1. I own nothing.

2. Hoodoo is an awesome beta reader, even if Hoodoo does not think that I need her.

3. I play with time and point of view. I get the feeling that I lose people with my time and point of view shifts. My apologies. To be helpful, this current chapter takes place in the "present time," being late 1963. The first part Charles is the central figure, set about three to six months before the "present". The second part Moira and Erik are the central figures and is set in the "present" about the mid-sixties. And the last part Moira is the central figure, also the "present".

4. If you haven't figured it out, Moira plays an important role in this chapter. Oh, and she and Erik get...acquainted.

Onwards!

Hank ordered the parts he needed to rebuild Cerebo. After he dispatched Sean and Alex to get the necessary materials, Hank and Charles sat quietly in Charles' study, looking out the window.

"Do you hate him," Hank asked quietly - almost too quietly. He did not turn to face his friend and mentor.

Charles surprised, turned to look at the furry blue scientist. "Do I hate Erik?" The word hate stumbled from his lips. Truly he did not think himself capable of hating anyone, but in this case, Charles' emotions were volatile. Charles pursed his lips and thought about it. "Sometimes I do hate him," Charles paused here. "Sometimes I can't believe that there would be any other emotion but love for the man. Other times, the amount of rage seems insurmountable. It's those times when I am glad for that fucking helmet or else I would find and kill him," Charles said, an angry line forming across his forehead. "But then there are those other times, I think I should have tried harder to change his mind. Tried harder to reach and heal him." Charles stopped as he tried to ride the wave of emotions he felts.

"You cannot heal everyone you meet, Charles," Hank said. "Some people just do not want to be healed."

Charles said nothing, continuing to stare out the window in an angry haze.

"He was right, you know," Charles finally said, not acknowledging Hank's statement.

Hank finally turned to Charles, raising his eyebrow. Hank still needed his glasses, so to see him in his natural state with glasses on, was almost comical. But Charles would never laugh at Henry McCoy. Not even in a friendly way. Charles knew that Henry McCoy would kill anyone who would laugh at him now.

Charles smiled thinly at the unasked question. "He was right about how naive I am," Charles said and rolled away from the window leaving Hank in his wake.

Moira broke apart from Erik and slapped him in the face. Erik smiled his shark-like smile again and pulled her roughly to him again, ignoring her feigned cries. Both of them knew, somewhere deep down inside, that they needed this; that if the other could not have Charles Xavier, then they could fuck each other. The thought did not sicken them because if the truth were known, they were finally getting down to brass tacks about their own thick unresolved sexual tension around each other.

Erik could never properly divide his attention between Moira and Charles. Oh, to be sure, Charles was always first in his attention and Moira a very distant second. But he did look, oh did he look. He liked the swell of her breast in her plain grey jumpsuit. He liked the way she smiled when she thought no one else was looking. He liked the look of her long, lean legs as they peeked out from under her skirts.

And he knew that Moira looked as well. He had caught her several times looking at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Erik grinned cockily at her when he caught her looking causing her to flush and turn away from him. But she still looked and looked hard.

Moira wanted him as much as Erik wanted her.

But of course, Erik preferred, no loved Charles. Moira was just an object of his lust. Erik was sure that no human woman could ever approach what he and Charles have…had. Moira was part of the ruling class – the type of class that would stop at nothing to destroy mutants the world over, not caring if another Holocaust occurred. Moira was just frivolous, something to be used and then discarded. He eagerly tamped down the (rational, Charles would have said in irritation) irrational part of this brain that suggested to him that Moira was more than just what he was projecting onto her. (Desirewantneed. Oh!)

Moira was pulling at Erik's clothing, ripping it from his body, her hands skimming over his hard muscles. She was hot, much, much too hot. All thoughts were animalistic and driven on pure instinct. Erik was pushing Moira down onto her couch, hands all over her, bringing a deep moan from Moira's mouth. Erik smirked hungrily at her and pressed his cock firmly into her stomach. Moira's hips bucked from the contact, making Erik grin ever so cockily again at her. One hand glided into her hair and pulled on the dark tresses forcing Moira's face away from his own. They stared at each other, panting heavily, aware of the heat, the hate and the lust between them. It was thick and palpable and something they hadn't considered before. They continued to stare at each other, dark blue eyes sinking into brown almost black eyes, before Erik pulled her into another rough and heated kiss, his tongue demanding entrance which Moira was only willing to oblige.

Moira tried uselessly to gain control of the situation. But Erik was too strong and Moira was too far gone to fight him effectively. She felt herself tumble down the slippery slope of desire. This was Erik Lehnsherr, the man who had paralyzed Charles Xavier, the man whom Erik supposedly loved. Moira wasn't supposed to be fucking him. It didn't make any sense to her, but then again nothing in her current situation made sense to her.

Moira could feel his hard cock through clothing and it jarred her a bit to find herself in this position. Erik's lips left her's and she could feel him plant his mouth on the side of her neck. She could feel him sucking and biting the side of her neck as she dimly thought that there will be a scar or at the very least a bruise there in the morning. Her own hands were running up and down his muscular back absently amazed at the hardness of it, of him, really. Her hands traveled to the front of his body, feeling more muscle and scars from years of torture, abuse and frenetic hunting. His gaze darkened as her hands brushed against his straining cock and he captured her mouth again, biting her lower lip.

Without thinking, Erik was marking Moira as his own. He could almost, almost hear Charles chuckling in his head sadly. (Oh, my friend, you're marking her in the same way that you've marked me.)

Erik's own hands made quick work of Moira's clothing and worked their way down her lithe and supple body, feeling every curve. She arched up as Erik's fingers found the warmth and wetness of her as he roughly pushed two fingers inside. Moira gasped and pressed herself flush against Erik's body. Dazed she reached between them and grasped his hard length. He grunted and shifted his hips against her, bringing his straining cock closer to her wetness. Moira grasped him harder and began to stroke him, twisting ever so slightly causing another groan to come from him lips. There were no words between them. There was no love here. Only hurt, anger and lust - lots and lots of lust; lust for each other, but more importantly lust for the man they both love but cannot have. The lust spoke volumes, heady and swirling. It drove all thoughts of blame and hurt out of their minds.

Erik pushed her thighs apart and roughly entered Moira in one swoop, drawing an "Erik," out of her mouth. And then his mouth was devouring her's again drawing the air out of her lungs into his. There was too much warmth, too much tightness, just too fucking much and suddenly they are one together with Erik spilling his seed into Moira. Moira convulsed around Erik's cock tightly drawing him further into her as her own orgasm rippled through her. Erik panted, dropping his head next to her ear and all she can hear is his breathe against her's. They were gasping for breath, bodies slick with sweat, eyes unfocused and limbs too heavy to lift. Erik collapsed on the floor bringing with him Moira. Their eyes slip shut, their arms around each other.

Dimly, Moira and Erik can hear Charles softly and sadly chuckling again.

The next day, Moria found that she was in bed, alone, tucked in and clearly naked. Bolting upright, she put her hands to her head as it started swimming. "Too much to drink, too much fucking drink," she muttered, head still foggy from last night's event. (Last night's event?)

And then she remembers what transpired last night and moans in frustration and strangely enough in desire and need. She ran her hands over her body as if trying to claim it again from Lehnsherr. She stood unsteadily and walked into her bathroom to examine the damage that she knew Erik left on her neck. She was rewarded with a large darkening bruise when her eyes landed on the reflection in the mirror. Her brow furrowed in anger.

"Fuck," was all Moira could say. "Damnit." She knew that Lehnsherr had long since left her apartment and she also knew that he would not bring himself to kill her now. Something, inadvertently, clicked in Lehnsherr's mind. Moira also knew that she could not bring herself to kill Erik Lehnsherr either. It is not for her that this decision was made for, but for Charles. She always knew that she was a very distant second to Lehnsherr.

"Damn you, Charles," was all Moira could say before the tears started to slip down her eyes.

Reviews are lovely.