Title: To Whom it May Concern
Chapter 1: Hurricane Party
Pairing: Wolverine/Sabretooth
Rating: NC-17/M
Feedback: Yeah, that would be good.
Notes: Established relationship story. Sequel to 'How's it Gonna Be?'.
Summary: Sabretooth has a plan, but so does Wolverine.
Warning: This story is five chapters long, but it's NOT finished. The plot bunnies involved went on strike back in 2006.
Chapter 1: Hurricane Party
-
A new wind whipped across the beach, carrying the dead-alive scent of the swamp in the woods behind the house. The last patch of blue had left the sky hours ago, and it may as well have been sundown. Hurricane Francis, they were calling it.
Sabretooth hammered a few more nails into the edge of the plywood over the back door, and called it good.
Creed had a hurricane party to get to. He'd already packed the 'party favors' in the car, and if he left soon, he should just make Pensacola by the time the storm hit. Better leave the top up though, because the rain would be here in minutes. Creed liked convertibles, and he always had a few stashed away somewhere. The latest addition to his stable, and the one he'd brought to Florida with him, was a fire-alarm 'Vette, the kind of car that would only have looked natural driving off a Hollywood sound stage. He didn't hunt in this car. This was his toy.
Reaching into the closet for his jacket, Creed felt gloved fingers close around his wrist, and a sharp tug. He attacked, but he hadn't counted on his assailant being wedged up near the ceiling ninja-style, so his claws gouged the back wall of the closet instead.
A sharp-edged wire tightened around Creed's throat in the instant it took the ninja to jump over his head to the floor, and Creed fell backwards. The wire cut as he fell, but it wasn't through any arteries yet. The ninja stood over him momentarily, but when Creed snapped his hand up towards the ninja's ankle, the wire tightened warningly, and a foot came down on the center of his chest, hard. He could press the attack, but in the time it took to recover from having his throat cut open to the spinal cord, the ninja would just put another loop around his neck. Creed subsided, and gave his enemy a calculating appraisal.
The ninja's scent was masked by a full-body suit, a sort of tar-baby-meets-latex look. It smelled like rubber, pool chlorine, and adhesive from the waterproof sealing tape that covered the diagonal zipper. His silhouette though, was unmistakably Logan's. Navy 'dry suits' like that were worn over a thin coat of baby oil or Vaseline, and not much else, Creed recalled. Something about a truly watertight seal...
Well aware that he'd been recognized, Logan peeled the black hood off like a second skin, one-handed. His scent came to Creed almost tangibly, a hit of warm clean sweat and ice cold adrenaline, oil, a tang of sea water, and musk. Logan's dark hair was wet, slicked back from being under the mask, and his eyes glittered. The rest of his face showed nothing.
There weren't many people who could tie Sabretooth to a bed and have any hope of him staying there, but Logan was one of them. He knew two important things. First, it wasn't the strength of the restraints involved, but the amount of damage the restraints could do. Razor wire worked fine. Second, use Creed's bed. Like most of the rest of the furniture in the house, it was a custom job, and the beautifully finished wooden beams were probably cored with something stronger.
Sabretooth tried to bite the wrist of the hand holding the end of the razor wire noose, but wound up on the claws of Logan's other hand instead.
"Ah! GodDAMMIT! Some X-Man YOU are..." Creed snarled, waiting for the side of his chin to heal. Logan ignored his words, and led Creed to the edge of the bed carefully. If Creed moved with him, and didn't pull on the razor wire loop, it wouldn't cut him. Otherwise...
The wire was on the surface by now, resting against the skin of Creed's neck like a ruby choker.
Logan watched Creed intently.
"Yeah, yeah, weasel watch the munchie, can't have me gettin' loose now, can ya?" Creed sneered, lying down, "-'cause you KNOW what I'd do... Y'think ya made this gig up all by yourself?" Wolverine looped the razor wire around the top of the headboard, and knotted it there with his free hand. His gloves, Creed noted, were made of heavier stuff than the dry suit. "I'd cut holes in that little body-rubber o' yours, wherever I wanted a handful. Leave the rest of it on. All slippery-like..." /Now-/ Creed thought, /-when he leans over to fix my hands-/ Creed kneed Logan in the back, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, trying to crack Logan's forehead against the headboard as hard as possible. -That was the plan anyway, but a well-placed nerve punch to the back of Creed's elbow derailed it.
Logan hit him low on the stomach, a stiff-handed Eastern strike probably developed to break bones. The only thing it did to Creed besides piss him off, was cause him to arch forward far enough to choke. Creed glared at Logan, teeth bared. "Well that was fuckin' fair...(cough)"
Logan smirked, and tied Creed's hands down. Once the razor wire was in place, he added a second loop, this one made of rock-climbing rope. Creed's claws could cut that, and they'd have to, to get the razor wire tight against his wrists. Creed was insulted by the presence of the second rope, but since he had no real idea what Logan had planned, he decided not to mention it. Maybe he could bite through the loop around his neck or something. Logan tied down Creed's legs as well, though he only used the rope for this.
Outside, the wind rose. The power flickered, then died entirely, and the only light in the room came in around the slats of the nailed-down window shutters.
Logan cut Creed's loose dress shirt off with his claws as if it was paper, then stroked his right set of claws down Creed's chest several times, thoughtfully.
Decided, he bent down for a moment and licked the exact center of Creed's chest, leaving a small wet swirl in the blonde hairs there. It stood out ticklish and cool against Creed's skin, like an artist's signature in oil paint.
"Ya missed," Creed observed, cheekily. Logan tore the rest of Creed's clothes apart, long strips of tan fabric ripping loose under his hands and hanging off his claws momentarily before finding the floor. "That's right, that's good..." Creed purred, "-now how about that frog-suit yer wearin'?..."
No reply. The shiny black surface did feel good against his skin when Logan knelt on the bed between his legs, though. Kinda reminded him of the stuff Mystique's white costume was made of, though-
Creed paused.
No, this was Logan. While Mystique probably still possessed the skills to tie him down and call him Rover, she would have gone about it differently, and she wasn't fast enough for that black-ops move Logan had pulled on him in the closet.
/Beware the closet/ Creed thought, wincing at his own joke.
"While you're down there..." Creed began. A small, black-handled tactical knife appeared in Logan's hand as if conjured there. "-ahh... You know that thing's awful sharp, right?"
The blade flickered in Logan's hands, scattering a few brief red lines across the skin of Creed's leg, just above the knee. They didn't even have time to bleed. Another flurry of the crisscrossing, shallow cuts, this time midway up on the front of Creed's thigh. Another set, this time on his stomach. The pins-and-needles tingle of healing left his skin warm to the touch, heat like a sunburn blush spreading out from wherever Logan cut him.
There was an art to this. Too deep, or too slow, and it would have really hurt. But this razor-edged flicking business...
Logan knew it, of course.
A small red tongue started following the path of the knife, licking broken skin as it sealed.
Sabretooth closed his eyes, and hissed softly.
His skin was on fire, and he... couldn't... move. Cold drops from the tips of Logan's hair fell from time to time. He had to be sweating like a pig in that suit. It was created for oceans like the North Atlantic, after all... Under that black sealed cover, Creed could imagine what Logan's skin felt like... slippery... hard... warm... short, dark hairs slicked against his body like those of something that had just been born. If Logan moved just right in that thing, he could probably come from the touch of the tight, oiled rubber alone...
Unlike Creed, who was painfully hard, and suddenly very jealous.
The house creaked around them, and gusts of wind rattled the windows. Even the scant light from between the shutters was fading, leaving the bedroom in a half-twilight that would have been pitch to anyone else. Logan abandoned Creed for the floor abruptly. To his vision, the brightest things in the room were the scraps of pale fabric on the floor, the reflection in the long mirror by the closet, Creed's pale skin and blonde hair, and most especially his eyes. Everything else was dim, but visible in fading shades of black and gray.
"Hey..." Creed called over to him unhappily, "-we're not d-"
The sharp sound of tape tearing off from the zipper of Logan's dry suit silenced him. The zipper itself followed, and Logan peeled himself out of the suit like a shake shedding it's skin. He wore nothing under it. As he stepped out of the dry suit pooled on the floor, Logan's manner changed. His shoulders seemed to have come forward, and his fingers curled in more towards his palms. Logan crouched suddenly, and threw the tac knife backhand into the hard wood of one of the bedposts. The professional soldier was gone.
"That works," Creed swallowed, appreciatively.
Logan came back to the bed, brushed both of Creed's wrists with the tips of his fingers, and then inspected the wire at his neck. He licked around the wire carefully, and then kissed Creed hard, sharing the wet-iron taste with him. Lying full length on top of him, Logan felt every bit as amazing and slippery as Creed though he would, but he wouldn't stay still. He kept squirming around. Pressing against him. Making those little impatient growling noises.
"Oh c'mon," /PLEASE.../ Creed didn't quite whimper.
Logan's hands were everywhere he couldn't reach, slick, strong fingers kneading and stroking him. He was moving down, always down, and he wasn't moving fast enough. And then finally, finally Logan was between his legs again, soft breaths across his cock not quite enough, and too much all at once. Creed felt Logan's hands tighten under his thighs abruptly, pushing his head back against the headboard and tilting his hips up sharply, all the way to the limits of the rope around his ankles. He was...
Logan pressed forward against him, not inside but full length vertical, letting Creed FEEL him and shiver first. He did this.
Creed was losing it, and fast. He couldn't remember when he'd started making noise, but the string of whimpers and half-formed words had to be coming from somewhere. Logan bucked against him slowly, firm, drawn-out strokes that were more punishment than any man deserved. Creed was aware that he was talking, but he wasn't hearing himself. The blood in his head was louder.
Logan relented at last, pushing inside where few men had gone and lived, watching Creed's eyes squeeze shut as he arched his head back to the limits of the razor wire, and screamed. Logan let him get used to the feel of him, shifting enough to divide Creed's attention between the shock of being taken like this, and the deep, hot tension. The heavy climbing ropes at Creed's wrists creaked against the power of his arms.
His words trailed to an end after a while, and he lay silent, harsh breaths alone telling. Logan took him then, because he wanted to, and Creed was his to take.
Unashamed and not terribly coherent this night, Creed let loose what he felt to the wail of the hurricane wind outside, and Logan added to this sometimes, but mostly he listened.
A scream like this was an uncommon thing.
And Creed, if he could be so inspired, -loved- to scream...
They built to a crux, as much one of sound as feeling, and broke, first one, than the other.
The wind outside seemed to drop, but really it was because the sound was suddenly alone.
Logan let go of him slowly, easing Creed back down onto the bed, leaning forward to nuzzle his side with a kind of proprietary affection.
Creed was shivering and he couldn't stop. He couldn't have, but he had, and he did, and he'd done it before, and oh, GOD...
Logan brushed the side of Creed's face with his fingers, and then licked the cooling sweat from them carefully. Creed's eyes closed, webs of hair around his face stuck to him wetly, skin cooling slowly like the hood of a car. Logan crept up, and kissed him, rubbing his thumb along the back of Creed's left ear. Creed kissed him back, and again, and began purring against Logan's mouth. Rain scoured the roof overhead, and there was a faint draft from under the door, as if one of the windows had broken.
"Wanna go again?" Logan whispered.
Wolverine stepped down off the bed into six inches of standing water where the hardwood floor used to be. Opening the door to the hallway, it was more of the same all the way into the living room. Sand had drifted in, forming low islands, and a steep bank against the couch. The water had reached nearly a foot higher sometime during the night, judging from the water line on the walls. A long strip of seaweed had wrapped itself around a leg of the coffee table, and a hermit crab was lurking on the spine of a waterlogged copy of 'King Rat' in the corner. The kitchen was worse, with a waist high sandbank leading up to the broken window over the sink, and a leafy mangrove branch wedged against up the against the oven. Something green and scaly scuttled behind the fridge. It was still raining outside, but the wind had dropped by half, and the surf wasn't up to the level of the house anymore.
Climbing over the sandbank, Logan found four fat white emergency candles in a drawer, and six unopened beer bottles in an overhead cupboard. It figured. With a box of chem-lights in the garage, Sabretooth kept candles in the house. As an afterthought, a box of crackers and a few soup cans were added to the pile. With an amused backwards glance at the scaly tail poking out from behind the refrigerator, Logan took his supplies back to the bedroom.
"How bad is it?" Creed asked. He was sitting up against the headboard, with what had been the top sheet wrapped around him from the waist down.
"Back window's broken," Logan shrugged, putting everything down on the bed. He lit two of the candles, dug a blue and green flannel out of Creed's closet, and then climbed back up on the bed. The flannel was long on him, and Logan rolled the sleeves to his elbows. He felt eyes, and looked up. "Somethin' on your mind?"
"Nah," Creed lied, glancing down to pick up a beer bottle. He pushed the cap off with his thumb. /Nothin'. Only that I like seein' you in my shirt, and I think I'd do anything for you right now. It's a strange thought, but I know it'll pass. -Gettin' fucked like there's no tomorrow turns my brain ta yogurt for a while. Always has./
Still... like a drug, he'd enjoy it while it lasted.
They ate in companionable silence, until the crackers became a game of crunchy sounds without rules, and Logan ended up with crumbs up his nose from snickering too hard.
"Sn-nnf-"
"Heh."
"There has-" -cough- "-got ta be somethin' better t'do here..." Logan managed.
They exchanged a quick glance.
/You?/
/No./
/Good, me neither./
Creed thought for a moment, then reached into the top drawer of his bedside table and came up with a pack of playing cards, which he tossed to Logan.
"This deck's missin' a six o' spades, right?"
"Yeah."
Logan dealt. His hand stayed bad even after taking new cards, and Creed won with a pair.
Logan had a pair of threes next hand, but Creed beat him with a straight.
Next they both had two, but Creed's was kings.
"Not your day, is it?" Creed smirked.
He lost the next hand to Logan's three of a kind.
"We'll see."
Logan lost.
"Know what I think?" said Creed.
"What?"
"I think we need a wager, here."
Logan flattened him with the highest straight possible.
"Keep talkin'," Logan purred.
"Truth or dare."
"Are ya serious?"
"Whaddya think I'm gonna pick?" Creed pointed out.
"I'm not sure I can think of that many dares," grinned Logan, "but I'll play until I run out."
-
Logan dealt, and beat Creed with a diamond flush.
"Truth," said Creed.
"...Um... Who really owns this house?"
"US Gov, but they built it just for me."
"Huh."
-
Creed won with a pair of kings.
"Dare," Logan decided.
"Kiss me."
"That's not much of a dare," Logan observed.
"Name another X-Man who'd do it," Creed pointed out.
"You really get off on that X-Man thing, don't ya..."
"Yeah, I do."
Logan kissed him.
-
Creed won again, with jacks.
"Truth," said Logan.
"Do you get off on me bein' a bad guy?" Creed asked.
"...No."
"Ouch."
"You asked," Logan shrugged, unapologetically.
-
Logan won the next hand.
"Truth," Creed said, again.
"Have you ever owned a Lotus seven?"
"Oh, yeah. Bought one o' those when they first came out."
Logan wanted to ask if it had been a green one, but he already knew the answer. He'd been driving that car the day the Weapon X project had kidnapped him. It made sense, after all. Logan had gotten a taste for motorcycles during world war two, while Creed preferred to drive cop-bait sports cars. Creed didn't seem to have made the connection. Maybe it was just as well.
-
Confirming the theory that somebody upstairs had a sense of humor, Creed won the next hand with a pair of sevens.
"Truth," said Logan, against his better judgment.
"What is it with you an' that damn book?"
"Walden?"
"Yeah. That crap," Creed spat.
"It calms my head."
"Whaddya mean?"
"Well, there's a lot of good points in it, but basically it's just about a little patch o' woods outside a town, an' an innocent guy who likes ta hear 'imself talk."
"So... you like 'Walden' 'cause it's BORING?" Creed said, incredulous.
"Most people read to get away and be somebody else for awhile. So do I."
"I'll be damned," Creed muttered. /Logan fantasizes about being boring?/
-
Logan beat Creed's tens with a pair of jacks.
"Dare," Creed decided.
"You know how to put your hair in a bun?"
"Yes..."
"Do it."
Creed did it. He didn't look that bad, actually. Sort of a Mexican gangster look.
-
Logan beat him again, in exactly the same way, except with different jacks.
"What's with this goddamn deck?" Creed grumbled, "-truth."
"What was your first impression o' Kyle?"
"Small, pink, and loud."
"You remember... that?"
"Bits and pieces," Creed shrugged, "-you were the one who found 'im, not me."
"What did-"
"Deal, Logan," Creed cut him off.
-
Creed won the hand with a pair of aces.
"Truth," said Logan.
"D'you really think I'm a nutjob, or not?"
"You work at it pretty hard," Logan allowed, "-truth is, you're just not Human. Bein' a psycho's a means to an end."
"Ya think?" Creed smiled wickedly, showing his fangs.
"Ooo, scary," Logan deadpanned, "-an' yeah, I do."
"Interesting."
-
Creed had most of a hearts flush, but the ace of spades shut him down. Logan won with a pair of twos.
"A beautiful hand shot ta hell..." Creed complained, "-this is definitely your fault. Dare."
"Sing for me."
"What kind o' song?" Creed was delighted with the request.
"...Quiet."
Creed gave him Simon and Garfunkel. He was actually very good.
-
Creed's three of a kind beat Logan's two pair.
"Dare."
"Kiss me," Creed said, again. Logan started to get up, but Creed held up a hand, "-not now. Later."
"When?" Logan asked, suspiciously.
"When I tell you to," Creed leered.
"That's takin' it out o' game bub, an' you know that," Logan objected.
"You backin' out on me, partner?"
"You know what's gonna happen when this gets out?"
"Haven't told yer friends we're knockin' boots, have ya?" Creed deduced.
"I told a few," Logan objected, "-and as for the rest, it's none o' their damn business!"
"Nobody cares, Logan. We're Canadian, for god's sake."
"Why is this so important to ya?" Logan asked.
"I don't take kindly ta bein' ERASED," Creed snarled, "-if I have to go lookin' for you again, I don't want the X-Men an' everyone on their flamin' CHRISTMAS LIST tryin' to shut me down."
"-That's- what this is about," Logan said, almost to himself.
"So?" Creed prompted.
"What?"
"You takin' the dare, or not?"
"...Yes. You better be damn careful with this, though. And no more takin' it out-o-game."
"Heh."
-
The next hand was Logan's, with the aces of hearts and spades.
"Ever notice how those cards look about the same, except for the handle on the spade?"
"Yes," Logan shuffled both cards back into the pack.
"Truth."
"You started this game just ta get that kiss, didn't you?"
"Yeah..."
-
Creed beat two pair with three jacks.
"Truth," said Logan.
"Scared you off, eh?" Creed smirked.
"Is that your question?"
"Fine. What did YOU think o' Kyle?"
"You've asked me that before," Logan stated. /...After I blew him up with a land mine, and before he-/
"I know," said Creed, derailing Logan's train of thought.
"Kyle... didn't look much like you, to begin with. He was like one of those tiger cubs people try an' keep for pets, then have to sell to a zoo when they get older an' start killin'," Logan paused, then continued. "He'd -PLAY- an'... he ripped a girl's face open, Creed. Stitch. Shy little redheaded thing. Clawed 'er up right there in the middle of the practice room. I wanted ta kill im'. I -knew- he was playing, an' I STILL wanted ta kill 'im. He didn't understand that he had ta be gentle with the flight, like a Human kid with a kitten."
"Human kids -kill- kittens," Creed stated.
"Yeah. Sometimes they do, don't they."
-
Nothing matched for either of them on the next hand, but Creed held an ace.
"Dare," said Logan.
"Go catch that thing I hear in the kitchen, an' bring 'im here to me."
The owner of the tail Logan had noticed earlier turned out to be a two-foot alligator. Creed held it at arms length, amused by the reptile's attempts to escape and/or bite him, then dropped it. The alligator landed in the water beside the bed with a short splash, and hauled ass for the living room as fast as possible. Logan closed the door after it.
-
Creed won with two pairs.
Logan was getting tired of this streak.
"Truth."
"What's the strangest thing you've ever had sex with?" Creed asked.
"You. No contest."
"...Nice save."
"Thanks."
-
Logan won with three aces.
"Truth," Creed grinned.
"You WISH. -Who's the Foreigner?"
"What do you know about 'im?" Creed asked, suddenly serious.
"Huh-uh. It's my turn," Logan stood firm.
"Dare," said Creed, after a moment.
"That answers my question."
-
Logan won with a pair of queens.
"Truth," Creed decided, warily.
"We seem to be out o' beer. I assume you have more?"
"Laundry room, over by the freezer, Creed told him.
"Right."
Logan left.
-
Creed had nothing, and Logan won with three fives.
"Dare," said Creed.
"Can your phone get through this storm?" Logan asked.
Creed grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand, and checked.
"I can try."
"Call somebody."
Creed looked at the cards he'd just lost with, then dialed.
"Sebastian Shaw," The phone picked up.
"Hey. It's Victor."
"Ah, Mr. Creed. What can I do for you at this hour?" Shaw asked, glacially polite.
"Uh- -why, what time is it?"
"Seven forty-five in the morning," Shaw answered, irritated but slightly amused. "What's the occasion?"
"I lost a hand o' poker."
Silence.
"Who were you playing against?" Shaw asked finally, his gambler's curiosity kicking in.
"Wolverine."
"You're gambling with Wolverine at seven forty-five AM, you don't know what time it is, and you're losing?"
"Yeah."
"That sounds like a good game. I'll let you get back to it."
"See ya, Shaw."
They hung up.
-
Logan won again, with two pairs.
"Truth," Creed chose.
"If you had the chance ta kill off all the Humans, would you do it?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"They're no competition."
-
Creed won the next hand with three tens.
"Truth," said Logan.
"Have you ever been sick before?"
"Yes."
-
Logan won with two jacks.
"Truth," Creed told him.
"Tell me about a fantasy you have."
"Uh-" /no, not that one.../ "-okay. We're in hell-" Logan made a small choked noise at this point, but didn't actually laugh. "-An' we work for the devil."
"Go on," said Logan.
"Hell's a city in the middle of a desert, like Las Vegas," Sabretooth explained, "-now as ya might imagine, two men of our unique talents got no trouble findin' work in this town. Not everybody works for the devil. It's like ordinary folks an' cops in a regular city. Come to think of it, there's a lot of cops on the 'force' down there, too," Creed smirked. "The reward for doin' what we do is free will, an' that time seems ta move forward. Most o' the pissants down here are stuck in a 'they're gonna get me' paranoia, or just obsessing over what they did. They get a little more clear-headed when they're near one of us enforcers, though. I wear red, you wear black. You're what they call a tracker. Funny as it sounds, you're still as good a guy as they got down there. You hunt down the worst hell has ta offer, an' use the guilt obsession thing against 'em. You make 'em -sorry-, and then you make 'em cry, and then you make 'em CRAZY. Sometimes you don't even bother makin' 'em bleed.
Me, I'm a nemesis. I kill whenever I feel like it, an' I keep the general adrenaline level at a nice steady red-line. Nobody actually stays dead when they're killed in hell, but it's not crowded. The Indians were right. You only exist in the afterlife as long as somebody still alive remembers somethin' about you. Hitler's gonna be there for at least a couple thou'."
"How did we die?" Logan interrupted.
"Doesn't matter," Creed shook his head, "-the best part's at the end, when the sun rises to block out half the sky, so close you can see the surface boil, an' we go back to our place."
"And then?" Logan asked.
"All kinds o' kinky shit," Creed grinned, "stuff like last night, and then some."
"You tryin' to tell me somethin', here?"
"Yeah. Go to hell."
Logan looked down at the cards face-up on the blanket in front of him. The jack of hearts, and the jack of spades.
Funny. He'd always pictured himself as an ace.
-
"Hah!" Creed put down a clubs flush. Logan only had a pair of sevens.
"Dare," said Logan.
Creed handed him the phone.
"Call Westchester."
Logan looked at him hard for a moment, then tucked his current beer into his shirt pocket, and dialed.
"Hello?" Archangel picked up on the third ring.
"How's things, Warren?"
"Not bad. You should have called a week ago. Here's Scott. I'll let him tell you-"
The phone changed hands. Warren still didn't like him, Logan noted. Warren had left the X-Men years ago in protest to Xavier recruiting Wolverine, and while they had learned to work together as teammates later, they'd never had much common ground out-of-costume. And then there was the Psylocke thing...
"Hey, Scott."
"Logan! What time is it over there in Japan?"
"Actually I'm back in the states," Logan told him.
"You are? I wish I'd known that," said Scott.
"What happened?"
"Arcade happened. He crashed a state beauty pageant in California, and took the 'winners' to Disneyland. It wasn't pretty."
"How did you do?"
"Nobody died, but it was all over the news. Disney's still figuring out whether to sue the little fink, or hire him," Scott said, disgustedly.
"Figures," Logan snorted.
"Which reminds me... if you're going to stay on the team's active roster, I need a better way to reach you," Scott explained, briskly.
"Eh?" 'IF'?! Was Cyclops threatening to -retire- him?
"Come on, Logan. It's hard enough for me to explain why you're on a U.N. team and the X-Men at the same time without you being impossible to reach."
A few feet away, Creed was listening to the conversation, and quietly dying of laughter.
"Since WHEN?" Logan demanded, swatting Creed.
"You're not on two teams?" Scott asked, carefully.
"I've been gone fer MONTHS before an' nobody batted an eye. Let's call this what it is, Cyke! This is about you seein' 'Sabretooth' pop up on yer caller ID," Logan snarled.
"I'm not asking to TAG your EAR, Logan. Just buy a- -just buy a phone, okay?"
"You almost said, 'buy a fucking phone', didn't you?"
"..."
"There's hope for you yet, Slim."
"So can I count on you?" Scott asked.
"If I have to carry an X-phone, I want there to be an 'X' on it," Logan decided. "I'll pick one up in the next couple o' weeks. Fair enough?"
"That'll work," Scott agreed.
"So aside from that?"
"Nightcrawler's putting together a list of regular colleges that accept known Mutants. The professor thinks it's a great idea for the older students."
"I thought the Xavier school had a college degree program..." said Logan.
"It does. But not for all the subjects the parents ask about, and not everybody wants to send their kid out of state for school." Scott pointed out.
"Huh."
"What about you?"
"Well..." Logan looked around at the water on the floor, the candles, the scraps of bloody razor wire twisted around the bedposts, the cards, beer bottles, empty soup cans, and cracker crumbs in the center of the bed, and at Sabretooth trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "-I'm good," Logan said, honestly.
Creed could feel Logan's heartbeat right through his skin. It was against his chest, and it tickled the palm of his hand. Wrapped around Logan from the back, he knelt in the middle of the bed. Afternoon had turned the chinks in the window-shutters to light gray, and outside a heavy Southern rain was still falling. Creed hadn't thought about moving, he was just -there-, with his arms around Logan's chest. He'd half expected Logan to deck him for the unexpected move, but instead a thumbnail had drawn lightly across the back of his hand. A reminder. Logan would not be controlled.
This great heart, alive under his hand. Creed wanted to put his claws in under Logan's ribcage and feel it pulse directly against his fingers, but somehow he knew Logan wouldn't appreciate that. /I've done it to myself/ Creed thought, /-I'd do it better, for him. Do it so it wouldn't hurt so much. Let his skin heal around my wrist, with my hand inside. Feel his heartbeat change as I jerked 'im off.../
He would ask someday, but he knew better than to ask now.
Creed licked the juncture of Logan's neck and shoulder, and trailed his teeth across the skin. It was good holding him like this.
Logan stayed where he was, head forwards and eyes closed. There was no predicting him today. The rules had changed, just maybe. /Let's see.../ Creed dropped a kiss on the nape of his neck, causing a very satisfying catch in Logan's breathing. That was some Japanese thing, but Creed didn't remember the details. A hand closing around Logan's upper arm was met with a quick tensing of muscles. That hadn't gone over so well. Creed moved his hand up to Logan's shoulder as if he'd planned it that way, and continued testing the waters. It was a frustrating process. Both of them wanted a piece of action right about now, but there were things in the way... old things.
Neither one folded.
Logan found his place on Creed's lap, and Creed discovered that if he kept his hands in fists and didn't squeeze too hard, Logan would allow himself to be held there. It wasn't quite right, but it worked. There was a livewire tension each time Logan moved within the circle of those arms, pressing forwards against them, daring them to close. His hands came up to Creed's wrists, skin sweat-slick beneath his fingers. Another contact point. A fulcrum. A touch.
Logan came with the rain in his ears, and Creed's shout muffled against his shoulder in a bite. Panting in the quiet, Creed leaned his forehead against the back of Logan's hair, and cleaned the blood off his lips with the tip of his tongue.
"..."
"Gimmie a taste."
Creed turned Logan's face towards his, and kissed him sideways.
"Mmm. Yer the best," Creed purred.
"Why da we do that?" Logan mused, touching the scar on his neck as it faded.
"Wolverines. Weasel family. 'Nuff said."
"...Shut up."
The rain quit around four AM, and a chorus of frogs started, one by one. Wolverine woke up in the dark, and listened.
It would be time to leave soon, but... He sat up against the headboard, knees drawn in, and thought about the cigar box in Creed's desk. Then he thought about Amiko, and about what Yukio had said to him at the Tokyo train station.
She'd captured him once, back when the trust of Mariko Yashida lay in shards at his feet, and the dreams he'd had were broken like his nose. They'd cut a swath from Ginza to Shinjuku together, and gone through a whole lot of Sake in the process. Yukio was one hell of a woman. Danced with bullet trains, and death, and him. Also played fast and loose with her loyalties in those early days, which was too bad. He couldn't kid himself that was why it hadn't lasted, though...
It hadn't lasted because she hadn't expected him to change. Yukio had taken Logan at face value, had gone too far, given too much before demanding anything real in return.
"Be what you are, why fight it?"
Yukio had said.
"A chance to learn to put your powers to their greatest use."
Xavier.
"Strike! While the Human part of me is still in control. Finish me with your claws, I beg you... I don't want to-"
Jean.
"Do you remember this blade, Logan? The honor sword of Clan Yashida-"
Mariko.
"Was you lookin' fer me? 'Cuz ah been lookin' fer you..."
A serial killer.
"A man should be true to his nature."
Creed.
Not 'you', not 'your', not 'Logan'. Not 'a Mutant' or 'a Human'. A MAN.
Logan considered Creed, asleep in the sheets beside him. They'd really done a number on this bed. Creed did not look younger, nor more innocent in sleep. He didn't look tortured, and he didn't look smug. His face looked the way a gun looks when it's lying loaded on a table. Just there. And ready.
He could reach down and fit the deceptively soft corner of Creed's ear into his hand. Run his thumb across the cartilage like a smooth metal barrel, maybe sight something.
But then, guns don't wake up and make you think, do they.
Logan sighed.
He though about Kyle. After he'd gotten used to the idea, Logan had found that he liked having a son. Wildchild was traveling in Canada at the moment, which basically meant the thankless job of explaining Team X to Alpha Flight. Logan thought there was more to it than that, but Kyle hadn't offered details, and Logan hadn't asked. Kyle was an adult. Sort of.
Kyle's true age was a strange continuum of clashing Human and Mutant standards, events that had aged him before his time, and others that had lapsed him back. Literally he was twenty-six, but he looked eighteen, and had the tendency to act like a fifteen-year-old, or on really bad days, like a dog. Sabretooth seemed to understand that last one a lot better than he did, so Logan let Creed handle the 'pup'. Kyle wanted different things from him. A teacher, a councilor. Someone who knew how to fight nightmares.
A leader.
Kyle had followed him into battle more than once, taking the violent instincts that had almost earned him death as a teenager, into combat. Logan remembered Kyle during the seventy-two hour siege on Rumika beach. He'd waited for the word, then cut and pasted everything in his path, stopping equally suddenly when he heard the order to disengage.
Kyle was one hell of a soldier, but it was his ability to make decisions for himself that Logan worried about.
Re-forming Team X as a mercenary unit under SHIELD had been the right thing to do at the time. It showed Logan where Creed stood, and it had given Kyle some much-needed experience in non-super-powered deadly combat. It would take more than the stun-gun team Weapon X had sent after Logan all those years ago, to take Kyle down now.
But as for the rest of it...
Did Nick Fury really control SHIELD, or just run it? Whose agenda were they preventing on these missions? In whose favor was Team X tipping the balance?
Logan hated these questions. He'd fought for others his whole life, or drifted from one personally selected cause to the next. He didn't like being one of the chess masters.
Nick, now there was a chess master. The Colonel was one of the best men Logan had ever known, and he played for keeps. He played for life, and for humanity in whatever form it might wear. But Fury had his orders, and his unique global perspective often made him do things Logan wasn't counting on. Things like keeping Kyle's identity secret even from his father, or ordering them into battle against other Mutants.
It was a problem.
Creed woke to the scent of cigar smoke. The noise of rain on the roof had stopped, and the edges of the shutters glowed softly golden. The storm was over. Creed wondered if the shower would have hot water this morning or not, and that made him think of who might share the shower with him, and that brought him to Logan. Wolverine was sitting up against the headboard, smoking thoughtfully. The edges of his dark hair looked frayed and spiky. His face was smooth, but his eyes were tired.
The scents of the last day or two hung in the room with all the clarity of words spray-painted onto the walls.
Logan was here. Card game yesterday. Beware of alligator. Do not disturb.
Creed yawned, and curled up again with Logan's lap as a pillow.
No need to rush off just yet.
Then something warm and dusty fell on the side of Creed's face. /He DIDN'T.../
Creed glared murderously, and wiped the ash off with the heel of his hand.. THAT was a hell of a way to wake up in the morning...
"What are you doin' for the next two weeks?" Logan asked, looking just a tad smug.
"I've got a man ta kill," Creed replied, pleasantly.
"Think ya can fit a trip ta New York around that?"
"Yeah, maybe," Creed grinned.
"So who is 'e? This guy you're supposed to whack...?"
"No 'supposed to' about it," said Creed, firmly, "-this asshole's gotta GO. It's a funny story, actually."
"Oh really?"
"Well ya see, he tried ta use his very best pal fer a &#!! ASHTRAY..."
Logan dove off the bed just in time.
The fight was a good one, and it ended nearly an hour later, all the way down on the beach. Creed had sand in his teeth. He hated that. He also could have done without losing. He had drawn first blood, he had done the most damage, and then those goddamn claws... It just wasn't fair.
Ahh, well. It was definitely time to call a contractor. ...Or break out the explosives, one of the two.
-