Logan tossed a blanket over his lap and sprawled on the couch, stealing a glance at Veronica. She sat cross-legged beside him, her fingers gliding over the laptop trackpad in absent, aimless motions. The faint blue glow of the screen threw her features into sharp relief, the slight crease between her brows impossible to miss.
"Hospitals are practically shutting down," she murmured, her voice low and grim. "They're not even treating people anymore, just… storing them."
Logan grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "Well, that's a cheery image," he muttered. "Remind me not to catch anything worse than a cold."
Veronica's lips twitched into a faint smile, brittle at the edges. "Lucky for me, I got a health check-up before everything went to hell." She reached for the glass of water on the side table, her fingers tightening around it as she took a small sip.
Logan tilted his head, his sharp eyes catching the stiffness in her posture. Her voice was light, but the tension coiled in her shoulders betrayed her. He knew her too well - every expression, every little quirk - to miss the signs that something was gnawing at her.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his tone softening.
She hesitated, setting the glass back down with a quiet clink. "Can I ask you something… weird?"
He raised an eyebrow, his signature smirk flickering to life. "You? Ask a random question? Inconceivable."
Veronica rolled her eyes, but her usual spark was missing. "I'm serious."
Logan straightened, the humour draining from his face. "Okay," he said carefully. "What's on your mind?"
Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, her gaze fixed on an invisible point on the floor. "Did Duncan ever… mention sleeping with anyone besides me, and maybe Meg?"
Logan blinked, momentarily thrown. "Wow. Torturing me with the topic of Duncan's love life?" He leaned back, crossing his arms. "Not as far as I know. He hasn't exactly been Mr. Overshare lately with me, as you know." His voice softened, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Why?"
Veronica's lips pressed into a thin line, her shoulders curling inward. "Yeah, that's kind of what I thought," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Logan frowned, concern etched across his face. "Veronica… what's going on?"
She opened her mouth as if to speak but faltered, her hands clenching into fists. "I… never mind."
Logan leaned towards her, his smirk gone, replaced by genuine worry. "Hey, you can tell me. What's going on?"
Her eyes flicked to his, then away. "I just needed to know," she whispered.
Logan's chest tightened, the unease in her voice sending a chill through him. "Veronica, there's clearly a reason you're asking this. What's going on?"
She swallowed hard, her throat painfully dry. Her hands trembled as she wrung the edge of her sweater. "I… got the health check results back."
Logan's brows furrowed, his concern deepening. "Okay… and?"
Her voice wavered as she finally met his gaze. "It… showed I had chlamydia."
The words hit like a hammer, the weight of them reverberating through the room. Logan stared at her, his expression frozen in shock. For a moment, it was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.
"Chlamydia?" he repeated, his voice low and disbelieving. "Are you serious?"
"I'm clean now," she added quickly, her voice trembling. "I got treatment as soon as I found out."
Logan leaned back, his jaw tightening. "But… how? Duncan can't have—"
"That's what I thought," she cut in, her voice cracking. Her hands gripped the edge of the couch as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. "But if it wasn't him, that only leaves one option. There was someone else at Shelly's party."
Logan's stomach twisted as her words sank in. His fists clenched involuntarily against his thighs, his face hardening in disbelief. "Veronica, no. That can't— Are you saying you think someone other than Duncan—"
"I don't know!" she burst out, her voice breaking. She pressed her hands to her face, and Logan's heart clenched as tears slipped through her fingers. "That's the problem. I don't know, and I'll probably never know."
Logan moved instinctively, pulling her into his arms. "Veronica…" His voice cracked, raw with emotion. "God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know what to say."
She clung to him, her fists balling up in his shirt. "I thought when Duncan told me it was him, I could finally put it behind me," she whispered, her voice shaking. "But now… it's like this shadow I can't escape. I keep replaying that night, trying to figure out who lied, or if there's something I missed. And the worst part? I don't think I'll ever know the full truth."
Logan tightened his hold, his hand gently cradling the back of her head. "If I could go back in time, I'd change everything about that night," he murmured.
"I just want it to go away," she choked out. "I want to stop feeling so broken."
"You're not broken," Logan said fiercely. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze steady and unwavering. "You're the strongest person I know, Veronica. You've been through hell, and you're still standing. That's not broken. That's incredible."
Her tears came harder, and she buried her face in his chest. "I don't feel strong."
Logan stroked her hair, wishing he could take her pain and carry it himself. "That's okay, too," he whispered.
They sat like that for what felt like hours, the room silent except for the steady rhythm of their breathing. Gradually, her trembling eased, and she sagged against him, her head resting against his chest.
When her breathing evened out, Logan realised she'd fallen asleep. He pulled the blanket up, tucking it gently around her. Leaning down, he brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
As exhaustion crept over him, his eyes grew heavy. With Veronica nestled in his arms, he let sleep take him.
Logan had been sprawled on the couch, half-watching an old episode of Punk'd and half-scrolling through his phone, when it hit him that he hadn't seen Veronica in hours. She wasn't one to vanish without explanation - usually, there was at least some sarcastic quip before she disappeared to do whatever Veronica Mars deemed important. He muted the TV and glanced around the quiet house. The stillness felt heavier these days, the kind that only came with knowing the world outside had gone eerily quiet too.
The last time he'd seen her, she'd mentioned going outside. With a sigh, he got up and slipped into his sneakers.
The estate was sprawling, and it didn't take long for him to remember just how ridiculous it was. The pools were empty, their surfaces perfectly still under the blazing California sun. The tennis court was deserted too, though the idea of Veronica suddenly picking up a tennis racket was laughable. Still, pandemics did weird things to people. He thought about the blogs he'd stumbled across where suburban dads were suddenly baking sourdough like their lives depended on it.
The heat was unrelenting, the kind that settled on your skin and didn't let go. Sweat started to bead on his forehead as he made his way to the pool house, only to find it empty. The various storage buildings were the same - quiet, dusty, and devoid of life. He was about to give up and head back inside when he heard a faint noise coming from one of the more distant sheds.
That particular shed was a relic from his mom's brief 'earth mother' phase, after she'd returned from a wellness retreat armed with overpriced juicers and meditation crystals. She'd bought out half of Home Depot and declared she'd grow their own vegetables. The groundskeeper had indulged her for a time, but Lynn Echolls' brief fascination with gardening had faded almost as quickly as it began once she realised the risk of dirt under her fingernails.
The shed, once stocked with shiny new tools and pristine pots, had devolved into a forgotten dumping ground. Outdated gardening supplies, rusting tools, and warped wooden stakes lay in chaotic piles, gathering dust and cobwebs. The groundskeeper rarely ventured inside, using only what he needed on occasion while neglecting the rest. The shed itself had seen better days, with its sagging roof, peeling paint, and a door that creaked ominously in the wind. It stood in sharp contrast to the otherwise immaculate grounds of the mansion, a relic of disinterest and decay.
Curious, Logan made his way over, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound. He pushed the door open and stopped short, leaning against the shed's doorframe, squinting against the sunlight slanting in through the half-open door. The air inside was warm and carried the faint scent of earth and mildew. Veronica crouched near a long-neglected potting bench, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, strands sticking to her damp neck. A dusty canvas bag lay open beside her, spilling packets of seeds across the floor in a chaotic rainbow of colours. She held a packet in one hand, staring at it like it contained the secrets of the universe.
"What'cha doing?" he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.
She didn't look up immediately, instead brushing a strand of hair out of her face with the back of her wrist. "Did you know how much was in here?"
He shrugged. "Mom didn't do things by halves. She came back from some retreat swearing she was going to grow her own organic kale or whatever, but it lasted three seconds, as you can imagine."
Veronica smiled wryly. "Well, I guess that's our gain now. There are all kinds of seeds here," Veronica said, holding up a packet. "Fruit, vegetables…"
Logan raised an eyebrow. "Okay?"
She stood, brushing dirt off her knees, and gave him a look. "And we might be here a while. Food won't last forever. Maybe we should start a garden. If the virus blows over - or wipes out enough people that this place becomes 28 Days Later - then at least we'll have learned something. And if it takes a while, you'll appreciate having access to the basics."
"Let me get this straight," he said, folding his arms. "You're planning to avoid zombies by planting… tomatoes?"
She glanced up, her eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "And cucumbers. And maybe radishes, if I can figure out where to put them. It's practical," she shot back. "I'd have thought you'd appreciate that, Mr. 'Stockpile the Pantry.'"
He stepped inside, the soles of his sneakers crunching against the grit on the floor. Veronica had managed to navigate over various rusting gardening tools, alongside stacks of empty terracotta pots and a collection of gardening gloves in various shades of pastel, because even in the outdoors Lynn appreciated aesthetics over practicality.
"Hey, canned food is the gift that keeps on giving," he said, smirking. "And you do realise we have enough canned food in the pantry to last until… I don't know, the next millennium?"
She didn't look up; instead tearing open a packet of seeds with a precision that bordered on surgical. "I'm not trying to recreate the Garden of Eden, Logan. I just think it's smart to be prepared. What if we can't leave for months?"
"Then we'll eat beans and watch old episodes of Punk'd until we forget what fresh air feels like."
"Very reassuring," she said dryly. She stood, brushing dirt off her knees, and nodded towards the far corner of the shed. "Grab me that pot, will you?"
Logan followed her gaze to a large, cracked ceramic pot shoved behind a stack of broken trellises. He sighed dramatically but moved to retrieve it, grunting as he manoeuvred it free. "This thing weighs a ton. What are you planting, a redwood?"
"Basil," she said, deadpan, though the corner of her mouth twitched.
He set the pot down with a thud, wiping his hands on his shorts. "You know, this is all very earthy of you. Didn't peg you for the 'grow your own food' type."
"I grew some sunflowers when I was eleven," she said with a shrug, grabbing a nearby trowel and began scooping soil into the pot. "That practically makes me an expert."
He watched her work for a moment, the silence between them filled with the repetitive scrape of metal against dirt. Outside, the cicadas buzzed, their droning hum a reminder of the unrelenting summer heat.
"You're serious about this, huh?" he said finally.
She paused, wiping her forearm across her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt behind. "I don't know," she admitted. "I guess it's something to do. Something that feels… useful. Like I'm not just sitting around waiting for the world to implode."
He leaned against the bench, softening into something closer to understanding. "You know, for someone who's always chasing the next mystery, you're surprisingly bad at sitting still."
"And you're surprisingly good at avoiding manual labour," she shot back, though her tone was teasing.
"Hey, I carried the pot," he protested. "That counts."
She laughed, the sound light and unexpected, and for a moment, the oppressive weight of the world outside the estate walls lifted.
"Alright, if you want to spearhead the Little House on the Prairie revival, I'm down," he said, straightening up. "But if you're going to do this, you're going to need help. Lucky for you, I know a guy who's really good at watering plants. And by 'a guy,' I mean me."
Veronica raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. "You? Helping? What's the catch?"
"No catch," he said, grinning. "Just trying to earn my keep in the post-apocalyptic farming collective you're building."
She rolled her eyes but handed him a packet of seeds. "Fine. Start with these. And don't screw it up."
Logan tore open the packet and looked down at the tiny seeds in his palm. "What am I planting?"
"Carrots."
He groaned. "Carrots? That's so boring. Can't I do, like, strawberries or something cool?"
"Carrots are versatile," she said, smirking. "And if you're going to survive the apocalypse with me, you're going to learn to appreciate the basics."
"And what's your position on growing pot? A plant and entertainment in one."
She raised an eyebrow. "Great idea. Because nothing says apocalypse survival like getting high and forgetting how to run from zombies."
He shook his head, chuckling, but crouched down beside her, mirroring her movements. The two of them worked together, the dusty, forgotten shed slowly coming to life around them.
"No one is phoning me anyway – but it's Logan. 'I can resist everything except temptation.'— Oscar Wilde."
Logan woke up feeling downright grouchy, with a side of irritability. The kind of mood that clung to you like wet clothes and only got worse the longer you wore it. The weather wasn't helping. The unseasonably warm spell of the last few weeks had turned on them, hard. A storm was rolling in, and the rain lashed against the house with a ferocity California hadn't seen in months. Every drop seemed to ricochet off the metal shutters, amplifying the relentless drumming into a headache that had been brewing since dawn.
The whole house felt oppressive, the kind of place where tension built like static electricity, waiting for a spark. And Logan? He was the coiled spring, taut and wound so tightly that every breath felt like it might snap something inside him.
Sex usually worked as a release valve. Hell, he craved it like most people craved caffeine in the morning. Ideally, it was with someone he cared about - though that pool of candidates was dangerously shallow. When that wasn't an option, there was always Kendall or one of the countless women who seemed to orbit his life, mistaking his charm for sincerity.
On days when sex wasn't on the table, surfing usually did the trick. Out on the water, he could lose himself in the curl of the waves, letting the salt air strip away his frustration. But surfing was currently a non-starter.
That left Veronica. Sparring with her was better than therapy. In the last couple of years he'd learned nothing snapped him out of a funk like pushing her buttons, watching her eyes flash with that mix of fury and amusement that was so uniquely hers. Honestly, he often enjoyed it more than sex. She was the only person on earth who could keep up with him, toe to toe, word for word. If he couldn't have her, provoking her was the next best thing.
But the problem was, for the past couple of weeks, they'd found something that felt dangerously close to a rhythm. A fragile truce that didn't seem fair to break just because his own skin felt like it didn't fit today. She'd been kind, in her prickly Veronica way, and under the circumstances, it felt wrong to pick a fight just because he was horny and restless with nowhere to go.
Not that she was making it easy. Honestly, whichever higher power had decided to lock him in a house with Veronica Mars during a pandemic, while she was dating his best friend, had to be a sadist. And that higher power must have been feeling particularly cruel today, because she'd decided to wear that. A flared skirt, a snug sweater, and long socks that hit just above the knee, like she was auditioning for a role as his personal tormentor. She wasn't even trying to kill him - she was succeeding.
So, he'd gone for Plan B: avoidance. The morning had stretched out painfully, each minute filled with tasks that barely needed doing. Cleaning out the fridge became an exercise in obsessive detail, scrubbing every shelf until it gleamed. Reorganising the tool drawer turned into a meticulous ritual, every wrench and screwdriver placed and replaced until the arrangement was more art than utility. Anything to keep himself busy. Anything to keep himself out of her orbit.
And yet, even with the distance he tried to create, her presence lingered, stubborn and inescapable. It was in the faint trace of vanilla and citrus that seemed to cling to the air, in the muted memory of her voice echoing through the quiet house. She was everywhere, even when she wasn't.
Logan heard her before he saw her - the distinctive stride of her boots against the marble floor, a sound as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. He didn't look up, his gaze fixed on the random assortment of tools he'd already arranged and rearranged three times. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd get bored and leave.
No such luck.
"I'm not sure you need to be a PI to pick up on the vibes you're putting out today," Veronica said, her voice light but laced with challenge. She leaned lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed, her smirk firmly in place. "Honestly, I'm surprised the walls aren't peeling from all the brooding."
A snort escaped him despite himself, but he didn't look at her. "I'm fine. Just... keeping busy," he replied, his tone clipped.
She arched an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to the toolbox in front of him, then back to his face. "Yeah, because the world really needs you to revolutionise screwdriver organisation. What's up with you?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, too quickly. He tossed a wrench into the box with more force than necessary, the clang echoing in the quiet room. "Not that it's any of your business, Mars."
She tilted her head, studying him like one of her case files. "See, that right there? That tone? That's a dead giveaway. You're deflecting. Which, by the way, is rookie-level evasiveness."
Logan sighed, dragging a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "I'm not deflecting. I'm... fine."
"You're fine," she repeated, her voice dripping with scepticism. "Cool. Just checking, because the last time I saw someone thisfine, they were throwing their heels at the wall in a cell and screaming into their pillow about the injustice of it all. Loretta always did have a flair for the dramatic."
"Not my style," he muttered.
"No, you're more of the bottle-it-up-until-you-explode-and-punch-someone type," she acknowledged, stepping further into the room. Her skirt brushed against the edge of the workbench as she perched on it, close enough for him to feel her presence like an undeniable pull. "Seriously, Logan. Spill. Is it the storm? Cabin fever? Or did you finally snap after alphabetising the canned goods?"
That earned her a reluctant chuckle, though he quickly masked it with a shake of his head. "You're relentless, you know that?"
"It's part of my charm."
He sighed again, leaning back against the bench and folding his arms. "Honestly? It's just... one of those days. I woke up in a mood, the weather sucks, and I'm trying not to take it out on anyone." His eyes flicked to hers, holding her gaze for a moment longer than he intended. "Especially you."
Her smirk softened, the sharp edges fading into something almost tender. "Well, I appreciate the effort. Though, for the record, I can handle it if you need to vent or, I don't know, punch a pillow. Just don't make me regret saying that."
"Noted," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the steady pit-a-pat of rain against the shutters. Logan found his eyes drawn to her again - the way her hair caught the dim light, the way she seemed so utterly unfazed by the storm raging outside - or the one inside him. Christ, he was going to snap soon.
"You know," she said suddenly, hopping off the bench with an effortless grace, "if you're looking for a distraction, we could make popcorn and binge-watch something terrible. Your call."
"Terrible as in Anaconda terrible or Hallmark Christmas movie terrible?"
"Why choose?" Veronica said with a grin, already heading for the door.
Logan stayed rooted to the spot, his arms folded as the silence stretched between them, and he just couldn't take it anymore. The tension clawed at him, too sharp, too suffocating to ignore. If he couldn't burn off this energy by his preferred method, he'd have to do it another way. His voice sliced through the air, sharp and deliberate.
"Out of curiosity, does your dad know you're holed up with a lamp-breaking delinquent like me? Must be eating him alive, knowing you're stuck with the guy he probably thinks should be behind bars."
She froze mid-step, her back stiffening before she turned to face him. Her hands found her hips, her expression pure exasperation. "Yeah, I told him. Figured I'd save him the trouble of tracking me down mid Pandemic. You're welcome, by the way, for the glowing review I gave you."
Logan's jaw tightened, but he smirked, refusing to let her get the upper hand so easily. "Oh, let me guess. 'Dad, he's really reformed. Sure, he still has anger issues, but hey, at least he hasn't set anything on fire lately.'"
"Close," Veronica shot back, stepping closer. "More like, 'Dad, he's a pain in the ass, but at least he's house-trained.'"
Logan let out a low laugh, but his eyes hardened. "Funny. And I'm sure he didn't react so well to the news. He can't be thrilled his precious little girl is stuck with the guy who started a gang war and has punched half of Neptune High."
"Wow, you're really leaning into the self-loathing thing today, huh?" Veronica crossed her arms, her gaze unflinching. "You want me to tell you that my dad's worried? Fine, he is. He's always worried - about me, about you, about everyone. But do you think this is the first situation I've been in that's made him nervous? Please. You're not even in the top three."
Logan arched a brow, his smirk twisting bitterly. "Oh, I'm flattered. He must be gutted you're with me, rather than Duncan, who I'm sure he thinks is a regular Prince Charming."
Veronica's eyes narrowed. "Right. Well, if you want to keep sulking about your bad-boy image, be my guest. Just let me know when you're done, so we can go back to pretending this truce of ours is still intact."
"Truce?" Logan scoffed, stepping closer. The storm outside roared in agreement, lightning briefly carving their tense silhouettes into the darkened room. "That's what you think this is?"
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she didn't respond. When she did, her voice was low, edged with steel. "Well, it was until you woke up an asshole and decided to ruin it."
For a moment, they stood frozen, their eyes locked as the storm raged outside, its fury amplifying the tension in the room. The steady drum of rain against the shutters, the wind's wild howl, and the intermittent crack of lightning seemed to push them closer to the edge of something they couldn't yet name.
Veronica exhaled sharply, breaking the stillness as she shook her head, her voice clipped and distant. "Enjoy your tools. I'll be in the living room. Try not to break anything while you're brooding."
She turned to leave a second time, but Logan's frustration boiled over, the words tumbling out before he could stop big or go home, right?
"It must suck for you though, being stuck here indefinitely with your second choice," Logan drawled, the words laced with bitter sarcasm.
The rain seemed to drum even harder against the shutters, followed by thunder that rolled so loudly it felt like the walls were shaking.
Her arms crossed, and her fingers drummed impatiently against her elbow. "What are you talking about?" Her tone was calm, but her eyes blazed with unspoken fire.
Logan's jaw tightened, his gaze steady, his voice low and rough with barely restrained frustration. "You left me for Duncan. So don't tell me you're not pissed you're stuck here instead of playing house with him right now."
Her jaw tightened, her expression hardening - but only for a moment. Then something else flickered across her face: hesitation, followed by resolve. "I didn't leave you for Duncan," she said firmly, her voice steady. But then, softer, almost drowned out by the storm, she added, "And you weren't my second choice."
He blinked, thrown off-guard. "What?"
"You weren't my second choice," she repeated, more firmly this time. Her gaze didn't waver, but there was something raw in it now.
"Pretty sure I was," he shot back, mirroring her by crossing his arms in defence against the sudden tightness in his chest. "You said you tried to call him first. You only came here because he didn't answer."
Veronica hesitated again, her teeth catching her bottom lip. "I did call him," she admitted. "When I was already half way to yours."
Logan frowned, confusion mixing with disbelief. "Wait, what?"
She took a slow breath, her shoulders rising and falling. "He answered. Turns out he'd already left - bailed for Napa to be with his family. On day two. He didn't even check on me before he skedaddled. So, yeah, I called him, but it didn't change anything for me, and he made his priorities clear too."
Logan stared, his mind racing to process her words. The thunder roared again, shaking the walls, but they took no notice. He took a step closer, his voice softer now. "So why were you on the way to mine before you even called him?"
Her lips parted, and for a moment, there was a pause. Then, with a small shrug and a faint, almost rueful smile, she answered, "Because you texted me. You asked if I was okay. He didn't."
Another step, and now they were close enough to feel the heat radiating off one another. Logan's voice dropped, rough with something unspoken. "But why come to me at all?"
Veronica swallowed hard, her gaze steady and unwavering as it locked onto his. "Because the world was falling apart, and all I could think about was you. Everything that happened over the summer - it just didn't seem so important anymore."
Logan's breath caught, his chest tightening as his heart thundered beneath his ribs. They were toe to toe now, close enough for him to notice the slight tremble in her hands. The storm light flickered across her face, illuminating the raw emotion in her expression and making her eyes appear an even more vivid, stormy blue.
"But if I was on your mind, if you wanted me, and you came here," he began, his voice low, "why wait two weeks to tell me that? Two weeks, Veronica, and nothing."
Her eyes went wide and almost pleading. "Because you haven't made a move, Logan! I thought you didn't want me anymore. After everything, after we broke up, I thought—" Her voice cracked, and she looked away briefly before meeting his gaze again. "I know you were sleeping with someone else, so I thought you'd moved on."
"You thought I didn't want you?" Logan repeated, his voice incredulous. "Do you have any idea how many cold showers I've taken in the last two weeks? I was trying to respect that you were with Duncan."
Veronica's lips twitched, her expression switching between disbelief and amusement. "Really?" She shook her head, her tone softening. "Duncan and I are over."
The words barely left her mouth when the room was swallowed by darkness, the power cut by the relentless storm outside. Thunder cracked so violently it felt as though the very ground beneath them was shaking, and for a moment, they stood frozen, suspended in the tense silence between them. They were close enough to feel each other's breath, the only light now coming from the flashes of lightning that lit up their faces in quick, jagged bursts.
Logan couldn't hold back any longer. Every muscle in his body was aching to close the distance between them, to touch her, to taste her skin. His hands found her hips, pulling her to him as if he couldn't bear another second without her. And then his lips were on hers - urgent, raw, and desperate - as though kissing her was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
Veronica melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, meeting his kiss with equal intensity. The world outside raged on in a deafening cacophony, but in that moment, nothing else existed. The storm could've torn the house apart, and Logan wouldn't have cared.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, and without a second thought, he lifted her onto the counter, his body pressing against hers. He kissed her deeper, pouring every bit of his longing, every unspoken feeling, into the embrace. His hands moved over her - her hair, her hips, gliding over her skin like he needed to touch every part of her to make sure she was real.
He hitched her up, his grip strong, and her legs instinctively wrapped around him, pulling him closer. They stumbled out into the hallway, and in their haste smacked straight into an ornamental plinth, sending an expensive vase that Logan had always thought was extremely ugly crashing to the floor. The sound of the vase shattering registered a few seconds later, and he paused, regretfully lowering her to the floor, deciding it probably wasn't the best idea to navigate in the dark while walking backwards.
For a moment, they stood still, the only sound he could focus on was the rushed cadence of their breathing. The dim amber glow of the emergency lights suddenly powered on, illuminating Veronica's flushed face, her lips swollen from his kiss, looking so beautiful it was almost like a physical ache.
Her gaze flicked to the broken vase, then back to him, and a breathless smile tugged at her lips. "Well," she said, her voice laced with amusement, "I hope you didn't like that vase too much."
Logan shot her a grin, his voice low and rough, his words slipping out before he could think better of it. "Not as much as I like you."
For a brief moment, her smile faltered, but something tender and warm flickered across her face instead. But before she could respond, he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against hers. She didn't pull away. Instead, she threaded her fingers through his, gripping him firmly as if securing herself to him before either of them could change their minds.
"Come on," he said, his voice still laced with the intensity of the moment. "Let's go."
Without hesitation, she followed him, their joined hands the only steady thing in the dimly lit hallway. The storm outside continued its wrath, thunder shaking the very foundations of the house, but neither of them flinched. Together, they climbed the stairs, the noise of the storm fading as they reached the safety of his bedroom.
When the door swung open, Logan pulled her inside, the hue of the emergency lights painting long, flickering shadows on the walls. For a moment, they stood in silence, as if either weren't quite sure what to say. His chest tightened, and his blood pulsed with urgency as he struggled to find the right words - the ones she deserved to hear. He needed to tell her how deeply sorry he was for the summer, even if she claimed it no longer mattered.
"Veronica," he began, his voice rough with regret, "I—"
She cut him off with a gentle hand against his chest, her touch searing against him at the same time her gaze unravelled him. Her eyes, usually so guarded, held a raw openness that made his chest ache. "You don't have to say anything," she said softly, her voice steady. "Just... don't stop."
That was all the invitation he needed. His hands slid again to her waist, pulling her close as their lips met again - slower, deeper, more deliberate this time. This kiss carried it all - every unspoken word, every moment of longing that had simmered between them since that first kiss at the Camelot, when his world had shifted on its axis and never realigned.
Her hands slid up his chest, tangling in his hair as she sighed against his mouth, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. The world outside, the storm, everything else, faded into nothing as they moved together - instinct driving them. The back of Logan's knees hit the edge of the bed, and with a sudden rush, he sank down, pulling her with him. She straddled his lap, her arms winding around his shoulders as he anchored her to him, his hands on her hips.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, their foreheads pressed together. Logan closed his eyes, his hands tightening their grip on her, afraid she might vanish.
She began pulling at his shirt, and he responded in kind, each motion frantic and desperate as they shed their clothes, the need to touch skin overwhelming.
Veronica had been on his rotation since he was twelve, and he had tried - so damn hard - to be patient over the summer, waiting for the right moment, but that moment had never come. Now, she was sitting on his lap in nothing but black lace and knee socks, it was like a fantasy come to life.
"I've missed you," he admitted, running his thumb over his cheek, the words spilling out before he could stop them.
Veronica's fingers brushed against the back of his neck, a soft, featherlight touch. "I missed you too," she whispered back.
He reached behind her to unhook her bra, and she gave him a wry smile as it dropped. He twisted, gently lying her down before him.
Logan's gaze lingered on the black knee socks, and his voice was rough with desire. "These knee socks are one of the hottest things I've ever seen," he confessed, his eyes burning with a mix of admiration and need. "Did you wear them to torture me?"
Veronica smirked, her fingers tracing a path down his chest, as if she were luxuriating in the moment. "It's cold today," she said casually with an arch of her eyebrow. But her hands told a different story, moving lower, over his muscles, until they brushed the waistband of his boxer shorts.
Before she could go any further, Logan's hands cupped her breasts, the sensation sending a jolt though her body. He didn't waste time - his lips found the delicate curve of her neck, trailing down with soft kisses that he knew ignited sparks under her skin. When he reached the spot on her collarbone that always made her shudder, he lingered, savouring the reaction, before moving lower, kissing his way down to her breasts. His fingers gently circled her nipples, followed by his tongue, and he enjoyed the small, breathy moans that escaped her lips as he teased each nipple, spending time on each one.
He played close attention, mentally noting every shift in her breath, every sound, every subtle movement of her body. Each one fuelled the fire inside him.
He wanted to take his time. He wanted to remember every curve of her, every sigh, every touch. But the need, the pull, was too strong.
His hands roamed lower, finding the line of her hips, her waist, and then slipping under the fabric of her underwear, feeling her heat against him. Her body responded to his touch instinctively, arching towards him, pressing closer as if she couldn't wait either.
She lifted her hips invitingly, her movements slow and deliberate, giving him the green light he'd been waiting for, a silent plea for him to continue. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as her body pressed against his, craving more of his touch. Logan needed no further encouragement. He slipped his hand fully beneath the waistband of her underwear, his fingers circling her clit, eliciting a sharp exhale in response.
Their movements were fluid, instinctive, driven by an overwhelming need for each other. Her hands roamed over his back, gripping his shoulders as she pulled him closer, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony. The space between them disappeared, replaced by heat and desire.
He finally pulled her underwear down, and she wriggled again to allow him to slip them off entirely, and then he lowered his head slowly, his lips brushing over her skin in a featherlight caress before his tongue traced a languid path between her legs. Another soft gasp escaped her lips, her body jolting beneath the delicate touch. Encouraged, he delved deeper, his tongue swirling and teasing with deliberate intent. Each motion coaxed sharper reactions from her - her breath hitching, her hips rising to meet him.
She was so responsive to his every touch. Her fingers slid into his hair, briefly gripping tightly as he found the right spot, pulling him closer with a whispered plea of his name. The sound threaded through him like electricity, sending a shimmer of delight down his body, before she moved her hands to his shoulders.
Logan's mouth moved with skilled precision, exploring every responsive inch of her with a mix of hunger and reverence. Her soft moans grew in volume, her body tightening, each muscle coiling as tension built. Sensing her nearing release, his fingers joined his tongue in a perfect, coaxing dance - gentle yet precise - guiding her higher, and he slowly slipped his finger inside at the same time.
Finally Veronica broke beneath him, her body arching off the bed, hips lifting as a cry of pleasure tore from her throat, and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Waves of ecstasy continued to ripple through her and she writhed under him, and his tongue softened, offering soothing strokes that eased her through every last tremor. Only when her grip on his shoulders loosened and her breathing slowed did he finally lift his head, savouring the sight of her utterly undone.
Her hands began to move with deliberate tenderness, her fingertips gliding down Logan's chest, tracing the lines of his muscles with an almost sacred touch, and she gently kissed down his jaw. Every delicate brush of her skin against his sent a cascade of shivers racing through him. Her hand paused at the waistband of his boxers, fingers slipping beneath the fabric in a slow, teasing descent, before he pulled his underwear off entirely. When she wrapped her hand around him, Logan's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed as a deep, guttural groan escaped him. Her touch ignited something primal within him - a spark catching on dry kindling, spreading into a wildfire that threatened to consume him entirely.
Veronica's movements were exploratory, attentive - each stroke measured, each pause intentional - as if she were learning the very map of his desires. His body began to coil with tension, his muscles taut, every nerve straining under the delicious pressure she built. The sensation was overwhelming, pushing him perilously close to the edge.
Summoning every ounce of restraint, Logan steadied himself, his eyes opening to meet Veronica's. Her gaze shimmered with understanding and something deeper as a silent conversation passed between them. Slowly, she loosened her grip, her hand retreating, offering him a quiet mercy that only deepened his longing. He drew in a shaky breath, the air thick with shared desire.
Reaching to the nightstand, Logan's fingers closed around the foil packet he had stored there. His eyes never left Veronica's as he carefully tore it open and slid the protection on. The anticipation between them crackled, palpable and electric. Veronica's body shifted, arching subtly in invitation, her eyes shining. A slow, knowing smile curved Logan's lips as his hands found her hips, gripping them firmly, grounding himself in the reality of her beneath him.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Logan guided himself into her achingly slowly, their bodies uniting in a seamless glide. A shudder passed through him at the tightness, matched by Veronica's soft gasp as she tried to adjust to the exquisite closeness, her eyes fluttering shut. He paused for a second to allow her a moment to relax, kissing her gently, and then when her eyes opened again, he began to move.
The connection between them deepened with each movement and they moved together in a rhythm as natural as breathing. Logan felt a profound sense of belonging he'd never experienced before - as though this moment was exactly where he was meant to be. Sex could often be a means to an end for him, but Veronica's warmth enveloped him, her body a perfect counterpoint to his own, drawing him deeper, his every move reciprocated. Like his pleasure mattered as much as her own.
Time seemed to dissolve, the world outside slipping away until there was nothing but the two of them, lost in one another. Logan's senses sharpened, every sound, every touch magnified - the soft whispers of Veronica's breath, the glide of skin on skin, the racing beat of his own heart. The intensity built steadily, his body tensing again, this time with anticipation rather than restraint.
Then she shifted beneath him, and he placed his hands on her waist, helping to guide her on top of him. She reached out, her palm pressing against his chest to steady herself, before finding her own pace. He offered her a lazy smile as she leaned forward, then back, as if testing the difference. His hands found the curve of her hips, guiding her to twist slightly with each downward movement, and the sharp intake of her breath told him it was her favourite. He savoured the soft groans that followed, each slow grind and synchronized motion sending waves of pleasure spiralling through them both.
Logan could feel her muscles coiling, her body tightening and her breath quickening as her nails dug into his back. He adjusted his angle, his thrusts becoming more purposeful, driving them both higher, his finger circling her clit again to help push her over the edge. Her cry echoed in his ear as she shattered on top of him, her body arching and trembling before collapsing forward onto his chest, as if she no longer had the strength to stay upright. Feeling her break apart in his arms fractured the last of his control. With a hoarse groan, Logan let himself go, following her into release as every muscle in his body tightened, then slowly melted.
For a long moment, they remained entwined, their hearts pounding in unison. He pinched the condom and removed it, aiming towards the trash can. Easing down beside her, Logan gathered Veronica close against him. His hands drifted lazily over the smooth planes of her back, down to the curve of her ass, memorising every part of her skin. Outside, the storm had finally passed, but with the power still out, a creeping chill began to settle in the air.
Logan reached for the discarded sheets and pulled them over their tangled bodies. Veronica nestled closer, fitting perfectly against him, their breaths mingling in the quiet. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her spine.
He longed to tell her the truth. That he adored her, worshipped her, loved her. But he feared that would be the quickest way to send her fleeing, with nowhere to hide.
Noticing the goosebumps on her skin, he asked, "Are you cold?" His voice was low and rough with exhaustion.
Veronica tilted her head up, a soft smile curving her lips. "Nah, lucky I have you to keep me warm."
Chuckled softly, he tightened his arms around her. The room grew quieter, the warmth of their bodies and the steady sound of their breathing filling the space, before he began once more to explore every inch of her. They had all the time in the world, and he intended to savour every moment.