A/N: This single piece took me hours to write, which is a sharp comparison to some of my other fics, so I hope you all like it – the heels of my wrists are red and sore for no good reason, otherwise.

I've given you a mystery pairing at the beginning, with fairly kinky undertones as things develop – it could've been a work of art, but it's just sex with a loose plot, starring my two favorites. You'll guess who these two are soon enough, though, since I just love creeping you folks out with this pairing. It's a one-shot, unless you all request for more.

Love it or shove it.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em.

Inappropriate Conduct

He should have never asked her to join him for dinner.

But she'd been sitting there, heart-wrenchingly beautiful, devoid of her usual painted, gloomy mask and alone at her own table in that restaurant, obviously stood up on a date. She had been watching the candles in their holders burn to stubs, her eyes watery but her jaw set. Miserable and angry – though quite clearly she was experiencing more of the latter than the former. He knew she had a passionate streak. Nonetheless, he was willing to brave that passion and invite her to join him, because he had seen something underneath her quiet fury. There was something about the underlying vulnerability in her expression, something about it that appealed to him and had caused him to lose his grip on logic.

He should have never asked her to unburden her heart to him.

But eating in silence with company was impolite, and he knew that she was far too uncomfortable to be dining with an enemy to strike up a conversation herself. So he'd asked her what had brought her to that particular restaurant – she'd seemed surprised he'd asked, but she seemed to acknowledge in advance that he would get an answer out of her no matter how much effort it took. With a resigned tone in her voice, she'd told him why she was alone – she was there on a promise of a romantic night out which had, as on previous occasions, been conveniently forgotten by her date.

He should have never asked her what she planned for the remainder of the night.

But the conversation had dried up after her short explanation – she didn't leave him with much to question her about. It was actually something he valued in conversation; he always hated having to ask half a dozen questions to get to the point of things, but she was rather direct. Nonetheless, when he'd mentioned that the evening was still young she'd paused, having not given thought to that fact before. She admitted that, rather than enjoy the night as she'd planned, she was more than likely going to just hail a cab, go home and try to forget anything had happened.

He should have never offered to wait with her for that cab.

But he had. And, after an assessing look from her – a look that, upon reflection, made it seem as though she was well aware of what his offer would result in – she had accepted.

A heady sense of defiance was taking over his usually stable logic.

He could pinpoint the reason why – the reason had just accepted his jacket to protect herself from the cold night's air since she had forgotten to bring one, not having had the foresight to know she would be standing in the parking lot of the restaurant, waiting for a taxi cab. He watched her, arranging his face to an expression of mild curiosity in an attempt to conceal what he was thinking. She glanced up at him, noticing his eyes on her. In the hazy glow of the streetlights, he watched a faint blush slowly stain her high cheekbones.

It was nice to know that he wasn't the only one feeling this pleasurable discomfort.

He looked away from her, smiling slightly. She quickly turned her eyes back to the hedges beside them, but he could see from the corner of his eyes the way her hairline moved slightly – she was smiling as well, however small a smile it might be.

The sound of light piano music drifted into the street from the opening doors of the restaurant, as a handful of executives made for their respective cars. At the side of the building, the worn asphalt of the parking lot was well-disguised by a number of well-kept hedges and rose bushes. Along the footpath, at the entrance, there were more roses, with the closed flowers lending a decidedly sweet scent to the air that mingled with the smell of the food that wafted from inside.

He was never one to appreciate those little things all that much, but it seemed that she was. She had closed her eyes, with her head tilted just a little back and slightly to the side. Her expression was peaceful, her lips slightly curved upwards in a smile, as she let her senses take in what they would of the night's ambience.

He felt a need to disrupt her blissful peace. That expression of hers was reacting inappropriately in some usually ignored region of his mind.

But, the defiant, illogical part of his mind argued, who decreed that those thoughts were 'inappropriate'?

Nonetheless, he interrupted her peace – his organ of logic was still functioning, however impaired it might be. "Has this happened before, Rogue?" he asked her, belatedly realizing that he was being callous. Well, he reasoned with himself, he was her enemy, when it counted.

The girl opened her eyes as he spoke and looked up at him – an admirable quality, a sign of respect. She turned her face away, however, when she replied. "Bein' stood up by him, ya mean? It's happened b'fore," she admitted quietly. "Happens every so often, when he just feels like it. This is the third time."

He had no idea why she was being so forward with him. Either did she – the quickly fading reasonable part of her mind kept trying to remind her just who it was standing beside her on that curb, waiting with her for her cab. But her reason and instinct was being overridden by the unexpected kindness he was displaying; not many enemies of hers were even remotely considerate, and she had thought none were gentlemanly enough keep her company on a sidewalk. She hadn't ever expected that this one would, even.

She pushed aside her melancholy brooding and low-burning anger; she pushed aside thoughts of the one who had left her alone at that table, and looked up at him again. He towered over her by about a foot, making her feel rather vulnerable for a reason entirely removed from all the times she could recall being at the mercy of him and his near limitless power. It was just the sort of vulnerability, however, that she could perhaps become accustomed to. Feminism and a life of looking out for number one, be damned…she loved a man in control.

And who was more in control of himself and those around him than the Master of Magnetism?

Magneto felt her eyes on him; he turned to look down at her. She was studying him curiously and she flared a high red to be caught doing so, but she didn't look away.

"You aren't at all anxious to have me keeping you company?" he asked, slightly smiling at the color spreading across her cheeks.

"Fairly anxious," she admitted honestly. "But we only had dinner. If ya were gonna kill me or abduct me or make a pitch for me ta join the Brotherhood again, ya woulda done it by now." She mirrored his small smile. "An' ya probably wouldn't have bought that wine, or picked up the check."

His mouth twitched upwards a little more. She was probably right. "Fair enough."

An easy silence fell between them. A slight wind brushed around the both of them, playing with the lace hem of Rogue's long green dress, pulling her hair out of its elaborate twist. Magneto watched her, his smile fading. Something darker was rising at the back of his mind – something that had crossed his mind before, but never as an actual possibility.

Something she had no idea real about, which made the thoughts all the more indulgent.

A set of white headlights pierced through his musing. A yellow and black cab rolled into view, stopping directly in front of them. The driver blatantly looked Rogue up and down, hanging out of the window and demanding to know if she was the one who'd called for him.

The girl nodded and began to shed the coat. "Ah guess this is goodnight, then," she said, smiling slightly again. She was still blushing lightly, only now anxiousness was taking hold of her more steadily. "Thanks for waitin' here."

She handed him his coat, trying to fight back the color in her cheeks. It wasn't helped by the heady feeling she'd had since she'd sat down at his table. It wasn't helped by the way her skin seemed to ripple with a sensation she wasn't aware of when their hands made contact – even though her gloves it was electric – as she handed him his coat.

It definitely wasn't helped by that expression he had fixed her with. No one had ever looked at her like that in her life – at least, never so blatantly. As naïve to the world of sensuality and all things associated with it as she was, she knew what his hardening gaze implied.

But he was…him. And she was an X-Man.

Why didn't that seem to matter, right now?

Pulling herself away, feeling both cold with fear and warm with an unusual inner heat at the same time, she opened the cab door and moved to get in. If she could just leave now, the electricity between them would be broken – things would resume as they were. No one would ever need to know about this night; nothing would ever come of it.

Rational thought fled from him as she alighted one foot into the cab. He seized hold of her forearms – the silken opera gloves she wore seeming to elicit sensations that headed straight to his rising need – and held her in mid-step. Feeling far more forward than he'd expected of himself, he came to stand directly behind her, aligning her slight back against his front, and bent his lips down to her ear.

His voice was low in pitch and volume, thick with promise. His message was clearer than a bell.

"My dear…are you certain you want to leave right now?"

In his sleek Porsche, as they went tearing along the city streets, she was leaning over in her seat, unbuckled and amazingly uninhibited, gently tracing his jaw with her soft fingertips. She watched her own exploration of him with those wide green eyes of hers, marveling in the sensations of touch. "How?" she asked breathily, her eyes flickering up to his.

He smiled a slow smile, and indulged her question. "A shield of sorts," he explained. "A magnetic shield. A constant barrier. One that allows sufficient protection from external forces but is barely existent."

"When did ya come up with that?" she asked, still watching his eyes.

"Years ago. I spent some time experimenting with radioactive substances…this was much more simple than bothering those biohazard suits."

Rogue raised an eyebrow at the comment. She and radioactive substances seemed to have a common trait, then – she'd always made similar comparisons to Kitty; now it seemed they were more founded than she'd thought. She didn't dwell on it for too long. Her eyes left his, moving to her own ungloved hand again, which was now gently caressing his neck. Her right hand moved to the buttons of his collar, popping it open with a lazy flick.

Magneto caught her hand before she could unbutton any further. "Patience, Rogue," he told her levelly.

She smiled slightly, but obeyed.

The door to the suite snapped closed.

Magneto dropped the key onto the awaiting hook by the door and turned to watch Rogue. She was already at the left corner of the room. She had removed the bobby pins and clips from her hair – shaking out her auburn kinks – and had now quietly set about removing her high heels, standing with her back to him. Her undone and disheveled look, marring the polished appearance her formal attire gave her, was all the more enflaming. With a few short strides, Magneto was behind her, one arm encircling her waist and his free hand gently caressing her heated cheek.

"You have one last chance to back away," he told her quietly. Never, not in any irrational thought, had he ever thought he would be in this situation – holding tightly a woman he'd tried to kill, a woman who'd tried to kill him, with the intent of destroying the black-and-white line that stood between them and made them enemies. What this would make them remained to be seen.

Indeed, how would things develop from this night? What could develop? Of all Xavier's students, she was the most unsure in her conviction of his ridiculous dream. She was the most…corruptible? Yes, that was the right term for it. Why else would she be standing before him now in this quiet hotel suite, her back pressed against his chest and her eyes fluttering closed in contentment?

At the same time, Magneto doubted that even were they to continue this on future occasions she would require far more persuasion before she left Xavier's Institute. Perhaps he might try to persuade her. The idea was appealing. However, at the same time, he knew she wouldn't attempt to make him 'see the light', as any of her fellow team members might – she wouldn't preach the doctrine delivered to her by Charles. It was all the more delightful.

"If you want to stop, and forget that we had ever come here, now is the time to say so," he told her gently, not looking directly at her but at her odd white stripe, sweeping over her face from the rest of her side-parted hair, as he ran it through his fingers. He wasn't entirely sure that he could follow through with his promise to stop now – this heady feeling of defiance was an unusual high; the odd light in her expression was all the more provoking; he was already far too aroused. To him, there was already no stopping.

However she had no intention of backing away. His gentle, restrained offer carried an underlying tone of danger that made her tremble all over – refusing him was out of the question. She was so very slight compared to him with her shoes removed – their borrowed height was lost. She turned in his arms, pressing her hands against his chest and looking up at him cautiously. Raising herself on her toes, Rogue gently passed a hand over his strong jaw and turned her face up to his in a gesture of pure submissiveness that sent a thrill right to the heart of his desire.

She was trying her very best to think of the repercussions of this. Her teammates would know she'd been stood up, because that one would have either remained at the Institute for the night or headed out to some bar to stumble back plastered in the early hours of dawn. They would have been expecting her to come home early, perhaps at ten o'clock at the latest…not only God knows what hour it would be when Magneto would let her leave. They would ask questions about where she'd been, and they would ask why…and, after all, you can't really lie to your family, especially if that circle included telepaths.

They'd know what she'd done. It wouldn't ever drop, especially if Magneto decided to make more than just one night out of this, because she wouldn't say no to him. She would have to face accusations, disgusted looks, exasperated outbursts, lectures…

…If only she cared.

He wound his other arm about her small waist and pulled her in closely, capturing her faintly wine-stained lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. The sensation hit him low, making him tighten his hold on her. She seemed to mould into his hands, leaning into him to keep herself steady.

When they broke apart he stared down at her, and her up at him, both of them somewhat bewildered. She raised a shaking, tentative hand to her reddened lips, staring up at him with those wide green eyes of hers. She hadn't thought that a kiss would actually feel that heated and passionate – she'd never thought that Magneto, of all people, would make her feel like that. She blinked up at him, feeling mystified. "That…"

A dark smile crossed his face and she found she couldn't remember what she had been going to say. Her breath caught and his arms abruptly tightened around her again, pulling her roughly against him as he sought out the smooth, virginal flesh of her throat. He pressed fleeting and light kisses to her neck, the sensation so quick and dizzying that her eyes fluttered closed and she melted internally. Heat flared beneath her stomach, rendering her legs weak, as coherent thought began to slip out of her grasp.

Magneto was hardly conscious of his assault on the girl – he was more aware of her actions than his own. She had begun to move her hands up to the buttons of his shirt again; she didn't even seem conscious of what she was doing. She pulled the undone garment away from him, gave a momentary attempt to pull it over his arms but gave up when she realized he wasn't going to released his tight hold on her. She settled for tracing patterns on his chest with her still-gloved fingers.

The feel of the silk was highly pleasurable, but it provoked unreasonable anger in him somehow. He released her abruptly, pulling away from her throat and simultaneously seizing her hands. He tore the opera gloves away from her, dropping them carelessly.

Still dazed, Rogue opened her mouth to protest only to receive another searing kiss. Magneto took full advantage of her parted lips and sought out her tongue with his own, purposefully stroking the inside of her mouth. He caught hold of her shoulders, beginning to push the straps of her green dress away but leaving the violet lace underwear exposed there as it was. The garment required a little help over her breasts and hips, but soon enough the material was pooled around her feet. He finally dropped his shirt aside with it.

In one fluid movement, he had her straddling his waist, her ankles crossed at the small of his back and her arms around his neck. He held her thighs, clutching her harshly. She was moaning against his mouth, tightening her legs about him and pushing insistently into his hips. The ready warmth of her lace-clad core pressing against him so urgently was eating away at the last of his restraint.

He crossed the room, holding her tightly, coming to kneel on the wide bed. He leaned forward, finally breaking their kiss and laying her down in the white mass of the bedspread. His head sank with her prone figure, coming to rest in the crook of her neck.

His soft touches ended there. With one abrupt, harsh motion he had her wrists in his grasp. He held her hands firmly at either side of her head and bit into the creamy skin above her collarbone sharply, eliciting another moan from her, before soothing the reddening imprint of his teeth with a gentle kiss.

Rogue arched into his touch as he raked a fierce attack over her shoulders, neck and collarbone. He stopped every so often, dropping a sweet kiss to a chosen red blemish. She could only writhe under his attentions, pulling at his hold on her wrists. He intensified his grip, biting all the more harshly into her flesh. The pressure of his strong teeth wasn't enough to break her skin, but it was more than enough to ensure she would have bruises to show for this night. It was a dizzying thought – coupled with the sharp sensation of his teeth against her, it made every nerve ending she possessed come alive.

Magneto abruptly released her hands and directly sought her hips. He grasped the violet lace scrap there, yanking it away in a sudden, swift motion. The sound as the garment rendered elicited another moan from the girl beneath him. She was enjoying his rough handling of her. It was a revelation that surprised, angered and aroused him in a furious combination that he couldn't recall having felt before.

He sat up on his knees, towering over her helpless form. This sense of power she allowed him was remarkable – his head was spinning with the drunken state it left him in. Beneath him, hardly conscious of her near nudity, Rogue reached up with one tentative hand to brush lightly at the sweat beads that had begun to form on his brow. He allowed her that much before restraining her wandering hand tightly.

And, somewhat unbidden, he began to talk.

"Tell me something, Rogue…" He paused for a brief moment, making a conscious effort to keep all signs of his want out of his voice. "Tell me what you want."

She briefly considered replying with a smart-ass remark – a million dollars and world peace? But that steely look was still in his eyes; she wasn't going to risk making him lose his temper. Brutally honest seemed to be the best answer to give, but as she opened her mouth she couldn't find her voice. He had begun gently caressing her thighs, making her tremble violently. She could only sigh, her contentment slightly marred by a hidden want.

"I'm still waiting on an answer," he told her sternly, still watching her.

Her eyes closed – his resolute demand was more exciting than the gentle touch he was applying lightly though the material of her stockings. "Ah want the bitin' again," she admitted huskily. "Ah want that sharp feelin', the soreness an' the heat. Ah wanna hurt, just a little. Ah want ta feel more than light touches an' sweet caresses." She frowned behind her closed eyes. "Ah've already had all that."

Magneto's gentle caress against her thighs paused momentarily, then resumed – even lighter than before. "Who?" he asked, his voice impassive.

Her eyes opened again. "Not like that," she said quietly. "Ah never have…no. Ah've only ever been held gently, felt a gloved hand against mah face, had someone run a hand through mah hair…nothin' like this." She moved slightly beneath him, blushing furiously. There was something rather unnerving about admitting this aloud, especially to him, but somehow the unsettling feeling mingled into heady desire – she really did love it when someone else took control.

But he wouldn't let her dwell on that. He abandoned his light touches at her thighs and leaned over her again, holding himself up upon his elbows as he non-too-gently bit into the crook of her neck. She moaned, caught between soothing gratification and low-flaring lust, and rose into the touch.

Leaning his weight upon one arm, he took her hand and guided her to his belt. Without a moments hesitation, she pulled the leather strap open and away from him. She paused then, however, waiting for permission as she gently laid a touch to the button of his fly.

In lieu of spoken consent, he bit harder into her neck. Her desire-soaked moan thrilled along his spine as her slight fingers began to carefully release him from the surprisingly cramped confinement of his pants. He groaned aloud against her reddened throat, unable to keep the pleasured sound at bay, as his hampered erection sprang free.

His patience sank away – he was no longer content with simple touch. Still holding his weight on one arm, he reached his free hand between them, to the apex of her thighs. He covered her there with his calloused hand, savoring her warmth for a brief moment, before he began a slow and gentle trail over the valley of her sex.

His touch was torturous – he was openly defying her need for coarse, stinging sensation – but there was no complaining to him. Rogue knew, in the dark glint in his eyes as he watched her, that he was enjoying her utter submissiveness as much as she enjoyed his complete domination. There was no room for her to complain or request anything in this arrangement. She could only mewl helplessly with frustrated pleasure, tossing her head from side to side, silently praying for him to apply more pressure, to be more forceful…

Magneto kept his eyes on her face, but his entire concentration was on what he could feel. Her skin was superheated; her slight, untried opening was growing all the more dampened as he touched her. Still staring intently into her bright green eyes, he made a gesture to end that frustration somewhat – he slid his explorative touch away from her opening and harshly pinched the sensitized nub of nerve endings above it.

Rogue's eyes rolled back; her hips raised off the bed. He continued to apply pressure to her most sensitive point, his breath becoming ragged as he watched her twist beneath him. He squeezed the little pearl of flesh harder, harder…until he received the response he wanted.

A long, almost pained cry filled the air – Rogue was barely aware that she was the source of it. Magneto released her, causing her cry to be cut off in a whimper. Staring down at her still, with that steely, lust-ridden gaze of his, he squeezed again, harder still. She moaned loudly, her legs falling further apart as her hips rose, a gesture of begging for more.

But he released her. His hand trailed back down to her opening – he gently tested her, pushing slightly against her there with a knuckle. Her hips jerked involuntarily into his touch. Her cheeks were colored a high red; her eyes were so heavy with lust that her lids drooped; her breathing was jagged, matching his own. She was beyond prepared and willing. He reached for her hand once more, guiding her to grasp his erection. She complied, squeezing him in her shaking grip as he proceeded to remove what was left of his clothing.

His shoes fell to the floor with a thud just as she reached the most sensitive part of him; the rapidly coloring head of his cock. He hissed, eyes slamming closed, and grit his teeth. Encouraged, she ran a nail gently along the slit, dragging the heavy bead of moisture that stood there down the vein-laced shaft and to the very base of the organ.

Finally managing to free himself of his remaining clothes, he roughly grasped her hand and pulled her away from him. He sought out her other hand, which had been curled and clutched in the bedsheets, and held both of them as he had before on either side of her head, pinned down tightly.

She tilted her hips up to his, now staring at him with wide, anticipating eyes. The realization of her inexperience hit him low in the gut, but only served to stoke the fire of his lust. He pushed the purple head of his erection against her opening, sliding just the very tip into her.

Her eyes widened further as he stretched her. The unfamiliarity of it made the color in her face become more pronounced. The sensation had her biting her bottom lip tightly. It was going to hurt – it would hurt like hell, if what Kitty had told her was right. But, unlike Kitty, Rogue welcomed it. She clenched her inner muscles against what of him she had in her, drawing another sharp hiss from him.

He resumed drawing into her wet heat, all the more slowly. He knew, somewhat instinctively, what she wanted of this first contact. Barely an inch into her, he felt the slight resistance of her natural barrier. With slow deliberation, he pressed forward.

Rogue's gasping became a high-pitched, mournful wail. Her virginal skin was slowly, torturously breaking – that ache, coupled with the pleasurable stretching his vein-crossed appendage demanded of her, was such a heady sensation that she barely noticed the pained tears that rolled over her cheeks.

Magneto watched her, writhing in an intense combination of pain and pleasure. He felt an impulse to sooth away her tears as they fell, but a more dominant desire for both his and her gratification already held most of his attention; he had no room in his conscious thought to accommodate any other want.

She arched, her cry dying out as he finally broke through her inner barrier. Still, he would not pause, nor would he give her time to accommodate to this new sensation – he continued to slowly sheath himself inside her until he was entirely enveloped. He held the two of them together that way for a long moment, before beginning to establish a slow rhythmic series of paced thrusts.

To her, it felt as though he was cleaving a passage through her entire body, right to the back of her throat. A slow spread of electricity shocked over her skin with each masterful stroke he dealt her, leaving her gasping for air. Above her and still holding her down tightly, Magneto kept his darkened eyes locked to hers. Every time they broke the contact, it would be her doing – her tossing her head from side to side; her letting her lids fall in sensual abandon.

All conscious thought was lost to him now. He could only feel two things – hedonistic pleasure and a ridiculous sense of control. The further he sank into the sensation of her, though, the further his sense of control waned. His hold on her wrists tightened; his thrusts took an urgent edge. Beneath him, flushed and rumpled and beautiful, Rogue arched her back and moaned breathily.

The tension she held him with in her thighs was causing her stockings to rub her skin raw. The bruises on her shoulders were beginning to ache. The grip he held her wrists in was beginning to turn painful. But none of it mattered. All she could think of was the rough slide of his chest against her lace-bound breasts, the constant and tantalizing slap of his balls against her, the blood-hardened appendage inside of her that was eliciting sensations in her that she hadn't been aware of before.

She began to moan in earnest. She threw her head back into the pillows beneath her, exposing the long line of her white throat. Purple bruises were already forming there, where he'd bitten her. Her moans started to become whispered screams. Magneto felt something click in the back of his lust-fogged mind – his control had snapped. It was the last coherent revelation he had for a while.

He finally broke his gaze on her, groaning aloud in abandon and sinking his head down to rest his forehead in the pillows beneath her. She was tightening around him, coming closer to completion – it wouldn't be long for her. The added tension was the most pleasurable sensation…but still it was not quite enough. He was still far from his end.

That changed instantaneously as she bucked against him violently, teeth clenched against a pleasure so intense it blinded her. A vicious climax took her over, pulling the longest, loudest moan from her yet. As her cry died and her blissful agony continued, she did the only thing she could – she bit down on the nearest thing; his chest.

His skin broke under the pressure of her teeth. Magneto raised up again, eyes closed tightly. Every muscle in his body contracted, pulling tensely. He all but roared with the sensation that ripped through him, as a final, fierce thrust spilled his seed within her.

…For a long moment, the two of them remained still save for the rapid rising and falling of their chests under their labored breathing. A sweat drop rolled from his forehead to fall onto the heated skin of her throat. Both stared at each other, their eyes blank.

But neither moved.

Magneto broke the stillness, finally releasing her wrists. Rogue hissed sharply as the tension he had held in them was replaced with an ache. Gently pulling away from her, he smiled almost remorsefully. "Have I hurt you, my dear?" he asked.

Rogue massaged her wrists, still lying on her back as he settled to lie at her side. She nodded, but didn't look at all phased by it. "Ah understood that was part of the idea," she told him, settling her arms down in the very position he'd held them in.

"Indeed," he agreed. Still, he smiled his slight smile at her, even when he tugged at a lock of her hair sharply. "You wounded me." He gestured to the small but bloodied bite mark on his chest.

She stretched as much as her aching muscles allowed, before lolling her head to the side to look up at him. "How do Ah make up for it?" she asked quietly.

He gently traced a line along her collarbone, causing her eyes to flutter closed. "I will think of something," he returned. "Your penance will be extracted another day."

The girl smiled slightly, finally.

Watching her bruised lips curve upwards, Magneto began to chuckle lightly. When she opened her eyes, looking curiously at him, he began stroking her sweat-soaked hair from her face. "I had almost expected you would abhor the idea of establishing such a relationship with anyone, let alone with the enemy of your mentor," he told her.

Rogue looked at him thoughtfully, then ghosted a finger over his caressing hand. "Ah don't mind," she replied honestly. "As long as ya want me, Ah'm here."

"Good." He captured her wandering hand and laid a gentle kiss over her fingers.

She allowed herself another moment before she began to think practically again – the first thought to spring to her mind demanded to know the time. With a twinge of discomfort and a sigh, she rolled to her side and sought out the clock on the bedside table. It was two-thirty in the morning. "Ah should go," she said. Rather than sitting up, she rolled back to him. "May Ah go?"

He nodded his assent. "It would probably do to take a shower first. One of your guardians has heightened senses, after all." He sat up on the edge of the bed with his back to her.

As she got up, she gingerly touched a bruise on her shoulder and gave him a smile over her shoulder. "Ah think Ah'm gonna get questioned anyway, whether he can smell what Ah've done or not. Maybe not now, but it'll happen."

That was true enough. "Does that bother you?" he asked, reaching for his trousers and beginning to pull them on.

The girl shook her head, replying "no" and began to retrieve her clothes, casting aside her torn underwear into a wastepaper bin. She padded to the bathroom, twisting up her hair in one hand as she went. It wasn't likely that he would be there when she emerged – they both knew. Rogue wasn't sure if that was relieving or disheartening. Magneto was wondering the same.

"One last thing, my dear…" Magneto said, making her turn just as she opened the bathroom door. He finished buttoning his pants, smiling slightly at her. "When we are alone, it would suit you well to call me 'sir'."

She flushed furiously, though not in humiliation or anger. "Of course, suh."