Chapter Text
Yuriko got the courtesy of being dropped off with dignity. Sabretooth wasn’t so lucky. Logan was a bit sour and was still touchy about Victor trying to off him while he was infected.
It got Sabretooth a boot to the back, landing him in the ocean just off the coast of New York. Morph felt similarly kicked despite sitting next to Logan. It was a familiar sight now, Logan pushing people away. Poetic.
The craft landed right on the lawn, some of the others coming to check out what the deal was.
Morph was over Wolverine. Was over all of the bullshit.
“Where are you going?” Logan grunted.
“None of your business.” Morph spits, turning into a dragonfly and zipping to their room. They got dressed and ran to the garage, taking one of the school cars.
The X-men wouldn’t mind. It happened, and Morph wasn’t one to normally be so reckless. Unlike Logan.
Morph peeled out, the gates closing behind them. They had an idea of where to head.
—
“Son of a bitch! Grah!” Sabretooth spits, soaking wet and crawling out of the ocean to flop on the dock. His whole body fucking ached and stung. His suit was a wet and tattered mess clinging to him. Thankfully his pockets still held the essentials. He paid good money for them to ensure it.
He collapsed on his back, panting, waiting to catch his breath. Swimming to shore wasn’t on his list of things to do today. Especially not after the hell he endured from the explosion. He could feel his muscles starting to repair, but it was exhausting.
He could smell something familiar wafting toward his nose, the sound of hurried footsteps reaching toward him. No heroes or cops. Someone else.
“Putty boy?”
Morph finally makes it to him, panting like they actually ran.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Sabretooth gripes. He makes no move, only cracking open an eye when he feels a shadow settle over his face.
“Picking you up. C’mon, train is leaving the station.” Morph says. Truthfully, they don’t know why they’re here. They just wanna get away from Logan. Sabretooth was a bastard but it was better than being at the mansion where there would be questions, “Or can you not get up…?
“Don’t fucking insult me. I always get up.” Sabretooth spits, rising to the bait. Sure enough he stands, his hair flattened and dripping like a wet cat.
God, when did Morph start sympathizing with Sabretooth? Guy looks as shitty as Morph felt.
“Look, there’s a motel down the highway, 15 minutes away. They have a vacancy.” Morph explains.
“Don’t have to tell me twice. Lead the way. And don’t even think about tricking me. Right now, I’m not above carving you into little pieces for fish bait.” Sabretooth grumbles.
—
“Fucking runt. I was fucking right. And he had the audacity to chuck me out the ship like I’m some—“ Sabretooth was crammed in the backseat, a patterned blanket draped over him, the smell of ocean brine thick, mixing with sweat and the tinge of blood.
“Right here. It’s not glamorous—“ Morph pulls into the motel, a typical beachside spot with nautical color theme and name, “—but it’ll do.”
“Do me a favor,” Sabretooth reaches behind at the waist of his suit, takes out a card from a hidden pocket, “Go in there, pretendin’ to be me. Get a room for one night, ask about the nearest takeout.”
Morph sighs, transforming into a version of Sabretooth without the suit, something presentable and not laughable. White t-shirt, generic jeans, but same scowling brow. In for a penny, in for a pound.
—
The motel room has only one bed, but it’s spacious enough. Sabretooth starts to strip right in the entry way the second the door closes behind them.
“Hey!” Morph averts his eyes.
“I’m sorry, do you want me to smell like sea water and stay all fucking damp—“
“Right, right—just—“ Morph waves Victor to the bathroom.
“Fuckin’ pansy ass.” Sabretooth grumbles kicking off the suit right on the carpet and stomping to the bathroom.
Morph breathed out. What were they doing here? Helping out Sabretooth? Morph didn’t want to think about it. Technically they hadn’t done anything wrong. And Logan could be the last person to complain about who they hung out with. This was just a tactical retreat. Not that Sabretooth was safe to be around, but right now, like this, he seemed to be too much in pain to do much.
By the time Sabretooth came out of the bathroom, Morph was still there, sitting in one of the chairs that were always put in the room, facing the bed.
“You still here?” He grumbled, sounding a little surprised.
“Yeah…?”
“Why? You got me set up in this joint. You can run along back to the pipsqueak now, though don’t expect any pat on the back—“
“I’m not doing this to get brownie points with Logan. Or anyone else, Sabretooth—” Morph’s voice is a bit firmer.
“Sure, sweetheart.” Sabretooth waves a hand, dismissively, “And it’s Victor Creed. Don’t wear it out.
Victor Creed. Suited him. Ugh, stop.
Morph watches as Victor goes about his night, the time ticking by. Victor orders food from the phone, collapsed into the bed. He orders three full pizzas. When the food delivery comes to the door, Victor doesn’t bother to get back in the suit, only wearing a towel around his hips.
“I get these two and any leftovers you don’t eat. Don’t touch what’s mine or I’ll bite that grey little hand off.” Victor warns.
“Sure…” Morph speaks, their voice sounding tired.
It’s the quiet that they needed. Just the sound of chewing and Victor’s little animal sounds as he chomps down on slices as they put on some mindless TV gameshow.
Victor really reminds Morph of Logan. The way he puts away food. The way he drinks from the tap like a thirsty lion.
“Stayin’ here? Or should I kick you out?”
“Staying if you’ll allow it.” Morph made up their mind about an hour ago. There was no way in hell they were slinking back to the mansion to get confronted by Logan and his shitty attitude.
“Yeah. I pity you just enough.” Victor grins, but it’s half gleeful half smug.
“You’re not gonna kill me or touch me in my sleep, are you?” Morph asks, taking off their coat and eyeing the bed. They wouldn’t put it passed Victor to make them sleep on the floor.
“Stay on your side, keep quiet, and I won’t. Not in the fucking mood….” Victor hisses, his voice going quiet as he paws at the bedside lamp.
Morph climbs into bed, their heart pattering hard enough to be heard. They both had a long day.
Surprisingly, Victor was out like a light, helping Morph relax long enough to close their eyes. Getting their mind off Logan was harder than they thought. But one day at a time. They had to. They worked with Logan. Saw Logan every day. They needed to interact. And Morph decided that going forward, they’d be the distant coworkers that they should have been from the beginning.
Victor sleeps just enough, though clearly wakes from a nightmare. It’s the whimpering that wakes Morph.
Morph almost wants to cry. Even this is something that Victor and Logan have in common? Nightmares? This was just salt in the wound now.
Victor eventually thrashes in the bed, begging for his Pa to stop hurting him, before he suddenly sits up, sweat dripping down his face. What does Victor fear? Apparently his own childhood, come to haunt him.
“Fuck—“ Victor snarls, a giant mitt on his face, wiping the sweat away, “Go back to sleep.”
Morph didn’t know who Victor was talking to. Morph doesn’t address it out of fear, but it piques their interest.
—
“Guess this is where we part ways, putty boy. Unless you wanna do one more favor for ol’ Vic. Nothing illegal, just another ride with those wheels of yours.” Victor asks. Dressed back in their tattered suit, having ripped the top part off completely into a separate damp bundle.
“I’m not your taxi driver.” Morph tries.
“Then go home.” Victor says breezily, making like he’s turning. For a moment, Morph thought about being alone again and hated it.
“Fine. Only got half a tank of gas though.”
“Should be plenty.”
They headed off to the unknown, Victor directing Morph as they drove toward the suburbs.
—
The current lair of Sabretooth was an abandoned ranch house hidden in the green lushness. Some crime happened ages ago, caution tape long disturbed. Morph hesitated in the driveway, shutting the car door and looking around as Victor goes in from the back.
The shutters are askew. The whole house needs new paint. The porch looks like it’s a few seasons from collapsing. Truly it would probably be condemned or considered a loss. Perhaps bought back by a bank and sold f—
The front door opens with a loud ka-chunk.
“Get in. Or get the fuck off my driveway.” Victor snips.
The inside is just as cold. Hobos or hoarders used to live here, the grime persistent in the corners, but the main areas cleared out enough to be somewhat livable and hazard free. The smell is….something. Musky and stale. Something rotting though from where was anyone’s guess.
Victor was clattering upstairs and Morph took their time snooping. Wasn’t hard to find the stash of money and weapons, various guns and ammo haphazardly tucked under the coffee table.
Logan would have a field day in here. It was a riot for the senses.
Stop.
Before Morph could berate themself anymore, Victor came downstairs. He was dressed in sweatpants and a tank top and actually groomed up his facial hair. Victor ignored him, going to the fridge. The gust of air from the fridge made them both grunt in disgust.
Morph is treated to the sight of Victor eating pickles from the jar, drinking the brine, and then moving on to the condiments, straight from their bottles.
Somehow that was more disgusting than watching Victor sink his claws into a corpse to sniff at the blood.
Again, Morph couldn’t help but see Logan. How he got after he’d been shot full of lead and was desperate for calories. The X-men had the luxury of having a stocked kitchen, and Logan would routinely clear nearly everything out. Calories were calories, and sometimes even expired food was better than nothing.
“Gross.” Morph coughed.
“Fuck this— I’m getting Chinese.”
—
Another meal and TV watching session. The chow mein was greasy and smelled like pork. Heavenly comfort food. And Morph could sneak glances and watch Victor go through half the menu in one sitting, pounds of food sacrificed to the almighty healing factor.
The wrestling on the TV was a good distraction. Some grudge match from a weeknight brawl between two sweaty beefy men. It’s wasn’t horrible.
Victor laughs when one of the men takes a sledgehammer and bashes his opponent on the back with it.
“It’s made of rubber, right?” Morph speaks, shattering the comfortable quiet.
“Nah, it’s real. But that’s what they’re gettin’ paid for.”
By the end of the match, the two blonde men are panting and bloody, tangled in the center of the ring. Morph could see the appeal of it through Victor’s white eyes. Violence was fun for him after all.
“Enough moping. We square now? Or do we gotta talk terms?” Victor pipes up.
“Huh?”
“Got you a meal for the ride over here. You can stay one more night under my roof, but you gotta put out. Sticking around for so long…sorta implies something.”
Well. At least Victor was honest. Morph was essentially crashing with him. In his lair, eating his food now. Victor…wasn’t looking so bad, now that he wasn’t picking verbal fights with Logan and he was out of the ridiculous orange suit.
“….alright.”
“Don’t be like that. I’ll make it good for you. You can give me a tight cunt to fuck, right?”
Right. Morph almost forgot who they were dealing with for a moment.
“Jesus…” Morph huffs. They were familiar with this song and dance. They transform, flesh melting and stretching and smoothing and shrinking until they form Mystique.
The effect is instant.
Victor snarls and recoils, “Knock it off.”
“I thought—“
“Doesn’t matter. Shit, I might end up getting a little too excited.” He swallows his drool and grinds his teeth, “And I’m not a necrophiliac.”
There was very little reassurance in that statement. Morph melts around, trying to form something….appealing. The look of Kevin, but as a woman. Dark sunken in eyes still prominent, but maybe longer hair? Nice tits, a plumper lip—
“What’re doin’? Just go back to before. I’m not picky. Not like some furball you know. Seems to only have a thing for redheads and Japs.”
“Please, don’t talk about him right now.” Morph speaks, recovering from nearly choking on their spit, their form settling back on the familiar featureless one of smooth gray skin.
“Awww, but I thought he got you all hot?” Victor finally pushes the food away and suddenly leans into Morphs space, crowding them back into the couch’s arm rest, his voice mocking, “Although, he’s never looked at you like this, huh?”
Morph turns away to face the TV, and Victor takes the opportunity to breathe in the scent from their neck.
“Fuck, that’s good…” Victor croons. Now that he’s fed and healed, he’s in a chattier mood, unfortunately, “Can’t believe he….he really didn’t try it with you? He should have noticed. Smelled it coming from you—“
Morph shivers at the mental image.
“—Yeah. That. Right there. Mmmm. Fuck.” Victor takes his time, and Morph is still, trying to relax. It wouldn’t do them any good if they were tense.
Victor starts to really touch Morph, pawing at their sides, hips, and thigh, mouthing at their neck and collar.
“Ah—“ Morph squeaks.
Victor makes a hum, a little sympathetic animal sound, pleased as punch. Eventually Victor tugs at their clothes and Morph takes them off. Top first. It leaves them exposed to Victor’s tongue and teeth. Morph has never felt so much like a chew toy before. But it was also embarrassingly thrilling, to feel like a treat. A delicacy that someone wanted to eat and play with.
It’s no surprise that it gets them wet. The smell is what gets Victor going like a bloodhound, shifting to his knees and sliding down, crooning, “Fuuuuuck, sweetheart. Driving me crazy.”
It’s shocking how similar Logan and Victor speak. Logan once mentioned that were was an accident where they switched bodies, and the X-men didn’t notice. Same phrases, same growls and grunts, same biting tone when they were pissed.
Same, same, same, until they weren’t.
Morph takes off their belt and pants before they could be shredded. Victor groans like he’s been wounded, the smell probably burrowing into his brain from the amount of huffing he’s doing, open-mouthed like a dog.
“Fuck, sweetheart, this pretty thing f’r me?” Victor takes his hand, claws retracted, spreads Morph’s legs, and slides down to swipe a large thumb along the folds. Deeper grey flesh, slick with want, greets him.
“You just gonna stare?” Morph sasses. Victor scoffs at the attempt to goad him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t make yourself look so goddamn edible.” Victor sasses right back, always one to get the last word in before he’s leaning down, sudden like a big cat sinking teeth in, his tongue finding the slit and laving a rough tongue from clit to hole.
Morph yelps and Victor groans, hungry. Absolutely sloppy and loud slurping fills the living room, drowning out the sounds of wrestling announcers.
Victor eats pussy like an animal. Slick dampening his muttonchop cheeks and smooth chin. Victor’s head sometimes wagging side to side like a dog with a toy.
“Fuck! Fuck—“ Morph gasps, writhing. As much writhing as they could do because Victor was pinning their waist and easily using his strength to keep them down.
Morph closed their eyes, selfishly wishing that they were tugging on dark hair, feeling someone smaller but equally voracious.
“Louder, sweetheart. Don’t worry about the neighbors. Lemme hear you.” Victor claps a hand on their thigh, making them jump and yelp a startled moan as Victor dives down to focus on the sensitive clit that was practically pulsing.
“Shit, shit shit shit, Victor you’re gonna— Don’t stop—“ Morph begs, starting to tense up. Victor growls with wordless encouragement.
Morph cums, a pathetic whine spilling from their lips. Victor groans and laps it all up, digging his tongue and fingers inside, curling and pumping. It makes Morph shout and thrash and Victor’s sinister chuckle comes out from his panting mouth even as Morph digs their fingers into Victor’s hair to tug at his scalp.
Victor stood to strip out of his clothes too, kicking them and tossing them on the floor, “Hands and knees. You’re a little small…”
Morph catches sight of the sizable cock that Victor was stroking before Victor damn near mounted them from behind, grabbing their hip and leaning forward, urging Morph to rest their arms on the arm rest.
“Nice an’ easy….” Victor purrs, notching the head to Morph’s hole. It was a good thing that they could stretch to accommodate, but there was something about the struggle to fit that was…alluring, “Ah— and don’t worry your little head, sweetheart. You’ll make me fit, won’t ya?”
Morph nods and arches their back on a keen as Victor spits once and pushes, the head popping in. Full and stretching, just enough of a burn before Victor slides home.
“Fuck!” He grunts, and Morph can hear the astonishment in his tone. “So. Fucking. Good.”
Victor starts a deep rhythm, hips snapping, before withdrawing all the way and stuffing it all back inside.
Morph must sound like they’re dying, but Victor doesn’t complain. It seems to turn him on more.
“Where is it?” Victor asks.
“Wh— Wha’?” Morph asks, bleary and panting.
Victor’s hips shift around, his arm tilting Morph’s hips until they’re handled like a toy, strong arms lifting them back until they’re nearly leaning fully back against Victor.
A hard thrust angled just so makes Morph shiver and go taut.
“Oh yeah. Bingo.” Victor rumbles smugly. He attacks the spot and Morph finds themself cumming, shallow but hard thrusts pummeling and making them shake apart at the seams, “Gorgeous. Fucking cum on that cock…who’s fucking you so good? Hm?”
“You a-are..?” Morph hiccups.
“Who’s making you cum your little brains out?” Victor grunts, his voice mocking and dripping with faux sweetness, still attacking that spot, still pistoning his hips like he has all the time in the world.
“Victor— Victor! Holy shit—!” Morph gasps, clawing at Victor’s shoulders and thighs.
“Stupid runt could never fill you up like this. I’m keeping you. Ain’t no way I’m giving you up now, putty boy. Gonna fill you up, no matter what parts you got—“ Victor snarls, grunting like an animal, “Fill you up til you choke on it—“
Victor pushes forward, hard, and stills. He roars and gasps, snarling and rutting his hips into Morph. The first orgasm he’d had in some time. It’s like a relief, but he’s so pent up that his cock only flags for a moment before he’s moving back to snap into the same steady rhythm.
“Holy—“
“I told ya, sweetheart. Til you choke. I ain’t— fucking— done.”
Two rounds later, Victor flipped them, keeping an arm slung around Morph’s lower back. Morph collapses onto the sandy desert heat of Victor’s blonde chest. The two of them sweaty panting messes.
“You better not get knocked up…” Victor grunts in warning.
“No. Didn’t make those parts….” Morph scoffs, shuddering at the mere idea.
“Good. Now sleep. Leave in the morning or don’t. I got shit to catch up on.” Victor yawns, his jaw cracking and showing off every carnasal tooth in his mouth before smacking his lips and hefting Morph up, dragging them to the master bedroom upstairs.
Only when Victor has them both under the sheets does his sighs of relief start to sound like the purrs of a big cat.
—
The next day Morph showered and left. There was a bit of soreness, but the scratches and bruises were minimal, all things considered. Morph didn’t wait around for the guilt to set in.
Fucking Logan’s ex was not on their bingo card, but so was being so thoroughly rejected and made a fool by Logan, so life was full of surprises it seemed.
Morph went straight out to the city. They found a bar, drank a fair bit. Then to a nearby club. They changed into a sexy club goer they’d seen before. Short brown hair, tanned skin, mesh top, booty shorts that screamed ‘temptation’, with a dreamy expression.
It was liberating. The bass and the press of bodies, of hands of strange men groping and grazing. Gay bears and leather daddies replicated the sensation of hairy chests and stubbly kisses.
If Morph ever craved something more primal, they had a number to call. There was a new text sitting in their phone’s messages. The words burning a hole in their pocket.
Come back next Friday. Wear something sexy. —V