Disclaimer: Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen.

Note: This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There will be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. This first chapter in particular is Mature due to sexuality, language, and for its graphic nature. You've been warned. This chapter, for your reference, takes place before X1.

One Mistake: Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

-One Mistake-

Twenty-One Candles and a Bottle of Rum

Chapter One

It was nearly impossible to find a decent pub in New York where he could find a dark corner to sit in while he enjoyed as much liquor as he could afford. Fortunately, Nate's was known for turning a cheek whenever a 'questionable' customer found their way inside. The bar itself was nestled between a decent pizza parlor and an old-time barber shop. It didn't exactly have the best location, but it seemed that he was not the only one that did not mind. In fact, Nate's had pulled in a rather decent crowd that muggy Friday evening.

He sat alone in a booth for four in the farthest corner, his back to the wall and a cascade of long tawny hair hiding his face from onlookers. Despite the fact that he was sitting, a bystander would instantly recognize the fact that he was not the average man. In fact, Victor Creed was a giant of a man, and had the fierce stance of a predator. Two empty bottles of whiskey were already resting atop the table, and he was halfway through his third. While he couldn't ignore the sounds of the people around him, he could do a damn good job of blocking them out. After all, he had merely wanted to seek a bit of solace from his own thoughts and drown them in as much liquor as possible. He was well on his way to doing so.

Known as The Mutant Bar to both mutants and non-mutants alike, Nate's was rumored to have some of the best beer on tap, decent bar food, and enough entertainment to keep people coming in over and over again. Five pool tables were spread across part of the floor across from the bar top and four large card tables were parallel to them. A small dance floor was set up near the large jukebox that had more music than most would ever actually realize, and there were enough tables and booths scattered across the large bar that it could easily hold upwards of three hundred people. Needless to say, the bar was a bit packed, even for one a.m. Still, he'd decided that until he could honestly say that he was at least feeling a slight buzz, something that could take at least a few more bottles if he paced himself appropriately.

While everyone merely assumed that Victor was keeping to himself, his eyes were actually roaming over the room time and time again. Despite the fact that the air conditioner was working overtime, it was still a bit sticky and uncomfortable. Which is exactly why his amber eyes found their way to every woman in the bar, at least once. Sabretooth, as his enemies would often cry out as he gutted them crotch to chin, was a man of simple needs. Blood, food, liquor, and of course women. Granted, he didn't often consider them women, but instead a simple fuck whenever he needed one.

Amber eyes narrowed in concentration as he searched the bar for his mark, and eventually settled on a group of people that were loud and boisterous. She was perched on the edge of a barstool, her third shot of rum in her left hand. Even from across the room he could see the way that her green eyes glittered under the dim overhead lights. He wasn't quite sure why he'd decided that she was the lucky lady, but somehow he knew that by the end of the night he would be wrapping his hand in her long brown locks and feasting on that gorgeous neck of hers.

When he caught her eye, he had it all planned out. He would make her come to him.


Alyson Winston was perched on the edge of an aged barstool, her boot-clad feet tapping along with the rhythm blaring from the jukebox in the corner. Her best friend, a short blonde named Rachel, flanked her left side while Erica, Susan, and Heather all sat to her right. They were a loud and boisterous bunch, something that seemed to annoy the bartender in the slightest, even as he placed drink after drink in front of the crowd of five. Alyson herself was a bit more outgoing than she normally was, but she had the most valid excuse of the entire bunch.

"Happy Birthday to me!" She toasted herself yet again before throwing back her third shot of rum. While her friends were working on martinis and beers, she was slowly inching her way through a bottle of Captain Morgan that she'd ordered up the moment she'd entered the bar. It burned its way down her throat, but she merely shook her head and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes before glancing toward Erica. "You guys aren't getting quiet on me, are you?" she teased, already knowing that her friends were wearing down from the long evening that they'd had before finding themselves in Nate's.

Erica, a snappy-dressing studio executive that could never seem to go anywhere without her PDA, brushed back her chin length black hair and gave Alyson a cheeky grin. "What do you expect, Aly? We're not all as crazy as you." Erica lifted her martini and slowly took a sip before stabbing the olive with a toothpick and popping it into her mouth. "Besides, we've all had a very long day."

Quickly agreeing with her friend, Heather let out a sigh and brushed her dirty blonde locks back from her freckled face. "Some idiot in Accounting lost my Accounts Payable for the last quarter and I had to spend three hours going over the numbers and working up a new summary for my boss. Needless to say, he was still not a happy camper. It just pisses me off that people can't seem to do their damn job anymore." As if to accentuate her point, she slammed her Corona down and snarled. Still impeccably dressed, she and Erica were obviously the office career women of the small group.

"One of my kids thought that it would be funny to put paste in his hair today. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that shit out? You should have seen the way his mother glared at me when she came in to pick him up today." Susan shook her sleek blonde hair out of her brown eyes and let out a sigh. Running her own daycare wasn't exactly as easy as she'd expected, and it was obvious that it had been a long day. "I should really get going soon, Aly. I know that we promised to give you the best fucking birthday ever, but I'm so tired that I'm considering sleeping right here and now."

Rachel let out a large laugh as she slapped Alyson on the shoulder and swung her long black ponytail around as she shook her head. "I hate to say it, Al, but I think we're all dead tired. I worked a fifteen hour shift today." Still in her scrubs, it was obvious that she'd had a long day at the hospital. "I still don't give a shit what people say, nurses do all of the work."

Alyson managed to smile slightly as she lifted her head and glanced around the bar idly, momentarily finding her gaze locked with a stranger in the corner. Slightly shaken, she turned her attention back to her friends and lifted both shoulders in a shrug. "Ladies, I understand. It's getting late and you all have to work tomorrow anyways." She waved her hand in the air as if to say that she didn't mind, and slowly filled her shot glass yet again. "Don't worry, I have the number of for a taxi programmed into my cell. But my apartment's just a few blocks away. If I'm too sloshed to make it home I'll just call up a taxi." She snorted to herself as she ran her finger along the rim of her glass in thought. Suddenly quiet, she seemed a bit out of sorts, but her friends were too tired to notice.

"I really am sorry," they all said in one form or another as money was exchanged with the bartender and tabs were settled. Within minutes, after receiving warm hugs and squeezes from each of her friends, Alyson was left to her own devices at the bar.

Annoyed and frustrated, Alyson slowly lifted her shot glass and let the liquid slosh down her throat. The rush that followed as she slammed the glass onto the bar top was enough to have her throwing back her head and shouting. Feeling slightly invigorated, she turned until her back was against the barstool and she was facing the pool tables and card tables. Elbows resting on the bar behind her, she slowly crossed her long, jean clad legs and let her eyes roam. She absentmindedly tugged at her rather revealing top, hoping that she wasn't sharing too much cleavage and yet at the same time hoping that she did.

That's when she met the gaze of the stranger in the corner again, but this time she let her eyes linger. Even from the distance she could tell that he was a large man, but she could see little more than his face or his broad shoulders. Fingering the diamond heart pendant that hung at her throat, she briefly

considered allowing herself to slip into a role that she'd never felt completely comfortable in. Yet, she lingered there, staring at him and wondering why he was alone in a bar filled with so many easygoing people.

Muttering something to the bartender about keeping the bottle of rum safe for her, the lithe and graceful woman slid off of the barstool and swaggered across the room with a knowing smile on her face. She forced her gaze away from the stranger as she walked over to a pool table where a game was already underway between two men that looked to be in their late twenties. Both were rather tall and broad, and both had slightly long hair that curled over the collars of their shirts. The only difference that she could see, right off, is that one was a blonde while the other had rich black hair. They noticed her immediately and tipped their heads in her direction even as she rested her palms on the rail of the table and leaned forward, seemingly engrossed in the remaining balls left on the table.

"Looks like stripes is kicking your ass," she murmured with the slightest shadow of a smile on her face.

"Yeah, well I figured I might as well let him win one game." Blondie smiled at her as he watched his friend line up his next shot, which he easily sunk. "I'm Ben and this is my buddy Tyler. We were workin' up the nerve to come on over and talk to you and your friends when they up and left. Problem?" He offered her a crooked grin before he realized that it was his turn and quickly moved to the other side of the table to take his shot.

Alyson watched, only half interested, as he missed the perfect combo and cursed under his breath. "No, they were just tired and bailed on me. So I ask you, boys, what kind of friends bail on you on your birthday?"

"It's your birthday?" Tyler asked as he grabbed his beer from a table a few feet from the billiard table and took a long swig. After she nodded her head in reply and stood up straight, he slowly shook his head and walked over toward her, gripping the pool stick firmly in his left hand. "Well, that's a helluva deal. Don't worry, you're more than welcome to hang out with me and old Ben here. Granted, we ain't the best company."

Chuckling, she lifted her hand and rested it on his arm. She could feel his muscles tense under her fingers, and briefly wondered if he had a decent body under his black t-shirt. "That's okay, boys. I just need to relax and maybe have a few more rounds." Idly glancing over her shoulder back toward the bar, she couldn't help but grin when she noticed that one of the waitresses was bringing over her rum and a single shot glass on a tray. The waitress, a rather unattractive woman with graying blonde hair, quickly sat the tray on the table where Tyler and Ben had their beers, before disappearing.

"Rum?" Ben lifted a brow as the three of them convened around the table and slowly cupped his Budweiser in his left hand. Pool sticks had been abandoned on the table, as both men figured that sitting a few games out might be worth their while. "You're going to get trashed on your birthday, honey."

Offering him a shrug of one shoulder as she slammed back her fifth shot of the night. By that point, there was very little burn and it seemed to go down a lot easier than it had in the beginning. In fact, she was feeling more and more relaxed by the minute. "Might as well, boys, might as well. After all, who in the hell gives a fuck about it anyway?" Annoyed, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, obviously in thought. "Besides, might as well drink it up so that I can talk myself into going home with some lucky fuck."

Smirks were evident on their faces as Ben and Tyler shared a look, one that Alyson didn't quite catch as she lowered her head and rested her chin on her hand. "Doesn't sound like you're having that great of a birthday, babe," Tyler remarked as he threw his arm over the back of her chair and slid her a bit closer to him, causing her to nearly topple over in surprise. "Hey, take it easy," he tried to help her sit up, but she shoved his hand away and did it herself. "No reason to get unfriendly, babe. I was just trying to help."

"I don't recall saying that you either of you were going to be the lucky fuck, now did I?" While the question was whispered purely in jest, her eyes held a fiery light that made both men look at her a bit more closely. Letting out a very feline-like purr, she trailed her fingers teasingly over her exposed throat and over the thin gold chain that held her diamond heart pendant. "Don't look so heartbroken boys, I just wanted a little company. After all, Captain Morgan might warm me up, but he doesn't play the right song to lure me in."

"It's your birthday, so why don't you just let us give you a ride home and show you a good time?" Ben propositioned, obviously insistent that a woman that appeared to be half-sloshed would be less likely to turn him down. "Come on..." Trailing off, a strange look found its way to his eyes when he suddenly realized that he had no idea what her name was.

Merely offering him an impish grin, Alyson slid her chair back and stood up, clutching her rum in her left hand while her right slapped Tyler's hand away. "Propositioning a lady before even getting her name? What kind of a cad are you?" Laughing, she shook her head and moved away from the table, fully intending to angle toward the stranger, whose eyes she'd felt on her throughout the entire evening. Instead, she found that Tyler was a bit more insistent on her remaining, as he snaked a hand up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her back toward him.

"Don't go running off, babe. We're all just friends here." He flashed her a smile that, she imagined, was meant to put her at ease, but merely made her tense in apprehension. "Come here, sit on my lap."

Slightly dazed by the alcohol that was coursing its way through her veins, she allowed him to tug her into his lap. She nearly dropped the bottle, but Ben reached over and peeled it out of her grasp and sat it down on the table before she could really react. "Hey, hands off!" Annoyed, she slapped at the hands that were wandering over her thighs and hips. "I said, get your hands the fuck off of me."

Frustrated, Alyson managed to wiggle off of his lap and landed unceremoniously on the floor at his feet. Unfortunately, she'd managed to knock his beer out of his hand and it clattered onto the ground beside her, spilling its meager contents onto the floor near her hand. "Look what you did now," Tyler hissed as he snatched at her arm, only to jerk it back when he noticed a crazed look in her eyes. "Why don't you keep us company while you finish your bottle of rum. After all, you only have a birthday once a year."

Growling, Alyson launched herself to her feet effortlessly, her green eyes narrowing into black slits as she exposed slightly elongated incisors to the two men. The whole bar was watching by this point, and she could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on her even as she glared down at the two men.

"Should have known you was too cute to be a human, bitch," Tyler muttered as he simply leaned back in his chair and stared up at her with eyes full of resignation. Even then, mutants weren't really well known and had kept to the shadows. But, in a place like Nate's, it wasn't completely out of the question to realize that you had been playing pool for over two hours with an absolute stranger that just happened to be different.

Chest clenching, she slowly lowered her hands to her sides before grabbing her rum and kicking the table over, causing both Ben and Tyler to jump to their feet and curse. "Whoops. Must be drunk, huh?"

But her eyes, which had seemed slightly glazed over from the alcohol before, were clear as day and narrowed in play. Both men gulped as she playfully hissed at them again before walking over toward the bar. Everyone seemed to stare at her as she made her way across the bar languidly, her hips swaying suggestively. Pulling a single bill out of her back pocket, she tossed it on the counter and winked at the bartender before walking out of the bar without a single word.


Curiosity piqued, Victor waited a full minute after the woman's leave to slip out of the booth and follow in her wake. The bar, it seemed, was still in shock as everyone seemed to give him a wary glance as he nodded at the bartender before slipping out into the warm summer air. A single sniff had his amber eyes darting toward the right, searching for his prey. He quickly spotted her walking down the abandoned sidewalk, her boots barely making a sound on the concrete. Yet, even from the distance he could hear her humming, muttering under her breath even.

Stalking after her, a feral grin found its way to his lips slowly. He'd assumed, naturally, that she was a mutant of some sort. But, because of the smell of the alcohol that had clung to her, paired with his slightly buzzed state, he hadn't realized that she was feral. Like him. It had taken a great deal of self-control to refrain from leaping to his feet and ripping the bastards that had taunted her apart, but he had managed. In fact, he found himself rather enjoying the spectacle that she'd put on for him, if only for the fact that it gave him a chance to see what lay ahead.

As if suddenly sensing his presence, the woman slowed and glanced over her shoulder, her honey-colored hair catching in the moonlight. He didn't slow his pace and she only stood there for a moment before picking up her previous pace and continuing along the deserted path. To say that he was enjoying the thrill of the hunt would be an understatement, as he was already aroused to the point where he was annoyed that he was following her at all.

When it seemed as though he would have to make his presence known, she suddenly darted to the right and into an alleyway between two large apartment buildings. He followed quickly, and only caught a glimpse of her leaping a good ten feet into the air and catching the edge of a fire escape, only to shimmy up it in a moment, one-handed. Grinning to himself, he followed, leaping gracefully into the air and landing atop the fire escape easily. A large open window lay before him, and her scent called him inside. Stooping slightly, he slipped inside and found himself face to face with the woman from the bar.

"I don't find stalkers amusing," she muttered, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned back against the counter. The two were standing in what appeared to be a decent-sized kitchen, not that he noticed much more than the fact that she didn't seem surprised to see him. "Is there something that I can help you with?" she sneered.

He let out a low warning growl as his amber eyes trailed her body from head to foot, and back again, lingering slightly at her shapely hips and her well-rounded breasts. While Creed wasn't picky, he preferred a certain type of woman. She fit that qualification to the T. "Heard it's yer birthday," he murmured, his voice dark and throaty.

Brows lifted immediately, but she nodded her head. "I had a feeling that you were watching me, too." She appeared smug as she gracefully hopped up onto the counter, letting her legs dangle down even as she leaned back slightly and propped herself up on her palms. Her sleeveless green shirt, which was quite revealing, seemed to inch up her abdomen slightly, much to his chagrin. "So, do you do this often? Sit around at a mutant-loving bar and wait for some drunk chick to roll through so that you can have easy pickings?" While her voice remained calm, he could smell the uneasiness in her.

"Yer not afraid o' me," he muttered, both confused and infuriated by the realization. He did, however, notice the way she tensed slightly, as if in anticipation of his touch. But, he stayed where he was, letting the breeze coming in from the window wash over him. "Who said I was lookin' fer easy pickins?" he grunted, half amused, half annoyed. Sure, Victor had let himself lose a few of his frustrations in the company of less savory women, but a fuck was a fuck. When he could help it, he did his best to get the pick of the litter. "'Sides, don't see ya throwin' me out, frail."

Lips parted slightly, she gave him a quick once over. "I'm stupid, I ain't that damned stupid. You ain't like most men..." she trailed off, searching fora name. Letting out a soft snort, she shook her head quickly after a short silence. "Okay then, be mysterious. But, as I said, I'm not stupid. But, I hope for your sake that you're not just another fucking moron, because if you are you're in for a rude awakening."

Bushy brows dipped both in annoyance and amusement, he offered her merely a slight inclination of his head. While Creed enjoyed a challenge every now and then, he could already tell that this one would be a pain in the ass. In fact, he found himself wondering if perhaps he should have just set his sights on an easier lay for the evening. After all, it would have saved him a lot of hassle in the end. "Don't worry, woman, Just here fer a fuck." It was said so matter-of-factly that he enjoyed watching the emotions play across her face at his words.

"This isn't some whore house, buddy. So, take your happy ass on back out that window and be on your way." She slid off of the counter and clenched her fists at her sides. He could smell her anger, her frustration, and it made him grin. "Don't smile at me!" she shouted, her voice lowering as she growled at him. "Get out of my Goddamned house, you prick."

He crossed the distance between them in two long-legged bursts, and had her back pinned to the counter in the space of a heart beat. Growling angrily, he used his strength and weight against her. Creed watched with a sick sense of satisfaction as her eyes widened both in shock and fear. "Yer not a very nice host, frail. Not nice at all." A sound rumbled low in his chest as he shoved her against the counter even harder by crushing his hips against hers. That's when he saw the look of arousal cross her features before her eyes hardened.

"I don't think so," she hissed.

Taking him by surprise, she jerked her hands toward his face and he watched as razor sharp claws three-inch claws crept out of her nail beds. A split second later, she had slashed him across his left cheek and even across his chest. Howling, he grabbed both of her small wrists with one taloned hand and held them in place between them. But, to his surprise, she managed to jerk free yet again and claw at his face. Enraged, he raked his taloned hand across her face, slapping her backwards at the same time.

"Don't push me, frail," he warned as she lifted her hand to her face and glared at him. Yet, even as he felt the tingling sensation that signified his wounds were healing, he watched as the shallow gashes across her face healed as well. Stunned, he merely glared at her. Other than the Runt, he'd never seen anyone do anything like that. "Ain't no need to make this uncomfortable," he grunted, mainly because of the way she wiggled against him.

Amusement glinted in her eyes as she retracted her claws and merely stood there, eyeing him silently. "Name's Alyson. Nice t' meet you."

Surprised by the sudden change in her attitude, he eyed her suspiciously. He couldn't figure out what she was trying to play at, and that bothered him. He didn't like surprises. "Victor," he found himself grunting in reply, as if it were expected. For a full minute, they just stood there, each eyeing the other with a half-amused expression. That is, until she broke the silence.

"I don't know if it's the rum talking, but is that a fucking baton in your pants or are you just happy to see me?" A feral grin greeted his eyes as she rolled her hips against his, causing him to growl. Her green eyes darkened as her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, which only caused him to growl yet again, lower this time. "You're feral too, ain't you?" she asked as she rolled her hips in a circular motion, nearly causing him to let out a moan in the process.

Instead he slowly shook his head. She looked young, far younger than he knew he appeared to be. While it was obvious that she had a healing ability, that did not necessarily mean that she had a retarded aging process as well. So, Creed could only assume that she'd never met another feral. "Can ya smell it, woman?" Without waiting to see if she understood the question or even if she would answer, he lowered his head and feasted on her exposed throat.

She cried out in shock and he felt her lift her hands and press them against his chest, but he paid them no mind. Eager and hungry lips trailed over her skin, kissing, suckling, occasionally biting. He couldn't even begin to explain why the mere taste of her skin had him close to panting for more, but he knew that he had to have her. She didn't seem to mind at all when he let his search wander to her cleavage, kissing the tops of her breasts hungrily before trailing his tongue over the small cleft between them.

"Oh, holy fuck," she groaned as he lifted his head and slowly met her eyes. Creed watched her eyes glaze over as he rubbed himself against her, something that she enjoyed just as much as he did. "Yes, yes, I can smell it," she murmured as she rubbed at his chest through his clothing. He was wearing a loose-fitted gray t-shirt over a white wife beater, but it still felt like he was overdressed. He wanted to feel her soft skin against his. "I - I thought that I was the only one," he heard her murmur. "I've met other mutants, but none that are like you..."

While it answered his earlier private question, he merely grunted in reply. At the moment, his thoughts were centered purely around slamming inside of her as quickly as possible. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he found it a bit more difficult than usual to speak. "Who knows how many there are, woman. Could be just us, could be dozens more." Of course, he only knew of himself and the Runt, and Mort if you included the scaly type in the description. But, he didn't know this Alyson and didn't care to know her. "Ain't no reason to make this unenjoyable f' both of us, now is there?" He let his teeth nip on her lower lip before he straightened himself yet again.

She seemed to be contemplating the entire situation, even as her hands began to roam over his chest. He half wanted to feel her claws singing over his flesh, branding him in their own way. Yet, more than anything he wanted to taste her, to trail his tongue over the length of her body and lose himself, if only for a split second of ecstasy, for reasons that he could not explain.

"No, no reason to make this unenjoyable," she echoed, her jade colored eyes narrowing into black slits as she reached behind her and produced her bottle of rum. Victor merely rested his hands on the counter on either side of her as she twisted the top off and then let the rest of the bottle's contents burn a blazing trail down her throat. Slightly impressed, he merely watched the way the muscles in her throat clenched slightly, and had to fight the urge to refrain from ripping her clothes off and slamming her against the refrigerator and sinking himself deep inside of her. But, seconds later, she was tossing the bottle over his shoulder, sending it crashing against the refrigerator that he had contemplated using moments before. A bit of the liquor beaded down her chin and she quickly licked it up. "I've got two requests, Victor."

Eyes narrowed into slits of warning, he gave a low warning growl but still managed to nod his head. "The fuck I care if-" he was cut off as she wrapped her arms around him and managed to wrap both of her legs around his waist at the same time. The feel of her body pressed so intimately against his, even through the layers of clothing, had him panting in need. "What the fuck ever they are, consider 'em fuckin' done."

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear." She purred as she gently trailed her tongue along his exposed jaw line. Nipping gently at the skin near his ear, she slowly drew her head back and met his eyes with a predator's gaze. "Simple enough, really," she iterated her words by pulling her hips away slightly before crushing herself against him again, immediately causing him to dig his taloned fingers into her hips tightly. Merely grinning at him with slightly elongated canines, she purred again. "Gotta get me in the bedroom, big boy."

That seemed simple enough. Without even caring that he didn't know the exact layout of her apartment, he charged through the place, one hand now firmly cupping her ass against him and the other fisting in her hair and pulling her lips to his. There was no gentle probing, but instead a sharp and animalistic clashing of lust and need that surged through the two of them. Even as he plunged his tongue into the depths of her warm and insatiable mouth, he was moving down a long hall that held four doors. He moved forward on scent alone, making his way past a utility room, a bathroom, and an office of sorts before literally kicking in her bedroom door and stepping into the darkness.

No lighting was evident in the room, but the light blaring from the kitchen down the far hall was enough to cast a dull light in the large room. The moment that his booted feet met what appeared to be soft beige carpeting, he lost a great deal of control. Raking his talons over her clothing, he watched with a sense of pride as her shirt came apart in his hands, allowing him to glimpse the black brassiere beneath. "Get me out of these clothes," she whined as she loosened her grip around his waist and let her feet drop to the floor.

Growling, he held his hands at his sides even as she slid her warm hands inside of his t-shirt and tugged at the hem of the wife beater that was tucked inside of his jeans. He recognized the irritation in her eyes as she finally managed to loosen the fabric enough to slide her hand inside of his shirt and against his warm skin. "Not that bad o' a second request," he grunted as she unsheathed her own claws and glared at his clothing. But, he quickly batted her hands away and slid his own shirts off, far from inclined to think of walking out later shirtless. He vaguely recalled that when he'd first spotted her, he'd decided that she would come to him. After all, it was more of a fifty-fifty thing.

They stood there eyeing one another hungrily, both shirtless and breathing rather heavily. Suddenly, she pushed him back so that he was sitting on the bed and she dropped to her knees in front of him. Tugging on his boots, it only took her a moment or two to remove them, as well as his socks. Trailing her hands up his jean-clad calves to his thighs, she grinned wickedly at him. "That wasn't a request, honey. That was a suggestion." While he watched, she made quick work of her own boots and socks, tossing them into the corner of the dim room with a dull thump.

"Come 'ere, ain't done with that suggestion," he grunted as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her onto his lap. Sitting with her knees on either side of his legs, he let himself run his hands over her thighs and hips, even as she retracted her claws and began to run her fingers of his chest. But it was moving too slowly for him, he knew. What little control he'd had was gone, and with each passing minute he only grew more crazed by the feel of her body against his. Growling, he attacked her brassiere with a vengeance, reaching around with one hand and making quick work of the thing so that it fell away from her breasts in one long, slow motion. "Almost there," he grunted, referring to the fact that he still didn't have her quite naked.

But, she was pressing her chest against his and grinding herself against him, causing the straining heat in his pants to only increase with each passing moment. As he was bending his head to explore her breasts, she was pushing him backwards and onto his back. He complied, letting her play the dominating role for a moment as nimble fingers worked at the clasp of his jeans. Soon she was attempting to peel his jeans off, and he lifted his hips to aide in the process. "I don't know why I'm surprised, but I am," she hissed as she pulled the jeans off completely and tossed them across the room, obviously not caring where they landed.

Victor was pleased with himself, even as her hair trailed over his naked flesh invitingly. But, his patience was gone. Surprising her, he grabbed her by the arms and quickly flipped so that she was pressed against the bed and he was kneeling over her, his naked body pinning hers down. "Don't sound so surprised," he growled as he lowered his head and trailed his tongue from her belly button to her breasts. She arched her hips upward and let out a muffled groan. Then she lifted her hands and caught his wrists and placed his hands on the clasp of her jeans. He complied eagerly, breaking the button and ripping the zipper down quickly. She merely stared up at him, waiting, as he slipped his fingers inside the hem of her jeans and tugged them down slowly, his eyes taking in every breathtaking inch of her body.

"Talking 'bout the fact that you weren't wearing anything under them jeans." He heard her groan as he managed to tug her jeans off completely, leaving her only in a pair of black lace panties. Her eyes met his for a moment before he used a talon and merely ripped away the offending object, picking it up with his finger and tossing it off of the bed in a practiced motion. His fingers skimmed over her thighs quickly, easing them open and letting his gaze shift from his prize to her face again. "Victor, I've got another suggestion..." she trailed off as she bucked her hips toward him, making him let out a low growl even as he trailed his fingers lower. "Holy fuck!"

It wasn't common for Victor to actual care if the woman was left as satisfied as he was in the end, as long as he got a decent fuck out of the deal. But, he found himself watching her ride up a wave of euphoria that his touch caused as slipped his finger in and out of her slowly. Her hips bucked against his hand even as she mewed, closing her eyes tightly as she mounted over that crest. "That what y' had in mind?" he asked throatily as she lifted herself up onto her elbows and stared at him with dark eyes.

Without a word, she fisted her hands in his hair and he let her pull him upwards. He wasted a bit of time trailing his tongue over her body, which was already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. But, soon he was bracing his weight on his palms, letting his talons dig into the slightly rumpled comforter as he stared down at her. He was pressed against her intimately, his erection pressing against her damp skin. At the moment he could only think about how good it was going to feel to lose himself in that tight warmth, how her body would clench around him as he took her places she'd never been.

Yet, as he was positioning himself at her entrance, her hand was suddenly clenching his arm tightly. "Victor, second request's being called in." Her voice was a bit anxious, maybe even fearful. Against his own will, he found his eyes meeting hers even as he used one hand to guide himself into her slowly.

"I'm a little busy here, woman," he grunted as he found himself firmly sheathed inside of her, the warm and wet feeling causing him to let out a feral growl that caused his body to vibrate against hers in the most pleasant of ways.

Even as she lifted her hips and wrapped her long and supple legs around him, allowing him to inch further inside of her, dark jade eyes were latched onto his. She opened her mouth to speak, but merely let out a guttural moan, one that caused him to bare his teeth in anxiousness. "Goddamn, that feels good," she purred as he merely stayed sheathed deep inside of her, allowing her body to get used to his rather large size. "Second request," she managed even as her nails raked over his forearms, causing him to growl in response.

He lifted his hips, sliding himself almost all of the way out of her before sliding back in, causing her body to shudder in response. "What?" he hissed out as he started a rhythm that satisfied him, for the moment. There was no gentleness in his touch now, no leisurely care taken to ensure that she was enjoying it. But, she matched his thrusts with equal fervor, causing him to lower his lips to hers despite the fact that usually he kept to fucking and fucking alone.

Lips and tongues colliding in a feverish nature that had him slamming against her with more force and speed than he'd originally intended, but if anything she rose to the occasion. It was animalistic, primal, fitting of the two feral mutants that were both only looking for something physical for an evening. Yet, he was panting as she pulled her lips from his and dug her claws into back, causing him to hiss both in pleasure and pain. "You're out before I wake up in the morning." The words were said so quickly, so hoarsely, that for a moment he did not think they'd come from her mouth. But her eyes, narrowed into dark slits, were focused on his as he continued to slam into her.

He'd never considered staying past sunrise, even if she was turning out to be the best fuck he'd ever had. Her body seemed to have been made for his, and she hadn't even once whimpered as he'd slid inside of her. Most women would have been crying out for a few minutes, even if they were adequately stretched for the larger male. Creed wasn't like the others, needless to say. "Consider it done," he hissed as her hand fisted in his long hair and drew his lips back down to hers.

Yet, as they crested over that wave of ecstasy, together, miraculously, he found himself letting out a loud and guttural cry when she lurched up and sank her teeth into the sensitive skin at the apex of his neck. But, it was just as much a turn on as it was painful. So, he licked his own blood from her lips as he rolled over so that she was on top, in the dominant position.

Eyes glistening with need, despite the fact that they'd both climaxed, she began to ride him hard, slamming against him greedily as her breasts danced in the dim light. "Good, since y' consider it a whore house anyway," she snapped, just moments before she lowered her lips and assaulted his yet again.

For the rest of the early morning hours, no words were spoken between them. Murmurs of consent and pleasure were exchanged as they explored one another's bodies possessively, but they both knew that it went beyond the physical. The sun was rising, filtering in through the large windows, when he rolled out of the bed gracefully and searched for his scattered clothing. It didn't take him long to locate it, though he was a bit disgruntled at the thought of walking out of there shirtless. He couldn't find his shirts anywhere. Amber eyes roamed over the clearly organized room until they rested on a large bureau. An oversized white shirt lay atop it, obviously a nightshirt of hers as it smelled only of her, no other man. Victor slid it on begrudgingly, only slightly surprised when it fit him rather well.

"Happy birthday, frail," he murmured as he let his eyes caress her form yet again. She was sprawled atop the sheets, as they'd finally thrown the comforter off of the bed at some point. Her long, honey brown hair was fanned out around her face gently. Moments ago she had been curled around his body, but she was now simply curled up toward herself. One hand was tucked under her cheek and the other appeared to be reaching across the bed toward him. Feeling unusually protective, Victor found himself draping a thin white sheet over her nude body so gently that she did not even stir. Then again, he had worn her out.

Then, without once looking back, he strolled out of her bedroom and down the long hall that led into the kitchen. He briefly cast a glance toward the shattered remains of the bottle of rum on the floor before climbing out the window and sliding down the fire escape. The city was already coming to life, but nobody noticed as the hulking man slipped out of an alley and onto the main street, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

In the end, the woman had not come to him. He had gone to her, as if by instinct alone. He knew only her name, Alyson, and found that it was more information than he felt comfortable with. She was supposed to have been just another nameless, faceless whore that he could get off on. But, she hadn't been.

"Bitch fucking bit me," he grunted as he lifted his hand, as if possessed, to his neck. He winced slightly in pain when he realized that the wound had not healed, which was completely out of the norm. In fact, he had a feeling that it wouldn't heal. "She deserved mine then," he muttered to himself as he thought back to the bite he had left bleeding on her gorgeous neck.

So, Victor Creed let himself get lost in the wave of anonymity that the large crowd of people offered. He had the card of a interested employer in his pocket, and had every intent on getting the first ride out of town and heading north. He also had every intention on never telling this Magneto fellow about another feral mutant. Alyson just wasn't cut out for the life that he had.

Still was a great fuck, he thought to himself with a snarl.

A/N: Yes, I know, far more mature than my usual style. I've already got the first six chapters of this lovely story complete, as I work on it when I'm stuck on NEM. Feel free to leave your thoughts or comments.