Dead End Bar

BY : Newfie
Category: X-men Comics > Slash - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1369
Disclaimer: I don't own Sabretooth. I don't own Marvel or X-men. I didn't make any money off of this.

The rain had come and gone that day.  The sidewalks were beginning to dry, leaking rain water onto the oil slick road.  Here and there a sprinkle hit the graying discarded newspapers and left a purplish puddle.  Steam rose from a manhole, hissed from the run-off and left a fetid, humid smell in the air.  Not many cars traveled up this particular road.  It was a dead end in more ways than one.  A neon sign flashed over the gray concrete, washing it in an eerily merry red and green.  A few years back the “Tavern” on the sign had crashed to the sidewalk and not a soul had bothered to replace it.  Now it simply said fittingly, “Dead End”.

The clap of heavy, shining black boots sounded over the empty concrete as he chewed a matching black painted nail.  This wasn’t exactly his neighborhood.  Bravery, or perhaps the offer of cheap ecstasy, had lured him to a less than desirable area.  He already had a run in his stockings and the humidity was playing games with his black hair.  Pulling it into pigtails had helped, marginally at least.  The walk from his home had taken him through the driving rain.  His shirt had already been tight, more than showing off his flat belly and wiry frame.  It clung to him now, sticking and pulling at his skin with demanding black fabric. A skirt, red plaid, plastered to his shapely thighs, pulled at his flesh colored stockings. Uncomfortable outside on the sidewalk, Simon began to see that flashing sign as a twisted little haven.

The heavy wooden door gave the young man more than a bit of trouble. It scraped the floor as he pushed it, announcing his presence to the only five people in the musty bar. The humidity outside was terrible but the smell within the bar wasn’t much of an improvement. Cigar smoke, stale beer, and even a hint of urine and blood floated on the meager air pushed by the single fan dangling from one metal pole and two wires.

Three men looked up at the young man’s entrance. They sat together, as far away from the fourth man as they could reach. Not new to staring, Simon ignored the holes being burned in his clothing by the three men’s curious, aggressive gaze. Low in the male’s belly he felt a stirring of excitement, enjoying the attention he received whether it was good or bad. The metal buckles on his boots jangled as Simon approached the bar.

“Whaddya want, fruitcake?” The bartender drawled around a half burned cigarette. The end of it burned bright red before the peppered ash fell directly to the bar. He didn’t bother to swipe it away, but left it there with the rest of the butts and ash.

“Appletini,” Simon responded easily. The disapproving look from the fat, grizzled old man did very little to faze the fellow in drag.

“Ain’t got that here. Pick somethin’ real,” the thick man grunted. His flat, chewed nails scratched at the belly of his dirty shirt. He stuck his finger into a ratty hole and scratched directly against his skin. A hair was plucked from beneath the white cloth and sent to join the ash on the bar.

Before Simon could do much more than wrinkle his nose in disgust, the fourth man’s gritty, growling voice spoke for him. “Scotch. Rocks,” he said beneath his hood. Swirling his own glass of dark amber liquid, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger, the much larger male lifted his head only slightly. Beneath his deep brown hood showed the edge and tip of his strong nose and the golden bristles over his unshaven chin.

“You’re paying for it,” Simon quipped. His full lips pouted slightly as his clean chin jutted outward. Believing the other man intended to buy him a drink and pay him a bit of attention, he arched his hip and slid onto one of the hard stools at the bar nearest the unknown male.

“Ssssure,” Creed purred with a dangerous, low chuckle. His forefinger pointed outward, the second finger of his hand curling around the glass to hold it still as one curved three inch claw arched towards the staring bartender. “Ya heard tha boy. Get him his drink before his panties twist their way up his ass.” As punctuation, the glass was tilted backward, the last of the scotch sliding down his bristly throat. The movement threw back his fur trimmed hood, baring chiseled features and a mane of long blonde hair. A haughty toss and turn of his head sent his piercing blue gaze into the younger man’s own.

Simon couldn’t remember the last time he had blushed. Now he did, finding himself dodging that rather predatory blue gaze. It frightened him more than a little bit and that in itself threatened to tighten his plaid school-girl’s skirt. His gaze averted, Simon shivered when the man beside him laughed. Perhaps it was his nerves, but he was sure he heard a growl in there somewhere. The sound of glass hitting the wooden bar drew his gaze upward slowly to see the offered glass of scotch. One ice cube floated alone in the dark liquid, clinking on the side of the glass. A deep breath steadied his shaky hand as Simon drew the glass to his lips. He could feel that gaze on him, burning holes in his clothing, undressing him, and sending a sharp shiver down his slim back.

Fear. The blonde brute could smell it like the scent of roses. It clung to the inside of his nose and sent a shiver down his own thicker spine. Well over six feet tall when he stood, Victor Creed was a monster of a man. A mutant who didn’t feel his genes were a burden, he felt no need to hide his long claws. Cocky, sure smiles bared his namesake, those elongated white teeth. He shot the boy beside him a lopsided grin when he saw those pale cheeks redden with the addition of scotch. A soft, choking cough brought a slow, dangerous chuckle from the golden brute. His large hand fell to Simon’s back, patting it so roughly that the boy pitched forward and dropped the glass out of sheer fright.

“All of ya need ta leave,” Victor growled, shooting a dark look over his broad, fur-lined shoulder to the poor bastards sitting behind him. Not a single man argued with him. They stood, leaving half empty beer mugs on the table, and walked briskly towards the door. The rotund bartender’s brows scrunched together, his nose wrinkling as though he’d just had a smell his own establishment. “You too,” came the second growl. Victor’s brows rose, daring the fat man to argue his dominance over his territory. Bruce took the dare.

“Yo-ou ought to leave too, kid,” the bartender said shakily. A quick look between the skinny cross-dresser and the blonde mutant showed fear on his oily face. He backed up quite suddenly, seemingly to nothing at all.

“Doesn’t smell too good on ya, Brucie. Get out.” Victor turned one palm upward and tapped the backs of his claws along the dirty wood. “Do it before I gotta make ya. Do I gotta make ya, Brucie?”

“N-no, Victor. I’m leavin’.” And he did. Bruce gathered his coat from the floor behind the bar. It was a wonder he could bend that far without tearing his jeans but he managed. He left the same way the previous group had fled and didn’t bother to lock the door. It wasn’t like anyone would come down that road and into his bar.

Simon suddenly regretted his decision to wander alone down the road no one dared to walk. He wished he had left before he even encountered the smell. A turn on his stool and his boots touched the dirty floor. His shirt smelled of scotch from where it had splashed. The taste of it still burned his throat. But it was the memory of that big hand touching his back that both thrilled and frightened him enough that he was sure he’d piss himself if Victor did it again. Simon stood up but froze when that big hand wrapped around his dainty wrist.
“Where ya goin’, kid?”

“Th-the bathroom,” Simon stammered. He refused to look at Victor. The tips of his shiny boots were all he could bear to focus upon. “I need to use the bathroom,” he said with a bit more conviction and the hope that there was a window he could wiggle through.

Sabretooth watched the runt’s gaze. His brown cloaked arm followed a curved claw to point at a single door. “That way,” he grinned at seeing the motion cause the young man to jump. The sight of those dark lined blue eyes widening made Victor’s blue jeans tighten. Simon waited for that thick arm to lower before he set his shining black boots in motion.

As heavy as the front door, the door to the restroom scraped the wet floor inside. Simon leaned his shoulder against it in order to keep it propped just so he could slide inside. The sound of water squelching beneath his boots made his little nose wrinkle. The darkness of the room hit him afterwards, his hand groping for a light switch against the wall. Humidity left beads of moisture on the old tile, smearing Simon’s hand with something oily. A flip of the switch bathed the small one toilet bathroom in unflattering fluorescent light.

“Wonderful,” he sighed as he approached the pot, “hasn’t anyone around here heard of the health code.”

It never occurred to Simon as he lifted his skirt and untucked his cock from the confines of his panties, that he had left the door behind him unlocked. He watched his own golden stream, concentrating upon that in an effort to forget the fact the bathroom was absolutely filthy. Still, the sound of the door scraping that dirty floor brought his head sharply. Sudden fear brought his piddling to a halt and he spun about to meet his intruder. The movement sent Simon’s booted feet out from under him. His backside crashed onto the dirty toilet seat, his back striking the tank hard enough for him to cry out.

“So much fer Hot Topic, eh? They jus’ don’t make good boots anymore.” Victor stood in the doorway. He tapped two claws against his lips, grinning down at the horrified young man. “Whassa matter boy?” Slowly the brute began to approach Simon, looming over him as he slouched and slipped downward in an effort to avoid Victor. “The bad boogeyman scare you? Aw, ol’ Vic’ll protect ya.”

Simon hit his knees on the dirty tile, ruining his stockings but making a quick movement to burst past the larger man. He pitched forward, the soles of his boots finding no traction as he scrambled on his hands and knees. A wave of relief washed over him when he felt his boots come under him. Before he could do much else but run one step, Simon screamed as Victor tangled his clawed fingers in the hair between his pigtails. “Nu uh, skirt. Ain’t done with you yet.” Victor grinned over his shoulder where he held his prey. He jerked his arm forward, causing Simon to scream in pain and stumble back into the wall beside the toilet. “Oh, what big eyes ya got,” Victor drawled as he drew the back of one curved claw down Simon’s cheek.

“Wh-what do you want?” He had trouble speaking, gulping his fear back down his throat. Cold crept into the pit of his gut while he watched the bigger man look over from head to toe. He gulped louder when Victor’s eyes settled upon his groin. Simon closed his eyes tight, hoping foolishly that the brute would be gone when he opened them. Instead, he felt a rough hand reaching under his skirt. He gasped, his black nailed fingers wrapping around Victor’s hairy wrist.

“S-stop,” Simon stammered, looking down at the hand that had hold of his smooth, hairless balls. Red crept to the young man’s face when he realized he wasn’t simply afraid, he was aroused. Simon sported an erection that poked from his panties and curled under his skirt. His blush grew darker when Victor rose his thick blonde brows. A slow grin crept over the brute’s scruffy mouth and pushed back his thick mutton chops. “Leave me alone, plea-ah!” Simon gasped when Victor’s thick thumb pad brushed over the pearl of precum already leaking from his over excited cock.

“Mmm, tha little fruit has a fetish,” Victor said around his sharp grin. His pointer finger curled beneath Simon’s erection, stroking it like the chin of a kitten as he rubbed his thumb over his moistened head. Victor’s grip was so large he easily circled his thumb and forefinger around Simon’s cock, squeezing the hilt and pulling slowly towards the tip. Simon gasped again, making little effort to push away that large hand. He began to pant as his grip tightened around Victor’s wrist. “Admit ya like it, ya little brat.”

“N-no,” Simon gasped with a violent shake of his head causing his pigtails to whip about. He yelped when the hand moved from his cock. Claws hooked violently into his skirt, dug shallow scratches over his hip, and ripped aside the fabric. Looking away sharply so he wouldn’t have to see his erection betray him, Simon whined pitifully when his panties fell to the floor with his skirt. “Leave me a-ah!” He squealed as Victor grasped his scratched hip, dug his claws into his right bumcheek and spun him violently about. Simon’s arms twisted upwards, grasping the tile wall over his head in a futile effort to stop his movement. He winced when he heard the sound of a zipper and Victor spitting into his palm. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as Victor’s rough, cat-like tongue drug its way along the shell of his ear. The long sniff through his black hair made Simon shiver deeply and drew a whimper from his throat. That whimper grew into a sharp cry when he felt Victor’s index finger slide between his pert bum cheeks. Victor chuckled the the sound of cum splattering to the tile wall, at the smell of blood rushing to the boy’s blushing cheeks.

“Yer hot fer me,” the brute laughed. He laughed harder when Simon shook his head vigorously. Victor punctuated his laughter by invading his prey’s tight entrance. He pushed his finger, his saliva slicked claw, inward, beginning to twist and swirl it about. The pained look crossing the boy’s face filled Sabretooth with a sadistic glee. He added another finger, stretching Simon and rubbing upward until he found that sensitive gland.

“S-stop,” Simon whispered in a ragged breath. Somewhere between pleasure and pain, Simon wasn’t sure whether he truly wanted the vicious man to stop. He dug his nails against the tile, clutching at something as he felt his forced orgasm run through him in a hot wave. More of his cum shot from his cock, splattered and clung to the yellowed tile. Simon shook like a thin leaf.

Regardless of the unhygienic conditions, he leaned against the dirty tile in order to keep himself upright. His legs spread wide. He told himself it was simply for balance. When Victor’s fingers retreated, Simon arched his bum back and upward. “D-don’t stop,” he whispered as he rested his brow to the dirty tile.

“Not gonna,” Sabretooth grunted. He smeared saliva over his thick, hard cock, slicking it slightly. Without a semblance of foreplay, Victor drove his manhood into Simon’s tight hole. The boy scratched at the wall, pressed to it tightly as though he were trying to crawl away. Despite that, Simon arched his back to press to that heated groin. He made a magnificent effort to relax, but Victor’s girth and length stretched him taut. It wasn’t hard at all for the brute to press his massive cock to Simon’s prostate. Balancing between pain and the pleasure he felt when Sabretooth drove into him, the young man both clawed the tile and dribbled cum to it where he was pushed to the wall.

Victor began with a slow pace. He dragged himself free, leaving a stinging, empty feeling within Simon. The tightness, the lack of proper lubrication, did little to detour the brute from driving back into the slim crossdresser. Simon squeezed his bum gently around that thick cock, grunting as he felt his entrance sting.

“God,” Simon panted as he felt Victor’s lower belly slap against his backside. The stretching only went so far. Soon Simon tore, joining blood with Victor’s saliva. The brute could smell it and it drove him on further. He hammered into the young man, pinning his hips to the wall as the blood made it far easier to move within him. The small bathroom bounced the grunts, the pants back to their ears. It echoed the wet slaps of sweat slicked flesh, the heavy breathing.

“Ain’t no God here,” Sabretooth grunted as he gave Simon a particularly violent thrust of his muscular hips. “Ain’t ever gonna be a God fer you, boy.” Victor’s golden furred arm went between the wall and the young man’s throat. He pulled him backwards and keeping his hips pressed to the wall with each forceful grind, began to choke him. “Though, ngh, you kin consider it a miracle if ya wake up.” Victor laughed when he came. A torrent of hot cum filling the boy’s backside, leaking around that hard length and dribbling down Simon’s thighs.

Simon began his struggles anew. He moved his hands from the tile wall to scratch at Victor’s thick arm. Despite the growled threat of death, his cock throbbed to the tune of another violent orgasm. His engorged erection continued to dribble milky white pearls of his seed even as his vision began to explode into stars of white and black. Victor squeezed his arm tighter as he drove within the slick, relaxing confines of that pert bottom. Slowly Simon’s hands began to only slap against Victor’s arm before they slipped down to his sides. His face had turned an ugly shade of purple and still the brute kept his forearm pressed to his throat.

He released Simon just to the living side of asphyxiation and let him drop from his cock to the dirty floor. The young man’s brow collided with the toilet seat and he slumped downward with his cheek pressed to the soiled tile. Victor tucked himself back into his jeans with some difficulty, finding Simon’s form still alluring. He’d landed in quite a provocative position, his bum stuck into the air, cum leaking from his quivering entrance.

Simon didn’t wake as Victor draped him over his broad shoulder and carried him to his black car. He didn’t wake when he was thrown into the back seat to have his head crack against the door. Nor did he wake when he was driven and carried through a darkened garage into the lion’s den.

On occasion his blue eyes would flutter open at the feel of something hard and slick driving into him, lifting his hips from a soft bed with a high thread count. He would groan before he slipped into that darkness once more.

The morning sun shining across his bruised face caused Simon to clench his eyelids shut. He tried to rub his eyes with his left hand and found it would only move a few inches from where it dangled. His fingers tingled from loss of blood and his wrist ached from contact with the hard metal hand cuffs. Simon leaned his head back, suddenly alarmed and began to jerk violently at his bound wrist.

He whimpered, pulling hard at the hand cuffs and cutting shallow, bruised wounds into his wrist. As he turned from his back to his side he gasped and froze. His entire body ached, his bum burned. Shallow scratches over his chest and back itched like mad. The deeper gouges screamed at Simon when any sort of pressure applied to them. Fear gripped his belly once again, and yet he felt his erection poke insistently at his bruised belly.

His right hand free, Simon gave into his aching cock and began to stroke his fingers along his hardened length. It started slow, tentative as he realized he’d been undressed and actually bathed sometime during the night. His pace picked up quickly as he heard footsteps coming near him. The thought that his attacker from the night before was coming for him excited him all the more.

Simon jerked off furiously but it was not until that tall shadow fell across the bed that he came. His stream of cum shot violently from the tip of his cock, striking his chin and surprising himself as he lay on his side, panting amongst the sheets.

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