Title: Set it in Motion
Summary: "You said, if cuddling was the best part, he didn't do it right… I don't know, Logan, I don't have as much experience as you. Maybe you can help me figure it out?"
Spoilers: This goes AU right about the second Veronica steps out of Duncan's bedroom in Ep 02x02.
A/N: This was beta'd by a very splendid, very fabulous, very intelligent gal! Yay for her. She wins in life!
Feedback earns you karma points. -smiling-
She lies in Duncan's arms, but the heat from his body fails to penetrate her skin. Inside she's cold and the silence of the apartment unsettles her, making her feel more empty than she has in a long, long time. Even the shower doesn't warm her, and she realizes it's impossible for her to stay. His body never moves when she pads with bare feet across the plush carpet. Her toes make faint impressions in the weave, impressions that won't last until the morning. She dresses with the irony that neither she nor her prints will make it through the night.
She's still pulling on her boots as she steps outside the room, softly bringing the door closed behind her. The suite is shadowed, faded patches of sepia and dark overtones hiding the corners. It's the perfect getaway, she thinks, pausing at the disquieting sound of the other door opening. Or at least it would have been, if only Logan, jaw muscles clenching at the sight of her, wasn't standing there with jacket in hand, looking at her like she's a traitor.
This is not a conversation she wants to have, she thinks, looking down at her feet.
"What's different about you?" His eyes fully surveil her body, burning a path that starts with her lips and ends somewhere around her waistline. His voice is laced with sarcasm, what else, but there's a little something extra lilting around the edges. "Did you cut your hair or something?"
He's leaning heavily against the wall, his leg drawn up, busy fingers toying at the laces of his shoe. In her bones she knows his next words won't be sweet or subtle; they'll be a reflection of who he has become – blunt, reckless, and painful. "FYI, if the cuddling was the best part… he didn't do it right."
Pushing off the wall, he runs an agitated hand through his still wet hair, slipping his arms into his jacket. Veronica's face only briefly registers the blow but enough for him to see and his smile twists sardonically. He thinks he's won. He's almost sure of it, until his hand touches the cool brass knob of the door handle and he hears her breathe one word that stops him in his tracks. "Really?"
"What?" He doesn't turn his body towards her, silently refusing to fully take her bait; instead he tilts his head, watching her in silhouette.
"You said, if cuddling was the best part, he didn't do it right… I don't know, Logan, I don't have as much experience as you. Maybe you can help me figure it out?"
He turns stiffly, bracing his back against the door. He knows what's going on, reads it like the challenge it is; tit-for-fucking-tat. He refuses to relent, letting his head fall back against the solid oak, his smile settling in his eyes. "Sure."
"He started really slow." She brings her lip between her teeth, biting at it gently, wringing her hands. "Really slow," she shuts her eyes to the memory.
"His hands were here and here," she rests one on her left hip, his eyes following before skipping to the hand resting on her abdomen. "Running circles over my skin, sliding up under my shirt, making me shiver."
Her eyes open with heavy lids, and she watches him swallow thickly, tracking her fingertips as they move against the flat of her stomach. With a tilt of her head she continues, stepping closer. "Amazing hands, Logan. Touching me. Brushing over naked skin. Teasing, lightly at first, then with more persistence."
Her fingers slide north, gliding the tips of her nails across her shirt in an effort to punctuate Duncan's presence. She flicks them over her breast in a manner to emphasize her point. "His hands, his mouth… so hot…here."
She stops, catching his gaze and holding it steady, as she sinks down into the sofa. Her back presses into the suede, her head resting against one of the arms; and he watches while holding his breath. Her fingers tickle across her collarbone and down her ribcage (a feeling he can not forget), before her thumbnail catches across the metal track of the zipper in her jeans. The sound fills the near silent apartment, and she stops when her palm rests flush against her thigh.
"Then he," she continues shyly, bowing her legs and spreading her thighs, before pressing them back together. Her hands play absently across the denim before she twists towards him. "He licked his way down my body. Didn't stop. I could hardly breathe when he first touched me with his tongue."
Secretively, her right hand slides home between her closed thighs. "Between his tongue and his fingers, he kept me on the edge until I was begging for it." For the first time Logan can hear the cleverly veiled venom in her voice. He shuts his eyes to deflect the pain.
"It felt so good that when he finally crawled his way back up my body, I could barely move. That's when he pushed himself inside me." His eyes snap open and he hopes the distance between them will hide his reaction. He can see she's had the decency to blush, and realizes if he can see the color of her skin, she can most likely see the tears in his eyes.
"It didn't last too long, but you know," she straightens and pushes up from the couch, taking a shallow breath that wavers in her throat, "I have to think an experience like that has to be better when it actually means something." Once more she tilts her head, trying to ignore the solitary tear winding its way in slow motion down his cheek.
"So what do you think?" her voice is cold and empty, nothing but a whisper. She's sure she shouldn't do this; why in the hell is she hurting him this way? The answer comes to her, as rushed and as angry as her decision to punish him; because he'd fucked some other girl, someone who meant nothing to him, and she was positive he'd done it to hurt her. "Do you think he did it right?"
She suspects he'll play to his bravado, but stands surprised when he reaches up to wipe his face. A small huff of laughter emanates from his burning lungs, and he nods once in her direction. "Yeah, sounds… perfect."
The bitterness is etched across his features, accentuated by tight creases near his eyes. Using the kinetic energy that's been building in his bones, he pushes himself off the place that she's metaphorically nailed him to the door. She's moving too, and as she reaches for the doorknob, he catches the pain in her eyes.
"Thanks for being such a good friend, Logan," she whispers, desperately trying to restrain the emotions threatening to overwhelm her, ducking under his arm and pushing out the door. Once she does, she promises herself she won't look back.
She's half-way down the hall when she registers his footfalls. She keeps her promise, stopping short in front of the elevator, mashing down on the buttons in an unspoken prayer that it will open up and take her away.
It doesn't though. Of course it doesn't! She's already learned the karmic lesson in all of this. If you hurt and hurt to get even, all that'll be left is bitter emptiness and a whole lot of pain.
His hands are on her shoulders and he's pulling her back against his chest just as the elevator sounds and the doors part. His grip is strong as he turns her, and she winds up with his hands pressed to both sides of her face. He's staring at her with so much intensity that it's boring a hole straight through her, but she's never felt more relieved in her life.
His mouth viciously assaults hers, and she's sure if he can find a way to mar her, he will. His tongue pushes past her murmured protests, fingers climbing her spine, overpowering her. In a flash, a surreal moment he'll consider much, much later, Logan realizes what it's like to be so consumed with someone, so devastatingly, tragically in love, that you want nothing more than to devour them. Mark them. Possess them forever. When he slams her against the closing elevator doors, he knows what he wants.
He wants to hurt her and love her all at once. He knows he'll do whatever it takes to leave fresh bruises and crude scars in places they can't be seen. It's the only way he can be sure. It's the only way he can trust that they're going to last beyond the vacant promises of I believe in you, I love you, I need you. They're not just Veronica's promises, they're Lilly's, and his mother's, and every other person who's ever walked out his door.
Threading his fingers in her hair, he tangles it in bunches and winds it tightly in his grasp. She groans once more, pushing against his chest, but it's clear he doesn't intend to let her go. Little shudders race up her back when she acknowledges the risk… of being slammed against the elevator with her shoulder blades pressing against cold metal, the solidity of his body crushing against hers. When his tongue sweeps over hers, she can taste his blood, and the flavor makes her weak.
When he pulls back, he's breathing deep, fast and heavy, his growing intentions already darkening his mind, his eyes. Leaning into her limp body, his teeth find the junction of her neck and shoulder, and he bites down hard. She shrieks, the sound ricocheting off the walls. Finally, her mind registers real panic. She struggles in his arms and with a force she's never seen from him he pins her effectively.
"Don't!" His voice is gruff with warning. She stills, her cheek touching cold, gold-plated steel. She mewls softly when his mouth finds the throbbing ache and seeks to soothe so slowly that her leg draws up to twine with his.
Pulling back again, his eyes tell the tale. She can almost read the future in them, at least the immediate future; what he wants and what he'll take. What he'll sacrifice before he's through. His mouth opens once more and he attacks the other side, biting down enough to make her scream. This time she clutches his chest, surrendering to the pain and tears that come so easily. They sting her eyes and slip down her face and he kisses them away with scarcely spoken whispers, "Shh, Veronica, shh."
The narrow hallway is confining, and he wants a place he can take her and use her and make her feel everything he's ever felt. It's the only fitting punishment. Both know it can't be the place they've just left. His hand reaches behind her to push the call button again, but his mouth continues the cruel assault on hers, kissing her until she's shuddering in his arms.
When the doors slide open, laughter and the sounds of voices distract him slightly. With a small buck of his hips, he thrusts her inside, restraining her with an arm around her waist. "Lobby," is all he says, and that is forcibly strained.
The elevator is too bright. When she finds his gaze amidst the strangers, she trembles and he can feel it. She wants what he wants; a dark room so neither can see the other's pain or longing, or all of the destruction they're about to create. She doesn't want warning signs or disapproving glances; she wants Logan Echolls wrapped around her. She knows his heat is the only thing that can pierce the numbness that's desperately winding its way through her chest.
When they step off the elevator, he scans her face briefly. With his whole hand wrapped around her wrist, he moves her towards the reception desk. The man he's nicknamed Jeeves gives him an arrogant smirk that Logan ignores, his eyes never leaving her face. "A suite. The best one available."
"Better than the one you already have, Mr. Echolls?"
"Better. Whatever. Now." Veronica has never seen him this controlled, and she wonders if she's ever realized the power he has.
"It looks like we have…"
"I don't think you understand. Just book it and hand me the key."
'Jeeves' nods and plays a few strokes across the keyboard, turning to grab an unmagnetized plastic strip from the basket behind him. In seconds he's placing the key in Logan's hand. "I'm assuming it will be on the same card as your current suite?"
"Right. Make sure we're not disturbed."
Logan flips the key in his free hand, the other still occupied by keeping Veronica at his side. This time they use the private elevator. The minute they're out of sight, he has her beneath him. The kissing is violent, nothing soft or sweet, just ravenous passion. He slants his mouth over hers in every direction, his hands sliding her up the wall. They're eager and desperate, and when they reach the suite, he doesn't separate her body from his, holding her tightly against him as he pulls them out of the elevator and into the suite.
"Put me down," she whispers demurely against the mouth crushing hers.
"No." He's resolute, his hostility revealed in his lust-filled eyes. His feral nature chills her blood.
He swallows hard and his eyes narrow, but slowly he allows her to sink down and away. Without a word she stands in front of him, her fingers trembling as she reaches up to undo the first button of her shirt. She doesn't stop with the second, or the third, and by the forth, he's not only ready to tear her shirt off, but wants to leave it in shreds at their feet. Her eyes plead him to be patient and she finishes quickly, timidly shrugging it down her shoulders.
When her hands move to her jeans, the blush returns and his eyes drink her in. She remembers earlier, with Duncan, remembers how he'd undressed her, and how the moment, compared to this, was just… nothing. Nothing versus the command exuding from the man standing before her, watching her with such fierce intensity that it anchors her on the spot.
Raising her heel from the floor, she pulls one leg from her jeans, then the other, folding the denim awkwardly before dropping it to the floor. The garment lands heavily with a rush of air that flutters over her mostly bare skin. She's still wearing a white bra and matching panties, and he greedily absorbs the sight of her, raking his eyes over her form. Her hands circle behind her back, unclipping the hooks securing her bra, allowing it to rest against her chest. She reveals nothing, at first, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, looking up to meet his eyes.
This time, his eyes say something new. He's not so hard set as he was before, giving her his understanding without words. Gracefully he moves the jacket over his shoulders, balling it up in his hands, tossing it into a waiting armchair. His shirt follows next, over his head to land on top of the jacket. His hair is mussed and he takes a second to move his hand through it, then he's there. His fingers hot against her cool flesh, slowly caressing her skin, capturing her gaze with a look that tells her everything she wants to know. Warm fingers tease the straps down her arms and his eyes flutter shut at the first sight of her. Before he closes them tightly the image is burned into his mind: unbelievably taut skin, drawn over her tight abdomen, the tiny belly-button he's stroked so many times, the firm, supple weight of her breasts, small but perfectly proportional. It's a picture he'll have for the rest of his life.
When her tiny hands move to the thin white band at her hips he stills her. "Stop." His voice is hoarse, and when she looks into his eyes, licking her lips, a dizzying sensation settles in the pit of her stomach.
Sinking to his knees, he kisses her skin. It is painful and torturous when, starting at her bellybutton, he slides his thumbs out, smoothing across the flat plain of her stomach, east to west, sweeping over the arch of her ribcage. His hands settle around her waist, pulling her roughly against him, his mouth lighting a fire. Kissing, licking, loving in slow motion. When his fingers twine around the only thing left to remove, she is so weak she's afraid she'll fall. He shoots her a quick, cautious glance, one hand pressed flat against her for support, the other tugging the material down over her knees.
"Beautiful," he breathes. She knows he means it. The truth is written all over his face. If she could speak, she'd say the same thing.
Impulsively, he reaches out to touch her, to feel how soft she really is. Her breath catches in her throat when his hand passes over her tempting curls, released in a strangled whimper that sounds like his name. The heat of her body beckons him, enticing his hand to wrap around her, before descending with deliberation to the inside of her thigh.
On his knees, he walks them both backwards, towards the couch, pushing her gently so she falls against it. Her thighs part and he ascends her flesh, sliding up to lick along the inside of one and then the other. His wet tongue makes her groan, and he finishes each pass with a kiss at the apex of her hip. He raises her feet to the edge of the sofa, leaving her completely exposed.
She's helpless but ready to surrender; violent tremors reverberate down her spine when he looks at her with the same expression she'd given him when shedding her clothes. He's looking for confirmation… verification… reassurance… all his want shielded behind heavily lidded eyes filled with so much need that it feels like a vise wrapped around her heart.
Gentle fingers brush through his hair, across his eyelids, over the bridge of his nose. His eyes gradually close as she does, and for a second she can breathe again. His mouth catches her fingers, kissing them one by one, and any reservations he might have are replaced again by… what she can't quite tell. Maybe it's the scent of her, or maybe it's the aggression she saw in the elevator; maybe it's just the final recognition of what they can be together. Whatever it is, she forgets they even need a reason when his fingers glide up and open her. Tilting her hips, he pulls her closer to the edge leaving her feet against the periphery. His lips touch her center, kissing her first, then licking slowly over her. She's slick and warm and feels like heaven, and he wants this. Christ, he wants this!
Consciously avoiding all the places he knows will drive her wild, he forces her to writhe against him, drawing it out until she's whimpering, unaware that her fingers are frantically dancing across her tight nipples. He's calm and deliberate, counting the small, stilted breaths she shakily captures before she gasps or weeps. She's slipped low on the couch, her body resting almost entirely in his hands, when his tongue makes its first sweep across the tense bundle of nerves at her core.
She whimpers, grasping his hair between her fingers. He slips his finger inside and groans into her as her body goes completely rigid. It makes Logan harder than he can ever remember being, lapping through her wet, shuddering, superheated flesh. Her thighs are slick now, coated in her cum and his saliva. He flattens his hand, and, before she can adjust, presses two fingers inside her. This time, she's screaming, filling the suite with a sound that can only be translated as passionate anguish.
Lurching forward, using his shoulders to push her back, he carefully sets her supine. In awe of the beauty that frames her perfect countenance, he hits the spot that makes her shriek and quiver. Her face is a mask of pain and pleasure, her cheeks slightly darker than the blush coloring her skin. For the first time he sees her with a heart that absorbs every nuance of being in love. He wants to take her where she's never been; a place neither has ever really known. He'd tried to go there with Lilly, but she'd never been willing to let him fill the desolate places inside himself. Veronica's eyes speak hope, though, and he prays he's not just conjuring fables once more.
Inspiration settles inside his chest, and he's crawling up to kiss her with the taste of her on his lips. This time, everything in his eyes is virtuous and humble and absolute. "Make love to me," he breathes warmly against her closed lips, guiding his fingers up her body to rest against her chest.
She doesn't answer with sound, but turns to him to yank his belt open, frantic to have him naked and against her. She needs to feel his skin; it's evident by the hungry glint in her eyes. She slithers the belt from its loops and predatorily rakes her nails down his chest, as Logan releases a stuttered pant.
He's standing in front of her, defenseless, his breath catching on almost every exhale. She's seen him this way before, his bare torso exposed to her hands, her nails, her wanton lips, but she's never seen him so vulnerable. For a moment, she leaves him that way, with fingers barely touching, ghosting them up his arm to find the starburst scar she's almost positive is from a cigar. Immediately, his eyes narrow and snap to her face, question and concern shadowing his features. Delicately she kisses the spot, maintaining contact so he understands her actions.
In a journey of discovery, her eyes continue to search, around his side to the place where an angry mark materializes. It's the product of metal against skin, the same spot, over and over again, too many times, one of his father's fascinations. A choked whimper escapes her when she licks it, kissing it dry. She finds a dozen of them, kissing them all, trying to find a way to drown out the sorrow that sits behind his eyes when he thinks she's not looking. She's always looking, though, always seeing him when he thinks no one is.
His head is back and his mouth is wide when she faces him again. She fits herself against him, wrapping her arm around his back, her bare breasts pressed to his chest, before she kisses his heart. Her final stop. Her fingers are graceful and loving, caressing the place where it beats.
"Please," his voice breaks. She's pushed him as far as he can go without falling apart.
Her fingers deftly release the button of his jeans, his hands unclenching to assist her. Together they pull everything off, and for the first time she sees all of him; the play of his muscles underneath his skin as he flexes his arms and reaches for her, the strength in his thighs, as he pulls her close. He's hard, and the length of him curves against her hip, causing her to tremble. Hot. Rigid. She wants to see more, but he's moving them to the bedroom, picking her up and carrying her to the bed.
The sheets are white, the same as the comforter, the same as the lilies overflowing from the vase on the armoire. Lilly… she thinks, watching Logan when he bends to place her on the bed. Maybe this time there's a little guilt in her heart; a little remorse because her best friend wouldn't approve. But Logan stretches his body over hers, and the weight of him against her is completing. It's like nothing she's ever known, and she refuses to feel like she's doing something wrong. She won't ask Lilly for permission or forgiveness, just as he won't ask Duncan. Maybe they'll ruin it all, spiral each other into the abyss, but it'll be their mistake and they'll be the ones to pay the price.
They're watching each other, Veronica leaning on her elbows, Logan swooping down to meet her, pressing their tongues together again. They clash and twist and struggle, building new friction where their bodies have never before met. Each time he groans, she trembles, her nails scoring his back, engraving him with the permanence of this night: a night when her foot prints wouldn't last in Duncan's carpet, her empty heart wouldn't last in his bed. A night when she wouldn't make it without Logan inside her in a way that can never be erased.
They slide against each other, insatiable hands and broken kisses, until their bodies meet – connecting bone for bone. Him flush against her, surrounded by her warmth. She's tight and hot and he can barely breathe because they want this so badly.
The room was supposed to be dark, so neither could see the longing and pain, but it's not. Light shimmers all around them and each can see the other in full detail, his jaw slack, her unreserved cries, and the angry reverence building inside as they consume one another.
Her hips rotate against him and he moves, lifting himself away and falling back again. He works himself inside her, pushing, pulling, and she opens and closes, coiling against him. His face is a symphony of intense pleasure. She watches him with indelible scrutiny, as she almost always does. She will remember every expression he makes, every frantic word from his parted lips. Even if he won't, she will.
His fingers thread between hers, and she watches how close he is. She wants him to let go, but, at the same time, wishes he'd never stop. Torn between those two desires. She's so close, and he's touching her everywhere at once, arousing her beyond her senses. He's intoxicating. Suffocating. She only wants him nearer and more, god, more. He too, is so close, his hips jerking erratically as he holds himself, trying to leverage all his weight on his forearms. Whimpering, she reaches up to touch his face, bringing his eyes back to hers. "Not yet."
It isn't that she hasn't been satisfied -- she's fallen over the edge more with him than she can even remember -- it's just that she doesn't want it to end. Clenching his teeth, he releases a long, anguished "Ah." She knows the control it takes for him to continue driving into her with purpose. Quickly, she shifts beneath him, wrapping her legs tightly around his back as she comes once more.
He roars against her skin when he comes, begging her name. "Oh God, Veronica. Oh God, Veronica." Every muscle in his body winds so tight that she's sure he'll snap, but, with no warning, he collapses against her, drenched and limp, trying desperately to replenish his lungs. Sweat from his forehead falls to her shoulder as he presses his face to her neck, whimpering his apology.
Rolling off of her, he pulls her back against his chest, spooning his body into hers. Sweeping the hair from her neck, he kisses her from shoulder to earlobe. He wants to say the things that are blazing through his mind, but her breath falls soft and slow, and the way she snuggles into him makes him think the exigency isn't so immediate. She'll be here when he wakes up. She'll make it through the night. The emptiness is so much less when they're together. Only when they're together.
She rolls sleepily in his arms, brushing her fingers over his shoulder. "I lied to you."
Everything she'd said about Duncan had been a lie. There were no fireworks, no sparks… it wasn't like when she and Duncan were together before Lilly died. Then, they had had passion but now, it was simple, comfortable; two people who cared for one another. Nothing compared to what she and Logan have.
The next day, at the lunch table, he's looking at her like he's about to devour her on the spot, and butterflies flutter inside her stomach. Ten seconds ago, Duncan laughed when he set his tray down on the table, punching Logan in the arm. "Hey man, who was the girl you were with last night? She sounded hot!"
His eyes never leave Veronica's when he replies, "You have no idea." He'll have to wait until later to show her how much he means it.