Veronica Mars. Veronica Mars/Lilly Kane. 018. Black
Title: Black
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: Veronica/Lilly
Prompt: 018 Black
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~400
Summary:
Strange, how the smallest thing makes you think of her.
Strange, how the smallest thing makes you think of her. A certain lipstick you wore the first time she kissed you. No, not the first time. That was the strawberry lipgloss, that she objected to and told you it was too sweet. You wore that lipstick the first time she kissed you and meant it, though.
Those jeans. You haven’t washed them since, haven’t had the heart. Day before she died, you went out and drank champagne in some field she found - god knows how she found one in Neptune, but she always did seem to know everything. You wanted to wear them to the funeral, but your mother made you wear black.
If you’d had your way, you would have worn those jeans and something - red satin, maybe. Bare feet, and she would have been buried in the outside, with a pear tree planted on top. If you’d had your way. If she’d had her way. But in the end, Celeste got her way and Lilly ended up in the graveyard of the biggest church nearby and you would have fallen asleep, no doubt, had you been listening to the preacher.
In your head, you were still in that field, though, racing her barefoot from one end to the other and kissing her close and undoing her bra when she was too busy putting her tongue in your mouth to notice, let alone stop you. You tilted your head to the side when you thought about her lips on your neck, her tongue hot against your skin and every nerve that you were aware of jangling in a way that would have been horrible if - if it wasn’t Lilly that was doing this to you. Because when it’s Lilly, everything’s okay, and you suddenly remember where you are, and she’s lying there at the front of the room, which is cold, despite the heat, because who ever built a church that retained any kind of warmth whatsoever? And there’s the redness on her temple that just a few days ago you kissed, and she bled into her hair that just a few days ago you had your hands desperately tangled in as she did that thing with her tongue and you realise that she’s never going to do that again, because you’re at Lilly’s funeral, and you know what? You’re wearing black.
Little Damn Table
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: Veronica/Lilly
Prompt: 018 Black
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~400
Summary:
Strange, how the smallest thing makes you think of her.
Strange, how the smallest thing makes you think of her. A certain lipstick you wore the first time she kissed you. No, not the first time. That was the strawberry lipgloss, that she objected to and told you it was too sweet. You wore that lipstick the first time she kissed you and meant it, though.
Those jeans. You haven’t washed them since, haven’t had the heart. Day before she died, you went out and drank champagne in some field she found - god knows how she found one in Neptune, but she always did seem to know everything. You wanted to wear them to the funeral, but your mother made you wear black.
If you’d had your way, you would have worn those jeans and something - red satin, maybe. Bare feet, and she would have been buried in the outside, with a pear tree planted on top. If you’d had your way. If she’d had her way. But in the end, Celeste got her way and Lilly ended up in the graveyard of the biggest church nearby and you would have fallen asleep, no doubt, had you been listening to the preacher.
In your head, you were still in that field, though, racing her barefoot from one end to the other and kissing her close and undoing her bra when she was too busy putting her tongue in your mouth to notice, let alone stop you. You tilted your head to the side when you thought about her lips on your neck, her tongue hot against your skin and every nerve that you were aware of jangling in a way that would have been horrible if - if it wasn’t Lilly that was doing this to you. Because when it’s Lilly, everything’s okay, and you suddenly remember where you are, and she’s lying there at the front of the room, which is cold, despite the heat, because who ever built a church that retained any kind of warmth whatsoever? And there’s the redness on her temple that just a few days ago you kissed, and she bled into her hair that just a few days ago you had your hands desperately tangled in as she did that thing with her tongue and you realise that she’s never going to do that again, because you’re at Lilly’s funeral, and you know what? You’re wearing black.
Little Damn Table