something that let him know what the male wanted. Again he was ignored, though he could feel the muscles tense beneath his hands. Emboldened by knowing he was at least having some effect, Blood began to hump at his leg in a slowly rhythm, hands massaging the leg slowly as he moved. Lust had all but taken over now, and he wanted to keep it growing.
To accomplish this, he brought his face higher as he straightened to as full height as he could on his knees. The slender male, eyes still up at the cowboy's masked face, feeling annoyed that he wasn't saying anything but trying to hide it. Gently he pressed his face against the man's crotch, nuzzling it, finally drawing a sound out, a low guttural sound that he wasn't sure had approved or disapproved. No words, though, which was what he wanted. So he pressed more into the larger body, tongue snaking out to give the fabric between them a long lick...
...His tongue hadn't made it's mark when a hand grabbed a fistful of hair and not only pulled him away from the body but harshly threw him further along the floor with a thud. Blood, dazed and confused, simply laid there for a moment while he processed what had happened. His alpha had rejected and thrown him, something that seemed to break the morbidly curious trance of silence the others had slipped into.
"DURHAM! How dare you treat our newest member like a rag doll! You will not behave this way, do you hear me?!" The pale one spoke first as he shot up out of his seat, the woman becoming flustered at his sudden movement and threats.
"Creed, calm down, this isn't the time to pick a fight! We're to attack tomorrow!" The man seemed more still then, at least, until the cowboy snorted in derision.
"I'll treat him any damn way I want to. He's mine." The tone he used drawling out the words dripped with a challenge, and no inclination of backing down. As far as he was concerned, Blood was his property now. Not a friend, not a lover, but simply his. The Doctor laughed softly at that.
"You don't seem to treat him like a prized treasure, you forget, I've seen his wounds, healed what I could but you weren't gentle. There was only so much I could do for the marred flesh."
"I never said I'd be gentle with him." The pale man snarled, hand clutching his sword while keeping it sheathed to give himself the feeling of having some control over this.
"You should rethink how you treat our, my," Creed corrected with a silky yet cold voice that accepted the challenge and also wouldn't back down, "Blood. He is special, and I can't have you break him before he gives us victory." The cowboy's eyes narrowed into threatening slits at the other's sudden claim on the boy. Sure, Creed may have found and picked Blood, but in the end the whore had chosen Durham and he wasn't finished with the sunset haired male yet. He'd shove that Imagine Blade right up the psycho's ass before handing his toy over. Besides, if someone was going to lead them to victory, it would be him and his power of Shot. A few scratches and snarls hadn't changed the fact that the tan body had been at his mercy for days, he felt Blood was no challenge or really that powerful. The cowboy was.
In the end, as it often went, Shiki was the only one who remained calm enough to keep from adding to the argument yet concerned enough about his comrades and cause to end things.
"You're both fools. Blood is dangerous enough on his own without either of you adding to his manic attitude." He drilled Creed with a knowing look, ignoring the wild and angry glare he received in return. "Creed, you put too much on him. He is one soldier among many. Like the Caesars of ancient Rome, give the guards all the power and the leader will be overthrown." Their lavender eyed leader gritted his teeth before stomping off, casting one longing look to the still stunned male on the floor, then leaving the room. After glaring at Shiki, Echidna was hot on Creed's heels to console him as she often did whenever something didn't go quite his way. The bandaged male heaved a small sigh at the obvious dismissal of his advice, then turned his attention to Durham.
"Don't you even think o' lecturin' me." A long moment of silence passed between the two, and the Easterner simply shook his head in disapproval at his Western counterpart. Shiki had long since come to reluctant terms that Durham would never be an ally in a true sense, as he went on his own murderous impulses rather than think as part of a group. His power was the only thing saving him from Creed so far, and honestly he had never been that keen on the cowboy either. He thought little and spoke a lot, defended no one and acted rashly. All brawn, no planning. A barbarian, who cared nothing for rules, self-discipline, or the sanctity of human life. Truly a clash of not only cultures but personality when it came to the pair, though for now they managed to keep things civil for the sake of the mission. A tenuous and ongoing session of East meets West. Some day, something would have to give. He feared the day would come sooner rather than later with the newest Apostle stirring things up in his own way. Shiki set his jaw as he gave no outward expression of fear or challenge, finding it remarkably easy to be neutral in this instant.
"I have nothing to say to someone who rejects reason. I only hope that your pet won't turn and bite the hand that feeds him while you're so unguarded." With that, the bandaged male turned on his heels with a sharp yet fluid motion before also exiting the room. Besides the obvious need to reinforce his loyalty to Creed-- Well, the cause anyway, he was also of a mind to voice his concerns to Maro, his closest confidant, and Charden, who was perhaps even more calm and level headed than himself. Shiki knew he would need to watch Blood in the days to come, and unlike the two head-butting alpha males he had just chided, he was not above asking for help when he would sorely need it.
The Doctor remained a long and silent moment, studying the way Blood seemed lock in a dazed and submissive state. He hadn't even bothered to sit up since being roughly dismissed by Durham, sadly content to remain lying on the floor in a discarded heap. Most would rush to the boy to comfort him, but everyone had been so wrapped up in themselves that they hadn't thought to do so. Creed was furious and hurt at being overlooked so he focused on being the better choice by attempting to beat the cowboy down rather than to build his apparently important pawn back up. Of course the Doctor wouldn't suggest taking the easy way, watching the hard way unfold was too much fun for him. Echidna, well, there's not much to study there. Everything is about Creed and what he wants, he heavily suspected that the cause was only taken up by her because of her infatuation with the pale man. Shiki had proven interesting for once, breaking up the argument as usual but showing a glimmer of fear about the newest Apostle. Durham, hah, now he had definitely been worth watching. The shock at being overtaken by something he'd battered so horribly, being clawed and hissed at, only to have it roll over and beg forgiveness with pleading eyes and a searching tongue...
It had taken everything the Doctor had not to laugh at his obvious discomfort. It was taking everything not to laugh now, the way the Westerner was looking at him with an obvious air of malicious threatening should he not leave them alone. The dark physician chuckled as he lifted his hands to the air in a show of mock surrender, glasses flashing with amusement as he walked away without arguing. He would find time to study them later.
And suddenly there were two.
Now that the other Apostles had taken their individual leaves and shut up, Durham could actually think. Despite what most people thought or said, the gunman did think. Most of the time his thoughts were on the next kill, the next moment he could blow a human to pieces in screaming agony with his Tao, his very life force. There was something powerful about having your essence tear the life out of another with so little effort, emphasizing a fact that he already knew: He was better than them. Stronger. A force to be reckoned with. Before he had always proven it with a gun, a punch, something violent that broke bones and pierced flesh. Turning his gaze from the vacant doorway to the one lying on the floor, Blood, he realized that had changed. With him he could prove his strength through sex, something dominating and dark, as equal in violence and just as likely to end with broken bones and torn skin. Something that provided a physical release as well as a primal emotional one. You see, Durham had never once "gotten off" on killing someone, there was never any sort of sick sex thrill in blowing someone's brains out for him. It was all about power and control, nothing that sick, though what he did to Blood over those nine delicious unconscious days and nights...
That was something that he could get excited about.
The attraction to the stripper had come as a surprise when they'd started, given his straight orientation he'd expected not to be able to perform when it came around to the actual act. In the end, the control and previous submissive behavior of the teen made it possible to not only stiffen but stay that way, it'd been hard to sate himself the more he touched the bleeding body. Ironically enough, it had gotten hard to satisfy the victim the more brutally he was being raped. So each time, things got worse, more violent, darker. The screams were what gave the whore's pleasure away, volume rises, tone shifts, gasps and murmurs. Whenever his name slipped out, and it was easy enough for the cowboy to tell despite the gag when he was being called, it meant whatever he was doing, he was doing right. So naturally he'd change what he was doing and hurt him more. He preferred screams to moans in any arena.
All of that said, now came the time to process how Blood was affecting him outside of inspiring lust. Mentally, he was drawn to the male. He found himself thinking about him whenever he left on a mission, not strictly with his torturous brand of sex on his mind. Just a sudden urge to see him, touch him, hear him, feel that heart pumping his namesake through his veins just under that skin, itching to be cut and let out, sliding over tanned flesh until it stained the bed and got the sleeping pain obsessed bitch excited again so the gunman could-- Durham paused in his own mind. So maybe things weren't as tender as he had begun to lead himself to believe. No matter how he thought of Blood initially, hurting and fucking the male were always how things ended. Everything was about sex and ownership, two things he wasn't going to give up over this one.
That brought up the three biggest problems he had now, three pain in the ass busybodies named Creed, Shiki, and Doctor. The first always venting about how the stripper was his or was important or some dumb self-indulgent prattle, the second always criticizing Durham in every encounter since they'd met, not to mention apparently having something against his toy as well. The third was the worst of all, not threatening, not intruding, not lecturing, just... There. Always there. Watching, listening, asking or hinting at some question of feeling or health. The Doctor had also developed a very bad and very dangerous habit of visiting Blood whenever the cowboy was away. He would have to rectify that, and soon.
Lastly, came the issue of Blood himself. On the one side a disrespectful little tart who danced around for men for a living and seemed to spread his legs wide wherever Durham was concerned yet wouldn't hesitate to attack him whenever the mood struck him, on the other a submissive slut who purred, licked, and rubbed all over him while obeying every command that dropped from his lips. Both sides a sex fiend yet two completely different approaches and mentalities. He loved Durham, he fucked him, he hated him, he fucked him, he fought him, he fucked him, he obeyed him, and he fucked him. And then fucked again for good measure. There was no way to trust the boy but there was no way in hell he was letting someone with such a unique effect and list of turn on's go. The slut was his personal property now, after all. Still, the question of initial attraction puzzled the male, a decade the athletic teen's senior. The cowboy chuckled softly as he approached the still body, crouching down and catching his chin to turn that cute teen face towards his own. The eyes remained averted, something that made the older male growl.
"Eyes on me, whore." Those alluring brown and golden flecked orbs snapped to attention so quickly, it had to make Durham wonder if it made him dizzy. "Why me, kid?" A pause, then the gunman remembered the previous issue with talking. "Speak." Still no answer, something that now aggravated the cowboy just as it had the stripper not long before. "God damn it you slut answer me!" A rough slap across the other's face, followed by a stinging pain in his own. Green eyes, now wide with shock, locked onto vehement and clear brown slits of anger. The pupils had gone from cat slits back to a full round, claws were gone, teeth still sharp but shorter, and that rambunctious fire was back in the smaller body. The little bitch had come down from whatever Tao power induced high he had been in back to his normal self and hit him back.
"Why the fuck did you just slap me?!" Durham snarled at the harsh tone, the disrespectful wording, eyes slowly going back to their normal thin shape as he reached for his until now forgotten hat to don it and shade his emerald orbs. "Oh, so now you're giving me the silent treatment? Sulky." The near-hooker spat in that same tone, freezing when a gloved hand shot out and grasped that thin neck.
"Fuck you, bitch. You weren't answerin' me, so I got physical. Answer me now, or I will again." Those eyes shifted their fierce gaze away, lips setting in a pout as he seemed to be uneasy about something. Something that hadn't made punishment as frightening as he'd intended. Most would be angry that their threats were brushed off, but Durham could do better. "...Did I tell you to look away, Blood?" He spoke in a low, hoarse voice, patience wearing thin and he knew the other noticed as he put his eyes right back on the gunman.
Honestly he'd been more surprised at Durham calling him by name rather than scared of being hurt. He knew that he'd be hurt no matter what the male said, whether he answered or not. Beyond that was a genuine frustration and confusion over why the gunman was pushing this so hard. Why mess with a good thing? He was getting to hurt him and have no strings attached sex, why not just run with it? He would. Then those eyes narrowed like a true predator, and the teen swallowed hard.
"Why..." The other's voice still held the same hoarse, dark tone, promising far more pain than pleasure as that pause emphasized the failing patience of the man and the importance to answer. "...Me." It was no longer a question but a demand that he know why he had been chosen, hand tightening around the boy's neck. It made Blood feel a sweeping sense of urgency to appease the older male before the grip became so tight he could not and have punishment forced on him out of inability rather than choice.
"It just felt right!" Those green eyes widened a hair before blinking, a long pause following the rushed words as those large fingers loosened their grip on the tender flesh.
"...Felt right?" The question was void of feeling, and the stripper wished that he could still sniff out emotions, finding it hard to get back to that state while he was so flustered himself.
"Yeah, I mean, I was already tied up and you were sexy as hell, snapping back at Creed and looking at me like I was a piece of meat..." As the other didn't speak, the whore Apostle shuffled a bit closer, tilting his head slightly. "...I wanted you then, right then, so I went with it. No deep thinking, no grand scheme. I just wanted a hot fuck for the trouble of being kidnapped and knocked out." Durham's eyebrows knit as he considered this, then visibly relaxed. Then laughed. And laughed. And laughed. He even went so far as to ruffle those feathery locks before standing, and then just walking away seemingly without the male he'd just threatened. The stripper rolled his eyes at that, as this was quickly becoming a norm between the pair. He goes off and threatens him and emphasizes the whole 'You're my whore' bit and leaves him high and...
"You comin', pretentious whore?" The man hadn't even bothered to look back at his plaything as he gruffly barked the half-question, half-order. The other didn't bother to answer as he shot to his feet and ran after the larger form retreating through the door. The aforementioned whore even grabbed onto that long coat to give himself a small bit of security as they walked, though his hand was promptly knocked away with a grunt. Annoyance rather than disappointment crawled out from his stomach to everywhere else in his body, and he growled himself. It was a smaller sound than when it came from the cowboy, but it held every bit the promise of a world class bitch fit if he was continually ignored.
After the taller male chuckled at the less than threatening sound, he reached back without looking, hand snagging his bandana/Blood's gag. After his fingers closed around it, he harshly jerked his hand forward without warning and nearly made the male trailing behind him fall over. Regardless, or perhaps because of, the pain that hit his crotch and back at being pulled so unceremoniously, Blood purred from being lead and fell into a calm and relaxed walk with the male leading him. Durham raised a brow at the almost bouncy attitude the other was now showing at being degraded from man to pet, but said nothing. Behind the mask, however, he was smiling. Smirking.
He was going to have fun with this one, his bitch, his toy, his Blood. His.
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A Cowboy's Pet