A/N: Oh I am bad and terrible. Starting a new one when there are all those still waiting to be updated. Alas, gentle reader, I had failed thee. But, them's the breaks. Hope you enjoy this new thingy anyhow. Tabs and Toad, because that's what I write about lately. More lighthearted than Dysfunction or I'd be updating that'n. Beware the adult situations and potty words. Cover your delicate sensibilities! Nothing much happens in this chapter but some shagging and the none-to-subtle foreshadowing. Bum Bum BUM.

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Bump

Chapter One: Before Bump

Darkness brings out the weirdos.

I should know. You don't get weirder than us. You wouldn't know it to look at me. I'm 5'6", Blonde and Blue eyed, phenomenal tits if I do say so myself. Pretty as a porn star, Toad likes to say. I wouldn't tell it so crudely, but he's not far off. Anyway, it's not me you'd see in that dark alley and turn around and run for, but my business associates. Teammates.

Take Toad. He towers 5'6 1/2" above me and doesn't let me forget that half inch. Not that that's the scary bit. He's built like a brick house, if a brick house was made out of foot after foot of sexy green muscle. That's right, he's green, like a Toad, get it? Not to mention he sports the warts, weird gold eyes and fifteen foot prehensile tongue. I love that tongue, but that's another story.

Then there's Vic, as in Victor Creed. Sabretooth. Toad might look creepy to the unappreciative eye, but Sabretooth is downright terrifying. He's a killer, through and through: a good 7'something", claws, fangs, bad personality and a penchant for committing those sorts of felonies that the regular criminal element looks down on in disapproval.

Then there's Mystique, who absolutely will not go by Raven Darkholme despite the fact that Toad claims it's her real name. I'm not even supposed to know. She might kick my ass for even thinking about it. She's blue, this real pretty cobalt shade, scaled and deadly. Oh, and naked. Like, all the time. She shapeshifts, so wearing clothes kinda doesn't work.

So then there's Magneto, who needs no introduction. Master of Magnetism. He of the Grey Hair and SERIOUS disposition. The Ultimate Bossman.

So, we're a scary bunch. The scariest you'll likely meet in a dark alley, especially Vic. I cannot stress that enough. You see Vic coming, you run. 'Course, by then it's too late.

But the darkness comes in later.

"What's on the tube?"

"Nuthin," Toad takes a little bit of warming up sometimes to get chatty. At least, with me.

"So why're you watching it?"

His gaze slowly focuses on me from the corner of his eyes, "Because I don't have any work t'do."

"We could be doing something more fun," I suggest cheerfully, plopping down in his lap.

He groans like it's an inconvenience, that old ridiculous thing, but I know he likes it. I'm adorable. He takes his sweet time putting his arms around my waist and leaning in to breathe me. I giggle. That's me, a giggler, everyone thinks I'm the joke of the team for it, but I don't care.

Then he leans in and nibbles at my earlobe, hands sliding up beneath the fabric of my shirt.

"Tabby, Tabby, Tabby, why d'you always smell good enough to eat?"

Now if Vic had said that, I'd be running. He'd mean it.

"New perfume, you like? It's supposed to make me smell like chocolate."

"Yeah, I like it," He growls at me, licking at my neck and shoulders, with one obvious thing on his mind.

Okay, let me say this first and foremost. I am NOT the village bicycle. I am not the team's turbo slut. That's not to say that Toad and I (Mort Toynbee to those who know him intimately, and I do) are exclusive or anything. This isn't really a settle down and steady dates kinda life. Not that I'd be adverse if he felt like asking (but don't you tell him I said so).

"What're you up to?"

"Wanna fuck." Oh would you listen to that? Such a sweet talker. Really. What a Neanderthal. Vic's rubbed off, even though they don't get along, like, at all.

"Yeah?" I breathe out, shivering a little.

"Oh yeah. I'm gonna fill that tight," He nibbled an earlobe, "wet," another love bite, "little cunt, all up."

I happen to like dirty talk, so we work out. He's a big, mean, sexy thing, and I like it when he tells me what he's going to do. I squeal and turn to plant my mouth on his. He's got bad teeth, like too much gum and kinda green stubby little teeth, but he's still a phenomenal kisser. Maybe it's that tongue or because he's such a passionate guy in general, who knows? Point is I could kiss this boy all day long.

He's a bad boy too. And everyone knows that pretty girls like bad boys.

And bad boys, do bad BAD things. He peels off my clothes and his, right there on the sofa. He doesn't give a damn who walks in, and that gives me SUCH a thrill. I like thrills. Bad boys, good kissers and thrills.

He won't wear a rubber. Never does. Says it's my responsibility to deal with birth control and then slaps me on the ass. Can you say asshole? Why do we always fall for them, hmm?

So he picks me up and drops me down on his cock (good size, not huge but overstretching average, and as green as the rest of him and uncut). He jerks up against me, and even though I'm on top, he's in control. He is always in control.

And I call him Daddy.

He's always less of a dick after, his arms wrap around me in a protective embrace and he tucks me in under his chin.

"Was it good for you, baby?"

"S'always good with you, Daddy."

"Tha's my girl."

It feels good when he calls me his. Maybe it makes me a sap, probably even. And those femnazis would probably shoot me dead. Me, a terrorist and a terror in my own right. Strong and powerful and just happy to be consumed by a man. Yeah well, people shouldn't judge.

Alright so after the fuckfest in the living room (Mags walked through the room during, by the way, and lemme tell you that takes getting used to) there was a snack and then we were talking, which isn't something we usually do. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love it.

"What're you doin' this weekend, sweetheart?" He brushes the hair out of my eyes and smiles.

"Dunno, hanging out with you, I guess."

"You like that? Hanging out with me?"

I give him a weird look, cuz what kind of question is that? Seriously? I freaking worship him.

"Well?"

"Yeah, Mort, course I do."

"Course you do," He agrees needlessly, and looks oddly pensive. I really can't read him most times. I mean, there's super angry murderous Toad, and there's oh shit Tabs you're in trouble this time Toad, and then there's horny Toad. (..heh...Horny Toad. Now that's funny) but other than that, who knows what the guy is thinking. "Well," He breaks out of his reverie, "We'll hang out tonight then."

Some big bad assassin. Maybe he really IS crazy. A kiss on the cheek and a slap on my ass and I'm gone. Off to plan my outfit for hanging out, and to check if I've remembered my birth control today (hadn't, oops), and to blush profusely (word of the day calendar, don't knock it) when I passed Mags in the hallway. Seriously, it's like having your Grandad watch you...if your Grandad is like a mutant terrorist leader and stuff.

Red heels or gold heels? Mort wouldn't care, of course, but that's not the point. It's not like he ever asks me out or anything, so I wanted to look phenomenal. I've low self esteem or something, so sue me. I start to worry what exactly asking me to hang out entailed to him. If it meant watching soccer (He calls it football, Whatever) and drinking beer, I was gonna be sorely disappointed. It's not like I don't like sports. I like them fine, and drinking beer. Okay so I like the guys in their outfits (I call them that to piss off Toad), and I like to yell at the TV and belch and be genuinely unladylike and feel comfortable with my surrogate fam. But that's not a date. Seriously, not.

Champagne mini-halter dress won out, and that meant the red heels. Bare back, and my back looks good. Hair ended up kinda messy but in that sex kitten way, dark eye makeup and shit where did the time go?

"Tabs? Were we doin' something?" He pokes his head in the door and his eyes widen and he goes speechless. Now THAT is the reaction I like from a man, but y'know, then he ruins it, "What's that for?"

I try to shrug it off and roll my eyes and push past him into the hallway.

"If you don't like it.."

"I like it y'manipulative little minx," He grabs for my hips and pulls me back against him, biting my neck harder than necessary.

I start to protest, because it actually hurts, but who doesn't like a little pain? One of his hands goes flat on my belly and holds me flush, ass to crotch, back to chest.

"You trying to get me all excited?" He whispers huskily, lips against my ear. That finally snaps me out of it enough to try to pull away.

"No," I swat at him, "Sheesh, not yet! God, I didn't get all dressed up just for you to strip me two seconds later."

His turn to roll his eyes.