Author's note: Little bit of gore in the beginning and a little bit of lemon in the middle and the end. Boy, this chapter is all over the place. Hope you enjoy! Thank you to everyone who gives this a read!
Bonds
"Romulus."
The name is a snarl and startles him awake from a sound sleep, forcing him to sit up and look around on high alert. He grabs the long knife from under his pillow out of reflex and holds it at the ready.
Sabretooth seems to materialize out of thin air in the darkness of his room.
"Victor," Romulus snaps, relaxing just a fraction. "Did you get her? Where is she?"
The younger feral smirks- but there's no humor in the expression. "Safe at Xavier's mansion by now, I'm sure," he replies.
Romulus, who prides himself on being utterly in control of his environment at all times, is momentarily rattled for only the second time in the past few centuries. He flings the covers off and rises to his feet. "What?"
Sabretooth is clearly unfazed by his indignation. "I let her go."
Romulus is so incensed he smashes his knife into his bedside table, turning it into a splintered pile of debris. "You did what?"
"I let her go."
"How dare you," the older feral snarls. He holds the knife up to Sabretooth's throat.
"How dare you," Sabretooth retorts, brushing the knife away with supreme unconcern. "That's your niece, and mine. Why the fuck didn't you tell me who she is?"
"I didn't pay you to worry about the niceties," Romulus says in a low, deadly voice. He clenches his knife in a tight fist. "And anyway, why would you care if she's your niece? You hate Jimmy."
"But I don't hate Remus," the other man replies calmly. "And I ain't looking to make her my enemy, besides."
Romulus snarls. "So you'd rather make me your enemy?"
Sabretooth shrugs. "Maybe I would," he says.
And then he moves with cat-like quickness to rip out the older feral's throat with his claws, leaving no time for Romulus to react.
The feral collapses to his knees, his protests over this ghastly treatment coming in a gurgle from his destroyed larynx. Blood spurts everywhere, covering the antique carpet and Sabretooth's boots, and Romulus' knife falls uselessly to the floor.
"Stop trying to turn my blood into your flying monkeys, Romulus," Sabretooth says coldly to the dying man in front of him. "It ain't gonna work."
The sun peeking through the cracks in Hank's black out curtains is the first sign of how late it is. Roxanne groggily lifts her head up to view the alarm clock on the bedside table and immediately mutters an expletive.
"Hank, baby, we're super late," she tells her lover, struggling to untangle herself from both him and a mess of musky sheets.
They're both still naked from last night- or more accurately, earlier this morning.
Hank arrived at their room last night just as she stepped out of the bathroom, still naked. The way he looked at her... it made her feel like a goddess, like the most beautiful woman in the world in his eyes. He stumbled over to her and fervently kissed her, devouring her mouth with his while she helped him out of his clothes. He then carried her over to the bed and laid her down to kiss her everywhere, as if he were trying to memorize every inch of her skin.
Every inch, with a certain concentration in specific areas that had her writhing and moaning in pleasure.
And then they made love, coming together until they fell asleep exhausted and cuddled together several hours later.
Now Hank grunts and pulls her back down into the cocoon he'd made around her whilst they were sleeping, a move she couldn't fight even if she wanted to because of the fact that his serum has worn off. He's much too strong for her in his current Beast form for struggling to do any good, though of course he wouldn't truly use that strength against her.
But he's also extremely cuddly and soft right now, so why would she even want to?
"Charles cancelled class in honor of your heroism yesterday," Hank assures her. He kisses along her naked shoulder. "We have nowhere to be this morning."
"Oh. Well then, I have some ideas for how I want to spend the morning," Roxanne muses. And she twists around and sits up to straddle his hips, leaning down to kiss him. His response is immediately noticeable.
His hands go to her waist. "Again, you insatiable little minx?" he asks.
She pulls back slightly, self-consciousness welling up from within her and shaking her fledgling confidence. "Am I being demanding?"
"Not at all, darling- at least, only in the most delightful way imaginable," Hank replies hastily. "It's just hard to conceive of such a beautiful woman wanting me- especially like this." He gestures towards his currently blue, furry self.
Roxanne sits up completely, gently urging him up with her, and cradles his face between her hands. "It feels right to be with you like this, no matter what your form, Hank," she tells him firmly. She kisses him and whispers, "you touching me, making love with you-"
She cuts off as he sinks inside her and they begin to do just that- ending all coherent conversation for quite some time.
"Logan, could we have a word with you, please?"
The crusty feral turns to see Hank and Roxanne walking along behind him, arm-in-arm, and fights the urge to roll his eyes. The nerdy scientist always sounds so formal, it's like talking to a stuffy old doctor, not a dorky, smooth-faced kid.
"What's up?"
The young feral looks at Roxanne expectantly, who explains, "one of the mutants who attacked at the White House yesterday was a feral, and he recognized that my claws must mean I'm related to you. He knew your name, and seemed to recognize Remus' as well. He- he mentioned Romulus."
"Roxanne?" Hank prompts, when she seems reluctant to say anything further.
"I... I got the feeling that the whole assassination attempt was just a smoke screen to lure me out. To either kill me or take me somewhere else. That feral only backed off when I told him who my parents were. I got really lucky and I know it," she admits, casting a sheepish look Hank's way.
"Raven recognized him," Hank adds. "His name is Sabretooth, also known as Victor Creed. He's a mercenary. I'm guessing the name doesn't ring a bell for you, does it?"
Logan shakes his head. "No, it doesn't. But it's really starting to sound like we need to do something about this Romulus guy, doesn't it?"
The young couple exchange glances.
"It kinda does," Roxanne agrees.
Hank frowns and shakes his head. "We need to find out what information Charles and Moira have gathered first before we do anything else."
"It's been months, and they haven't said shit."
"Sometimes it can take months to gather delicate intelligence, especially if the target is as wily as we suspect Romulus is," Hank reasons.
Logan rolls his eyes. "This overly-cautious bullshit-" Logan mutters.
"I sympathized with you before, Logan, but that's before this mysterious Romulus targeted Roxanne," Hank interjects, with more heat in his voice than Logan has ever heard. His pale cheeks flush with feeling. "I won't do anything that puts her at risk."
"And you think I would, bub?"
"I think that your need for answers about your past clouds your judgement," the younger feral replies.
Logan bares his teeth and lets out a growl at the offense, but the other man doesn't even flinch. Again, part of him is impressed by Hank's bravery while simultaneously being irritated by it.
Roxanne slides between them, trying to head off any potential blows before they happen. In doing so she gets close enough that Logan gets a particularly strong whiff of her scent. It sidetracks him from his current anger but gives him a whole other reason to be annoyed.
"So much for the Fur Ball being a gentleman, huh?" he notes. There's no denying what his acute sense of smell is telling him about his daughter's level of intimacy with the nerdy scientist. For all his previous assurances to himself that Roxanne is an adult and can do as she pleases, this realization irritates him for some reason. Though to be honest, it's probably just the timing of it- right now he's looking for more reasons to be mad at Hank for his accusations (which may or may not have some truth to them), and this one just happened to fall in his lap perfectly. "You guys didn't waste any time last night, did you? You're marked now."
His daughter recoils slightly but tries to regain her composure. "I don't know what you're talking about, Logan."
Logan nods between the couple and smirks rudely. "Sure you don't, princess," he says sarcastically. "Your scent says it all. Any feral just needs to take one sniff off of you to know you're mated."
Roxanne pauses, but then bares her fangs at him. "I don't see why the relationship between two consenting adults should concern you," she hisses. "Don't try to deflect. I know how much you want to go forward with all of this, I really do. I want to understand as well, ok? You're my biological father, so in a way, your past is also my past. I'd like some answers too. But Hank has a point- it wouldn't hurt to check to see what information Moira's CIA contacts have been able to come up with before we try to go off on some half-cocked mission to Alkali Lake, ok?"
"I just want to keep Roxanne safe, Logan," Hank adds quietly. "If what you say is true, about her being marked, surely you must understand why."
He does.
Logan has never felt it himself (that he can remember, anyway), but as a feral he instinctively understands the bond between mates. The pure adoration, the need for a feral male to protect his mate above all else. It's an unbreakable, lifelong bond- and he has to admit, these two being mates explains the comfort and rapport they have with one another already, the pull between them. Even Logan previously noted the ease they had with each other after only a few days' acquaintance. He has to admit it all makes sense in hindsight.
Even if it kinda grosses him out.
"Fine," Logan huffs. "I'll wait."
"Do you really believe what you said to Logan?" Roxanne asks a few minutes later, in their shared office. She's perched on the windowsill.
Hank knows what she's referring to immediately- about her being marked as his mate now that they've slept together. He sighs and sits back in his chair, avoiding her eyes. "I don't know what to believe anymore, Roxanne," he says. "I must admit something to you. I... The night I took Paul's serum-"
She winces. A lot more more than just that happened that night.
"-I was in equal control with the Beast, at first," Hank explains quietly. "But then, when I saw you in danger... it was like a switch flipped inside me, and Beast gained complete control. All I could think about was punishing those men for daring to try to hurt you."
"Your mate."
He glances over at her.
"Gramps said the same thing that night," Roxanne admits. "That your inner feral had recognized me as your mate, and from then on you would protect me with everything you had."
Hank nods. "Yes," he manages to croak out.
For some reason that strikes him very strongly, the knowledge that Mr. Yazzie said that to Roxanne before he passed away. Small wonder that the older feral entrusted his beloved granddaughter to Hank as he lay dying- the old man believed he was her mate, and would love and protect her for the rest of his life. Perhaps he hadn't given Beast enough credit, with his instinctive possessiveness towards the feral woman.
"It sounds so ridiculous though," Roxanne mutters, almost to herself. She rises to her feet and begins to pace back and forth. "This talk of feral mating and stuff, don't you think? It's so..."
He stands as well and catches her by the hand. "I know on a scientific level that love is based on the release of neurotransmitter hormones and serotonin and chemicals like oxytocin," he says. "But I also believe that the emotion is equal to more than the sum of its parts. Why else would people throughout history be so willing to die for it, or treasure it above all other things?"
"But mating bonds...?"
Hank shrugs. "I've felt drawn to you like a magnet since the moment I first saw you, Roxanne. You made a place for yourself in my heart without even trying. And when I'm around you things feel... more right than I've ever felt in my life. Like I'm finally complete," he murmurs. "So I suppose what I'm trying to say is... maybe this talk of feral mating bonds isn't as ridiculous as one would first think."
"So you think we're mates, then?"
As a man of science, the fact that two older ferals have both affirmed that Roxanne is his mate gives credence to the idea in his mind. There's no denying a feral's sense of smell, after all, and Logan stated that Roxanne's scent had changed. The phenomena also explains a lot of his own reactions and feelings towards the feral woman, adding further evidence that he only now must finally acknowledge. And as a man in love, he knows that he secretly wants to believe in romantic notions like soulmates and destiny.
Being Hank McCoy, though, he goes with the science. "Logan can smell a difference in your scent now, and Mr. Yazzie could sense our connection. There has to be reason for that, along with Beast's reactions towards you. So I think we are," he tells her. "Do you?"
She looks unconvinced. "I don't know," she admits. "You're welcome to think however you want, but I'm reserving judgment."
He nods, though he must admit that her hesitation hurts him a little.
That feeling vanishes, however, when Roxanne steps into his arms and pulls his face down to hers for a lingering kiss. "I'd prefer to believe I love you out of my own free will, not because I'm destined to out of some hokey nonsense, or forced to because of biology," she says firmly.
"That's fair," Hank agrees, and he leans down to kiss her again.
Now things quickly escalate between them, leaving him panting and desperate for more. It makes him wonder if they dare to engage in another round of sexual escapades in a semi-public place. Would it be too bold-?
Roxanne is clearly thinking along the same lines, because she gives him a mischievous grin and goes over to lock the office door, so at least they won't get walked in on. "Chair or desk?" she asks him.
"How about both?" he replies, half-joking.
"Fine by me." And she guides him back to his chair and-
"My stars and garters, I love you."