Title: would feel like strange, boneless
Summary: He wants to torment her just a little bit, get her to want his body, to beg for it. MacDick
Author's Note: You can consider this a precursor to "experimental group" because I do. My head!canon is really fucking around with me so now I have to rewatch all of Veronica Mars to make sure I don't screw little details up. Go having no social life! Anyway, love MacDick, etc. Title belongs to The Notwist's song, "Boneless." Also Rob Thomas is really throwing me off with all these books. :(
/
They have angry reunion sex and it's enough to pull Dick out of his constant high, out of his drunken stupor, out of his fucking mind.
"Didn't know you were home," he mumbles against the shell of her ear. She's panting and her mouth is all over his neck and her fingers all over the small of his back and it's fucking crazy how much he wishes he knew her body would make him feel years ago.
"Why would you care?" she says, knees quaking against his ass. She bites hard on his collarbone and he hopes she has blood in her mouth so she has the taste of him on her teeth for days, gets drunk off his taint.
It's a question that hollows his heart and makes him slow his movements so she whines in his ear. She likes it rough and fast, and for some reason, he wants to torment her just a little bit, get her to want his body, to beg for it.
They aren't friends. They aren't enemies. They've been shoved together, time and time again, and although it's always been unwanted, something about how her right breast rests on his chest makes him wish she called him when she came back to town.
"Faster," she says into his veins. He's not going to get the word out of his ears for days, the way she says it, scraping the bones in his back. "Too slow."
He wants to say, beg for it. He wants to say, say my name. He wants to say, I haven't felt this much in too long. He wants to say, come home with me.
Instead, he hikes her legs up further and she practically purrs.
Kiss me, he wants to beg her. Kiss me and have my blood in your mouth. Kiss me and say my name and come home with me.
Instead, she rolls her hips into his and his eyes roll back in their sockets.
"Jesus," he mumbles.
"Mac," she corrects and does it again, bites his ear, rakes her nails hard against his skin.
He crashes into her again and she comes undone just at the same time he does. He strains to open his eyes, just to see her face when she unravels against him, but his vision is blurry and her face could be anyone's, her mouth could be anyone's, and thinking that causes the last nail to close his coffin shut.
Her legs go weak around him and he moves her up farther along the wall, letting his fingers slide over her ass, and the action makes her lean her head against the wall and moan.
He stays in her for seconds too long and her eyes skip across his face.
"Dick," she whispers. He practically gets hard again just hearing her say his name, but when he looks at her, he sees that she's just trying to get off of him, trying to move along and pretend that this never happened. Just meaningless sex, nostalgia for bad days, and his black eye from the fight throbs.
"Sorry," he mumbles, gracelessly removing her from her spot on the wall, from him, from the past.
She tugs down her dress slow and takes too long smoothing the material out. She winces when she sees his ripped shirt.
"I can pay for that," she says, gesturing at the missing buttons. He turns around.
"It probably costs more than your apartment," he says over his shoulder. He can hear her roll her eyes.
When he turns back to her, tossing the condom in the trash can by her lean legs, she smiles a soft smile, like she knows him better than he does and it boils his blood.
"Your zipper's undone," she laughs, and before he can tell her it's a ploy to get another fuck in by the end of the night, her hands are zipping it for him.
His puff of breath ends up in her hair. She trembles just a little and it reminds him of when she was standing in the doorway years ago, asking him to leave, and he made her even more fragile with a false accusation.
"I shouldn't be surprised you don't do underwear," she says, pulling, and then her eyes widen. "Speaking of… mine?"
He shrugs, despite the fact they're on the ground right where he had just fucked her. She shrugs back, grabs her purse off the bathroom counter, and tucks her short hair behind her ears.
"I like your hair," he says, words getting caught on his throat when he thinks that she's given up so quickly on finding her underwear — thong, navy blue with lace, just like he likes.
She smiles at him, turns her eyes to the floor where she finds her thong. "Ah," she says, picking them up and depositing them into her purse. His breath hitches.
"Do you want a drink?" he asks, and when she bites her lip, he wishes he kept the offer in his mouth.
"Veronica…" she mumbles and he hits himself mentally a thousand times. "Might be wondering where I went off to."
"Right," he says, leaning his hand against the granite. "Guess I should go then. Before someone comes into the girl's bathroom, I mean."
When she bites her mouth this time, she's suppressing a smile and it's gains a space on his top sexiest things a girl could do. While he's thinking about it, she hugs him and it feels like she's just taken an axe and chopped off his balls — God, can she stop making him feel like he's not a man — and stuffs something in his back pocket.
"See you around, Dick," she says, closing the door. Her smile is innocent and sweet, but when it escalates up, he sees the corruption flicker in her eyes.
He forgets she put something in his back pocket, and later, when he's sliding his fingers up some girl's legs, she finds the present Mac left him.
"Asshole," the girl growls, throwing the offending garment at his face, before storming off.
Her thong lands between his legs and he wonders if it's some sort of Bat signal she's sending, a hot, nerdy way to say call me, but decides to leave the whole ordeal as reunion sex, like she wanted.
Two days later, an unknown number flashes on his screen. He has no time to greet the caller, because a low voice crackles over the speaker, "Do you still want that drink?"
He fights the smile, but it creeps up his face. Smiling into the receiver, he says, "Beg for it."
He hears her roll her eyes over the telephone, he swears, but her voice is full of mirth when she says, "Oh, please! I'll just die if you don't grace me with your presence."
After drinks, she says his name while they're fucking, but this time it's a low, deep tremor that is his one syllable name, and something within him, the wires of his brain, starts to make sense of his demands.