"Veronica Mars" again
Oh, let's be honest. When is it not "Veronica Mars," really?
Anyway. This is the first part of a piece of VM fanfiction I started earlier this year. It was made a bit obsolete by this season's finale, so I took some time to rework it, as well as finish it up . . . So here's part one, version 2.0, of "Lately."
Apologies to those of you who don't care, and thanks to those who have shown continued interest.
Part One
The best Logan could say for himself was that it wasn’t a desire to relive the halcyon days of his youth that’d caused him to return to Neptune. Instead, it was a phone call from his lawyer, informing him that a small fortune was sitting in Neptune Bank & Trust under one of his father’s favored pseudonyms, just waiting to be claimed.
It wasn’t exactly a pleasant surprise. While Logan wouldn’t dream of turning down free money, he thought he’d washed his hands of his father long ago. Everything his father represented, everything Neptune represented, was something Logan had tried to distance himself from over the years. Dragging it all up now, just for a little extra inheritance-it hardly seemed worth the effort.
Logan got out of his Cayenne Turbo, which was still new enough to smell of precious German leather, and was seized with the exquisite relief of finally stretching one’s limbs after long hours of travel. He shook out the collar of his shirt and pushed the car door shut.
He moseyed over to the pump and deftly slid the nozzle into his tank, leaning against the side of the car while the numbers on the machine rattled ever upwards. As he watched the price of a full tank tally up, he noticed a sign taped over the credit card panel on the pump: “Machine Out Of Order Please Pay Inside”
So when the pump shut off and he’d twisted his gas cap back on, Logan went into the cramped convenience store. As he approached the counter, he was met with the unpleasant sight of an obscenely obese woman bending over to scold an equally porky child. But as they turned and waddled away, he was met with a sight that sent a chill over the back of his neck before a smug smile bloomed on his lips.
“Well, well, look who it is.”
Eli Navarro looked up with an expression of precise disinterest. He seemed not to recognize Logan.
Logan found this particularly irritating. “Oh, Weevil, you’ve really exceeded all our expectations. Instead of pumping my gas you’re selling it to me.” Then it seemed to dawn on Weevil just who he was looking at. Logan held out his credit card and said, “Pump 3, amigo.”
Weevil shoved the register shut with a clang and jerked Logan’s card out of his hand.
“Careful with that,” Logan said. “Don’t want your dirty fingerprints all over it.”
“Glad to see nothing’s changed since high school, pendejo,” Weevil said with a sneer.
Logan flashed Weevil a sharp grin. “Tell me, did you ever graduate from high school?””
“Why, you gonna miss me at the next reunion?”
“Only if you’re planning on setting the reception on fire.”
Weevil laughed. It was a dry, harsh laugh. “Ah, the good old days.”
“Yeah, nothing like a little arson to bring up fond memories. Can I pay you, or are you holding my card hostage?”
Weevil slid the receipt across the counter and Logan took up a pen, scrawling his signature across the line. Weevil passed him his credit card and the second receipt, which Logan tucked into his wallet before turning to go. As he walked towards the door, Weevil said, “Yeah, nice to see you again, too, rich boy,” but Logan didn’t bother turning back to respond.
Back in the Porsche, though, he sat still for several minutes, unable to bring himself to turn over the engine. He sat there, paralyzed, until a Camry came up behind him and honked irately. As Logan pulled out onto the street, he mused how easy it really was to fall back into his old patterns.
When Eli arrived home, he retrieved the mail from the mailbox in the lobby and walked up to his apartment. When he’d finished serving his time, he determined to get his life on track. The fact that this primarily entailed enrolling in community college for a couple years and taking a managerial position at the Gas & Sip didn’t bother him much. He even took charge of his brothers after their grandmother died. But when his youngest brother, Allejo, graduated high school last year, Eli decided he couldn’t afford to be supporting them anymore. So he sold his grandmother’s house, the house of his childhood, and used the money to buy a little apartment closer to the auto shop where he worked part-time. The neighborhood wasn’t bad, equidistant to the mall and the Seventh Veil, and the building was nice, the other residents mostly small families and young couples. It was strange for the place to be so quiet all the time, so Eli bought himself a dog and picked up some extra hours at the auto shop. All in all, it wasn’t a bad life-quiet, but all right.
Eli flicked on the lights and dropped his mail on the table-nothing but bills and a swimsuit catalog. He put the catalog aside for perusal later and let Brutus out of the bedroom. The puppy skittered towards him and clamped his teeth over the hem of Eli’s pants. Eli bent down to extricate the fabric before retrieving Brutus’ leash and latching it onto his collar.
When they returned from their walk, Eli fed the dog and heated up some leftovers for dinner. Dog and master sat on the couch with a beer after dinner. Eli fell asleep watching “Hair-Trigger” on TBS, his dirty dishes still on the table, Brutus a comfortable weight on his chest.
Curiously, checking into the Neptune Grand didn’t feel much like coming home.
The concierge showed him into his room and, within minutes, Logan was already itching to get the hell out of there. So he did the only thing he could think of: He called Veronica Mars.
She picked up after the fifth ring. “Hey, Ronnie,” he said.
For a moment the line was quiet. “Logan.”
“The one and only.”
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’m in Neptune on business, thought I’d look up my estranged high school sweetheart.”
“How very ‘Grosse Pointe Blank’,” she said.
“So, dinner?” he prompted.
She considered quietly for a moment. “All right.”
“Can I pick you up in half an hour?”
“I’ll see you then.”
They hung up, and Logan wasted no time changing his clothes and heading for Veronica’s apartment.
As he drove down the familiar streets, Logan let his thoughts wander to Veronica. Their relationship these days was strained, but oddly civil. They met for dinner whenever their paths crossed. Maybe they’d done a little bit of growing up in the years since they’d split up, or maybe it was just the same games all over again. After all, the friendship they enjoyed relied heavily on the unspoken promise that they would never seriously discuss the past-or anything of consequence, for that matter. He ignored the fact that she always sounded like she was talking to him against her better judgment and she ignored the fact that he couldn’t keep the longing for her out of his voice.
It wasn’t that he was still in love with her . . . No, he’d learned his lesson long ago. But he couldn’t help holding their relationship up as the untouchable ideal. Regardless of the way everything had eventually gone to shit, no other romance before or since had even been quite so perfect.
She opened the door wearing a neat black dress.
“Very nice,” he said, opting to state the obvious.
“Thanks.”
They exited her building in silence and he held her door for her before getting into the car, himself. The silence in the car was so patently awkward that he was considering turning on the radio when Veronica finally spoke.
“So, where are we going?”
“How’s In & Out sound?” Somehow, she didn’t seem to think this was funny. “Or we could go to El Toro Bravo. Is that place still open?”
“No,” she said.
“In that case, I’m out of ideas.”
“I know a place. Turn left here.”
He followed her directions to a dim little French restaurant, and they got a table quickly. The menu was pretentious and overpriced, but the food, when it arrived, was actually surprisingly good.
“So what’re you up to these days, Ronnie?” he asked. She fell quiet, and he began to feel his shoulders tense. “Life that dull?”
“I’m engaged.”
Sure enough she was wearing a discrete diamond ring on her left hand. Against all reason, something in his gut turned to stone. He wasn’t in love with Veronica, and it wasn’t a case of the lady protesting too much. It killed him sometimes to think about, but things would never have worked out between them, no matter how many times they tried. But the thought of her with someone else . . . He wished he didn’t have to know.
“That’s-congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“What are you doing?” she asked lamely. Looking at her through the hazy light of the restaurant, he figured there wasn’t any point in pulling any punches any more.
“Oh, you know,” he replied. “Rehab.” Before she could do anything more than raise her eyebrows, he continued. “If you can believe it, Trina talked me into it. She went a couple of years ago - same place Tara Reid went - and she just loved it. She’s rehab’s biggest advocate these days. She talks it up like it’s a fucking health spa. Her hobby these days is staging interventions. It was only a matter of time before she turned her eye on me.”
The disapproval was obvious on Veronica’s face, and it was also obvious she was trying very hard not to sound too judgmental. “So how’s that working out?”
“I really couldn’t say. One day at a time, as they say. So I try and keep busy.” He cut into his veal with relish. “I find seducing the pool boys works admirably. Also the landscapers.”
“How’s work?”
“Just dandy. Not as dandy as the yard boys, but permissible.”
“The paper’s really come a long way.”
“You actually report real news these days?”
“On occasion,” she said dryly.
“What about your dad? He still doing the daring detective thing?”
“Of course. Alicia tried to get him to run for Sheriff again last election, but he wouldn’t do it.”
“Fair enough.”
“And, anyway, the PI business is much more lucrative than being sheriff.”
“I guess it’s always a good time to mine the seedy underbelly of Neptune.” The Register might be reporting actual news, but things couldn’t have changed much in Neptune. It wasn’t a town he’d be particularly proud to call home.
“Never been a better time. There’s a lot going on right now. Keeps both of us busy, really.”
“Not too busy to land yourself a husband, though.”
The cool silence he was met with, combined with the sensation in his chest as if his lungs were filling with water, made him think better of pushing the topic of her romantic life any further.
After dropping Veronica off at her apartment, Logan relaxed in his seat and listened to the smooth hum of the engine, pausing for a moment to take stock of the situation. He leaned his forehead against the cool window and closed his eyes, breathing in the chill ozone smell of conditioned air. By all accounts, that date had been an absolute disaster, even worse than the train wreck he’d prepared himself for. He rubbed his hands over his hair and sat up straight. As he pulled away from the curb, he decided there was only one thing left to do.
It was funny, actually. He couldn’t remember for the life of him where he’d parked his car. And he was pretty sure that the last time he’d been down this street-or the time before that, for that matter-the pavement hadn’t been swaying under his feet.
He uncapped his bottle inside the paper bag and took a swallow while he waited to remember just where the hell he’d parked his car.
After a couple more swallows, Logan got tired of waiting, and set off down the street. He didn’t know what he was doing, just figured he’d walk until he got somewhere. He passed an auto shop and a five-and-dime, and had just stopped in front of a movie theater, considering slipping inside and getting drunk in the cool dark of the theater, when he noticed something much better.
Weevil Navarro was standing at the street corner, his bald head haloed by the red light from the theater’s marquee. He held the leash of a fat puppy that was currently pissing on a fire hydrant.
“Well, if it isn’t dog and boy in a johnnypump,” Logan called out.
Weevil looked up in surprise. “Echolls?”
“The one and only,” Logan said, and then laughed, because it was true.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What is it with you people? Do you all have the same writer, or what?” He leaned back, his hands spread in an expression of incredulity-But he lost hold of the neck of his bottle, and it shattered on the concrete. Logan stumbled back a little, leaning against a newspaper box for support. “Whoops.”
“You all right, man?” Weevil asked, approaching Logan cautiously.
“I am great!” He tried to step over to Weevil, but lost his balance. He made a grab for the paper box, which helped, and he leaned back again. But he was slipping down, down, until he was sitting on the sidewalk, Weevil looming over him. The dog barked at him and bit at his shoe.
He heard Weevil say, “Shit, man,” and then a dusky hand extended into his field of vision. He took the hand and was pulled upright again. He stood there, swaying comfortably back and forth. “You can’t even stand.”
“Sure I can.”
“You’re about to fall over.”
“No, no-I like it. Like being on a yacht. It’s all right.”
Weevil snorted. “Can’t leave you out here like this,” he muttered, and put a warm arm around Logan’s middle. “C’mon, I live right around the corner.”
“Wait,” Logan said, trying to twist around in Weevil’s arms, looking back over his shoulder, “I left my-” He noticed the wet paper bag on the concrete and chuckled. “Never mind.”
He let Weevil guide him down the street, leaning into him just to make it harder for him. The dog trotted in front of them like a chipper scout. Weevil’s chest was warm and he smelled like sweat and dryer sheets. The scent washed over Logan and made him suddenly very sleepy.
“Ever brought such a good-looking fella home before?” Logan asked, as they clambered up the stairs to Weevils apartment.
“No,” Weevil said, and unlocked the door. Logan was promptly deposited in the bathroom, where he leaned over the sink, not sick but grateful for the still, cool porcelain fixtures.
He closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against the tank of the toilet, and maybe he fell asleep for a minute, or maybe he didn’t. He listened to someone moving around beyond the bathroom door. Logan looked around the room, but couldn’t remember whose it was or what he was doing here. Then there was a noise behind him, and he turned around to see Weevil standing over him. Logan smiled. “That’s right,” he said, “it’s you.”
Eli sighed, already regretting his decision to take Logan in. “Yeah, me,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Yep.”
“Think you’re gonna throw up?”
“Mm, nope.” Logan’s legs flopped over the tiled floor.
“OK, c’mon, then, get up.”
“No can do, compadre,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Can’t move my legs.”
Eli snorted and leaned down, putting his hands under Logan’s armpits and lifting him bodily to his feet. Logan collapsed against him and put his arms around Eli’s shoulders. He took a step back, unbalancing Eli and sending the two of them back against the sink. To Eli’s shock, Logan leaned back and shoved his hips against Eli’s own. He started to push Logan away, but Logan tightened his arms around Eli’s neck, pulling him so close that he could feel the heat between Logan’s legs pressing against him. When Logan started to grind himself on Eli’s leg, it was the most he could do to brace himself against the mirror and keep from falling over.
He didn’t know what was the matter with him, couldn’t gather his thoughts enough to understand why he didn’t just push Logan away and throw him out. Maybe it had to do with the desperate sounds that were falling out of Logan’s open mouth. Or maybe the searing pleasure that was working its way up and down his spine left him too hot to move. In another minute, it didn’t matter, because Eli was coming where he stood, Logan writhing against him in the last stages of orgasm.
“Fuck,” Eli breathed, his head bowed, his chest heaving.
Logan’s whole body relaxed underneath his, and Eli heard him say, “Oh, yeah.”
Another few moments passed in silence. When he finally thought his thighs had stopped trembling, Eli stepped back and surveyed Logan. He wished he hadn’t looked. Logan was a mess, his suit wrinkled, tie askew, half-closed eyes dark. His mouth was hanging open with his breathing, and his lower lip looked so perfectly round and soft that Eli couldn’t stop another shudder of heat from going through him.
“You better be gone by morning,” he said and walked quickly out of the bathroom.
Anyway. This is the first part of a piece of VM fanfiction I started earlier this year. It was made a bit obsolete by this season's finale, so I took some time to rework it, as well as finish it up . . . So here's part one, version 2.0, of "Lately."
Apologies to those of you who don't care, and thanks to those who have shown continued interest.
Part One
The best Logan could say for himself was that it wasn’t a desire to relive the halcyon days of his youth that’d caused him to return to Neptune. Instead, it was a phone call from his lawyer, informing him that a small fortune was sitting in Neptune Bank & Trust under one of his father’s favored pseudonyms, just waiting to be claimed.
It wasn’t exactly a pleasant surprise. While Logan wouldn’t dream of turning down free money, he thought he’d washed his hands of his father long ago. Everything his father represented, everything Neptune represented, was something Logan had tried to distance himself from over the years. Dragging it all up now, just for a little extra inheritance-it hardly seemed worth the effort.
Logan got out of his Cayenne Turbo, which was still new enough to smell of precious German leather, and was seized with the exquisite relief of finally stretching one’s limbs after long hours of travel. He shook out the collar of his shirt and pushed the car door shut.
He moseyed over to the pump and deftly slid the nozzle into his tank, leaning against the side of the car while the numbers on the machine rattled ever upwards. As he watched the price of a full tank tally up, he noticed a sign taped over the credit card panel on the pump: “Machine Out Of Order Please Pay Inside”
So when the pump shut off and he’d twisted his gas cap back on, Logan went into the cramped convenience store. As he approached the counter, he was met with the unpleasant sight of an obscenely obese woman bending over to scold an equally porky child. But as they turned and waddled away, he was met with a sight that sent a chill over the back of his neck before a smug smile bloomed on his lips.
“Well, well, look who it is.”
Eli Navarro looked up with an expression of precise disinterest. He seemed not to recognize Logan.
Logan found this particularly irritating. “Oh, Weevil, you’ve really exceeded all our expectations. Instead of pumping my gas you’re selling it to me.” Then it seemed to dawn on Weevil just who he was looking at. Logan held out his credit card and said, “Pump 3, amigo.”
Weevil shoved the register shut with a clang and jerked Logan’s card out of his hand.
“Careful with that,” Logan said. “Don’t want your dirty fingerprints all over it.”
“Glad to see nothing’s changed since high school, pendejo,” Weevil said with a sneer.
Logan flashed Weevil a sharp grin. “Tell me, did you ever graduate from high school?””
“Why, you gonna miss me at the next reunion?”
“Only if you’re planning on setting the reception on fire.”
Weevil laughed. It was a dry, harsh laugh. “Ah, the good old days.”
“Yeah, nothing like a little arson to bring up fond memories. Can I pay you, or are you holding my card hostage?”
Weevil slid the receipt across the counter and Logan took up a pen, scrawling his signature across the line. Weevil passed him his credit card and the second receipt, which Logan tucked into his wallet before turning to go. As he walked towards the door, Weevil said, “Yeah, nice to see you again, too, rich boy,” but Logan didn’t bother turning back to respond.
Back in the Porsche, though, he sat still for several minutes, unable to bring himself to turn over the engine. He sat there, paralyzed, until a Camry came up behind him and honked irately. As Logan pulled out onto the street, he mused how easy it really was to fall back into his old patterns.
When Eli arrived home, he retrieved the mail from the mailbox in the lobby and walked up to his apartment. When he’d finished serving his time, he determined to get his life on track. The fact that this primarily entailed enrolling in community college for a couple years and taking a managerial position at the Gas & Sip didn’t bother him much. He even took charge of his brothers after their grandmother died. But when his youngest brother, Allejo, graduated high school last year, Eli decided he couldn’t afford to be supporting them anymore. So he sold his grandmother’s house, the house of his childhood, and used the money to buy a little apartment closer to the auto shop where he worked part-time. The neighborhood wasn’t bad, equidistant to the mall and the Seventh Veil, and the building was nice, the other residents mostly small families and young couples. It was strange for the place to be so quiet all the time, so Eli bought himself a dog and picked up some extra hours at the auto shop. All in all, it wasn’t a bad life-quiet, but all right.
Eli flicked on the lights and dropped his mail on the table-nothing but bills and a swimsuit catalog. He put the catalog aside for perusal later and let Brutus out of the bedroom. The puppy skittered towards him and clamped his teeth over the hem of Eli’s pants. Eli bent down to extricate the fabric before retrieving Brutus’ leash and latching it onto his collar.
When they returned from their walk, Eli fed the dog and heated up some leftovers for dinner. Dog and master sat on the couch with a beer after dinner. Eli fell asleep watching “Hair-Trigger” on TBS, his dirty dishes still on the table, Brutus a comfortable weight on his chest.
Curiously, checking into the Neptune Grand didn’t feel much like coming home.
The concierge showed him into his room and, within minutes, Logan was already itching to get the hell out of there. So he did the only thing he could think of: He called Veronica Mars.
She picked up after the fifth ring. “Hey, Ronnie,” he said.
For a moment the line was quiet. “Logan.”
“The one and only.”
“To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I’m in Neptune on business, thought I’d look up my estranged high school sweetheart.”
“How very ‘Grosse Pointe Blank’,” she said.
“So, dinner?” he prompted.
She considered quietly for a moment. “All right.”
“Can I pick you up in half an hour?”
“I’ll see you then.”
They hung up, and Logan wasted no time changing his clothes and heading for Veronica’s apartment.
As he drove down the familiar streets, Logan let his thoughts wander to Veronica. Their relationship these days was strained, but oddly civil. They met for dinner whenever their paths crossed. Maybe they’d done a little bit of growing up in the years since they’d split up, or maybe it was just the same games all over again. After all, the friendship they enjoyed relied heavily on the unspoken promise that they would never seriously discuss the past-or anything of consequence, for that matter. He ignored the fact that she always sounded like she was talking to him against her better judgment and she ignored the fact that he couldn’t keep the longing for her out of his voice.
It wasn’t that he was still in love with her . . . No, he’d learned his lesson long ago. But he couldn’t help holding their relationship up as the untouchable ideal. Regardless of the way everything had eventually gone to shit, no other romance before or since had even been quite so perfect.
She opened the door wearing a neat black dress.
“Very nice,” he said, opting to state the obvious.
“Thanks.”
They exited her building in silence and he held her door for her before getting into the car, himself. The silence in the car was so patently awkward that he was considering turning on the radio when Veronica finally spoke.
“So, where are we going?”
“How’s In & Out sound?” Somehow, she didn’t seem to think this was funny. “Or we could go to El Toro Bravo. Is that place still open?”
“No,” she said.
“In that case, I’m out of ideas.”
“I know a place. Turn left here.”
He followed her directions to a dim little French restaurant, and they got a table quickly. The menu was pretentious and overpriced, but the food, when it arrived, was actually surprisingly good.
“So what’re you up to these days, Ronnie?” he asked. She fell quiet, and he began to feel his shoulders tense. “Life that dull?”
“I’m engaged.”
Sure enough she was wearing a discrete diamond ring on her left hand. Against all reason, something in his gut turned to stone. He wasn’t in love with Veronica, and it wasn’t a case of the lady protesting too much. It killed him sometimes to think about, but things would never have worked out between them, no matter how many times they tried. But the thought of her with someone else . . . He wished he didn’t have to know.
“That’s-congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“What are you doing?” she asked lamely. Looking at her through the hazy light of the restaurant, he figured there wasn’t any point in pulling any punches any more.
“Oh, you know,” he replied. “Rehab.” Before she could do anything more than raise her eyebrows, he continued. “If you can believe it, Trina talked me into it. She went a couple of years ago - same place Tara Reid went - and she just loved it. She’s rehab’s biggest advocate these days. She talks it up like it’s a fucking health spa. Her hobby these days is staging interventions. It was only a matter of time before she turned her eye on me.”
The disapproval was obvious on Veronica’s face, and it was also obvious she was trying very hard not to sound too judgmental. “So how’s that working out?”
“I really couldn’t say. One day at a time, as they say. So I try and keep busy.” He cut into his veal with relish. “I find seducing the pool boys works admirably. Also the landscapers.”
“How’s work?”
“Just dandy. Not as dandy as the yard boys, but permissible.”
“The paper’s really come a long way.”
“You actually report real news these days?”
“On occasion,” she said dryly.
“What about your dad? He still doing the daring detective thing?”
“Of course. Alicia tried to get him to run for Sheriff again last election, but he wouldn’t do it.”
“Fair enough.”
“And, anyway, the PI business is much more lucrative than being sheriff.”
“I guess it’s always a good time to mine the seedy underbelly of Neptune.” The Register might be reporting actual news, but things couldn’t have changed much in Neptune. It wasn’t a town he’d be particularly proud to call home.
“Never been a better time. There’s a lot going on right now. Keeps both of us busy, really.”
“Not too busy to land yourself a husband, though.”
The cool silence he was met with, combined with the sensation in his chest as if his lungs were filling with water, made him think better of pushing the topic of her romantic life any further.
After dropping Veronica off at her apartment, Logan relaxed in his seat and listened to the smooth hum of the engine, pausing for a moment to take stock of the situation. He leaned his forehead against the cool window and closed his eyes, breathing in the chill ozone smell of conditioned air. By all accounts, that date had been an absolute disaster, even worse than the train wreck he’d prepared himself for. He rubbed his hands over his hair and sat up straight. As he pulled away from the curb, he decided there was only one thing left to do.
It was funny, actually. He couldn’t remember for the life of him where he’d parked his car. And he was pretty sure that the last time he’d been down this street-or the time before that, for that matter-the pavement hadn’t been swaying under his feet.
He uncapped his bottle inside the paper bag and took a swallow while he waited to remember just where the hell he’d parked his car.
After a couple more swallows, Logan got tired of waiting, and set off down the street. He didn’t know what he was doing, just figured he’d walk until he got somewhere. He passed an auto shop and a five-and-dime, and had just stopped in front of a movie theater, considering slipping inside and getting drunk in the cool dark of the theater, when he noticed something much better.
Weevil Navarro was standing at the street corner, his bald head haloed by the red light from the theater’s marquee. He held the leash of a fat puppy that was currently pissing on a fire hydrant.
“Well, if it isn’t dog and boy in a johnnypump,” Logan called out.
Weevil looked up in surprise. “Echolls?”
“The one and only,” Logan said, and then laughed, because it was true.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“What is it with you people? Do you all have the same writer, or what?” He leaned back, his hands spread in an expression of incredulity-But he lost hold of the neck of his bottle, and it shattered on the concrete. Logan stumbled back a little, leaning against a newspaper box for support. “Whoops.”
“You all right, man?” Weevil asked, approaching Logan cautiously.
“I am great!” He tried to step over to Weevil, but lost his balance. He made a grab for the paper box, which helped, and he leaned back again. But he was slipping down, down, until he was sitting on the sidewalk, Weevil looming over him. The dog barked at him and bit at his shoe.
He heard Weevil say, “Shit, man,” and then a dusky hand extended into his field of vision. He took the hand and was pulled upright again. He stood there, swaying comfortably back and forth. “You can’t even stand.”
“Sure I can.”
“You’re about to fall over.”
“No, no-I like it. Like being on a yacht. It’s all right.”
Weevil snorted. “Can’t leave you out here like this,” he muttered, and put a warm arm around Logan’s middle. “C’mon, I live right around the corner.”
“Wait,” Logan said, trying to twist around in Weevil’s arms, looking back over his shoulder, “I left my-” He noticed the wet paper bag on the concrete and chuckled. “Never mind.”
He let Weevil guide him down the street, leaning into him just to make it harder for him. The dog trotted in front of them like a chipper scout. Weevil’s chest was warm and he smelled like sweat and dryer sheets. The scent washed over Logan and made him suddenly very sleepy.
“Ever brought such a good-looking fella home before?” Logan asked, as they clambered up the stairs to Weevils apartment.
“No,” Weevil said, and unlocked the door. Logan was promptly deposited in the bathroom, where he leaned over the sink, not sick but grateful for the still, cool porcelain fixtures.
He closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against the tank of the toilet, and maybe he fell asleep for a minute, or maybe he didn’t. He listened to someone moving around beyond the bathroom door. Logan looked around the room, but couldn’t remember whose it was or what he was doing here. Then there was a noise behind him, and he turned around to see Weevil standing over him. Logan smiled. “That’s right,” he said, “it’s you.”
Eli sighed, already regretting his decision to take Logan in. “Yeah, me,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Yep.”
“Think you’re gonna throw up?”
“Mm, nope.” Logan’s legs flopped over the tiled floor.
“OK, c’mon, then, get up.”
“No can do, compadre,” Logan said, shaking his head. “Can’t move my legs.”
Eli snorted and leaned down, putting his hands under Logan’s armpits and lifting him bodily to his feet. Logan collapsed against him and put his arms around Eli’s shoulders. He took a step back, unbalancing Eli and sending the two of them back against the sink. To Eli’s shock, Logan leaned back and shoved his hips against Eli’s own. He started to push Logan away, but Logan tightened his arms around Eli’s neck, pulling him so close that he could feel the heat between Logan’s legs pressing against him. When Logan started to grind himself on Eli’s leg, it was the most he could do to brace himself against the mirror and keep from falling over.
He didn’t know what was the matter with him, couldn’t gather his thoughts enough to understand why he didn’t just push Logan away and throw him out. Maybe it had to do with the desperate sounds that were falling out of Logan’s open mouth. Or maybe the searing pleasure that was working its way up and down his spine left him too hot to move. In another minute, it didn’t matter, because Eli was coming where he stood, Logan writhing against him in the last stages of orgasm.
“Fuck,” Eli breathed, his head bowed, his chest heaving.
Logan’s whole body relaxed underneath his, and Eli heard him say, “Oh, yeah.”
Another few moments passed in silence. When he finally thought his thighs had stopped trembling, Eli stepped back and surveyed Logan. He wished he hadn’t looked. Logan was a mess, his suit wrinkled, tie askew, half-closed eyes dark. His mouth was hanging open with his breathing, and his lower lip looked so perfectly round and soft that Eli couldn’t stop another shudder of heat from going through him.
“You better be gone by morning,” he said and walked quickly out of the bathroom.