A/N: I haven't read all the House of M books, so don't be upset if I mess with continuity. I know Wanda's there, pretending to be human; she has a son, but no husband/father is ever seen; St. John's working for Magneto . . .and that's about it. That's all I needed. Hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am to a spiritual level beyond material possessions. Therefore, I must borrow everyone else's.

Confusing Reality and Fiction

"You know, this is wrong," came a voice from the tussled bed sheets.

Wanda Maximoff's head snapped from the vanity toward the bed. "Are you growing morals all of a sudden?" Her smile teased the lanky mutant, then she resumed brushing her hair.

The man rolled over, his shaggy mop of orange hair gathering static electricity, and let out a hardy laugh. "Me, never! You've always been the one with the morals here. Keep hidin' us from Daddy and Sissy and Bro and Baby. Throw me out windows and into closets when you get paranoid."

Wanda looked his reflection in the mirror. "Are you complaining?"

"Only when I land on the wrong end of your stilettos." He propped himself up on an elbow and flashed a smile so wide it took up half his face.

"You're such a whiner. I know you like it." She set down her brush and stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from her Egyptian cotton robe. She smiled mischievously and strutted to the bed. As she crawled into the bed, her knee raised through the front slit in the robe, exposing bare skin to mid-thigh.

The man's eyes moved from her face down to her naked leg, search to see a little more. He licked his lips and gave more space on the bed. "I like a lot of 'wrong' things," he said.

Wanda Maximoff rolled her eyes as she settled next to him, laying her head on his arm. "Okay, I'll bite. What is so 'wrong?'"

"You." With his free hand he lifted her hand above them, then examined and massaged it. "You found out your childhood hero was your long-lost father. Now you're practically a princess of this godforsaken world. You can have anything you can dream up in that pretty little noggin. According to the storybooks, you should be livin' happily ever after with your prince. But . . ." He laid her hand on her stomach, pulled his arm gently out from under her head, and rolled to his side, using his hand to prop his head up.

When he didn't finish his sentence, Wanda raised both eyebrows expectantly. "But?"

He smiled and drew aimlessly on her stomach exposed through the opening in the robe. "Instead you seduce me -"

"Seduce you?" Wanda propped herself up on her elbows and pulled her robe shut. "I did no such thing."

The grin never left the man's face. "Course you did. Sure, I had to get the balls rolling, but you came around."

A pillow smacked the smirk off his face. "Your confusing our story with one of your books."

Wearing a frown that didn't extend below the surface, the author spit a feather from his mouth. "I'm not the one confusing reality and fiction here, Sheila. We do dirtier stuff than I'd ever put to paper."

Wanda backed off the bed like lightning into the shadows cast by the flickering candles. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. A strange light quivered in her eyes. "What did you say?"

Her lover sat up, confused by Wanda's reaction. "That my stories are much tamer than our love life. What's got you in a twist?"

When Wanda breathed a sigh of relief, the room seemed to brighten. Her head fell into her hand as she approached the bed. "I don't know. I thought . . .Nevermind." Wanda turned and sat on the edge of the bed, her back to the naked man. "I'm sorry, St. John. I don't know what came over me."

As carefully as he could, the Aussie slid to her side, putting his arm around her and resting his head gently on her shoulder. "No worries, luv." Wanda barely noticed that St. John had slid her robe off her shoulder until he started kissing it.

Wanda relaxed her shoulder, allowing more of the robe to fall. She closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations St. John was causing in her. When the nibbling stopped, her eyes shot opened, and her head turned toward the pyromaniac. He smiled with that familiar glint in his eye. "I'm glad you didn't go for the storybook ending. It makes this feel so much more real."

As John dove down to resume nibbling, Wanda sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed. Without looking at the knitted expression on his face, Wanda asked, "What if it's not real?"

St. John groaned. "Don't tell me. Creepy Mastermush has been playing a practical joke on me these last few months. I knew it was too good to be true."

"No, this has nothing to do with the telepath. How do you know what we have is real?"

"Guess there's no way to know for sure. There are so many mutants around that can manipulate emotions, thoughts, the environment. . ." His voice trailed as he saw Wanda's shoulders droop. He scooted closer to her and gently squeezed her hand. "But I feel it. Throughout my soul, I feel it. You and I are the only thing in this world that makes sense to me."

Wanda sneered and looked over her shoulder at St. John. "Our relationship makes sense?"

"Doesn't it to you?" He raised both his eyebrows. "When we're together, the rest of the world seems like some far off place. A storybook, if you will. The only thing I'm sure about in this world is you."

"But you said it feels wrong."

"No," he answered and tapped her nose playfully. "I said it's wrong in your storybook life. Like the pieces don't fit together. Maybe I should have said that everything but us is wrong."

The room grew dark once again. Wanda started straight ahead, at the wall. "My son is not wrong."

"Okay," John raised his hands and slid off the other side of the bed. "I can't seem to say anything right to you today, so I'm gonna go." He shuffled around the room, locating his clothing and putting them on. He opened the balcony door heading to his drain pipe escape route. Before he shut the door, he whispered, "I do love ya, Shelia."

The Witch posing as a human continued to stare into the darkness.

A/N: Well, that was fun. Don't ya think?