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Blood is Forever - Logan/Victor Creed

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Time went on forever when you were imprisoned.

Logan had been sitting in his cell for half of eternity, if his perception could be trusted. There was light from a single bulb on the ceiling. Three walls and a row of bars. A lot of space, not that it mattered, because he was bolted to the back wall. That psychotic fucker knew about his adamantium claws, knew how to work around them. His arms were spread wide; thick manacles bolted them into reinforced concrete. If he unsheathed his claws, the worst he could do was tap them back against the wall.

It was the leg spreader bar that bothered him the most, though. That had implications that didn’t bear thinking about. At least he had his pants on. His shirt was in tatters from the other mutant’s claws—not long knives like his own, but lion’s claws coming out of his fingertips. So far, he’d been alone. Thirst was his constant companion.

He was jarred out of a half-doze by the scrape of a heavy door. His heart thundered in his chest. A tall mutant in a black trench coat came into view outside his cell. The man trailed those feline claws over the bars, his steps slow, his switchblade grey eyes focused on Logan like he was the only thing in this world.

Again, that sense of something critical he’d forgotten. A shadow on the other side of frosted glass.

The man opened the cell door. It wasn’t even locked. Which made sense, if he knew Logan’s claws could cut through steel like butter. He stalked forward until he was just outside of kicking distance and crouched to one knee. His brunette hair was close-cropped, and continued down his jaw in sideburns that ended at his chin. Logan’s own style, but shorter. The intensity in his stare raised the hair on Logan’s neck. His scent bore traces of blood and sweat. Familiar blood.

“You know me.”

It was more of a statement than a question. Might’ve even been an order.

“Not really,” Logan said, more casually than he felt.

“You know my name.”

Christ, this guy was a creeper. His whole vibe filled the room with a sick, twisting edge.

“Can’t say as I do.”

The man dropped to his hands and crawled forward. His motion was liquid grace; the stalk of a tiger. As soon as his chin was over the spreader bar, Logan kicked his legs upward, intending to break the bar across his jaw. But the mutant ducked around it with ease, slid up between Logan’s thighs with the bar behind him, and a savage grin split his face. His canines were twice normal length. Sharp like a predator’s.

“Cute, Jimmy.”

A pet name, already. Fucking great. “Fuck you, bub.”

“Soon,” the mutant rumbled, and Logan realized what a dumbshit he’d been, to say that. “But I really,” he trailed the back of a claw across Logan’s throat, “really wanna hear you say my name, first.”

“Your boss lose hold ‘a your leash, asshole?” This mutant was military, or at least, he had been. He’d thought the whole mission had been to get hold of the vampires who were crossing into this world, run experiments on ‘em, and use what they found to subjugate the mutant population. But it seemed this crazy fuck was off on his own tangent, now.

“Ain’t got a boss. Took that fucker’s head off when he said I couldn’t have you.” The smile sharpened; with the way his eyes simultaneously went soft with something like affection, the whole effect was playing havoc on Logan’s insides.

“Y’know you’re creepy as fuck.”

The man chuckled indulgently. Fucking asshole.

“I can be.”

His forehead knotted. It was an oddly familiar expression, like one Logan had seen in the mirror before. A shiver went down the back of his neck. Claws traced, feather-light, through the hair on his chest.

“I know you remember somethin’. Saw it in your eyes, back at the truck stop. I left you alone for a long time, Jimmy. Knew you’d forgotten me, an’ I couldn’t deal with that.” His lips curled into a twisted smile, and he lifted his hand to stroke the fur on Logan’s jaw. His hand smelled like blood. “But then I seen that look in your eye, and it kept me awake at night.”

He leaned in close. So close, his breath puffed across Logan’s face. His breath smelled like blood, too, and the aftertaste of someone else’s terror all mixed in with it. The scent brought a gruesome image to Logan’s mind, of the other man perched on some poor fucker’s body like a hyena, with living entrails spilling out of his mouth. Except it wasn’t just some poor fucker he smelled like; it was Devyn’s scent on his breath. Which meant the young man hadn’t gotten away, and had been under this mutant’s thumb for who the fuck knew how long. Logan’s heart sank through the floor.

It ain’t over yet, he reminded himself. They still had people on the outside.

“My name,” the man said to him, “is Victor Creed.” Those gray eyes bored into his, searching. But the words meant nothing to Logan, and he saw that. He snarled and pulled Logan’s head back by the hair.

“See? You see? This is why I never came for you. This is why I tried to forget you.” While he spoke, he dipped his face into Logan’s neck, nuzzled into his pulse point with a disturbing desperation. He let out a low groan and opened his mouth, closed it over the meat of Logan’s neck. Not biting. Just holding him in his mouth. Tingles shot down Logan’s arms.

Who do you think I am to you?” He hadn’t meant his voice to be a whisper. At the sound of it Victor nudged closer, crotch pressing against him now, way too intimate. His forehead pushed into Logan’s neck, rooting into him, both hands in his hair, holding him in place.

“You’re my brother,” he confessed into the hollow of Logan’s throat. “My baby brother.”

Logan’s stomach doubled over on itself. Not because the guy was crazy as a shithouse rat—and he was, no denying it—but because there was that sense-memory he hadn’t been able to catch hold of. That flicker of recognition. And maybe Victor smelled it on him, because he started sniffing Logan’s neck like a dog, and soft wetness swiped along his jugular. He snarled and jerked his head away.

Tell me you remember this, Jimmy,” the man whispered, and it was too intimate, too fucking much.

“That ain’t my fuckin’ name!” He bucked, and Victor rode the movement, never losing contact with him.

“Yeah it is. James Howlett. That’s your real name. You picked up ‘Logan’ from our old man. It was his last name.”

“Our.” It seemed the guy had an elaborate history built for them.

“Ya got a real sick brain, Vickie.” That finally got through the other man’s disturbing calm—though he probably shoulda stayed quiet. Ten razor-sharp claws gouged through the skin of his face, scalp, and neck. He yelled in furious pain.

“Don’t you fuckin’ call me that,” Victor snarled. His claws flexed, then dragged down a half-inch. Blood spilled over Logan’s left eye and down his neck. Victor crowded in close, held his head with one clawed hand while the other stroked the wounds he had made. His tongue rasped over the ragged flesh as it knitted together. “You always called me Victor. You were screamin’ ‘Victor’ the first time I fucked you, when you were just thirteen, and fer a good eighty years after that. So that’s what you’re gonna fuckin’ call me. You understand me?”

Holy fucking Christ on crutches, I am so fucking fucked. And he knew the other mutant could smell the fear on his skin, could probably even hear the way his heart was pounding; it was so loud in his own head, probably anyone in a ten mile radius could hear it.

He swallowed, hard. Tried to keep his voice calm.

“Alright. Victor.”

The claws all pulled out of his skin at once. He sagged in relief. Victor leaned back and cupped his face in both palms, looked into his eyes, searching.

“Say it again.” There was so much longing in that one sentence, it flayed at his nerves.

“Let me down and I’ll say anything you want.”

The man smiled, but there was no pleasure in it. “You know that ain’t how this is gonna go.”

“What, then? You gonna keep me here til I die of boredom?”

Victor’s hands went to Logan’s belt buckle. “You bored, Jimmy?”

He reared back, lifting his hips off the ground. “Bad choice o’ words,” he grunted. “Alright. What the hell d’ya want from me? I know you have Devyn. I can smell him on you. You wanna make a deal, Victor, tell me what it’s gonna take to get him an’ me outta here. I can pay your price.”

Victor grinned, a truly amused smile this time, and all the worse for it. “You’re jumpin’ the gun, little brother. The big boys play first. We always save the pretty little ones for dessert.”

Logan’s heart curdled in his chest as he imagined what Victor intended by that statement. The man leaned over him, blocking out the light. “We can share him, later on. You an’ me, Jimmy. Just like old times. Make that little whore bleed until he can’t take any more.” His hips rocked forward as he spoke, and Logan was disgusted to feel the man’s hard cock rub up against his own crotch through their pants.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed.

“That don’t even enter into it,” Victor chuckled. “Just you an’ me here.” He dipped down to bite Logan’s neck. His fangs broke the skin. Logan yelled; Victor groaned and released him.

“Fuuuuck, I missed you.” His hands were back at Logan’s belt. He didn’t even try to unbuckle it, just shredded the leather like it was made of paper.

“You know how many people I killed, fuckin’ ‘em?” He looked up into Logan’s eyes as his claws worked at the sides of Logan’s jeans, ripping through the fabric. “I’m not really sure. A dozen, maybe. They all bleed so easy. But you always healed up, no matter what we did to each other.”

Logan couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. This was beyond insane. “You seriously want me to believe I hung around and let you fuckin’ rape me when I was a kid? You’re so full of sh—AAH!” His words became a scream; his claws shot impotently out of his fists as Victor’s claws dug into his outer thighs and slashed downward, shredding his pants and taking chunks of flesh with them.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ say that! I NEVER raped you, Jimmy!” He was truly angry at the accusation, like it offended him to the core. “Never! I was good to you! I looked out for you!” He stroked his hands up Logan’s bloody flanks, and his face softened, went melancholy.

“We always played rough. Cuz we both heal up. Look.”

He reached up one claw and dragged it down the side of his own face. The skin split open and bled, but it closed right after his claw, like a zipper being drawn.

That, more than anything, got under Logan’s skin. Brotherhood and war.

War and blood.

Victor Creed.

The name was just noise; it held no memories. But the scent...the eyes...

Victor’s mouth came down on his, unexpected. He swiped his tongue inside briefly, but withdrew an instant before Logan’s teeth snapped together. He tutted and nipped at Logan’s upper lip. His sharp canine left a hot, stinging cut behind it.

“I’m gonna help you remember,” he murmured, and gripped Logan’s thighs, which were already healed. “Gonna show you how well I know you. Inside and out.” His clawed fingertips pressed into the sensitive curve where Logan’s ass met his thighs, and Logan jumped. Victor peeled the front of his pants away, and Logan couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so exposed as when Victor’s eyes roamed over his spread-open crotch. He shifted his legs, and it only served to show him how very helpless he was, just wriggling like a fish on a hook.

Victor’s hands started at the inside of his knees and ran up his inner thighs, fingers pushing through thick body hair. Just as his thumbs reached the juncture of Logan’s legs, he flexed his claws inward and broke flesh along his hips.

Logan’s whole body tensed up. And Victor did it again, stroked all the way down the outside of his thighs and back up the inside until he was almost touching his balls, and his claws dug in. He squeezed Logan’s hips tightly and jerked his claws down, twice. Just a fraction of a movement, but Logan’s hips bucked upward at the sharp, teasing pain.

“You’re getting hard, little brother,” Victor purred.

“Fuck...don’t...don’t call me that.” His voice was breathless.

“But it’s the truth. Lotta people don’t like the truth. But we’re not like them. We can take whatever this shit world can dish out, and still come out on top.” As he spoke, he traced his claws up Logan’s sides, around his back. He buried his face in Logan’s neck and bit. At the same time, his claws dug into Logan’s upper back, where muscle met spine, and slashed outward.

Logan bucked and screamed. A wet hand stroked over his lower belly, smearing blood through the dark curls. Lust rose from Victor’s body, so musky and masculine, so goddamned familiar. The wounds on his back went from hot fire to a dull tingle, but the heady scent of blood burned his nose, and that touch on his belly was making his dick flex and swell...

“You want me to help you take care of that? Little brother,” Victor added, his eyes dark with humor.

“Fuck off,” Logan grunted.

Victor hummed in mock disappointment, but underneath that, Logan thought there was real disappointment. A wet thumb pressed between his lips, left a smear of blood inside his mouth and withdrew. Logan rolled the flavor of blood into his mouth without thinking.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” Victor leaned down, smiling, and he shoulda known better than to try and kiss Logan again. Logan’s teeth locked down on his lower lip, and when Victor just shoved hard against him, his own pants still on and his hard cock dry humping his ass through them, Logan bit down until his teeth clicked together.

The scream Victor let out didn’t sound human. It was that mountain-lion sound, raw and wild. Victor pulled back, and he was laughing, with blood between his teeth, running down his chin, and a chunk missing from his bottom lip. He rutted his hips forward, the rough denim of his black pants scratching behind Logan’s balls in a way that felt so good, it had to be the adrenaline.

Victor ground his hips upward, pushed Logan’s hips down with claws sinking into his skin. Logan almost spat the chunk of flesh into Victor’s face, but instead he held eye contact with the psychotic bastard, and swallowed it. That made Victor’s bloody grin even bigger. His lip was already growing back.

“Anything you put near my mouth’s gettin’ the same treatment,” Logan snarled.

Victor’s wicked grin softened, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Logan’s.

“Wouldn’t do that to ya, Jimmy. Wouldn’t ever take you when you didn’t want it.”

“Hate to break it to ya, pal, but me bein’ tied up don’t go too well with what you’re sayin’.”

Victor pulled back. He actually looked surprised. But then his brow smoothed out into that expression of cunning humor, and Logan knew he was being toyed with.

“But you do want it,” he said, as if this was obvious and Logan was being obtuse. He ran the back of his finger across the erection that Logan had been studiously ignoring, from base to tip. The touch earned a shiver, and a smile darkened Victor’s eyes.

“Your body remembers,” he murmured. He stroked the back of a claw along the engorged flesh, feather-light. Logan didn’t want to acknowledge the touch, didn’t want it to do what it was doing to him. His breaths had become shuddery. He tried to remind himself this psychopath had Devyn somewhere, that he smelled of Devyn’s blood. But instead of turning him off, a twisted, dark part of him—a part that he didn’t much like to think about at the best of times—flashed him an image of his lover’s scar-striped body bent in submission, ass in the air and covered in claw marks. The rush of shame and self-loathing which followed that image fed a rush of blood to the surface of his skin, amplified every sensation.

Victor dipped his nose into his armpit and licked the dense hair. It should have disgusted him, not make his cock start leaking. The man’s mouth opened wide and his tongue swiped through the sweaty pit, and he was touching close to Logan’s dick, but not actually on it, and the light touches and bestial snuffling under his arm made him feel like he was coming out of his skin. He was rock-hard, and sweating, sick inside, and he wanted release—one way or another.

“You gonna finish this or you gonna keep fuckin’ around?”

Victor chuckled, breath tickling his underarm. “You askin’ me to help you finish?”

“What’d I just say?”

Which wasn’t a “yes,” but it was the best he was willing to give, under the circumstances.

It wasn’t enough. Victor took his chin in hand and claws dug through the fur on his jaw. His other hand kept stroking light touches through Logan’s pubic hair, and if he got any harder he’d be able to stab Victor with his dick.

“I want you to tell me what you want. Do you want me to help you finish?”

Logan’s entire chest and neck felt hot; he was pretty sure his face was red. The air shivered between the engorged skin of his dick and Victor’s stroking hand. So close. Just a breath away from touching him where he really needed it. That stroking hand, that smelled of Devyn’s blood.

Fuck off,” he snarled.

The hint of a smile dropped off Victor’s face, and he smacked Logan’s cheek with an open palm.

“You’re such a stubborn shit,” he said. He curled down over Logan’s belly, and Logan writhed back into the wall, but there was nowhere for him to go. Victor’s facial hair tickled the head of his cock, then ran down the side of it, deliberately brushing the overheated skin so lightly it was going to make him insane. Lips touched the sharp plane of his hip bone. A tongue traced through the fur at the juncture of his hip and thigh. Breath tickled his pubes, heat radiated from the mouth so close to his dick, all of it rubbed his nerves raw and left them throbbing. He shot his claws out of his fists, wanting the pain to distract him, but it just woke up more nerves inside of him—just made it worse.

Victor licked and nipped up his lower belly to his belly button, swirled his tongue inside it, and his scratchy chin was teasing the head of Logan’s cock. He tilted his hips up, tried to be subtle but the fucker knew exactly what he was doing and pulled back to look at him.

“That looks really uncomfortable,” Victor said, with a tilt of his head toward Logan’s straining boner.

“Shit,” Logan groaned.

“Want me to do somethin’ about it?”

And this time, something deep inside of him knew the answer was going to be “yes.” He could stand up under torture, but this was something else. Something he didn’t have it in him to resist.

“Want me to help you cum?” The heat of a palm, so close to his engorged cock that if he flexed, he could smack up against it.

“Hnnngh,” he groaned. His traitor hips rocked upward, tried to push his cock into Victor’s palm, but the hand withdrew with barely a brush against him. Just that instant of contact made his skin shudder.

“Uh-uh,” Victor chided him. “Ain’t gonna help ya, if ya don’t want it.”

Fuck!” Logan yelled. “Fucking jerk me off, you fuckin’ asshole!”

Victor groaned, the pent-up sound gusting out of him as he surged forward and wrapped his hand around Logan’s dick, choking it tight. Logan let out a deep moan and thrust into the grip.

Victor knelt between his legs, so Logan was spread over his thighs. Claws dug into his hip and pushed him down, held him in place as Victor’s hand went to work on him. It was beyond good. It was like the man knew every single thing he liked. Victor jerked him off like an extension of his own hand, squeezed to the point of pain, pinched just where he liked it, twisted exactly the right way to make him moan, and he was gonna shoot, he was gonna cum all over this psychotic motherfucker’s expensive leather trench coat—

“AH! Fuck! FUCK!”

Victor’s hand had clamped down over the base of his cock, cutting off his impending orgasm.

“Not yet,” Victor said. His breath was labored; his eyes glittered with predatory hunger. He undid his own pants while holding Logan’s cock in that vise grip, and pulled himself out. He made his hand into a ring around the base of Logan’s cock, choking him tight, and rubbed their dicks together. The hot, silky flesh felt entirely too good. A low groan shuddered out of Logan’s chest.

“You’re such a piece of shit.”

Victor just laughed. “You can’t have all the fun, Jimmy.”

That’s not my name, Logan thought, but he didn’t bother to say it. His skin was on fire and he was just short of begging. Victor got out from beneath his legs so his bare ass settled back down on the icy floor. Victor readjusted so he could bend down, so his face was right next to Logan’s cock. His tongue came out and licked along the hooded crown. A wavering groan came up out of Logan’s chest. But then Victor spat on his fingers, and they slipped between Logan’s legs, pressed up against his exposed, hairy hole.

He clenched his stomach, pulled up away from that touch.

“NO, no fuckin’ way,” he barked out.

Victor snaked an arm around his thigh and pulled him back down. His forehead creased. “Settle down, Jimmy. Ain’t gonna fuck ya our first time back together. I just wanna give you a little somethin’ special while I suck you off.”

A brittle laugh came out of Logan’s chest. “Right. With those claws?”

Victor held up his hand, let Logan see the claws retract until they barely curved past his fingertips. “Soft as kitten paws,” he purred. “You always loved this. Just relax.”

“Not gonna happen, pal, alright, just get those things away from my ass—oh, fuck.” His head rocked back as Victor’s mouth closed around the side of his cock, sucking him hard. The man’s rough palm swiped over his cockhead; he grabbed the foreskin and pinched, tugged on it. An embarrassing sound corkscrewed out of Logan’s throat. He thrust up against the wet heat of Victor’s mouth, was rewarded with friction, and when the fingers pressed against his asshole again he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

It was just one finger, at first. He hyper focused on the odd, humped shape of Victor’s fingernail as it pushed past his opening. It drove into him slow and careful. Being fucked with a razorblade had never been on his bucket list, but the bestial side of him had risen to take notice. It wanted to see how far this could go. Wondered if he’d ever been bloodied from the inside out instead of the other way around; wondered if it would pack the same adrenaline-burn-fight-kill intensity as Victor’s claws on any other part of him, as the slashes on his back, which had healed on the outside but still buzzed through his head in a savage cloud.

Victor watched his face, breathed deeply through his nose, and took him all the way into the back of his throat. A second finger pushed in beside the first, so careful now, but how long would that last? Victor was right: he knew exactly what felt good. He worked Logan from the inside and the outside. He jerked himself off with his free hand while he finger-fucked Logan’s hairy ass and sucked him all the way down to the base, the sheer coordination of it staggering when Logan could barely remember how to breathe.

Sharp heat pricked him from deep in his center, all the more intense for being anticipated so long. A strangled gasp left his throat. The pain did something to his brain, flipped that switch that he always had to struggle to keep suppressed. It was better and worse than he’d imagined, and he wondered if this was what being sick felt like. His guts roiled, an alien discomfort that tied right through his shaft and Victor’s throat, all of it churning him up on the inside and leaving him wrecked. Snarled curses spilled out of him. The ebb and flow of pain. Injuries that healed almost as fast as they were inflicted, and all the time Victor pushed that spot deep inside him, expertly twisted pain into a devouring want, and his mouth watered for another chunk of Victor’s flesh and blood to chew through the spasms in his belly.

His hips moved into the dirty suck and scrape, and Victor took his punishing thrusts without so much as a cough. He was coming apart, and Victor knew it. The man’s head bobbed up and down in his lap, his fangs dragged along Logan’s cock, and when he looked up, their eyes locked and Logan couldn’t look away. His conscience gave him one last, faint stab, reminding him that the guy currently getting him off was also doing something to his lover, something that involved a lot of blood. Heat radiated out from the disgust in his chest. Waves of tingling, liquid warmth mixed with knives of red pain spread out from the spot Victor was prodding inside of him. His cock swelled further and he was right there, right on the edge of oblivion.

Then he fell over the edge, and his body spasmed around Victor’s fingers, his balls clenched and shot his load, and the man didn’t spill a drop. Victor sucked him dry, pulled his fingers out of him but kept sucking him until he was soft, until it hurt, until he was squirming and his teeth were clenched on a scream of loathing, at Victor or himself he wasn’t sure.

Victor pulled off of him abruptly, lunged upward and locked lips with him, feeding him his own taste, and the man’s groan filled his mouth as warm wetness splashed onto Logan’s chest. Victor leaned down and sucked the cum off his skin, then came back up to kiss him and pushed it into his mouth before Logan realized what he was doing. He began to spit it out, but Victor predicted the motion and clamped his hand over Logan’s mouth.

“Swallow it, baby brother. I drank yours. Now you drink mine.”

He did it. No point fussing now. Victor grinned at him, pleased as punch.

“Now that we’re all friends, you gonna let me down?” The sarcasm helped him not to think about what he’d just done. But it was like Victor saw right through him, like he could read Logan’s mind. His thumb rasped over Logan’s lower lip, and the claw caught his lip and tugged it downward.

“What. So you can kick my ass and go rescue your little boyfriend?” He leaned down, eyes locked with Logan’s in a gaze so intimate, it made him feel stripped to the bone. “I fucked him right before I came to you. Fucked him til he bled. And he didn’t want it.” A vicious smile twitched his lips upward. “But you knew that.

The words were like the doors of hell, slamming shut on him. He couldn’t deny it, and he couldn’t hold that cruel gaze any more; it felt like it would burn his skin right off. He lowered his eyes. His chest was doing flips inside of him. In that moment, he couldn’t have said which of them was the bigger monster.

A big hand ruffled his sweaty hair, and he saw the flash of Victor’s fanged grin out of the corner of his eye.

“You always get’cher panties knotted up over the pretty ones,” he said with a chuckle. He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped them up. “Relax. I fed him a little blood and he healed right up. He’ll be ready to play with us in no time.”

Logan’s tongue curled into the back of his mouth.

“Let him go,” he said, but the force was gone from his voice. “Victor. You’ve got me. I’m right here. Let him go, he’s nothing to you.”

Victor traced down the side of his jaw, obscenely affectionate. He seemed to think it over, and Logan allowed himself the tiniest hope that Devyn would get out of this. If he did, at least that might ease the flaying guilt in his chest.

“Nah, I can’t do that.” He gave a regretful smile. “Cuz, see, that little piece of ass has you thinkin’ you’re some other kinda guy. What you don’t realize is, I’ve seen you do this thing before. You get some pretty thing and start thinkin’ you can play white knight, like you’re not already drippin’ with gallons of innocent blood.” He tapped his claw over Logan’s lip, scraped it between his teeth.

“I ain’t strong enough to let you go again, Jimmy. I’m gonna remind you of who you are.” His palm pressed down over Logan’s heart. “I’m your only family.” His claws dug into Logan’s chest, piercing the skin until he earned a quiet groan.

“Blood is forever, little brother.”