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When she arrived at the latest mutant soirée adorned in green silks and finery, Magneto felt the static in the air, the magnetic pull that would forever draw him to her.
Even after all these years, the flame he carried for Rogue had never gone out. He had always respected her need for distance since the dissolution of their romantic entanglement, but he could never sever the tie that bound his soul to hers. Within moments, their eyes met across the ballroom, and he offered her a warm smile from the distance, his heart leaping in his chest.
Her personal life being what it was, Rogue almost hadn’t gone. But she refused to feel sorry for herself. Despite the emotional turmoil of the last few months, she was determined to walk in with her head held high.
When her eyes found Magneto’s, she tried very hard not to notice that little flutter in her chest. She knew he would be here, after all. She simply hadn’t anticipated that they would find each other so quickly.
But that was a ridiculous notion. Surely he could find her in an instant if he wanted, no matter where she was. After the warm smile he gave her, she forgot about the party around them for a moment. She couldn’t help but smile in return, knowing that even with their colorful past, he still had affection for her. There was no sign of resentment.
Her smile was all the permission he needed to stride through the crowd of jubilant mutants to meet her where she stood. Counter to his usual nature, he was dressed rather tamely for this event: all in black, save for a pair of opera length purple gloves one might recognize from the many infamous photographs of his fateful trial in Paris.
As ever, Rogue was the star. Magneto would have it no other way.
She took in his appearance, her eyes lingering on the familiar pair of gloves wrapped around his arms.
“Been a long time, Magnus…,” she uttered.
The husky twang of her voice struck him with fond memories of a raspy giggle, a whisper in his ear, or a fiery rejoinder. It had been long, and Magnus had ignored how much he missed her.
“Rogue,” he replied. His smile only grew as their eyes met. “So it has. You look magnificent.”
His compliment was genuine, and her smile was equally so. “You look rather dashin’. Can’t say Ah’m used to you in black, but it’s growin’ on me, Ah think.”
A soft, amused breath passed his lips. “I thought to hearken back to a pivotal moment in my past. Self-indulgent, I know. But what better occasion than a gala to indulge?”
He couldn’t resist another appraising glance at her, drinking in both the gown’s beauty and her own.
“I am used to you in green, but I’ll never tire of the sight.”
Rogue noticed the way his eyes danced over her, not lecherously, but in a manner befitting their bond: respect and admiration, and definitely a hint of flirtation. She smiled.
“A tiger can never change its stripes. Ah’m certainly no different.”
“I would argue that it’s in your very nature to change your stripes,” he remarked with an amused twinkle in his eye.
She laughed. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“How are you?” he inquired politely. “It has been very long.”
Magnus recalled the last time they spoke: the day Rogue’s powers flared out of control above the skies of Manhattan, when she apologized for not telling him about her wedding. He hadn’t held it against her, as much as it stung to learn that the woman he loved had moved on without him. He would never begrudge her happiness.
His question came with a very complicated answer. “Ah’m… well, Ah’m doin’ okay. All things considered. What about you? Keepin’ Charles on his toes?”
He noted the subtle shift in her demeanor. There was something she neglected to mention. In the past, he might have pressed further, but there was a distance between them now that he dared not cross.
Despite his concern, Magnus maintained his friendly, pleasant manner as he replied, “I’m... happy that Charles and I stand together for the sake of our people. I’m happy that all of us have set aside our differences to build a future of which we could only dream before. It’s a great burden, but I’m glad to bear it.
“Of course,” he continued, “I needn’t ask if you’re keeping Gambit on his toes. You certainly kept me on mine.”
Rogue’s face fell slightly, and she managed to take a breath before answering, “Ah’m actually not… not anymore. Ah… Ah filed for divorce, Magnus.”
He blinked, stunned by her response. Instinct bade him to reach out—to set down his hand on her shoulder, or perhaps to draw her into his embrace and offer his comfort in touch. He would never celebrate the dissolution of a once happy marriage, not even the marriage that stood between Rogue and he. Magnus knew all too well the agony of a marriage torn asunder.
Moments later, he sighed, his brow furrowed.
“Forgive me, Rogue,” he said remorsefully. “I didn’t know.” Unbidden, his hand began to lift from his side as if to reach out to her. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
She shook her head. “You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry for. Ah haven’t exactly told a lot of people. Gossip spreads around here like wildfire.”
Those forlorn green eyes twisted his heart enough that his hand traveled the remainder of the distance between them to wrap gently around her forearm.
“I understand. Nevertheless, I reopened a wound that I’m sure you hoped to ignore this evening.”
The touch of his hand, a touch that she had almost forgotten, crumbled her resolve.
“Someone would have eventually asked why he wasn’t here… Best to get it out of the way, Ah guess.” Rogue tried to smile despite the hurt she felt even now.
It felt like an age since Magnus last gave voice to the pain he often buried beneath his fury and determination. He would brave the turbulent depths for few people, but Rogue counted among them. So, despite the festivities that surrounded them, Magnus spoke as if she was the only person in this room, his voice low.
“I know the feeling. Believe me… I know.” He squeezed her forearm reassuringly, then dropped his hand. “But you will rise from the ashes, as you always have,” declared Magnus confidently. “And he will regret every moment he spends without you.”
His touch was gone as quickly as it came. She almost wished that he hadn’t pulled away.
“Risin’ from the ashes is more of Jean’s thing, isn’t it?” she teased lightly.
He smirked. “Perhaps, but I suspect she would agree with me. We are mutants. We rise, we fall, and we rise again.”
This time, Magnus reverted to his usual approach: he offered her his hand, an invitation given freely.
“Shall we dance?”
She considered his offer for only a moment before slipping her fingers into his waiting palm.
“Ah would like that, yes.”
With a simple flex of electromagnetic force, Magnus rose above the throng of mutants mingling on the dance floor. Rogue followed suit under her own power until the couple floated among the far sparser number of flying mutants in attendance. Without delay, Magnus spread their intertwined hands outward and draped his arm around her waist.
“How do you like it, Rogue: our new paradise?” probed Magnus.
They moved together above the dance floor, their powers allowing them a degree of privacy even surrounded by the crowd. Rogue’s hand came to rest gently on the lapel of his suit. The jewelry she wore sparkled with each small movement.
“It’s unlike anythin’ Ah could have imagined on my own. Sometimes Ah wonder if Ah’m just dreamin’ and Ah’ll wake up and it will disappear.”
“Every day, I’m struck with the same feeling,” he concurred. “The failures of my past loom large. Asteroid M, Avalon, Genosha…”
Magnus’ eyes drifted from hers for just a moment to touch the crowd of mutants below. Their children, Charles would say. Magneto had let them down one too many times.
“This time will be different. I swear it,” he vowed. “This time, I’m not alone.”
He locked eyes with her again, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’ve been a poor friend to you these past years,” he admitted in lieu of apology, “but I am your friend nonetheless. I know this pain. I will be here for you always.”
Her eyes softened at his proclamation.
“We’ve both fallen short in that regard. It wasn’t just you. It was me too.” She squeezed the hand that held hers ever so gently. “The past is where it belongs. All we can do now is look to what’s ahead.”
For now, they simply swayed side to side in the air. Magnus squeezed her hand back.
“You’re right,” he agreed.
If only it was so easy. He wouldn’t be Magneto if he didn’t see everything through the lens of the past, colored by all that he had witnessed and wrought to survive. He could never break the habit, and he supposed he never tried to, anyhow. It would be antithetical to his very self.
“And what’s ahead for you?” asked Magnus.
A smile worked itself over her lips. “Right now, Ah’m just going to enjoy myself tonight. As for what comes next, Ah got time to figure all that out.”
“All the time in the world,” he whispered, jokingly conspiratorial. By now, everyone knew Krakoa’s greatest gift. Not only would mutantkind live, but it would thrive—forever.
Magneto lifted their linked arms and spun Rogue slowly.
“Now that I have your attention, I should ask: does the notion of joining the Quiet Council interest you?”
A breathy chuckle escaped her as he spun her around, but her eyes widened at his question.
“The Council? Ah mean, Ah’ve certainly considered it, but just assumed all the spots were spoken for.”
“Yes, they are. But things change. I’ve considered…,” he trailed off. The light in his eyes dimmed as thoughts of recent events dropped a shroud of weariness over him. “We were never meant to be permanent,” he explained. “A mutant government ought to evolve as we do. I feel my time coming to an end, and I thought to propose you as my replacement.”
A look of surprise came over her. She thought about his proposition. It was certainly a high honor to be considered for the Quiet Council.
“Ah’m flattered that you would consider me, Magnus. But… what would that mean for you? You’re not… leavin’, are ya?” she asked with hesitance in her voice.
Magnus’ expression turned remote, even slightly wistful, despite the smile he wore for her. It was his turn to plumb his latest tragedy.
“I… may be,” he murmured. “But I don’t intend to go far. Only a gate’s journey away to Arakko. I’ve already consulted Ororo.” An undercurrent of bitterness ran through the touch of humor in his deep voice.
Rogue was saddened by his desire to leave. But she couldn’t blame him for it, nor dissuade him once he made up his mind. She nodded.
“Is that what you want? To move on?”
“I’m… still mulling it over,” he sighed. He spun her around again, then held her to him closer than before. “I’m so tired, Rogue. I’ve made too many mistakes. I believe in the work, but I fear the Council has lost its way. I fear that I have lost my way. You are a being of pure empathy. You have never forgotten the significance of this struggle. You have earned my seat.”
He lapsed into a pensive silence. He wanted to tell her his other reason, but he always choked on the words that would expose his weakness, even in front of the one he knew would never exploit him.
Rogue sensed some hesitation on his part. Her hand smoothed over his suit jacket.
“Ah know you believe in me, and that means more than you know. But Ah want you to be absolutely sure that this is what you want. If the positions were reversed, you would tell me the same.”
“I care deeply about our future,” he elaborated. “I always shall, no matter how I choose to serve us. But I won’t let myself become a bitter, foolish old man clinging to power that should belong to the young.”
His belief in that principle was resolute, if his even and confident tone was any indication. But the next part was much more difficult to force out.
“Beyond that…,” he began. “When Wanda gave her life to bring our lost souls back from the grave, I surrendered myself to hope. I had some foolish notion that…” Magnus cut his eyes away from her in shame. “Every one of us who had ever lived could return. You understand… I thought that might mean…”
He blinked away the pooling wetness in his eyes.
Her heart twisted as she caught his meaning—the one who he had hoped to be reunited with once more.
“Oh, Magnus…,” she whispered, her own eyes burning as she tried not to cry for the child he lost.
He steeled his resolve and again met her shimmering gaze with his.
“She didn’t have a mutant gene. She was human.” Their gentle swaying in the air slowed to a stop as his grief took hold. “There’s nothing for me here, Rogue,” lamented Magnus. “Many mutants have already been reunited with the ones they lost. I can never be. My failure to protect her is eternal.”
He released her hand to rub at his eye.
She was pensive for a moment. “What if it’s not?” she asked.
Stark white eyebrows furrowed as the evidence of his melancholy slowly trickled from his features.
“What do you mean?” he pressed.
She was thinking aloud, but there was confidence in her voice. “What if there was another option? Time travel, for instance. There could be a way to go back to the night of the fire, get her out before it’s too late.”
The second wave of despair nearly barreled him over. His eyes widened from the shock of it for barely a moment, but with how intently Rogue was studying him, she would surely notice. Magnus slipped his arm from her waist and floated back a pace’s length. He breathed in deep and struggled to compose himself.
“You’re too kind, my dear,” he exhaled. “But it’s a fool’s errand. Even if I could bring her back…” He shook his head. “Imagine being plunged into an era you’ve never known as a young child. Your mother has been dead for seventy years. Your father is old, and a wholly different man than the one you knew. It would be cruel. I condemned her enough with my carelessness. I won’t condemn her further with my selfishness.”
Rogue watched as Magnus broke away. Her eyes were full of compassion and resolve.
“And what difference would it make if she’d been resurrected by Wanda’s sacrifice? Yes, she would be thrust into this new era, but so was everyone else that we brought back. She would be alive, Magnus. She would know her father, her siblings. She would get to grow up.” She kept her voice soft, watching as the man who had always held such a high position in her heart and mind wrestled with his past mistakes and horrors. “She would know that her father did everything in his power to save her.”
“Yes. Her resurrection would bear the same fruit. I understood that the moment I learned she was beyond our reach.”
He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. All at once, it was too crowded here in the air. His eyes darted around the ballroom in search of an escape.
“Northstar’s daughter—she died less than a decade ago. She was an infant. Anya died in 1958. She was seven years old. She had a life in the past. It isn’t the same.”
He found a large, open window and indicated in its direction with a tilt of his head. “Come with me,” he beckoned.
She followed where Magnus led, out the window, the night air cool against the exposed skin beneath her dress.
Magnus descended to the cobblestone square beyond the indoor ballroom, where only a few stray mutants lingered, conversing quietly or basking in the fresh air and glorious view of the full moon that hung over the island. After Rogue landed, he took both of her hands in his.
“Your compassion honors me, but it can’t be. I’ve hurt my children enough. And I…” A tear fell freely from his eye and down his cheek. “I can’t raise her without Magda,” was his final, most heartrending confession. “Magda made me a better father. Without her, I am lost.”
She didn’t know what to say. He had loved Magda for so long. It was foolish of her to think that she could bring Anya back and not her mother. Besides, she had no way of knowing what had happened to Magda after Anya died and she gave birth to the twins. Such hopeful thinking did more harm than good, it seemed.
Rogue swallowed down her feelings. She reached a hand up gently, the barrier of her glove against his skin as she carefully brushed the tear away.
“Forgive me. Ah shouldn’t have pushed.”
He couldn’t help himself—he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, grateful for even the briefest contact. Again, he sighed, and several more tears escaped. Yet his voice remained steady, though roughened by his grief.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he assured her. “You offered help. I’m grateful that you still care enough to try.” He smirked ruefully. “It is as you said. We must move on from the past. I think it will be easier to do so on Arakko, away from the petty squabbles of the Quiet Council.”
Away from the root of his pain.
There was silence for a long moment. She couldn’t bring herself to pull away as she wiped his tears.
“So, that’s your grand plan? Leave me to play referee on the Council while you retire to Arakko?” she teased him.
Magnus smiled, genuinely this time. “You’ve found me out,” he returned.
After she brushed away his final tears, he grasped her hands once more like a lifeline, a shining light in the dark of his ceaseless bereavement.
“I won’t take offense if you decline. Hope has also considered vying for a seat on the Council. We have many worthy candidates. But you are one of our great leaders, Rogue—far greater than I am. Your skill is our nation’s gain.”
“Now you're just flatterin’ me, General.” She smiled as the title from another age slipped from her tongue. “But Ah know this kind of decision is not one to be made lightly or rashly. Ya gonna give me time to think about it?”
“Of course, Legacy,” Magnus joked in turn. “All the time you need.”
He lifted one of her hands and pressed her gloved knuckles to his lips.
“Thank you. Forgive me for losing my nerve.”
She smiled almost impishly. “You could always make it up to me with another dance,” she murmured.
Her silken tone set his heart racing again, but he schooled his features into debonair acceptance. “That is a penance I would gladly accept,” he said with a bow of his head.
Once more, he took her hand and draped his arm about her waist, but kept them both grounded as he made his first step into the dance. A stray thought reached Magnus then: he missed this. He wanted her in his life again. Even if she would no longer accept him as a partner, he longed to be her friend.
And thus he gave voice to the thought: “I missed you.”
They fell into that familiar stance, his hand around her waist, her hand in his, the warmth of his body in close proximity to hers. The words he spoke sent her heart fluttering, and she looked up into those slate blue eyes that had seen into the depths of her soul.
“Ah’ve missed you too…,” Rogue whispered.
Magnus wanted to kiss her. He wanted to feel the sparks dance across their skin, the warmth of her lips sliding against his, their bodies tangled around one another—
He kept dancing. As she bore into his eyes, so too did he bore into hers. He had nearly forgotten the flecks of gold and brown sprinkled within her forest green irises. If his dancing weren’t so well practiced, he might have missed a step and stumbled forward.
“I don’t want to overstep,” he began tentatively.
The way they looked at each other now was nothing short of electric. It was the same pull that compelled her to kiss him that night in Utopia, even after he recounted the story of Dr. August Hirt.
God, she wanted to do it again.
“If you do, Ah’ll be sure to tell ya…,” she murmured.
His face inched closer to hers.
“Your wounds are still fresh. I understand if you need time.”
He would wait years. He would wait decades. He hadn’t loved another person since their relationship came to an end.
It was the first time that evening that Remy had crossed her mind. The entire time she had been with Magnus, she hadn’t thought of Remy LeBeau at all.
“Time won’t change the fact that Ah never stopped lovin’ you…,” she whispered to him.
Magnus closed the remainder of the space between them and pressed his lips to hers. His hand plunged into her hair, fingers weaving into her silky auburn curls. He breathed deeply through his nose, and a quiet, deep hum rose up from his throat.
Her fingers curled into the lapels of his suit as if holding onto him would ensure this wasn’t a dream. She felt a shiver down her spine as his fingers wove into her hair and his lips found hers for the first time in so many years.
Their lips parted some time later, though neither could say how long.
Rogue was as sumptuous as Magnus remembered. For such a strong woman, both in form and in character, she was soft. Her body melted into his as if it was made to be kneaded and caressed and loved. The irony of her power never escaped him, and least of all each fateful time they touched.
“I never stopped loving you,” he uttered in kind, his breath hot against her skin. “I only ever wanted you to be happy. With or without me—it was immaterial.”
I want to make you happy again, he didn’t say. He didn’t need to.
She didn’t say a word, her eyes on his as she slowly removed one of her gloves, the bare skin of her hand reaching to feel him against her palm. She brushed her knuckles against his jaw, moving her fingers down to touch his neck, his pulse thrumming just beneath the skin.
Off came one of his gloves in turn. His heartbeat hastened, pupils blown wide with love as much as lust. The bare pad of his thumb traced along the seam of her lips before he ducked his head for a second, more rapacious kiss. Muffled against her mouth, he muttered her name like a prayer.
Her tongue darted out to taste him as her hands wrapped around his neck, her fingers in his hair as she floated off the ground to kiss him. Her body pressed against him as best she could in her dress.
His mouth dragged from her lips to the column of her throat. He brushed stray hairs from her neck with his bare hand and trailed a path of kisses down to her collarbone.
With reluctance, he eventually drew back enough to breathe and speak again.
“Rogue,” he said as he stripped his other glove, dropping it carelessly below their floating bodies. “Anna Marie. Before we parted ways, you told me that you needed to learn to make your own decisions rather than let others decide for you. I want to honor that.”
His fingers charted across the apple of her cheek. He cupped her jaw in his palm.
“I go no further until you set the course.”
She would have allowed him to keep going, if the way she tilted her head and the sighs that escaped her were any indication. But with his poignant reminder, she knew she needed to have this conversation with a clear head before they got too carried away.
Rogue took a breath. Despite the heat of the moment, her words were clear.
“That day in the ruins, you came to me with a proposal: that no matter where we went next, it would be together. Ah can’t tell you how many times Ah’ve thought about that conversation since…,” she chuckled. “Ah’ve gone over it in my head a million times, wonderin’ if Ah made the right choice. And now… Ah know Ah did. Because it was my choice. It may not have been the choice we liked, but it was mine. And now…” She placed a hand over his. “Ah’m choosin’ what Ah was too scared to choose back then. Ah’m choosin’ the one person who never wanted me to change myself to make room for him.”
She took another deep breath before admitting, “Ah love you, Magnus. And Ah’m not afraid of what that means anymore, including hoppin’ through a gate to Arakko.” She chuckled.
Relief surged through him like a tidal wave, restoring the energy he had lost during their conversation about his late daughter. A smile, wider than he had smiled all evening—wider than he had smiled in years, even—grew across his face, deepening the dignified grooves and creases of age that complemented his features. But he didn’t kiss her, no. He drew her into him in a tight embrace, and he buried his face into her hair, where he breathed the sweet scent he had taken for granted so many times before. He even laughed, rich and joyful.
“I love you,” he replied with equal fervor, his mouth hovering at the shell of her ear. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.” Magnus brushed her temple gently with his lips. “But you mustn’t abandon your friends and obligations here for me. I will come to you if need be.”
She chuckled. It was rare to see him so happy and carefree.
“Well, the offer of takin’ your place on the Council is temptin’. Ah might be secretly anticipating the look on •--|A|--•’s face when he figures out who your successor is.”
Magnus laughed again, quieter but no less amused.
“I don’t deny that the thought crossed my mind as well. He deserved death for his arrogance. May he wither in the face of your greatness.”
Though he wished to squeeze Rogue flush enough against him, he unraveled her from his embrace and once more slid his hand across her jaw until it fit into his palm.
“I find myself in no hurry to return to the party. What will we do now?”
She raised a brow, that impish look returning.
“How mad is Charles gonna be if we sneak off for the evenin’?”
“Say nothing more of Charles. I’ll deal with him tomorrow,” he replied dismissively. “I have a more urgent matter to attend.”
But not before he called his gloves, cleverly interwoven with magnetic fibers, into the pocket of his jacket.
“Let me show you the House of M.”
Rogue beamed at his suggestion and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Lead the way.”
In the mere moments their speed of flight allowed, Magneto’s grandiose mansion, every bit the testament to his equally grandiose character, came into view.
“Where are you staying now?” Magnus asked Rogue.
He didn’t intend to pry about her divorce while the hurt was still raw, but some topics had simply become unavoidable in the wake of their suddenly rekindled romance.
“Well… we had a house on Krakoa, but it was never used, so Ah was thinkin’ of transitionin’ to it. But for now the apartment Ah had in New York is where Ah’m staying temporarily,” she revealed.
Magnus alighted on the grass.
“It has only been minutes since we resumed our relationship,” he observed with a wry curve of his lips, “but you may consider this a place to stay as well.”
“A house as big as this one, Ah’m likely to get lost if Ah’m not careful.” She stepped closer. “Privacy certainly won’t be an issue,” she quipped.
“I chose this spot for precisely that reason, though I didn’t dare hope I would bring you here someday.”
Magnus took her hand and ran his thumb back and forth along the grooves of her knuckles. He hadn’t seen much of her since she married Gambit, but what he had observed had painted the portrait of a couple blissfully in love. Magnus was no gossip, certainly not to the extent of many of their kin, but he wondered nevertheless.
“Rogue,” he began, carefully selecting his next words. “What happened between you and Remy?”
Rogue seemed confused by his question before she realized she had told him about the divorce, but not why.
“Oh.” She took a breath. “Um… Well, turns out he and Bella had some unresolved issues. Issues that Ah walked in on a few months ago.”
Magnus’ eyes narrowed, but the soothing motion of his thumb against her knuckles continued.
“I feared as much,” was his flat reply.
Rogue was unerringly faithful, and he had cherished that quality since their debacle in the Savage Land many years ago. It enraged him that anyone would abuse it, yet so often the ones she held the closest plunged their knives into her back. Even he had done so in the past, to his great shame. He resolved to never again take advantage of her nature.
“Words cannot convey how sorry I am.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Ah haven’t spoken to him face-to-face, except with a lawyer present, in six months. Gave me a lot of time to think about things.”
She squeezed the hand that held hers.
“I haven’t heard so much as a whisper.” He squeezed back. “He is a fool. All you’ve sacrificed to be with him, and he answers your selflessness with disloyalty. He will regret it every day.”
Not because Magnus would visit upon him the retribution he deserved—he knew already that Rogue would never allow it—but because Magnus had lost Rogue before. She nestled so snugly into one’s heart that the absence of her left one utterly bereft.
“Yeah, well, it was either keep it quiet or have all the rumors flyin’ around, and Ah wasn’t ready at the time to deal with that.” She shook her head. “But as of thirty days ago, he’s not my problem anymore.”
She smiled, hoping to steer the conversation away from the topic of her ex-husband.
As if he read her mind, he said, “Enough of this talk. Come inside,” and led her by hand through the towering doors of the House of M.
Within, Rogue would find an austere palace molded in cold metal and twisted vines, a fortress as much as it was a home. They didn’t linger long in the expansive, open foyer as Magnus made a beeline for his study with Rogue in tow.
She drank in the sight of this metal palace that he called home. His study was no less impressive, with towering shelves housing tomes in varying languages and subjects. An ornate, mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, large and sturdy in appearance.
Magnus released her hand as they reached a finely upholstered burgundy couch before a looming fireplace. An offer to sit almost passed his lips before he was reminded of the circumstances—or, more specifically, of the exquisite yet cumbersome gown she still wore. A combination of amusement and faint chagrin flitted across his face.
“I’d hoped to sit with you, but your dress will take the space meant for me,” he teased.
A soft laugh left her lips. “Right, Ah guess Ah wasn’t thinkin’ about the practicality. Hmm.”
She took off her other glove and set both neatly on the desk before her hands reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.
It took every ounce of Magnus’ considerable restraint not to gape openly as she clasped the zipper of her gown. His powers reached for the metal pull tab and gently held it in place before Rogue could fully expose herself, though his baser instincts cursed him for denying himself the sorely yearned for sight of Rogue in nothing but her undergarments before him.
“I’m flattered,” he said, more breathless than he anticipated, “but that won’t be necessary.”
She turned to face him, a brow arched.
“Well, Ah would very much like to sit down with you without this dress getting in the way, and if Ah remember correctly, you’ve seen me in far less over the years.” She was visibly amused at his behavior.
Steel blue eyes glinted at the reminder of their colorful past. Rogue was right, of course; he had spent weeks with her in the Savage Land as she wore little but a shredded leotard. But that had been before. For years, they had only lamented the absence of what could have blossomed into a relationship. Now, they had true, tangible history. They had been together, then broken up. This was not merely a lit flame, but a rekindling. She had been married.
But, Magnus supposed, so had he.
Without delay, Magnus released his magnetic hold of her zipper. “Allow me,” he murmured.
He took the tab between his thumb and index finger and pulled the zipper down slowly, tantalizingly. The almost bare plane of flesh unveiled beneath sent a shudder of desire through his core.
The dress parted down her back as the zipper gave way. She shivered as his warm, strong fingers touched the skin along her spine, and she almost closed her eyes at the sensation. She hadn’t been touched there by anyone except herself in quite some time.
Magnus closed his eyes and took a quiet breath. His fingertips trailed slowly up the length of her spine, over the clasp of her brassiere which he dared not remove (yet), and across her left shoulder, where he slid her dress down her arm. Her necklace fell away under his power, floating across the room to join her gloves upon his desk. From behind her, he lowered his head and dropped a long, indulgent kiss at the nape of her neck. His arms wound around her waist.
She let out a breathless giggle. She turned in his arms, her fingers hooking into the buttons of his jacket, tilting her face upward to kiss him while she pushed the jacket off of his shoulders.
His hand found the base of her throat, fingers splaying across her jaw and over her cheek. He kissed her lips, long and deep, and his tongue split the seam to enter her mouth. His other hand worked deftly to liberate her arm from the confines of its sleeve. Her gown collapsed further, revealing a set of green, lace lingerie that made him growl against her.
His mouth sliding against hers, he roughly remarked, “If I didn’t know better, I would accuse you of planning this moment.”
He chuckled hotly into her mouth and allowed her to strip his jacket away. She unveiled a high-collared black shirt with bare arms, cleverly evoking the decidedly flamboyant costume he wore to his trial.
She giggled against his mouth. The dress dropped into a pool at her feet.
“Oh, Ah can assure you Ah only wore this because Ah like how it feels on me. Seein’ the look on your face is just a bonus.”
After taking off his jacket and tossing it onto the couch, she gasped at the sight of his bare biceps.
“Ah see Ah’m not the only one who was hidin’ somethin’…” Her hands itched to touch his bare arms. Her fingers began at his wrists and moved upwards, up his forearms, brushing his muscular biceps as she moved to his shoulders. “Much more subtle than that giant white M you had on your chest.”
Her eyes were appraising. It was easy to tell that she enjoyed what she saw.
Another rich peal of laughter arose from Magnus’ chest, which soon dissolved into a low rumble like distant thunder as her hands traveled the length of his bare arms. The moment her ministrations were complete, Magnus hoisted her up into his arms and strode around the large heap of her dress.
“It’s a regrettable misconception that the M stood for Magneto,” he explained as he planted another kiss on the corner of her lips. “I meant for it to stand for mutant.”
She would understand his meaning. He had marked himself as other, much in the same fashion as he had been marked against his will by the oppressors of his past. Though faded and bloated with time, that mark stood against the pale skin of his forearm to this day. He had personally ensured that it would remain on every body into which he was ever resurrected by the Five.
He carefully deposited her onto the couch. He eagerly took the moment of reprieve to rove up and down her supple body, pupils blown wide and black with desire.
“Beautiful,” he praised in an awed breath as he leaned above her. “Your loveliness is unparalleled, Anna.”
She kicked off the heels that she had worn that night. They fell with a thud into the pile of fabric on the floor.
Anna. He was one of a select few that knew that name, the name he reserved for when they were alone, when only she would hear it on his lips.
He removed the metal pins in her hair with a casual flick of his wrist. They joined her jewelry on the desk. Her curls fell loosely down her back as she reached for him.
Magnus was helpless against even a small fraction of her strength as she pulled him onto the couch above her. He nearly resumed his worshipful distribution of kisses across every blessed inch of her exposed flesh until he recalled why he’d brought her to his office, and his mounting need for her warred with his desire to host her properly before they continued their nocturnal activities. With a sigh against her collarbone, he drew back just enough to speak face-to-face.
“Would now be a poor moment to offer you a drink?” he asked with an arch smirk.
She was tempted to throw him across the room. She raised a brow.
“You have me half naked on your couch, and you’re offerin’ me a drink?” she chuckled. “Ah swear you’re tryin’ to rile me up, Erik.”
“I would never,” retorted Erik, a twinkle in his eye. “You must forgive me. I’ve been a dismal host. Bluegrass is your preference, if I recall correctly…?”
The sound of a drawer opening punctuated his statement. A bottle of whiskey with a metal cap and a pair of metal shot glasses emerged from behind his desk and floated toward the couch.
The flash of impatience in her eyes excited him. A touch of delayed gratification always enriched their sexual encounters, he’d found. He sat back on the couch, but not without gathering her in his arms and drawing her up with him. The bottle and glasses landed on the coffee table before them with a quiet clink.
She was stunned speechless. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged as she looked at him with confusion. Her gaze turned from him, to the glasses, then back to him again before she could compose a sentence.
She arched a brow and threw his earlier words back at him: “If Ah didn’t know any better, Ah’d say you planned this.”
“Even my brilliance has limits,” he said.
He kissed her lips once more to quell some of her impatience—and, frankly, his own. The whiskey bottle opened and poured itself into each glass.
“I’ve found myself indulging in many of your favorites over the years, Rogue. You make quite an impression. Your taste is impeccable.” He reached for one glass and offered it to her. “Although I’ll never acquire a taste for three sugars in my morning coffee.”
She couldn’t stifle a quick burst of laughter.
“Hey, no one said you had to agree with my preferences, Magnus. But now Ah’m curious. Does that mean you tried grasshopper pie ice cream?”
She took the glass from him, toasting it with his before downing the shot, letting the whiskey glide down the back of her throat, smooth and smoky.
Magnus toasted her in turn and watched with appreciation as she swallowed the shot without so much as a furrow in her brow. Even before the borrowed powers of strength, flight, and endurance were returned to her, her tolerance was strong. He took his shot with a similar nonchalance, then set down his glass and returned his attention to the elegant body lounging before him and the beguiling woman to whom it belonged.
“Grasshopper pie ice cream?” He hummed pensively as questing hands returned to their place at her back. He unhooked her brassiere the old fashioned way: with his fingers. “Mm, that one has eluded me. Perhaps we’ll have some together.”
As his hands moved deftly to unhook the lace bra, hers reached for the hem of his sleeveless black shirt. Each of them were of a similar mind to tease the other out of their clothes, even if the task of getting her naked was a bit easier. Her fingers grazed against bare skin, his abdominal muscles flexing against her touch.
“Ah think you’ll like it. It’s rather refreshin’…,” she murmured.
Magnus leaned back just long enough for Rogue to relieve him of his shirt, then bent forward for hardly a moment to shuck off his black boots and socks. His breaths hastened by the second, his anticipation mounting. When he rose back up, his left hand kneaded at her bare breast and his right tangled into her tumbling curls. He could feel her heart racing under his fingertips. His own pounded relentlessly in his ears.
“You haven’t led me astray yet,” he rumbled.
He ducked his head at the base of her neck and grazed her jugular with his teeth. His hand abandoned her breast to unhook her garter and grip greedily at her thigh.
Her nails dragged through the smattering of coarse, white curls on his chest. Her head tilted back as he grazed his teeth over her neck. Her hands traveled downward, lower and lower, until she reached the belt at his waist.
His belt slid off by the buckle with hardly a thought. The hand at her thigh gripped at the hem of her stocking and, lifting her leg into his lap, rolled it slowly down her calf and off her dainty foot. Into the pile of clothing it went. His lips peppered sloppy kisses from her jugular, up to her jawline, over her cheek, and once more to her mouth. Though he doubted it would produce so much as a whimper from the nigh invulnerable woman in his embrace, he pulled the hair at the base of her scalp nonetheless.
He smoothly divested her of her other garter and stocking with only some adjustment of their bodies on the couch. By the time his slacks had dropped into the heap, they reposed in one of his favorite positions: her astride his lap, staring unflinchingly into one another’s eyes. His long fingers glided down her abdomen and past the waistband of her panties.
He had never been afraid of her boldness, especially when it came to sex. In fact, he encouraged it. But this wasn’t mere boldness. Those blue eyes were so dark they were almost black as they looked up at her like a willing worshipper at the altar of a goddess. A burning heat that had never been extinguished smoldered in her gut.
She felt his fingers drawing downward. She shivered, anticipation growing with every shallow breath.
He again found himself with his mouth against Rogue’s neck, kissing and sucking hard enough to bruise a human woman. But she was beyond human, as were they all, and when he angled his head back to admire his handiwork, even the brief flush of red on her flesh had faded to nothing.
She was already slick when his fingers found their quarry. He was no better, but his needs could wait. It had been so agonizingly long since he felt her, and he intended to savor every second. He stroked her as if she had never left his bed and his life years ago. He remembered every aspect of her pleasure, down to the most errant detail. He was as fastidious a lover as he was a fighter.
He kissed her lips again, again, again, until he gasped for breath. He cupped her rear in his palm and gripped tightly as he worked.
Sometimes she secretly wished he was able to mark her skin, to leave bruises and welts to show where his hands and his tongue and teeth had been. She wanted to see the evidence of their reunion on her skin, to see how desperate they had been for each other after years apart. And yet, the way he touched her, the way he kissed her, it felt like no time had passed at all.
To hear her familiar symphony of moans and whines would have sufficed, but then she ground her hips into his toying finger. The motion created just enough friction over his groin that he strained hard against his briefs. Magnus’ eyes shut in bliss while they shared kiss after kiss. Ferrous objects in the immediate vicinity began to quiver. The metal glasses clattered on the table. Rogue’s hairpins trembled on his desk. His paperweight rolled onto the floor.
She only grew slicker as he kept his pace. She was close now. He groaned into her mouth as their tongues danced across one another.
“Anna,” he purred, his voice haggard.
Her skin flushed, her eyes glazed over as she felt that edge growing closer and closer. Her noises came out in shallow, short bursts the more her body tensed with impending release.
“M-Max…”
His birth name on her lips lanced through him like a dagger in his heart, slicing away every layer of armor within which he concealed himself. There was no Magnus, no Erik, no Magneto. In an instant, he was Max again, only Max.
He gasped softly. His hand braced against the small of her back, where his nails dug futilely into skin hewn of pliant marble. His eyes opened and glowed purple into the dim, warm light of his study. The static dancing in the air made their hair float as if submerged in water.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, Anna. Come for me.”
Those words were a trigger. She cried out as something snapped, and her body arched and shook on top of him, her hips moving in time with the waves of the orgasm.
Max held her fast against him as she writhed and trembled with the force of her ecstasy. He rested his head against her shoulder, tracing the grooves of her arching spine between her shoulder blades.
“That’s it,” he soothed. “I love you. I have always loved you.” He kissed her collarbone.
The words were a balm. When she calmed down enough that she wasn’t trembling so much, she leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Holy shit…,” she chuckled breathlessly.
He laughed into her wild hair and kissed her temple. “I hope I didn’t leave you wanting,” he teased.
“You? Leave me wantin’? That’s real funny.”
She lifted her head. Her fingers cradled his jaw as she kissed him slowly.
He eagerly returned her kiss, leaning hungrily into her touch. It was nearly enough to relieve him of the irksome reminders of his own discomfort.
“I remember a night in Utopia…”
The last time they spent an evening of euphoria together. The night he allowed her to leave him behind. Max didn’t regret it; he would always encourage her to follow wherever her heart would lead, even if it led her away from him. But he had longed for her every day they were apart, and he had dared to hope that they would forge a new path together when they finally reunited in Washington. D.C.
It was not meant to be.
“Rogue. Have you done what you set out to do the day you left Utopia?”
Rogue knew what conversation he was referring to, but the question surprised her. She tilted her head, wondering, “Is that doubt Ah hear?”
“No,” he said honestly. “I have no doubt. Only a wish to see you happy. Only for you to have no compunctions.”
Max rested his hand on the base of her neck, his thumb against her chin.
She took a minute to respond.
“And why would Ah have compunctions? Is there somethin’ Ah’m missin’ here?”
His eyebrows knit together.
“I failed to convey my meaning,” he sighed. “Let me try again.” He rubbed her chin under his thumb as he explained, “I am not a simple man to love. This you know. And my love often comes at a price.” He reminisced on all the people he had lost: his uncle, his parents, his sister, his daughter, his wife. He reminisced on all the people he had hurt: a list too long to recount, but a list that included Rogue. “You are no wilting flower, and that is one among the countless reasons why I love you. But mine is the power to hurt, whether I intend to or not. Is this the choice you want to make?”
Rogue realized what he was asking. The realization surely must have shown on her face, and she paused before responding.
“Ah recall another conversation. Around the same time, but a little earlier than that. Very similar to this one we’re having now. One revolving around Dr. August Hirt. Surely you remember.” That conversation had played over and over in her mind from that night on. It came to mind even years later.
How could he forget? The retelling of his parable of sorts stood nearly as starkly in his mind as the sordid events about which he had told her that night. I learned from my oppressors, Magneto had warned her. That remained true to this day, no matter how many heroic acts he had performed in the years that followed. His hands were forever tainted red with blood.
“I remember,” said Max plainly.
“You thought that Ah would be afraid, that Ah would turn away from you if Ah knew the truth. But my fear didn’t rest on the things you’ve done in the name of justice. It was the fear of allowing myself to feel emotions so strong they terrified me.”
She paused and swallowed.
“Love will always come at a price, especially for our kind. Hell, some would say that the price of lovin’ me is a pretty high one too.” She looked up at him. “But here you are”—her fingers caressed his jaw—“worrying about the price Ah’ll be payin’ for lovin’ you, when the reality is, we both know what this means, what the toll is. And Ah’m not sayin’ this is going to be easy. Ah know it never is with us. But Ah don’t want it to be easy. Ah want it to be somethin’ we both walk into with our eyes wide open, together.”
Max studied her unwaveringly as she spoke. He absorbed every word, every syllable. A tangible relief washed over him, his tensed shoulders relaxing and his creased brow smoothing. He tilted his head forward until the tips of their noses touched, and he scarcely stifled a deeply pleased hum as her fingers played upon his face. Warmth spread from the center of his chest and across his entire body while she made her confident declaration.
They sat in silence for a moment after she’d said her piece. He rested his forehead against hers, and his eyes fell closed.
“There is no one like you,” he murmured, ever in awe of her. His hand slid between their bodies and lingered over her heart.
Her forehead rested against his. She wore a small, soft smile as she covered his hand with her own, her thumb running across the back of his hand.
“Ah love you, Max. Even if you drive me crazy,” she whispered to him.
“And I love you, Anna Marie,” he vowed.
They shared another kiss, long and deep and laden with the meaning they couldn’t put to words. Had he any less control, he may have wept. The seconds felt like minutes as their kiss grew in intensity.
He was again reminded of the pulsing, straining ache between his legs. In matters of love, Max was unerringly generous, but his need was great, and Rogue was as much a giver as he.
“The bedroom awaits,” he muttered, amusement and eagerness in his voice.
He managed to grunt only a little as he secured Rogue in his arms and rose from the couch with her shapely legs slung around his waist.
Her fingers played with the ends of his hair as she giggled softly, kissing along his jaw and down his neck. Walking wasn’t swift enough for his taste, so he rose from the ground and flew with her in his arms to his nearby bedroom. His arousal mounted with each kiss and caress.
The room was absurdly large and sparsely furnished. The bed itself was wide enough for three people to sleep comfortably and draped in lavish, silken sheets. A gentle, tropical breeze blew in from the intricate window above his bed.
Max landed silently at his bedside and deposited Rogue atop the mattress with a delicateness that did not match her unbreakableness. He wasted no time in joining her, his body blanketing hers as he lowered his head to her naked breast and teased her nipple between his teeth.
The cool, white silk was luxurious against Rogue’s skin. But that thought, and any others, escaped her when his mouth closed over her nipple, his teeth grazing over the peak. She let out a soft gasp at the unexpected sensation, her fingers curling into the flesh at his shoulder blades.
Max made quick work of his briefs while she was occupied. Finally, he was completely bare before her, and the evidence of his desire was unmistakable.
He grinned self-indulgently at the lewd noises he drew from her with his ministrations. He palmed at her other breast, kneading thoroughly enough to bruise a lesser creature. His free hand occupied itself with pulling her underwear away, and he finally released her nipple from his teeth to drag them down her flexing abdomen and toward her waiting core.
Max… Oh, he remembered every little thing she liked, the way she enjoyed a rougher and firmer hand when she was being touched, the way his teeth grazed her skin…
She should have guessed that this was where he was heading. Especially with his firm grip, those rough and calloused hands grasping her thighs, pulling them apart. He had a single-minded focus as he lapped his tongue against her core. She arched off the bed, a surprised moan leaving her lips.
He kept the pace and rhythm he knew Rogue preferred. He needed only seconds at a time to pause for breath. The tip of his long nose bobbed against her nub with each deliberate stroke of his tongue. His fingers continued to rub her breast while his other hand massaged her inner thigh. Every desperate moan broadened his grinning lips and intensified his determination. He would make her wonder why she had ever left him. He would make her forget the name Remy LeBeau.
Desperate, melodic sounds trickled from her lips. Her fingers anchored in his hair, her legs spread, and his name was a prayer on her tongue.
She couldn’t think. He was relentless.
More minutes passed, his determination unwavering, until he knew she teetered on the precipice of release. Then he withdrew his tongue and rolled back onto his knees.
“I need you,” he confessed breathlessly, though it would come as no surprise.
With the wordless approval of her dark, hooded eyes, Max lined himself up with her opening and pushed in with a gasp.
Rogue clung to him like she needed him to breathe. Her body stretched around him, welcoming him again. It was the first time in years that they had been this intimate, this passionate, this consumed. She couldn’t form words. She didn’t need to. The way she moved against him said it all. She would careen over the edge if he kept going.
Max noticed a difference the moment her walls closed around him like a vice. She was just as lovely as he remembered, just as warm and soft and welcoming, but she gripped tighter. She was hardier. The return of her enhanced strength had changed this, too. Before his thoughts drifted away from him and into oblivion, he wondered if he would last against her.
That worry melted away, along with every care he had ever had in his long life, as they rediscovered their rhythm. It was as if they had never parted ways. Sweat shimmered at his brow and gleamed on his back. His reverent silence contrasted her boisterous noise. His breaths were strangled, his heart racing. He sacrificed yet more oxygen to meet his lips with hers for a length of time neither cared to calculate. His hands found her throat and grasped at her neck and jaw as if he would float away without her to ground him—and perhaps he would.
Again, his eyes glowed, this time a blinding white. As his body shook, so too did the very walls of his house of metal.
His hands at her throat were another trigger. One second she was on her back, and the next she swung her legs and flipped him onto his.
“Can’t let ya have all the fun,” was her husky reply as she wrapped a hand around his throat. She delighted in his loss of control.
He let himself be flipped. Then again, he had no power to fight her in that regard, and what a tantalizing notion that was. He hissed briefly at the new but equally satisfying angle, then chuckled breathily as he rutted up into her.
“Take your pleasure, Rogue,” he encouraged.
She relished being able to take control. She didn’t have to fear being too rough with him, even if she did hold back just a little given her strength. But seeing his eyes glow bright white was like a challenge.
She bounced on top of him and brought his hand back to her throat, instructing him with one word: “Harder.”
Max’s head tilted back into the plush pillows as Rogue’s pace hastened, his eyes snapping closed and a low, guttural groan rising in his throat. He let his hand be led and coiled his fingers around her throat so tightly that his knuckles went white. Her fierce command made him twitch within her, and he obeyed to the letter.
Her invulnerability made it impossible for him to cause her lethal harm, but she took satisfaction in him putting every ounce of his strength into squeezing her throat. She bounced faster on top of him, her face and body flushed, her eyes glazed over with lust. Her lips parted for her moans to contend with the lascivious sound of slapping flesh each time she sank down onto him. It didn’t take long for her body to tense up again, her mindless cries growing shrill before her walls clenched around him. Her body shook, her eyes rolling back, as her orgasm took hold.
His hands shook as he released her throat, and he groaned again when she contracted tightly around him. Max stood at the threshold, openly admiring the carnal beauty of Rogue’s ecstasy as he chased his own. She only drove him further to the edge as she chanted his name louder and louder in her husky drawl.
No more than thirty seconds after her, he felt himself coming undone. He flipped their heaving, sweaty bodies once more to spill across her abdomen with an undignified grunt and a string of slurred Yiddish oaths against her lips.
Rogue couldn’t move if she wanted to, breathless and sweaty as she was. She giggled as she kissed him. “Ah love you too,” she responded with a blissful smile.
Max heaved laughter into their languid kiss as they came down together. “I missed you fiercely,” he whispered.
Meanwhile, in the adjoined bathroom, Max’s gift was at work once more. He turned the metal knob of the sink, then procured a soft towel gathered in a metal ring and floated it into the stream of warm water. The knob turned again, the stream of water ceased, and the now damp towel glided into the bedroom toward the recovering pair.
Max sat up on his calves and held out his hand. The towel dropped into his waiting palm, and he wordlessly wiped the mess from her stomach.
She gave a soft hum in response. Her eyes were half-lidded in bliss, her hair a mess on the pillows.
“Ah missed you too…” Her words were soft. She felt like she was floating on a cloud.
He moved between her legs and repeated his gentle strokes until she was clean. His rapid breathing began to subside as he tossed the used towel to the floor and crawled back up beside her. He dragged the back of his hand along the apple of her cheek, then wrapped her in his arms. Exhaustion draped about him like a shroud, but he fought to keep his eyes open to admire the woman he loved.
“Will you stay?” he murmured.
The smile on her face was equal parts euphoria and fatigue.
“Ah was about t’say that you’re gonna have a hard time kickin’ me out of your bed,” she chuckled, her hands tracing patterns against his chest as he held her close.
“I’ve spent years wanting you back in my bed,” said Max with an ironic curve of his lips. “Ah, no. I have spent years wanting it to be our bed. I would have you stay always.”
He sank his fingers into her wild curls and scratched at her scalp. Like a cat, she angled her head as he scratched, yet another quirk of hers that he remembered. His words made her thoughtful for a moment.
“Our bed, huh?” She smiled. "That’s somethin’ Ah could get used to.”
“Our bed,” he whispered into the shell of her ear. “Our home. Our life.” He kissed beneath her earlobe. “There is no need to begin again, Rogue. We pick up where we left off. You said you recall my proposal in Washington?”
“Maybe…,” she teased. “Yes, Ah remember. Nearly gave me a heart attack gettin’ down on one knee like that.” She was grinning.
Max’s rich, baritone laughter filled the quiet of the bedroom. “An unfortunate oversight.” He reached around her shoulder and drew her closer. “Where we go next, let us go together. However… I suppose we must have some discretion for the time being. It will set enough tongues wagging that we left the gala together and never returned.”
Rogue let out a low swear. “Ah completely forgot that no one knows about the divorce. That’ll be a fun conversation,” she remarked sarcastically.
He rolled his eyes, not at her, but at the talkative nature of their peers.
“I don’t want anyone to think less of you.”
His palm skated up and down her forearm, slow and measured. He blinked blearily and scarcely stifled a yawn. The great Magneto was beginning to lose the battle against his weariness, but he yearned so fiercely for this night never to end.
“I wonder if the Arakkii are also shameless gossips...” His thoughts were beginning to stray from their path, a harbinger of impending sleep. “Is it an inborn mutant trait?”
She smiled as she kissed him softly, her words a whisper. “You’re tired, baby. We can deal with all that in the mornin’. Ah just wanna stay like this…”
He smiled sleepily into their kiss. His hand found her cheek, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. When they parted, his eyes were already half-lidded. He would sleep more soundly tonight than he had in some time.
“As you wish, my darling…,” he mumbled. His eyelids fell, and his head sank into the pillows. “Good night, Anna,” he bade her, and only moments later slumber took him.
“Sweet dreams, Max.”
In her bliss, Rogue watched as he succumbed to sleep. His peaceful expression made her heart swell with love and affection. She watched him sleep for a moment, warm and comfortable against him as she, too, drifted off into the land of dreams.
⨂