Out of the Darkness
I don't own him, but I am beginning to join the can I chain him in my basement set….Marvel owns him, much to my regret at this point.
Where was Victor Creed from the end of X one to the end of X Three?
Chapter 2
He looked out his kitchen window. The blonde was walking up Ashley's front steps again. She looked back over her shoulder at his house before going in. He finished his coffee and washed out the cup. He called the number again, but still no answer. No answer or call back for three days, and he was cut loose. He walked into his living room and turned on the TV. They had Erik; he had seen that on the news last night. There was no sign of Toad or Mystique, and still nothing out on him. He knew his clean up would only fool them on the surface, so the first sign of them coming after him, he was going to run.
The blast from OneEye had burned him, badly, the fight with the Runt, that had been fun, just like old times. The fall through the damned boat, that had hurt. The water in his lungs, and trying to get to the surface with all those pieces of wood and fiberglass in him had been hell. He was going to need time for a full recovery. He had slept hard last night; he only slept like that when his factor was down. It had definitely had a work out.
He was trying to decide what he was going to do today. He was going to have to avoid his regular line of work, at least until things blew over. He had his cover business he could work on, do some investing, actually go into his offices in New York, but he didn't want to raise any suspicion. He grew tired of staring at the TV, at staring at the walls. He didn't do alone, and didn't do quiet very well at all. He was startled by the cell phone ringing.
"Yea." He said into the phone.
"Are you someplace safe?" It was Mystique.
"Yea, I guess."
"I haven't heard from Toad. Say put. Don't do anything. We are going to backup plan B."
"You and Eric and your damned plans. Just let me know if you need me." He growled into the phone.
"We will let you know when we plan on getting Erik out."
"What we?"
"He and I are in communication, don't worry about it. Just be ready, you can handle that can't you?" He growled into the phone. He didn't know where they got the idea he was stupid, but it did give him an advantage, so he let them keep thinking that way.
"Yea. Stay put, stay out of sight, wait for you ta call. Got it."
He heard her, under her breath "Good Kitty" and almost went through the phone. No, let the blue bitch think he was stupid. He had his own plans to work on.
Stay put, that was easy. The house was comfortable, stay out of sight, well that would mean he would have to clean up and keep from killing anything for a while. He could manage that, he hoped. Wait for her to call. Well what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
He dialed a number, and waited.
"Creed Enterprises, Mr. Creed's office, may I help you?"
"Danelle, it's me. Is there anything pressing in the office?"
"No, Mr. Creed."
"Ok, I need you to run a background check, Ashley Case, lives in White Planes." He gave her the address. "I want to know everything there is to know about her."
"I can have that for you tomorrow, Mr. Creed."
"Good enough also send the investment files and a laptop computer to my new address." He rattled it off to her, "and call an internet service provider and get me set up I want installation by tonight." She didn't even comment about the two addresses being so close.
"Is there anything else, Mr. Creed?"
"Yes, go by the New York apartment and pack some of my clothes and send them to the new house. Casual, mostly, a couple suits in case I need to come into the office. I wanted a little greenery around for a while. I don't know how long I will be living here, but I will be here at least a month, maybe longer. Please forward any mail from the office or the apartment, but send it from the office, don't put in a change of address."
"Yes, Mr. Creed."
"If Vincent calls, give him this cell phone number." Just because he couldn't work in the states at the moment didn't mean he couldn't take anything that came up internationally. He heard her scribble down the number.
"I'll call and check in regularly. If anything major comes up, call me on this number."
"Yes, Mr. Creed." He hung up the phone. He never dealt in pleasantries.
He had been smart hiring a good staff for his small office. Very few people ever needed to deal with him; he could handle most issues over the phone, and trust that his money was well taken care of. That reminded him, he needed to call the bank and juggle accounts again.
He spent the rest of the morning taking care of financial matters, setting himself up in his corporate identity. His mutation was useful for many things, and one, that no one, not even the metamorph had figured out, it allowed him to be a social chameleon. He used his senses to blend in, to make himself a part of whatever group he was with. Simple cosmetic changes such as hair cuts, shaving, and clothing allowed him to go from Sabretooth, the mutant, to Mr. Victor Creed, the corporate executive, and very few people would ever associate the two. He was just as bloodthirsty, just as ready for the kill, board room or on the streets. It always gave him an edge, no matter which identity he chose to live with.
He had to admit it was easier, more comfortable these days to be Sabretooth. There was something missing in his corporate life, something that was leaving him empty, unsatisfied. He didn't know what it was, but on the streets, in his leathers, hunting and killing, like the predator he was, he didn't miss it. He was already feeling tied down, hemmed in by the walls of the four bedroom two story house he had rented. This wasn't him. He would live with it, until it was safe to let the predator out again.
XXXXXXXX
Ashley wondered how he was settling in. She stopped, lifted her fingers from the page and cursed at herself. This was the THIRD time she was going to have to start over on this page.
Damn the man, and damn Maryanne for that oh so wonderful description. It wasn't that she couldn't remember seeing. She could, she remembered color, remembered light, remembered the play of shadows on a face, a form, and Maryanne KNEW just how to get her mind SEEING, even if her eyes couldn't. She had what she thought was a pretty clear mental image of him, ruggedly handsome, tall, broad, yet contained in the Corporate American uniform of suit and tie. She was still curious how he had looked on that street, and what the hell he had been wearing that sounded so funny.
Shit, back to the top again. At least it wasn't that damned children's book. Maryanne took it to the post office this morning to drop off. And she should be enjoying this, it was a fantasy novel, by some woman from out in the south west with talking horses and tales of honor winning out over treachery, but all she could think about was her new neighbor across the street.
It wasn't that she was obsessing - ok maybe she was a bit - but she was suspicious. Men never treated her like that, they either over protected her, trying to create a dependence on them so that she felt she needed them, or they treated her as if there were something wrong with her that only they could fix. She had NEVER, since losing her sight, EVER met a man who just treated her like a woman; until the day before yesterday that is.
She stood up. She wasn't going to get this done, not today. She knew Maryanne had to deal with doctors with her father today, and wouldn't be able to come and chat. That is what she missed the most, company, people who would talk to her, not like an invalid, but as a person. She walked into the living room and turned on the television. She flipped channels until she heard news broadcast.
There was something about the incident at Ellis Island the other night; they were still looking for at least two people who were presumed involved. She shuddered, why anyone would do something like that, damage something like the Statue of Liberty for their own gain, she didn't understand. One commentator mentioned that it had been a mutant group, and that the leader was now in custody. Why would mutants do something that they KNEW would make life harder on other mutants? She was just glad her difference was well hidden.
She heard a knock on the door, and stood, taking her time to walk across the room and to the entry.
"Who is it?"
"Frank, Ashe."
Officer Frank Jenkins was a friend. He was also the patrol officer for the neighborhood and checked in on her regularly, well her and Maryanne. Ashley knew he had a thing for her best friend, but she also knew Mar wasn't in any position to have a serious relationship right now.
She opened the door.
"I saw someone rented the place across the street. I just wanted to check and make sure everything was ok."
"Yea, Mar and I went over last night and met him. Nice guy, some contractor out of New York, doesn't like to live in the city, so he rented a place out here."
"Ok. As long as you ladies are comfortable, I will leave him alone unless I get a call." She laughed. Frank was a little protective of both of them, but he had been on the force fifteen years ago when all the trouble had happened too, and remembered the shape both girls had been in when they came home. Mar could do worse, but she just wasn't into older guys.
"I think Mar left some cookies on the table, Frank, if you want one." She said stepping back to allow him in the door.
"Naa, am on patrol, just thought I would check on you. You have a good day. Ashe." She heard him go down the steps and get into his car. She closed the door as she heard him drive off. Maryanne or not, she was going to go upstairs and take a long hot bath.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Why had the cop been at her house? He had gone upstairs, to look over the upstairs rooms and decide what to do with them. He was going to order some workout equipment and set up a workout room, in one, but the others, well he just hadn't decided. He was in his bedroom looking out the window as the cop drove off. Don't panic. He told himself.
He was getting ready to head over to talk to her, when he saw her, in her upstairs bedroom. She went into the bathroom, lifting the baggy sweat shirt she was wearing up and over her head, and he couldn't stop himself, he sat down to watch. She was so prim, so proper in how she dressed he honestly had no idea what she looked like under those clothes, and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to find out. She was slim, not thin, he could tell as the sweatshirt hit the floor. She bent over and turned on the bathtub faucets, and he knew he was going to have a nice show. The sweatpants were next, slipping down to the floor exposing her back to him, boyshorts panties and bra the only garments on her form. She hooked her fingers into the waist of the panties and slipped them down. SHIT! She had a nice ass; he could feel himself becoming very interested in his new neighbor.
She reached back and unfastened the bra, setting it on the pile of clothes. She turned and he was treated to a full frontal view as she stepped into the bathtub. Large breasts, firm, a good handful even for him, narrow waist, dark curls at the apex of her thighs, and then the hair came down, almost completely covering her. It hung down to the tops of her thighs, and he imagined what it would be like, cascading over him like a waterfall. She slid down into the tub, turning off the water faucets with her toes. He watched her head slide down, and then back up, completely soaking her hair.
What the hell was wrong with the woman? Hiding a body like that, that should be a crime. He stopped that thought; no he wanted her to hide it, from everyone but him. He realized he was standing in the middle of his bedroom, a raging hard on, watching his blind neighbor take a bath. What have I sunk to? I am a God Damned Peeping Tom. He cursed at himself, glad that he was well back from the windows, so no one could see him, and that is enhanced eyesight let him see her so clearly, even from this distance.
He leaned on the poster of the bed, waiting for her to get out of the tub, hell he might as well get his money's worth. He watched her run a sponge over her arms, and down, below the lip of the tub, he let himself imagine her running it down over her breasts, down her stomach, between her thighs. He thought he heard a moan, naaa…then another one. Her window was open and he was hearing her, in the tub. He watched her head roll back and forth on the back of the tub, mouth slightly parted, and tongue wetting her lips as she moaned. He wasn't leaning on the bed anymore; he was gripping it with one hand, claws digging into the hard wood, the other unfastening his pants, by God if she could have fun so could he. His hand just wasn't able to give him the complete satisfaction he wanted, but it was enough, he reached his peak about the same time she reached hers, head thrown back in the tub, throaty cries reaching his sensitive ears across the street. It was what she was crying that caused his body to reach its climax. She was crying his name.
He peeled his claws out of the wood of the bed, and walked into his own bathroom for a towel. Well that definitely put a different spin on things. The blind girl had passion, and liked flirting with danger. He would give her all the danger she could handle. He stripped out of his jeans and shirt, and walked naked back into the bedroom. She was just climbing out of the tub, her face flushed, and the tips of her wet hair grazing the damp curls. He would swear he could smell her all the way across the street, a spicy combination of satisfaction and frustration. He smiled to himself as he watched her carry the clothes from the bathroom to the bedroom, throwing them in a hamper. Soon, she would get to compare her fantasy to the reality. He had found something to do, while he was laying low…now to plan.
He stretched out on his bed, propping himself up with pillows, watching her pull clean clothing out of her drawers, he wondered how she could choose what she was pulling without being able to see it. She put on a clean bra and panties, and then pulled on a pair of those damned baggy jeans. Her wardrobe needed work. She pulled a baggy sweatshirt out of the drawer and he groaned as her beautiful body was covered again. He was going to have to learn her schedule, when to be in his room to watch. Her little display had helped take the edge off of his frustration, but just the edge. He cursed his healing factor, he would be damned if watching her get dressed wasn't as sexy as watching her get undressed. He considered taking care of it again, but without her voice to encourage him, he would just end up frustrating himself further.
He opened the closet and pulled out a clean pair of jeans, pressed and on a hanger, and a pull over short sleeved polo shirt. He carried the clean clothes into the bathroom, and turned the cold water on in the shower full blast. Nothing for it, he needed the damned cold shower. He got out and toweled off, before slipping into the clean clothes. He pulled his hair back into a knot at the base of his neck, out of the way, and went down to the first floor. He started packing up empty boxes, wrapping, and all the detritus of a move. The real estate agent said trash runs were on Thursday, so he piled it all inside one of those nice city provided dumpsters, and dragged it down to the curb for pickup the next morning. He was interrupted by the sounds of sirens coming down the street. He held himself still, forced himself to look with curiosity, instead of rage, at the approaching emergency vehicles. It was an ambulance, a fire department rescue truck not far behind and a police car. They all pulled up in front of the house next door to Ashley's. Something was going on. He dashed across the street, just as Ashley was coming out her door.
"Is Maryanne alright?" He asked, as she took the steps slowly down to the lawn, her cane in her hand, but not in use.
"I don't know. Where did they stop?" She said. He could still smell her, but her concern for her friend was forefront on her mind now.
"In front of her house, I thought she might have called you." He said, as she let the cane guide her to her neighbor's front yard. He sensed a disappointment in her, but he couldn't understand why.
The paramedics were rushing into the house, the fire department paramedics with them, they were carrying a defibulator, and portable respirator into the house.
"What is going on?" She asked him.
"They just took equipment in to deal with a heart attack." He said quietly.
"It must be her father then." They stood at the edge of the yard. The officer came over to talk to them.
"Ashe, is everything ok? I got the call while on patrol. Is Mar ok?" It was the same officer who had been at her door earlier.
"Frank, I think it is her father. She didn't call me, so I am not certain. Would you at least go check on her?" The officer sprinted away and up the steps.
"Who's Officer Do Good?" He asked her, bitterness in his voice.
"That's just Frank. He and Mar and I go way back. He's a good friend, but that's all. She just hasn't had time for a relationship." She? Ohh, Maryanne.
"So what about you?"
"What?"
"Any time for relationships?" He smiled at her musical laugh.
"I cannot believe you. Asking something like that at a time like this." She didn't seem disappointed anymore. How the hell could she have thought he was interested in that colorless blonde?
The paramedics came out, with a stretcher. An older man with an oxygen mask and clear tubes attached to needles in his arm was on it.
"You can safely say it was her father." He said quietly. He could smell death in the air, and knew that it would take a true miracle for the old man to survive. It wouldn't be a warrior's death, blood of his enemies at his feet, covering his skin, but he supposed it wouldn't be a bad way to die, as long as the damned vultures they called doctors would give the man some dignity and let him die in peace.
He felt her hand on his arm, and looked down. It looked so small, especially as he covered it with his. Maryanne came out a few minutes later, and followed the paramedics to the ambulance. She asked them to give her a minute and ran over to where they were standing.
"They don't think he is going to make it this time." She said softly.
"Call me, and let me know, ok." Ashley said.
"Victor, I hate to ask, especially since we don't know you very well, but I don't know how long I am going to be gone, would you keep an eye on Ashe, while I am gone. Just make sure she doesn't - oh I don't know – go out in plaids and stripes or something." Ashley gave a well aimed slap to her friend's arm. Even blind she packed a wallop. "Frank said he would be by to check on you too."
"I will." Victor said quietly.
"That's not necessary. You go take care of your dad, Mar, I am more than capable of taking care of myself, I am blind, not an invalid." She gave her friend a hug and pushed her toward the ambulance.
He felt a sudden urge to put his arms around her, but didn't. She was a damned frail, good for a little entertainment while waiting for the blue bitch to get back to him, he wasn't about to go soft.
They stood there as the vehicles pulled away.
"Thanks for reassuring Mar, but I can dress myself." She said.
"Yea, sure." He said quietly.
"What does that mean?"
"Nothin"
"Victor Creed what does that mean? What's wrong with how I dress?"
"I don't know let me see, the first time I saw ya you looked like a school marm from the turn of the century, then it was baggy jeans and sweatshirts, and guess what same thing today."
"SCHOOL MARM! I have you know…" He laughed at her outburst. She had a fire inside her, and if he didn't watch it he was going to be burned alive.
"You need someone who gives a DAMN how you look, since you sure don't."
"Well, I don't because I can't see it so why bother." He was stunned, how the hell had this escalated into an argument.
"You may not be able to see, honey, but the rest of us can . And believe me the rest of us don't get much to look at."
There was a shocked look on her face, and then she turned, cane in front and stormed off, walking in an unerring line straight for the front steps. She missed them by about a foot, and tapped until she found them before climbing them and opening her door.
"You can take your HELP, Mister Creed and shove it up your ass." She said, slamming the door on the last for emphasis. He almost let her have the last word, but his pride just wouldn't let him do it. He stormed up the steps after her, slamming the door open, and then shut behind him, throwing the lock.
She was standing at the base of the stairs, one foot on the bottom step. He took the three strides to her and picked her up, crushing her against him. His mouth latched onto hers, kissing her with all the anger he felt. She responded in kind, her hands untying his hair, tangling in the waves as they broke free and flowed around them, his hands pulled the pencil out of hers, letting it flow down, it's damp silk a caress in his hands. He wasn't gentle, wasn't tentative. He was demanding, harsh, and rough, he tasted her blood in his mouth where he had bitten her lip. He didn't ask, he just picked her up and carried her up the stairs to her room, kicked in the door and threw her onto the bed, landing on top of her without giving her a chance to catch her breath, his mouth recapturing hers in an instant.
His hands were under the sweatshirt, kneading, demanding her body respond to him, claws scraping her skin. He was lost in the taste, the feel of her under him. He pulled his head back, and looked at her face. She was flushed, her lips bruised and bloody from his kisses. Now that is how a frail should look. He thought to himself as he bent down to capture her mouth again. His kisses demanded she respond, his tongue delving deep, drawing out every nuance of her flavor, and then she BIT him, hard, drawing his blood, and he pulled back in surprise and anger, one hand raised to slap her for her audacity. And then he saw them, the tears, and he gently wiped them away with his free hand.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, rolling off of her and sitting on the edge of the bed. He could still smell her arousal, but something was wrong, there was something missing. He could smell the salt of her tears, the spice of her, the sweet, sweet smell of her blood and pain, but the sickly sweet smell of fear, the scent he usually associated with sex and desire was absent.
"Whoa." She sat up, shaking her head. "What the hell was that?"
He just looked at her, stunned.
"I think it's called a kiss." He quipped back, confusion rampant in his mind.
"NO SHIT!" He laughed, he couldn't help it, and he let out a deep laugh that made his whole body tremble. He was surprised, and then pleased when her musical laugh joined his.
"Ok, either I am a total idiot- which is highly possible - or I have been getting all the WRONG signals from you – which is highly possible – or that came out of no where and you are as blown away by it as I am." She said finally once her own laughter died down.
He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't think of anything to say so he closed it again, and again, and again. He was beginning to really be glad she couldn't see him. He had to look like a damned fish out of water.
"Ok, silence is never good." She reached up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear; he reached out and captured her hand, bringing it to his lips.
"I just can't think of what to say." He said. One part of him wanted to growl, wanted to snarl at her, that she was his, and another part wanted to gather her up against his chest, hold her close and demand that she be his…hell, the frail was his, plain and simple, he just had to make her understand it.
"So, umm blown away, got it." She reached out to try to place him on the bed, but he captured both of her hands, pressing them against his chest. He knew she would feel his heart racing, under his shirt.
"I guess blown away is one way to put it. I have wanted to do that since that night in the Bronx – every time I have seen you. I guess I just got pissed enough to act on it." He chuckled at himself.
She tried to slip one of her hands free from his but he wouldn't let her. Instead he leaned in and licked the drop of blood off of the corner of her mouth. Oh, her blood was sweet, and the taste of it sent a fresh surge of lust through his body.
"Well, shit." She whispered against his lips. She closed the distance and kissed him, slowly, gently, her tongue begging him to possess it. He let her persuade him to deepen the kiss, and then took over, crushing her against him, the newly reopened cut on her lip bleeding freely into their joined mouths. The blood and passion of her kiss pushed him over an edge, a dangerous edge, and the next thing he knew she was naked under him, clothing shredded, bleeding from small cuts and scratches from his claws, and he was poised to possess her. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavy, he slid one hand, claws carefully sheathed down her body, seeking, testing her readiness for him. He was surprised at how tight she was, but her body was already in the throws of a climax, and he waited until she relaxed before plunging in.
The barrier was a surprise, as was her scream of pain as he ripped through it, but the scream and fresh blood only drove him on. He did pause, to allow her body to adjust to him, but he was so close to his own climax as soon as she began to move under him, he set a punishing rhythm, driving himself to his peak. Just before, he bent down, and grabbed her neck with his fangs, right at the juncture of neck and shoulder, and bit, hard, she screamed again, and fresh blood flowed into his mouth, and that was all it took, he roared against her bloodied neck, spilling his seed into her womb.
It was her spasms that brought him back to himself; the final shocks of her climax that surprised him. He had bitten, marked her, bled her several times, and she had not only reached her peak, but was still coming down. He kissed and licked the bite on her shoulder. That was going to scar good; he couldn't help but grin at his mark on her white skin. She was his, body and soul, and he dared anyone try to take her from him.
"Oh GOD…" she moaned under him.
"I hope that was a good Oh GOD." He said, grinning, feeling like the cat that spilled the cream.
"If I could see you now, I would slap that smirk off your face." She said, as she tried to push him off of her. He just pressed down with his hip, their bodies still joined and she threw her head back, gasping.
"Oh, really, from the sound and smell of that, you want more." He took her hands and forced them down to the bed over her head, holding them tight with one hand, while the other stroked and caressed her body under him. He blessed his healing factor, he was ready to go again, and this time, he was going to remember every touch, every stroke. She was his, and he was going to brand her with his scent. She arched her back under him, driving him deeper inside her, and he just moaned and let her. Her innocence was a forgotten thing, she was a wild woman under him, and he wasn't giving any quarter.
It was several hours later, the streetlight streaming in her window, the two of them curled up on the bed, her head resting, sleeping, on his chest, when he heard the front door open.
"Ashley, are you here?"
It was Maryanne. He heard her come up the stairs and just couldn't stop grinning as she opened the bedroom door. She stood there in shock for a few minutes and then said…
"This isn't what I meant, VICTOR!"
