TITLE: All Is Well
RATING: R (for language and adult situations)
WORD COUNT: 2669
WARNINGS/SPOILERS: Really just vague episode spoilers for the whole series - nothing specific. More or less AU and/or future fic. Also - beware of cursing and sex.
DISCLAIMER: Rob Thomas is smarter than I.
SUMMARY: Veronica and Logan are secret agents, but Logan's pants interfere with what she wants most.
NOTES: Written for mutinousemuse's Pants-A-Thon Challenge and for a loveathons challenge. Thanks to Susie for being the sounding board for my mischeivious muse. Feedback is the equivalent of love and chocolate.
She lets out an involuntary sound of surprise when he backs her up against the hotel room door. She's got her fingers in his hair, her mouth firmly attached to his own, and one leg wrapped around his torso with another wrapping down around his leather-clad legs. He's supporting her with one arm while trying to blindly fit the key into the lock and gain them access to his suite.
As much as she may complain about his frivolous overspending, she can never complain much about his constant hotel room upgrades. After all, his suites are much … sweeter than her standard rooms and often come with a fantastic view, a jacuzzi, and a very well-stocked mini-bar – each of which could be used for any number of erotic escapades.
She's getting impatient, and it won't be much longer before the gold-plated 247 begins making marks on her back. She moves against him, making her desires clear. She wants Logan naked and on top of her, and if they don't get inside the room soon, she's afraid she'll end up showing the other guests more than they bargained for.
Then again, given how her short skirt is riding up around her waist at the moment, she's probably already showing off a little too much skin.
She rocks against him again, more insistently this time as her previous movement only made him deepen their kiss and clutch at her more insistently. Finally, Logan pulls his lips from hers and seeks out the fucking keyhole with both eyes open this time around.
When the door finally swings open behind her, she feels their momentum carrying her backwards, and she grabs desperately for him. Her mind is hazy, and she isn't cognizant of the fact that by untwining herself from around Logan, she could easily avoid crashing against the door.
Of course, pulling herself flush up against Logan doesn't keep their intertwined bodies from rocking back into the door one more time, which results in a groan of pain from Veronica.
"Jackass," she hisses into his mouth, before her tongue resumes its interrupted tango with his. Logan's mouth smirks instinctively at the muttered insult, and he quickly kicks the door shut – no small feat with the legs of a feisty blonde wrapped around his waist and doing everything in her power to eliminate his tenuous grasp on reality.
Then her hand slowly moves down his back – first to graze over the skin-tight leather covering his ass, and then to caress him at the junction between his legs. His pants have almost a sticky feel beneath her fingertips, and she wonders – again – why Logan decided to wear a pair of fucking leather pants on their stakeout that night. They might be secret agents, but they aren't in the Matrix anymore than Logan is able to dodge bullets.
Logan quickly steers them towards the bed as soon as her hand begins its exploration, and she lays a kiss on the bullet-shaped scar just above his collarbone. As if Logan didn't have enough marks on his body from his childhood, of course his job had to go and add even more.
And then he's gently laying her out on the soft bedspread, before looming over her, a wickedly seductive grin on his features. She licks her lips in anticipation, and his hand trails its way up her inner thigh, where his fingers push aside her damp panties and trace her wet folds. She squirms underneath him as he slowly circles her aching center. She's already on edge and desperately wants him to bring an end to her torture, no matter how pleasing it may be.
Of course, he's one cocky jackass who won't bow to her desires so easily.
"Fuck you," she grates out, after his fingers begin to trace their way back up her sides before landing in her hair.
"That interested in getting my digits, Mars?" He chuckles softly to himself at his pun, and she resists the urge to smack him upside the head or to leave him all hot and bothered in the hotel room.
Of course, given her current condition, she'd simply be denying herself as well since Logan has certainly worked to build her arousal over the past … who knows how many minutes.
So, instead, she rolls her eyes at his remark and reaches again for the black leather, wanting to free the true object of her desire from the pants and just give her a temporary respite from the admittedly delicious agony.
She switches their positions, knowing that she'll have better control of the situation and the pants-removal if he's (relatively) still beneath her. Her hands unbutton the top clasp and begin to work on lowering the zipper, and her movements cause Logan to urge her to hurry.
Faster. Harder. More. Again.
Those words do seem to be their mantra with this … thing they have going between them.
"Fuck," she growls, as the zipper gets stuck on the cloth of his boxers before it's hardly halfway down. She needs to get him out of the fucking leather pants as soon as humanly possible. And now the zipper refuses the budge. The waistband is still tight against his skin, and she doubts that the fabric would give enough to be able to just slide down his legs.
"What?" Logan asks, the glazed look in his eyes demonstrating just how much her simple touch is affecting him.
"The zipper's stuck," she informs him, her annoyance and disappointment clear.
"You sure?" he questions, causing her to roll her eyes.
"Want me to try again?" she returns, jerking her hand downward. The girly shriek she hears in response tells her that while she did make some progress, she probably caught some of Logan's skin in the process.
"Goddammit, Veronica!" he bitches. "That hurt."
"Want me to kiss it and make it all better?" she snarks.
"Like that's really going to help the situation," he sulks, probably upset that his absolutely brilliant idea of wearing leather pants is interfering with his sexual prospects.
"You're a fucking moron, Echolls," she informs him bluntly a moment later. He opens his mouth to respond, but she silences him with a determined and demanding kiss. His hands quickly move from his sides to the hem of her tank top and camisole, urgently attempting to shove both out of his way as his hands seek out her aching breasts.
He doesn't get far before she pulls away and bares her torso herself. He's staring at her chest, and she can read the things that he wants to do to her in his eyes, and she feels almost giddy at the prospect. But first, she needs to concentrate and tell him exactly how this is going to work.
"I can't believe that you were stupid enough to wear pants that are too fucking tight to let little Logan escape," she begins. "And since I will not be left all hot and bothered while we try to get those fucking leather pants off of you, you damn well better have plans to take care of this mess you created. Now."
His arms wrap around her back, as he pulls her to him for a searing kiss that she can feel all the way down to her toes. And then their lips part, and his mouth begins to trail down her body – along the curve of her neck, in the valley between her breasts, and across her belly button before skipping over the striped skirt that's bunched around her waist to begin tasting her ready folds.
She's more than a little pleased at this turn of events and unconsciously twists her legs around his upper back to do what she can to keep him where he is. She's making plenty of noise to voice her approval for his top-notch technique, and she peripherally registers a loud noise somewhere in the background. She dismisses the thought, of course – after all, their case is done (finally), and she's probably just imagining things.
And just as she begins to close in on the much-desired peak, Logan pulls away from her sex, forcing her to come crashing back down to reality without any satisfaction.
She wants to kick him, punch him, hurt him. She knows that he needs to feel the same agony of "almost" that she's experiencing at that very moment.
"Almost dead" sounds just about perfect.
Then she notices that some of their associates are around them, in Logan's hotel suite, trying to avert their eyes from the scene that is laid out before them. Apparently the horny male of the room didn't cause the lock to latch after kicking it shut, which allowed all of the people that she has to work with to see her half-naked and writhing on her partner's bed.
Oh, this is not good at all.
It's not much longer before Veronica and Logan are dashing down the stairwell of the hotel, with the both still very much aroused and uncomfortable.
While they're escaping from the impending danger, she decides that she hates him, that they are over and done with, once and for all. After all, if he weren't such a fucking dumbass, she would be relaxing in the king-sized bed in his suite, thoroughly sated and reveling in the wonders of post-coital bliss.
But no, after obtaining the needed information, Logan had to 'accidentally' tip off his mark – for the third time that month – which necessitated their hurried run for safety.
Hell, even if he'd had the brains to wear something other than those fucking leather pants, she probably would have come at least once before his inability to shut a fucking door ruined their evening.
Logan chooses that moment – of course – to leap over the first of the fences separating them from a plane preparing to taxi down the runaway upon their arrival. And she can't help but notice how fucking great his ass looks in those pants. Sure, the pants were too tight, but the leather molds around him almost like a second skin.
It's impossible to deny that the man does have one insanely hot ass. Since acting like an ass is in his nature, she supposes that it makes sense, but she can feel her resolve weakening as she considers the prospect of never fucking him again. She speeds up to run by his side, not wanting to torture herself by seeing his picture-perfect ass as he hurdles the last two obstacles.
She will be strong. She will not cave. After all, she's Veronica Mars, and she's never met a challenge that she can't overcome.
They clear the next obstacle, and he shoots her a look of appreciation as they're running in step now.
Before long, they're flying over the third fence, and they've almost made it. Only another hundred feet to dash before they'll reach the relative safety of Logan's private plane.
However, a loud sound ripping sound forces her to glance over at her partner and see the look of absolute horror and surprise on his face.
He's ripped the seam in the clearly not high-quality leather pants in the best (or worst, depending on one's point of view) possible place – his crotch. And now, his Snoopy boxers are on display for the world to see, and she wants to stop and laugh and just enjoy this moment since she probably won't get an opportunity like this anytime soon.
Then a shot rings out, reminding her that there is a time and a place for everything, and that now is definitely not the time to be teasing Logan over his questionable clothing choices – especially not at the risk of their lives, especially not when the future of her sex life is in danger.
She grabs his hand and forcibly tugs him towards the waiting plane, pulling him out of his momentary stupor. It isn't long until they're dashing up the six steps to the plane before pulling the staircase up after them.
They're airborne before long, and Veronica's confident that the puny pistols and shotguns that were aiming for them won't be able to make much more than a dent in the soaring aircraft.
"I told you those pants were a dumb idea," she starts, reclining on one of the sofas as she resists the urge to laugh.
"I felt it was an important part of my undercover persona," he counters, but she cuts him off.
"Not that they kept you from blowing our cover," she returns. "Goddammit, Logan, why can't we have more cases that end without us being chased out of town to the tune of gunfire in the air?"
"Keeps things interesting?" he offers, moving to sit beside her on the couch.
"I hate you," she swears as he leans down to kiss her briefly on the lips.
"I'll make it up to you," he promises.
She grins widely as her hands reach down to trace his firm ass through the torn seam of the long-to-be-forgotten leather pants. He playfully slaps her hands away and moves to forcibly remove them from his body.
Agreeably, she leans back to watch as the anticipation builds. Before she knows it, the slick, warm pants are crashing against her face, as he smirks back at her and reaches for the waistband of his boxers. He prepares to shuck them off as well and really get things started – when the sounding of a baby's cry pulls Veronica back to reality.
Veronica's weary eyes ease open at the sound of the wailing baby monitor. Six weeks as a mother plus a long thirty-seven weeks in which to get ready, and she still isn't used to the concept. Sure, she's great about making sure that her son was happy and healthy and content during the day, and she loves little Isaac more than she thought possible.
She does, however, miss the luxury of sleep.
Isaac was a surprise, most certainly, but not a regret. She and Logan hadn't planned on having a kid quite yet, but they rearranged things willingly for the unexpected bundle of joy that bounded into their lives.
She wonders if her dream is perhaps indicative of all that has changed in her life, in their lives, in the past few months. While they were never secret agents – after all, Logan has the stealth of a three-year old on a sugar high – she sometimes misses the freedom that they shared before Isaac's arrival.
Although the whole "giving birth is painful" thing has given her a whole new way to convince Logan to do things that she doesn't feel like doing.
Making a low, whining noise in the back of her throat, she rolls over in bed to nudge the half-naked form beside her.
"He's probably hungry, Vee," he responds, knowing without a word exactly what she wants.
"There should be a bottle in the mini-fridge in the nursery," she returns. "If my memory serves, when we found out we were pregnant, you promised that since I was carrying your child and would have to go through all the painful agony of labor, you'd help out with the midnight feedings and diaper changes and that sort of thing."
"Fine," he grumbles good-naturedly, pecking her on the forehead before rolling out of bed. She can't resist checking out his well-toned abdomen in the moonlight that shines through their bedroom window.
"I'll make it up to you," she promises silkily, remembering the wonderfully erotic dream that Issac's crying had interrupted as she reaches over to trace the elastic of her husband's Snoopy boxers with her fingertips. "Later."
Logan contorts his face into a mock-scandalized expression, as he pulls a worn gray tee-shirt over his head before heading out to the adjacent nursery.
A few moments later, her baby's screaming comes to a halt and is replaced by the melodic sound of her husband's singing.
Day is done,
gone the sun.
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky.
All is well, safely rest.
God is nigh.
Thanks so much for reading. I really hoped that you enjoyed this piece. It was fun to write - definitely a different ... bent on L/V than what I'm used to seeing (or even writing), but it was fun nonetheless.
I'd love to hear what