Fic: Tell Me Anything About You I Don't Know (Logan/Veronica) R
Title: Tell Me Anything About You I Don’t Know
Author: Sorcha
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 451
Rating: R
Summary: She can see them becoming the ‘affair that could never work’ one day…
Spoilers/Warnings: None really, this is almost immediate future.
Curling up her fingers in soft shirt she thinks he is more boyish than he lets on. More innocent than he is ever given credit for.
He is stuttered, short breaths and she is paper in the ocean - turning soggy and mouldable again. Dripping in his fingers. Together they are water-soluble ink and hearts around initials.
V.M. + L.E.
She always comes first - because he is too scared. She’s the only one that knows that. He doesn’t scare her but when he smiles around her teeth it makes her nervous. Like he knows something about her that she does not. She likes to hold the cards. He likes to hold her tight.
One day she will disappear - because everybody does. They both know that - they are sweet and impermanent but they are not stupid.
There is a phantom piece of breathing between them. Slow and steady - churning them up. Growing into something new. It doesn’t fit the diagram and that’s worrying - but his hand is on her thigh and her skirt is not long enough to stop them. It isn’t bound around her feet.
He breathes harder around her. Quicker and faster and ‘fuck’ comes to mind. The one word biography. He is always fucking up or getting fucked and though she never says it out loud - she thinks it a lot when she’s with him.
She can see them becoming the ‘desperate affair that could never work’ one day. With secret phone calls and secret motel rooms and their partners and children at home watching TV.
But right now they are like a High School letter - sweet and naïve and not very permanent. Water soluble ink and doodles that look very pretty but seem to have no meaning. They are odd lines at crossed angles and they seem to be going everywhere but they always end up back here.
They have no plan, no design, no purpose and his fingers are stuck on her. He can’t seem to get them off - so he gets her off. Fingers damp, neck stretched, skin tight. She writhes, he gasps - they are back at the beginning again. It’s a pleasant rhythm but High School is coming to an end and they are going to be put in a shoebox, under a strange bed - only brought out for special occasions and lonely evenings.
Everyone else will be watching TV as they thumb through each other on cardboard. Remembering the sweat and blood and tears that were the literal makings of them. Grimacing at hair cuts and clothing.
Pretending they are not attracted to frayed edges and boyish boys and tragedy that pushes you together.
Author: Sorcha
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 451
Rating: R
Summary: She can see them becoming the ‘affair that could never work’ one day…
Spoilers/Warnings: None really, this is almost immediate future.
Curling up her fingers in soft shirt she thinks he is more boyish than he lets on. More innocent than he is ever given credit for.
He is stuttered, short breaths and she is paper in the ocean - turning soggy and mouldable again. Dripping in his fingers. Together they are water-soluble ink and hearts around initials.
V.M. + L.E.
She always comes first - because he is too scared. She’s the only one that knows that. He doesn’t scare her but when he smiles around her teeth it makes her nervous. Like he knows something about her that she does not. She likes to hold the cards. He likes to hold her tight.
One day she will disappear - because everybody does. They both know that - they are sweet and impermanent but they are not stupid.
There is a phantom piece of breathing between them. Slow and steady - churning them up. Growing into something new. It doesn’t fit the diagram and that’s worrying - but his hand is on her thigh and her skirt is not long enough to stop them. It isn’t bound around her feet.
He breathes harder around her. Quicker and faster and ‘fuck’ comes to mind. The one word biography. He is always fucking up or getting fucked and though she never says it out loud - she thinks it a lot when she’s with him.
She can see them becoming the ‘desperate affair that could never work’ one day. With secret phone calls and secret motel rooms and their partners and children at home watching TV.
But right now they are like a High School letter - sweet and naïve and not very permanent. Water soluble ink and doodles that look very pretty but seem to have no meaning. They are odd lines at crossed angles and they seem to be going everywhere but they always end up back here.
They have no plan, no design, no purpose and his fingers are stuck on her. He can’t seem to get them off - so he gets her off. Fingers damp, neck stretched, skin tight. She writhes, he gasps - they are back at the beginning again. It’s a pleasant rhythm but High School is coming to an end and they are going to be put in a shoebox, under a strange bed - only brought out for special occasions and lonely evenings.
Everyone else will be watching TV as they thumb through each other on cardboard. Remembering the sweat and blood and tears that were the literal makings of them. Grimacing at hair cuts and clothing.
Pretending they are not attracted to frayed edges and boyish boys and tragedy that pushes you together.