WANTS AND NEEDS

Logan knows he's been imploding for the last two months; most of his actions fall under "wild self-destruction." Booze, drugs, hurting Veronica, and sex. Lots and lots of sex. Like now, for instance.

Well, okay, this isn't actually sex. This is just making out with someone against a wall – Beaver, of all people. Logan kind of acknowledges that Dick will kill them both if he finds out about this; but deep down there really isn't room in Logan to care anymore. Maybe if Dick kills him he'll find Lilly again; she'll roll his eyes at how he managed to get himself killed 'cause he was too horny, tell him the idea of him with another guy is hot, and they would be together. Happy.

Okay, that's kind of deathwish-like, but whatever.

Now, Logan has Beaver pressed against the wall and is holding his hands above his head. Their bodies are pressed together with their mouths and Beaver is writhing; half-hard and moaning into Logan's mouth. Logan smirks a little; he knew he was good, but Beaver is acting like he's fucking magic. Lilly would laugh. She would tell Logan what a fuck-up he is; affectionately pat Beaver on the mouth and say: "Always the quiet ones after all."

But Lilly is dead and Logan knows that; knows that so well he doesn't have to feel guilty when he moves his mouth down to Beaver's neck and starts biting. Doesn't have to feel guilty when Beaver desperately runs his hands through Logan's hair, incapable of staying still. Doesn't have to feel guilty when he drops Beaver's hands for a second, picks Beaver up and wraps Beaver's legs around his waist.

Beaver is tiny – almost as tiny as Veronica – so Logan's frame can support him easily. Beaver's legs are squeezing at his waist as he makes guttural noises; Logan finds he's half-hard too. Beaver is grinding against him and darting his tongue all over Logan's mouth; as if he can pour himself in there and not leave.

Logan realizes how impatient Beaver is, but he wants to slow down. Calm down. Avoid being a fuck-up for once; avoid being the one taking advantage of the Littlest Casablancas, who is still only fourteen. The feel of Beaver squeezing him makes it hard, so he has to concentrate. Lilly would just raise an eyebrow if she knew. Duncan... god, Duncan would be so disappointed. If he had the energy to do that anymore; Logan can barely get anything out his best friend nowadays. The old, fake Veronica would look shocked and horrified. The new, real Veronica – whore – has probably done a lot worse, but that's not going to convince Logan to stop, so he pushes the thought away.

It isn't that he can't do anything with Beaver – the guy is almost fifteen; not that much younger. But he has to slow down, be careful about this. His instincts are telling him there is something wrong about all this, and when you spend your life having to know when to avoid Aaron Echolls – the grinding jaw, the balling and unballing fist – listening to your instincts becomes an important survival mechanism. So he slows down, and pulls his mouth from Beaver's.

"Logan," says Beaver in an odd voice, like talking is unfamiliar, "Come on," he still has his legs loosely wrapped around Logan's waist, and is trying to use them to pull him closer. Logan nods, and starts planting soft kisses on Beaver's mouth.

"We just need to..." he murmurs against soft lips, "...relax."

Logan hears Beaver whimper as Logan releases his hands. "Hey," says Logan. "Are you okay?"

Determination swells in Beaver's eyes as he pulls on Logan's shirt with newly-freed fingers. "I don't want 'relaxed'," he says in a low voice before he pulls Logan's mouth to his; an unsettling undertone of fear in the words. Logan lets Beaver kiss him; hard and bruising and violent. This isn't how it should be; this is what he was trying to stop.

Beaver is still squeezing him and sucking on his tongue and it's so hard for Logan to pull away. But he manages it, because he has to. His mind is telling him this could just be the Beav liking it rough, but his gut says otherwise. "Well, I think you need to calm down," he says, just inches from Beaver's face.

"Don't," warns Beaver. "Don't talk to me like I'm some stupid kid," he says, before dragging Logan's mouth to his again. Logan doesn't kiss back this time, and Beaver eventually lets go. "Please, Logan. I need this," he says, voice changing from angry to desperate. Logan wants to ask why, but the words get stuck in his jaw.

"Hey," he says, running a hand over Beaver's cheek. The gesture seems kind of out-of-place and romantic, but what can you do? "It's okay. You're okay, right?" he says, softly kissing down Beaver's neck. He just wants this all to be okay.

"Yeah," says Beaver weakly; a whisper more than anything. Logan feels the shiver in his friend's body, and raises his head to meet Beaver's eyes again.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

But somehow, those words make Beaver bristle and his breath quickly turns sharp and panicking. "No, no," he starts to say, body twisting against Logan's. "Stop. Get off me. Get off me!" he calls out, as he squirms away from Logan and pushes him away; Logan is left with no choice but to drop Beaver abruptly. The younger boy barely manages to land on his feet, and Logan gets himself a good distance away before looking at the fallout.

Beaver's eyes a glassy and Logan thinks he might cry; he's still panting and fixated on a spot on the floor – he can't look at Logan. The older boy watches as his friend pries himself from the wall and heavily sits down on Logan's bed. Logan thinks he should do something. He can tell there's something really wrong by now; something he can't even begin to hope of fixing properly. But he might just be the first person who's noticed and something has to be done. That's what Beaver needs.

But Logan can't. He's all full of pain and grief and loss, and a little bit of him is still saying whatever happened, Beaver has no right to be acting like this because it can't be anything compared to what's Logan's going through. The bits of his conscience that count for good old fashioned negligence are all swallowed up by Lilly and everything she took with her. Logan sits down with Beaver and looks for some distracting topic of conversation; by morning the whole thing will be forgotten. He's always been better at giving people what they want than what they need anyway.

"So," Logan says, finding the first source of small talk that comes to mind: "You looking forward to Shelley's party tomorrow?"