Disclaimer: As if you're in need of reminding…I don't own 'em.

A/N: I've had this one brewing in the My Documents folder since I uploaded chapter two (about a month and two weeks ago, now), for those who care to know. I like to post chapters at a steady pace (when I have access to the Internet, anyway…), but my writing fits come in bursts that can't be contained…even when I should've been studying for my lousy Politics exam…damnable university, always clashing with my streaks of creativity!

Ahem…anyway, tonight – for your reading enjoyment – I've got some more smut, a revelation from Rogue, another from Magneto, another between the two of them and…drum roll someone realizes what the hell is going on! And just to get you guessing (though it's still fairly obvious) it's not Kitty or Remy! Whee!

Love it or shove it!

Inappropriate Conduct

Chapter Four

Rogue twisted a strand of hair around her finger; a habit from years gone by that she'd never thought to correct.

She was sat in a tree, reclined in a strong bough with the leaves of other branches haphazardly tangling in her hair. A book was hanging limply from her left hand as she dangled her arms carelessly. Her eyes were closed serenely. One boot-shod foot rested on the tree branch, bending her leg at the knee; the other leg swung beneath her as easily as a loose twig would sway in the wind. The birds above her flittered to and fro quickly, in sharp contrast to her relaxed, lazy posture. A gentle breeze was gently passing through the boughs and over her, pulling her shirt this way and that, making her book flutter and drag in the resistance, knotting her hair and smoothing it away all at the same time, though she didn't seem to care one way or another.

The only thing that marred the peaceful scene she made was the slight crease in her brow. Anyone passing by that oak tree would just think she was sleeping, perhaps having a slight nightmare, but in reality she was quite awake and deep in thought.

In front of her, the sun was setting. She registered the fading light against her eyelids and sighed. It was almost seven o'clock, then. If she intended to walk to the restaurant, and be there on time, she had to start for the place now.

…Which was a pity, because she'd just gotten comfortable in that tree.

She opened her eyes reluctantly and slid her propped-up leg over the edge of the branch she was perched on. She dropped to the ground, landing with a 'huff', and tucked her book under her arm.

The high heels of her dress boots clicked against the pavement of the walkway, managing to sound both cold and lonely. Just like she felt. Rogue sighed again and shook her head at herself, feeling angry with herself. She was relating to her shoes, now – what next? Maybe her breakfast would start looking particularly morose and distant tomorrow; maybe the Danger Room would strike close to home, looking as aloof and determined as she'd seen herself in the mirror this morning? Who knew where she'd start drawing comparisons next?

Still…it would have been nice to not be in such a singular position; it would have been nice to have someone, or even just something, to relate to. Even when she felt alone in her mutant powers, she could always remind herself that there were others, like the kid who had basically radiated death, killing everyone around him in his small hometown until he'd put a bullet in his own head, leaving behind only a cold corpse and a long suicide note detailing his demise.

Ah, evolution…it seemed that in the magnificent and eternal court of the Divine Creator, mutants were designated to be His jesters.

Evolution was hardly her problem for the meantime, though; her powers were becoming of secondary significance now, diminishing in the light of a more worrying dilemma. This new problem was evident in the fading bruises on her body. Yes…the fading bruises. Normally – under any other circumstance – she would have been glad to see the things melt off of her skin, but bruises acquired in the Danger Room were not the same as the ones she earned from Magneto. She wanted them to stay – she wanted to be bruised.

She felt sick with herself for thinking like that – her prudish nature was at work against her again – but it wasn't that she wanted to be 'marked' by him or possessed like that with physical trophies…well, that wasn't entirely the case; she enjoyed his masculine dominance of her, somewhat ashamedly, but this was different. It wasn't that she couldn't pull herself out of the thought of his harsh caresses, though sometimes she slipped into her memories and couldn't see the world around her for them; it wasn't that she wanted reminders of the nights they had spent together so badly that she didn't want to see the bruises fade, though she did enjoy those reminders. It was merely that the bruises were more or less the signatures of their unspoken contract. That these bruises were fading, though only five nights old, was somewhat finalizing.

And worrying.

Magneto hadn't been the only one to recognize his uncharacteristic tenderness when he'd cradled her that last time, holding her in the wake of their slaked lust. Rogue couldn't stop the frown that crossed her forehead when she thought back to the strong but loose hold of his arm around her shoulders, the gentle embrace of his hand that had weaved into her hair and carefully held her to his chest.

It hadn't been a simple touch – there was no such thing, especially not in Rogue's mindset. There was something in every embrace; a need for something. Each touch was an indication of attraction, a manipulation, a sign of the affectionate bond between kindred. Rogue's touch had one meaning alone – power. She would either absorb it or she would submit herself, meekly, to gain it, but only to one with the means to give that power to her.

Magneto's touch was worse than a play for power or a manipulation, though. It was a violation of their agreement.

No spoken rules had been set, but it had been fairly obvious that neither of them had been drawn to that hotel room the first night by their heartstrings – their relationship was supposed to be based in a quiet acknowledgement of lust, not…anything more. She had shrugged off his sweeter touches because of that. Why encourage something that neither of them could handle? His rough, hardened touch had excited her for the exact same reason; those embraces personified the tone of their relationship – the urgency, the fire, the lust and the dominance of will. There was no room for tenderness and care. There couldn't be any room for it…it would be wrong for the both of them.

But why was he doing this?

She knew, just as she knew what he wanted in a woman, that he was well aware of the disastrous turn affectionate gestures could have – he had been in love once, after all, and he had suffered for it in a way he could have never anticipated. Yet already, so soon into their bargain, his demeanor would soften once the edge was taken off of his lust. He would soothe the bruises he gave her; he would caress her as if to calm her, rather than to arouse her when they lay side by side; he was careful to note her reactions to what he did to her, always vigilant in case he were to bite or mark her too harshly unless that was his intention.

The restaurant came into view – the jagged lines of the buildings of the metropolitan area, which effectively obscured the horizon, had hidden the sun. There would be about fifteen minutes before eight. He would be there in ten.

She clutched her book tightly to her chest and looked around the restaurant car park, waiting impatiently.

His affectionate touches made her ridiculously uncomfortable, though when she was with him she couldn't find room in her mind to give it a second though. It wasn't that she was disturbed by him for doing it, nor that she was ungrateful for the hope he gave her that perhaps she wasn't entirely unsuitable to be cared for in that manner…it was more to do with her need for power. She had begun to acknowledge that power and physical contact had years ago connected in her mind – it would take a little time and a lot of therapy before she could separate the two; it would be a long while before touch could be an affectionate, caring and even selfless gesture when it involved intimacy…especially intimacy of that sort.

Replacing his harsh touches with affection displaced her – it left her feeling confused and unsure of what their arrangement was supposed to mean if he wasn't seeking ascendancy over her. Not to mention that it was eating away at the one trump card she held in this entire situation. As long as she was uneasy she couldn't revel in or properly exercise her power over the situation…and without power, in this case or in any other, what else did she have?

Did he know she felt like this? Did he know what power meant to her?

Why was he doing this?

Rogue frowned at herself, finding that there were tears beading in her eyes. She swiped them away and stared ahead of herself resolutely, composing herself.

She knew she wouldn't find any answers in her own mind; she couldn't ask him for an explanation, either – it was a violation the contract, and even if he would disregard it, she wouldn't; she'd already broken more rules than even she was comfortable with. There was nothing more that she could do, she resolved. She would just ignore the problem and perhaps, unlike all her other problems, ignoring this one would make it go away.

Rogue had managed to escape to the bed this time before being apprehended. She had pushed the quilt away, not taking time to register any other feature of the lavish hotel suite other than the satin bed linen. She slid the comforter over the end of the bed, then threw herself back over the white sheets with a silly smile on her face. She loved the feel of satin – especially after so many years of encasing herself tightly and securely in leather, itchy wool and that synthetic, armor-like material that made up her team uniform. She kicked off her high heels, rolling over onto her stomach and rubbing her face over the sheets like a cat. She'd forgone makeup again – he preferred her this way.

And there was no room to defy him under these circumstances.

Magneto was still standing by the door, watching her with a vaguely amused expression on his face. He approached her slowly, smiling all the more as she hummed at the sensations she felt from the fabric she lay sprawled upon. She opened her eyes slightly, just enough to see him approaching, and smiled that faint smile of hers, flushing with embarrassment. He brought one knee up to rest on the edge of the bed, leaning over her and placing his hands either side of her shoulders in the rumpled bedspread.

"Are you quite done, my dear?" he asked.

Rogue's smile widened fractionally and closed her eyes again. "Sorry, suh."

"No need to apologize. This is most entertaining to watch." He allowed himself a low, amused laugh before resting all his weight on his right arm to trail down her sloping back with his left hand. The hand trailed to grasp her hip tightly, which he began to lift upwards. He maneuvered his leg to prop her knees up underneath her so that she was effectively kneeling on the bed, though still with her face buried in the sheets.

His hand left her hip and tucked underneath the hem of her skirt. With one smooth motion the material was riding high on her waist, leaving a teasing line of flesh exposed from the scant covering of her white, opaque underwear to the comparatively darker lace tops of her thigh-stockings. Turning his eyes away from the sight, he looked to her face for her reaction as his hand reached for the back of her thigh, squeezing her pliable flesh slowly and harshly. He was far from disappointed with her response; she arched her back, squeezing her eyes shut. A slight smile flickered across her face.

He had no idea why she smiled then and it didn't trouble him. Her reason was simple enough, though – she was relieved. She could already feel the roughened edge of him emerging, like a sinister, black-hearted creature rising to shroud its prey in darkness. Any compassionate, reasoning instinct in him was already dying away, smothered under his fiery ardor.

She rolled her head to one side as he leaned over her body, pulling aside the collar of her shirt carelessly and biting into the skin between her throat and her shoulder. Her stomach clenched against the sharp pain, but her body quaked at the underlying sensuality of the act. She could feel him smile slightly against her neck; she shivered under the near-predatory gesture. This was what she wanted – the rush that was reminiscent of fear but full with lust.

The still-present hand on her thigh tightened as he shifted above her to begin unbuttoning her shirt. She began biting her lip in anticipation as he threw the thing away from her. His free hand moved to her back again, finding her bra clasp this time – within seconds the opaque thing was thrown aside, joining her shirt on the floor of the hotel suite. His left hand abandoned her thigh in favor of joining his right in the exploration of her uncovered but hidden front.

His hands were calloused and hard against her; to him, she was softer than the sheets she laid upon. He watched her blushing face as he slowly trailed upwards from her hips, lingering in the dips and slopes of her toned stomach, finally brushing the undersides of her breasts. She arched her back, leaning into his touch, but she kept her breathy sighs and quiet moans bitten back under her clenched teeth. He realized this and it irritated him, though couldn't place why. Confused and somewhat angry, he leaned over her and bit down harshly on her earlobe as he moved his hands from under her.

Rogue gasped, both at the harsh bite and the sudden loss of contact. She was faintly aware that he was moving away from her, but as she turned to see what he did a heavy pressure on her shoulder held her in place. She dropped her head back onto the sheets obediently.

Magneto was both slightly irritated in her compliance and glad of it at the same time, but he disregarded his contradictory thoughts. He kept her weighed down with one hand, reaching to the waistband of her underwear with his free hand. He snaked his fingers through the thin elastic and ripped the opaque material away from her. She gasped; he had to wonder if her reaction was due to the inevitable sting of his actions, or the concept of being more or less uncovered and at his mercy. Either answer was equally satisfying, making the low-burning coil of anger in him begin to meld with his lust.

The weight of his hand lifted from her shoulder; he moved further around her on the bedspread. He stopped, kneeling behind her. And he waited.

Rogue raised her head up slightly, trying to look at him. As she rustled the satin sheets, there was the distinct sound of a zipper being drawn. She raised herself up on her forearms. "Suh?" she said uncertainly. She was somewhat surprised at how much of a seductress she sounded, her voice so husky and low.

His calloused hands found her hips and dug in tightly. She moaned and arched her back as the foreign hardness of his erection pressed against her wet core. He seemed to pause there; she could feel his steely eyes, clouded with lust, rake over her. She felt deliciously sinful – an object of desire, if only for now…if only with him. His hands tightened spasmodically on her hips and the heat of him was gone for an instant before he entered her forcefully, pushing her forward over the bed as he went.

They groaned in unison, neither seeing the other close their eyes in the bliss and partial relief of the initial contact. When he opened his eyes again, she was grasping fistfuls of the sheets. Her head was bowed and her hair was falling in her face in wave abundance. He absently released one hand from her hip to trace the concave dip of her backbone, making her shiver as he silently wished he could see her face. He could only imagine her biting into her bottom lip, eyelids fluttering closed over her darkened green eyes and her face flushed…

Unbidden, his head dropped forward and his hissed as though scalded as she unconsciously tightened around him, squeezing him with her slick inner muscles. His hand found her hip again and he assumed a restrained pace with her, the tightness of his grip serving as the only indication of his raging need.

She moaned breathily, leaning into his harsh grasp as he bore into her in such a way that she couldn't distinguish if he was causing her pain or pleasure. She was aware of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She was aware of the rough fingers holding her, making her bruises of their previous encounter tingle in a aching but delicious way. She was also aware of him – being forced into like this…his cock was almost too much to take. She could feel him behind her, somewhat looming over her like a dark, ominous presence.

He clenched his hands around her involuntarily. His movements were already picking up speed. Beneath him, she was beginning to moan deeply, doing nothing to help his self-control. The trembling of her hot center, the quaking of her thighs…he was already beginning to loose his hold on coherent thought. Anger surged in him. Well, he was going to lose control of the situation soon…but not before she did.

One hand released her hip. Shaking uncontrollably, he sought out her tiny button of nerves and did as he had during their first night together; he pinched her, hard.

The reward of his actions was immediate; she flung her head back and screamed in near-orgasmic agony. He held her that way until her voice gave out for lack of air, then he released her. She whimpered breathlessly at the loss of contact and, perhaps unconsciously, pressed back towards him, seeking more. He couldn't help but smile. "Again, my dear?"

Her answer wasn't immediate; she was still trying to recover her voice. "Please…oh, Gawd," she gasped and tensed as he began to gently caress the little nub. "Please…suh…"

"As you wish."

He pinched her again, and was rewarded with another long, pleasured scream. He twisted the bundle of nerve endings between his finger and thumb, making her body shake all over. All the while he drove himself into her, trying to keep his mind on her reactions rather than the sensations he was receiving from her. But it was no use – her screams both chilled and enflamed him at the same time; the violent quaking of her body was driving him to the brink of insanity. She had become unbearably wet at his actions, making each thrust into her ecstasy.

Rogue writhed, biting down hard on her bottom lip, as she felt the end rise. She slammed her eyes closed, barely conscious of the soothing tears trickling down her superheated cheeks. It was too soon…she had to distract herself. Her right hand clutched into the bedspread, but her left abandoned it and somewhat tentatively sought out the place they were joined. She gently traced her opening, caressing the shaft of his cock as he plunged in and out of her, wantonly reveling in the feel of it. Behind her, she heard a faint, groaned "good God" as Magneto tightened his hold on her hip and quickened his pace.

Every muscle in his body was tensed. Her explorative touch…he was almost done in. Her gentle touch didn't falter, even as her breathing quickened and she began moaning with the rhythm of their bodies. She was close. By God, the way she was tightening around him was making him delirious…

She arched up, her head thrown back. The mounting white-hot sensation in her was beginning to spill over. She brought back her left hand to clench the sheets with her right, her body becoming rigid with the impending hit. It took her almost by surprise – she bit down on her bottom lip as a low groan erupted into a long wail. Her climax hit like a lightening bolt, shaking her violently until her forearms gave through and she slumped against the bed, exhausted. With one final thrust, Magneto followed her over the edge. His hips bucked into hers and he groaned low as he gave her all he had, his fingers digging into her skin roughly before abruptly, convulsively relaxing.

They remained frozen in place for a long moment, both merely gasping with the aftershock. After what could have been merely a long stretch of seconds or a long stretch of minutes, Magneto began to bear down on Rogue, still joined to her, so that she lay out properly over the bed with him propped on his elbows above her. He moved from her, coming to lay on his back beside her, immediately missing her warmth but still too absorbed in lingering sensation to care all that much. "Good God," he muttered again.

With her face turned away and hidden beneath her hair, Rogue gave a slight smile at his words. "Absolutely, suh," she returned, breathless. Her smile widened as he allowed himself a low chuckle and she turned around, onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling, just as he did. She missed the contact between them just as much as he did – she found herself feeling somewhat empty, even lonely, but chose to ignore the confusing emotions. She craned her neck around absently and looked back at the clock on the side table.

It was nine thirty.

Magneto watched her from the corner of his eye as she turned back to stare up at the ceiling. Her breathing was evening out and the glaze of lust was wearing away from her eyes; he'd have to rectify that, but he could barely move himself. His limbs were heavy with fatigue, though he wouldn't have it any other way. The girl sighed beside him, closing her eyes. She was relaxed and fairly much in the same state as he was – heavy-limbed and exhausted. Was it his imagination or was there a slight smile on her lips? A smile of satisfaction, perhaps? Absently, without thinking, he shifted towards her and gently touched that curving mouth. The smile died, replaced for the briefest instant with a frown, but when she opened her eyes and moved to look at him her expression was blank.

She blinked at him. Curiosity crept into her eyes. "Suh?"

He didn't want her to be blank with him; it was almost as if she were insulting him. Was he being that tyrannical she couldn't wholly relax…even now? Did she feel she had something to hide from him – was distancing herself a mechanism she used to keep their relationship from being entirely real, and therefore less guilt-provoking? Was she so very guarded that she wouldn't allow herself any happiness?

He didn't realize, as he ran through these concepts in his head, that they were the very same that he himself could be accused of in other circumstances.

Rogue brought him out of himself fairly easily. "Did Ah do somethin'?" she asked quietly, uncertainty mingling with her curious expression. She had watched his oddly clouded eyes turn analytical, if not a little cold, as she'd addressed him. He was turning something over in his head, obviously – it bothered her to have no idea what it was. "Suh? Are ya mad at me?"

The analytical expression faded away from him. "My dear…" He frowned, though not at her. "Rogue."

She suppressed another frown at the sound of her alias. He rarely used it. In fact, he'd only addressed her as 'Rogue' once before – that first night, in the hotel…he'd been looming over her, holding her more or less at his mercy and demanding she tell him, explicitly, what it was that she wanted of him. Her frown faded away entirely and she shivered, unable to help the warm sensation that washed over her as she remembered the occasion.

Magneto watched her curiously as her eyes glazed over with lust, but let the reaction slide from notice – he had a more insistent thought in his mind now. A question; one of trust…one that would determine just how guarded she was with him. "Rogue…" he said again, slowly. "What is your real name?"

The surprise on her face was all-encompassing, drowning out the hint of rising desire in her in an instant. She looked somewhat scared and decidedly uncomfortable. Her lips parted – she made as if to speak – but no sound came out. Fear and confusion was settling on her now. He was beginning to regret his curiosity, but his pride pricked that he would feel remorse – the hell he wouldn't have an answer! He made as if to imperiously command the information from her, realizing as he did the idiocy in the idea, but she turned her head away to stare up at the ceiling once again, her face amazingly, quickly and immovably blank.

"Anna-Marie…Darkholme," she said levelly. "Or Adler…or somethin' else entirely. Ah'm not sure what mah last name is, but mah given name is Anna-Marie."

He frowned slightly, though he wasn't sure why. The name was as much suited to her as anything else – he hadn't been expecting her to be labeled with any other name. Perhaps it even suited her…the hyphenated, sweet and undeniably southern name probably would sit well on her if she ever decided to use it regularly; it seemed to imply a softer center to the hardened façade she wore.

So why was he so surprised in her admission?

Her arms came up and crossed over her chest so that each hand rested on its opposite shoulder. She was poised like a corpse – it disturbed him even more than her declaration. Her head fell away from him, to her right. Her hands clutched at her shoulders spasmodically.

"D'ya know…no one's ever asked me that b'fore?"

He sat up in an attempt to see her better. His curiosity was piqued.

"Mystique told the Brotherhood Ah was 'Rogue'," she said quietly. "They never asked otherwise. When Ah left for the X-Men…Ah guess they expected that if Ah wanted 'em ta know mah name that Ah'd just outright tell 'em. Not one of 'em has ever asked. They all think it's some big enigma, like how the Professor wound up in a wheelchair…or how many decades has Wolverine actually been alive ta see." He couldn't help but smile slightly at that. "There's a bet goin' between the younger recruits that it's somethin' horrible, like Leonie or Bertha. It's gonna be the biggest let-down since they discovered that Santa's not real, if they find out."

"Why won't you tell them?" he asked her, still curious.

She turned her head just slightly, enough so that she could look at him out of the corner of her left eye. "They haven't asked me yet. Ah'd tell 'em if they'd ask." She smiled slightly; her expression seemed to changed and her voice lost its depressing gravity, though in an almost unperceivable way. Her eyes glinted playfully, but without warmth. "Is that childish of me, suh?"

He smiled along with her, though she couldn't see him properly, and ignored the hardening look in her eyes in favor of her warm expression. "No, not at all. Merely bad manners on their part, my dear…Anna-Marie." She blushed slightly as he sounded her name and the coldness in her eyes faded away somewhat; he made a note of it. "You aren't used to hearing your name – or being addressed by it – are you?" he asked her, unable to keep himself from sounding amused.

"No, suh, Ah'm not." She turned to face him wholly, now moving her hands away from her shoulders to her elbows so that she still had her forearms over her chest. "Suh, could Ah ask ya somethin'?"

"Certainly."

Rogue faltered, somewhat thrown by his willingness to be questioned, but she didn't stay shocked for long. "Ah heard the Professor call ya 'Erik' once – that's ya name?"

He nodded an affirmative. "Indeed," he assented. "Erik Magnus Lensherr." His expression became somewhat sardonic for a brief moment. "Though I believe he already knows that isn't my true last name." He looked carefully at the girl, somewhat expecting her to ask for his real last name…but she didn't. He was quietly glad.

But she did ask something else. "Why lie 'bout that?"

"Initially, I didn't trust him," Magneto admitted. "Later, as I began to perceive he could be believed…I just never thought to correct him."

"For the best, Ah suppose."

"Well, now…yes."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence at that. Rogue turned her head away again and beside her Magneto lay down. She closed her eyes against the light of the room, surprised to find that her heart was pounding insistently in her ears. It wasn't a big deal…it was just her name. It was only a name. Her heart skipped a beat entirely when she felt a gentle hand begin to toy with a strand of her hair. Something cold washed over her, making her feel both uncomfortable and thankful at the same time. It was one of the strangest sensations he'd ever wrought in her. She kept her eyes closed and sighed, willing herself to revel in the feeling, if not find a way to enjoy it.

As the girl sighed quietly, a slight tension in her arms relaxing as she did, he tensed up immediately, suddenly more aware of the abundance of pale skin she was displaying. With a swift movement he pulled her roughly to him, seeking out the pale skin of her neck like a vampire of a black-and-white movie. She seemed to have a similar mindset to him – like a screen-siren of old she dropped her head back in something akin to a swoon, presenting more delectable flesh to him. He soothed and tenderly kissed the fading bruises around her throat, but at the same time sought out her wrists and captured them in a vice-like grasp.

Many an hour would pass before she would see the tightly-barred gates of the Institute again.

Morality was a delicate thing.

Morals were taught and imparted all over the world; a more common subject of study globally than any language or science. They could be preached (they always had been and they always would be), but the best way to impart them seemed to be practice. The student would only digress morally if the teacher did as well; so was the motto of family psychologists. The best way to impart morals was to practice them as you would want them practiced by your pupil. A righteous existence that was free of vice and corrupt, dishonest activity was the best lesson one could give to those who would copy your example.

But what to do with the student that wouldn't copy your example?

What to do with the student who had already a sullied morality, thanks to a tumultuous childhood? What to do with a pupil who had begun to shun the morals imparted by a hypocritical teacher long ago, instilling the seed of distrust against any future educators that they would chance to pass? What to do with one whose cynicism against any who would impart moral teachings had lead them away from following any example, instead choosing to blindly carve out an existence by what they could glean to be the absolute truth? That wasn't to say, though, that she didn't have the ability to find the absolute truth in her own mind…but she had no means to know, without aid, which ghost of a thought was a truth and which was a lie.

What to do…what to do.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed in another hour, drawing out a long chord to advertize the coming of the next day – it was midnight. Xavier looked up from the expenses report on his desk, through the half-lit gloom of his study as if he expected to find something at the door there. A quick mental 'glance' about the Institute told him what he already knew and what he estimated yet…Rogue hadn't come home yet.

This was the third night she'd vanished from the grounds. The first night of her prolonged absence had passed by him without much concern raised – he expected that she was either far too angry or humiliated to return soon from being left in that restaurant by Gambit. The second night cause him a little worry, but he was too mindful of her need for privacy to seek her out directly. But tonight, when he'd detected a presence he was ever-mindful of…

The brief glimpse of Magneto's mind had told him all he'd needed to know about Rogue's disappearances.

Xavier reclined against the comfortably-worn backrest of his wheelchair, closing his eyes tightly as he did. His momentary scan of his former best-friend's thoughts had yielded many surprises, the least of which being that neither had entered their relationship with the intent of spiting him or hurting the X-Men. From what Xavier could gather, Magneto was merely acting on nothing more than a low-burning attraction to the girl which was further pronounced during a stage of heightened sexual tension between the two of them while they waited for her taxi cab – an odd circumstance, but not a malicious one. Rogue, as far as Magneto knew, was enticed by the allure of touch and the thrill of defiance. Both had suppressed and overridden the uncomfortable idea of betraying their cause on the grounds that it was a mere private arrangement, one that no one else could be harmed by unless they found out and made something of it.

However, it seemed as if what had driven his oldest friend to his most wayward student initially was quickly becoming something that Magneto hadn't yet recognized…something that neither of them was prepared for. The man's justifications had begun to fade into insignificance, paling against the more noteworthy things that had already developed from their few trysts – he was thinking wholly of himself and Rogue, now; no other came into consideration in light of these more significant though unrecognised ideas.

He couldn't help but smile, knowing that the stubborn streak in Eric would keep this change in him from being noticeable to his conscious thought until it was far too late for him to correct it.

As soon as the slight smile alighted his face, however, Xavier opened his eyes and sat upright, frowning deeply. Magneto's ignorance to the matter was a whole other problem indeed. The change in his person would be unnoticed until it was too late – what then? Once realized, neither hell nor high water would keep him from acting on that change, attempting to gratify it by any means. He would pour all concentration, all resources at his disposal into satisfying his selfish want. He would only cease when victorious – the stubborn soul that he was – and be damned with the consequences that would inevitably follow; he wouldn't give a thought to the possible ramifications of his actions.

He would attempt to pull Rogue from the X-Men.

Xavier's jaw tightened. The logical side of his mind argued that Rogue would not leave what had become her family without good reason. Wayward as she was, Rogue was still loyal – it would take more than a confusing emotional attachment to draw her to what the younger recruits jokingly termed the 'Dark Side'. Therein was something else to raise concern – did she feel the often conflicting, tumultuous emotions that Magneto did? If she did there would be cause for worry, but if not then even the self-proclaimed Master of Magnetism's best efforts couldn't wrench her away from what she held dear.

Another side of his mind – the battle-ready strategist, acting in harmony with his logical standpoint, as it often did – argued that he had to prepare for the worst; he had to meet this issue directly and bluntly. He would stage the first battle in the impending war. He would set in motion something that would become akin to the Grecian tragedy of Troy within the X-Men, except that neither side could decisively and absolutely lay claim to Helen until the very end of the conflict, with the woman herself deciding who would be the victor. He would strike first, catch Magneto off-guard and make him realize just what he was doing…

He would confront Magneto about these liaisons with Rogue.

A/N: Once again, it's REVIEW TIME!

RogueBHS: That's what I love about Rogue's power – she actually can understand what people have gone through. I have to say, also, that your sore-spot-of-Scott idea for Remy is a brilliant one. Perhaps it may surface in the future…mwa ha ha ha! As for the little sadist in Magneto…I was thinking that was something that would develop over the years (bitterness towards humans, frustration at Xavier's inability to understand why he hated them so much, etc). Anyway, thank you for the review and I hope you enjoyed this latest update!

IvyZoe: The age difference is huge, yes – from a psychological standpoint it's easily explained by the fact that Rogue didn't have a father figure when she was growing up, and therefore compensates by dating older men. I like to think that's not what's going on here, though. You hit a twist in the plot directly on the head, though – bravo! Yes, Magneto is going to attempt to make an Acolyte of Rogue…though her answer is entirely undetermined, even by me. Thank you for the review and I hope you're still reading!

Nettlez: Well, there was the problem that – if all was forgiven – then Rogue and Remy would have been back together and well…Magneto would either have to turn away, crushed and defeated, or he'd go postal on everyone's favorite Cajun. The second option was appealing, but it just wouldn't have worked, so Rogue had to say 'no'. Glad you like the story! Thank you for the review!

Elle Mooreside: Every day, eh? Yay, I'm appreciated! I'll save you the checking and mention it now – I like to update at the end of the week, sometime between Thursday and Saturday. The slave-master thing is fun to write, but it's starting to get blurry on just who has who under their thumb. Glad to see you like the improved Gambit, too. Thank you for the review and thank you for the doughnuts, as well; I was craving sweet pastry goodness.

ishandahalf: Sweet merciful…something, that was a long review! I've got to tell you, the ending of this will more or less hinge on whether or not Rogue recognizes the feelings brewing up in those hotel rooms; if she does then everyone's inner Romy-lover is going to hurt for it. I can tell you that Gambit is definitely going to find out about their liaisons – his reaction will either make or break the noble Remy I'm trying to create here. There's further angst abound, as well as more of the kinky smut, in coming chapters, but the next helping of Rogue/Remy fun is a few chapters away. Anyway, thank you for the review and I hope this latest installment was satisfactory.