Sabretooth: Blood Song – Chapter 10 – Closer While Farther Away

You let me violate you
you let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
you let me complicate you
Help me – I broke apart my insides
Help me – I’ve got no soul to sell
Help me – the only thing that works for me
help me get away from myself

I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god

You can have my isolation
you can have the hate that it brings
You can have my absence of faith
You can have my everything
Help me – tear down my reason
Help me – it’s your sex I can smell
Help me – you make me perfect
help me become somebody else

I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god

Through every forest, above the trees
Within my stomach, scraped off my knees
I drink the honey inside your hive
You are the reason I stay alive

~ Closer (Nine Inch Nails)

*****************************************************************

“Why not just go in as Stark?” Morpheus clutched at the door when Victor gunned the engine around a turn.

“Cuz we dunno if he’s left yet.”

“People are myopic sheep; they’ll just think he went by again. Unless I run into him, they won’t pay attention for more than five minutes.”

“Pretty an’ cynical – my kinda guy.”

“You’ve picked up a cop – are you going to pull over?”

“What tha fuck fer?”

Morpheus laughed. “You are sheer perfection.”

The silver Aston Martin Vanquish purred and roared through its V12 paces, leaving the police car in the dust until they screeched to a stop at the valet parking podium. The piercing siren made Victor’s ears pin down as a growl sparked. He twitched when Tony Stark spoke beside him.

“Let me take care of it, gorgeous.”

If his passenger door hadn’t opened for the person who smelled like the metamorph, he would have been seriously angry to be ambushed out of the blue. He still wasn’t sure if the surprise of the transformation impressed him more than it pissed him off.

“Mr. Stark! We didn’t see you. Our apologies, sir.”

Victor turned his head to look back and had to smirk – Morpheus was signing autographs as Stark for the cop and his partner, who were fawning over him.

Stark’s bright smile was beamed at him when the man came up to the driver’s door. “I think we’re set. Shall we go in?”

Snorting his belated amusement, Victor shook his head at him and got out of the car. He tossed the keys to a valet. “A fella named George Danelek is gonna pick up tha car later, got it? Ya know ‘im?”

“Yes, sir.”

He followed Morph-Stark to the front desk and let the smirk stretch into a grin. He was perfect.

“Did my assistant check me out yet?”

“No, Mr. Stark. Weren’t you keeping the room until tomorrow as planned?”

“Yes, but I lost my key card – be an angel and get me another?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

In the elevator, Victor punched the button for the eighteenth floor. Morpheus was grinning with Stark’s face beside him.

“That was nuts. Get outta that ‘til we know he’s gone an’ I get a chance t’ search tha suite.”

“George Danelek it is.”

“Ya didn’t need t’ ask fer a key card, I got one fer tha connectin’ room.”

“Stark is scatterbrained, they won’t even wonder about it.”

“He kept tha suite…” Victor muttered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothin’.” He got to the suite door first and listened. “Nobody in there. Yer up.”

Nothing personal remained in any of the rooms – except the scent. It was the most pronounced in the bedroom, layered with the smell of sex and booze. Taking off his sunglasses, Victor set them on a dresser and then wandered into the bathroom, touching the fixtures at the sink.

“We’re locked in; the ‘go away’ sign is on the door.” Morph-Stark leaned in the doorway. Their eyes met in the mirror. “What do you want?”

Victor turned, grasped his face in both hands and kissed him. “Just be Stark, wallow in it.”

Their lips touched as he asked, “Do I like you? Or are you breaking in and forcing me – again.”

Victor pulled back slightly to stare into Stark’s eyes. “How do ya wanna do this, Morph? How do I make ya feel?”

With a groan, Stark’s lips kissed him. The inventor’s voice spoke with seamless perfection, husky with lust like Victor had never heard it before. “Oh, I like you – especially naked.”

~ ~ ~

He was drowning in the scent of the man he wanted as the boy who could give him that man lay panting under him. Victor leaned in to nuzzle and sniff at his throat, and if he worked at it, he could focus on Stark’s scent on the pillow over Morph’s scent in the dark hair. It was enough.

~ ~ ~

“It’s going to be morning soon,” Stark told him, kissing his brow. “There’s a poem about it…”

Victor closed his eyes. “Tell me…”

“Deep in the night, just before morning would try to begin … struggle, fail, and finally win. Two lie like one in warm embrace, and try not to think of what they must face.”

Victor sighed. “Claudette wrote that.”

“I’m sorry, but … we need to go back – I … need to go back. You didn’t want me to ruin what I have, working for her…”

“She’d be mad at me, not ya.”

“Victor…”

“Not yet.” Victor rolled onto his stomach. He buried his face in his folded arms for a moment and then got up to wait quietly on all-fours. “Be ‘im once more, do this fer me, an’ I’ll never ask ya t’ be ‘im again.”

The hands touched his hips. He knew the boy wanted to – knew he had always wanted to.

“Hard or soft?”

“Don’t matter…”

When he spoke again, the voice was Stark’s. The words bloomed into a need he could barely control.

“You’re so beautiful. Victor… Be still and let me…”

The moment it happened, a growl began, low in his chest. He leaned down onto his forearms, struggling to keep the claws sheathed. The pillow smelled like Stark. He breathed it in like a drowning man … as Tony thrust deep inside his body.

~ ~ ~

Victor woke in a cloud of Stark’s scent. Down the hall, a cleaning cart was approaching. Morpheus was transforming into Danelek across the room as the morning sun crept over the floor.

“We need to hurry.”

With a groan, he sat up and stretched. Getting dressed was something he accomplished almost on some sort of autopilot. After the boy put his hair up again for him, Victor huffed out a breath.

“Take tha car, go have fun. I’m gonna walk. I’ll call Claudette later, but if she grouses at ya, blame everythin’ on me. Here,” he added, and handed the boy Danelek’s key card from his wallet. “Check outta tha next room fer me before ya go.”

“I will.”

“Leave ‘is clothes or take ‘em, don’t matter t’ me – ain’t no suitcase, though.” He pulled quite a few presidents out of his wallet before pocketing it. “‘Run an’ play’ funds,” he added, closing the boy’s fingers around the folded bills. “Go on – we shouldn’t be seen t’gether.”

“Are you leaving the city?”

“Dunno yet. Gotta go see a friend.”

“All right. Victor – it meant a lot to me. Don’t worry, I won’t ask why.”

“Smart boy. I gotta tell ya it’s my private biz?” He picked up the sunglasses, allowing his claws to clack on the top of the dresser before he slid the lenses over narrowing eyes.

Morpheus straightened with bruised pride. “No. I won’t breathe a word, to anyone.”

“Good. Off ya go.”

Victor left the suite moments after the elevator took the boy down. When he turned the corner to punch the button, a maid flinched when she saw him and then tried to smile.

“Mornin’,” he told her, and stepped into the elevator car.

~ ~ ~

Across the street from the hotel, he approached his pretty redhead as she was leaving Pippin’s Tavern. “Back as promised, darlin’,” he called out to her.

She turned, shading her eyes with her hand. “Victor! Good morning!”

“Yer not goin’ t’ open up, are ya? Didn’t think I slept in that late.”

“Rachel and Kenny are, I had to bring a key – she’s always losing hers. We left the place a mess last night so they’re starting clean up early. I’m off until tonight and Braden’s with my mom. Isn’t it strange how the fates are aligned?”

He kissed her cheek when he reached her and offered his hand. “Will wonders never cease. Would ya like a gent t’ walk ya home, since it’s such a long way?” He winked at her.

“I would. Oh my, what a dapper gent you are. I love that suit.”

They walked to the corner at the crossroads of East Chicago and North Rush. Her tavern was behind them, in the shadow of the Park Hyatt. Across East Chicago, they stopped at the Chicagoan building. She had lived there in an expensive three bedroom apartment ever since her second divorce. It was worth every penny to know she was safe, and close to work.

She threaded her fingers in his as they walked down the wood-paneled hall to the elevators and headed up. The apartment was perfectly clean and decorated as if ready to be shown off. Many windows framed spectacular views of the city, and her personal things had always been kept orderly. It looked like nothing had changed.

“Ya keep tha cleanest house I ever saw.”

Meara laughed. “You haven’t seen Braden’s room yet. Are you sure you don’t mind me subletting it here and there?”

“Don’t mind, but if ya ever need money, just call.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“Rather get outta tha monkey suit an’ get ya in bed, darlin’.”

He never played blood games with this one, or tried to lead her into kink. She was a sweet girl in love with romance and that was just the way he liked her. Her Irish fire kept it interesting, and he didn’t have to pretend – she knew, and didn’t care, that he was an assassin for hire.

They helped each other strip in her soft mint green painted bedroom. When he picked her up and placed her gently on the peridot silk comforter, its white embroidered vines and leaves framed her voluptuous body beautifully. The freckles wandered everywhere on her pale smooth skin and he wanted to kiss them all. He began by kissing the ring on the middle finger of her right hand. It was an antique silver setting with three peridot and diamond flowers adorned with silver vines.

“I love it,” she whispered. “Best Christmas ever.”

“Ain’t as pretty as ya, but it suits ya.”

“Victor…”

She held his head as he suckled her pink nipples, her fingers carefully removing the metal hair sticks Morpheus had replaced for him to allow his hair to tumble around them. As he moved down her body, she grabbed up large handfuls of its length and covered herself with it as he slipped lower out of her reach. When he made her shudder and come with his mouth, her hands tugged on his hair. She reached for him, tried to pull him up, and giggled when he growled playfully at her.

He got his fingers into her curling ginger mane when he entered her smoothly and kissed her deeply as he thrust, slow and gentle. The way she touched him reminded him of Tabitha, and his heart lurched.

Meara knew him well. He could tell that she was aware something was wrong but she didn’t ask about it. She gave herself over completely to his needs, and let him fill her and taste her as long as he wanted.

The windows were full of lights surrounded by darkness by the time he came with her sweet cries in his ear and knew he was finally sated. He moved off of her and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair with his forehead on her shoulder.

She played with his curls and made him purr as she rubbed a fingertip gently up the outer edge of his pointed ear.

“If I end up wanting another baby someday, what if I talked you into helping?”

Victor grunted. “I’m fond o’ cubs, darlin’, but if it turned out t’ be a mutant, that can complicate yer life a lot.”

“You don’t complicate my life.”

“Ya know, they say tha Irish are crazy…” He smirked when she poked his ribs. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”

“No strings, no falling in love – I remember all the rules. Tell me this – are you okay?”

“Dunno. Will be…”

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Probly.”

She sighed. “I have to go to work soon. Let’s go shower.”

~ ~ ~

When they walked into Pippin’s Tavern together, the regulars cheered and made her blush. With a broad grin, she let Victor pull her into a tight embrace and kiss her in front of them all before she started affectionately berating them for cheering again.

Victor sat at the bar and drank just to watch her, trying to keep his recent failures at bay. He’d have to face Claudette sooner or later, but if he left town, he’d have the excuse of doing it on the phone.

“Evening,” his newest barstool neighbor said as he sat down. One glance had him pegged as current or ex-military. “I believe we should discuss a business venture you would likely be perfect for.” As Victor faced him, the man stuck out a hand. “Name’s Gorman.”

Victor took it and squeezed, but the man was equal to it. “Creed. It’s yer nickel – shoot.”

“You look like one hell of a tracker, a hunter. I need something big brought down.”

“What’s tha target?”

“Classified, until such time as you agree to hear me out somewhere more private – but it’s going to pay a million. Are you afraid of the cold?”

Victor’s upper lip curled. “Ain’t afraid o’ shit. Where’s tha job at?”

“The Arctic Circle.” The man stood. “Take my card. Call that number if you’re interested and we’ll work out the terms.”

Victor studied the card. It was nothing but a white rectangle of thick cardstock with a number and the words Triad Mechanics Division.

“I’ll think ‘bout it.”

“Good. I’ll be in town for three days.” He studied Victor for a moment in silence and then turned on his boot heel and stalked out of the room.

Meara came over to bring him a fresh bottle. “Duty calls?”

“Dunno. He ain’t no mutie-lover.”

She frowned at him. “I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“Probly what he was tellin’ ‘isself – had tha classic ‘I need yer skills, but I’d rather see ya swing from a tree’ kinda look ‘bout ‘im.”

“So … maybe that’s one to say no to?”

“Don’t make no diff’rence. I don’t need t’ be liked t’ take a job. If I can fit it in before November, might consider it.” Victor shrugged. “It’s somethin’ t’ do an’ I could use a new distraction.”

She gave him a sad but sweet smile and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “I think you need a few weeks to relax on a warm beach somewhere, love.”

~ ~ ~

Victor’s driver Marcus arrived in front of the pub in the 1925 Rolls-Royce Phantom 1 Jonckheere Coupe, a black with red interior beast that looked like nothing else. The hand-fabricated body had round doors, split-opening half-moon windows, twin sunroofs, crazy sloping fat fenders, and a stabilizing fin at the rear. The setup was British, and he’d never bothered about it. If it had an engine, he could make it purr.

Marcus got out of the driver’s door on the right side of the vehicle and nodded to his boss as Victor slid into the seat behind the wheel.

“Was this Lenusya’s idea?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Woman’s got good taste, but it’s a li’l creepy how well she knows me.”

When Marcus was in, Victor drove off too fast, letting the six cylinder, 7.66L OHV inline six engine and four speed manual transmission soothe his mood. He’d never put a CD player in it either, considering it sacrilegious to mar the lines of the original dashboard. The luxurious automobile was quiet enough that you could have a chat at speed. It could easily travel at 100 mph, but he didn’t try to push it on Chicago’s busy streets.

“Gotta take this thing out int’ tha countryside someday, maybe bring Meara along fer a picnic. Got no clue how t’ go ‘bout havin’ a picnic, but a man can learn, huh?”

“Of course, sir.”

“So what’s with ya bein’ clammed up? Somethin’ I oughta know?”

“Madame Beaumarchais came to see you, sir; she’s waiting at the house with Miss Kaminskaya.”

“Hmmm. Blowin’ their ambush, are ya? Good man. Remind me t’ drop ya a bonus fer that shit.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Victor stifled a sigh and tried to sink into the thrill of driving the priceless car. Ain’t too worried ‘bout Claudette bein’ mad – she’ll get over it once tha check clears. It was the tedious details of life trying to pull him into another funk – and dealing with people at all. He wasn’t good with people. Feelin’ tha need fer gettin’ lost in tha trees awhile…

He passed the front of the house and drove around to the garage to park the Rolls in its usual spot. Claudette’s white Tucker 48 Sedan sat waiting for her not far away, so she wasn’t trying to be a surprise.

Since she decided t’ drive ‘er birthday present from five years ago, maybe she ain’t mad at all. Tha thing was one o’ fifty-one prototypes ever made an’ cost me over a million – I wonder if tha bill fer my Stark adventure will be as steep? Still gonna be worth it.

Victor tossed the keys to Marcus and went into the house, following the scent of the two women into the backyard. They were sitting with wine glasses in chairs around a patio table where Claudette could see the spa pool inspired by a Faberge egg, and the fountain depicting the four main rivers of France.

“Look, the cat dragged in,” Lenusya announced with a smile.

“Before ya start, Claudette, it was my fault.”

“Eet eez done, Veektor – Lenusya ‘as assured me eet will be settled by tomorrow.”

“Well whatever ya agreed on, it’s fine with me.”

“Won’t you come sit? Zee wine eez lovely.”

“Take my chair, I’m going in,” Lenusya said. “Good night, Claudette.”

“Bonsoir, mon amie.” She watched as Victor sat. “I was upset before, but Morpheus cannot deny you anyzing, and I am no better. I would like to know why you did zis?”

“Took ‘im t’ a hotel, t’ have tha scent o’ who he was playin’ fer me – simple as that.”

She nodded. “As I suspected.”

“It was a rush situation, darlin’ – if I’d waited t’ tell ya what was what, opportunity woulda quit knockin’. I know he’s yer best asset – ya know I wouldn’t let jack happen t’ ‘im.”

“Of course – I am not ‘ere to berate you. Morpheus said you may be leaving soon. You ‘ave a ‘abit of disappearing and not saying adieu, so I came ‘ere to say eet.”

Victor nodded and looked off at the fountain. He never admitted it, but it was a deciding factor in why he’d chosen the house – beside the fact that it was the Gold Coast’s most expensive listing.

“Eet eez so lovely. I need to go to France again. Why do you love eet? I know you do.”

He studied her to avoid thinking about the truth. She wasn’t in one of her crazy French gowns or hairstyles, but dressed as a modern rich woman in an expensive scarlet A-line dress that stopped at the knee and displayed her long pale legs. The red stilettos turned his thoughts away from the fountain in short order as she shifted and recrossed her legs. Her scent had already been driving him into heat the moment he entered the house. Her mood was serious though, not playful, and so he waited.

“Tha noise,” he muttered. “I like hearin’ tha water splash. It moves like a waterfall, not like those pretentious Japanese water picture things Obinata likes so much – those just make me need t’ take a piss.”

“You do tend to collect many fine French treasures, including me. At times, one eez inclined to wonder why.”

“Mysteries make me sexy.” He smirked at her.

“Or eez eet for your Michel Richoux zat you do zis?”

The question wiped the smirk into a frown, but he didn’t feel angry. He was used to her knowing him so well and had trusted her with a lot over the decades. He tried not to dwell on the fact that both she and Lenusya would make terrible enemies. When she leaned closer and touched the back of his hand on the table, he startled, but didn’t growl.

“Sometimes I wish my memory was as fucked up an’ blank slate as tha runt’s.”

“Eez zis why you ‘ave been enamored wit’ Stark all zese years? ‘E reminds you of Michel?”

“Dunno. They weren’t nothin’ alike. Michel was tha smartest man I ever knew ‘til way after he died, an artisan an’ a soldier, so there’s that – but he wanted peace an’ quiet in nature, not tha limelight an’ all eyes on ‘im … simple things, simple pleasures. Stark is … lightnin’ in a jar. Guess if I’m bein’ honest, gotta admit I dunno ‘im that well, no matter how much I stalk ‘im.”

“Do you love zis man?”

“Got no idea what that even is, darlin’, told ya that.” His frown darkened. “Morph better not be spreadin’ tales…”

“You took ‘im to zee ‘otel Stark was in, to ‘is suite – eet eez not ‘ard to sort out. Zis eez not a common zing for you to do.”

Victor swallowed a growl and got up. “Not gonna jaw ‘bout this – I ain’t in a sharin’ mood, doll. Ya stayin’? We can have us a regular sleepover – tha kind where we ain’t gettin’ much sleep.”

“Veektor…” She looked up and held her hand out to him.

He took it and helped her up. As empty pointless gestures went, he knew it made her happy to be treated like a grand lady, and he liked to make her happy – even when she ticked him off.

Claudette slipped her hand around his forearm and let him lead her into his house and upstairs to the master suite. “Do you still ‘ave your gift basket I sent over for zee ‘olidays? Eef we are ‘aving a sleepover, we will need toys.”

“Darlin’ tha collection o’ toys here could be used t’ open a shop, an’ our standin’ agreement still stands – if ya see a limit, feel free t’ give it a solid shove.”

“Good. I am in zee mood to make your blood sing, mon petit minou doux.”

~ ~ ~

She let him lick and touch the stilettos and her ankles only if he stripped for her and then remained on his knees. Then she had changed clothes to almost no clothes, wearing a corset that let her breasts be free to tempt him, a leather rig sporting a wickedly large dildo, and a very different kind of shoes. Claudette moved like a predator on the long black rubber heels in the shape of thick cocks with a steel rod running through them.

Layered into the rest was the enticing smell of her menses. It curled into his senses and peeled back his foreskin the moment she had let her panties drop. One hand held a short leather whip and the sight of it made his dick hard so fast that it hurt.

She sat on the edge of his armchair and lifted one beautiful foot. “Suck.”

Growling, he crawled forward and let her put the dildo heel in his mouth. He sucked them both.

“Turn around and be still.”

Victor got onto his hands and knees and turned his head to look in the giant mirror in the ornate heavy frame against the far wall. Lenusya had told him it was hideous, even while winking at him. It was over two hundred years old, a treasure, and he had told no one of its origin. It allowed him to watch as Claudette aimed one of her heels and then kick-punched it inside his body.

It hurt; it hurt bad enough to make him want to scream. Holding back that scream was a part of his pleasure, and as she began to fuck him with the heel, his cock started to drip. He didn’t ask what the rules were, he knew – they had played this game many times. He wasn’t allowed to speak unless told he could or asked a direct question, and he didn’t have permission to come until told to. She wouldn’t care if the inner beast growled and snarled, but he had to control it, he had to obey.

Then the whip was gently touched to his back, feather-light tip and smooth leather cord length. It was all the warning he would get. The next time he felt it, it stung with a snap. The red mark faded instantly. Another, harder, cut the skin … and then it healed. Adrenaline rushed through him when it struck again and the low buzz of healing helped to fire his senses. He knew she would keep it up until he could almost know what it felt like to be high.

Sometimes he watched in the mirror, other times he closed his eyes. He could smell her blood and he wanted it. The frame of the mirror also bore a faded scent of blood, but he knew that wasn’t in his nose – it was just a delicious memory unlocked by the pain of the whip.

He was left empty for a moment, only to be pierced and fucked by the other heel. It was brutal and he ached for it. They were far smaller than the cock she wore over her sweet scent, and even though he hurt, he wanted that, too.

Left again, he watched her walk across the floor to the doors on the things that had made his body need to heal. The steel tips left a few marks of blood on the wood floor.

“You need more – a witness to watch you crawl.” She opened the doors and let in a man he didn’t even know.

The growl sharpened into a vicious snarl. The man was naked and wore a collar with a short chain attached. He stood there in silence, wide-eyed with shock. He was slender, over fifty, and the small dick was limp. He stared at Victor in horror and obvious disgust as he entered the room.

Ears pinned, eyes narrowing to slits, Victor hissed. His jaw lowered, saliva dripping from the bottom fangs. He began to gather himself in a crouch to jump and kill.

“Stop. Get on your belly, be still and be quiet.”

He snarled again, but obeyed.

“Look at ‘im, so obedient. ‘E eez astounding, no? You may speak freely, Mitchell.”

“All I see is a dirty…” the man hesitated, then at her nod, continued, “a dirty mutie.”

“Yet you like my girls – every one of zem eez a mutant, as am I. Eez zis distaste because my companion eez a man?”

“That’s no man – that is a nasty animal.”

“Zat eez a very powerful being who can ‘ear and understand everyzing you say. Consider carefully what your next words will be.”

The pathetic human reeked of fear, but then it puffed its chest out and stood stiffly, looking him right in the eyes. The challenge was clear.

“Hey – you filthy gene-joke! You’re nothing but a fucking worthless failed science experiment. When this is over, I’ll still be a rich and respected businessman. This woman will probably chain you in her basement like a worthless dog!”

“Oh, I would ‘ave chosen different words.”

Victor’s growl guttered out. Sense memory rose to pollute his mind until all he could smell was leather, dirty cotton, blood, and piss. His rib burned in agony and the pain had made him soil himself. He flushed with a sharp prickling sensation of humiliation skittering over his skin as the man glared. His dusty coveralls were too close – the belt and boots – far too close… Tears spilled down his face, a sob rising that he wouldn’t be able to stop – it might never stop.

With a resurgent snarl, he shook his head violently. It wasn’t real – what stood before him was naked, barefoot, weak… It was meat.

“Veektor, come to me.” She was stroking the heavy thing that hung between her legs.

Hackles rising in a brush of menace, he obeyed and reluctantly began to approach her. He could feel the line between man and beast grow thin and brittle, and struggled to remain in control of it, even while handing over all control to her. She would use her cock, dominate him like a weak bitch, and the puffed-up defiant meat would see it.

“My slave Mitchell eez going to touch you, Veektor. You are not allowed to come. Eef you do, I will order ‘im to be zee one who breeds you next.”

He swung his head back at the tiny human and roared at it. The shuddering creature nearly pissed itself.

“Come ‘ere,” Claudette pointed in front of the armchair.

For a moment, he hesitated. The beast within ached to answer the challenge given by the meat, but the man who fought to remain in control was seething. It was his game she was playing – if she played it better than him, that was hardly a fault of hers.

Growling, he resumed his now rigidly held pose on all-fours as the slave was ordered to sit by his thigh. The moment she pushed her wide cockhead against him, the human sneered at him.

“Is that thing going to turn your pet into a little bitch faggot?”

Victor snarled and moved to swipe at it with claws, but the whip cracked over his broad back and cut him.

“Veektor! Be still.”

The human laughed and stared, sneering, as she shoved the heavy dildo inside him. He had healed already, but abruptly he was barely able to endure it. That hot flush prickled over his skin again and fired a terrible thrumming anger.

“As we discussed, Mitchell – perform your penance, s’il vous plaît. Do zis, and all eez forgiven.”

“This is insane – and gross. I better not catch anything.”

Her trembling slave grasped his leaking cock. A groan escaped Victor’s lips. Letting it hang while being dominated and fucked was bad enough. Having it stroked and pumped was torture, and the touch of a creature he loathed, who saw him as weak and dirty, was almost intolerable. He wanted to crush the human’s skull for even existing in this room, in this safe space.

The hand was strong enough to make him come. He struggled to keep control of his body while the broad rubber cock was fed deeper inside him, stretching him with cruel shoves. When she got the whole ugly thing seated, she started to thrust – and it hurt. It made no sense. This was a favorite tool and she wasn’t strong enough to make it hurt him. It had to be something else – a memory?

Fear stink was layered with disgust beside him. The miasma of it got into his nostrils and mouth, making him want to gag. Victor let his head hang between knotted shoulders, the hackles along his back lifting higher.

“My dear slave, if you can make ‘im come, I won’t let ‘im kill you.”

“You said you could control this … thing.”

All of his claws popped the rest of the way out, curling long and sinking into the finely polished wood floor. His heart was pounding savagely in his chest and he wanted to roar again, he wanted to scream. He wanted to kill.

Pain slowly turned into pleasure as the thrusting rhythm lured him closer to the edge. Almost frantic with fear, the human sucked in a breath and began jacking Victor’s cock hard.

The whip struck and cut his back while the dildo was punching deep again. Pleasure burst without warning and he came. It sprayed his heaving belly and the floor, speckling over the human’s thighs, and over the absurdly small limp dick nestled on those thighs.

“Oh, my…” She yanked out of his body fast, leaving it aching. A slight tinge of blood scent, his own, mixed into the pungent air around him. “I suppose we know what eez next, no?”

Victor snarled and closed his eyes tight. He actually felt a fleeting shame for losing control, a feeling that intensified as he listened to the human get up and move behind him on shaking legs. A scent of silicone confused him for a moment, but he didn’t open his eyes. When the human’s hands touched his ass, he twitched, hissed, and gouged his claws into the floor.

“Disobedience must be punished, Veektor.”

Gritting his teeth, he fought to be still, struggling to control the animal within. A strange ragged pride to not fail again was all that held him.

Then she spoke to the little cowardly human and the words, chosen carefully, but astoundingly insane, shocked him.

“Mount ‘im and breed ‘im, now.”

Something thin and cold touched his healed and tightened anus. His arms and legs began to tremble as the inner beast raged. His skin grew flushed and his jaw dropped, his upper lip lifting in a vicious snarl. The thing popped into him, the thin thighs touching the backs of his, and he lurched violently and roared in hate. He twisted, one large paw full of hooked claws flashing in the low lights. They snagged in flesh and pulled.

The prey that dared to humiliate him was ripped away and slung onto the floor. Its high-pitched mewling scream fired his bloodlust hotter as he leaped and fell over it. The claws dug in, tore open, and rended. He lowered his head, jaw open wide, and let the prey scream down his throat. The fangs set on and punctured the skull. When he bit down, he shook his head and upper body, crushing the skull as he tore the head from the neck. He let it bounce and roll and crouched on the destroyed torso with claws buried in it before he noticed that the female had moved.

She was silent, alluring, as she went to the soft place, dropping the thing she’d used to mate with him on the way. Part of it smelled of blood. She stripped away some sort of covering that banded her body and pulled out a strange red object from inside her before she settled on the softness, feet on the ground, and opened her legs. The scent of heat and blood, different blood, had the power to lure him from his kill. As he half-stalked and half-crawled to the female, she leaned down to touch him when he reached her. He turned his head to let her rub it, let her scratch at the fur of his jaw.

He sniffed at her and pawed at her legs, careful not to scratch her with bloodied claws. She opened to him, to offer it, and the scent of the blood came on stronger. He bent his head and put his tongue to it, to lick and push it inside her.

Slowly, she moved backward and he followed, curling between her legs in the softness. He licked and sucked at the blood until it was gone, and then rose up and batted her to her stomach. He needed to mate again.

She was relaxed and didn’t snarl at him, her heat and posture telling him she was ready to accept him. He sank down into her and thrust, stretching out to set his fangs at the back of her neck, gently, to hold her still.

Pleasure washed through his body, leeching away the rage. He had killed the rival, made it prey, and the female was his. They would sleep, eat the meat, and mate again. He growled over his hold on her when pleasure burst, pleased by her soft cries of heat.

As soon as it was finished, he lay next to her, his side heaving with heavy breaths. She turned her face to his and he licked up the side of her throat. Laying his head down, he relaxed and began to purr before sleep overcame him.

~ ~ ~

Victor woke to find Claudette sleeping peacefully beside him in his huge bed at home. One eyebrow arched as he realized he had been breathing the smell of blood and death. On the floor in the center of his normally orderly suite was a torn up scrawny corpse without a head. Another sniff located the crushed head. The wood floor was clawed up here and there, and one of Claudette’s cincher corsets was lying partly over a leather dildo rig. Blood had leaked from and was now slowly coagulating around the corpse.

Raising a hand and popping claws, he could smell and see remnants of blood on them. “Well somebody had a rough time at tha party.” He nudged his bedmate. “That yers?”

Claudette groaned and buried her face in his hair. “Oui, eet was – but I brought ‘im for you.” She stretched and blinked before looking up at him with warm iridescent lavender eyes. “I like playing wit’ my two-in-one toy. Should I ask eef you enjoyed, or eef you remember?”

“It’s creepin’ back in, but I bet I had fun. I love meat piñatas. He piss ya off, or just drew tha short straw – a client who couldn’t pay, maybe?”

“Zis swine paid to take my Lissette to a party wit’ ‘is partners, as ‘is date only. Zen ‘e drugged ‘er drink, and shared ‘er wit’out asking ‘er permission. I told ‘im ‘e could earn my favor back and I would not call zee police, eef ‘e played slave for a session wit’ anozer client of mine. I promised to take care of ‘im. I did, don’t you zink?”

“Ouch. Handily. Why do I remember bein’ confused ‘bout tha smell o’ silicone?”

Claudette smiled. “Zee coward could not get ‘ard, ‘e was so afraid of you. I put what erection I could get into a ‘ollow silicone dildo.”

Victor tumbled the pieces of memory around in his head until they started to reform. The reemerging picture and emotions stunned him and he had to stifle a growl.

Grateful that she couldn’t read his thoughts, he aimed for blasé and pushed the rest down deep. He retracted his claws to scratch at the dried cum on his abdomen and then stretched, slow and languid, before settling again. The exact instant when her game had tripped him over into the beast within was clear, but the immediate moments after that were nothing but a red haze. He knew one thing – he never wanted to experience that particular kink again.

“Kinda genius pairin’ up humiliation kink with givin’ tha inner beastie somethin’ t’ kill in revenge fer it.”

She smiled and draped herself over him. “I know you, Veektor… You, and ‘im – I love all of you.”

Victor looked across the room at the heavy mirror in its antique carved frame. Shadows lived behind the surface sometimes, memories he couldn’t call up, and some he didn’t want to. This reminded him of those.

There was good there too – a woman a lot like Claudette, an’ a man … a man who wanted t’ be treated like that. The vision of a man crawling to obey turned into a boy with a shock of blonde hair and wide blue eyes full of tears. With a hiss quickly cut short, he looked away, up at the ceiling.

Claudette began to stroke the fur over his chest, her fingers feeling the rapid heartbeat he couldn’t hide. “Per’aps zat eez too elaborate a game, no? Messy, and ‘ard on your poor floors.”

“Whatever ya like, darlin’.”

“Do not worry, mon cher,” she whispered, half sliding into sleep again. “I do know you.”

Victor tried to relax and stroked her hair until her breathing evened out. He wanted to hit the balcony and have a cig, but what he really wanted was to go. He knew changing his scenery wouldn’t guarantee a change of mood – it certainly hadn’t helped for this visit – but it was worth a shot.

He tried to nap to escape his thoughts. Curled up against the woman who had turned him inside out the night before, he was finally able to calm both heartrate and breathing. More sleep sounded good – warm in a bed with a willing naked woman – but the old restless wanderlust was rising. He sighed and reached for his phone on the nightstand. Like it or not, he was awake.

The temptation to try calling Stark came and went without too strong a lure. He felt too raw yet to put up with another flatscan who thought he was garbage. He hit the speed dial for Brys and Perrin instead.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout comin’ up there ‘til tha November job – need some sittin’-under-a-tree time.”

Perrin’s pleased affectionate greeting changed to a softer tone of warning. “Tabitha is here to see Silas. You said she could visit when she wanted and just make arrangements with Brys…”

Victor’s tenuous hold on a relaxed mood slipped away. “Yeah, I did. It’s fine.”

“You could still come out. The house is huge. Or just relax on the property and in the master suite.”

“Not up fer that, boy – ‘er scent would drive me batshit in a bad way. I’m lookin’ fer a more laidback distraction. Keep sendin’ me photos o’ my cub, though. Text ya later when I know where I’m gonna land.”

He hung up before Perrin could reply. Fiddling with the phone, he grunted and dislodged Claudette to snag the card the ex-military fellow had given him. She turned and scooted her back against his to take advantage of his warmth.

Triad Mechanics Division – never heard o’ it. There’s lots o’ wilderness, ya know, moron. He tapped the edge of the card against a thick fang. Arctic Circle, huh? End o’ September, means polar twilight t’ contend with – but it def ain’t gonna have a ton o’ humans runnin’ ‘round. Sick o’ tha fuckin’ flatscans in general fer a while.

He slipped out of the bed, his free hand tucking Claudette in. Moving around the bloody carnage to sit in the chair at his table, he set the phone and card down and stared at Stark’s cell signal box.

Good excuse t’ try out my new toy… ‘Classified’ could imply off-tha-books, an’ that can def be a fun time. Hope it’s a private outfit an’ not some government mess. Über grunt Gorman could be either one. Growling, Victor picked up his phone and called the number on the card.

Claudette slept through the call. When he hung up, he went to kiss her forehead before heading to the bathroom and dressing room.

He didn’t normally put a lot of thought into packing for jobs; the jets he flew in always had fresh clothes and bath kits. When leaving the jet for more than a day, he had a duffel bag or his backpack and hotels never asked him any questions.

‘Arctic’ in tha job description changes tha game some, though, an’ since Gorman may or may not be on tha level, I better make sure I got my own resources on hand, too.

~ ~ ~

Lenusya had listened quietly at the breakfast table while Victor was waiting for Zane and Brys to call him back.

“Gorman wants t’ meet in Nunavut, Canada t’ get ‘is team geared up. Triad Mechanics Division is footin’ tha bill fer lotta tha hardware, tents an’ shit. I’ll pack my own supplies on tha sly just in case. I’m gonna bring tha Ugly Pumpkin, too.”

“That truck is at the Yukon estate, are you going to have it shipped?”

“Logistics are Zane’s headache, not mine. Gotta few days t’ sort it all out.”

“So is the northernmost permanently inhabited place in the world, 508 miles from the North Pole, remote enough for you to grab a quick vacation from humanity?”

“Sure, if I don’t trip over any fuckin’ elves. I’ll try not t’ eat Rudolph – Tabitha would be so upset.”

“It’s late September – you wouldn’t see above freezing temperatures unless you went in July or August.”

“That’s what tha gear an’ fancy tents’re fer. Ain’t my timetable, an’ I don’t plan t’ be there that long.”

“Very well, I can tell you’re thrilled. I’d have to be dragged there. Is your danger addict playmate still sleeping?”

“Yup. We made a mess o’ tha toy she brought fer me. Floor’s gonna need a fix, too.” When his phone rang, he grabbed more coffee, kissed her cheek, and walked off. “Hope we didn’t wake ya,” he called behind him, grinning at her chuckle.

He spoke with Zane as he went out the front and down the steps to the Duesenberg. The servants had already packed the cell signal box in a sturdy lined crate and set it in the trunk with his luggage. As he hung up, he climbed into the backseat and got comfortable for the drive to O’Hare.

Marcus glanced in the rearview mirror. “Are you ready to go, Mr. Creed?”

Victor smirked. It had been a long time since the potential uncertainty of a job could make him feel so alert and eager. He almost hoped Gorman and his team would fuck up so he could have some real fun.

At this point, after foolin’ ‘round with Stark – classic crash an’ burn – rollin’ tha dice with Gorman is def better than playin’ ghost in my own damn house tryin’ not t’ run int’ Tabitha. Time fer some huntin’ an’ gettin’ clear o’ these bloody females an’ white hats fer a bit.

He slipped his phone into the inside breast pocket of his coat with the cigar and sunglasses cases. The shades hanging from his t-shirt were black Ray-Bans – he never risked the Luxuriator pair on a mission.

Patting his jeans pockets for wallet and cigs, he looked out the window at the fancy doors of his house. The glass full of diamond shapes framed by dark wood glittered in the morning sun. Behind those doors was another woman he needed to run from – for a time, at least.

He didn’t even want to admit to himself that last night’s game had disturbed him, and he certainly wasn’t going to admit it to Claudette. Of course, she knew – it wasn’t his floors she wanted to spare next time. The clearer it became in his memory, the less he wanted to think about it. Yet there were clues to his muddled past in there, too.

Victor placed fingers over his ribs – over the one that often felt the strange phantom pain. Echoes haunted him. If he kept very still, he could almost feel himself being held by force on a narrow, tiny bed. The sensations were a mess of confusion and fear. His breath came faster and a disjointed memory of pain rose in his mind. It was so strong that it made him feel it in his body.

For a moment, he couldn’t have named it – and then another piece of the shattered puzzle slid into place and the ghastly agony in his lower back and deep inside him melted into the impossible hurt of Claudette’s huge rubber cock.

His fingers pressed harder against the Adamantium-laced rib that could never be broken, and the pain bloomed. He swallowed a gasp as his nose, his head, was filled with the stench of blood, feces, piss, and broken teeth. Shot through it all was the creeping sharp smell of peppermint laid over the burning taste of bile.

Victor tried to shove it all away. That li’l bed – no way I’d fit on it.

Allowing the sense memory to shimmer in his mind just to prove that, he abruptly remembered seeing his own fingers grip something tight. The fingertips were moving under the skin, the claws ready to slide free … but the fingers … were tiny … as they gripped a thin pillow and a brightly-colored stick of candy. The pain exploded, the shattered candy cutting into his palm – until the cuts slowly healed. A new scent burst in his head, confusing him, though he knew very well what it was. Nausea rose to be instantly wiped away and after a breathless moment, the hideous phantom senses faded, as did the smell of a man’s sweat and cum, and the pounding of another heart over his small and broken body.

Nearly falling into a panic, he fled from it all in his head. The first brutal memory he stumbled over, some nameless hooker in a Saigon alley during the Vietnam War, gave him something to retreat into. Blood on claws, a sharp scream cut short, and the woman’s death washed over him like a balm.

Voices spoke through the tumultuous thoughts, a grab bag of enemies and weak frightened sheep: Apex predator … one of the most dangerous mutants alive … how can you allow that thing to exist … I came home and he was eating him, my husband, he was still alive… The cold blue eyes of the hated telepath had turned away – downcast, as anxiety born of his failure filled his scent. Victor could feel the way out, and he tore his claws through the ninja X-Man’s slender body to reach it. When the slick feel of her guts passed under his fingers, he escaped … and the horrid miasma of the waking nightmare faded away.

Victor returned to himself with claws sunk into the flesh of his thighs. He didn’t look up at the driver. Drawing them out with care, he retracted them and sat still. Lifting his wrist, he pulled back the sleeve of the black coat and sniffed at Stark’s scent, breathing it in to calm himself as his wounds healed. Only the tell-tale red edges of cut denim were left.

“Mr. Creed?”

Marcus had seen these fits before and knew better than to comment. His hands were holding tight onto the wheel, eyes straight ahead.

It was time to go. “Yup – more’n ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shaking his head, he growled low and grabbed his sunglasses, slipping them on with a disdainful sniff. Fuck that shit, all o’ it – ain’t got time fer bloody ghosts.

He looked down at the savage beast logo on his black Mötorhead t-shirt. He could feel the restlessness of the feral animal within – wanting out, wanting blood. It made it easier to turn his back on all that had happened in the Windy City, good and bad.

Ready fer snow, fer emptiness, an’ critters bigger’n me that I can tussle with.

Just for fun, he’d packed his favorite coat, since it was far too warm for most of America. It had been made with what was left from the huge white blanket fur he kept at the Selwyn Mountains house in the Yukon.

Arctic Circle oughta be cold ‘nuff fer wearin’ a wendigo pelt. Gonna make all tha other shiverin’ grunts jealous.

Victor put his elbow up on the armrest and caught another whiff of Stark’s scent. It had given comfort moments before, but as the mess and failure of his chance at getting closer crowded into his heart, the spell of it was broken. He frowned and dropped his wrist into his lap.

Giving up on Stark was probably the most sensible thing to do, but if he did, worse phantoms and shattered hopes would crowd in again.

Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout flyboy – sooner or later gonna find ‘nother bit o’ ‘is wayward tech an’ then we’ll see how long he ignores me. Or I could just break my toaster an’ call in one o’ those favors.

Victor placed his fingertips on the window and watched the city stream by. The claws slid out until they tapped on the glass and then stopped. He would allow Chicago to catch its breath, let the pathetic human prey settle and forget.

Under the tips of his claws, he stared at houses, cars, people … as the low eternal thrum and beat of their vast blood song lulled the hunter within into a quiet and patient stillness.

 

 

FINI.

(Sabretooth will return in Cutting Edge.)

 

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Author’s Note: I got the details for the Rolls Royce from Jalopnik.com. Victor’s sexual exploits with Morph-Stark were abbreviated on purpose, because they will be detailed in the sequel, part 4 of my series, with the real Tony Stark. The French: “Bonsoir, mon amie” means “Good evening, my friend” (to a woman). “Mon petit minou doux” means “my sweet little kitty”. Most people know this, but “s’il vous plaît” means “please”. The poem Morpheus recites and Victor attributes to Claudette was written by me.

The hunt Victor went on to kill and skin a wendigo happens in the Sabretooth limited edition story, Open Season written by Daniel Way. The first issue of four came out in December 2004, but I’m ignoring where it might fit chronologically in Marvel’s timeline. Since Victor spends the whole adventure in his “fur-trimmed union suit” as the character Birdy dubbed his supervillain costume, I’m going to place that story at the tail end of Victor’s last round of adventuring in a costume, which happens prior to the Mary Shelley Overdrive comics. Basically, even though this story and the sequel are set in late September/early October of 2003, I just wanted Victor to have his wendigo fur coat in part 4, Cutting Edge. Thanks for reading! – AnonGrimm  (@MET_Fic)

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Previous – Sabretooth Series

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