Author: Pirate Turner
Summary: Logan is forever on the run from his past with Sabertooth. Slash.
Disclaimer: Logan/Wolverine, Victor "Sabertooth" Creed, and the X-Men are & TM Marvel comics, not the author. The author makes absolutely no monetary profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
The scent that came to him on the cool night wind would have been enough to make a weaker man turn and run in the opposite direction, but though it stopped him dead in his tracks, running was the furthest option from his mind. Anger boiled in his being, causing his hands to ball into fists and his deadly claws to extend to their fullest length, but at the same time, his heart was set to racing and his knees felt just a tiny bit weaker. He growled furiously at himself more than at the intruder even as he began to run after a man he already knew he'd never catch that night for he wasn't certain if he would be able to handle him, and far worse, his own emotions if he did.
How dare he come here on this night of all nights! The thought barreled through his mind as his loud, feral roar echoed through the surrounding trees. The memories had already been playing havoc on his mind, but now it was all he could do to keep from falling prey to his scent. The aroma that filled his nose and threatened to whisk his mind away to another time that was better left never thought about was one of blood, savage primitiveness, sheer strength, and, worst of all, pure masculinity. He knew he could not afford to ever give in to the scent and the memories that accompanied it, but he was already beginning to lose the battle.
His mind kept flashing back to another night many decades before when he had first met the man he now hunted. He had just been looking to drown his loneliness in beer that night and had been keeping to himself when a brawl had broken out. He had found himself fighting back to back with a man who reminded him both of himself and of the tall, strong, kick-butt-and-never-bother-with-the-names man he longed to be able to truly be. They had, of course, won the fight, which had started over something he could not even recall now, and they had toasted each other over the unconscious and dead bodies of their enemies. One thing had led to another, and they had agreed to watch each other's backs for a while.
That never lasted, and he wished now that they had given it a real chance but then cursed himself inwardly for being so stupid. Their friendship had never stood a real chance for they had no sooner thrown the door shut behind them than his new ally had turned on him, grabbed him, snatched him to him, and kissed him roughly. He had been drunk, he told himself for far pass the thousandth time, and it had been a long time since he had last made love, so his resistence had not been anywhere near as strong as it should have been. He had given in to the passionate heat of the moment like the rookie he had been, and that night, when a man had made him feel things he never should have felt at the lips, hands, claws, and cock of another man, had haunted him ever since. In all the things he had ever done, it remained his most shameful moment and, he swore, his greatest mistake.
His thoughts broke at the sound of a long, lonely howl far off in the distance, and he knew again that he would never catch the man he hunted this night as he came into sight of the mansion's north gate. His keen eyes easily spotted the small object left on top of the wall, but he refused to believe its identity until he was on top of it. He barely breathed as he dared to pluck it from its perch between two of the iron fence's spikes. He fingered the delicate rose for a moment and then, with a furious hiss aimed more at himself and the thoughts he shouldn't think than at the one who had left it here for him to find, he crushed the tender petals in his tight grip. "Sabertooth," he growled.
He was answered with a howl but dared not follow it for fear of what he would become if he did. Instead, he turned and headed back to the mansion and the people who had taken him in and made him one of their own, to the home he'd never have if he was to succumb to such terrible urges, to the life he led and was supposed to want. He ignored the calling howls with each determined step he took until he was once more safely inside.