A Toad and a Wolverine Walk into a Bar
Thanks to Jedimom for suggestions and Rose for support.
Yes, this story will require some suspension of disbelief. All right, a whole lot of suspension of disbelief.
Toad and Wolverine dress up and celebrate their forbidden love. Click on the picture to see the original, unedited shot. Source unknown.
Logan pulled his battered truck up to the first open bar he saw once he crossed back over the border to the States. Three months wasted in Canada. Three fucking months. He needed a drink before he went back to face Xavier and give him the news. Good. The bar was empty. Sliding onto a bar stool, he said, "Gimme a beer."
"Whaddaya mean, what kind? Beer-flavored. You got any of that?" Goddamn Americans and their goddamn microbrews. Grumbling to himself, Logan dug through his pocket and pulled out a battered cigar.
"Hey, there's no smoking in here."
"Hey bub, I thought this was a bar. Where's my beer?"
"You haven't said what kind yet."
"He'll have a Harp, I'll have a Guinness," someone else said, sliding onto the stool two over from his. "I'm paying."
Logan turned and glared over at the green intruder. "You?"
Toad grinned. "Yeah, me."
"Didn't figure you as someone who'd get out much," he growled.
The bartender plunked a glass down in front of each of them. "We're not prejudiced at this bar. Oh, and no fighting."
"I can pay for my own beer," Logan grumbled, digging into his pocket, but all he came up with was a handful of loonies and twonies. "Ah shit." He looked up sharply at the bartender and said, "If you say 'no swearing'..."
"Don't worry. Swearing's allowed," the bartender replied before wandering off to clean up some spills on the other end of the bar.
"Bloody Americans," Toad said with a grin before taking a pull from his Guinness.
"How can you stand to drink that shit?" Logan asked.
"I could ask you the same."
"Wait a second... Why the fuck am I sitting here with you?" Logan rose to his feet and snarled, "You kidnapped Rogue."
"Yeah, and then you shish kebobed Mystique, and Storm turned me into a crispy critter."
"You started it."
"Ooh, good one. So now do I say 'I know you are but what am I?' Sit. Drink. We're both off duty."
With a wary glare, Logan slowly returned to his barstool and started sipping his beer. "Never had Harp before. This is pretty good. How'd you know I'd like it?"
"It's not typical watery American piss, but it's not heavy either. Figured it'd be right up your Canadian alley."
"You touch Jean again, I'll rip your guts out."
"Keep those pokers away from Mystique and it's a deal."
Toad scowled and took a chug from his beer. "I wish," he said, wiping the foam off his lip. "No, she's more interested in the hairy stinky bastard or the old fart. I mean, what's wrong with me? I'm young, I work out, and I bathe! But nooooo. She'd rather pop Viagra down Magneto's gullet, then go bang Sabretooth once the old git's asleep. What the hell kind of foreplay can she get from him, anyway? Seen those claws? Those teeth?"
"Yeah. Not a pretty picture," Logan said with a shudder. "So what makes you think you'd be any better?"
"I've got a twelve-foot tongue and I know how to use it," he replied with a smug grin, then polished off his beer. "Hey, can I have another?"
As the bartender refilled his glass, Toad asked, "So how 'bout you? You and Jean..?"
"You kidding?" Logan snorted. "Nah, she's joined at the hip to a boy scout."
"That Cyclops guy?"
"That's the one."
"Pansy ass bugger," Toad sneered. "Knocked him out with just a couple of kicks. The girls fought back, but him? Passed out cold."
"Oh really?" Logan asked, swiveling his barstool to face him. "That's not what he said."
"What's he say then?"
"That he protected Jean from you."
"He's talking bollocks."
Logan drained his beer and said, "You don't say?"
Toad gestured at the bartender, who topped off the Harp.
"Thanks, bub. Okay, so what really happened?"
"S'then," Logan slurred, leaning over very very close to Toad's face and brandishing his beer glass like a pointer. "S'then Jean goes, 'You know, you and I...' y'know, like she's letting me down easy or somethin'. She was just pawing me, fer Christ's sake! 'Sides, it's not like she's the only chick there that looks good in leather."
"S'nothin'," Toad hiccuped. "M'stique's always runnin' around naked, but if I look at her, she calls me the perv! She's the fucking exhi...exhibib...perv!"
"Women," Logan snorted.
"Who needs 'em?" They both drained their glasses, and Toad slumped over onto Logan's shoulder. "Whoa. I'm pretty pissed."
"Sound relaxed to me," Logan said, clapping him on the back.
"No, you daft Canuck, I mean drunk. Gotta go take a slash."
Logan shot a confused look at the back of his knuckles.
"It means pee!"
"Oh. I'll join ya."
The two men helped each other up off their stools and staggered into the men's room. Leaning against each other and the wall, they aimed vaguely at what they hoped were the urinals and cut loose. "Even your dick's green," Logan noted.
"Yours ain't spiked, is it?"
"Naw. Hey, why are you asking? You some kinda poof?"
"You looked at mine first!"
"Oh yeah." As they both tucked back in, Logan looked over at Toad hazily and said, "I gotta get back to the Institute."
"You're not drivin' like this," Toad slurred, leaning heavily against the wall. "Ooh, I think I need to lie down."
"We can go to my truck."
"You're not drivin'."
"I'm not drivin'."
"Okay, s'long as we've got that straight."
They wove out of the bathroom and out into the parking lot, then climbed into the back of Logan's truck and collapsed on the bedroll.
"I must be really wasted," Logan moaned. "Somethin's knocking on my skull."
"'S not yer skull. 'S the bartender knockin' on the truck."
"You're not driving!!!" they heard him yell.
"We're not drivin'!!!" they yelled back.
The knocking stopped.
"Can't believe Jean'd rather fuck a boy scout than me," Logan grumbled.
"Can't believe M'stique'd rather fuck Sabretooth than me," Toad grumbled back. "A boy scout, I could handle. He's prob'ly got fleas."
Logan sat bolt upright and said, "Hey, we c'n do better than them!"
"Yeah!" Toad agreed, pointing a finger emphatically in the air.
"They don't know what they're missing!"
"We could show 'em," Toad mused.
Toad pointed to the video camera lying in the corner. "That thing got tape in it?"
"Hunh?" Logan turned his head a little too quickly, and after the world caught up, went, "Yeah. Hey, are you sayin' we should have sex with each other, tape it, and show it to them as proof that we're amazing lays?"
"Fucking brilliant, ain't it?" Toad grinned.
"Hang on. Lemme load a tape."
As Logan fumbled drunkenly with the camera, Toad slipped out of his layers and layers of clothes. "You rollin' yet?" he asked.
"Not yet. Lemme jus' prop it up. Whoa bub! Yer naked!"
"All right, all right," Logan grumbled, then turned to the camera and said, "Look'it this, Jean! Look'it what'cher missin'!"
"M'stique, this one's for you!" Toad hollered before planting a fat one on Logan.
The two of them grappled drunkenly, rolling across the small floor of the truck, knocking over everything in their path several times over. When Logan finally came up for air, he pulled a sock off his head, turned to the camera and said, "Hey Mystique! He's got a twelve foot long tongue, you dumb broad! Think about it!"
Toad, meanwhile, was pumping Logan's erection with his hand and licking his balls until Logan was fully hard. Pointing at it, he proclaimed, "Look'it this, Jean, ye daft cunt! Eight inches! He's a fuckin' Clydesdale!"
"Okay, who's on top?" Logan asked, rummaging through his piles of shit until he came up with a condom.
"I am," Toad said, snatching it out of his hand. "M'stique's always going on an on about Sabretooth's stamina. I'll show her stamina!" Ripping open the wrapper, he looked down and said, "Okay, which willy do I put it on?"
"You've just got the one, bub."
Toad closed one eye and went, "Oh yeah! Cor, I'm bladdered."
Logan crawled over to the camera and said, "We're both totally fuckin' blotto, and we've got hard-ons you could hammer nails with! An' I don't even have adamantium in my dick."
"Don' move," Toad said, sliding up behind him with a hand over one eye. "Don' wanna screw up my aim..."
"No, other left...there ya go!"
"Little tight back here."
"Just keep shovin'. You'll get in eventually."
"I think this'd go easier if I could grease up the works."
"Motor oil?" Logan suggested helpfully.
"I think I've got some lotion in my jacket," Toad said, rummaging through his pockets. "Yeah, that's the ticket."
"So I got dry skin! Big fucking deal!"
"Strawberry scented lotion?"
"I like strawberries," Toad grumbled before closing one eye, taking aim, and hitting the mark with more ease. "Stamina! I'll show ya stamina!" Toad cried as he started pumping away behind Logan. "An' look! Twelve feet, baby!" He shot his tongue out and started pumping Logan's erection with it.
"I'm tellin' ya, Mystique! You don't know what you're missing!" As the tip of Toad's tongue started tickling his ear, Logan moaned, "Oh man!" before lapsing into total incoherence and then shooting his load all over the bedroll.
Toad shuddered and groaned, then retracted his tongue and went, "Bollocks. Didn't have much stamina that time."
"Me neither." Logan said, collapsing on the wet spot. "Think I saw God, though."
"You got any more condoms?"
"Yeah, over there," Logan said, jerking a thumb towards the far corner.
Toad snagged one with his tongue, replaced the one he was wearing, then closed one eye and went, "Right, where was I?"
Logan woke up in the back of his truck, shaking off one of the worst hangovers he'd ever had. Normally, he didn't get them at all. If he did, they went away almost instantly. This one took a couple minutes, though. And there was a new chunk of memory missing. And why did he smell strawberries?
He looked over at the video camera and had a really bad feeling. He'd bought the thing to document the installation in the Canadian Rockies. Vague memories of using it to document something entirely different started creeping into his brain, so against his better judgement, he rewound, hit play, and looked at the little viewscreen.
Toad?!? He'd had sex with Toad?
He watched the playback with growing horror. Oh god. He'd bottomed for Toad? Three times? Once with his legs wrapped around Toad's head? That explained why he felt so dirty. And sticky. Ew.
Logan snapped his head up at the loud banging on the side of the truck. He opened the door, right hand already curled into a fist, and saw a rumpled and freaked Toad standing outside, leaves and twigs sticking out of his hair. "I just woke up in the bushes out there with a massive hangover. Did we..?"
"And we taped it?"
"Gimme the tape."
"No fucking way."
"Gimme the tape." He paused. "And my trousers."
Logan looked down and saw green. "Right. Eh...this them?" He held out a wad of fabric that was oddly stiff.
Toad reached out and took them gingerly with two fingers. "Bollocks. Come on. The tape too."
"I'm gonna burn it." He wrinkled his nose at his pants and added, "And these."
"Hang on, I've got a bedroll to burn while we're at it."
A few moments later, the two men stood in front of a trash barrel warming their hands over a nice fire, Toad in a pair of borrowed pants. "This never happened," Logan said.
Toad tossed his bottle of hand lotion in the fire and said, "Total cock up, this was."
Logan glared across the fire at him and Toad just shook his head and walked across the parking lot to his beat-up Pinto. "You'd better not breathe a word of this to anyone!" Logan yelled.
"I'd rather cut me own throat!"
As the Pinto drove away, Logan sniffed.
Damn. Why'd it have to be strawberries? He liked strawberries.
He headed back for his truck, resigned to having a loooooong shower the moment he got back to the Institute.
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