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This is by _The A.Lias_ who you may know from such fics as "Tit 
for Tat", "Strangers in the Night", and "The Mormon the 
Better"...oh wait:)


Usual disclaimers apply.  Rated RN for Real Naughty (non-con, 
violence, etc.)


 
A SERPENT IN EDEN 
by A. Lias
 
        And in the end, I won. Of course I knew all along that 
I would. It was inevitable, as night becomes day and as the sun 
rises in the east. And what gave me this confidence? It was 
because I knew that I was right. I was always right.
        Even Charles agrees with me now; he serves as my Chief 
Advisor here in our Genoshan paradise. How many times has he 
apologized to me over the last year for his decades of 
foolishness and opposition? I lost count some time ago, but I 
still humor him and graciously grant him forgiveness whenever 
he becomes maudlin over the past. "I should have listened to 
you the first time we had that argument, Magnus, " he tells me. 
        With Robert (Iceman) Drake assuming charge of the 
Genoshan Treasury--which had been gutted by human predecessors--
and putting his accounting skills to work, we soon enjoyed a 
surplus in monies for the civic projects that would put our 
mutant nation on the map as a world power. While I felt that 
the first undertaking should be to rebuild the Genoshan 
infrastructure, my subjects--all the mutants of the planet--
insisted that those first newly-minted magnums be devoted to 
designing and creating a statue to honor our nation's founder 
and savior: Myself.
        Erik Lensherr.
        Magneto.
        I refused, at first. I am here to save mutantkind, not 
pile up accolades to my personal glory. But the entire populace 
of New Genosha insisted, and I could not refuse my children. 
All mutants are my children. I love them, and they love me. And 
so Peter Rasputin set aside his paintbrush and easel and dug 
his fingers into clay, shaping and molding and firing it, then 
casting it into solid iron to commemorate the inaugural year of 
my reign: Now the gigantic effigy with my likeness bestrides 
the Genosha City harbor like a Colossus.
        My island is entirely self-sufficient now. All food is 
grown on Genoshan soil, all clothing loomed in Genoshan mills; 
a few super-powered mutants are easily capable of creating all 
the energy we will ever need; I myself assembled the fighter 
jets of the Genoshan Air Force out of a few tons of scrap 
metal. Even non-powered mutants, individuals who have suffered 
persecution at human hands merely because of their different 
appearance, are welcomed in Genosha. All of them have come here 
to claim their own homeland in the first-ever exodus of 
mutantkind, as the Jews immigrated to their new nation of 
Israel after World War II and the Holocaust, so we came to 
Genosha. Once a symbol of mutant oppression--Genosha now stands 
as a beacon of freedom, the only freedom the mutants of Earth 
will ever know. Here, under my protection, they may live out 
their lives without fear, they may start families, they may 
work and play in complete safety. Witness the birth of the 
first mutant child in Genosha: the daughter of the former X-Men 
Jean Grey and Scott Summers. They named her Erika. 
        It was by no means easy for some individuals to swallow 
their individual and collective pride and come to me. Charles 
required some convincing, but once he had seen for himself that 
my goals and motives were true, we resumed our old friendship 
and now it is as if we had never disagreed. His surviving X-Men 
and their various spin-off groups were among the last mutants 
to migrate to Genosha, and now they are my beloved children as 
well as his.
        This is not to say that there was unanimous acceptance 
of my new regime. My mute personal guards, once the ferocious 
Wolverine and the monster Sabretooth, required a 
psyonic 'lobotomy' from Charles before they stopped resisting 
our message of freedom and peace. It was a chore which saddened 
Charles greatly, but he finally agreed with me that it was for 
the greater good that these two animals be tamed. Logan's dear 
Jean Grey cannot bear to see him in his current state, but I 
continue to hope that he may eventually be rehabilitated into 
something akin to the man she once loved. Until then, he and 
Victor Creed respond only to my voice and do only my bidding. 
Other dissenters have, unfortunately, required being dealt with 
in a similar manner, but it is my fondest wish that someday 
they understand that I have ever fought my battles with only 
their greater good as my one purpose.
        No war was ever won without casualties, I suppose.
        Yet, I had hoped with all my heart that no mutant would 
suffer. Logan and Creed don't suffer, I know that, they feel no 
physical or emotional pain, and I suppose they had always been 
little more than ravening wolves even when they were at their 
most noble.
        But at least they are here, they are safe, and they 
will never suffer again.
        Cerebro now searches the world for individuals entering 
into their first mutations, and immediately extends the 
invitation to join us. Without fail, we receive their 
acceptance letters and e-mails, then set in motion the well-
oiled 'machinery' to procure passports and transportation that 
they might quickly immigrate to Genosha. No mutant has ever 
turned us down.
        Except one.
        That one fled, hiding in the dark corners and shadows 
like a rat. The Cajun mutant Gambit was ever beneath contempt: 
It was he who led the Marauders into the old subway tunnels and 
abetted the massacre of an entire race of mutants, the 
Morlocks. Charles had believed that even this creature was not 
beyond redemption, and so he spent years trying in vain to 
make, as it were, a silk purse out out of a sow's ear. Gambit 
remained a wild card in the midst of the stolid X-Men even 
after Charles and most of the others realized the futility and 
indeed, the idiocy, of their disdainment of me and my cause. 
And now it is Charles who tells me that I should write Gambit 
off, as it were, leave him to his wanderings and forget he 
exists. But I cannot: All mutants must be here in Genosha, all 
the mutants in the world. My sovereignty has brought with it 
responsibilities I had never anticipated, and I will not see 
one of my sheep among the human wolves. Not even a black sheep.
        Alex Summers and Kurt Wagner brought him down and back 
to Genosha a few days ago, searched for over a year, but at 
last I can sleep, knowing that not a single mutant lives beyond 
my boundaries. I nearly killed young Gambit once for his 
unwitting role in the Morlock Massacre, but I am above that 
sort of pettiness now: I must be, if I am to be a good king. 
        Of course I directed Summers and Wagner to turn LeBeau 
over to Henry McCoy upon his arrival. Let him get a taste of 
what it means to defy me, as well as ensure that he can be 
contained until he is rehabilitated. I haven't seen him yet, 
but I suppose that I can't put off the chore much longer: 
Gambit has to understand that mutants must be united. Besides 
that, his power of generating kinetic energy within his body 
and releasing it with a touch will be useful for conversion 
into electrical energy for the homes of the Genoshan populace.
        I occasionally wish that the Henry McCoy of this era 
had not perished by the Legacy Virus he fought so hard to cure; 
his doppelganger from the so-called Age of Apocalypse is most 
unpleasant, and I find some of his experiments distasteful. 
However, McCoy does serve a purpose here, and his scientific 
genius is without peer. To whom else can I trust the 
safekeeping of this unique mutant Gambit? 
        The young man is asleep, lying curled on the grilled 
floor of a metal cage, wearing only a Genoshan collar and a 
pair of abbreviated shorts that barely covers his genitals. 
While waiting for McCoy, I find myself gazing at LeBeau, and 
wondering why I had ever desired to kill him: He's barely more 
than a child. I can now make allowances for his mistakes when 
he was even younger. After all, if I had gotten to him before 
Thieves and Assassins did, I would have shown him the right 
path and perhaps the Morlocks would be here with the rest of 
us. Then again, Nathaniel Essex still prowls the planet, but at 
least Xavier and Cerebro can usually locate new mutations 
before he can.
        Remy LeBeau hasn't been taking care of himself during 
his recent self-imposed exile, I can see: Always thin, his ribs 
are more prominent and his hip bones jut sharply against pale, 
translucent skin. He didn't come here willingly--I see a split 
lip, the bullseye of a bruise, and there's a brace around the 
four fractured fingers of his right hand. The angularity of his 
sharp facial features seems heightened by his starved, bruised 
look. I had never noticed before now that he is beautiful--
painfully beautiful. This is a sensual creature, born for 
lovemaking beyond any other reason. The room is warm--yet he 
shivers in his sleep. 
        "Get him some clothing--and a blanket."
        I hear McCoy come into the room. "Begging your pardon, 
Magnus, but I would advise against it. Gambit has already made 
two escape attempts by hiding implements in his clothing that 
he can fashion into lockpicks or weapons. He's a great deal 
more resourceful and dangerous than he appears. I find it 
unfortunate to maintain him in a stripped, sedated state, but 
he has left us with no choice."
        "I said: Get him a blanket and some warm clothing. He 
won't use pneumonia as an escape from me."
        LeBeau has such a wealth of russet hair that it forms a 
pillow for his head to rest upon. A stray tendril of it has 
found its way through the grillwork of his cage. I remove my 
glove and take the long lock of hair between my fingers. Such 
soft hair, like holding a bunch of silk. I find myself 
wondering how it would feel to bury my face in all that hair.
        "My lord?"
        I turn my head. "Eh?"
        "I have the preliminary results of my experiments for 
you. Remy LeBeau could, if persuaded to do so, provide enough 
power for our condensers and batteries to store and run the 
generators for decades. By converting his kinetic energies to 
electrical energy, we could conceivably even bolster the 
Treasury by selling the surplus electricity to other countries."
        "Absolutely not. No mutant's gift will ever be expended 
for the benefit of the human nations."
        "Only a suggestion, Magnus. We ARE just starting out, 
after all."
        "I will not reconsider."
        McCoy makes a mock bow, a bit of irreverence I allow 
him for the sake of his genius. "So let it be written, so let 
it be done."
        My eyes rove over the spare lines of LeBeau's body, the 
shadows playing over the hard, muscular plates of his chest. 
His legs are long, yet well-muscled, those long coltish legs 
wrapped around my waist, entwined about my own legs . . .
        Wait. What was I thinking?!!!!!!!
        "--want done with him when I've completed the 
experiments?"
        "Oh? I'm sorry, Beast, I was thinking about my meeting 
with the Defense Committee this afternoon. What were you 
saying?"
        McCoy shrugs. "Keeping in mind, of course, your orders 
that I may not dissect him--as I would prefer, and would again 
urge you to permit. Unless you've reconsidered?" A note of hope 
edges his voice. "Shall I keep Gambit in my laboratory after my 
tests are concluded, or would you reopen the Genoshan prisons 
for him?"
        The prison is located several kilometers from the 
palace. 
 
        It would be inconvenient to make excuses to go to him. 
        "No, bring him to me. I shall deal with him myself."
 
        
        It is difficult to refrain from visiting the 
laboratories until McCoy sends word that he would appreciate an 
audience with me, and will have Gambit with him. I have found 
myself thinking of the Acadian a great deal more than I should, 
and I'm at a loss to understand why. If I didn't know better, I 
might think that I am physically attracted to him--for my mind 
seems to dwell upon initiating a deep degree of intimacy with 
him. I find myself dreaming of him, of taking him to bed with 
me, of taking him in ways I had thought I'd forgotten, thinking 
and saying and doing obscene things to him again and again and 
again. This is passing strange, because it's been so long since 
I partook of the pleasures of the flesh. The last time was with 
my late wife--many, many decades ago. I was a young man then, 
newly formed of body but utterly unformed in my spirit and with 
no inkling of my destiny. This is not to say that I haven't had 
my brief dalliances, but they have been few and almost farcical-
-such as the liaison in the Savage Land in which the girl Rogue 
fancied that she might become my lover. She didn't understand 
that I am a great man, and part of my greatness is incumbent 
upon my loneliness. Poor child--her naivete eventually cost her 
her life at the hands of my late acolyte Fabian Cortez. A pity. 
        As the time for the meeting with McCoy draws nearer, I 
find myself looking forward to it. How odd it is that Charles 
and I have virtually reversed our visions over the years: 
Soldiering on and on in the face of one disappointment after 
another in the pursuit of his former dream has made him a more 
cynical man than I ever imagined he would become--and why not? 
One can only bash one's head against a brick wall for so long 
until it takes its toll upon the soul. He has settled for a new 
dream: Mine. His defeats and tragedies have made an old man of 
him; he yearns only for peace now, and I have provided that 
peace through the strength of my will and convictions. I, on 
the other hand, have become the peacemaker and shepherd. 
        Xavier has cautioned me against attempting to 
rehabilitate LeBeau. Even though he understands the reasons for 
my "trial" of Gambit in Antarctica, he feels that the Acadian 
is still harboring secrets that could prove dangerous to all we 
have worked for, and while he would never condone killing the 
boy, he strongly urges me to allow him to leave Genosha.
        McCoy stands before me now. His arm encircles the 
narrow waist of the Acadian as he supports his faltering steps 
and wobbly knees; Gambit has never fared well in captivity, and 
I have in the past found it necessary to break his health in 
order to hold him for extended periods of time. LeBeau seems 
fragile now, leaning against the Beast for support and likely 
for warmth as well. He is pale, yet his auburn hair remains 
thick and lustrous and he hasn't yet become thin enough to look 
too lanky.
        "Where is the renegade's collar?" I ask McCoy.
        McCoy lifts the hem of the long robe that swaddles my 
prisoner's body: A thick metal band encircles his left 
ankle. "I required access to his throat in the process of my 
experiments, lord. This is merely an adapted version which 
serves the same purpose of negating his powers."
        "Why does he just stand there? Why does he not 
acknowledge his king?"
        "Begging your pardon, Magnus, but LeBeau was unwilling 
to come to you. Obviously doesn't know an honor when it's being 
heaped on his pretty but undeserving head. I found it necessary 
to sedate him before bringing him to you. He's in a twilight 
state--biddable and docile enough to come before his sovereign, 
but temporarily incapable of free speech or aggression. We do 
not, after all, desire an assassination attempt upon Your 
Majesty."       
        "I have nothing to fear from a child." McCoy's sarcasm 
continues to grate upon me. I will have him killed when I no 
longer have a need for his services. I stand up and cross to 
the center of the room. "Leave us." McCoy starts to withdraw 
from my presence, releasing Gambit and allowing him to crumple 
to the marble floor like a marionette with its strings cut, but 
my guards and courtiers remain in the throne room. "All of you: 
Go. I will summon you again when it pleases me."
        
        At last, we are alone. LeBeau manages to sit up and 
tuck his legs under him, but remains quiet and otherwise still. 
He doesn't seem aware of my presence--or my identity. I derive 
a certain amount of pleasure merely from standing over him and 
watching him. When I return to my chair of state, I wave my 
hand and magnetically levitate him across the room, revolving 
him slowly in the air before me, his body floating freely that 
I might look upon him. "Ah, little one, do you know what a 
beauty you are?" I ask him.
        He doesn't answer. His crimson eyes are open, blinking 
occasionally, but they see nothing.
        I levitate him closer and set him on my lap so that he 
straddles my thighs and his legs dangle over mine. I know now 
that I want him. And why shouldn't I have him? I am master of 
this place. Everything in it belongs to me. Especially Remy 
LeBeau, who cast away his freedom and my leniency when he fled 
the great mutant exodus to Genosha. I--who have felt nothing 
for so many years--now find my body boiling with urges and 
sensations surging back like impatient ghosts. Why should I 
deny myself pleasure now, after all that I have sacrificed and 
struggled? 
        I remove my gloves, and receive my reward as my hands 
glide over his soft skin, over his muscular thighs and beneath 
the gown he is wearing. It's almost a shock to put my hands 
upon him and discover that he's wearing no underpants, and I 
wonder briefly if McCoy read my intent or merely didn't bother 
to completely dress the boy. Pulling LeBeau close, I roughly 
shove my face in his hair and inhale the fresh scent of his 
scalp; his hair has just been washed and he has been bathed. 
McCoy definitely read my lust correctly.
        As though they had a will of their own, my hands pull 
the gown and robe away so that LeBeau is completely naked, 
defenseless, straddling my lap. My fingers and hands move over 
the compact mounds of his buttocks and into his silky pubic 
curls, one hand finally wrapping around his penis while the 
other explores the hard plates of his chest. 
        LeBeau's breaths sharpen as I tease his nipples with my 
fingers and later, my tongue. His conscious mind does not want 
me, but his body is starving for touch and intimacy. McCoy's 
drugs have rendered him utterly passive to me; his flesh is 
eager to be stroked and invaded.
        The little slut.
        Would a kiss awaken Sleeping Beauty? I press my mouth 
against his lips, pushing my tongue between his teeth and 
claiming the sweet wetness there, taking it for myself. I wet 
my fingers with his saliva and mine, then slide them one by one 
into him. I'm disappointed that he isn't a virgin, even though 
his past experience will make this much easier for both of us, 
yet I wonder: Who took him before me? Who dared touch what is 
mine?
        I magnetically lift him, just a little, while I free my 
erection from my costume, then position him so that I can 
impale him upon my hardness.
        And when I enter him all the way, he cries out and 
buries his face against my shoulder. Insensible, but still so 
sensitive and responsive , like a little mink. My powers lift 
and lower him onto me again and again and again, bouncing him 
on my hardness, and when I climax, it's an explosion like 
nothing I ever felt in my life. 
        When my senses return, I am still holding him on my 
lap, my arms wrapped around his waist and shoulders to hold him 
close while he clings to me like a baby monkey to its mother. 
In spite of being almost as tall as I am, he feels slender, 
insubstantial, compared to my own bulkier build. I realize that 
my costume is wet and sticky; he came when I did.
        "You're nothing but a pretty piece of garbage," I 
whisper into his ear, knowing he can't comprehend my words in 
his drugged state and not caring one whit. "Worthless but for 
pleasuring your betters. You can't control your body; you can't 
even withhold it from your worst enemy, can you? Ah, you're 
quite the whore, aren't you, Remy LeBeau? Such a tasty, 
agreeable little whore just for me." 
        I elect to retire to my quarters, and take LeBeau with 
me for the night. I've decided that I'll keep him as my 
plaything. It would be no more justice than he deserves for 
daring to defy his rightful king. This is how I will deal with 
his treason. He shall know no freedom whatsoever until he 
submits himself to me.
        Instead of levitating him in my wake as I pass through 
the private corridors to my personal living quarters, I choose 
to carry him to my bed chambers simply because it feels 
pleasant to hold him in my arms. Once there, I toss him into 
the shower and allow the pelting spray to clean him up for me 
while I change. Later I come back for him and lift him up into 
a big thirsty towel to dry him. I don't feel the slightest 
tenderness toward him as I place him in my bed and stretch out 
next to him; after all, I am a king and I have allowed the 
renegade to live simply because it pleases me to do so.
        Sleep doesn't come quickly. Lying so close to LeBeau 
stirs me, and I take him again--ha, not bad for an 'old man', 
as he once called me. And when I slide my hand under his back 
as it arches in unbearable pleasure, he grabs my hair in both 
hands and screams, "JOSEPH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" 
        I could have crushed him in that moment.
        I find that there is little slumber for me for the rest 
of the night. I have, however, drifted into a doze when I feel 
the sheet pulled away from my body and a clatter in the room, 
followed by a course of yelling in the unintelligible French 
language. 
        Ah, the drugs have worn off: LeBeau is awake and aware 
of his circumstances. I open my eyes to find him clutching the 
sheet about his nude body and backed as far against the wall 
and away from me as he can get. There is blood on the sheet--
his blood, for I haven't been gentle--he's seen it, he knows 
what has been done to him, and he's trembling from head to toe 
with both rage and terror. 
        This is quite amusing; LeBeau has spent his life inside 
that body, wearing that face--and he still seems surprised that 
others covet him. Of course he doesn't come to me; he's looking 
around the room like a wild bird in a cage, desperately seeking 
the slightest opportunity to escape.
 
        "Come back to bed, child."
        He shakes his head violently and resumes screaming at 
me in French. The Acadian is in a fury of anger and hatred, but 
with the Genoshan device firmly bolted around his ankle, he no 
longer has access to his kinetic charge powers and can do 
little but try to avoid me. A futile effort if there ever was 
one.
        I get out of bed. LeBeau's cursing is, I'm certain, 
much fouler now that he sees my nakedness. He tries to bolt 
past me to get to the door, but I catch him by the scruff of 
the neck and shove his body against the wall, twisting his arm 
painfully behind his back to keep him still.
        "Your behavior in the presence of your king is highly 
inappropriate, boy," I smooth the long auburn hair aside that I 
might whisper in his ear. "You should be bowing before me." I 
press my body against his, grinding against him.
        He claws at the walls with his free hand, kicking like 
a mustang colt, trying to get away from me, but I position 
myself pleasantly behind him then put my other arm around his 
waist to hold him as I continue to twist his arm against his 
back. "I'll take you here and now as we stand if you don't give 
me obeisance."
        For answer he tries to headbutt me.
 
        "Don't do that; you'll hurt yourself," I tell him.
        He's already been well-lubricated from my earlier 
sieges this evening, and his strength is nothing compared to 
mine; I am inside him before he can recite (in French, of 
course; he lapses into that argot of idiots when frightened or 
angry enough, so no one has heard him speak any English since 
his arrival) what he surely considers my very short and 
unbranched family tree. He freezes as I begin to move, now 
hugging the wall, trying to stifle the moans working their way 
out of his throat. Certainly he hates me, but he is a slave to 
his body--which I can ignite so very easily with my merest 
touch. His knees buckle, but I continue to hold him around the 
waist, bearing him up so I can take him standing. 
        When I come and withdraw from him, I find that he has 
passed out. While I would prefer to believe he fainted in the 
force of my passion, I know that more than likely he's just 
exhausted by depleting his by-now meager reserve of energy and 
consciousness. 
        I put him back to bed and call for Creed to come and 
stand watch over him while I attend to affairs of state. While 
LeBeau has always been a survivor, I wouldn't put it past him 
to attempt suicide in his predicament since he clearly finds me 
so loathsome. Given that, I also summon Dark Beast: For now, 
I'll accept the Acadian in his drugged state; it makes handling 
him easier. Later I will try different tactics, but for now I 
crave his body and am not inclined to fight him for it when I 
am tired from a day of statesmanship and desire only to take 
him as I will. 
 
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
 
        "He needs medical attention, Magnus." 
        Charles is sitting beside my bed, a notebook in one 
hand as his other hand brushes unruly strands of hair away from 
Remy LeBeau's face. He no longer needs his wheelchair, or that 
floating Shi'ar hover device; I have magnetically repaired his 
crushed legs that he may walk or run as he pleases. 
        "I'll have McCoy examine him this afternoon. I am 
deeply concerned for his health and safety. I would request a 
favor of you: Tell me what he did with himself--before the X-
Men came to Genosha."
        If Charles has any inkling as to why the renegade is 
sleeping in my own bed, he keeps it to himself. He certainly 
can't condemn me for it; we BOTH know about his passion for 
some of his former students--he would be a hypocrite of the 
worst sort. But he trusts me. Old friends are truly the best 
friends. 
        "I'm not exactly certain. It was such a trying time for 
us all--"
        "Then put your hand on his head, Charles, and upon mine 
own. Become the conduit between our minds, for I must know 
everything that has happened to him since we last met if I am 
to help the child."
        He nods, reaching out to both Remy and me . . . 
 
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
 
        Remy LeBeau wasn't a sound sleeper even on his best 
nights, and this wasn't one of them. He'd tossed and turned 
until he was worn out by it--and his constant shivering had 
tired his muscles to the point of painful cramping. He wanted 
to leave, go back to New Orleans, back to wandering alone, but 
there were so few members of his mutant "family" left anymore. 
Kitty Pryde had been the first to go, died fighting Cerebro to 
save Professor X: Peter Rasputin and Kurt Wagner had been 
inconsolable. For Peter, it was like losing his little sister 
Illyana all over again; he had returned to Russia to farm his 
family's small plot of ground, his easels and paints discarded 
forever. The fun-loving, playful Nightcrawler of old had gone 
forever, too: Kurt just wandered the X-Mansion in a daze, the 
Star of David he had given Kitty permanently hung around his 
neck or in his hands as he stared at it for hours. Storm had 
also been deeply affected by the loss of her "kitten": She 
returned to Africa the very night they had trudged back to the 
X-Mansion--for how long she didn't know, only that she wanted 
to be alone for awhile. 
        The worst, however--for Remy--was the day that Rogue 
lost her life. Back in Antarctica, as Magneto had surfaced in 
all his terrible glory with new plans. The grieving X-Men had 
tried to oppose him, as always. But Rogue's tender heart 
refused to let her see that the Erik Magnus Lensherr she had 
known in the Savage Land was even deader than Kitty Pryde would 
ever be, and she had flown ahead of the other X-Men, believing 
that she could reason with him. As a reward for her trust and 
hope, Magneto had tossed her to Fabian Cortez, who gleefully 
amped up her absorption powers until she literally imploded. 
Cortez only enjoyed his victory for scant seconds: Gambit 
caught up with them just in time to see Rogue fall. All the 
hates and bitter disappointments in Remy's entire life welled 
up in him like a volcano at that precise moment. He grabbed a 
chunk of ice, kinetically charged it into billions of tiny 
razors, and cut Cortez literally to ribbons with it. Magnus 
didn't move to stop it--he had not intended for Cortez to kill 
the girl.
        But Remy had been too late to save his Rogue: As he 
knelt in the snow, holding her ruined body in his arms, she had 
reached out to touch his face with her bare hand, and smiled 
sweetly, sadly. "Mah powers are gone," she'd whispered, tracing 
his cheekbone with her fingers. "It was worth it, 
shugah; 'cause see, Ah can touch you now." She stroked his face 
intently, ignoring his tears--he couldn't close his eyes to 
hide them because he couldn't bear not to feast his eyes on her 
while he still could. 
        Remy was only dimly aware of Professor X's hand resting 
on his shoulder, or of Joseph kneeling on the other side of 
Rogue, taking her other hand in his. Remy didn't resent this; 
he was long past it, and Joseph had loved her, too. But SHE 
knew he was there, and taking his hand, she had placed Remy's 
hand in it so that they were clasping hands above her. 
        "Mah last will an' testament," she'd coughed. "Ah give 
Remy to you, Joseph."
        "Go where you must, Rogue--you need never fear for him 
as long as I live."
        "Ah know," she sighed. Then she had painfully turned 
her head to look into Remy's eyes. "Ah wish Ah had something t' 
give you, shugah."
        "Oh, ma amour, you gave me everything." Remy could 
barely speak. "Everything I ever needed or wanted, you gave me."
        "Then give me your word, swear it on your love foh me, 
that you won't die with me. Ah can't rest, worryin' you'll just 
give up an' dig yourself a hole next t' mine. Ah want you t' 
LIVE, Remy, Ah want you to find love again an' be happy--"
        He started to tell her that he couldn't promise her 
that, when all he really wanted was for her to have back for 
just a few minutes the mutant powers that had cursed her life 
so that he could press his lips against hers and die here and 
now, with her.
        As if she'd just had a sudden rush of clairvoyance, she 
spent the last of her strength pulling his head to hers for a 
kiss that lasted both an eternity and a mere instant, her lips 
insistent upon his, and her last breath gently stealing into 
his mouth and lungs, insinuating into every cell of his body. 
        Magnus let them go then. Even though he had never 
shared Rogue's feelings for him, he was aware of them and 
respected her as one of the few friends he'd ever had. If 
Gambit hadn't killed Cortez, he would surely have done it 
himself. Charles had invited him to set aside their 
differences, for once, and come back to Westchester for Rogue's 
funeral. But his own dreams forbade that and dictated his 
founding of his Genoshan nation. He merely allowed the X-Men to 
leave in peace.
        Remy had written to Ororo, to tell her of Rogue's 
passing, but didn't hear from her for a very long time. When he 
finally received a letter from her, it was to tell him that she 
had reembraced her heritage and goddesshood in Kenya. Her 
condolences were utterly sincere, and she begged him to come to 
Africa and stay with her. But Remy sensed an otherworldliness 
in her words, that she had already gone beyond human concerns 
and become a benevolent entity to so many millions of needy 
people, that he could not accept her offer to come for him and 
take him to Africa with her; his place was here and hers was 
there.
        The same refusal applied to his adoptive father. Jean-
Luc LeBeau was genuinely sorry to hear of the death of the 
woman his son had loved, and he wanted Remy to return to New 
Orleans and the bosom of his family. But Remy couldn't. He must 
walk among his fellow wounded.
        The X-Men had ceased all practice drills and fighting 
activity. There seemed no point in it now, and there were no 
attacks from old or new enemies. Professor Xavier spent most of 
his time cloistered in his study, brooding. Logan did his best 
to help the others through their grief: Of all of them, he'd 
had the most experience with it. After Rogue's death, Kurt 
returned to his mother Mystique, to comfort her and himself. 
That left only Charles, Logan, Joseph, and Remy at the once-
teeming X-Mansion, and they rattled around in it like the last 
few kernels left in an empty bag of popcorn. The Mansion now 
seemed huge and cold and lonely.
        And tonight, Remy was so cold that he could have 
cheerfully doused his clothing with gasoline and set himself on 
fire just for a few minutes of warmth. He'd become extremely 
cold-natured since his abandonment in Antarctica, and it never 
improved, in spite of his new electric blanket, in spite of the 
long-sleeved silk pajamas he wore buttoned up to his neck, in 
spite of wearing socks to bed. When he was alone, at night, his 
muscles shivered uncontrollably and he could only lie awake in 
misery.
        Remy got up and tried to close his window, but it 
wouldn't budge--must be stuck again--so he burrowed back into 
the mountain of blankets he'd heaped on his bed and continued 
with his shivering. 
        
        "You had better turn down the heat setting on your 
electric blanket, Remy--you'll be burned if it gets much 
hotter."
        Joseph was in his room, and stepped out of the shadows, 
his silver hair shining in the milky moonlight.
        "Don't care." Remy muttered. "Go 'way, Joseph."
        The young magnetic mutant ignored him, and sat down on 
the side of Remy's bed. "I regret that I can't do as you ask, 
my friend. I did make a promise to Rogue."
        The mention of Rogue's name made him angry. "I release 
you from dat promise! Now go back to bed!"
        "All right." Joseph merely slipped under Remy's layers 
and layers of blankets, and stretched out next to the 
Cajun. "But I made the promise to Rogue, and you cannot release 
me from it--even if I desired so." He reached over to the side 
and switched off the electric blanket. "You should be warmer in 
a few minutes."
        "Get outta here 'fore I t'row you out!"
        "The time is right to tell you some things you should 
know, dear friend. You see, Rogue came to me about a month 
before . . . she knew that she was going to die."
        "WHAT?! How she know dat?!" 
        "She wasn't sure when we talked of it, Remy. She lived 
for years in a house with Destiny--perhaps some of that 
precognitive ability rubbed off on her. Her other theory was 
that it was part of the seventh sense she received when she 
permanently absorbed the powers of Ms. Marvel. It didn't work 
often--only once or twice during her life."
        "You KNEW dat and didn't try t' save her?!" Remy's body 
began to glow, kinetic energy burgeoning in him along with his 
rage.
        Joseph merely touched his hand to Remy's shoulder, 
magnetically absorbing the charge before Remy could blow up 
this wing of the X-Mansion. "Do you honestly believe that I 
didn't try, Remy? I begged her not to go with Antarctica with 
us. But she also sensed the inevitability of her own 
approaching death. It would merely have happened in a different 
way, had she fled from her duties as an X-Man. She was a 
warrior, Remy. If she had to die, she wanted it to be in 
battle. Her only regret was leaving you. She loved you with all 
her might. I understood this."
        "Why she tell you all dat and no' me?"
        "Because she knew that you would not--could not--accept 
it as something that would and must happen. She also understood 
how I felt about you."
        Remy shook his head, trying to clear it. He was lost in 
this conversation. "What how YOU feel got t' do wit' dis?!" he 
demanded.
        "I went to her, Remy; I had to be honest with her 
because I owed her that much. I told her that I was in love 
with you. That was when she told me that she was going to die."
        "MERDE!!!!!!!" Gambit yelled. "I no' wan' t' HEAR dis, 
Joseph! GET OUT!!!!!!!"
        Joseph suddenly had him in a fierce grip, his hands 
closed around Remy's arms to pin him. "If I didn't love you as 
purely and honestly as she did, I would simply have come to 
your bed and seduced you," he hissed in Remy's ear. "From what 
I've heard, you're very, very easy prey when it comes to giving 
in to your physical urges."
        If Joseph hadn't rolled with the punch, Remy would have 
broken his jaw. 
        "You stay 'way from me," he snarled at Joseph.
        "I would if that was truly what you wanted," the silver-
haired mutant said gently. "But Rogue and I knew better. You 
know better. You're desperate, lonely, and so cold that you 
can't stop shaking." He held out his arms to Remy. "Come to me. 
I will hold you and warm you--nothing more than that. I swear 
to you that I will never force you into anything you don't 
want. I want only to give you the love I promised Rogue I 
would. I want only for you to understand that her passing is 
not the end of love."
        "It is!" Remy cried. "It IS de end of love! Rogue gone--
dere no more love lef' in de world! She took it all wit' her!"
        "No, my friend. That is why she gave you to me as she 
lay dying: To show you that it isn't the end of love. Love has 
no ending, Remy, and no beginning. Rogue was wise far beyond 
her years, and she will live forever in your heart."
        Remy was never certain exactly how it happened: Only 
that he was suddenly in Joseph's arms, sobbing his heart out. 
He wept for his dead ones, he wept for his own loneliness and 
fear. True to his word, Joseph didn't attempt to seduce him; he 
merely held Remy and let him cry until he went to sleep.
        In the morning, Remy awoke spooned against Joseph's 
warm back--for once, mercifully free of the coldness that 
always waited to claim him. His pajamas were still buttoned up 
tightly, and he was not aroused in spite of waking up curled 
tightly against Joseph's body--which afforded him some small 
measure of comfort: He had never been intimate with a man 
before, and didn't intend to start now. 
        Yet, he didn't have it in his heart to chase Joseph 
off. The other man's confession of love was less frightening in 
the light of day--especially since Joseph made no move toward 
him physically, but rather, became his constant companion, day 
and night. They slowly began to resume training in the Danger 
Room, and were eventually able to persuade Logan to join them 
in rehoning their combat skills. Joseph made certain that Remy 
ate enough to survive on, slept enough to stave off insanity, 
allowed Remy to teach him how to play cards and ride a 
motorcycle. They began to go into town, often with Logan and 
the Professor, and within a few months started to occupy much 
of their time with helping train the junior mutant teams such 
as Generation -X and X-Force.
        And Joseph slept in Remy's bed every night. He did not 
make advances toward the skittish Cajun--only offered the 
warmth and safety of his own body--and Remy became accustomed 
to it. He was aware that being that close to him caused Joseph 
to become aroused, and he at first urged his friend to sleep 
elsewhere. But Joseph would hear none of it, and continued to 
hold Remy through the night as innocently and gently as he 
would a newborn kitten. He did this with iron control, never 
complaining or asking for more than the privilege of carrying 
out his promise to Rogue, whom he had also loved.
        Over a year passed in this way. Joseph encouraged Remy 
to talk of Rogue whenever and as much as he wished; he loved 
hearing about her as much as Remy was able to discuss. It was 
not Remy's way to talk to others of things close to his heart--
but Joseph had become so much more than just a friend: He made 
life without Rogue a little more bearable.
        And then one night, Remy unbuttoned his pajama top and 
bottoms, and removed them before he went to bed. Joseph, out of 
respect for Remy's wishes, had been sleeping fully clothed, but 
when he saw Remy climb naked under the blankets, he said, "I 
fear that I must sleep in my own room tonight."
        Remy rolled over onto his back, looking up at Joseph's 
eyes as they searched him. "It okay, Joe. I no' scared of us 
anymore."
        "Will you allow me to be your lover?"
        The Cajun laughed, one of the few real laughs he'd 
given in a long time. He felt completely at ease with Joseph, 
comfortable enough to give back something in return for 
Joseph's unselfish love. It had been so long since he had been 
intimate with anyone. When he fell in love with Rogue, he had 
given up his meretricious romping with other women--to prove 
his love to her, he had become celibate--he who HAD to get laid 
every damned day of his life was living like a monk because he 
was in love. He had always been an extremely affectionate 
person--as a child, the first to climb onto any empty lap; as a 
man, he knew he was unparalleled as a lover. And now, after all 
the time he'd lived at the 
X-Mansion, he was about to enter into an arena he'd almost 
forgotten--yet knew next to nothing about. "Why you always so 
formal, Joe?" he chuckled. "Wouldja feel better if I made ya 
buy me a box of candy an' a bouquet of flowers?"
        Joseph smiled. "If you desire flowers and candy, then 
you shall have them, beloved."
        "You ninny. You always take everyt'ing I say so 
serious. But I jus' wan' y' t' know dat I no' sure 'xactly how 
t' go 'bout dis. Never done it b'fore."
        "I have never done this, either."
        "Sorry--I f'got you don't got much experience. So, you 
got a how-to manual f' dis?" 
        Another gentle smile. "We won't need one. Our bodies 
will know what to do. But only if you are quite certain you are 
ready."
        "If I find I'm no', I letcha know, 'kay?"
        "And I will stop, I promise." Joseph leaned down to 
cover Remy's lips with his own. As was Joseph's way, the kiss 
was gentle and slow. It lasted a long time, and when Remy let 
his lips part, Joseph's tongue slid carefully inside his mouth, 
exploring leisurely. The silver-haired mutant concentrated 
exclusively on the kiss for nearly an hour, nibbling Remy's 
tongue and lips, savoring him like the finest wine.
        At last Joseph broke the kiss, leaving Remy gasping, 
and gingerly asked, "May I continue to love you? Do you feel 
safe?"
        "Safer dan I ever felt in m' life," Remy 
sighed. "Please keep goin', Joseph. I want you."
        "And I want you. More than you'll ever know." Joseph 
dipped lower to bury his face in the hollows of Remy's throat. 
He kissed, he licked, he nuzzled Remy's collarbone, all the 
while driving Remy crazy in spite of the fear he still harbored 
for this. 
        Remy didn't know what to do, and he was too paralyzed 
to help Joseph, but that was all right. Joseph gently stroked 
Remy's chest, brushing the edge of his hand against the Cajun's 
nipples. They hardened under his touch, and Joseph began to 
idly circle the left nipple with the fingers of one hand. The 
other hand slipped lower to cup what it found between LeBeau's 
legs.
        "You are beautiful," Joseph whispered.
        "Jus' on de outside, cher."
        "No, Remy. Everything about you is beautiful. Your 
face, your body, your eyes--but your heart most of all."
        LeBeau snorted. "Dey say my heart is cold an' black."
        Another kiss. "Whoever 'they' are, they are either 
mistaken or liars. There is so much love in you, my friend, so 
much tenderness and sweetness, that just looking at you makes 
me want to weep. All you've ever needed is love. I want to hold 
you forever, make up for the lifetime of love you've missed, 
kiss you morning, noon, and into the night."
        "Dat's a lotta kissin'."
        "It's just a start. I intend to kiss every inch of your 
body this night."
        "Y' lips'll go numb."
        Joseph rolled over so that his frame covered Remy's, 
all that silvery white hair tenting their faces as they gazed 
at each other. He laughed, deep and rich, "I think I can suffer 
through it, love." They kissed again, and Remy felt more 
relaxed. Joseph continued to stroke the length of his lean 
body, his touch soothing--yet intense.
        Remy didn't realize that he had parted his legs for 
Joseph--until he felt a finger carefully enter him. Suddenly he 
was frightened by the reality of what they were about to do, 
clutching Joseph's shoulders--"Joe, we don't have anyt'ing--". 
While he had never had sex with a man before, Remy did have 
some rudimentary understanding of how things worked--and he had 
heard that this would hurt. He'd had his fill of pain.
        "It won't hurt . . . " came the soft, low whisper in 
his ear. "I won't let you be hurt--even by myself."
        The Cajun shivered and opened his legs wider, 
determined to see this through, but still unconvinced that it 
wasn't going to hurt like hell. He closed his eyes as Joseph 
spread kisses over his stomach and abdomen and lower still to 
take Remy into his mouth. 
        Oh, but THAT certainly didn't hurt. Remy had thought it 
would be like having a woman go down on him, but there was no 
comparison: Joseph was better at this than any lover he'd ever 
had, instinctively knowing to take his new lover's cock deeply 
down his throat and massage the shaft with his tongue, sucking 
harder and faster than any woman could. Remy almost screamed, 
grabbing the pillow and clutching it for dear life. Suddenly 
Joseph had his wrists, pinning them to the bed at the Cajun's 
sides to hold Remy's bucking body still enough that he wouldn't 
get his head kicked in, never once slowing his rhythmic 
suckling. Remy thrashed helplessly, trying to find a center to 
anchor himself in, but every nerve cell in him had just 
migrated to his swollen cock. 
        And when he came, screaming like a madman, Joseph took 
it all, continuing to drain Remy until the Cajun's body arched, 
almost convulsing, and he collapsed weakly back onto the 
mattress, dazed and sated.
        But Joseph wasn't finished yet, oh no--he moved upward 
over Remy's body and captured his mouth for another kiss, 
flooding Remy's mouth with saliva and his own semen. Remy was 
taken aback; he wasn't accustomed to the taste of cum, and 
started to protest in spite of the surprisingly sweet taste--
there was abruptly a cock in his own mouth--Joseph's--but only 
for an instant: He merely coated his penis with cum and spit, 
then kissed Remy again to take back the remainder of the semen 
in Remy's mouth for himself.
        "Thank you for holding that for me," he purred.
        "Wuuuhhhhhhhhh . . . " Remy answered as articulately as 
he could manage. He'd just come a gusher, but his cock was 
rising to the occasion again with no time needed to rest. He 
tried to reach out to try to put his arms around Joseph, but 
his friend still gripped his wrists against the mattress so 
that all he could do was separate his legs and lift his knees 
when he felt Joseph's hard member probing between his ass 
cheeks.
        It didn't hurt at all, as he'd feared it would: Joseph 
was more than gentle, watching Remy's face as he pushed in 
slowly but steadily, then began to move within the Cajun.
        "I love de way you dance--!" Remy gasped.
        Joseph didn't answer him, only closed his hand around 
Remy's cock, pumping that, too. 
        "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" English deserted Remy's tongue--
had he ever spoken the language at all? He couldn't even think 
in English.
        The man called Joseph smiled inwardly. He knew he was 
progressing quite well when Remy started babbling in French. He 
suspected that the Cajun didn't even realize he was talking. 
Now that he knew he'd never been Magneto, he was free of all 
Magnus' emotional baggage, and he intended to make a new start. 
He could be whomever he chose, and right now he chose to love 
without holding anything back, no fears, no regrets--nothing 
but keeping his darling red-eyed angel warm and satisfied. 
        
        
         
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
 
continued directly in part 2



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continued directly from part 1:



        I feel nausea geysering in my belly. 
        He slept with that THING. 
        "Are you all right?"
        I suppress the urge to destroy Charles. He stands 
there, looking at me like an idiot. Of course I'm not 'all 
right'. I feel as though I have been eating rancid meat left 
over by swine. 
        "Leave us." I lean against the wall to steady myself.
        "I had no idea that he and--"
        "Please. Go."
        "Would you like for me to drop Gambit off with McCoy on 
my way out?" 
        "No. He stays here. Don't concern yourself that I might 
do him harm."
        "I'm not worried about him, Magnus. I'm worried about 
you."
        My head is reeling. I swear by all the devils in Hell 
that Gambit will be mine, and mine alone. He will forget that 
monstrous creation if I have to crack his skull open with my 
bare hands, scoop out that part of his very brain itself, and 
drink his encephalic fluids like wine. 
        "LeBeau is not to leave this room," I say slowly. "Send 
Creed up here. I don't want him left alone for one second. I 
have an errand to run."
 
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
 
        The Xavier estate is boarded up and abandoned, its 
grounds gone to overgrowth and the mansion itself in the 
disrepair of neglect. None of this can keep me out, and I enter 
as freely as choose. Magnetic impressions remain, and I know my 
way around the house within seconds.
        I go to Gambit's room first. His clothes are still in 
the closet, as though he didn't bother to take anything with 
him when he fled after Xavier and the others decided to come to 
Genosha. His bed is still unmade--yet another indication that 
he left in a hurry. I find myself drawn to the bed that LeBeau 
slept upon, and I lie face-down upon it, wallowing in the 
impressions of him, breathing the scent of his after-shave 
still clinging to the sheets. My hands knot in the bed linens 
as though they were locks of LeBeau's hair, pulling them to me 
that I might inhale the fragrance left in them, longing for 
Logan or Creed's enhanced physical senses that I might take 
every last nuance of Remy LeBeau for myself. 
        But there is another impression lingering to this bed 
besides that of my unwilling lover, and I recognize it 
instantly. Rage flies all over me, furious and hot.
        I storm to HIS room, splintering the door before I 
reach it. 
        This was where HE slept.
        HE lived here. 
        Bellowing in anger, I tear the door off his closet and 
grab armfuls of HIS clothing, pulling them out onto the floor, 
ripping them to shreds. HE hadn't owned much, but I will 
destroy every last bit of HIM left upon this earth. I will 
erase HIS existence from the face of reality. I will tear HIM 
from the mind, body, and heart of Remy LeBeau if I have to 
destroy the rest of creation to do it.
        After Rogue's funeral, I resumed my threat to tilt the 
Earth on its magnetic axis. The few remaining X-Men came 
against me, the wretch Joseph perished as he should have months 
earlier, and Xavier began to rethink his agenda. So much 
for "The Dream".
        As I depart, I burn down the house and everything in it.
        HE will have nothing when I am done.
 
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
         
         
        I return later to find Creed standing just inside the 
door. When I don't see LeBeau in my bed, my first fear is that 
he has escaped--but there he is, sitting on the window seat of 
my bay window which overlooks the palace compound. He doesn't 
look toward me, but at the world outside my window.
        A world he will not be a part of until he submits 
himself wholly to me.
        If I must lock him away forever to make him mine, then 
so be it.
        He allowed the wretched Joseph to make love to him, he 
let that monstrosity take him and do as it pleased with him. He 
deserves my contempt for being such a slut. He is going to 
understand that his wanton days are behind him now; his flesh 
is mine; he will be kept for me, and for my enjoyment alone. 
        And if I have to force myself upon him every day for 
the rest of his life, I will. 
        So help me, I will.
        "Have you no greeting for your sovereign, Remy LeBeau?" 
I ask.
        Of course he ignores me and continues to gaze out the 
window, allowing his hair to fall in disarray over the side of 
his face so that I can't look upon him, trying to deny me even 
that pleasure.
        "Don't imagine for one moment that I will suffer 
disdain from the likes of you, little whore," I tell him. "It's 
time you learned who is master here--and who is unworthy even 
of being called a slave."
        The slightest thought, the merest pull of my will, and 
I send the boy sprawling from the window seat onto my bed. He 
tries to right himself, but my magnetic powers have hold of 
him, flipping him onto his back. Against his will, his legs 
spread wide apart and his thin fingers begin to open the frog 
closures of his gown. His face is a mask of hatred as he 
finishes unfastening his gown and pulls it open to expose his 
otherwise nude body for my viewing.
        "Did you strip for HIM?" I demand of him. "Did you 
remove your clothing while HE watched you, you cursed whore?
        LeBeau's beautiful body is covered with a thin sheen of 
sweat as he tries to resist my powers. He despises me beyond 
all things, and that makes me more determined than ever to have 
him. He's a weak creature compared to me; all who live are weak 
before me. Does he not realize that the more he resists me, the 
more I want him? Ah, and does he imagine for one second that my 
obsession with his flesh gives him the slightest iota of power 
over me? Surely not, for while he may be a slut, he is 
certainly not a fool. 
        "Come here."
        My powers make him walk like a marionette toward me, 
and force him onto his knees at my feet. "You see, you have no 
will but mine." I tell him. "And I will that you pleasure me 
now." Of course I have no fear that he will bite me: My control 
over my magnetic powers is absolute.
        I mesh my fingers in his luxuriant hair as his 
unwilling mouth pleases me. "Remember who and what we both are, 
Remy LeBeau. I am master of this land--master of this entire 
world if I so choose--and you are nothing but a beautiful boy 
on his knees before me."
        When a spectacular orgasm bursts from me, I push him 
away and release my magnetic hold upon him. He rolls a few feet 
from me, sits up, and vomits wretchedly upon the floor. I wait 
for him to finish, then call for someone to come clean the room 
while I carry him to the bathroom and lock the door behind us.
        Instead of throwing him into the shower, I fill my 
bathtub with water, testing it to make sure it won't scald 
LeBeau's lovely skin or cause him to become chilled. He has 
backed up against the wall, trying to put distance between us, 
but we both know it's a useless effort. He's too weak to fight 
even if he had access to his kinetic powers. I go to him and 
remove his soiled gown, undressing him like the child he is. He 
doesn't resist me at all now as I place him in the tub--only 
wraps his arms around his chest and drops his head to hide his 
face with his hair, but I have already seen the tears in his 
crimson eyes. 
        I kneel beside him and tilt his chin up, cupping his 
face in both my hands, kissing him leisurely. A nudge from my 
magnetic powers, and he returns the kiss of his puppeteer, 
parting his lips for my tongue to push into his mouth. He knows 
that nakedness is vulnerability--and that's exactly how I want 
him to feel.
        LeBeau has a body like a young Apollo--tall and 
slender, yet muscular and sinewy in all the right places--from 
his broad shoulders, narrow waist, nonexistent hips to his 
superb thighs and calves. Gazing upon his nudity causes me to 
stir again, and I release his face to take up soap and sponge 
into my hands.
        "I am going to bathe you, LeBeau. You will show me 
every place on your body which that monster touched, and I will 
wash his touch off of you. Your body will be clean for me, free 
of his filthy hands upon you."
        Of course he doesn't cooperate: I magnetically 
manipulate his hands. It gives me an opportunity to watch him 
touch himself.
        His long, slim fingers reluctantly splay across his 
chest. I soap up the sponge and lather it across the sleek 
expanse of his chest, lingering at his nipples, then rinse. The 
tiny white buds rise and harden at my touch, and I bend my head 
to kiss his right nipple, then the left. I don't deceive myself 
that I have aroused them: LeBeau's flesh is so responsive that 
those nipples would become erect if Apocalypse himself kissed 
them. At least he rewards me with a sharp intake of breath. 
        "Did he touch you down there?" I ask. A moot question. 
Of course Joseph had his way with every damned inch of LeBeau's 
body. I magnetically send Remy's hands sliding over his abdomen 
and into his crotch, and I follow them with my own hands, then 
abruptly change directions to wash his legs and feet, picking 
up each narrow foot to soap the bottom of them.
        I look up at his sensual face with its sharp planes, 
generous lips, and brilliant eyes, wishing I would see some 
warmth of desire there. His scarlet eyes are smoldering, but in 
anger and helpless fury. He would kill me now if he could. But 
he can do nothing but sit there in that tub of hot water while 
I bathe him like an infant, running the sponge and my hands 
over his spare hips and between the trim globes of his 
buttocks. I yearn to hear his low, velvet voice whispering 
endearments into my ear, but that isn't going to happen now. 
When my hands dip to the soft hair between his legs, his body 
jerks away from me as if my touch burned, and I see the terror 
in his face.
        Reaching out to steady him in the bath water, I capture 
him again with my magnetic powers, resolving not to let that 
control slip again under these circumstances, no matter how 
intense the moment. My hands move over his flesh as if I was 
sculpting him, following every curve and plane of his body, 
yearning to leave a trail of fire everywhere I touch that would 
send him pressing against me and offering me his eager kisses 
and all the delicious luxury of his body.
        Since he will not give me his kisses, I take them, 
bruising his soft lips until they are stung and blue. "Poor 
pretty thing, you have much to learn," I whisper like a knife 
surfacing steel amongst silk. "But I intend to teach you. You 
WILL love me. There will come a day when I shall return from my 
labors and you will come running to meet me and throw yourself 
into my arms. And when you climax, it will be MY name you 
scream out in your ecstasy."
        Then I magnetically send his hands roaming into his 
pubic regions and make him to stroke himself. If looks could 
kill, I would be stretched out dead on the marble floor now.
        "Yes, peacock," I snarl, feeling utter cruelty toward 
this magnificent creature who has wronged me by gifting his 
heart and his flesh to my direst enemy. "Masturbate for me. 
Debase yourself while I watch. Did Joseph watch you make 
yourself come? Did you do that for his voyeuristic pleasure--
yes, you did, didn't you, you slut--anything to please your 
lover. Nothing was too shameful when you were in that room with 
HIM, was it?"
        I grab his hair with my hand and pull his head back, 
furiously pressing my kisses hard against his throat, kisses 
more like bites, insistent and bruising his fair skin. My other 
hand twists his arm behind his back, pulling him halfway out of 
the bath water as my teeth sink into his steely rib cage. He 
cries out in spite of his resolve not to, as I lift him out of 
the bath and throw him dripping wet onto the bed. Holding him 
mercilessly with one hand locked around the back of his neck, I 
open my clothing and take him time and again until any pleasure 
he might possibly feel turns relentlessly to pain and past that 
to torment and on to collapse.
        Later, I send for my dinner to be brought up to me in 
my room and eat it on a bed tray set before me by one of my 
servants. LeBeau lies beside me, huddled miserably into the 
blankets, his face turned from me and buried in a pillow, his 
breathing still rushed and shallow. I reach out and stroke the 
long, auburn silk of his hair. "Thank you, child."
        He does not turn over. His shoulders are trembling. He 
doesn't want me to see him crying.
        Hiding his tears from me is another thing that will 
have to go. I turn him over and catch a single tear on the end 
of my finger before he can palm it away, then touch it to my 
tongue. "This, too, is precious fluid," I tell him softly. "I 
know what it cost you."
----------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------------
 
        Xavier sits in the garden courtyard, Gambit lying on 
the blanket beside him. Charles and I have discussed this, and 
he understands my plan. From my window above, I can see them 
quite clearly, and thanks to Charles' telepathically relaying 
all sounds to me, I can hear them as well. Xavier felt that the 
boy needed some fresh air, and he is willing to plead my case 
with him. Charles knows that I will have the young man no 
matter what, but feels it will be easier for LeBeau if he would 
be mine willingly.
        Gambit has been sleeping, but he startles awake with a 
terrified expression on his face, which abruptly changes to 
mistrust when he sees Xavier sitting beside him--and I know at 
once that this tactic is a mistake.
        Charles does, too, but he must try nonetheless. He 
leans closer to my prisoner, and places a hand upon his 
shoulder. LeBeau pulls away as though scalded, wrapping his 
arms around his own chest, hugging himself, and looking away 
from Charles. 
        "How do you feel, Remy?"
        LeBeau doesn't speak at first, then he suddenly turns 
on Charles, teeth bared, snarling like a jackal. "Don' you 
TOUCH me, ol' man!" He looks angry enough to charge up the 
metal bonds encircling his wrists, despite the inhibitor cuff 
he will wear to the end of his days. 
        
        Charles speaks in a soothing, gentle voice. I feel his 
powerful telepathy reach out to LeBeau--just as the child's own 
shields force it out of his mind; he refuses to be 
calmed. "Remy, this isn't any good for you--"
        "Hah. Den you tell dat cul Magneto t' unlock dese cuffs 
an' let me go."
        "But there is nowhere to go TO, Remy. Genosha is an 
island apart; it is our homeland. You belong here."
        "Gambit b'longs t' HIMSELF, homme. I SWIM off dis rock 
if I 'ave to."
        "You are in no condition to be swimming anywhere. 
Magnus doesn't want to hurt you, child. He wants only what's 
best for you. Just think of him as a shepherd who loves his 
sheep."
        "Magneto love Gambit all right. He love t' fuck 
Gambit's brains out ev'ry chance he get."
        "There's no need to be vulgar."
        Those red eyes glitter nastily, like those of a trapped 
wolf, looking to lash out. "Oh, oui, le's no' be VULGAR! 
Magneto jus' wanna MAKE LOVE t' dis Cajun, dat how you wanna 
call it? Den you tell me why he tie me t' his bed 'fore he 
shove his rod up my ass! You tell me why my mouth all swole up 
an' blue--you t'ink Mags is a gentle kisser? He suck on my 
cock 'til it hurts t' piss! But YOU don' wanna HEAR dis, do ya, 
old man?! 'Cause it's VULGAR?! Well, lemme tell ya: Your ami 
wrote de BOOK on Vulgar, Chuckles!"
        Charles' back stiffens defensively. "You are demeaning 
an act of love, Remy."
        Gambit's lip curls back, giving him the appearance of a 
rabid fox. "As I un'nerstan' it, Baldy, makin' LOVE be when TWO 
people wan' jump each ot'er's bones 'cause they wanna make de 
beast wit' two backs, dey BOTH wanna crawl as far up inside 
each ot'er as dey can get. It be called RAPE when one party 
don' wan' anyt'ing t' do wit' de ot'er, but dat ot'er party 
hol' him down an' nail his eyeballs t' de wall wit' him 
screamin' bloody murder all de way. Now, correct me if I be 
wrong 'bout dis, le Professeur."
         Xavier falters, then recovers. "You've brought this 
all on yourself, child."
        Gambit's kinetic powers may be crippled, but his 
empathy is as strong as ever. He suddenly opens his mind to 
Charles--and by virtue of our link--mine.
----------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------
 
        A boy lies upon a bed in a small windowless bedroom. 
Groggy and weak from drugs, he looks up at his own image 
reflected back at him by the mirror on the ceiling. He doesn't 
know how he came to be here; he remembers only scrounging in 
the trash behind a restaurant, scrounging for food that might 
still be edible--the he was covered by a shadow, a wet cloth 
clamped over his nose and mouth, and he lost consciousness to 
wake up here--wherever here was. A pale boy on the first brink 
of manhood with waist-length russet hair spread wildly over the 
mattress he is lying on, naked but for a white sheet flung 
partially over his body, arms and legs stretched out and 
strapped down like a sacrificial victim.
        He turns his head to see a man and a woman enter the 
room. They stare down at him without expression. He doesn't 
know who they are, but he tries to appeal to 
them. "Please . . . please lemme go . . . " he croaks in a dry, 
brittle voice.
        "No one gets out of here, little mister, unless we 
choose to release them. Now, are you going to be agreeable or 
do we have to use force?'
                
        The boy licks his dessicated lips. "Non. No force, si 
vous plait." He is shaking.
        "Beautiful," mutters the man. "Utterly exquisite. He'll 
fetch a great price, and I might even be the one to pay it. 
You're sure he's still a virgin?"
        "See for yourself." The woman's voice is cold and 
merciless.
        The man lifts the sheet and begins to carefully explore 
the boy's body without even a flicker of pity, ignoring the 
thrashing against the straps, admiring the swirling red eyes in 
spite of their strangeness, the strongly arched eyebrows, full, 
elegant mouth, graceful neck, soft translucent skin. The woman 
pulls the sheet completely away from the boy while the man 
fondles between his legs, then she leans close to the boy and 
hisses in his ear. "I have plans for you, child," she 
whispers. "If you keep your wits about you, you can do very 
well here. I have a very important clientele. Learn how to 
please them and you'll find them very generous."
 
        "Please, no . . . !"
        The woman grabs the boy's chin roughly and forces him 
to look her full in her outraged face. "I paid good money for 
you and I'm getting back every penny of it!" she hisses. "The 
pain only lasts a minute, and it's time you learned what it's 
all about." She strikes the boy lightly on the cheek. "What is 
it you want?" she sneers. "A mommy and a daddy and lots of 
brothers and sisters?"
        "Oui . . " whispers the boy. 
        She laughs. "I deal with reality in this business. 
You're here to make my customers happy." She turns to the man, 
who has been gazing intently upon the naked boy. "Well, sir?" 
she asks. "Do you want him? I do have more--experienced 
delights if you wish to sample them."
        "I'll take him," the man said thickly. "And keep the 
straps on."
        "Do you want him gagged or chloroformed?"
        
        "No, he can scream all he wants. Who's going to hear 
him in this room?" He smiles at the woman, sealing the 
deal. "Send up some whiskey, will you? I don't want to rush 
this."
        The boy discovers that even though the man forces some 
of the whiskey down his throat, it has no effect on him. The 
man, however, is becoming progressively more awkward, stumbling 
about the room as he tries to undress. 
        "M'Sieu?" the boy asks hesitantly, pulling on his 
restraints.
        "What is it, brat?" The man is annoyed.
        "De straps, dey hurt." For proof, the boy displays his 
bruised wrists. "If y' could loose 'em jus' a lil', wouldn't 
hurt so bad. Are y' gon' hurt me?" The boy suddenly feels 
something well up within him, as though he can cast his 
emotions across the room like a hook on the end of a fishing 
pole, drape them over the man like a warm blanket.
        The man's whiskey-sodden glare softens. "I told that 
woman I didn't want any marks on you." He bends closer to study 
the delicate wrists, now purpled from fighting the straps.
        "Jus' let dem out a lil' bit," the boy pleads, crooning 
softly, abruptly, viciously feeling the man's resolve 
weakening. "Please, M'Sieu, si vous plait? I no' wan' be 'fraid 
a' y' . . . "
        The man sits down on the bed beside him, testing the 
boy's wrists in the leather restraints. They are much too 
tight; the boy's hands are becoming whitened in them, his 
fingernails blue. Why not release the boy? he finds himself 
thinking. Such a slender, fragile child. Like holding down a 
cloud. Besides, he wants to feel those young arms and legs 
wrapped around his body. A snap of the leather strap to free 
the fine-boned ankles, one more and the impossibly thin wrists 
are released--only to seize a ceramic basin on the table by the 
bed and crack the man across the head with it with a strength 
born of terror and desperation.
        Fearfully, the boy grabs his threadbare shirt and pants 
from the floor by the bed, dresses himself, then pushes the 
door open and peeks outside. The corridor is empty. With 
pounding heart, he races down the passageway to the staircase. 
Even though he has no idea of the layout of the huge house, he 
knows that a staircase as ornate as this must lead to a doorway 
to the outside. He flies to the stairs, running down them as 
fast as caution will permit. With no one in sight, the front 
door stands a heartbeat away. The boy streaks toward it. Then 
someone catches him in a fierce, cruel grip, lifting him off 
his bare feet. A single yelp brings a big hand clamped over his 
mouth. In the struggle, his shirt opens and his assailant 
begins to maul him.
        "All right--that's enough," A biting voice interrupts 
another attempted rape.
        It's the woman from upstairs, striding into view. "You 
haven't damaged him, have you?"
        The boy's captor grunts a reply.
        "At least you didn't ruin his face, you idiot," she 
snaps at the bully, then seizes the boy by the arm and begins 
dragging him back toward the staircase. "You'll be punished for 
this, boy, trust me, you will! You could've killed one of my 
best customers!"
        The boy whirls suddenly and sinks his teeth onto her 
hand, biting the blood out of her like a wild wolf cub. While 
she howls and vainly attempts to staunch the blood flow from 
her mangled hand, the boy dashes away from her and past the 
caveman at the door to throw his thin shoulder against the door 
to push it open and vault over the entrance stairs and into the 
streets. Mercifully, there are people in the walkway--other rag 
pickers, workmen from the city, shoppers, and people going to 
and from their businesses. The boy dances in the street like a 
mad little dervish, using his index fingers to form horns on 
the sides of his head. "You no' catch Le Diable Blanc again, 
Madame!" he crows at the glowering woman in the 
doorway. "Adieu, adieu!" The he runs away into the shadows.
----------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------
 
        I have to catch the edge of a table to steady myself. 
How DARE LeBeau liken me to THAT! This passion for him is 
destroying me.
        Xavier staggers into my study. His nose is bleeding 
from the intensity of what has just been forced into his 
mind. "You MUST let him go, Magnus!" he begs. "For ALL our 
sakes! I was able to keep that from getting beyond the three of 
us--but I may not be able to stop his broadcasting next time! 
He'll bring down everything we've worked for!"
        "No. Charles. Never. Do not ask this of me of again."
        Xavier shakes his head in disbelief. "How can you love 
him so much, Erik? He despises you!"
        I clasp my hands behind my back, the I proceed to lie 
to my oldest friend. "On the contrary, Charles. I do not love 
the boy. I hate him."
        Xavier is stunned. "My God, WHY do you hate him so?! 
What has he done to you?!" 
        I speak with complete calm. "It's like coming upon a 
lovely fawn in the forest and killing it because you can, 
because you are strong and it is weak. I get pleasure seeing 
such beauty wasted, and I enjoy very much making him suffer as 
he makes me suffer, flaunting that abomination Joseph ever 
before me. LeBeau is mine, Charles. I can do with him whatever 
I please. Leave me now, and send LeBeau to my bed chamber. 
Clearly, he is distraught and in need of comfort. Comfort I 
intend to provide. Go now and have him brought to me."
        I return to my bedroom when my servant brings me news 
that LeBeau has been bathed and dressed and put to bed in my 
room. I go in, remove my robe, and climb onto the bed, taking 
him into my arms in spite of his struggles. "Is this any way to 
greet your lover, Remy? You feel feverish--are you unwell?" 
Sitting beside LeBeau, I begin to stroke his face with my 
fingers, amused to feel him shrink away from my touch, his 
empathic outburst at Charles too much for him. "Oh, Joseph 
didn't do it this way, did he?" I ask gently. A spark of 
indignation flares in his scarlet eyes.
        Holding his alarmed attention, my hands begin to 
wander, touching his body possessively, as I address him in a 
low voice. "Are you sulking because Joseph left you, my 
beautiful Remy? Jealous because he chose the Magnoshere over 
your considerable charm? You mustn't let it depress you, 
darling--I should have warned you." I'm breathing heavily by 
now, my hands fumbling under his gown, touching him as 
intimately as I please. Suddenly aroused by his wretchedness, I 
fling my body over his. He groans under my weight, struggling, 
trying to push me away--but I abruptly seize the iron in his 
body in my magnetic grip, sending him into cramps like breaker 
waves. He closes his eyes, but the pain is so terrible that he 
clings to me and cries like a child. He speaks to me in English 
in spite of his determination not to, pleading with me to help 
him. Opening his eyes, he watches me, appalled, as I cover his 
body with my own, rejoicing in his suffering.
        A violent shudder passes through his his slender body, 
and he touches my face pleadingly, finally 
broken. "Please . . . help moi . . water . . . si vous 
plait . . . water . . . "
        "You're making such a fuss, my love. Over nothing." I 
run my hand through the glorious mane of russet hair before 
getting up. I pour champagne into a large flute and return to 
him, but he shakes his head in protest. He knows what champagne 
can do to his will and his senses.
        "Water . . . si vous plait . . . " he begs, tears 
filling his eyes.
        "This is what you need, Remy. Drink it!" I grab his 
head as it lolls to the side, and insist again. "Drink it!"
        "Help me . . . I can' sit up . . ." he murmurs weakly.
        "Why, of course, my pretty one." Perching on the bed, I 
lift him against me and hold the glass to his lips. He takes a 
small sip, holding it in his mouth--then he suddenly summons 
his little remaining strength, spits out the liquid, and knocks 
the glass from my hand.
        "Damn you!" I yell. "You damn whore, you WILL drink 
it!" Snatching up the glass from the carpet, I storm back to 
the bottle and pour out a refill. Returning to the bed, I set 
the glass down on the night table, then pin him against the 
headboard, my fingernails digging into his tender flesh. 
Forcing his head back, I bring the glass swiftly to his mouth, 
intending to pour the champagne down his throat, but he is too 
quick for me. As the stem passes before him, he painfully 
reaches for it and bites the fluted glass in half, champagne 
cascading down the front of his gown. I strike him in rage, my 
hands tightening around his throat, but a vicious paroxysm hits 
him, and his convulsion breaks my grip.
        Alarmed, I leap away from him. The fit lasts but a 
moment, leaving him huddled and trembling on my bed. Sobbing, 
he rasps, "Mon Dieu, please don' let me die like dis!"  I 
pounce on him again. "And how DO you want to die, my darling? 
In the arms of your beloved JOSEPH?!" Taking him by the 
shoulders, I begin to shake him bodily, slapping him sharply on 
each cheek. "Answer me, LeBeau! Did you love him? DID YOU LOVE 
HIM?!"
        Remy suddenly raises his handsome head, and stares at 
me, more defiant than I've yet seen him.
        "Damn you, you little slut! So you won't answer me! I 
could kill you with but a thought, and don't think for one 
instant that I WON'T!!!!!!"
        He looks at me coldly; he finds me as detestable as 
ever. "Why do you hate me so much?" he asks, eerily calm.
        My back stiffens as though pierced by an iron 
rod. "Because you're so beautiful!" I shout at him. "Because 
you loved HIM!"
        "You are wrong, Magnus," he says evenly. "I loved 
Joseph, dat much is true. And I will tell you now that I love 
him still, dead though he is, I love him. And I will always 
hate YOU."
        "DAMN YOU TO THE BLACKEST PITS OF HELL!!!!!!!" I 
scream. Xavier's old cane stands in the corner of the room, and 
I seize it, simultaneously swinging Remy onto his stomach. 
Pulling his hair to one side and using it to hold him down, I 
rip open his gown, exposing his back, shoulders, buttocks, and 
legs, then in cold fury, I begin to lash his naked back with 
the cane.
        "DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU!!!!" I roar so loudly that I drown 
out the screams I force out of him. He writhes under my leg, 
which pins him to the bed, both arms trying to protect his 
head. I beat him until I'm exhausted. He lies so still--is he 
alive or dead? For the moment, I don't care. I storm out of my 
room, locking the door behind me.
----------------------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------
 
        But I can't stay away from him for even a few hours. I 
find Remy lying on his stomach, asleep. Somehow he has managed 
to tear strips of bed sheeting to staunch the blood seeping 
from the wounds on his back. The sheets are damp and soaked 
with gore. He looks up at me, dangerously weak, but the steel 
is still in his eyes, and I know then, with utter finality that 
he will never break and give himself to me. 
        Time to get it over with, then. Time to end both the 
misery for both of us. I no longer care for Genosha, let it rot 
or sink into the sea. All I care about is this angel, this 
devil, who torments me day and night. I cannot live without 
him, and I will not let him live without me. Petulantly, I 
strike the leg of the bed with Xavier's walking stick.
        Remy shields his eyes in an attempt to prevent me from 
seeing his tears. Still proud and brave to the very end, aren't 
you, my love? I could have ruled the world with you by my side. 
I jab his side with the cane, laughing when he whimpers in 
pain. 
        "Well, slut, you don't seem very pleased to see me. Sit 
up!"
        "Help moi . . . " he can barely speak above a whisper.
        "Oh, you need some assistance, whore? But of course!" I 
lift him in my arms, supporting him tenderly for a moment 
before shoving him and his wounded back against the wall.
        Too weak to cry out, he regards me warily like an 
animal brought to bay, his head moving restlessly against the 
rough texture of the wall, his attention wandering to alarming 
degree, as though he is delirious. He forces himself to look at 
me--no, not AT me--BEYOND me--toward THE OPEN DOOR. Curse me 
for a fool, I forgot to lock it.
        But it doesn't matter. He's too weak to crawl the 
distance, let alone run it.
        "You look dreadful, Remy," I coo to him. "What would 
JOSEPH think if he could see you now?"
        He only stares hatefully at me.
        Enraged by his silence, I leap to my feet and pull him 
away from the wall, running the cane savagely across his back, 
reopening the wounds. He cries out sharply as the blood begins 
to flow, sobbing piteously: "Joseph . . . "
         It maddens me, and I find myself as distraught as he 
is. Both of us stand on the brink of insanity and death. I 
realize that his fragile body houses a heart of adamantium, and 
he can and will hold out against me until the end of Time 
itself.
        "Speak to me! Why don't you speak to me, whore? Talk to 
me, tell me you love ME, or I'll throw you down the stairs!" I 
grab him cruelly by his mane of coppery hair and drag him 
toward the door. He still struggles against my hands closing 
around his throat, trying to shift so that my body is between 
him and the stairs. Too terrified to die at my hands, battling 
for his wasted life, but it's hopeless--only my support is 
keeping him from falling down the steep stairwell, and he 
clings to me in desperation.
        "Magnus."
        I think I heard someone call my name, but I don't care. 
All I want is to kill the boy, then myself. With an oath, I 
shove the little slut back into the bedroom and fling him onto 
the bed. Gripping the back of his neck with one hand, I raise 
the cane, ready to smash it down on Remy's beautiful head and 
end this nightmare for both of us.
        And then the cane crumbles into ash and we are 
enveloped in blinding white light. Have we already died, and I 
am to go to Heaven or Hell with my most coveted possession in 
my arms, a victory in death if not in life? 
        "Magnus."
        That voice.
 
        I know it.
        "Show yourself!" I snarl, still holding the writhing 
Gambit in my arms.
        The pure light dims slightly, and Remy cries out 
joyously, kicking his way free from me and crawling toward the 
foot of the bed. As I watch, the deep wounds on his back close 
and heal and he holds out his arms like a child to be picked up-
-which he is, and cradled against the chest of a man I know--
yet do not know at all.
        The young god stands before me, and his face shows me 
no animosity--nothing but sadness and pity. His white hair 
cascades down his back like a glacier, and he is infinitely 
more powerful and vibrant than he was when I battled him. 
        "Magnus," he asks almost tenderly, "why have you done 
this?"
        "Because Remy LeBeau is MINE, you misbegotten abortion! 
I killed you once and have no compunction against doing it 
again!"
        "Ah, Magnus." Joseph sighs, as he would toward an 
errant child having a tantrum. "Would that I had not been so 
enraptured by the Magnosphere that I only now heard my 
beloved's cry to me. Would that you had entered the Magnosphere 
when I did--then your eyes would have been opened to the very 
heart of the Universe itself and we would be brothers in its 
tending."
        "Don't you DARE refer to me as your brother! You are 
nothing but a wretched BYBLOW! You have no right to life, let 
alone to the love of my pet! Spirit LeBeau anywhere on Earth 
you please, and I swear I will find him and take him from you 
for myself!" 
        "You haven't been listening, Erik Magnus Lensherr. The 
Earth is the barest particle of the Magnoshere. You could have 
mastered it with me, completed yourself and your destiny, and 
the entire Universe would be yours, as it is mine. Search this 
planet for Remy all you please, and you will be disappointed, I 
assure you."
        
        "Then where are you taking him?"
        "To one of the many, many planets where we may live 
with each other as we please, where Remy will be forever safe 
from you."
        I throw down my glove. "I challenge you for him now! 
Your life or mine! One of us dies here and now, but I will not 
let him go without a fight!"
        Joseph sighs again. "I do not fight insects, Magnus. Be 
happy with your little island and what you have accomplished 
here. Try to follow your dream for a mutant homeland, and make 
it come true as best you can." In his arms, Remy buries his 
head against Joseph's chest; he is still crying, but from 
overwhelming happiness now instead of misery. "Goodbye, 
Magnus," Joseph says, already beginning to shimmer like the sun.
        A flare of blinding light, and then they are gone. Even 
every last drop of Remy's precious blood is gone from my bed 
sheets. I have nothing left of him. At first I vow to find 
entrance to the Magnosphere, then realize it was forever denied 
to me when I turned my back on it and left Joseph to stabilize 
it with his own energy. I'd thought him burned out, but he had 
simply burned brighter than my eyes could see. And now, he has 
come and gone, taking with him the only brightness in my life.
        I walk to the window of my bedroom. I could stop 
myself, I could save myself with a thought--but for what? A 
lifetime without Remy LeBeau to hold and have, no hope of ever 
entering the ecstasy and salvation of the Magnosphere--
unthinkable now, unbearable.
        Opening the window, I step out. 
        The stones below await me.




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