VM Fic: Like Blood and Alcohol (Logan, Weevil) R
Title: Like Blood and Alcohol
Author: Shealynn88
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1500 words
Warnings/Spoilers: excessive use of the 'f' word. Blood.
Characters: Logan, Weevil (references to Logan/Veronica)
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Every month, it seemed like, Echolls came in and razzed him about this torch he was supposed to be holding for Veronica, and it eventually devolved into random taunts about his mother, his sister, his grandmother, and the strange acts he supposedly performed on his dog and his motorcycle.
Future!fic set generally post-Not Pictured, with no spoilers.
Author's Note: Written for buffyx's UC Pairings Challenge, for __tiana__, who requested Weevil/Mac or Weevil/Logan, platonic, with Weevil's motorcycle and no V/Duncan shippiness, no Logan/not!Veronica, and no Beaver. I took her comment, Hell, Weevil/Logan can fight the whole time if you want, to heart. :)
My apologies that Weevil's bike is not more central to the story.
Weevil slid another tequila across the bar, swiping at the trailing condensation with a rag and wondering when the hell Echolls was going to get to the fucking point.
"…maybe it's just meant to be this way, you know? Off again, on again, just like it's been with everybody, like, ever. I mean, what the fuck? I've got money, I've got a mansion, I'm a good lay…" He spread his hands wide, almost spilling his drink, and Weevil rolled his eyes.
"It's not the end of the world, man. She broke up with you-how many times, now?"
"Seven."
"Exactly. So, give it a week and she'll come back to your sorry ass, and you can go back to your classy bars and leave me the fuck alone."
Logan grinned, his eyes shining. He was drunk and looking for a good time. Which, in Weevil's experience, meant taunting him. "Whatsa matter, Weevil? You'd think you weren't glad to have me and my money in this shithole. Is it cause you're jealous? Cause you can't stand hearing about how she keeps coming back?"
Weevil leaned forward, sick of the routine. Every month, it seemed like, Echolls came in and razzed him about this torch he was supposed to be holding for Veronica, and it eventually devolved into random taunts about his mother, his sister, his grandmother, and the strange acts he supposedly performed on his dog and his motorcycle.
Weevil set his elbows on the bar and spoke slowly. "Maybe I think she'd be better off without your drunken ass."
Echolls' jaw tightened, and Weevil wondered if that was really all it took to tip him over the edge from annoying to downright mean.
"Maybe," Logan said in a low voice, "I don't give a shit what you think."
Weevil didn't move. "Maybe you don't. But you come here, I'm gonna tell you anyway. Isn't that what bartenders on the wrong side of town are for?"
Logan's teeth grated, and Weevil wondered why the hell he was pushing this. It was stupid and it was macho and it was going to get him in trouble. But he was sick of seeing Echolls freak out all the time when he had the best thing going in Neptune. It made Weevil sick to watch it, and it made him itch for a change.
Something was gonna give. He really hoped it was gonna be Echolls.
"Maybe I think that, if you can't keep her, you don't deserve her in the first place. Your ass should end up on the curb for good, and this should be the last fucking time you come here crying to me that your life is shit without her. You know? Maybe she'd be better off with someone else. Someone who has the guts and the brains to go after her, and not be so scared shitless that he bails every time it gets serious."
Logan leaned forward until Weevil could smell the tequila on his breath. "Someone like you, amigo?" he asked dangerously.
Weevil smiled. "Maybe."
Logan stood up and his bar stool hit the floor with a sharp crack that had the other patrons-all three of them-suddenly interested. Weevil took his eye off Logan just long enough to make sure no one was going to start a brawl, and Logan took a wild swing at him.
It connected just hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to split Weevil's lip against his teeth and make him taste blood. And he realized, too late, that this was what the itch had been.
Rage boiled over his skin and made him see red. Made him want blood.
He couldn't. He knew he couldn't-he'd fuck up his parole and end up in a cell. Again. And Christ knew, he didn't want that.
But rage is a funny thing, and the idea of watching blood flow down that pretty face was just too much.
He hit Logan while the dumb fuck was still laughing, and watched his cheek open up under the ring Weevil had on his index finger. Logan looked up, and for the first time in a long time, he looked sober. And seriously pissed off.
If Logan really had been sober, the leap across the bar might have been smooth, like something out of one of his father's movies. As it was, it was more of a pathetic scramble, and Weevil had plenty of time to get out of the way.
He headed toward the back of the bar, hoping to get out before they ruined the glassware or the tables, which Mitch would no doubt be taking out of his paycheck. If he was still looking at one, after this. But, still, it paid to think of the future.
Would've paid a bit more if he'd thought of it before he'd hit Echolls…but still. In theory, it was a good habit.
Unfortunately, Echolls didn't seem too worried about the fate of the glassware. Or, at least, not about it's survival. No, he seemed much more interested in lobbing the heavier beer glasses at Weevil's head.
He didn't have great aim, but Weevil picked up the pace anyway, skidding around the edge of the bar and out the back door…only to remember that his bike was chained to the grid in the back, and the only thing he wanted damaged less than the bar was his brand new Harley.
Weevil turned to head back inside for the inevitable confrontation, but Logan was already at the door.
"Going for a quick getaway, Weevil?" he asked, eyeing the bike.
Weevil raised an eyebrow. "From your pansy punches? Please." He shifted away from the bike and hoped Logan would be drunk enough to follow his lead. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he could take the kid down. Logan might have a few inches on him, but Weevil was sober, and he fought dirty.
He definitely had the upper hand when Logan first closed in on him. A lucky punch in the ribs hurt a little, but Logan danced away with blood dripping sluggishly from one nostril, and Weevil laughed. "You can stop any time, you know. I already know you're a pussy."
Logan just grinned, and danced around in that pansy-ass way of his. "Oh, no-I'm just getting started!"
When Echolls bent to pick something up, Weevil wondered if he'd missed something and the first hint of worry knotting in his belly. When it turned out to be a length of two-by-four, the knot got bigger.
This was gonna hurt.
Weevil took another hit to the ribs and doubled over briefly, hoping nothing was broken.
Damn.
It was Logan's turn to laugh, and he danced around like a drunken-fucking-fairy, which gave Weevil an opportunity to get in a quick one-two to the body before Logan pushed him and took a whack at his head as he fell.
Logan missed, which was almost worse.
Weevil winced when he heard the ting of wood on metal, and looked over to find a good sized dent in the exhaust pipe of the Harley, and the two-by-four being reversed in his general direction.
Fuck.
He rolled away and grabbed for something to throw. There was always something nasty here near the dumpster. He just hoped he didn't stab himself with some junkie's needle in his search for ammo.
Finally, he scrabbled together enough dirt and coffee grounds and unidentifiable bits to make a decent pile, and threw them in Logan's direction as he scrambled to his feet.
Logan stumbled back in surprise and Weevil took advantage. His fist caught Logan on the jaw and Logan's feet went out from under him, arms whirl-winding for a long moment. As he fell, the two-by-four caught Weevil on the knee and brought him down, too.
They both lay flat on their backs for a long moment.
I'm getting too old for this shit, Weevil thought, trying to catch his breath and ignore the sharp pain in his leg. He hoped Logan didn't want another round, because he wasn't sure he was up to it. At the very least, the two-by-four was gonna have to go.
He was just considering getting up and limping back to the bar when Logan opened his mouth.
"So, I was thinking about what you said."
Weevil glanced over at where Logan was lying on the pavement. "Yeah, what's that?"
"About bailing, you know, when it gets serious."
Weevil looked back up. "Okay."
"You might have a point."
"Really?" Weevil asked sarcastically.
Logan didn't seem to notice. "Yeah. I mean, maybe I should be trying to make it up to her, instead of coming to your skanky-ass bar and drowning my fucking sorrows."
Weevil chuckled, trying not to move anything that hurt. It didn't work. "Good idea, man."
"Yeah." Logan smiled and sat up with a groan.
Weevil didn't bother to follow suit. "So, since I've made you come to your senses, you mind keeping this to yourself?"
Logan looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Yeah. Whatever. Anyway, if this doesn't work? I'm gonna need you to serve tequila and put on bad '80's music."
Weevil started to get up, stopping when his ribs protested. He sighed. "It's a deal."
Author: Shealynn88
Rating: R
Word Count: ~1500 words
Warnings/Spoilers: excessive use of the 'f' word. Blood.
Characters: Logan, Weevil (references to Logan/Veronica)
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: Every month, it seemed like, Echolls came in and razzed him about this torch he was supposed to be holding for Veronica, and it eventually devolved into random taunts about his mother, his sister, his grandmother, and the strange acts he supposedly performed on his dog and his motorcycle.
Future!fic set generally post-Not Pictured, with no spoilers.
Author's Note: Written for buffyx's UC Pairings Challenge, for __tiana__, who requested Weevil/Mac or Weevil/Logan, platonic, with Weevil's motorcycle and no V/Duncan shippiness, no Logan/not!Veronica, and no Beaver. I took her comment, Hell, Weevil/Logan can fight the whole time if you want, to heart. :)
My apologies that Weevil's bike is not more central to the story.
Weevil slid another tequila across the bar, swiping at the trailing condensation with a rag and wondering when the hell Echolls was going to get to the fucking point.
"…maybe it's just meant to be this way, you know? Off again, on again, just like it's been with everybody, like, ever. I mean, what the fuck? I've got money, I've got a mansion, I'm a good lay…" He spread his hands wide, almost spilling his drink, and Weevil rolled his eyes.
"It's not the end of the world, man. She broke up with you-how many times, now?"
"Seven."
"Exactly. So, give it a week and she'll come back to your sorry ass, and you can go back to your classy bars and leave me the fuck alone."
Logan grinned, his eyes shining. He was drunk and looking for a good time. Which, in Weevil's experience, meant taunting him. "Whatsa matter, Weevil? You'd think you weren't glad to have me and my money in this shithole. Is it cause you're jealous? Cause you can't stand hearing about how she keeps coming back?"
Weevil leaned forward, sick of the routine. Every month, it seemed like, Echolls came in and razzed him about this torch he was supposed to be holding for Veronica, and it eventually devolved into random taunts about his mother, his sister, his grandmother, and the strange acts he supposedly performed on his dog and his motorcycle.
Weevil set his elbows on the bar and spoke slowly. "Maybe I think she'd be better off without your drunken ass."
Echolls' jaw tightened, and Weevil wondered if that was really all it took to tip him over the edge from annoying to downright mean.
"Maybe," Logan said in a low voice, "I don't give a shit what you think."
Weevil didn't move. "Maybe you don't. But you come here, I'm gonna tell you anyway. Isn't that what bartenders on the wrong side of town are for?"
Logan's teeth grated, and Weevil wondered why the hell he was pushing this. It was stupid and it was macho and it was going to get him in trouble. But he was sick of seeing Echolls freak out all the time when he had the best thing going in Neptune. It made Weevil sick to watch it, and it made him itch for a change.
Something was gonna give. He really hoped it was gonna be Echolls.
"Maybe I think that, if you can't keep her, you don't deserve her in the first place. Your ass should end up on the curb for good, and this should be the last fucking time you come here crying to me that your life is shit without her. You know? Maybe she'd be better off with someone else. Someone who has the guts and the brains to go after her, and not be so scared shitless that he bails every time it gets serious."
Logan leaned forward until Weevil could smell the tequila on his breath. "Someone like you, amigo?" he asked dangerously.
Weevil smiled. "Maybe."
Logan stood up and his bar stool hit the floor with a sharp crack that had the other patrons-all three of them-suddenly interested. Weevil took his eye off Logan just long enough to make sure no one was going to start a brawl, and Logan took a wild swing at him.
It connected just hard enough to bruise, just hard enough to split Weevil's lip against his teeth and make him taste blood. And he realized, too late, that this was what the itch had been.
Rage boiled over his skin and made him see red. Made him want blood.
He couldn't. He knew he couldn't-he'd fuck up his parole and end up in a cell. Again. And Christ knew, he didn't want that.
But rage is a funny thing, and the idea of watching blood flow down that pretty face was just too much.
He hit Logan while the dumb fuck was still laughing, and watched his cheek open up under the ring Weevil had on his index finger. Logan looked up, and for the first time in a long time, he looked sober. And seriously pissed off.
If Logan really had been sober, the leap across the bar might have been smooth, like something out of one of his father's movies. As it was, it was more of a pathetic scramble, and Weevil had plenty of time to get out of the way.
He headed toward the back of the bar, hoping to get out before they ruined the glassware or the tables, which Mitch would no doubt be taking out of his paycheck. If he was still looking at one, after this. But, still, it paid to think of the future.
Would've paid a bit more if he'd thought of it before he'd hit Echolls…but still. In theory, it was a good habit.
Unfortunately, Echolls didn't seem too worried about the fate of the glassware. Or, at least, not about it's survival. No, he seemed much more interested in lobbing the heavier beer glasses at Weevil's head.
He didn't have great aim, but Weevil picked up the pace anyway, skidding around the edge of the bar and out the back door…only to remember that his bike was chained to the grid in the back, and the only thing he wanted damaged less than the bar was his brand new Harley.
Weevil turned to head back inside for the inevitable confrontation, but Logan was already at the door.
"Going for a quick getaway, Weevil?" he asked, eyeing the bike.
Weevil raised an eyebrow. "From your pansy punches? Please." He shifted away from the bike and hoped Logan would be drunk enough to follow his lead. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he could take the kid down. Logan might have a few inches on him, but Weevil was sober, and he fought dirty.
He definitely had the upper hand when Logan first closed in on him. A lucky punch in the ribs hurt a little, but Logan danced away with blood dripping sluggishly from one nostril, and Weevil laughed. "You can stop any time, you know. I already know you're a pussy."
Logan just grinned, and danced around in that pansy-ass way of his. "Oh, no-I'm just getting started!"
When Echolls bent to pick something up, Weevil wondered if he'd missed something and the first hint of worry knotting in his belly. When it turned out to be a length of two-by-four, the knot got bigger.
This was gonna hurt.
Weevil took another hit to the ribs and doubled over briefly, hoping nothing was broken.
Damn.
It was Logan's turn to laugh, and he danced around like a drunken-fucking-fairy, which gave Weevil an opportunity to get in a quick one-two to the body before Logan pushed him and took a whack at his head as he fell.
Logan missed, which was almost worse.
Weevil winced when he heard the ting of wood on metal, and looked over to find a good sized dent in the exhaust pipe of the Harley, and the two-by-four being reversed in his general direction.
Fuck.
He rolled away and grabbed for something to throw. There was always something nasty here near the dumpster. He just hoped he didn't stab himself with some junkie's needle in his search for ammo.
Finally, he scrabbled together enough dirt and coffee grounds and unidentifiable bits to make a decent pile, and threw them in Logan's direction as he scrambled to his feet.
Logan stumbled back in surprise and Weevil took advantage. His fist caught Logan on the jaw and Logan's feet went out from under him, arms whirl-winding for a long moment. As he fell, the two-by-four caught Weevil on the knee and brought him down, too.
They both lay flat on their backs for a long moment.
I'm getting too old for this shit, Weevil thought, trying to catch his breath and ignore the sharp pain in his leg. He hoped Logan didn't want another round, because he wasn't sure he was up to it. At the very least, the two-by-four was gonna have to go.
He was just considering getting up and limping back to the bar when Logan opened his mouth.
"So, I was thinking about what you said."
Weevil glanced over at where Logan was lying on the pavement. "Yeah, what's that?"
"About bailing, you know, when it gets serious."
Weevil looked back up. "Okay."
"You might have a point."
"Really?" Weevil asked sarcastically.
Logan didn't seem to notice. "Yeah. I mean, maybe I should be trying to make it up to her, instead of coming to your skanky-ass bar and drowning my fucking sorrows."
Weevil chuckled, trying not to move anything that hurt. It didn't work. "Good idea, man."
"Yeah." Logan smiled and sat up with a groan.
Weevil didn't bother to follow suit. "So, since I've made you come to your senses, you mind keeping this to yourself?"
Logan looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. "Yeah. Whatever. Anyway, if this doesn't work? I'm gonna need you to serve tequila and put on bad '80's music."
Weevil started to get up, stopping when his ribs protested. He sighed. "It's a deal."