Drops of Crimson: Searching

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: Drops of Crimson: Searching

Chapter Four: Dreams
Fandoms: a mash up of the Mutant Sues, the movie Sues, the Supervillainesses, and probably anyone else i can think of tossing in for good measure
Characters: various from the different universes
Rating: going with a pretty strong NC-17 here. seriously.
Warning: violence, sex, language, possibly other things. we'll know when we get there
Disclaimer: i do not own anyone from the Marvel universe. Dare is mine, but you don't want her. honestly. girl's a mess. oh, Mystery is mine, too. you don't want her, either. she's moody. also, Alex is mine. watch out for her wrench. Rose belongs to nanaeanaven. Haley and Miri belong to dazzledfirestar. Elsa belongs to cathryne. i swear i'm not making any money from this. i just do what the sick voices inside my head tell me to. i write purely for my enjoyment. and possibly the comments. please don't sue, harass, or bother me. i have no money to pay you, but i do have a really nasty temper. and i know some good cuss words.

Author's Note: so, its like this. Drops of Crimson: Hunted was only supposed to be a one shot type thing. but i started writing and the bunnies kept twitching their noses and suddenly i was staring down the snout of a plot dragon. and... welp! here we are! is anyone really surprised by this? nobody? didn't think so. hopefully this won't be super long. you know. by my standards...

Summary: "You put up a good fight, girl. But I have more experience. And strength. Yield. There's no shame in it. Tell me you yield and I'll let you go."

Drops of Crimson: The Index

His fingers ghosted lightly down her arm, catching her own fingers so that he could tug her hand up to his lips. Lips that he pressed against the warm flesh of her palm. The tip of his tongue traced a line creased into her skin, sending desire and pleasure skittering along her nerves. Heat pooled, thick and honeyed, low in her belly. A spasm rolled through her, drawing a long, low moan up her throat.

His lips lifted away from her palm, allowing him to raise his eyes to hers. He did not relinquish his hold on her hand, instead tightening it so that he could tug her forward until she found herself tumbled against his chest. The feel of all that hard muscle pressed to her softness nearly undid her. But a voice in her head told her she couldn't give in. It was that voice that saw her pulling back just a bit. Her actions prompted him to frown at her. "Somet'ing de matter, petit?" he asked, voice bourbon smooth and laden with hunger.

"We shouldn't," she countered.

"Why not? We both adults. We both know what we want. Dere not'ing stopping us," he replied. His hand released its hold on hers, allowing it and its twin to stroke slowly up and down her back. She felt the warmth of his touch slip under her skin. Muscles went loose under his hands, leaving her to lean heavily against him. His touch felt so good...

Yes. Why not? What was stopping her? She wanted to, didn't she? The need was already building inside, just from a single touch. And she well remembered what it had been like between them. He was a caring and considerate lover. An attentive lover. An exhausting lover. She felt her conviction waver. And so did he, because his lips were on hers, pressing upon her a tender and sweet kiss like none she'd ever experienced before. It saw her melting against him, saw his arms snaking around her to draw her in even closer to his body. She felt the hard length of his erection prodding her flesh through their clothes. And she realized she wanted him.

Her hands fumbled for his clothing, pushing the vest he wore off his shoulders so that she could attack the line of buttons on his shirt. Deft, capable fingers worked her t-shirt up into her arm pits, then forced her arms over her head so that they could finish pulling the offending garment from her body. When the thin bundle of cloth was tossed aside, he let his gaze take in the way her breasts seemed to strain at the cups of her black lace bra, the contrast between the dark material and her pale skin. Then his fingers were sliding down from her shoulders to her chest, the backs of them brushing her flesh as they skimmed the underside of her bra straps to the swell of her breasts.

She shuddered when his knuckles brushed the tops of that mounded flesh.

His hands slid under the lace, palms curving around the sides of her breasts even as his hands worked the straps from her shoulders and then the cups from her flesh. When all that tender flesh popped free of its confinement, his smile grew wider. So much wider. And it filled with a wickedness that left her breathless. A moment later, he leaned down so that his mouth could attach itself to one of her nipples. He sucked at the hardened nub and drew it further into the moist heat of his mouth. The touch sent fire racing through her. Her back arched, pressing more of her breast against his lips in silent invitation.

His hands moved, deft fingers finding the button on her jeans and popping it with little trouble. The worn denim was the sliding down her thighs, aided by his touch, until the garment fell below her knees and then dropped to the ground. She made some vague motions meant to remove the irksome thing from around her ankles, but she was too caught up in the feel of his lips against her own to take note of how well that worked.

And then his palms were sliding against the curve of her ass cheeks, all warm heat and knowing touches as he cupped them. Kneaded them. Used them to pull her tighter against him. The rigid length of his cock pressed into her belly, telling her just how much he wanted her. The very thought of him being excited by her brought a soft moan up her throat. That sound painted the air with wicked, wanton pleasure the moment it passed her lips. Then the elastic of her panties was lifting away as his hands drew away from her flesh. Somehow, without ever breaking from her, he managed to get her panties off her. For a moment, she was confused by the actions. Then his fingers were ghosting over the swollen flesh caught between her thighs and all thought left her head.

His lips lifted from her nipple so that they were able to catch the noise of surprise she made when two fingers slid deep inside her body. He pressed them as far into her as he could, then pulled them back. The motion was slow and steady, and he scissored his fingers in order to put pressure against sensitive flesh. Need spiraled through her, sent her hips thrusting against his hand in silent request. He pushed them into her again, twisting them as he did so in order to drag the hard edge of his nails against primed nerve endings. He did it again. And again. And again. Until she was mindless. Panting for breath. Begging without words for more. Jesus fuck, it felt good. But it wasn't enough. She needed more.

"Come on, petit," he whispered, head lifting away from her body. The loss of his heated mouth left her feeling destitute. Her eyes fluttered open to find that he was staring at her, his own gaze bright and intense. It snared her. Held her. Drew her deep into it until she felt like she was falling into its very depths. "Come for me."

Bourbon smooth words poured over her like the gentle patter of a light rain. Like the heavy crash of a wave. It poured over her and sucked her under and her body shuddered in his hold. The orgasm tore through her with all the intensity of a hurricane, leaving her shivering and shaking in his hold. Limp and drained and in need.

"Please," she begged, voice hoarse as if she'd been screaming at the top of her lungs for hours. His smile broadened, gleamed in sudden darkness. She frowned. Hadn't it just been brilliantly lit only moments ago? Her eyes pulled from his in order to study her surroundings. There were so many shadows grown long and threatening. When had that happened? How had that happened?

Then his hand was touching her cheek, fingers warm and insistent on her skin. That touch saw her gaze turning back to his and his eyes were bright. Heavy. Her mind sputtered to life, screaming at her that something wasn't right. "Please what, petit?" he asked, weight in his words. Weight that tried to push her doubts and concerns away.

"I... What's going on?" she whispered, suddenly confused. And cold. The need dried up and withered away, taking with it the heat of passion. His touch against her skin was as cold as she was on the inside. "Let go of me," she ordered, voice louder. Firmer. Stronger. Her hands came up and shoved against the hard muscles of his chest.

"What de matter, petit? What you scared of?"

There was mockery in his voice and the weight of it dropped over her like a thick, smothering blanket. She struggled against it, against him, trying to free herself from his grasp. But he was so much stronger than she was. So she reached for her powers, tried to call them forth and use them to help her escape. But there was a big hole where they should have been. It left her feeling confused. And anxious. Frightened. She tried once more to pull from his hold.

He smiled at her, his lips stretching wide to show off the bright white of his teeth. She was suddenly filled with horror to see the sharp points of his canines. "This is wrong." The voice whispered through her head, filled with strength and certainty. Filling her with strength and certainty.

"This is wrong!" she snarled and brought her hands up. Planted them against his chest and shoved hard with all her might. "This is wrong! Let me go!"

~*~

Dare woke with a gasp, the room dark save the blue lights on the digital clock and the blinking light that said Clint's computer was in sleep mode. She pulled herself into a sitting position, hands shaking the whole time. Body trembling with remembered desire. Sweat clung to her brow the way the dream clung to her brain.

Just a dream. It had been nothing more than a dream.

She repeated that mantra over and over again while she willed her heart to stop pounding against her rib cage and her breathing to return to normal. She ran her hand through her hair, shoving the mass of it away from her face. She hoped it would also push the remnants of the dream away from her mind. Provide her with a sense of peace.

Of course it was a fruitless action. The dream clung stubbornly, remembered pleasure running along her nerves until it pooled up in the very heart of her. Her body welcomed the ghostly touches from the dream, from their past, muscles clenching at the remembered thickness of his cock buried inside of her. His voice poured over her, whispering to her all the things he would do to her, bringing forth an orgasm so intense that she nearly fell off the bed. As it was, she came back to herself to find her hands were curled tightly enough into the sheets that her nails cut through the weave to leave holes in the material. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she was confused by the tears that clung to her lashes.

"Dare?" The voice caught her by surprise, prompting her to press her face against her knees so that he couldn't see the remembered passion blushed across her cheeks. "Baby? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, old man," she muttered into her knees, hoping that it would be enough to see him toddling off to whatever he was doing. Of course she couldn't get that lucky. In seconds, the bed next to her dipped as he settled his weight on the mattress. It tipped her toward him and he had an arm around her shoulders before she could even think to scoot back from him.

"You're not fine. You're shaking. And your skin is damp. Were you having a nightmare?" he asked softly. The concern in his voice made her heart ache. She didn't deserve his compassion. She'd just had a very vivid dream about having sex with her former boyfriend. The same former boyfriend who was now a blood thirsty vampire that wanted to chain both of them to his side.

"Something like that," she told her knees.

One of his hands found its way under her chin and brought it up so that she had to look at him. Clint stared at her a moment, then frowned. "You don't look good. Are you coming down with something? You've been using your powers pretty intensely lately. Maybe you should relax tonight. Take it easy and rest up."

"I'm fine, old man. Promise. Just bad dreams," she told him, trying to bring a look to her face that would reassure him. She was sure her attempts were less than successful based on the skeptical look he gave her.

"Stay in tonight," he said softly. "For me. I'm worried about you."

He was giving her the puppy dog look. She was pretty sure that he wasn't aware he had a puppy dog look. But he did. And he was damn near lethal with it. She had a hard time saying no to that look. His fingers raised up so that he could brush her hair back from her face. She noticed that they lingered on her forehead just long enough to tell him if she was running a fever or not, but he did it so subtly that anyone else wouldn't have caught it.

"I need to find him," she said softly. And she did. Especially after that crazy ass dream. It had felt so goddamn real. She had to find him in order to get him out of her life and out of her head. For good.

"He isn't going anywhere, babe. He wants you. One night won't make much of a difference," Clint replied, voice filled with worry.

"And if he targets someone else I care about?" she asked him. She was careful not to put any names to that someone but the look on his face said he knew exactly who she was talking about. He was damn smart. Smarter than he had a right to be. Smarter than people gave him credit for. But she'd learned a long time ago that cultivating the dumb blonde thing and making people underestimate him was his real super power. No one expected an ex-carnie that used a bow and arrow to have brains in his head. To be capable of seeing past their bullshit. She hated that he had her number already.

"Haley can take care of herself, babe. And she's got Johnny to watch her back," he told her gently. Clint's hands came up to cup her cheeks, fingers brushing against her skin as he stared into her eyes. "Please. Just for tonight. Stay here with me. I'm afraid of what he'll do to you if he gets his hands on you."

There was so much raw emotion in his voice and in his eyes. On his face. Her heart twisted a little in her chest to see it. She wasn't worth that kind of emotion. She never had been. Certainly not from him. "Okay, Clint," she agreed. How was she supposed to say no to that? How was she supposed to say no and let him see how much she wasn't worth his emotions? "I'll stay in tonight."

"Thank you," he replied, voice the barest of whispers before his lips touched hers. The kiss was gentle. Sweet. Soft. It wasn't meant to be anything more than a simple gesture of thanks. But the dream still clung to her. The feel of Remy's charm still clung to her. And the need was still there. So flames crackled to life in her belly with his kiss and she found herself fisting her hands into the hair at the back of Clint's head.

He didn't fight her when she laid down and she took him with. He ended up sprawled half over her, his chest hard and heavy against her breasts. Against her nipples, so painfully tight and hungry for his touch. He dragged his mouth away from hers to stare down into her face. "Dare. What is this?"

"Please, Clint?" she asked, nearly begged. He frowned at her, obviously at a loss for her sudden and odd behavior. But he offered her a smile and leaned down to press another kiss to her lips. Her hands scrabbled at his clothes, trying desperately to push his t-shirt up and tear it off at the same time. He pulled away again, confusion on his face. She grabbed hold of his shoulders before he could go too far, kept him above her. "I need you, old man. Please. Fuck me."

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressed the length of her body against his in invitation. There was still tension in his shoulders and down his spine, suggesting he wasn't yet ready to give in to her demands. Dare let her hands wander, let them slip under his shirt in order tease at his nipples a moment or two before drifting lower to find the waistband of his sweat pants. Given the ancient sweats and the fact that he was wearing a t-shirt worn so thin she could see through it, she was fairly certain he'd been down on one of the sublevels, going through one of his work out routines. That meant his body was primed and ready to go. She just needed to prod him into action.

Her fingers slipped with ease under the elastic holding his sweats up. She was, as always, pleased to find that he wasn't wearing any underwear, and her hands went straight to his dick. It wasn't fully hard. Not yet. But it was rapidly working on it. And she was going to do everything she could to ensure it got there even faster. She squeezed down around his cock gently.

"Dare," he groaned softly. "Baby. You're killing me."

But his hands were on her waist, talented fingers seeking out the straps of her underwear. He tugged them down, the material sliding almost roughly against her skin, until his actions were hindered by his own body. She felt him twist the straps around his hands, then pull. The material fought his strength for a bit, cut into her skin as it struggled against his intent, then ripped with a sound loud enough to shatter the stillness of the darkened room. The material burned as he tugged it from between them.

The force of his actions drew a gasp of wanton need up her throat, which was followed by a second when he pressed two fingers into her body. Buried them as far as he could before pulling them back. Before pushing them in again. His strokes were long and sure and steady, his fingers scissoring to rub and tease her flesh. She cried out in surprise when they dragged against her g-spot and brought a quick orgasm to life.

Gods, it felt so good. He felt so good. But his fingers weren't enough. She wanted more. She needed more. Her fingers tugged at his cock in order to let him know she was ready for it. He only ignored her demands and kept teasing her with the length of his fingers.

Dare writhed under his touch, body begging silently for everything he would give it. But she didn't voice those needs. She let him continue to stroke his fingers up inside of her. Let him press them as deep as they could go. Let them tease and tempt until the need threatened to consume her. Until it pushed everything from her mind. Until her dreams were little more than barely remembered shadows that rapidly cleared away in the face of his emotions.

The dream was gone, taking with it Remy's voice. The touch of his hands teasing her breasts. The feel of his charm washing over her skin. The pleasant fullness of his cock filling her. In its place was reality, the here and now, with Clint's softly whispered words of nonsense ringing in her ears and real pleasure consuming her very soul.

~*~*~*~*~

He found her in the gym, going at the heavy bag like it had personally offended her. He watched her punch, took note of her stance and her actions. She was all concentration, hands curled into loose fists that she kept up before her face. Her jabs were filled with emotion, connecting so hard that the impact jarred all the way up her arm. She'd taken care to wrap her hands before starting, but the wraps were stained with sweat and blood, letting him know that she was hitting hard enough to break skin. She'd have bruises and scabs before the sun rose.

There was something aggressive in her actions, something beyond keeping in shape. As if the bag had done something wrong and she was punishing it accordingly. He noted that her form was good, feet planted shoulder width apart to balance her weight and arms swinging loosely at the bag when she punched. At least right up until her fists made contact with the old leather. Leather that, if he wasn't mistaken, bore burn marks where her knuckles had hit. Which told him that the information he'd gleaned from Xavier's files was pretty dead on.

Alasdare Scott, member of the first all female X-team, was wrecking the Avengers' work out equipment. Wait. It was Dare for short. He rolled his eyes at that, Who chose Dare as a code name? It sounded like something a six year old would pick for themselves. Even without the introduction, he would have recognized her. The girl's hair, presently pulled back into a pony tail, sported blue and purple streaks in it. Just as it had been in the intake photos Xavier had stashed in her file. Those had been taken several years ago, when she'd been a rebellious teen. She was a rebellious adult now, in her twenties. She should have grown out of it. She hadn't. He almost rolled his eyes at the childishness of that, but he stopped himself. No doubt she had her reasons. She was the edgy one of the group, after all. Maybe she thought it made her look cool.

Dare was oblivious to his presence, allowing him an opportunity to compare the real, live person to the words he'd pulled from an outdated file. The girl had arrived at Xavier's school after some kind of trouble. Trouble he'd never been able to find even a whisper of, despite his intense and thorough search. She'd been an outcast among the students at the school and had been chosen by Haley Stone personally for her all girl team. To his knowledge, she was the only true pyrokinetic the world had seen. She was capable of bringing flames to life out of nowhere. From nothing. Add to that a secondary mutation of telekinesis and the girl was a dangerous combination of power and poor temperament.

Despite the years between her arrival at Xavier's school and now, he felt little had changed about the girl. The little time he'd spent with her suggested that she was as reckless as the file had indicated. And she was emotional. He could see that in her actions, in the way her fists slammed up against the heavy bag with such intensity. In the faint scorch marks he was sure marred the old leather. She was thin, but toned, and there was muscle in her arms that suggested she'd sparred regularly. She certainly seemed to know her way around the heavy bag.

It was the blank expression on her face that told him she was as angry and confused as Clint had said. Barton had come to him, professing to be worried about the girl after an encounter with her upon her waking. The other man had said she wasn't herself. Maybe he'd be willing to go see if he could find out what was going on? Clint was sure she wouldn't tell him anything, thought maybe Dare might tell someone she didn't know quite as well. He had his doubts that she'd confide in him. She gave the impression that she didn't trust many people. But that didn't mean he couldn't make use of her being down here alone.

He moved forward, intentionally scuffing his feet on the mats that covered the floor so that she'd know he was there. He didn't much like the idea of startling her when she was so deep in concentration. He wasn't wearing his asbestos underwear. Well, he wasn't wearing any underwear, but that was beside the point. Her fist connected with the bag one last time, then she was still. Her eyes, the iron grey of the clouds right before the heavens opened up and let loose the full fury of a storm, turned to latch onto him and he watched a sneer pull one corner of her mouth up. "What are you doing here?'

Yeah. This was going to go well.

"Clint said you were down here sparring. He said you might welcome some one to beat the snot out of. I volunteered."

"I don't want to spar with you, Stark. The only person I spar with is Clint," she replied evenly, then jabbed at the bag again.

"Clint isn't available. I am. This is your chance to beat the shit out of me. I can tell you want to. I have that effect on women," Tony said, letting the corners of his mouth pull up ever so slightly. No one could resist when he was being intentionally self-deprecating.

"You aren't afraid I'll just say fuck it and torch you?" she asked, not even sounding curious. He was fairly certain he was insulted.

"Clint said you generally don't indulge your powers when the two of you spar. He seems impressed in your ability to hold your own. He was trained by Steve, you know." Tony put a touch of a lilt on his words. She stared at him for a while before blinking slowly and giving him a faintly ominous look.

"Fine. Its your funeral," she shrugged. She stepped away from the heavy bag and moved to the center of the room, where the floor was clear of hazards and the mats were thicker.

"I'm pretty sure you won't be able to best me," he replied confidently. Dare gave him a slow look, letting her gaze slide down to his feet before coming back up to his face. She didn't look terribly impressed with what she saw.

"Great. Just what I need. Two old men with cocky attitudes. One is more than enough and I know just how to handle him," she said. She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a look he had a hard time deciphering. "Don't think this means I'm going to fuck you."

Tony blinked at her blunt, straight forward attitude. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Because you'd be disappointed if you did," she informed him.

Tony took a few moments to calculate the chances he could take her down without getting hit. He didn't like what he came up with. He was going to wake up with bruises in the morning. He knew it. But if sparring with her got him to his goal, he'd be okay with a few bruises.

Dare took a few moments to remove her tennis shoes, setting them aside so they wouldn't be in the way. Then she returned to the center of the room and faced him, posture lazy and negligent. Tony wondered if that was how confident she was or if it was just a ruse. Not time like the present to find out.

Shaking his limbs out, he moved across the floor toward where she stood. She watched him come, expression reminding him very much of the time he'd seen on a tiger in a nature show once, when the cat had been stalking its prey. Somehow, Tony did not like the idea that she saw him as prey. It made him wonder, briefly, if this had been such a good idea.

Tony made a move, lunging toward her to see how she'd react. He expected her to leap backward. Or shift off to the side. She didn't. She met him head on, waiting until the last moment before she launched herself at him. He barely had time to see what she did before she was in his face, one fist catching him on the chin with enough force to snap his head back. Then she was whirling around him, one hand catching his arm in order to jerk him down to the ground. The air in his lungs rushed out with a soft 'woof' and he found himself staring up into her face. There was no sign of a smug expression like he'd expected.

"You're going to have to do better than that if you want to beat me, Stark," she informed him. "I trained with Logan before sparring with Clint. I have a few tricks up my sleeves."

His gaze slid up the length of her bare arms to the straps of her tank. "You aren't wearing sleeves."

"I'm not impressed by your humor, Stark. Either get up and fight me like I'm not a girl or fuck off and leave me alone. I haven't got time for your not so secret tests to find out what kind of threat I pose. I can burn this place down to the ground in a matter of minutes without even thinking about it."

"Well," Tony replied, giving her a look. "When you put it that way."

He surged up from the floor, intent on giving her a taste of her own medicine. Clint wasn't the only one who had sparred with Cap, and Tony had gotten involved in a few different fighting styles over the years. He almost had a hand on her when she launched herself backward into a series of back flips that carried her several feet away from where he stood. He couldn't stop the smile that came at that. This was going to be fun. This was going to be a challenge.

Tony kept his eye on her as he approached, actions slow and cautious. She watched him, hands in loose fists at her sides. He didn't know what she saw in his face, but she didn't look impressed or even considering. She actually looked bored. He had to wonder if she was taking this seriously.

He made a motion like he was going to go left, then cut right at the last second. He watched as she tried to correct her actions. She wasn't quite able to do it and so she fell victim to his foot when it arced toward her in a round house kick. The sole connected with her arm, which she managed to bring up in order to block him, and knocked her backward. She hit the floor on her ass and immediately rolled away from him before he could bring his fist down to impact where her chest would have been.

He expected her to come to her feet. Instead, she reversed her action and rolled into him. Her legs hooked around his lower legs and she used them to send him to the floor on his back. Her heel hit the back of his thigh as he rolled away. And his hand caught her ankle. A jerk saw her spinning over onto her stomach. He pulled once more and tugged her back toward him. Her other foot came up, sole slamming against the side of his head. His grip on her slipped and she was rolling away from him as if he'd never even had a hold on her.

"Is this the best you can do, old man?" she sneered at him. Tony came to his feet to find that she wasn't even in a ready position. She just stood there and stared at him, disgust on her face. "You let your suit do all the work for you, don't you? Pathetic. You're not worth my time. Go spar with the ficus in the living room and leave me alone."

"What has got your knickers in a twist, Alasdare?" he asked, shaking his head in an effort to clear the ringing from his ear.

"Nothing has my knickers in a twist. Except for your inability to take me seriously. And the use of a name I do not answer to," she snapped. "Trying to goad me into rushing you won't work. Logan helped teach me discipline. If you want me to actually spar with you, stop acting like I'm a fragile little girl. Treat me like an equal. Or fuck off."

"If you insist," Tony replied before closing the distance between them. He started with a basic punch to see how she deflected. Her left arm shot out, the exterior making contact with his arm just below the wrist. A swing of her arm saw his brushed aside. She brought her right foot up, going for the inside of his thigh. He shifted his body so that he was turned to the side. It was easy to catch her foot between his thighs and imprison it there. Then he took hold of her calf and gave a tug, pulling her off balance. Before she could steady herself, he pulled her into him and put his shoulder in her abdomen. A quick heave saw her going over his shoulder. She hit the floor with a loud thump and lay there for several moments. Likely trying to catch her breath.

He followed up with a lifted foot that he'd intended to bring down on her upper chest, for the sole purpose of pinning her in place. But she rolled away from him, coming to her feet in a single graceful action that looked almost like magic. She brought her leg around in a kick meant to take his head off. Except he caught her foot with his hands and pulled. She did not lose her balance. In fact, her other foot wasn't even on the ground.

A second after tugging at the leg he held, its companion came up out of nowhere and the foot attached to it caught the edge of his jaw. The blow sent Tony staggering away while Dare performed some graceful spin thing that saw her landing on her feet behind him. "Did I forget to mention that I trained with Remy, too?" There was a touch of smug satisfaction in her words. "Oops. My bad."

He should have known. It only made sense that she'd have learned some moves from the Cajun X-Man. Tony wished he'd paid more attention to Clint's tumbling routine back in the day. He inclined his head to acknowledge her capabilities. Then he brought some of his martial arts training into play and went after her with arms practically flying.

She was good. He'd give her that. But he was older and had more fight experience under his belt. So he only attacked with reserved power. Watched for signs of weaknesses. Looked for anything he could exploit. And it paid off when he noticed she was slowing down. So he hit her with a barrage of flying arms and kicking feet. Backed her into a corner until the only thing she could do was try and keep the worst of the blows from hitting her.

It was finally over. He had her backed, literally, into a corner and was able to keep her there with ease. She was gasping for breath, struggling to get her arms up to block his blows. Not that she was willing to admit it was over, because she kept lifting her fists as if she was going to hit him. She kept trying to shove him away from her. She just kept trying. It was endearing, in an odd kind of way. But it was also frightening because it suggested she didn't have any self-preservation instincts to speak of. Which meant he felt absolutely no guilt about pinning her back to the wall and pressing his arm against her throat.

"Do you yield?" he asked, applying just the slightest hint of pressure to her windpipe. She glared at him defiantly, her eyes filled with an eternity of 'Fuck you!'s that she had no breath to get out. He pressed a little harder. She coughed and one hand reached up to tug at his arm. "Yield and I'll let you go."

"Fuck you," she whispered, still pulling at his arm. Her attempts weren't quite as vigorous as they had been just a few seconds ago.

"You put up a good fight, girl. But I have more experience. And strength. Yield. There's no shame in it. Tell me you yield and I'll let you go."

She opened her mouth to deny him once more, but nothing came out. Because her eyes rolled back in her head before they closed and she sagged against the hold he had on her. "Finally. That took too goddamn long," he muttered, pulling his arm back just far enough that he could catch her as her limp form tumbled forward. Then he was easing her down onto the mat, settling her so that she was resting comfortably on her back.

"It had to be subtle or she'd have caught it," Rose's voice filled the room from behind him. "She's used this trick with Clint. She knows what to look for. Which is why we put it on your foot. Also. I wanted to see how long you could hold out against her." The last was said with a touch of malicious glee in it.

Tony turned to look at Rose. She had already tugged a small vial from her pocket and she was busy twisting the top off. "She's am amateur and she has no discipline," he commented, not at all happy with the pleasure she apparently derived from his discomfort.

"She's full of rage and intent, Stark. She was well on her way to kicking your ass," Rose replied.

"Give her the sedative so we can take her to the infirmary. I've got the implant ready to go," he instructed, trying to keep the displeasure out of his voice. Her smile said he wasn't quite as successful as he'd wanted to be.

Rose kneeled next to Dare and tipped her head back. She carefully opened the woman's mouth and dribbled the contents of her vial into it. One hand stroked Dare's throat to convince her to swallow, then the vial disappeared and Rose carefully lifted an eyelid. "It won't take long for this to start working. It'll last most of the night. So you'll have time to get the chip implanted and then we can put her to bed for the rest of the evening. She's been burning the candle at both ends lately and its starting to show. I don't like what it might mean."

Now that Rose mentioned it, the girl did look tired. There were bags under her eyes that could only come from being exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. It made Tony wonder just how long Dare could go before she broke. Clint had told him her having to kill Logan had been hard. He was fairly certain, despite the brave face she put on, killing LeBeau would shatter her. "The chip will help us ensure that she can't do that anymore. It will also ensure that someone can find her if something goes wrong."

He felt Rose's eyes on him, a heavy weight that rested on his shoulders while she studied him. "You don't like that she's out hunting the vampires alone anymore than the rest of us do. Do you?" she asked softly.

"She's young. She shouldn't be hunting down people she knows with the intent of killing them. She should be living her life. This whole thing will make her old before her time," Tony told her softly, taking a moment to study the girl's face. Relaxed the way she was, girl was a much more apt description than woman. Despite her age, despite the things she'd seen, she was still very much a girl. This life had to be killing her. "Trust me."

Rose said nothing, simply nodded her head. As if she was going to take his word for it without complaint or argument. He wasn't sure what to make of that. So he pushed it to the back of his mind and scooped Dare up into his arms. "Come on. You can assist," Tony said as he rose to his feet.

Rose gave him a look and nodded. "But don't expect me to call you Doctor Stark," she warned.

"Well, you wouldn't be wrong. I have the doctorates to go with the title. But I'm not a medical doctor," he told her. She snorted at that but said nothing and followed in his wake as he headed for the door.

"Doctor Stark," Rose muttered under her breath. "What the hell is the world coming to?"

~*~*~*~*~

"There you are," she said a moment before her hand came to rest on his arm. He looked down at it, marveling again at how petite it was. He could never quite get over just how small she was next to him. "You missed the games. I was worried. I know how much you enjoy the games."

He made a sound that could have meant anything, gaze caught on the photo sitting on the table beside his bed. He watched as her eyes slid toward it. A faint smile curled the corners of her mouth up. "I remember when we took that. We were so happy then."

"We were," he agreed. One hand reached out so that he could trace the curve of her pale cheek.

"We'll be happy again," she promised, wrapping her arms around him so that she could press her cheek to his chest. "We just need to find her and bring her home."

"I'm not so sure," he admitted. His words earned him a frown as she lifted her head so that she could look him in the eye.

"What are you talking about, Remy?" she asked.

"Been t'inking dat we should let dis go," he told her. His hand caught the photo up, thumb pressed against the glass where the captured image of his face rested. He stared at the photo a moment before turning it to face her. "Dis not gon' work. She not gon' come to us."

"Of course she will, Rem. She needs us. You know how she is."

"But she don'. She got Barton now. And she mad at me for what I do to him," Remy admitted.

"She'll get over it. She just needs to be reminded how much she belongs with us," she told him, voice laden with certainty. "She's only using Barton to hold herself up because she doesn't have us. He'll tire of her. He doesn't understand her needs like we do. He doesn't understand her like we do. He'll tire of her and toss her aside. And when he does, we'll be there for her. We'll remind her how much she needs us. She'll come home to us. You'll see."

"Don' t'ink so, petit," he shook his head. "You don' see her. You don' feel her anger." Or her power. He'd never felt such power on Dare before. He didn't understand where it had come from.

"She needs us," she responded, voice laden with certainty. "She's weak without us. She can't survive. You know that. You've been in her head. You know how it all works."

He had been in her head. All the time before it had all changed. And then again after. Just for a few moments. The one and only time he'd seen her since discovering she was in New York City and hunting his kind. Back at the very beginning of whatever this game was they were playing. He'd seen her then, surrounded by her flames and flanked by Barton. And he'd touched her mind then. Lightly enough that she'd never noticed. Of course, she'd been jacked up on her power, so it was highly likely she wouldn't have noticed if he'd gone into her head full force. But in those brief moments, he'd touched her and he'd felt her power. Her mind. Her emotions. He'd touched her and he'd felt someone he didn't recognize anymore.

In that brief moment, he knew she was stronger than she once had been. In every possible way. Her powers had been more intense than he remembered. Her mind had been stronger. Her emotions had been calm. Controlled. He couldn't be certain what had happened that had changed her so drastically. But she had changed. And he knew, without a doubt, that she no longer needed them as she once had.

"Remy, trust me. She'll come to us. She needs us. Both of us," his companion said after his silence stretched far too long.

He looked down into her face, into the certainty that resided there, and offered a weak smile. "I t'ink, petit, we need to let dis crazy idea go. She not gon' come to us. Everyt'ing different now. We different. She different. We need to let her go."

"No!' she spat, pulling away from him. Her anger filled the room, almost suffocating in its intensity. She never used to give in to emotions so fully, but ever since the change. Ever since the loss... "No! We are not going to give her up! She's ours. Yours and mine! She's our family! We're going to put our family back together!"

"Morgan, petit," he said gently, hands coming up to cup her cheeks. She glared at him, daring him to say it again. "She not de same. Maybe she don' want or need us. Maybe she just fine wit'out us."

"Don't you dare say that, Remy! I've known her longer than you have. I know how she thinks and feels and acts and... No! I am not giving up on her. She's going to be part of the family again! She's going to come to us! Don't you dare stop trying to bring her into the fold or I'll never speak to you again! She's mine! I want her back!' Morgan spat.

Remy held back the sigh and leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. Some days, he didn't know what to do about her sudden bursts of temper. Today, he felt the best course of action was to soothe her mood and let her know that he was there for her. That he still loved her.

She fought him for a few minutes, pushed ineffectively against his chest despite the fact that she'd been granted the same kind of strength he had with the change, before giving in and melting into his touch. When that happened, Remy slid his arms around her and crushed her against him. Deepened the kiss and let his hands stroke down her back. When she was limp and compliant in his hold, he broke off and pulled back so he could look into her face. "I love you, Morgan. You know dis. I love her, too. An' I want her back in our family. But we got to accept dat maybe, she don' want to be part of it anymore. We got to be ready to let her go."

"I can't let her go, Remy. I love her. She's my family. You and her and the others. You are all my family. I need my family," she replied, only the hint of a whine in her voice. "Please help bring my family back to me."

He wanted to tell her no. That it wasn't possible to have her family back. She'd lost her family when she'd been changed. Family, the definition and very idea of it, was different now that they were undead. The coven was their family now. He should tell her to just accept the fact and move on. But he wouldn't. Because he knew how she'd react. And he knew she wouldn't listen to him. "Okay, petit," he promised, even though he knew that convincing Dare to join them now was never going to happen. "We gon' find Dare and bring her home."

"I know we will," Morgan replied, pressing a kiss to his lips. There was the slightest tang of blood in it, the scent and flavor of it going straight to his groin. Just as she no doubt had expected it to. He groaned and crushed her against him, lips finding hers so that he could press a hard, brutal kiss of ownership to them. She was going to understand that he was still in control, that this was his coven and he was only humoring her. "You should have been at the games tonight, Rem. You'd have loved it. Scott has taken a shine to his little games of cat and mouse. That stupid, silly mortal girl seriously thought he was going to let her go."

A corner of his mouth curled up at the mention of one of their favored forms of entertainment. He could well imagine just how close Summers had let the girl get to freedom before he'd shattered her illusions by catching her. There was quite the sadistic side to the former leader of the X-Men that Remy found he thoroughly enjoyed. "How close she get?"

"He let her put her hand on the latch. She was quite literally at the gate and only had to take a few steps to be free. She was so close to exiting the maze that her fear had been overtaken by her confidence. Which made it all the sweeter when Scott melted out of the shadows and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. She nearly pissed herself, she was so scared."

Remy took a breath he didn't need, imagining the tantalizing scent of fear as it clogged the air. Had he been there, he suspected he and Morgan would still be caught up in one another's need. "What he do? He take her life right dere?"

"Oh, no. No, Remy. He didn't take her life. Not right away. He shredded her clothes and fucked her for one and all to see. He didn't bother making it easy for her. She was scared for the whole encounter. Which meant she was tight and dry. He fucked her so hard that she bled." A wicked smile spread across Morgan's face, eyes alight with the memory of the evening's entertainment. "And when he tired of fucking her cunt, he put her on her hands and knees and fucked her ass."

"You sound like you enjoy de show a lot," he commented. The hunger and need that the show had brought to life within her thrummed almost violently under her skin. She was waiting for him to bend her over the edge of the bed even a table and fuck her senseless. He could smell it on her.

"When he finished, he forced her to suck his cock clean. He finished the encounter by ripping her throat out and bathing in her blood. The coven was enthralled with his sport," she told him. Her fingers were working on the buttons on his jeans, fingers deftly slipping each one from its hole so that she could gain access to the denim's contents.

"You wish it was you bathing in de girl's blood," he observed, fingers stroking through her hair slowly.

She smiled up at him, eyes shining with an entirely different kind of desire. "Gods, yes. I want to be the one to hunt the sport down. I want to do the things Scott did to that girl."

"I'll t'ink on it," he promised her. He suspected she would give the coven quite the show if he allowed her to play hunter. His hands tugged at the zipper on the dress she wore, a shorter than short thing in black leather that clung to her curves like a second skin. The garment fell away from her to allow him an unobstructed view of her luscious body. She hadn't bothered with panties. The curls between her thighs were wet with her own desire, the smell of it flooding the air and damn near driving him to distraction.

Her hands were in his jeans, fingers teasing the length of his cock. Not that they needed to. He'd been hard for the better part of the evening, ever since he'd been shown a way to convince Dare to come to them on her own. Morgan pushed his jeans down to his ankles, hands gliding up his legs as she came back to her feet. "Are you going to fuck me, Rem?" she asked softly. As if she didn't think he would.

"Of course, petit," he assured her, hands cupping her ass so that he could urge her to lift up. Her arms went around his neck while her legs wrapped around his waist. The move put her pussy next to his aching cock. He didn't need to be asked twice. It took a little maneuvering, but he managed to sink himself inside of her without letting go of her ass, then he was fucking her with long, slow, hard strokes. "Gon' fuck you when ever you want me to. I love you, petit."

"I love you, too," she replied, voice a rasp of sound against his ear. She was hot and tight around him, wet and eager for him in ways other people never had been. He put thoughts of Dare and Summers and everyone else aside and concentrated on the woman in his arms. She felt so good, her muscles squeezing down around the length of his cock with each stroke. He could spend the rest of eternity buried inside of her, fucking her like he didn't have a care in the world.

~*~*~*~*~

She stared at the formula scrawled across a piece of paper in her neat, precise writing and tried to figure out where the hell she'd gone wrong. She'd been so sure that this was the one that would do the trick. She'd given it careful consideration before even attempting to create it for real. It should have worked. She'd been so sure it would work. And yet, it had failed. Spectacularly.

She rubbed at her eyes, trying to clear the blurriness that seemed to hover at the edges of her vision. She needed a clear head and clear eyes in order to pull the formula apart and look at each individual strands to see where she'd failed. It was time for a pot of coffee and something loaded with sugar to try and stay awake.

She was about to rise from her chair and head for the kitchen when a pair of hands came to rest on her shoulders, the touch steady and sure and gentle. "Elsa, honey. You should be in bed sleeping. You're tired. I can tell by the set of your shoulders. Get some rest."

"I can't," she shook her head and motioned toward the formula with one hand. "This should have worked. I considered every single angle and painstakingly put the whole thing together. It should have worked. There's no reason why it shouldn't have. None that I can see, at any rate. But it didn't work. It failed. It was bad enough that I had to terminate our test subject. I'm not happy about that."

"Have you considered that it didn't work because you can't solve this thing?" he asked her, one hand curling around her arm so that he could urge her to her feet. She rolled her eyes and frowned at him.

"Don't you dare suggest that this is the way things are supposed to be. Because it isn't. I refuse to accept that. I refuse to accept that I can't do anything." She shot him a look that dared him to contradict her. To his credit, he didn't. But the smile that tugged the corners of his mouth up said he was thinking about it.

"You are a brilliant scientist, Elsa. But science can't cure or fix everything. And you need to accept that this is a problem you might not ever be able to solve," he said gently.

"I am not giving up on this, damn it!" she snapped at him, letting him see her anger and her fear. He smiled softly and tugged her into his embrace. "I am not letting this go. I will find an answer. You'll see. I will solve this thing. And then you'll have to eat your words."

"Of course I will," he agreed, already turning her toward the door. She tried to wiggle out of his hold, but his arms tightened in order to keep her caught up next to him. "You're the most brilliant person I know. And if you can't solve it, no one can. But you can't solve this thing if you don't get some sleep. You're practically dead on your feet, honey. Go to bed. Get some rest."

"Only if you come with me," she mumbled into his chest, She was tired. And the notion that she could just fall asleep against him was gaining popularity as the minutes ticked by. She was pretty sure that she could sleep standing up. All he had to do was keep his arms wrapped around her and she'd be fine. She could use his chest as a pillow. It was firmer than the ones on her bed, but that was okay. She was pretty sure that she wouldn't notice how firm her pillow was once she finally drifted off.

"Of course, honey. Come on. Let's go," he returned.

Elsa let him urge her forward, let him direct her feet as they crossed the floor of her lab. As they turned up the hallway. As they climbed the stairs, which were more of a problem than she liked because she had a hard time picking her feet up far enough to get them from one step to the next without catching her toe on the lip of the each step. When they got to the second set of stairs, he simply swung her up into his arms and carried her up to the next floor.

The bedroom was darkened, the curtains pulled tight over the large windows. She had no doubt that the shutters on the outside had been pulled closed to help cut even more light. Elsa often times ended up sleeping during the day simply because she forgot to keep track of time and worked through the night on her experiments. He'd no doubt been the one to get it ready and had left the door open for their arrival.

The moment they were inside the bedroom, though, his foot kicked the door shut. He carried her across the room so that he could settle her on the edge of the bed, then turned for the armoire in order to fetch her something to sleep in. Elsa started tugging at her clothes with slow hands, sleep creeping up on her. "Leave it for tonight," she said before he could tug a drawer open. He turned to find her standing beside the bed, her skirt on the floor around her ankles. Her blouse was half unbuttoned, turned askew so that one breast, encased in its lacy bra cup, was framed in the opening created by the undone buttons. She watched as his eyes slid to that breast, saw the hunger and need flare to life in his eyes.

"Elsa," he said, voice a soft groan. "Honey, you're tired. I don't want to take advantage."

"You wouldn't be taking advantage if its something I want," she reminded him, fingers finishing off the buttons on her blouse. The silky garment joined her skirt on the floor. She was left in lacy blue panties and the matched bra. "Get undressed and come to bed," she instructed, one hand held out to him in invitation.

He considered telling her no. She could see it in his eyes. She wasn't going to let him say no. Her hands came up and found the clasp hidden between the cups on her bra. Undid it quickly and easily. The scrap of lace dropped to the floor, forgotten, as she moved on to her underwear. When she stood back up, she was naked and he was staring as if he hadn't seen a naked woman before. "Elsa." His voice was thick.

So was his cock. She could see it straining against the fly of his jeans. She considered crossing to him and taking hold of his dick through his pants. She pushed that thought aside and tried a different tactic. Turning, she gave him a look over her shoulder. Let him get a good look at her ass. Then she climbed up on the bed and reclined against the bedding, positioning herself so that he had a good view of her naked body. "Come and get it," she whispered, letting one hand trail seductively down her frame.

"Baby, you're killing me," he groaned. But his hands were already making quick work of his clothes. His t-shirt was yanked up and over his head before being tossed to the floor without care. Then his fingers tackled the fly of his jeans. The denim tried to cling to his erection, forcing him to shove at it until it slid toward the floor. He bent over to make sure it went all the way, then straightened. Elsa's eyes were locked on his erection, which bobbed enticingly when he kicked the denim off his foot. "You're sure? I know you're tired. You should sleep."

"I'll sleep better after you've worn me out," she told him softly. Even he couldn't argue with the logic of that statement.

He said nothing, simply stalked across the room until he could climb up on the bed to join her. She pulled him down to her, mouth already seeking his own out. His body was heavy as it settled over her. His hands were light and teasing as they stroked down her sides. He curled them around her calves and shifted her legs until his hips were fitted between her thighs. And his cock was caught between them, the rigid length of it pressing between her swollen pussy lips enticingly.

He kissed her like their lives depended on it, lips and teeth and tongue teasing at every inch of flesh they touched. Each time he deepened the kiss, his hips shifted and his cock moved against her. She moaned into his mouth, let her fingers curl into the taut flesh stretched across his back so that her nails dug into it. She wrapped her legs around him, dug the heels of her feet into the rock hard curves of his ass.

Finally, when he'd kissed all the breath from her lungs, when her clit was too sensitive from the hard length of his cock rubbing against it, when her body was strung tight with need, he lifted his hips far enough to position his cock, then he drove himself deep inside of her body. Elsa moaned loudly in his ear, her arms winding around him so that she could hold tight to him. The feel of him was enough to make her lose her mind.

She muttered encouragement into his ear, tried to use her body to urge him to move faster. He kept his own pace, his mouth occasionally seeking hers out to kiss her senseless once again. He took her to the edge time and time again, until she was mindless and could think only of the rush of orgasm. And then he teased her more. She finally had to beg him to finish it. When he did let her fall over the edge into blissful ecstasy, he fell right with her.

They lay entwined for several long moments, both trying to catch their breath after the intensity of their coupling. Eventually, he rolled off her and settled on the mattress beside her. One arm slipped under her in order to tug her into his hold. She settled her cheek on his chest and listened to his heart beat against his ribcage. Soon, the arm around her went slack and his breathing leveled out. Elsa smiled and gently slipped from his hold. Then she slipped from the bed, standing beside it so that she could stare down at his sleeping form.

He looked so sweet and innocent laying in her bed, his face relaxed with sleep. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but doing so would only invite trouble. He would stir and then wake and he'd drag her down to the bed with him. He wouldn't let his guard down this time until he was sure she was asleep. She couldn't afford to let him distract her for long. She had to make the formula work. She had to perfect it. Before it was too late.

After one last look at the peace that had settled over his face, Elsa turned from the bed and sought out fresh clothes. He'd be mad if he knew she was avoiding sleep. But it couldn't be helped. She had to perfect this formula. She had to. So much was riding on it. Lives were riding on her formula. The world. Their happiness.

She'd perfect the formula, make it work. Even if it killed her. Even if it killed them both.

~*~*~*~*~

His fingers are like heated silk as they glide over her skin, as they trail over her breasts to tease her nipples before drifting lower so that they can tease the swollen flesh between her thighs. She wants to tell him to stop, but the gag pressed between her teeth makes it impossible. She can't even push him away, wrists and ankles bound to the bed frame by cuffs that hold them securely. She doesn't want this. She doesn't. She does not want this to happen.

But no one has told her body that it isn't supposed to want his touch. That it isn't supposed to become excited by the press of his lips and the touch of his fingers. It wants that and more. It wants everything his touch and the look in his eyes promise. It wants it all.

His hand lifts away before his fingers press inside of her and she watches as he lifts it to his face. As he licks his fingertips. As he drags a fingertip against his fang and splits the skin. She watches as bright crimson wells up to coat the skin. To run down it toward the palm of his hand. He repeats the action with a second fingertip. Then with a third. And when those fingers are coated red with his blood, he slips them inside of her.

Heat wells up where his fingers press into her, spreading through her body until she writhes against his hand in invitation and need. She cries out, giving voice to her need, begging inarticulately for more. His hand pulls away, leaving her feeling empty and bereft. She watches as he curls a hand around the base of his cock, as he drags a nail along the top of his shaft. The skin splits and blood wells up. She screams when he plunges himself into her. When the blood soaks into her system and leaves her writhing mindlessly against him.

"Dat right, cher. De blood make you mine now. Don' fight it. Let it happen. It gon' be better if you do," he whispers in her ear as his hips thrust against hers. As his blood seeps into her system. The fear slips away, replaced by mindless need. Consuming hunger. He takes a moment to renew the cut in his dick, then plunges it deep once more. She comes screaming behind her gag, body shaking beneath his, limbs pulling against the bonds holding her down.

Then comes the pain as fangs prick her throat and she screams again as she thrashes against her bonds...

"Wake up, Granddaughter!" Grandfather's voice cut across the dream and dragged her from its depths. His normally stoic face was cast with lines of concern and his hands were curled tightly around her shoulders. "Its just a dream, child. Only a dream."

It was only a dream. She could see that now. But it had felt so real. Real enough that dread stole over her. And then she realized that it was more than a dream. It was a memory of things that had yet to happen. She was being shown a glimpse of the future. "He's going to take her and make her something she doesn't want to be," she whispered, eyes locked on Grandfather's face. No doubt they were wide as saucers.

"Why, Granddaughter?" he asked softly.

"I... don't know. I just know he's going to do it. And I know that I'm being shown this for a reason."

She just didn't know what that reason was.

Comments

[ladydeathfaerie]

all in good time, grasshopper. all in good time.

had to work Elsa in. after all, she's working hard to try and make a real change in the world. there will be more with her. promise. stay tuned on that front.

Remy and Morgan didn't go the way i planned, though i can't tell you exactly what i had planned. that's generally a lot of "start writing and see where it takes you". i'm sure the two of them will pop up again a time or two. we'll have to wait and see.

i'm sure Dare's nice and cranky at the moment. but that's likely all. for now. give it time. we'll see what happens later.

good. i enjoy killing brains. glad you enjoyed it, bb. thanks for reading.