Fic: A Long Night
Title: A Long Night
Author: Marvello
Pairing: Logan/Veronica
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Logan accompanies Veronica on a stake-out.
Spoilers: Nothing overt, but any inferred explanation comes from the last few episodes (14 and 15).
Notes: This is just a little smutlet I wrote for my friend Aspen! Feedback appreciated but by no means necessary.
__
"What the hell is that?" she demanded.
Logan raised an eyebrow at her over the red flask. "Warm milk?"
Veronica hit her forehead against her steering wheel. "Please tell me you don't actually have an open container of alcohol in my car."
He lifted it to her in salute, before downing a gulp of whatever was inside. "Veronica, I do not actually have an open container of alcohol in your car." He smiled over at her. "And you say I'm not eager to please."
"Isn't Trina still threatening rehab?"
"Trina," he answered, screwing the cap back onto the flask, "can go fuck herself."
Veronica pushed up her sleeves and picked up her coffee from the holder between the seats. "I will venture to say that I think the world is ready for a sober, stable Logan."
"New from Mattel."
"Hey, it's your ass that's going to go through detox, not mine."
"I'll be sure to tell the pink elephants you say hello." Logan drummed his fingers against the roof of the car, his arm half-hanging out the window. He ducked his head to get a better look up at the hotel room. "So what exactly are we doing here, Mars?"
She sighed, trying to get comfortable in the cramped confines of the driver's seat. "Waiting for one Mr. Casablancas to emerge. There's big money from the missus on a shot of him with his new friend."
"Ah yes. And to think I almost forgot the classy nature of your work. Poor little Dick is about to become the child of a broken home because we're sitting outside the Honey Spot Hotel."
"No, because his father is sitting inside of it. And since when do you care about Dick Casablancas?"
He folded his arms and shrugged. "I just dislike paparazzi."
Veronica's mouth fell open. "You so just did not go there."
"So how much time do you figure we've got?" he asked, dismissing her indignation with his tone.
She continued glaring at him for a moment before glancing down at her watch. "Well, since his lady-friend only just arrived -- ten minutes, I suppose. At the very least."
"Ten minutes?" Logan's lips twitched. "I can do a lot in ten minutes."
Veronica shot him a sideways look, her eyebrows furrowing. "I'm sorry, are you bragging, or apologizing?"
He just slid his tongue across his upper lip and gave her a disturbingly knowing look. She met his gaze for a moment, looked back up at the dark room, and then back at Logan.
"Ten minutes," she sighed, setting the coffee back in the cup holder and unsnapping her seat belt. Logan smirked at her and followed her into the back of the car, pulling her across the leather and into his lap as soon as the doors slammed shut.
Veronica had her mouth on his before he could take a breath, her lips soft and her tongue demanding. Her hands, warm from the coffee, seemed to be everywhere, first holding his face and then -- he made a faint hissing noise -- brushing up under the light material of his shirt. Teeth grazed his lips and then his chin, fingers slid along the faint line of hair that ran up from his trousers to his navel, and she giggled in a girlish way that made his toes curl in his shoes.
"So manly, Mr. Echolls," she murmured, and pulled back enough to yank off her own jacket, tossing it to the front seat. Logan tried to pull her against him as soon as it left her hands, but she twisted away from his grasp, pinning her knees down at either side of his hips. She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked down at him; his mouth glistened in the orange light, wet and twisted up in a humorless, hungry smile. She was about to suggest something else he might do with his mouth when her gaze strayed lower.
"Oh my god. Are those actually puka shells?" She hooked two fingers under the necklace and lifted it up to inspect it, eyes narrowing incredulously. "They are. That is so, so--"
She was still laughing as he tossed her off of him, reversing their positions so that he could press down onto her. "I think I like you more like this, Mars. You look a lot more natural when you're on your back." He looked at her for a moment, his gaze moving across her face. "You talk less, too."
He ducked his head, pressing his mouth to her neck. His tongue made a slow, wet trail across her collarbone, and her hands rose entirely of their own volition to twist in his hair. With deft fingers, Logan opened the front of her shirt, and she pressed her lips together to muffle a moan as his lips traced the outline of a nipple through her bra. Her legs automatically clamped together, but his hand managed to slip between her thighs just as they did. "Ah, ah, ah," he whispered, his breath against her wet skin making her hips twist. "I think not."
She turned her head, pressing her face to the forearm braced against the back of the seat, and he moved his hand up the inside of her leg, slowly, slowly. When he reached the thin material of her knickers, he traced his fingers over her through the fabric. She was just beginning to squirm when he pressed his finger against her clit, and her shifting of weight turned into a full body shiver. He drew it back just as suddenly, and she made a strangled noise of frustration. "Jesus, Logan," she gasped, hitting her fist against the seat. "Do you have to be such an ass about it?"
She could tell he was smiling without opening her eyes-- so she didn't bother, especially since he began tapping that finger right there as he spoke. His voice, thick with his Californian accent and over-privileged drawl, made her nerves feel raw. "Oh, Veronica. So tough and confident until someone starts touching your hot," he bit the front of her throat, "little," he slid the tip of his nose down her chest, stopping at the cleavage he had previously exposed, "cunt." Before she could speak, he slipped his fingers around the fabric of her panties and straight up inside of her.
Veronica arched up off the seat, her hands flying up to grip at him, clutching at the plaid of his over-shirt for dear life. His fingers plowed in and out of her, scissoring as they went. He slipped his thumb across her clit, watching her face as it twisted in pleasure. "You know," he said, conversationally, his mouth still brushing against the edge of her bra, "since you've got both arms free and I'm sort of busy, you could give me a hand here." Resolutely keeping her eyes shut, she reached for her chest and yanked the yellow cotton bra down, exposing her creamy, if somewhat small, breasts. He nipped at her fingers, and she giggled through a groan.
"Sweet little Veronica Mars," he muttered, as she moved her hands to the front of his trousers, the sound of the zipper cutting through the faint, steady noise of their panting. She wrapped her hand around his cock, tugging it out of his boxers. Logan made a tight-lipped sound as it pressed against her thigh, his fingers going lax against her and his eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck."
Without the distraction of being finger-fucked, Veronica found her voice. "Hot little cunt, huh? God, Logan, you should be writing greeting cards." Giving him a squeeze hard enough to make him sputter, she shifted her legs further apart and brought his cock up against her slick skin. He immediately pulled her panties to the side and thrust in, not bothering to give her time to adjust to it before pulling out and slamming home again. Her cheeks were flushed, and an unintelligible groan was wrenched from her lips as he stayed buried in her for a moment, his face inches from hers. Without time for deliberation, she finally opened her eyes and yanked him down to kiss her, swallowing either his witty repartee or equally unintelligible groan, she wasn't sure which. He ground his hips against hers as his teeth grazed her tongue, and then abruptly pulled back from her face -- she followed his mouth upwards until he was entirely out of reach -- and began fucking her so hard that she actually moved up the seat, until her head was finally against the arm rest.
The smell of the car seats, the coffee, and Logan's sea-scented aftershave was like a cocktail of illicit memories. She thought of back when she first started helping with stake-outs, the lattes and studying math by the faint and unsteady light, the small talk she and Keith would make that eventually made them closer than ever; she thought of before that, when she first got the LeBaron, and Lily, Duncan and Logan all teased her mercilessly about her "ghetto ride"; she thought about making out with Duncan in that same spot, guiding his hands to safer territories and demurring at his suggestions; she thought of sitting in the library at the Echolls house in the eighth grade, watching Logan's hands glide across page after page of notes on their science project; she thought of--
"Harder," she whispered through her teeth, bracing her arms above her head to prevent her head from being smacked against the door, and lifting her hips up to meet him. "Is that really the best--" she breathed his name, "-- the best you can do?"
Logan wheezed a laugh at that, and then leaned down and sucked the tip of one of her breasts into his mouth. He nipped at it like he had her fingers, sending quick jolts of pain into the haze of her mind. She could feel herself start to slip into sweet oblivion, but it wasn't until he actually began thrusting even harder and said, "Veronica," low and gravelly and holding out the last vowel, that she actually came. It was white-hot and blinding, like sugar in her veins, too sweet for the salty tang of the moment. She tried to concentrate on the simple feeling of him inside of her, relentless and steady and powerful, but there was never any chance she could forget who he was. The very way he touched her was his trademark contradiction of careless intensity.
She forced her eyes open in the last few moments, watching that same sensation of sharp pleasure dawn across his face, and dug her long fingernails into his wrist as his cock jumped inside of her. He stayed propped up on his palms like that for a moment, even after she stopped feeling the rush of warmth, and then slowly slid out and fell back into the car seat, her legs tangled across his lap. Veronica let herself lie that way long enough for the both of them to catch their breath, and then eased up, shifting her garments back into place.
"Well." She glanced down at her watch, tilting her hand to see it in the outside light. "Seven minutes, forty seconds. That must be some kind of record for you."
Author: Marvello
Pairing: Logan/Veronica
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Logan accompanies Veronica on a stake-out.
Spoilers: Nothing overt, but any inferred explanation comes from the last few episodes (14 and 15).
Notes: This is just a little smutlet I wrote for my friend Aspen! Feedback appreciated but by no means necessary.
__
"What the hell is that?" she demanded.
Logan raised an eyebrow at her over the red flask. "Warm milk?"
Veronica hit her forehead against her steering wheel. "Please tell me you don't actually have an open container of alcohol in my car."
He lifted it to her in salute, before downing a gulp of whatever was inside. "Veronica, I do not actually have an open container of alcohol in your car." He smiled over at her. "And you say I'm not eager to please."
"Isn't Trina still threatening rehab?"
"Trina," he answered, screwing the cap back onto the flask, "can go fuck herself."
Veronica pushed up her sleeves and picked up her coffee from the holder between the seats. "I will venture to say that I think the world is ready for a sober, stable Logan."
"New from Mattel."
"Hey, it's your ass that's going to go through detox, not mine."
"I'll be sure to tell the pink elephants you say hello." Logan drummed his fingers against the roof of the car, his arm half-hanging out the window. He ducked his head to get a better look up at the hotel room. "So what exactly are we doing here, Mars?"
She sighed, trying to get comfortable in the cramped confines of the driver's seat. "Waiting for one Mr. Casablancas to emerge. There's big money from the missus on a shot of him with his new friend."
"Ah yes. And to think I almost forgot the classy nature of your work. Poor little Dick is about to become the child of a broken home because we're sitting outside the Honey Spot Hotel."
"No, because his father is sitting inside of it. And since when do you care about Dick Casablancas?"
He folded his arms and shrugged. "I just dislike paparazzi."
Veronica's mouth fell open. "You so just did not go there."
"So how much time do you figure we've got?" he asked, dismissing her indignation with his tone.
She continued glaring at him for a moment before glancing down at her watch. "Well, since his lady-friend only just arrived -- ten minutes, I suppose. At the very least."
"Ten minutes?" Logan's lips twitched. "I can do a lot in ten minutes."
Veronica shot him a sideways look, her eyebrows furrowing. "I'm sorry, are you bragging, or apologizing?"
He just slid his tongue across his upper lip and gave her a disturbingly knowing look. She met his gaze for a moment, looked back up at the dark room, and then back at Logan.
"Ten minutes," she sighed, setting the coffee back in the cup holder and unsnapping her seat belt. Logan smirked at her and followed her into the back of the car, pulling her across the leather and into his lap as soon as the doors slammed shut.
Veronica had her mouth on his before he could take a breath, her lips soft and her tongue demanding. Her hands, warm from the coffee, seemed to be everywhere, first holding his face and then -- he made a faint hissing noise -- brushing up under the light material of his shirt. Teeth grazed his lips and then his chin, fingers slid along the faint line of hair that ran up from his trousers to his navel, and she giggled in a girlish way that made his toes curl in his shoes.
"So manly, Mr. Echolls," she murmured, and pulled back enough to yank off her own jacket, tossing it to the front seat. Logan tried to pull her against him as soon as it left her hands, but she twisted away from his grasp, pinning her knees down at either side of his hips. She rested her hands on his shoulders and looked down at him; his mouth glistened in the orange light, wet and twisted up in a humorless, hungry smile. She was about to suggest something else he might do with his mouth when her gaze strayed lower.
"Oh my god. Are those actually puka shells?" She hooked two fingers under the necklace and lifted it up to inspect it, eyes narrowing incredulously. "They are. That is so, so--"
She was still laughing as he tossed her off of him, reversing their positions so that he could press down onto her. "I think I like you more like this, Mars. You look a lot more natural when you're on your back." He looked at her for a moment, his gaze moving across her face. "You talk less, too."
He ducked his head, pressing his mouth to her neck. His tongue made a slow, wet trail across her collarbone, and her hands rose entirely of their own volition to twist in his hair. With deft fingers, Logan opened the front of her shirt, and she pressed her lips together to muffle a moan as his lips traced the outline of a nipple through her bra. Her legs automatically clamped together, but his hand managed to slip between her thighs just as they did. "Ah, ah, ah," he whispered, his breath against her wet skin making her hips twist. "I think not."
She turned her head, pressing her face to the forearm braced against the back of the seat, and he moved his hand up the inside of her leg, slowly, slowly. When he reached the thin material of her knickers, he traced his fingers over her through the fabric. She was just beginning to squirm when he pressed his finger against her clit, and her shifting of weight turned into a full body shiver. He drew it back just as suddenly, and she made a strangled noise of frustration. "Jesus, Logan," she gasped, hitting her fist against the seat. "Do you have to be such an ass about it?"
She could tell he was smiling without opening her eyes-- so she didn't bother, especially since he began tapping that finger right there as he spoke. His voice, thick with his Californian accent and over-privileged drawl, made her nerves feel raw. "Oh, Veronica. So tough and confident until someone starts touching your hot," he bit the front of her throat, "little," he slid the tip of his nose down her chest, stopping at the cleavage he had previously exposed, "cunt." Before she could speak, he slipped his fingers around the fabric of her panties and straight up inside of her.
Veronica arched up off the seat, her hands flying up to grip at him, clutching at the plaid of his over-shirt for dear life. His fingers plowed in and out of her, scissoring as they went. He slipped his thumb across her clit, watching her face as it twisted in pleasure. "You know," he said, conversationally, his mouth still brushing against the edge of her bra, "since you've got both arms free and I'm sort of busy, you could give me a hand here." Resolutely keeping her eyes shut, she reached for her chest and yanked the yellow cotton bra down, exposing her creamy, if somewhat small, breasts. He nipped at her fingers, and she giggled through a groan.
"Sweet little Veronica Mars," he muttered, as she moved her hands to the front of his trousers, the sound of the zipper cutting through the faint, steady noise of their panting. She wrapped her hand around his cock, tugging it out of his boxers. Logan made a tight-lipped sound as it pressed against her thigh, his fingers going lax against her and his eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck."
Without the distraction of being finger-fucked, Veronica found her voice. "Hot little cunt, huh? God, Logan, you should be writing greeting cards." Giving him a squeeze hard enough to make him sputter, she shifted her legs further apart and brought his cock up against her slick skin. He immediately pulled her panties to the side and thrust in, not bothering to give her time to adjust to it before pulling out and slamming home again. Her cheeks were flushed, and an unintelligible groan was wrenched from her lips as he stayed buried in her for a moment, his face inches from hers. Without time for deliberation, she finally opened her eyes and yanked him down to kiss her, swallowing either his witty repartee or equally unintelligible groan, she wasn't sure which. He ground his hips against hers as his teeth grazed her tongue, and then abruptly pulled back from her face -- she followed his mouth upwards until he was entirely out of reach -- and began fucking her so hard that she actually moved up the seat, until her head was finally against the arm rest.
The smell of the car seats, the coffee, and Logan's sea-scented aftershave was like a cocktail of illicit memories. She thought of back when she first started helping with stake-outs, the lattes and studying math by the faint and unsteady light, the small talk she and Keith would make that eventually made them closer than ever; she thought of before that, when she first got the LeBaron, and Lily, Duncan and Logan all teased her mercilessly about her "ghetto ride"; she thought about making out with Duncan in that same spot, guiding his hands to safer territories and demurring at his suggestions; she thought of sitting in the library at the Echolls house in the eighth grade, watching Logan's hands glide across page after page of notes on their science project; she thought of--
"Harder," she whispered through her teeth, bracing her arms above her head to prevent her head from being smacked against the door, and lifting her hips up to meet him. "Is that really the best--" she breathed his name, "-- the best you can do?"
Logan wheezed a laugh at that, and then leaned down and sucked the tip of one of her breasts into his mouth. He nipped at it like he had her fingers, sending quick jolts of pain into the haze of her mind. She could feel herself start to slip into sweet oblivion, but it wasn't until he actually began thrusting even harder and said, "Veronica," low and gravelly and holding out the last vowel, that she actually came. It was white-hot and blinding, like sugar in her veins, too sweet for the salty tang of the moment. She tried to concentrate on the simple feeling of him inside of her, relentless and steady and powerful, but there was never any chance she could forget who he was. The very way he touched her was his trademark contradiction of careless intensity.
She forced her eyes open in the last few moments, watching that same sensation of sharp pleasure dawn across his face, and dug her long fingernails into his wrist as his cock jumped inside of her. He stayed propped up on his palms like that for a moment, even after she stopped feeling the rush of warmth, and then slowly slid out and fell back into the car seat, her legs tangled across his lap. Veronica let herself lie that way long enough for the both of them to catch their breath, and then eased up, shifting her garments back into place.
"Well." She glanced down at her watch, tilting her hand to see it in the outside light. "Seven minutes, forty seconds. That must be some kind of record for you."