Title: The Forbidden Fruit
Author: Kim
E-mail: kimberly.h@worldnet.att.net
Keywords: X-men movie fic, post-movie, Rogue/Logan
Rating: R for sensuality. Run now if you can't stand the
idea of Rogue and Logan together!
Disclaimer: Damn! I don't own these wonderful characters!
Archive: Anywhere is welcome as long as you drop me a note
and ask.
Thanks: Thanks Ms. Bean for being my new beta, and for correcting
my mistakes.
Feedback: Ya'll write back now, ya hear?
Notes: This is my very first X-Men fic, but all the stories I've
read have been wonderful inspirations. So please, bear with
me.


The Forbidden Fruit
By: Kim



I smell her presence nearby, as pungent as the sweet
aroma of a ripened fruit. I can feel myself being
pulled to where she is, feeling much like a moth
drawn to a flame.

I knock on the door, the only barrier separating my
spitfire Rogue and me. I wait... and wait... and wait
... but there is no answer. So I knock on the door
again, my impatience to see her growing by each
passing second.

I hear a faint, "Come in!" and I enter the room slowly.
The room is dark, save for one tiny candle on a table
by the window. I glance around the room and see that
she is not in it, but my sense of smell allows me to
know that she is somewhere in the room.

The bathroom door is cracked open a bit, and a faint
scent of apples and spice wafts through the air and
fills my senses. Again, I am drawn to that door that is
cracked ever so slightly, and I have to resist every
primal urge to barge right through it. Instead, I settle
on knocking on the frame, alerting her to my
presence.

She knows it's me. It's our ritual that we perform
after a particularly stressful day saving the world. We
come home and bask in the relief that neither of us is
hurt and that we are very much together.

I didn't need to knock for her to know it's me, and
she doesn't need to respond to let me know that I am
welcome. I slowly open the door, an unconscious
breath held in my lungs, as the scene is unfolded
before me.

The room is masked in a dark glow, much like the
bedroom, but it has more candles of all sizes lit,
spread across on each vacant spot that it could fit. I
am alert to every movement and sound, my senses
heightened at the mere knowledge that she is in this
very room.

My breath is released in a silent woosh as I finally
allow myself the luxury of watching her, lying in the
tub, her hair of white and auburn pulled into a mass of
curls on top of her hair. She has her eyes closed and
as soon as I set one foot into the bathroom, her
strawberry lips curl into the slightest hint of a smile.
She knows I am watching, she knows what watching
her does to me, and she loves every second of it. I'll
never let her know that I love the chase of her sweet
torture as well.

As I cross the tiny bathroom to kneel at the side of the
tub, her eyes flutter open and capture mine. This
alluring creature knows what she does to me and I
don't mind one bit. I break the intense gaze, and look
to where the sponge lays. It still remains in the same
spot as the last time I was here. It feels as if ages had
past since I myself was last here, but that knowledge
fades away as I know that I am here now and that's
all that matters.

I pick up the sponge, and return my gaze to Rogue.
My eyes scan her body, and roam over the sight of
her elegant neck speckled with drops of sweat and
moisture, but my eyes are immediately fixed on the
point below that, to the tops of her beautiful breasts
glistening with the soapy suds and water that hide the
rest of her body from me. I envy those little boys,
those soapy suds, because they cling to her in ways
that I never could.

She is like the forbidden fruit and I am like Adam,
always allowed to look, but never allowed to touch.

A low growl emerges from the depths of my body at
the need I have to be connected with her.

I dip the sponge in my hand into the bubbly water,
and I soak it through. I squeeze a little to ring out
most of the water and I start from the bottom to the
top. She knows the routine, as she lifts one lengthy
leg out of the tub, to rest her foot against the wall
opposite her. It takes every inch of control to resist
touching, and only the fact that I'd be a vegetable if I
felt her the tiniest bit keeps me from doing the thing I
want most... barely.

Slowly, I take the sponge and I run it gently up the
outside of her legs, first from the calves, up to her
outer thighs. She moves her leg outward, so that I can
sweep the sponge along the inside of her inner ones,
so close to that hidden core where I long to go where
no man has gone before.

All the while, my eyes never break contact with hers.
I have memorized each and every inch of her body
because she is the map that I was meant to navigate.

I pay the same reverence to her other leg, taking care
not to touch her milky skin. I move up to her arms,
which she lovingly holds up for me, making sure that
I skim over each crevice, each finger that she extends
to me. I always save my favorite part for last, her
breasts. Yes it's so disgustingly male of me, but she
has the most beautiful breasts these wolfish eyes have
ever set their sight on.

She sits up slightly to allow me the viewing pleasure
of seeing them in the buff, free of the soapy suds that
once clung to them. My body is hypnotized by this
vision and my hand obeys the command to run its
course over her. I watch as each rosy nipple hardens
as the cold settles on it, and I also know that my very
presence has caused these little buds to rise proudly
and salute me. I smile as I run the sponge over those
hardened nipples, and I see her eyes close tightly as a
shudder runs through her. My ego says that it's nice
to have this kind of reaction.

I take care to take as much time as I need to brush
past each every curve her breasts gives me, making
sure that I have swept over and under. After I finish
with this act, she gently lowers herself back against
the tiled wall, and turns her face to look at me once
again. I can see all the longing and love that she holds
in her eyes, because I know all too well that my eyes
reflect the same expression.

I use the sponge to touch the side of her neck, where I
gently slide it up and down, in a tender caress. She
moves her face ever so slightly to rest against the
sponge and my hand. This is my mock imitation of
cradling her face, but in some ways is more intimate
than anything I've ever experienced my entire life.

Our eyes stay locked, and the connection crackles in
the air between us. I realize that it doesn't matter that
this will be as close as I'll ever get to touch her silk
like skin. I know we are more intimate than most
lovers would ever hope to be. No words between us
are ever needed. I am content to sit by her side,
basking in the feeling of being with her, even if it
means having this sponge serve as the barrier between
us for the rest of eternity.

As I watch her, my love for her swells greatly. Who
knew that the wild Wolverine could be tamed?

Yes, as I sit here, making love to her with my hands,
she is my forbidden fruit, and I am her Adam, always
allowed to look, but never allowed to touch, and I
realize, that it doesn't matter. She is the reason for my
existence, and I am hers, and that's what does.


~Finis~