Title: Broken Masks

by Apoc1158

Pairing: Xavier/Magneto, Xavier/Magneto/Gabrielle, Moira/Cyclops, Xavier/original character and a whole lot more, but telling them would ruin the fun.

Disclaimer: Nope, they don't belong to me, im just playing with them, and I'll put them back all nice and shiny when I’m done.

Warning: This is a very twisted story, even for me. Characters aren’t going to be what you think, so don't come in with any preconceived notions about how they're supposed to act. Everyone has an ulterior motive, and even that isn’t really clear.

Broken Masks

by Apoc1158


Charles Xavier was upset.

This is not to say that he was never upset, simply to say that no one had ever seen him this angry before. He talked to no one, didn't want to be talked to, and had effectively locked himself away from the two telepaths living under his roof. He didn't yell, but his anger permeated the walls of the large mansion, making it nearly impossible for anyone to remain within it for extended periods of time.

The most frightening part was that no one knew why.

It had started a week before, with a letter with no return address to him in a delicate, ornate hand. Shortly after it was delivered, it began. At first no one could tell where it was coming from, but Jean and Elizabeth were the first to learn. Neither was ready for the cold manner in which Charles treated them, nor for the warning to leave him alone when they tried to get him to talk about whatever problem he had.

They were certainly unprepared for the "get the hell out of my office" when they tried to press further.

News of his behavior spread quickly through the house, Scott going to check on his mentor as soon as a troubled, and pissed, Jean made her way to the boat house. He appeared again five minutes after entering the professor's study. No voices had been raised, but it was evident from the look on his face that substantial words had been passed between the two.

Now all the residents of the mansion could do was watch, and wait.

*

Charles sighed to himself, wondering how long he could keep up his charade. For a week he had been projecting negative emotions throughout the house, been sharp, curt, and rude with everyone who came in contact with him.

Even for the most powerful telepath in the world, it was taxing.

Sighing again, Charles picked up the note sitting on his desk, rereading the words and willing them to not be true:

It took me longer to find you this time. Don't do that again, I have so missed our little games. Please don't tell me that you've grown bored with it already, my love. Be that as it may, the move is mine, and I've thought for a long time on how to proceed. Meet me, you know where, and don't disappoint me.

The letter wasn't signed, and he didn't need it to be, he knew the writing better than he knew his own. Cursing under his breath, he crumpled the letter before throwing it into the fireplace, watching as its edge caught fire. Turning, he headed for his room. He had much to do, and precious little time in which to do it.

//Jean, I need to speak with you,// he sent, veiling some of the hostility from his mental voice. //Please bring Scott with you.//

At her assent, he broke the contact, once again cutting himself off from her.

*

Jean was worried, for several reasons. For the first time in her life Charles was cutting himself off from her completely. The only emotions she could detect from him were hostility and anger, that in itself being completely unlike him. Normally, he exuded a calming influence, making people trust him easily. This, coupled with what Scott had told her after his last confrontation with Charles, wore at her.

"He wants to see us, doesn't he?" Scott asked, coming behind his wife and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Jean nodded her head, moving to the door before her husband could talk her out of it.

As they neared the house the feeling of hostility grew, though it no longer held its sharp edge, the same edge which had chased almost all the X-men from the house, with the exception of Hank, who had sequestered himself in the Med lab.

"You wanted to see us?" Jean asked, hearing the door close behind her husband. Taking in the professor she noted how tired he seemed, dark shadows playing at the skin under his eyes.

"Yes," Charles answered, steepling his fingers. " I am leaving for a while."

The blunt statement gave no further clue to what he intended, as Jean was sure it was meant to. He was using his "no argument" tone, hoping to intimidating them into not asking him questions.

But this time she wasn't going to let it work.

"Where are you going?" she asked, folding her hands over her chest, one red eyebrow raised. His stony silence only served to make her more determined. "If you are leaving the grounds, perhaps Scott and I should go with you to ensure-"

"NO!" Charles nearly shouted the word, startling everyone in the room including himself. "I do not want any of you with me, or following me for that matter."

"Why?"

The softly spoken word from Scott almost broke him. He was entirely too tired from his week long stint to keep his shields up and deal with his two children at the same time without giving.

"I do not want, or need any of you with me on this excurtion," he answered coldly, trying to soften the blow by looking down at his hands in seeming remorse. "This is something that I must do alone, and I would like for you all to respect my wishes."

Charles turned and left, before his shields fell completely. He had a few hours in which to pack and make his way to Ireland, and he intended on using them.

*

Jean watched as Charles maneuvered the hoverchair out of the study, trying to understand what he was doing. She was used to his manipulations, she had been on the receiving end of them for the greater part of her life, and she knew that he only employed them when he felt that he was protecting them.

Turning to her husband, she placed a delicate hand on his arm. " I don't know what's going on, but I do know that he was telling the truth, he really doesn't want any of us following him this time, or tracking him with Cerebro."

Scott nodded his head, wondering how he was going to keep everyone from making it their personal duty to keep the professor safe from himself. Sighing, he started for the war room.

Jean watched her Scott leave with a growing sense of apprehension. As Charles left she had not only felt his resolve, she had felt something else, something far more disturbing.

For whatever reason, Charles Xavier was filled with complete, abject terror.

"He's afraid." She whispered, looking to Scott. "Something has him terrified."

"The professor?" After over ten years of living with the man Scott could say that there were few things that could surprise his surrogate father. The only time he had seemed frightened was when he was faced with the possibility of loosing one of his `children'. The thought that something terrified him, was one that chilled something within him.

"Im gathering the team," he said, still staring at the place the professor had vacated.

*

Two days later Charles was outside Ballincolling, preparing himself to enter the gates to the park there. It was beautiful in high summer, with only the more hardy tourists walking the many paths. As dusk approached, even those were beginning to travel back to their hotels and bed-and-breakfasts, leaving the park deserted with the exception of him.

And one other.

Sighing heavily, Charles moved the hover chair down a path, listening to the soft hum of insects and the occasional bird call.

When he could hear the sounds of the small brook he broke off the main path, following a barely worn trail to a stone arc, almost hidden in the undergrowth, the remains of a well standing in its center. Local legend had it that the well was once sacred to the Druids, a legend supported by the many old oaks of the area, some still bearing arcane markings barely visible from time. A fitting place for the woman he was meeting.

Stopping before the entrance, he waited, eyes turned towards the path he had just taken, willing his anger to subside.

"I'm surprised you didn't make me go after you, Charles." The voice was thick, honey rich with a tint of bourbon, enough to warm a mans body, coming from the ruins. It had warmed his once, until he learned that behind that voice lurked the heart of a killer.

"You asked, I came. What is this about Lorna?"

Charles watched as a form separated from the shadows, cursing the automatic speeding of his heart beat. Tall, with black hair and classic features, Lorna was something of a fantasy come to life, his fantasy.

He had wondered for years if she was a shape shifter, despite her constant denials. Otherworldly, with pale skin and large silver eyes, she could have been an angel.

Or a demon.

"The years have treated you kindly, Charles," she said in reply, leaning against the stones of the arc, hands behind her back.

Her molten eyes traveled over him, stopping for a moment at the pulse beat in his neck, before moving lower, taking in the yellow of his hover chair. "I'm not used to looking down on you, though I must admit that it has a certain allure." Smiling, she pushed away from the ruins, "Now that we're here and no one else is around, we can drop this little charade of ours, cant we?"

"I don't think-"

"Do it."

Those two syllables were spoken with a force behind them that Charles had only seen in one other person, and aggravated Charles to no end. "I am not some dog for you to tell to sit or fetch-"

Lorna's smile turned chilling, "No you aren't. You never were, not like the others. A snap of my fingers and they were willing to do anything that I said. You always had to fight me." Stepping forward, she let her full skirt brush against his arm before repeating her demand, this time making it a request. "Please, I'm breathless waiting for our little game to begin, and I so hate deception."

She hid it well, but there was still an silver edge to her voice, no matter how cajoling. Reaching down, he pressed an almost hidden button and the door to the hover chair swung open showing his legs encased in light tan trousers. Bracing himself on the arms of the hover chair, Charles stood, balancing himself for a moment.

Then let go.

*

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lorna asked as Charles walked away from the hover chair, shakily, but with growing confidence. "And here your poor students thought that you had lost your ability to walk for a second time."

Charles whirled at that, "It took 15 months of physical therapy for me to be able to stand on my own, let alone walk," he countered, reaching the well and bracing his weight against it. "I have been hiding nothing from them."

Lorna laughed, throwing back her head, "Hiding nothing? Aside from the fact that you could walk?" She settled into light chuckles, shaking her head, "I hate to think what a real secret of yours might be." Tapping a finger against her lips, she approached him, "I might just have to rethink my strategy for this move, with this little tidbit of information in mind."

Charles held his breath, waiting for her decision. He knew he should stop this, should turn away and never look back. But he knew how useless that would be.

He had tried it once, and others had paid the price.

He was startled out of his revere by a warm body pressing up against his back, and he realized that Lorna wasn't wearing a bra as her breasts flattened against him, the hard nipples two points of fire against his skin. "No, I don't think I will," she whispered, leaning up to reach his ear, her breath sending sharp tingles down his spine which settled in his groin.

Charles held his breath as her hands settled on his upper chest, moving down before settling playfully over his belt, teasing the sensitive muscles of his stomach. He could feel himself growing hard, and cursed mentally. Even after all he knew she was capable of, she still roused him with a fierceness that took his breath away.

"Than what do you plan to do."

The laugh that rumbled through her reminded him of the purr of a lioness, "I think we can work with my original move, with a few alterations." Those light hands slid lower, rubbing lightly over his erection, making him unconsciously buck his hips to create more friction. "You are still so responsive," she whispered before her mouth closed on his neck, gently biting the skin above his jugular.

Charles felt his knees buckling, both from the strain of standing for so long and from the pleasure that was burning through him. It cleared his mind, allowing him to remember who he was, where he was, and more importantly, with whom.

It took all the willpower he could muster to tamp down his desire, to extinguish it like a flame inside him, but the reaction was immediate. Lorna left him at once, her eyes glowing an eerie blue in the shadows.

"You have better control over your emotions, but that was to be expected." The voice was rougher now, filled with a longing that he wanted nothing more than to surrender to. He felt the desire returning, but fought against it, his hands clutching at the waist high stones. She nodded her head before approaching him again, stopping just short of touching him. "But I will have you again, Charles. Count on it." She turned, melting into the shadows, "And believe me, you won't be able to resist."

*

Heat.

So much heat he couldn't stand it. It was burning him alive, blending with the pleasure to form an exquisite ache in his body.

Convulsively he grabbed the hips of the woman under him, pressing harder into her, all care and restraint gone. He needed her, needed all of her, and he almost laughed at her growled consent. He heard her moans, tasted the sweat that beaded in her clavicle, under her nose.

Felt her hands scratching his back, opening old wounds and creating new ones, demanding that he go faster, harder. That pain mingled with the other, driving it high and higher until he thought it would crest, but it didn't. It kept growing, until nothing else existed, nothing else mattered…

*

"We're preparing for our final descent into John F. Kennedy Airport. Please remember that the fastened seat belt signs are on and there is no smoking in the bathrooms. The stewardesses will be coming around to pick up any trash that you might have. We thank you for flying British Airways and hope to see you again soon."

Charles opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented. Then things began to clear. He was on his return flight, which was preparing to land. That meant that he had slept almost fourteen hours straight.

Remembering his dream, he looked around the cabin, watching as the woman in the row across from him fanned herself furiously and squirmed in her seat. He could have laughed.

He had been broadcasting again.

He hoped she was the only one of the flight that was caught by his broadcast, relieved that she was the only person in first class. A quick mental image of her pleasuring herself in-between the stewardess's frequent stops piqued his interest, but only for a moment. He almost felt guilty for her plight, knowing he was the direct cause of it. His dreams, his memories to be more exact, had enflamed her just as much as they had him. She was attractive, with short blond hair cut pageboy style, highlighting her cheekbones and showing off her neck to its utmost. He caught another image, this one of her ridding him, her shirt open, his hands cupping her breasts as she watched the curtains between the cabins, watching for the slightest movement, wound tight because neither could make a sound…

Charles turned his head fast enough to catch her engaged stare, almost smiling when he saw her blush and look away, nervously moving her hair away from her face as she too casually reached for one of the many magazines stored in the side panels of the seats. He could feel her desire, how turned on she was at the thought of almost being caught. It would be so easy…

*Don't even think it*, he told himself, turning to face the window as the plane began its final descent, *Shes young enough to be your daughter, granddaughter, for that matter. You have better things to do than have a quickie in the first class section of a plane*.

But, oh, it was tempting, espicially when her eyes kept darting to his profile when she thought he wasn't looking.

*

END NOTE: This one kind of burst into my drom, kicked my door down and said "Write me, bitch!" What was I supposed to do?

This will probably be a LLLOOONNNGGG series, and yes, there will be plenty of slash in it for those of you who were waiting for it, don't despair, its coming.