After their mission, Victor found Logan in the kitchen, ruminating over a half empty bottle of beer. He didn't even look tired at this late hour; and he didn't look tortured, making Victor hate him all the more for it. This was the man she saw when she closed her eyes. This was the man that she'd pined for - for years. It was pathetic. The sexual tension between them was obvious, so why hadn't Logan acted on those emotions long ago when the woman in question was practically begging for it? Her whole being screamed out with the need for him to touch her and want her. It was frustrating and embarrassing to watch the way that idiot fought an internal battle that was so obvious, even though he wanted it just as badly as she did. Then ... when it suited him ... the fucking runt tried to take what belonged to Victor Creed? Victor's hands opened and closed into tight, hard fists. Not without a fight, he thought as he made his way to the fridge to get some beer.
Everything had worked in his favor for awhile. The runt didn't deserve her. Hell, he didn't deserve any woman the way he'd acted, like some goddamn uptight monk. Victor would never understand what made Logan deny his animal nature. Why fight what was natural? Someone like Rogue should be taken, especially when she offered herself up on a silver platter. She wanted to be Logan's no matter how many times he'd rejected her. Victor would've taken what he wanted, and never felt a moment's regret.
He would have, but hadn't. Something about her had stopped him from doing what he usually did and he didn't want to think about why. Thinking about her just made him angrier, and the memory of having her naked underneath him, believing at first it had been because she wanted to be there and not because she couldn't have Logan. Victor couldn't breathe when he thought about the last time she'd come to his room. Damn her.
The runt was a fool for wallowing in denial as long as he did. Now he thought he was just going to grab the girl and get off easy? No way. Victor had held back as long as he could, just chomping at the bit for the mission to be over. He wanted to be here, in the closest thing the runt had for a home, when he shredded Logan's fantasy world. See how he liked dealing with how things really were. Let him wallow in that for awhile, Creed thought; let him suffer for having something I can't. The need to emasculate and destroy Logan drew a sneer across his lips ... but he'd do it in a way that wouldn't heal. And he'd enjoy every minute, every second of it. Royally.
Victor finally eased himself down the chair opposite Logan.
"You don't mind some company, do you Logan?" he sneered and took a mouthful of beer.
Logan scowled at him and shrugged.
"Whatever."
"Feelin' testy are we? I thought we agreed to play nice for Scotty boy."
"You wanna ask me somethin' or are you just here to get in my face?" Logan bit off. "It's bad enough that I gotta go on the same mission as you - so whatever you want, say it or leave me the fuck alone."
Victor flashed his fangs in a wide grin. Sure he wanted something, he wanted to erase that grumpy look on the runt's face and replace it with anger. Shock. Pain. And he deserved it; he'd had it coming for weeks. It was time to deliver the goods and set things straight. It was going to be nothing but pure pleasure to rip his heart out.
"No ... just wanted to drink some beer ... maybe reminisce on the good times."
"What fuckin' good times, Creed?" he asked with a snort. "You're life's just full of good times, huh?"
"I've had a few. Rare. But lately ... lately things have ... improved."
Logan raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but didn't ask him to explain.
"All I ever see you chuggin' around here is beer," Victor observed. "You oughta treat yourself sometime. Get a taste of something little more ... top shelf."
Rather than respond, Logan went back to swigging his beer.
"You ever tasted a fine Cognac, Logan?" Creed continued, not needing a prompt. He rolled the beer by the long neck, making it clink against the table. Slow death by torture, he imagined. Oh yes, the son of a bitch in front of him would soon be nothing more than a raving wreck. Yeah, he'd bring out the Wolverine and have it shatter Logan's life into a million pieces. The man was too weak for his own good. Too weak to tame his beast, it was either off or on. Logan had a big problem with it being 'On' - and Victor wanted to cause big problems. All he had to do was give the runt a helping hand, a little shove.
"Maybe," Logan answered, remaining uninterested.
"Oh, you'd remember it if you had. No maybe about it. No forgetting it either. It's warm and sweet ... with just a little bit of fire. Goes down smooth too and makes your whole body burn," he purred.
The suggestive note in his baritone voice made Logan pay attention. A niggling itch in the back of his brain told him it wasn't really booze they were talking about.
"Yeah ... that's it," he continued with a deep breath. "She's just like fine Cognac, isn't she? But she tastes even better."
It was the Wolverine's eyes that narrowed dangerously as they clashed with the Sabretooth's steady stare.
"She warms in your hands when you touch her just right, then whimpers like a lost puppy when she comes. You know the feeling right?"
Logan knew instinctively the 'she' that Creed was talking about, and his body grew rigid. The lies dripped like venom from Creed's mouth, but he wasn't stopping.
"God, she’s so soft too. Soft skin and soft lips ... soft on the outside and on the inside. But she'll rake her nails down your back like a cat in heat when-"
The words were cut off when Logan launched himself across the table at the other man. They both fell back, hard, against the tile floor. Nine inches of adamantium sunk into Victor's shoulder, but he laughed, pushing back and rolling away. Both men stood up and squared off against one another. As Victor's shoulder mended itself, Logan went for him again, grabbing him by the throat, propelling them into the wall with a loud crash.
"You can try to choke the words out of me, runt, but you know they're all true," he hissed, his air supply being cut off.
"Lying bastard!" Logan roared and squeezed Victor's throat until his face was turning blue. "She'd never let you touch her!"
Pushing against him with his forearms, Victor finally managed to knock him back over the table. He bared his fangs in a wide and arrogant way and claws sprang out from each of his fingertips.
"If I'm lying ... how do you know who I'm talkin' about?" he mocked.
Logan stood, losing himself to a snarling Wolverine. "Then say it! Just fucking say it you son of a bitch!"
It was Sabretooth then that leaned forward, both hands planted firmly on the table.
"Say what? That the truth is you denied that sweet southern ass for so long that she came beggin' for me? That you'd rather fuck nameless women behind a dive bar than take what's been offered to you for years?! Years, you pathetic fuck, that you've spent rejecting her! Don't blame me if she got tired of waitin'. She was knocking on *my* door, wanting *me* to make her scream with pleasure, and I gave it to her over and over and over. *I* gave her that and you know what else? She let me do things to her that you can't even spell. She let me touch her in ways you've only dreamed of."
"You sick twisted fuck, she would never *ever* let you touch her!" Logan roared and sunk a claw through the table.
But Victor wasn't stopping. It pissed him off beyond belief that the runt would even try and justify his own behavior, denying what he'd done to her, acting like he actually had the right to decide what she was allowed to do. Like she was a kid and not a woman. If anyone was a sick, twisted, selfish bastard it was Logan. He wanted to laugh into the runt's face.
"Oh but she did," Victor continued maliciously, "and I had *Rogue* purring my name while she had my dick down her throat. I didn't even have to ask her to do it. She came to *me*! I bet you've dreamed about her doing that to you. Seeing those pouty, luscious li-"
Wolverine splintered the table going after him. The kitchen erupted into a frenzy of flying limbs and broken furniture. Blood spilt to the floor, but neither man went down because neither man could. The dry crack of breaking wood was offset by the high pitched shattering of the large picture window. Four hundred plus pounds of animal rage went through the glass and onto the back patio. Kneeling in broken glass, they continued to pummel each other, both exorcising their demons, but knowing it wouldn't help.
Logan knew it was true - the sick fuck had been with Rogue. It was a betrayal, but he had no right to feel betrayed. If he'd had the lack of conscience of Sabretooth - he'd have taken Rogue for himself long ago. At that moment, when the hate and fury roared through his veins, he couldn't remember why he hadn't. She was supposed to be his and he hadn't marked her.
Through sheer determination, he pinned Sabretooth, knocking his head against the pavement over and over until there was a pool of blood seeping out from underneath his long blonde locks. All Logan could see was that monster on top of her, between her thighs, his weight pinning her down. The two of them fucking. He stood up then and spat out a mouthful of blood. His thoughts honed in on one thing and one thing only. Rogue. The enemy was trying to take what rightfully belonged to Wolverine. And he wouldn’t let that happen.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Logan knew instinctively the 'she' that Creed was talking about, and his body grew rigid. The lies dripped like venom from Creed's mouth, but he wasn't stopping.