They were best friends.  Closer to each other than anyone else, yet in a purely platonic way.

It wasn't that they weren't attracted to each other -- hell, they were two good-looking, highly sexual people -- it was just that physicality took a backseat to friendship.  A first for both the Wolverine and Rogue.

And, tempted as they might have been at times, neither intended to let anything or anyone change that.  Including each other.

Just for their obstinacy, Fate decided to steer them on an entirely *different* course.
 

Generally she reacted with a little less surprise, but she had been so immersed in her cooking that all her focus was on whether or not to add more pepper, and she forgot that the internal alert was the Professor's way of informing the X-Men of a new mission.

-- Rogue, I am sorry.  I didn't realize you were busy with your cooking. --

-- Yeah, well, I am a chef, Prof.  It's what I do best. --

Actually, according to her ex's, there were a few things she did better, but they weren't suitable thoughts to be having with a telepath strolling around in your brain.

-- My apologies for disturbing you.  However I need you in the briefing room in ten minutes. --

-- Sure thing. --

-- And Rogue?  Trust your instincts. --

-- Advice for the mission? --

-- No, the Gumbo. --

Rogue snorted back a laugh.  Three years of training with some of the most revered chefs in the world and the best thing I learned was to rely on my own instincts.  I could've just gone to *Logan* for cooking lessons instead.

Her reflections became more serious as she stared, chagrined, into the bubbling stew.  Her thoughts turned to the mission ahead and she sighed.  It would be difficult and time-consuming and she would probably get hurt.  Reviewing her options, she knew she could leave it, but then who would do it?  Alternatively, she could accept what she had to do and simply get on with it, but the risks were just too great.  She sighed again.  There was no option but to let this one go.  The thought upset her, and who wouldn't be?  Dammit, it had been her *favourite* spoon.
 

He grinned and practically rubbed his hands together in glee at the thought, then loped out to change into his uniform.

Along the way he bumped into Rogue.  Literally.  He had to reach out and grab her arms to stop from bowling her over.  Instantly he was bombarded with scents, sensations, images.  The images were the worst, because they weren't real, figments of an imagination that had never been overactive before he met Rogue.  This was the exact reason he didn't touch her, even though she'd been able to control her power for years.  The pictures scrolled through his mind like a movie; mouths locked, tongues tangled, hands stroked, bodies writhed orgasmically.

He was rock hard and had only touched the bare skin of her arms.  Logan couldn't imagine what he'd do if he ever saw her in something like a bathing suit, or better yet, her underwear. . . Yeah, now that was a fucking enticing thought.  Rogue wearing nothing but a two tiny wisps of silk and lace, standing before him, over him, rubbing against him-

He almost groaned.  Only the fact that the object of his every fantasy was standing right before him - and also his best friend and X-partner - prevented it from emerging.

Hurriedly releasing her before he did something stupid, he spun around and started walking down the corridor.

"Um, Logan?  You okay, sugar?"

He turned and cocked a brow.  "Yeah, why?"

"Well," she drawled slowly, "you're going in the wrong direction.  If you're planning on putting your uniform on before we go, that is."

She grinned impudently when he narrowed his eyes at her and didn't giggle when he, in order to save his manly pride, slowly rotated 360 degrees so he was facing her again and strode past her towards the changing area.
 

Logan and Rogue sat in the briefing room, facing the professor while he informed them of their mission.  It wasn't all that dangerous, just a lone mutant trying to wreak havoc on the human populace.  His name was George Frinkelmeyer, codename unknown, apparently a mediocre telepath with no ties to the Brotherhood.

Well, Rogue thought, this should be easy enough.  Kind of a cease and desist or else sort of thing.  Usually the sight of the Wolverine's fierce demeanour and nine inch adamantium claws ensured their adversary's co-operation, but if that didn't work there would be a fight.  Logan, despite his heavy skeleton, could attack with speed and agility, and she almost always had the element of surprise.  After all, who would expect a petite brunette with big brown eyes to have powers of absorption, super-strength, invulnerability and flight?  Even if she somehow lost her powers Rogue could kick ass without assistance.  It had been important to her, before and after she acquired Ms. Marvel's gifts, to be able to hold her own with anyone, mutant or human, without relying on something that could be taken away as easily as it had been given.  Enter Logan and more hours than her body wanted to remember in the gym, the track, the swimming pool, the danger room. . . Just about anywhere.

Of course, that brought to mind other, very different pictures of she and Logan in the training areas.  She licked her lips at the visions of Logan kissing her in the gym, fondling her on the track, stripping her in the swimming pool, pounding into her in the danger room. . .  Just.  About.  Anywhere.

"Rogue, you ready to go?" Logan asked, curiosity etched into his every feature.

She nodded, knowing she was so wet he could smell it and that her eyes were probably glazed over with lust, but hell, maybe he would think it was from the excitement of the impending mission.  Some people got off on the adrenaline rush, and hey, she could be one of those people, if it got Logan off her back.

And onto his. . .

Stop that! she chastised, mentally flogging her bad self.
Flogging?  Great, now I'm a masochist as well.  What's next, bondage and exhibitionism?

Although, bondage might not be such a bad thing if it meant she had Logan completely at her disposal.  Tied to the bedpost with the silk scarves left over from her non-control days, naked, well muscled chest gleaming with sweat as she-

"Rogue!  Hello?"

And she floated back to earth long enough to see Logan waving a hand in front of her face.

"Hey, you feeling okay?"

"Yeah," she answered somewhat absentmindedly, "just thinking about the scarves."

"Scarves?"

Snapping out of it, she realized what she'd just said.  Eyes wide, she tried damage control.  "What?  No, um, spoons.  Yeah, lost a spoon today.  It was very traumatic."

"Hmmm. . ." he rubbed his stubbled jaw, his *sexy* stubbled jaw, looking at her strangely.

"I'm just going to, uh, fire up the Blackbird," she said, backing slowly out the room.

"Okay," he agreed.  "Why don't I come with you.  Y'know, seeing as we're going together and all."

Was that sarcasm she heard?  She replayed the words as she continued edging towards the door.  Oh yeah, there was a definite mocking edge to his voice in that last sentence.  Face it Rogue, the guy has a right to be a little sardonic.  You're losing your marbles and the world is fucked-up as it is without adding a loony mutant to the mix.

Pull it together, your mind has to be on this George Whatchamacallit.  She cleared her mind as best she could and focused on the what was to come.  "Okay," she nodded.  "Let's go."

Halfway out the door she remembered the Professor, sitting patiently behind his desk, and called, "See you later, Prof."

He inclined his head towards her and smiled briefly as Logan grunted out his own farewell.

-- And Rogue?  Let yourself go --

-- Isn't that a little dangerous?  I could really hurt this George Frinkenminken if I'm not careful --

She was a little surprised, because the professor was usually very strict with all of them about not losing control or letting your anger get the best of you.  Now he was telling her it was okay?  Very weird.

-- Not on the mission --

Not on the mission?  Then what?  Suddenly a thought popped into her head and she almost groaned.  If she had been broadcasting her little fantasies earlier. . .  But no, that couldn't be it.  Not a chance.  No way.

-- With Logan. --

Oh.  My.  God.  She sat stone-still in the cockpit and closed her eyes.  This wasn't happening, it simply was not happening.

Then Logan snapped his seat belt in place and she turned wide eyes to him.

"Hey, darling, what's wrong?" he asked

Rogue swallowed.  It was all her fault, of that she was certain.  She knew that the professor sometimes couldn't block everyone's thoughts, especially after using Cerebro, and yet she'd fantasised about Logan in front of him, thereby forcing her surrogate father to watch her have sex with her best friend.  That was a problem, but at the moment they had a mission, so she resolved to deal with the whole embarrassing situation later.

She started up the huge plane and said a trifle grimly, "I'm glad you fastened your seat belt.  Looks like it's going to be one hell of a bumpy ride."
 

A night with Rogue. . .  Now that was a fucking mind-blowing thought.  He could see it in his minds eye:  Her long dark hair spilling down her bare back, chocolate eyes wide and velvety soft, mouth full and pouting.  Or parted and screaming his name.  He wasn't all that picky when it came to Rogue.  *Rogue*.  He almost said it out loud before he realized where he was and who was with him.

Focus, he ordered himself.  If you don't, you're putting not only yourself but Rogue in danger.  And of course that settled it for him.  While he didn't particularly want to die, he would give his life before letting anyone or anything harm her.  So far that hadn't been necessary, but you never knew.  Take that french kid for example.  Always hanging around her, taking up her time, distracting her from the things that *really* mattered.  Like her cooking, the X-men, and well, him.

He leaned back with a frown.  Thinking about the little fuck made his knuckles itch with the need to gut someone.  Rogue seemed to like the guy, for reasons that completely escaped him.  Sure, he supposed *some* women might find his long hair and sleazy fake-french accent attractive.  If they were blind, deaf and mute.  With an IQ in single digits.  And what was with those eyes?  They were red, red and black.  How psychotically fucked-up was that?  He really couldn't understand why his best friend liked the little prick so much.  Rogue was an intelligent, beautiful woman, and she should know better by now.

Hadn't he been there when her numerous relationships fell apart - and that was inevitable, there was no other man out there who could make her happy - and hadn't he held her while she cried and told her what dicks they all were?  So when he warned her about Frenchie's fuck-and-run relationships - in no way similar to his own, he after all, didn't have the option of dating Rogue, and if he did he sure as hell wouldn't be out there dropping his pants for every two bit tramp that crossed his path - shouldn't she have listened?  If he was her and he'd told himself what he'd told her, he would've believed himself and probably thanked him for protecting him.  Or was it her?  Because if he was her, who was him?  He sighed.  Sometimes his own thoughts were more confusing than anything anyone else could say.

 
Rogue brought the Blackbird down and shot a quick, sideways glance at Logan.  He seemed preoccupied, scowling, with that cute little furrow between his brows.  And wouldn't he just be thrilled to know that she thought about him in terms of 'cute'.  It was a word she knew he hated, but still she couldn't help but apply it to him.  Along with gorgeous, well-muscled, sexy as hell. . .

She shook herself before that thought could go any further.  They had a mutant to either stop or break in half.  Naturally she would prefer the former, but if not, hey she could go for a little slap and, well, slap.  There will be no tickle, Rogue, remember that.  Especially with Logan, your *best friend*.

Her determination set in concrete, she tapped Logan's shoulder, a little concerned that he, with his super-hearing, hadn't noticed she'd landed the jet.  His eyes were smoky, somewhat clouded, but cleared as soon as her hand touched his strong, broad shoulder.

"Hey," he said, smiling that bone-melting little half-smile.

Mission, Rogue.  Don't forget George Frinkenfrank, she reminded herself.

"Hey yourself.  We're here.  You ready to rumble?"

He nodded.  "Let's go kick ass."

"Hopefully not.  Remember we have to try to dissuade him first, but if he refuses. . . that's a whole different story."
He looked disgruntled, then muttered, "Hope he doesn't want to talk.  I could use a bone-crunching fight today."

She patted his back in consolation as they stepped off the Blackbird.  "Don't worry, if he's a good boy, I'd be happy to beat you up later.  Y'know, just so *you'd* feel better."

"Sure darling, but when we fight, you won't the winner."

"If thinking that makes you sleep better at night, you go right ahead."

With those words spoken, she shut off the part of herself that was his best friend, the part of herself that cared, and became The Rogue.  Steely determination beneath a casual cloak.

She could tell by the way his eyes iced over and his muscles tensed that he was doing the same.  Knowing that she didn't have to worry about personal feelings getting in the way was a relief, something that was vital to who they were and what they did.

In mutual agreement, they strolled nonchalantly through the brush, relying on her seventh sense and his acute nose to find the mutant in question.

Logan stopped her with a hand on her arm and gestured with his chin towards a small rock formation.  Geez, the guy would decide to live in the wilderness - hadn't he ever heard of the Holiday Inn?  Unless he had scales or bunny ears - which would really be a funny sight, especially if he had both - she very much doubted anyone would be able to tell that he was a mutant, or that he was the one messing with people's lives.

They approached the rocks carefully, walking softly around them until they saw the Codeless One.

He was about five foot eight with short brown hair in a military crew cut and a skinny shapeless body any female model in the world would kill to have.

"George?" she queried.

He looked up, not sharply but with a small frown that took her by surprise.  He didn't seem at all shocked to see them standing there, instead he seemed almost disapproving.

"Hey," he said in a voice filled with disappointment, "I don't go around calling you whatever your name is, or him Logan, now do I?"

This was strange.  Very strange.  One of them must not have shielded their thoughts adequately for him to pick up Logan's name.

Logan must have guessed the same thing, because he replied, "What do you want us to call you?  You don't have a codename."

He turned to Rogue and asked, "What kind of mutant doesn't have a codename these days?"

She shrugged.  "I don't know.  Jean doesn't have one if you'll remember, she just couldn't pick anything that fit her."

"Well, Jean is too self-involved to ever be known as anything more than Jean."

She thought about that, while keeping an eye on the mutant who was staring at them incredulously.  Jean and Logan were acquaintances more than friends, and Logan had told Rogue once that Jean placed too much importance on her own looks.
This character assessment was a total surprise.  But Logan often said things that she'd never have thought of.

"What do you mean?" she asked.  It was an old game of theirs, perfected after years of playing it, and designed to keep their opponent off guard.

"Jean doesn't want anyone remembering her as anything but Jean.  If she does something good, she wants them to know that it was *Jean* not whatever codename she could be, that did it.  See, codenames make the whole 'hero' thing separate from who you are, and she wouldn't like that."

Not very fair, she thought.  Jean was nice enough, and she didn't seem all that selfish.  Except for that time when she ate all the ice-cream and didn't bother to replace it.  It was a small thing but, hey, ice-cream was damn important in a woman's life, and going to the deepfreeze and finding it empty of ice-cream had been a heart-rending moment.  Thank God Logan had taken pity on her and gone out to one of those all night stores to buy her some fudge ripple.  Still, in Jean's defence, everyone was occasionally thoughtless.

"Wow.  That was pretty deep; you been watching Oprah again?"

"Funny.  So George, why're you fucking with people's minds?"

The sudden change of topic seemed to startle the telepath, and he stammered, "They, uh, they don't know what they're doing with their, uh, lives.  I'm - um - helping them."

"Helping them by making them do things they don't want to do?" Rogue asked softly.

He shook his head vehemently.  "That's just it!  They do want to do it, they're just too frightened.  I remove some of the roadblocks is all."

"Without their permission.  Do you really think that's the best thing to do?"

"Well, what would you do?  Huh?  It's obvious you and Logan here are meant for each other but just too chicken to admit it.  I could help you with that problem," he wheedled.

He's just guessing, she told herself.  It isn't true.  Because if it was and they were both just staying away from each other out of cowardice. . .  No, it simply wasn't true.

"Not going to happen," Rogue said firmly.  "You're taking away free will, not obstacles to the road of happiness.  Can't you see that?"
George's eyes went wild when he saw Rogue and Logan advancing on him.  He pulled out a small pouch, emptied the contents into his glove-covered hand, and blew in the direction of his foes.  They both ducked but a cloud of gold dust hovered around them, and try as they might, they couldn't move through it.

George's amused voice sounded from far away, "By the way, I *do* have a codename.  It's Fate."

His words faded and the invisible force field disappeared, and Rogue and Logan collapsed against each other, both struggling to breath through the thick dust that was now settling on their skin.

In unspoken agreement, they stumbled back to the Blackbird.

"You okay, sugar?" she asked, leaning against the jet.

"Yeah.  You?"

She nodded.  "I would go after him if I thought we could catch him, but everything in me tells me he's long gone."

"Agreed.  So you going to fly us home now or make me beg?"

Rogue grinned.  "Sugar, making men beg has never been a problem.  But I don't think sex-talk is appropriate right now."

His lips twitched and he lunged for her.  She scrambled into the jet and slipped into the pilot's seat while he sat adjacent to her, watching her with sultry eyes that promised retribution for that little remark.  Probably shouldn't have said it, she reflected, since it made her think of the two of them in bed together, talking dirty while their hands explored and hips bucked rhythmically.  She sighed and tried to calm down by imagining pouring a bucket of ice water over her body.  Then of course Logan would walk in and they would have a whole different use for that ice. . .  Oh great, she thought wryly, I can't even cool off without heating up.
 

A short while later they sat in the infirmary while Hank explained the results of the tests on the dust.  So far he'd told them, in science-speak, that it wasn't the cause of the force-field, and that the dust had been absorbed into their skin.  That can't be a good thing, Rogue thought worriedly, what if it was some kind of poison?  Wasn't she supposed to be invulnerable?  Didn't that extend to viruses and toxins?

"The particles don't appear to be working out of your system, in fact the opposite is true.  I think it's fair to say they will be circulating through your body for at least a few weeks.

"Fuck," Logan swore.  Rogue echoed the sentiment internally and with a few more curses attached.

"Oh, it isn't anything injurious," Hank assured them.

Rogue felt her heart lighten at that, and said, "That's a relief."

Hank hesitated before saying, "Well, actually the dust will cause you some problems, but not if you isolate yourselves."

"What, like stay alone in our rooms?  I don't think so, sugar.  Whatever the problem is, we can deal with it, without harming anyone else."

"Actually, as long as you two stay away from each other, everything should be perfectly fine.  This 'drug' removes your sexual inhibitions.  And since the two of you were the only ones exposed, factoring in your close friendship and probable attraction, you will likely find yourselves unable to resist each other."

Rogue looked at Logan and saw him glance over at her.  Come to think of it, his eyes were hot, blazing really, and what could it hurt to give in to temptation just once?  To kiss him and feel his hands over her body, caressing her breasts into aching awareness, licking her erect nipples, having his hand slide between her legs to stroke her throbbing core.

Oh God, she thought as Hank cleared his throat and pulled her back to reality.  This is bad.  This is very *very* bad.
 

Logan wasn't sure if he believed what Hank had just told them. How could a fucking fairy powder change reality?  They were just friends, and besides, this lust-dust wouldn't make any difference to how he felt - he already wanted to strip Rogue down and do the things that good girls spoke of in hushed whispers with wide eyes and bad boys fantasised about in their beds at night.  He grinned at that.  Cause he was *definitely* a bad boy, if his dreams were anything to go by.

He remembered a particularly interesting one about using some of Rogue's leftover scarves from her non-control days.  She would be lying on his bed, wearing that sexy thigh-length black dress she'd bought for the Christmas party last year, hands bound separately to the posts of the bed.  He would be on his haunches at the end of the mattress, just watching her, not talking, just watching.  He would hear her heartbeat begin to speed up at the charged atmosphere, at the intent glittering in his eyes, and when she tried to speak, he would advance on all fours towards her, dragging the moment out, a hunter stalking his prey.  He would hear a hitch in her breathing as he came closer, as his hand brushed her thigh, and he'd allow the corners of his mouth to turn upwards in a small smile.  When he finally reached her, Rogue's eyes would be gleaming, her cheeks flushed, lips parted and moist.  He would lean close and flick his tongue over her perfect mouth, whetting her appetite for what was to come.  He would unsheathe his claws to shred that little dress, to cut the black lace panties and silk bra off of her, knowing that she trusted him enough to let him do it.  Then, looking at that beautiful body, he would reach out a hand and touch her-

"So Logan, that's what I think we should do."

He was jolted back to reality by Rogue's voice, and realized somewhat guiltily that he'd missed most of what she'd said.  Fuck.

"Umm. . ."

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" she asked, obviously exasperated.  She was turned in the chair, facing him, long hair loose, one strand curling around her full breast.  God, he wished he were that lock of hair.  He forced that out of his head.  Shit, you're doing it again.  You've got to just let those thoughts go.  But is that really what you want? a little voice asked.  Hell no, he replied internally.  You know exactly what I want to do, all the explicit details are laid out in my mimd, plain as daylight.
 
Well, why don't you just go for it then?  What's to stop you?  You know she wants you, you want her.  Or are you too afraid? it taunted.
That pissed him off.  Involuntarily, his claws popped out and he growled.  No-one, *no-one* called him a coward and got away with it.  Even if it was just in his head.

Except for Fate, the voice whispered mockingly.  He got away from you just fine.

Yeah, but I had Rogue to worry about.  Couldn't abandon her to go after some fucking weirdo with funny hair.  Plus there was that whole force field thing.  Can't chase someone if you can't move.

At the rate you're going with Rogue, someone else is going to catch her before you even get started, the voice gibed.

No-one is chasing after anyone, he snarled.

That's the point I was trying to make.

He heard snickering in his head, and for some reason instead of filling him with rage, it caused him to wonder - would giving in to his every carnal desire be so terrible?  A lot of what the voice said actually made sense.

Then again, it was that same little voice that told him Mickey Mouse was evil.  But, he defended himself, a guy who never wore a shirt, had a squeaky voice, huge black ears, friends named Goofy, Daffy and Pluto, well who *wouldn't* think that was evil?

Hmmm.  Perhaps that voice couldn't be trusted after all.
 

Rogue waited until Logan had left the room - he was behaving very strangely, or at least stranger than usual - and then brought up the question she'd wanted to ask since Hank had first brought it up.

"Hank, what'd you mean, when you said Logan and I were probably attracted to each other?"

Hank looked up from his paper distractedly.  "It's only logical, Rogue.  Two attractive, sexual people who are very close to each other and yet not physically intimate are bound to be attracted to each other.  It's natural, scientific."

"Ah," she said, slightly disappointed.  She'd thought that perhaps, just perhaps, it was because they were Rogue and Logan, somehow *fated* to be together.  Now they were just statistics in a scientific journal.  But why would she *want* the two of them to be special, to be more than friends?  They were both screwups in the relationship department, and she couldn't, wouldn't, risk their friendship just to satisfy a carnal itch.
Unbidden, thoughts of Logan using his nails in a more than friendly way crept into her head.  Of course neither of them were wearing clothes at the time, and the itch was more of an ache, and nothing would appease it but Logan's big, hard-

"Rogue?"

"Sausage," she blurted out, then flushed.  Good going, girl, you're really handling yourself well today.

"Pardon?"

"For. . . later.  I was thinking of sausages, y'know, long, big. . ."

"Russian?"

"More like Canadian," she muttered distractedly, images of long, big Canadian parts coming to mind.

"Is there really such a thing as Canadian sausage?  I must say, I would like to try some."

That brought her back.  She choked on a hysterical giggle, and thought, Oh, I really don't think you would, Hank.  And besides, Logan doesn't seem to be into that kind of thing.

"Uh, Hank, I've really got to go," she excused herself, hurriedly getting to her feet and almost running towards the door.

"Off to prepare the Canadian sausage?" Hank called after her.

She stumbled upon hearing that and fell into an undignified heap on the corridor floor.  Which, of course, was where Logan found her.

"Resting?" he sneered.  "Well, seems you'll be easy to beat in our fight."

"Sugar, I'll kick your ass ten ways from Sunday.  Let's go."

Quirking an eyebrow, he complied.  She followed him into the empty gym, watched as he bolted the doors locked.

"Don't want anyone interrupting us," he explained, when she glanced pointedly at the barred exit.

"Yeah," she smirked, "wouldn't want anyone to see the big bad Wolverine getting thrashed by a mere woman."

"No, I figured I'd save you the humiliation of claiming you 'let' me win when *I* thrash *you*."

She grinned, looking forward to this.  "Anything goes, sugar?"

"Anything but powers and damaging my, um, manhood."

"Your 'manhood' is going to be damaged anyway when everyone finds out I defeated the Wolverine."

Gauntlet thrown.  His eyes glinted a message: Challenge accepted.

They circled each other, sizing up their opponent, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness.  Then: Strike.

Rogue decided to take the offensive, and managed a stunning uppercut before he grabbed her right arm and turned her around, twisting her arm behind her back.  She raised her free arm and jabbed her elbow into his side.  He grunted and released her and she used her left arm to knock him to the floor.  Smoothly executed, she congratulated herself, a little sooner than she should've.

In an instant, his legs were wrapped around the back of her knees and she was flat on her back with him kneeling astride her.  "Give up?" he panted.  Her answer was clear when she sat up and shoved him as hard as she could - truthfully, she used a little of her super strength, but hey, he had an advantage with that Adamantium skeleton, dammit - and he landed ass-backwards between her splayed legs.  She sprang up and he  grabbed her ankles and used her to pull himself up.  Rogue was held immobile during this, and she silently fumed.  The moment she was free, she kicked him in the stomach.  He wrapped an arm around her leg and she slammed against the mat-covered floor.  She raised herself to her knees and he was behind her in an heartbeat, an arm around her neck.  Not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough that she couldn't escape.  She considered her options, then slammed her head back into his.  He fell and she spun around on her knees, straddled him and locked his hands above his head - again, using a little of her super strength, but it was so much a part of her, how could she turn it off?  Probably the same way you turned off your absorption powers, Rogue.  Bad excuse.

She held him still and counted down from thirty.  When she reached one, she grinned.  "I win," she declared.

"From where I'm lying, darling, so do I," he said.  She realized what he meant when she felt his erection swelling against the heated juncture of her thighs.  Easily he broke the hold she had on him and reversed their positions.  She was now held captive beneath him, only he was much *much* closer to her than she had been to him.  His body covered hers and she could see his eyes glow with flames so hot they ignited her.  Rogue gazed into those heated eyes and wondered what he would do next.

Logan stared down at the beautiful woman underneath him.  During the fight all he could think about was how gorgeous she was, how utterly sexy when her hair curled damply around her shoulders and the deep vee of her cleavage gleamed with sweat. He'd wanted to lick those small droplets away, then peel the leather off of her and take one of her erect nipples into his mouth, sucking hard until she screamed her pleasure.  The only thing that had stopped him was the fact that they were friends, and in the midst of a battle - and if he couldn't have his first option, he might as well enjoy the second.

Now he had her where he'd wanted her for months, years, forever, and he couldn't resist tasting her.  One kiss, one little kiss. . .

His head lowered, and he slowly brought his mouth to hers.  For an endless moment, he kissed platonically, sweetly, then his tongue parted her lips and drove in, claiming possession.  She moaned and lifted her hips against his as he teased her tongue into a duel.  Then it was his turn to moan as she sucked on his tongue, sending arrows of fire shooting to his loins.  He tangled one hand in her hair, and brought the other beneath her bottom, fitting her closer against him and grinding himself against her leather-encased heat.  The indescribable ecstasy of their tongues thrusting against each other, mimicking the primitive writhing of their hips was too much for him.  He came with a loud growl, and kept on rocking his hips until she'd found release.

Logan panted against her neck, more out of breath from almost making love to Rogue than he had been from the fight.

"Amazing," he said, lifting his head to look at Rogue.  "Why did we wait so long to do that?"

Her eyes were wide, panicked, and she shoved him away from her before snapping, "Because we're friends, Logan.  And I'm not going to fuck that up just so you can have another notch on your bedpost."

He gaped at her, and she ran out of the gym before he'd even absorbed what she said.  Notch on his bedpost?  Where did she get that shit from?  Sure, he'd fucked for fucks-sake more times than he could remember, but she was different.  *They* were different.  She must know that.  But what if she didn't?  What if she thought she was just another lay to him - not that sex between them wouldn't be mind-blowing, if what had just happened was anything to go by - how could he change her mind? By telling her that in the past few years he'd only ever had sex when his need became painful?  That he didn't want anyone but her?  That if they gave this relationship a chance he'd be faithful to her for the rest of his life?  That even if they remained *just* friends he wouldn't be able to have sex with another woman after this?  That thoughts of her consumed his every waking moment, that he more than wanted her, he needed her?

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.  What *was* he supposed to say?  The person he usually went to for advice was the one person he *couldn't* ask about it.  Fuck.  He was on his own.
 

It was difficult trying to avoid both Logan and Charles, one or the other was always around, so Rogue finally retreated to the kitchen.

It seemed cowardly to her, but if there was a choice between facing the two men she cared about most, and yet most didn't want to see, and being a coward, well, she chose door number two.

And while she was hiding, she might as well make herself useful.  She stared at the crawfish sitting balefully in the casserole dish and for a moment could've sworn she saw one move and shake an invisible (and nonexistent) finger at her.  Hey, she thought, what right do you have to judge me?  I'm doing what I think is best.

For who? the crawfish muttered.  Yourself or Logan?

"Both of us," she said out loud.  And it was true: their friendship could never survive a deeper relationship.  They had both proved time and time again that anything more meaningful than sex turned out to be a comedy of errors.  "You have no idea what you're talking about.  We would be destroying something that's really important to us, and for what?  Sex?"

She glared at the crawfish, gratified when they remained silent, yet also annoyed that they had dared to question her motives.  Vengefully, she covered the little morsels with a spicy sauce and set the dish in the oven to bake.

"There," she said with immense satisfaction, "try talking from inside the oven.  Not so easy, is it?"

When she realized she was standing before the oven waiting for an answer, she knew she had to do something about her behavior.  She should probably go and see Jean or the Professor to get some intense psychiatric help, but first... Bread.

Yes, it was imperative that she bake fresh bread before, well, before the next two dozen loaves were eaten.  She could only imagine the total mayhem that would ensue if the residents came down for breakfast and found they had no bread.  Granted, two dozen loaves wouldn't disappear overnight, but when they were finished - and they would be finished at some point - there would be a need for more, and if there was none... A mansion full of pissed-off mutants would not be a good place to be, she thought, nibbling on her lower lip.

And it wasn't that she didn't *want* to see the Professor, she just figured it would be difficult for him to see her and remember everything she'd thought about.  Besides which, bread was not a matter to be trifled with.  It was serious, something that needed her full attention - she definitely had no time to think about what she would say to the Professor, or Logan.

Logan... how could she tell him that she wasn't interested in a relationship with him? Well, no, it wasn't a lack of interest, a lack of desire to see his naked body completely covered in fresh honey just waiting to be licked off - and Rogue had a special affection for fresh honey - it was...  Hmmm, she knew there was a reason.  And it was a good one, she just had to remember it.  Something about literally fucking up their friendship.  But, she reminded herself, can't think about that now.  You need to focus on the bread.

Within minutes, she was up to her elbows in flour, kneading at a furious rate, pounding out all of her frustrations on the hapless dough.  She was, in fact, so engrossed in the creative process, that she didn't notice when Logan slipped silently into the kitchen.

She started when she heard his boots squeak on the impressively clean white tiles.

He leaned in to gaze into the bowl, and after the initial shock, she resumed her pummeling and made an effort to speak normally.  "God, Logan, move your head.  You'll drop hairs into my bread dough."

"You're making bread?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah.  It's very relaxing; and easier than most people think. Y'see, the secret is in the double rising-"

"Christ Rogue, do you really think I came in here to talk about bread?" he interrupted.

"Hey, you asked.  Don't get all pissy on me."

He reached over and tugged her hands out of the dough.  He spun her around and stepped closer until their bodies were touching.  She felt the impact of his fiery gaze jolt down to her toes, settling in an area she knew well.  She licked her lips, knowing her arousal from the chest to breast contact was blatantly obvious to him.  Not only could he probably smell it - and she knew he could from the slight flare of his nostrils and the dilation of his pupils - her nipples were erect against his chest, pushing against him, begging as she couldn't for his attention.

"Logan," she said breathlessly, "this really isn't-"

He slid his hands up to her forearms and then, without warning, cupped her breasts.

Her knees nearly buckled when his thumbs brushed, lightly, over her nipples, eliciting a long, loud moan from her, loud enough for it to possibly reach the other residents'.

Heart pounding blood to her loins, she tried again.  "I don't think-"

He seductively rubbed his mouth against hers, traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.  He buried one hand in her thick hair and yanked her head back.  Teeth bared, he growled, "So,
who asked you to think?"

She gulped, tried to formulate a coherent response while his hand massaged her breast, occasionally grazing the hard peaks of her nipples with his thumb nails, but not giving her the pressure she wanted, the pressure she *craved*.

"I - I just -" Apparently that was too close to conversation for him, because he dragged her head up and lowered his, roughly nipping at her lower lip before plunging his tongue into her heated mouth.

She was almost certain she whimpered, but nothing escaped the seal of his mouth, and the feel of his tongue surging against hers soon drove all thoughts from her head.

His feral energy ignited her own animalistic urges, and she drove her hands into his hair and wound her tongue seductively around his.  Then she ground her hips against his straining erection, and before she could fully comprehend what he was doing, he had lifted her up so she was sitting on the counter, and wrapped her long legs around his waist.  He rocked against her, once, hard, and she tried to entice him into doing it again by locking her feet behind his back and drawing him closer.  He bit her tongue, lightly, in chastisement for that, and deliberately slowed the pace.

His kisses were languid, his touch agonizing in its leisure, and yet she could still see the animal burning out at her from behind his shadowed eyes.

Rogue tugged on his hair and he growled, low in his throat, the sound reverberating through her deliciously.  It felt like she had been plugged into the stereo system at a rave, and the beat was being pounded into her mouth, through her tongue, over her throbbing breasts and into her molten core.

She almost moaned again, then caught the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, and refused to give him that pleasure.  It was a battle for dominance, with neither side giving up, and neither willing to surrender or consider a stalemate.

She felt a rush of cool air on her skin, and realized that Logan had removed her checkered flannel shirt -- a shirt she'd borrowed from him after falling asleep in his room one night and, for one reason or another, never given back to him -- and was currently working her jeans and panties down her legs.  She lifted herself up slightly to accommodate him and couldn't contain a gasp when his fingertips lightly scored the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, sending a hot rush of fire licking through her blood, setting her aflame with a blazing desire that burned between her thighs.

Eyes half closed, she broke the kiss to pull his white T-shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested and all too seductive.  She licked her lips and let her fingers follow a trail down over his hard pecs down to the ridged muscle of his abdomen.  He hissed as she unbuttoned his jeans, slid a hand beneath the denim and cupped him.

She pressed an openmouthed kiss to his chest, flicking her tongue out to taste the salt of his skin, all the while stroking his erection gently.

Too gently, it seemed, for he snarled a warning and shoved the jeans down over his hips and kicked them off, then stepped back into the cradle of her thighs and penetrated her soaked entrance with a single, delving finger.

She sucked in her breath and felt a sudden gush of wetness flow to welcome his probing finger.  Then she was empty and she groaned at the feeling of being without something -- some*one* -- vital, until she felt him beginning to push into her, replacing his finger with another, more interesting part of his anatomy.

That snapped her into realizing just where she was and exactly what they were doing.

"No," she gasped out -- shocked in some hidden corner of her mind, that she could actually still speak -- "we can't."

He stopped and growled somewhat menacingly.  She swallowed and said, "Not here.  It's -- ahhh, that feels *so* good --" another loud gasp -- "it's, um, unhygienic."

He stared at her for a moment, then slid an arm beneath her buttocks and carried her into the living room.  Unceremoniously, he dropped to the floor, pinning her beneath his strong, hard body.  She felt luscious, decadent, like a beautiful angel about to be worshipped and... ravaged.

She stretched, lazily, and his eyes flashed and that was all the warning she got.  He gripped her hips with one hand, again fisting the other into her hair, and thrust into her wet sheath.

She opened her mouth to cry out at the exquisite ecstasy of being filled so completely, but found that no sounds would emerge.  He sank into her welcoming heat, again and again until she couldn't stand it any more, the coiling, melting, tightening inside her driving her onward to something, a feeling unlike any other, a plateau of perfection she'd never reached before.

She screamed his name, wordlessly, and he sank his teeth into her shoulder, pinning her to the floor as she convulsed around him and he continued to thrust, harder and faster until she felt the hot surge that signaled his own orgasm.

And as he lay panting above her, he whispered the most frightening words she'd ever heard in her life: "I love you."
 

TBC