Adult-FanFiction.org : Marvel 'Verse

For Hire	By : WolverMean Category: X-men Comics > Het - Male/Female Views: 1858 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Marvel characters or the Marvel Universe mentioned within this story and I'm not making any money off of it. This is strictly for fun and not profit.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
If you want a lover
I'll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I'll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner, take my hand, or
If you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
I'm your man
If you want a boxer
I will step into the ring for you
And if you want a doctor
I'll examine every inch of you
If you want a driver, climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can
I'm your man
- I’m Your Man by Leonard Cohen

Your heart’s practically beatin’ at the speed of light an’ can smell the nervous sweat that’s beginnin’ to gather under your armpits.
I can also smell my scent an’ seed all over you; I’d fucked you twice on the drive here ‘cause I’m gonna be splittin’ soon an’ I hate the goddamn idea of bein’ apart from you for so long. Also ‘cause I want no misunderstandin’ between me an’ the runt: you’re mine an’ I want him to fuckin’ know it—and maybe flaunt it a bit ‘cause I wanna rub his stupid fuckin’ face in it.
You reach for my hand an’ I let you take it, wrap your small, warm fingers ‘round my palm. I ain’t a PDA kinda guy, but today, I ain’t gonna stop touchin’ ya (re: the runt an’ rubbin’ his goddamn face it it).
Fuck though, it feels great when you touch me. In fact, thinkin’ about it, we’ve been doin’ a lot of touchin’ since we became mates, an’ not just the sexy kind neither. I fuckin’ love it.
I know you’re gonna be safe at this goddamn place, as much as I fuckin’ hate to admit it an’ shit. You’d asked me a shit ton of questions on the plane ride here an’ I answered ‘em best I could. I mean, I ain’t up on the runt’s movements so much these days.
So colour me fuckin’ surprised when I found out he was runnin’ a fuckin’ school. A school for kids.
Jesus.
James “Logan” Howlett is not the fuckin’ guy I’d want to be in charge of kids an’ shit. Not that he’s a kiddie toucher or anythin’ perverted like that; he’s like me— a soldier, a warrior, a fighter. We both seen and done shit that can fuck a man up, make him hard, emotionless, mould him into the kinda man that don’t have the patience for kids.
An’ now he’s in charge of, like, hundreds of the little bastards.
Heh.
The runt’s waitin’ on the steps, dressed in jeans, shirt, an’ tie like he’s To Sir, With Love or some shit. Storm, that tall, chocolate goddess, is standin’ behind him lookin’ as fine as ever.
Once upon a time, I woulda given a million dollars just to taste her pussy, find out if she’s sweet or bitter chocolate, but I don’t have those kinda thoughts no more. Not since you. In fact, I don’t fantasise ‘bout no one ‘cept you.
You’ve really taken over my brain.
The runt’s eyes flick over us an’ I can see him scent you subtly. I know what he’s gonna smell, so I flash him the smuggest fuckin’ smile I can when his gaze shoots to me.
“Victor,” he says in his gravelly voice, his stupid face emotionless.
“Runt,” I say cordially. “Ororo.”
The weather goddess raises her eyebrows at my fuckin’ affability. Not that I blame her; I ain’t known for bein’ the most pleasant fuckin’ villain around.
“You must be Lily Ames,” says the runt, reachin’ out a hand to you.
Instinctively, I step between you an’ the runt. To my beast, he’s a rival, another male that could possibly take you away from me. I don’t want him fuckin’ touchin’ you.
“Hands off.” I say, my voice just slightly north of a warnin’ growl.
You radiate agitation as you shove me aside. “For fuck’s sake, Victor,” you snap. “You know I hate that whole, macho don’t be touching my womanshit. I’m not your possession.”
Fuck, yes.
I love it when you fuckin’ sass me like that, expletives fallin’ from that gorgeous mouth of yours, the same mouth that pleasures my cock when we’re alone.
“I like you.” Ororo says, her red painted lips tippin’ up in a rare smile.
You step forward to grasp her then the runt’s hand, givin’ them both a firm shake, expressin’ the normal platitudes, like thank you, nice to meet you, let me kiss your ass kinda shit.
I know your actions are genuine an’ so does the runt, if the look he’s givin’ you is any indication. You definitely ain’t what he was expectin’, I’m sure. Given my track records with chicks, I’m sure he had you pegged as … uh, let’s just go with different.
Yet, here you are, dressed all casually in jeans an’ a nice blouse with low heels, bein’ all charmin’ an’ interestin’ an’ shit. An' fuckin’ gorgeous to boot.
His eyes snap to me again an’ I shrug. I dunno how this whole fuckin’ thing happened. Alls I know is that your mine an’ I couldn’t give a shit ‘bout anythin’ else—except for killin’ the guy who’s got it in for you.
The runt invites us into the school, he an’ Ororo pointin’ out various shit along the way. I smell a few more of the X-Jerks waitin’ in the office, so I ain’t surprised when we’re greeted by Doctor Henry McCoy (AKA – Beast), an’ Kitty Pryde (AKA – who gives a good goddamn? Chick changes her fuckin’ name like she fuckin’ changes panties).
Intros all around before the runt takes his seat behind the giant oak desk, you an’ I sittin’ in the chairs across from it. I’m surprised how fuckin’ comfortable it is an’ how I can fuckin’ fit. I guess they gotta be prepared for mutants of all shapes an’ sizes an’ shit, but I can tell they sure as fuck ain’t prepared for this.
Big Bad Sabretooth sittin’ across from most of the X-Bitches, practically on my hands an’ knees beggin’ for a fuckin’ favour. Thought I may’ve used up all my goddamn favours with these guys, but the runt’s curiosty ‘bout you won me yet some more good fuckin’ will. Prob’ly thinks he can save you or some shit, but you don’t need savin’.
You need me.
As if you’re readin’ my mind, you reach out an’ I take your hand, scootin’ my chair closer to yours so it ain’t awkward. I don’t suppress my haughty grin as the X-Idiots exchange glances.
The runt clears his throat. “You gotta understand this is an … unusual situation for us,” he says to you, tryin’ hard not to look at our clasped hands.
You shake your head in my direction an’ squeeze my hand. “I’d say,” you reply. “I know Victor’s been—well, a complete fucking asshole, which is a total understatement, but I truly do appreciate the fact you’re helping me, no thanks to him.”
Goddamn, that sass. Lust coils in my belly an’ I’d certainly like to punish you for sayin’ naughty things ‘bout me, but that ain’t the focus here.
The runt gives you a smile an’ I feel my upper lip curlin’ back. I don’t want him to like you or to get too comfortable around you; you two ain’t gonna be friends, not if I can help it.
He starts jawin’ on ‘bout rules an’ shit—the four X-Bastards standin’ in the room are the only ones who know your real name an’ sitch. I insisted on that for your safety; in case the shit hits the fan, at least one of ‘em will know what to do. All the other “staff” (an’ I use that term lightly ‘cause I don’t think any of the ones could teach their way outta a paper bag) know you by your fake name, Lily Ames.
Lily, like as in Tiger Lily, my beautiful l’il flower that can grow outta the cracks an’ still come out all amazin’ like. I ain’t told you my reason behind the name. I don’t need you getting’ all sobby an’ shit.
The runt also lets you know you’re gonna be doin’ some hardcore trainin’ both mental an’ physical, again ‘cause I asked. You need to be able to protect yourself if I ain’t around.
He spews out a few more fuckin’ blah blah blahs, but I ain’t payin’ attention. Never paid much attention to the runt to begin with an’ I sure as shit ain’t gonna start now. I’m thinkin’ more ‘bout if I can get you alone one more time before I go, really give you a solid handshake, if you know what I’m talkin’ about.
I manage to catch the runt’s look as he gets to his feet—he knows what’s truly goin’ on in this ol’ brain of mine—and everybody stands, you plantin’ a kiss on my cheek before you head out the door with Ororo, Kitty, an’ the Big Blue Gorilla in order for ‘em to show you around.
The door shuts, leavin’ me an’ good ol’ Jimmy facin’ each other, almost like old times.
“So Vic,” he says. “What’s the real fuckin’ deal here?”
“No fuckin’ idea, Jimmy. It just happened,” I reply. “I’m just as shocked as any of you.”
“Heh. I bet.”
He motions for me to sit an’ reaches down to his desk drawer, pullin’ out a fine-ass scotch, a few tumblers, an’ two delicious lookin’ cigars. I catch the one he flips at me an’ admire it for a few seconds. Smells like Cuba, the sandy beaches, the salt ocean air, the hot babes wearin’ tannin’ lotion scented like coconuts. Good times.
“’Ro’ll kill me for smokin’ in here, but it ain’t too often you an’ I aren’t tryin’ to fuckin’ eviserate each other.”
I light the cigar. “Storm’s gotcha by the short n’ curlies, eh?” I exhale an’ lean towards him, blowin’ fragrant smoke. “Always wondered if her pussy was worth it.”
Jimmy’s anger spikes as his dark blue eyes glare at me; it rolls across my skin like a dry desert wind. It woulda made me shiver if the runt scared me, but we’d gone up against each other too many times to even pretend anymore.
His reaction reminds me that I’d prob’ly launch myself across the desk if he’d said the same thing ‘bout you. Shit, you got me all twisted, tiger.
“Crossed a line,” I say with a shrug. “Still gettin’ used to havin’ a woman.”
It was the best apology Jimmy was gonna get. I mean, we ain’t the kinda guys who’re gonna talk it out over a cold brew an’ hug after, but my words musta done the trick ‘cause the prickle of his anger fades an’ he lights his own cigar before he pours us each a few fingers of scotch.
“She has cats,” I say offhandedly, seein’ if I can throw him off. “Two of ‘em.”
“Gambit’s got three cats,” Jimmy replies. “I can handle some goddamn cats. Cats ain’t the thing I gotta problem with.” He takes a deep puff, tosses the liquor down his throat, and sits heavily in his chair, borin’ his eyes into mine.
“You don’t stay here,” he says flatly. “You don’t sleep here, you don’t eat here, you don’t hang out here, an’ you don’t fuck here. I don’t wanna see your ugly-ass face an’ I don’t wanna smell your disgustin’ scent anywhere except on your woman. You pick her up an’ drop her off outside the gates. Non-negotiable.”
“I get it,” I say. “Big Bad Motherfuckin’ Sabretooth ain’t comin’ near your precious school. That is, if she’s safe; but I fuckin’ swear, Jimmy, if somethin’ happens, I’ll fuckin’ shred any one of you that stands between me n’ her.”
“Noted.”
The two of us sit in silence for a few minutes, drinkin’ excellent scotch an’ smokin’ those first-rate Cubans. We study each other; we’re used to lookin’ for weaknesses we can exploit. He’s got Ororo; he’s got the school.
Getting’ soft in old age, I guess, but if I’m bein’ honest, Jimmy’ll win any round against me ‘cause he’s taking care of my biggest weakness: you. An’ he knows it too. Bastard won’t be afraid to use you against me if he has too; I kinda admire him for it. I’d do the exact same fuckin’ thing if our positions were reversed.
It also means you’re safe, even from me if it comes to that. I hope it never does, though.
He stands, grindin’ out the cigar in an ashtray he produced from the same drawer, an’ starts openin’ windows. “I’m gonna let you tell her about accommodations. Figured she’d take it better hearin’ it from her mate.”
The word sounds strange comin’ from someone else’s mouth, foreign, although I know he’s prob’ly one of the only people in the world that might have a mate someday.
Heh. To paraphrase Mr. T, I pity that fool.
I lean forward, an’ ‘cause I’m still a fuckin’ bastard an’ want to remind him, I crush the cigar out on his desk. He narrows his eyes an’ I know he’s pissed, but he don’t react. “I ain’t thankin’ you,” I snarl.
Jimmy barks a laugh. “Didn’t expect it,” he says, pickin’ up my waste an’ tossin’ it in the ashtray. “Havin’ you owe me is all the thanks, I need, Vic.”
These people hate my fuckin’ guts an’ rightfully so. I’ve fucked these X-Bastards around, I’ve fucked them up, hell, I think I prob’ly even fucked some of ‘em, so I didn’t even imagine Jimmy’d wanna get his hands dirty stoopin’ down to pick me up outta the mud.
He crosses to the door an’ opens it, motionin’ outside. I barely get out in the hall before you come barrelin’ towards me. I catch you with a grunt as you leap at me, your legs wrappin’ ‘round my waist. Despite the fact there’s other people standin’ around, you plant one on me so fierce, I swear you suck mosta the barbs offa my tongue. You got me purrin’ when you finally lean back, an excited look on your face.
“This place is the shit!” you exclaim breathlessly. “I don’t know who you had to blow to get me in here, but I can’t thank you enough.”
I hear Kitty an’ Logan suppress a laugh at your statement an’ I’m suddenly jealous every one here’s gonna get to hear your crass quips ‘cept me, but the feelin’ don’t stay long.
You’re a delicious weight in my arms, your groin pressed against my stomach, your hands on my shoulders. The kiss you’d given me got my mind rollin’ an’ I can think of several hundred ways you can thank me, many of ‘em illegal in the state of New York.
“Notwithstanding the abnormal—um—circumstances,” Big Blue says, “your grades are exemplary Miss—uh—Ames. I could not in good conscious turn away such a wonderful mind such as yourself.”
“See?” I say, smiling at you. “I didn’t do shit; this was all you, tiger. But I ain’t gonna stop you from thankin’ me if that’s the kind of thing you’re into.”
“You know it is,” you murmur lustily before you lay another toe curlin’ kiss on me.
Shit, I want you so bad an’ I know you want me just as much, but from the look I’m gettin’ from the runt, we ain’t gonna have much time together. Reluctantly, I pull you offa me an’ lower you gently to the ground.
“Let’s get your shit,” I say, takin’ your hand. “Gotta a few things to tell you before I go.”
You don’t got much, just a few small suitcases with a few clothes, toiletries, an’ some trinkets—books mostly. Bob an’ Doug McKenzie, your cats, will be comin’ down with me next week once their waitin’ period is over.
You’re pissed as hell when I tell you that I can’t stay with you when I’m in town. It’s all fuckin’ cute an’ shit. I love it when you get all pissy with someone else, the fire behind your eyes, the way your lips purse, the way your cheeks redden.
“I’m not gonna let some short, smelly man wearing a fucking ugly tie tell me I can’t be with you whenever we have time! He’s just gonna have to suck it the fuck up or kick me the hell out. If I can’t be with you, I’d rather fucking die.”
Christ, what did I ever do to deserve you?
“No, tiger,” I say firmly. “I busted my ass to get you here ‘cause it’s the only place I know you’ll be safe; don’t fuck it up.”
You get all pouty an’ I can feel the Yosemite Sam in you about to have a rootin’, tootin’ tirade, but I silence you with a kiss.
“I got a place not far from here that makes this one look like a third world country’s fuckin’ outhouse,” I say. “‘Sides, we’ll get you a car so’s you can zip back an’ forth when you’re with me.”
You get excited all over again an’ I can’t help but wonder what’s gonna happen when I hand you a small rectangular box. It ain’t wrapped or shit like that; I ain’t got the patience to be fuckin’ Martha Stewart, so it’s just plain.
You whip the lid off an’ peer inside.
“It’s a bank card,” I tell. “I took all the money you gave me an’ put it in an account for you. I diversified some of it, stocks an’ bonds an’ shit. Password an’ account number is on the back. Change it ASAP.”
“Oh, Victor,” Your fingers stroke the card before you look up at me, your beautiful eyes fillin’ with tears.
Fuck. I hate it when you cry, even if it’s from happiness. I’m a man, y’know? Sure, I may have done a ton of shit and seen a ton of shit, but the Female Emotional Scale ain’t in my wheelhouse. I only have three emotions—Angry, Not So Angry, an’ Horny—an’ I can make sense of that. They’re all I need to make it through the day.
“Pick it up,” I say, a bit flustered. “There’s somethin’ else.”
A shiny black Amex stops your tears immediately an’ I can’t help feelin’ relieved.
“I know you’re a strong independent woman an’ shit,” I say, “an’ that’s what the bank account is for; that’s all yours, do whatever with it, I don’t care. The Amex is a gift. Buy all the fancy shit you want, as long as some of it’s sexy an’ I get to take if offa you.”
You’re fuckin’ thrilled an’ it’s all I can do to keep you from tearin’ my goddamn clothes off as you try to climb me like a tree. Honestly, I’d fuck you against the car if I could, but fuckin’ Jimmy’s watchin’ an’ I don’t want him stealin’ any of my great sex moves to use on Ororo. Bastard’s enough like me as it is—except shorter an’ uglier.
While we’re both disappointed that we ain’t gonna get some alone time before I go, we manage to give ‘em a pretty good show. I even get my hands under your shirt for a bit of the ol’ squeeze an’ fondle.
Nice.
“I’ll miss you,” you whisper against my ear once we got each other all presentable again.
“Me too, tiger.”
It’s too soon before I’m in the car, watchin’ you get smaller in my rear view mirror as I drive away. I don’t like the idea of bein’ away from you for so long—a week seems like a fuckin’ eternity—but there’s somethin’ important I gotta take care of.

The bar’s dingy yet crowded, which is a good thing as far as I’m concerned. Sure, I may be built like a three-storey brick shithouse, but in a crappy pub filled with weirdoes with asymmetrical multi-coloured haircuts, head-to-toe tattoos, all sorts of new an’ inventive piercin’s, who’s gonna pay attention to l’il ol’ me?
Absolutely fuckin’ no one.
You slide into the booth an’ push a beer towards me. I grab it an’ take a long pull. I can’t get drunk too often, but I still like tryin’ an’ the wash of cold alcohol down my dry throat feels good.
“So,” you say in a voice that ain’t yours, “how do you wanna do this?”
“I ain’t gonna tell you ‘til you change,” I growl, disgusted.
Mystique can’t imitate someone’s tone unless she’s heard at least ten syllables an’ in a way, I’m kinda glad that part of you’s still a mystery to her. I’d hate to hear your speech comin’ from her body.
You flash me a sexy smile, reachin’ over to stroke my fingers. “Don’t like it? I made it special just for you.”
“Voice ain’t right,” I jerk my hand away from your touch. It don’t feel right; skin’s odd somehow. “‘Sides, how’d you know? Been keepin’ it on the DL.”
“Sabe, you know who you’re talking to, right? I keep very close tabs on you.”
I huff. “Didn’t think you cared.”
“I don’t; I just don’t want you getting in my way.”
I bark a laugh as Raven Darkholme, or Mystique as she’s better known as, shifts her looks to resemble some of the more outlandish clientele. She claims she don’t care, but I know better.
Me n’ her have a long, complicated history. On an’ off lovers, knocked her up once (don’t like to talk about that), an’ I spent a lot of time followin’ her around like a lost puppy dog, doin’ her biddin’ an’ whatnot. She’s a smart lady, sly, wicked as sin, an’ almost as sadistic as myself.
See? A lot of attractive qualities I admire in a woman, but we ain’t like that no more. Sure, we still help each other out occasionally with plots an’ schemes an’ the like, but it’s all strictly professional now. Been like that for a few decades.
Yep, we’re both older n’ Methuselah’s donkey.
Heh. Bible reference.
Mystique takes a swallow of beer an’ looks at me, a smug smile on her face. “Does this mate thing mean you’re off the market?”
“Yeah.”
“Pity.”
I snort. “Let’s do this fuckin’ thing. I got shit to do.”
She turned the bottle in her hands, her eyebrows raised. “You don’t have time for an old friend?”
“We never been friends, Raven,” I say. “We only use each other when we need somethin’.”
“Like now?”
“Like now.”
“I need more time,” Mystique says before takin’ another sip.
I’m gettin’ impatient. This is just like her, playin’ games, stringin’ me along. Back when we were in whatever our relationship was, she was at this type of shit all the time; of course, back in the day, I’d do anythin’ Raven asked. I ain’t ashamed to admit I let my dick lead me around in the past.
Kinda still do, actually—but you’re the only one leadin’ me around now.
“Shit, Raven,” I say. “I ain’t like I asked you to smuggle in the fuckin’ moon. It’s just some address an’ information. You startin’ to lose your edge?”
Her eyes shoot daggers at me an’ I get to my feet, ready to move on lest she start shootin’ real daggers at my person.
“You have until tomorrow mornin’. Drop it off at the usual place an’ once I get it, I’ll send you the cash,” I tell her, tossin’ a few bucks on the table. “I got a deadline, Raven; I ain’t fuckin’ around.”
Mystique doesn’t say anythin’ as I leave, an’ the crowd parts, lettin’ me pass. I’m kinda pissed that she didn’t have what I asked her for. If anyone could get the information I needed, it’d be Raven. I was countin’ on her to have it ready for me so’s I get it over with.
I ain’t gonna complain ‘bout an extra night to myself, though. I’m fuckin’ bushed, havin’ spent most of the day travellin’, gettin’ you to Westchester County, settlin’ you in, then comin’ back home. It don’t seem like I did much, but not havin’ you near is havin’ some kind of affect on me.
The penthouse is cool an’ dark, dim lightin’ comin’ on as I move through the space. Bob McKenzie is sprawled on the couch, his green eyes followin’ me as I go to my computer. Doug McKenzie skitters past me in a flash, his claws slashin’ at my shins; I hiss at him an’ he hides behind the couch.
Doug don’t like me much, but I haven’t done anythin’ to endear myself to the l’il fucker—except save his goddamn life. You tell me some cats are just fuckin’ assholes an’ there ain’t no changin’ ‘em, an’ perhaps in that aspect, me an’ Doug are too much alike.
Heh.
Stupid fuckin’ cat.
I feel my cell vibrate in my pocket as my computer’s bootin’ up an’ pull it out.
Y – What are you wearing?
Me - Go to sleep, little girl. It’s a school night.
Y – It’s hard sleeping without you next to me, Big Bad Wolf. L
Me – You’ll get used to it
Y – Seriously, though, what’re you wearing?
Me – The cats are fine
It ain’t that I don’t wanna sext—normally I’d sext the hell out of you, dick pics an’ all (I fuckin’ love the 21^st century SO FUCKIN’ MUCH)—but I got so much other shit to do. It seems odd for me to say it, but sex is the last thing on my mind right now. On the Sabretooth Emotional Scale, I’m at a solid Angry.
Y – This oughta get you huffin’ and puffin’, my sexy Big Bad Wolf
A tit pic follows an’ the Scale tilts ever so slightly to Horny.
Fuck.
No; I ain’t got time for this. Be strong. BE. STRONG.
I look at the photo again an’ the Scale shoots past Horny, almost goin’ of the charts. Suddenly, my dick makes my finger hit the button that connects you to me.
“Goddammit, tiger,” I growl when you answer. “Are you tryin’ to fuckin’ give me a stroke?”
You laugh, a sultry, lusty sound. “I am trying to give you a stroke,” you tease, “but I’m too far away; you’re gonna have to do it yourself.”
Fuck.
“We’ve already established that I’m naked,” you purr. “So, now it’s your turn to tell me what you’re wearing.”
I can hear your free hand caressin’ your skin an’ I’m fumbling with my pants, practically yankin’ the zipper clean off. It’s almost a relief when my cock springs out. It was gettin’ kinda hot an’ tight in there. I put you on speaker phone and lay the cell on my desk.
“Ain’t wearin’ anything at all, tiger,” I murmur.
“Mmmmmm, you're a dirty liar,” you sigh. “I want you to touch your cock for me, Mr. Creed. Wrap your hand around it.”
I can’t help myself when you’re like this, when you’re the one in control. My hand closes around my erection an’ I hiss in delight.
“Good boy,” you say. I bite back a whimper as a small trickle of pre-come leaks from the tip. “Now, get your palm good and dripping and start fisting yourself nice and slow.”
“You touchin’ yourself, baby?” I growl as my hand begins to move of its own accord.
The cell dings an’ I look to see a photo of your fingers pressed against your swollen clit, wetness already glistenin’ at your openin’.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
It’s agony workin’ my cock all unhurried like. I want it fast an’ furious an’ you hear my frustrated groans as I strain to do what I want.
“Ah ah ah, Mr. Creed,” you chide, “I’m the one in charge here, remember? I want you moaning and panting like the nasty, smutty whore you are.”
“Christ,” I force the word through clenched teeth. “Tiger, I wanna—“
“This isn’t about what you want,” Your voice is whip-snap sharp, makin’ me moan as the sound cracks across the phone. “This is about what I want, you horrible, selfish man! No more talking from you until I say so.”
Goddammit, I love it when you get all nasty an’ forceful with me, all that foul language drippin’ from those sweet lips. Over my gasps an’ grunts, I hear the sound of your fingers workin’ in an’ out of your delicious pussy.
“I bet your listening to this, aren’t you? This is how fucking wet your voice gets me,” Your growl is low an’ sexy an’ I can picture you touchin’ yourself, those fingers bringin’ you to ecstasy.
“I bet you wish it was your cock buried inside me, don’t you?”
You know I can’t answer you an’ my snarl makes you laugh. Goddamn right I wish I was deep inside of you, makin’ you scream my name. My cock is startin’ to ache, my breath comin’ faster. I’m gonna need to come soon, but I won’t be able to until you tell me I can.
“You’re getting close; I can tell,” you whisper. “Stroke yourself harder now, faster, the way you like.”
Finally.
I can’t help the loud groan that works its way out from a bottomless depth. This is what I was waitin’ for, what I wanted. I imagine your mouth around my cock, wet an’ hot, slidin’ that sweet tongue all around.
“Do you want to come now, slut? Tell me; do you want to come all over that expensive shirt you’re wearing?”
“Yes!” I shout, ‘cause goddamn, I can barely wait another second.
Fuck, it’s only Armani. I can get another one, easy peasy lemon squeezy. They have my size on file, but I do love the personal touch of a made-to-measure.
“Then do it,” you hiss. “Spurt that come all over that hand-tailored bullshit, you sloppy whore.”
I grunt as I splatter my load all over my ivory, hand-stitched, made-to-measure Armani shirt as white lights burst in front of my eyes. It keeps comin’, so I let it, squeezin’ myself as hard as I dare in order to get every drop.
Gaspin’, I lean towards the cell just in time to hear you come, cryin’ out my name as you do. It’s almost enough to make me fuckin’ hard again.
“Shit, Victor,” you pant. “You’re just as good over the phone as you are in person.”
“That’s a fuckin’ lie,” I say. “My cock is much better in person. Now, let me hear you lick those fingers, tiger.”
The cell dings an’ I get a live video of you suckin’ at your digits, cleanin’ off all that tasty pussy juice. Your cheeks are flushed from your orgasm, your skin shiny with sweat. I wish I was there to lap it all off you, maybe get you squirmin’ again.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur once you pull your fingers from your mouth an’ the video vanishes.
“I miss you,” you say, your voice soundin’ heartbroken.
“We’ll be together soon, tiger,” I say. “I promise.”
“I can’t wait.”
“You’re up past your bedtime, you naughty girl,” I growl, makin’ you squeal. “Someone’s got school in the mornin’ an’ I don’t wanna hear ‘bout any bad behaviour ‘cause then I’d haveta spank you.”
“Will you spank me anyway?” you ask breathlessly.
“You know I will. ‘Night, tiger.”
“Goodnight, Victor.”
I stand up an’ remove my shirt, wipin’ at the come on my thighs an’ neck before tossin’ it on the floor. Bob strolls over to sniff at it, then he flops onto it, purrin’ like crazy. Unlike Doug, I think Bob likes me just a li’l bit too much. Makes him easy to live with, so I’ll take what I can get.
Just as I’m sittin’ down to check my emails, the elevator door dings. It’s around 11 o’clock, too late for regular visitors, so I figure it’s Ryan, who lives on the floor below me, or Mazur, who lives on the floor below Ryan.
Both are employees of mine, Ryan’s my driver an’ general go-fer an’ I’ve recently put Mazur in charge of gettin’ me the finest weaponry to buy an’ sell. The old man’s a fuckin’ pip—a bit too addicted to his brother’s vodka, though.
It’s Mazur; I can smell him as soon as he’s off the elevator, but somethin’s wrong. His heart’s goin’ real fast an’ the stench of nervous sweat is almost overpowerin’ the rancid cologne he likes to wear.
“What’s up, old man?” I ask as he comes into view. “You got another shipment for me to check out?”
He’s not dressed in his normal outfit of faded slacks, shiny at the ass an’ knees from years of year, and a cheap dress shirt, usually made from fuckin' polyester or a blend that makes my skin crawl.
He’s dressed in a suit—looks like Ralph Lauren Purple Lable an’ that shit ain’t cheap—an’ his cap is missin’ revealin’ a head of soft silver hair. The man looks like he should be playin’ James Bond, if Bond were in his mid-seventies.
My hackles are immediately up. This ain’t right.
“Mr. Creed,” Mazur says in an immaculate English accent, “Come with me, please.”
What the fuck? Who the fuck is this guy? What the fuck is goin’ on?
Since I don’t know the answers, the Sabretooth Emotional Scale shoots right to Anger an’ I get super-dee-duper pissed. This imposter is in MY home, threatenin’ ME.
My claws are out, my teeth are bared an’ I launch myself at him. He manages to duck me somehow an’ I feel a pinch in my lower back, then two more along my shoulders as I land in a crouch by the wall length electric fireplace.
I reach back to yank one out: tranq darts tipped with Carbonadium. Shit.
They’re already takin’ effect; I can’t seem to get out of my crouch, instead fallin’ back on my ass like a toddler learnin’ to walk. The beast is howlin’, ready to take over, but even it’s no match for whatever they drugged me with. I fall onto my side, no longer able to sit upright. The room’s spinnin’ too much for my eyes to focus.
“This would have been so much easier if you had only cooperated,” says Mazur as he leans over me. He tags me with a few more darts. “I have no idea how we’re going to move him.”
“Don’t worry,” replies a familiar voice. “I know all the tricks.”
Mystique, in her usual blue form, kneels in front of me, taking my face in her hand. I’m tryin’ desperately to get my vision workin’, but I ain’t feelin’s so hot now. Chills start rollin’ through my body while sweat starts to bead along my forehead. I can’t stop my limbs from tremblin’.
“Raven,” I manage to croak out despite the fact my tongue is a dry lump in my mouth. “Wha th’ fuck?”
Mystique smiles at me as her form goes blurry. Then you’re there, grinnin’ down at me. “It’s nothing personal,” you say as you pat my cheek. “It’s just that you wouldn’t believe the price on your woman’s head. It’s an obscene amount, Victor, way more than you could ever give me.”
I’m barely registerin’ what you’re sayin’. How are you here? Didn’t I take you to Jimmy’s stupid fuckin’ school? Am I still at the school? Did the X-Fuckers take me down?
“Tiger …”
It’s all I manage to get out before my voice dies completely an’ I lay there limply, still not sure why I can’t move my goddamn muscles. I’m gonna fuckin’ kill the runt if this has anythin’ to do with him.
You stand, but I can hardly make you out; you look like a mirage, shimmerin’ on the horizon. I reach out blindly an’ feel someone knock my hand away.
“We only use each other when we need something, isn’t that what you said?” Your voice is gettin’ faint. “Well, I’m using you to get a fuck ton of money, so I’m not going outside the definition of our working relationship. It’s all on the level.”
“I’ve gotten the cats in the carrier, Mystique,” says a man who sounds like a total assbag.
“Good,” you say. “Shoot the big lug again and let’s get out of here. I’ll grab his cell.”
Another pinch an’ all my senses fade, ‘cept for the image of you wavin’ goodbye to me as I drive away. I try to wave back, but my arms are a dead weight, all control over my motor skills gone.
Pretty soon, you’re gone as well, leavin’ me alone in darkness.
- 8
- 9
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