Unclaimed

Passions flared and ran wild as Bull and Drake were enthralled by each other, furiously making out, deeply kissing, and exploring with their tongues.

Drake had never made out with another man, much less kissed, or even had feelings for another man. These sensations were completely new to him, and he had no idea what to do or where to take them. He just let his passionate lust engulf him.

Bull, on the other hand, was an experienced professional at making out with a smaller man. His hands gripped and groped Drake with expert precision, grabbing and squeezing all the right places, feeling all the correct spots that made Drake moan.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this, Doc," Bull gasped between deep, interlocking kisses. "How hard it has been to resist you?" He gasped as he started kissing his way down Drake's supple body, kissing his soft skin. His pampered, 'never seen a day of hard work in his life' skin. "How hard it was to restrain myself from taking you," he murmured, taking a large bite of Drake's lithe chest.

Drake gasped loudly as nerve endings fired that had never fired before. Nerves ignited feelings of passion and desire that he had never known existed. His wife had never touched him this way, never poked, prodded, felt, and groped him like this. Never made him feel so alive before.

Bull leaned up, gasping for air, his chest heaving and throbbing, lust blazing in his eyes. "Ready for me to make you mine, boy?"

And like a record player being ripped off the phonograph, the passion in Drake suddenly ended.

"What?" Drake asked bluntly, glaring at Bull. "Make me yours, boy?" Drake angrily quoted and pushed Bull off him. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing a blanket to cover himself up. "Like you own me now or something?!"

Bull sat up, completely dumbfounded and disappointed. He was so close, yet now so very far away from Drake. "I… I… I mean…" He stuttered and stumbled, never having been so wholeheartedly rejected at such a passionate moment.

"What, Bull?!" Drake shouted, heading towards the dresser drawers. "Is that what you've been telling everyone in town? I've certainly heard the question asked enough times by now! That I'm 'yours?' That I'm your personal 'boy toy?' Your new side piece to holster right next to your gun? To show off to everyone in town?!" Drake had never felt more used, abused, and taken advantage of before in his life.

Bull slowly shook his head, distraught. "That's... that's not what I meant…"

"I don't want to hear it." Drake grabbed his clothes. "I'm not owned by anyone, and never will be!" He headed towards the door and paused, face infuriated and glaring. "I... I cannot even look at you right now. I'm sleeping in the hammock tonight." He stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

Bull sat there on the ground, covered in skin blankets, flabbergasted at the sudden turn of events. "FUCK!" he shouted, slamming his fists into the ground.

—

The next day was cold and silent in the cabin. Drake drank his "mud tea" in silence as Bull prepared breakfast. Bull tried to make soft conversation to break the mountainous wall that Drake had set up, but to no avail. Drake either ignored his questions or simply nodded or shook his head.

"Well... regardless of your feelings about me at this time," Bull huffed, picking up his empty breakfast plate and coffee mug, "we need to go to town. My shipment of Ether Canisters arrived, and I ordered you some unaspected Ether canisters—just pure Ether, not balanced towards lightning or fire or any other element." He explained, buttoning up his flannel shirt and getting out his shoes. "Should give you some decent research material when we get back. I could use a hand carrying it back to the cabin, but if you don't want to, I think I can manage on my own."

Drake sighed and put his cup on the table. "I'll go with you. I have some further research in the library to get done as well." He stood up and grabbed his boots, avoiding eye contact with Bull every second he could.

—

Later that day, in the streets of the old western town of Paradise City, Bull and Drake moseyed into the saloon. Their errands were done, and now they wanted to grab a bite to eat before they trekked back up the mountain to their cabin.

Drake wanted nothing more than to get back to the cabin, begin his research into these "Ether Canisters," and hopefully find a way back to his time and out of this archaic hellhole of a town.

Bull paid their tab as the bartender took away their empty sandwich plates.

"I'm gonna hit the can before we head back," Drake stated, still avoiding eye contact with Bull, who simply nodded silently.

Drake opened the door to the men's toilet room of the saloon. For being an old western town, they had surprisingly modern toiletries, with copper and bronze pipes, urinals, and toilets all with fully functional indoor plumbing.

Drake scoffed, trying to find a clean stall. "This place is disgusting…" he grimaced as his face went from dirty stall to dirtier to grotesque. Just as he was about to give up, he heard the room door creak open, and the clank of boots and spurs sauntered in.

"Well, well, well," a tall, dirty, and incredibly unattractive cowboy whistled, walking tall and proud like he owned the place. "So you're the 'pretty blonde boy' we've heard so much about?" The cowboy looked Drake up and down, like a bull owner sizing up a new purchase. "They say not even Bull was able to tame you, boy..." he spat into the sink. "Guess it's gonna take a real man to break this young stallion in." He grabbed his large metal belt buckle, which held a large ivory revolver in a holster at his thigh.

Adrenaline now pumped through Drake's veins, his fight-or-flight response flaring up. "I am not anyone's…" Drake tried to step forward, holding his ground.

"You ain't even got a gun, boy!" The cowboy called his bluff, whipped out his ivory six-shooter, and aimed it right at Drake's forehead.

Then a click of a metal trigger from behind startled them both. "No, he doesn't," Bull said sternly, aiming his omni-gun at the man's rear end. "But I do." His face was emblazoned with protective rage.

Drake let out a hearty sigh of relief as his protector saved the day and his life once again.

"And in all honesty," he shrugged, pointing his gun steadily, "I've seen what Doctor Voss can do without a gun, and I can personally say that if there was anyone in this town that didn't actually need a gun, it's him." Bull cocked his gun, and it whirred with energy, ready to fire. "So how about you step away from the good doctor before I blast a hole in you so big you're gonna need a watermelon to cover it."

The cowboy gulped, silently nodded, uncocked his gun, and holstered it.

Drake nodded a quick thank you as he scurried past the cowboy, past Bull, and beelined it towards the exit.

As he was heading out the restroom, the angry cowboy yelled at the top of his lungs, "Just be lucky you're owned by Bull, boy!"

Then the fury and anger reignited in Drake's face as he marched down the hallway back into the saloon.