A/n: Incoherent blabberings of a pepsi filled mind. Shameless fluff.
Update: Thank you Princess of Ithilien for pointing out the incorrect spelling of Digory's name. It has now been changed.
Sweet juice dribbled down her chin as she bit into the sharp flesh with a crunch. She chewed slowly, allowing each bite to bring more of the tangy taste into her mouth. Lazily she brought the fruit from her lips, licking the sugary nectar off her chin. Apples: She loved them. Green ones topped red ones at the moment, but that could swing with a particularly rich red.
The last time she'd eaten an apple was last Sunday, as she waltzed home from church with the children. They'd gone on a picnic in the meadows, just the three of them, whilst Henry sorted out some paperwork (boring old Henry - Polly often wondered what it would be like to have married for love). She remembered the laughter that had erupted from their sticky lips as the played hide and seek and splashed in the water. Whilst she napped in the bright sunshine, they'd contently fed the ducks, waking her when they were ready to go home.
This memory, combined with the delicate taste currently filling her mouth, brought on new thoughts, new remembrances of other apple incidences.
The first time she'd eaten an apple had been at the age of two. She barley remembered it: Just the shear delight of mashing it between her new teeth, licking away at the sweetness that settled in her mouth. Pure delight for her younger self.
She remembered both events well, though the latter was just a few moments of taste with no coherent sequence. But the apple she'd always remember was the one she'd eaten with Digory. Not that they'd only eaten one together, they'd eaten many. But it was the incident that stayed imprinted in her mind.
"Race you to the tree!" and she whizzed off in a flurry of pale blond hair, lifting her skirt out of the way of pumping knees, as she sped towards the apple tree standing in the center of his garden. Trust Digory to truck it all the way from London and into the countryside. The Narnian tree was special, but really! Focused on her goal, she charged ahead. Only Aslan could stop her now...
As if through reading her thoughts, a voice yelled "Aslan!"
Immediately she whipped around, scanning the horizon for Aslan. Could the Lion that lurked in her dreams have come? Was there more of Narnia for her to explore? Multitasking, she continued to run even as she searched...A plumf finalized the decent as she tripped over a branch and flew a meter down a short, grassy slope, effectively giving herself several grass stains on her new blue pinafore. Righting herself, she was just in time to watch a cackling Digory race ahead. She dusted of her skirt, competitive fury consuming her.
She stormed over where he sat innocently, her bum aching and still feeling a woozy. She gathered her breath for a full out rant. "That was not fai-", eyes focused on the luscious red fruit Digory was holding out to her in the palm of his hand, she shut her mouth with a snap. An apple. A Narnian apple. The temptation was too great. Giving him one last dark glare, she snatched the apple and settled against the warm trunk of the tree, biting into her sweet treasure.
Bribing her with an apple was playing dirty, but her anger was stowed for Polly to enjoy the nectar that brushed her lips. Digory sat down next to her, his own apple in his hand. He looked up at her suddenly and she caught his gaze. Another race commenced. Two friends devoured the ripe, plump flesh, and Polly remembered vividly the delicious juices that dribbled over her hands and face.
She won easily. Smirking, she tossed away the slim core, Digory still finishing his last bites. Competitive as their friendship was, she would have it no other way.
"I'm still hungry!" his whine interrupted her thoughts.
"Get another apple then!"
"But there are no more!"
An outsider would have been utterly confused, as no more then a couple of meters above their heads, the branches hung heavy. But it was an unwritten rule for Polly and Digory only to take the fruits that lay on the ground. Both were convinced that there was a scrap of druid soul lingering in the bark of this magical plant. They would not upset it in any way.
"Well," Polly snapped, "We'll just have to wait till another-"
"I don't want to wait!"
And then Polly made the mistake of licking her lips
"Well then how else will yo-" she was interrupted again, but this time, it was by Digory's tongue. He sat back triumphantly.
"You're apple flavored Polly!" he said with a grin. But she wasn't listening. He had licked her lips. Digory Kirke had licked her lips. There was something decidedly wrong with that, and, hoping to amend it, without thinking, she leant towards Digory and ran her tongue lightly over his pale pink lips, drawing the sticky substance from them. After all, surely returning the action (had it been a favor?) would keep them equal. Alas, the weirdly irrational ways the mind works sometimes.
Neither realized what they were doing was rather, well, sexual (and Polly blushed thinking of it now): It was a simple urge for the sweetest most delectable taste of apple ever known to this world (other 'urges' too, but neither were thinking of that).
And urges make you do strange things.
To lick someone's lips for them, you have to get pretty close. When two pairs of lips are that close together, they generally meet for a kiss. So of course, as Narnian fate would have it, they did. A sweet and gentle chaste kiss that was broken in a moment.
But apple is a wicked fruit. It does not stop half-way: It is addictive, a sweet overwhelming taste that leaves you wanting more.
A slight metaphor to what happened next, as Digory had leant forward once more, and, completely overwhelmed, Polly let him lift her head to his, cradling her golden strands. He wanted more now. A probing tongue had forcefully parted her lips and entered her mouth, sweeping round to draw out the scent of apple, gliding over every inch. And Polly was happy to let it: After all, his tongue tasted of apple. Her hand found his neck, and she pushed him in, encouraging as the two relinquished themselves to the blissful feeling of…apple?
She wasn't sure what happened after that. Memory was hazy after this, lost and addled with other dreams and realities. She was certain this had been the one of the last apple eating incidents. The tree had blown down the next year, and the remaining memories of times spent with Digory before they drifted apart were vague and often confusing.
She preferred red apples again.
A/n:Reveiws badly wanted for a reveiw craving mind (flames toast good marshmellows).