Letting Go

Here's my newest submission to y!Gallery. At 17 faves in 24 hours, it's also the fastest one to gain popularity. Not that I'm bragging or anything...it's just really flattering to have so many people like your work so quickly. :)

I think I have to credit Sabretooth for the fic's success. I hate Victor Creed with a fiery, blazing passion. When I read Wolverine's killing of the man in the comics, part of me let out a vindictive cheer.

But part of me felt...cheated, somehow. Creed has only been used right a couple of times in the whole course of the comics. When he's played savage, but smart...cunning and predatory, as opposed to growly-snarly...he takes on whole new levels of danger.

And, like Magneto, I am obsessed with the idea of taking that Sabretooth and bringing him over to the good side. Because I read Sabes in "Exiles," and fell in love.

Anyway,that's enough rambling from me. On to the smut! Enjoy!

~*~


Bobby Drake wasn't happy, and he didn't care who knew it. Babysitting Victor Creed was the absolute last thing on his list of "Things to Do With My Day," but Storm had other ideas, and when the Gold Team Leader put her foot down, the subject was pretty much closed.

He wished Hank, or at least Petey, were here to suffer with him. The worst part about guarding Sabretooth during what the professor called his 'trial rehabilitation period' was the solitude. Iceman knew he acted about ten years younger than he actually was, but he was a people-person...he liked having folks around to laugh with him, or at him. Even yelling at him gratified him...a little...because at least he stood out that way.

But in here, there was only the force field, the walls...and Creed. Staring at him with those hungry blue eyes, which seemed to flash yellow every now and again just to creep him out.

I really, really don't wanna be here.

"Well?"

Iceman jerked out of his self-pitying reverie to glare at the man behind the force field. "Well, what?"

"Yer the clown, ain'tcha? Go ahead, Popsicle. Do somethin' funny."

"Like shove an icicle so far up your ass you'll get frostbite in your trachea?" Bobby deadpanned. That got a laugh out of Creed. Harsh, rough, and not at all pleasant, but a laugh.

Iceman smirked...he couldn't help it...and sat back, pulling his Game Gear out to kill time.

Two hours to go. You can make it, Bobby...you got Sonic and Street Fighter to get you through this.

Unfortunately, he'd only been playing for about ten minutes when the system flicked off. Fuck. Batteries. Anybody got an extra six lying around?

"Aww, too bad, Frosty. Looks like yer gonna have ta stick it out, just like me."

Iceman sighed. "Creed, I'm not gonna tell you again. Keep your trap shut or I'll freeze it shut for you."

"Come on in and try," was Creed's all-too-predictable response. "Although...seems t'me fightin' ain't whatcha really wanna do with me."

Bobby's head came up. He'd been expecting more fighting words, but that had come out of nowhere...."Uh, come again?"

"I can, y'know. And again, and again if I wanna. In yer mouth...all over yer body...in yer ass, as many times as ya want." One huge, meaty hand caressed his tight blue jeans, groping the bulge in them suggestively. "C'mon in an' I'll show ya."

Bobby's mouth went very dry as his brain promptly went on strike. "Are you...are you seriously suggesting...?"

Creed licked his lips in assent. His tongue was so red, his mouth so tempting underneath the scruff and stubble...then Bobby caught a flash of his fang-like canines, heard the first hint of a growl in his throat, and willed himself back to reality.

"Nice...nice try, Vicky. Get me in your cage, and the next thing I know, there's pieces of me all over the brig and you're a free kitten. Nuh-uh. Mama Drake didn't raise no fool. You can just stay in there and jerk off for all I care." And Iceman sat back in his chair and stared at the wall.

He expected Victor -- Creed. Or Sabretooth. What the fuck is up with this 'Victor' shit? -- to growl and roar, pound on the shield and demand to be let out right the fuck now, or else.

Instead, the wild man smiled broadly, exposing his fangs to Bobby and running his tongue over them again. "Bright kid. I might just do that..." And his hand went down the waistband of his jeans.

The next few minutes were unspeakably awkward for Bobby...Creed was not quiet when he masturbated, and with nothing to distract him, all Iceman could do was stare at the wall and try not to listen.

"Hrrrrr...oh, man, this feels fuckin' amazin'...nothin' like pullin' yer pud with a hot fantasy. Ya wanna hear my fantasy, Drake?"

No, Bobby thought. Not particularly. I want to get out of here. I want to go up to my room, plug in the Nintendo, and block out everything that's going on.

What came out was, "Shoot."

"I'm picturin' you, bare-ass naked, in one o'those leather slings like you see inna pornos. Yer legs are spread wide apart, an' I can see yer cock and balls restin' there. Yer tremblin', scared, but gettin' harder by the minute. Oh, yeah, it's so fuckin' hot to watch...I kneel down between yer legs an' life up yer balls, real gentle-like so's I don't scratch 'em, an' I get my glimpse o'that hot little hole o'yers. It's pink, clean...an' it's beggin' me t'fuck it. But not right away. Not dry. That wouldn't do either of us a damn bit o'good."

Bobby let himself look at Creed now. His pants were off, tossed into the far corner of his cell, and he was only wearing that black wife-beater he loved so much. His cock jutted upwards, long and thick, out of a bush of straw-colored pubic hair. His balls, thick and round, rested on a muscular, sumptuous ass that made Bobby lick his lips and let out the tiniest of whimpers.

Stop staring, stop ogling, stop perving out. It's Sabretooth, you fucking idiot, he's just trying to get you in there so he can rip you a new one...and not the way you want him to, either. Just a pose, that's all it is, a fucking lie...

Bobby told the paranoid (or just plain rational) part of his brain to go hang.

Creed was pumping his meat now, writhing his hips on the floor like he was part snake. Fluidity and fur, muscle and skin and sweat, those terrifying, sexy eyes fixed on Bobby, blue-then-yellow-then-blue-again as he spoke, that tongue licking his lips practically between sentences.

"So I dive in, lickin' yer tight asshole, rimmin' you fer all yer worth, an' you're whimperin' and groanin' fer me...yer hole all slick an' wet from what I'm doin' to ya. It don't take long before yer beggin' me for it, Popsicle...an' I give it to ya."

His hips thrust upwards once, twice, and Bobby saw the head of his cock darken with precome as it trickled down the shaft. He hadn't even noticed his own hand going down into his pants to wrap around his own shaft until he felt it close.

Creed was still talking...Bobby didn't want him to stop. "Think what you want of me, kid, but I ain't no rapist. Everyone I've ever been with has ta ask me for it, an' I ain't never hurt no one in bed. An' I don't hurt you, neither...I push inta you, slow and steady-like. You let out this moan...it's long and drawn-out, an' I love the sound of it...super-hearin' lets me feel it when you moan, like silk brushin' across naked skin...gets me harder'n ever, an' you feel me swell up inside you just as I get it balls-deep in there...aw yeah, Bobby-baby, can ya feel it?"

Bobby-baby? the Iceman thought to himself. Then he reminded his rational brain that it was still on vacation, and kept listening. At some point his pants had dropped around his ankles, but he didn't care. It just made pumping his cock easier...

"Yeah, yer feelin' it, boy. Yer feelin' it, an' yer lovin' it, lovin' my meat slide in an' outta you. The sling's fuckin' rockin' back an' forth, but it just helps me fuck you deeper, harder...yer moanin' non-stop now, tellin' me how good a fuck I am, how you ain't never had it better...ohhh, yeah, baby, I'm gettin' close. Can ya feel it? Can ya?"

Creed's vocabulary was going the same direction as Bobby's brain...which was to say, out the window. But at this point, Bobby didn't care...all that mattered to him was that Creed kept talking.

"Oh, yeah, baby, I'm gettin' close...fuck, almost there...ohh, yer ass feels so good around me...fuck, fuck fuck FUCK! Awww, Popsicle, I'm CUMMIN'! You ain't never had a load like this before! Awww yeaaah!!"

With that final half-growl, half-scream, Creed started thrusting his cock frantically into his hand, letting loose a torrent of seed the likes of which Bobby had never seen before. The signt of him...the sound of him...was enough to push Bobby over the edge, and soon he too was crying out in ecstasy as his cock spurted in his fist, cum landing all over the metal floor as his body shook and convulsed.

When it ended, he went limp in the seat, sagging and gasping for breath, his face flushed and his entire body coated with a sheen of sweat. Sabretooth, he noticed, wasn't much better. But Victor was wearing a smug smirk as his eyes fixed on Bobby.

"Not bad, huh Popsicle? Thing is...I can do this over an' over again. You want it? All ya gotta do is let go."

Bobby looked at Creed for a long minute...then picked up his pants, wiped himself off as best he could, and walked out the door.

Someone else could take this shift. He was done, whatever Ororo said.

"You'll be back!" Victor called after him. "You ain't never cum so hard in yer life, an' you know it. You'll be back!"

The worst thing, Iceman thought to himself as he put his clothes back on, is I'm not sure he's wrong.