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Logan grimaces at the shrill scream of the phone on the wall, grumbling as he unhooks it and pinches it between his head and shoulder. He grabs the pen by the notepad that hangs there begrudgingly, it’s a 50/50 if he’s going to need to take notes on what orders are handed down to him. Turns out he didn’t need it this time.
Stryker’s voice crackles through the speaker and makes Logan wince with the shitty audio quality, but the wince only grows when the sound levels out. “Get Victor under control. This gluttonous killing is compromising our mission secrecy.”
Logan is about to growl back when the line goes dead, and he throws the pad back against the wall. Even the soft clink of the tiny chain hanging it there is enough to earn the wall a hard strike. Victor barks from the other room to keep it down.
The next mission they get takes them up to a small town in British Columbia, and it feels like a breath of fresh air to Logan after the hot and humid past couple of operations. The wind nips at his nose as he puffs at his cigar, in camp for the evening. They expect to be stationed here for another week at minimum, and it gives Logan plenty of time to cinch down Victor’s leash.
Vic is starting to get restless again, he can feel it in the way Vic’s eyes follow his every move, waiting for some unknown cue. Of course, Victor won’t just pounce, go after Logan and work it out. No, he’s done that too frequently to find it satisfying enough, or so he says. Logan doesn’t really get it, but he’ll play Vic’s game.
It takes a couple hours before Logan finally can’t stand Vic’s gaze on him anymore and he stalks into town, a 15 minute walk down a two track. He can still feel Victor’s eyes burning into him, following along somewhere in the trees. He’s always been more stealthy despite his size.
The small town really only has one main road with two bars, a diner, a grocery store, and a gas station, everything a washed out shade of gray in the November haze. None of the shops are particularly busy, even the bars only having a truck or two a piece, despite it being a Friday night. Logan ducks into the closer one, a shitty little dive with too-low ceilings and cheap wood paneling. He surveys the patrons before sliding onto a barstool and tapping the counter. “Double of your cheapest whiskey.”
He made sure to choose the end of the bar closest to the only window in the joint, sunset light diffusing through the clouds to cast him in the same dour shades of gray as the rest of the town. The barkeep slides the tumbler of golden drink to him with a sideways glance, so Logan passes a bill across the bar and downs half the glass in one gulp. The bartender just scuttles away without a word.
Logan sips the rest of that drink with more moderation and moves onto his second before night has fully fallen when a group of younger guys walks into the bar. They look just a year or two younger than he does, maybe in their early 20s. One stands out to him, a hefty dude, taller than Victor even.
Perfect.
He waits until he’s finished drink two to make his move, walking over to the table with that practiced confidence he knows will earn him some favor. “$200 for the first man to fight me.”
He gets a couple of blank looks before the biggest guy stands and tilts his head, “What, you’ve got a deathwish?”
All the eyes in the bar are on the two of them now, and Logan shrugs, letting his drawl drop towards an approximation of drunk, “Somethin’ like that.”
The barkeep rolls his eyes and points at the door when Logan turns to gauge the rest of the clientele. He just nods and strides out, turning into the alley, wrinkling his nose at the smell of stale beer and piss. Logan squints into the dusk while he waits, feeling Victor’s eyes on him again from somewhere nearby, though he can’t quite pinpoint where. Probably on a rooftop, he thinks, Vic always chooses somewhere with a high vantage point.
Victor grumbles softly as he watches Jimmy through the bar window, idly picking at the asphalt roof under his fingertips. His claws gouge into the cooling carbon, brittle in the cold of night that’s slowly creeping in. He’s not certain why Jimmy has bothered to come into town for a drink when they have a perfectly good bottle back at camp, not to mention a pile of bed rolls and a tub of vaseline. It clicks when James bluffs stumbling out into the alley, eyes immediately scanning the surroundings.
A burly guy with light brown hair cropped short and a full beard follows him out, and Vic caterwauls to himself, “Jimmy, surf ‘n turf, really? You always pick such a fight for me.” He keeps it low enough that James won’t hear him, barely even loud enough to hear it himself.
Dead Meat throws the first punch, a powerful haymaker that would surely drop a lesser man than his brother. Jimmy eats it on the chin, head snapping back. A trickle of blood drips down his lip, welling in his Cupid’s bow and wafting to Victor on the breeze. Hunger flares in his belly and he wiggles his hips slightly, indexing his muscles and readying a pounce.
James weakly throws his arms up to block the next hit but they’re knocked aside with ease. Victor feels his blood boiling in his veins as he watches the stranger whaling on Jimmy like only he is allowed to, but he waits until the third punch to bound from this rooftop to the next, swinging down into the backstreet with a snarl.
Seafood spins and eyes him warily, hackles up. He spits blood at James’s feet, voice threaded with steel that Victor bats aside, “Didn’t say nothin’ about a second guy!”
James grunts noncommittally, still keeping up the drunkard act, and slurs, “Ne’er said it’d be fair.”
Victor’s lip curls into a smile, a single fang catching the low light and he waits for Seafood to throw the next punch. His weight shifts subtly and he flicks his arm out to catch the wrist offered so perfectly to him. James spits out a tooth when Victor slings Dead Meat into the nearby dumpster, an awful crunch buried under the clang of metal.
He lets out a pained scream and cradles his arm, both his radius and ulna clearly snapped like twigs. Victor advances on him leisurely, measured steps giving the human time to clamber back to his feet. He retches wetly, taking one more look at the pair through watering eyes. Vic feels Logan over his shoulder and lunges for the man’s throat. He doesn’t stick around to see what more damage Victor can do. He dodges Victor’s hand with surprising agility and tears down the street out into the woods around the town, clearly hoping to lose them in the trees.
“Kid’s got some smarts. Too bad he didn’t use’em sooner.” Vic lets out a cruel chuckle before charging after him, letting the beast inside take full control. His posture shifts after just two strides, claws out and tearing up the dirt roads under him to catch his quarry.
Surf’n’turf lasts longer than Vic would’ve guessed, at least a half mile into the woods before he realizes James isn’t with him, not even in earshot anymore. He sniffs the air as he runs, listens to try to hear his packmate, but nothing sticks out to him. He focuses back on his original prey and easily clears a couple of downed logs before he finally hears the crackle of leaves again. He’s about to make a quip about getting lost when something drives into his chest. He doesn’t get to ponder anything, feeling like he was hit with a freight train to the ribs. The wind is knocked out of his lungs with a horrid wheeze and he rolls across the ground with his attacker clinging to him, clawing him, rolling with him, biting him.
They’re still intertwined as finally he catches that familiar pack smell, but they tumble into near freefall before he can get any words out. He just lets out another roar and the need for dominance wells up from his core; he redirects to this new brawl without a second thought.
Logan lets out a primal roar as he pounces into Vic, tackling him around the waist and drawing his attention away from his original quarry. He doesn’t let up for even a second, plunging his claws between Vic’s ribs and holding on for dear life as they careen down the side of the ravine. Logan does his best to poke the beast in the meantime, riling Vic up past rational thought. If the snarling is any indication, it’s working.
Fireworks of pain rip through him as Vic returns the favor, plunging his claws deep into his back and sinking his teeth into the scruff of his neck. Logan jerks his head back, snapping Vic’s teeth together so hard two of them shatter, but his spine wraps around a tree and flings Victor off him before he can make use of the damage. He wheezes on the ground for a moment as he tries to catch his breath and let his spinal cord knit itself back together, legs numb voids even as he hears Victor rolling to his feet and bounding back to him. He lets out a whistling growl and pushes himself up with his arms but Victor is on him before he can defend himself.
Victor swipes out an arm from under him and sends him crashing back down to Earth, crushing his wrist and planting a massive palm on his face. He can tell just by how Vic is growling that grinding his skull into the dirt isn’t an intentional snuff, but anger burns hot in his chest anyway.
Logan feels his cranium creaking under Vic’s weight but his spine comes online just before his skull fractures, scissoring his legs and twisting out of his grasp, away from the tree. Vic still has his wrist gripped tight so Logan pops his claws, spikes popping out the back of his hand and shunting fragments of his joint to the side. Victor yowls and rips his hand away, jerking Logan’s arm out of socket with a crack.
Logan is sprinting again, scrambling further down into the ravine and skidding on loose leaves and sticks before he careens over a short cliff, landing hard and cracking his ribs again. Victor was close on his tail but isn’t so phased by the leap, driving his heels down through Logan’s belly and splashing organs over every surrounding surface. Logan’s vision fades to black as Victor roars over him, head thrown back to the sky.
Victor feels the usual rush of triumph as he fells his prey, his quarry finally stilling beneath him as he coats himself in glorious viscera. The forest falls silent around him when his cry fades, and his stomach growls for attention, saliva flooding his mouth as he peels his lip up and sniffs deeply. Sweet, salty, metallic, musky, and Logan all carry through the air, and drool drips from his teeth for but a moment.
He doesn’t linger in the scent alone for long, locking his jaw around his prey’s throat and tearing with all his might, fibers of muscle bursting and releasing on his tongue. Blood runs down his chin as he gulps greedily, esophagus working as he dips down for another chunk.
Ichor runs down his front as he gorges himself, gnawing through masses of muscle like his stomach holds a black hole, skin stretching as he stuffs himself with Logan. He finds himself unsatiated until he’s overwhelmed his prey’s healing factor to the point of muscle taking full minutes to regenerate, belly bulging with flesh. He paws at his belt and groans softly before clawing it to pieces, gut rounding more naturally with the clasp of his slacks released as well. The hunger rebounds in just those few minutes so he braces a foot against his carcass’ torso and pops its hip out of socket, twisting and tearing the flesh of its leg until it pops free with another spray of blood. He licks his lips clear before tearing away half the calf in one go and relishing the feel of his throat opening to accommodate the meat.
He can hear the forest starting to come back to life as he devours most of the thigh and the moon makes for the horizon, darkening the already deep shadows of night. The flaps of a crow’s wings reminds him of the scavengers already looking to steal his kill and he growls possessively, eyes scanning for the nearest cave he can drag his prey to. He settles for a hidden rocky outcropping and finishes his meal under there.
Logan grunts quietly as the morning light brightens the world beyond his eyelids, furrowing his brow as his body is pushed forward slightly, then falls back again in rhythm. His ass is stretched wide over Victor’s cock, driving up into him with barely enough slick to keep him from tearing. As it is, it’s not the best lay he’s ever had.
Huffy pants and groans echo off the rocks behind and above him, and strong arms band around his own. He cracks his eyes open and sniffs deeply, both the scent of Victor and his own blood rolling over him. Blood flakes off him with every harsh thrust, but Victor angling his hips slightly wipes his mind clear of any awareness of their surroundings, instead drawing his attention to the new layer of fat gracing Vic’s hips. He feels a spike of pride as he realizes he caused that.
“Mornin’, runt,” Victor growls low in his ear, bringing a blush to his cheeks and a jolt of pleasure up his spine. His cock leaks where it slaps against his stomach, slick trails of pre decorating his happy trail. Victor’s hips stutter as his scent shifts, orgasm close. Logan finds himself surprisingly at the edge as well, despite only having been awake for a handful of thrusts.
“Victor…” Logan scolds, but no heat finds its way into his voice.
“What, Jimmy? Gonna lie and tell me you don’t want this?” Victor slides a hand down his belly, gathering some of Logan’s slick and gripping his cock, stripping it roughly in time with his plunges into the smaller man. “‘Cuz we both know you do.”
Logan lasts all of three pumps with Victor working him over, spend gushing over his fingers and onto the leaves below. He cries out hoarsely as Vic doesn’t stop, milking him for all he’s worth before finally falling still, muscles taut as he spills hot seed into Logan’s rear.
Logan just moans quietly where he lays, exhausted from the night prior but content with himself for keeping Victor from hurting anyone else.
Stryker is less content with how the night turned out.
“Just a broken arm? Logan, you were supposed to get Victor under control!” Stryker sounds truly enraged for once, rather than his usual cold detachment. “The whole town saw you two!”
Logan’s left eye twitches and he turns to glance at Victor, eyes catching on the streak of blonde that’s appeared in his brother’s hair, like the sun itself licked him across the face. He breaks his gaze quickly.
“I am aware, Major.”
There is unnerving silence on the line for a long minute, tension palpable. A heavy breath crackles across the line. “You are my best soldiers. Don’t make me bench you.”
“Understood.” Logan hangs up the phone and Victor bursts out laughing.
“Like he could complete this goose chase of a mission without us,” Victor snorts. “Not a chance in hell.”