A/N: For rubynye


Erik entered his bedroom, closed the door, and locked it behind him. He was nursing a rather large, Emma-and-Azazel sized headache, as apparently, both of them liked to establish who was more important to the boss. And who was really more important had moved in on his bed and had stretched her arms over the headboard in a rather dominant fashion.

"Headache?" Mystique flashed her teeth in a bright grin.

"I can see this is becoming your habit." He tugged off the helmet and dumped it on the dresser. "I sincerely hope you didn't come for reassurance."

One red eyebrow lifted over one golden eye. "Do I look like I need it?"

Blue, perfect, spread across his made-up bed like a lazy tiger, uninterested in hiding herself beneath his covers or another's skin—he could not honestly say she did.

His voice softened. "What then?" he asked.

Mystique raised the other brow. "I'm not here to reassure you either."

She caught him flat-footed with that one. I've created a monster, flitted through his head.

She didn't wait for his reply. "I was not Charles' little, blind follower. I was his sister."


"Don't expect me to be yours."

Erik stared at her.

She slid sinuously off of his bed, drawing his eye and absolute attention. She was gorgeous in a way that outshone anything Emma had to offer.

"I'm going to see Charles tomorrow."

Her words snapped him out of his reverie. "You're what?"

"He's my brother. And your friend." She ran one blue finger over the edge of his jaw.

He pulled away.

Her eyes narrowed. "I might even try not to blame you for the rest of our lives." Then, she was gone, and Erik left wondering.

For what?

He visited Charles.

"Habit." He waved his hand absently in her direction to emphasize his point. "This was not to become a habit."

"What?" Mystique asked, faux innocent tone and eyes dancing playfully.

"You. My bed. My bed, not yours." Erik removed the helmet with some relief, allowing him to better hear Mystique's snickering.

"Well, somebody has to remind you that you're not king of the world yet, and it might as well be me."

"By picklocking my door?"

She shook her head, clearly amused. "Like melting the handle can keep me out."

Erik glanced at the barred windows.

Her snicker grew louder.

He sighed. "Is there a point to this, Mystique, because I'd like to use my bed tonight."

She laughed outright and crawled over the spread to reach him. "Third time's the charm," she murmured, then kissed him.

And that was the night it really did become a habit.