Movieverse. Victor/Logan. NC-17. ~3600 words.
He wouldn’t be so fucking hungry for it all the time if James just gave it up when he needed it.
The dark has never bothered Victor. As a child, when the fever had seized him hardest, James had been terrified of it. He could hear things, he’d whispered, the whites of his eyes bright as they darted from shadow to shadow in the grave-quiet house. Only when Victor had climbed into the bed to warm his back did he settle.
Just as James had, Victor caught the rustle of the trees and the night animals stalking their prey, sounds carried for miles on the still air. Unlike the master’s preciously sheltered son, he had known what they were and why he could hear them.
The cloying smell of sickness that had tainted James’s burning skin is still buried in him. Nested in his lungs from so many nights forced to breathe it in as James lay there, finally given in to sleep. Thoughts of what James’s father would do if he’d caught them then, James curled tightly to his chest, the claws he’d tried so hard to hide clutched in one small hand, had only worsened the restlessness that ate at him.
That same impatience gnawed at him now. The hole they were stuck in reeked of piss and shit and old, stale earth. Whoever had been there a few hours before left behind a tally of thirty days and one lone puddle. No one else but the army would courteously clean up before tossing someone in a pit and throwing away the key.
James sat slumped against the wall, face slack, eyes closed, but not asleep. He smelled of far better things, blood and sweat and faint, lingering traces of high noon sun. His nose twitched at a skitter and squeak from the rat in the corner, and he shifted, dogtags clinking dully on his chest. While the rest of the men had jumped at the chance to separate the tags, or coat them in thin rubber, neither he nor James had bothered.
A satisfied smile curved Victor’s mouth. James Logan, his brother’s tags read. Decades have passed since they shared that name and still it heated his blood with a possessive thrill. He could barely remember why he’d taken on his mother’s name. Some identification problem in this new world with its new rules, ones that he didn’t care to follow most times. Creed or Logan, their blood remained the same.
Thinking of the solid line of James at his back, staring down the battle-heated barrels of a half dozen rifles, Victor said, “Hey Jimmy.” One of the guards outside kicked the door. Victor ignored him and James ignored them both. “Let’s fuck.”
James opened his eyes, disbelief tightening his face. Even after all these years, he didn’t know his own brother as well as Victor did. “You really want to add that to our list of offences?”
“What’re they gonna do?” The heavy cuff around Victor’s wrist rattled as he gestured at the kid standing guard. “Shoot us?”
“I’m not in the mood.”
Victor rolled away from the wall, crossed the small distance between them on his knees. The chain that’d been strung between his cuffs–snapped as soon as the door had been shut on them–dragged through the dirt. If anyone had noticed, or cared, it wasn’t worth their life.
Up close, James’s scent overwhelmed everything else. Victor breathed deep, pushed his face to where it lay heaviest on James’s neck, above the warmth of his pulse. It’d been days since the last time. The kill captured his attention during the day, too many of their fellows surrounded them at night. Victor hardly cared but James, James tried so hard to be discreet.
Much more than he could’ve ever wanted to fuck that screaming woman silent, even blinded as he was with the bloodlust riding him, he wanted to lick his way inside his little brother’s mouth.
James jerked away before it could happen. “I said: Not in the mood.”
“So get in the mood,” Victor said, leaning in close again, nudging open James’s knees with his arm.
Easy to dodge the punch James swung at his face, not so much the elbow that followed, clipped his jaw. He shook off the blow, snarling a curse, and went for James’s throat. Claws raked over the arm James threw up to block him. Skin split to bone, and the tight space exploded with the scent of fresh blood.
Victor grinned. Tension seeped from his muscles, left him loose and relaxed, eager. A fight served well enough for foreplay, if that was what Jimmy was after.
Outside, someone shouted, “Knock it off!”
As stern faced as their father, James rolled away, halfway to his feet before Victor slammed a boot into the back of his knee, brought him right back down. Dirt flew into his face as James twisted, kicked out. He hit the opposite wall hard, knocked dazed and breathless for a split second.
“Knock it off, I said!”
James crouched low, ready for Victor’s lunge. His claws stayed hidden as they tumbled across the filthy floor, Victor laughing as Logan spat curses, fell away from the snap of jaws at his throat. The rat’s panicked squealing sounded little different from the shouting outside.
As James’s heavy, solid weight landed squarely on top of him, Victor went lax except for his grip on James’s torn jacket. Drawing his legs up to frame James’s hips, he said, “How about now?”
Breathing harshly, James tightened the hold on his shoulder. Victor felt the twin spike of their pulses, the heat pouring off James’s body and the gleam in his eyes more than enough of an answer.
A rifle barrel clanked against the bars of their tiny window. Victor barely spared it a glance as he grabbed up a handful of James’s hair, yanked him down for the kiss he’d been craving.
The inside of James’s mouth tasted like heat. Not stale bread, no taint of tinned rations or stagnant water, nothing and no one else. James pushed away, let out a grunt when Victor followed, kissed him again, slower. His lips stayed parted when Victor eased back and slid his tongue over them, between them, licked at the sharp edges of his teeth.
Teeth that closed on Victor’s lip a moment later, tugged it back with a hard, stinging suck. Lust as pure as electricity shot straight into Victor’s gut. His boots scraped through the dirt as he arched up, sought the familiar press of James’s cock against his own. To hold back the rough moan he let freely spill between them didn’t even cross his mind. He wouldn’t be so fucking hungry for it all the time if James just gave it up when he needed it.
Bullets struck the ground beside Victor’s head. He ignored the stinging fly of rocks to push for another kiss, near roaring in frustration as James tore free, rounded on the idiot with the gun.
A jumble of voices echoed in from outside, someone shouting, “You see what they’re doing in there!” over the scuff of boots in the dirt, followed by someone else’s, “Not going in there to pull him off, are you? Are you?”
Shadows passed through the waning light. Victor followed the sound of their retreating footsteps until he lost interest in the possibility of something more than a scuffle breaking out over him and his brother.
“Christ,” James muttered, stalking away from the door. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth and eyed the fresh bullet holes in the wall obliterating half the smiling face Victor carved there earlier, a friendly little present for the next guy chucked in the hole.
Victor shrugged, relaxed into a careless sprawl with his knees still spread. “Doubt they’re coming back, if you’re feeling shy now.”
Inside, he seethed. He knew the gunman by scent if not by name. Eventually even Jimmy would tire of being locked up, feel the same need for freedom plucking at his nerves as Victor did, strongly enough that he’d believe promises of no one having to die. And after they broke out, that boy would be the first to feel Victor’s claws tear open his tender belly, watch his own pink guts spill into the dirt at his feet.
Eagerness for the kill pushed a quiet noise out of Victor and James said, “Shut up, Victor.”
“Come on.” Skin prickling from the weight of James’s hard stare, Victor stroked a hand down between his legs, rubbed at his cock through his fatigues. Almost as good as his baby brother’s touch. “Not going to leave me hanging, are you, Jimmy?”
James sighed, said, “Never know when to quit, do you?”
Victor scented the humid air. His brother’s arousal had already begun to fade, overpowered by the lust still licking flame-hot at Victor’s brain. Victor decided right then and there it would take him a long, long time to finally kill the idiot that had shot at them. He imagined the taste of Jimmy’s mouth after it was done, wondered if it’d be all the sweeter for knowing there was a sack of flesh in a ditch somewhere that wouldn’t interrupt them a second time.
“You know we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” Victor’s hand and smile dropped. He tucked an arm beneath his head. “Should’ve just let me have that bitch.”
He expected the vicious kick that knocked his legs together but not the sudden rush of precome slicking his cock. He thought he’d long since gotten used to wanting James, fighting or fucking or both if he could have it. James was in his blood, the only disease it couldn’t destroy, and one of these days he’d make James admit the same.
Voice pitched low, he added, “At least then one of us might have gotten to dick someone.”
Before James laid into him for real, Victor rolled away, jerked to a halt as a boot came down on the chain trailing from his wrist. He swung around, barely managed to graze Jimmy’s ankle, his claws scoring thick boot leather. James dove for the chain, wrapped it tight around his forearm and used it to wrench Victor over onto his belly.
Victor spat dirt, said, “That’s more like it,” and nearly bit through his tongue as James’s boot came down hard on the back of his neck. “That, not so much.” The cruel tread ground dirt into his flesh; if he’d been anything but what he was, he’d carry the sole in the shape of a bruise for days.
“Are you finished now?” James asked, letting the chain thump loosely against his back.
When James eased off his neck, Victor heaved himself up on one elbow, rubbed the last of the ache away. “Always such a fight to get you to fuck me, Jimmy. One of these days, you’re going to hurt my feelings.”
James let out a snort not quite a laugh and gestured at the cell. “Maybe I’d be more inclined if things were a little closer to normal.”
“What have you ever cared about normal?” Victor pushed to his feet, grabbed the chain where it attached to his cuffs and tore it off, the link peeling apart like clay. “Look at us,” he said, “we’re nothing like them.”
Sometimes years passed between James’s frustrating bouts of morality. The last had been long before this war and the time between then and now had been perfect. They’d hunted and fucked and James had been content not knowing what Victor did away from his side.
He’d seen the end coming as the war went on. Rage at feeling James pull away had crawled in, nested, sliced his insides to ragged wet strips when he least expected. He snarled at their comrades, slaughtered everything in his path, wanted to dig his claws into James’s gut so he’d know, finally know, like Victor knew.
Victor slammed the chain into the door. “Normal is for them, Jimmy. Not us. Not you and me.”
In the ringing silence after, no soldiers came gunning for them. Victor held James’s hard stare and dropped his hands to his fly, wrenched it open with two vicious tugs. The space between his shoulder blades prickled in warning as he turned to the wall to slap his hands against it.
James’s breath sped but he didn’t move. Victor closed his eyes, tried to get a handle on the riot inside him, but James didn’t want to fight him or fuck him and those were the only two things that have ever kept the need in check. He bowed his head, body trembling with the need to move, and waited, always fucking waited for Jimmy to catch up, give in.
If the threat to leave him that he’s seen in James’s eyes became reality, James would have to kill him to do it. It’d be the only way he’d ever really know to let go.
A hand touched his side. Heady relief flooded his veins; it wouldn’t be today. James’s fingers pushed under his shirt, gave his pants the nudge they needed to slip over his hips, caught on his thighs as James kicked his feet apart.
The sound of James lowering his zip slunk its way up Victor’s spine. His cock twitched, curved up so hard it almost brushed his belly. He wouldn’t lose it the second James put a hand on him but it’d be close. If Victor didn’t know better, he’d think that’s why James made him wait all the fucking time.
The hem of his shirt dragged over the head of his cock as James tugged him further out from the wall. Warm spit landed on the crack of his ass, followed a moment later by the slide of James’s cock slicking him up. He groaned in appreciation of finally getting his way, bent forward just a little to make it easier when James spit again and felt more than heard his brother’s quick intake of breath.
The grip on Victor’s side tightened. His heart slammed against his ribs as James cock-slapped him, left behind a smear of wet to cool on one cheek, smacked him again on the other cheek and then between. The things James finally let himself do once Victor had pushed hard enough, long enough, always made it so worth the effort. The head dragged too quickly over Victor’s hole to do much more than make him clench in anticipation of the next smack, enough spit and precome slicking him that James didn’t have to wait.
Victor curled his hand into a fist until he felt the bite of his own claws. “You going to fuck me or just rub one off on me?”
“That’s all we’ve got,” James warned, as if it would make a difference.
“I want you to fuck me.” When James hesitated, cockhead blunt against his hole but not fucking in him, Victor pushed back. “Preferably now.”
James slammed him face-first against the wall, forearm tight against the back of his neck. “Now, then,” his baby brother snarled, and shoved.
The sweet burn barely registered before James pulled out. He pushed in again, harder. Victor squeezed his eyes shut, groaning at the stretch as James forced him open, sure his brother would sense the brief ripple of pain that tightened his body, and stop, guilt-ridden and useless. But James didn’t stop, didn’t even pause before fucking him, slap of flesh on flesh in the small cell somehow louder to Victor’s ears than the gunshots before.
Victor let out another harsh curse, claws scraping concrete as he braced himself, got in one good shove back onto James’s cock before James smacked his hands out from under him.
James’s hand hit the wall beside Victor’s head, bone claws sprouting between his fingers. “You wanted me to fuck you.”
Breathing hard, Victor said, “Been pounding that through your thick skull all day.”
Teeth grazed the shell of Victor’s ear. “So let me fuck you.” James’s other hand left his side, dragged up the length of his arm to stretch it out above his head. A slow grin curving his lips, Victor let himself be pinned to the wall, James’s arms framing him on either side.
That same grin fell right off his face the moment James fucked into him for real. Pure, hard fucking, dirty grind of his balls against Victor’s ass, scrape of his teeth over the back of Victor’s neck.
What could’ve been a vicious bite turned into James’s tongue licking softly at his skin and slower, easy thrusts. Victor’s muscles tensed, body clenched so tightly James couldn’t miss it but James said nothing, kissed him once more, picked the pace back up right where he’d left off.
Sweat prickled at Victor’s scalp, gathered at the nape of his neck. James’s tongue sloppily chased after it, sent tendrils of want curling all along Victor’s nerves. When they were out of here, miles and miles between them and the authority James thought they should obey, he’d lay his little brother out in the dirt and do this all over again. The thought of fucking James with his ass still come-slick just as much as the savage push of James inside him now ripped another loud groan out of him.
The spatter of James’s blood hit Victor’s face before he heard the gunshot. He tore away from the wall, claws and teeth bared, couldn’t tell his snarling from his brother’s from the screaming racket outside, Filthy fucking animals, you see that, you fucking see that.
James’s teeth sank straight into his flesh. He roared and bucked; he wanted fucking blood now, not a dick in his ass, but James wrapped an arm around him and held on, used their combined weight to bring Victor to his knees.
“Said let me fuck you,” James said, cock warm and sticky at the base of Victor’s spine. Not waiting, he lined up, thrust in, and the red clouding Victor’s eyes flared to white.
James took his cock in hand, jerked him off. Bone claws caught on Victor’s clothes, ruining the rhythm of his strokes, and after a moment he gave up to satisfy himself first.
Victor dug at the dirt, let all the noises building in his chest flow freely in a fuck you to the dead men walking outside, fuck me to his brother because James always got off hardest hearing the things he did to the people he fucked.
Right before he lost it, James pulled out, slumped over Victor’s back to sink teeth into the meat of Victor’s shoulder. His come pulsed warm and wet between them, smeared into both of their skins by the jerky grind of his hips.
Victor snarled, “Come on, come on,” and James sucked in a shuddering breath, slicked a couple fingers with come and shoved them deep.
James went for his dick again, fast and hard right from the start, almost enough to finish him but Victor held back, grabbed at his wrist. “More?” he asked, and either taking Victor’s shallow grunt for approval or deciding for himself, the thick knot of all four of his fingers pressed against Victor’s sloppy hole, pushed in slowly, right to the knuckle.
Victor dropped down on his elbows, forehead pressed to the dirt. The feeling of being stretched so wide almost never lasted long enough for him but James knew, his fucking baby brother knew just what he wanted. Split open, filled up, he came in a dizzying rush, fought to keep his focus to watch James’s hand on his cock, see his come drip down those long, thick fingers to spatter the dirt.
The racket outside had stopped. James’s hands withdrew slowly, his thumb smoothing over Victor’s hole sending another shiver skittering through them both. Not bothering to fix his clothes, he thumped down in the dirt at Victor’s side, body as loose as Victor had seen it in weeks.
Carelessly, Victor dropped down on his belly. The tiny cell was pungent with the smell of them, as good as sitting in the middle of an opium haze.
“All of ‘em,” James said. At Victor’s low grunt, went on, “Could’ve had my thumb in you, too.”
A slithering coil of fresh want unfurled in Victor’s gut. “Why didn’t you?”
James’s eyebrows arched. He glanced at his hand, flexed his fingers, curled them slowly into a fist, and Victor knew they were both imagining it sunk inside him.
Dragging himself up, Victor leaned over his brother for a lazy, contented kiss. James hesitated before kissing back, as if the easiness in Victor’s touch came unexpectedly; his brother never seemed to learn the power he held over Victor’s moods. Folding his fingers over James’s, Victor scratched his claws lightly at the inside of James’s wrist. “Next time,” he said, “do it.”
“If there is a next time,” James said. He let his hand drop, gave a shallow grunt as Victor’s thumped to his chest. “They’re liable to shoot us again, split us up.”
“Let them try.”
Meeting James’s hard look with a smile of his own, Victor got to his feet. He scrubbed the dirt off his stomach, swiped a hand over the small of his back but for the most part left his brother’s come to dry into his skin. James could smell it just as well as he, was no more immune to the buzzing pleasure of possession. When the time came, another reminder of what they were to one another might keep James from holding back.