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Entry tags:	btvs: faith, toth's judgement verse, xmen: wolverine

Fic: Spar--ADULT. BtVS/Xmen Toth's Judgement Verse. Faith/Logan
title : Spar
author: lisa roquin
rating: adult
fandom: BtVS/X-Men
series/sequel:
characters/pairings: Faith/Logan
disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.
summary: “Not in the mood to pull punches, little girl.” “Good, neither am I.”
warning: feral het smut. Violence. Blood. Taunting. Bit of dominance struggle. See pairing. See summary...yeah. Faith. Logan.
author's note: for the timestamp meme anon request of Faith/Wolverine...
word count: 1908



Faith entered the training room. Xander had kicked her out of the boathouse for a while to calm down because she was upseting the kids. She'd like to upset a few asses with her boot. Calm down. She was calm. She didn't take the damned door off it's hinges, that was calm.

She wasn't surprised to see Logan barefoot in jeans and tanktop nearly destroying a punching bag specially designed for meta strength.

She kicked off her tennis shoes and pulled off her own t-shirt. Kurt would probably faint and a few of the goody goodies would have conniptions about her training in her bra, but for god's sake it was a sports bra, not some lacy scrap of nothing good for a hot date getting even more hot and bothered and not much else. She was still dressed from the trip into New York that morning. Blend in and be ready for anything.

And hadn't Ororo huffed when presented with the outfit she went in. Ororo's huff had been at the outfit. Scott had been the one to nearly blow the roof off when it was pointed out Faith needed to be able to move fast, that her defense was fists and feet and hand to hand combat. She could do it in a bustier, leather miniskirt, fishnets and stiletto heels, but she was that much better in just loose enough to move jeans and tennis shoes. Ororo could use her abilities, could fly if she had to. Faith could brawl and that was about it.

"Up for a spar?" Faith demanded more than asked.

"Not in the mood to pull punches, little girl," Logan growled.

"Neither am I, and the only one that could take that maybe is Xander and he's more breakable than you," she shot back.

“Lets see what you got then,” Logan said skeptically. He'd seen her spar with Xander in the last couple months but hadn't seen her in actual action and hadn't sparred with her himself. He had to admit Xander was good, especially for next to nothing by the way of physical extras—Hank had decided he had a slightly unnatural bone density and his afinity for water, preferably salt water, but anything that was enough to submerge and swim in. “Staffs?”

He wasn't the best with a staff but he could hold his own. And she wasn't indestructible, her bones just as breakable as any flatscans for all her strength and healing. He was riding the edge of feral to go for any kind of fist fight.

She grinned and headed to the wall panel hitting the button that had a portion of the wall sliding back revealing some of the training weapons grabbing out two staffs and throwing one at him. She hit the button to close the panel.

She swung the staff, spun it in her hand, whirled it tight around her body, loosening shoulders and arms for a second.

“When ever you're ready, little girl,” he snorted and tilted his neck until it cracked and waited with the staff held in his hands circling her a little.

She grinned and launched at him, staff spinning in a dangerous arc. He managed to mostly get out of the way of her first attack and block. She was good. Really good. Staffs were Xander's favored weapon, Logan had sparred with the younger man more than once with staffs. He was maybe better than she was if one picked it apart even without adjusting for the 'slayer extras' of speed and strength and afinity to use any weapon tossed in their hands with a tolerable accuracy. Tolerable accuracy wasn't real skill or mastery, just able to use whatever was at hand half-assed enough to get the job done by hitting the right target hopefully.

Faith preferred a good knife and a stake to fight with. Xander's weapon of choice was a staff with scythe blades on either end. The practice staffs were neutral enough ground, though. Logan didn't tend to use a weapon other than his claws.

He growled as she landed a good blow to his hip. Hard enough it just might have put a crack in flatscan bones. Raw athleticism, agility and brute strength were enough to hold his own against her though and he launched a counter attack.

A blow to her stomach had her doubled over with a grunt into a pained sommersault rolling out of the way, staggering back to her feet with a slightly crazed grin. She blocked his next blow with her own staff, the crack of the magically enhanced wood reverberated through the air and through her body.

The crack of the staffs meeting, the softer thud of wood against flesh, heavy breathing and grunts filled the air.

She managed to use the edge of the staff's end and slice open his forehead. Copper smell of blood mixing with the scent of sweat, blood in his eyes blinding him for a moment until the cut healed. She used her momentary advantage landing a half dozen blows in rapid succession, one catching him in the back of the legs, dropping him to his knees for a second.

“First blood to me,”

He growled. “It ain't over til it's over, little girl.”

She laughed. “Bring it on, old man.”

His nose twitched as another scent joined the mix of sweat and blood. Staffs met again in a brutal exchange of blows, blood on her arm from the edge of his staff end cutting. The scent got even stronger. Musk and pheremones.

He growled vague arousal from adrenaline and appreciation of how she moved and how she looked moving, her strength and the feralness of her own nature strengthened.

“Winner on top?” She licked her lips and eyes blatantly moved to his crotch.

He growled.

The scent in the air strengthened even as she launched in another acrobatic attack. The staffs cracked against each other. A blow to her leg had her hopping away and in the spin managed to catch him hard on the back of the shoulder.

“I can smell how wet you are, little girl.”

“Jeans getting a little tight there, old man?”

Logan's eyes narrowed and with a growl launched himself at her. He threw his staff aside. The scent of arousal exploded. She did some sort of flip thing away, landing a blow on his arm. He caught her staff throwing her flip off and sending her sprawling. She was on her feet before he could pounce though.

She landed a kick in his stomach, staggering him back for a moment. She spun he caught her leg before the roundhouse kick made contact and flipped her on her back. This time she was pinned before she could move. He caught her hands and pinned them above her head.

She bucked her hips up and writhed. Another writhe and her legs were wrapped around his waist, if not for the adamantium reinforcing his bones she just might have snapped his spine.

“Gonna fuck or stare, old man?” she demanded raising her head and bit his shoulder. Another writhe, and a painful grind against his erection.

He growled and the scent of her arousal got even stronger. “Playin' with fire, little girl.”

“Shut up and fuck,” she demanded.

He shifted the hold on her wrists, both caught in one of his hand. With a growl his hand shoved under her shoulders fisting in viciously in her hair, his arm arching her back up off the floor. His mouth met hers in a clash of teeth, bruising lips, the copper tang of blood where she bit his lip hard. She writhed up against him with a moan of approval. He let go of her wrists, newly freed hand going to squeeze her breast roughly and tightened his hold on her hair.

He choked as his tank top was pulled up and caught on his neck brutally for a second before the material ripped.

“Bitch,” he growled.

“Hell yeah,” she agreed.

He let go of her raised up onto his knees, tearing off the ruined shirt and let one of his claws out.

She purred and licked her lips, eyes darkening more and pulled herself even tighter against him scooting her ass up his thighs with the legs still wrapped around his waist.

He sliced the lycra of her sports bra.

She arched her back and tightened her legs around him pulling herself up in a sinuous move, muscles of her thighs trying to bruise his waist, heels of her feet digging into his ass. His hand fisted brutally in her hair pulling her up a little higher, arm supporting her back, claw sliding between them and slicing at the button of her jeans as his mouth closed over her breast, sucking hard as he bit down.

She ground down against him with a moan. He slid the claw out from between them and moved to her hip, sliding down along the seam of her jeans.

She grabbed his hair painfully with one hand and reached between them yanking brutally at the fly of his jeans.

He slammed her back against the floor. Claws slid out the second he let go of her, slicing her jeans the rest of the way off and leaving a broken dotted trail of red where skin was broken just enough to bleed in a few places. Claw retracted and his own jeans worked off and he bent over her licking the smears and fresh little beads of blood from between her breasts from slicing her bra off.

She writhed working a hand between them and closing it around his cock, almost too roughly stroking. “Not bad, old man. What can ya do with it?” she taunted, panting.

He growled and bit down hard at the juncture of neck and shoulder. She moaned and pulled at his hair arching and writhing up against him, the hand between them gave his cock another almost too rough tug, grinding against her own wrist.

He growled again pulling her hand from between them, she moved it to his shoulder, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise if not for his healing factor, short fingernails repeatedly gouging into skin.

She writhed and wriggled until the head of his cock was lined up. He slammed into her with no more invitation or warning. She tightened her legs around his waist and met every brutal thrust, muscles clenching around him, fingers digging in and clawing at his back, mouths meeting in near-violent struggle for dominance.

She arched under him with a strangled scream as she came, legs tightening around him leaving bruises that started to fade as soon as they were formed. He bit down hard on her shoulder as he slammed into her a final time, she writhed just so and clenched tight drawing out his orgasm.

“Damn, old man, not too shabby,” she panted.

“Little girl,” he growled out. The haze of feral retreating and the realization of the fact they were a bloodied mess, his own wounds and bruises fading but her bruises were just starting to form.

“Gimme a few days and get Geek Boy to mojo me some chains,” she smirked her split lip pulling open again and starting to bleed. “Don't think I'm done with you, old man.”

“Little girl,” he shook his head and leaned his head down to lick the drop of blood off her lip.