Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

"Shit, man, this place got lights?"

Weevil slid his helmet off and set it by the door. The place was luckily empty. "Got no electricity," he said. "Hold on. There's a camping lamp on the coffee table."

There was a loud crash and a muffled curse from Logan. "I think I found the coffee table," Logan said. "You live here or what?"

Weevil found the lamp more by luck than anything—it had fallen to the floor. He twisted the control on the top of the unit, and a stark white light flickered. He looked up at Logan, who was rubbing his shin as he looked around, taking in the scene. "Nah," Weevil said. "This is just a place I know about. You know." Home was too crowded, with too many relatives, too many little kids. They knew he did shit he shouldn't do—shit that made this, bringing some rich kid to the place, look like nothing. That's what this place was for: it was a place to just be, without feeling like he was letting someone down. And it was useful for some of the things he and the boys did on the side: meetings, a place to stash stuff you didn't want your family to find, that kind of thing.

"No, I don't know, but I'll pretend I'm flattered that you think I do." Logan circled slowly. "You bring girls here or what?"

Weevil grinned. He did in fact bring girls here—lots of the boys did. "Sometimes. It's not my place, though. It's Emilio's. I just got keys. You want a drink?" He grabbed the light and headed for the bar.

Logan stuck his hands in the pocket of his jacket and cocked his head. "Gosh, I'd love to stay and chat, and thanks so so much for the really fun ride on your hog, but you know? I gotta get going."

Weevil sorted through the stash on the bar, which was what they called a kitchen table with bottles of liquor and a bunch of paper cups still in tall plastic bags. "Come on, man, you just got here. And you did great on the bike. Except you got to lean into turns." He demonstrated, hunching his body and leaning to the left. "It seems wrong, but that's what you got to do." He'd been able to avoid wiping out by counterbalancing with his own body. He'd liked the nervous clutch of Logan's hands on his waist, though. Logan had tried to play it cool, but he was clearly not an experienced motorcycle rider. Weevil liked that—that he could freak out someone like Logan, even while Logan spent all his time pretending nothing bothered him. Weevil uncapped a bottle and displayed it. "Johnnie Walker for me. You?"

"Why the hell not." Logan took the proffered paper cup. "A toast," he proclaimed, and Weevil held his cup up. "To Mr. Edwards. A finer man never had his car impaled on a flagpole."

"Punked!" Weevil said, and Logan echoed, "Punked!"

It had been Weevil's idea, but Logan had helped him and the boys. It had taken a blowtorch and some major heavy lifting, but they'd pulled off the stunt of the year, if not the decade. It had gotten Weevil expelled, until Logan had admitted complicity. Nobody had a problem expelling Weevil, because he was nothing but trouble, but expelling a rich kid like Logan, even though he was nothing but trouble, couldn't be done. Weevil couldn't figure Logan out: had Logan volunteered the information that he was in on it to help out Weevil out of some late-breaking sense of guilt once Weevil had gotten thrown out of school, or had he done it to burnish his own bad-boy reputation, as he claimed? Whatever his motives, the result had gratified Weevil's grandma: he was no longer expelled, and Weevil would once again be attending pointless classes and listening to teachers' lectures about his "potential" instead of studying for his GED. He could hardly wait. It was going to be hell. He did a lot of detention.

Logan emptied his cup in two long sips. The crazy light from the single lamp made the room flicker, and their shadows looked huge. Logan held the cup out for a refill, and Weevil grinned as he grabbed the bottle. "Pace yourself, man," he advised.

"You're driving," Logan pointed out. Weevil had run into him downtown. Logan was without a car, so Weevil had volunteered to give him a ride home on his bike. To Weevil's surprise, Logan had said sure. Now, Logan grabbed the light and set it back on the coffee table as he collapsed onto the threadbare couch. "But don't think we're friends," he advised as Weevil slid off his leather jacket and folded it onto the floor. "This isn't all Sixteen Candles or whatever. It's just some detention, some punk, some painting—your graffiti, by the way?"

Weevil said, "Nope. We're not so much into artwork. Yours?"

Logan held up his hands. "Innocent, officer."

Weevil sat next to Logan, letting his leg brush Logan's. Logan twitched away immediately. Weevil would never, ever make the mistake of thinking they were friends. They just had a truce going. He knew all about truces. Logan made himself comfortable, putting his elbows on the back of the sofa and sprawling. Now his leg pressed against Weevil's, and Weevil didn't pull away. He got it. He couldn't touch Logan, but Logan could touch Weevil. That wouldn't last long. He hid a grin as he took a taste of liquor. Weevil laid a foot on the coffee table, making the light jump. He'd fucked Lilly on this couch. Now Lilly was dead and her boyfriend sat there, a cocky smile on his face, looking around like he owned the place.

Logan indicated the room with a sweep of the hand. "So what's this place really for?" he asked.

Weevil downed the rest of his Johnnie Walker in a single gulp and threw the cup across the room. He heard the cup clatter on the floor. He felt the fire of the alcohol burn. Then it hit his stomach and blossomed. It felt great. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Am I in trouble?" Logan didn't sound concerned. "Should I be worried? Are you here to, to kill me or something? Dump me in the ocean as shark bait? Because you asked me what I'm thinking, and what I don't think is that you've brought me here to show me some deep, inner part of your soul. Although I admit to being relieved that your…little friends aren't with you."

Weevil grinned but didn't respond. He stuck his elbows on the back of the sofa, matching Logan's stance. He crossed his ankle over Logan's, and this time, even though he threw Weevil a look, Logan didn't move. Good.

"And not that I'm dwelling, but I got into some trouble for that car you wrecked," Logan added.

"Aw, too bad," Weevil said. "Nothing personal." Well, maybe a little personal, but it had been personal on the level of Logan's being a rich bastard—nothing more than that. "Just helping out a friend. You know."

Logan turned his head to face him. "Yeah, helping out a friend. I know all about that."

"You and me, we're not friends," Weevil said promptly. Some detention, some punking, some painting, and Logan had touched him, touched the tat with Lilly's name. Weevil had said it was his little sister's name. He didn't really think Logan had bought it. But Logan had touched it, and Weevil had gotten into his face to make him back off, but the rest of the time they'd spent painting over graffiti on the side of the school wall, Weevil had wanted Logan to touch him again. So today, he'd take Logan for a ride, so he could feel Logan grab him around the middle, and on the spur of the moment, he'd driven by to see whether any bikes were out front, and there hadn't been.

Logan held up a finger. "I was not talking about you. What made you think I was talking about you?" He set his cup on the coffee table. "So. Not here to kill me. And I know you didn't bring me here to impress me, even though the place you got here—wow. So you care to enlighten me?"

Weevil leaned in and dropped his voice low. "You told me to never underestimate the size of your cojones. Just wanted to see their size for myself." He put his hand on Logan's crotch and gently squeezed the lumps of Logan's dick and balls. If Logan was going to go at him, try to beat his head in, that gesture would make him do it.

He'd read Logan right: he didn't move. Instead, he chuckled. "Oh, so you brought me here to fuck me. I knew it was a fuck pad. It's got fuck pad written all over it. Except there's no bed."

Weevil flicked his fingers. "Bed's in the bedroom," he said. "I wasn't thinking fucking so much. I like to start small. But fucking's cool. I'm down with fucking you. We can do it here on the couch if you want. All the same to me." He squeezed again, then rubbed with his palm, spreading around that body heat, and he felt Logan start to get hard. There would be something like poetic justice in fucking Logan, who'd fucked Lilly, who'd fucked Weevil on this couch. And watching Logan squirm, even as he sat quietly and let Weevil touch him, trying to play it cool, went right to Weevil's dick. He thought of Logan touching the tat low on his left shoulder, and he thought of Logan's mouth there, the way Lilly's had been once the bandage had come off, and just like that, he got hard.

"I don't know," Logan said. He put his hand over Weevil's and rolled his groin into their interlaced fingers. "The class issue between us—you and me. It's insurmountable. It would never work between us. But I'm flattered. Really."

"It don't have to work." He stared at Logan, puzzled. He wasn't a girl. He had no interest in dating Logan, just fucking him. "We're not going to date. We're not going to have a relationship."

Logan increased the pressure of their hands on his dick. Weevil could feel him, long and solid in his pants, and his own dick got harder. "So…sex without strings? Sex on the downlow? Yeah, okay." He rotated his hips. "Let's go, big boy. Ride me like your hog."

Weevil stood up and took off his T-shirt, so he was only wearing his tank top. He pulled his keys out of his pocket, unclipped the chain, and set the ball of keys on the coffee table. The items made a heavy, dark clang, like a door slamming. He kicked off his shoes next. He hooked his finger in the low neck of his tank and pulled. Logan, lips slightly parted, stared at him as if fascinated. Weevil held his eyes as he drew his finger across his chest, moving the neckline of his shirt back and forth, tugging it lower and lower, baring more and more chest. When Logan licked his lips, Weevil pulled the tank off, tossing it down next to Logan on the couch. Then, on top of it, he threw down a little bottle of lube and some condoms. As he'd hoped, that got a reaction. Logan looked down at the goods, then up at Weevil.

"Shit," Logan said. "You're not kidding."

"I'm really not into kidding," Weevil said. He wanted to touch that body, the body of the rich kid, and make Logan so hot that he begged to make Weevil make him come. Part of it was a power thing. Weevil knew that. Making someone like Logan scream for it—Weevil liked the idea of that, liked it a lot. And part of it was a Lilly thing, because he'd really liked her, but the class distinctions Logan had just mentioned meant that Weevil was Lilly's little illicit secret, just like he'd be Logan's. A little illicit gay sex on the side. He knew it was stupid, because Logan was a wild card. You could never predict him. Weevil knew that Logan could make him really, really regret this, but right now, at this precise moment, Weevil didn't give a shit. "I still want to ride you like my hog." He looked at Logan, waiting.

"That was kind of a stupid metaphor," Logan admitted after a second.

Weevil raised his eyebrows. "Simile." He remembered that: a comparison using like or as. "I'll fuck you. I'm not kidding. So you want to?" He gestured. Logan wouldn't say yes out loud, but he wasn't saying no, he wasn't leaving, and he wasn't hauling off and hitting him, so Weevil took it as a yes. "Take off your clothes." When Logan stood up and shrugged off his jacket, Weevil undid his pants.

"Take the cross off," Logan said, touching it briefly, so it pressed into his skin, then letting it go and tracing Weevil's collarbone. The gesture sent a shiver of pleasure through Weevil. The thing he liked about sex, in addition to the obvious, was the touching. He unclasped the silver necklace, the one his grandma had given him a couple years ago for his birthday, and set it next to the keys. Logan continued, "You want a striptease? Nice and slow, to get you hot?"

Logan was clearly nervous but trying to pretend he wasn't. That left Weevil in the driver's seat—just where he liked to be. "Just take it off," Weevil ordered, stepping out of his pants. He idly caressed his dick, running his hand down to cup his balls before giving himself a few strokes to bring himself up to full, throbbing hardness. That felt good, but not as good as Logan's eyes on his dick, checking it out. "Come here." He used a foot to scoot the coffee table back and grabbed Logan's waistband. "Let's get the party started."

"I got it." Weevil felt Logan's body flex as he took off his shirt. "No, really, Eli, I got it." Weevil looked at Logan in surprise—he couldn't remember Logan ever calling him Eli, at least not in the last year or so—as Logan put his hands over Weevil's, and they both unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Logan's dick was long, thin, and hard, and to Weevil's eye, his cojones did not look especially large. Weevil's were definitely larger. They stood facing each other, nude and hard, until Logan stroked Weevil's collarbone again, and then Weevil could take Logan into his hand and measure him.

"Sit down." Logan sat as Weevil gently shoved him back, and Weevil knelt between his legs, pushing them a little further apart.

Logan's body looked pale in the bad light. The shadows were so heavy and oblique that Weevil had a hard time making out his expression. Logan reached under his dick and grabbed his balls, pulling them down, and Weevil took the hint. He leaned down and put his mouth around the head of Logan's dick. He tasted it with his tongue, poking at the slit at the tip, then slid down to wet it. Logan was hard, but he wasn't hot yet. He wanted to feel Logan hot, squirmy, and wanting. He sat back on his heels, wondering if Logan had done this before with another guy. He wouldn't ask, because really, he didn't want to know the answer, but he was still hard, which was a good sign.

Weevil asked, "You want me to make you come first, then fuck you? Some guys don't come when they're fucked." And some guys, like Weevil himself, came just about the second someone started thrusting.

"Maybe I'd rather fuck you," Logan said.

Weevil grinned. He liked this version of Logan—a Logan a little off center. Usually an off-center Logan could be dangerous, because he could be sick and twisted. But right now, Logan wasn't dangerous. He was off-center because he was nervous. The nerves would disappear when they got into it.

"Next time," Weevil promised. He considered for a second. If you weren't really hot when someone fucked you, sometimes it hurt more than it should; but on the other hand, after coming, you were usually more relaxed. Weevil decided to please himself. He could last longer if he fucked Logan, rather than the other way around. "Okay. I'll fuck you, and if you don't come when I'm fucking you, I'll suck you off. How's that?"

"Sounds just peachy," Logan said. "It's a plan. You going to get back to what you were doing or what?" He put a hand on Weevil's head and caressed. "I've always wanted to do that," he said. "You shave it?"

"Yeah."

"I can feel a little bit of stubble or something. I like that it's not smooth like someone's ass."

Weevil lowered his head. It felt good to have Logan touching him, to have Logan stroking his head, rubbing his thumb at Weevil's temple, then sliding back down around his ears. And it wasn't just his bald head, even though many people found it of interest. Logan's fingers, increasingly firm and confident, kneaded his neck, his shoulders, anywhere he could easily stretch. Weevil decided he liked being petted while giving head. He took in as much of Logan as he could, figuring out Logan's size and shape, and then he let him have it, sucking hard, dipping his head again and again to wet the shaft. He swirled his tongue against the ridge of the cap at the tip of Logan's dick, then found the little vertical raised edge of skin on the underside. Logan's hands rubbed his shoulders, silently telling Weevil to go faster, and Weevil obliged, sucking the head hard, then licking just under the cap, toying with the tight stretch of skin, and kissing down and back up, with lots of tongue, before doing it all over again, and again, and again. He could tell Logan liked it, because the rubbing on his head and shoulders got uneven and it finally ceased, until Logan just rested one hand on Weevil's head.

"Just—hold on, hold on," Logan gasped, and Weevil slid his mouth up and off as Logan grabbed his balls with his free hand.

"Nice cojones," Weevil said as Logan squeezed hard. He stroked Logan's thighs. "You going to shoot?"

"No, I'm good. I'm good." Logan let go of himself. "I just needed a second."

"Move a little forward," Weevil said. He wanted access to Logan's balls. "Yeah, like that. Good." He stuck his tongue out and licked one of Logan's hairy sacs. His nose brushed Logan's hard, shiny dick. He sucked the sac into his mouth, feeling the prickle of Logan's pubic hair against his chin and tongue. The heavy scent of Logan's arousal went right to his dick: Weevil, who'd gone down to half mast, felt himself get hard again. He let Logan's testicle warm his mouth while he stroked between Logan's legs with his middle finger, feeling the hairy expanse of skin between Logan's balls and his asshole. And speaking of assholes, there it was, tight and puckered. Weevil could just reach the edge of it. When he brushed it, Logan gasped and shifted. That reaction sent a rush of heat through Weevil's groin. Oh, he enjoying this.

Weevil let Logan's ball pop out of his mouth. "Lube," he ordered. "And you'll have to come more forward, or we can go into the bedroom."

"Jesus," Logan gasped, but he made no move to get up. After a few seconds of maneuvering, Weevil's slick fingers prodded at Logan's entrance. Logan helped him by bringing one leg up and holding himself open, which made Weevil think that maybe Logan had done this before. Weevil got his index finger in to the first joint, then switched to his thumb, because it was easier to work his thumb in and out of Logan's heat while he licked Logan's dick. He'd started out trying to get Logan hot, but now that Logan was almost ready, Weevil worried less about Logan's reaction and more about his own. He went down on Logan with long, luscious sucks, feeling the hot head burn as it traveled in and out of his mouth, feeling the iron-hard length slide against his tongue. Every time he made Logan gasp or groan, Weevil felt it in his own cock, until the need to plunge himself in heat couldn't be denied.

He lifted his head. "Okay," he said. "Get up. My turn to sit."

Logan let his leg fall. "Yeah," he said. "Okay." He slid off to the side and Weevil sat next to him. "Nice," he said, clasping Weevil's dick. "Fat." Weevil didn't try to stop him when Logan leaned down and took his dick in his mouth. It felt too good. "Oh, man," Logan mumbled, and his mouth tightened. Weevil buried his fingers in Logan's hair and dragged Logan's head up and down, giving him a tempo just a little too slow to make him come. Making Logan do exactly what Weevil wanted him to do was as exciting as feeling Logan's tongue press against his dick.

"Stop," Weevil said, jerking at Logan's hair when he felt his balls tighten. "It's time." Logan peered up at Weevil and grinned. Weevil reached for the condoms.

"Here," Logan said, getting there first. He ripped open a blue square, releasing the familiar scent of the plastic, and turned to the light so he could see which way the condom went. Then he placed it on Weevil's dick and rolled it down. "And lube," he said, flipping the cap open and squirting. "Mustn't forget the lube." He moved to straddle Weevil while his hand rubbed Weevil's sheathed cock.

"Here," Weevil said, holding his penis steady at its base while Logan grabbed the top part and slid it along his crack, saying, "I got it, right there." Weevil managed to get the head of his cock lodged inside Logan. "I'm in," he gasped, feeling Logan's tightness at the most sensitive part of his cock, and Logan said, "Oh, shit," shut his eyes, and froze.

Weevil bit his lip so he wouldn't thrust and waited. He'd wanted Logan hot. And now, as Logan opened his eyes, he knew that he'd succeeded: Logan was more than hot. Logan was ready to come, right now. Weevil dug his fingernails into Logan's hips and thrust up as he pulled down, burying his dick deep inside Logan in one long push. Logan grabbed Weevil's shoulders and lifted himself.

"Now," Logan said as he let himself descend. "Deeper, Eli. Deeper."

Then they were fucking, smacking together hard, finding a rhythm, Logan's shell necklace bouncing around his neck, Logan saying "fuck" and "harder" and "deeper" and "Eli," until he ran out of words and it was just voice, begging for it, begging Weevil to fuck him, and then he was sobbing as he reached for his own cock, and a load of come hit Weevil in the chest as Logan lost it, and that did it. Weevil pushed in deep with a last huge thrust, feeling the pressure, the heat, surrounding his dick, and when orgasm hit him, when he pumped himself into Logan, everything blurred together and went white—the white of the lamplight and the white of Logan's skin and the white of Logan's necklace, and who Logan was didn't matter.

When he could focus again after the blast of pleasure, Logan had collapsed on top of him. His legs were tucked in, and he braced himself against the back of the sofa as he tried to catch his breath. Weevil was panting too. He relaxed his grip on Logan's hips. His cock gave a final few squeezes. He'd come hard. He felt boneless and sweaty and hot and dirty and wonderful.

"Shit," Logan gasped. "That was pretty hot." He'd shot all over Weevil's chest, spatters of wet that broke the light.

"Yeah," Weevil said. It had been. It still was.

"Eli, my legs—" Logan said apologetically.

"It's okay," Weevil assured him, and Logan lifted himself off. The sudden loss of pressure was simultaneously disappointing and pleasurable. Logan tugged at him, but Weevil made him wait until he'd removed the condom before he lay down next to Logan.

"No kissing?" Logan asked lightly as he traced the tats on Weevil's arm, reaching around to touch the red heart that read "Lilly."

"I don't kiss guys," Weevil said. He added, "Sorry."

"You fuck guys, but don't kiss them." Logan kissed Weevil's arm, sliding down a little.

Weevil nodded. "Right." He didn't offer an explanation, and Logan didn't ask. Somehow, that pleased him.

He leaned into the empty space that Logan left as Logan examined the Lilly tat. He'd imagined Logan's mouth on it, and now he felt it: Logan's tongue exploring, just as it had explored Weevil's dick. In the flickering light, he could see red marks on Logan's back, inflamed strips that criss-crossed as far down as he could see before the shadows got too heavy. He gently stroked one, then another. Logan stiffened, then let him do it. Weevil knew what they were. He'd seen them before, for all that Logan rarely went shirtless and tended to get dressed in the locker room with his back to the lockers, so no one could see. He had a two-towel thing he did in the showers, one around his hips and another around his shoulders. Whoever did it, and Weevil was positive he knew, didn't like to leave marks. Marks would be embarrassing. Awkwardly, because of the position, he leaned around and licked. He thought he could taste the texture of the stripes, hotter and saltier than the rest of Logan's sweaty skin, but it was probably just his imagination.

"You don't have to call me Eli," Weevil said after a while, as they touched each other's secrets. Logan didn't have to say his name when he came. But he had.

Logan laughed. Weevil felt it in his arm, where Logan had laid his head. "I am so not going to fuck anyone named Weevil. How does this play out at school tomorrow?"

"We're not friends." Weevil shrugged. "It plays out like it plays out. Nothing personal."

"Yeah, no problem." Logan shifted, and Weevil made room for him to stretch out. They hadn't said anything one way or the other, but Weevil knew they were going to fuck again tonight, or at least suck each other off. "I'm relieved, actually. Do you believe in poetic justice?"

Weevil stiffened, then relaxed. They'd been talking about poetic justice a couple days ago, during detention, when they'd been supposedly alphabetizing Mr. Daniels's book collection. "What goes around, comes around," he said philosophically. They weren't going to talk about the Lilly tat, and they weren't going to talk about Logan's stripes. Once again, it was a stalemate. You got something on someone else, and you had to be willing to use it. Sometimes, if you used it, you'd get hurt yourself. Weevil knew all about that. He wondered if they would use this, what they'd just done, if it would become another chip in the game, the haves versus the have-nots.

"So that's a yes."

"Yeah, I guess so. Yes."

Logan closed his eyes. His hand rested on Weevil's chest. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too."