37 days into Logan's tour, Veronica began missing his toes.
Slipping under the covers in their bed every night, she would reach her toes over to his, in search of warmth. And he would reciprocate, covering her feet with his, holding them tightly until the warmth of his body transferred to hers. Living together, those few months before he volunteered for another assignment, they developed a code, using only their toes to communicate.
The first few times she did it, he would yelp in surprise at the ten ice cubes pressed against his skin. She would giggle and chase his feet around under the covers as he tried to escape her reach, landing them on the soft backs of his knees, the prickly hair on his thighs, and even once or twice, on the firm roundness of his buttocks. Her toes saying, I'm glad you're here with me.
There was the night they argued for hours about Logan's insistence he buy a house for them, and Veronica's retort that she didn't want or need his money, that this was her apartment and he was welcome to stay with her. She exerted her need for independence over and over throughout the fight, but once they were under the covers, she felt his warm feet cross over to her side. Hesitantly brushing the ball of her foot with his toe -- soft and gentle as his kisses – he looked for her, under the security of the blankets. That night, she found herself curling her toes around his, shimmying a few inches closer to his body, but not completely ready to turn around and face him. Responding to his unsaid question with the answer, yes, we'll be okay.
When he came to bed, in the early mornings, after a night of flying test missions, she would wake ever so slightly and stretch her feet over to him, reassuring herself that he made it home. That it was his body, and not a ghost, floating silently into their bed. He would caress her feet with his, reassuring her I made it home alive.
Nights on surveillance, she would crawl into bed, overtired and over caffeinated from sitting and watching the men and women of Neptune trying to slip in and out of motels, unnoticed. She would move her feet close to his, wrapping her ankles around him, trapping his feet with hers, telling him I'm glad I'm home with you.
Then there were the touches that happened many different times while they were in bed together: in the morning, when the sun cast a warm glow through the sheers; half asleep, in the middle of the night; evenings, after they kissed each other good night. It was the confident sweep of Veronica's big toe across the ball of Logan's foot followed by the slow drag of her pointed toes up and down the side of his arch, progressing up to his muscular calf. The one that would cause him to roll towards her, pinning her with his body, as his teeth teased the nape of her neck. The one that made him respond by spreading her feet apart with his, opening her to him, allowing him to reach his hand around to her stomach and slowly slide his fingers down until he was inside her. The one that she knew would result in them begging and moaning and whispering each others name.
Veronica.Logan.Please.
It was her way of reminding him, you will always be mine and I'll always be yours.
On this particular night, her mind counted exactly 37 days since his deployment. Not 36, because it was after midnight and so she added that little bit of time. Rolling towards his side of the bed – the side she usually left empty in the misguided hope he would miraculously appear in the night – she stretched her leg over the invisible dividing line, and felt around for him with five toes. When her search came up empty, she added the other five, smoothing the sheet down on his side, under the blankets. Keeping her eyes closed, she inched along until she was on his pillow, the scent of him surrounding her. When he left, she found herself pushing the envelope of good hygiene and had yet to wash their bedding, unable to part with the musky shroud.
Stretching her toes out through the indentation his solid body left on his side of her cheap mattress, Veronica imagined him with her one more time. Twisting onto her back, she let one hand drift up to her breast, and she rolled her nipple between her fingers gently, just as he would have if he were here. He would have stayed there, teasing and playing with her, his leg slung over hers, his foot pinning hers down, adding in his tongue at some point to further tease her breasts. Her back arched at the thought, her knees rising, her toes digging into the sheets. She let her other hand slide down past the edge of her panties, parting her folds she began stroking her clit. Anchoring her feet to the mattress, her hips bucked, anxious for the illusion of his fingers caressing her. As she stroked herself with increasing urgency, his name hovered on her lips.
Logan.Please.
Her toes arched and pointed as her orgasm waved through her body, cresting and falling as her muscles contracted then relaxed.
Opening her eyes, she gasped at the ceiling. He was still gone. But for that moment it felt like he was right there with her. Across the ocean and continents dividing them, he was somehow connected to her again, for one fleeting second.
Alone in the silence, Veronica closed her knees and pointed her toes, bringing her legs up into a tight ball on her side. Stretching her arms protectively around herself, Veronica gave in to the feelings she held in her chest for every minute of the 37 days Logan was gone, and cried herself to sleep.