A/N Well I'm still alive, if anyone wondered. Heh. Not updating any stories of course, just adding new ones (Bad!). This was inspired by countless Tabby/Toad RP's. It's obviously AU, since Tabitha is an amalgam of herselves with plenty of liberties taken to make her very nearly my own (Though she's not. I don't own her or Mort or any of the rest of the subjects of the story, though the concept of their relationship and bickering is mine) and a firm member of the Brotherhood of Mutants (Movie Style).
Did a picture companion to this one. Check it out if you like at: akathetoad . deviantart . com/art/Dysfunction-98775380 (sorry for the spaces but it won't let me put links in. :-) )
-
-
-
Prologue:
When Toad hit her it felt like the floor had opened up and burped fire up into open wounds
Her vision went white and she was ten years old again and her father was laying into her. The fear and despair and strange sort of relief that the large balding man had always instilled in her came bubbling to the surface each time Mort's green hand came down on her soft flesh.
When he kissed her it felt like flying. Like warmth and comfort and everything she'd never had before. He was strong. Stronger than her father had ever dreamed of being. He was gentle with her too: soft caresses and sweet kisses. Her father had never ever been gentle. The men were polar opposites and Tabitha really loved that about Toad, but when his hand came down on her it was all the same again.
He hated himself for it too. She could see it in his eyes after. Feel it in the way he touched her. His tentative fingers stretching out for her hair, petting gently, asking for permission before he'd pull her into his broad chest and make her his again.
But orders were orders, and there was very little to be done about it. One didn't defy Magneto, and above all else Toad was her superior and it was his job to punish when she made a mistake. Mistakes were her forte too, whether it was little stupid errors in judgment or huge cataclysmic errors in aim, the heavy hand was coming down more and more frequently.
She'd lay in a pool of her own blood and stare up at the ceiling, just trying to breathe through the pain and contemplate how fucked up her life was now and had always been.
"C'mon baby."
Toad appeared above her, looking down with a frown of concern before stooping down to carefully gather her into his arms. It was the same look he wore when he found her drunk nearly unconscious or with a fine powdery substance still frosting her shapely nose: disapproval and concern.
"Sometimes I think y'want me t'hurt you," He murmured quietly, supporting her weight as he carried her toward the room they shared most of the time. Tabitha actually had her own room, but she rarely slept there unless Toad was mad enough to kick her out for some reason or other.
"Why the fuck would I want that?" She met his accusation defensively, though it lacked the luster of real outrage when she couldn't lift up her head to say it.
"I could venture a few guesses, but I don't think you'd tell me anyway, would you?" The question was undoubtedly rhetorical, and she didn't feel inclined to answer. Instead she turned her head to rest against his chest and shut her eyes, just enjoying the feeling of being held after an explosion of intoxicating pain. He snorted in irritation at her silence and continued, "If y'weren't so fucked up I'd make you sleep in your own damn room, Tabby. This is sodding ridiculous."
Her jaw clenched, but she didn't attempt to pull away from the comfort of his body.
"You think I'm so fucked up, why do you keep taking me to bed?"
"I honestly, bloody well don't know." He kicked the door shut behind them and carried her to the bed, draping her gently atop the quilt before moving to undress her. "Your ribs are bad, can you breathe okay?"
"Yeah."
He didn't bother with her modesty, he'd undressed her any number of ways before anyway. He stripped her down and started washing her with a wet cloth, petting the spaces of uninjured skin he came across as he went. He really was a sweetheart, even though he drove her crazy when he nitpicked about every little thing.
She shut her eyes and drifted off there, naked on his bed and safe. It was a funny thing. He'd never once hit her out of anger. Sometimes they fought like cats and dogs, screaming at each other and slamming fists into walls, but he never laid a hand on her unless Magneto ordered it.
Chapter One:
Tabitha staved off waking as long as possible. The pain hovered impatiently just on the other side of her conscious, ready to slip back in as soon as her eyelids fluttered open. If it was up to her she'd just sleep the whole day away, but a familiar hand pat her backside affectionately and soft breath against her cheek murmured, "C'mon love, Can't stay in bed all day."
She managed to hold a pout firmly in place before her eyes opened fully, which elicited a chuckle from her green lover.
"Why not? I don't feel good," She complained, knowing it would do no good to whine and keeping it up anyway. A moderate amount of guilt was appropriate, at least while she was still wearing the bruises.
"I know baby," He murmured, kissing the backs of her thighs and slowly kneading the calf closest to him apologetically, "But you gotta work through the pain. We all do it."
She rolled over to face him, noting the flinch that passed over his features upon seeing her face. Her foot lifted to rest in his lap expectantly and he obligingly began to massage.
"How bad is it?"
"You've looked worse."
"Can you just not hit me in the face?" She requested petulantly, not for the first time. She knew why he did and that repeated begging only made him feel bad, but she'd never claimed she wasn't cruel.
Sure enough a frown creased his face and he concentrated on rubbing the tension out of the foot in his hands.
"You know Magneto wants to see proof that you've been taught your lesson. If you'd just fucking learn, Tabs," He muttered, doing a poorer job guilting her back.
"Excuse me for not being perfect," She groused, which earned her a glare.
"Don't do that, to me. Aren't one of us perfect, woman. We've all taken our punishments."
"Oh like you ever got punished like I did," She knew she wasn't being fair to him, but she hurt and she felt like pushing buttons. Turned out it was the wrong buttons. He thrust her foot away from him and the glare was significant.
"I got punished a fuckload worse than you ever did, you lazy cow." He growled at her, moving up from the bed, "Get the fuck up and go do something sodding productive."
The girl had always had an issue with control and orders. Part of her craved structure, but it didn't keep her from rebelling when she felt attacked or trapped, even when it was imagined. She curled her lip at him.
"Who the fuck do you think you're ordering around?" She demanded, sitting up with the bitch face firmly in place, "You kick the shit out of me and then you have the gall to call me lazy, you controlling shit?!"
"I'm not gonna say it again, Tabitha, get the fuck up."
She lurched to her feet and ripped open one of his drawers, yanking each article of clothing on violently.
"I swear to God I don't know why the fuck I put up with your abusive ass."
"Yeah, no, you're right," He growled, "You shouldn't. In fact, why don't you stop. You sleep in your own fucking room from now on, you spoiled little cunt."
"Gladly," She spat hatefully, exiting the room as fast as she could. She hated his act of authority, and was more than sick of putting up with it. If he wanted to scream at her he could do it from behind a locked door; she wasn't going to be his little plaything if she wasn't getting squat from it. Times like this she flatly refused to remember how much she genuinely cared about the man.
She spent the day avoiding him, but the facility wasn't that big and around dinnertime she found him in the kitchen, pouring himself drinks from a large bottle of Scotch. He glanced up at her from over a sip of the glass.
"You still being a bitch?"
"You drunk?" She asked back, meanly. He stirred the glass and rolled his eyes.
"Well that answers that. You're training again tomorrow."
"The fuck I am."
His tone really left no room open for argument, so he just gave her a look. She would or she'd feel his hands again. She knew the drill and read it in his expression.
"You son of a bitch," She got out in response, turning on her heel to hide in the room she rarely used.
A/N I'm going to attempt to update this, my pretties, but you know me. It helps if I'm bugged. So Lather Rinse Repeat Read and Review!
