She was pure like snowflakes
No one could ever stain;
The memory of my angel could never cause me pain
Years go by, I'm looking through a girly magazine
And there's my homeroom angel
On the pages in between!

My blood runs cold,
My memory has just been sold
My angel is the centerfold
(Angel is the centerfold)
My blood runs cold
My memory has just been sold
Angel is a centerfold.

- Centerfold

Logan was a man. A man with needs. A man who spent many cold Canadian nights with nothing but the snow covered highways to keep him company. He didn't complain about it, he had his own reasons for why the icy roads were safer then a cozy room in upstate New York. Mostly a certain redhead with killer legs and a boyfriend who could blow a mountain to bits with a blink of an eye. Logan was protective of his bits. There was also a sad eyed girl with white streaks in her hair that made Logan feel more in a couple days then he had in the previous decade. He didn't like feelings.

Or maybe he liked them too much.

So, two years after meeting the girl with deadly skin, the guy with the visor and oh yes, the doctor with the oh, so talented hands Logan was still of the road, still searching for his elusive past. He was cold (frozen mental under your skin is not comfortable), hungry, damn tired and, um, completely and insanely horny.

Damn Canadian settling habits. Seeing as 80% of Canadians lived as south as they could get and not be in the United States, the Northern parts that Logan liked so much were sparsely populated.

The last woman had been two weeks and ten towns back. She hadn't been to happy to find out she had been making with a mutant and left him quite unsatisfied. He needed to get laid.

Badly.

Thankful for his heightened senses, Logan spotted a light up building a couple of kilometers up. Gunning Scooter's precious engine, Logan reached the store in just under the speed of light. Damn, he loved this baby.

Shit, just a corner store. Ads for Coca-Cola and a used tractor in the window. At least he could get someone coffee. For a moment he let himself think back to the gourmet coffee beans at Chuck's... Damn him. Logan's first night (conscious that is) he found a small coffee machine beside the bathroom and a carton of Cuban cigars. The man knew how to recruit.

"Where's the nearest bar?" a gruff voice, too loud for the deserted store, made the pimpled face kid at the counter jump. The face he looks up into, feral and not very friendly made his bladder want to loosen.

The kid coughed, trying to clear his throat. His voice still came out a bit scratchy, "two towns up, man." Shit, did that guy just growl?!?

"How long?"

"Uh..." If the dude didn't like his last answer he definitely wouldn't like this one. "Usually 35 minutes but um, the road's closed. Ice." He flinched but the man just grumbled a bit and went over to the coffee pot. Yes, another night at the Quickie-Mart survived. He went back to looking at his magazine.

Logan poured coffee his coffee, black. Only pansies like Scooter used sugar. He grabbed a bag of pretzels and some beef jerky. Okay, that takes care of one problem.... He scanned the store for the covered magazines that would be his date for the night. Logan wasn't stupid, he knew he was attractive and had no problem getting women to warm his bed but with no bar around it would be unlikely for him to find a companion. Going door to door didn't really appeal to him. Way too many people owned guns in this part of Canada and bullets were a bitch to get out.

Ah, success. Logan picked up a Playboy and a Hustler. Busty blonds on both. What happened to all the leggy redheads? Or curvy brunettes....

Bringing his catch to the counter, Logan grunted at the boy. He didn't look up, just sat there staring at the glossy magazine in front of him. This kid had no survival instinct. "Hey." Nothing. "You." The kid was fucking drooling. He snatched the magazine from the brat.

"Hey-" the kid remembered who was in front of him. "Uh... Sorry sir.... Let me ring these up for you." He carefully took the beefy jerky from Logan, watching to make sure the guy didn't crush any of the pages. He had paid 40 bucks for that magazine on eBay.

Logan finally peered down at the magazine the kid had been staring at. A well endowed woman laid on a bed completely naked except for.... Spikes? She had spikes coming out of her body. They looked like fucking broken bones! What the fuck was this? Logan turned to the front page. MUTANT BABES it proclaimed crudely in bright yellow on the cover. Beautiful but Deadly was the headline. Who knew? Mutant porn. He turned the page. The kid made a noise and Logan shot him a glare. There was a girl on a fur rug who could control animals, next a black woman who looked about ten feet tall. He flipped to the Centerfold. He wasn't into delaying gratification and everyone knew the Centerfold was the ultimate piece. Opening it up he was disappointed. The girl was fully clothed! Sure it was completely sheer, not hiding the rosy pink of her nipples but still. God, even her hands were covered!

At that moment Logan's mind shut down completely except for one thought: Shut your fucking eyes.

The kid at the counter didn't know whether to run or laugh at the big beast in front him that had has his eyes as tightly shut as a kid getting a needle.

SNIKT Metal claws came out of his mother-fucking hands!

Run, definitely run.

Before he could even move a very sharp and shiny claw was pressed against his jugular. "Where. Did. You. Get. This?" looked down at his name tag, "Kevin." A grin that looked more like a rabid dog then a person, graced his face.

"The internet man, it's a collector's edition. Real hard to find." Kevin took a shaky breath which pressed his skin closer to the claws. He turned as still as a statue. "Take it man. Take it all. Please."

That terrifying excuse for a smile was on the guys face again. "That the first smart thing you've probably ever said in your life, Kevin. And give me some cigars." The kid couldn't move fast enough. Suddenly the Wolverine had a handful of food, smokes and nearly naked mutants in his arms.

Logan drove away, got a hotel room and opened the wet bar before he let himself think of what he now possessed. Carefully, as if approaching a ticking bomb he opened his bag. Still there.

He shut it as quickly as possible.

Logan had to admit it to himself. He was scared shitless. And that made him angry. Nothing scared him especially not some little girl playing dress up! Ripping apart the bag with claw he hadn't realized he had popped he got his shaky hands back on the girly mutant mag and opened it once again to the centerfold.

And there she was.

Marie.

Marie in a see-through pink body suit, legs crossed demurely, gloved hands lightly skimming over her sides, just touching the curve of her breasts. Her lips, oh god her lips were wet and pink, glistening as if someone had just ravished her.

And she had liked it.

And wanted to do it again.

Logan groaned. He was very tempted to cut his damn jeans off because they were suddenly way too tight.

He took a deep breath and met Magazine Marie's eyes.

Oh fuck.

Come-hither wasn't enough to describe it. Come fuck me was closer. In her eyes was the look that Logan knew was now in his own. Complete and unabashed lust.

Okay, plan: Take this magazine to bed. A couple of times. Buy the thinnest pair of gloves possible. And get the fuck home before someone else takes his Marie up on the invitation showing so clearly in her eyes.

Logan wondered if this was an emergency because the Blackbird was looking pretty damn good right now. Please Scott, come pick me up because if I don't touch your young protégé soon the top of my head with pop off. Sounded good.

Then he made the mistake of reading Marie's blurb.

Name: Rogue (But we like to call her the Best Damn Way to Die. Ever)
Age: 19, she's legal, boys!
Dislikes: Hot days and broken air conditioners.
Likes: Older men, leather gloves and skinny dipping late at night.
Perfect Day: Kicking ass, taking names and then a quiet bar with a very creative man.

Okay, new plan: Leave right the fuck now.

Uh... and take the magazine.