Title The Protection Of Darkness
Author Devylish
Pairing DoVe Veronica/Lamb
Chapter 3
Words 1784
Rating NC-17
Warning Sex
Spoilers None
AN Unbeta'd
AN2 Chapter one was a response to the Gogetem Bobcat LJ prompt to write a story with our characters Lost and in the dark. This chapter is just an extension of the theme. I think I said there would be 3 chapters… and it will probably be 3 and an epilogue!

TPOD

In some parts of the world, deluges are intimately, immediately, followed by drought. The rains fall, and the sky shifts from black and grey to blue; piercing, startling blue. Blue and cloudless save for the only ornament that graces that blue: the hot golden sun. It scorches and burns and pummels both people and land, making them long for the overabundant rains that they so recently cursed.

Deluge to drought.

Yeah, it's funny how you miss the rain when you have none.

TPOD

It had been two weeks since the whole 'bizarreness at the beach' moment, and three weeks since the 'travesty in the trunk' incident. Yeah, she'd named the events. Named them. Mulled over them. Studied them. Dissected them… She'd even dreamed about them. Unbelievably, hot, sexy, intense dreams. Dreams that involved herself and Lamb tucked under the cover of darkness, under the cover of night. Dreams of his hands, his body, his breath… his presence.

Oddly enough, one of the worst things about the dreams was the feelings she experienced when she inevitably woke up from dreamland. Woke up and remembered that the air she'd been breathing in her imaginings belonged to Lamb. Remembered that the warmth she'd felt, belonged to Lamb. Don Lamb. The biggest crush and the biggest heartbreak she had ever experienced.

She guessed that admission would surprise some people.

Most people.

Okay…, everyone.

If she dared to admit it to herself, it would surprise even her. But, Lamb had been her first. Her first prince; her first dream of ever after. And then, like most little girls, she'd learned that the princes of the world only existed in fairytales. Men, real men, like Don Lamb were mortal. Human.

Apparently, Veronica didn't deal well with humans. They were far too fallible for her liking. Too bad they populated her world so entirely.

Wrapping her arms around her stomach, Veronica looked up at the cloudless Neptune sky. Her eyes focused on the sun for a few seconds before they closed themselves in self-preservation. She watched the afterimage of the sun from behind her lids. The yellow fading to orange, fading to red, then violet, and finally falling into black.

It was sad, really, how much she missed his lurking. Nine years of having him: not close enough, irritatingly close, then, intimately close, and now, she was back full circle. Or, actually, worse than full circle; she'd felt him now. Been touched by him. Having something you've known taken from you, was infinitely worse than being distanced from something you've only seen or dreamed of.

Infinitely worse.

TPOD

Don lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it quietly 'whir, whir, whir, thumped'.

His mind was empty. Purposefully empty. He wasn't thinking of work, or Neptune's social calendar, or her. He definitely wasn't thinking about her.

No images of silken blonde locks -- shifting through his fingers, tracing over his hand -- teased him. No memories of sparkling blue eyes -- mocking, teasing, tempting -- haunted him. No, his mind was empty; filled only with the whir, whir, whir, thump of the fan.

As the air circulated through the room, he refused to allow himself to think about the scents of: the child, the woman-child, the woman, who had filled his senses for so many years. He didn't smell the almond-vanilla of her shampoo. Or the jasmine and ylang-ylang of her perfume. And he definitely didn't smell the traces of musk-lust-heat that poured out of her at his touch.

Whir, whir, whir, thump.

If he thought about it, which he wouldn't, he would realize he hadn't seen her in two weeks. A record. Normally, they couldn't avoid one another no matter how hard they tried. Normally, he wasn't as lucky as he'd been the past couple of weeks. Yeah, two whole weeks of luck.

If he was thinking; if his mind was filled with thoughts of her, he'd be in trouble. He'd be in trouble, and these last two weeks would have been shit-filled, tormenting weeks.

Thank God his mind was empty.

Thank God he wasn't plagued with thoughts of Veronica Mars.

Whir, whir, whir, thump.

TPOD

Pacing helped mildly. Just the smallest bit. And it was more the expenditure of energy that was 'doing the trick'. The use of those tiny neurons and synapses that made his legs move, his feet lift, his arms swing.

It was a small thing. A small something. But he'd take anything at this point; 9:03pm on Friday night. Friday the 13th to be exact. And at this point, Lamb was pretty damn certain that he was about to go insane. He hadn't felt this out of control… this fucking crazy, since he was a teen. A juvenile, girl-crazy, horny teen. And Veronica Mars was brining it out in him. Now! Here it was, decade after he'd left his teens and he was in the same – no, a worse – state; because now, now, damn-it, he'd put his hands…, he'd tasted…, he'd fucking been unable to get her out of his mind.

Anxiety, nerves, lust, anger, all of it was roiling around in his gut and he was pretty certain that the only fucking thing that would stop the churning maelstrom would be action. He either went after her and… and tried to figure out how to stop being a sniveling pubescent around her, or he needed to get a lobotomy -- for both of his heads.

Sex was an action of the body and of the mind; don't let anyone tell you it wasn't. It could occur when just your body was 'there', but it also could occur when just your mind was 'there'. Imagine what happened when BOTH body and mind were present, engaged, and plugged in. And Lamb knew, after two fucking whole weeks, that his mind was there; sexing Veronica Mars up and down, side to side, and in and out. His body was just looking for its turn.

FUCK!

He glanced at the clock again 9:05. Taking in a small breath he puffed it out and –

Knock knock knock knock.

TPOD

Crazy. This is Crazy. Insane. Stupid... Wrong! It's ohhhhhhhh so wrong! Wrong in ways that haven't even been created yet. Veronica was climbing the steps to Don Lamb's place for the fifth time in as many minutes. She'd get close, and then she'd turn and walk back away. And then she'd get her stupid nerve back up, and turn back around and head up the steps again.

Her mind was fighting with itself, and tormenting her with its indecision. Go see him, find away to get him out of your system, or out of your city… state, or, or yeah… her mind even suggested, once or twice, that she talk to him. Chat with him about the little situations they kept finding themselves in.

"Yeah, cuz chatting is all I really want to do." Veronica muttered to herself. Chatting didn't require shaving your legs (or other body parts). And chatting didn't require wearing your favorite perfume, or putting on your favorite, sexiest pair of jeans, or the blue top that fit oh-so-right. And chatting definitely didn't require that you wear your most expensive, least practical, pair of heels.

That chatting doesn't require that you wear a baby-blue satin and lace bra and boy-short set, goes without saying… doesn't it?

Veronica paused outside of his door, raised her hand, took a small breath, puffed it out and

Knock knock knock knock.

TPOD

"Mars?!" His voice registered his surprise.

"Quick! Extra points if you can identify which Mars." She responded trying to hide the nerves that were jangling inside of her.

Jasmine and Ylang-Ylang. He could smell it. Smell her. Shifting uncomfortably he eyed her lithe form and wondered how the little girl he'd known and adored and been amused by, had turned into such a fucking delicious, and definitive woman.

In the silence, she fell back on the taunting and teasing that he brought out of her so easily. Teasing was normal. "See, this is the point where normal people would invite their visitors in."

He leaned against the doorframe and continued to study her face, her clothes, her body, "Why are you here Mars?"

"Really? No 'hello'? No 'hi, how's it going'? I thought you had at least a modicum of social grace."

"Social graces are reserved for social visitors." He took a deep breath, vanilla-almond, "Unless, of course, you're saying that this is a social visit. If that's the case," rolling his body out of the way, he stood back, "be my guest."

"I'm not interrupting am I?" Her nerves returned full force as she passed within inches of him, crossing the threshold. Lamb-land had been entered; she'd taken the last step.

"Would you care?" He closed and locked the door behind her, never letting his eyes leave her body.

Deciding to bite the bullet, Veronica turned around and faced him. "So… where've you been for the last couple of weeks?"

She'd noticed he wasn't around? "Doing my job, being the Sheriff of this great city." He stepped further into the apartment; and closer to her, "Miss me?"

"You're kind of like that mangy neighborhood dog that you mistakenly feed once, and can never shake after that. When he turns up missing, you… you just wonder who he's pestering now."

Lamb stepped even closer, invading her personal space. "Maybe you even wonder who's feeding him now?"

"It… it's a really bad idea for people to feed dogs they don't know." Tall. He was so tall, and substantial. And he smelled like mint; mint and spices. "Mangy dogs."

"Because they might bite?" He was inches away from her, and they were breathing the same air again. Their air.

"Or," she was reading his eyes. His blue, blue eyes. There were no clouds in them, but there was no sun either. Just the darkness of his pupils, surrounded by open blueness. "Or, they might give you fleas." She lifted her hand to his chest, just placing her palm against the curve of his pec.

"Fleas would not be good." Lamb snaked his arm around her waist.

"Fleas bad." She echoed faintly as he pulled her flush to his body.

"If it helps at all, I took a shower today." He lowered his head to hers slowly. Slowly enough for her to answer him.

"Oh, yeah. That definitely helps; makes everything all better."

And then they weren't breathing. Not air. Just one another. Breathing, and tasting, and touching, speaking without words. And all of those wonderful scents: Jasmine, and mint, vanilla-almond, ylang-ylang and spice, all of them curving in and around them. Weaving a heady magic around both of them.