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Chapter Text

The mission had been kind of shitty, and Logan had—predictably—gotten himself captured by some evil scientist intent on submerging him in a tube full of weird-colored, viscous liquid and experimenting on him.

Victor doesn’t understand how this always happens to Logan specifically, so much more than the rest of them. Anyway, everything had gotten blown up and clawed to bits. He’d hauled Logan’s limp, heavy ass out of that mad-scientist tube. They’d gotten back to the mansion and had a quick debrief and taken showers and put on clean, undamaged clothes and had dinner, and finally they got their freedom.

And now Victor is lounging on their bed with a magazine in his hands, carefully flipping pages with two claws, while he waits for Logan.

And then there’s the man himself, entering the room and then pausing just inside the door, hands on his hips, scowling with an unfocused look on his face. Victor feels like Logan isn’t so much making that grumpy face at him as he’s just considering something in his head and staring into space.

“What’s up, sweet pea?” he asks, hoping that Logan will make it easy to figure out what’s wrong.

But instead, the man pads over and climbs up on the bed and settles himself, still fully clothed, in Victor’s lap.

Logan in his lap is something he won’t say no to, ever, and he tosses the magazine to the side so that he can get his hands on Logan’s hips and give him his full attention. He also takes a little sniff, just trying to gauge the other’s mood. What he finds is that Logan’s scent is jittery with nerves, and just a hint of something underlying that. Not exactly lust, but close, and also worry.

He cocks his head. “Something’s bothering you.” It’s not a question.

“Earlier,” Logan says shortly, as if one-word sentences are adequate answers to questions, and he’s still not touching and he’s tense under Victor’s hands.

“You smell like you want me to do something to you,” Victor says, taking his best guess.

Logan nods curtly at that, and then he finally leans down, hands braced on Victor’s frame to nuzzle and scent under his jaw.

Victor waits, but when nothing else is forthcoming, he says, “Well? You going to tell me? Not like you to be coy.”

At that, Logan shakes his head. “It’s … complicated. There was all that stuff earlier, in the lab. All the times before that too.”

Victor sighs. “You’re not making sense. Whaddaya want?”

Logan opens his mouth, then closes it again. Then shakes his head. “I want … I don’t want … it’s complicated.”

Victor cocks his head to the other side, considering. Logan is tense against him, and he can hear the faint sound of his heart tripping fast as the smaller man inhales his scent like comfort.

In a whirl, he rolls them to the side and pins Logan. He has to fight to do it, and Logan gets him with a knee to the gut before he gets both the runt’s hands pinned and then his hips pinned down too with Victor’s full weight on them. That knee had hurt, and he’s wheezing from it even as he’s snarling in Logan’s face, and Logan’s pupils are blown huge.

“Tell me,” he snarls.

“Like this, but worse,” Logan says in a rush.

And that stills Victor, who cocks his head yet again. “Worse? You want me to fight you? We do that all the time. Hurt you?”

“Sort of.”

“Pin you down?”

Logan groans and tilts his head back, eyes closed. His pulse is thundering now and his scent is both fearful and turned on. Like he wants something, but he’s also afraid of what he wants.

“Sort of. Worse.”

“Tie you up?”

Logan shudders, but he still isn’t explaining and making Victor’s life easier.

Victor pulls both of Logan’s arms up. The man doesn’t resist, just letting Victor pin him down with one hand on his wrists, and then leaning his whole weight there so he can take his other hand and put it on Logan’s neck. He clenches tight enough to make it feel real without cutting off air or blood, and he’s forcing Logan’s head back, and Logan’s mouth opens enough to pant, high and fast and panicked and wanting.

“Out with it, before I rip it out of you,” Victor growls. “Or do you want that?”

Logan tries to shake his head in his grasp.

“Not that,” he manages, voice sounding scraped raw. “Earlier. Scientists and steel tables and … didn't want … and …” and his eyes squeeze closed, barely managing the words.

It hits Victor. All at once and in perfect clarity and with so much force that he thinks his heart actually falters and he can't breathe for a second.

“You want me to restrain you. Tie you down. Clamps and cold steel. Maybe a spreader bar,” he breathes incredulously, and Logan whimpers, and Victor puts that unequivocally in the “yes” column. “Treat you like a thing. Not care if you beg me to stop, if you cry, if you break, until I get what I want,” and he's actually lightheaded with how much blood is rushing to his dick.

Logan is nodding against the hand on his neck, eyes still shut tight, teeth clenched against any other sound his treacherous body might want to make, and his scent is like a fancy cocktail, the kind that costs way too much, top shelf liquor and all sorts of hints and notes of flavor and just waiting to knock you flat on your ass with how intoxicating it is.

Fuck, it’s so much, and he basks in all of it, inhaling like he’s getting high off the scent, drinking in the sight of Logan still under him, the tension, the want, all while Logan is going more and more tense and ragged under him, and the desire rages through Victor to just rip into Logan.

Except he’s not going to. Yet.

He abruptly rolls them again, pulling Logan down and close to his chest. The man struggles for a moment but then goes limp, and Victor wraps his arms around him to keep him safe and noses next to his ear.

“Thank you, sweet pea. Cupcake. Princess. Don't have on hand what I'd want for that,” he says softly, reverently, holding Logan tighter. “But, oh sweetheart, I'm going to do some shopping. Just for you. Get the very best, because you deserve it, and then I'm going to hurt you ‘til you cry.”

The smaller man groans and shifts to press himself closer, seeming to melt into Victor’s hold.

“Not … hurt,” he says, muffled against Victor’s collarbone. “Not exactly.”

“Hurt where it really counts,” Victor says, grinning with all his teeth, even if Logan can't see it. He taps the side of Logan's head lightly. “Here. Make you so ashamed that you're being violated like a thing and you can't stop coming.”

“Fuck,” Logan wheezes against him, and then he's pushing up to kiss Victor, desperate and needy, and so Victor rolls him again, holds him down, gets both their clothes off, and then fucks Logan the way he deserves: sweet and mean all at once, and makes sure Logan comes spectacularly before Victor finally lets loose in him.

Afterward, holding each other, he nuzzles the man’s temple and asks, “Just checking. You still want all that? It's okay if you walk it back.”

Logan shudders. “I said it already, didn’t I?”

“You fucking didn’t. Made me guess.”

“Shut up. That stuff. And a blindfold. And a gag. Don't let me say no,” he gets out, turning his face against Victor’s skin.

Victor groans and pets through Logan’s hair with his claws, as gentle as he can be.

“You want to know it's coming? Or should I jump you?”

There’s an explosive “oh fuck” from Logan and another shudder. “Yeah, surprise me,” he says hoarsely.

Which leads to several weeks of Victor sneaking up behind Logan and suddenly flinging his arms around him, only to give him a kiss on the temple and then laugh his ass off as Logan cusses him out and tries to punch him and blushes and holds a textbook or whatever happens to be in his hands in front of his crotch.

And everyone else is very confused.

(Until Victor manages to get his thinking and his shopping done.)

Chapter Text

Logan is regretting ever bringing it up. Because Victor keeps fucking jumping at him from above or sneaking up behind him, and suddenly his lover’s arms will be around him, claws pricking through his shirt, and Victor’s amused malice will be suddenly overwhelming in his nose, and his adrenaline will surge as he has a brief, blinding moment of terror and hope: this is it.

Except, no, it isn’t, it’s just Victor being an asshole again. That fucking infuriating cat bastard. Sometimes Logan wonders why he’s still his lover. Except then he sees Victor patiently showing some of the kids how to fight hand-to-hand, or talking softly with the twins in Russian, or baring his teeth at Scott during a strategy meeting, or when Victor is stretched out in bed with his skin bare and his hair golden on the sheets giving Logan a come-hither look, or when Logan comes across him reading while flopped in an armchair in one of the common areas, or when he watches him roar and spring and rip an enemy to bloody shreds, or when he finds him good-naturedly trying to catch Kurt in the Danger Room, and then he feels his heart tripping light and fast and unbearably fond. And he knows that this is what love feels like.

And then Victor will look up, and the edge of his smile will crook, wicked and knowing, like he sees just how Logan is looking at him and understands it all the way down to his bones. And then the bastard will wink and casually move those damn claws somewhere that Logan can see, or swoop in for a kiss, or give him a slow once-over with his eyes and lick his lips, and then that soft-fast-fond heart feeling changes entirely, and suddenly it’s a fire in his belly and all he wants is to get Victor alone as soon as possible.

But this. This. Why had Logan asked for this? And what has he asked for? What does he want? What is Victor finally going to do? Was this a good idea?

All he knows for sure are the kind of half-formed fantasies he jerks off to in the shower when Victor goes down to the city for a couple of days.

He’d asked Victor for a fucking blindfold. A goddamn gag. The idea makes him feel slightly panicked and yet so turned on and also ashamed. He imagines being unable to see, with Victor’s fingers mean and unyielding as they pry his teeth apart to get a gag in his mouth. And the … Victor had said a spreader bar, and the very thought makes his dick throb in his hand.

Logan closes his eyes and leans his head against the shower wall. His other hand is spread on the wall too, mouth slightly open, breathing heavily as he works his cock.

He imagines squirming against the restraints, against whatever Victor has him in, trying to break out of it and failing, and getting more and more panicked, and his cock getting harder against his will.

Would Victor fuck him like that? Or would he just watch Logan squirm and struggle and then laugh at him?

Laughing might be crueler, honestly. He could mock Logan, tell him how useless he is. How pathetic.

Would Victor loom over him? Or worse … suddenly he thinks of who Victor used to be, who he still is and never stopped being, but who he doesn’t play into nearly as much anymore: Sabretooth. What would it feel like to have that version of Victor over him? Not the calmer side of Victor that he’s been bringing out. Not a better man. Not the man he’s grown to love more and more. What if it was the monster? Logan gasps, drops his cock, breathes slowly for a minute before he finally takes himself back in hand.

Okay.

Tied up and fucked by a monster?

Who would probably spend the whole time gloating at how Logan couldn’t help how hard he was.

And saying how he was going to keep Logan as his personal little slave. Use his hole whenever and however he wanted, whether Logan wanted it or not.

And that’s when Logan comes all over the tile.

Chapter Text

The shopping takes some time. But honestly, what takes longer is the thinking.

Victor's not a stupid man, and he resents every single person who's ever said he was, but he's also not the type to usually think things through so thoroughly. He's a man who works in the currency of blood and physical violence and intimidation; he doesn't usually have to think very deeply to get a job done.

Logan on the other hand? He’s always chewing something over in that furry little head of his, chewing on thoughts and worrying them like a wolf with a bone, usually until something breaks him out of it or Victor jumps him and distracts him. All that thinking can't be good for the man.

But this time, Victor is the one who needs to think. He needs to puzzle through this.

Why does Logan want this? And how can Victor give it to him?

He thinks about the past and tries to figure out what Logan might be fixated on. Victor’s been on those tables himself, prodded by stuck-up scientists in lab coats. Or worse, strapped down by the freaking crazy ones, the sadists that just want to cut you open and pry your guts out while you're awake and screaming. But he doesn't think that part is what Logan's after.

He knows a bit about what happened to Logan. Sensory deprivation and the adamantium and being considered just a tool and a weapon. A thing, not a human being. The program had been uncaring if he hurt, disdainful if he struggled. He’d been stripped bare, freedoms taken, liberty gone, bodily autonomy removed.

He thinks about making someone feel helpless. Like an animal.

(He thinks of the cellar. No respect given to his humanity. Chained to piss himself, to shit in a corner, to eat off the floor, to beg for life and mercy from someone who should have cared about him instead.)

He takes a break from thinking. Takes a walk. Provokes Logan into a fight. Does his best to wipe the floor with the runt, but once again they end up alternately pinning each other, and then of course they tumble into bed together. Afterward Logan drifts to sleep in his arms, Victor's claws gently petting through his hair.

He marvels, far from the first time, that Logan trusts him like this. He shouldn't. Victor considers how he could turn on the man. He could tear out the runt's throat right now, hogtie him, and then go on a rampage through the mansion.

(Nevermind that he doesn't really want to do anything of the sort. He's warm and comfortable, and Logan is a solid weight against him, and this place has actually started to feel like … not home, exactly, but a place where he's allowed to belong and be himself. The point is, he could, and they're all fools to ignore that fact.)

He holds Logan and imagines different things he could do to the man. Demeaning words. Cruel hands. Pushing limits they’ve never touched before.

But, the question remains: are any of his ideas what Logan wants?

Also, how can this whole thing work since Logan is going to know it’s him?

Logan’s seen Victor bloodied and broken and still fighting tooth and nail to come to his rescue. He knows Victor’s gone, lost, totally smitten, stupidly in love. Heck, he’s heard Victor say as much out loud. Sure, sometimes they scratch each other up, and sometimes Victor plays rough, but even then they both know how they feel under it all.

And yet, Logan asked for this. Maybe because they know how they feel, Logan asked him for this. Logan knows how much of a sadist Victor can be, and he wants him to be a sadist. Victor’d threatened to make Logan cry, and all it had done was made Logan’s dick hard enough to hammer nails. He trusts Victor to be a sadist and also love him.

Just … what kind of a sadist?

He finally breaks down, while he’s got Logan pinned with his face to the shower tile and Victor’s cock riding the line of his ass. “Sweetheart,” he breathes above Logan’s ear. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me to do,” and he feels Logan tense in every muscle and thrills at it. “Don’t get so excited,” he chuckles darkly, claws trailing over Logan's skin. “Not today, sweet pea. I just have a question. Do you need the medical stuff, the steel tables and needles and knives and everything? Or do you just need to feel like a man who’s been turned into a thing and hurt and used?”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Logan is gasping, shoving back against him, trying to get a hand on his dick, but Victor grabs both his wrists to stop him, pins them to the cold tile, and lazily thrusts against Logan’s tight little ass.

“Answer the question, sweet pea,” he purrs. “I wanna do this right for you. But I don’t think I can be one of those scientists. I’m worried I’m gonna disappoint you.”

“That … what you said … please,” Logan chokes out, near-trembling in Victor’s grasp, and Victor groans and shoves up harder against Logan, locks his knees, and comes all over Logan’s lower back, sudden and shocked by the intensity.

Then he sinks to his knees, helped by the fact that his legs feel like they’re about to give out under him, and pulls Logan around to face him, and sucks him off as sweet as he knows how, his hands spread across Logan’s hips to hold him in place and Logan snarling as he finally lets go, both hands clenched tight in Victor’s hair.

He stops worrying about whether Logan will like his ideas.

When he wakes the next morning, he lies still beside Logan and watches him sleep. Usually he wakes up spooning the other man, but this time they’d shifted at some point. There’s something especially intimate about Logan on his side, curled toward him, a mirror to how Victor is curled toward Logan. This way he can see Logan’s face, watch the slow rise and fall of his breath, watch the way his eyes move under his eyelids as he's lost in dreams.

He looks … soft. Vulnerable. And suddenly he wants to protect. Keep harm from his man.

While at the same time he wants to personally break his man and make him sob.

Jeez. How is he supposed to keep it real, make Logan actually suffer and break, but also keep it play, let Logan know he does love him, would never let anyone but Victor hurt him?

Fuck. Victor’s gotta set the scene somehow. But carefully. Violence that’s as carefully planned and taken as a one klick sniper shot, but that still looks vicious to Logan. Goddamn bullshit roleplay. He fucking told Logan he hates roleplay. Whatever. He’ll play to his strengths.

At least there will be fun parts too. Victor grins, gaze sliding slowly over Logan’s slightly parted lips. He’ll look pretty gagged, even if he’ll probably try to gnaw through it. He can’t wait to be forcing Logan’s legs apart, explaining to him that he’s not a person; he’s property. Victor’s property.

He’ll improvise the rest, as long as it involves making Logan fight it and love it, Victor decides, and leans in to wake Logan with a kiss.

Chapter Text

He does it at his city house.

The main reason for the location is so he doesn’t get murdered. There’s no way he can keep it quiet or discreet at the mansion, and while he’s got to a point of receiving genuine (if cautious) good will from most of the X-Men, he’s still sure every one of them would kill him first and ask questions later if they caught wind of this. Never mind that it was Logan’s idea, not his.

Plus, this way he gets Logan to do some of the basic prep work for him. He leers and shoos the other man to go take a shower and clean up while Victor’s supposedly making dinner. Fuck that, he'll order take-out later. Instead, he hurriedly dashes to the bedroom, arranges a few things, pulls out what he’s going to need at the start from where he’d hidden it, and then he waits, leaning beside the bathroom door, and pondering whether Logan is going to hate him for taking this so far.

Finally the water shuts off and then a minute later Logan opens the door and steps out. He’s completely and gloriously naked but rubbing a towel on his hair with both hands, and Victor spares a fleeting moment to appreciate the thick cut of his man’s thighs, the muscles in his shoulders that Victor just wants to lick, the way his skin is tanned and gorgeous and darkened more in some places by the forest of his body hair, and then Victor springs the trap.

As Logan steps past him, he's pulling the cap off the syringe that contains a cocktail of tranquilizers and jamming it into Logan's glute and depressing it in one motion, even while he’s clamping one arm around Logan's neck in a sleeper hold. A moment later he’s got his other hand braced to keep the hold tight, clamping down on the man's carotid arteries. There are other ways he could start this, but he's trying not to get blood all over his bedroom. More importantly, he wants to truly surprise Logan, and not in a good way, get his adrenaline surging. Logan reacts predictably, and the claws are springing out as he’s dropping the towel, scent an instant crash of reaction and aggression, but then he wavers. The one-two punch of cutting off the blood to his brain and the absolutely shit-ton of sedatives takes his man down within seconds, crumpling in his grasp. As Logan’s body goes limp, Victor instantly shifts his hold and gently and carefully lowers the man to stretch him out on the floor.

The rope comes next, and he’s hurriedly trussing Logan's hands together first and then his knees and then his ankles. The man groans deep in his throat and twitches, so Victor ruthlessly digs his fingers and thumb into the sides of Logan’s neck again.

In response, the pulse under his hand flutters. Even with the attack, Logan tries to drag his eyes open, but then he fails and they slip shut, and the man’s whole body goes limp again, leaving him utterly defenseless.

It makes something stir in Victor's chest. He hasn't done things like this in a while, the jumping innocents, the violence. The putting Logan down or showing him who’s in charge.

Victor curls his hand around the front of the man's neck, tipping his head back slightly. He contemplates the sight of his hand, big and brutal, and the contrast it makes to Logan naked and breathing shallowly, defenseless in unconsciousness. He tightens his grip, and his claws prick Logan’s neck, right where he could rip out the other’s throat if he had a mind to.

It's disconcerting to remember the times when he would have. That was some other version of him, memories addled and motives poisoned by too many people always against him. It’s also still him, at least if he's faced with an enemy, but these days, he’s changed. He remembers all the good things Logan has been to him in the past and especially the thing he is right now. More precious to Victor than any revenge or money.

“I hope you enjoy this, sweet pea,” he rumbles, and pulls the blindfold from his back pocket.

The blindfold is black leather with thick padding, sure to be soft and comfortable and capable of completely blocking light and sight. He settles it on Logan’s face and then carefully tightens it behind the man’s head until it’s secure. Then he manhandles and hefts Logan over his shoulder with a grunt, the man's arms and torso dangling forward over his chest. He keeps knocking Logan back out every time the man stirs as he treads barefoot and with heavy steps down the stairs, down further, down to his garage and then to the back of that.

When Victor bought this townhouse, it had a two-car-length deep tandem garage. Anyone walking into the garage now who knew the configuration of these units would be confused, because Victor’s is clearly a shorter one-car-length affair now. The possibility to make a few discrete and very dubious modifications was one of the reasons he decided on this particular house.

Tapping a code into a control on the wall makes a section of the rear wall swing out, disguised by what looks like ordinary garage shelving. Then Victor is hauling Logan into the other side of the space, and the door swings shut again, locks sliding into place.

The floor beyond is still concrete, and three of the four walls are the poured concrete walls of the foundation. The fourth wall is the one he just entered through, and it is reinforced with steel over the wall and across the door. Not that those would do much against Logan’s adamantium claws, but none of the people who had been unlucky enough to end up down here over the years had that advantage. There’s a single metal chair near the center of the room near an ominous, grate-covered drain. There’s a row of hooks screwed deep into the wall with a selection of sharp and crew tools hanging from them, and various rings drilled strategically here and there as well. There’s also a bare, stained mattress next to one wall. Next to that is the pile of supplies he'd gathered earlier, all the various bits of gear and stainless steel and leather waiting for them both.

Victor hadn’t used this room all that often, but it had been handy from time to time, like when he’d gotten a local job that required extracting information or holding someone for ransom. Of course, this was back before Victor had given up the mercenary work. The fact that it’s a basement dungeon had always stirred something angry and vicious in him, something appropriate for its purpose. Being in here always puts him in a mood for retribution, makes him want to sink claws into the rest of the world for daring to exist, much to the unhappiness of any captive he brought here.

He rolls his man down off his shoulder and onto the mattress, then quickly unties his arms. That freedom is very temporary, as he immediately rolls Logan onto his stomach, grabs the custom leather arm binder from the floor, and starts fitting Logan’s arms into it and strapping them in place.

He thinks it’s a very clever solution for the problem of Logan’s claws. And make no mistake, those claws are a Problem, capital P, at least if you’re someone trying to hold the Wolverine against his will. Arms crossed and tied one to the other behind his back would just mean Logan could put the claws out to cut anything next to him. Same with tying the man’s wrists together at the small of his back—all it would do is give Logan a way to spear anything behind him. Victor does not feel like getting stabbed during any of this and especially not in the junk. And while he could tie or manacle Logan down spread-eagle, it wouldn't let him manhandle him the way he wants to.

Hence, the arm binder.

As Victor holds his arms in place and quickly fastens the buckles one after the other in a straight line of leather from elbow to elbow, it brings Logan’s fists together, knuckles against knuckles. His arms are now locked in a line across his back, fist-to-fist. It’s sure as hell not a comfortable position and Logan’s shoulders will be on fire or numb by the time they’re done. It’s not something he could do to a normal human or even a mutant if they didn’t have a healing factor, not if he expected them to walk away with full use of their arms. But Logan is tough and Logan heals. And, most importantly, this puts the path of Logan’s claws driving straight into his own wrists and forearms if he tries to put them out. Even if Logan does it anyway, the ends of the claws won’t extend past his own elbows. There’ll be no chance to slice or escape, only a way to hurt himself if he struggles.

Next he buckles a leather collar with several attachment points around Logan’s neck. This one is mostly in case he wants or needs to restrain Logan further, but also a little bit because he likes the way it looks.

As he finishes with the collar, Logan groans and stirs, muscles rippling. With the man naked like this, Victor can see the muscles of his legs tensing against the grip of the ropes at ankle and knee and his shoulders tensing as well, but all of it is in a sluggish, unaware way. The man groans again and his head rolls, and then he jerks against the arm restraints as he starts to come around. His scent is rising, confused and disoriented. No panic though, and Victor suspects that’s because Logan can still smell him.

After all, Logan’s barely struggling back to consciousness. He’s not going to be aware of much, but the one thing he can undoubtedly smell close and personal and present is Victor. His lover. And Victor knows he’s broadcasting nothing but concern and careful attention right now—and admittedly some growing arousal—but no real malice. It’s not exactly conducive to the scene Logan wants, and he needs to change that.

Luckily, he’d already thought of this.

His nose wrinkles in disgust as he grabs a little jar from next to the mattress and twists off the cap. He dips a claw into the thick glob of odorous petroleum jelly, and then he’s fisting Logan’s hair and yanking the man’s head back to smear it under his nose, right up to his nostrils and clear down to his lip. The reek of eucalyptus and menthol is strong even to him at this distance—for Logan it’s going to drown out every other scent.

The stench of it punches Logan awake all at once, body heaving as he chokes and gags and splutters. Fully awake, a hand still fisted in his hair, muscles bulging as he tries to move and finds he can’t, now his scent spikes into pure adrenaline and an undefinable mix of jumbled emotions. He gives a roar, muscles standing out starkly in cords in his shoulders and back as he tries to pull his arms free from each other.

Victor watches in fascination, breath held, as he wonders if Logan is going to pop the claws. But no, his man’s not stupid, and he must notice the predicament Victor’s put him in, because he keeps the claws fully sheathed in his arms and instead nearly rips his own hair out trying to get away from the hold Victor has on him.

In response, Victor yanks him back harder, pulling his entire head and shoulders off the mattress. Logan bucks with it of course, fighting him. Now his scent is spiking with stronger notes of apprehension and just the barest hint of fear, panting through his mouth, and it’s making Victor’s mouth water. He’s not ashamed of who he is, and who he is is a predator. Watching Logan like this, like prey, it’s definitely doing it for him. His man doesn’t have his sense of scent or sight right now, only his hearing and what he can feel, and neither of those is giving him much useful information. His thoughts must be swirling, trying to figure out where he is and what is happening.

Victor takes a deep, quiet breath. Here goes nothing.

He leans in and sneers next to Logan's ear.

“Hiya, runt.”

Logan immediately goes limp, still panting, smelling relieved but also with a surge of apprehensive nerves. Which is what Victor had expected.

“I know what you’re thinking: I’m finally going to play with you,” he sneers and jerks Logan’s head even further back as he says it. Then he leans in to sniff under Logan’s ear, smell the apprehension wafting off him, lets the other man feel the outline of a toothy grin brushing against his neck. “But there’s a little problem.”

“What? Victor, what—” Logan gasps, scent going more uncertain, and then Victor grabs his face with his other hand, clawed fingers pinching to force his jaw open, and Logan reacts just the way Victor expects: he fights it.

Victor snarls and gets a knee in Logan's back. He goes right for a kidney, hard and mean, and pins the smaller man at the same time he grabs the gag from the floor. Then he’s forcing Logan’s mouth further open, and Logan goes fucking nuts. He’s a twisting, cornered animal, scent entirely rage, and Victor can’t help feeling a swell of pride as he watches his man, all instinct, fighting back.

But instead of showing that, he puts every bit of derision he can into his voice.

“The problem is, you think I’m playing. I’m not.”

Logan goes completely still for a brief moment of shock, and then he heaves and redoubles struggling, wiggling as madly as a panicked ferret.

Victor ends up having to clock him upside the head, and the sound Logan makes is shocked and betrayed. Victor pries his mouth open while he's still gasping and reeling, and then, fuck, he's sliding the black silicone bit gag into Logan's mouth and yanking it back between his teeth. It comes to rest at the corners of Logan’s mouth, pulling harshly against the skin there, and then Victor is jerking the buckles tight behind his head while Logan’s heart is speeding madly and he’s still twisting and squirming under Victor.

Victor gets his hands on both Logan’s shoulders, pinning him, knee still in his back. The sight of Logan under him, bound and blindfolded and gagged and helpless makes him growl hungrily, all predator, and Logan’s breath hitches. Good. Grabbing Logan’s jaw, he tilts his head so he can get a better look at the result. The bit has Logan’s mouth jammed full, lips parted, teeth wedged open around the girth of the gag. Unsurprisingly, Logan snarls at him around it, and his teeth clench down hard and grind, like he’s already trying to chew through it.

His man also makes a garbled sound, an attempt to speak that’s ruined by the gag.

The sight of it makes hungry, unnamed things stir in Victor’s guts. Things he doesn’t do anymore, things he certainly wouldn’t do to a man he loves. But things he might just do to a prisoner.

And prisoner Logan is. His man can’t say a thing, can’t protest. Victor’s denied him the basic human need to speak, to choose what he wants or doesn’t want. He bets Logan will be drooling around the gag soon, dignity gone too. He’s barely more than an animal like this, collared and bound, without free will.

Perfect.

“That's better,” he growls, just to hear Logan's breath hitch. “No point in hearing you talk. This isn't about what you want,” even if nothing could be further from the truth.

Even blind, scent-blind, and mute, there’s still plenty of fight left in Logan. The man snarls at him through the gag, still squirming and trying ineffectively to buck him off. With a roll of his eyes, Victor shifts to pin Logan by the back of the neck.

“You're a goddamn fool to have trusted me this long,” he taunts. “I can't fucking believe you handed this to someone like me on a silver platter. Gonna make you regret it.”

That hits perfectly, and the mix of fear and pure arousal that pours off Logan makes Victor’s eyes roll back for a moment, mouth half open and breathing it in greedily. Jesus. This is actually working. They're really going to do this. Logan is letting him do this.

His final goal is the spreader bar of steel with thick leather cuffs, sturdy enough to stand up to the power of Logan’s muscles. He drags the bar closer, making sure Logan can hear the sound of the steel scraping on concrete, and then he roughly fastens the first cuff to one ankle. That’s the easy part. Shifting his weight he gets a knee on the bar to keep Logan from jerking it around too much. With the first cuff in place and the bar held still, he hooks a claw under the ropes holding Logan’s knees together.

“Make this easier on yourself. Spread your legs and show me what I want to see,” he says, sounding as bored as he can. Then he quickly slices the ropes at Logan’s knees and then at his ankles.

Of course Logan doesn’t spread his legs willingly. They're both fighters, even when the odds are terrible, and Victor grins when Logan predictably tries to kick him in the head. His hand snaps up to catch Logan’s ankle as the foot flies toward his face, biting back an ‘oof’ of air—Logan kicks like a mule—as his fingers and claws snap closed around the flesh and hard outline of the man’s bones. Since Logan can’t see, he grabs his own wrist with his other hand so that he can use two arms worth of strength, and then he easily holds Logan’s ankle steady while the other man tries to wrench it free again.

Then, as smoothly as he can, he inexorably forces Logan’s leg down and to the side. Every muscle in the man’s leg quivers, fighting against having his thighs dragged wide, but Victor pushes that leg down to steel and leather and then holds it there as he quickly secures the other cuff.

“You’re fuckin’ weak compared to me,” he sneers as he does it, and Logan's breath hitches around the gag again.

HIs sheer strength compared to Logan’s isn't something he usually shows off. They're both strong, and they both know it. After all, they constantly play fight and practice fight and sometimes actually fight each other, and while Logan is muscular and fast and has sheer feral tenacity on his side and the ability to slip inside Victor's reach to do damage with the claws, yet Victor is the stronger of the two of them. It's simple math: he’s bigger and that means he has more muscle mass. Plus he doesn’t have to waste energy moving a heavy-ass skeleton around.

But now? He’s absolutely showing off. More than that, he’s taunting Logan with it, telegraphing how helpless Logan is far more effectively than he would by winning a hard fight. This is overpowering Logan while showing no reaction to the squirming, the kicking, and the faint but steadily increasing scent of panic.

That tantalizing scent has him ricochetting back and forth between nearly drooling in anticipation to niggling doubt at how Logan will react once he’s free to reminding himself that Logan asked for this and that whatever terrible, predatory desire is burning through Victor’s blood right now is as much play as is Logan’s panicked resistance. They both want to be here, even if it doesn’t look like it. Or at least, that’s what he wants to believe. Has to believe. Does believe, because the arousal is still there in Logan’s scent, right along with the fear and panic.

Once the shackle is secured on Logan’s ankle, Victor lets go of his leg and then Logan yanks against it, twists and fights it, until he finally seems to have to convince himself he can’t break free. Then he suddenly goes limp all at once, his breathing labored.

He’s a fucking sight, absolutely delicious. Bound up in leather, gagged with silicone, and with those beautiful thick thighs stretched wide to bare balls and taint and hole to Victor’s eyes and use.

“Pathetic,” Victor sneers, and his breath hitches quietly at the way the word makes the muscles in Logan’s back and shoulders jump. He leans forward to smooth a hand from Logan’s nape to his ass, then pats it fondly. “I've been so nice, all these months. I've played by your rules. But now we’re going to play by mine.” He pats Logan’s ass again. “Forget being my partner. From now on you're my toy. Just a hole I come visit when I need something soft and warm and mewling to fuck.”

Christ, he can smell what that’s doing for Logan. There’s still the scents of panic and fear and even anger, and now shame creeps in too … and all of it is still covered in dizzying arousal.

Perfection.

Victor stands, pulling his shirt off over his head as he does so. Then he stoops and hooks his claws under the collar to roughly drag Logan’s head and shoulders off the mattress. It puts his cheek and upper chest pressed to the cold concrete and lets Victor clip a few short links of chain that run from a ring set deep in the concrete to the ring at the front of Logan’s collar. It leaves Logan even more deliciously ass-up and restrained, panting raggedly past the gag.

Victor stands again and prowls back behind Logan so that he can kneel on the mattress between Logan’s spread knees. He grabs the man’s cheeks to spread them wider.

“Ah, that’s what I like to see,” he purrs. “Tight little hole, every time. If I felt like sharing, I could make a mint off you. There are plenty of bad people in this world who’d pay to fuck you open like it was your first time while you begged them to stop.”

There’s that shame again, stronger than before. It’s actually getting harder to tell one thing from another in Logan’s scent, because there’s so much to it. At least Victor doesn’t have to use scent to identify one emotion: arousal. Logan’s cock is hard and pressed back toward Victor under his balls against the mattress.

Honestly, Victor hadn’t expected it to be this easy. Sure, his man is a kinky bastard and Logan had asked for this (more or less). And yeah, he’d promised to make Logan come whether he wanted to or not. But he hadn’t expected Logan to be hard already. He thought he’d have to force him there.

But no, here’s Logan, snarling and working his teeth against the gag like he’s trying to chew through it, scent nothing but seething animal desire to fight and flee and terribly human apprehension … and hard as a rock.

He channels every bit of Sabretooth that he can as he leans down, bare chest brushing Logan’s bound arms. He suddenly wishes he’d worn the suit so that he could let Logan feel the ruff on his skin.

“I see how it is, runt,” he purrs, reaching to trail a claw along Logan’s erection. “Your body knows what you’re good for, doesn’t it? You’re just a tool and a toy for me to play with.”

Logan makes an inhuman sound of rage at that and jerks his head back. He was probably trying to smash Victor’s face with his metal skull, but the collar and chain jerks him to a stop, the motion ineffective. Victor scoffs at him, and then he grabs Logan’s head and slams it back down to the concrete, fingers spread wide on the back of Logan’s head, the man’s dark hair tufting between his fingers.

“Feisty,” he chuckles darkly. He gets his other hand on his belt and tugs it open, lets the buckle jingle, so Logan can’t help knowing what he’s doing, then shimmies out of the rest of his clothes. “Keep fighting me, sweetheart. You know that shit only makes me harder.”

With a yank he gets Logan’s hips higher, and then he reaches for the lube, thumbs it open, and pours some on Logan’s crack. “This is for my benefit, not for you,” he clarifies as he rubs his dick through it and then teases at Logan’s hole. “Come on, loosen up for me,” he purrs, watching Logan’s hole clench and flutter under him. “You know I’m going to take you anyway. Relax. Make this easier on yourself.”

He promptly doesn’t wait until Logan relaxes, just presses in on one of those pretty flexes of the man’s hole. As he presses inside, he winces. It’s tighter than he’s ever felt before, and Logan is trembling under him, unidentifiable noises slipping out of him past the gag as Victor ruthlessly keeps shoving inside. Then Logan is trying to squirm away from what’s impaling him, and of course Victor can’t have any of that. He hooks eight claws against Logan’s ribcage, so that trying to move further forward digs them in, and the man freezes. He’s still trembling though, tight all over like a bow string, like a trip wire.

“Good boy. Perfect for this,” Victor purrs and bottoms out.

He leans forward and revels in the drag of his cock inside Logan’s fluttering, protesting guts. Loosening one hand full of claws, he slides it around Logan’s chest instead, right over the frantic thud of the man’s heart, like he has it cupped in the palm of his hand. Victor spares the briefest moment of worry about hurting something so much softer and more fragile than Logan’s ass, before he dismisses it as a worry not worth having. Logan asked for this.

“Remember, I’m not the same man who’s been fucking you ever since our little road trip,” he purrs. He smells the reaction to that, the cocktail of fears and need and the scent of Logan’s dick wet for him. “I’m not that tame little pussycat you’ve been playing with. This is the real me,” he growls, and he pulls all the way out as he says it, claws shifting to grip Logan’s hips. There’s no sign of red on his cock, and honestly that’s all he felt he had to check for. With a quick squirt of more lube onto Logan’s clenching hole, he hooks a finger through the ring on the back of the collar and wraps his other hand around Logan’s bound hands, and then he drags him back onto his cock.

“Aaaah,” he sighs happily. “That’s nice. So tight when you don’t want it. Like a virgin on my dick.” He chuckles meanly at the sound that drags out of Logan, as quivering and protesting as his hole. “This is the way I should have had you the first time. Not nice and easy in some motel room. Should have shoved you down and taken what I wanted years ago, because I’m stronger and better than you and you know it.”

But of course he didn’t. Because no matter how much Victor doesn’t care what other people think, he cares what Logan thinks. He might not understand some of the things that get Logan’s head and feelings all in a knot, but he understands consequences perfectly well. Forcing Logan? At any point in the decades they’ve known each other across the many ways they’ve known each other? It would have destroyed this thing before it had even happened. He’s only doing it now because he’s allowed.

While he’s running his mouth, he’s thrusting deliberately, punching an involuntary moan out of Logan with every move. The fact that the man's a slut for having his ass pounded is going to work against him. He has every intention of forcing an orgasm out of Logan before Victor is anywhere close to coming.

He's also testing the air constantly, gauging what his rambling filth is doing to Logan. He’s ready to walk absolutely anything back. Hell, he’ll call the whole thing off if he needs to, free Logan in an instant if he thinks his man is distressed in a way that matters. But so far, the thread of want has never left Logan’s scent, even if it’s terrified want, and Logan’s body proves that.

He lets go of his man's arms long enough to feel under him and then laughs cruelly.

“Rock hard from being forced on your knees,” he taunts. “Pathetic.” Logan's cock twitches at that, thick in his palm and wet at the tip. More than just his cock—his whole body is trembling in Victor’s hold. “I’m going to keep fucking you. I'd say try not to like it so much, but you know I'm going to make you come.” He pats Logan’s flank and then grabs his arms again so he can keep fucking hard and steady.

He’s making sure to enjoy himself, with brutally deep thrusts that have his balls slapping against Logan’s ass, but he’s also making sure to drag the head of his cock against Logan’s front wall on every stroke, hard and persistent, and he keeps at it like a machine. He’s also stroking the man’s cock expertly, working the shaft and just below the head. He’s not trying to drag this out. Instead, he’s deliberately driving Logan straight toward orgasm.

As he does it, the sight laid out below him is so damn good. He’s watching his cock filling Logan’s ass, but he’s also watching the flex and tremble of the muscles in the man’s back and the shine of sweat curling the hair at the nape of his neck. And of course there are still the scents of fear and desperation and want. And Victor just keeps going, keeps fucking, until Logan is trembling and whining around the gag. Then he’s bucking, trying to get away or maybe trying to get more, but all he’s able to get is exactly what Victor chooses to give him.

“It's alright,” he purrs. “Go ahead and come for me. I know you can't help it.”

And then, gasping and trembling, Logan does come, comes hard on Victor’s cock, shooting off in his hand. The sharp smell of it fills Victor’s nose, fills his entire consciousness. Nothing matters but the sound of Logan gasping harshly through his pleasure, then twisting and whining as Victor fucks him hard through the immediate overstimulation, and the feel of Logan in his grasp, making overwhelmed noises around the gag.

He could come. It would be so easy. Instead, he pulls out roughly. He doesn’t want it yet. Later he will, and it’ll be all the stronger and more satisfying for having denied himself now.

Logan sags in relief under him, great shuddering breaths of air heaving his frame. Victor sits back on his heels and considers the pretty picture Logan makes. Trembling, bound, his own cum puddled on the mattress under him, hole gaping.

“Look at you,” he purrs. He reaches with one hand to grab Logan by the hair. His other hand trails down Logan’s neck, over his back, traces the curve of his ass. Then he grabs that ass and lifts and Logan makes a garbled protest, flinching, cock hanging heavy but softening.

The man’s hole is still gaping wide, and Victor wants. To take him, to own him, to make that hole his in a way no one else ever will.

“Hold still, unless you want to hurt,” Victor warns.

The moment Logan feels a claw trace along his stretched-out rim, he does go absolutely still, breathing harsh.

“You’re so soft,” Victor muses. “Always have been. Mean as hell, but always trying to be so sweet, play so nice. It’s so easy to hurt you.”

With that, he slips a careful finger inside Logan. He can’t help the groan that leaves his throat. Slick and soft and smooth, Logan’s insides are fire, are everything that Victor has ever wanted to touch, wanted to take, wanted to break. He can’t believe how it feels to be inside Logan like this. He’s never tried to do this in the entire time they’ve been fucking, always aware that it’s too much, a line crossed, a threat, the danger of hurt too present and personal to allow.

Now that line is crossed.

“You’re soft here too,” he breathes, a little too sincere for the role, just for a moment.

Logan gasps, moans something through the gag. Victor would bet money that it’s “stop.” He doesn't stop. The man’s cock is soft, and he’s trembling. He knows Logan is never afraid of pain or hurt. They’ve buried claws in each other too often for that. Maybe he’s afraid of a more intimate hurt, a soft underbelly clawed, of trust betrayed.

“Do you trust me, sweetheart?” he asks, and Logan’s breath hitches. The man is panting, body stiff, and he doesn’t move as Victor carefully slides another finger into him. Victor marvels at how it feels, two stretching him wide, and he twists them carefully, exploring. He carefully rubs the pads of his fingers against the front wall of Logan’s insides as he searches for that spot, the one where his cock always makes Logan gasp and twitch under him. The man jolts as he finds it and even with his cock soft, as Victor rubs there’s a pulse of wet that drips from his dick, adds to the mess he’s already made between his legs.

“What a good boy, staying so still for me. Hoping I’ll be kind,” Victor murmurs, and Logan shudders.

With a grin that Logan can’t see, Victor stills his fingers, presses hard right over that perfect spot, at the same time he flexes his claws, pressing and a hair’s breadth from damage. It’s a slow press, a tease, a threat, a gun to the forehead with a finger on the trigger. Logan is frozen trembling, helplessly waiting to see if Victor’s good will or his sadism is stronger, and Victor is as still as a cat considering whether to pounce on a mouse to deliver the killing blow or let it skitter free.

The moment stretches, with the only sound being that of Logan’s gasping breaths.

Once again Victor thinks about hurting Logan until he sobs out that he’s only an animal, that he’s a weapon, that he belongs to Victor.

Victor wants it. Wants it so bad he can nearly taste the blood and the tears. Wants to hear Logan admit it, say it out loud, beg him to claim him.

He carefully relaxes his fingers, unhooks his claws, and pulls free of the soft clasp of Logan’s body.

The noise the man makes is relieved and heartbroken all at once.

“Ssh,” Victor soothes. “Don’t worry, I’ll hurt you more. But not like that.”

Instead he sits back on his heels to once again take in the full tableau laid out before him. Logan is splayed wide, ass up, legs spread wide, arms flexed painfully straight fist-to-fist behind his back, cheek pressed to the concrete, body still in a way that speaks only of tension and waiting for the next blow.

He wants Logan closer, wants to feel him against his skin. He leans forward to unhook the chain from the collar and then grabs by that collar—Logan makes a strangled sound—to pull the man upright and back into his kneeling lap. The man’s legs are having trouble bending at the knee with now wide he’s splayed from where the spreader bar is pinned under Victor’s kneeling legs, so he reaches down and adjusts it, lets the bar shorten a few inches so that he can pull Logan’s ass back against him.

The man snarls and twists vainly in his grip, but Victor ignores it, holding him with one hand spread wide on his chest, the other slipping around to pet at his soft dick and then palm his entire package.

“You’re my good boy, right, sweetheart?” he chuckles darkly above Logan’s ear and then he laughs fondly at Logan’s protesting snarl. “Ssh, don’t worry, you’re mine, I’ll stuff you full again soon enough.”

He’s still cupping Logan’s still-soft cock and balls, and it’s so easy to feel further back with his fingers, and again he finds Logan’s hole, wet and slick but tightened more than it had been a mere minute before. Still, it’s loose enough that Victor can hook two clawed fingers back inside Logan’s body.

Logan reacts by freezing again, panting raggedly, and Victor chuckles softly.

“But first, you’re going to come again. Just like this.” He rubs that fascinating little spot inside Logan to demonstrate, and the man’s hips jerk. “Just to show you that you don’t get a say in any of this. I know how your body works, and I control it now, not you.” That makes Logan heave and wiggle uselessly, and he laughs again, fond and mean. “I already told you, the more you fight it, the harder I get. Just accept it, pup. You’re not a man anymore. You’re my property.”

Logan makes a tortured noise past the gag, silicone squeaking from how hard he’s clenching his teeth, but he also goes limp. “Good boy,” Victor praises, and rocks his fingers into Logan’s body, still pressing and rubbing. He keeps him there, pulling him tighter against his chest, still blindfolded and gagged and bound, so that Victor can keep purring filth in his ear and fingering him. He pushes it fast and too much and too hard, drinking in the tortured, incoherent noises that Logan pushes past the gag, breathing deep with his head next to Logan’s to smell his desperation, until Logan tenses, hips twitching against his will, chest heaving, and then he spills on his own dick and stomach. The smell of him oozes down over his pubes, runs down toward where Victor very slowly and carefully pulls his fingers free again.

He doesn’t give Logan any time to recover, just says, “Good boy. I’m going to use your hole again. You’ve come once on my cock and once on my fingers, even though you didn’t want to. Now I’m going to fuck you until I’m satisfied.”

With a shove, he topples Logan face-forward onto the mattress. Then it’s so easy to guide his cock back inside the slick, hot, tightening warmth of him.

“Oh, that’s so good,” he groans, hands grabbing Logan’s hips, not bothering to mind the claws. The opposite in fact, he digs them in as his hips slide forward, undoubtedly muddling pleasure and pain together in Logan’s head. “People think you’re a weapon,” he breathes, watching his cock sink into the perfect ring of Logan’s body over and over. “They don’t realize what you really are. Just an experiment. The perfect little hole, made in a lab for me to use.”

And oh the noise Logan makes at that. He twists and squirms and tries to fight it, snarling around the gag, horror and outrage, and Victor just keeps fucking him and drinking up his reactions. He’s getting to watch Logan hate this, and he’s loving it.

Then he leans down, closer to purr near the back of Logan’s neck.

“It’s alright sweetheart. You’re my good boy. You’ll take it from me,” Logan snarls at him, tries to buck him off, and Victor chuckles. “I know,” he says fondly, trailing a line of biting kisses across Logan’s shoulder. “I can feel how much you want to keep me out of your ass. Too bad. You’re the one who asked for this. I guess you’re just a whore who missed being used. Except a whore would actually get paid. You, you just wanted to be raped.”

Christ, the glee he feels at the keening betrayal Logan spits around the gag, the hitch of his breath. He shoves his cock into Logan’s perfect, abused body too fast and too rough, then pulls it back slow to savor Logan trembling under him.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes. “Fucking perfect, sweetheart. Get ready, because I’m gonna fuck you hard now.”

He does just that. His hips and his balls are slapping against Logan’s ass, with the man tight around him in protest and making punched-out, involuntary noises.

“I could just keep you like this forever,” he pants. “Would you even care? Would you love it?”

Logan snarls something garbled that sounds suspiciously like a string of curses and Victor just chuckles fondly.

“You’re going to come for me, one more time, once you admit you belong to me,” he promises.

Then he pauses fucking and grabs Logan by the collar and his arms and pulls him up again, back against Victor’s body, then again holds him there with one hand splayed across his chest. Logan is not so much in Victor’s lap as he is hanging from his hand, from his cock, suspended on him, filled by him. Victor’s other hand strokes across Logan’s skin, fondling his cock and balls, slipping back to feel where he’s sunk into him, then moving again to pet his thigh, his stomach, everything in reach.

“I own this body,” he purrs. “Every inch of it. I know it, I know what gets you off, sweetheart. And you’re going to come when I want you to. You’re so easy. Fill your ass, pull your cock, and you can’t help yourself.”

It makes Logan buck against his grasp with a strangled sound, but he just holds him tighter, claws pinpricking across his chest. And then he starts working Logan, bouncing him on his cock. And just like he threatened, he’s making sure to rub his front wall just the way that always gets his man off as fast as possible. When he combines it with a hand dropping down to wrap around the man’s own dripping cock, it’s perfect and just what’s going to make Logan come very soon.

Victor also wants to come. But first, he wants to hear something.

Nuzzling the side of Logan’s temple, Victor reaches back and yanks the buckle on the gag, works it open, and then pulls it free.

The noise Logan makes is startled, outraged, and disoriented, and he sees the man try to work his jaw closed and fail. His muscles are probably stiff and stretched out, and so Victor takes a chance and jams two fingers into Logan’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue, teasing the back of his throat to make him shudder and gag.

“So pretty,” he purrs. “Just like that. One last thing you have to do for me, and then I’ll let us both come. You ready, sweetheart?”

He pulls his fingers free, mostly so he can hear an answer, but partly because he thinks Logan’s about got his strength and mind back to bite. It turns out that was prudent, as the man’s teeth snap together just behind his withdrawing claws. He tsks in mock disapproval and slams Logan down harder on his cock in retaliation, revels in the yelp his lover gives.

“You’re mine, and I want to hear you say it,” he chides.

“Fuck off,” Logan manages to moan, but his head drops back against Victor’s shoulder at the same time.

“Manners, pet,” Victor chides, flicking Logan’s balls for it and enjoying the startled, outraged yelp before going back to stroking him. “I already told you, I know you.” He bites Logan’s ear as he says it, not holding back, letting himself savor the taste of blood, then lets go again. “I know what you’re afraid of,” he chuckles darkly.

And in all this, should those words be what makes the stale scent of fear rise the strongest from Logan? Maybe. Maybe it makes sense that Logan is less afraid of physical pain and being used than he is of the threat that Victor can strip his soul bare.

“Victor, stop,” he gasps, heaving, and Victor just chuckles and holds him in place.

“You’re afraid of just being a thing,” he says, enunciating every word. “An object. Something used. Violated. Taken. Broken. You’re afraid of this. And you should be, sweetheart, you should be afraid of me. I’m Sabretooth and I can do this to you whenever I want. Strip you bare, take what I want, hurt you, tell you the things you want to hide from.”

“Don’t,” Logan is gasping, broken, chest heaving, “Don’t.”

“I can do all that,” he purrs, nuzzling at Logan’s ear, “and you’re the fool who took me into your bed. Spread your legs. Showed your throat.” Said he loved Victor. Wouldn’t take it back. “Admit it, pup, you’re fucked. I own you.”

“Please please Victor please,” Logan is babbling, begging, arching against him, into Victor’s grip, against the relentless pounding of his ass. Whether he’s begging to stop or for more, Victor isn’t sure, doesn’t care.

“Say it!” he snarls. “Admit it! You’re mine!”

“Yours, yours, ‘course I’m yours,” Logan gasps, twists against him, and Victor jams him full cruelly fast, tightens his grip and stokes him, lifts and slams him down, fucks him as hard as they both can take it.

“You’ve lost,” he snarls. It feels like every hair is standing on end, every bit of adrenaline and testosterone and venom is pounding through his blood. He wants to rip, tear, bite, own, claim. Seeing red, feeling and smelling and hearing only Logan.

“I'm better than you, faster than you, bigger than you, and I'm meaner than you. But I'm not the first. You've been here before, haven't you? Big, bad Wolverine, and he's helpless and can't do anything but give what others want to take,” he hisses in Logan's ear, and that's when his man breaks with a sob.

The sound heaves through his chest, tears from his throat, and at the same time Logan goes limp against him. He can smell the tears, the salt of them, even through the blindfold. He wishes Logan could smell right now, scent everything that Victor’s feeling. But instead he’s still scent-blind, oblivious, sobbing as Victor fucks him, breath hitching messily. With a groan, Victor pries up the edge of the blindfold to lick a tear that slides from the corner of Logan’s clenched-shut eye.

It’s all too much. He’s so close. His dick is swelling, his balls drawing up. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Fucking beautiful,” he pants. “You’re helpless and you’re mine and I’m going to take this from you whenever I want.”

And with that and the clench of Victor’s hand, Logan comes, and Victor can’t help but come too.

It hits him hard, jolting through him nearly to his toes, tingling and radiating and so good, and he’s selfish with it, fucking up into Logan with both hands on the man’s hips to hold him to his cock, claws digging in and groaning in ecstasy.

Logan isn’t much better, gasping and shouting and ass clenching and sobbing through it all. He can’t tell if Logan loves it or hates it. Heck, he’s not sure if Logan knows if he loves it or hates it. Either way, he strokes Logan through it, pulling every bit of hurt and pleasure out of his man, trying to give Logan the too-much that he needs.

As he starts to come down from the high of it, reality reasserting itself, red fading from his vision, he remembers who it is he has trembling and bleeding against his hips. Fuck. Everything he’s ever wanted, here in his lap, hurt because of him. He feels elated. He feels terrified.

“Tiny. Sweetheart,” he groans, and nudges the man’s head to turn toward him.

The instant the first name leaves his lips, he feels Logan go more fully limp in his lap, and when Victor’s lips meet his, his mouth is soft and open and pliable, breath hitching brokenly into the kiss.

It’s so good, so perfect, and Victor kisses him, deep as he can, carefully as he can, pulling him tight against his chest.

Except that damn arm binder is in the way and Logan’s legs are still stretched obscenely wide, limiting how much Logan can melt against him. So Victor sits back on his heels, trying to keep from trembling at how weak he feels in the wake of orgasm, and fumbles off one of the ankle restraints, then starts tugging at the straps on the binder between them.

He keeps kissing Logan and swallows the sobs the man can’t hold back. He wonders if Logan has ever willingly let someone see him cry like this. Welcomed it like this. He also pets at Logan’s skin reverently with slow, firm sweeps of his palms to soothe, to ground Logan, all while working over his mouth until eventually Victor’s cock softens and slips free of his man.

Then he reaches down, gentle as he can, to pet at Logan’s hole.

“Feel that? How open you are? How good you were for me?”

Logan twists in his lap, snarling like a trapped kitten, feet scrambling for purchase, and Victor hushes him.

“It’s alright, Tiny, you’re alright, we’re done. I’m right here, and it was just a game. Remember? Like you wanted. Hope I did alright,” he adds, kissing Logan’s temple, resisting worrying about what’s already been done. “I’m going to get you loose now, sweetheart. You’re safe and I’m right here. Just let me get these off of you.”

At the words, he feels and smells Logan go limp again with churning consternation and something absolutely giddy and still, under it all, fear.

He needs that fear to go away.

Stretching, he picks up a little bottle of alcohol and a scrap of cloth from the floor next to the mattress. Unscrewing the cap, he douses a corner of the fabric.

“Hold your breath,” he says, and then leans in to carefully wipe under Logan’s nose, clearing away the scent blocker.

As he finishes and chucks the cloth away from them both, he puts everything he can into focusing on feelings of calm, of love, of pride, and letting Logan scent them. The rumbling purr that fills the air, vibrating against where Logan is pressed to his chest, is an inescapable consequence of that.

And the next instant, he feels Logan finally relax, going from limp tension to slumped in relief. And then, in the wake of that relief, his man sniffling, shaking, shedding tears that he obviously couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

Ever so gently and carefully Victor works the arm binder off, Logan hissing as it slides free, jerking as he tries to move his arms. Victor rubs them and physically helps him move them in front of his body before his healing factor fully kicks in. Then he unbuckles the other cuff of the spreader bar and the collar and massages the stiff muscles in Logan’s legs, kisses his neck. Finally he turns his man in his lap, so he can hold him close to his chest. During the whole process, Logan is limp except that he curls in on himself against Victor’s chest as he's turned and Victor’s arms wrap about him.

Victor looks down at him, struck by everything about his man. Logan’s not big, but he’s not small either. He’s thick and heavy and well-muscled, but he looks small like this, curled against Victor’s chest.

He tugs at the edge of the blindfold.

“Want this off?”

Logan shakes his head quickly and makes a noise of disagreement deep in his throat, then swallows and turns his head into the dip between Victor’s pecs. Apparently he’s not ready to face anything outside his own head yet.

“You can have it for a few more minutes,” Victor decides, like he has any right to dictate that to Logan, and Logan shudders against him.

Then he just holds his man and pets him, fingers trailing gently over skin. He also reaches for a damp washcloth and works at the dried blood on Logan’s hips and sides, still petting over his skin and kissing his hair and soothing as he goes, and through it all he keeps thinking about calm, about how much he loves Logan, and he keeps purring, a deep rumble of contentment and pride. Worry gnaws at him that Logan still hasn’t said anything, although it also makes sense that Logan needs time.

“How are you feeling, lover boy?” he asks quietly as he sweeps the washcloth lower. He gets back nothing but Logan nuzzling lightly between his pecs. “Heads up, Tiny, I’m gonna touch you now. Gotta clean up my property,” he says, and starts wiping at the mess of lube and cum on Logan’s ass. That gets a reaction, Logan gasping and giving a full-body twitch against his skin, fingers digging into Victor’s chest, his arm. “Don’t worry, pet,” Victor says, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Not gonna hurt you. And I’m your property too.”

At that, Logan moans, long and low and desperate, and then rubs his face on Victor’s chest.

“Again,” he groans.

Victor’s hands slow, as he tries to figure out what Logan means. “Again what?”

“Prove it again,” Logan groans.

Victor’s gut swoops, sickeningly and elated. He hadn’t thought Logan would have any interest at this point. He thought he’d be done playing. But instead …

“Sure, sweetheart, but only if you watch me while I do it,” he says, and he hooks claws to gently loosen the blindfold and pull it off of Logan’s eyes.

The man hisses as it comes free, blinking and squinting in the sudden bright shine of the overhead lights. His eyes fly here and there, to take in the concrete room. The bare, stained mattress. The steel chair. The neat lines of knives and torture implements on the walls. His eyes widen, white clearly visible, scent sliding back toward panic. It reminds Victor of a horse that’s had its blinders taken off, startling at everything in the world around it, too much all at once and overwhelming.

“Just look at me, sweet pea,” Victor purrs, and he rolls Logan onto his back.

The man’s eyes keep flying around, and his chest is heaving with breath taken too quickly, so Victor grabs his jaw, claws on Logan’s cheeks. “I said look at me,” he says sternly. “Only me. Understand?”

With a stuttering exhale, Logan gives a silent nod, eyes finally flying back to Victor and staying there.

“Good boy,” Victor purrs, and he grabs the lube to slick his cock, wiping his hand on the mattress.

“Grab your knees for me. Spread yourself. Show me what I own,” he goads, and Logan’s breath hitches at the same time his dick twitches, starting to fill out again.

And damned if Logan doesn’t do it. He’s tilting his pelvis up, grabbing behind his own knees, and pulling them toward his shoulders. He’s trembling and spreading himself wide, and Victor’s eyes are glued to the already-tightened but flexing pucker of Logan’s hole, hair there still damp from having just been wiped clean after Victor had used him so hard.

Victor licks his lips. His man is a sight, laid out just for him, only for him, and it steals Victor’s breath. When he glances up, it’s to find Logan staring at his face, watching his expression with dazed eyes. Victor hopes Logan can see everything he’s feeling there, everything he wants to own, everything he wants to give. Just in case Logan’s slow on the uptake, he leans down to kiss him softly, still watching his eyes. The kiss feels like claiming, because Logan’s lips lag behind his, still sluggish and dazed, but also so sweet. In return Victor is gentle, teasing, leading instead of roughly taking, until his man is breathing heavily, and a glance down shows his cock is hard and bobbing over his stomach.

Only then does he grab for his own cock to guide himself in, eyes still locked on Logan’s as he presses and teases until he catches the pulse of Logan’s body to push inside. As he sinks in, he hisses, because Logan is tight again, like Victor hadn’t spent however long before wrecking his ass.

“Should have made you finger yourself open,” he purrs, “so you wouldn’t be trying to squeeze my dick off.”

“”N–no,” Logan stutters. “No. J–just you.”

Victor grins at that. Logan is still out of his head, like it’s a battle to say even that much. He looks near non-verbal, overwhelmed, trembling, and holding himself open for Victor with fingers clenched so tight the skin under them is pressed white.

“Just want me to take it, do you?” he coos. “You’re always such a slut for it, for me, for taking it all the way right from the start,” and Logan groans, deep in his chest. Victor shifts his hand out of the way so he can do just what he said, pressing himself into Logan and seating himself as deep as he can go. “But this time, you’re tighter,” he grins. “Your body knows I’m taking, you’re not giving, doesn’t it. Does it hurt? Should I stop?”

He can feel Logan’s ass clench around him, but Logan moans, “N–no,” eyelids fluttering but still staying open and watching Victor obediently.

“Good boy,” Victor growls hungrily. “Keep watching.”

With that he pulls back and then slides in, setting a leisurely pace. This time he’s grinding deep, fucking Logan just the way he selfishly likes it, not in a way that will make Logan come. He lets his man whimper in frustration, because they’re both getting off on that, he can smell it, they can both smell it, and it’s perfect.

He leans down with his hands beside Logan’s head while the man is still holding himself open for Victor with trembling arms.

“Did I give you enough of what you wanted?” Victor pants.

He gets back a mute, wide-eyed nod. Not enough, Victor wants more confirmation, that it was alright, that it worked for Logan and didn’t hurt him.

“Is there anything else I can give you, sweetheart? Anything else you want me to take?”

The reaction he gets from that is Logan shuddering, arching, pulling his knees closer to his chest, eyes starting to slip closed then snapping open again as he remembers and obeys.

“You already—” Logan groans. “I— you— fuck, more, Vic!”

Victor snarls, satisfaction and blazing hot want curling in his gut, and suddenly his second orgasm is looming, unexpected and immediate. He starts fucking hard, hips snapping, and he grabs Logan’s cock in his hand, not so much stroking as just holding so that the snap of his hips forces the head of Logan’s cock to push in and out of his grasp.

”Mine,” he snarls, then jackhammers, then grinds. “Mine mine mine,” and then he comes, still staring Logan right in the eyes.

And with that Logan sobs and arches, and Victor’s hand turns warm and wet as Logan spurts against his wrist, his palm.

“Yours,” he moans, clenching on Victor’s dick, and Victor crashes their bodies together, their lips together, mouth open and greedy, kissing and rutting into Logan’s body to chase every last moment and shudder of his orgasm, until he collapses heavy and shuddering, sated and floating, on top of Logan’s chest.

Logan doesn’t protest his weight and he doesn’t shove at him to move. He just wraps his arms around Victor and kisses him back, feet settling back toward the mattress, except that he hooks one ankle around the back of Victor’s knee to hold him in place. Somehow that’s the gesture that finally makes Victor shake as relief crashes through his veins that letting the monster out to play didn’t chase Logan away from him. No, Logan is pulling them closer together instead.

He finally puts just enough room between them to pull out slowly, to sweep his hand down Logan’s body. Every slow touch is a caress as he savors the mess slick between them, the claim inherent. Caressing lower, he nudges the join of Logan’s hip and thigh, and the man lets his legs fall wider with a sigh against Victor’s lips, unresisting. Even slipping a finger inside his wet, open hole doesn’t draw a protest. Instead, his man moans under him, accepts Victor’s kisses, tongue curling lazily against his.

Victor has had some pretty phenomenal sex with Logan in the past year or so, and on a fairly regular basis too. But this …

This moment is so good, he can’t even begin to describe it.

Finally he disengages regretfully so he can grab the damp towel again, and then he wipes Logan down all over once more, followed by wiping himself cursorily too. Only then does he bend to scoop Logan into his arms (and grunts at his weight, fuck, why does Logan have to weigh so fucking much) in a bridal carry.

Logan sighs against his neck as Victor maneuvers them through the door and then up into his house, moving upwards toward the bedroom.

“Why have I never seen that room before?” his lover murmurs.

“You never needed to know. It’s something I used, before, for jobs. You’re the first person that’s been in it in over a year,” Victor says shortly. The implication is clear: the person he is now doesn’t need it for its original purpose. He doesn’t want to think too hard about that, about the struggle to be a person both he and Logan are proud of, the call of the old life, how easy it would be to be the beast. Damn Logan and the way he makes Victor see things like that.

Logan just makes a soft noise of understanding.

Then he’s upstairs and walking into his bedroom. Their bedroom. The lamps are low, the linens clean, the bed turned down. He’s left water and chocolate and cigars and whiskey on the nightstand, because he wants to give Logan whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.

Logan waves all of it away except for water, and then Victor is laying him down on the bed and crawling in after to pull him close.

“Feel like talking yet, lover boy?” He traces the back of his hand gentle over Logan’s face.

The man shakes his head and a soft sigh breath escapes him as he snuffles closer, pressing himself against Victor’s chest again.

He ought to let it lie. He can’t help himself.

“You’ll tell me if I was too mean.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement, a promise for later.

There’s no shake of the head, no nod, just a groan against his chest and Logan somehow worming even closer, and then inhaling deeply, like the man wants to pull Victor into his very being.

Victor just pets his man’s hair and holds him back. Later he’ll force Logan to talk about it, if he has to. Or Logan will wake soft and trusting in his arms and share without the interrogation, and the idea of that makes Victor’s belly squirm and his heart ache fondly.

The amount of trust that Logan just showed and is still showing blows his mind. Victor had taunted him, hurt him, staked his claim like Logan had no stay in it, and he’s still here. Not bound, not coerced, just here in his arms, his bed, his home. He’s got Victor’s cum up his ass and the scent of Logan’s blood is still clinging faintly to Victor’s claws, and yet here he is, accepting it all.

He doesn't think he could live without this, now that he's found it.

He has to push.

“I could do that again. Any time I wanted,” he murmurs, claws tracing across Logan’s cheek, then his back and lower across his ass to tap against his taint. “Use you, hurt you, own you.”

“But you won’t,” comes muffled from between the fur of his pecs.

He chuckles darkly at that. “Sometimes I will. Now that I know how much you love it. Now that I’ve got a taste for it. When I need to see you squirm and break. When you ask for it.” Only when Logan asks for it.

Logan groans against Victor, and one arm pulls close around his waist, clenching on the meat of Victor’s ass, while the other finds the swell of a pec. Victor knows the angles Logan’s wrists make, how to tell when the man has his claws in his wrists and ready to spring out. Right now they aren’t. They’re fully sheathed, even with Victor threatening, with him sinking his claws into Logan’s id and prying it open for them both to see.

He abruptly rolls Logan under him, hands pinned by his shoulders. “You’re mine,” he growls, and knows they both hear what’s unsaid.

“Fuck. Vic,” Logan groans.

He nuzzles gently at Logan’s hair, and in response Logan tips his head back. His eyes are still reddened, but that gaze is sharp and aware, and then Logan’s lips part slightly and Victor is kissing him again.

Lust. Fear. Trust. Love.

Together.

“You're mine,” he repeats, nipping at Logan's lips. “Gonna tie you up. Fuck you. Hurt you. Gonna hold you after. Gonna make you cry when you need it, come when you hate it. All for you, sweet pea. Because that's how much I love you.”

“Love you too,” Logan breathes through a shudder, and his wrists are loose and pliant under Victor's hands.

Perfect.

Victor's.

Not because Victor can take, but because Logan's giving himself.

He shifts his grip to interlace their fingers, then sinks back down on the bed and gently pulls Logan in close again, and then he holds him as long as they both need.