From: anon3ee6@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Tamara)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Judas Kiss [comics, mf, nc?]
Date: 1 Jun 1995 20:10:09 -0600
What? Another X-Men fanfic? Not quite - none of the X-Men appear here,
but two of my favorite Marvel Comics characters do - Sabretooth and
his "personal assistant" Birdy. If you already know who they are, you
can skip to the next paragraph, which details exactly when in the
Marvel timeline this story occurs (as if it wouldn't be obvious from
the story itself... ) Victor Creed, a.k.a. Sabretooth, is an assassin,
a psychotic killer who has taken one of the few career paths open to
psychokillers in these unenlightened times. He was originally
completely remorseless, but Marvel in its infinite wisdom has decided
that major angst equals good storylines and therefore made Sabey into
a killer with a conscience (I'm not *even* going into his connections
with Wolverine, or various memory implants, or this, that and the
other). Birdy is a telepath, who Sabes keeps around to go into his
brain and put it back together after his killing sprees, thus giving
him a guilt-free violence high. I *think* that's all the character
background you need to go into this story.
The events in this story take place during the time covered by the
four-issue Sabretooth limited series, recently reprinted as the
graphic novel _Sabretooth: Death Hunt_. (Specifically, they take place
between pages 12 and 13 of the graphic novel.) Overall in the Marvel
timeline, this occurs after the events starting in _Wolverine_ #50 -
concerning the re-formation of the "old team," their training and
memory implants, and the discovery of Psi-Borg - and right before
Sabes goes totally bezerkoid and ends up in the basement of the X-
Mansion, trying to find some sort of peace.
OK - description - Sex. M/f. Any questions?
Standard disclaimer: if you're under the age of majority in your home
state/country, you should NOT be reading this. Go outside and get some
fresh air.
Sabretooth, Victor Creed, Birdy, etc., copyright Marvel Comics. Used
without any permission of any sort, for personal, vicarious reading
pleasure only. The story itself is copyright 1995 by me, Tamara
Stephens. Feel free to pass it around, but *without* changing it in
any way. And make sure to keep all this legal BS attached, or large
people named "Guido" arrive at your house and reprogram your computer
with a very large axe. Got it?
A few more notes (when will they end???): The opening and the ending I
took from the graphic novel, to give some sense of continuity. The
rest is all mine. Thanks and appreciation to Garrett Faulkner (who
also supplied the title) and Ben Wick, for their relentless
houndi^H^H^H^Hgentle encouragement of my literary efforts. Comments
taken at anon3ee6@nyx10.cs.du.edu or an138978@anon.penet.fi. Flames
ignored. (This mailreader is sometimes screwy: I can't guarantee your
message will get to me, but oh, well... ) On to the story:
Sabretooth:
Judas Kiss
by
Tamara Stephens
additional dialogue by Larry Hama :-)
Inspired by and partially adapted from
the graphic novel _Sabretooth: Death Hunt_
Larry Hama, writer Mark Texeira, artist
Birdy lies on the floor of the Jacuzzi room, stunned. Just a
few moments ago, Creed had grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and
thrown her into the hot tub he was soaking in, splashing water
everywhere, and commanded her to use her telepathic talent to perform
her primary duty as his assistant - hiding the monsters, covering up
the guilt and disgust he felt about his killing, giving him the
remorseless endorphin high he called the "glow." Rummaging around deep
in Creed's brain, she had stumbled upon deeply buried memories -
memories from his childhood concerning the roots of his psychoses. The
next thing she knows is the explosion of pain from Creed's fist
connecting with her head.
"Don't be wastin' that good stuff on no phantoms out o' the
past! I need that glow, Birdy. I need ya to take away the pain... " He
hoists his massive, well-built frame out of the Jacuzzi, grabs a
towel, wraps it around his hips and starts out of the room. He half-
turns around on the stairs, speaks around his cigar. "Get yer butt up
to m'room, once you've finished cleaning up this mess." He indicates
the water-splashed room behind her with a jerk of his head and
continues on up the staircase, adjusting the towel wrapped around his
waist.
*Yeah, Boss. Sure, Boss. Whatever you say, Boss.* Birdy rolls
to a sitting posture, shoots a sneer at Creed's retreating back. She
pulls off her thigh-high boots and defiantly pours what feels like
several gallons of water from each boot onto the floor. Creed's voice
drifts back down the stairs.
"I heard that. Just that much more to mop up, girl!"
He's right. The small flutter of satisfaction isn't really
worth it, but she's not willing to admit it. She hauls herself up from
the floor and surveys the room. *This is the last night I'll ever have
to do shit like this again,* she thinks. *And the bastard up there
doesn't even know it.* One side of her full mouth twists up in a
sardonic grin. *Yes, I've sold you out, you son of a bitch. Just a few
more hours and you're outta here.* She doesn't know what will happen
to him after the strike team grabs him, and she tells herself she
doesn't care.
Her close-fitting uniform is soggy and starting to feel
clammy. Birdy peels it off; the stretch fabric resisting her efforts
like a wet swimsuit does. She fights it for a moment and ends up
rolling the tight cloth down her body, over her pale round breasts,
down her abdomen, yanking it over her full hips, and finally down her
legs and into a small, sad heap on the floor. *Christ,* she thinks
*it's bad enough that Wonder-Boy wants me to wear the damn boots, but
I gotta have spray paint and shoulder pads for a uniform?* Though she
does concede the red and black jumpsuit shows off her fit body and
blond good looks to perfection.
Since the room, like herself, is still dripping wet, she does
not bother to towel off before slogging over to the storage closet and
dragging out the mop. She attacks the floor, taking out her
frustrations with her employer and reviewing in her mind the tasks she
must perform tonight to hold up her end of the bargain she has made to
betray Creed. *One: make sure his door is open. Two, shut off the
security programs. Three, let the strike team through the gate. Four,
grab the cash and the hell out of the country... *
She picks up her sodden uniform and throws it in the laundry
chute. As she stores the mop away, she thinks that she will miss one
thing - the danger. It's what pulled her to work for Creed in the
first place, rather than taking advantage of one of the many cushy
opportunities available for highly-rated telepaths with few ethics and
no scruples. The rush is what she craves - the endorphin-high
flooding her brain when the bullets whistle past her ear, or the
Mercedes edges past a hundred and ten on a blind curve, with the
sirens just behind...
Her right hand drifts down the curve of her breast, slowing to
circle her nipple. It responds quickly, stiffening into a peak that
she rolls between her thumb and two fingers as she savors the
sensation. Her other hand wanders over her flat belly, thumb tracing
her navel, and descends into the soft blond triangle below. She rakes
her nails gently through the thatch and lightly tugs the hair as her
arousal grows. Her middle finger runs teasingly over the outer lips,
not quite parting them, and she feels her cunt beginning to dampen.
She runs the hand she was caressing her breast with over her thigh and
buttocks, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin. The middle
finger of her left hand now parts the folds it had been stroking, and
sinks past the inner folds into her warm depths. She eases it out, and
circles her clit, feeling the button respond to the invitation -
Creed's roar disturbs her reverie, "I'm waiting, Birdy! Ain't
ya finished yet?"
She reluctantly drops her hands. *No. Just getting started,
damn you... *
Birdy grabs a towel from the stack in the closet, swipes at
the water left on her body and wraps it around herself. She walks out
the door, pausing to switch off the lights, and climbs the stairs
towards his bedroom.
She passes through the reinforced steel door guarding the
entrance into Creed's room, a testament to his business and his
paranoia. She slides her fingers over it as she passes, *this
precaution won't help you one little bit tonight... ,* and approaches
the bed. Creed is already in it, and he stares at her with narrowed
eyes. One small instant of panic zips though Birdy's brain (*does he
know? how could he possibly know?*). She allows herself a quick
surface scan of his thoughts, and is relieved to find nothing present
but his normal psychoses.
"Come here. Take that off." He indicates her towel. She shrugs
a shoulder, "Sure, Boss," unwraps and drops it into a small heap at
her feet. His eyes trace the generous curves of her body as she
approaches the bed. She returns the favor, knowing this is the last
time she'll ever see him, running her eyes over his large, obsessively
sculpted frame. He is still smoking the end of his cigar - *I'll never
have to smell those things again,* she thinks with satisfaction - and
he takes it out of his mouth and puts it in an ashtray on the side
table as she climbs onto the bed.
He pulls aside the sheet, already tenting out by his
anticipation, exposing his half-hard cock. Although not yet ready, it
is still quite formidable and in proportion with the rest of his body.
Birdy remembers her intimidation upon first seeing him, but with time
and several journeys into his twisted psyche, she has learned
contempt.
He reaches out and seizes the base of her blond ponytail,
roughly pulling her lips to his. His tongue violates her mouth,
claiming it, and her, as his own. She can feel the sharp outlines of
his pointed eyeteeth and the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Both
keep their eyes open, her wary blue eyes and his calculating green
gaze locking.
He pulls her head away. "Now get down here and do yer job."
His voice rumbles like thunder, bass tones resonating through her
bones, and she lowers her head into his lap. She can smell his musky
scent as she gently takes the head of his semi-hard cock between her
lips. She runs the tip of her tongue lightly around the head, sensing
its warmth, and takes it deeper into her mouth. She wraps her hand
around his shaft, feeling it respond to stimulation, and slowly pulls
the skin down, allowing the head to emerge fully as the hood recedes.
She has a familiar fleeting thought, *I suppose a healing
factor isn't exactly convenient for circumcision-* but pushes it away
and applies herself further as his hand tightens on the back of her
head.
She takes his cock out of her mouth and runs her tongue up and
down the sensitive underside, and then around the head again. Her body
is beginning to respond as well and she can feel her nipples
tightening and the dampness forming between her legs. He is fully
erect now; she nibbles lightly on the head as she runs her hand along
his shaft.
Birdy is just getting into the rhythm of the motions, when he
suddenly jerks her head up and off his cock. "Enough of that." He
pushes her off of him, onto her back, and with one feline movement
rolls on top between her thighs and pushes into her depths. She shuts
her eyes at the sudden intrusion, * - you'd think I'd be used to his
size, after all this time, - * and waits the second it takes her body
to adapt itself to him. She focuses on the sensations of his cock as
he drives deep into her, widening her passage with each successive
stroke.
"Yeah, bitch, that's what you've been waiting for."
Birdy's eyes slit open and a sly grin crawls across her lips.
*If you only knew, motherfucker, if you only knew... * She savors the
thought, repeating it in time with his rhythmic thrusting. Creed says,
"This is why you ain't ever leaving, huh Birdy? You ain't got the guts
and you want this too much." It's a familiar mantra, she tunes it out
easily.
She feels the itch growing from a small tickle, slowly at
first, then intensifying by fits and starts. The tension spreads,
rounding over her buttocks and crawling along her thighs. Birdy knows
if she tries to stand at this moment her knees will buckle, too
overwhelmed by sensation to support her weight.
The fizzy feeling escalates, and she pumps her hips up to meet
his, no thought in her mind but the moment arriving. His sardonic
amusement filters around the edge of her consciousness but that, too,
is familiar and easy to ignore. Her awareness narrows to one point and
then explodes out, as the climax overtakes her. The muscles in her
thighs tighten and she drives her heels into the bed, lifting her
hips.She throws her head back, gasping loudly through her teeth as
successive waves of pleasure spark through her belly -
- and the moment is gone, almost as if it had never been,
leaving only lassitude (where once was fire) -
Birdy draws in a deep, shaky breath as normal consciousness
returns. Her psi-sense pushes back into her awareness. She can sense
that Creed is approaching climax, and decides to go along for the
ride. Snaking a mental feeler through one of the cracks in his
defenses, she drives through the red chaos she finds, past the
monsters and the terror and the blood, over, around, and through,
until she ferrets out the sexual center of his brain. She has to slip
past the white-hot threads of pain that are fused around and with her
objective, but it is the work of a moment to weave through the tangle
and dive spiraling into the sea that awaits.
She opens mental eyes and looks through his senses,
overwhelmed by the sheer mass of sensory data available to him, whose
mutant perceptions are immensely more acute than those of normal men.
It takes her a quick second to sort the confusion into discrete
sensory impressions: a scent, her scent, musky and beguiling, mingling
with his own and other faint smells that drift through the air; the
sound of his breath, slow and strong, accented by her shallower
inhalations as he starts breathing faster, ascending the slope to
climax; the feel of the sheets on his knees and forearms, her warmth
and softness under his body, the snug fit of his cock within her
tunnel and the contrast between her heat and the cooler air with every
stroke.
His eyes are closed in anticipation of the moment, and Birdy
has a fleeting thought that it is probably for the best - any more
information and she might overload. The thought disappears as she
feels his muscles tense and the torrent sweeps her up. Her body
responds to the mental stimulation, sucking in the fire, rolling it
through her mind. her breasts, her clitoris, building the momentum
further and reflecting it back into his brain. As the climax overtakes
her, she momentarily loses her identity - who is who?
He cries out at the same moment as she, her legs tightly
wrapped around his hips, his head thrown back and fingers digging into
the bedclothes as his claws spring out, ripping the sheet. She feels
his flood deep in her belly; simultaneously she experiences his
shuddering release. This is as close to the "glow" that she gives him
telepathically as he can get, and he can almost - but not quite -
blank out the fear and the pain and the blood...
The rapture passes and she reels in her telepathic line. The
sudden damping down of sensation hits her hard and she has the
disconcerting feeling of what it must be like to live head-blind, with
only five meager senses to rely on. The realization, as well as her
double climax, exhausts her, and she falls back, panting heavily.
She hears his low rumbling laughter. "I thought so. You just
can't get enough."
Reluctantly, she snaps back to life. Sweat beads trickle down
and around one full breast as she props herself up on her elbows and
nonchalantly stares Creed full in his eyes. "I faked it."
His lips twist in amusement. "Bullshit. Maybe you could fool a
norm, but you don't forget I can smell and hear and feel more than any
of those pathetic sons-of-bitches. You can't hide the signs from me,
and you can't mimic them good enough to fool me."
Birdy jerks her chin up, "Maybe I used my mind powers. Maybe I
slipped into your brain while you weren't paying attention and made
you -" She breaks off as his hand shoots out and fastens tightly
around her throat.
"You almost went too far there, frail. One day -" His hand
squeezes a warning, and then abruptly lets go. She falls back,
gasping, rubbing her newly bruised throat.
Creed rolls off of her, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her
roughly off the bed. "Get out. It's been a long day. I don't want to
see yer ugly face anymore tonight." He seems to drop instantly into
sleep, with the ease of the innocent and the damned.
She picks herself up off the carpet and retrieves her towel.
*You'll never have to see my ugly face again, Mr. Creed,* she thinks.
*And I'll never have to see your ugly mind again.* She wraps the towel
around her body, tucking the top corner in over her left breast, her
mind reviewing the security codes that disable the mansion's defenses.
She stalks out of the bedroom, pulling the heavy steel door
to, but not quite latching it, and starts down the stairs toward the
main computer console and, she thinks, freedom.
Her apprehension grows as she nears the painting behind which
the terminal is hidden, but it is not enough to stop her. The hinges
of the small panel the painting is mounted on squeak as she opens it,
echoing loudly in the quiet stillness of the mansion. She freezes for
a moment and risks a small probe of Creed's surface thoughts. *Good.
Sleep patterns.* She pulls up the security program and types in the
password, bringing up the main control screen.
SECURITY SYSTEM MAIN TOGGLE *ON* OFF
Her finger hovers over the key. She takes a deep breath,
closes her eyes and quickly stabs her finger. The screen fills with
the names of the "party favors" salted around the house, documenting
each deactivation.
Outside, the waiting mercenaries hear the quiet "ka-chung" as
the gate unlocks. "Fire teams left and right! Assault team takes the
point! Security team covers any withdrawal!" They enter swiftly.
Birdy quietly hurries to meet them, adjusting her towel. "It's
okay - he's sound asleep."
The leader dismisses her. "Just get out of the way. We'll take
over from here!"
Upstairs, in Creed's bedroom, green eyes suddenly slit open in
response to something discerned, a noise perhaps, or a scent far
beyond the reach of ordinary mortal senses...
"Huh? Somebody's in my house!" He rolls out of bed, alert,
flexing his fingers and feeling his claws slide out of their sheaths.
A twisted smile slowly blossoms on his lips.
"Ya finally got the guts, huh, Birdy? This is gonna be
*fun*... "
* * *
(Is Sabretooth captured? Does he ever sink his claws into
Birdy? I'm not gonna tell you here, but if you wanna know, look for
the graphic novel _Sabretooth: Death Hunt_ by Larry Hama and Mark
Texeira, on sale now at your local comic shop! End of commercial. :-)
{~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}* oh hominids who long for much better times *
{ tamara stephens }* remember king kong died for your crimes *
{anon3ee6@nyx10.cs.du.edu}*and the whiskers you find on the brim of the hat*
{________________________}* may be all that is left of schroedinger's cat *