AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the sequel to "A Tail of Two Beasts", and just like the first story, I'm co-authoring this one with my husband, Tal.
CONTINUITY: Continuity? *shifty eyes* What continuity? Okay, this is more of an AU. Pretend the whole Diary Quest thing has been completed and done with (yes, HANK is in his FELINE FORM here), and just assume that Cassandra Nova never happened, alright? Also, the scene with the phone message from Trish Tilby was cough*borrowed*cough* from New X-Men #117, and greatly expanded. And the quote about shrubbery is from New X-Men #125.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hank McCoy (a fact which my husband is probably very greatful for *grin*), or any of the X-Men. They all belong to Marvel. And dammit, if they're not going to give Hank a girlfriend, I will!!! Which leads me to the next point: Tyger is my own original character. She is not meant to resemble any other Tygers, Tigers, Tigras, etc. that are out there. She is unique and if you want to borrow her for anything, please ask me first (she doesn't get out much so she'll probably be willing to go along for the ride).
WARNING: This story is rated R for adult situations and future violence.
* * - represents telepathy
# # - represents thoughts
VENDETTA
CHAPTER 1: Homecoming
Henry McCoy was bustling about his laboratory deep inside the Xavier mansion, preparing himself for his date with Trish that night. He smoothed the miniscule wrinkles out of his black tuxedo jacket for the umpteenth time as he went over the checklist again and again in his head: #flowers, red carnations - her favorite; chocolates, cherries of course; limousine ready...#
Trish Tilby, TV news anchorwoman and long-time on again/off again girlfriend of one Henry P. McCoy. The biggest row and most bitter separation that they had experienced had occurred almost nine years ago, when she had let it be known over national television that the Legacy Virus was no longer exclusive to mutants, but was spreading to humans as well. Hank had long sinced cured that plague, but at the expense of a long-time teammate and friend, Piotre. Hank remembered having exploded at Trish after her broadcast, about how in the world could she possibly justify condemning all of mutantkind for a mere boost in her career status as a news reporter.
They had remained separated for a good two years after that, neither wanting to admit to the other that they were wrong, and they were both far too stubborn and hard-headed to apologize. Much of those two years were a blur to Hank; for some reason, he couldn't remember much of anything that had happened during that time. But they had eventually gotten back together again, Hank having finally resolved to be the first to apologize.
Hank chuckled to himself as he absentmindedly marvelled at how he could easily remember such things as the exact dates when he and Trish broke up and when they got back together again, but could not remember where the heck he had set his glasses down just a few minutes earlier.
He picked up a hand-mirror and readjusted his bowtie. It had taken him a good twenty minutes to tie it, given that he still hadn't quite mastered fine-motor skills with his hand-paws. Trish, in fact, usually did such things for him. But he was bound and determined to do it himself because he wanted to look perfect. He wanted everything to be perfect for this perfect evening.
Trish had been there for him before the first time he metamorphosed into a bestial form, and she had still been there for him afterward, despite the blue fur and fangs. He had since undergone a second mutation into a much larger, feline form; and she was still with him even now.
He flashed a dazzling smile at the handsome figure who looked back at him in the mirror, and smoothed his slick-backed hair.
"Well hello, Trish. Rrrooooowwwwrr!" he said playfully, pretending that Trish was there in the room with him.
"Are you ready for a balloon ride across upstate New York, with champagne and..."
He continued to rhyme off his plans for that night, picturing a radiant Trish smiling at him with delight at such a perfect evening.
Trish smiling radiantly when he presented her with an entire room filled with her favorite flowers for Valentine's. Trish laughing merrily when he played Chopin by moonlight and she danced naked and fell in the shrubbery. Such wonderful memories he had of them together.
He checked his watch. He was due to leave in ten minutes. The limousine was already waiting outside.
Just then, the phone rang. Hank paused long enough to acknowledge it, but decided to just let the answering machine take the call as he was extremely busy.
[Hi Hank.]
Hank's ears perked. That was Trish's voice! He hurried over to the phone and was about to pick up the receiver when he heard her say,
[I'm sorry I'm being such a coward about this, Hank. But I'm calling from Washington...]
He paused, quite confused. Washington? What was she doing in Washington?
[And...it's not YOU. It's ME.]
Hank's mind suddenly went blank, almost as if attempting to shut itself down and avoid the hurt it knew was inevitable.
[You're still the same lovely Hank inside, even since you changed so much. But...I know you can't help your eyes, but you look at me like I'm prey sometimes and...and the Enquirer ran a story about us. The word "bestiality" was used three times.]
His arm slowly lowered down to his side, causing the mirror to dangle limply as Hank collapsed upon himself.
[I couldn't do anything to hurt you, dear, lovely Hank. But this could ruin my career as a broadcaster.]
His grip on the mirror's handle tightened.
[Oh, God. I didn't mean it like that. Oh, Hank...I'm making such a mess of this. I'm so sorry.]
[BEEP]
There was a moment or two of dead silence before a bestial wail of anger and hurt erupted from Hank's throat and reverberated off the solid metal walls of the lab. This was punctuated by the sound of shattering glass as he smashed the hand-mirror to pieces against the desk.
He then sank down onto a chair - one specially designed for his unique body size and shape - and stared blankly at the walls for a good, long while.
#What a perfect evening,# he the thought to himself morbidly. #Just perfect.#
* * *
A week passed, and Hank was still in his lab, working on little projects and things that he had come up with to keep his mind busy. Bits and pieces of said projects were scattered over every surface of his normally festidiously tidy tables and desks. And the tuxedo he had worn the week before was still visible, albeit in a crumpled heap in a dark corner of the lab as if it had been kicked there and simply discarded. He couldn't be bothered to pick up and put away an item he'd never need or use ever again. Hank was currently wearing his black leather X-Man uniform, complete with the leather jacket with rolled-up sleeves. He had cleaned up the broken mirror, however. Glass shards in one's footpads were rather unpleasant things to say the least.
Hank's stomach suddenly growled, long and loudly. He checked his watch. Apparently his stomach was protesting, trying to remind him that dinner was supposed to have happened over an hour and a half ago. He sighed. He didn't feel much like eating, but his massive bulk required a certain amount of calories every day just to sustain it.
Hank pushed his chair away from the table and heaved himself out of it. He yawned and gave his stiff muscles a good stretch, then headed for the elevator.
As he exited the elevator at ground level and headed down the hall, Jean's voice suddenly entered his head.
*Hank.*
He paused.
*Yes, Jean?*
*Door.*
*Door?*
*Get it.*
*But there is nobody...*
Ding dong.
He sighed. *I hate it when you do that.*
The image of a grinning Cheshire cat invaded his thoughts as he turned and re-directed his course to the front door of the mansion.
A massive blue hand-paw engulfed the knob as Hank opened the door, as had been requested. He looked out, then right, then left. No one. Then he heard a small sound, looked down, and was startled to see a little blue cat person looking up at him. They stared at each other for a few long moments before an expression of understanding blossomed on the young boy's furry face.
"You know, this explains a lot," he stated with an Indian-sounding accent.
Hank raised his eyebrows. Just WHO was this little person and WHAT in heaven's name was he talking about?
The little boy then leaned to the side, straining to look around the hulking figure for his first glimpse of the interior of the Xavier Mansion.
"Ooooooh," he commented as a look of wonder crossed his face. "See you later....dad?" he uttered shyly before zipping past the huge mutant and disappearing into the house.
Hank quickly turned and followed the boy's progression as he zoomed up the stairs and disappeared rapidly from view.
Blink...blink blink...blinkity blink blink. A very small voice in the back of Hank's mind fearfully repeated that word: 'Dad?'!
His mind started racing, collecting stray thoughts and memories, searching desperately for any remote possibility of his actually siring a child within the last ten years, and all the while repeatedly telling himself that it was impossible, that this was not happening, that it must be some sort of huge misunderstanding.
Meanwhile, what he wasn't noticing were a pair of emerald eyes, rendered wide with astonishment, sweeping up and down his frame. Those eyes belonged to an orange-furred, black-striped mutant named Tyger.
"Is that really HIM?" she asked herself in disbelief.
It had been seven years. Seven long, lonely years since she had last seen him. Tyger sniffed the air. His scent was a little different, but the essence of what she remembered to be Hank was there. And of course, just how many blue, furry people could there possibly be in the mansion?
Tyger had thought about their reunion from every conceivable angle. It was the huntress in her who had taught her to prepare, to expect the unexpected and plan every possible route of escape. By the time she had stepped out of the taxi and onto the mansion grounds, Tyger was ready to deal with the situation and whatever path it took. But nothing could have prepared her for this. He was not supposed to have changed. At all. She couldn't believe how completely different he now looked. It was sparking feelings in her that she did not want to feel. Tyger hesitantly took a step forward.
A flicker of movement jarred Hank from his panicked thoughts as a figure, silouetted in the light of the setting sun, started walking toward him.
Tyger hesitated. Would he be happy to see her? Or would he be angry with her for coming back? As she felt the panic and uncertainty surge within her, she grabbed hold of those emotions and forced herself to become calm and collected once again. She had not spent the last seven years of her life honing her empathic skills to just suddenly crumple into a heap of nerves and tears at her first sight of HIM. No tears. Not now. She had grown too strong for that.
Hank was still trying to put an identity to the silouhette standing before him. A flicker of a memory tickled McCoy's brain, but it was quickly replaced by something else. "Tigra? Is that you?" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Her ears perked at the sound of his voice. Of course, Hank had been thinking about Tigra of the Avengers, a group of Superheroes that he had been a member of in the past. It could have been her own desire to hear it, or the lisp Hank had as a result of his newest mutation, but Tyger thought he had whispered her name. HER name. After so long a time, he knew her instantly. Her heart lept.
Tyger unconsciously started to sway her hips sexily as she walked, purposely taking slow steps to allow herself plenty of time to peruse the massive figure standing in the doorway. It had been a long time since she'd seen him, and despite all the hurt and anger towards him that she had carried with her over the years, old feelings she thought she had killed and buried long ago were climbing back up to the surface. And besides, she liked what she saw. A lot.
She bit back a growl of frustration as a need, a hunger she had fought to ignore for the past seven years crept over her. Her mind lectured her that this was a man who had caused her pain, who had hurt her more than anyone she had ever known. But her heart knew something different, and her body had its own memories.
Hank watched with trademark curiousity as the shadows melted away to reveal a rather stunning figure indeed. Her face was a mixture of human and tiger features, with unfathomable green pools for eyes and red-orange hair pulled back into a long braid which was draped elegantly over one shoulder.
His eyes followed the braid down to her ample chest, where they were helplessly drawn down to the curvaceous hips that swayed from side to side as she approached him. The entire 'package' was wrapped in a beautiful blue and gold coloured Indian sari complete with gold bracelets and satin slippers.
But all this was shrouded in yet another item that he could not see, but his nose told him it was there. Her heavy, musky scent wafted across his nostrils like a woman's sweet perfume, and the animal that he was becoming stirred inside him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and he gritted his teeth and fought against the surge of hormones, forcing his mind to redirect its thought processes to more benign ones. It was not an easy task.
It seemed to Hank that his body and mind remembered the scent, but he could not connect it to any conscious memory. The woman looked like Tigra. No, close but...a sister, perhaps? One that Tigra had never mentioned? And if so, what was she doing here?
"Welcome to the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning, my dear. Is there something that I could perhaps help you with?" he managed to say in a cordial voice. What he really wanted deep down was to just forget all words and find out what her fur felt like against his own.
#Get yourself under control RIGHT THIS INSTANT, Dr. McCoy!# he seethed to himself. #Looking like an animal is no justification for acting like one!#
Tyger paused again. #That was a rather odd greeting.# She swallowed thickly, and blushed slightly when she realized she was salivating. Yes, his scent was definately getting to her. But pouncing on him on the front lawn would be rather undignified.
"It's been a long time," she commented, sounding more husky than she would have liked. Now within an armslength of him, Tyger could feel his own desires pulsating off him and hitting her like the waves of an ocean against a rocky shore. Act now, talk later sounded like a very good plan to her at that moment.
"It has?" he asked, becoming even more confused.
"And you've changed," she added, her voice becoming low and sultry.
Hank was unsure of how to respond that that remark. "Ye-e-s, that I have," he replied.
She seemed to think she knew who he was, even though he hadn't a clue about her identity. But he would certainly remember having met her, if he had in fact did, wouldn't he? After all, how many feline mutants had he come across in his lifetime? As far as he knew, he was the only one in existence. Until now.
"And I LIKE the new look," she crooned, now close enough to run her hands along his forearms, stroking the long, soft fur and gently squeezing the taut muscle underneath.
A soft hiss escaped him as she did this. Hank berated himself for letting that slip and once again ordered himself to calm down. She was obviously attracted to him, and that fact alone sent his ego skyrocketing through the ceiling. But they should, at the very least, be introduced to each other first.....shouldn't they? Yet...a wicked little voice called out from the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, telling him that after the downright, utterly depressing week he had endured, a good screw would certainly make him feel much, much better. He tried to shake that thought off, but her scent was filling his mind like a drug, trying to pull aside all the carefully constructed barriers of civilization to leave only the beast roaring.
"My dear," he began, trying to get a few words out before his mind folded completely, "I...I do not believe we've been properly..."
Tyger had interpreted his soft hiss as an invitation, and before his mind had a chance to register what was happening, her body was against his, sliding deliciously up and down his chest while her tail slipped out from under the sari and began to explore his most sensitive of regions.
#WHAT the...?!!!#
Hank was stunned. He just could not believe that this was happening to him. Women threw themselves at Remy and Logan ALL the time - but never at him. But fantasy was one thing, and reality was entirely another. The logical part of his mind sided with the gentleman he had always been, telling him that this behavior was wholly inappropriate and he had to put a stop to it at once. That thought was followed immediately by a sudden, nearly-overpowering urge to take her in his arms and whisk her away to a more private spot, but he pulled his arms to his sides and locked them in place. Yes, he SHOULD stop this, - in theory, at least. Now if only his body would just cooperate.
"Y-e-es, I LOVE the new look. You've grown so much."
He temporarily lost track of reality as her tail rubbed against him, stroking him up and down, up and down...
"Mmmmm...y-e-es, you've grown," she purred, and a wicked little smile spread on her face as she slipped a hand down his torso and between his legs.
#Oh my stars and....!!!#
Hank's eyes widened, straining in their sockets as his breathing quickened and his mind fought to regain control over his completely catatonic body.
A moment passed, then her wicked expression suddenly dissolved into a mixture of surprise and confusion.
"Wait a minute," she said, frowning. All sultriness had disappeared from her voice.
Then she unabashedly slipped a hand into his belt, pulled open his pants, looked down, and exclaimed, "WHAT have you been feeding this thing?!"
If he had been shocked before, it was nothing compared to the utter mortification that he was experiencing at that very moment.
She looked up and stared him right in the eye. With a very serious expression on her face, she stated quite firmly, "You are NUTS if you think I'm going to take THAT."
A teeny, tiny, barely audible little voice in the back of Hank's mind squeaked, "But I DIDN'T ask you to take ANYthing!!!"
It was at that particular moment that Storm wandered in. "By the goddess! Tyger! You're ba......!" Her mocha cheeks flushed with embarassment. "Er...busy. I'll come back later..."
Storm's intrusion snapped Hank out of his shock. He turned to her retreating form.
"Ororo?! ORORO!!! For goodness sake, DON'T leave me like THIS!! You KNOW this crazy woman?!!" he exclaimed.
He didn't quite hear the roar. Rather, he felt it: a coursing primitive vibration digging deep into his brain, pressing the ancient primal button labelled 'FEAR'. The instictive terror surged through him, paralyzing his thoughts as his mind tried to wrestle back control.
By sheer will alone, he turned his head to face Tyger. All he saw was an approaching orange fist...then darkness.
Ororo brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh, my...," she murmured as Hank's limp, unconscious form landed heavily on the floor with a loud thud, followed by the growling of one VERY pissed-off cat.
Jean's voice entered Tyger's head. *Welcome back,* she chuckled.
* * *
ILLUSTRATIONS: Drawings of Tyger and Hank can be found under the 'Tail of Two Beasts' and 'Vendetta' headings in the art section of my website at http://www.geocities.com/bigblueandfurry. Additional drawings of Hank can also be found under some of the other sections. Check them out if you like! (Ah, blatant self-promotion! Gotta luv it!)
CONTINUITY: Continuity? *shifty eyes* What continuity? Okay, this is more of an AU. Pretend the whole Diary Quest thing has been completed and done with (yes, HANK is in his FELINE FORM here), and just assume that Cassandra Nova never happened, alright? Also, the scene with the phone message from Trish Tilby was cough*borrowed*cough* from New X-Men #117, and greatly expanded. And the quote about shrubbery is from New X-Men #125.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hank McCoy (a fact which my husband is probably very greatful for *grin*), or any of the X-Men. They all belong to Marvel. And dammit, if they're not going to give Hank a girlfriend, I will!!! Which leads me to the next point: Tyger is my own original character. She is not meant to resemble any other Tygers, Tigers, Tigras, etc. that are out there. She is unique and if you want to borrow her for anything, please ask me first (she doesn't get out much so she'll probably be willing to go along for the ride).
WARNING: This story is rated R for adult situations and future violence.
* * - represents telepathy
# # - represents thoughts
VENDETTA
CHAPTER 1: Homecoming
Henry McCoy was bustling about his laboratory deep inside the Xavier mansion, preparing himself for his date with Trish that night. He smoothed the miniscule wrinkles out of his black tuxedo jacket for the umpteenth time as he went over the checklist again and again in his head: #flowers, red carnations - her favorite; chocolates, cherries of course; limousine ready...#
Trish Tilby, TV news anchorwoman and long-time on again/off again girlfriend of one Henry P. McCoy. The biggest row and most bitter separation that they had experienced had occurred almost nine years ago, when she had let it be known over national television that the Legacy Virus was no longer exclusive to mutants, but was spreading to humans as well. Hank had long sinced cured that plague, but at the expense of a long-time teammate and friend, Piotre. Hank remembered having exploded at Trish after her broadcast, about how in the world could she possibly justify condemning all of mutantkind for a mere boost in her career status as a news reporter.
They had remained separated for a good two years after that, neither wanting to admit to the other that they were wrong, and they were both far too stubborn and hard-headed to apologize. Much of those two years were a blur to Hank; for some reason, he couldn't remember much of anything that had happened during that time. But they had eventually gotten back together again, Hank having finally resolved to be the first to apologize.
Hank chuckled to himself as he absentmindedly marvelled at how he could easily remember such things as the exact dates when he and Trish broke up and when they got back together again, but could not remember where the heck he had set his glasses down just a few minutes earlier.
He picked up a hand-mirror and readjusted his bowtie. It had taken him a good twenty minutes to tie it, given that he still hadn't quite mastered fine-motor skills with his hand-paws. Trish, in fact, usually did such things for him. But he was bound and determined to do it himself because he wanted to look perfect. He wanted everything to be perfect for this perfect evening.
Trish had been there for him before the first time he metamorphosed into a bestial form, and she had still been there for him afterward, despite the blue fur and fangs. He had since undergone a second mutation into a much larger, feline form; and she was still with him even now.
He flashed a dazzling smile at the handsome figure who looked back at him in the mirror, and smoothed his slick-backed hair.
"Well hello, Trish. Rrrooooowwwwrr!" he said playfully, pretending that Trish was there in the room with him.
"Are you ready for a balloon ride across upstate New York, with champagne and..."
He continued to rhyme off his plans for that night, picturing a radiant Trish smiling at him with delight at such a perfect evening.
Trish smiling radiantly when he presented her with an entire room filled with her favorite flowers for Valentine's. Trish laughing merrily when he played Chopin by moonlight and she danced naked and fell in the shrubbery. Such wonderful memories he had of them together.
He checked his watch. He was due to leave in ten minutes. The limousine was already waiting outside.
Just then, the phone rang. Hank paused long enough to acknowledge it, but decided to just let the answering machine take the call as he was extremely busy.
[Hi Hank.]
Hank's ears perked. That was Trish's voice! He hurried over to the phone and was about to pick up the receiver when he heard her say,
[I'm sorry I'm being such a coward about this, Hank. But I'm calling from Washington...]
He paused, quite confused. Washington? What was she doing in Washington?
[And...it's not YOU. It's ME.]
Hank's mind suddenly went blank, almost as if attempting to shut itself down and avoid the hurt it knew was inevitable.
[You're still the same lovely Hank inside, even since you changed so much. But...I know you can't help your eyes, but you look at me like I'm prey sometimes and...and the Enquirer ran a story about us. The word "bestiality" was used three times.]
His arm slowly lowered down to his side, causing the mirror to dangle limply as Hank collapsed upon himself.
[I couldn't do anything to hurt you, dear, lovely Hank. But this could ruin my career as a broadcaster.]
His grip on the mirror's handle tightened.
[Oh, God. I didn't mean it like that. Oh, Hank...I'm making such a mess of this. I'm so sorry.]
[BEEP]
There was a moment or two of dead silence before a bestial wail of anger and hurt erupted from Hank's throat and reverberated off the solid metal walls of the lab. This was punctuated by the sound of shattering glass as he smashed the hand-mirror to pieces against the desk.
He then sank down onto a chair - one specially designed for his unique body size and shape - and stared blankly at the walls for a good, long while.
#What a perfect evening,# he the thought to himself morbidly. #Just perfect.#
* * *
A week passed, and Hank was still in his lab, working on little projects and things that he had come up with to keep his mind busy. Bits and pieces of said projects were scattered over every surface of his normally festidiously tidy tables and desks. And the tuxedo he had worn the week before was still visible, albeit in a crumpled heap in a dark corner of the lab as if it had been kicked there and simply discarded. He couldn't be bothered to pick up and put away an item he'd never need or use ever again. Hank was currently wearing his black leather X-Man uniform, complete with the leather jacket with rolled-up sleeves. He had cleaned up the broken mirror, however. Glass shards in one's footpads were rather unpleasant things to say the least.
Hank's stomach suddenly growled, long and loudly. He checked his watch. Apparently his stomach was protesting, trying to remind him that dinner was supposed to have happened over an hour and a half ago. He sighed. He didn't feel much like eating, but his massive bulk required a certain amount of calories every day just to sustain it.
Hank pushed his chair away from the table and heaved himself out of it. He yawned and gave his stiff muscles a good stretch, then headed for the elevator.
As he exited the elevator at ground level and headed down the hall, Jean's voice suddenly entered his head.
*Hank.*
He paused.
*Yes, Jean?*
*Door.*
*Door?*
*Get it.*
*But there is nobody...*
Ding dong.
He sighed. *I hate it when you do that.*
The image of a grinning Cheshire cat invaded his thoughts as he turned and re-directed his course to the front door of the mansion.
A massive blue hand-paw engulfed the knob as Hank opened the door, as had been requested. He looked out, then right, then left. No one. Then he heard a small sound, looked down, and was startled to see a little blue cat person looking up at him. They stared at each other for a few long moments before an expression of understanding blossomed on the young boy's furry face.
"You know, this explains a lot," he stated with an Indian-sounding accent.
Hank raised his eyebrows. Just WHO was this little person and WHAT in heaven's name was he talking about?
The little boy then leaned to the side, straining to look around the hulking figure for his first glimpse of the interior of the Xavier Mansion.
"Ooooooh," he commented as a look of wonder crossed his face. "See you later....dad?" he uttered shyly before zipping past the huge mutant and disappearing into the house.
Hank quickly turned and followed the boy's progression as he zoomed up the stairs and disappeared rapidly from view.
Blink...blink blink...blinkity blink blink. A very small voice in the back of Hank's mind fearfully repeated that word: 'Dad?'!
His mind started racing, collecting stray thoughts and memories, searching desperately for any remote possibility of his actually siring a child within the last ten years, and all the while repeatedly telling himself that it was impossible, that this was not happening, that it must be some sort of huge misunderstanding.
Meanwhile, what he wasn't noticing were a pair of emerald eyes, rendered wide with astonishment, sweeping up and down his frame. Those eyes belonged to an orange-furred, black-striped mutant named Tyger.
"Is that really HIM?" she asked herself in disbelief.
It had been seven years. Seven long, lonely years since she had last seen him. Tyger sniffed the air. His scent was a little different, but the essence of what she remembered to be Hank was there. And of course, just how many blue, furry people could there possibly be in the mansion?
Tyger had thought about their reunion from every conceivable angle. It was the huntress in her who had taught her to prepare, to expect the unexpected and plan every possible route of escape. By the time she had stepped out of the taxi and onto the mansion grounds, Tyger was ready to deal with the situation and whatever path it took. But nothing could have prepared her for this. He was not supposed to have changed. At all. She couldn't believe how completely different he now looked. It was sparking feelings in her that she did not want to feel. Tyger hesitantly took a step forward.
A flicker of movement jarred Hank from his panicked thoughts as a figure, silouetted in the light of the setting sun, started walking toward him.
Tyger hesitated. Would he be happy to see her? Or would he be angry with her for coming back? As she felt the panic and uncertainty surge within her, she grabbed hold of those emotions and forced herself to become calm and collected once again. She had not spent the last seven years of her life honing her empathic skills to just suddenly crumple into a heap of nerves and tears at her first sight of HIM. No tears. Not now. She had grown too strong for that.
Hank was still trying to put an identity to the silouhette standing before him. A flicker of a memory tickled McCoy's brain, but it was quickly replaced by something else. "Tigra? Is that you?" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Her ears perked at the sound of his voice. Of course, Hank had been thinking about Tigra of the Avengers, a group of Superheroes that he had been a member of in the past. It could have been her own desire to hear it, or the lisp Hank had as a result of his newest mutation, but Tyger thought he had whispered her name. HER name. After so long a time, he knew her instantly. Her heart lept.
Tyger unconsciously started to sway her hips sexily as she walked, purposely taking slow steps to allow herself plenty of time to peruse the massive figure standing in the doorway. It had been a long time since she'd seen him, and despite all the hurt and anger towards him that she had carried with her over the years, old feelings she thought she had killed and buried long ago were climbing back up to the surface. And besides, she liked what she saw. A lot.
She bit back a growl of frustration as a need, a hunger she had fought to ignore for the past seven years crept over her. Her mind lectured her that this was a man who had caused her pain, who had hurt her more than anyone she had ever known. But her heart knew something different, and her body had its own memories.
Hank watched with trademark curiousity as the shadows melted away to reveal a rather stunning figure indeed. Her face was a mixture of human and tiger features, with unfathomable green pools for eyes and red-orange hair pulled back into a long braid which was draped elegantly over one shoulder.
His eyes followed the braid down to her ample chest, where they were helplessly drawn down to the curvaceous hips that swayed from side to side as she approached him. The entire 'package' was wrapped in a beautiful blue and gold coloured Indian sari complete with gold bracelets and satin slippers.
But all this was shrouded in yet another item that he could not see, but his nose told him it was there. Her heavy, musky scent wafted across his nostrils like a woman's sweet perfume, and the animal that he was becoming stirred inside him. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before, and he gritted his teeth and fought against the surge of hormones, forcing his mind to redirect its thought processes to more benign ones. It was not an easy task.
It seemed to Hank that his body and mind remembered the scent, but he could not connect it to any conscious memory. The woman looked like Tigra. No, close but...a sister, perhaps? One that Tigra had never mentioned? And if so, what was she doing here?
"Welcome to the Xavier Institute of Higher Learning, my dear. Is there something that I could perhaps help you with?" he managed to say in a cordial voice. What he really wanted deep down was to just forget all words and find out what her fur felt like against his own.
#Get yourself under control RIGHT THIS INSTANT, Dr. McCoy!# he seethed to himself. #Looking like an animal is no justification for acting like one!#
Tyger paused again. #That was a rather odd greeting.# She swallowed thickly, and blushed slightly when she realized she was salivating. Yes, his scent was definately getting to her. But pouncing on him on the front lawn would be rather undignified.
"It's been a long time," she commented, sounding more husky than she would have liked. Now within an armslength of him, Tyger could feel his own desires pulsating off him and hitting her like the waves of an ocean against a rocky shore. Act now, talk later sounded like a very good plan to her at that moment.
"It has?" he asked, becoming even more confused.
"And you've changed," she added, her voice becoming low and sultry.
Hank was unsure of how to respond that that remark. "Ye-e-s, that I have," he replied.
She seemed to think she knew who he was, even though he hadn't a clue about her identity. But he would certainly remember having met her, if he had in fact did, wouldn't he? After all, how many feline mutants had he come across in his lifetime? As far as he knew, he was the only one in existence. Until now.
"And I LIKE the new look," she crooned, now close enough to run her hands along his forearms, stroking the long, soft fur and gently squeezing the taut muscle underneath.
A soft hiss escaped him as she did this. Hank berated himself for letting that slip and once again ordered himself to calm down. She was obviously attracted to him, and that fact alone sent his ego skyrocketing through the ceiling. But they should, at the very least, be introduced to each other first.....shouldn't they? Yet...a wicked little voice called out from the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, telling him that after the downright, utterly depressing week he had endured, a good screw would certainly make him feel much, much better. He tried to shake that thought off, but her scent was filling his mind like a drug, trying to pull aside all the carefully constructed barriers of civilization to leave only the beast roaring.
"My dear," he began, trying to get a few words out before his mind folded completely, "I...I do not believe we've been properly..."
Tyger had interpreted his soft hiss as an invitation, and before his mind had a chance to register what was happening, her body was against his, sliding deliciously up and down his chest while her tail slipped out from under the sari and began to explore his most sensitive of regions.
#WHAT the...?!!!#
Hank was stunned. He just could not believe that this was happening to him. Women threw themselves at Remy and Logan ALL the time - but never at him. But fantasy was one thing, and reality was entirely another. The logical part of his mind sided with the gentleman he had always been, telling him that this behavior was wholly inappropriate and he had to put a stop to it at once. That thought was followed immediately by a sudden, nearly-overpowering urge to take her in his arms and whisk her away to a more private spot, but he pulled his arms to his sides and locked them in place. Yes, he SHOULD stop this, - in theory, at least. Now if only his body would just cooperate.
"Y-e-es, I LOVE the new look. You've grown so much."
He temporarily lost track of reality as her tail rubbed against him, stroking him up and down, up and down...
"Mmmmm...y-e-es, you've grown," she purred, and a wicked little smile spread on her face as she slipped a hand down his torso and between his legs.
#Oh my stars and....!!!#
Hank's eyes widened, straining in their sockets as his breathing quickened and his mind fought to regain control over his completely catatonic body.
A moment passed, then her wicked expression suddenly dissolved into a mixture of surprise and confusion.
"Wait a minute," she said, frowning. All sultriness had disappeared from her voice.
Then she unabashedly slipped a hand into his belt, pulled open his pants, looked down, and exclaimed, "WHAT have you been feeding this thing?!"
If he had been shocked before, it was nothing compared to the utter mortification that he was experiencing at that very moment.
She looked up and stared him right in the eye. With a very serious expression on her face, she stated quite firmly, "You are NUTS if you think I'm going to take THAT."
A teeny, tiny, barely audible little voice in the back of Hank's mind squeaked, "But I DIDN'T ask you to take ANYthing!!!"
It was at that particular moment that Storm wandered in. "By the goddess! Tyger! You're ba......!" Her mocha cheeks flushed with embarassment. "Er...busy. I'll come back later..."
Storm's intrusion snapped Hank out of his shock. He turned to her retreating form.
"Ororo?! ORORO!!! For goodness sake, DON'T leave me like THIS!! You KNOW this crazy woman?!!" he exclaimed.
He didn't quite hear the roar. Rather, he felt it: a coursing primitive vibration digging deep into his brain, pressing the ancient primal button labelled 'FEAR'. The instictive terror surged through him, paralyzing his thoughts as his mind tried to wrestle back control.
By sheer will alone, he turned his head to face Tyger. All he saw was an approaching orange fist...then darkness.
Ororo brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh, my...," she murmured as Hank's limp, unconscious form landed heavily on the floor with a loud thud, followed by the growling of one VERY pissed-off cat.
Jean's voice entered Tyger's head. *Welcome back,* she chuckled.
* * *
ILLUSTRATIONS: Drawings of Tyger and Hank can be found under the 'Tail of Two Beasts' and 'Vendetta' headings in the art section of my website at http://www.geocities.com/bigblueandfurry. Additional drawings of Hank can also be found under some of the other sections. Check them out if you like! (Ah, blatant self-promotion! Gotta luv it!)