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The third time Sabretooth catches him and fucks him, it’s somehow even worse.
For the first two, Logan was still running and fighting through his heat. The cramping still sometimes brought him to his knees, which is when Creed managed to catch him each time, swaggering into Logan’s swimming circle of vision. What he was aware of tunneled down to the earth under his hands, the agony in his belly, and Creed's alpha scent filling his nose so nothing else mattered. And then once again they were fighting, tumbling, rolling, roaring. And eventually he lost, but at least he had his dignity, for whatever pathetically small comfort that was. So he went down fighting; it still meant that Creed finally pins him and rips the crotch of his costume to shreds and shoves his dick inside.
It hurts, with Victor’s alpha cock thick and long and thrusting in while Logan’s body keeps healing him tight again, and when Victor tries to shove his knot in—even though he fails—it stretches and burns on the lips of Logan’s cunt, a tearing pain that has him gasping as he tries to claw and stab and get away.
Not that he manages it. Victor just grabs the back of his neck and snarls and the scent of alpha surges in the air and Logan can’t help himself: he goes limp as Victor pumps another load into him.
And then they do it all again. Creed stands as his cock drags heavy and wet out of Logan’s body, and he makes a delighted sound when Logan curls in on himself, then staggers to his feet, then runs again. That sound ricochets around inside Logan’s head for long, long minutes after he’s out of Creed’s sight and hearing.
The third time, he starts to want it, and he hates it.
He’s staggering up a hill. He vaguely remembers why he’s running away, if he tries hard enough to remember. He’s not just running from Victor. He ran from the others first. From the ambush, heat and rut inducers sprayed on all of them, the betas in the team just passing out on the spot, the alphas and the omegas freezing and then either falling down moaning in the case of the omegas, or standing stock still in place, noses twitching, pupils dilating wider and wider for the alphas.
He knows his teammates are probably fucking each other senseless right now. He knows he should go back, help, something. Except he ran. So many of the rest of the team were already heat partners, willing to help each other out, but he’s the odd one out. Omega, but so feral and mean that most people assume he’s an alpha, even after getting several good sniffs of him. And he doesn’t have anyone on the team he trusts that way. Not yet. Maybe someday. Maybe if they can prove to him they can fight him off when he’s out of his head. Because it turns out that a biological system that requires an omega to be held down and forcibly bred? Doesn’t work so well when the omega has adamantium blades and bones and a fight-or-flight response that’s been honed to instinctive fight by decades of being other people’s plaything. He hasn’t had anyone but his own hand and deeply uncomfortable dildo to resolve his heats in … well. He doesn’t know how long. That’s the thing about amnesia. So instead of endangering any of the team, he’d stumbled away instead, trying to put distance between them.
But unfortunately, Victor Creed was one of the group of enemies they’d been tracking, and he’d paused and watched Logan, seen him stagger, not quite fall to his knees like some of the others, but nearly. Then Victor had turned, left the rest of the group of villains, and stalked straight toward him.
And that’s when he’d run.
He’s still running now, stumbling into a hollow where a tree had blown over years ago, a broad dip of pine needles and moss with the remains of a giant rootball on its side next to the hollow. And that’s when Creed catches up to him, tackles him, and has him pinned and his legs spread before Logan can properly fight back.
And then, as Victor’s dick is prodding him, first rubbing between his legs, along the line of his dripping cunt to slick himself—and he tries not to think about whether it’s entirely wet with his own slick or if he’s still dripping Victor’s seed from the first two times—and then the bigger man’s dick is pushing inside him again.
He arches and yowls, like a cat in heat, and Victor snarls, plants that big, clawed hand on the back of his neck to scruff him, and he goes as limp as a docile omega stereotype, and then the man starts fucking him.
Cramps are still rippling through Logan. It’s somehow worse than just being raped, to be raped while also in pain from his own body betraying him. He hasn’t had a heat in years, he thinks fuzzily, through the pain and the pleasure and the fuzzy, floating feeling in his own head at the way he’s being held down. There’s been no one close to him that would trigger one, no one he feels that way about, no one he’s having sex with on the regular. There’s been no need to put his ass in the air and beg for something he knows is going to hurt.
And then Creed is trying to fit his knot inside again, and Logan fists the moss, hands flexing, and shoots out the claws between his knuckles, trying to bring himself to do something about it.
“Don’t be like that,” Sabretooth chuckles behind him, one hand still on the back of his neck, the other on his shoulder, pulling him back hard onto the swelling near the base of the man’s dick. “You know you love what I’m doing to you.”
And that’s the problem, as that cock pushes deeper into him, head against his back wall as that knot presses and starts to breach him, pressure that’s pure pain as it presses inside. He does love it, even while he hates it. But Victor’s cock can’t manage to go far enough in to pop past the resistance, to let up on the pressure. No, as the other man rocks into him it’s just bursts of too much and pain and then a moment’s relief and then hurt again.
And every burst of pain is pushing him closer and closer to coming.
“Stop!” he pants, trying to twist away. “Don’t!”
“You’re always so pretty when you beg like that,” Sabretooth says conversationally, and he shoves in as deep as he’s able, the depths of Logan’s cunt aching at the length of him, the rim of his cunt burning like he’s being fisted, and then Victor’s cock is swelling and twitching as the man comes in him again and stills.
It’s not enough, he needs to come, he wants to come, he realizes in horror that he’s begging for it “—shit, please, I’m so close—” and Sabretooth leans down, his thick, hard cock jostling Logan’s insides, and a broad tongue is sweeping over the place where shoulder and neck meet and Logan jolts.
“Listen to you, so pretty,” Creed purrs. “Don’t worry, pup. You’re almost there. When I finally get my knot inside you, I promise it’s going to be better than anything you remember. Always has been.”
“Bullshit,” Logan gasps, and then Sabretooth is pulling out, and his cunt feels so empty as every inch of it leaves him, as the head pulls on his abused rim on the way out and he twitches. Then Creed is standing and fading away into the underbrush again, into the haze of what Logan can’t really focus on through the clamor of hormones and pain and disorientation.
Heat is a fucking bitch. He hates being this way. Normally he’d know a heat was coming, if it came at all. He’d lock himself in a motel room or something, let his heat play out without anyone else getting involved. But this time, here he is, running from Victor Creed, in a fucking forest.
He staggers away. He doesn’t know where he’s going. All he knows is that there’s a predator following him, and he needs to run.
He lucks out. He finds a pile of boulders. Bigger than boulders. Slabs of the inside of the earth that had gotten torn away from their mountain by some glacier of the past and carried here, then left stacked and tumbled. Moss-covered, lichen-eaten, and leaned together in a way that makes a small cave. Or at least, makes a small space that would be defensible if he were in better shape. He staggers into the opening, back the scant number of steps that the makeshift cave is deep, and sinks to his knees.
He manages to turn, get his face back toward the opening, claws out, and then he lets himself collapse on his side and lets the cramps take him. It can’t be long now, until he’s open inside, goddamn biology ready to let him get properly knocked up.
Somehow it’s worse when the cramps finally ease and taper off, because then what hits him, full force and unstoppable, is the compulsion to be fucked.
Then he’s whimpering, shoving as much of one hand in his cunt as he can, struggling as he can’t quite make the angle.
A twig snaps and his head jerks up, world swimming, as Victor steps closer. The other man must have done that on purpose, let him know he was coming, just to see what he’d do, and Logan scrabbles, pushes up on one elbow and has the claws of one hand in front of himself, snarling, even while he can’t bring himself to pull the other four fingers out of his cunt.
“Well ain’t you pretty like this,” Sabretooth purrs. “Haven’t seen you this desperate in … well. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, runt?” And then he sinks down on the ground cross legged, and Logan blinks at him in confusion.
“Fuck off,” he tries to grate out, but it’s barely more than a hoarse whisper.
“I don’t think so,” Victor replies, smug face all that Logan can focus on, hands resting on his knees, grinning and grinning and grinning. All teeth. All malice. “You’re going to break. You’ve got nothing to fill yourself with except my cock. And when you put those claws away and ask me really nice to breed you, that’s when I’ll do it.”
Logan snarls at him. He has every intention of proving Creed wrong and a horrible fear that he may be right.
It takes a while. It feels like hours. Maybe it’s only minutes. All Logan knows is that he crawls and scoots backwards, until his back bumps stone as far as possible from where Creed is still sitting, crosslegged and malevolent and watching him. Logan still has one hand up, the claws out, but somehow he still has the other still jammed between the lips of his cunt, knees splayed to each side, and he has Victor’s rapt attention.
The other man’s costume is just as shredded as Logan’s own, and he has a hand around his own cock. He’s jacking himself lazily, from the swell of his knot to the leaking tip, then reaching lower to grasp under his knot and lazily groan, rolling his head, licking his lips and leering. His eyes are focused like a laser where Logan is fucking himself, lips twitching in a snarl every time Logan’s hand diving inside makes a particularly wet squelch.
It floats hazily through Logan's head that Creed’s showing incredible restraint not to just drag him out by his ankles and shove that big cock into him.
And unfortunately that drags his attention to that big cock instead of Creed’s face.
It's big, like the rest of the man, and suddenly Logan is drooling, literally open-mouthed and panting and wetness dripping from the corners of his mouth with how bad he wants it. He's imagining the thickness of that shaft fucking into him, the pretty angle of that head sinking deep, hurting him and filling him, and finally, that knot, the way it would finally pop inside, all the way inside, and how the orgasm would come.
The humiliating truth of biology means an omega being bred can't help feeling good. Even while they're sobbing at how much it hurts, even if they're being gangraped, it’s going to feel good.
Kinder alphas soothe with gentle hands and loving words and leave kisses all along an omega’s back and shoulders as they finally breach them. They comfort and they love and they're as careful as they can be. But as Logan’s eyes wander up to Creed's face, he knows that's not what this is. The man is grinning down, licking his lips, licking his teeth, nostrils flaring. There's no gentleness in Creed, and Logan knows the man is going to delight in how loud he can make Logan scream before he makes him come.
He can't decide if the thought makes him feel nauseous or if he wants it so bad he can't think straight. Either way, his knees are shaking, and he clamps them together, around his arm and wrist as he pushes, pushes, pushes and still can't get the angle to fist himself.
“You're so damn pretty. You know that, right?” Creed suddenly speaks, and it startles a moan out of Logan. “All those people that used to think we were a team of two alphas, then look down on you for being what you were when they figured it out, they didn't know shit.”
“Shut up,” he pants, like that's going to do any good to stop Creed’s mouth when he decides to run it. Predictably the man doesn't even pause.
“Pretty and mean and so fuckable,” Creed purrs, and he pulls from above his knot up to the tip of his cock, precome literally dripping from the tip. His body’s doing what an alpha’s is supposed to do, making the way wet so that he can slide into an omega easily. Logan swallows, then swallows again, feeling like he’s going to drown in his own saliva.
“We didn’t,” he manages, curling his fingers up, rubbing inside himself.
“Oh, we did. They just took it away from you. Or you forgot me,” and Victor’s grin is vicious. “I’m going to make you remember.”
“No,” Logan groans, but then his mouth drops open with a moan as Victor takes his hands off his own dick, just lets it go, and it bobs, hard and erect and still dripping slowly. Ready. Available. And suddenly Logan finds himself rolling over. His knees are in the dirt and leaves, his fingers are still pulling his cunt wide, arm jammed past his balls that are drawn up tight and his stiff cock. His cheek is resting on his other arm, and all he can smell is alpha and the forest floor.
And now Victor does grab him by the ankles, pulling his half out of his little refuge, big clawed hands circling his thighs, and self-preservation instinct kicks in and Logan fights it, kicks and squirms and snarls and tries to get away, and then sobs as the hands drop off of him immediately.
It’s an alpha’s job to track down and hold down their omega and fuck them, whether their omega wants it or not.
He thinks blearily that Victor’s making a point. He'll fuck Logan once Logan admits he's Creed's.
“Fuck me if you’re going to, you bastard,” he snarls.
Creed tsks behind him, and a hand lands on the small of his back, soothing and nicer than Logan expects and not at all what his body craves. “I said you were going to ask me,” he says, and a thumb slips lower, ghosts over Logan’s asshole and then rubs through the slippery mess of where Logan is still stretched around his own fingers. “I want some words. Your body wants it, runt, I can see that. Tell me you want it.”
“I want your fucking dick to fall off,” Logan manages in a strangled snarl, but his hips are also pushing back against Victor’s touch. “I don’t want it, I don’t.”
“You’re right, my bad,” Victor chuckles, and another hand joins the first, spreading his ass, pad of another thumb tracing along the rim of his cunt, and it has Logan shaking. “You don’t want this. Never did. But you need it.” Then he’s leaning forward, body suddenly shockingly hot along Logan’s back, so hot it feels like it’s burning, and his lips are brushing one of Logan’s scent glands as he growls, “And I’m the only one who can give it to you like you need.”
“Victor, please!” Logan moans, ripping his own hand out of his cunt, and an instant later, Victor is shoving into him again.
The bigger mutant is right: Logan doesn’t want this. He hates it. Hates his biology, hates Victor, hates himself. And at the same time, he’s moaning, higher and higher in pitch as Victor fucks him slow and hard, further and further and further into him. It feels good, overwhelming and unavoidable. He’s finally going to come this time, he knows that, he can’t stop it. He scrambles to get a hand on his own dick, but Victor clamps fingers and claws in his arm and hauls it up, crosses it with the other one under his cheek.
“No,” the man hisses. “You come on my cock or not at all,” and then he bites.
Teeth even longer than an alpha’s sink into his gland, bite right into the scent of him, and Logan’s whole body seizes. It’s not an orgasm; more like an electric current from toes to fingertips, not relieving the need in him at all, but somehow upping the stakes, making the precipice that much further off and that much higher. He feels Victor jolt against him too, the strangled moan the other man gives, the way his cock kicks inside Logan’s body. He wonders if Victor came or if he just feels like Logan does, impossibly keyed up with no release.
Then Victor’s jaws release and he sucks on the bite, long and mean and pulling blood from the marks of his teeth and undoubtedly leaving the rest of the flesh bruise-purple for a few seconds before it heals.
“Mine,” his alpha growls. “Mine, even if you forget.”
And Victor keeps fucking him. Fucks him like he knows every trick of Logan’s body, even ones he doesn't know himself. He’s merciless and mean and it’s perfect. But it’s still not enough.
“Deeper, please, deeper,” Logan hears himself sob, begging to be hurt, and Victor groans, like he can’t believe it either.
“Yeah. Don’t worry, pup, I’ve got you. Here it comes,” he breathes, and then he changes the angle of his hips.
It only takes a couple slow thrusts before Victor’s cock finds and catches inside, on the rim where he’s dilated as wide as an omega’s body thinks is needed for breeding. But not dilated so much as to make this easy. And then one of Victor’s hands is clamped on the back of his neck, fingers digging in, making him go limp again, and the other is on his hip, grip merciless.
“That’s it. Good boy,” Victor snarls behind him, and starts pushing in.
It’s more than the head of Victor’s cock tearing him wide, it’s also his knot, both prying him open at once, and Logan tries to squirm, tries to thrash, tries to fight, and instead just twitches and sobs and curses. He’s limp in his alpha’s hold as he’s violated, pulled wide, and then Victor’s knot is in him, pushing so hard on his entrance and his cock is pain deep inside, and he can’t stop heaving with sobs.
“Do it, do it, you bastard, asshole, sadist—” Logan is snarling through snot and tears, still trying to be defiant, even as he feels his body start to flutter with impending orgasm.
And then Victor pulls his hips back the inch or two that he’s gained.
And then slowly shoves in again.
Logan howls and tenses, clamping down on the knot that’s trying to rip him open again, and that only makes it hurt more, which is miswired somehow somewhere in his head, because it feels so damn good that this time he really does start coming.
Victor fucks him through it and more.
An omega’s orgasm while being bred lasts far longer than at any other time. Maybe half a minute normally, the pleasure that tears through them making up for the alpha cock that’s violating them deep inside. It shouldn’t go longer than that.
But Victor seems to know just how to keep pulling back and then pushing in again to never let it end, fucking him hard and fast where it both hurts the worst and feels the best, stretching him wide on his knot and then backing out for it to heal for a few seconds before pushing in again to make the hurt bloom fresh, and for incredible solid minutes of it Logan can’t stop coming. He's gasping and begging, both for more and for Victor to stop, shocked that somehow Victor knows his body better than he does himself.
He feels the big alpha shaking and trembling with the exertion of it, hears him swearing under his breath, feels the man’s knot swelling thicker and harder every time it breaches him.
“Tell me,” Victor pants, hips rocking minutely, knot sliding just inside the rim of Logan’s cunt and then back out, absolute torture, absolute pleasure, stretch him as wide as he possibly can.
“Victor, please!” Logan chokes out, shaking and twisting. “Need you!” and then Victor finally shoves all the way in.
The only satisfaction Logan can find here is that the force of it takes Victor as hard as it does Logan, the full weight of the man toppling onto him, hips jerking to grind deeper, arms wrapped around Logan’s chest, his belly, and the man’s teeth are a vice on Logan’s scent gland. The way he wails through the final peak of his orgasm only makes that cock pump more, that knot swell thicker, but now it’s sunk deep and the lips of his cunt no longer feel abused by it. Now his muscles can finally tighten and clamp down behind the man’s knot. Victor isn’t getting out of Logan’s body anytime soon. Not until his knot goes down. Not until he’s emptied himself into Logan.
One of Victor’s hands splays low on his stomach in the possessive gesture of an alpha thinking about how full he’s pumping his omega.
“Mine,” Victor moans, drawn out and knot-drunk. “Always mine.”
As the immediate need recedes, exhaustion hits Logan like a wall. He’s shaking now that the drive to be bred is suddenly receding, instantly satisfied when a cock and a knot and a river of hot alpha seed is finally inside him. The satisfaction and looseness of a mind-blowing orgasm is making his body feel heavy, but he’s also been running from Victor all through the evening and night. He hurts in places that aren’t being allowed to heal. He’s physically and emotionally exhausted, feels like he’s sobbed himself dry. There’s a small, selfish part of him that wants to sob some more and be wrapped in strong arms and held gently and told how well he did, but of course he’s not getting that. Not with Sabretooth behind him. The ground pressed against his chest and arms and knees feels ice cold and is sucking the warmth from him, but at least Victor’s body is burning hot where it’s pressed to his back and weighing him down.
But Creed’s cock is still buried in him, like a brand, painful, and he tries to squirm away from it.
“Hold still,” is instantly growled, grip tightening on his neck again. “Don’t hurt yourself. Christ, you’re always such a needy thing when I breed you. Don’t know another omega who fights it as hard.” Then he’s nosing into Logan’s scent gland, snuffling and licking. “Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he adds, and then bites again.
Logan jerks as the pain blooms, runs molten through him, fades again. He can’t be bonded, not with his healing factor, but Victor sure seems to be trying.
“Fuck off,” he snarls, and now that he can think a little bit better, it hits him, what Victor said a couple times. “Don’t lie, we never did this before.”
That gets him a laugh, and another bite, deep, every single one of Sabretooth’s long teeth fully buried in him from the feel of it, and he’s gasping and quivering. Just for a moment, as the bond tries to take, he has a whisper of a memory, something so like this that he mentally reels from it, and then the bond fades and he’s left shaking.
“Just because you don’t remember, doesn’t mean I haven’t tried to fuck a pup into you before,” Victor purrs against his ear, kisses behind it. “If it takes, keep this one? For me? For you? I bet those X-freaks would help you raise one, make sure it stays safe.”
With a roar, Logan pops the claws and starts trying to fight Sabretooth off of him. He doesn't care if he tears, if he bleeds, if his alpha’s seed—he means Sabretooth’s seed, Jesus, what is he thinking—goes to waste. Now that he’s not actively delirious with heat, the neck trick doesn’t work so well, and Creed curses and has to wrestle him. They roll and squirm in the dirt and forest detritus, mud from everything that’s been dripping from Logan’s cunt onto the ground smearing along his front, but it ends predictably. Creed’s heavier, bigger, at his back, has a better angle, and manages to pin both his wrists to the ground. The big man is panting, and he smells both aggravated and turned on.
“You’re so much goddamn trouble,” he snarls, and flexes his hips against Logan’s, against where they’re still pinned, pushing impossibly deeper, and Logan yelps. “I could have brought you down when you first ran, dragged you back into the ring, watched all the alphas there take turns fucking you open and then fight over who got to breed you. But no, I did you a favor, let you run, let you get where I’d be the only one touching you. And this is the thanks I get?”
“You sure you did that for me?” he pants, finally going limp again. His hands are pinned to the dirt, and so are his hips, and he’s stuffed full of dick and cum and Creed’s suggestion that they’ve done this before. “Sounds like you did it for you.”
“For us both, maybe.”
And then Logan is actually shocked to silence, because lips with the brush of massive fangs are kissing across his shoulder blade, up over one scent gland, across the back of his neck and down to the other gland and shoulder. It’s all the tenderness he would expect from an alpha who cares, but not from Creed.
“What do you want?” he asks, and his voice cracks.
“In a perfect world? For you to remember. But if I can’t have that, this is enough,” is growled behind his ear. “I mean it. Keep the pup, if I managed to knock you up.” And then he bites again, growling around it, and once again the molten feeling of a bond trying to take him and failing surges through Logan’s blood.
That kick of emotions, of his body and mind briefly trying to subjugate themselves to the bigger, stronger alpha that’s managed to bring him down and breed him, hits like the best aged whiskey, leaves a moment later like the worst hangover, and Logan makes a strangled sound. Dammit, he can’t, he won’t, he …
He is, turning his face into the ground and sobbing, a sound he doesn’t have any control over.
He expects Creed to laugh or to gloat or to bite him again. Or to mock him, remind Logan how weak he is, how easily Creed knocked him flat and stuck his dick in him, how he brought this on himself by being an omega, and the words thought at himself just make him shake harder. He knows they’re true. He doesn’t have to hear Creed say them to admit it to himself.
Except instead the other man makes a soft, worried sound, and then he’s being rolled, spooned, cradled, Creed somehow leaning back against the rock with Logan held tight in his lap, still joined by the man’s knot.
“Hey now,” the bigger man says softly, and rips off a bit of his suit that is somehow still hanging onto a bicep and starts gently wiping at the grime smeared across Logan’s face. “What’s that for, runt? I’ve got you, and it’s over, you’re safe now. I wouldn’t actually let any of them get you. You’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.”
Logan laughs through the sobs and tries to squirm away, only for Creed’s arm to tighten around his chest.
“Dammit,” the man swears. “Knock it off! I’m being nice for once!” and that’s so damn funny, to hear Victor Creed admit it that way and like this, Logan dissolves into laughter that sounds more than a bit hysterical. Goddamn hormones.
The bigger man is grumbling something that Logan can’t quite catch, but he rips off another piece of suit and presses it into Logan’s hand, who takes it as an invitation to blow his nose loudly, and then Creed is pulling him back, against his chest, arms wrapped around him, cock still jostling inside. The man seals his mouth over a scent gland just long enough to nip, then pulls back again, nuzzling the side of Logan’s face.
“You’re fine, I’ve got you,” he says roughly.
“Bullshit,” Logan snorts through hiccups. He’s still fighting the urge to laugh, even though there’s nothing funny going on. “How is any of this fine? How is— Even if you’re telling the truth, which, for the record, I think you're lying through your teeth, how is this fine?”
“It’s the truth,” Creed growls. “And you never liked it normal or soft or easy. S’not my fault you’ve forgotten all the other times.”
“Other times? Really? Prove it!” Logan snarls, squirming again, just to feel the other’s arms tighten and effortlessly hold him in place. Christ, he hates how good it feels.
“Prove it? Fine. Bite me,” Creed snaps, shifting behind Logan to lean closer, head titled to the side.
It takes several seconds for Logan to figure out that’s an invitation, not an insult. And then several more seconds of staring before he convinces himself that Creed is serious.
Omegas don’t bite alphas. However, omegas will sometimes bond other omegas. Logan’s bi, and he knows all about the joy of an omega-omega partnership, the something softer of simultaneous heats, fingering and fisting a partner while they do the same to you, pulling apart afterwards, trading bites that liquify thoughts into pure affection for most omegas, and at least let Logan feel a twinge of it. But that's omegas and omegas. An alpha would never stoop so low as to let an omega bond them.
But yet here’s Victor Creed, still leaning close enough that if Logan wanted, he could mark him, and then it hits that that's exactly what's on offer. Logan hastily wiggles and twists, arching back even while Victor holds his hips down with an iron grip. He's sure it's a trick, the other's going to pull back, to laugh at him for being so gullible, but instead Victor takes a deep, shuddering breath and leans even closer, offering himself up so that Logan can set his jaws where neck and shoulder meet, and then he bites.
Victor groans and his cock twitches inside Logan, and all Logan can taste is heat and blood and Victor’s scent, a hundred times more powerful than when he smells it in the air. Just like being bitten, it burns through him like fire, like a love potion, a brief flash of wanting to own Creed, to never let him go, to taste the other’s skin and his blood and carry his pups and fight with him, even if it ends in Logan pinned and taken, and then he gasps in shock and lets go and the warmth of the bond fades instantly.
There’s a kick of deja vu. Like he’s felt this before, like it’s happened before, and he needs to understand it, and so he reaches up and grabs Creed’s hair to yank his head further to the side to bite again.
Logan’s teeth are sharper and longer than the average omega’s, thanks to his mutation. He’s made other omegas whimper from a bite before, and sometimes he's even gotten told he’s “too much like an alpha,” which always feels like both a stinging insult and a compliment, no matter how it was intended. He doesn’t hold back here, teeth sinking in as deep as possible, lips snarling against Victor’s skin. But all he gets is Victor groaning, “Christ, Logan,” and his arms tightening, and his dick kicking again, knot giving a hopeful pulse. And Logan can't believe it, because the bond he feels struggling to tie them together, to make them hypersensitive to each other, Victor is feeling that too. Feeling it and liking it.
And, worse, the sense of deja vu is stronger this time. He sucks hungrily on the bite, tastes Victor’s blood, and just for a moment he has a flash of somewhere else, some other time, straddling a broad, warm lap while facing the other person, big hands with claws firm on his back, and his jaws locked on a scent gland, this same taste in his mouth—
He pulls back from the bite with a hiss, collapsing limp and panting against Creed’s chest.
“Whatdaya think, runt? Remember anything yet?” Creed grins, a thumb swiping across the corner of his mouth. He sees red on the man’s thumb before Victor pops the pad of it into his mouth, sucking it clean of his own blood.
“Maybe something. Doesn’t prove anything,” Logan grates out. His eyes are sliding closed. He’s so goddamn tired.
“It’s alright, runt. You're safe. I’ve got you,” Victor’s voice seems to come from far away, and his arms are holding Logan firmly, and every bit of skin where they’re touching—thighs and chest and stomach and arms—is warm and solid, and Logan just can’t help himself from letting his eyes close all the way.
“When I wake up and your knot goes down, I’m goin’ ta kick your ass,” he slurs and lets himself pass out to Victor chuckling and kissing his temple in reply.