The agreement with the cabin held for months. It was rare for Creed not to be there on Warren's Wednesdays. Slowly, he started opening up to Creed, but that one thing he held to himself. That one thing that was the sole reason for Warrens trip to the cabin. He sometimes wondered if the other man was doing it on purpose.

Creed didn't ask about the subject that was off limits. Warren never gave him an opening. Warren never tempted himself by even looking at the bottle.

When Warren walked into the cabin, there was Creed, reading Lord of the Rings of all things. He looked up, sniffed the air and restarted reading his book. What did he smell? Where has he been?

Over the months, he had learned what Creed's favorite food was (beans and cabbage with smoked ham shanks), his favorite hunting ground (snow-covered forests in Canada), and his beer of choice (St. Paulie Girl). He knew the man could go without sleep for days and not have any drawbacks and he used his claws as a Swiss army knife for every situation. Creed had only a few people that he cared for, but because he was hunted all the time, his fight or flight response was almost always on, causing him to hurt the ones he loves. He only feels calm when he is in the cabin.

Warren admitted that he indeed loved being Archangel and took pleasure in not being the weak one in the X-Men. He hated being in relationships because, in the end, he would always get hurt in one form or another. He hated the blue in his uniform. It reminded him of being passive, but the whole point was to be as unintimidating to humans as possible. He was the perfect poster boy for that.

Their friendship, if you call it that, had reached a point that Warren confessed something that only Betsy knew: He was attracted to Logan.

Creed's reaction to that wasn't what he was expecting. Laugher and mocking Warren was ready for. Creed put his book down and walked out. He hadn't returned to the cabin by the time Warren had to leave. Two weeks had gone by and Warren was concerned for Creed. He didn't utilize his alone time to decompress like he thought he would without the man there. He ended up being worried the whole time and secretly looking for him with the computer at the mansion. He knew it was a risk and tried with everything to clear the search history. No one said anything.

Now here he was and relief poured through all his veins.

"I thought you weren't coming back," Warren spoke quietly, almost reluctantly.

Creed grunted. "Why would you think that?" He sipped a beer and placed it next to a near-empty glass of whiskey.

"You know why."

"Do I?"

Was he doing this? Thought Warren. "About Logan."

Creed had a sneer that reminded Warren of a person smelling shit but they were stuck in their car and had no choice but to endure it. "You have no taste in men."

"That's all you have to say?"

The man turned his whole body to Warren. "What do you want me to say? Raise your standards?"

Warren did wonder what the point of bringing it up was. "I don't know. I just need to know you are ok with me."

Shaking his head, he started to read his book again. "You need to stop worrying about what other people think."

"That's not what I meant," said Warren. His relief of knowing Creed was okay was beginning to be overshadowed by irritation.

He moved like lightning toward Warren, giving him enough time to back himself into a wall, Creeds face inches from his. "How can I know what you want from me when you don't know what you want for yourself?" His tone was angry, but not murder anger. Frustration.

His body was inches from Warren, the heat of his anger radiated. Amber eyes bore into Warren, freezing any sound that wanted to escape his mouth. He turned to look away from those accusatory eyes only to have Creed use one claw to lightly move his chin back into the sights of those amber eyes.

"What do you want?"

Respect.

Love.

Power.

You.

"I want…"

Creed slammed his hand into the wall next to Warren. "Don't think."

He kissed Creed. Of all the times he imagined kissing Logan, this was far different. Most blatantly Creed was taller. He didn't have to imagine himself getting lower for that. Second is that he was more gentle than he expected. It was tender, slow, and deliberate.

Everything about this, every nerve in his body told him this was a horrible idea. How would this look to other people? How would it impact his family? Would the X-Men disown him? This isn't just anyone. It was Sabretooth.

When Warren went to turn and break off the kiss, a clawed hand reached under his chin and on his neck, forcing him to stay put. The kiss turned from tender to desperate, like someone drowning and found a lifeline. Creed's body began to crush Warrens to the wall. The pain in his joints hurt, but he didn't want it to stop. He wasn't sure he could stop the feral. He wasn't sure he wanted him to stop.

His clawed hand moved from Warren's neck and slid slowly to his shirt collar. It didn't take much effort to completely ruin the shirt as Creed's claws lightly cut open the top part, leaving light trails of raised skin on Warren's chest. He moaned in the kiss from ecstasy and pain, and Warren thought, through the sound of pain, Creed began to pull back. That gave Warren his chance to speak.

"I want…" Warren started but realized the wording was wrong. "I need to show you something." His eyes pleaded with Creed. A low, commanding growl rumbled from the man's throat, but he relented and allowed Warren room to move.

He looked at the sink and where the liquid sat, wanting to be used. Warren whispered, "I want someone to understand." The machine scanned his hand and revealed the green liquid. Picking it up, it held an unearthly warmness, the swirls in the liquid giving off a slight glow as Warren moved it. He watched the glow. It had been so long since he used it that his body began to stiffen with excitement.

Turning, Creed was in the doorway. "So you finally trust me enough?"

Sighing with resignation, Warren nodded. One way or another he was going to have to pay the piper for what just happened, and what was going to happen. "I need vodka. Could you grab it while I get a glass?" An arched eyebrow was the only answer Creed gave him.

The bottle sat there with Creed sitting on the couch, and Warren on the opposite side with the green substance and the glass. His breathing was hard, the anticipation always put him at the edge, but it was different this time. This was going to happen in front of someone else. In front of Creed.

Placing the items on the table, Warren ripped what was left of his shirt, never taking his eyes from those amber circles. They followed every button Warren touched, drinking a beer and never taking his eyes off Warren. He reached back to his wings, unhooking the material above them to allow the removal of his dress shirt. Tossing that to the side, he kicked off his shoes and trouser socks and unbuckled his belt.

"Should I prepare for anything?" asked Creed.

Warren smirked as he unzipped his slacks and revealed black boxer briefs. He kneeled in front of the coffee table and opened the vodka. He slowly poured the glass half full before setting the alcohol bottle aside and opening the bottle with the swirling green liquid. Creed leaned in just enough for Warren to notice. His own anticipation was near mirrored that of Warrens. He tipped the bottle just enough over the glass to have one drop fall in the glass. The drop sat suspended on the top of the vodka. Screwing to top back tight, he poured more vodka into the glass, encasing the green drop in the middle. It was surreal watching something suspended as if it were in the middle of gelatin.

The quizzical look on Creed's face said it all: What the fuck.

Warren started to explain what it was, how it came to be, and why he wanted it. He told him that one of the side effects was coming down from drinking it. It caused pain, then the seizures would start. Somewhere during that, he would black out and not wake until roughly noon on Thursday. Traveling back to where he needed to be helped him recover all the way, but in general, it would take all of that day to bounce back.

But there were things he didn't tell him. He needed to be shown why Warren would go through such an extreme withdrawal.

"I just need you to be there with me," said Warren. "Outside after I drink this."

They drank at the same time: Creed with what was left of his whiskey and Warren's green drop vodka.

Meeting outside, Warren was absolutely freezing. There was light snow on the ground that muted much of the sounds of the forest that surrounded the cabin. He moved his feet back and forth while Creed just stood taking it in.

Clearing his throat, Creed spoke. "And?"

"Just wait. It takes a moment."

And they waited. And waited. Warren was becoming concerned. It typically has never taken this long.

Then it hit him.

The pain would radiate from his midsection and send a burn through all his veins. He fell to the ground, screaming with the pain of the physical aspects of the concoction. Holding out his hands, his fingers grew just a bit, claws extending where perfectly manicured nails were previously placed. The teeth in his mouth, those beautifully straight teeth, began to get just a touch sharper. His vision, already enhanced, was perfected even more, along with his hearing and sense of smell. The cold stopped bothering him and his feet could almost taste the consistency of the snow and earth beneath them.

Everything was perfect. He put his hand to the ground trying to feel vibrations. He sniffed the air, the scent of his prey was not far. The smells seemed almost like colors to Warren, with different scents standing out more than others. A growl escaped his lips as he bared his teeth ready for the hunt. Without further hesitation, he sprints across the plain field and leaped into the air with viciousness.

He scanned the snow-covered evergreens to spot his prey from the air. He dived down sharply and landed on a branch, causing a cascade of snow to fall below. Sniffing again, he turned to the west. With the eyes of a hawk, he saw the elk walking. He could smell its apprehension with a touch of fear. Warrens landing had spooked the animal, but not enough to go into a full run. The royal elk had no concern for many creatures of the forest. He was wrong of course.

Snow white wings snapped, propelling Warren down to his target. Wind screeching in his ear, he could hear the heartbeat of the elk, with its pulse accelerating just a moment before Warrens teeth sunk into its jugular, clawed hands latching on to its body. Blood ran down, in, and around his mouth. It bucked and weaved in an attempt to dislodge its attacker, but it was all in vain. Claws rip into its flesh and its soft underbelly, entrails falling out. The beautiful animal walked a few steps and fell to its knees and eventually its side.

He could taste the fear in its blood, the quickening of its pulse and breathing until both slowed to almost nothing. This exhilaration was everything Warren longed for. He held on until there was no life left in the elk and it was all given to Warren. Lifting his head, he yelled with an inhuman sound, releasing all his tension and rage and giving the elk homage for its death.

Then he smelled it.

He smelled him.

Turning slightly, he growled threateningly. Creed stood there in the snow, breathing heavily, showing quite clearly that he was aroused. He walked ever so slowly toward Warren, like he was stalking something that he had never seen before. He wanted this rare animal but wanted to take his time reaching its magnificence. The part of Warren that was aware of what Creed wanted became equally aroused by this, but if Creed wanted this prize, he would have to work for it.

Wings snapping suddenly, he was in the air, resting on branches and leaping off them almost as soon as he landed. He could hear his hunter on the floor of the forest methodically running, breathing steady, focused. Warren didn't want to be completely out of range so he dove down just enough for Creed to leap, then whipping out at the last moment to keep the chase going.

He was prey once again, but this was different.

The wind on his face, his adrenaline fueling his escape/chase, and the feel of the branches under his feet and hands ramped up the anticipation of when, not if, Creed would catch him. He was an apex predator. His wings seem to feel more than they ever felt under normal circumstances, the slight shift in wind direction and every time a warm beam of the sun would change the temperature. It was completely and utterly blissful.

This is what Warren thought Creed felt, but it never turned off.

No scent.

Did he lose him? Warren squat on a branch that could hold his entire weight and scanned the surrounding area. He could hear only the sound of snow falling from branches and the occasional animal moving, but not his hunter. Confusion was setting in as he wondered if Creed had lost interest in the hunt.

Gliding down to the floor below, he put his nose close to the ground to pick up any scents. Nothing. Then it hit him, or rather Creed hit him. He was upwind.

They tossed around, Warren digging his claws into Creeds chest and arms with the hunter grabbing the prey by its legs and pulling only a handful of feathers. Warren twisted from the grasp and attempted to take flight to restart the chase, but the hunter wasn't having any of it. He snatched Warrens legs with claws deep in flesh and pulled him into close quarters. Warren fought hard to keep on his back knowing it would be the end if he was on his stomach. His hand went to Creeds jaw, trying to force it up and back. With a quick snap of his teeth, he bit Warrens hand and with a flick of his hand behind his back, flipped the prey over, one wing partially stuck under his body.

Warren scrambled, trying to get any traction. His claws anchored into the cold ground and helped him move forward, but Creeds manhandling of him was solid. A claw grabbed his shoulder as the other had his right thigh. A screech escaped Warrens mouth, prompting his wings to flap furiously. Creed bit the base of his left-wing and something in Warren made him reduce his fighting attempts. Claws tried to gently remove the black boxer briefs but left bleeding streaks down his buttocks.

There was no preparation for the mating. Creed thrust into Warren with a force he had never experience. He tried scrambling again but this time Warren's head was pushed into the snow. Every time Warren tried to protest, there was a low growl that would calm him back to submission.

It amazed him that he had heightened senses, but as Creed claimed him, everything was even more enhanced: The smell of animal waste and death in the soil, the pureness of the snow, and the sharpness of the crisp air.

His claws gripped the ground for more foundation as the pounding increased in its fury. Creeds smell was so intoxicating; his power over him was unimaginable that Warren could contain himself no longer. His right-wing splayed out and a guttural noise escaped his mouth as he came into the pure white snow below. Creeds breathing became labored, his grip and his bite tightening to an almost unbearable amount before he released inside his mate.

They stayed together for several minutes, each catching their breath, each not wanting to ruin this moment. Warren never thought his hunting would become more, illicit more emotion and power. It was like someone trying a stronger drug after years of doing another. It was almost a pale comparison to then and now.

When Victor finally removed himself, Warren let his body fall to the snow. Even after all his hunts thus far, he had never been so exhausted. Victor must have noticed as he sat by Warren, stroking his hair and wings without saying a word. His labored breathing slowed at the soft caress of Victors claws through his hair. After a time, he was able to pull his underwear up gently over the cuts.

Warren knew his time with the substance was nearing its end. It always felt the same. It gave him a sense of impending doom.

"I," Warren put a hand to his head, "…don't have much time."

Victor stood and helped Warren to his feet. "Can you make it back?"

He couldn't. He knew it. His sense of smell was nearly gone. He has no idea how far from the cabin they were. "I can't smell what direction the cabin is in. I've never been out this long or that far before."

It was here. That feeling you get when you know for absolute certainty that you are going to throw up. He could feel the blackness coming.

Pain. It warped all perception. This pain was worse than at any other time. There was no time to sit with that much pain coursing in his body. He fell to the snow, his clawed hands morphing painfully back to its original state, the teeth began to dull, and his heightened senses vanished. He felt the seizure. That, too, was more intense than at any point in time using the substance. He could see Victor standing there with a stone face, but Warren wondered under that cold demeanor, was he feeling just as helpless as he was now?

Unconsciousness was at the edge. It looked like tendrils of darkness closing in on him. He was afraid.

"I'll take care of you, my little hawk."

And with just those words, he feared the darkness no more.