“Aww, don’t keep it a secret, human! Tell th’ nice lady where yer’ from…” Sabretooth’s voice cut through the conversation as he casually strode inside the kitchen. “I’m guessin’ a whorehouse; it explains all that groanin’ n’ moanin’ yer’ makin’ while yer’ deep throatin’ that sandwich!”
For once, Creed wasn’t marching about the house bloodied or naked. He stood before the technological savant and the elemental queen in the clothing he acquired from the lavish X-Men closet. Thanks to the stylistic eye of Leonardo DaVinci, Victor wore attire that was coordinated, and in some fashion circles, was considered “trendy”.
Granted, only a UFC prizefighter could ever acknowledge the idea that a man wearing a muscle undershirt, tucked into stonewash jeans, belted with an ornate and oversized silver buckle and combat boots as Victor did now would make any sort of fashion statement.
Soft light from the moon seeped into the kitchen through the line of windows Ororo flew through and kept the darkness at bay. Because of this, it was difficult for anyone to clearly see Victor’s face – but his eyes flickered in the shadows like gold nuggets hidden among piles of coal, similar to every other feline in the world. The first time Creed spoke to Baird, they weren’t focused on the soldier, but on the goddess.
Specifically, her breasts. And every other curve on her body that her dress highlighted.
Creed was tempted to let his eyes linger, but he came into the kitchen for a purpose, and Baird was it. The second time he spoke, the feral was courteous enough to actually look towards the other blonde.
“When yer’ finished gettin’ yer’ rocks off, you an’ me need ta’ have a little chat. So says one of yer’ bosses.”