PART6

He let the boy tease him – he had a reason. Each time
they crossed their paths and exchanged spiky words, he
felt tingling warmth in his belly at the knowledge
that he could dice the boy with one slash of his
claws.
Much like watching the fly crawling on the table and
knowing you can finish its miserable life with one
thud of a book. The feeling of another being being
under your entire control and not knowing it.
He shot smart comments to the boy to receive even
sharper and virtuous answer, and enjoyed that for a
while. But no matter how long you watch the fly the
moment comes when you want to smash it all over the
table…

Remy stalked to the shower and stopped at the wall to
undress. He finally got enough courage to get under
that yellowish water – after coming to realization
he’d start to stink if he won’t have at least this
showering.
He took off his shirt and pants and put them by the
wall, then walked through the bathroom to the cabin
with the strongest stream. The one the blondie usually
occupied.
He switched the water on and let it wash over his hair
and face, enjoying its warmness and the feel of it
washing the dust off, when a quite knocking on the
boarder followed. It sounded much like claws.
“Huh?” he turned around to see whom he supposed to
see: the huge blondie. He stayed there, his claws idly
knocking in the boarder. Remy made a challenging look.
“Bath’s occupied, mon ami.” He cheered.
The next moment huge clawed hand closed around his
throat as he was lifted off the ground to the eyelevel
of the hugie. His feet dangled in the air as blondie
spoke. “Is your tongue-work everything you’re capable
of?”
Remy tried to chock something out, but he couldn’t. He
still couldn’t believe it happened. It shouldn’t have
happened this way, not at all. He should have chatted
with blond-monster, not getting picked up by the neck.

He was almost sure blondie was gonna hold him up for
some time – just for a good measure – and let him go.
Then he’ll sneak out of the cabin quickly – or will
get thrown out of it – and will finally follow
Andrew’s advice and stop teasing the beast.
Unfortunately, he was wrong…
“Nothing to say, swamp rat?” Creed questioned almost
lazily, as Cajun twisted and thrashed in his grasp in
futile attempt to get some air. “Well, remember not to
play games when you’re not ready for the next set.”
With that he hurled the boy across the bathroom.
Remy’s back hit the wall and he winced, flexing his
back and trying to make a run for his life, when a
huge hand grasped his throat again and pulled him back
until his back slammed against another wall that the
broad and solid chest of Victor Creed was.
LeBeau felt the set of claws piercing his skin on the
neck, then five more – on the hip, when the other hand
made its way around his body, pressing their lower
bodies together.
It was when Cajun fell into real terror. He
unmistakably felt a huge hard on pressing along the
crack of his ass. He flinched desperately, and felt it
was growing and hardening behind him, and he flinched
even more in attempt to break free, so terrified his
heart skipped bits, and Creed pressed his own hips
even firmer against LeBeau’s, taking in every arousing
movement of boy’s lower body.
Finally Cajun went limp in huge clawed arms, his
breath hard just as the flesh behind him that would
have jumped between his thighs had he left some space
between his legs.
“You ain’t gonna do it, n’est-ce pas?” he almost
pleaded, not daring to look into those killer’s eyes.
“Why not?” the gruff answer came. “I remember we had
discussion on ‘ass’ topic. What would you say now?”
Remy kept silence. The only things he had in mind
sounded way too frustrating for his liking. Maybe if
he keeps silence, he’d get out of this all in one
piece?…
“Well, if nothing is said, why won’t we figure out?”
with that he crashed LeBeau against the rusty wall of
the bathroom. He ran his claws along boy’s back,
getting off at his scream of pain. The sound was so
pure and pleasant he did it again and again. He knew
no one would come to see what’s going on – those
guardians knew pretty well what can happen in a prison
bathroom.
~Mon Dieu, but those other men must be watching us!~
the thought came to Cajun’s mind right before he was
impaled on the huge shaft in one brutal thrust.

It felt amazing. Now, he could definitely say it was
worth waiting for so long – he didn’t even need to
turn around, he could sniff the shock and puzzlement,
as the teammates watched their former leader being
replaced in such a doubtless way.
Replaced? Nope, he didn’t want to be their chief, they
better go find themselves someone else. He needed no
team, all he needed was the boy who had already lost
his voice in screaming and was now just moaning and
squirming in a rhythm of thrusts Creed provided.
“Like this?” he whispered into kid’s ear, and he just
groaned as response.
As for Creed, he did like how the kid felt. He
obviously was stranger to any kind of anal sex, and
was left as tight and hot as a newborn.
When he planned the whole thing (he wouldn’t have
planned it if outside, but hell, there was nothing to
do here!), he thought of it as of the way to humiliate
the kid and see him falling down from the heights he
claimed.
However, now he doubted what he liked more: the
break-down of kid’s prison life, or the tantalizing
feeling of his inner muscles clenching around him
trying to block his way to kid’s sensitive innards, as
he thrust inside him.
Soon he had to let himself go, as the warmth of the
kid felt way too good to hold any longer. As he
orgasmed, he stood there for some time until he got
his breath back. Then he leaned away from the wall and
watch the kid collapse on the floor in a heap.
Probably had fainted somewhere in a process, he
couldn’t tell exactly when.
He turned around to see a dozen of men quickly
switching their gazes everywhere else but at him. “Who
touches him, follows his fate.” He purred and went to
the bath cabin he had now successfully freed – to wash
the different fluids off his cock as well as to take
an ordinary shower.
He washed under the weak stream of water – the best
they had in the whole bathroom – and wondered just
what would he do now. By his first plan, he should
have let the kid go. His team… now he had no team
anymore. No friends either, if not those two geeks
from their cell, but they weren’t in count.
He could let him go now – he did enough to claim Cajun
as a weak faggot. And there was no secret of what
happens with weak faggots in men prison…
He stirred, catching himself on a sudden thought he
didn’t want the other men to touch Cajun, use him, be
inside of him. Inside of Creed’s property. He shook
his head. Cajun will be his – and no one else’s. Not
because he liked him, but because the thing once
touched by Victor Creed should be claimed his.
He stalked out of the bathroom, drying himself off
with Cajun’s crimson shirt – damn, but he liked how
the silk felt on his skin – then with sudden motion
shredding it. The kid ain’t gonna carry shirt – he’d
better go bare-chested, so the others would see just
how gorgeous creature he owned.
He dropped the remnants of the shirt on the floor and
pulled his own clothes on. Then he walked to Cajun’s
form. The kid had already come to senses and was now
trying to crawl away and hide in the crowd.
For a moment he just watched him crawling on the floor
leaving bloody trail behind him. He tried to get to
his former friends, his team – but they remembered
Creed saying not to touch the kid, so the movement he
did to them - the step they took back. It looked like
kid had his sight hazed from bloodloss or pain or
both, and he couldn’t get why the distance between
them didn’t shorten.
Creed chuckled at the view – now, that was amusing –
then walked to the kid and stopped right in front of
him. The auburn mane of hair waved slightly as the kid
tried to get his head up to look what was blocking his
way, then made some weird movement with his hand.
It took a moment for Victor to realize what it was –
the kid pretended as if he threw something at
Sabertooth, something thin like a tough sheet of paper
or a card or… well, it looked like kid was out of his
small damn mind.
Sabertooth turned to one of the men who already had
his clothes on. Victor glanced at him, then spat out
one single word. “Lace”.
The man traveled his gaze down to his knee-high laced
up boots, then without a word bent down and undid the
boots, placing both black laces into Victor’s waiting
hand.
Sabertooth placed them together, then took them in one
hand and yanked the kid up with another. The kid
groaned and flinched, but it looked like he couldn’t
define where Creed was, so he futilely attacked the
air around.
“Go get your pants on, kiddo” Sabertooth growled,
shoving him down to where the remnants of kid’s
clothes laid.
Surprisingly, Cajun obliged and even managed to tie
the lace on his own boots, though his hands were
shaking. He didn’t wonder about the shirt’s absence
either.
As the kid was done, Creed pulled him up and tied his
hands behind his back. Then he faced the other men.
Taking a moment to admire their scared faces, he
spoke. “This…” he shook Cajun by his fragile neck.
“…is my toy. Whoever touches it – dies the same
moment. Clear?”
The silence was the answer. With a frustrated growl
Creed slashed his claw over kid’s chest, carving
letters. The kid squirmed in pain, and the letters
appeared far from calligraphic, still nicely readable.
“See here!” he growled to the crowd. “Ya all can read,
and here, it states…” he traced his finger over the
carved letters that were barely seen from under the
blood. “it states: ‘MY TOY’. Clear now?!”
The men nodded, gruff “Clear, sir”, was heard in the
bathroom. “Good” Creed smiled and pulled the kid
outside the bathroom, through the corridor and to the
cell – it was time to get to sleep. The guardians just
followed him with their eyes, but said nothing. He
knew they’d say nothing as long as Cajun would be
alive.