MOAT
The summer was long and hot, dry and unforgiving as Aaron's trial had dragged on throughout the weeks. Bruises had faded and nightmares developed, relationships disintegrated as soundly as they had started and condemnations rained down all around. Logan was blinded by paparazzi interest – camera bulbs flashing, burning his eyes whenever he was forced to leave the relative comfort of his home. Eventually the trial died down to an anticlimactic conclusion – death penalty. Logan wondered if he was supposed to mourn his father, wondered if his apathy made him less of a person. He didn't cry – just glared coldly as Aaron passed him in the courthouse, tears in his own eyes.
Afterwards nobody had much reason to demand Logan leave his house – so he didn't. He hid out from the photographers and fans that were consistently lined up at the bottom of his driveway like a pack of hungry wolves – desperate for any tid bit of information or insight into his life. Practically drooling every time the door opened a crack. The transference of his father's fame was most definitely Logan's least favorite acquisition from the trial.
Logan walked leisurely to the front door – his house had never seemed that big before, but being the only one – bar a handful of hired help – to occupy the space made him realize that it really was just one big compensatory symbol for his parents. The knocking resounded again and sliding back the frosted glass he found her standing on his front step, looking up at him like she was invited. There were cameras and tourists and flowers by the gate so Logan grabbed her arm – pulling her inside the foyer as he slammed the door soundly.
She grimaced at him, bringing small fingers up to rub over the small patch of red skin his hauling had left.
"Hello to you too."
He kept glaring. "What are you doing here?"
"Visiting a friend?" she asked with the slight bite of sarcasm.
"So we're friends now?" he snarked, "that's new."
"Yeah, cause we weren't friends for four years before you started ignoring me."
"I meant more recently," he clarified coldly.
"I always knew you had ADD," her smile was coy and mocking.
He shifted to lean his back on the door, answering casually, "yeah. That's all my problems right there."
"I'm not here to feel sorry for you Logan – I did what I had to, I'm not going to apologize for that."
"I wasn't aware I asked you to."
She crossed her arms under her chest. "Why did you let me inside?"
"Why are you here?" he parroted.
"None of the Sheriff's department wanted to deal with you drunk off your ass again – so they asked me really nicely to come up and check you weren't dead," she shot back. "I may owe them a few favors."
"I'm not drunk."
"This time," she finished.
He tried to look mildly offended, but the edge of his mouth couldn't keep from turning up. "Whatever, I'm going to need a drink if you don't stop."
"Because you always know the best ways to handle things – between you and Duncan oblivion and avoidance is like an art."
"Sure, judge away Miss Passive Aggressive."
She opened her mouth to respond before thinking better of it. "Are we just going to keep arguing?"
He pushed himself off the door, taking a step towards her. The question was a lot vaguer than she had intended and he wondered if she wanted an immediate answer or if her timescale was projected into the distant future.
"When have we not argued?" he asked sincerely.
"Touché," she smiled. "So. You gonna hide out here all summer?"
He pursed his lips. "Now that my lawyers aren't dragging me out by my tie?" he considered, "yes."
"Sounds fun," she quirked an eyebrow.
He spread his arms as a showy smile spread easily across his face. "Sure is – King of the Castle, baby."
"And I always assumed you were the Dirty Rascal," she grinned.
"Veronica?"
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing here?" his question held no malice this time, just curiosity.
"I may have been a little worried about you," she admitted.
"I'm fine."
"So you keep saying."
"What about you?"
"How am I?"
Off his nod she replied, "I haven't eaten any frozen food in a while – but I'm not so bad."
"Frozen food?"
She tried a tight smile. "Being locked in a freezer does that for you."
"Oh."
"I also won't be hitting any barbeques in the near future."
"I'm sorry," his voice was low. Awkwardly he stepped forward to offer a hand on her arm. She looked down at it cautiously – regarding it like false hope.
"You shouldn't be, it wasn't you," she dismissed him.
"Yeah." His foot shuffled anxiously on the floor.
"So what were your plans for today? A little liquoring up? Maybe some porn?" she teased.
"What? No. I ordered in strippers – porn is for people who can't afford hookers," he grinned back at her.
"Well, that was something I just never needed you to say, ever," she emphasized.
He watched her, as if considering. "What if I cancel the strippers and you find me something more interesting to do?"
"More interesting than scantily clad women? Gosh, as a teenage boy you must have a lot of faith in me."
"I have about zero – but it's gotta be fun watching you try and come up with something," he admitted.
"I might just have an idea," she smirked, and he couldn't help but think that it looked uncomfortably like a threat.
CURTAINWALL
Veronica had to admit that she was impressed when she saw the size of the library – a good old fashioned mahogany shelved set up with books to the ceiling. It was only when she looked closer that she realized the books were not books at all, but DVDs. She gave him an unimpressed look.
"Hey, we have a real library," he justified.
"Sure, that's where you keep the coloring books, right? I've seen your English grade, Logan."
"I'm only failing cause of the stunt with Daniels' car. And that? Was worth an F," his face was lit up with the memory as she shook her head, despairing.
She approached a shelf by eye level, tracing her fingers along the wooden bottom as she checked for anything eye catching. Her finger stopped suddenly.
"Found something?" he looked up from the armchair he'd occupied to wait her out.
"Home movies!" her eyes lit up, "oh, this is gonna be good."
His eyes darted up. "What? No, put them away."
"That wouldn't be any fun though – you've seen all mine," she reminded.
He snorted. "Only because you made us watch them."
"That was Lilly, not me," she glared.
"I did enjoy the two of you dressed as Spice Girls though," he mused.
She ignored his look of protest as she slipped in the tape, watching the fuzzy lines blur into a picture. It was a large green lawn. A tiny Logan and a not quite so tiny Trina were fighting in the corner, Lynn gestured towards them – reprimanding with a cocktail swizzle stick. Then there was Aaron.
Turning to look back at him she saw Logan intently studying the arm of his chair – shouting came from the TV set and she tried to click it off as he pursed his lips into a non-smile, eyebrows lifting slightly as if he had anticipated the scenario.
She swallowed. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—"
He ignored her heading to the nearest case. "Horror, comedy or classic?"
"Comedy," she sighed in relief, "definitely."
After several hours of mind numbing entertainment Logan had eventually gotten bored, demanding that the next time she wanted to watch chick flicks Veronica find herself a girlfriend. Eventually when neither could decide on another film he switched the television onto the cable shopping network and they spent the good part of an hour mocking various items for sale as Logan tried to buy every second thing they saw.
She pulled herself up in the large armchair she was slowly sinking into, taking a sip of her soda before she berated him. "You don't need a multi-speed whisk, Logan, you don't cook."
He just shrugged at her, punching in some numbers before throwing her the remote. "Yeah, but I might want to one day."
She narrowly avoided being smacked across the head by the flying piece of plastic, sending him a nasty scowl for his trouble. He smiled back beautifully as she continued, "you probably have one already," she considered, "anyway that's flawed, like buying a house somewhere just on the off chance you might ever wanted to live in that country."
He just stared at her and she could see him mentally counting up the various homesteads that the Echolls family owned around the globe.
"Fine, bad analogy to use 'round you," she griped.
He bit his lip in a smirk, gesturing to the television. "Try 319," he suggested.
She tapped the number into the remote, switching the channel. "You don't need any of this stuff."
"Yeah," he conceded, "but I want it."
Her face was incredulous as she turned back to him from the TV. "Face cream, whisks and cubic zirconium brooches? Really, Logan?"
"Whatever, we all need a hobby PI Polly."
She sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth, trying not to respond as she turned away from him falling back into the chair in a mild sulk as he laughed at her little display.
"At least my hobby doesn't involve throwing money away," her comeback was about five minutes too late.
He quirked his mouth. "You know that commercial that's on every five minutes – about his last film?"
"Yeah," she replied quietly.
"Every time that gets shown my limit might as well get upped," he admitted, "what better way to spend money from trash than on trash?"
GATEHOUSE
He swung open the unlocked door to the drinks cabinet – pulling out an overpriced looking bottle of vodka with a little flourish. Quirking his head in question he scowled a little when she grimaced.
"You have no taste," he grumbled.
"Please, that stuff is made out of potatoes."
"You've obviously never had good vodka," he decided, retrieving a sealed bottle of tequila. "Better?"
"Much."
He pulled two short glasses off the counter top, setting them on the coffee table before falling back onto the couch clumsily. He poured out measures that would be illegal in most places and slid one of the glasses along the table to her outstretched hand. Veronica wasn't really sure why she was sitting complacently in Logan's lounge with a full glass of liquor in one hand and tacky faux fur under the other – even considering getting drunk with him. But she was. After a few sips she stopped choking.
He looked over the rim of his glass at her spluttering, unsure whether or not he was supposed to help. Eventually he pulled himself up but she gestured with an outstretched hand not to bother and continued to hack a little into the back of her hand. When she regained her composure he just shook his head at her, heading towards the fridge – when he came back there was a carton of orange juice in his hands and without asking her, he filled the rest of her glass up with it. Dumping the carton unceremoniously on the table he let himself fall down next to her rather than going back to his own couch. She tilted her head, the tiniest bit fuzzy from straight alcohol pushed deep into her lungs via choking.
He mimicked her head tilt. "We need to play a drinking game."
"Uh, no," she almost stuttered under his attention.
"Come on," he whined, "if you're going to be here you might as well entertain me."
"I'm not playing Strip Poker or Truth or Dare with you Logan," she paused, "definitely not I Never."
He sighed dramatically. "There are other games."
She glared at him a little. "Fine, blackjack – loser drinks."
"Sounds good to me," he smirked reaching under the table to retrieve a deck of cards.
Luck was not favoring her and after five hands Veronica had only won two. After seven she had still only won two and by nine she was leaning comfortably on Logan as he dealt the cards. She was slurring badly by eleven and her eyes started fluttering at twelve.
"I miss you," she murmured into his shoulder, too low for him to hear.
"Hmmm?"
"I miss you," she repeated, a little louder.
"I'm right here," he observed.
"No," she continued, "not really – not there."
"I didn't know you got philosophical when drunk, I would have kept you sober," he grumbled.
A good quarter bottle of tequila had eroded the majority of her defenses. "Do you not miss me at all?"
"Veronica," he turned to face her, "I'm sitting playing a thirteenth hand of the most boring card game known to man with you."
"I'm just," she started, "I'm sorry. I know I said I wasn't – but I am."
He was a little uncomfortable as her face crumpled, seemingly on the verge of tears. She leaned in close to his personal space as he tried a calming breath. "Let's not talk about it."
"I'm sorry," she sighed, "and I miss you."
She let her face fall close to his, lips grazing his mouth gently – barely there at all. Logan held his breath, not sure what to do but before he had time to decide she pulled back, resting her head on his shoulder once more.
With a frustrated sigh he threw the deck of cards onto the table. "It's probably time for you to go," he suggested as gently as he could.
"Yeah," she agreed compliantly.
He helped her to her feet as she weaved slightly. "Maybe if I call your dad…"
"My dad's not home."
He cast a quick glance over to the clock: 9 p.m. – if he was lucky then he would still be able to sober her up and get her home before anybody worried, if Keith wasn't home then he would probably call to check up on her. They seemed like the kind of family that did things like that, and if she was drunk and decided to let slip that he was the one responsible Logan knew he'd have a nicely polished gun pointing towards his front door half an hour later.
He let her slump back onto the couch and headed to the coffee machine. After setting it to make some ridiculously strong espresso he grabbed some bottled water from the fridge and waited for the coffee to finish. Ten minutes later and he headed back to Veronica with his hands full – to find her passed out on the couch where he'd left her.
"Great." He shook his head.
The position she was curled up in didn't look particularly comfortable but after setting down both the water and the coffee Logan decided that he didn't really want her to wake up from a drunken stupor while he was rearranging her. No need to scare her. He grabbed a throw from the back of the other couch, draping it over her legs – she was going to regret sleeping with her pants on, but again he wasn't even going to consider taking them off – he would prefer her to not kick his ass in the morning.
Sighing he plucked the half-empty bottle of tequila off the table and let it swing between his fingers as he headed towards his room. On the third step up he reconsidered, heading back for the lounge where he took up residence on the couch opposite Veronica – he poured himself another drink and waited for her to wake up.
The bright light streamed through the French windows sharply, no blinds blocking their intensity. Logan rolled over until his face was pressed into the cushion beneath him, pushing his eyes against his arm painfully as he groaned sleepily – the pain behind his eyes causing a pounding in his head – rich and heavy.
From across the room he could hear her sleep-slurred voice, soft around the edges as her tongue curled around a yawn. "Why am I still here?"
"You passed out," he mumbled around his dry, fuzzy mouth.
"So you left me here?" her voice was a little too indignant for his liking.
"I didn't leave you – I'm here too," he pointed out.
"You couldn't have taken me home?" she demanded.
"You said your dad wasn't home!"
"So?" she looked unimpressed from her spot on the couch.
"So I didn't want to leave you on your own," he admitted into the cushion, "you were so far gone."
"Because you let me!"
"What?" he rolled over, gingerly pulling his arm away from his face to peer at her irritated, "I don't remember force-feeding you anything," he huffed.
"I need to get home." She tried to run a hand through her tangled hair, as she stood.
He let himself fall face first back onto the sofa. "Have fun with that."
"You're such a gentleman."
"If I offered you a ride right now we'd both end up in the Sheriff's office," he looked up a little, "I'm still hammered."
She grinned. "Aw, and I thought you were just hung over."
"That too, pitch – down," he moaned at her increased tone.
She smiled through her schadenfreude, grabbing her purse from beside the table as she went to let herself out. As she reached the door Veronica called back over her shoulder.
"There's coffee on the counter!"
He grimaced at the volume and edging his face towards the light he saw the cold, untouched coffee from the night before – also noting the bottle of aspirin she had left beside it.
He popped the lid clumsily and forced himself to swallow two of the white, chalky pills with the cold coffee which had settled nastily along the bottom of the mug. He grimaced and wiping the back of his mouth he caught the corner twitch into a vague smile as he wondered how much of last night Veronica actually remembered.
OUTER BAILEY
Dessert for Dinner was apparently a mandatory part of Veronica's life that had to take place at least once a week – no matter where she was. And since Logan had already exhausted all of his take-out menus he couldn't really complain as she scooped too many different flavors of ice cream into the same bowl.
"That's gonna make you sick," he warned.
"It's good," she protested, extending a spoonful of the mixed gunk towards him.
He moved his head back in a negative. "It's making me sick looking at it."
"Soon you will be eating your words… and this sundae," she challenged.
"Not in this lifetime, sweetheart," he sniped.
"Don't mess with me, Echolls, I have a can of whipped cream and I'm not above covering you in it."
"Then you'd better watch out for the chocolate syrup," he smirked, "you know pay back's gonna be a bitch."
She gestured towards him threateningly with a pre-shaken can of cream, only pulling back at the last minute to aim the nozzle between her lips – sending a messy trail of carbonated cream into her mouth.
He watched, unintentionally rapt for a moment as her tongue swiped out to clean the edges of her mouth where a tiny amount of cream had escaped. She caught him staring – pinning him down with a quizzical look.
"Sorry," he started, "I've just never seen anyone with quite so little regard for the junk they put in their body."
"And I thought you'd met my dad," she smiled up at him.
"Hereditary, huh? Let's hope nothing in my family gets passed through the genes," his tone was light even though she could register the bitterness behind his eyes.
"You did get that penchant for being a drama queen," she tried to lift the mood.
He mock-glared at her as he twisted slightly reaching out to her pile of additives and E numbers to grab a carton of sprinkles before ripping off the seal and flipping the lid ominously. Her eyes widened in a 'no' as he approached her, stalking with a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Before she could dash across the kitchen he shook the small plastic container towards her – sending colorful flakes of sugar all over her face and hair.
He moved in closer, dispensing the rest of the dessert topping over her as she screwed up her eyes, protesting with squirming hands. Soon she was backed up against the counter – facing him – and they both slowed down dramatically.
She could feel him hot and firm against her – the air between them deep with humidity as their gazes locked. His expression was questioning, accepting – confused even as it assumed the things he didn't know, his expectations were never very high. She looked up at him with an incredulous awe, her breath warm and dry against his skin as she threw her arms around his neck, her laughter continuing a little.
He dropped the sprinkles, bringing his arms firmly around her back as she held him tight, face pressed against his shoulder. He was a little taken aback – more so perhaps than if she had kissed him – but she clung to him like she'd missed him, like he was more to her than easy kisses. She was a little flushed when she eventually pulled back, abashed.
"What was that for?" his voice was teasing.
She shrugged. "You needed a hug."
"Good to know." His hand was still soft on the curve of her waist. "You know you got a little…" he trailed off, gesturing to the corner of his mouth.
Furrowing her brow a little she brought a hand up to wipe away the imaginary substance – part way to her lips he caught her wrist in his fingers, bringing his mouth down to hers instead. He barely touched the corner, kissing his way to the centre – tongue tripping along the line of her lips until she opened them for him, moaning slightly at the instant heat. She accepted the kiss greedily – pushing closer to him, seeking out warm skin and pretty eyes and a mouth that still tasted faintly of whipped cream and cherries.
He broke away and she snuck her lips up for one last peck on his partly open mouth. Neither said anything and after a while he stepped away just enough to let her continue making the sundaes – leaning sideways on the counter to keep close, unable to stop the warm grin that was tugging at his lips.
"Stop smiling at me," she laughed.
"Sorry. Can't. Impossible."
She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down for another kiss as he giggled into her lips. "I am gonna wipe that smirk right off your face," she threatened affectionately.
"Can't wait," he beamed against her mouth.
STABLES
"You need to give me a ride home," she stated, dripping wet from the rain outside.
"Excuse me?" He stepped aside as she pushed past him, into the house.
"The Le Baron has given up on me – unless you want me to walk the entire 09 zip home you're gonna have to get your ass out to that car and give me a ride," she clarified.
"Veronica, I can't," he looked torn.
She was visibly not impressed. "What?!"
He closed the door, turning to face her. "My car's the only one here right now – I can't take that thing out right now, every photographer on the block will know it's me. Every photographer in the county will know it's me."
"Well that's what happens when you paint your car jackass yellow," she bit out.
"Hey, it came that color."
"Come on Logan, quit jerking around. I won't get a tow at this time of night."
"Look, why don't you just stay here? We'll get someone to tow your car in the morning," he rolled his eyes, "don't worry – we have a guestroom it's not like I'm lining the way to it with candy."
"Fine," she gritted out, not at all happy. "But I need a shower."
"You know I think we might just have a few of those too!" he snarked gleefully.
Peeling off her zip-up she used the sodden item to hit him with, a wet thud echoing off of his arm.
Logan tried to keep a straight face. "That was just uncalled for."
Veronica wasn't surprised to find only two guestrooms in the house – after all there were much more interesting ways to use space. Logan settled her into the larger of the two – picking up the phone and throwing it across the room at her. She raised her eyebrows in disbelief as she caught the receiver.
"You'll need to call your dad, right?"
"Not with this," she replied in an equaled stupefied tone, "caller ID? You really think he's not going to turn up on the doorstep with a gun when he sees where I am?"
"Seriously – what's with parents? Like I couldn't have defiled his precious daughter all day," he ranted.
She cocked an eyebrow in his direction. "All day?"
He scowled. "Call your dad."
She smirked, pulling a small silver cell out of her bag as Logan threw himself onto the double bed, lounging back as he waited for her to finish the call.
"—Love you too, dad." She clicked the phone closed.
She sidled up to the bed, standing over him. "Shower?"
He nodded towards one of the doors leading off of the room. "En suite."
She nodded, her lips pursed and he pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed as she stood between his legs. A hand bent her head down gently into a soft kiss, like he was breathing against her lips.
"'Night," he murmured as she smiled against his lips, her nervous breathing a little too quick. He stood, letting the flat of his palm run firmly from her shoulder down her arm. "You should let me get those dried," he nodded to the soaking clothes she was still wearing.
She stood a little awkwardly. He brushed his hands up her arms once more in a warming gesture and let a quick kiss fall onto her cheek.
"There are robes in the wardrobe, just take the clothes downstairs or something when you're finished."
She flashed him the hint of an adoring smile as he headed towards the hall, closing the door behind him.
Steam still spilling off her skin Veronica wrapped herself tightly in the fluffy, white robe and started downstairs towards the kitchen, dripping clothes in one hand as she used the other to secure the robe closed – not trusting the tier. She could hear the rustle of paper as she got closer and rounding the corner she caught sight of Logan leaning casually against the kitchen counter with a glass of orange juice and a paper of some sort, he didn't appear to be paying it a great deal of attention.
"Do you have anything I can sleep in?" she asked.
"Trina might," he looked up from his spot by the counter," but she probably took anything useful with her."
"Where is she?" she took a sip of orange juice as he pushed the untouched glass towards her.
"Red lighting in Europe?" he snarked, "I don't know."
She continued to look at him impatiently, waiting for a solution to her most recently problem.
He smirked. "If you're willing to risk it I have a closet full of t-shirts."
"Excellent," she pulled the robe tighter around herself, "I just want to crash now."
He touched her elbow on his way past and she followed him back upstairs and into his own room. Crossing the space swiftly he opened one of the drawers with a flourish, "help yourself."
She reached into the drawer a little cautiously considering the only contents was t-shirts, and pulled out one from the top. "Thank you."
As she stood he took a step in, tracing his fingertips down her cheek, she lifted herself up on her tip toes to press a sweet kiss to his mouth.
"Goodnight, for real this time."
"'Night."
He watched as she retreated from his room, padding down the corridor while gripping tightly to the cotton shirt embedded with his cologne.
BARRACKS
She rolled over, settling herself on her stomach as her elbow dug into the duvet – propping her up enough that she could still see the screen properly. Little red and green pixels danced across the TV as "argh!" and "thud!" and "errrrgh!" reverberated from the surround sound.
It was actually quite disturbing to hear an electronic person scream from behind as she clicked buttons at random sending her digital sword through the torsos of various demons and minions. Logan sure had great taste in the most violent and vaguely pornographic video games around – her favorite possibly being the motorcycle racing game where the scorecard girls took off an item of clothing every time you won – it was really classy.
"This was the only thing in the house that had less nutritional value than the packaging," he laughed, setting down a small bowl of lemon meringue pie on the bed next to her.
"But it has fruit," she protested through a mouthful, having discarded her controller the moment he handed her a spoon. "You know," she pulled herself up into a sitting position as he perched himself on the edge of the bed next to her, "it's my birthday tomorrow."
"I may have noticed," he smiled lightly.
She pulled the spoon out of her mouth thoughtfully, "you're still going to be a minor – and I'm not," she grinned.
"Gosh, Veronica, then you'd better not have any inappropriate birthday plans," he teased, grabbing the spoon away to throw it on the carpet, "involving me."
She smiled coyly. "I don't have any plans involving you at all – your ego wouldn't fit in my car." She grinned, leaning on her side, propped on an elbow as he mirrored her actions – facing her.
He reached out a hand between them, fingers lining her jaw gently as he ran a thumb softly along the line of her bottom lip. "Well, you just won't get your present then – your loss."
Her eyes widened a little. "We give each other presents now?"
He just shrugged biting his lip to stop from smiling. She drew her lips together to kiss the tip of his finger before sighing in a mock-pout, rolling her eyes. "I guess I'll just have to control myself around your incredible magnetism." She flopped onto her back and he followed her, arcing his mouth until their lips met, cushioned by a sticky combination of her lip gloss and meringue. His tongue pressed into her mouth gently, warm and sweet, and a slight moan slipped out on her breath as she shifted beneath him.
His hand slipped down from her jaw, hovering over her neck as the pad of his thumb stroked softly into the hollow of her throat. Her eyelashes fluttered by her closed eyes, one hand reaching up to tangle in his hair – pulling him down onto her more firmly. His mouth moved languidly, deeply over hers, tongue teasing the sensitive flesh inside, lips breaking away playfully every now and then.
Her breathing became slow, almost labored as her hips twisted under him of their own volition – releasing a groan from low in his throat as she bit his lip gently, tauntingly, before his mouth travelled up the line of her jaw to her ear – his breath hot and damp against her skin.
Veronica gasped as he bit down gently the very tip of his tongue tracing the edge of her earlobe between his teeth until she was squirming beneath him. Her hands moved down between them – tugging anxiously on Logan's belt loops as she pulled his hips tight against hers.
"Veronica…" he warned, his voice tense and pleading.
"It's my birthday," she breathed in reply as if that made perfect sense of the situation.
He smiled against her throat. "It's not your birthday till tomorrow," he gasped as her hand came down firmly over the zip of his pants. She moaned hard, head tilting back as his teeth sank lightly into her neck, lips applying a wet, sucking pressure. Her fingers fluttered over his pants – teasingly light, grasping as they contracted, muscles shortening from the sensation.
"Whoa," he whispered against her, "slow down."
Her hands moved up, fumbling for the edge of his shirt, pushing up under the hem as they traced over his lower back – firmly pressing patterns into the damaged skin that felt much the same as any other skin beneath her fingertips. She sucked in a breath as his thumb traced the edge of her breast through her thin cotton t-shirt, his other hand moving sweetly on her waist – fingers stretching up the side of her ribcage without much aim.
Lowering her mouth to his shoulder she kissed the crook of his neck, tongue searching out a pulse as she lifted a knee, rolling them over until she came to straddle his thighs comfortably, shimmying down his body as she lay flush against him. He let one hand lie gently across her lower back as the other pushed a few long strands of blonde away from her eyes – tucking them lightly out of reach behind her ear as she bent to kiss him again.
Soon his hands were pushing up her shirt, forcing the soft cotton over her arms and head as Veronica wiggled awkwardly to shed the item. She returned the favor as he rolled her back into the mattress firmly – hand twisting under her, a little uncomfortably, to unclasp her bra as both their shirts lay in a pile on the carpet. The under wire caught a little awkwardly and she gasped, soon placated as he brushed a thumb over her nipple soundly, his other fingers stroking the whip lashed flesh on the underside of her breast.
His tongue laved wetly over her nipple, sucking the raised flesh into his mouth temptingly – teasing the edges with his teeth. As he switched breasts his hand came up to stroke over the neglected flesh, thumb stroking firmly as he moved lower.
Soon he was pushing down her jeans and at her hesitant look he pulled back a little to rid himself of his own pants. Quickly both pairs had joined the shirts on the ground, Veronica kicking idly as Logan had yanked the jeans off her ankles.
As he repositioned himself between her legs the bowl of lemon meringue pie tipped off the edge of the bedspread – hitting the floor face down.
"Logan!"
"Leave it," he mumbled into her stomach.
His mouth left a line of soft, wet kisses over her abdomen – moving closer and closer to the waistband of her underwear as his fingers teased inside the edge, inching down the elastic slowly.
"Logan," she breathed out tightly.
He looked up to find her looking back with wide eyes – shivering beneath him. He let his fingers stroke dry the patch of skin his mouth had been occupying before climbing up next to her, capturing her mouth in a warm cajoling kiss – one hand still stroking gently up the inside of her thigh – slowly, carefully. Coaxing her to relax as his mouth moved on hers, her head falling back drowsily as he followed a trail back down her body, skin contracting in nervous anticipation as he settled himself back between her knees.
His tongue teased the very outside edge of her – Veronica's legs attempted to slam together, clamping down on his head as he cautiously licked her damp flesh. Taunting everything but the very centre. Soon his tongue had developed a smooth rhythm of soothing strokes and she felt a warm pulling sensation begin to creep from the point of contact – her breathing quickened, thighs quaking. Soon the pull was almost painful and as his mouth moved higher, breath hot against her, hair tickling she jolted beneath him – his tongue reaching out to flick softly up her clit before his mouth closed down.
She was still panting, skin pale except for the bright flush that coated her face and select pieces of skin as he crawled back up her, wiping his mouth on the back of a hand before pulling her in for an unhurried kiss.
She gasped hard, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as he pushed into her. Her fingers gripped tightly into the skin above his shoulder blades, her eyes fluttered unable to decide whether to stay open or closed. Her mouth dropped open as if stretching her lips out would relief some of the pressure.
He kissed her soundly, their rhythm starting slow. Veronica was vaguely aware of the soft noises emanating from the back of her throat, his hand edging hastily back down between her thighs. She shuddered as the muscles of her stomach contracted, forcing her body to jerk – gradually the slow pull returned and she felt the buildup tighten all her muscles, tense, waiting – until she contracted around him, muscles breaking into spasm like a seizure. Panting hard she could feel his overheated skin acutely as he upped the pace. His breathing was ragged, every part of him pulled taut. She ran a shaking, exhausted hand down his side as he shook heavily above her, breaking into his release, coming down slowly – gasping into her hair. Breathing deeply, trying to rid the shallowness of his lungs Logan rolled onto his side.
They lay quietly for several moments, his hand stretched so that it was almost touching her – the heat that radiated from him making it feel as if he was. Eventually she shuffled a little closer, hands running up his arm – craving affection as she tried to stop the little quiver left in her hands and the shaky sensation gripping her legs.
"Happy birthday," he punctuated the sentence with an absentminded kiss to her hair, "for tomorrow."
She looked over to him, a soft, slow smile playing over her mouth. "There's still pie on the floor."
He rolled his eyes at her, lips curving as he murmured, "c'mere." He grabbed her hand, giving it a little tug as she shifted under the sheets until she was flush against him, pressing her face into his chest.
"It's going to stain the carpet," she protested lightly.
"Then I'll get a new carpet," he reasoned.
She lifted her head to regard him for a moment. "You're so spoilt."
He tipped her chin up to press a lazy kiss against her mouth. She pushed up to increase the pressure, catching a lip between hers. Her neck strained and she let herself flop back down onto him, laughing a little as she felt a single trickle of sweat course down the back of one thigh.
"I need a shower," she slurred into his shoulder.
His fingers played with the ends of her hair, damp and warm against her shoulders. "Not now."
"Yes, now – I'm all sticky and gross," she grumbled.
"It's messy, it's part of the fun," he snaked a hand around to her lower back, pulling her closer.
She sighed contentedly into his skin. "It won't be so much fun when you can't get out of bed 'cause I'm stuck to you."
"Actually," he grinned languorously, "I think that would be a lot of fun."
She settled down against him comfortably, the steady rise and fall of his chest warm beneath her cheek. Soon the motion became deep and regular.
"You're falling asleep," she accused softly.
"Am not," he mumbled into her hair.
"Are too."
"Go shower," he muttered good naturedly.
She shuffled off of him, wrapping the top sheet around her as she dragged herself off the bed and in the direction of the bathroom. "I'm waking you up when I get back."
"Uh huh," he yawned into the pillow.
Fifteen minutes later she appeared in the doorway, fresh and squeaky-clean with her clothes back on. He was asleep, eyelashes fluttering against his skin with each breath. Without too much hesitation or guilt she wrenched down the covers to his waist letting the cool air shock him into consciousness. He groaned in discomfort, scrunching up his eyes as she let a self-satisfied smile crawl up her face.
"You're dressed," he noted ruefully, rolling onto his back.
"Yeah," she smiled, "it's only 3 p.m." she observed as she bent down to scoop the broken pieces of pie back into the bowl.
"Leave that damn pie alone," he laughed as he reached out a hand and she grasped it, propping herself back on the edge of the bed next to where he lay. "Someone will clean it up – go downstairs, get yourself another slice and I'll be down in ten minutes. Promise."
She just sighed trying not to roll her eyes. Before she could finish the expressed his hand had climbed her arm, resting on her shoulder – fingers playing with the crook of her neck as he graced her with a sleepy, easy kiss.
"Someone needs to take your maid away," she chuckled lightly as she made her way to the door.
Logan made good on his promise and within ten minutes he was padding into the kitchen showered and clothed, catching her waist lightly to press a quick kiss against Veronica's temple on his way across the room. He reached into the cupboard and started to fix himself some cereal.
"You want some coffee?" she looked over her shoulder to see him leaning back against the counter, bowl of cornflakes held at chest level as he shoveled a milk-drenched spoonful into his mouth at speed.
"Logan?" she stared at him pointedly, "usually when someone asks you a question you answer. We call it manners."
"Can't talk," he mumbled around the spoon, "it'll go all soggy and I'll have to get a new bowl."
Her expression warmed as she took in all his little quirks and habits, things you would never learn about someone unless you were this close. "Why are you even eating cereal – it's mid-afternoon."
He rolled his eyes. "I don't cook."
"Guess I'll just have to talk at you, then."
"Do you do anything but?" he pulled the spoon back out of his mouth, his grin much too affectionate for her to be angry. She swatted a tea towel over the breakfast bar at him, which he nimbly ducked – managing not to spill any of the remaining milk in his bowl. Dumping it into the sink he moved in behind her, lips finding her shoulder his teeth gripping her bra strap and pulling it up enough to snap back down firmly – she jumped, pulling out of his grasp.
"Jackass," she shrieked. Turning back to the coffee cup she was stirring she muttered to herself, "that's the last time I sleep with you."
He heard her; two hands stretched out until she gave up the act and took them. "You're beautiful," he said definitely, "and I intend to find a multitude of ways to make you break that promise."
She smiled coyly, trying to keep her bravado up as a faint blush crawled across the tops of her cheeks. "I'll look forward to it," she drawled close to his lips as he pulled her in by her hands, folding her against him in a lazy afternoon kiss.
A hiss-click from behind her broke them apart as steam poured thickly from the coffee machine. She brought both hands up to his chest, using him as a spring board as she grabbed another cup, filling it with the hot, sharp liquid before topping up her rapidly cooling mug. She passed one to Logan who raised his slightly, "cheers."
She just smiled into the rim of her cup. "You really lucked out on a cheap birthday present."
He considered her smile for a moment before responding, mimicking her by talking over the edge of his cup – breath blowing the steam out of the way. "Yeah, but it was heartfelt – they do say it's the thought that counts."
"It was," she tried to stop from grinning, "very… thoughtful."
"Better than a new purse," he observed, watching as her grin cracked fully across her face.
"I don't know about that, there's not much girls love more than purses and shoes."
THE KEEP
"Where're we going?" she asked.
Although Veronica had spent a lot of time in the Echolls' home over the summer the majority of that was in the same four rooms, she hadn't really bothered exploring much and Logan hadn't bothered to give her a tour. Therefore the long corridors with their anonymous looking doors could have led to anywhere.
When he pushed open one of the doors – a little hesitantly – she soon realized that they were in the master bedroom. A shiver ran the length of her spine and couldn't be sure what was causing it, being in the bedroom of her best friend's murderer or being in the bedroom of her boyfriend's (although they weren't really dating, at all, she mused) parents. He looked over his shoulder at her, anxious as he grabbed her hand and weaved towards a walk-in closet.
Everything inside the tiny closet seemed to be bathed in an orange glow. Deceptively warm. He gestured inside with a hand that quivered disobediently.
"That's it," he mumbled, "that's my excuse."
She watched him closely, ignoring the rows and row of belts in different leathers with different buckles. "Excuse for what?" she murmured absentmindedly, thumb running along the side of his.
"How I act, how I treat people," he paused, waving his free hand ambiguously, "the stuff I do."
Veronica bit back an awkward silence, not sure that she was supposed to know about any of this. "I already knew…" she trailed off sympathetically.
He bit back a sardonic smirk. "You've really got to see it, to get the full effect."
Moving in next to him, Veronica pressed herself side to side against Logan as she brought a careful hand to the small of his back. Coaxing and warm like it wanted to turn him around and lead him away from there. "He's gone," she comforted.
"Yeah," he settled down against a wall, pulling away from her, a small smile playing over his lips, "so I probably don't have any excuses left, right?"
"Let's hope not," she returned his smile warmly.
He leaned his mouth down towards her, whispering into the rapidly disappearing air between their lips. "Deal."
DRAWBRIDGE
As she lay sleeping in his bed Logan had the sudden urge to open the window, to jump in the pool, to be anywhere but inside his house. Tugging at her hand he drew her out of a sleep reverie.
"We need to go outside," he demanded.
"Huh," her voice was slurred with sleep.
He jumped out of bed, pulling on his pants and a shirt – throwing her clothes onto the bed he fidgeted, full of nervous energy.
"I don't know, we just – we need to go outside."
"Uh, okay," slowly realization dawned on her, "you're leaving the house?"
"With you, yes – get dressed."
Five minutes later they were tripping down the stairs, hand in hand, giggling like they were about to go on some kind of teenage dream date. As they reach the large doors he pulled her to him, kissing her thoroughly, sweetly.
He sighed in preparation. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me, I'm only here for the sex and the free food," she shot back glibly.
He gave her a look of utter impatience. "Thank you," he repeated.
She pushed herself on tip toes, planting a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Welcome."
"Okay…" he took her hand again, squinting against the bright light that was much stronger than it had been dappled across his bedroom. He pushed past the door and as they headed down the driveway Veronica could swear she had seen him skip a little, obviously glee painted over his features as he grabbed her waist tightly, bringing his mouth down over hers as they continued to stumble along.
A few cameras still flashed as they approached the gates, but for once Logan ignored them – barely moving his lips as she pushed him away laughing slightly against his mouth and then into the air that replaced it.
Their fingers locked she raised an eyebrow challengingly, waiting. With a deep breath and a stolen kiss Logan opened the heavy iron gate and stepped out onto the street. She grinned at his dramatics, playfully swatting his arm with her free hand.
And as he lifted her up, spinning her along a short stretch of road, the condemnations that had rained down began to evaporate. And the wolves found new prey.