He talks a lot during sex. She notices that first - not because she didn't expect it - but because it's so characteristic it makes her laugh. People don't talk during sex in the movies - but the two of them lack a montage and soft music. They lack a lot of things.
She thought he might be serious but she's sure she heard him crack a joke into her shoulder. She sort of hates him for that - because he's comfortable and amused while she's just confused. Hot and slick and panting - but still confused.
Her mind is in as many knots as her stomach - she thinks he likes her a lot more than he's ever let on.
And by ever she means all five years of it, she wonders if every time he touched her he was trying to tell her something more. He touches a lot of people - in lots of different ways - it seems to come much easier than words. She'd love to translate his tongue tracing the small hollow of her thigh.
He crawls back up her body - attention seeker - he can tell she's zoned. He hates it. He hates a lot of things but there is no way he is willing to have secret sex with a girl who isn't thinking about him.
He doesn't know her very well - she thinks about him all the time. In lots of different ways. In lots of different places.
He kisses her and it is partly out of spite. So that she knows, knows that it is him and not Duncan or Troy or Leo or anyone else she might have done this with before. He doesn't actually know if she's a virgin - well, he didn't know - he does now. Has done for a while. It still irritates him though. Did she? Didn't she? Would she ever tell him if he asked? He thinks that she might but he doesn't know if it would be the truth.
She's quiet during sex and he thinks that that should change.
That should change now. And she moans with his tongue there. People could call him a slut - but he likes to think practiced and he's pretty sure she just plain likes. There is a form of control here for both of them - she is choosing to let go. Choice is a luxury and he takes it for granted because he's never had to think.
She sprawls and she should not have so much flesh. So much skin wrapped around bone, wrapped around a tight core of whoever she is. He doesn't really know - and truth be told neither does she. But they don't care - inches to discover and not enough time as their youth escapes them.
Years and years and beautiful people will stay beautiful on the inside. He'd hate to see an X-ray of himself - all crooked bones and rotting hope. She would be handed a white piece of paper because he is sure there is a light that emanates from her too bright to contrast her structure.
He likes that she's a good girl. Not many people would believe him - but he's known her for a long time. Knows a lot of things that no one else does - Lilly was a chatty consummator. He knows that Veronica Mars never went past second with Duncan - neither of them know that he knows.
Her lips part, pressed firmly against his throat - her tongue strokes out. Strong and hot and wet - his arms give a little as he nearly falls against her. He rolls to the side, pulls her with him, lets her continue her devastation. He prefers her on top anyway.
She likes the way he says her name - with sharp, enunciated edges. Like it is something special and he has to take care over saying it. She thinks she does a lot of things she usually wouldn't because of the way he says her name.
She would like to label it with a warning but the part of her that is still vintage Veronica doesn't want anyone else touching - because she doesn't share. She's no slut. She's sweet and sticky - easy to get hooked on. And her boyfriend is her boyfriend because he would never ever cheat on her.
She's not sure what warning label to stick to herself - but she thinks she probably needs one. On the other hand he probably deserves whatever she destroys - her hands are on his jeans. She fumbles with the zipper because they will never get easy.
He's still talking but his words are just noise - she was right about the touching and his fingers on her arms are desperate. Longing and hoping and knowing and just wanting her to hurry the fuck up. He looks like he might die if he doesn't shed the denim.
She loves the power as she blows a shiver across him. He scowls - she smiles. They are a perfect mix of intolerance and blasphemy.
Laboring hands help him out of a predicament and she loves that his head rocks back against the headboard. Hard and fast while his lungs struggle. Her lips go dry and she can't help licking them - he says her name again. Strained and quiet - pulling out the syllables.
She doesn't need to translate that.
She just needs to keep breathing and remember how to smile. How to touch - she doesn't know why sex distracts her so much. Not the act but the thoughts that inevitably join her during.
He seems so peaceful and she's just jealous. Jealous and heartbroken and wishing that her best friend was here to tell her what she's doing wrong with her life. But she's not and somehow she doesn't think Wallace would be up to this kind of advice and Veronica hates that she needs it at all. That she's weak and girly and totally hot for the one guy who's the universe's own personal 'I told you so'.
So she stops trying to translate - because although he talks a lot just to make comforting noise, she's the one who's closed off. Tied up. Not saying anything at all as he's talking with his touches.
She is not Lilly Kane no matter how much she wanted to be when she was younger - and he is not asking her to be, she can tell through his hands. So she takes a deep breath, a long kiss and she tries to tell him he's not a replacement.
Tries to tell him everything. Because her best friend isn't here - but his girlfriend is. And they lack a lot of things, but at least they have this.