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A Cowboy's Pet	By : Th3_Wick3d_Mus3 Category: +. to F > Black Cat Views: 1554 -:- 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.

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This is a Durham Glaster fanfiction, and involves a male original character. My first submission to this site so I'm curious how you'll all like it. It involves abusive, BDSM tendencies and dubious consent. You've all be warned.

He had always hated the dark, everything about it. True there was something reassuring about night, how the blackness covered all his actions and wrong doings, but that didn't change the fact that the dark was... Well, dark. And dark was scary. And scary brought pain. And he didn't like pain. He liked blood, but he didn't like pain. It hurt. Which was why he was now struggling with all his might, not exactly to loosen the bonds on his wrists and ankles or even gag in his mouth, but the accursed blindfold enveloping him in bleak blackness. He wanted to see, he needed to see what was happening. He heard voices, words, but they all went right in one ear and out the other as he writhed on the cool metal floor... Strange, it seemed to rock and shake every so often, unusual for a floor, something that added to the male's unease. Being unable to see what was happening, being trapped in his own body on an unsteady surface without knowing whenever he was going to fall through into whatever hellish void might be waiting below, or above, for all he knew he was upside down. The only thing he understood was that he had been taken forcefully, and while he had given them hell in their endeavors, they had succeeded. He'd been bound, gagged, and temporarily blinded, being taken to who knows where for God knows what. He couldn't let that happen, couldn't... His struggling found new vigor then, and the rope around his wrists was easily broken. Just as the frantic male began to reach up finally free his covered eyes, he heard a smooth chuckle, then felt something hard hit his temple, leaving his world frighteningly, unrelentingly, painfully, black.

A sigh of relief escaped the more level-headed male in the helicopter as the ever-wriggling body finally went limp against the cool metal floor. "Forgive me, Creed, but...do you think it was wise to bring him in?" The lavender eyed male, who had just hit their latest catch with the hilt of his blade, glanced up to his wrapped companion with a knowing smile.

"You think I'm wrong in my intuition, Shiki? You've never questioned any of the others I'd brought to you for the elixir." The prompted male shifted uncomfortably, gaze shifting from the leader of the Apostles to the unconscious male between them.

"...I've never presumed to doubt you, but I have a bad feeling about this one. We found him in a bad area living a shady life, just like the others, but this one is... Different. Wild. I don't know if we can handle someone so resistant, and I fear what may happen if we do give him the Power of Tao. He could be more of a hindrance to us than Chronos." He crossed his arms, nodding his head thoughtfully before releasing a heavy sigh. "All the others leapt for joy in their own ways when we offered them power, the chance to be a part of the Revolution, but this one did not seem to want any of it." Creed chuckled, pulling the limp body from the floor and onto his lap as he sat back down, something that made the bandaged Taoist even more nervous.

"Dear Shiki, you are overstepping your role." The body was cradled almost reverently, fingers gliding through the bright, strange orange/pink locks of their supposed ally. Their pale leader seemed fond of the sunset colored strands, absently toying with the thick mass as he spoke to the other, eyes not lifting from the resistant male's gagged and blinded face. "This one is what I need, something primal, a force of nature, doing what comes to it without regards of others or morals... He only resisted because ideas of governing or power are something beneath him... This one is just like him, maybe if Train sees him he'll finally..." Shiki realized what it was about then, Train again. Always the Black Cat. The male would have been rejected if Shiki raised an alarm earlier, but he caught Creed's attention in a fashion too close to his former 'comrade', so he wasn't going to let him go.

The bandaged male looked over their captive/ally, shaggy and choppily cut bright hair, glistening golden tan skin, two sets of small golden hoop earrings, and from what he could remember the first time they'd met this one, he was incredibly physically fit. In fact many of the men and women surrounding them in that crowded club had their eyes on him. His canines were a little too long while all of his teeth were sharp, probably filed, giving him a fierce look, with chocolate brown eyes with a lacing ring of orange close to the edge of the iris, not to mention beautiful golden flecks that seemed to sparkle with the lights that pulsed to the music playing all around them. He had sported an impressive six pack while the rest of his body was well-muscled, obviously, and his clothing stood out amongst the other males. Black leather chaps with a matching belt with a golden buckle, white pants underneath, white boots, black fingerless gloves, a black knit cap, black rimmed shades with frosted white lenses, and studded black choker, oh, and if Shiki remembered correctly, he'd had another golden hoop through his pierced navel. He hadn't been wearing a shirt, which made sense given his apparent occupation.

Leave it to Creed Diskenth to think to go to a strip club to recruit their newest Apostle.

Now the male had been taken forcefully, but thankfully after he'd changed into something more appropriate. He wasn't wearing that dumb cap, showing off that thick, lightly ruffled feathery hair, and instead was wearing a brown cloth collared wrap that covered his shoulders, with a belt that also had a strap that went diagonally across his chest, cream colored bandages around his stomach, hands, and wrists, with slightly baggy brown cloth pants tucked into high and stiff white boots that went up to his knee. They appeared to be a rough sort of hide material, like leather but sturdier. The way he was dressed made him think of one of their companions, their gunman, and speaking of him... "You described him as being primal, someone who does whatever comes to mind without thinking of others. So you mean to say he's like Durham? We have a hard enough time keeping tabs on just one Apostle with that sort of temperament." Creed laughed loudly at that, pulling away the cloth from the male's closed eyes and gag from the slightly drooling mouth.

"Like Durham? Perhaps in intentions, but this one is what Train used to be in ability. Just you wait and see, he will become the key to destroying Chronos once we give him the power of Tao. As for controlling him..." A darker roll of laughter escaped him then, a toothy smirk spreading across the pale face of the would-be assassin of the ways of the world. "...Leave that to me."

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd gotten knocked out, but one thing was certain, he was as pissed as he was disoriented. A low growl emanated from him as he flexed his body to size up his situation. He was still bound, which was only a good thing in his occupation, but once he left the stage, he preferred his hands and legs free to move how he wished. The gag had remained in place, along with that cursed blindfold. He hated the blindfold, and would enjoy carving out the eyes of whoever had put it on him... It's only fair, an eye for an eye after all, or specifically, lost sight for lost sight. He shifted on the floor, making it to his knees before hearing faint whispers that were emphasized by fluid, almost musical laughter in a distinctly effeminate voice. It was the same voice that had released a chuckle before rendering him unconscious, which made him stiffen with expectation of a second assault. Well, technically third if you count the initial kidnapping. He did.

"Awake I see, that's impressive. You came around hours before the Doctor had assumed you would." Another voice released a laugh, this voice cool, level, and obviously intelligent, though he could almost feel the morbid undertone there. It would suit a doctor he thought, they all dissected and cut things often enough. He hated doctors, a fact that a sudden snarl he released highlighted. "Don't be so cross, I understand this is an odd way of meeting an ally, but I assure you we have good faith." The more this guy talked, the more he was able to piece together who the hell this was. He'd come to the club a time or two, just watched him dance. All the others, male and female, had raved about the delicate beauty of the pale guest with lavender eyes, had steamed with envy that he'd seemed rooted to whatever section he was currently working. He wasn't, the guy had never thrown so much as one single. Cheapskate. Then he'd had the nerve to talk to him, go on and on about some revolution against a dark organization. It was pointless to him, he'd never cared whether the world was ruled by devils or angels, or even to rule himself. He was content just to do what, and who, he wanted, no matter what got in the way. Be it laws, governments, spouses, you name it, they were merely pointless opposition. The lavender eyed male hadn't handled rejection well, but again, he didn't care. It was his world, and in his world, he was king, no matter what claims any organizations had to the rest of it.

Another low growl was let loose, though at the end he let out a frustrated grunt as he harshly bit into the gag, the sound of fabric tearing was noticeable to all in the room. In fact he'd heard surprised gasps, apparently his sharp teeth weren't made known to the others, but the effeminate pale creature chuckled again. "Ah, I'm sorry, I suppose it's be best to let you speak your mind considering we're meaning to bring about free will... Shiki."

"Yes, Creed." He could tell by the tone that the male in no way approved of this 'Creed's' decision to ungag him, something that struck him as very, very wise. This Shiki was no fool. He made a mental note to kill him last, though that was off-put for one precious moment as he heard a young girl...giggling? Honestly giggling, nothing malicious or threatening about that laugh. Just joy. So...strange. As soon as the cloth in his mouth was removed, he paused a moment, opening and closing his mouth in experiment, shifting and flexing his jaw to assure himself he hadn't been damaged, after all his face was a good money maker.

"I wouldn't hurt you, you didn't think that, did you?" A snarl as he was not amused at the other's words, not able to tell if it was sincere or sarcastic. A part of him wasn't sure if the other knew either.

"Take this fucking blindfold off. Now." The male chuckled again, something that made him grit his teeth. "Take it off, or you die slowly."

"...I told you he wouldn't join us, Creed." Another snarl, though it came from this Creed guy rather than their pissed 'victim'.

"Don't say that, just take off the blindfold!" There was something akin to desperation in his voice, though he tried to mask it with anger. It didn't fool him, and he doubted it fooled this Shiki either. He didn't really care, just so long as he could fucking see. He sent a carefully assessing glance to the male by his side, sure enough he recognized him as the one who always accompanied the pale one to the club. Shock of hair popping out of a mass of bandages as the male was dressed in a garb that seemed to be from an eastern land. This was Shiki, the careful one.

Pointedly avoiding the one who obviously orchestrated his capture as he looked around. To the side of the ringleader was a man with short black hair, thick framed glasses, and a long white coat. Clearly this was the doctor. Next was a young boy with bad blue hair, goggles, and... A snowboard? Weird, but moving on. Next was a... Sumo wrestler. Weirder still, but on we go. To the other side of the leader was a tall woman with green hair that covered one eye wearing fashionable clothing. Thus far, she was the most normal, albeit her almost primal looks towards the seated male he was currently ignoring. After her was a male with long blond hair, a pair of shades, a long black coat, and... A top hat that seemed to reach the sky. Okay, back to weird it seemed. After him was... A bouncy, giggly teenage school girl eating...a floppy popsicle? He kept his gaze on her a moment and blinked, finding her completely oblivious happiness despite the calm, violence hungry looks of those around her to be the weirdest thing of all.

"...You are a strange little girl. And you're all strange little people." He tore his strangely colored eyes from the girl back to the sumo. "Except you. You're a strange huge person. Really fucking huge." The sumo gritted his teeth, about to put his hands together before the male in charge hit his sword to the ground with a loud thud, drawing even the one who had been ignoring him's attention to him after all this.

"Maro, be calm. As for my, our, fellows, it's good you seem to approve of them, though... I wish he'd shown up a little earlier. Explain yourself, Durham." A derisive scoff was heard from behind him, so he turned to see who this 'Durham' was. Now he was a specimen. Tall, obviously strong, wearing western looking clothes similar to his own, even had the cowboy hat, though he wore an intimidating mask, beak like though it had teeth on it, light skin, green eyes, and hair that went past his shoulders. Now he was different in a good way.

"I ain't explainin' nothin'. I got here, didn't I? That's enough." ...Make that a very good way. A soft purr emanated from the back of their captive's throat, and he licked his lips.

"Now this one I like. Tell you what, Creed..." He didn't bother looking at Creed, just kept his eyes locked on the tall newcomer, who seemed completely uninterested in him beyond a short yet assessing once over. He wreaked of havoc and blood, two of his favorite things, and the fact that he was a looker did not hurt the cause. "...I'll join up with whatever this circus of freak shows is if I can bunk with your cowboy friend." In a none too subtle way, he made an almost wet clicking sound with his mouth as he winked at the stranger, the sound of air coming out of his cheek giving way to a low purr of expectation from the other male. In the background, he could hear that fluid laugh.

"...As you like."

Durham took a moment to process the shock that had washed over him at the bold and not even thinly veiled innuendo of a condition the newcomer had offered their so-called 'leader'. The attempt was made pointless as Creed actually accepted the insane notion of the tied up male rooming with him, rage taking the semi-processed shock and chunking it out the window of his mind as it flooded his system with a fierce growl as he stomped across the room with deadly intentions.

"What the hell?! I ain't gonna share my room with this... This..." His anger heightened as he couldn't find the words he was looking for.

"...Faggot?" The newcomer offered with a tone that was both disinterested and amused.

"YES! This faggot! I ain't--" A moment of confusion at the fact that the male made no bones about his orientation or intentions stopped him in his tracks. Hell, least the little freak can do is keep his trap shut instead of callin' himself names! Then their 'leader' chuckled, standing before walking down towards the bound male, carefully cutting the ropes around his wrist and ankles now that they had struck an accord. He was certain he wouldn't attack or run off after knowing his demands would be met.

"You don't have a choice, Durham. This one will be an Apostle, and we will give him what he wants." Their newest member gave a wry smirk to the cowboy as he stood, one brow arched while roving his eyes up and down the other's form.

"And this one wants you, cowboy. You've only yourself to blame." He laughed softly, eyes clouding with more than a little lust. "I only go for lookers with an attitude problem." A loud, sputtering raspberry was heard from behind him, then tell tale girlish giggles as he pointed to their gunman.

"Wow, he's totally got you pegged Durham! You've got such a bad attitude I'm surprised you're still with us!" Her humor melted into thoughtfulness as she tapped her chin gently. "I never considered you much of a looker, though." Before the gunman, who was quickly losing control of the situation, could snap and head towards the girl for her crack on his looks, Charden stepped in with a calm smile and demeanor, though his eyes, mostly obscured by his red tinted shades, betrayed and underlying threat to Durham should he take so much as one step towards his de-facto partner. While he was certain he could kill the blonde and the girl without much trouble, he knew that playing nice now and again would reward him with more opportunities and victims in the future. So rather than start something here, he simply grunted before taking on a supposedly relaxed posture, though their new friend, and everyone else, could see that every muscle was tense with irritation.

"...I ain't bunkin' with this freakshow. He don't even have powers yet." Creed clapped his hands as if just remembering that fact, then turned to Shiki, extending a hand with a sick smile, something between obsession and comfort.

"Ah, well, we'll remedy that soon enough, won't we?"

The Tao master hesitated for a moment, giving the former stripper a long look of consideration. He didn't like this. He felt...wrong. Like he was poison, and would taint the Tao elixir before it even entered his system. A small noise came from Creed's throat to prompt him, and the Easterner wasn't sure if it had been a growl or some more benign noise like a cough to gain his attention. Slowly, ever slowly, as if perhaps their lavender eyed leader would come to his senses if he took his time, Shiki handed over the small potion. Their leader visibly shuddered with unfocused eyes as he quickly handed it to their supposed ally without thought, and certainly without the hesitation the more cautious of the pair had shown. It was too late, and with an inward sigh, Shiki lowered his gaze to the ground and closed his eyes, widening his footing to give him a more stable stance as his hands slid into his pockets, grasping several varied Tao spell papers. He may be resigned to let this new one gain the power of Tao, but he was not resigned to die just yet. He would be ready, always ready, and always watching. While the Tao elixir's first effect was a deep sleep for days, he would not assume anything, not with the ever growing knot in his stomach churning with pain as he kept his mouth shut despite his better instincts. Maro, perhaps because of how long he had known his fellow Taoist, stiffened as well, flexing his fingers as he got prepared as well. The rest, the Doctor, Leon, Kyoko, Charden, Echidna, Durham, and Creed, did not seem nervous or fearful. Shiki then realized how much their powers blinded them to the danger of 'mere mortals', as their leader often referred to ones not blessed with Tao, and it was then he learned to fear for their cause.

Their recently kidnapped friend inspected the vial, more out of curiosity than a sense of danger. It was a slim thing, made of clay and expertly crafted, and despite how it was cracked, none of the liquid slipped out. A cork was firmly placed on top, which he easily pulled out, and he wished he knew what the symbols written on the papers stuck to it said as he brought it to his lips, inhaling the faint scent of some exotic fruit. Once the stopper was out, he could really feel the power of the liquid as if it had an aura that was brought to life with exposure to the air. It made him pause in his actions, instincts raving that maybe... Maybe this wasn't the best course.

"...What's wrong? Why aren't you drinking it?!" A thin whine of panic escaped Creed's throat as he spoke, and despite his fluster, his hope would not drink, slowly lowering the vial down to stare at it with strange eyes. Shiki's spirits soared, and he dared not open his eyes or look up and disturb the moment, perhaps this one would deny the vial, and surely in a well known fit of temperamental rage their leader would kill him, erasing the whole problem of--

"Drink the damn vial. I ain't got all day to waste on you, freak." Annoyance was apparent in Durham's voice even without the harsh word choice in his order. Everyone tensed, feeling that their gunman's attitude would make things worse...

"Keep your pants on, cowboy... Wait, on second thought, strike that..." The more sultry of the Apostles lowered his voice as it trailed off, locking his almond-shaped golden flecked brown eyes on the narrow, hawk like green ones shaded by the hat the other wore. With a small chuckle, he leaned his head back before raising the vial up again, this time intent on drinking. Holding the now strained and tense eye contact, he opened his mouth wide, sliding his tongue out suggestively before tipping the vial and hungrily gulping down the potent liquid that spilled free and onto his tongue, with funneled it into his mouth before it traveled into his throat as he swallowed. His eyes never left Durham's as he licked his lips, curling them into a smirk. "Tastes good." Durham wasn't sure what to think or say, so as he often did, he just let whatever did come to mind, come out of his mouth.

"You're one sick li'l fuck, ain't ya?" His blunt tone and question were rewarded with a wry laugh and wink, along with a finger motioning him forward.

"You're free to find out, good lookin'." Before the disgruntled gunman could snap back a very firm and very negative answer, the stranger's eyes went wide, jaw went slack, and every muscle in his body tightened as an unimaginable pain wracked his whole body, a blood curdling scream coming out of his throat as his hands buried themselves into his hair, at first in a self-comforting manner before another wave of torture crashed into his core and he suddenly ripped out bits of that sunset pink/orange mane that set him apart with another ear piercing shout. Tears fell freely as his body would jerk and trash against the air as if that would somehow ease the pain cutting and flowing across, over, and into his organs. It was indescribable, at least to him. All his muscles felt like they would pull free of suddenly heavy bones at any second, his heart was pumping furiously, he couldn't control his bodily actions as his arms flailed, legs swung and wobbled, keeping his footing was difficult and it wasn't long until he dropped to his knees, screams still escaping with each new peak of torment, tears still escaping, hair still being torn.

The rest of the Apostles were standing, frozen in shock and fear, if not concern. The elixir had never been so violent to one's system, usually they fell into a sleep almost immediately after drinking it, never something so obviously painful. This confirmed Shiki's fears, this one was different, and despite how if he died here it would be a good thing for the cause, there was a twinge of sympathy deep inside of him, and he wished he could make the pain stop for him. He slid his hands free, holding three of his talismans, about the same time as Creed raised his imagine blade and held it aloft, apparently having the same idea given the tears that flowed from his own eyes, searching wildly between the tormented male still thrashing violently on the floor and his second in command, not sure whether to mercifully kill their would-be ally or order Shiki to stand down.

The choice was made easier as a shot blast went into the air, blowing a chunk of of the ceiling and wall, before Durham stepped forward and roughly seized the suffering male's chin with a sneer, though this could not be seen through the mask, as he tilted his head up to a painful angle towards his own, though this was merely one small pain among a vast sea of it.

"....." He said nothing, simply held the other's delicate chin firmly in his large hand as he watched the male continue to scream, his body harshly pulsing with rough, choppy movements with the pain like some hellish dance. Everyone else but the pair had frozen, even Creed and Shiki were too shocked by the gunman's brash and unexplained actions, though all were in a defensive stance in case their ally, using the term loosely, were to fire again. After a long, silent moment, save for the poor soul's screams, Durham laughed. He laughed loud, long, and hatefully, at the male who's face he held in his hand. "Well, well, sicker than I thought, ain't ya?" His other hand went into the bright hair, which was more than a little disheveled, then stroked down to his cheek almost tenderly... Then he roughly slapped the male's cheek, the hold he had on his chin ensuring he could not pull away or recoil from the blow. A low whimper ensued between half-barks, half-shouts as his body became a bit more accustomed to the pain.

"Durham! What are you doing?!" Creed's outrage was evident, and every Apostle, save the Doctor, was right behind him in that regard.

"Yeah, you meanie! Can't you see he's in pain?!" The tender hearted teenage girl puffed out her cheeks threateningly, popsicle melting in a fit of anger.

The cowboy only let out a disbelieving scoff as his gaze stayed transfixed on the face below him, moving his hands so they both grasped his cheek, suddenly jerking him up to his feet with enough force to make him cry out, the loud scream giving way to small whimpers as the Westerner raised his hands, bringing them to eye level. The height difference between them caused the unfortunate male to hang limply, only thing holding him up were the big hands holding onto his face. After an unexpectedly sharp jerk of pain in his stomach and coughing up blood, the victim's own hands shot up and grabbed onto the taller man's wrists for some semblance of security.

"Gotta name, you sick little freakshow?" He drawled out lazily, one brow raising expectantly, his accent making the male he had a firm, dangling hold on, shudder involuntarily. This man had no care for his pain, hadn't even flinched when he'd started screamed and twisted in agony. Slowly, his mouth opened, spitting out more of his live giving red liquid from his insides, which he thought was ironic given the name he was going to tell.

"...B-bl..." He spat out more of the red stuff with another violent cough. "...Blah...ooo...Blood..." Durham laughed.

"I'mma not askin' what's that comin' outta your mouth. I'mma wantin' to know your name, faggot." A small laugh from a wounded throat, then more of his namesake was spit out.

"It... It's my... Stage name...Blood..." The other's brow wrinkled as he was again confused by this one.

"Stage name?" Another small laugh, followed by Blood's blood.

"They didn't...tell you? I'm a... Dancer... A whore..." Dancer? Whore? Stage name? Durham's mind raced for a small second, then his brows shot up as he was tempted to give Creed an incredulous stare, but chose to keep his once again narrowed eyes on the male whose torment he was exacerbating.

"Well, I'll be damned, Creed picked up a sick li'l faggot stripper to play house with? ...Makes sense. I'dda been wonderin' what his fixation on that scrawny cat was..." A low growl came from behind Blood, but he couldn't turn his head to investigate who had made the noise. His captor only laughed at the noise, eyes still on Blood's own. "I wonder if he knows just how much of a li'l freak you are, kid..." He drew the smaller male closer, making him whine needfully under his hateful, violent eyes, something mixing with the pain inside him but wracking his insides just as completely, and he couldn't stop himself from sticking his bloodied tongue out and licking that intimidating mask that was so close to him. Yet another moment of confusion made the gunman pause, thankful that the angle kept the others from seeing the embarrassing and infuriating sight. He shifted his hold, grasping the slight male's throat rather than his cheek, both of his hands going to clutch the wrist effectively holding him up. This freed his other hand to draw his pistol, something that drew a short, fearful breath from everyone there before he spun it in his hands, aiming it away from the male he now held.

"Durham..." Creed hissed out a warning, raising his sword in an offensive stance. Green eyes narrowed but did not pull away from the teary ones locked onto his.

"I'mma startin' to get the feelin' that you're gonna be nothin' but a pain in my ass, whore." Blood purred as best he could between the pain induced pants he let out, shifted himself slightly and licking the gloved hand that held him.

"Actually... I'd... prefer you to be...the one to cause pain... in my ass..." Normally strained and predatory green eyes widened in flushed shock at such an obvious and acutely embarrassing come on, and the laugh the other let out did not help. With a growl, he took the butt of his gun and, using all of his strength, hit the still jerking male in the stomach, which he guessed was the center of all the male's pain considering that was where the elixir poisoning his system had gone. He was right. With the loudest shriek given so far, Blood passed out cold, hands falling limply to his sides. His face still twisted with shocks of discomfort and his body twitched lightly.

"Such a fascinating reaction to the elixir..." The Doctor mumbled to himself, pushing his glasses further back onto his nose, one brow arched as their normally loner gunman unceremoniously slung the unconscious body over his shoulder. Despite the male's build, his smaller size made him light enough so this was no problem. It went unspoken, but everyone thought the same thing, while Blood's reaction to the elixir had been strange, Durham's reaction to him had been even stranger. Sure, he enjoyed seeing people writhe in pain, but this had been a little much, even for him... Creed was still vehement, growling low as Durham turned to walk away.

"DURHAM! Why did you do that, why did you hurt him?!" The male only scoffed as he continued to walk without heeding him. The only thing that saved him from having his head cut off was Shiki standing silently between Creed and his target, while the Doctor gently touched his arm with a chuckle.

"Be calm, Creed, your friend seemed to be taken with Durham, even after his battering. Our friend taking a similar interest in Blood can only be a good thing." Of course they would think so, but Creed was very much afraid that, like Saya had corrupted Train, so would Durham corrupt Blood. He would have to kill him before that could happen, lest Blood be driven away from him just like his former partner.

The gunman paid no attention to the words spoken behind him, as he was still very much enthralled, though startled might have been a better word, for what he had seen that the others had not. Despite all the agony he had obviously been suffering, the jerks, the quakes, falling to his knees, bleeding, screaming, pulling his hair out, crying... He'd kept his strange, brown, golden and orange eyes locked onto his, eyes half-lidded with unmasked lust and a huge smile on his face.

The little freak had enjoyed the elixir backfiring on his body!

He'd loved the pain, and he'd caught a stray moan or shudder every so often mixed in with the other torment caused movements and sounds, all the while he'd stayed focused on him, not Creed, not Shiki, not the damned Doctor. No one but Durham. It made him proud, admittedly excited, but sick to his stomach. He'd never thought of men, and would have shot anyone who might have suggested such a disgusting and lewd act, but then this one... This one got under his skin and made his blood boil in his veins in a... Not so unpleasant way. Was it his unexplained attraction to him despite his hateful attitude? Was it just because he was taking something their 'leader' seemed desperate to keep to himself? Was it because the little freak liked being tortured and used? Was it because he hadn't gotten laid in years, a mix of his malicious tendencies in the bedroom and his fearsome appearance? Was it all of that together?

Regardless, Durham seemed keen on testing just what Blood was to him however he felt would get some answers, and if he got some pleasure out of it... Though he knew he was likely to be passed out in this painful forced-sleep for several days, maybe longer than three given how oddly he'd reacted to the Tao potion. Then again...the arrogant teenager had seemed willing enough while he was conscious, why should unconscious be any different? A cruel smirk overtook his lips under his mask as his eyes clouded with dark thoughts, roughly jerking his door open before carelessly throwing the body onto his bed, laughing to himself as the brightly haired skull hit the headboard with a harsh 'thud', causing the mostly limp body to wince before again relaxing into almost routine jerks and twitches from the pain spreading out from his stomach.

Suddenly the idea of sharing his room didn't upset him as much as it had in the beginning.

Blood wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd been hit so hard in his stomach, causing more of that sickeningly sweet pain to crash through his body. All he knew was that, despite the fact that he'd basically been sleeping, he felt incredibly weak and spent. Like he needed even more sleep. The thought of simply closing his eyes and going back to it was more than a little tempting. His half-open eyes looked up, then around a bit, still feeling fuzzy and not recognizing the room. That made sense, the last place he remembered being was that strange castle looking place that the weirdos had taken him after his kidnapping. He heard water running behind a closed door, assuming it was a bathroom. So that meant he wasn't alone in here. He opened his mouth to call out to the unknown occupant, but no sound came out... It took his half-asleep mind a full minute to realize that some sort of cloth had been shoved into his mouth, effectively muting his words before they could escape. He blinked a few times, brows furrowing, then shouted as loud as he could into the fabric. The small muffled noise got louder, but nothing really discerning could be made out. He growled in annoyance at that, reaching to pull the offending object out of his mouth. Nothing happened.

"Mmph??" He questioned ineffectively due to said gag, blinking a few times in confusion before looking up to see what was wrong. He nearly screamed in outrage when he saw just what the hold up was: His wrists were securely tied to the bedposts by belts, in fact they were bleeding from how tight it was around his wrists. More than a little chaffed from what he assumed was his own struggling in his sleep. The newly appointed Apostle, at least he assumed so based on what happened before his forced sleep, sat up slightly, at least as best as he could given his bindings. Sure enough, his ankles were strapped to the bedposts as well, though they were by ropes and... And he was naked. Okay. He hadn't exactly expected that. Now he was worried. He thrashed against his bonds, arching his back up off the surface of the bed as he struggled to break any of the bindings that held him down.

It was then that he realized what a train wreck of a state his body was in.

Everything hurt. Every limb, every muscle, every inch of skin, hell, he thought every cell of his body must be injured judging by the sheer intensity of the pain that wracked his form. He obviously had several cuts on his body and was bleeding, he knew the feeling well enough. Taking a glance downward to see how bad it was, he could scarcely believe it. His young teenage body was littered with cuts, bruises, even burns of various sizes, colors, and severity. He screamed in shock as loud as his lungs would let him, but by the time it made it through the fabric it was nothing but a low whine. He collapsed onto the soft mattress, panting as he felt a surge of agony coming from his rear. Specifically, inside of his rear. With a quiet hiss of disbelieving annoyance, he shifted his position so he was lying somewhat on his side, though he couldn't completely since he was bound spread eagle to each of the four posts. He just wanted to get some of the pressure off his clearly abused bottom, and gave a small half-choked sigh of relief once the uncomfortable feeling seemed to ease away. He closed his tired eyes, not sure he wanted to know what might have happened to him while he was resting.

"'Bout time you woke up, kid. I was a startin' to get bored." The low, drawling voice was obviously the cowboy from yesterday, Durham. Blood forced his eyelids open despite how they wanted to stay down, knowing feigning sleep would have no point. He tried his best to convey outrage at being stripped, tied up, and gagged through his eyes, but... His captor was looking good, really good, without all the added layers. The coat was tossed carelessly on a chair, same with the black shirt he'd been wearing underneath, his cowboy hat, and the belts... He glanced up to his own wrists with a quirked brow. The belts were otherwise occupied. That left the gunman standing there, wearing only boots, and pants he hadn't bothered zipping up, along with that fascinating mask of his. He'd heard water running earlier, and judging by the still wet hair clinging to his neck and face, not to mention the glistening droplets covering the exposed skin, he guessed the male had just taken a shower. The taller man showed nothing but twisted mirth at the disoriented state of his newest ally. That wasn't even touching on the pride practically oozing off of his half-naked form when he took in the bound male's position on the bed, clearly an attempt to nurse the pain in his backside. A cold smirk crossed his face, unseen by the other, but his eyes narrowed with a promise of more suffering no matter how much the gagged male begged. It made Blood shiver and let out a strained groan. There was no mercy in his eyes, no sympathy, no caring. Nothing but lust and malice shown there.

He looked hot as hell like that.

The male's wonderfully hateful eyes went further down his fellow Apostle's body, then chuckled and raised a brow as the hawk like orbs traveled back to the hazy golden flecked eyes of the male he'd exploited. He was clearly amused about something, and Blood was almost desperate to find out what, shifting uncomfortably with a questioning grunt. Durham's response was to take the fabric out of his 'friend's' mouth, and the now ungagged male recognized it as the red bandana he'd been wearing yesterday. It was tossed onto the clothes pile on the unused chair. "Got somethin' to say, kid?" He didn't know why, but being called 'kid' by this guy really rubbed Blood the wrong way, and a shot of anger went over his body from head to toe. Sure the cowboy was obviously older than him, he was only sixteen after all, but he wasn't a kid damn it! It wasn't like the other male was an adult either.

"First off, don't call me a kid, you're only what, twenty? That's only like, four years older than me. Tops. Second, what the hell is it about my body you find so damned funny?" He was feeling nervous, thinking maybe Durham had done something to him that he hadn't seen or felt yet, and while he did like that sadistic look in his captor/ally's eyes, he wasn't stupid with lust... Well, not completely anyway. The cowboy walked to the edge of the bed, eyes glancing back down, and from what Blood could see on his face, seemed even more amused than before. He then turned his attention back to his smart-aleck captive, grasping his face and pursing his lips in a painfully tight grip.

"First off," Durham started, tone and words mocking how the younger male had addressed him, "Thanks for the compliment. It's nice to know I don't look my age. However..." He leaned down, placing one hand behind Blood's back to prop himself up while he turned the teen's face towards his own. "...If the age difference between us woulda been four if I was twenty, meanin' you're sixteen, the actual age different between us is ten years. In case you were too busy fucking your classmates during school to know basic math, li'l whore, I'mma sayin' I'm twenty-six." A low, suggestive growl came from the back of his throat as he leaned his head down to whisper into the male's ear in a deep tone. "Meanin' you've spent the past nine days being tortured and used by a full grown man, kid, not one o' those inexperienced li'l boys you apparently play with while dancin' on that fancy pole o' yours. Slut. You wouldn't believe the fuss your god damn regulars have made, there's a hell o' a reward out for your unharmed ass back..." A hard swat on the aforementioned bodily region, and a pained yelp of surprise came out of the teen's mouth. "...Though I suppose the 'unharmed' part's done out the window, ain't it?" Blood could feel his face flush with embarrassment and anger at being handled so roughly, talked to so degradingly. Sure he slept around, and danced and stripped for money, well, more for fun really, but he knew he shouldn't be talked to like that. That this guy was crossing an unspoken line, not just between them, but all human beings. Another glance downward, and Durham continued with a disbelieving laugh.

"Second, what I find so funny 'bout your body is..." The hand holding the male's chin retreated, then immediately buried it's fingers into the bright locks before yanking him up to look down to his bodies lower half. This brought out another yelp of surprise, quickly followed by a bright red blush covering his face as he realized exactly what the cowboy found so humorous. "...The fact that you seem damned happy to see me." The male's bound nudity being laughed at, along with his age, and profession, made feelings of disgust with the cowboy rise up and mix with the, painfully, undeniable lust he felt for him.

"...Morning wood."

"It's four in the fuckin' afternoon and you've been awake long enough for it to have gone down, but nice try, kid." Another round of demeaning, mirth filled laughter. "Though I mighta bought that line if you hadn'ta been at full mast for most of my... Ministrations. See the longer I'm around you, the sicker you seem to be. Have you always liked being hit, li'l freak? Even unconscious, you were moaning more than screaming." Annoyance crept into his voice then, and he let go of that feathery hair, letting the head hit the bed with a cushioned thud before moving to his clothes. "Hell, you made so much noise I had to keep my bandana shoved in that pretty mouth o' yours to keep Creed from busting down my damn door every fuckin' night..." A brief glance to the oddly new and shiny door, which stood out compared to the dingy, ancient looking walls and floor, made him think that it was a bit more literal than the cowboy would have liked. Despite the anger he felt for their 'leader', Durham apparently found this funny as well. "If there was one part o' the week I'dda wanted you awake for, it was the look on his face when he broke in here ready to save you from the big bad gunman, only to see...Well, you can imagine it yourself, can't you, whore?" Blood wasn't sure he wanted to, but his body stirred at the various images that the low spoken words brought to mind.

Durham certainly remembered every moment of the past nine days quite vividly, but none were quite as dear to his heart as the completely lost and hopeless look on Creed's face when he'd walked, busted, in on them... Nothing really gory or violent, in fact it was much more vanilla than what would come for the rest of their nights, but it had been a shocking enough sight for their leader and the ever present Shiki. Their fault for coming in uninvited. He had been buried inside of his new toy, missionary position, facing the door. That was because the cowboy had wanted to play a bit more cautiously in the beginning, didn't want to knock the boy from an unconscious sleep into a coma via vicious bludgeoning on his headboard. So the teen's flushed face had been hanging off the end of the bed, eyes closed, brow wrinkled in pain and dizziness at the blood rushing to his skull, while his mouth was wide open as he screamed at the top of his lungs like it was the most excruciating pain of his life. That was what drew the so-called 'good Samaritans' to break into his room without his permission, determined to make him cease the torture on this poor, fragile, innocent teenage boy.

Innocent his ass. The kid has been panting and writhing under him like a bitch in heat despite his supposedly horrified screams.

Creed had royally freaked out, yelling and shrieking like a girl who'd just caught her high school sweetheart lip locking with the mean girl on the cheer-leading squad. That...bothered Durham, that their lavender eyed leader saw fit to call Blood 'his' ally, 'his' chance, 'his' partner, 'his' weapon, his, his, his. If anyone had any right to make a claim on the freaky little slut, it was the gunman, not the cat and rose obsessed swordsman. He was the one who had, though without meaning to, got Blood to join at all. The kid obviously had the hots for him, awake or asleep, had practically jizzed his pants when he'd slapped the hell out of him in the middle of his painful transformation, if that's not dementedly personal, he didn't know what was. If Blood was anyone's property, he was Durham's. No one else's. So, despite the indecency of it all, he never stopped or slowed his pace no matter what the pale, now paler, head Apostle had said to him. Or called him. Or threatened him. Or screamed at him.

It wasn't really like he could have stopped even if he had wanted to, the filled up whore had wrapped his legs around his waist so tightly that pulling out would have likely broken his spine in half. Upon stating this little fact, Creed nearly sliced him clean in two, which Durham had countered by ever so bravely sliding his arms under the other male's back and sitting up to use him as a human shield, never ceased his more pleasurable actions, only to be called several ugly names... For a guy as, erm, questionable in his sexuality as he was, Creed sure did know a long list of homophobic slurs when he wanted to use them. Perhaps self-hate issues were what make the male so completely insane. In the end it was Shiki who had stepped in, convincing Creed to back off and leave, lest he accidentally hurt their newest companion. Though before exiting his now open room, the annoying albino had hinted that Blood only clung so tightly to him because in his sleep the newcomer was mistaking the gunman's body for his own. Now that had pissed him off, and he thrust violently in anger as he yanked on the male's hair, which had drawn out a sound from the smaller male's throat that stopped the haughty former Chronos member dead in his tracks.

That sound was the teenager currently wrapping his body around his so desperately screaming out his name. Not Creed. Not Shiki. Durham.

Creed had a look of absolute hatred on his face, and eyes that could kill, as he stomped off down the hall to his own room, horrifically intolerant names and words ringing off the walls as he walked. Whether it was because of rage at the indecent homosexual action going on or jealousy at not being involved, no one would ever know. Shiki was more calm, not able to look the joined bodies in the eye, head turned pointedly in the exact opposite direction than they were. Slowly the head turned 3/4 of the way to see them, though his unbandaged eye was shielded with one hand as he shook his head with a palpable air of disappointment.

"You've never been a thoughtful person, Durham, but I hope next time you'll endeavor to keep it down. It might mean not only our sanity, but also your life." The cowboy laughed at that, easily tearing off his bandana from his neck and roughly shoving it into the boy's mouth. The way he gagged and arched his back showed he approved, and tested the muffle.

"Good enough for you, towel head?" Another long head shake of disappointment and unease, then the more somber male departed. His walk started out slow in a show of control and calm, but the cowboy had heard his feet speed into a quick shuffle the further out he got. And every day and night after, unless he was feeding his toy, the gag stayed in. Even if there was a mission that required Durham, he left the boy fastened to the bed, with his bandana sticking out of his mouth. No one disturbed him, save the Doctor, who was curious over how the male's transformation was coming along. God Durham hated the Doctor. The way he looked at Blood...

"...llo? HELLO!! You done spacing out or do I have to break out of these damn belts myself?!" The cowboy pulled himself out of his thoughts as he grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, tucking it into his pants before fastening them.

"I'd tell you to keep your pants on, kid, but you're naked as a jay bird." He chuckled to himself, ignoring the half-hearted huff the other let out as he pulled on his coat, gloves, then hat. The bandana was still slick with saliva, so he left it where it was. His next order of business was to unfasten the belts holding the teenager's wrists hostage. He immediately began to hook them into his pants, leaving the still sore Apostle to undo the ankle bindings on his own. "Your clothes are on the floor. Get dressed and get a move on. They're a wantin' to see if your powers've kicked in yet." Blood, having just untied his ankles, sent him an incredulous look.

"With these legs and the pain in my ass?! You're lucky I can even sit! I can't walk in there!" He fumed. Durham rolled his eyes, lazily dropping into the now empty chair, save the wet bandana hanging on the back.

"And what were you expectin'? Me to carry you like a blushin' li'l bride? Either you walk on your own or I drag you across this place by your hair, ankle, or whatever I manage to grab first. I ain't your Prince Charmin', I'm the roommate you chose. Don't like it? Pick someone else to shack up with." The bright haired male huffed in annoyance, then moved off the bed to stand... He promptly fell to his knees from a mix of unused muscles, pain, and exhaustion, hissing in rage when Durham laughed at him, earning him a sharp kick to his side. It was agonizing, and the roughly handled teen curled up into a fetal position to clutch his side with a quiet groan, making small sobbing sounds as he buried his face in the floor. A normal part of his routine for when customers got too handsy for too little pay, fake outrage, innocence, and tears, then have the bouncer drive them off. The cowboy said nothing, simply slipped his foot between the male's knees, forcing one leg up. A wry smirk overtook his face, though the only outward indication of his mood was a small glimmer in his cold eyes.

"Cute act, but your whore blood's pumpin' a li'l too good down there for you to not to have gotten a charge outta my treatment." He let the male's leg down, propping his chin up in his hand as he rested his elbow on the back of the chair he'd been using. "If you really don't wanna be hit again, you'll do what I say, when I say it. Got it, li'l slut?" Blood looked up, cutting the crying bit since it obviously wasn't working.

"No." Durham sat up straighter, eyes narrowing threateningly, but the other continued. "I don't get it. I won't listen to you. I don't want you." The gunman lifted his chin from his hand, lips curling back over his teeth though this went unseen, however the way his eyes seemed to get more and more narrow made Blood shudder with anticipation.

"...Say again, stripper whore?" The words were spoken in a tone more of a deep, almost otherworldly rasp, somehow different than how he normally spoke. Blood swallowed hard, mouth going dry as he opened it so he licked his lips. His heart was racing, beating furiously in his chest as he said something that he hoped to high Hell would push the cowboy off the deep end.

"I don't want you. You disgust me, and I don't want you or that puny cock of yours to ever touch me again, I can get Creed to touch me, I don't need yo--" He hadn't even got the last word out completely before the gunman had shot out of his chair, grabbing his throat before pulling him to his feet, then higher so he was dangling in the air. The cowboy seemed so much more intimidating then, eyes impossibly narrow and predatory, a vein pulsing like crazy on the side of his face, that wet hair still clinging and accenting the fierce look in those bright greed orbs. Even without seeing under the mask, Blood could tell he was gritting his teeth because of the strain that exposed neck, not sheltered by the usual bandana, showed him. He was going to get it, and it was going to be really bad. He licked his lips with a soft, expecting pant. It was going to be so good.

"Lookin' for a beatin', aren't you, you li'l slut? You want me to hurt you? You want me to make you wish for death?" Blood shuddered, tongue darting out and licking along the mask again while one hand grasped his wrist, the other hand sliding to his pants suggestively. It was an act that both disgusted and aroused Durham. "You want me to make you scream until your voice it hoarse? You wanna live and die as my mindless, soulless, worthless bitch?" The male nodded as best he could given the grip on his neck, hips jerking involuntarily in excitement as he kissed and sucked on the cool metal of the toothed mask. "Say it, whore!" The taller male snapped.

"I want it! I want to be hurt and used and abused!" He admitted, cheeks flushing as he revealed vocally what a sick, twisted soul he was.

"Say you're mine, freakshow!" He snapped again, and Blood groaned in emotional pain.

"I'm yours, just yours, always yours!" Durham leaned in closer in a mock kiss, which was impossible due to his mask, but that didn't stop his newly appointed bitch from kissing and sucking on his mask with revived earnest. Then, with a dark chuckle, he dropped the male to the floor.

"Flatterin', but I don't swing that way. Faggot." He scoffed, then, without another word or touch, either tender or violent, he walked out of the room. Blood was left alone, confused, frustrated, and naked. And mad as hell.

"What the hell?! Over a week of fucking me up the ass and you're saying you're straight?! YOU ASSHOLE!!" He fumed, fingers curling into fists as he growled, gritting his teeth as rage and unfulfilled lust went through his body. Not paying attention to his body or action, he got dressed in a hurry, fully intending to give the cowboy a piece of his mind when he got a hold of him. The only alteration to his clothes was that he grabbed the bandana, still soaked in his own saliva, and wrapped it around his belt at the buckle, hanging over his crotch in an ironically defiant show of submission, and ran out of the room.

He had no idea that his pupils had narrowed into cat like slits, his sharp teeth grew sharper while his canines grew longer, nails grew into claws, and his angry walk blinded him to the fact that all of his senses were sharper than any human could dream of accomplishing, along with heightened speed and agility as he ran down the hall. The only problem with his new powers, it seemed, was it simplified his mind to give his more bestial side domination. Now, he was ruled by emotions and nothing else, feeling a lustful hunger, vengeful anger, and intense hurt over being abandoned.

Somebody was getting the shit beat out of them.
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A Cowboy's Pet