ROCKET SHIP

by cattyk8


SUMMARY

Logan's coming home from a long deployment, and Veronica can't wait to meet him.

An anniversary present for the VM Fic Club Discord Server.


QUICK NOTE

Happy 2nd birthday, VM Fic Club! Love you, awesome nerds!

And if you're not on the Veronica Mars Fic Club Discord server, come join! We talk and share fics, art, playlists, videos, GIFsets, and more!

This fic takes place sometime after the movie and the books. I have not seen Season 4 so it does not exist in this.


Veronica waits for him in the airport arrival area, one more warm body among a throng of well-wishers on this summer evening. She's come straight from work; her jacket and the blouse she wore to impress her afternoon clients all but choke her in her own sweat, and she's not entirely sure if it's her makeup or her face that's melting, thanks to the humidity.

She's glad his flight wasn't delayed and she doesn't have to wait in the California sunshine for very much longer.

The first few passengers from his flight exit the baggage claim area, and she stands on tiptoes and cranes her neck to try and get a glimpse of him.

He isn't expecting her to be here, having told her he'll take a cab home, but she wanted to be here. He'd booked a commercial flight home from the naval base in Virginia rather than waiting on military transport that would cost him an extra day to get back to the San Diego base. She can damn well make the effort to meet him.

She stands just five foot one in her sensible boots, so she holds a sign to make sure he sees her. On it, she's printed the rocket ship emoji, scaled hundreds of times larger than usual. Her sign gets a few curious looks, but she ignores them.

He'll see it and know what it means, and that's all that matters.

As more and more passengers stream through the corridor, anticipation builds, and the warmth in her belly has nothing to do with the weather. When she finally catches sight of him, that warmth turns to heat and spreads to her cheeks.

A moment later, he sees her sign, which she's holding high over her head. He starts to smile, and as his gaze travels down to her face, her body, that smile turns into a grin. It's his "Veronica" grin, the one that promises epic love. The one that promises he'll come back to her, always.

And now he has.

He heads straight for her, stopping a scant foot away. Slowly, she lowers her sign.

"Ready for lift off?" There's a note in his voice that ignites little fires inside her veins.

"In T minus sixty minutes," she replies, in her best pseudo-stern voice. It should take them fifty to get home.

His eyebrows shoot up at that. "That's a tall order."

"Yeah, well, I hooked up with a fighter pilot. I've got high expectations."

He laughs. All around them, couples are kissing, friends and family are hugging each other. Maybe it's from growing up hounded by paparazzi, but in the years since they'd gotten back together, Logan's proved shy when it comes to public displays of affection. And Veronica's never really been one for love in the spotlight. Been there, done that, crashed the un-birthday party and everything.

Instead she takes one of his bags and one of his hands and leads him to the car she's got waiting. She has splurged and hired a car and driver for the trip, knowing if she'd driven here, he would have insisted on driving back. The driver leaps out to help them place Logan's luggage in the trunk.

"I'm glad I don't have to drive," he says. And right when she opens her mouth to tell him she thought he could use a break after such a long trip, he adds, "I'm even gladder that you don't have to either."

She sticks out her tongue at him. He's forever saying that her city driving scares him more than flying over a battle zone. Still, Veronica is glad she's not driving either. Especially when he puts his hand on her bare knee.

They talk about mundane things—how his deployment went, what she did while he was gone—and slowly, ever so slowly, his hand slides up. His thumb traces little patterns on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she starts to lose track of the conversation.

He asks her how her cases are going, and it is all she can do say, "Pretty good."

He asks how the weather has been this past week, and she says, "Wet, very wet."

The driver's eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror, and she can see the confusion in them. It's the middle of summer, and temperatures haven't strayed below eighty, even at night. There hasn't been a raindrop in sight in over a month. She jerks her gaze away only to meet Logan's.

He's smirking.

She lets her tongue dart out to lick the corner of her mouth, then slowly runs it all along her upper lip until it reaches the other side. "T minus twenty," she says after glancing at the sign they pass welcoming them to Balboa County. That wipes the smirk right off his face.

The next ten minutes feel like a decade. They arrive home. The driver brings the luggage in, and she hands him a generous tip, all but slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

Then a hard body is pressed up against hers, and she barely has time to press her hands to the door to support herself as warm calloused hands tug her blouse out from where it's tucked into her jeans, meander up her belly and ribcage, then yank the cups of her bra down to grasp her breasts. His mouth is hot on her neck, moving up to nip at her earlobe.

He pulls back enough to strip her of jacket, blouse and bra, and she uses the opportunity to turn in his arms and tiptoe to take his mouth, which is already slanted toward hers. He reaches behind her to pull her closer, then snaps the button on her jeans and yanks the zip down. One push of his hands along her hips and some wriggling on her part, and the jeans clump at her feet. She steps out of them, her mouth still fused with his. He makes a growling noise and takes charge of the kiss when he discovers the lacy thong that is all she has on underneath.

The fabric of his bomber jacket abrades her breasts, and it further ignites the heat that seems to fill her veins. She reaches for his belt, whimpering against his mouth as her fingers fumble with first the buckle then, once past that obstacle, the button and zipper. By the time she reaches into his boxers and grasps him, he is hard and huge. Her hand tries and fails to encircle him, but she strokes him anyway, squeezing hard the way she know he likes. He pumps his cock into her hand, thrusting his tongue into her mouth at the same time.

He pulls her thong to one side, and suddenly his thumb is at her clit and two fingers are inside me. She's so wet they slide right in. She moans and squeezes his cock, pushing his boxers down just enough to let him spring free. Then his hand pulls back, and before she pull away to object to the emptiness of her pussy, he has grasped her hips and lifted her, using the door as leverage. She guides his cock to her entrance then wraps her arms and legs around him as he slams in. The door shudders, and she giggles at the sound and feel of it.

He curses. "Hold on," he mutters, then pulls her away from the door in a move that has her sinking even further on to his cock.

He turns with her still impaled, still in his arms, and she catches a glimpse of them in the foyer mirror. Her body is completely bare but for the scrap of lace that covers absolutely nothing; she's wound around him like a vine. He's fully dressed—at this angle, with his jacket still rough against her naked form, she can't even tell his pants are undone, much less see that his cock is inside her. The sight makes her even wetter, if that is even possible, and she whimpers and clutches at his shoulders.

He takes a step, and the motion thrusts his cock into her just a little bit more. She bites her lip, but she can hear herself making little mewling sounds at the back of her throat. Each step he takes is a small withdrawal followed by a small thrust. He seems to grow even harder inside her. They reach the living room, and he starts to turn toward their bedroom.

"No," she says, panting. "Too far."

So he lays her out on the couch instead, then follows her down. He pulls out, then raises her leg up over his shoulder. She has a moment where a disjointed part of her brain observes that he's still got all of his clothes on. Then all thought flees as he impales her, then proceeds to hammer into her in a rhythm that leaves her gasping. One hand grips her leg where it rests on his shoulder while the other grasps her hip, keeping her angled so he comes ever closer to hitting that spot inside her.

He turns his head to place a kiss just over her ankle, right where she has a tiny tattoo of a rocket ship emoji. She was drunk when she got it, but she can't bring herself to regret it, especially since he loves to kiss or brush his fingers over it.

"Ready for lift-off, baby?"

"T… minus… ten… seconds." She is barely able to speak. She's all but gasping for air with each breath.

"Ten," he says, his voice rough. She feels his hand leave her hip. His thumb on that bundle of nerves right above the spot where he is pistoning into her.

"Nine." She reaches down, squeezes his balls.

"Eight." He thrust so hard, she's sure to leave a permanent indentation in the couch cushion.

They miss seven, six, five, and four because he takes her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers, thrusting in tandem with his cock.

"Three." His thumb circles her clit ever faster, her womb feels heavy under his assault, and her feet are tingling, toes curling.

"Two," she gasps out, reaching up to grab the couch arm for support as she arches up to meet his next thrust.

"One." He hits that spot inside her, and she screams, starbursts behind her eyelids as he thrusts one more time before spilling inside her, the feel of it making a second orgasm crash through her right as she's cresting the wave of the first. She feels her pussy clench around him, and he thrusts a little more, even as he softens, making her writhe a little and whimper in response.

Indeterminable minutes later, their skin is cooling and they are sprawled on the couch.

"Welcome home," she murmurs.

"Home?" He barks out a short laugh. "Bobcat, we just hit the stratosphere."

She runs a hand down his chest. He's still fully dressed, but for his jacket. She doesn't even know when he took it off. She lets her fingers quest further south to grasp his cock. He moans and starts to harden.

"Let's get you undressed," she says. He grunts in agreement. "Think we can make it to the moon this time?"


AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is meant as a present to celebrate the second anniversary of the VM Fic Club Discord Server. If you love reading VM fanfic and seeing other creative content from peeps who love the show, and if you wanna gush or moan about your fave stories to people who get it (or, you know, just hang out), do come join us! Here's an invite link for ya: bit..ly/vmfcdiscord (just remove the second dot after "bit")

About this Fic

This is a four-year-old story I originally wrote in as a non-fandom fic but with heavy LoVe influences. I'd initially thought I'd submit it for an anthology but didn't end up using it, so I've repurposed it so it returns to its initial roots as a VM smut fic.

I've switched up the POV from first person to third, so if anyone spots anything I missed in the conversion (pronouns, subject-verb agreement) please do feel free to comment and correct me! This work is unbetaed.