Sadly your square, computer screen shaped eyes are not deceiving you. I'm posting another Rogan because I am crazy. Everything is on hold (Luckily I don't seem to have much of a life) including the other stories, kidnapping plans, Two and a Half Men, Skype chats and anything else that could possibly distract me from finishing this.

Luckily for my social life, this is going to be very short. Okay, so the first chapter is over 3,000 words long (Which is totally my fault) And a plot bunny will be bursting out of your screen very soon (His name is Logan and he's German. So don't be scared if he's dressed in Lederhosen, eating a bratwurst, drinking beer and whistling the German national anthem... He can't help it, the poor thing)

Anyway, before I bore you all to tears with my ramblings about kidnapping pretend mutants, giant ice creams which surprise even the Americans, hot weather and the rude bees that are nesting in the brick work of my house (And scaring the crap out of me!) I'll just go ahead and post the first chapter.

Oh and it's England Vs. Mexico tonight. I wonder how easy it'll be to work on the next chapter while watching the football? Probably easier than it would be to type the next chapter while playing football...

This story is dedicated to BrownEyedDevil and Soon2Bme: Remember a kidnapped actor is for life, not just a night of drunken debauchery...

I Fucking Hate Asparagus

The Days were long, drawn out and offensively humid if you were able to smell body odour within ten miles. The entire country was being blamed for global warming; George Bush's smug face was plastered over every news channel while he pawed over the idiots guide to battle cries and the art of starting pointless wars. Birds were pointlessly singing, kids were screaming bloody murder, the sizeable sun was sizzling high over Westchester and Wolverine the resident badass of the mansion was brooding in the kitchen.

The kitchen, the fucking kitchen of all places... Damn it, complaining wasn't manly. He wouldn't let a single one of his students complain when they were in one of his defence classes. Complaining when you were in battle was fucking stupid but grumbling when you had been chased out of the garage... Now there was nothing wrong with that.

Was he possibly being the biggest hypocrite this side of the Pacific? Hell yeah, but no one was going to call him on it, they didn't have the balls for one thing and if they dared grow a pair? Easy, he would castrate them with one swift swipe of his claws. Anyway, the Wolverine brooded silently; as in on his own.

Logan lazily lifted his head as Leech walked into the room, one meaningful growl and the boy shot out of the kitchen with a squeak.

Heh, he liked being able to scare the crap out of people. Maybe it even made his life worth living now that he'd been kicked out of the garage on a Sunday afternoon; His Sunday afternoon. He was sitting in the kitchen nursing a beer when he should have been spending time alone with his bike.

Karma was a bitch and so was Storm to some extent. The damn woman had given him his marching orders after a little altercation with some smart assed kid. Now his ass had been ordered out of the garage for an entire day. What the hell was he supposed to do until midnight? Still, he kind of respected her for taking on the responsibilities of this place; it had to be tough stepping up to the plate after all that had happened.

Shit, she would light a fire under his ass if he decided to fight over his territory; he could take being bossed around. No, really he could. If only by a select few people and he was happy about that.

Yeah, so fucking happy about it I'm on my eighth beer... Make that ninth. Damn women and their hormones, I know she's on her period. What the hell does it do to them? Losing a tiny bit of blood must really fuck with their brains or something. Although they were probably wired wrong to begin with.

Using his teeth to snap the cap off the bottle, Logan leant back in his chair and rolled his eyes. He had turned into a whipped bitch and he hadn't even noticed the transformation.

It had to hurt when your testicles shrivelled up and dropped out of your wuss of a scrotum but he hadn't even acknowledged the change until now. That was probably because he was the mother fucking Wolverine and he ate balls for breakfast... Not literally of course. Shit, he was just going to shut up now.

His ears perked up as he heard a set of footsteps stop directly outside the kitchen door. A familiar scent tickled his nostrils and said scent smelt pissed off. Great, that was just what he needed, another temperamental fucking female to deal with.

Marie D'Ancanto marched into the kitchen, slamming the door against the wall and sent a withering glare his way. Raising both eyebrows as she deliberately ignored his presence; he shrugged his shoulders and concentrated on draining his beer. At least an icy beer couldn't answer him back, throw any type of object at his head or cuss his ass into next week.

She might have taken the cure but it hadn't dented her fiery temper, the girl could still fight, spit and scream with the best of them. He blamed himself; her innocence had been tainted as soon as she had walked uninvited into his life. But there was still that naive, young slip of the girl that he'd first met in there somewhere. It was just hidden, very well hidden.

Turning on her heels, she seemed to suddenly become acutely aware of his beer for the first time.

The first thing he noticed was that she had been crying and her eyes were red, and puffy. Still she glared defiantly at him and it really wasn't any of his business. They kept their private lives separate, they always had done. Yeah, he'd made a promise to look after her; it didn't involve sticking his oar into her personal life though.

Okay, it did but only when he felt the need to do so and he had yet to feel that need.

An arch of an eyebrow was all he could offer her, that and a heavy sigh. A mansion full of fucking emotional brats was hell on earth and it seriously messed with his brooding time.

"Can I have one?" She asked gesturing at the bottle and biting her lower lip. When had she ever drunk anything other than shitty flavoured water and Liptons Ice Tea? Oh, what the hell did it have to do with him anyway?

Nodding curtly, Logan jerked his thumb at the refrigerator and watched her retrieve a bottle for herself. This might have been the perfect opportunity for one of those so-how-you-doing talks but cage fighting, ass kicking, beer drinking, mother fucking assholes didn't talk. Especially not before they'd had the opportunity to drink their weight in malt whisky, smoke more cigars than their estimated age and pass out in a drunken heap in the front yard.

Fuck that, I'd heal within seconds then would have to listen to a crying, over-emotional kid without being in an alcohol induced coma. I don't like it when she cries... Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm not heartless but you ever tell anyone and I'll hunt you down. You really want me to turn up on your doorstep in the middle of the night? What the hell do you mean, yeah?

A bottle appeared directly under his nose and he glanced up.

"I can't find the bottle opener."

That would be because he had attacked it the last time he'd run out of beer. He wasn't entirely sure why he had blamed the bottle opener but he had. It was a man thing, just like hungrily eyeing women that were young enough to be your daughter, scratching your balls in full view of five or more people and burping loudly in a restaurant. That type of behaviour was the real reason why men were the more superior of sexes – They didn't give a crap.

Taking the bottle from her grasp, Logan once again gave his teeth the important job of snapping the cap free from its boozy prison. He also idly wondered what would happen if he chipped a tooth, would it heal and even more importantly, did he even care? Those were the thoughts of a brooding yet thoroughly bored guy on a Sunday afternoon.

"Thanks."

He grunted in reply, and then gaped openly at her when she sat down beside him. There went his brooding session and he wasn't at all annoyed about it. He had something else to think about now, he was intrigued.

"You wanna talk?" Logan asked her, his eyes never leaving the safety of the refrigerator that they were both watching out of necessity. It was either that or count the stack of unwashed plates in the sink and both knew that if they were caught staring at them long enough they'd have to wash them.

"No"

Releasing a sigh of relief, he basked in the sounds of her shuffling her feet and sipping her beer. This felt a little alien to him; they really hadn't spent much time together since the shit had hit the fan over the cure. He had no idea how life had been treating since she'd rid herself of her curse, and no, those weren't his choice of words.

"Do you want to talk?" Marie questioned him, making him feel all of ten years old.

"No" He snorted, feeling slightly guilty as soon as her face fell.

His eyes darting back to the fridge, he wracked his brain for a topic that wouldn't piss her off, make her cry or cause his day to go from bad to even worse.

I doubt she wants to chat about how I'd like to show Shania Twain a thing or two in bed. Hey, even an asshole like me can't escape country music, no matter how fast I run, it still catches my ass. She ain't a hockey fan either which is her loss.

Shit, no wonder men drag their feet and complain when they have to go out for dinner with a woman. It's because they have to sit there for over an hour having a fucking conversation and they're seriously out of their depth.

What the hell does the kid like? Wait, there was that band... Damn it, what were they called? They had the name of a vegetable I think or was it a fruit? No, it was defiantly a vegetable. I know it wasn't celery, lettuce or peas. Who the hell would name a band after a stick of celery?

Asparagus? Jesus, I hate asparagus, never ever feed me asparagus. I don't care if we haven't left my bed in days and you think I've over exerted myself, I'm not going to eat asparagus. I heal and asparagus is my damn Kryptonite.

I had a drink with Superman once and drank the pansy ass under the table. He was curled up in the foetal position under the table whimpering about Lois and Jesus, she is one fuckable looking girl even if she wears the pants in that relationship. I like to be the dominant one; I'm not having any woman leading me by the balls. Even if they've shrivelled up and headed so far south they're on a penguin's lunch menu.

It really must suck to live on fish for an entire life time. You might as well try steak at least once and my balls are the best steak out there. There'll be no need for a tooth pick either and there's no flossing on my watch. My balls are a Canadian delicacy, look me up in the phonebook and I'll come running with a pack of condoms, a pair of handcuffs and a thing or two to teach you, darlin'.

Now where the hell was I? Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes? Fuck it...

"You wanna go to a bar?"

"Two beers"

"Wait, I haven't even looked at the drinks menu." Marie protested, hoisting herself onto a bar stool and fumbling with the sticky laminated list of cats piss and side orders "Ooh, they do cocktails."

Shaking his head at her sudden burst of enthusiasm, he glanced back at the impatient barman. "Two beers."

She huffed beside him and they fell into a comfortable silence once more. They had ridden the bike over here and he was pretty sure that the kid was one hell of a lightweight. She'd had one beer before they'd left and nearly fell of the damn motor cycle three times, almost gave him a heart attack or ten too.

Two bottles of beer were placed in front of them both and she voiced her thanks, nearly toppled off the stool then immediately suckled on the bottle. It reminded him of a starving baby breast feeding and that was seriously fucked up... He really was losing it.

"Do you come here often?" She asked him, sounding like a walking talking male cliché.

"Yeah" He grunted, searching his jacket pockets for his pack of matches.

"I still want to try a cocktail."

Logan rolled his eyes and balanced his cigar on the edge of the bar. "Uh huh"

"Doesn't sex on the beach sound sooooooo good right about now?"

Stopping his hands in his tracks, he momentarily gave up his search for his matches and stared at her in amazement. He felt as though he had stepped into the Twilight zone. One sniff and he immediately knew that she wasn't on her period; the madness was all in her damn mind then.

His fingers brushed against the box of matched and he removed them from his pocket. "You don't drink." He blurted out, wincing immediately because he sounded like an absolute jackass.

"Every girl's entitled to change her mind." She shot back, shifting on the stool and draining her bottle of beer in seconds.

Words failed him, his eyebrows shot up to his hairline and he watched her slam the empty bottle down. Where the hell was Marie, his Marie? The girl that wouldn't say boo to a goose or look a gift horse in the mouth. Yeah, he was pretty hung up on animals today. It all started this morning with Storm's cattiness and claws.

"I really want a cocktail."

Was this the time to stick his oar into her life?

"I'll have a big old jug of sex on the beach please." Rogue told the stocky, gold toothed and heavily tattooed man behind the bar. "Oooh and can I have a Satan's Whisker too. That has Gin in it, right?"

The man nodded and went about his business, clinking glasses, shaking and mixing together a concoction of alcoholic beverages much to the kid's delight. "This has got to be your best idea ever, Logan"

He was starting to think that it would have been a better idea to have fought over his territory with Storm, then to have brought the kid to a bar. But she looked so happy...

I guess I could just keep an eye on her; at least she's drinking with a responsible adult. I'm waiting for the jokes to start rolling in and the first ones free. Seconds are going to cost you dearly and how do you fancy my boot up your ass? So while I wait, I'll have another few beers.

"I don't think Bobby finds me attractive anymore."

Logan had no idea how to respond to that. The first thought that came to his mind was good, she deserved so much better than the little ice prick. The boy was a little to vanilla for his liking and he smelt weird, like peanut butter and Kitty fucking Pryde.

Thankfully, his girl was getting drunk and didn't ask him for his input. "I think it's because I threw all my gloves away. He won't let me touch him, Logan."

Carefully watching her out of the corner of his eye, he quickly beckoned the bar man over. "Another beer."

"I bought him some Viagra off the internet."

Logan shifted uncomfortably on his stool and hundreds of R-rated Ice Prick jokes began to drown his subconciousness. Sadly it didn't extend to Marie's voice and anyway, why did it take a drunken comment about Viagra to awaken his perverted sleeping mind?

"Bobby's had problems getting it to stand to attention." Marie complained a little too loudly for his liking. They were starting to receive a great many questioning looks and Mr. Heavily Tattooed to His Fucking Eyeballs kept smirking at him. "I told him it must be his diet; he eats far too much peanut butter."

The now thoroughly amused barman chuckled at the conversation they were having and Logan growled at the girl sitting beside him. When that had no effect whatsoever, he turned his glare on the barman. "When you're finished, I'll have a bottle of whisky."

"Hey Buddy, it's not my girl that's lighting up the place with her talk." He quipped, throwing a suspiciously flirtatious wink Marie's way and skulking off.

"Bobby used to wink at me like that."

Groaning inwardly, Logan gratefully snatched the bottle of whisky from the guys hand and instantly poured himself a double. This was really going to be a trying day and he had to keep his strength up, there was no way of knowing what else he would have to endure.

"Are you going to drink that?" Marie slurred slightly and pointed to his untouched bottle of beer.

He slid the bottle to her and turned to the grinning bastard who was still proudly flashing his tattoos at the kid. Well, she was having fun and at least the girl was smiling. If things got a little too heated and he tried to display anything beyond his belly button, the asshole would have a new claim to fame: The only barman without fingers and barman needed fingers, right?

Deforming the guy wouldn't please him in the slightest. Logan had searched high and low for an atmosphere like this. He glanced around at his surroundings and cracked a smile, it was perfect.

There was a drunk passed out by the door in a pool of his own spit and saliva, the jukebox was permanently broken after a heated exchange with his claws and it smelt like beer.

What more could you ask for?

At least his rambling whiskey induced thoughts weren't centered on his balls this time. Still, he'd rather hold an internationally televised speech on his balls then Iceman's limp dick. But if he iced it, maybe it wouldn't stay limp...

"Quit chattin' her up and give me another bottle!" He bellowed making both Marie and her new friend jump in the process.

"You've really got a pair of lungs on you, Logan; I'd hate to hear you in a fit of an orgasm." She commented with an inebriated giggle. "In fact, I think I still have one of your memories in here somewhere." Closing her eyes, her face was contorted into what he could only describe as a hilarious attempt at drunken concentration.

She isn't actually relieving one of my moments, is she? Why couldn't the cure strip every piece of my memory from that damn abyss she calls her mind. Shit, it had better not be that time I got myself handcuffed to the bed by that nut with the wild hair... I'd rather have had sex with a vacuum cleaner. Did she just shudder? Aw, crap, she's really doing this to me. Why in the hell is she doing this to me?

"Jesus Christ, Kid!" Logan whispered harshly, shaking her by the shoulders. "Snap the hell outta it. You're showin this place a new brand of crazy."

"That woman was the crazy one." Marie said, shrugging his hands away and smiling knowingly. "Did she really do that to you with a feather, a raccoon and a packet of skittles? I thought that part with the asparagus was a pretty interesting development, but the jury's still out on the snapper fish. "

Wolverine could only groan at the painful memory. "I fucking hate asparagus."

P.S. Every Hugh Jackman fan needs to go straight to YouTube and watch him dance his way through the new Lipton Ice Tea advert!

As I warned you before, a plot will be forming in the next chapter (Crosses fingers) They're loitering on the line of friendship at the moment and they need to become better acquainted before we have any of that Rogan nonsense :P

A very angry Marie with a baseball bat might just feature in one of the following chapters. I have the urge to write a massive meltdown and it won't leave me alone until I do just that.