She woke up pinned beneath a large, warm body. She unscrewed her eyes, blinking, disoriented, uncertain how long it had been since she'd been in bed with a man.
"You're crushing me-"
The arm around her waist, tightened momentarily, then disappeared. His leg remained firmly wedged between hers. Her shoulders lifted off the mattress, suspended on one elbow, she twisted to face him. The beginnings of a beard shadowed his jawline, matching the dark hair across his chest. He looked almost asleep, save the scowl starting at the corners of his mouth.
"What time is it."
She squinted at the clock, unable to make it out. A headache forming behind her eyes, the whiskey's sweet revenge.
In her silence he demanded, "Is it still dark."
"Yes."
"Then go the hell back to sleep," Victor growled. She relented, rolling to face him, eye level with his collar bones, the expanse of skin between his shoulders. His dog tags were a casualty along the sheets, she picked them up in turn, fingers tracing the raised lettering.
"What are you doing, little kitten."
She lifted her eyes, he was staring down at her, dark eyes narrowed slightly.
"Nothing," she replied, letting the tags slip through her fingers. "How long have you had them."
"Long enough."
"That's not an answer," she said, shifting away from him, sitting up to run a hand through her hair. Morning had left her unsettled, and awkward, her decision looming, waiting to crack her over the head.
"Where are we."
"Another three hours from home."
"Home," she repeated, the beads of her spine coming into careful alignment, awaiting his answer.
"My home."
She didn't turn, brow folding to frown, "What about me."
"What about you, little kitten."
The mattress shifted as Victor stood up, she could feel the press of his dark eyes on the back of her head. She looked down at herself, wearing her clothes from the day before, torn and dirtied, craving space as she spoke, "Yesterday, at the facility, you said I was yours."
He waited, watching her pick and choose her words like it would make a difference. Finally, she turned, staring up at him, uncertainty coalescing in her tired eyes, "Before you knocked me out, you said you wouldn't let me go, if I promise not to tell Logan-"
"Don't make promises you're not going to keep," Victor interrupted quietly.
"He'll come for me," she said.
His eyes narrowed at her threat, "He can try."
She stood up, facing him, hair in ropes down her shoulders, dark thumb prints beneath each eye.
"What are you saying."
"I gave you up once already," he said. "I won't do that again."
"I'm not yours to give."
"I'm every bit of the animal you think I am, when it comes to you," he said quietly, dark gaze ringing her dry.
"What are you talking about."
"You're my mate."
She turned to stone, convinced even her blood had frozen shut in her veins. She'd heard the word before, mate, on Logan's lips. It was primal, foreign on her tongue, and rooted in every part of Victor that terrified her tired heart.
"I don't understand," she lied, hedging, hoping he didn't mean it.
"There's nothing to understand," he said, calm in the face of her rising panic.
"I'm not feral."
"Feral or not, I knew you were different," he said, watching her intently, the pieces of some puzzle linking together.
"Different," she repeated, easing another step backwards, minds eye on the door.
"I didn't take what I wanted from you."
"Wouldn't your mate be irresistible to you."
He smirked, "I didn't say it was easy."
Her cheeks warmed, she took another step backwards.
"But I waited," he said, adding pointedly, "I'm still waiting."
She fled, fingers fighting with the locks, knuckles scraped to hell along the roughly painted door. The door opened no more than two inches before Victor's hand appeared over her shoulder, forcing it shut with a snap. She twisted around, met with his undone flannel, the links of his dog tags.
"You can fight me all you want, sweetheart," he said. "But you've got my marks on your neck."
Her fingers lifted, touching the twin scabs, confusion crystallizing.
"You marked me on purpose," she said quietly, staring up at him.
"You're mine."
"Stop saying that," she snapped.
His free hand lifted, fingers slipping into her hair, tilting her head back to meet her gaze.
"You want me."
"That's not what this is about," she said.
"You want me," he repeated, fingers tightening, pulling her a fraction closer.
"Victor, please-"
"Phase," he said, lifting her wrist between them, her sleeve slipping, exposing bare skin. "Run away from me, little kitten."
She went perfectly still, staring at her wrist, pupils turning to pinpricks.
"Phase," he repeated, voice tilting, a challenge. Kitty couldn't will her body to motion, no less to phase.
She was silent.
"I removed it after I knocked you out."
"I didn't even notice," she said softly, frustrated she'd become so quickly adjusted to being without her mutation, adjusted to his hands on her skin.
"I know," he said, matching her quiet tone. His head dipped, nose and then mouth against his twin marks. Her eyes fluttered shut, heart thumping, reality starting to feel surreal. Victor Creed was a monster, an enemy of the x-men, of her, and now she wore his marks on her neck. Chaos wasn't big enough to encompass the clash of conscious and desire, the sick fated feeling she couldn't wring out.
His teeth found the sensitive lobe of her ear, nipping, before claiming her mouth in a kiss. She melted into his shirtfront, fingers tangled up in the twin flaps of his unbuttoned flannel, better judgement disappearing. His hand left the door at her back, looping her waist, marrying their hips, bringing his erection into stark relief against her thigh.
"I want you, Katherine."
He barely lifted his mouth from hers, issuing his singular desire.
"I know."
"Tell me what you want."
She was quiet, and then, softly, "I can't."
His grip on her waist loosened, creating space between them for his dark eyes to search her expression, "Tell me."
"I don't know what I want," she shook her head, hands braced to his chest. He was drenched in the scent of her arousal, prepared to tell her so, but she phased through him, hands in her hair.
"You want a man you can trust," he supplied, a quiet reminder.
She turned, understanding crystallizing, "Is that why you waited to have me?"
Victor watched her, silent, shoulders stiff, yes on his lips.
"We should go."
His brow lifted, her tactic, the blatant avoidance. He didn't argue, simply buttoned his flannel and pulled on his boots. She stood at the window, the sun just starting to fan the horizon in light.
"Lets go, little kitten," he said, door open to the cool air. She jerked at the sound of his voice, ducking past him,
They drove south, silence between them, Kitty's eyes on furry evergreens and the orange sky. Victor's gaze was trained on the road, half of him wanting her, the other wanting to believe there had been some mistake. That this woman, an x-man, wasn't for him.
"I've been thinking."
He jerked, the sound of her voice a surprise after so many minutes of quiet.
"What."
"There was another man, a doctor, at Stryker's facility," she said, he could hear the frown in her voice. "We saw him right before I phased us out."
Victor made no reply, eyes on the black path of pavement ahead.
"Why would Stryker have a doctor on hand," she continued."You didn't see him at all while-"
"No."
She watched him carefully, quiet for a moment.
"Do you think he's the one who experimented on you?"
"I don't know, Katherine."
"He looked older, what about Logan-"
He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, she jumped, spine stiffening as he snapped, "I said I don't know."
She stayed quiet this time, turning the questions over in her own head.
