SUMMARY: Well, the working title was "Em's 486th Bubblefic," so draw your own conclusions. ::g:: Adult content -- please read responsibly.

Rogue supposed it was kind of sweet that her lover pulled no punches when they trained together.

Ever the pragmatist, Logan had announced long ago that whoever she'd face in battle was unlikely to treat her like a dainty Southern Belle, so why the hell should he?

The man had a point, and Rogue decided to take it as a compliment that he refused to go easy on her.  She didn't fool herself into thinking she was a fighter of Logan's caliber, but he must consider her pretty good or else he wouldn't pull out all the stops.  It would be like one of his training sessions with the schoolchildren -- all near-punches and light body-checks.

Instead, Marie got the real thing.  Punches so hard she was surprised they didn't break bones.  Kicks that left her gasping for air.  

Hurt like a motherfucker, but it was exactly what she needed.  Because her mutation wasn't an offensive gift like Scott's optic blasts or Storm's lightning strikes or Jubilee's kinetic bursts.  Rogue couldn't stop an opponent in their tracks with telekinesis or telepathy.  Instead, she had to learn to defend herself without resorting to the unique hell that was her skin, because she was quite happy with the amount of people in her head already, thanks very much.

Since she had to learn to fight, and to fight well, who better to teach her than the King of the Cage?

And if she let him check his punches in training, the first time some baddie with an attitude cracked her one, she'd be so shocked by the pain that she'd likely lose the fight unless she resorted to her skin.  Which, of course, wasn't an option.

So she appreciated Logan's full contact training.  She really did.

Except that she didn't have a healing factor, and not infrequently she left the gym on shaky legs and winced when the shower's spray hit her bruises.  Luckily her skin gave her the perfect excuse to keep Logan from seeing her marred flesh -- she'd pull on a dark body stocking and he'd be none the wiser.

Rogue developed a routine on the worst days -- plead sore muscles, kick him out of their room, and soak in a bubblebath treated with chamomile until the hot water worked its limited magic.  The routine was so familiar, so predictable that the day Logan's shoulder connected sharply with her abdomen, she started the bathwater before he even left the room.  

When she emerged from the bathroom, moving a little awkwardly to avoid straining her tired muscles, she was surprised to find Logan sprawled in the small armchair watching her.  She straightened up and moved to the dresser, letting her hips sway a little the way he liked.  "Shoo," she told him with a grin.  "Go bother Scott."

"I'd rather bother you."

Rogue glanced over her shoulder and, sure enough, he was waggling his eyebrows at her.  She snorted a laugh.  "You can bother me later.  Out."

"You sure I can't stay?"  There was an undertone in his voice that she couldn't quite identify.  She turned her attention back to her lingerie drawer and rifled through the silky garments to avoid his gaze.  "I can help you reach the tough spots," he offered.

Green silk panties in one hand, she drifted over to him.  He sat up straighter and wrapped an arm around her hips, so she brushed one hand through his still-damp hair.  "You want to help me bathe?" she asked with an amused lilt to her voice.  "Wouldn't that cement your status as a girly-man?"

He growled and tightened his arm around her, putting pressure on her bruise.  She grit her teeth to keep from hissing in pain and his playful smirk faded, replaced by a careful scrutiny.  "Marie?"  His grip loosened, his palm pressing flat and warm against her lower back.

"Go," she told him, disentangling herself with no small measure of reluctance.  He could be surprisingly gentle with those hands of his.  "I just need a nice, long soak.  To relax me."

She knew just from the stony look on his face that he didn't believe her.  Instead of an innuendo-laden offer to help her relax, Logan merely studied her for a long moment before dipping his chin in acknowledgment.  "Okay," he agreed, pushing himself up and wrenching the door open on his way out.

Rogue jumped a little when the door slammed behind him.  Shit.  Well, that didn't bode well for her being able to relax in the tub.  She should probably go after him, make him explain exactly what was going through that incomprehensibly thick skull of his.  On the other hand, Logan wasn't particularly rational when he was angry, so maybe she'd just take her bath, calm down, and -- more to the point -- let Logan calm down.  Then they'd talk.

With a sigh, Rogue retrieved a thin silk nightgown from the dresser and retreated to the bathroom, leaving the door cracked so it wouldn't get too stuffy.  She gave a little squeak when she saw how high the water had risen and ran to turn off the spigot.

Peeling off one glove then the other, Rogue tested the water.  Perfect. Just this side of painfully hot.  She shrugged out of her team sweatshirt, stepped out of her sweatpants, and eased into the tub.

She hissed a little as the heat touched her bruised skin, sitting upright for a few moments to adjust, then leaning back by inches until her back touched the small, cool bath pillow.  She scooted further into the water, letting the water cover her shoulders.  Of course, her knees popped up through the coating of bubbles, but she ignored that and inhaled deeply.

Her eyes drifted shut and she slid a bit lower, using the messy knot in her hair as a makeshift pillow against the tiled wall.  Mmmmmm.  Warm water engulfed her, soothing the tired muscles, the aching bruises.  Every inch of her skin that was under water pulsed with the heat.

As always, she was so relaxed, drifting in a semi-conscious state, that it took her a while to realize the water was cooling off.  With a disgruntled noise, she pushed herself upright, shivering when the air hit her damp skin, and drained out some of the water.  Deciding she wanted to stay in the tub for quite a bit longer, she let the water gurgle down the drain until the waterline reached her hips.

Rogue plugged the drain, and in the sudden quiet, she heard Logan's footsteps just outside the door.  She froze, calculating, but they'd been together too long for him to pause outside the bathroom from some false sense of modesty.  Before she could come up with something to stall him, he gave a perfunctory knock and pushed the door open.  "I brought you some--  Shit, Marie!"

Rogue half-turned, eyes wide.  "Logan--"

He was across the small bathroom in two steps, dropping to his knees beside the porcelain tub, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the angry purplish bruise on her abdomen.  "Jesus," he said in a ruined voice.  "Marie, what hap--"  And then he stopped and those hazel eyes moved up to meet hers.  "Did I do that to you?"  She flinched at the self-loathing in his expression.

Damn, damn, damn.  Rogue opened her mouth, but couldn't think of a way to answer him that wouldn't make it worse.

Her non-answer was confirmation enough, and Logan recoiled, landing on his ass against the counter.  He shook his head, denying it.  "Please.  Marie--"

"Logan, I'm fine.  It's--"

"You are *not* fine!" he yelled, turning his anger on her.  "What the fuck are you thinking?  Why the hell didn't you tell me I was *hurting* you."  He jerked to his feet, turning away, and she noticed the bottle of wine dangling from his fingers.

Oh, shit.  He'd brought her wine.  And he smelled like cigars.

So he'd gone outside to brood, decided he must have done something typically thoughtless, hunted down a bottle of red wine, and brought it up to her as penance, only to find out that she'd been -- well, not lying to him.  Not really.  Just... not quite telling him the whole truth.

"Logan," she started, her voice trembling.  "Please.  Look at me.  It's just a bruise."

He slammed the wine down onto the countertop before whirling to face her.  "That isn't just a bruise, Marie.  It looks like I--"  He ground to a halt, turning his face away, jaw clenching.

"You didn't."  She scrambled to her feet, drawing his attention as she stepped out of the tub, dripping water all over the bathmat.  "Look.  I'm fine.  It's from training."

"Marie."  He sounded broken as he reached one gloved hand out, tracing her cheek.  "I don't want..."  He shook his head.  "I can't do that.  I can't hurt you."

"You're not," she told him.  "It's just--"

"Don't," he muttered, turning his face away from her.  "I can't..."  

Very, very quietly, Marie said, "Logan?"

"The only promise I made myself before I started this," Logan explained gruffly, "is that I would never hurt you.  Not ever."

"Logan--"

"It's been like this the whole time," Logan interrupted, lifting his gaze to hers, challenging her to tell the truth.  "Hasn't it?"

Tentatively, Rogue reached for him, her damp fingers curling into the sleeve of his flannel shirt, tracing over the corded muscle beneath.  "Logan.  Please.  It's just a bruise.  I'll heal."  His expression shifted, and she was shaking her head before he could even offer.  "No, Logan.  Emergencies only.  This is just--"

"You're hurt," he said simply.  "I hate it when you're hurt.  I hate it that I hurt you."

Rogue searched for something to say to reassure him, to make him understand, but she couldn't come up with anything.  Instead, she shrugged.  "Life hurts.  We heal.  Logan, please, don't turn this into something it's not.  We were training.  I got banged up.  I'm *fine*.  I promise."

He stared at her for a long, long time before nodding his reluctant acquiescence.  As relief replaced panic, she realized she was standing in the middle of the bathroom, damp and naked, and it was cold.  Shivering just a bit, she hooked a thumb at the tub.  "I'm gonna--"

Logan was at her side immediately, helping her back into the tub, watching her with hawklike eyes as she settled back into the water.  He reached for the taps and turned the water back on, testing the temperature before sitting back on his heels.  

Shifting a little against the porcelain, Rogue kept her gaze on Logan, even as he scanned her body.  Abruptly, he rose to his feet.  "I'll be right back."

"Wait--"

But he was out the door already, and Rogue sighed, leaning forward to turn the taps off.  The bubblebath had half-heartedly produced a few small clumps of bubbles, and the only sound in the sudden silence was the soft pop of bubbles bursting.  Logan reappeared, a small juice glass half-filled with water in one hand.  He unceremoniously dumped its contents down the sink, then rescued the wine bottle and knelt down beside the tub.

"Have some wine," Logan offered gruffly, popping the cork out with one claw to pour her a generous glassful.  "It's Cabernet."

The glass was warm against her fingers, and Rogue closed her eyes as she inhaled the scent of the wine before taking a sip.  "Mmmm," she murmured.  "This is great wine."

"Good."  Logan's hands dropped into the water, rescuing a soft washcloth from the bottom of the tub.  With the fabric draped over his hands, Logan gently traced his fingers up her calf.  

"Logan," she whispered, setting the glass down on the edge of the tub.

"Sssh," he answered, massaging her thigh with confident fingers.  "Relax.  The warm water'll help with the--" The words caught briefly in his throat-- "the bruises."

Rogue reached out, curling her fingers into the flannel against his bicep, just wanting to touch him.  "I'm fine, Logan," she murmured.  "You don't have to--"

He leaned in, pressing a fleeting kiss to her lips, letting her feel the tingle of his thoughts before he sat back, looking dazed.  Rogue's eyes slid shut -- he loved her, he burned with self-loathing for hurting her, and for not realizing it.  And he was angry with her for not telling him.

She swallowed a sob and forced herself to open her eyes and meet his gaze.  "I'm sorry, Logan.  I should've told you."

He didn't answer, merely shaking his head as his washcloth-covered fingers slid up her hip, across her abdomen.  She could feel the reverence, the apology in his movements, and she wanted to cry.  But he would misinterpret it, and she wouldn't ever be able to put her feelings for him into words.  So she fought tears and let her body open to him, her knees resting against the edge of the tub, back arching up as he palmed her breast.

"Have more wine," he suggested, using his free hand to hold the glass to her lips.  She held his gaze as she sipped, letting the dark liquid slide down her throat while he replaced the glass on the lip of the tub.

"Thanks," she whispered, but he shrugged off her words, reaching for her damp hair, dragging his fingers through the strands.

"You're so beautiful," Logan confessed, leaning closer.  He rested his free hand on the edge of the tub, placing his chin on his fist as his gaze skimmed her body.  Rogue reached for him, running her trembling fingers through his hair, scratching against his muttonchops.  She couldn't seem to tear her gaze from his intense hazel eyes.

Logan teased her, running the warm washcloth against her over-sensitized skin, never quite going where she expected, where she needed him to go, until she was moaning and twisting her body in the water.  

"Logan," she gasped, and finally, *finally*, he obliged, his touch so gentle it was almost torturous.

The soft cotton felt almost unbearably rough against her center, but Logan knew exactly how to touch her, how to tease her, how to torment her until she had a fistful of his hair clutched in her fingers.  Logan leaned closer, whispering words like "hot" and "sexy" and "unbelievable" in her ear, even as his fingers focused in on her clit, sending her plunging over the cliff, her body shaking, sending waves crashing into the porcelain walls of the tub.

"Logan," she whispered, opening her eyes, struggling to breathe normally, her own heartbeat loud in her ears.  "I really want to pull you into this tub," she confessed, her voice still strained and trembling.

Logan gave her half a smirk.  "I'll pass," he answered, his talented hand settling on her hip, rubbing small, soothing circles.

Rogue attempted to give him an offended look.  "You're passing up sex with me?"

"Hell, no," Logan answered.  "But that was for you."

Her chest felt too tight again, and she blinked back tears.  "Logan..."

Then he went and explained, "Increased circulation helps keep the worst of the bruising from forming, and sex raises the heart rate."

Rogue's warm, fluffy feelings cooled off.  "Gee, thanks," she answered sarcastically.  "So this was purely a medical service?"

Logan looked amused as he leaned closer.  "Do I look like a fucking nurse, Marie?"

God, no.  He looked like sex on a stick.  But that would hardly help curb his outrageous ego, so she simply raised an eyebrow and said, "Not really."

"Plus," he said, leaning back so she could see the impressive bulge in his pants, "you're underestimating how fucking great it is to watch you come."

Rogue's cheeks flared bright red, and she couldn't quite manage a response.

Smirking, Logan nudged the juice glass of wine closer to her.  "Have a drink."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and reached for the glass, sipping the wine as she watched him.  Placing the glass down, she innocently licked her lips, appreciating the way his gaze sharpened.

Abruptly, Logan pushed himself to his feet and offered her his flannel-covered arm.  "Need help?"

"What if I'm not done enjoying my bath?" Rogue countered, sliding her hands up and down her thighs just to hear his breathing speed up.

"Trust me," Logan grit out, "you're done."

With a self-satisfied glance at the bulge in his pants, Rogue sat up and stretched languorously, then reached for his proffered arm.  When she gained her feet, she didn't step out of the tub, choosing instead to loop her arms around his neck and press her damp, naked skin against his flannel-clad chest.

Groaning, Logan tightened his grip on her and lifted her out of the tub, not bothering to start the water draining as he carried her into the bedroom.  

"Logan," she squeaked, "I'll get the sheets all wet."

"Don't care," he answered as he laid her gently on the bedcovers.  He sat beside her, digging through the nightstand for the requisite sex stuff.  Pulling on his thin leather gloves, Logan propped himself on one elbow and lay beside her.  "I am sorry," he repeated, his voice rough.  He scanned her form again, cataloguing the bruises.

"Don't be," she answered, half-order, half-plea.  "I should've told you, Logan, and I'm sorry about that.  But they're just bruises."

He nodded absently, even as he slithered down the bed.  Without a word of warning, he leaned in and pressed his lips firmly to the ever-darkening mark on her abdomen.  

"Logan!" she yelped, fighting the influx of thoughts and feelings and apologies, even as she shoved at his shoulders.  She rolled away from him, sitting upright on the bed as he collapsed, dazed, to the blankets.  Exasperated, she said, "Logan, you big moron."

He gave a strangled laugh, and she adjusted his body, tugging him more fully onto the bed while he recovered.  She slipped off the mattress, glancing in the mirror as she passed it.  As she'd suspected from her pain-free movements, the bruising was gone.  Muttering about her stubborn oaf of a boyfriend, Rogue slipped into a bodysuit and rejoined him on the bed.

Logan was moving fitfully now, his eyes focusing on her as she slid closer.  "Now," he muttered roughly, "we're even."

"What?" Rogue demanded, half-sitting up to glare at him.

"Shouldn't have lied to me," he explained.  "Shouldn't have touched you without permission."

Rogue blinked, working on his logic.  She sighed and reached over to trace his sideburn.  "I hate seeing you like this."

Even drained from her deadly touch, Logan could answer her eloquently with the lift of an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, "I see your point.  I'll make you a deal -- I'll promise to tell you all about my training bruises if you promise not to heal them without my permission."

Logan studied her face.  "So you're better?"

"Right now?" Rogue asked.  "Yeah.  Bruising's all gone, and I'm not at all sore."

His eyes drifted shut.  "Good."

"Hey," she said, nudging him with her elbow as she snuggled closer.  "Promise me."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, half-asleep.  "No touching."

Rogue leaned closer and kissed the tip of his nose, very quickly.  "You can touch me any time you want," she answered throatily, sliding her fingers down to his arm, "as long as you're protected."

"Wanna touch you right now," he answered, but he couldn't even open his eyes.

Smiling, Rogue sat up to tug the blankets up and around them, twisting her damp hair into a knot before she slid under the covers with him.  "Ssshh," she soothed him, curling up against him.  "You can touch me in the morning."

"Now," he shot back drowsily.

"Fine," Rogue answered, trying not to sound too amused.  "Now."

"'Kay," he said, his palm landing atop her abdomen.  He slid his hand up, cupping her breast with his fingers.  Soon, all movement ceased, and his breathing slowed down.

Rogue tried not to laugh as she settled in for the night.  "Good night," she whispered.

THE END