Title: Addicted
Author: Merci
Pairing: Bishop/Badou
Source: Dogs: Bullets & Carnage
Wordcount: 1,138
Warnings: Hints of male/male relationships, withdrawal and substance abuse (kinda)
Disclaimer: The characters found here *do not* belong to me, I claim no ownership over Badou, Bishop, or the Dogs universe. The story itself *does* belong to me. I am making no profit from this endeavour.

Summary: Badou is out of cigarettes and his addiction begins to get violent. He finds sanctuary with Bishop in his church.

Notes: This is a very fantastical take on smoking addiction. I know that it doesn't get quite so violent or desperate, but as Dogs is a bit of a fantasy universe where Badou somehow becomes imbued with superpowers whenever he lights up, I figured that this would be an acceptable reaction. Maybe his smokes are laced with something and this is honest and true withdrawal. Who knows.

Enjoy!

Addicted

Badou shuddered and crashed into the church hallway, leaning heavily against the stone wall, oblivious of his bruised shoulder. He was niccing bad. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a puff, but the way his fingers curled into his sides, he knew it had been a few hours. He had torn his apartment to pieces trying to find enough tobacco to roll a homemade cigarette, or even money to buy a new pack, but that had only wasted time and his nicotine levels dropped. It was now late at night and he couldn't find anybody to lend him the cash. He had wandered the streets, hoping to find someone willing to give him a smoke and he had somehow found his way to the church, and it was in the hallway that he finally lost his footing. "Goddamnit… this sucks…"

He could feel something boiling inside him, that rage that thrashed out of control without the sweet sedation of nicotine. He could feel, that gnawing hunger of his brain demanding that deadly drug and he was painfully aware that something was wrong inside him. Very wrong. He clenched his fists so tightly he could feel his fingernails ripping into his palms. He squeezed his eyes shut, lurching forward to lean against the church wall as his breaths came in short, near-gasps. He could barely breathe; his lungs were working too fast. Everything hurt and everything made him want to kill.

A few feet away, Bishop stopped his approach, his own hands balled at his sides and he listened to Badou going through his own unique form of withdrawal. He had heard someone entering the church, his heightened senses feeling them crashing about and he'd come ready to fight. He had never expected to find Badou in the hallway, hunched over and fighting his smoker's rage. He'd sometimes wondered if Badou could ever quit The old priest couldn't see the redhead bracing himself against the wall, but he could feel the shifting in the air as the other man inhaled shaky breaths. He could feel the torrent of unbridled anger surging within him, threatening violence in an insane fury to get cigarettes by any means necessary. Bishop loosened his fists and took a few steps closer, feeling something within him tighten as he listened to the harsh breathing burning past Badou's clenched teeth.

Bishop bit his tongue and waited, listening to the changes in his breathing, allowing Badou all the time he needed to ride out the storm. He wondered how long it had been since Badou's last puff. He could understand the overwhelming brutality of something pushing him to his limits, a force beyond his control pulling his strings and testing his control. He shifted a little, his long, bony fingers reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. He found the metal strip easily enough, even beneath the priest's collar and long, blonde hair. It was always there, bolted to the surface of his skin, holding him together and locking in the dog that often howled for release. It had been a while since the beast had called out for him, but the feeling surging from Badou was almost identical. Almost.

A dull thud drew his attention once more to the smoker and Bishop immediately moved closer. The hollow sound of Badou's knees hitting the stone floor filled his ears and he felt the smooth shift of air as the redhead slapped his hands on the floor, panting downward. Bishop moved closer, stepping carefully and feeling his path with his toe until he was certain he was standing right before the other man. He could hear Badou coughing and his heart ached for him as the burning rage gave way to drowned sobs.

Bishop knelt before him, blindly reaching out to lay his palm against the mussed-up red hair. The smoker leaned up to the touch, his hand lashing out to grab the priest's legs and he dragged himself up, pressing his face into Bishop's knee. It was so pathetic and vulnerable and Bishop felt himself being pulled into the gravity of his desperation.

"I… c-can't…" Badou shuddered, his voice betraying his shame.

"I'm sorry," the old priest whispered and reached for his pocket, withdrawing a new pack of cigarettes from somewhere in his robes.

Badou bolted up and snatched the box away, tearing it open to feed his addiction with the click of a lighter and one carcinogenic puff. The priest laid his hand on Badou's head, stroking the red locks as the smoke billowed out around them. He pulled Badou up, tilting his face toward his, blindly seeing the vacant nicotine grin, feeling the emotion hidden behind a cloud of smoke.

He was a mess, they both were; fucked up and cut up in all the bad places. The cigarette, ever-present in his mouth, was the equivalent of the cold metal collar bolted to Bishop's neck. These things were the restraints that held the beasts inside them, the collars that kept them civilized and smiling.

Badou smoked the entire cigarette before sparking another and sitting back against the wall. Bishop shifted to sit beside him, he felt so exhausted for some reason. He felt Badou shift, knowing the other man was offering him a cigarette and he shook his head. "No thank you."

"Heh," Badou snorted a puff of smoke, the sound soft and small and he shifted against the wall, his tone indicating his exhaustion. "Yeah, you don't want this addiction. It sucks when I run out of smokes."

"I have enough... addictions," Bishop said, his body settling a little too comfortably against the wall and he knew he would have to move soon. "Withdrawal is never pretty."

"Yeah..." Badou trailed off and the priest could almost hear the gears turning in his head. "I think I'm too tired to go home."

"You can stay here," Bishop cut in too quickly. He could almost feel the little quirk at the edge of Badou's mouth as he smiled around his cigarette.

"Thanks," was all he said and the priest climbed to his feet, offering a hand to the redhead. Badou's fingers were cold against his palm and he clasped them tightly and pulled, lifting the other man to his feet before he loosened his grip and their hands fell apart. Bishop could feel the shift in the air even before Badou's feet scraped against the floor. He didn't need to see, he could feel the smoker moving away from him, finding his way down the familiar corridors to his room.

Bishop sighed, turning to return to his room with a drawer with more cigarettes carefully packed inside. One of these nights he'd follow and finally feed the one addiction he had been denying. He couldn't keep feeding Badou's habit without compensation.