Anything for You

There's only you and everyday I need more
If you want me
Come and find me
I'll do anything you say just tell me.

Rogue sat in the chair in the study, scowling as she watched Pyro and Gambit on the couch. They were talking very quietly, and not really doing anything annoying, but Gambit had his arm around Pyro and was smiling down at him affectionately and for some reason that was grating on her already-frayed nerves.

"Y'all should get a room," she drawled, glaring at them.

"Something the matter, cherie?" Gambit asked her lazily, his fingers twining in Pyro's hair. Pyro made a happy sort of sigh, which made Rogue want to hit him.

"Nothin'," she groused, turning her attention back to the television. They were watching some horrible movie with Keanu Reeves, who was a lawyer for the devil. "This movie sucks." It did, too. The only redeeming factor was that Al Pacino was very hot as the devil.

Other than that, Rogue thought it was very stupid.

"You are such a ray of sunshine," Pyro said, smirking at her. "Is it 'cause Magneto's not here?"

Rogue didn't even dignify that with a response, focusing instead on the movie, which was showing a very intense sex scene at the moment. She flushed red, but not because she was embarrassed. No, she was just…

Frustrated.

Magneto and Mystique had been gone for a little over two weeks; Mystique on an intelligence gathering mission somewhere in Albania. Magneto had been with her for a while, but then he'd headed to Romania to "gather supplies."

She wasn't sure what that meant, but she probably didn't want to know. They'd find out soon enough.

All she did know was that she had lost nearly sixty dollars playing cards with Pyro against Gambit and Mesmero, had a few too many beers and had ended up singing "Devil Went to Down to Georgia" very loudly, and that without training with Mystique to get up for, she stayed up far too late reading Mesmero's horror novels.

Not to mention, while it was nice to sleep in tank tops and without gloves, she was getting tired of sleeping alone.

Mesmero came to the door, wearing the long monk-like robe he was so fond of. "I believe someone has returned."

"You psychic now, mon ami?" Gambit asked, sounding skeptical.

"No," Mesmero said blandly. He bowed, hands clasped before him. Sometimes Rogue thought his sense of humor completely escaped both Pyro and Gambit. It was probably far too subtle for them. "I saw the boat out of my window."

Pyro laughed. "Good one," he said appreciatively, then winced as Gambit hit him upside the head. "Ow."

Rogue stood up, twining her hands together somewhat nervously. The boat. That would be Magneto, then. Mystique had taken the helicopter.

They heard the click-clack of boots on the stone floor, and a few moments later Magneto appeared in the rec room. "You're all still here, I see. Has Mystique returned?"

Mesmero stepped forward, still looking very serene. "I spoke with her earlier. She said she would be back in a week. She has made a few contacts in Albania of which she is hopeful will result in an alliance with the Brotherhood. She said she would speak with you when you returned. I believe she intends to call again tomorrow."

That was the longest speech Rogue had ever heard Mesmero make.

Magneto nodded. "Very well. Nothing has happened in my absence which I need to know about?" He still wasn't looking at her. Rogue remained silent, because she didn't have anything to tell him.

He really didn't need to hear about her unfortunate attempt at fixing pancakes. She'd pretty much threatened Pyro with death if he mentioned that.

"Nothing. Things were pretty quiet," Gambit said, shrugging. He stood up at looked down at Pyro, who rose as well.

"Yeah. The usual." Pyro stretched. "No one came by, we didn't leave."

Magneto nodded. "There's cargo in the boat. We'll have to store it tomorrow." With that, he turned on his heel and walked towards the door. "Rogue," he said, without looking at her.

"Yes, sir?" she said, careful to remain respectful. He turned to her when he reached the door, his expression clearly saying follow me.

She tried to pretend that she didn't hear Pyro's obnoxiously low whistle as she complied, following Magneto from the room, beset by a sudden nervous tension she could not explain.

She was a few steps behind him as she they headed upstairs, her heart hammering in her chest. He'd barely even looked at her—was something matter? Was she in trouble? Her nervousness increasing, she found herself wringing her hands again as she slipped into the bedroom.

He used his power to slam the door shut behind her. Rogue took a deep breath. "Is something the—"

She never got the chance to finish speaking. He moved towards her quickly, and suddenly she was slammed very hard against the metal door as he lifted her, his mouth on hers.

Rogue wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him back, dizzy with the rush that came as her power surged. "Erik," she gasped, hands grasping his shoulder as he pulled away just as she felt the pull.

"What?" he muttered, leaning her back against the wall, hands pulling at her shirt. He looked up her and she saw his face was flushed, his eyes bright with desire. She was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt; he had it up and over her head, tossed to the floor before she could breathe.

His apparent unconcern for her deadly skin was both terrifying and erotic. It was a good thing he had her pressed against the wall, or she might collapse. Her fingers curled into his shirt as he leaned down, biting her through the material of her bra.

"Careful," she gasped out, her legs tightening around him instinctively as he moved backwards, pulling her away from the wall and pushing at her intently. She dropped her arms from his shoulders and braced herself against the door with her palms; if she didn't have strong abdominal muscles and some fairly strong thighs, she'd not have been able to hold the position. As it was, it wasn't very comfortable, but it made it so that her body was on display for him from the waist up. She felt the metal hooks on her bra undo themselves and the fabric loosened. The only way to remove it, though, was to drop her arms.

He looked down at her challengingly. Deftly, Rogue tightened her stomach muscles and half-sat up, removing the bra, before grasping at his shoulders again with a faintly triumphant look at him. Mystique's training had made her limber, and it was nice to know that had more than one benefit.

His hand tightened in her hair and he yanked her head back, exposing her neck. He bit her, hard, just above her collarbone. She moaned loudly, pushing her hips against him, and he hissed and bit her harder.

There was another rush as her power flared, and there was something so wonderful about it, the pleasure-pain of the pull. Rogue often wondered if she preferred slightly painful touches in intimate situations because her power, when she used it, always came with a that slow-burn of hurt.

She wasn't touching the door anymore, but she could feel it behind her, it and every other metal thing in the room, as his power thrummed through her veins. The urge to use it, to make something twist and obey was immediate and strong, and when he finally pulled away from her they were both gasping.

He walked quickly over to the bed and deposited her there, staring down at her as he fought to regain his equilibrium. She looked up at him, never taking her eyes from his as she reached down and unfastened her jeans, pushing them off her hips along with her panties.

"My gloves, Marie."

At the command she nearly moaned aloud, scrambling up to open the drawer of the bedside table where he kept his pair of black leather gloves. She held them out to him and lay back down submissively as he pulled them on, her heart racing. The sight of him doing that never failed to drive her crazy.

Rogue could still feel his mind in hers, and she let his desire wash over her, joining with her own until she was half-mad with want. Slowly, she raised her arms up, crossing her hands at the wrist above her head, waiting for him. She expected him to join her on the bed, but he didn't. Once his hands were gloved, he walked around to the bedside table and opened the drawer. She was fairly sure she knew what he was looking for.

The thought of him driving himself into her, hard and fast and urgent, made her squirm on the bed. She wanted him, now. The urgency was partly her, partly him, and it was making her crazy. She was splayed out sideways on the bed, legs parted somewhat wantonly, body flushed and eager. She bit back a hurry, Erik, and just waited for him to do what he wanted, resisting the urge to touch herself and slake her desire just a little.

He surprised her by grabbing her ankles and pulling her legs to wrap around his waist. He was tall enough that in doing so, he made her back arch up off the bed, her neck exposed as her head tilted back. "Up," he ordered her sharply.

She moved her hands back to her sides and pushed herself up so she could look at him. "I—you have to help me," she said huskily. Her ankles locked on his back, and she crossed her arms at the wrist again and held them out to him. He took both her wrists in one hand and pulled her up, hard.

Rogue shifted so that she was pressed against him, her arms wrapped around his neck though careful to keep away from exposed skin. She was very aware of the scratch of his clothing against her overheated, naked body. He began walking her back towards the wall again, his expression intent. When she felt the cold metal against her back, she felt her heart start to race and her breath catch in her throat.

He smiled briefly before reaching down and sliding his gloved hand between her legs. She was already wet, and his two fingers slid inside of her with little resistance. Even so, it hurt just a little but she pushed against his hand, excited. The metal behind her rubbed against her skin, warming beneath her, but still slick and smooth. The sensation, especially since she still had the lingering trace of his powers, was exquisite.

He lowered his mouth to press against her ear, shielded from her skin by her hair. "Did you miss me?" he murmured, his thumb pressing hard on her clit in slow, agonizing circles.

"Y-yes," she gasped, rubbing herself shamelessly against his fingers, her own digging into his shoulders. She could feel the bite mark he'd left on her neck start to throb. She'd have a mark in the morning, likely a perfect imprint of his teeth in her skin.

"Did you?" He gave a low laugh and pressed very hard on her clit; Rogue gave a little scream at that and without thinking, leaned forward and bit him through the material of his shirt. The cotton wasn't the taste she wanted, but the feel of his skin beneath her teeth calmed her a bit.

She didn't usually have a desire to bite. It must be the part of his mind that was still in hers, which was interesting. There were things he liked that he must hold back from doing in an attempt not to shock her—she wished that he wouldn't.

"Biting me?" His free hand wrapped in her hair and pulled her head back, so hard it made her eyes water. "That's very bad," he said sternly. "You won't do it again, will you?"

Rogue didn't really think he meant that, but she understood his fierce need to dominate her so she played along, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "No…sir," she agreed, hesitantly adding the title to see if he would like it, wondering if that would be too much.

Rogue called him sir when they were training, or when they were on a mission, although it was always in front of others; rarely did she use the term in private, and she never did in the bedroom. This was a first, though to be honest she'd thought about doing it before, but never could quite get up the nerve to say it.

It was obvious that he liked it from her now; his eyes flashed with something dark and narrowed as he stared at her, and almost instinctively he pushed his hips against hers, letting her feel how hard he was for her beneath the material of his trousers. His hand dropped from her hair to undo the buttons of his pants, and she heard the tear of the condom as he prepared himself to take her. She was panting in excitement, her thighs shaking, whimpering as he drew his hand from between her legs to brace against the door.

He paused to trace his fingers over her mouth. Feeling rather daring, her tongue came out and she licked one quickly, then sucked it into her mouth. He gave a sharp, indrawn breath at that, fucking her mouth with his glove-covered fingers in a slow, insistent rhythm. Both of them stared at each other, neither looking away, as his slick leather fingers slid past her lips.

"Do you want me?" he murmured, and she was breathing so fast she thought she was going to hyperventilate. It was very erotic to taste herself on the warmed-leather encasing his fingers.

She nodded, her eyes wide, wanting to rub herself against the hard press of his cock but knowing she couldn't—that would be too much skin-to-skin contact on top of what they'd done earlier—and not being able to do it was a sensual torture. A dark part of her liked it; the restraint, the danger, the look in his eyes as he watched his fingers disappearing into her mouth.

His voice when he spoke was hard, demanding. "Well? Answer me."

If possible, Rogue became even more frantic at that, because obviously he wanted to hear her deferring to him again. She swallowed before answering, and she barely recognized the husky, needy voice that escape as her own. "Y-yes sir. Please, sir."

His hands went beneath her to lift her up, and in a moment he was pushing her back into the heavy steel door as he fucked her, hard, giving her no moment to adjust to his sudden penetration. Small, breathless cries escaped her as she tightened her muscles around him and buried her face against his chest.

"Look at me," he hissed and she complied, jerking her head back so she could see his face. His hand was back in her hair again, black-gloved fingers entwined in the white. He pulled, hard. "Mine."

"Yes, sir, yours," she moaned in abandon, legs tightening around him. She was very close, but she wanted something, wanted him to force her to take her pleasure. She wanted to break for him into a thousand little pieces, and she would, if only he would just make her...

Both of his hands ended up at her hips, bruising-tight as he fucked her against the door. Her hands rose of their own accord to cross at the wrist over her head again, against the cool metal of the door, her ankles pressing into his back.

"Come for me," he ordered her roughly. Rogue gasped, tightening her muscles around his cock again and thrilling to the sound of his gasp as she did so. His eyes narrowed as he saw her slight smile, and he moved back just a bit so that she was disoriented and afraid for a moment she was going to fall. She missed the heavy weight of steel at her back, the slick rub of it against her heated skin.

Before she could figure out what he was going to do, he shoved her against the door with a great deal of strength. The slam of the metal on her back brought white-hot shards of pain to clash with the delicious pleasure of his cock dragging in and out of her, and that beautiful hurt in addition to his simultaneously-spoken command of "Now," finally shoved her over the edge.

She cried out, coming hard for him, and her entire body shook as she broke, just like she'd wanted, falling apart in a haze of pleasure. Her muscles contracted around him, and he drove himself into her one last time as he came inside of her with a low, strangled moan.

If it weren't for the danger of remaining in close contact with her completely naked, they might have stayed there indefinitely; limbs entwined, covered in sweat, panting in furious completion. Eventually, however, he moved her back so that he was no longer inside of her, but she shook her head weakly and clung to him when he made a move to pull completely away.

"Can't…can't stand," she gasped, her breathing still fast and labored. She gazed at him, feeling rather dazed.

He gave a brief nod, looking none-too-steady himself, and helped her over to the bed. They both fell back on it, side-by-side, and were silent for a moment as they recovered. Rogue gave a weak laugh.

He turned his head to look at her. He looked relaxed, pleased. "And just what are you laughing at?"

"I never would've thought you'd come home and do that," she said, smiling at him rather impishly. She rolled on her stomach, because her back hurt. "At least, not first thing."

"Is that a complaint?" he asked, his gloved fingers tracing her back lightly. She shivered, her skin still hyper-sensitive, at the tiny pricks of pain. He had slammed her back very hard; she'd probably be sore for a week or two.

"No, sir," she said with a laugh, propping herself up on her elbows. Her smile turned into a grin. "Ain't complaining about a thing."

"You don't have to do that, you know," he said gruffly.

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Let you slam me against the door? I know. But I liked it."

He smiled. "Not that. That I could tell you enjoyed, or I wouldn't have done it. No, I meant you don't have to call me sir. Not in these sorts of situations, anyway."

She'd meant her No sir earlier as more of a joking protestation rather than a formal title of address. "Oh. I know, I just…" she blushed and looked away.

"Marie, after what we just did, you can certainly look at me, can't you? It isn't as if it was the first time," he said, a touch exasperatingly. "You just what?"

"I thought maybe you'd like it," she mumbled, looking at him through the fall her hair.

He reached out and tucked the strands behind her ear. It was an oddly affectionate gesture. "I did. However you don't…whatever relationship we have outside of this room, here, we're equals," he said gruffly, and for some reason she found his attempt at reassurance touching.

She moved until she was lying on top of him, watching carefully to see if he minded. She rested her chin on her hands, folded over his chest, and looked up at him. "I know," she said softly. "I understand, Erik, I do. I guess it's because I do know that, it's why I want to let you…" embarrassed again, she looked down so that her hair covered her face again. "I like calling you sir in here." She was blushing hotly.

"Ah. I believe I understand." He rubbed her back, but the touch made her wince. He shifted her off of him. "I need a shower, and you need something for your back. I'm afraid you're going to have a fair amount of bruising."

She looked up at the tone in his voice—he sounded almost worried. "It's okay."

"You won't think that in the morning," he warned her. "Don't think I'll spare you in practice."

"Wouldn't have expected you to." Rogue yawned, exhausted, wanting nothing more than to curl up under the covers and go to sleep. Her back hurt, her thigh muscles were sore, and she'd probably have to wear high-necked sweaters to hide his bite on her neck. Satisfaction surged through her, bone-deep and intense. "I'll survive."

"Of that, I have no doubt." He watched her for a moment. "I think you would have liked Romania," he said quietly. "You'll have to come with me next time." With that, he turned and went into the bathroom, and she heard the water run a few seconds later as he started the shower.

Rogue wondered if that was Erik's way of saying he missed her while he was gone. She shook her head and forced herself to stand up, to go and find her pajamas. She'd have to wear the full ensemble—socks, cotton gloves, the works—no more sleeping in tank tops since Erik was back.

That really didn't bother her so much. She caught her reflection in the mirror, lightly touching her fingers to the mark on her neck, and smiled.