Go Pirates (Weevil/Logan/Wallace)

Title: Go Pirates
Author: Zeelee
Pairing/Character: Weevil/Logan/Wallace
Word Count: 1,319
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Just another afternoon at Neptune High.
Spoilers/Warnings: none; graphic slash, but you can see that from the pairing and rating.
Notes: *So* many thanks to metaphoracle for beta-ing this.



Wallace has been going to Neptune High for six months now, and it still seems as fucked-up and crazy as it did on his very first day. Actually? Forget *seems,* it *is* completely fucked-up and crazy. He doesn’t know if it was always like this, or if the whole place just went to hell after Lilly Kane died, but it still weirds him out.

He tells himself that he’s not afraid to wander its halls without Veronica, and he’s only lying a *little* bit.

And really, he’s not *afraid.* Just apprehensive. Wary. And, as quickly becomes apparent, with good reason.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, about an hour after classes have gotten out, and he’s *finally* finished his make-up history test that he failed last week. He’s thinking about going home and whether or not he’ll have to baby-sit his little brother when he rounds a hallway corner, and freezes, his jaw dropping. Because Logan Echolls and Eli Nevarro, quite possibly the two individuals that he would most like to avoid, are making out in front of him.

Actually, it’s a little more than that: Logan has Weevil pressed up against the hall corner, and Weevil’s hands are gripping Logan’s biceps, and Logan has his hand down Weevil’s pants.

And Wallace will stop staring any minute now.

Logan’s eyes widen comically when he sees Wallace, but then his expression snaps back to its regular smirk. “Hey, aren’t you the sidekick?”

Wallace is too busy thinking of escape plans to be offended, and he starts walking backwards quickly. “Riiiight. I’ll just be way over *here*--“

Now Weevil is smiling at him, the same way he did before taping Wallace to the flagpole. “What’s the hurry, man?” He’s already pushing Logan away, stalking towards Wallace with his pants still wide open.

Wallace stops walking backwards when his backpack bumps against the lockers behind him. “No offense or anything, but I’m in no *hurry* to see you two trade saliva.” He sounds sarcastic and tough. He hopes.

Logan snorts; he’s a step or two behind Weevil. “So, what? Widdle Wallace is gonna wun off to Vewonica?” Logan braces his arm on the lockers behind Wallace, his hand next to Wallace’s ear and a leer on his face.

“Seriously, man, don’t you ever wonder what it’s *like* to have a backbone?” Weevil’s hands are shoved casually in his pockets, making no effort to hide his erection.

“Well, I never really wonder what it’s *like* to run a motorcycle gang just to compensate for-“

“Shut up,” Logan says casually, and he and Weevil exchange a Look that really doesn’t seem like it bodes well at all.

Weevil touches him first, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him close enough that his breath is hot on Wallace’s neck, his ear. “You gonna tell anyone?”

Wallace licks his lips and feels almost brave. “Maybe.”

Logan laughs softly, and puts his hand on Wallace’s hip, slides it lower. “Don’t.”

Wallace’s hips buck without his say-so when Logan finds a sensitive spot. Weevil’s hand is still in his shirt, but instead of holding him, it’s... exploring. Somehow worming its way under his shirt, and Wallace makes a really embarrassing squeaking noise when Weevil pinches his nipple.

His eyes dart back and forth from Logan to Weevil: Weevil, whispering violent dirty things in his ear and stroking his chest, Logan slyly undoing his pants and making every touch a tease. Part of (most of) Wallace’s brain is panicking, because it’s not like he has *no* experience, it’s just—this, *this* he has nothing even close to a frame of reference for.

Stuff like this doesn’t happen to him. It happens to Logan, sure, Lilly from what he’s heard of her, maybe even Veronica—and he is stopping that train of thought right *there.*

But it *is* happening to him. Logan is dropping to his knees and shoving his pants down to his ankles, and he can feel Weevil smirking against his neck, and grabbing his wrist, placing it on his own erection. Wallace is torn between staring down at Logan’s mouth hovering over his dick, and staring down at his hand curling around Weevil’s dick, and then he just closes his eyes and swears fervently, because there doesn’t seem to be much else he can do.

His hand starts moving on Weevil’s dick just before Logan swallows him down, and it’s such a shock that Wallace actually *yelps* and bangs his head back against the lockers. Weevil laughs at him and kisses his neck, hard, before deliberately thrusting into his hand.

Wallace can take a hint. It’s just like jerking himself off, right? Only... it’s the leader of a motorcycle gang, instead.

Logan is still sucking him off, pulling back now and doing... *things* with his tongue that are making Wallace’s brain short-circuit. His hand moves automatically, stroking Weevil through cotton boxers just like he strokes himself, and there’s some sort of absurd rhythm to it: Logan sucks, he strokes, Weevil thrusts into his hand. Suck, stroke, thrust. Regular and continuous and sure, as if his body is trying to tell him that this *isn’t* the strangest thing to ever happen to him.

Wallace tries to look anywhere but at Logan (if he turns his head, he’ll be kissing Weevil), but all he can do is stare down at the top of Logan’s head, moving back and forth. Logan Echolls, movie star’s son, is on his knees on the floor of an unclean high school floor for him, and it’s the thought that pushes him over the edge, makes him gasp and jerk his hips and shoot into Logan’s mouth. His hand keeps stroking Weevil through it, reflex or something, and it’s not long before Weevil’s biting his neck and coming in his hand.

This is so fucking weird that his mind has lost the ability to even comprehend the weirdness.

Logan stands, smirking at him. Then he leans in for a kiss, and Wallace leans backward away from it because, uh, *gross,* but Logan’s lips land hard on his own anyway. He feels Logan’s tongue sliding over his lips, prodding him to open up, but he doesn’t, and Logan pulls away laughing.

Weevil licks his neck, then pulls away, too, zipping up his pants. Wallace just kind of stares, then belatedly remembers to tuck himself back in and zip his own pants.

He has no idea what to say. What are you *supposed* to say in situations like this? ‘Hey, man, thanks for the blowjob’ doesn’t feel quite right. Neither does ‘Thanks for turning me gay.’

Weevil and Logan share another one of those looks, and then look back at him. Wallace crosses his arms and looks right back, because he doesn’t know what *else* to do.

It’s Weevil that speaks first. “See you around,” he says with a curt nod, then turns to go. Probably off to string more unsuspecting teenagers to flagpoles or let his ‘boys’ terrorize convenience stores or whatever else leaders of motorcycle gangs did.

Logan just smirks at him and salutes. “Say hi to Detective Girl for me.”

Wallace doesn’t think he’ll do anything of the sort.

Once Logan flounces off (there’s really no other word for the way he walks), it’s almost like it never happened. The hallway is completely empty except for Wallace.

Maybe it was just, like. An unbelievably fucked-up dream. A guy can hope.

Wallace makes a face and shrugs his backpack on. So, what, now that he’s had a truly weird and fucked-up singular experience, he’s now officially a student at Neptune High? He wouldn’t be surprised if that was actually a rule somewhere.

He finds that he’s grinning, which seems kind of strange, but—he just had sex, didn’t he? Why *shouldn’t* he be at least a little bit happy, instead of totally traumatized?

“Go pirates,” he mutters under his breath as he walks off.