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. Alyson & Vaughn are mine, however, so hands off.
Note: This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There will be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. I'm really glad that there are still readers out there that are following along and enjoying the story. This chapter is sort of a filler, but I promise some action next chapter. Actual action. Not the naughty action.
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.
Without Any Doubts
"Honey, I know." Murmuring soothing words softly, Alyson cupped her son, her sole reason for existing, against her side and attempted to comfort him like only a mother truly could. His body was warm against hers, and she could sense his pulse, his shaky breathing, and smell the salty tears that streamed down his face as he pressed his nose against her wrinkled blouse. "I don't like leaving you, but this is important."
"Nuh uh," he argued with the logic that only a child could ever possess. Bloodshot eyes met hers as Vaughn stared up at her meekly, his face blanched with emotion and tears, his nose already runny. "You ain't gotta go, Mom. Let someone else go."
Smiling warmly, she held him against her with one hand while using the other to rub soothing circles on his back. It had calmed him as a baby, and she'd used the same action to put him to sleep numerous times in the past when he'd been haunted by a bad dream. "Vaughn, when we came to the School, what did I tell you?"
He hesitated for a moment, his dark amber eyes clouding with more tears as he sniffled loudly. "That you work for Mr. Xavier now. And that what he was doin' is important, and you're gonna help."
"That's right," she whispered, her smile never waning. "The Institute isn't big enough for all of the mutants in the world, baby. You've seen what it's like for some of us in the public eye, I've never tried to hide the hard truth in the world from you. Everyday, more and more mutants are forced from their homes, fired from their jobs, exiled from their communities. If it weren't for people like Xavier..." she trailed off, watching as his dark brows vexed in contemplation. The tears had nearly stopped, but she sensed that he wasn't ready to let go. Not quite yet. "Tell me, would you rather I asked someone else, someone that doesn't have my unique set of abilities to go out and face possibly getting hurt?"
He hesitated for a moment, his thin lips drawn into a tight line as his thoughts whirled. "No. Maybe," he muttered, clearly not a fan of the way that her logic seemed to make sense. "But, why can't they send Logan? Or Dad?"
The off-handed way that he referred to his father sent Alyson reeling. Vertigo slammed into her briefly, and she found herself using her own son as an anchor to the real world. Blinking rapidly, she stared down at her own flesh and blood and wondered how on earth she hadn't been able to see all of the similarities between father and son. "I know that both of them are like me, like us," she hastened to add, licking her lips in thought as she stared down at his unwavering gaze. "But, this is my responsibility. I'm the one that's done all of the work, put in all of the long hours. I'm the one that's made the Mutant Underground work so far, Vaughn. I know that right now it seems daunting-"
"You care about people that you don't even know, strangers, more than you care about me!" he accused, ripping away from her forcefully to stare up at her angrily. Vaughn's nostrils flared, startling her yet again. "You think I dunno, but I do, Mom, I do! I smell the blood when you come in, can hear you in pain when you run into trouble. I know you don't wanna worry me, but you do! You're my Mom. Mine."
Dumbfounded, Alyson could only stare down at the life that she'd brought into the world, wondering just when her little boy had transformed into a young man. He was only ten, and already he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Mentally, she felt broken, and she ached inside. Could she have done something differently, taken a different path? Maybe if she hadn't joined the X-Men, she would have saved her son the obvious pain and torment that she had put him through. Maybe.
Lips trembling, Alyson pulled her son against her side, ignorant of the feeble resistance he put up as she did so. Eyes closed, she let his scent fill her nostrils, let the feel of his damp face against her wrinkled shirt etch itself into her mind. Mentally, she felt as old and as wise as her boss. And yet physically, she appeared to be Rogue's age, perhaps a few years older. The contradiction left her feeling both ageless and yet still somehow entirely too young to deal with a son of her own.
"I never knew you felt this way," Alyson struggled to get the words out, fighting to hold back the tears that peppered her lashes. "I don't do it to worry you, honey. The only reason I ever tried to keep my injuries hidden from you is because that I can heal. You know that, I know that. So, why should I have worried you?" she demanded softly, her hand lightly trailing through his unruly hair. "Is that why you don't want me to go? Because I hide the after effects from you?"
Alyson had never completely sheltered Vaughn, not even as a young child. She'd explained the situation between his father and herself as soon as the boy began to ask questions, and she'd even done her best to track down photos of the man that had given her the greatest gift any woman could ever ask for. She had explained that Vaughn was a mutant, had held his hand as he watched his own broken leg heal before his own eyes, oblivious to the pain. She had even helped him to understand his own claws, so like her own. Vaughn was interested in so many things, and she had always encouraged his interest in martial arts, hockey, and his clear interest in shadowing Logan everywhere.
And yet, she had clearly kept a number of things hidden from her son. Or, at least, she had tried.
And failed miserably.
"What if one of these times you don't come back?" Vaughn asked suddenly, breaking the quiet reverie that had trapped Alyson in her own thoughts. "What if you don't come back and I'm all alone, Mom? I- I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't know what I would do," he whispered, eyes pleading with her as he stared up at her, eyes as wide as saucers. "Please, Mom."
Briefly, when Alyson had discovered she was pregnant, she had considered giving the child up for adoption. She'd never considered an abortion, simply because it didn't seem fair to blame an innocent party for her own carelessness. But, then she'd thought about her own parents, how they had loved her regardless of her differences, how they had always provided a warm and loving home for her despite the fact that the outside world hated her for what she was. Even if she had to raise her son alone, she'd decided when he was just a budding growth inside of her that she would do everything that she could to give him the life that he deserved.
Have I failed? she couldn't help but wonder to herself.
"Vaughn, I..." she trailed off, emotion filling her voice. Tears bridled in her eyes and she blinked them away quickly, knowing that crying would certainly not ease the worry that had filled her boy's heart. "Honey, do you honestly think that I would ever intentionally place myself in a position where I could be in harm's way? Do you think a single day has gone by when I haven't found myself blessed to be your mother? God, baby," she knew that he could probably smell her frustration, her guilt. "I love you more than anything else in this world, honestly, I do." But, was it enough? Would it ever be enough?
"So," he drew the word out, his tear-stained face filled with a mixture of both hope and dread. "So, does that mean that no matter what I say, you're still going to go out, you're still going to help Mr. Xavier?" his voice was clipped, shaky, and for a moment he looked more like the little boy she'd tucked into bed every night than the near-teenager that had already started his rebellious stage. "Just like that? No matter what I want?"
An ache filled her chest, swallowed up her heart and lungs and clamped down on her throat as she stared down at the miracle that she had helped to create. She had always put him first, always. But, this time, and only this time, something more was at state. If she wanted to help make the world a better place for mutants, then she would have to accept that her son would still love her no matter what decisions she would come to make.
Slowly, she nodded her head, her fingers curling through his shaggy hair. "I have a responsibility, honey. I gave Mr. Xavier my word, and I've put a lot of time and effort into this program. I enjoy what I do, and there are so many mutants out there, even little boys and girls like you, that rely on what I'm doing to simply exist. So many people need the support, need the safety, and if I don't do it, who will?" Alyson let the question hang into the air, hoping that her son would come to his senses and accept her need to be a part of the Mutant Underground.
"Mom?" he whispered quietly, his long black lashes fluttering as he blinked away tears that she knew he did not want to fall.
Smiling, she rubbed her fingers through his tawny hair, soothing him with her comforting touch. "Yeah babe?"
"Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter how many people need you," he sucked in a deep breath and she heard his pulse rate pick up as he stared up at her, amber eyes narrowed into predatory slits. "Promise me that no matter what, you're always gonna come home, Momma. Please, promise me," he urged, his voice growing huskier with every word.
Tears peppered her lashes as she blinked, her green eyes piercing his as she sought wisdom, searched for a way to properly portray the depths of her love to her own child. Throat choked with emotion, she nodded her head jerkily, lips trembling. "No matter what, baby, no matter what," she assured him, hugging him close to her yet again as she inhaled his scent, praying to a God that she didn't truly believe in that she wasn't lying to her baby.
His dark eyes seemed to consider her for a moment, seemed to pierce straight through her green orbs and right into her soul. A number of long, strained moments passed, time ticked away slowly as she waited to hear the single, simple word that assured her that, somehow, everything would be fine.
"Yer tryin' to tell me that it don't bother ya?"
Logan stared up at the man that towered over him, his dark brows vexed as he rolled the unlit cigar around in his mouth thoughtfully. "Why would it?" he grunted in response, squaring his shoulders in an obviously defensive stance as he craned his neck in order to look down the hallway at the approaching figures. A long moment of silence passed between the two men, one that was interrupted only by the sound of distant footfalls.
While Logan watched the figures approach, Victor took a moment to stare down at the shorter man, a knowing look in his eyes. The Sabretooth was gifted with enhanced senses, senses that made him even more aware of the conflicting emotions that warred inside of his former friend. A knowing smile curled his lips for a split second before his features went blank, his body stiffening in response to the scent that approached him at a calm and leisurely pace.
He fought the urge to look at her, to take in the shape of her body in the dark wash jeans, the long-sleeved white shirt with the plunging neckline, the way that her jeans were tucked into her knee-high boots, and even the way that her leather jacket attempted to mask her femininity. Yet, his eyes trailed over her slowly, taking in everything and filing it away so that he could go over it in his mind at a later time.
"Well, looks like we got us uh little goin' away parteh, Al." Victor's eyes swept over to the young woman next to his frail, features stoic as he took the sight of the mutant in. He remembered her, of course, had been part of the group of mutants that had taken her hostage in order to see Magneto's dream come to light. Tendrils of platinum locks of hair framed her soft face, and a slight stab of guilt hit him low in the gut when he considered just how far he had been willing to go in order to see Magneto's vision fulfilled. "Ah reckon y'all are just gonna stand there and stare?" she asked, gloved hands dropping to her hips as she cocked her head to the side in a most sassy manner.
The man beside him shifted slightly, and Victor could sense a number of conflicting emotions swirling through the Runt. His first thought was to comment, to torment the man as he had so many times before throughout their decades together. Instead, he found his gaze unwillingly drawn to the woman that had made him question so many things.
Her honey-colored hair was pulled back in yet another french braid, and it fell down her back and nearly reached her ass. Her scent, not overpowered by unnatural additives like most women, smelled floral, almost like jasmine. Momentarily, he wondered what she would look like beneath him, wondered if her hair would fan out underneath her as he drove her body into the mattress.
"Doesn't really surprise me, Rogue," his frail's voice was warm, husky, and did things to his body that he would never admit to a single soul. "Is the Suburban ready, Logan?" she directed her question to the shorter man beside him, leaving Victor to merely glare.
Logan nodded his head slowly, reaching up and quickly removing the unlit cigar from between his lips so that he could talk without any sort of interference. "Fueled, clean, cooler in the back," he retorted with a snort, shaking his head at the same time. Clearly, Victor wasn't the only one that didn't like the idea of the two women venturing off into parts unknown to spread word of the old man's dream. "Rogue."
Alyson seemed to sense that the man needed a moment alone with her partner, and she stiffened slightly as Victor turned on his heel and continued down the hallway, leaving Logan and Rogue to chat quietly off to the side. Silence reigned between them as he forced her to walk behind him, not beside him, as he led her to the large and state of the art garage.
The overhead lights were bright, illuminating the pristine showroom sized garage perfectly. Clearly whoever was in charge of the area, likely that geek Cyclops, took great care of the automobiles. Vehicles ranging from aged shop class cadavers to sports cars that cost more than the average man in America made in two years. Logan, with Victor's supervision, had fueled a large black Suburban that had already been pulled in front of the large overhead door, clearly ready to exit the garage and into the darkening night.
He heard her shuffle from foot to foot, but refused to look at her as he hoisted a hip onto the hood of a late model Corvette, his booted feet scuffing against the freshly swept concrete floor. "Got everythin'?" he asked quietly, eyes focused on the Suburban instead of the woman that stood close enough to him that he could probably see every pore on her face.
She nodded, forcing him to look over at her as he heard the faint shift in the air, the subtle sound caused by her movements. Her dark green eyes were locked onto his, searching, as he snarled at her. "Vaughn's already tucked in, and he should probably sleep through the night," she began, startling him with the direction of the conversation. "He's a little upset that I'm going but-"
"Why are ya goin'?" he asked gruffly, sounding like he was talking through a mouthful of gravel. "Some stupid shit if'n you ask me."
"Luckily, I didn't ask you." She hissed in warning, the sound echoing in the cavernous garage as she crossed a portion of the short distance between them. "You and I both know why I do this, why I'm going out there tonight. I know you're not completely ignorant, Creed. You've at least seen some of what the MRA, those scumbag FoH bastards have done. The entire world's in utter disarray, and if not for the people like Xavier, where would the not so fortunate mutants be?"
He didn't answer her; he didn't have to answer her. Instead, he merely stared at her, wondering why he had been drawn to her in the first place. She was probably the first woman that he'd ever shared any actual post-coital bliss with. Other than Raven, who'd always liked things as rough and primal as he could muster, had never been able to give back as much as she got. But, not Alyson. No, she was like him.
And it was unnerving.
"I can smell it, you know," she spoked suddenly, her voice laced with at least a hint of intrigue. Her boots clacked against the concrete quietly as she approached him, her dark green eyes narrowed into dark slits as she sized him up like a greedy wolf looking to devour its first kill of the evening. "Sooner or later, we're going to have to come to a decision about all of this, and I'm not looking forward to it," she paused, her eyes encompassing him slowly as she shook her head, her long braid falling over her shoulder. "We don't make sense, but I don't know if we're going to be able to bury this- this thing between us."
Victor didn't like that she was talking sense, that her words seemed to echo what he had been thinking since first realizing that she was part of the deal that he had struck with Charles Xavier via telephone many months ago. It didn't sit well with him, as he suspected that the old man had something to do with it all, that he'd played his hand as a telepathic god in order to draw the two feral mutants together. It was conniving, and had it been any other person, he might have written it off as coincidence. But, something told him that Xavier's preaching, his very decision to bring the infamous Sabretooth into his X-Men, had something to do with the very woman that had somehow changed the animal inside the beastly man.
Slowly, he cocked his head to the side, his nostrils flaring. He had no doubt that she could smell his intent, could detect the fine shift in his pheremones. But, he couldn't care less. Her scent changed slightly, and he could almost taste the budding intrigue that was building inside of her, the curiosity that made her mouth go dry. "Woman, I done explained things. I ain't goin' nowhere," he growled, reaching forward and cupping the back of her head with his oversized hand.
Her hair was soft as silk and remained perfectly in place as he forced her to look up at him, forced her to look him in the eye. He detected a faint hint of annoyance, perhaps a bit of fear, but he paid neither any mind.
"It will never work out," she insisted, her voice carrying a pleading note that did not suit her at all. "You're- you're what you are, Victor." His name sounded so Goddamned hot rolling off of her tongue that he nearly growled, but instead he shifted himself so that she could actually feel the evidence of his budding interest. Those green eyes widened slightly, but she did not push away from him as he settled her between his thighs, the apex of their bodies filling with heat as they stood there, alone in the pristine garage. "We're too different. You kill- You've killed for reasons as simple as cash. You nearly killed my closest friends on numerous occasions. What in the hell makes you think that I could ever look past that?"
The question hung in the air like a foul stench as he contemplated her words, inhaled the emotions that seeped from her in thick, heavy wafts. He didn't like that she could make him feel remorse, that she could make him question the terrible acts that he had committed in the past. It was bad enough that he already had problems accepting that he was changing, that he had changed. Knowing, or at least suspecting, that she had played a role in that shift was unsettling.
"I ain't expectin' no miracle," he replied gruffly, his hold on her loosening slightly. Like the night that had brought them together so many years ago, he suddenly wanted her to be the one to come to him. He'd already laid his claim, and she would learn to accept it. "I'm an animal, frail. I know it. But ain't all o' us as lucky as you are."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Viciously, she ripped herself away from him, her long braided hair whipping about behind her like a dangerous noose. He watched as Alyson squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes, her weight shifting so that she stood on the balls of her feet. No doubt ready to pounce. "I'm nothing like you, Creed. Nothing."
"Oh yeah?" he responded, a brow uplifted. He chuckled, more for her benefit than for his own, as inside he felt like he was being ripped in two. "Yer just like me, woman. Just like me. Y' get up in the mornin', ya roll over, and yer instantly aware of yer surroundin's. Ain't no momentary bliss like th' rest of them saps. Y' smell food cookin' a floor down, y' smell some kid wanderin' by that just showered, but put on dirty jeans. Where th' fuck do you get off telling me that we ain't nothin' alike? Are ya fucking serious?"
Her face was flushed, her eyes more like a cat's than a human. He knew if he looked down, looked at her hands, that he would see razor sharp, three-inch nails protruding from her nail beds. "We're feral, Victor. We're both mutants. But, that's where the similarities end. That's-
"Vaughn," he interrupted fiercely, a frightening growl vibrating through his body. "Y' forgot about Vaughn."
For a moment, she looked frozen in time, like the world had stopped spinning. But, then he watched, in slow motion, as the emotions races across her face. Alyson went from confused to disbelieving to, finally, enraged.
"You know what, Creed?" she demanded, her voice so low that a normal man likely wouldn't have heard her. But, Victor could hear her; knew that she was well aware that he could hear her. Wordlessly, she walked past him, edging around him so that their bodies didn't brush in any way. "You can't waltz in here and decide that you're going to wedge yourself into our lives. Life doesn't work that way. It just doesn't." Her eyes had returned to normal by the time that she paused, her gaze locked onto his.
He debated on dragging her back toward him, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling it out of its restraints. She'd put up one hell of a fight, no doubt, probably ruin his shirt and get him in one hell of a bad mood. But he knew, could almost smell, that if he got close enough that she wouldn't be able to refuse. She wouldn't be able to resist.
Instead, he restrained himself. Using every single ounce of willpower that he possessed, he remained rooted in place, his features completely impassive. The sound of the door that connected the garage to the main house opening did not jar him, and he remained in the same place as Rogue and Logan crossed the garage together.
The tension in the air was thick as the Runt came to stand beside him, the sound of his slightly elevated inhaling distracted Victor from the scents that clung to the shorter man. "Reckon I missed the show, Creed," Logan muttered, no doubt attempting to get a rise from the larger man.
Without a word, Victor turned on his heel and stalked toward the door, refusing to look over his shoulder as Alyson climbed into the driver's side of the Suburban. He knew that she was standing on the railing, one hand on top of the vehicle and the other braced on the open door as she watched his retreating back. But, he refused to acknowledge her, refused to acknowledge that he'd even heard her last words.
He waited until he was back inside, the aged and polished wood floor beneath his big booted feet, before he paused and really listened. The sound of the Suburban starting and exiting the garage caused him to nearly put a passing student's head through the wall, but he managed to remain completely impassive even when Logan passed by him and ascended the stairs.
They had time. They had all of the time in the world if her healing ability was anything like his.
Victor Creed was an animal, a predator. He could certainly wait for his prey to weaken before pouncing. If she didn't see things his way, then he would make her. He would make her see his way of thinking until she screamed his name.
All night long.
A/N: Sorry for any errors. Still doing this all without a beta so any mistakes... Are all mine.