Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

A/N: So…whoop. Who's still with me here? Sorry it took so long. I've had it uploaded for about a week now but...well, I'm both forgetful and lazy. Don't hurt me!If you're reading this and haven't yet abandoned me, find enclosed – as per your expectations – mounting tension, further disturbing smut, a plea from Remy and a sectional sorting-out of emotions. Not necessarily in that order, though.

Love it or shove it.

Inappropriate Conduct

Chapter Three

By eight o'clock, she was mounting the steps of her destination.

She had one foot in the lobby of the lavish hotel when a solid hand closed over her shoulder – a silver shockwave from her fading bruises shot through her; a quick but effective reminder of her vulnerability. She turned her head to acknowledge the man behind her with darkening eyes, but neither paused as they walked, in unison, into the brightly-lit reception room. The two reached the desk – he'd already made reservations. Money and keys exchanged hands; she was steered towards the elevator by the strong hand that still had a firm hold of her marked shoulder.

By twenty-past eight, he had her effectively trapped.

She had been pushed against the wall of the hotel suite, her lips crushed under his and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. He had one hand on her thigh, holding her close to him. The other hand was pulling the pin out of her hair – she'd worn it up, knowing he would want to take it down. She kept her own two hands on his chest, somewhat distancing the two of them. Even when he threw aside her hairpin, captured the back of her neck with his now free hand and pulled her deeper into their kiss, there was still the barrier of her arms and hands between them.

He bit at her bottom lip, just harshly enough to be pleasurable. His hand tightened convulsively on her thigh. He felt like a ravenous beast – it felt as though it was so long ago since he had last touched her. His self-control was already waning. She, however, was in a similar state – the small, pale hands on his chest were gripping at his shirt; her thighs were squeezing him tightly, drawing him closer to her; her lithe body was tense in his embrace, taut like a spring. Still, her lips were undemanding – she acknowledged his control.

He raked his clenched hand over her thigh. She moaned into his mouth, pressing herself off of the wall and against him. Her love of harsh pleasure astounded him to no end – he could touch her as sensually and sweetly as he ever had touched a woman, but she would only respond to the roughest of his embraces. However, he found that this was one of the things he enjoyed most about her – perhaps this was the sadistic side of him coming through, the side that many of his old acquaintances had often warned him about? Perhaps he was merely empathic in this sense?

Rogue sighed as he relented his hold on the back of her neck. His hand now sought out the buttons of the white shirt she wore. She began to loosen his tie, pulling at the knot with inexperience. She managed to pull it away, though, but in the same amount of time Magneto had her shirt unbuttoned entirely. Both of his hands caught the material at her shoulders and roughly pulled it away from her. He helped her yank his tie away before firmly grasping her waist with both hands. She was so slight that his fingers almost met in like a belt around her small middle.

His mouth left hers; he turned his attention to the fast-fading purple blemishes on her pale skin…the marks he'd left on her. He bit her again, lighter than before, knowing that the sensitized bruises would make up for his lack of pressure. Certainly enough, she dropped her head back until it thudded against the wall he held her to.

She was getting dizzy again. She was coloring fast. Her limbs were shaking. The sweet ache of desire was curling tightly in her stomach. Higher brain processing was lost – it was all she could do to remember to breathe. Impatience and irrationality had a firm hold on her now…all she wanted was to feel him again, as they had been two nights ago…

Magneto smoothed his hands over her waist, over the comparatively coarse material of her skirt. He didn't know that – like her upswept hair – she'd worn it for him, knowing that he would appreciate the gesture of femininity. And appreciate it he did, although his lust-addled brain was drowning out the feminine connotations of the garment and merely focusing on it in the same sense that a teenage boy would. He slid his hands over her thighs, then trailed upwards, under the skirt, to her hips. The material bunched above his hands, finally gathering in a crumpled mass about her waist. He pulled away from the bruised skin of throat and gave her a level, although darkened, stare. "No undergarments," he observed aloud, though quietly. "How very wanton."

She wasn't looking at him, with her head still thrown back, but the rush of color to her cheeks indicated that she'd heard him. "Ya don't like it, suh?" she asked after a pause.

"I never said that, my dear."

One of his hands left her hips – over the sounds of their heavy breathing, Rogue could hear his zipper. An instant later and he had positioned himself at her wet core. He clutched her hips again and paused, watching her; she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, biting her swollen bottom lip in anticipation. The gesture was as much as he needed. With one, swift movement, he sheathed himself inside of her.

Rogue's head lolled forward, dropping onto his shoulder. She was quickly coming to love this part – the initial contact. The first, uncomfortable stretching – a discomfort that sharpened her senses – just before the mind-bending pleasure took over all coherent thought. She moaned quietly, screwing her eyes up. She involuntarily squeezed him with her inner muscles; a silent plea to hurry.

He needed no further encouragement. He assumed a fast, furious rhythm inside her. One hand left her hips; he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head away from his shoulder. He wanted to be able to watch her, to see every reaction she made…

Her back was pressed painfully against the wall, and her head ached where he'd pulled her hair. His hand on her hips was harsh and bruising…but every sensation was paling in comparison to the torturous, slow-burning pleasure he was stoking in her. God, she'd missed this – it had only been two days, and she'd already started missing this. The delirious high of sensation was electrifying…it was invigorating. How had she gone without exploring this phenomenon, even alone?

Already he was beginning to thrust into her with urgency. Just watching her, writhing in pleasure as she was there, was a more powerful catalyst to his lust than any other sight he'd ever beheld. Sweat rolled from her forehead, from her neck, over her collarbone and into the valley of her breasts. Giving license to the ravenous, lusting instinct in him, he bent his head down to those sweat-drops and roughly chased them away with his tongue. The salty tang, coupled with the creamy taste of her flesh, was intoxicating.

She was coming closer, he could feel it. He wasn't far behind her – his harsh breaths became groans, just as her quick pants became whispered screams. Her hands tightened in his shirt; his tightened on her hips. The sweet friction between them was white-hot, pouring over them both.

Her head dropped back; her back arched. Rogue could only feel a blinding, agonizing pleasure as the second orgasm of her life tore her apart. She cried aloud, helpless against the rush of sensation, as Magneto clenched his teeth and pounded into her, following her over the edge with a low groan of release.

Half an hour later and they were still joined, both still trying to wind down from the rush…both still lightly bathed in sweat. Magneto had more or less fallen back onto a couch, still holding Rogue to him tightly, so he now sat with her straddling his waist. He still held her hips in a rough grip; she still clutched fistfuls of his shirt. The only motion the both of them made was the slowed, rhythmic pattern of their breathing. They had remained there, almost unmoving, for the entire half hour.

It was just after nine o'clock.

Magneto dropped his head forward and rested his forehead against her shoulder. "I only realized…I still haven't extracted punishment for your biting me two nights ago."

She hazily ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. "Ya have a punishment devised, suh?"

He chuckled quietly and raised his head again. "Actually, yes." He loosened her left hand from his shirt and laid a gentle kiss to her fingertips. "You aren't unfamiliar with the phrase 'an eye for an eye', are you? I won't demand exact uniformity, but…" With that, he wrenched her hand towards him, exposing her forearm. He bit into the soft flesh there savagely, breaking the skin.

Rogue hissed; tears stung her eyes. She wouldn't scream or whimper, though. Not even as he applied more pressure to the wound, attempting to elicit such a response – she was still too proud, too guilty. She closed her eyes, letting the sharp pain sink in. She deserved this…this pain, she reasoned with herself, was a penance, but she didn't believe that she required punishment for biting him – he didn't believe so either. She believed that she deserved it, though…for what she was doing…

Magneto finally released her, not seeming very pleased at all with her response. He almost looked insulted; he was doing his best to keep his face stoic, but his steely eyes were conveying his thoughts clearly. Rogue knew immediately what was wrong – she shrugged off all his gentle touches in favor of bruising ones; that was one of the most harsh things he'd done to her and she'd barely given a response. She almost laughed – it appeared his sense of masculine pride hadn't suffered under his logic, as it seemed to do in most intelligent men.

He noticed her smile as her eyes danced with amusement at his expense; in retaliation, he pinched her side. "What is that look for, my dear?" he demanded, still attempting to conceal his irritation.

She told him, bluntly, as she discreetly tried to dab at the small beads of blood the formed around the wound on her forearm. "It's just…Ah wouldn't have thought it of ya, suh."

Magneto nodded, regarding her quizzically. "You think such a thing as masculine pride is beneath me? Or that I am not at all masculine, perhaps?"

"Ya just bein' sarcastic now."

He conceded, internally, but pinched her sharply again. "Don't be impertinent," he ordered. "It isn't becoming of you."

Rogue nodded, acknowledging her transgression. "An' Ah forgot ta address ya correctly, suh."

"So you did," he noted, musing on it. "Honesty is an admirable trait, my dear. Nonetheless…" He pinched her once again, more harshly than before, making her jolt in surprise. He smiled lazily at her and dropped his head back onto the soft headrest of the sofa they were perched upon. "I can't let disobedience of any sort go unpunished," he told her in a drawling, almost sarcastic voice.

"Of course not, suh." He couldn't, and he wouldn't – it was more or less a part of their unspoken agreement that she was wary to be correct in her behavior, but still obedient and timid. She paused, then tentatively reached to him and brushed his hair back from his face. He raised his head only enough to give her a quizzical look, and she dropped her eyes. "Sorry. It looked like it was in yoh way, suh." She dropped her hand to rest it on her shoulder.

His quizzical look only seemed to imprint itself deeper into his visage, before fading instantaneously. "That's quite alright, my dear," he told her nonchalantly. He dropped his head back to the headrest, staring up at the ceiling. After a moment's pause, he reached up to the girl and gently ghosted a finger over her lips. In the same motion, he caught the back of her head and guided her to rest herself against his chest. She curled there, tucking her hands into his shirt and under her chin. He kept his hand tangled in her hair…but continued to stare up at the ceiling blankly.

The sun rose on the next morning hidden behind great, swirling grey clouds.

Rogue rolled out of bed at ten o'clock – of course, it was no later than anyone expected of her on a Saturday morning. That being said, she'd gotten home at three o'clock, sneaking in through her window by climbing the ivy near the waterspout – she craved a few more hours sleep, but didn't want to arouse suspicion, even through such a small and insignificant anomaly. She stretched as she rose off her mattress, rolling her shoulders, before heading for the en suite bathroom. She locked the door behind herself, turned the shower on hot and fast, then carefully began to undress…taking stock of her bruises as she did.

She looked in the mirror at the purplish marks on her chest – they would fade in two or three days, perhaps with a lingering green tinge in their wake. The bruises he'd imprinted on her hips would be around for about five days, granted longer if Magneto held her like that again. She closed her eyes and smiled at herself briefly, shaking her head – 'if'. He delighted in their sharp caresses, almost as much as she did. There would always be bruises, unless she found a way to tap into a little healing power.

Then she turned her attention to the savage bite-mark on her left forearm.

It was beaded with tiny patches of dried blood around the broken skin, like embroidery on lace – a poetic touch of sorts. The skin around the wound was turning purple, whilst the skin on the inside of the ring of puncture wounds was pale, bordered by the fierce red of the forming scabs. The sight of the thing made her sigh, partly with frustration and partly in reminiscence.

She stuck her arm under the hot water, wincing until the wound adapted to the unnecessary heat. When the angry flare of pain died, she slipped inside the tiled shower and shut the glass door behind herself, quickly twisting her hair up out of the way with an elastic.

Her wounds were fairly far from her mind as she closed her eyes under the downpour of the shower. Wounds would come and go – she received more bruises from the Danger Room as it was. No…her thoughts were on his actions, not the results she'd sustained of them.

He'd been tense from the minute he'd caught hold of her on the hotel steps – not tense with the idea of being caught, like she had been, but tense with need. As soon as they had been shut away in the safety of the hotel room he'd booked for them, he'd fastened onto her like she was life itself. He'd held her to him, one way or another, for the entire night until he'd given her leave. His hold hadn't been desperate…hungry, yes, but not desperate. It was nonetheless strange – it had only been two days since they'd last been together; he'd been acting like a man starved of a woman's company for a lifetime.

Not that it wasn't a good thing…just…it wasn't anything she would have expected in him.

Tabitha, while she was in the Institute, had said something about that once – you could look at a person as much as you wanted to, you could watch them act and talk, you could study their likes and dislikes…but you'd never know what they were 'like' until you got them in the sack. Rogue cringed slightly as the phrase ran through her mind. While she wasn't a virgin anymore, and Magneto seemed to be making quite an impact on her naivety otherwise, she was still prudish…but, while the euphemism was crude, it was seemingly accurate.

Perhaps she would ask him about it when they met again – he'd already designated a time; two nights from that day, at eight o'clock again. He'd meet her at the restaurant, this time, to take her to a new place.

Trying to avoid a pattern…

Scrubbed clean and refreshed, she slid the glass door back and stepped out, followed by a cloud of steam from the heat of the water. She wrapped herself up in her towel, brushed her teeth perfunctorily and opened the bathroom door, kicking out her pajamas in front of her and in the general direction of the washing basket.

"Well…ain't dis a sight?" quipped a low, somewhat mocking voice.

She was barely one foot out the door – there was hardly any of her to see…still, he found a way to turn it into a line. He probably always would have a line on the ready, no matter where he went or what he did. Rogue paused for a moment, but only a moment. She continued her path out of the steamy bathroom, unpinning her hair as she went; she was only clad in her towel, but modesty be damned. She dropped the pin on Kitty's bureau and went in search of a fresh change of clothes…something that would cover the mark on her arm without rubbing into it too much.

But she didn't say anything to him.

She caught sight of him in the cheval mirror beside the bureau – he was leaning against the French doors that opened onto the patio, standing half inside and half outside, trapping the opened lace curtains with his back. He held a lit cigarette in one hand; his other hand was buried in a trenchcoat pocket, closed around a deck of cards. His unique red-on-black eyes were watching her – somewhat appreciatively, despite himself – as she rifled through her drawers for a good, light sweater.

"Y' ain't gonna say anyt'ing, cherie?"

Rogue closed her eyes and sighed. Some things would never change. "Don't call me that, Gambit," she told him, already sounding on-edge.

He gave a short, low bark of a laugh. "Sounds jus' like when Remy first come here, doesn't it? We're back t' square one."

"We're not anywhere," she told him tensely.

He took a long drag on the cigarette he held. "We say all dese t'ings back den, too," he observed, his voice dropping significantly in volume. "Y' gettin' tired of repeatin' dis stuff, cherie? I know I am."

"Yet ya keep sneakin' back in here…" she trailed off, sounding exasperated.

Remy hissed out a breath, flinging his cigarette away over the edge of the patio. Ororo would have his hide later on for leaving his trash in her pristine garden – she knew that only two of the Institute's residents smoked, and Logan preferred cigars. But at that moment, Remy didn't care about much else beside the woman he was pleading his case to. "We worked out worse, ma chère. Y' even forgave me m' past. Not many have done dat." He paused, looking as if he'd only just realized the truth in his own words. "Not many would. I know most o' de other X-Men wouldn't…prob'ly not even y' li'l friend Kitty, or de Wolverine, not even wit' his kill-count."

"Kitty would forgive ya if ya kicked her down the stairs," Rogue retorted, rolling her eyes at her best-friend's endearing, undying sense of goodwill. "An' Wolverine never asked for forgiveness…he doesn't expect it. Ah dunno if it even matters if anyone did forgive him, 'cause he won't forgive himself. He doesn't think there's any point in forgiveness – it won't change what he's done." She shot him a look over her shoulder, still being careful enough not to display the bruises on her body to his eyes either front-on or via the mirror. "D'ya forgive yohself, Remy? Does it even matter what Ah think? Does it change anythin'?"

"It matters, Rogue." Remy levered himself off of the patio doors but didn't move further into the room. "Matters a whole lot. I need forgiveness b'fore I can forgive m'self. I gotta know dat I'm worth it." He clenched the hand that had been holding his cigarette moments ago, craving another one instantaneously. "An' I want y' t' t'ink I'm worth it. Doesn't matter 'bout anyone else."

Rogue bit her lips together, furrowing her brow and turning her head away from him. People called her an unfeeling ice-queen – she was, in a lot of ways, but she didn't want to be with the people she cared about and…even though it went against her self-respect, her pride and all good sense, she still cared about Remy. She would for a long time, whether or not she continued to liaise with Magneto…not even if she found someone to take Remy's place in her affections. She grabbed an armload of clothes, hugging them to her front so he wouldn't see the bruises, and stood upright. "Ya are worth forgiveness, Gambit. Everyone's worth that." She started back towards the bathroom.

"Right. Everyone," he snorted, unconvinced. "Like Sabertooth. An' Magneto."

He didn't notice her eyes darting over to him; he was looking away forlornly, stuck in self-pity. Rogue sent a brief prayer of thanks upwards and locked herself in the bathroom. "Anyone who wants ta reform is worth forgiveness, then," she amended, trying to sound sick of the conversation – anything to get him out of there, out of sight. "That sound better?"

"Do I have your forgiveness?" Remy asked, his voice muffled through the door. He was closer, now – he was probably sat on her bed near the bathroom. "Dat's all I need."

"Ya already asked me this – three months ago, Ah think," Rogue rejoined. She pulled the turtleneck sweater over her head. "Ya know Ah don't hold anythin' in yoh past against ya." She laughed slightly, humorlessly. "Ah know a whole lotta people who've done worse."

"Not talkin' 'bout dat," he said. "M' talkin' 'bout what we were sayin'…last night."

Rogue paused, halfway through pulling on her jeans. She snapped out of her stupor and shucked them on all the way. "Remy…last night was a finalizin' moment." She buttoned her fly. "There's nothin' ta forgive 'cause there's nothin' ta patch up anymore." It made her feel hollow to say it, but it had to be said – there was no going back; there was only moving forward.

There was a shuffle and a click – Remy was lighting up another cigarette. "Y' sayin' dat…dat dis is it, cherie?"

Rogue unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out. She crouched at the end of her bed, giving him a careful look, before retrieving a pair of boots. "Look…Remy…" She sat on the bed and grabbed a roll of socks from her bedside dresser. "We tried, an' we tried, an' we tried. Sometimes it just doesn't work out how ya want."

Remy nodded, drawing heavily on his cigarette. "Righ'." He looked at the bathroom door now, seemingly fixated with it, and exhaled a long coil of condensed smoke. "Righ'." He took another draw, then turned to her with hardened, flashing eyes – he was angry, with every right, but he often said things he regretted when he was angry…things that often hit home, for her. "So how, Rogue? I mean…y' say y' had 'fun', cherie, but how?"

She pulled on her boots, haphazardly tying them up. She studied the creases in the shoe leather, trying her best not to let his words get at her…but they did. They always did. "We used a bio-hazard radiation suit," she drawled callously. She got to her feet, feeling cold, hollow, dirty and angry. She stared down at him, her mouth forming a thin line. "Thanks. Thanks a whole lot, Gambit…"

He swore under his breath. "I didn't mean dat…"

"Right." She was already at the door. "Thanks anyway." She stepped out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind her – she realized that she hadn't gotten the opportunity to put on her makeup, but she pushed the thought aside – she could forgo her mask for one day. She marched down the passage, ignoring the sound of the door opening again and his footsteps running to catch up with her. "Lemme be, Gambit. Ah've had enough of this."

"Ain't like y' t' jus' give up, y' know," he returned, sounding both caustic and apologetic in a way that was unique to him. He darted in front of her, but she dodged him and burst through the front doors and into the Institute's grounds. "Rogue…we been t'rough worse! We can talk dis out. Gimme another chance."

"Ah'm done talkin'. Ah'm through givin' ya chances." She froze abruptly in her place, with him three steps behind her and both of them in the middle of Ororo's marvelous, dew-beaded rose garden. "Ah'm through gettin' angry with ya! Ah don't want this insecurity…this constant self-pity an' anger. Ah'm sick of all yoh pettiness an'…an' hang-ups! Ah don't wanna feel helpless when Ah look at the man Ah care about most in the world – Ah wanna feel happy…Ah wanna be happy, just for a while, Gambit! Ah'm gettin' real tired of yoh games…"

"Dis ain't no game, Rogue," Remy returned, quietly.

"Oh, it is. It was never serious ta you! Nothin's ever so important that it can't be forgotten whenever it's convenient for ya."

"Dat ain't true! I never, not once, forget 'bout y'."

"Yeah, Ah'm sure Ah was the one on yoh mind when ya were out lookin' foh company three nights ago! Ah'm sure mah feelin's, mah reaction really came into yoh thoughts while ya prowled that nightclub…"

"What 'bout you, Rogue? Was I on y' mind when some son of a bitch…"

"Yes, ya were!" She spun around to face him finally, belatedly realizing that she was crying. She froze in place. All the anger drained from her immediately – she felt too vulnerable, too open like this, but she wasn't easily distracted. "Ah told him why Ah was there…who Ah was waitin' for. Ah knew he couldn't help me, but he could help keep me outta mah own head…even for a li'l while," she continued miserably, angrily. "Until we left that restaurant, Ah couldn't get over how…furious Ah was…how hurt Ah was. But if ya had shown up while Ah was waitin' foh that cab, Ah would've never have gone with him! Not even though…he can…" She closed her eyes; she gingerly touched her own cheek, remembering the thrill of touch…the warmth. "Ah'm just so sick of being unwanted…" she whispered miserably, all the fight gone out of her. "So sick of bein' helpless, Remy…"

"Y' not unwanted, cherie," Remy told her insistently. He was edging closer to her. All of the anger in his voice was gone too. "Y' not helpless, either…y' not cut out t' be helpless, chère." He reached out to her. "I'm here, Rogue."

Rogue wrapped her arms about herself limply and looked away from him. "No, ya aren't." She turned and started walking away, towards the gates of the Institute. "Ya three night's too late; Ah've already left 'here', wherever it is yoh still waitin' for me…an' ya wouldn't bother puttin' up the chase for me anymore…not now." She walked away, leaving him standing in the middle of the glorious rose garden. This time he didn't follow her – he was still trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying, to no avail. She tried not to feel disappointed, but just ended up feeling more alone than ever.

Magneto frowned at himself. He tried, once again, to read the spreadsheets in front of him. For the fifth time. Once again, the numbers, measurements and significant details would only dance about his eyes like they had a life of their own, blurring and merging in his head into utter nonsense. He was too distracted to see them. His head was reeling, caught up in memories that were barely twelve hours old. He tried again to read the spreadsheets, glaring at them as if they were at fault. He could hardly discern the first few lines.

"Lord Magneto…are you feeling well?" asked one of the Acolytes behind him…Cortez, was it? He didn't care, to be honest, who it was – he was an irritating presence, no matter what his name was.

"I'm well enough," he shot back, trying and failing to hold down his anger. The other man shifted, slightly nervous. Magneto closed his eyes, head bent towards the numerous papers spread out before him. Damnable spreadsheets. "Thank you, Cortez. That will be all."

The other man saluted behind him and turn to take his leave. Once the metal door clanged shut behind him, shutting out the rest of the compound from sight, Magneto sank into one of the nearby chairs, feeling all at once old and moronic…two of his least favorite feelings.

This was getting absolutely ridiculous…

That girl…that slight, whisper of a girl…it was all her fault. He had known this arrangement was a bad idea, but – like a willful child – he had thrown off logic to pursue what he wanted, selfishly and thoughtlessly. Now, in a rather ironic fashion, he was suffering the retribution of his recently neglected mind, plagued by thoughts of their time together. Not just thoughts…careful analysis, too. Careful analysis of his actions towards her – the gestures that could be damaging to their arrangement. He acknowledged now, far too late, that he had been far more appreciative than was appropriate of the few gestures she allowed herself with him – a timid caress here or there. He permitted himself that, though. What ate at him now was that he'd been entirely unguarded in his appreciation of those gestures.

Entirely unguarded.

He'd held her gently to his chest for at least half an hour, before his need to touch her, to explore her had risen again. Afterwards, lying back on the bed with her sprawled next to him, he'd pulled her to his side and held her loosely. He'd reluctantly conceded to let her return home. He felt what could only be described as proud possessiveness when he noted the bruises on her hips; he felt all the more self-satisfied when she sat up to examine them curiously herself, looking as naïve and intriguing as she had three nights ago, during their first evening together, marveling that she could touch him.

He'd acknowledged, only to himself, that he could not imagine tiring of her. He realized that if she had given over control entirely to him – to allow him to dictate the boundaries and limitations of their arrangement, to decide the date of its termination – then she had more or less entered into an unbreakable contract; he wasn't going to end their liaison. Not in any foreseeable future.

This…this was becoming intolerable. Magneto stared blankly at the spreadsheets, not even seeing the things. He was rapidly losing control of himself – control being one of the things he prized more than anything else – and he had no one else to blame but himself. He was losing control to lust, a thing he abhorred. He sank his head into his hands, eyes closing and his jaw set tensely. Something was happening – something more than just a convenient relationship based in mutual desire, something beyond power and control. Something…something that he couldn't identify rightly. Something that made the information in front of him rapidly pale into insignificance.

What was it, though?

A/N: And on that sour note, it's REVIEW TIME!

ishandahalf: It's smacking my inner Romy-lover around a bit too, don't worry. Things may pan out for them in the end…they've faced worse, after all (in the comics, naturally). But I'm not sure yet. It all depends on how the main issue works itself out. Well, in any case, I hope you enjoyed this little splash of angsty Romy fun. Thanks for the review!

RogueBHS: A hawk, eh? Rather ironic indeed. Thank you for feeding my curiosity! I'm glad to see that someone thinks I'm writing the characters correctly, given the um…situation. I have to tell you, though, in regards to the Savage Lands battle royale savie-dealie, I was quite pissed that the two of them decided it would be better not to pursue their attraction – damn it, I love this pairing. Oh, and thank you for putting this story in your favorites! Everyone appreciates appreciation:)

coldqueen: Original-cartoon Magneto was much sexier, wasn't he? Perhaps it was the longer hair and the lack of apparent old age. I'm inclined to say that this one has a better voice, though…and less clichéd lines. Hoorah for improved dialogue since the 1990's :) Thanks for the review!

BLISSFULLY-JADED73: The creepiness is to my story what chocolate topping is to ice cream – it's what makes it super delicious. :) I hope that this chapter has helped soften the Gambit that I had written; that was half the idea of their conversation here, anyway. That they're both guilty of the same thing kind of takes the edge off of him. Thanks for the review!

Secret Agent Smut Girl: There are precious few people who enjoy this pairing; I started out thinking I'd get nothing but a series of reviews telling me how creepy this fic is! Thank you for the review and feedback.

Iseult of the Snows: Glad to see I'm piquing your interest in this pairing, even if only marginally. If I can convert just one person to the Dark Side, I consider it a productive week. Thanks for the review!

Elle Mooreside: You know, your review was the first time someone has openly credited this fic for it's slight S&M tones – thank you! As requested, here is the update coupled with a sincere promise ofmore to come. Disturbing smut…ahoy!