Good day ladies! Welcome to the next instalment of Special Pets! I really need to kick myself into gear, the chapter I am currently working on is 14, my stash is dwindling. Haven't written anything in over a week. I blame messed up priorities. Life and such-but I bet you are very proud to hear that I managed to keep all appendages, did not get stuck in snowdrifts and only was a little sick. I was more than a little drunk this weekend but that is a different story and shall not be mentioned again.
Thank you, in order of appearance, to:
Ceilidh-kay (do ramble, it's what I always do, even in my stories, and it's a dying art form^^), nekuranekomegami, TigerChickTigriss, Jinx of the 2nd Law (I absolutely agree on the part where wearing a collar and being naked in a dungeon with Victor can be fun. Oh the ideas…), Ghost Author (Victor as P.I.? Oh NOW I am getting ideas again…), I-am-the-Wolf (Your review made me cry, in a very good way. I am tempted to ask you if this is one of your first Vicfics since you say it's one of your favorites but I won't :P), LothirielSaerwen (Your Victor is being shipped to you as we type. He is equipped with a few cans of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate syrup that he refused to let go of. Have fun!), Carlypso (yes, he is. Isn't he lovely? :P), dancergrrl333 and diamondgirl697.
Now I can tell you this much: Her dad won't show up any time soon. But Victor has some interesting plans for his pet, we will see if she'll think so, too.
I still don't own Victor Creed (Santa? Yeah, I mean you, big fat man! I hate you!), I am in no way affiliated with Marvel or Disney (can you imagine? Singing birds and squirrels and a deranged young lady cussing and throwing rocks at them?), I do not make money with this (though I will set up a donation fund pretty soon) nor do I intend to (that's what my Rockstar career is for). This is simply the work of a deranged and twisted mind, written down and published to entertain fellow deranged and twisted minds (in a good way, sick and twisted in a good way!).
Have fun!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My jaw has been aching for a few days now and I certainly know how a teething baby feels. I am cranky and even though Victor lets me out of my room for a few hours each day-mainly to cook and amuse him greatly- I certainly don't feel like being friendly or anything. Okay, I wouldn't be friendly to him anyway but… Yeah. I am in pain. And currently staring at breakfast. Eggs and bacon, or in Victor's case, lots of bacon and five eggs. He should die of clogged arteries just by looking at it, but of course not. I can't bring myself to try and eat something, my teeth hurt terribly.
Victor grabs my chin and jerks around my head that… jerk. He pries up my upper lip with the claw of his index finger and grins.
"Aw, you are teething, pet."
"Thank you for stating the obvious, grand master."
I am definitely getting the hang of the sarcasm thing. Maybe it has something to do with the feral mutation after all. If that teething pain is anything to go by… I'd be perpetually pissed. His claws dig into my chin and I growl.
"You do nothing but piss me off, pet."
Before I can react I am flying through the room and crash into the wall, or rather, the cabinets, that hurts by the way, and land on all fours. Crouched down I feel a deep snarl rise up from somewhere deep inside me and the hair on my neck is bristling. Victor stares at me and grins, beckoning me over with both hands.
"Come on, pet. Try it."
I launch myself forward, eyes on his throat. I want to rip it open, tear his head off his shoulders, but while I'm still in the air I realize that it's not going to happen. He knows what I want to do and raises his arm to swat me like a god damn fly. I arch my back and manage to influence the direction at least a bit and my teeth sink into his biceps. That was easy, they are sharper than I thought. His blood flows into my mouth and I should find it revolting but…it tastes fucking good! Victor chuckles and lifts his arm, and me up with it. I just can't let go.
"Alright pet. Let go. Out!"
I'd like to tell him that I am not a fucking dog but my jaws are locked. I can't, really can't. Victor growls at me and shakes his arm. My body shakes back and forth, but I still can't let go. He grabs my face with his free hand and I hear a sickening crunching sound, followed by a sharp pain. Did he break my jaw? I'm dropping to the floor, trying to assess the damage with my hands. I realize that he just tore me off his arm, there is some meat and muscle still in my mouth and I retch. This is disgusting!
"If I didn't know any better I'd say your momma was a pitbull."
He leaves the room with a chuckle and I throw a plate after him, it misses his head by a mere inch or so and, without his body giving the slightest reaction, he says
"You better clean that up, pet."
And you know what's really infuriating? I actually do. I clean up while the taste of his blood still lingers in my mouth. I have had my share of small injuries on the hands where you just lick off the blood and suck on it, hoping the bleeding will stop soon, but that slightly revolting coppery scent wasn't nowhere near what I just tasted. This was… good. I mean, really good. Like chocolate, in a way. Have you ever opened a chocolate bar telling yourself you just wanted one piece and before you knew it you had eaten it all? Something like that. I wonder if it tastes like that for him all the time. It would explain a few things. But maybe he tastes different because of his mutation. Do I taste different? Questions, questions. He sure won't answer them.
A little while later I am cleaning the counter tops. Not that they really need to be cleaned, but I have no idea what to do. I cleaned up the broken plate, removed the chunk of his biceps, I cleaned up the stuff from breakfast and checked my teeth out in the shiny toaster. I have canines now, real canines. Fangs, whatever. Let's not think about that sort of thing for a moment. I need a distraction, badly. God I miss my music. Really. I listened to it all the time but my iPod was in my handbag and is probably in some gutter, smashed to bits. Big guy doesn't look like he appreciates technology that is dear to others, especially not my purple iPod.
I find myself humming a song when Victor appears in the doorway, holding something white in one of his hands.
"Stop slaughtering whatever song that is. We got plans."
"Oh really, we do? And I'm not slaughtering anything. Rob Zombie is great. It is sex on a record."
He cocks an eyebrow and shakes his head. Everything he does is mockery for fuck's sake!
"If I could I'd pity you and your terrible sex life."
"Says the one who fucks every hole that doesn't run away quick enough."
He walks closer, no, he stalks. And his face looks blank, except for the eyes. They sparkle again, it does do things to my lower intestines. They cower down shaking with fear, and so should I.
"Your theory is wrong, pet, I haven't fucked you yet. Does that bother you?"
Again with the breathing down my neck, it is not fair. He grins and tosses that white fabric at my head before walking away again.
"Put that on and come down to the basement. We will talk to your friend."
I catch it, it's a white undershirt actually. I have officially graduated to clothes now? Hooray. I pull it over my head and feel weird instantly. Before I have just been naked. Now I am wearing this shirt that smells like Victor, is more of a short dress on me and is very near see through in places it shouldn't be. Okay, everyone in this house has seen my tits already but now that they are sort of covered it is worse. Why do I think he is doing this on purpose.
So I walk down the stairs, fully counting on having to face Rick again, but he is waiting in front of another door. My old cell. Boy does it reek, I really wasn't smelling of roses and summer evenings. I understand why he dragged me into the shower, but he could have one installed in here. And boy that creepy guy stinks. He's very, very afraid. Good for him.
Victor opens the door and tells me to stay put. As soon as he walks in that creep starts with the begging. Has he no dignity? Okay, forget that I asked.
"Come on Victor, we have been working together in the past, you wouldn't kill me over some bitch, would you?"
I find that very insulting. I mean, really, next he will tell him how much I wanted it or what?
"I told you exactly what you had to do. I also told you to stay the fuck out of her cell, to keep your fucking hands off her and you managed to break every single rule, even a few I thought went without saying. But why don't we ask the bitch what she thinks about the way you treated her?"
Guess that is my cue. I have to say I enjoy seeing him there on the floor. Cowering, naked. Bruised, too. I think there should be more. And he does smell even more afraid now. I smile and make sure he sees my fangs. There is a thing or two I can learn from Victor when it comes to being a scary feral.
I just stand there for a while, taking in everything. It is as if my senses are tuning in and out, sometimes I get an onrush of scents, I can hear the heartbeats of Victor, loud and steady, and the creep, accelerated and fluttering, then it is as if I was still taking those pills and I hear nothing an ordinary human wouldn't hear. But when I get all those extra sensations and all, it's like a rush. It's by far better than heroin and I absolutely see why Victor is such a homicidal maniac. And this is something I will definitely ask him about.
Victor's eyes narrowed as he watched the pet approach them. He hadn't expected anything, the one thing that had stopped him from killing her was the fact that no matter what he expected she would definitely do something else.
Things had shifted since he had found out who she was. He had known both of their parents at some point, after Jimmy had left him he had been consciously looking for other ferals and had found her mother. She hadn't been very sociable at that time and very protective of her family, which was why Victor found it puzzling that she would abandon her only child and leave it with an asshole like Ari Tatz.
Victor had done his best to forget his childhood and teenage years, but he knew that it had been hard when his mutation surfaced. He had tried to help his little brother as best as he could, but there were many things he would have done differently if he had been older and had the possibilities. The idea of helping her was intriguing, because he could shape her in a way, carefully, without breaking her because that would take the fun out of things. He wanted her to have her own free will and still act in his interest. It was a challenge he was looking forward to complete, he would see what he'd do with her once he was done. She was still his pet, but the options were so much more attractive now that her mutation was surfacing. It would be interesting to see what exactly she would turn out to be, she had shown traits of both her parents' mutations. But so far he had never come across a feral who's parents were both feral mutants-up until now he hadn't even come across anyone who had another feral mutant in the family, like him and Jimmy. It would remain interesting.
Her scent had changed, from angry to excited and was now going over to…pain? His eyes darted towards her hands, she was holding them up and staring at them. There were claws now, tiny, not only compared to his, and didn't look as sharp, but they would do some damage.
"Go ahead, pet. Use them."
Oh he sounds so smug again. This fucking hurt! I need a god damn manicure. Ow! My nails are even longer and harder now, not as long and pointy as Victor's. I try to retract them, nothing happens, they won't come out any further, either. Looks like the paws of a…
"Well, guess I'm a bitch after all."
The creep cringes and Victor chuckles. He is leaning against the wall of the cell as casual and menacing as only homicidal maniacs like him can do it. I swear he looks really disturbing, and it's not just his size or the way his muscles are all tense in spite of his seemingly relaxed pose. He just radiates this confidence and… danger. That's it. And I better stop staring at him and concentrate on the task ahead. He told me to use my new claws and for once I might just listen to him. But I certainly won't bite that creepy guy, I don't need half a brain cell that he won't taste half as delicious as Victor.
The fact that I just thought that is revolting in so many ways.
It is obvious that the guy is trying to speak, but his mouth is opening and closing, he looks even more like a disgusting fish now. I fucking hate fish. But hate doesn't even begin to describe what I feel for this fuckhead. He almost made Victor seem nice. Am I snarling again? I guess I am. The creep just pissed on himself, didn't he. I laugh. I really am laughing. It's all this time in this little cell with next to no food and all the darkness, I am sure. I am going nuts. And there flies my fist. I am really just a spectator now, taking a seat and letting someone else take over. Is that how it feels for ferals? I haven't got any experience with being a feral mutant but that's exactly how it feels. There's someone else in my head, snarling and howling and apparently beating the living daylights out of the creep. I'm just sitting here in my head, munching mental popcorn. The smell of blood is exhilarating, it mixes with the guy's fear and really, it's great. Before this I have been really partial to vanilla and lilacs, or fruity scents, they always raised my spirits. They can't hold a fucking candle to this.
There is some pulp where there once was a face and something in me clicks. My inner bitch is retreating, satisfied by now, and curls up somewhere inside of me. Is all that red on the white shirt, is that blood? Oh let's call Dexter, he'd like this. And quite frankly, so do I. There's some on my face, too. I tentatively poke my tongue at a drop on my upper lip. Not as bad as I thought, but I was right. Victor tastes way better.
Speaking of. I can hear him breathe. Now that my focus has shifted to him, he smells different, too. He is still leaning against the wall and even though his face is somewhere up there in the shadows I know that his eyes are all dark again. Which isn't as scary to me as it probably should be.
"What now? I'm not killing him."
"You'll get there, pet."
He is such a growly old bastard. But he is finally moving, reaching the creep with one fluid move and… snaps the guy's neck like a twig. That is impressive, nobody can argue that. Victor looks almost bored. I bet it feels all wrong to him, someone who likes to play as much as he does. And boy does he like to play. I wonder what that change in his scent was… oh. Don't ask me why my eyes wandered there, it's the way he's towering over the now dead creep that drew my eyes to his middle and now I definitely know what that scent is. Of course. Wasn't I just using the word impressive, I'd like to take that back and use it now, please.
He grabs me by the collar again and drags me out of the room. The other, new part of me doesn't like that and I try to punch him in the face. All I can reach is his arm and he growls and slams me into the wall, holding me up against it with his body. Very, very impressive I have to say…
"What makes you think you can keep pulling this shit with me, pet?"
His eyes are really as dark as eyes probably can be, and narrowed to slits. It fails to impress me the way it probably should have. If he really wanted to kill me he would have by now. I am not stupid, he doesn't like me more than everyone else, he just likes playing with me. And as long as playing with me is interesting enough I will live. I try to wriggle out of my close confinement and am instantly reminded that he liked my display of violence. A lot. It was a huge success… I will stop now. I lean forward as far as I can.
"Because you fucking like the shit I pull."
That could have been huskier but it gets my point across. His hackles are rising instantly. Not only those. Oh boy, there was more? Lord have mercy.
"It's about time you learned a thing or two about behaving yourself. You have no idea what I am capable of."
Part of me is more than willing to find out when he throws me down on the floor and tears away the undershirt faster than I can say any witty remark that doesn't come to me anyway, I am preoccupied. Do I find this arousing? Oh please, that has to be the new feral side of me because… Who am I kidding. I've slept with guys that were into weird stuff. Ones that liked it rough. I suspect they'll look like kids playing compared to Victor.
He is just hovering over me and I have no idea if I should encourage him or not. I mean really, what would you do in my situation? His breath is on my skin again and it drives me nuts, he is less than an inch away. I can hear him breathe, slightly faster than usual and then there is exhibit a, I can feel it throbbing through his pants against the inside of my thigh. And then there is it again, the sound of the hair on his face moving when he grins.
"Nah pet, I'm still not fucking my dog."
And up he gets and walks up the stairs. I guess I really had no idea what he is capable of. The air around me smells like some horndog went nuts, unfortunately that horndog is me. Barely there is the scent of his own arousal. I guess it's on now. Oh how on it is, he has no fucking idea!