Author's note: Okay, the rest of this story is like G to PG-13, but I'll warn you right now, this chapter is 'R'! It has a graphic (not too graphic though, I've read worse) scene of consenting adults doing the dirty dirty. Now, if you choose to read this, don't say I didn't warn you! P.S.- if you want to review and tell me how gross it was to read, just think about how hard it was to write, ok? You have to take a long look in the mirror after that, my friend! Just pretend like you're watching the movie...what's so gross about a 65-year-old gay Shakespearian actor and a painted blue supermodel going at it? Tymberwolf, this one's for you! ;)
Eric Magnus Lehnsherr sat alone in his office, staring at a small picture. The photo was old, as was evidenced by the peeling edges and faded image. It was the only photograph he was able to recover after he was free of the Nazis. The only picture he had of his family. His icy blue gaze carefully took in every detail captured in the photo.
His father. He had been an intelligent man, a kind man. The type of man that most young boys look up to, hoping they can be that great when they reach adulthood. An applied scholar, he had worked in a university as a teacher to provide for his family. Eric's features were reminiscent of his father's; the widow's peak of thick dark hair, the angular cheekbones, the large build of their bodies. Eric's fingertips lightly brushed the image, wondering if his father were alive this very moment, would he be proud of his son?
Eric's mother, such a lovely woman. She had loved to play the violin and piano. The home they shared was filled with music and happiness. From what Eric could remember, she was a good wife and mother. Dinner was always a hearty meal, with a tasty dessert to follow. Their home was always clean, but not so tidy that it didn't seem comfortable. Eric had inherited her blue eyes; his father's were dark brown. His mother would often tell him that he made the sky jealous, for his gaze was bluer than the heavens above.
Then, that day of horrors that was the first in a line of so many. The Nazis broke into their home, hustling he and his parents out into the street, along with their neighbors.
A long train ride, nearly three days.
Then, they were separated.
It was bitter cold, freezing rain pouring down on them.
Eric had fought to get back to his parents, but the guards were too strong.
He had nearly tore down that gate...he was so close.
A guard had hit him, and his parents were dragged away.
That was the last time he had ever seen them.
His mind was so occupied with nostalgia that he hadn't noticed Mystique enter his chamber. Eric did not acknowledge her presence at all; he was too focused on the small photograph he held in his hands.
Eric did not cry on this day, the anniversary of his parents' and his separation. That's what the Nazis wanted. They had wanted him to cry, so they could take more pleasure in beating him, in starving him. It would have meant that the Nazis had won if he began to sob like the little boy they had killed so long ago with their cruelty.
Mystique had become concerned. He had not come out of his chamber all day, not to greet her in the morning or to converse with her during the afternoon. She felt a slight tremor of trepidation before entering; he may not have wanted her to interrupt, but she would risk it.
The door was unlocked, and she slowly opened it. After a few seconds, she had poked her head inside, and saw Eric behind the desk in the cavernous office space. He held something in his hands, and his eyes were staring off into space. The luster and vibrancy of his presence was vanished.
Mystique couldn't read the expression on his face, it was completely alien. She had seen him angry, surprised, in awe...what was the emotion he was displaying?
Then it came to her: he looked as if he was in mourning. Mystique's mind scrambled with questions. What could have happened?
Quickly, she went to him. Kneeling by his side, she took his hand in both of hers. He hadn't even realized that she was there, and he looked down on her with surprise.
She saw past the initial startled-ness, and saw how hurt and vulnerable he was at this moment. "Eric," she whispered, "What's happened?"
He did not answer her with words, but she could read his body language. His shoulders had stiffened, and he avoided her eyes. Glancing at his picture, she understood. She could safely assume that his past had come back to haunt him again. He had rarely talked to her about it, but sometimes she heard him when he was asleep. Mumbling in German and calling out for someone named 'Anya' or 'Magda', loud enough to be heard through the walls.
His poor soul, what had they done to him, all those years ago?
As if he could sense her insights and conclusion, he stood abruptly, breaking their mental and physical contact. He was walking away, but she called out to him.
"Eric, please, come back. Talk to me."
The small plea had the power to make him stop and turn to face her. More than anything, she wanted to comfort him, make him forget his horrible past; though such a thing was impossible.
However, perhaps she could make him forget just for a few precious moments; she could remind him that he was not alone in this world, he had her.
She walked the few steps toward him, and looped her arms under his in a gentle hug. Eric's posture stiffened at the close contact; he had been without such affection for so long, he had almost forgotten how to return it.
However, he did not want her to think that her kindness was unappreciated. After a moment's hesitation, he stiffly mimicked her movement, awkwardly clasping his arms around her waist, returning the embrace.
Mystique could feel his muscles relax under her hands. She hugged him a little bit closer, closing the gap between them; she was pleased when he rested his chin on the crown of her head, yielding to her intimate affections. He could feel her body under his hands, warm and welcoming; as had been happening a lot lately, his mind began to wander...
She shifted slightly in his arms, and he immediately released her, feeling horribly foolish for allowing himself to be so caught up in the moment.
'It was just a hug after all, what did it mean to her? Nothing!' he mentally abused himself.
Ashamed of the weakness he had displayed earlier, and the fleeting thoughts that had run through his mind just now, he stared at the floor like a schoolboy that had been called up to the black board.
Mystique stood back to watch him for only a second before touching him once again. Slowly, she reached up to him, her hand caressing his face. She brought his gaze to hers, and she kissed him.
It was a tender kiss. One meant more for comfort than seduction. Her lips had only just brushed his, and she was shocked once she felt him respond to her, hungrily.
If anything, she would have expected no reaction at all. His lips would remain flaccid under hers, accepting the kiss without return, and then they would never speak of it again, they would go on as if it had never happened.
However, when the first kiss ended, Eric claimed her mouth more passionately than she would have ever imagined.
He was full of surprises.
It was a side of him that she had never known. To her he had been a friend, a confidant, a savior and a kindred spirit.
But never a lover.
Abruptly, he broke the kiss and held her at arm's length. "I shouldn't have, I'm sorry..." he panted.
Mystique grasped his wrists and made him release her shoulders. "Don't be...I'm not." she told him, also breathing heavy. She came forward again, cutting off his next statement with a kiss. Eric responded to her eagerly, it had been so long since he'd gotten close to anyone.
Mystique started forward when she felt the damp touch of his tongue and the soft suction of his lips as he pressed a kiss to the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Eric's strong, slender hands had snaked down to grasp her hips, bringing her dangerously close. Mystique glanced down a moment, startled by the stark contrast of his pale hand resting against the deep indigo of her skin.
There was not a sliver of light between them now. Mystique felt that he was killing her, reducing her to nothing more than a mindless, reactive collection of nerves, sensation and anticipation. Her ability to think was quickly evaporating by the touch of his hands on her body and the whisper of his voice in her ears.
Again, he went against his desire for her, "Mystique, please, we must stop." He begged, trying to remain a gentleman. He didn't want her to think of him as base, but his lust was nearly overwhelming!
"Why? What's wrong?" she asked, hoping to keep the pain from her voice. Was it her? Surely it was, what man in his right man would want such a hideous creature like her?
Eric still held her close, "Is this what you truly want?" he asked, hoping for a positive answer. True, he wanted her desperately; but it was more than that, he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.
He felt that they were acting too rash; he didn't want this to be something that she regretted later on. He knew how to please a woman, but he never entered into relationships lightly. He would make no more advances until she allowed him.
"Yes," Mystique declared. "What about you? Are you sure?"
Eric brought her close, whispering, "I've dreamt of this for months."
Mystique brought her lips to his, silently promising everything he had in mind.
Almost by instinct, they had made it into his bedroom. Eric laid her down on the bed, and then just stared at her.
Mystique looked back at him, suddenly wondering if he had changed his mind. Perhaps feeling her scales beneath his hands had disgusted him and he was thinking of a way to articulate his rejection of her.
'What was I thinking? I knew I was an idiot for even thinking that he could ever...' As if Eric could hear what she was thinking, he put her fears to rest with a single sentence.
"You are beautiful." He whispered, his deep voice becoming husky with desire.
Mystique was floored. No one, not even her own mother, had ever called her beautiful. To hear the compliment roll off his tongue, tinged with his distinct accent, was something she would always remember.
Teasingly, he ran his hand up her leg; stroking her inner thigh.
He bent down to kiss her, and covered her body with his own. He was warm and powerful; his larger body hovered over her as he settled his weight on his arms. They shared a long look of unspoken love and Eric moved to cover her body with his own; his hips hovered over hers briefly before he settled harder onto her. Eric lifted the back of Mystique's head up to his for an avaricious, demanding kiss.
Mystique arched her back against the mattress as she kissed him again. She ran her hands through his soft, silver hair. Suddenly, a last dying thought jumped up to the surface of her drowning mind and she closed her legs against his body. Eric's brow rose in confusion.
"Wait, I don't have any protection…" she panted sorrowfully. Magneto's harsh features relaxed into a faint expression of disappointment and reassurance. "You don't have to worry, Mystique, I've taken the preventative measures years ago."
Mystique's eyes widened at his admission but didn't say anything. "Mystique," he said, his voice a rich, velvet baritone that commanded her. She acquiesced instantly, relaxing around him as he settled onto her and not breaking eye contact as he began the slow invasion of her body.
Eric was a man who liked to take time with everything he did; from defeating his opponents to seducing his women. His skills were not wasted.
The next morning, Eric was the first to rouse. After a night of passion, the mind is slow to regain its usual sharpness, and Eric was no exception. At first, he was startled to find a companion in his bed. Then, the past night's memories came flooding back. With self-indulgent, masculine pride, he was pleased with himself to find Mystique sleeping so soundly; she had good reason to be exhausted.
He smiled, thinking of the night before.
He watched her sleep. She was beautiful.
He showered, shaved, and went to the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee for himself, and waited for Mystique to join him. Apparently, she had gotten up minutes after he had, and came to him as he had expected.
She smiled at him, as he did to her. As it was almost from the beginning of their relationship, there was no need for words.