Theirs was a violent love.
Brawling in the boy's room was far from the commonly accepted idea of romance, but if it meant they were allowed to touch, then it would have to do. Fist to face, a boot in the ribs, it was harsh but it was a release that wouldn't get them beat up by their actual friends.
Logan's heart had done something shamefully close to skipping a beat when he'd looked up and saw it was Weevil kicking the doorstop under the door. Of course he was angry, wanted to get even, and the biker had that sort of face he loved to pummel. It was more than that between them, though, and he could hear it reciprocated in the way Weevil's voice went rough as they baited each other to the point of ignition.
He didn't begrudge Weevil the first punch, or the solid thrashing he received before turning it back his way, getting in two good right crosses before throwing his opponent to the floor. Bloodied, he kicked until Weevil wrapped up his legs, pulling him down, continuing the scuffle on the ground. Not surprisingly, Weevil rolled his way back on top—and that was just fine with Logan.
For a few brief, delicious moments, they grappled together, rolling and pelting each other with heavy fists, until suddenly authoritative hands were upon them, ripping the fight apart. Logan kicked out at Weevil for good measure as he was hauled to his feet and spun out through the door. He was careful to keep his face angry for the waiting crowd, playing this act for all it was worth.
Later, sitting outside Clemmon's office gingerly thumbing blood off his lip, he smiled. "This bought of heartfelt fisticuffs changes nothing. You still owe me."
Weevil hunched in the chair next to him, trying to hide the way he was holding his bruised ribs. "You keep dreaming about that sidecar, Boy Wonder," he scoffed indifferently.
Logan squinted, brushed at his blossoming black eye, and leaned lightly a little too far into Weevil's personal space.
"I will."
