Disclaimer: There not mine. Don't sue. Larry Hamma provides one line of
dialogue, I'm sure you'll know which one.
Author's Note: This is my first posted story. Feedback would be very cool
at [email protected] (Man I love that address!)
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He's home.
Another job done.
I know what comes next.
I sit at the security console and watch him approach. He took the bike this
time. When he's been on the bike he's extra....
The machine stops in the garage and he lifts one of his huge legs over the
beast. I watch him perform the minimal grooming act of running a rough hand
over his long blond hair as he heads for the door. I know that no one on
earth, or anywhere else for that matter, sees him the way I do. Relaxed.
But relaxed as he is, he is no less dangerous. In fact, probably more so
given that this is his home. He's like a lion strutting in his own cave.
I hear the door slam. He wants me to hear him. He could have come in
silently, even through the window.
Its his way of telling me that it makes no difference if I know he's coming
or not. He will still come.
I start to make my way to his room. I've learned not to fight him too much;
it only gets him going more.
I hear him go to the kitchen. The fridge opens. A cap twists off. He's
drinking a beer. Right on schedule. The empty bottle slams down on the
counter and I hear his heavy feet approach the stairs.
"Birdy!" he bellows my name like a mutant 'Stanley'. "I need the glow,
Birdy!" I know what he expects. He'll want a hot bath ready. He'll want
more booze and his cigars. He'll want me in his head. He'll want his fix.
He'll want....
The bath is nearly full by the time he makes it upstairs. The smell tells me
he's gone back to the kitchen for more beer. He undresses in front of me.
He always does. I turn my head. I try to fool myself. Maybe if I don't see
him like this then what comes next won't happen. It never works.
He lowers himself into the water and motions me to him. I bring him his
booze and smokes.
"No waitin' t'night, Birdy. Hit me now." he says with a hand tight around
my wrist. Must have been a big job.
In seconds I am in his mind. Everything is blood red and the air is filled
with screaming. Images of Victor's life float before me. I see him as a
little boy. I see him as partners with Wolverine. I see him with an Indian
girl.
The little boy bites off his mothers fingers. The Black-ops soldier murders
one of their own. The frontier man kills the Native girl.
On and on.
Images of his ruthless crimes pound in his brain, urging him do more. Now
new images are here, disturbing the old ones with their arrival. They stir
up his past, making his mind muddy with old blood.
I know these new memories are from the job he just did. Fifteen victims.
All ages. Male and female. All ripped to shreds with his bare hands. He
rarely uses hardware. He enjoys himself more this way. I see him smile and
laugh when they scream for mercy; when they scream in pain; even the three
year old and his grandmother. The man's wife and teen aged daughters get
extra attention as he finishes them off. I see him sitting in a chair,
surveying the gore he had created. He is licking the blood off his claw
tipped fingers. His hair is no longer a pale blond but dark red, soaked with
drying blood. He must have stopped at a safe house for a shower. Or maybe
he just found a rusty tap on the outside of some building. Both are possible.
I know that he hadn't really sat there like that. He would have left as soon
as the job was done. Assassins don't stick around at the scene. This is
Victors consciousness. He is still revelling in what he's done. Still
savouring it. Reliving it. And in reliving it, his bloodlust is increasing.
He will need to kill again.
I give it to him.
I focus my psychic powers and unleash all my strength into one psi-bolt. I
push him away from the memory of his latest assignment and I give him a high
that rocks his mind and leaves him temporarily spent.
Even with no memories floating near his consciousness, the underlying scenery
in Victor's mind is terrifying. Rivers of blood run through a blood soaked
landscape. Everything has a red tinge to it. This is the blood of all his
victims. I come out of his mind as quickly as possible.
The smile on his face makes me flinch and I know he is enjoying my
nervousness. It is not really a smile. More just his lips parting and
pulling back slightly. He is baring his teeth. It is only the slightly far
away look in his eyes that tells me he isn't going to gut me right here and
now.
"That was a good one, Birdie." his snarling voice says. "But I don't think
yer done."
No, I'm not. Well, yes, I am done. He isn't done with me.
I know what he wants me to do. His eyes bore into me as I undress. The
water is hot. It scalds as I sink into it. I don't care. If I am under the
water, he can't look at me like that anymore.
Water splashes my face as he grabs my arm. Why do I always seem to forget
just how fast he is?
"What are ya waintin' fer, Birdy?" I hate it when he says my name like that.
He forces my hand to his crotch. I take over from there. I know just how
to get him off the quickest; but he has stamina. He laughs at me sometimes.
He knows I want it to be over but he holds out as long as possible. Just to
torment me further. I want to kill him when he laughs at me. That makes him
laugh more.
But the ending is worse than anything to this point. I dread the ending just
as much as I pray for it to come.
His head is back, resting on the back of the tub. He has a cigar in one
hand. I hear growls starting to rumble from his chest. He is starting to
seethe.
Lightning quick again his hand is on top of my head, gripping my hair, almost
pulling it out. I only have a second to take a good breath before he pushes
my head under the water.
He doesn't loosen his grip as my lips are pumped back and forth, surrounding
him. My lungs scream for air. My stomach gags repeatedly as he forces it
deep.
Then, when I think I'm going to die, I'm rewarded with salty warmth filling
my mouth. I have to swallow it or let it choke me. Sometimes a really think
about it, wondering which would be better. Spitting it out is not an option.
He doesn't want his bath water ruined. That's the whole point of pushing
me down in the first place.
I gasp and sputter as he releases my hair, allowing me to breach the surface.
He is blowing cigar smoke out of his nose and smirking at me.
"Get out Birdie." he says flatly. I am expecting that. I don't argue. I
don't want to argue. I gather my clothes. I don't bother to put them on.
I just want to be out of there as quickly as possible.
The hallway seems really quiet. It always does on these nights.
Why do I stay with him? This was not in the job description. That's my
little joke to myself. It has never once made me laugh.
Why don't I just fight back? I am a telepath after all. No matter the size
or strength of the other person, a telepath should have the advantage.
Its funny, whenever the thought of using my telepathy in an attack on Victor
I hear his voice. He's said it many times just to make sure I understand.
'You ain't got the sand to kill me Birdy. 'Cause you know there ain't
nowhere far enough for you to run, if ya tries and fails!' He's right.
Its not all bad. He pays me well. Its more exciting than say, sitting at
some desk answering phones and getting my jack-ass boss coffee.
I know it sounds bad. Wrong for some reason; and definitely not a reason to
put up with this but I think I stay because he needs me here. The rest of
society needs me here. The body count would be out of control if I wasn't.
I keep the majority of his bloodlust urges at bay.
My room is not far from his but he has only been in here twice. He climbed
in through the window and had me. He didn't say a word, not even to wake me
up. My night shirt being ripped off did that.
For hours I sit up in bed. Waiting. The night isn't done yet I know. This
is only intermission. My anticipation level is too high to let me sleep.
"Birdy!" his thunderous voice rips through the halls.
This is it. This is the last part of the 'Glow'. His mind may have lost
the urge for killing but his body hasn't. It is still pumping testosterone
at high levels. Maybe if he didn't have a healing factor the blow job in the
tub would have been enough. It never is.
I don't really know why he waits. Maybe to keep me off balance. Maybe he's
waiting for his own need to grow to bursting. The Glow is better that way,
more satisfying. This time, he's not getting it from killing, or from me in
his head. He's gonna get it from a good old fashion fuck.
It works best if he gets it all three ways.
I take one breath before I put my hand on the door knob to his room. I am no
stranger to what lies on the other side of this door; I hope knowing will
make it easier this time. I say that every time. It has never been true
once.
I enter and close the door behind me. It seems silly in that instant. We
are the only ones in the house. Why does the door have to be closed?
As soon as the door clicks shut he leaps off the bed. He is wearing only
boxer shorts. With one hand instantly gripping my neck, he presses my back
into the door, holding me at arms length as if I could hurt him, as if I was
a stranger. He looks dead into my eyes and searches for a few seconds. I
never know what he's looking for when he does that. I don't want to know
what he'd do if he didn't find it.
"What took you so long, Birdy?" I know he doesn't want an answer.
With his free hand he grips my night shirt and rips it off. I feel my body
throb and slicken on its own accord, not giving me a chance at free will.
He spins me around and presses my face to the door, his claws biting my
throat. In one rough motion he kicks my legs apart, puts his arm around my
waist and lifts. Grating my cheek up the door as he does it. He is a lot
taller than I am and he's not about to kneel.
He invades me. Hard and fast and deep. He is big. It hurts. I am
sandwiched between the heavy door and Victor. My lip is bleeding from where
my tooth has gone through.
"Scream Birdy." he snarls in my ear. "You know I like it when you scream."
And I do. I scream for him to stop. I scream that it hurts. I scream that
I hate him.
I scream for him to keep going.
For this is my dark secret. One that no one would understand. The real
reason why I stay.
I like it. I need it. I need him to hurt me so I won't hurt myself. My own
version of the glow I guess.
Without warning he lets me go and steps back. I fall to a crumpled,
exhausted, quivering ball on the floor. I'm breathing so hard it feels like
I'm floating. He's not breathing hard at all. He's got lots left.
"Get up, Birdy." I feel him nudge me with his foot. I know I'm not moving
fast enough. He'll get frustrated soon. "Gonna make me come to you eh?" he
laughs "If that's the way you want it."
He sinks to the floor and spreads my legs. I can't fight him. I don't want
to fight him. I want to fuck him. I want to kill him.
Or do I want him to kill me? Kind of like pointing a gun at the cops,
wanting them to shoot you instead.
He is inside me again. The pain is almost gone leaving in its place the
pleasure of the coital fury. I surrender my near nonexistent will and let my
body take over. My nails sink into his back. I feel the skin knitting
itself back together. He growls in response.
His hands move over my body. Those hands that have been soaked in the blood
and bowel of his victims are on me now. I can't suppress as shutter. Death
is close. This close, all it would take would be one claw in the right
place. He could kill me now if he wanted to.
Instead he fucks me. He grips my skin and bruises it instead of tearing it
open. It is impossible not to feed of his animalistic ways. I sink my teeth
into his shoulder. I draw blood. He howls more in anger than in pain. He
lifts himself off me and I see his hand go back.
I land across the room, slamming into his heavy dresser. He is beyond words
now. Now I hear only growls and snarls and sick laughter. My body is
pumping with hormones and adrenalin. I pull myself up onto my elbows. He's
coming toward me. He has his own blood on his fingers. He slides them into
my mouth. The coppery taste explodes in my mouth. Maybe its just in my head
but his blood seems to energize me. I bite down on his fingers hard, drawing
blood once more. He roars and back hands me again. The other side this
time. Only this time I don't fly across the room. Instead he pounds me into
the floor. If I wasn't a telepath I would be out cold. Instead I'm barely
conscious.
He grabs my arm and tosses me onto the bed. I land on my back and can do
nothing except catch my breath and hope my head stops spinning.
I offer a little more resistance than would a rag doll as he flips me over.
I have to save my strength to support myself for as long as possible. I am
dripping wet when he pulls my hips up and starts in me again. The fingers of
his left hand are like a vice grip on my shoulder, keeping me propped up. I
feel my body building up glorious tension.
A tear escapes my eye as my moans become true wails. In pleasure? In pain?
I'm not sure which. They blend with Victor's growls and snarls to create
violent symphony.
My body tenses so tight I can't breath. My muscles constrict, trying to push
everything out. My juices flow adding to the lubrication. He lets go of my
shoulder. I collapse flat onto the mattress, still not able to breath from
my orgasm. It spurs him on.
Finally I am released from orgasm and I melt to the mattress as I take a
ragged breath. My left arm hangs limply over the side. I lack the strength
to move it. My cries, though still loud, gain a weak quality. I think I
feel myself leaving my body.
I am snapped back by his fingers tangling in my hair, pinning my head to the
mattress.
"Ya had enough yet, Birdy?" he snarls without loosing pace. I still hate the
way he says my name.
"You suck, Victor." I whisper.
"WHAT?" he reefs my head down, twisting my neck.
"You suck, Victor!" I say through gritted teeth. I know it will push him
further. A rage filled growl is my answer. The hand leaves my hair and both
hands land on my shoulders. My chest is pressed hard into the mattress as he
props himself up with me as support.
He drills into me so hard I can no longer feel it. I loose the strength to
wail. Now all I can do is grunt.
Even when I feel his claws sink into the flesh on my back I don't scream. He
stiffens as he empties his load into me. He collapses onto me for a few
seconds to catch his breath.
I am almost thankful when he lifts off and sweeps me out from under him. I
land on the floor hard but now I can breath again, free of his weight.
I feel like I could pass out right here but I don't dare. A warmth is
spreading on my back. I have to tend to my wounds.
I gather strength from somewhere and get to my knees. I can't get any
further.
Shaky, barely able to stay vertical, I crawl naked from his room. As I pull
the door closed behind me I hear a satisfied, smug chuckle from the bed.
"Ya did good, Birdy." he says it as a taunt. "One 'a the best ones yet I
think."
He doesn't hear the angry snarl that escapes my throat. Or maybe he does. I
don't know. I don't care. I'm angry at myself for subjecting myself to
this treatment. I'm angry at him for not doing worse.
Maybe next time.
