Trivial struggles

His wife, his mate. She was a small thing with brown frizzy hair and a pair of honeyed eyes. So small in fact that trivial tasks, like reaching for a jar on the top shelf was a big task for her.

The frail, what a funny thing she was.

It didn't matter if the odds were completely against her, she tried her mightiest to get the task done independently, like a stubborn little kitten. A stout, chubby little kitten she was.

Creed scoffed in his throat and sipped on his beer as he gazed yearningly from his high but deep recliner at his mate. Sinatra's soft voice rumbled in the background which had elicited a small grumble from Victor as the evening etched closer: he had no patience for music (his sensitive ears drummed painfully with each note), but his mate loved jazz, seeing as it was all the rage in the nineteen-twenties when she was just beginning to bring herself into human society. Imagine her joy when Victor presented her a Sinatra vintage vinyl collection in nineteen-nighty-eight for her birthday.

His eyes were quickly drawn from wide hips to dainty hands that precariously brushed the heavily loaded edge of the top shelf.

Fuckin' frail.

Victor was on his feet in a flash and handed her the jar of pickles with a suppressed sigh. She was such a hazard to herself. She gave him a blinding smile and went to her tip-toes. Still, he bowed his head subtly to accommodate her as she gave him a chaste kiss on the corner of his lips.

What a curious thing she was his frail.

She was everything he was not. Not to mention such a paradox. Soft yet flexible, adaptive. Innocent yet wise. Gentle yet firm in her decisions.

There would be moments, moments where Victor would vanish in his muses, and then thank whatever power it was that led him to her.

He had adopted her up from a facility that Stryker had sicced him on. He wasn't supposed to leave anything, seeing as how the facility had been blacklisted by the government due to complications over their recent experiments and their 'miscommunication' with the CIA, and Victor didn't. However, Stryker never forbade him from taking anything for his own, and so when he stumbled upon this rusty spotted cat feral, he didn't hesitate.

Well, that wasn't the whole truth. He was flabbergasted when he came upon her cell. A female 'feline' feral, they were said to be myths, as common as flying dragons, yet one fell right into his lap.

He was going to kill her after he had his fun with her. Then, she smiled and thanked him. Half-starved to the point where her dark dusky skin hugged her very bones, not much strength in her to breathe much less fight off a monster, and she still had the courage to look up at the near rabid Sabretooth and thank him for taking off her shackles. He would be a fool to throw this chance away.

'Just the thought of you makes me stop before I begin, 'cause I've got you under my skin'

Indeed, she had gotten under his skin in mere months. Surprisingly, he had been gentle with her. Sure he did scratch and bite her every now and then when they were locked in an intimate moment but nothing serious nor intentional. It was almost like a reflex to be gentle with her. The thought of being even the slightest bit of violent floods him a great sense of nausea and his instinct fights him. Protect Mate, not harm.

Two big patty burgers in separate plates were placed in front of him and he practically salivated. He finished them quickly and spied his mate's plate. A small fish burger. She ate in small bites, and occasionally shot him a curious glance but otherwise ate in silence. They liked the silence: they were both the silent type. They didn't feel the need to fill the silence. Victor had been greatly pleased when he learnt that his mate could communicate fluently in body language alone. It was a rare gift these days, but then again she was quite old too.

Plop. Creed's eyes flickered between the stain on his mate's chest and the burger in her hands. The ketchup dripped lower from her chest to her stomach. Frustrated, his mate tried to clean it with a tissue paper but ended up smearing it. She tried to clean it again but the sauce dripped from the tissue paper to her lap. She sighed and tried again to clean it off. It fell on her toes this time.

Creed leaned forward and took the tissue paper from her. He made her put her burger down and cleaned off any remains of the sauce. She gave him a guilty smile and continued with her dinner.

Creed may act grumpy but he actually loved helping his mate. In the beginning it was tedious and he couldn't believe a grown adult could be so clumsy, but with each moment he got closer to her and he realised he liked taking care of his mate like this in a primal way. She wasn't completely dependent on him but it was close.

Creed thought he would have hated someone like that, so weak. And he did. Then he saw how hard she tried and then it dawned on him that she was still not used to modern life. The majority of her life was spent in the woods and then later in captivity. He didn't blame her and would always come to her aid.

Creed left her to fuss around in the kitchen after they finished. He plopped down into bed and began to snooze. Briefly he toyed with the idea if his mate was so vertically challenged as the rusty spotted cat was said to be the smallest feline in the world.

The thought was banished when he heard small grunts to his side. He lulled his head towards his mate. She was struggling to put her foot through her shorts.

"Leave it an' come to bed, mate", he growled.

She paused and looked from Victor to her shorts. Her foot was almost through but was snagged at the edge of the cloth which prevented it from going through the hole. "But, I'm almost there."

Creed mumbled underneath his breath and got to his feet. He sauntered over to her and ripped the shorts with his claws whilst deftly avoiding her skin. "There. Now there ain't no problems."

He picked her up by the scruff of her collar, much like a cat with its kittens, and laid her down in the bed. As soon as they were under the covers, Victor steeled his arms around her. She squirmed but not for long.

"Victor"

He loved it when she said his name simply because she didn't say it like everyone else. She said it endearingly, without any malice, disgust or general impotence.

"I can't reach the lamp."

It was true. Her small arms barely reached the edge of the bed. Creed grumbled again and did it for her. "There, now go to sleep."

She didn't treat him like the rest of the world and in the beginning it was dizzying. But that changed quickly. His shunning sneers transformed into agreeable nods or appreciative growls. What he once saw as weakness he now saw nothing but welcoming warmness which he needed, craved, and had lacked his entire life.

They lay face to face. The white, pale, sheen of the moon illuminated her soft face. It cast an unearthly glow on her sincere face.

"You're tense, dear." She purred for him.

"No I'm not." His rebuttal was almost a knee-jerk reaction.

He was tense. He was worried about leaving her again. A hit came through to him. The person had asked specifically for his skill set.

Another soft passionate kiss on his lips brought him back out of his black mind. His claws gently raked though her hair and brought her closer into a brutal kiss.

"You know I'll always be here. Don't worry about tomorrow. It's not here yet. Right now, it's just you and me."

She was right, his mate. He nuzzled her neck, scenting her. As he bit her neck, marking her, he lapped the mark with his hot tongue as if asking for forgiveness. Her hands pulled at his short cropped hair but then pulled him closer.

She was his reprieve.

He was different with her. He didn't want to be but he was, perhaps even his animal recognised that he wouldn't get another chance like her and forced him to take care of her. His hands wandered underneath her shirt and pawed at her breasts. He continued to scent her neck and slowly descended further.

He chuckled at the thought – a small frail tamed the great Sabretooth. She had sealed her fate the day she had willingly jumped in his arms. She was his little canary in a golden cage. Only he could enjoy her.

Her shirt was ridden up to her neck as he buried his face in her the valley of her breasts. His hands trailed down to her sides and massaged her hips. Once he was satisfied that she smelt like him Creed wrapped his arms around her torso and cradled her to himself. He had always taken the side closest to the door so that if there were danger, she was protected literally by his body. He nuzzled his nose on the top of her head. "Sleep, frail. We got a long day ahead." His claws stroked her head lovingly.

No one knew about her, and it would stay that way forever. If anyone found out, she wouldn't survive it. He wouldn't be able to live with that. She was his mate and no one could change that.