When she steps into the backyard, the sweltering early summer sun glinting off her bare shoulders, you remember why you agreed to this cookout in the first place.
"Wait 'til you try Dad's chicken fried steak burgers. They're seriously the best things I've ever had. I dream about this moment all year." Her eyes are light as she walks towards you, her arm slipping around your waist even though it's got to be at least 105 degrees back here, and your shirt is sticking to your back like glue. You're all ready to complain until you turn to face her, and find yourself able to look down the front of her shirt. Or what she's masquerading around as a shirt, that's really a wisp of cotton that should be illegal in 47 states, if it isn't already. "Are you Okay?" She asks after a minute, her eyes concerned as they search yours for some clue about your well being. Your eyes are blank. Your face is blank. You're thinking that maybe she should never take this tank top off again, and it hits you that before her, you never had a clothing fetish. And up until 30 seconds ago, you never thought you would. "Hello? Earth to Logan? Everyone's getting ready to eat. Are you Okay? You look really pale." She moves away from you, and the second she's gone, you're missing her. "Do you need to sit down?" She's asking, but her voice is small and far away. You can't really hear her and you're wondering if they make her tank top in other colors. A barrage of images floods your mind of disjointed and varying shades floating over her naked body. It's only her throaty laugh that drags you from the thought. "I guess you are glad to see me." She mutters, slipping in front of you and cupping you through your sweat soaked khaki shorts. Your eyes are riveted on her that you could explode right there.
And then she stops.
"Come on, Logan." She teases, an innocent sort of merriment in her eyes that you wouldn't have pegged could come from someone who was jerking you off a moment ago. She's a woman of many talents and you're thinking you'd love to experience some of them right here, except not, because you know where her father's shot guns live, and there are people here, and despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, you're not all that fond of people watching you have sex. "My Dad's burgers are the best! They're even…" There's a wicked glint in her eye, and it's really at this moment that you give in to the insanity. There's certain death involved, you sure of it, but at least you'll have fun sliding down the edge of the cliff. She smiles at you, vacant and innocent until she winks and mouths the word mouthwatering.
You come right there. You can't help it.
"You Okay, son?" There's definitely something to say about a man who fishes his daughter's boyfriend out of his pool, and doesn't even comment on the state of his raging hard on. If you hadn't respected Keith Mars before, this would have done it.
"Oh yeah, he's fine dad." She's having a hard time keeping her face straight, which isn't surprising since she's the one who pushed you in. "He just really, really…" You can't help watching her lips as she tries to hold back her giggles. "Wanted to swim." There is absolutely nothing sexual about the word swim. You've always found 'w' to be an awkward letter, anyway, but the way her lips close over it…it's got to be the heat, you swear to god, because while you've always found Veronica attractive, you used to be able to have conversations with her. You're beginning to forget what those look like.
"A bathroom would be good," You mutter, brushing yourself off as you stand, thankful for the towel she hands you. Everyone is staring, and you aren't quite sure if it's because you're Aaron Echolls son, and he's now dead, or because you decided to take a dip fully clothed, or the very likely that you randomly have a hard on. In public.
"C'mon, baby," Veronica coos, her tiny fingers wrapping around your wrist. "I'll come up with you."
"Veronica." You could have heard the throat clearing a mile away, and as Keith Mars begins to speak, you have no doubt that he saw every little thing that transpired between the two of you. It's really hard to feel impending doom and great at the same time, but her fingers are rubbing circles into your skin, and you're trying not to show how good it makes you feel. You're pretty sure you aren't succeeding.
"C'mon, Dad. Don't you think it would be kind of awkward for Logan to be in our apartment alone?" Her face is scrunched up in one of those signature Veronica faces, and though he vehemently disagrees, Keith certainly can't so say in front of all these people. His eyes bore into the back of your head as the two of you walk away, and you swear that if looks could kill, you'd have been dead a long time ago.
"Gee, thank you Ver-on-i-ca." You mutter the moment you've far enough away from the crowd to. You don't need anyone else hearing this-you're dead enough as it is. Her face breaks into a mile long smile, and you feel the tug again. If this isn't love, you don't know what is. You've never been so insane in your life.
"Hey, it got us away from them, didn't it?" She shoots back as she unlocks the front door, sighing as the coolness of the apartment envelopes her, settling into the striped armchair by the door. Her tank top is riding up, treating you to the creamy expanse of skin at her navel and you're instantly hard all over again.
"You do know that he'll make some sort of excuse to come over here if we're not back in less than 10 minutes, right?" You're honestly surprised that you got the words out, as you can barely breathe from the tension in your shorts. She notices, a languidly feline smile tipping at her lips, as she licks them. You think you're going to die.
"There's a lot we can do in 10 minutes, Logan." She murmurs dropping to her knees, and as her fingers unzip your pants, and you think that if ever there was a way to go, this would be it. Nothing could be better than-her mouth closes around you, and you forget everything.
