Feeling a tug at his pants, Creed snapped out of the daze the Cajun’s blood had lulled him into and glanced down, and then glanced down again. “You little shit…” he growled out, grabbing LeBeau’s wrist with his clawed hand and yanking it away, bringing his other up to follow suit and holding both of the smaller man’s arms above his head with only one of his. “Sorry,” Creed growled out, insincerely. “Rapists don’t usually take requests.” And with that he used his free hand to flip LeBeau onto his stomach and began tear at the man’s pants, claws grazing skin as they ripped through fabric. “Don’t worry kid, this will only hurt until you pass out from the pain and screaming.”