This is it, my first Rogan. Be gentle, it hurts the first time :P
This is an entry for the I HEART ROGAN Random Song Fic Challenge. You tun on the radio, first song you hear is the one you use. mine was The Proclaimers' "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)". I honestly laughed my ass off. The only way I figured this would work is with a drunk Logan. Because I love them both dearly when they're drunk^^
Anyway, this is mostly thoughts, some kinky thoughts (hey, it is Logan) and language (ditto). Please review, it would make my day so much sweeter. yes, I'm sort of begging. If you read without the review, I will hunt you down. Yes, this is a threat. :D
Enjoy!
We are currently situated a few feet over a building that looks like it should have been torn down a decade ago. The siding is peeling off like dead skin, rotting wood panels visible underneath. Even without a very sensitive nose we can smell decay. And there is more. The smell of alcohol seems to ooze out of every hole in the wall and the windows, and there are plenty. From inside we hear the usual shouting, the banter, the laughter, the clicking of balls in a game of pool. Let's go in.
Inside we are overpowered by an even stronger smell of alcohol, this time mixed with urine and vomit. And a slight coppery note. Blood. There have been cage fights and oh how we love cage fights, especially when they include a half naked growling beast. Let's linger on this picture for a second, life is short, enjoy those moments of bliss.
But not tonight. It is band night.
Now wipe the drool off your chin and follow me to the bar. Someone with let's say supersonic ears would hear the couple making out in the ladies' room. And the overflowing toilet in the men's. Also the guy throwing up in the tiny, dim lit hallway in front of the bathrooms.
Unless he's really, really drunk.
Just like Logan. Imagine him the angriest you have ever seen. Multiply by ten and here he is, clinging to his umpteenth drink, a well balanced mix of whiskey and beer he has had tonight. It is currently whiskey. The barkeeper throws him a casual glance ever thirty seconds or so, in case his best customer tonight passes out or orders another drink by pointing at his glass. He bets it's choice a, we know it is the latter.
Up on stage a horrible cover band plays the classics-whatever they think of as such. They are all almost as drunk as their audience, which is guaranteeing a good fun night, nobody will remember any details the next day anyway.
They launch into their version of The Proclaimers "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" and Logan growls. He hates this song with passion but he would hate any song remotely handling the dangerous topic of L-O-V-E tonight. Let's slip into his head to see what has pissed him off enough to get, well, pissed.
But don't we know already.
When I wake up yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you
When I go out yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you
She just had to do that all the time, get under his skin like that. Things had just gotten worse and worse over the past six months. Ever since she had taken the cure she had changed for the worse. Rogue had gone some place nice with little unicorns floating about and cotton candy. Marie now was an entirely different story. Marie had started wearing tight shirts that let every god damn hormonal teenage scumbag attending that forsaken school exactly how cold she felt it was. Not to mention the hot pants she kept wearing when working out. In public for fuck's sake!
He had started to follow her around because those boys didn't stop bugging her. They didn't stop staring though, but that was nothing a little snarling couldn't cure.
But then he had found himself staring at her, bending down, stretching, hands on her toes. In those fucking hot pants.
And he had pictured himself showing her exactly what they did to him, what they made him want to do. Worse, he had imagined how she might look like, waking up the next day. Exhausted, happy, head on his chest, smiling up at him with her hair ruffled and looking incredibly cute.
And that was the point. Never, ever, not under any circumstances does the Wolverine find something cute.
Or stays for the night.
If I get drunk yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you
And if I haver yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you
And here he is, getting drunk. Well, that isn't so special, but the level of drunkness is. He is close to losing his ability to walk and he rarely goes there. It is a waste of money if he can't enjoy the drunkness.
Just like the other day when he had taken Marie out for a night on the town. Because she just wouldn't stop whining about how boring it was, with all of her remaining friends having plans of their own. Since taking the cure she had lost a few friends, not to mention losing that boyband lookalike boyfriend of hers. The popsicle. He was itching to get his hands on that boy and gut him. Just a little.
But Marie had told him not to, she said she was fine and that she was glad to be rid of him. He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, well, mansion, but he knows hurt when he sees it. Though he can't help but be proud of her, how she tries to be tough as nails. But she isn't, he knows his Marie.
His.
And there it is again, another thought that needs to be drowned.
Just like the memory of her laughing in that fucking tight, short dress she had worn. To a damn bar. With him. He had wondered if she was really asking for trouble, if she wanted him to take her out to collect as many numbers as she could. Instead she could have collected heads because he didn't let any of those filthy lowlifes even close to her. She had laughed, clinging to her drink, watching him beat the crap out of a total of fifteen guys.
The only filthy lowlife in her life is him. Damn it.
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door
He gets up, swaying dangerously, but standing on his own two feet. With a quick movement of his head he pops a few vertebrae I his neck back into place, the cracking even audible for the half-deaf bartender. And walks out to mount his bike.
Logan might be drunk and not really able to walk but that's exactly why he needs to drive. Home. To the mansion. Maybe she is still up, sulking in her sweatpants. Even those got too tight.
The cold wind in his face helps him with sobering up, but not with his actual goal. Forgetting all these terrible thoughts he has. He would kill anyone who found out that he didn't just come up with an impressive amount of positions he wants to fuck her in.
He keeps having fantasies of them watching a movie together. Cuddling.
And that is something he coan not wrap his head around. Since when does he do cuddles?
Since he started comforting that kid that isn't a kid anymore. Since he went out of his way to protect her. Since that need to protect her had turned into other needs. The need to claim her as his own, the knowledge that she is his and he actually has the right to slice open the god damn dentist if he looks at her teeth too long.
When I'm working yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you
And when the money comes in for the work I'll do
I'll pass almost every penny on to you
He has also started to go shopping with her. All that money he has earned winning cage fights these past months has been almost exclusively incvested in her wardrobe, food, booze, you name it. He had drawn the line when she had wanted a puppy though. No puppies in his vicinity.
But after all, she was the reason he even felt the need to vent. And instead of walking out on the streets to shres random strangers to pieces he went to bars to get paid for shredding random strangers to pieces. He knows it would have upset her if he had just gone out and killed that guy walking past him that looked at his hair and grinned. There is always a guy like that.
In six months he has spent pretty much every other night fighting. Winning 500 dollars each. He is a rich man now. Well, richer than before anyway. And he has to admit, at least to himself, and even that reluctantly, with crossed arms and grumbling to himself, that he enjoys taking her shopping. Watching her come out the dressing room with the lates too tight too revealing piece of clothing, twirling around in front of him, laughing.
He would enjoy it even more if he could tear those clothes off her after. But he takes what he can get.
When I come home yeah I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you
And if I grow old well I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you
He parks the bike in the garage and staggers inside, looking like a sailor on deck during a very wild storm. The TV in the common room is on, a sappy romance judging by the music. And her. He can smell her, she has taken a shower with this fruit soap she loves so much. He decides to take a detour and stumbles, as graceful as he can, over to have a little chat. But she doesn't notice him, she stares at the screen and sobs.
Logan backs away as quietly as he can, amazing what instinct can do to a drunk man when he tries to avoid a crying woman.
Because she might be cute as hell and have a body that makes him want to do the naughtiest things he can come up with and then some but he doesn't do the comforting thing. Not when there's a chick flick involved. And he can smell ice cream. No way.
He stumbles away as stealthyly as he can, managing not to draw her attention. She is usually pretty good with sensing him, but good for him, for him she is busy sobbing over a man declaring his undying love for his woman, telling her how he wants to sit on the porch as an old man, in his rocking chair, with her next to him holding hands and all that shit.
Logan hopes she doesn't expect that from him because he isn't even sure he can bring that "L" word over his lips. He can't even say it in a normal conversation without feeling like throwing up. There is always a huge lump in his throat.
And every time somebody mentions the word he feels like leaving the room. The building. The fucking country.
But the thought of spending his life with Marie doesn't seem so bad though, he would be up to that. Except for the growing old thing, he isn't sure he can do that. Physically speaking.
Marie beng his, exclusively his though... Sure.
And damn it if he can't find a porch somewhere. He can even do that. Maybe not holding hands. Sharing a beer. Do old people drink beer? Screw that, he will.
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door
He decides to take a walk around the mansion.
Or as other people, who are at least honest to themselves, would put it: He is too shitfaced to find his own room.
Logan growls at a few students that he passes by, but they mostly hurry away as soon as they spot him. He actually enjoys himself in situations like this, just a little. There has only been one kid that has never shown any sign of fear when it came to him.
She actually trusted him.
Kind of scary, huh.
And he would do anything to make her happy. Anything. If she would ask him to rip off his balls he would probably get drunk, come back, see her pout, and... do it. If it made her happy he'd do it.
And that ladies and gentleman is downright... scariest.
When I'm lonely yes I know I'm gonna be
I'm gonna be the man whose lonely without you
When I'm dreaming yes I know I'm gonna dream
Dream about the time when I'm with you.
Later that night Logan finds himself tossing and turning in his bed. He has had another dream he wishes he had never had. Not one of his usual nightmares, no.
There is a new set of dreams he has come to dread. He relives the time he has spent away from Marie. Or he keeps seeing her with that popsicle boy. And he can't tear that kid apart because she looks so damn happy with that guy. And he finds himself helplessly looking on. Sometimes he even dreams about their wedding. Sometimes she marries another guy, someone he doesn't even know. But he just knows that guy is bad news and will only hurt her. That guy doesn't belong with her.
Nobody does. Except for this guy named Logan. He's okay. He is fucked up too, but he will do his best to keep her safe and happy. He knows that.
His head is spinning and he feels like throwing up, that hasn't happened before. Ever. Of course he can't know that, but he has come to terms with his memory reaching back only to a certain point in his life. So in that time, he has never been drunk enough to actually hurl.
And he won't tonight either.
Logan closes his eyes, thinking about her again. In her god damn hotpants. Sitting on the counter in the kitchen, drinking juice right from the bottle, a little sweaty, pulse still quick from her workout. But unlike this morning, in his dream he actually walks over to her and does what he wants. Kisses her and picks her up to bring her where she belongs-to his room, into his bed. Damn it!
He decides it is time for another beer because he sure can't sleep this way. Storm has given up on trying to keep him from storing a sixpack in the kitchen long ago, so he just has to take a few steps to be able to reach his stash. Unfortunately she didn't like the idea of him locking up the popsicle boy in a box to cool his beer. That would have given that kid's life a purpose, but of course he hadn't been allowed to do that either. No gutting, no locking him up, not even some light punching. Those women were spoiling all the fun.
After emptying five of the six bottles he takes the last one, can't leave that all by itself, and goes for another walk, casually sipping his last beer. The one he couldn't leave all alone in the fridge.
"I know how it feels to be lonely. Sounds like a fucking country song."
Something remarkable happens. Something uncharacteristic and rare. Logan chuckles.
He "accidentally" walks by Marie's room, hearing her move around and singing under her breath. He grins and...
But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
To fall down at your door
...manages to stumble over a fold in the carpet and fall, face first, of course. Right in front of her door. He hears her gasp and hurry to the door. Right when she opens it he utters a muffled
"Fuck."
into the carpet.
"Logan, are you okay?"
He feels a hand on his shoulder and supresses a shudder. How can he react to a simple touch like that? And her voice is husky from all the crying she did earlier. He finds that sexy. And immediately, his brain shuts down.
"Uh huh."
He doesn't trust his voice right now.
"Are you drunk?"
"Uh huh."
And his brain is to jumbled for him to form a proper sentence right now. Figures, a gallon of alcohol couldn't harm him even half as much as the presence of this woman.
"Need my help?"
"Uh huh."
If that means some more body contact he is even willing to pretend he needs some help.
"Okay, you are way too heavy for me to drag you through half of the mansion."
He wholeheartedly agrees with another "Uh huh."
"So... You wanna stay in my room tonight?"
FUCK YES.
"Uh hu... Uhm, okay."
Maybe this isn't so bad after all...