Current mood:	devious
Entry tags:	fic, vm

Ficlet: 'Limp'
I'm working on approximately 283 post-LitB Veronica Mars fanfics. This just happens to be the first one I finished. Oh, and this makes it 3 for 3 on creepy/dark VM fics. I think we can pretty much rule out me ever writing fluff for this fandom.


Fic: Veronica Mars, Logan/Weevil (NC-17)
Make it hurt.

approx. 1,200 words


Spoilers: 'Leave It To Beaver'
Warnings: violence

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Limp

Logan thinks that maybe he's always wanted it. All those times Weevil kicked his ass, fucked him up, beat him down.

"Why don't you just kill me?" Logan challenged, speaking haltingly between laboured breaths. Logan's body began to curl instinctively, flinching away from Weevil's boot. He felt like his chest had been caved in by Weevil's last punch; he wondered if his heart had been crushed by the blow.

"Crack your skull open? The way your daddy killed Lilly?" Weevil kicked, and Logan felt sure his heart was demolished. "Not my style," Weevil snarled.

Logan wonders if it will make him feel closer to Lilly— Lilly, whose memory fades a little more every day, replaced by a new and erroneous amalgamation of crime scene photos and glowing memorial descriptions of her that have appeared in the newspapers. He thinks that making out with Veronica on his father's bed in the pool house should have done the trick— Veronica, whose hair is growing out and has finally learned to swing her hips like her dead best friend.

But now he's stooped to picking up Lilly's garbage.

"Don't come here again," Weevil muttered, turning away.

Logan rolled onto his back, Weevil's retreating figure slanting through his vision. He was sticky with sweat and blood and the ocean's spray; sand caked between his fingers as he clawed his way into a sitting position.

It has been three weeks since his father's arrest. Three weeks since he'd started coming to the beach, looking for someone to fight. Sometimes another biker would step up, happy to slug some humility into the fallen 09'er. But always it would be Weevil who finally beat him to the ground. And as Weevil walked away and the spilled blood seeped through Logan's clothing, he'd finally grow hard. Because that is the other thing: he hasn't been able to get an erection any other way in three weeks.

There was a mechanical roar of engines, and one by one the bikers began to peel off, disappearing into the night. The air was thick and warm; it seemed to buoy Logan like seawater as he staggered to his feet.

"Wait—" he said, his shout faltering into a whisper. Anger and desperation mingled in his voice as he fell down again. Logan half-crawled to where Weevil was idling his motorcycle. He propped himself up against the hood of his car.

"We're done," Weevil said flatly.

The last of the bikers hesitated. Hector began to say something, but Weevil waved him on. "Go. I'll meet you there," he said, his eyes never leaving Logan.

The air was filled with the sound of engines once more as the rest of the bikers split. The ensuing silence expanded to fill the parking lot and beach, stretching all the way to the horizon, far out at sea.

"What do you want?" Weevil said at last. He leaned forward on his bike, his bloodied knuckles tightening on the handlebars.

"I want you to kiss me." Logan said it in a low, menacing tone; the words tumbling out like, I want you to hit me. "As hard as you can." The afterthought sprang from his lips. With a grin he remembered watching Fight Club with Duncan: the buzz of exhilaration in the air between them; the deep sweats of something that was not quite antagonism, not quite desire.

Weevil snorted, finally breaking eye contact with Logan. He licked his lips and looked off in the direction his friends had gone. "You rich kids," he said derisively. "Thinkin you can get anything you like."

"I bet she liked you to hurt her," Logan said, mockery rising up from the back of his throat.

"I was just garbage, remember?" said Weevil. "Somethin to grab hold of."

Logan arranged himself against the hood of the car; barely able to stand, but still self-consciously cocky and wanton. Weevil couldn't help but remember his thoughts the first time he had noticed Lilly. The shock of first impression: one, that she was trouble, that she would somehow find a way to cause him harm; two, that one day he would fuck her.

"Grab hold of me," Logan said, with an ostentatious leer. His voice dropped abruptly. "Make it hurt."

"Fuck you," Weevil growled.

"Yeah," said Logan. All the playfulness, all the pretence had drained from his voice — he just sounded sad. Weevil shook his head in disgust; he refused to let himself pity Logan Echolls.

"We could go to your place," Logan continued, desperation glinting in his eyes.

"What's the matter? Don't want me to fuck you in daddy's mansion. Don't want to put on a show for the cameras."

There was a pause, and then Logan smiled mirthlessly. "I hired some new cleaners," he said conversationally. "Should have given your grandma a call, come to think of it. We already have three maids. I hired three more. They're there every day. And the house is still quiet. So quiet. All the fucking time."

Logan leaned forward, pushing himself away from the car. His hands reached for the handlebars of Weevil's bike as he struggled to stand. "Please," he whispered— and Weevil was thinking about it. Maybe he'd been thinking about it ever since the first time he had punched Logan in the face and the boy had smiled. That smile that said Weevil could ram his cock up his ass and he'd still be smiling, still be in control even as Weevil flattened his palm against his back and pushed down.

Weevil reached out a hand to steady Logan. His fingers wound around his upper arm. Logan half-collapsed against Weevil and his bike; his body yielding to the solid wall of muscle and steel. Logan's lip had split earlier with the impact of Weevil's fist. Weevil leaned forward, dragging his tongue along the cut. The burst of blood was warm; its sharp metallic tang acting like a trigger.

Weevil kissed Logan properly this time. Logan's tongue fought against his as Weevil further agitated his bottom lip. He could feel the pain pulsing from Logan, driving him to push harder. His teeth razored along the tip of Logan's tongue, as he resisted the urge to bite down hard.

Weevil pulled away. Logan reached up and wiped his own mouth using the back of his hand. He met Weevil's gaze, staring him down. "We could go back to your place," he repeated. This time Logan reached for Weevil's hand. He placed it on the bulge in his pants that revealed his erection. "You can do anything to me. I don't care."

"You rich kids." Weevil's lip curled. He looked Logan up and down. "You're all the same." Lost little children, dressed up in nice clothes and a bad attitude.

Weevil kissed Logan one last time. His fingers curled lazily around his erection, making Logan groan. "I could make you come," Weevil muttered in his ear. "I could help you fill that big old house with the sound of your own screams.

"But I've already been there and done that."

Weevil pushed Logan away — just hard enough that he fell to the ground with a soft thump. He kicked off the stand on his motorbike and drove away. He didn't bother to look back.