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1sentence Victor/Raven, Themeset Alpha

My entry for 1sentence.

Fandom: X-Men
Pairing: Victor Creed/Raven Darkholme
Theme set: Alpha
Rating: R for language and mild adult situations

She may pretend to be asleep when he thrashes about in the middle of whatever the evening’s featured nightmare is, but her fingers always curl over his when he reaches out to her in the dark.

She sings in the shower – loudly and off-key – and Victor tells himself the only reason he joins her in the narrow stall and kisses her is to make her stop.

The pads of his fingers are soft - his healing factor negating any calluses – she wonders how his hands would feel over her skin otherwise, but decides the rough pressure he uses whenever he touches her is enough.

She wonders if his words and actions would hurt her less if she wasn’t in love with him.

She slams the bowl down and resists the urge to throw it at him; the one time she has a domestic moment and he has to ruin it by complaining about slightly lumpy potatoes.

He can’t help but stare at her as they complete surveillance for their mission; the rain has plastered her hair against her scalp and turned the white halter top she insisted on wearing nearly transparent.

She’s always mad when he finds her secret stash of expensive chocolates and eats them all before she can even taste one; he does it because he likes the way she looks when she’s angry.

They both savor moments of happiness they find together; each one is rare and both of them know that they never last for long.

“Where are you?” he asks, leaning against the dingy walls of the telephone booth, not wanting to be alone, not caring that they weren’t supposed to be speaking to the other at the moment; he listens as she quietly hangs up without saying a word and keeps listening to the dial tone until his quarter runs out.

He had an earring in his right ear the last time she saw him – she promptly took it out and watched the hole heal as soon as the post left it – “I like you better this way,” she said, her teeth at his lobe.

It didn’t matter what color she changed her hair to or who she decided to look like for the evening: Raven would always be Raven to him.

Victor had a way of staring at her until her insides felt all hot and quivery; and the smirk on the bastard’s lips told her he knew how he affected her.

Killing was what they did for a living, yet both were careful not to talk about individual assignments or how much people had paid them to do the dirty work; they may deal in death, but that didn’t necessary mean they had to talk about it.

There were always different variations on the theme but it was always the same, him slamming into her violently, her nails drawing blood at his back or shoulders and he wondered if he would want her as much as he did if they actually made love instead of just fucked.

She’s seen the things he’s done with his hands, the many lives he’s unrepentantly taken with his claws, yet she leans into his touch when his fingers ghost over her skin.

Even though he’s solitary by nature, he hates to be alone; he’s never said anything about it because he never wants anyone to know he has more chinks in his armor than he’d care to admit.

She turns the taps on full blast in the bathroom to muffle the sounds of crying, even though she knows he can still hear her clearly.

He drives his motorcycle faster than he should; she trusts his reflexes to keep them from crashing and just enjoys the ride.

He pushes his bike to the highest speed it can, just so the wind can whip her hair up around her face and he can feel it brush against his back.

Walking away from their screwed up relationship should have made her feel better, not hollow and achy.

Late at night when he’s asleep, Raven puts her ear to his chest to hear the slow beat of his heart and wonders if there’s something more to life than this.

He knows he has no right to be, but it doesn’t stop the churning wave of nausea in his gut as he watches her flirt with their target while he thinks of all the ways he can kill the man slowly and painfully for flirting right back.

Her slender, elegant hands are capable of doing great violence; they’re just as deceptive as the rest of her, he thinks.

He prefers blondes over brunettes, but recently he’s found out he likes redheads best of all.

The look in her eyes whenever she talks about Magneto makes Victor sometimes wish she could glance at him with such loyalty and attachment.

Their pattern of fighting and living together in a fragile truce only to leave and fight again is stuck on repeat and both of them don’t have a clue if it can ever be broken, or if it can, what it will take to get them over the other for good.

She catches him at the kitchen sink every so often, the once new bar of soap whittled down to a sliver as he washes his hands over and over again, trying to rid his skin of blood that isn’t there any more.

“Shut up,” she tells him as she sneezes into a tissue and tries to ignore the superior way he gloats about the fact that he will never get the flu while she’s stuck being miserable for a week or more.

She likes the song that he hums over and over to himself, the comforting melody sticking in his head long after the reason it was there in the first place has been erased.

He took her out to the lake one summer, just for the hell of it, and she swears she’ll never forget the way the sky looked like an upturned bowl of light or how content he had looked, watching the stars at her side.

Both of them had lived in many different places, many much grander than the two bedroom apartment they shared, but none of them felt as much like a home than that place did.

She puzzled him; why would a woman willingly stay with him, even when he tried his best to be the most arrogant, rude, pigheaded ass he could possibly be to drive her away?

There was very little in the world that Victor was afraid of, but this new feeling he felt for Raven that went well past simply being attracted to her scared the hell out of him.

Power out due to the storm, spontaneous bolts of lightning lit up the kitchen, momentarily illuminating the couple seated at the breakfast table eating the last of the take-out before the meager contents of the refrigerator spoiled.

They may leave each other for dead when they hate one another, but neither of them can actually take that final step in killing the other.

He hadn’t seen her; hadn’t wanted to see her in years, but he suddenly thought about her as he stood in the shopping aisle, staring at the package of tea she always liked to drink in the mornings.

He watches as she sits cross-legged on their living room floor to clean her weapon; as much as he likes hand to hand combat, he has to admit the new night vision scope mounted to her rifle is pretty impressive.

“Don’t go getting all sentimental and shit,” he gruffly told her, holding out the box of chocolate truffles he’d gotten to replace the one he’d eaten.

His lips turn upwards when he’s angry, when he’s thinking about hurting things, when he’s planning his next move, but Raven thinks she’s never actually seen him smile simply because he’s happy.

They look like any normal couple walking the streets hand in hand at night, but as they pass a dark shop window and Raven catches their reflection, she knows they’ll never have that carefree innocence that others do; the thought is enough to make her jealous of everyone else even as she holds Victor’s hand tighter in her own.

He’s tired when he comes back to the apartment after finishing his latest hit, grateful that she only offers him a cup of coffee and doesn’t ask questions about the bullet holes in his now bloody shirt or look at the briefcase full of money at his side.

“That one looks like an elephant,” she says, pointing to the cloud overhead just as Victor argues that it looks more like a Mercedes instead, just to be contrary.

The sky right before a violent summer thunderstorm turns a weird yellow-green; his eyes tend to turn the same color before a burst of anger.

While she can’t ease his mind like Birdy could, she still has her own ways of keeping the demons at bay.

She didn’t think she’d be this upset with him gone; sleeping in the now too big bed alone is unbearable, so she stays on the sofa.

He counts the freckles on her shoulders the morning sun reveals while she’s asleep and thinks about how much of herself she hides from him.

He likes her best at night when she’s moving over him and the moonlight bathes her in sliver, highlighting her tensed thighs and arched back.

She would have liked to live near the ocean, the sound of waves lulling her to sleep; but where she’s at is fine, she thinks, wrapping Victor’s slack arm around her sleepily.

He let his hair grow out since the last time she saw him; the windblown look fits his personality better than the clean cut style he last had.

The weather was humid, the mosquitoes unbearable, and the ground hard under the tree they sat at, but watching the fireworks erupt like miniature supernovas with her tucked at his side made it all worthwhile.

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