fajrdrako_fic | X-Men: Personal Magnetism (Reply)

Title: Personal Magnetism
Author:

fajrdrako
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men (comics)
Genre: Slash
Pairing: Gambit/Magneto
Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine. Marvel's. Magneto created by Stan Lee, Gambit by Chris Claremont.
Summary: Gambit goes looking for Magneto, and finds him.
Note: 11,041 words. Written in the period after Charles Xavier shut down Magneto's mind, and before he reappeared as Joseph.

Personal Magnetism

Gambit slouched in a sheltering doorway, keeping out of the rain. He had done surveillance before, often enough, and in worse conditions. This was Boston in October, not Quebec in January. Still, he cursed the rain, and tried not to think about what Professor Xavier would do if he knew he was here, and why.

Despite Cerebro's assertion that Magneto did not exist, Gambit had been only too aware that no body had been found after the destruction of Avalon. Magneto had eluded death so often, Gambit had a hunch he had done it again.

He had followed that hunch, and set out to look for him. He used his sources and his native skills, and it paid off. So here he was, in a wet doorway late at night in an area of Boston that was worse than dismal even in sunlight.

There were no streetlights. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, relieved by a few light bulbs by barred and broken doors, their shabby light made dimmer by the cold rain.

He lit another cigarette. This was no place for a man who had almost ruled the world. It was no place for him, either. He considered giving himself ten more minutes, then leaving if Magneto did not show up. He knew that even if he decided to leave, he would not. Not until he had seen Magneto, spoken to him. He hadn't come this far for nothing.

Bad surveillance technique, smoking. Makes you visible to sight and smell. Dulls your own perception, distracts you. Not that he cared.

Footsteps. The man who went by was not Magneto, and not anyone Gambit cared to be seen by. He stayed motionless, and the figure passed. Watching the stranger, he almost missed Magneto.

He had expected footsteps. Stupid. Magneto, not a normal man, was able to move above the puddles. Here in the lonely dark, there was no one but Gambit to see him use his powers. The collar of his trench coat was turned up, the brim of his hat turned down, but there was no doubt in Gambit's mind who this was. Bingo.

Magneto went to the door of the decrepit warehouse, and paused, no doubt unlocking it. Gambit stepped forward. He said, "Magneto."

He did not speak loudly. Even in the rain, it was not necessary. Magneto whirled, and they stood for a moment, face to face without speaking. Gambit liked the notion that he had surprised the Master of Magnetism into a shocked silence.

Then he saw that Magneto's eyes had focussed on something or someone behind him, and he twirled himself.

Rogue landed in front of him, glaring. The rain was suddenly less; she was in any case oblivious to it. She held herself poised and alert, as if she expected an attack. Even in this darkness, he could see how incredibly beautiful she was. As always, his heart twisted with love and desire and wanting. She said softly, "Hello, sugah," and the tone was pure ice even though the voice was honey and cream.

My woman, he thought, before he could stop himself. That rush of warmth he always felt when he saw her could never be caused by anyone else. She put him into hormone shock with a glance, she drove him crazy, she made him alive. It wasn't possessiveness he felt, it was a bond stronger than any he could have imagined. Not her fault: she didn't want it. Beautiful, passionate, untouchable Rogue. She had rejected him, left him, made it clear she didn't want to be with him. So why was she here now?

"Ah should have known," she said, the low voice so tense that the words almost made her voice crack. "Bishop told me, but did ah listen? Ah thought ah knew better. Oh, you had me fooled. Ah trusted you more than anyone ah've ever known. Now ah suppose you were working for Magneto all along." Her eyes sparkled. It must have been tears. The rain had stopped.

He loved how she looked, overcome with fury and the strength of her emotions. She must feel something for him, to be so angry to think he had betrayed her. Or perhaps it was the idea of his betraying the X-Men that incensed her.

He almost smiled. He wanted to embrace and comfort her in her anger.... But he realized all the same that she could destroy him if she wished and there was nothing he could do or say to stop her. She could pound him to a pulp, and fast as he was, strong as he was, he was no match for her. Worse, the gentlest of touches could tear his mind and soul from his body and leave nothing. He often fantasized about her touch.

It was Magneto who spoke. "Rogue," he said, "Allow us the dignity of privacy."

Rogue looked past Gambit then, at Magneto, and it was suddenly clear she had been avoiding his gaze. Something changed in her face as she looked into Magneto's eyes. And in his. Their glance seared. Then Gambit realized what he was looking at. He had faced hard things in his life, but this made him flush and look away. He knew desire when he saw it. Wasn't it what was tearing him apart every time he saw Rogue?

No. Not possible. Rogue and Magneto were enemies now. She would never -

Thoughts tumbled together. Gambit had thought she would allow no man to touch her because she would not allow him to touch her. He thought she hated Magneto because of their history, but how did he know? Perhaps she allowed no other man to touch her because she wanted no man but Magneto. She had been one of his Brotherhood, the group of mutants he had gathered about him - from where else would he choose his lovers? And what man, having seen Rogue, would fail to want her?

She was untouchable. But possibly Magneto's powers could override hers: he seemed omnipotent in so many ways. They had a history together. Her relationship with Magneto was much longer than that with Gambit. Richer. Deeper.

A quiver ran down his back. Do you know about this, Professor? That your loveliest student is boffing your deadliest enemy? But no: she couldn't. The 'no touch' clause was real. If they'd done it, Magneto would be mindless again, or dead.

But she wanted to.

Rogue tore her eyes from Magneto's face and glared at Gambit. "Ah'll never trust you again," she said.

Gambit smiled. "You never did." He blew her a kiss. "Bon soir, chere."

She turned and took to flight, with that twitch of the buttocks that meant she was angry, or confused. Just watching her go made Gambit's cock hard. All that passion, wrapped up in one stubborn, tragic, devilish woman.

Gambit turned back to Magneto. He dropped his cigarette and rubbed his toe on it. "Shall we talk, den?" he asked.

"You traced me here."

"Yes." It seemed to require further commentary, so he added, "I tol' no one. Rogue followe' me, I guess."

Magneto pushed the door open. "Come in, then," he said.

Gambit walked into the dank, mildewed corridor. There were a few weak light bulbs casting dingy shadows. He suspected rats. He saw cobwebs. They went

through a creaking door, under a half-broken glass sign that said "NO EXI".

Magneto stood aside, and Gambit preceded him up the stairs. He felt a pang of pity for this man, always so much the emperor of himself. Magneto had on more than one occasion been a major world power in his own right. Now he was reduced to living in a dirty walk-up in a district so bad it scared Gambit.

He waited at the stop of the stairs, before a locked door. "I guess de maid wasn't in?" he asked, joking. Magneto did not smile. He did not touch the door, or unlock it. It simply opened, smoothly and silently. Gambit walked through. As he stepped over the threshold the lights came on.

He could have saved his pity. This was no dismal hole. This was a room of such simple, wealthy elegance that he stared. This was a room a billionaire might live in, if he had a taste for artistic asceticism and high tech. It was the entire floor of the warehouse, a one-room apartment, like Forge's in its spaciousness. Furniture was grouped according to function, as if it had rooms without walls. There was a computer console to the right, the monitor glowing with lights and colours. Gambit knew little about computers, but he had learned enough of them from Xavier's mansion to realize that he was looking at state of the art merchandise.

To the left was a kitchen area, with table, chairs, gleaming chrome of sink and shelving, copper pots hanging above like something out of House Beautiful. Midway between, there was a sofa, a coffee table, a chair in a conversational grouping - no sign of a television. Beyond that was a wide canopied bed - a waterbed draped in burgundy velour. Gambit's eyes glowed with a spark of interest: was the Master of Magnetism a closet sensualist?

From outside, the dingy warehouse windows had looked like all the others. He saw now that it was illusion, a special effect created by glass and paint. This was a hiding place for a recluse who could choose his surroundings exactly, and had done so with finesse. Past the sofa was a painting on an easel, a Monet original which had been missing since World War I. Gambit had once tried to trace that painting, but had failed. He had found proof that it had been destroyed - proof he now realized was as false as the master thieves who had taken it.

Magneto tossed his hat on a clothesrack. He had recently been carefully barbered. The long-haired, bearded man who has spent so long in a coma had disappeared. His hair was short again, a characteristic sprig sticking upwards where it met his forehead. He looked aristocratic: men with faces like that command nations.

His coat followed, to a peg by the door. Underneath he wore the familiar red bodysuit, studded with metal, of the Master of Magnetism. It fitted snugly. Clearly there was no excess weight on that body, no slackening of the muscles with age, no wastage or weakness.

Magneto went to the kitchen table and looked quickly through a stack of mail.

Even the Master of Magnetism gets junk mail, thought Gambit. He felt exhilarated and excited.

Magneto looked up. "Well? I assume you came here because you wish to talk?"

"Yes," said Gambit. Why did Magneto make him feel like a kid called to the principal? Because he had the habit of command, a presence that intimidated.

Realizing this, Gambit realized also that - though not immune to the impact of the personality - he didn't feel intimidated in the least.

He pulled one of the chairs out from the table, and sat facing its back, a leg to each side. He still wore his coat. For effect, he pulled out a playing card and tossed it to the table, letting it crackle for a moment in a shower of light. It was an Ace of Hearts.

"Do you come as a friend?" asked Magneto.

"Per'aps. Depends on you."

"Should I be more formally attired?" As Magneto spoke, the familiar helmet drifted from its place on a shelf and fit over the silver head. The rich drapery of the cape fitted over the metallic shoulders. There was a shimmer around him of live current. He was standing an inch or so above the floor. Did the man never use his hands? Was this - Gambit felt an urge to laugh - showing off?

Behind the helmet, Magneto's eyes glittered. Ah, he had manufactured that image so well. But I have an image of my own, thought Gambit. Reaching across the table, his eyes not leaving Magneto's, he tossed the card up in the air so that it exploded in a conflagration of red sparks that echoed the light in Gambit's eyes. He steepled his fingers against his chin, his elbows braced on the back of the chair.

"Is this an audition?" asked Magneto. "Have you come to join my group?" He was standing on the floor again, casually listening. Even casual, he was a commanding presence.

"You 'ave no group."

Magneto did not answer.

"Not so long ago you were a vegetable. Your name was misused and abused by your followers. You 'ad not'ing. You fell to Eart' and survived.... again. You got your mind back. Now you be rediscovering a world that went on wit'out you. No wonder your computers are getting data for you. You need it. You 'eard about Bosnia? Ebola? O.J.? The picture 'as changed, mon ami, since you turned into Rip Van Winkle. You 'ave no empire. No acolytes. No brot'er'ood. No group."

"So have you come to buy or sell?"

Red eyes bore into blue. Gambit wished he had Jean's powers to see into a mind. He could think of only one question now: Did you 'ave my girl? The thought was messing with his brain. Risk was one thing, but he must not forget that physically Magneto, like Rogue, could destroy him with no effort at all - tear him apart on magnetic currents, implode his heart and his brain, crush him with the power of natural forces.

What Rogue did... with whom... and when... was none of his business. It did not matter if Magneto could negate her power in order to touch her. It was nothing but Gambit's guesswork that she could, if she really cared to, control her own power and be touched.

The thought did nothing to shrink his hard-on, either. He had been in a state of frustrated lust since the first day he had met Rogue. Seeing her constantly had been a delight and a torment. Not seeing her at all had been a burden much worse. All those erotic dreams, erotic impulses.... the expression of a libido all fired up with nowhere to go.

Rogue hated him, now. Ever since that one kiss, and what she had seen in his mind. He accepted that, understood it. Had he been her, he would have felt the same. This made nothing easier. The obvious hopelessness of it did nothing to release the unslaked arousal. Absence made the heart grow fonder. Absence made the dick grow hard. He hadn't really wanted any other woman since he had met Rogue.

He said, "I am not 'ere to betray de X-Men, whatever you and Rogue may t'ink. Since your grand schemes are a slag 'eap now, I t'ought you might consider changing your plans."

"Plans?" The helmet lifted itself off his head and placed itself neatly on the kitchen counter. It was followed by his gloves, stacked one on the other beside it.

The lights dimmed. The computer monitor went dark. Gambit realized he was seeing Magneto use his absolute control of electro-magnetic current in the room to recreate the scene. The light over the table became an intimate glow like candlelight. There was another such light by the sofa, and at the side of the bed.

Magneto stepped forward, so that he was close to Gambit where he sat in the chair. He said, "Plans? I have no plans. Except one." He bent and kissed Gambit's mouth.

If he expected Gambit to be horrified, he had the wrong mutant. Gambit rose against the kiss, increasing the pressure, kicking the chair out from under him so it slid, clattering, on its side along the floor. Without slackening the pressure on his lips, Gambit ran his hands along Magneto's ribs, up to the edge of metal and back again to the heavy belt at his waist. His tongue played in Magneto's mouth, savouring a taste that jolted his every nerve. Magneto let Gambit's tongue-tip find the sensitive areas while his hands did their own exploring. Already aroused before Magneto had touched him, Gambit was now hard as rock. Every nerve was inflamed. He thought he could feel with his hands the currents of power running through Magento's strong body.

The skin under the red costume burned warm. He pushed closer.

Magneto broke the contact of the kiss first, gasping slightly as if his breath had left him. Gambit looked into his eyes with a glowing stare both intimate and challenging.

He said, "You play wit' me, you play for real."

Neither broke the closeness of their bodies; knee to knee, cock to cock.

"You escalate the game," said Magneto breathlessly.

"'Igh stakes are de best kind." His hands against Magneto's chest, he leaned back slightly, to let his eyes wander over that magnificent body in lycra. The costume had seemed fearsome in battle. Now it seemed something else - a challenge, an invitation.

Since the day he had met Rogue, he had wanted only her. Until now. The excitement filling his body was intoxicating. He put his hands against Magneto's head and pulled his mouth back to meet his own, firmly, roughly. Magneto murmured, "So be it," as Gambit savoured his lips and tongue and roamed firm, quick fingers over his flesh... sometimes letting the fingers linger in a caress, sometimes increasing the pressure when he sensed an intake of breath or tremor of reponse.

Magneto's hands gripped Gambit's shoulders under the coat. Gambit felt the coat fall away, moving his arms as the coat came off them. He was being undressed by invisible hands - no, not hands, the hands were rubbing his buttocks and moving warmly against his crotch so that he squirmed against them. Magneto did not need hands to undress him, but he used his hands well. Gambit's own hands were raised, his gloves pulled off by something so immaterial and so delicate that it was like telekinesis. It was not telekinesis. It was magnetic force of a kind so subtle and strong that Gambit could not imagine its reality.

Then he felt another pressure against his body. It was like being touched with a large unseen hand which ran itself through his hair and pressed against his back.

Magneto trailed his lips along the stubbled cheek, licked his ear, kissed his eyes....

He used his hands to reach under his shirt and touch the Cajun's skin, lingering on scar tissue, tightening on nipples, tickling and teasing. It was Gambit who lost patience, and pulled his shirt over his head, taking the cowl with it. He tossed the clothing away from them as Gambit felt the warmth of Magneto's chest through the thin cloth of his red shirt, and the hardness of the armour over his shoulders. As he dipped his head to lick and suck Magneto's neck, Magneto gripped his pony-tail to turn his head and recapture his mouth, while his other hand pulled at his waistband and slipped inside, closing warm and hard over his erection. The shapeless pressure pushed against his balls and somehow surrounded his cock even though it was pressed hard between his body and Magneto's. It was as if, though they were dressed, Magneto had access to every part of him. The pressure touched his ass, and pressed, and released, and did it again. He moaned happily.

Magneto said, "You like this?" He lifted his head to look down into the smoldering cinnamon eyes.

"Yes."

"You want this?"

"Oh, yes. Me, I want it all."

Gambit was lifted into the air magnetically. He kicked the boots from his feet as Magneto kissed him. He fell into the sensations, wondering how long he could prevent himself from coming, as the leggings came slowly off. There was a current of air against his cock, and Magneto's muscular leg, and the pressures of magnetic forces precisely tamed. Deliciously naked, he wound his legs around Magneto's and Magneto's hands caressed the skin of his back... and arms... and thighs... and the very tip of his penis.

His body sliding down Magneto's, he put his feet to the floor again. He ran his hands along the edge of the armoured band that held Magneto's cape around his shoulders. "Dis must come off," he whispered. "Do I need a can opener?"

Magneto laughed shortly, and the metal fasteners came apart. The collar raised with the cape, and fell aside. Gambit ran his hands over his head and played with his hair - white, soft and fine - then moved his fingers down the flat chest to the waist, over the navel and down the belly where the size of the erection obscured the firm muscles. "Did I do dis?" asked Gambit. He liked the warmth of Magneto's body against his, liked the heat from his crotch as he touched it through the thin fabric. He slipped a hand under his thigh, running fingers from front to back, from prick to ass... This was a well-built man.

Gambit found himself floating, their bodies still pressed together. Magneto said, his lips against his throat, "Is this what you came for?" The pressure on his cock increased, and released.

"Yes!"

Magneto chuckled, deep in his throat.

"It is now," said Gambit.

Wrapping his arms around Gambit, floating above the ground, Magneto let the metal fasteners on his own boots snap apart. The boots fell off, landing gently on the floor. His shirt gaped open for a moment, revealing the upper portion of that massive, fine-tuned chest, fuzzed with hair as soft and fine as that on his head.

Gambit buried his fingers and his face in it, until, smiling, he leaned back. Magneto would have used his powers to remove the shirt, but Gambit said, "No.

Let me," and used his hands to pull the shirt over Magneto's head. So he would have done with any human lover... but not while floating a good foot above the floor. He tossed the shirt aside. Naked from the waist up, Magneto looked like a creature from Asgard. Primal. Beautiful. Unflawed. Nothing gave an impression of age, though Gambit knew Magneto could not be young - had not been young when Gambit was born. The muscles were like those of an athlete. The unscarred skin was youthful and unlined. Gambit liked the feel of that chest against his cheek. He reached for the belt, and fumbled with it.

Nothing happened. There was no clasp. He groaned in frustration.

"Magnetism does it," said Magneto, his voice now husky. The belt fell apart, and fell to the ground. He did not move it gently: it fell with a thud, and Gambit began to suspect, with satisfaction, that Magneto was not quite as much in control of himself as he had been. He ran his lips over Magneto's cock and massaged his buttocks. Slowly he pulled at his shorts and his leggings, inch by inch, so that soon his lips were directly exploring skin. The garmets came easily, and then it was nothing but flesh on flesh, and Gambit licked the full length of his cock, letting his fingers tease the warm skin above and below and behind.

Just as playfully, Magneto tipped him off his feet. For a moment they lay suspended on magnetic currents, wrestling. For a moment, it was like being weightless. Then Gambit put his leg between Magneto's thighs, gently grinding his weight against Magneto's swollen penis, which seemed to be still growing - though Gambit could harldly believe it.

Magneto gasped and they fell on a gentle wave as the magnetic cushion dropped them. Gambit landed on top of Magneto on the floor, keeping one hand on his cock as he nibbled his shoulder and let his lips, tongue and teeth play their way down his arm. Magneto moved his leg, hard muscles rubbing against Gambit's erection in a way that made him groan and thrust. The Cajun tasted the soft skin of the inner elbow, the arm, the wrist. There was no mark on the skin, despite the years in Auschwitz. Could magentism remove a tattoo? It was tempting to wonder if anything was impossible for Magneto. He sucked on his spread fingers, one by one. Magneto entwined his hand in Gambit's hair, pulling his head back to kiss his lips, running hand other hand over his ass and thighs and legs. "Let me inside you," said Magneto hoarsely.

Obediently, Gambit sat back on his heels. A glass vial of scented oil floated into Magneto's hand. He flipped Gambit over with a smooth movement that revealed his strength. He splashed the oil onto the small of his back, and then used wide, warm hands to spread it over his buttocks and into the cleft, over his cock and balls and belly. Fingers gently rubbed it into the quivering muscles of his asshole, then probed, circled and became less gentle, thrusting wide as Gambit stretched his knees apart. Magnetic forces prodded him, not in the careful orchestration that Magneto had begun with, but wildly and teasingly. "Do it!" gasped Gambit. "Now!"

The magnetic probings and caressed disappeared as Magneto plunged deeply into him and thrust and thrust again as Gambit writhed and thrust back and lost control of breath, thought and sanity, consumed by a climax so explosive he had no breath to scream with.

It was Magneto who cried out, and they both fell, tangled, tousled, sweating. Tremors ran through their bodies. Magneto held Gambit in his arms, cradling his head, murmuring something in German. He kissed his hair. Glancing up at the older mutant's young face, Gambit saw his eyes filled with tenderness and warmth, overlaying decades of loneliness and pain.

I've been there, though Gambit. Loneliness and pain, we've been companions for years. When you have a wife who is a killer; you spend years trying to fill the gaps of your life, looking for something you can't identify, n'importe quoi, wandering in search of adventure, meaning, affaires du coeur. You find experience both good and bad in Paris, Marseilles, Japan, Montreal.... Then you are betrayed in France, fleeced in Japan, double-crossed in Canada. With the X-Men he had found friendship, of a sort, since they accepted him even as they distrusted him. He had found a woman he could truly love, Rogue, whose wit and fire drove him mad. A woman no man could touch. He had kissed her once and it had almost killed him. Only high stakes were worth the playing.

Unless she could be touched. He thought of that naked, burning glance she and Magneto had exchanged in the dark street outside. He had learned since then that Magneto's powers had creative sexual dimensions. If he could use his power to negate Rogue's, she could put aside at last the crushing physical isolation and free her body to the sensations she needed.

He pictured her gasping in passion as he had in Magneto's arms, writhing against his gentle probing. He pictured her throwing back her head and wrapping her legs around him as he entered her and rode her, fierce eyes dissolving into smokiness as she climaxed again and again in his fateful grasp. Magneto's eyes like hers would blaze and dim with the strength of it as he poured his substance into her, entwining lips and tongues and fingers as the spasms came and went. Then his face would again dissolve into tenderness.

Jealousy tugged at him, but he was not sure for which of them he felt it.

"Remy?" said Magneto. Gambit jumped in surprise to be interrupted from intense thoughts, and in doubled surprise that Magneto knew his given name. He did not know Magneto's first name any more than he knew Rogue's. If he dared to ask, would Magneto tell him? He knew Rogue would not. Magneto's hands wandered over his shoulders as he said, "A few minutes ago you were as mellow as a cat. Now you are tense again."

"A t'ief is always alert," quipped Gambit.

"Perhaps I did not do my task thoroughly enough. Perhaps I should start again."

Gambit smiled mischievously. "What do you t'ink I am? Superman?"

"I think you are a sensuous man with a remarkably responsive body. Let's see if I am right..." He ran his hands over Gambit's skin, kissing him again, pulling the tie from his pony tail so his auburn hair fell tickling over their bodies. Gambit pushed himself over him with the strength of his arms, kissing his chest and neck, face, body, knees, feet, nipples, and ears. Kneeling over him, he reached for the bottle of oil, and started using it. He could not identify the scent but it was as much an aphrodisiac as the smell of Magneto's own warm body. He slipped his warm, oiled index finger into Magneto's ass while he sucked on his cock, tracing the pulsing veins with his tongue while he explored the strong anal muscle with his finger. The cock-tip was warm and as hard as marble. "Remy," whispered Magneto, grabbing his hair in both hands.

Gambit laughed, keeping Magneto deep in his mouth so he could feel the vibrations. He liked Magneto's pleasure. To see the Master of Magnetism, always the master of himself, reduced to unabashed abandonment, inflamed him.

Magneto said, "Do me. Fuck me."

Gambit leaned back, grinning, not touching him at all. He didn't move, though his prick moved of its own accord.

Magneto reached for him. "Remy?"

Gambit rose, and stretched. He held out his hand, pulled Magneto to his feet, his eyes on his swelling cock. His gaze made it swell more. Magneto was a large man, an inch taller in height than Remy and possibly more than that in the size of his member. He touched the wet tip with his hand, then put his arms around Magneto, turning him, playing him with agile fingers, using his hand harder and faster until he himself could stand it no longer and he replaced his fingers with his own hard cock, pressing it deep inside this man who had rewritten history. The man who had brought pride to mutants, who had guided them in thought and action... like the action now of pumping and straining until it was too much to bear and Gambit found himself totally out of control, making incoherent noises and then out with the insatiable force building up in his body, threatening never to erupt but to carry them both on its crest forever.

Magneto climaxed first, with a rough animal cry, shooting cum-cream over his chest and over Gambit's groping hands. He made a deep gutteral sound in his throat, and that was too much for Gambit, who exploded too in a torrential cascade that went on and on.

Spent at last, he came back to himself.

He was sprawled over Magneto, their legs entwined. He disentangled himself slowly. Thought came back from the deep swirling mists of pleasure. He could hardly move. He leaned his back against the sofa, his arms on his knees. The sofa would hold him up... never show a physical weakness, he'd learned that long ago, even if you've just been blown inside out with the best sex you can remember. Leaning on one elbow, Magneto reached over and touched his cheek. They looked warmly at each other without speaking. Magneto said, "When you come, your eyes shine red."

"I know. I can' help it. It scare' some people. You get blue sparks around your body."

Magneto laughed. "I probably blew power stations from here to Pennsylvania. They'll never know what hit them."

"I 'ope not." They both smiled. "Min' if I smoke?"

"You may do anything you wish," said Magneto, hiding the warmth in his eyes by changing position, moving to sit beside him against the sofa, his hand on Gambit's shoulder. A gentle current ran from his fingers. "You don't need to move," he said, and, with a gesture, made the trench coat come to them. Gambit took his cigarettes from the pocket. Only two left. He took one out and a match hovered before him. "If I may?" said Magneto, and held it, watching while he puffed on the cigarette.

Gambit asked lightly, "Is dere anyt'ing you can't do wit' your powers?"

"Reshape the world," said Magneto drily.

Gambit looked around for an ashtray. It floated across the room to him. He put it on the floor, said "Stay dere," to it,

Magneto lay back with his head on Gambit's knee. Gambit looked down at him, playing with his hair. Gambit had seen beautiful men before - he thought Warren, for example, should be in a display in a museum - but Magneto's body was stunning in its perfection. He wondered how he had made it so. It would take more than a Charles Atlas course and daily workouts (with or without magnetism) to look like that. It would take mastery of the cells of one's body, complete control of one's powers and one's energy. How many years of practice, trial and error had there been? How old could he be? How old had he been in Auschwitz? Remy's father had not been born then.

Whatever he was, he had created himself. It wasn't just his body. Magneto had been Gambit's enemy, and yet he was the most honourable and the most honest man Gambit knew. No petty deceits for him. Gambit himself believed in ends justifying means, and sometimes he thought his life was so full of petty crimes and half-truths that his sense of honour was visible only to himself. Only he could see the kernel of the man he really was, under the guise of the facile charlatan, the charming - or sometimes not so charming - cad. The X-Men, who knew him better than anyone else, knew him hardly at all.

He could never be a man like Magneto. He could only admire him. The cigarette finished, he stubbed it out and glanced to the kitchen. He was sticky and dripping in various spots. A warm towel floated across the air to them. Gambit said, "Let me do that," and, reaching out, plucked the towel from the magnetic currents of the air. Then he gently, lovingly and slowly wiped from Magneto's body the results of their encounter, then did the same for himself.

Magneto watched him. "What hospitality should I offer?" he asked. "I am out of practice when it comes to... entertaining."

"You entertained me jus' fine," said Gambit. Both men smiled. Gambit put the towel aside.

"There may be bagels in the refrigerator."

"I'm not 'ungry, t'anks."

Magneto stood, his clothes coming to him, wrapping and fastening around him in a smooth continuous process, a dance of cloth and metal. He left off the cape.

Gambit shook his head in admiration, putting the clasp back in his hair to hold the pony-tail. Then he picked up his clothes - manually - and dressed. Then he took his ashtray to the table in the kitchen, picked up the chair he had kicked aside earlier, and sat comfortably in it.

Magneto followed, poured a glass of water, offered it to Gambit and, when Gambit refused it, sipped at it himself. He stood leaning against the sink. "Tell me. Why did you come here tonight?"

"Not for dat."

They both smiled again. "I thought not," said Magneto. "So. Why?"

"I wanted to invite you to join the X-Men."

Magneto raised his thick white eyebrows. "Improbable. Why would I ally myself with the man who shut down my mind?"

"You've done worse."

"Hardly. No. Xavier can be neither friend nor ally now."

Gambit blew a long puff of smoke and looked at the cigarette. "I am not good wit' persuasion. I am not an idealist like de Professor. I see it as a practical t'ing. You 'ave more personal power dan any other man in the world. Oh, we can beat you, de X-Men can defeat you in de long run, but not one of us could do it alone.

"Mankind is more bitter dan ever about mutants. Dis legacy virus... it scares dem. We need to share our strengt', not waste it fighting each other."

"I see," said Magneto. "I've heard this tale before."

"Xavier does not know I am 'ere."

"Rogue does."

Gambit shrugged. "Rogue doesn't talk wit' Xavier now. Or wit' anyone else much, maybe Bobby. If Xavier needs to know, I'll tell him what I tol' you: we need you, and I t'ink you need us. You were good wit' us before. I 'eard you were a good teacher, an' you liked teaching."

Magneto said coldly, "Is that why you did this? You thought you could lure me into the X-Men by seducing me?"

Gambit sprang to his feet. A playing card, armed and crackling, shattered the half-emply glass in Magneto's hand to bits. It would have hit and hurt Magneto had magnetic currents not deflected it to smash against the wall like a missile. Their eyes met. "You insult me," said Gambit. He was angry.

Magneto said quietly, "I know. I apologize. It was a foolish statement... you are not a whore."

"Understan' dat."

"I do."

"Besides, I know I'm not so beautiful I could do it."

"No," said Magneto, in a tone that could have been agreement, disagreement, a question, or an answer to one.

"What we did, you and me, I didn't plan it. I am talking about a strategy for the future of mutants everywhere."

"No."

This time, it was a clear answer. A flat refusal.

"Oh. Well. Dat's dat." He picked up his coat, and put it back on. His cowl. His gloves. "Because you will not work wit' Xavier?"

"Because Xavier will not accept my beliefs."

Gambit started towards the door, and turned around. With magnetic powers, Magneo had cleaned up the spilled water and the broken glass. No wonder his kitchen was spotless, though now it had a hole in the wall.

Gambit said, "Are we frien's, den?"

"After what we did tonight, I don't think 'friends' covers it. No, we are not friends."

"Lovers, den? Every Friday night, we meet? I bring de flowers, you bring de candlelight?"

"You are incorrigible," said Magneto, his mouth twitching in a smile.

"I am optimistic. We will be enemies, den?"

"No," said the Master of Magnetism. "Not enemies, however we might act as such. We will be... what we are."

He couldn't resist the final question. "Why you do dis? Why kiss me? Why start somet'ing wit' me?"

"I owe you an answer, don't I? Very well. It was simple desire. I saw you... I wanted you... you are more beautiful than you imagine."

"An' you always take what you want."

"I try."

"Me too. A la prochaine." He went out the door smiling, tossing a playing card behind him. It fell onto the floor with a hiss of energy, bright and easily dissipated. Its glow faded: it was a Jack of Diamonds.

Outside, it was damp but not raining. Gambit glanced back from the street, but the dark windows of the top floor of the warehouse were as dark and ugly as all the others. He wondered whether, if he returned tomorrow, Magneto and all his possessions would have disappeared as if they had never been here. He thought it likely.

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