Cold...?
Damp. Musty. Sharp. Unnatural.
McCoy.
He wasn't too far away. Sabretooth snapped awake, more alert than most people were when waking up after being drugged. He had to give the bastard that... whatever he had used was efficient. Shaking his head to clear the last fogginess of the tranquilizer away, Victor immediately began getting his bearings.
It was cold. Not like winter cold, but more like a wet cold. He could smell the sewage, but it was further away, so he wasn't in the tunnels anymore. He could smell McCoy, and once again the hair rose on the back of his neck. He was closer than the sewer pipes... too close.
His eyes adjusted to the half light, and he took in his surroundings with the trained senses of a covert ops agent and the natural instincts of an animal. Small, concrete or old brick, dim light coming in from the grated steel door not more than seven or eight feet to his right. No furnishings, nothing... the room was empty save for its occupant.
The reek of the Black Beast came in stronger, and Victor got to his feet smoothly, eyes narrowed. Sure enough, the shadow fell across the floor as McCoy looked in, his voice almost gleefully commenting, "Awake so soon? Remind me to rethink that formula."
"You have about a minute ta let me out, or I'm gonna come through that door an' tear yer fuckin' head off," Victor said, his voice low and hard. His muscles tensed as he prepared to do exactly that.
"You're welcome to try, but I'm hardly concerned."
That was it. Sabretooth roared, throwing himself at the door with the speed and ferocity of an angry grizzly. His shoulder hit the metal, but it didn't yield, didn't even shake aside from a slight vibration. Brushing it off, he tried it again, but once again rebounded without leaving so much as a dent.
"It's taken me nearly ten years to scavenge enough titanium and adamantium to create that door, Victor," McCoy said, with detached arrogance oozing from every pore. "Originally it was intended for Logan, but alas, why chase him down when you practically land in my lap?"
Creed finally stopped his futile attack on the door. "Whaddya want, anyway?"
"Your DNA, for one." McCoy shrugged. "I imagine I'll find some uses for you. In the meantime, however, you can sit back and be a good kitty cat."
"Yer a fuckin' dead man." Victor growled, getting up to the grate, only inches from McCoy. "Just wait till I get loose -- an' it will happen -- an' I'll feed ya yer own heart."
The tone in the monster's voice could turn a summer day cold, though it was obscenely cheerful. "Really? We'll have to see, Victor... we'll have to see."
Creed paced back and forth, nearly an entire day later. He hadn't been able to find even so much as a crack in the wall -- McCoy certainly had thought this out well when he planned it. Sabretooth and Wolverine, despite looking like exact opposites, were nearly the same. Same healing factor, same heightened senses, same tenacity and cunning. Before they had hated each other, they had been friends.
Heh. Things change.
Little runt should be in there, not him. Logan should be the caged animal, and Victor should be back out on the surface, ready to pull a job and bring in some cash. Instead, he was underground and being held captive...
...that son of a bitch would pay for this. Yea, he would be looking at his own guts before Sabretooth ripped his eyes out. The thought made him smile to himself, picturing that moment in all its gruesome glory -- from the way eyeballs feel when they collapse into a sticky, slippery mess to how the blood feels on his hands, warm and smelling metallic.
Pausing for a moment to peer out the grate on the door, he could just catch a peek into the room where McCoy was working. It was bright, and the faint scent of alcohol and other chemicals drifted in, stinging his sensitive nose. The shadows fell on the wall, and Victor could put together where objects were. He could see McCoy's shadow, moving swiftly back and forth. He could hear the scientist talking to himself, but the words weren't in English. Latin? Creed didn't know. All he knew was that this wasn't the same Henry McCoy he was used to dealing with. He couldn't figure out who, or why, or how, but that didn't matter. He was a captive who wasn't going to be a captive for long.
Seething with frustration and pent up rage, he snarled out, "McCoy!"
No answer. The prick was ignoring him, and that just pissed Victor off even more. He tried working on the door, getting his claws between the door and its frame, but it wouldn't budge. After a few vicious moments he gave up.
Pacing again, he thought of how he could get the scientist to open the door. Baiting most likely wouldn't work. The only thing that came to mind was an ambush... wait until the door was opened, and then rip and tear as hard, fast, and furious as he could.
Settling back against the wall, eyes watching the door and with the poise of the patient hunter, Victor waited.
"So tell me, how do you like your room?"
"Go fuck yerself."
"I'll take that as, 'Henry, it's less than five star and I'm very disappointed in my room service.'"
Creed scowled darkly, but didn't reply to the barb. There wasn't a whole lot he could do besides snarl, being restrained to a metal table. He could barely move his head, and that was all he could move. Hands, feet, legs, arms, all but nailed to the table. His ambush plan hadn't even come close to success, as McCoy obviously had the good sense to shoot him through the grate with his little knock out drugs, and Victor woke up pinned.
Lord only knew what the Black Beast had in mind for him, as he bounced around the room in sinister cheer. He talked just for the sake of hearing his own voice, Sabretooth figured, for though most of the comments were directed at him, they didn't leave time for an answer.
Not that he would do much more than growl or snarl. All he could think about besides how damn cold metal is on skin was how good it would feel to rip McCoy into pieces so small that it would take a spatula to clean him up.
"So then I wondered, how long would it take for that delightfully enhanced healing factor to compensate for a serious and potentially fatal injury? I thought about a few possible methods to test the theory, but so many require hours of clean up... my, but I do hate messes."
Victor tried to twist his head far enough to look at him, his blood running cold. What the Hell was this lunatic going to try? The monster finally came into view, his white fangs showing in a completely joyous smile. It didn't take Vic more than a second or two to realize that whatever was going to happen, and whatever torment he was about to face, Henry McCoy would enjoy it. A lot.
McCoy only made one mistake in his plotting and planning. Absent minded in his all-powerful glory, he reached across Victor to grab something, and the next thing he knew, he had a set of fangs near an inch long buried in his hand. Letting out a scream that echoed, he tried to pull away.
Sabretooth snarled, half-choked on fur and blood, but it was the only chance he would get to take something back from the bastard. For the first time in years, the taste of blood didn't please him -- all he could think of doing was holding on. He thought that for a full thirty seconds until the other massive hand closed around his throat, nails digging in hard, and he could feel his own blood running as thick as a river. Another minute, and everything was black.
"Wake up, mongrel."
And that's what he did. Slowly. The foggy blackness gradually dispersed, and eventually Victor opened his eyes, annoyed by the delay in focus. Back in the fuckin' cell... great. At least he could move there, though. McCoy had one hand bound, red spots soaking through the white bandage, and Sabretooth gave him a mocking grin. "What's wrong? Bweak your widdle fingers?"
McCoy bared his teeth, swiping his captive across the side of the head with his claws before stepping out of tooth range again. "You will learn your place, animal. One way or another."
Victor shook his head, feeling his healing factor closing the cuts and looked back up with hate shining in his eyes. "I ain't the one they call Beast."
This just seemed to enrage McCoy even further, and he barely stopped himself from rushing Sabretooth. That would probably lead to another biting incident, and his hand was hurting badly from the last one. Even a local anesthetic wasn't doing the job he wanted it to. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he said, "You'll find me much harder to deal with than my supposed 'twin'."
"Yea?" Victor asked, carefully moving into a poised crouch. He may have been chained to the wall, arms and neck, but he knew how to push the buttons now, and had every intention of doing it. It didn't take him long to figure out that this was either a bitter clone, or some other freaky anomaly. "What's wrong, Beast? Jealous? 'Cause he ain't the one stuck in th' sewers."
McCoy's body went tense, and his eyes narrowed. His captive certainly had a style to his mocking, and it went straight to where it was supposed to... attacking everything he hated and throwing it in his face. But he wouldn't for long. He was chained like the animal he was, and he would learn eventually who was in control.
"'Course, he's better suited fer polite comp'ny, ain't he?" Sabretooth said, casually, watching the reactions and smelling the anger in the air, like smoke rolling down a mountainside. "He's th' one that's respected, an' yer just pickin' at scraps an' livin' with rats. I'd even bet--"
A fearsome roar cut him off, and McCoy leapt on his prisoner in a berserker fury that even Victor hadn't expected. Fangs, claws and blood, they both tore into each other with everything they had, though Sabretooth was at a disadvantage from the start. He couldn't get his hands around quickly enough to claw before the beast was out of the way, and even when he could get his teeth into flesh, it wasn't enough.
McCoy was yelling something, but was practically incoherent in rage. Victor bit back a yelp as a hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, claws digging into his scalp, and yanked his head back. His reach wasn't far enough to latch onto the hand, and he tried instead to grab the nearest possible flesh, tried to rip and tear. But the monster shoved him down, face first, kneeling on one arm and holding the other down with his free hand. Kicking wasn't doing much good, so after a moment of struggle, Victor stopped.
"If you ever mention that again," McCoy growled, his voice low and soft, "I will do far worse than end your miserable life. I will take you apart, one piece at a time."
"I don't think ya have the balls," Creed challenged.
"Test me, Victor." McCoy smiled darkly, releasing the mane of hair and reaching back to take a thin blade from a holder on his belt.
Victor tried to twist around and sink his teeth into flesh again.
Stabbing pain, a flash of white, then nothing.
The mirror flowed, liquid silver. It flowed together, solidified, shattered, flowed again. Sometimes it shattered into near dust, other times it broke into bigger pieces, and sometimes it just cracked and he was staring at a twisted, warped reflection of himself.
"Victor...? Shhh, honey, it's all right."
"Ma...?"
"Hold still."
A whimper. Pain. Fear.
No!!
Shattered.
He struck out with all he could, trying to drive the memories back. Fragments of memories, like shards of thin metal, or like the razor sharp adamantium claws. He shoved them back, buried them. He didn't want to know -- didn't want to feel.
"Vic!"
Logan. Hate rose thick in his throat, shot through his body like fire and ice, and he growled. But Logan wasn't there. He was shouting from across a river, trying to get the man who was once his best friend to wake up from a grenade blast.
He couldn't wake up. It hurt.
Flowing.
"Hey, boss."
Oh no...
Solid.
"Birdy...?" His own voice startled him. Weak, more coarse than normal. His body was tingling, like everything below his neck had fallen asleep and was just waking up again. He tried to flex, move his legs or arms, but they were uncooperative, unresponsive.
Finally Victor opened his eyes, flinching at the light that flooded in. Slowly they adjusted and came into focus -- he wasn't in the cell, but back on the table. He couldn't pick his head up, but he could see McCoy looking at a monitor out in his peripheral vision, and the thought crossed his mind that it was better than the beast paying attention to him.
McCoy moved around, not really paying his 'patient' any heed. He knew Sabretooth was awake, but he was far more interested in the various tissue samples he had gleaned from the brute. There were several things that caught his eye, but the healing factor interested him most of all. If he could somehow duplicate the chain that granted it, he could vastly improve his beloved creations. He had wanted to do the same with the infinities in his own universe, but both Logan and Creed hadn't been so easily available. In fact, Henry could only remember one instance he had encountered his native Victor Creed, and under his fur he still wore a few scars. But here he had a prime opportunity.
Frowning, Sabretooth closed his eyes again. There was no use straining them trying to see, and he would be able to hear McCoy approach. He sure as Hell could smell him; the Black Beast who reeked of chemicals, of sweat. Even at his worst, Creed made an effort not to stink, simply because he wouldn't be able to stalk anything if it could smell him coming. Of course, in his current situation, bathing was the last thing on his mind. He figured out that McCoy must have either cut or badly damaged his spinal cord, and his healing factor was still trying to make up for it. And it was working... he could feel his limbs, but didn't have any success in moving them.
Fuck.
He couldn't fight back. He was helpless.
The monster finally moved closer, and Victor forced his eyes open again, glaring. "Havin' yer jollies, Beast?"
A hand swung down and raked across his face, drawing blood and temporarily stunning Creed. "Do I have to begin removing appendages?"
Trying to shake off the blow without being able to move his head, Victor shut up. The idea of having an arm or leg cut off didn't appeal to him -- limbs take forever to regenerate -- and he settled into icy silence.
"You wouldn't believe just how fortunate you are. You'll be here to witness the birth of my latest and greatest creations." McCoy said, beckoning to someone out of Creed's line of sight.
A small woman walked into view, her thin black hair hanging in loose threads from her balding scalp. But that wasn't her most distinguishing feature... it was her pitch black eyes, like dried magma. There was no life in those eyes. No spark, no emotion -- a void like a black hole. Victor almost shivered, and probably would have, if his body had been more under his control. It was one thing when eyes like that stared back from a corpse, but another when they were part of an obviously living being. She had no scent; no scent he could pick up, anyway. She was there, but the only thing telling him that were his eyes.
"This is Uriel. She's among my quieter children, but no less perfect." McCoy preened, patting the woman on the shoulder. "She'll also be the first to receive my treatments, hopefully rendering her with the same wonderful healing factor you have."
The woman's expression didn't change, nor did she even look down at Victor. He ground his teeth, wondering what the frail could do aside from look like a corpse and smell like emptiness. It didn't take him long to come to the realization that he didn't want to know. If McCoy's behavior was any indicator, it was probably something pretty fucking miserable.
"Ah, but enough of my self-indulgences. Feeling any better?" A weak but hateful snarl. "That would be a yes, I'm going to assume."
"You got anythin' better ta do with yerself?"
"Plenty, I assure you, but none of those things are quite so important as your comfort," McCoy snapped back, sarcastically.
Creed raised a lip at him, but he could feel himself starting to slip back to oblivion. Healing factor or no, he was a long way from recovered, and unconsciousness was actually preferable to the monster's company. Even with the nightmares.
Swirling, slowly and gently. The silver moved smoothly, blanketing, solifidying.
"So what's the occasion?"
"Why's there have to be an occasion?" He adjusted the collar of his black dress shirt, then buttoned the bottom two buttons of the black suit jacket. "Okay, so maybe I aced the rich boy, his wife, his mistress, an' his fuckin' hamsters. Put me in a good mood."
The little blonde telepath giggled, brushing a few stray hairs from his shoulder. "His hamsters? Damn, boss, I know you didn' wanna leave witnesses, but ain't that a bit much?"
"Nah." Victor gave himself one last glance in the mirror, then turned. "This respectable enough?"
Birdy smiled, tilting her head. "Yea, but a white shirt would look better."
He frowned. White shirts had their place in profession, but when it came to his personal time, he definitely preferred black. "Eh, whaddyou know anyway? C'mon."
Cracked.
Usually screwing around was his idea, and in those instances, it was a wild affair. Biting, hair pulling, yelling, scratching... well, she clawed him. He refrained from clawing back because she'd never live through it. That girl was a wild fuck if there ever was one, though. He could always pretend that that was all part of the job, but really it was just a sort of accepted side bonus.
Except when she came to him. Then it was something different, and considerably more rare. No wild antics then... no, she was like sunlight, warm and gentle. Not a single sound, not even a whisper. Just her, and he was practically helpless to do anything -- almost like being completely enthralled, lost in a wave of sensations, and even more frighteningly, emotions.
He always slept real well then. It was the only time the guard went down and he wasn't keeping one eye open. He'd just curl up next to her and sleep like the dead, and in those brief moments he completely forgot who he was and why he was there and he forgot everything but how peaceful it was. He found out later she was all but controlling his mind, telepathically reaching in and coaxing out what few gentle aspects there were.
And it was the only time he didn't take it out on her for going into his head without his consent. He always spent the next day in a completely foul mood, stalking the house growling, and striking out at anything that dared irritate him more, but he avoided Birdy. Maybe from a twisted sense of gratitude... there were so few moments of peace where there wasn't a bloodlust to fight, or a job to pull, or anything but a warm body to sleep against. Even if it meant being controlled by her.
In his dreams, he's sleeping next to her again... soft skin, hair laying across his chest, and she thinks he's out, but this time he's awake. He could kill her in a moment, take her life from her with one claw stroke. But he won't. He'll just listen to her breathing in the quiet, and let himself miss her, just for a little while.
Just for now.
Shattered.
Well, he could move again. That was a start. He didn't need to open his eyes to figure out that he was back in his cell. He could feel the thick metal collar around his neck, and the two bands binding his wrists, and this time, his legs were chained too.
It was still cold, but he could live with it. He was starving, wishing for some water, and pretty miserable, but there was a small sense of relief in not being pinned to the table like a bug in some brat's collection. He could feel what was left of his clothes, torn and filthy.
Mostly, Victor felt rage. Black burning rage, directed at his tormentor. Slowly sitting up, he scowled at how damn weak he was feeling, both from injury and starvation, but that fucker would learn quick that Sabretooth wasn't going to die just because he wasn't getting three square meals a day. He wouldn't give McCoy that satisfaction.
Not a full hour had passed before the monster walked in, apparently secure in the knowledge that his lab rat was well bound. "Welcome back to the land of the living. If you could call it that."
"Whaddya want, McCoy?"
"Merely checking to see if you're feeling better. That's so very important to me, you know."
Victor sneered, flashing his fangs. "Come over here, an' you c'n see how I'm feelin'."
"Forgive me, my feral friend, if I decline," McCoy answered, amiably. He enjoyed the ability to gloat so close to a being who, in better conditions, had torn through so many others.
Sabretooth smiled, his face twisting into a bitter and ruthless grin. Fuck it all, he wanted to spill blood. He didn't care if he had to pay the price with pain, just so long as McCoy would be hurting too. "Forgiven, Beast. Afterall, you an' me aren't that different, are we?"
McCoy caught himself before he could snarl at the insult, and forced his voice to take an even edge. "We are more different than night and day. More different than black and white."
"No we're not. Yer an' animal, jus' like me. Nothin' more'n a pitiful animal, a beast," Victor laughed. He could smell the tension mounting, and reveled in it.
"I am not an animal! I am a man, which is far more than could be said for you!"
"A man? Ya have teeth, ya have claws, ya have more fur'n a fuckin' buffalo. Face it, Beast, yer even less of a man than I am."
Something snapped, almost audibly. Victor could sense it, the snap of someone who wasn't stable to begin with going over the deep end. He lashed out when McCoy leapt on him, scoring a cut across the furred chest before they both slammed back against the wall. He tried to twist enough to sink his fangs in, and to bring his claws around for a fatal swipe, but McCoy did weigh more, and without even drawing blood a second time, he was pinned. The monster's blood dripped down, the only sound besides the harsh breathing of two people locked in hatred.
The blue eyes that looked down at him were raging, but the Black Beast's voice was surprisingly calm as he said, "If you want an animal, Victor, I will show you one."
"I want you dead," Creed spat back.
"No such luck," McCoy said, almost gently. He managed to grab the chains that held Sabretooth's arms in one hand, behind the other man's back, bringing his other hand up to run a claw down the captive's cheek, drawing a line of blood.
Victor snapped at him, missing the digit by less than an inch. An uneasy feeling crept in with the rage, making his hair stand on end. As the blood dripped for a moment, then the cut sealed itself, the feeling grew into fear. He couldn't... he wouldn't... Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be far away from McCoy. Forget killing him. He wanted out, and badly.
Those eyes wandered over his face, a cold light shining in them. Down his throat, to his heaving chest, and he knew McCoy could smell the fear, just as clearly as Victor could smell the sickening arousal. Creed struggled slightly, knowing that it was useless.
"An animal," McCoy murmured, briefly running the same claw across his throat, once again pulling away when Victor snapped at him. Nearly an entire minute passed in heated silence, then McCoy swiftly grabbed a handful of the blond hair and slammed Creed's head back against the wall.
Shaking off the blow in less than another minute, Creed growled low, feeling the weight of the Beast pushing down against him; a dead, cold weight that seemed to push the air from his lungs and then usher horrible thoughts into his brain. The monster had taken advantage of his brief blackout and pinned him much more securely to the floor. He tried to fight, but there wasn't much room to even breathe. He was laying face down, his own hands pinned under the crushing weight, claws useless.
He could feel McCoy's claws at his back, ripping the fabric of his clothes and drawing a line of blood down... down to his lower back. The blue-black creature smirked audibly, pulling and ripping at the remaining clothes covering Creed from behind, leaving the pale body naked. It was then that Victor struggled as hard as he could, not out of violence, but honest fear.
He still didn't get anywhere. McCoy's claws dug into his side, one arm wrapped around to keep his arms pinned. He could feel that damned fur against his back, and hot breath against his neck. He dug his own claws into the only thing he could, the ground, and tore deep furrows into the dirt, half-growling and half-whimpering. Creed was never one to take helplessness well... let alone rape: Always on the giving end, never the side of the victim.
Until now.
The ripping pain as the beast shoved the pulsating agent into his body wrenched a howl from both of them; one in triumph, one in helpless desperation and rage. Eyes squeezed closed, Creed tried to throw the monster off, but he couldn't... he couldn't breathe, couldn't fight. The smell of his own blood flooded all of his senses, and pain made his head spin. He tried to block out the agony, like fire, tried to block out the grunts and the different hurt from McCoy's claws, tearing down his back.
Each move from the man above him brought some sort of reaction from Sabretooth, whether it was a whimper or a growl, and each sound that emanated from the lighter man thrilled Beast. Smirks, cries of joy, shouts of glee -- they all came in a low, yearning voice that tore through Sabretooth's mind like a knife, sharp and gleaming white hot.
Saying that time passed slowly for Victor Creed would be an understatement; he was almost certain that it wasn't passing at all... Just standing still over one horribly excruciating moment. The beast was taking every bit of his strength and pumping it into his prisoner, and Sabretooth pushed his own nose into the dirt, hoping to drown out at least one sense, but in all reality, forcing himself to slip off into unconsciousness.
He came back to Hell the next morning, just in time to be de-clawed and de-fanged.