There's a dull ache in his jaw when he wakes up and Logan buries his face deeper into the scratchy pillow, his whole body feeling scrunched up and sore. He's reluctant to open his eyes and when he stretches out his legs nearly fall off the end of the bed. Cursing University accommodation—not for the first time—he pulls himself up and swipes the back of a hand across his face, trying to force the sleep from his eyes. He rolls onto his back and gropes around under the sheets with one hand, trying to find the object mostly likely for his uncomfortable night's sleep. Finally his hand closes around his cell phone, still connected to a call that's lasted for approximately six and a half hours.

He looks at the time, flashing obnoxiously in lime green numbers on the bedside table, and decides that even in Neptune it's probably not too early. Clearing his throat, he brings the phone to his ear and rolls onto his side, trying to get into a more comfortable position as he lets his head sink back into the pillow.

"Veronica?" he mumbles down the phone, his voice broken and sleep slurred. He takes a deep breath that cascades into a yawn as he waits for a reply. None comes, she must be sleeping.

He tries again, "Veronica." And then raises his voice slightly, "Veronica!"

A muffled sound echoes down the phone, movement and limbs pushing back sheets and Veronica's hair brushing the mattress as she collects the phone up in one tiny hand. Logan can imagine it all even if he hasn't seen her in person for months.

There's a light crackle on the line before he hears, "Logan?" Her voice sounds so innocent, venerable, at this time of the morning—it makes him want to pull her against him a little more than usual. There's a tug in his chest from her and a crick in his neck from the stupid bed they gave him and Logan feels like having a temper tantrum that he gave up her for this. Academia is very, very overrated.

He smiles despite himself because she's still on the other end of the phone, allowing him to wake her up without threatening nasty demises, that's a big sacrifice for Veronica Mars. "'Morning," he mumbles.

There's more rustling and he can imagine her squirming into the mattress, trying to block out the minimal light from outside, pressing her face into the pillow because his chest isn't there. He's really beginning to torture himself.

"What time is it?"

"Time to say 'good morning' to your lovely boyfriend? Who called out-of-state for almost seven hours last night?"

"Logan!" she's suddenly loud and awake. "You're going to have no money left by the time you graduate."

"I fell asleep," he defends, stretching out an arm to try and solve his aching muscles.

"Am I that boring?" she yawns. The taut lines of her muscles probably being pulled in opposite directions as she stretches out along the mattress, no fear of her falling off the end of the bed.

"—soothing," he grins.

There is a long pause and Logan almost wonders if Veronica has fallen asleep again. Just as he's about to disconnect the call and catch a few more winks himself he hears her voice, small and soft across thousands of miles.

"I miss you—" she sighs drowsily.

"Veronica, don't," he swallows uncomfortably, not wanting to rehash things that only drag up hurt. But it's early and she sounds sleepy and Logan just doesn't want to start the day with tears from either end.

"Yeah, you're right," he can almost hear her nod; it's so engrained in her voice. "I'm being silly; you'll be back for the holidays soon anyway."

He's thankful for her determination not to cry, but Logan can't say that going home for the holidays sounds completely appealing to him either. Sure, he'll see Veronica, but in the few weeks that he's actually back in Neptune she's going to be embroiled in family activities and new traditions—setting things up for the very first Mars-Fennel Christmas, possibly with a new addition to the family depending on how Alicia's condition has progressed. He doesn't want to intrude and he doesn't want to share Veronica.

He nods in response before he remembers that she can't see him and then—clutching a fistful of covers—he repeats the sentiment verbally. "Yeah, it's just a few days." He doesn't know if he's trying to convince her or himself that it'll be okay, but his voice is shaking ever so slightly and he blames it completely on the shitty night's sleep that he's had.

He's sure she can hear the hesitation in his voice—she's a PI for God's sake and more importantly his girlfriend (which is still fun to think, write, and say out loud)—she always knows. Logan's not that subtle.

"I'm driving to the airport, so no chance of making a scene in front of my dad."

"Aw," he feigned, "you mean Keith isn't going to pick me up himself?" Logan wonders if Veronica can hear the fake pout he's portraying. "But I've missed him."

"You're an ass," she grunts, still sounding exhausted.

"V, did you get any sleep last night?" he questions softly.

"Yeah," she protests, "like a whole twenty minutes around three hours ago."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because you need to start sleeping and stop calling me," she says her voice full of determination for his well-being.

"You know that's not going to happen, so just stop saying it," he mutters, flipping over onto his back once more and switching ears with his cell phone so that he can give his arm a rest. "Anyway, you'd miss me."

Logan does realize the perks of their long-distance relationship when she continues without being able to smack his arm. For a tiny girl she packs a punch. "I do miss you, you jackass. You just don't want to hear it."

"Not if you're going to cry," he agrees.

"I'm not crying," she argues. And Logan believes her because Veronica would never give him the satisfaction of being right about her feelings, boyfriend or no. He hears her sheets crumple again and makes a wild guess that she's either checking the time or getting up to shower—he sort of hopes that it's the latter and she's going to keep her phone on. "I do have to go though."

"You have to, eh?"

"Yes, I have to. Dad's driving out to pick me up today, start the first annual Mars-Fennel Christmas celebrations."

"Well you have fun with that, I'll just sit all by myself in my tiny, tiny room studying for finals."

"Your 'tiny' room is twice the size of mine, you never study for finals—if you didn't buy that diploma from Clemmons I refuse to believe you really have it—"

Logan makes a huffing noise down the phone, trying to sound offended as Veronica continues, unperturbed.

"—and if you didn't choose to move to the only state you can't drive to then you would be here right now."

"I'm not fighting with you Veronica so, just, have a good day—I'll call you once my flight's confirmed."

She sounds chastised when she replies and Logan sighs deeply, "Okay, I'm sorry. I'll speak to you soon."

Logan groans against the dial tone for a moment before letting his phone fall back to the mattress, his head following suit with a dull thud as it bounces off the pillows. Nothing was easy with Veronica, even when she was thousands of miles away.


Logan has condoms packed into his wash bag, his shirt pocket, his pants pocket, his wallet and he's almost considering stuffing a few down his socks (just in case) when he runs out and another trip to the drug store just seems desperate. After all, if they end up spending all of the holidays with Veronica's new family then those babies will be useless anyway.

There's not much worse than trying to sneak Veronica into the dreaded guest room that Keith insists he sleep in every time he stays. At least in the Mars' dwarf-sized apartment Logan was sort of forced to sleep on Veronica's floor by the lack of another bedroom. Of course by 'floor' they really meant 'bed' but everyone (including Keith's registered pistol) was happier if they just pretended. The fact that Veronica was nineteen and Logan was eighteen and they were in a (hopefully) long term relationship meant nothing when it was given Keith's title: Teenage Boy Defiling My Only Daughter.

Logan thinks that it's probably the most functional family portrait he's ever been a part of—and that's kind of sad.

Apart from the multitude of condoms that he's packed (in a variety of brands, colors, flavors and textures—for Veronica's benefit of course) he's also got the basics, managing to get his mind off her tight, little—yeah, Logan has had sex with Veronica so many times he's lost count but it never gets dull. So, at least for Christmas he won't be naked, or well, he will be—hopefully—but thankfully he's packed enough shirts and pants to be presentable while her family's around. There's only one Mars' who really does it for him.

His suitcases are packed, stupid little labels on both of them proclaiming an entirely fake name because Logan would like to reach California without having his luggage tattooed with filth and accusations about his father. So really, Ted Mortimer's' luggage is packed and looking pretty spiffy, despite the high density of latex crammed inside it. Logan kind of hopes the foil packets don't set off any alarms going through security. Those things were a bitch to stuff in.

He feels infinitely more like a girl with his two suitcases and carry-on luggage but he won't have time to buy gifts in Neptune so they all have to go with him. And it's not like Veronica's getting a ring or anything as whipped as that. Logan would like to keep hold of his dick and he feels that Keith might not be too inclined to let him if Veronica's Christmas presents involved diamonds.

Not that Veronica would take him seriously even if they did.

It does occur to Logan that he's going 'home' to a place where he has no house—no physical tie. Unless Veronica counts as his physical tie. His house is burned down, his hotel suite occupied by somebody else, his girlfriend's apartment sold. The only place that Logan has resembling a home in Neptune is Keith and Alicia's new house, and he's spent maybe all of two months there combined time. Veronica hasn't spent much more—so maybe it's weirder for her.

He scratches his fingers through his hair lightly and keeps a look out for the taxi, desperate to see headlights on his horizon. Most of the time he can handle living alone, without Veronica, without Duncan, without his parents or his sister—but in these moments, when he's hours away from seeing Veronica, Logan suddenly feels desperately restless and lonely. If he was cheesy enough then he'd say that Neptune has nothing to do with his home, it's wherever Veronica is. But he's not that cheesy or that pussy-whipped and he would never, ever admit it to himself let alone out loud even if he was.

Duncan is the one with the baby girl, Veronica is the one with a half-brother or sister on the way, Logan is just… Logan: orphan extraordinaire, loner and all-round non-believer in soul mates and fate.

Logan loves Veronica. He loves fucking Veronica. He loves talking to Veronica. But he's not about to write a book of sonnets in her name or anything, Romeo and Juliet are dead and so is Shakespeare.

When the taxi finally rounds the corner Logan releases a tight, shuddering breath of relief that he didn't realize he was holding. The air around him doesn't seem to move at all and overall it's much too warm for the festive season, even if he does come from California where there will never, ever be snow. Sometimes he thinks about things like that. White Christmases, snow, ski lodges, flying Veronica (and her family if they must) away to some little place in Europe where the weather is cold and the air is thin and she can completely beat him into submission during a snowball fight. Sometimes he has way too much free time if he's fantasizing like this.

Logan gets in the cab, gives the guy directions and leans back into the cheap, leather seats. Might as well get used to them, even first class on a plane isn't that great.

His phone rings halfway to the airport and he answers it without hesitation, a quick glance at the screen confirming his suspicions of the caller. If that didn't do it then her bright, perky voice—tinny from the miles between them—would have.

"Whatcha doing?"

Logan grins to himself, retaliating with, "Whatcha wearing?"

Veronica's dumb blonde routine comes through when she lets out a breathy sigh, followed by, "Uhh, well, my school uniform… but some of the buttons popped off the top of my shirt and now you can kinda see through it and I totally forgot to put on a bra this—"

Logan lets out a strangled sound that could well be described as a cross between laughter and a sob. "You win," he groans lightly, hoping that the taxi driver isn't listening to their conversation—or at least his side.

"A t-shirt and jeans," she relents.

Logan gets more comfortable in his seat, shimmying down a little as he tries to avoid being turned on by even the image of her in something as boring as her claimed ensemble. It's difficult when he thinks about low-cut tank tops and low-slung jeans riding her hips and his fingers dragging the zipper down slowly, slowly, slowly. "Aw, so exciting, Mars. I knew there was a reason I was dating you."

She snorts ungracefully in response. "Beyond the fact that I'm the only one who'll have you."

"You can have me anytime, sweetheart."

"I know," the grin is evident in her voice and Logan really wishes that there were some way to separate himself from the driver and indulge a little in Veronica's newfound interest in phone sex. He approves of the hobby in general—just as long as she is only practicing with him. Veronica interrupts his one-track mind with her sigh, letting him know the likelihood of any pseudo-public phone sex—the verdict comes out as little to none, sadly.

"So… Just call for a chat?" he teases, a bright smile twisting his lips up. Veronica thinks she's so cute—most of the time he's inclined to agree.

"Uh, no," her tone holds a 'duh!' quality to it and Logan rolls his eyes. "What time you getting in? I don't want to end up waiting in the airport for too long."

"Around four-ish," he estimates. "Do you have a pretty, little poster board with my name on it?"

"You mean Ted's name?" he can hear her impish grin even down the telephone.

He sighs loudly, mostly for show, claiming, "It's a pseudonym; it doesn't have to be cool."

There's a silence down the line and Logan thinks that Veronica is probably shaking her head at him. They're both so tactile and non-verbal that this whole phone thing can get testing at times. Neither of them are particularly technology impaired but Logan finds the idea of webcams just plain creepy and he's betting that Veronica feels the same, especially after the whole world found out about his father's kinks.

"I don't," she finally admits, sounding amused, "but I'll get out my magic markers in the lobby if you want."

He can't help the leering tone when he jokes, "I'll get out my magic marker in the lobby—"

She bursts out laughing. "Seriously! What is wrong with you today?"

He shrugs despite the fact that she can't see him. "I don't know—I haven't seen you in like three months."

"Aw," she coos mockingly. "Is Righty not doing it for you anymore?" She lowers her voice conspiratorially, "Want me to give her some pointers while you're here?"

"This is not fair," he grits his teeth a little.

"Don't drink too much on the plane," she warns, the threat in her voice completely implied. He's about to scoff away her concern when she interrupts him. "Really, Logan."

His voice softens and he nods in tandem to his words. "V, I'll be good, okay?"

He can hear the slight release of a relieved breath on her end of the line. "Good, I'll see you soon."


The flight was boring. The flight was five hours long. The flight had little to no in-flight entertainment and the food (that didn't come in a miniature bottle or a champagne flute) was rank. It was for this reason that Logan found himself breaking his promise to Veronica and finishing off maybe three—or four—glasses with his good friend Jack—Daniels and Coke. Because if he didn't drink it straight then he was pretty sure it didn't count.

At least that's the logic that he planned to use with Veronica when the plane finally touched down at San Diego. She missed him, she'd overlook one broken promise under the circumstances of complete and total boredom—he hoped.

He walks through the terminal, trying to spot her through the crowd—the room unusually dark through the sunglasses that he's still wearing inside—that's gathered by the gates. Eventually, as he pushes past three or four reporters who either don't notice who he is or don't care, Logan spots her lounging back in an uncomfortable metal seat, her messenger bag beside her and a napkin crumpled over her lap.

When he calls her name she looks up. "Veronica!"

He uses the second it takes for her to realize who's shouting to cross the crowd towards her, getting a better view of the wide smile that graces her mouth—stretching it all out of proportion beautifully. Right before he's about to scoop her up—much to Veronica's protest that spinning her round makes her dizzy and just because they're dating doesn't mean she won't throw up on him—she stands, holding up the napkin with both hands so that he can finally see that there are two words written on it.

Ted Montgomery.

"You couldn't even get your own boyfriend's fake name right?" he asks as his lips find hers briefly before he buries his face in her neck, pulling Veronica up off her feet.

She wriggles a little, trying to get Logan to plant her back on her feet and he obliges. Once she's firmly back on solid ground, Veronica pulls away enough to extract the sunglasses that Logan had forgotten he was still wearing. He grins at her as she tucks them in her bag and pulls his face back down to her, her lips warm and slick with lip gloss as she coaxes his mouth open with her tongue for a proper kiss.

"Better," she sighs into his shoulder when they finally break apart.

"So much for not making a scene," he smiles, running his fingers relentlessly through the shortened strands of her blonde hair as it sparkles under the strip lighting of the terminal. Only Veronica, he thinks, could make strip lighting sexy.

She catches his lips again, briefly, before knotting the fingers of one hand through his, still grinning up at him like he's something special. "I said no scene in front of my dad, strangers are non-applicable."

"Oh, really?" he asks as Veronica's face creases in suspicion. Her eyes widening as his hands disentangle from hers and move up to span her ribcage. She's about to threaten him, he can tell the dark glint in her eyes every time—but she doesn't get a chance as he hauls her into the air, spinning her around as he holds her tightly.

Veronica is grimacing as he puts her down, but Logan ignores her—catching her mouth with his as he adds, somewhat breathlessly, "Now that's making a scene."

"You're a jackass," she smiles warmly, reaching out a hand to run fingers along his cheekbone.

His laughter sounds more like a snort as he nuzzles his face further into her hand, relishing the contact after so long without. Snapping his eyes open, Logan pulls her hand from his face and wraps his own hand around it, tugging her in the direction of the baggage carriage. "Come on, you wanna go pick up Ted's luggage?"

"Well," she sighs sweetly, "I guess we'd better."

Logan grins wickedly as he informs her, "I swear you're gonna love what's in there," he promises.

Veronica's eyes widen for only a split second before she rolls them, lacing her fingers through his properly as he continues to pull her towards the luggage. "Please tell me my dad's not going to find furry, pink handcuffs under your bed when we leave," she pleads.

His eyebrow quirks in amusement as Logan stops suddenly. He spins Veronica to face him, their hands still joined. "You'd love furry, pink handcuffs?" he asks, not even bothering to hide the smirk in his voice.

"My God, Logan!" She smacks him in the chest with her free hand.

He shrugs. "You said it," his only defense.

It takes a moment for Veronica to gather herself, something that he'll bet annoys her more than anything. If there's one thing that Veronica Mars doesn't do it's lose her cool. Unless she happens to be in the throes of orgasm at which point Logan guesses she gets a free pass and a brownie point for letting him be the one to induce and witness the event. However once she does gather her composure she looks up at him with honest eyes and a slight curve of a smile, informing him firmly that, "Pink and fur are for wusses."

A sharp breath is drawn into Logan's lungs and he still feels light-headed. "I'll keep it in mind next time I'm shopping."


"This thing still runs?" Logan asks in disgust, rapping a fist against the hood of the LeBaron. He's really not sure how safe he feels getting inside it. Logan's been through a lot in his eighteen years, but right at this second he feels like this rust bucket could very well mean the end of him. Not that his negative bias at all comes from the fact that it's near impossible to make out properly or have actual sex in the tiny car. He misses the giant, yellow X-terra… but all good things…

"Yes, it still runs. Yes, it's got all its parts in working order. No, I won't order you a rental car." Her hands slide to her hips and Veronica pulls open the driver's side door, waiting impatiently for Logan to do likewise on the other side—eventually he accedes. "God," she tries not to laugh. "You'd think you'd never been taken hostage the way you're scared of this thing."

"Your baby it may be, but I like my transportation to have been built sometime in the last five years."

"What about vintage?" she shoots back with a smile.

"Well, vintage is vintage. That's quality, babe."

"Shh!" she grins, covering one hand over a speaker. "You'll hurt her feelings."

Logan shakes his head, letting his body flop back as far as it can in the cramped space—even with the chair reclined there's not really room for his legs. He knew there was a reason he hated this car. "Drive, James," he drawls, waving a hand towards the road shown through the windscreen.

She pulls out of the parking lot with only a swift glare in his direction and Logan grins in response, his hand winding out to press a warm palm against the skin above her knee. He rubs gently, edging up her thigh at Veronica's warning glance—reaching higher and higher until eventually her small fingers curl around his harshly and give a give tug to dislodge his hand from her leg.

"Hey!" he wiggles his fingers in the air, noting the red marks from her nails.

"Unless you really want to get in a car crash—hands to yourself at all times," she warns.

The rest of the journey is relatively quiet as Logan drums his fingers on his own thigh in an attempt to stop them wandering over to Veronica's. He stares out of the window aimlessly, breaking the monotony every now and then by turning to watch her drive until a flush crawls up Veronica's neck and she tells him firmly—without looking away from the road—to stop smiling at her. It just makes him smile harder—she never was very good at this emotion thing.

When they reach the new headquarters for the recently joined Mars and Fennel families (living in sin and getting a thumbs up from Logan, because being married never did his parents any favors) Alicia and Keith are standing in the driveway waiting for them. Logan wonders if he fell asleep and Veronica phoned to say that they were almost home or if maybe they had just guessed when the pair would arrive or possibly Keith and Alicia had had a really long morning of standing in their driveway.

Probably waiting so that Keith could glare at him warningly and Alicia could pretend she was his mother. Because Logan hadn't had enough mother-figures in his life, he'd pass on another thanks, even if this one seemed like a relatively stable and lovely lady. She was all Veronica's, something that didn't exactly sit great with his girlfriend if all the ranting down the phone at odd hours of the night meant anything.

"Honey!" Keith shouts as Veronica pulls the car into park.

He runs to her side of the car to pull her into a bear-hug which she returns briefly before protesting, "Dad, you just saw me!"

"I know, but I've missed you kiddo. You're never here long enough," he grumbles, sounding like a small child that's been cheated out of his dessert.

Veronica sighs, rolling her eyes at her father as she protests, "Dad, it's only been a few hours, I didn't move out again. And if I actually trusted Logan not to get distracted chasing cars I would have still been here."

He looks up from the spot of ground his gaze has been occupying, his eyes lighting at the sight of her. "Thanks, V, glad to see your real feelings come out for the festive season," he grumbled with a smirk on his face that matched hers, the sarcasm slipping off his tongue comfortably.

Alicia was slower to make her way over to them, negating the bounding steps that Keith had taken in his haste to get to his daughter. "Logan, it's lovely to see you again."

"Thanks Mrs. Fennel, you look great."

"Well, thank you."

Looking over to where Keith was standing, his presence still unnerving Logan despite all the inches he held over the shorter man. "Mr. Mars, thanks for letting me stay."

"Anytime, Logan. You know you're always welcome."

"Still, thanks."

"Right, boys!" Veronica exclaims. "It's time to get these babies into the house and let me go take my proper place as a woman—it the kitchen!"

Logan watches Keith, his gaze flitting between the older man and the piles of bags that sat in the trunk of Keith's car as Veronica flounces away.

"It doesn't count if you're eating everything instead of cooking," Logan calls after her. He looks over to where Keith is watching him, a vaguely impressed smile coloring his lips as he tries not to break out into laugher, Logan is less successful than Veronica's father as he spots the look on her face and the discreet finger that she flips him while her dad's back is turned.

He picks up the majority of the bags, noting that Veronica's are still in the back alongside his own two, leaving Keith with only a small suitcase and Veronica's sack o' presents (at least that's what the marker on the side of the plastic bag proclaims it to be.

As they reach the door Keith nods at him, "If you want to put those in Veronica's room, I'll get these under the tree." And smirks inwardly at the fact that the only time Keith will let Logan in Veronica's room is while she's being supervised elsewhere. Instead of letting this thought be known he nods back in agreement and begins the climb upstairs.


Logan feels as if he's been trying to get to sleep for days, not hours. The bland walls and plain sheets should have at the very least bored him to death but nothing seemed to be working. The cool room—courtesy of the air conditioner—is too cold, the hum too loud, the general feeling not Christmassy or festive but unwelcoming.

He wonders if that was exactly the reason that Keith put him in this same room every time. It wasn't their regular guest room, and although Veronica seemed to think it was a testimony to how much her father accepted them as a couple that Logan basically got his own room, Logan couldn't help but see this room as Keith's biggest threat. Stay here and don't fuck my daughter or you will get a good look at my concealed weapon. And unlike Logan's father, Keith's concealed weapon was a real gun.

So it's the eve of Christmas Eve and he is curled up in the world's most boring, inhospitable room—that just so happens to be on the completely opposite end of the house to Veronica's room.

Logan is pretty sure that if Veronica wasn't so good at lock-picking Keith would have bought and implemented a chastity belt long, long ago. Like, possibly five minutes out of the womb.

He stretches out again on the uncomfortable guest bed, trying to find a position where sleep will actually reach him. The mattress is too hard and the sheets are too heavy and unlike his bed at school this one seems much too large for just one person.

He's just about to throw himself onto his stomach in frustration when Logan hears a soft padding noise outside his door, a sliver of light cracking around the frame as disheveled blond hair falls through, followed by its owner.

"Logan?" she whispers.

He turns onto his side to face the door, giving her a quick, crooked smile to let Veronica know that he's still awake. Not that it would matter; he would probably have found himself with the tiny blonde tucked up beside him even if he had been asleep.

She pulls back the covers carefully and lines herself up against him, trying to get as close as humanly possible as his arm wraps tightly around her waist.

"Mmm, better," she breathes sleepily into his shoulder, echoing her sentiment from the airport.

"Much," he agrees quietly, trying to fight sleep as the lull of her soft regular breathing makes the bed seem infinitely more comfortable. His own breathing deepens, evening out to match Veronica's.

"Logan?" she asks, muffled by the t-shirt he's wearing.

He purses his lips to press a careless kiss to her nearest piece of available skin as he murmurs, "Hmm?"

A chuckle erupts from her throat and Veronica swats at his arm gently, pulling herself away from his body enough to regard Logan with amusement. His eyes are still closed, but he grimaces at the lack of warmth when she pulls away. "That's all I get for my troubles?" she questions with a cocked eyebrow.

A groan pulls itself from his chest quietly as Logan rolls onto his back, cracking open one eye to look up at her blearily. He had never really noticed how exhausted he was until now. "Why, Veronica Mars, are you propositioning me?"

She crawls back across the bed to settle herself on top of him—thighs stretched pleasantly across his hips, chest pressed to his, lips hovering over his mouth. "I'll let you figure that one out," she decides, pressing her lips down against his firmly.

Logan opens his mouth for her without resistance, the instant heat of her tongue pushing against his own intoxicating. He slants his head, fingers skimming up the sides of her tank-top to reveal the fact that she's not wearing a bra. He can't help the moan that escapes his lips when she grinds down against him in response to a thumb brushed carefully over her nipple.

"Your dad is going to kill me," he breathes into her mouth, arching up beneath her to try and gain some pressure or momentum.

Veronica's chuckle is lost in her next kiss but she runs a comforting hand up and down his exposed arm, tucking her face into the crook of his neck to press hot, urgent kisses against the sensitive skin. Logan's head falls back as he lets his hands slide up her ribcage deliberately, taking the flimsy cotton of her top with them until he has it bunched above her breasts and she uses his momentary distraction to lift her arms and shimmy out of the cloth.

Before she can even get it far enough to catch on her ponytail Logan's mouth is on her breast—he can feel her skin heating up, imagine the warm, tugging sensations rushing through her as she squirms against him, a laugh catching in her throat as she tries in vain to get the t-shirt off. One of his hands skates up her back delicately, pulling at the elastic holding her hair back. It's short again, barely brushing her shoulders as the layers fall chaotically around her face. He likes it—the metaphor suits her.

She moans softly as he switches breasts, and Logan's neck is beginning to ache so he twists them round, settling his weight between her welcoming thighs. She opens up for him, arms spreading, legs spreading, mouth spreading as she grins up at him appreciatively. He goes back to work on her left breast, his tongue licking up the side to drag across an aching nipple, his lips closing down to pull it into the wet heat of his mouth, sucking firmly as she thrusts her hips up against him in time to the pull.

They're not together all that often, and when they are it's pretty explosive but Logan thinks that if he can ever make her come from just this then he'll be an actual bona fide superhero.

The friction of her crotch rubbing against his burns agreeably, a tight, spiraling frustration that makes his breath short and his skin hum even with his boxers, her panties and one conveniently flimsy set of pajama pants between them. He can feel the heat there, the sweet, pooling agony.

His mouth leaves her chest, moving to her neck, trailing down her collarbone to drag teeth and tongue between her breasts and toward her stomach while his thumbs hook into the sides of her pajama pants, wriggling inside the elastic of her panties too. As he lifts himself she arches up to help the process, squirming out of the loose cotton as Logan continues to move downward, a quick lick around her navel eliciting a shocked gasp from the girl beneath him.

The pants get caught on her feet and he tugs roughly to the irregular staccato of her breathless giggles before Logan looks up to revel in all the soft exposed thigh, leading to his goal. His mouth closes down on her again, sucking the sensitively raw skin on the back of her knee into his mouth as he lazily journeys upwards. He can feel the shaking of her thighs as he reaches the small hollow at the very top; it matches the slight quake that has grasped his own skin. Gently he traces that hollow and she can't stop the deep moan that it incites, that urges him to continue.

Thumbs trace between her legs carefully, brushing through gently twisting curls to spread her apart—a saliva slicked tongue running the inner length of her labia before swirling once around her clit. Veronica bucks up from the bed, against his mouth, and Logan feels the vibrations ricochet through his body. He continues the sweeping, stroking motions of his tongue and just as he begins to press it inside her Veronica groans loudly her hands tugging on his hair roughly, trying to pull him back up her body. He lifts his head quickly, "V?"

She's panting and flushed but she doesn't seem in pain so he ducks his head again to continue when she grasps at him again, pulling hard. "Logan!" she calls and it's a breathless, hoarse, desperate sound pulled from her gut.

He complies, moving up her body with concern in his eyes, but before he can ask what's wrong her hands are under his t-shirt and her tongue is in his mouth—the kiss sloppy and tired and utterly frantic. She has his t-shirt off quicker than he thinks he ever has and before he can protest about her speed her tiny hands are by the waist band of his boxers, one dipping inside to grip him firmly—causing Logan's head to rock back again, a tight pained sound pulling from his lips—as the other pushes the fabric from his hips swiftly.

Once they're off she's pushing him onto his back, Logan taken completely by surprise, and lowering herself onto him in one quick, satisfying motion. And he's suddenly struck by the fact that he's not wearing a condom and she's so hot she's almost branding him and it feels way too good but he can't—and then she arches her back, presses him deeper and tighter inside her and the only rational part of Logan's mind is submersed by the fact that she must have it covered.

She works herself quickly up and down his cock, the pumping rhythm causing a thickly groaned, "fuck", to tear from his lips with every twist of her slim hips against his. She doesn't tease, usually she's a tease and Logan would wonder if something was wrong but he can't focus on anything but the feeling of her not through latex. Her slick, swollen flesh dragging against him is almost too much to bear and Logan lets his eyes fall closed and his head rock back as she uses him for her own gratification. And then he's gone, the clenching irregular rhythm of her orgasm pushes him over the edge and he grips her hips too tightly, and pulls her down onto him as he comes—sticky and trembling against her.

As he sinks into the mattress, Veronica falls on top of him. Logan doesn't think he can move he feels so good. He's never had unprotected sex before, definitely not with Veronica, definitely not when one of their former friends is now living in the high security of Celeste Kane's home with a baby girl he accidentally made. Slow, creeping dread settles in his stomach as Veronica's face settles against his neck.

"V?" he slurs, not sure how he can slur a letter.

"Hmm?" she mumbles into his neck, the vibrations warm and good against his skin.

"The condoms are in my pants," he says, hoping she has an explanation or even better a prescription for birth control that she could whip out right about now.

"Mmm, pill," she tries to shrug against him to solidify her cheap explanation but doesn't quite manage it.

Logan feels heavy and glowing and so damn good he might actually pass out, so with one arm tight around her and Veronica still intimately attached to him, he does.


Christmas Eve breakfast at the Mars' has no traditions bar one: lots and lots of food. Logan feels like he can totally accept that, especially when he wakes up to the smell of bacon flooding the house and Veronica curled up against him. A look toward the alarm clock lets him know that it's well after nine a.m. and if he doesn't want to be castrated by ten then they really need to get up and sneak her back to her own room.

He nudges her with his shoulder, trying to wake her up. "Veronica…"

In response she only snuggles closer, her small hand clenching on his chest. Logan takes a deep breath, not really a fan of extracting Veronica from him while she's naked and trying to get as close as she can. However he does really, really want to shower and although that experience would be a lot more interesting if she joined him he would really like to get the holidays off to a good start after the Mars-Fennels let him join them for the festivities. Being caught with Veronica in the main bathroom probably wouldn't get the holidays off to a good start.

With great effort he lifts a hand and pushes the hair back from her face, trying to lift her slightly away from his body. "V…" he tries again, "Back to base camp."

"But I like it here," she whines softly, a warm breath blown across his chest.

"And I like my dick attached," he parries back, "so time to hold up our side of the pretending you slept alone deal."

She moans lightly as she pulls herself up and the sight of disheveled, rumpled, naked Veronica sitting in a little pile on his bed is almost enough to make Logan pull her right back. When she yawns and stretches, pulling her taut muscles so that her breasts lift and separate, he feels his mouth going dry.

She looks back at his gawking expression with some amusement and fits a palm around the side of his face, pulling it toward her for a quick kiss. "'Morning," she mumbles into his mouth.

"Last night…" he trails of as they pull back.

"—Was good," she finishes for him, rolling her neck at an angle that looks to Logan as if it might snap it off.

He reaches out a hand, letting his fingers fall to the nape of her neck where he starts working out the knots in her skin, releasing a soft purr from her chest.

"It was pretty intense, you okay?"

Her answer is avoidant, looking like she's enjoying the efforts of his fingers too much to care about conversation. "Mmm, yeah, I'm good."

He looks at her with a suspicious disbelief coloring his eyes. "Veronica?"

"I guess I was just kinda lonely," she admits.

He nods, accepting her answer and lets his hand slide down her back, tracing her spine before she slips from his grasp and out of the bed. "So… you're telling me I wasted like three hundred dollars on condoms?"

She shrugs cutely, the look on her face exasperating Logan as she replies, "Better safe than sorry—"

"—Was so not your mantra last night."

"Well, it should have been. I'm an idiot," she shoots back matter-of-factly, as she slides the crumpled cotton pants back up her legs.

Standing there in front of him—bare from the waist up, panties curled up in one small hand, hair sticking up in every direction known to man—she looks like Veronica, like someone he knows and Logan suddenly doesn't feel so out of place here. Pulling himself out of bed he crosses to her, framing her face with his clammy hands.

"But you're such a cute idiot," he grins.

She grunts out her annoyance, ducking away from him to tug on her tank top before grabbing his shoulder to pull Logan down for a quick kiss on her way out the door. "Breakfast in fifteen?" she says in greeting, gone before he can think of a reply.

Sweaty, sticky and filled with a pleasant after-ache, Logan looks around the room for his discarded clothing so that he can hopefully find his way to the bathroom and back before anyone notices him in this state.

He's lucky and when he steps under the hot, steaming stream of water he lets his head fall against the tiles, releasing a groan at the feelings it evokes through his body. Cleaning up, he relishes the feeling of being clean—nothing much appealing about waking up covered in dried on sweat and come, even if the cause was Veronica and not his own hand. She was totally wrong about 'Righty' though, he thinks bemused by himself as he flexes his left hand through the water.

Finally when Logan thought he might actually shrivel up and drown from all the hot water—which he had forgotten was still in short-ish supply here to what he was used to—he steps out, grabbing a towel and heading back to his room. It's on the way that he crosses paths with Wallace's mom and suddenly wishes with fervor that he had just gotten dressed in the bathroom.

"Uh, good morning, Logan."

"'Morning Mrs. Fennel," he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat that just won't go away. When Veronica found out about this she was going to be too busy laughing her pretty, little ass off at him to do much of anything else.

"How are you this morning?" she asks politely.

Logan silently died inside. "Great thanks; I'm just going to…" He gestures toward the end of the hall where his room is.

"Oh, of course," she blushes slightly, not quite sure what to do with her hands. Logan could appreciate the problem, except that right now his are gripping his towel tightly. "We'll see you at breakfast."

He nods, heading to his room as fast as he can without the risk of his towel falling down around his ankles and this scene being made even more awkward than only partial nudity was managing.

Stumbling through the door and into a pair of jeans and a dark green t-shirt, Logan is just pulling on a zip-up sweater to spite the AC when Veronica's perky face appears around his door.

"Morning!" she beams.

"Again," he mumbles against her mouth.

She faux-frowns, grasping at either side of the soft knitted fabric he's currently pulling around his shoulders. "Shh!"

"You're so domineering," he asserts.

"And like you don't love it," she shakes her head with a smile before threading her fingers through his. "Come on, we have to get breakfast, Wallace is going to get home anytime now!"

"And here I thought you were all excited about my presence."

"Love you, but it's BFF time!" she bounces a little, caught up in the excitement of seeing her best friend.

Logan stops, shell-shocked. He's not quite sure if he heard what he thinks he heard but if he did then it definitely needs clarification from Veronica. "Huh, wait, woah, what?"

Veronica stops in her tracks, spinning to face him, "huh?"

"You what?" he asks again, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Veronica's face scrunches up as she tries to follow the thread of the conversation. "Want to see my best friend…?"

Logan's face is a plan of irritation as he offers, "Love me?"

Veronica's face suddenly goes blank, completely masked so that Logan can't tell any of her emotions. It's unnerving to say the least. "Oh."

Logan quirks an eyebrow in wry agreement at her realization, he's unwilling to say more until she elaborates.

He's pretty sure she hears the hiss of rejection in her breath as she drops his hand, but it is quickly gone when she reaches up to his face, one hand sifting through his hair as the other ran his jaw line quietly. "I love you," she nods in affirmation.

And it's a quiet, thoughtful confession, like something that was there any way that just hadn't been said. Logan doesn't know what to do, so he kisses her. And she responds valiantly before breaking the kiss, trying to wiggle out of Logan's firm grip.

"I love you, but I still want food," she smiles brightly.

Logan rolls his eyes, taking her hand again as they head toward the stairs. "Always second best," he grumbles good-naturedly.


When Wallace saunters through the door half-way through breakfast nobody notices at first. Logan thinks it's hilarious because he got 'waiting in the driveway' while the darling son got 'pass the bacon, where the hell are the rest of the eggs'. Eventually he's the one that spots Wallace standing somewhat bemused by the sight of his patchwork family, ignoring him in favour of burnt toast and too much butter. He elbows Veronica in the side and receives a sharp jab back from her bony joints.

"V, look up," he instructs.

"You look up, I'm eating," she argues, grabbing another sausage out of the dish in front of her.

That's when Wallace clears his throat and Alicia returns from the kitchen, her condition very obvious when she tries to squash her eldest son into a bear hug, prevented by the large bump that comes with being seven and a half months pregnant.

Veronica is the next to jump up, practically climbing on her 'BFF' for a hug. She's only convinced to pry herself away when Darrel starts tugging on her sleeve—trying to get at his brother himself.

"Now that's more like the welcome I was expecting," Wallace crows, smiling brightly at Keith as Veronica's dad crosses the room to pat Wallace on the shoulder in a comfortable gesture. Logan nods to Wallace, not bothering to stand from his place at the now vacant table. "Hey, man, how you doing?"

"Logan," he acknowledges, "not bad, man—you?"

"Could be worse," he nods again, almost shyly, feeling very, very out of place in this family as soon as he's out of bed with Veronica.

She seems to sense the disquiet that Logan feels thrumming through his body and Veronica sits back down next to him, giving Wallace a quick squeeze on the arm as she passes. It's all so domestic with the happy siblings, and the hero's welcome and the pregnant mother that Logan just wants to be sick—his life has never been like that.

His mom modeled maternity wear for several high-class lines while he was in the womb. His dad was more likely to give him a beating than affection if he came home late. Trina kicked his ass when they were younger and refused to cry in front of him no matter how many times she made him cry or how many times he threw it in her face that she was adopted.

Logan's family were a mess when they were a family, and although logically he knows that the Mars-Fennels are just a kind of mish-mash of two different families that had their equally awful problems, he can't seem to see that when they're all standing on the opposite side of the kitchen to him (bar Veronica, the prodigal daughter who doesn't need to be there for her presence to be seen in the sickeningly unconditional love that Keith's eyes show he holds for her) practically back-lighted with goodness and happiness and Christmas spirit.

So, yeah, this is bitter on Christmas Eve and Logan suddenly doesn't feel like eating anymore. He pushes his plate away, much to the disgust of Veronica who frowns at him and presses a palm to his forehead.

"Do you have a fever, boy? That's like perfectly good food, right there." She smiles, trying to lift the somber look on his face.

"I just…" he tries to articulate something while the rest of the room are engaged in the wonder that is Wallace, but he can't seem to make the right words come out of his mouth. Usually that wouldn't be a problem, the wrong ones would just come out instead but he feels sharply drain of words and emotion and … everything. It should be okay, being here, spending Christmas with Veronica, but for some reason it's not. "I just… I need to go…" he mumbles, trying not to stumble as he pushes away from the table too quickly and heads for the stairs.

His legs feel heavy on the first step, he trips on the third and before he can get to the fourth or the fifth small, warm hands are steadying him and Veronica is right there trying to see his face, which he's trying to hide from her as his eyes become waterlogged and red-rimmed.

"Logan?" her voice sounds thick and concerned but he can't bring himself to reply as he attempts to loose her grip on his arm without hurting her, pulling himself up the remaining stairs. She catches him on the landing and as he stares down he's glad to see that none of the rest of the clan have followed them. "What's wrong?" she demands.

He shakes his head, feeling groggy and empty, like a heavy eggshell. If he lets himself crumple onto the ground he might not be able to put the pieces together again. But Veronica's hands are on his face again, forcing him to look at her and Logan knows he looks like shit by now—he's pale and clammy and his eyes are about to burst with tears any second. She runs her thumb along an invisible eyes between the bridge of his nose and the outer side of his cheek bone, tracing under his eyes gently to try and push away the tears and the fatigue that are hiding there, noticeable now.

He hates it. He hates that his stupid fucking family are still getting to him, that he's ruining the short amount of time he does get with Veronica, that he ever thought it would be a good idea to move to Hawaii of all the fucking places in the world. He looks down at Veronica and she looks so caught up in it all, so scared that he just finds it harder to breathe.

"You're okay," she tells him. "You're okay, Logan."

He opens his mouth to speak but he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if he ican/i speak his chest is so tight. Vaguely he hears Veronica's voice again, louder, turned away from him, calling something to somebody.

"Dad, I think he's having a panic attack!"

But it's all muffled and he doesn't really realize that his mouth is open because he's hyperventilating until another pair of hands are on him, holding him up and repeating clear, firm instructions to him.

"Calm down and breathe. Breathe, Logan."

And he thinks he can hear Veronica crying but he doesn't really know, and before long even the firm grip of Keith's hands on his shoulders, on his face, are drifting away and slowly it goes black—all of it.


He's vaguely aware of a weight across the left side of his chest when Logan finally opens his eyes. To his surprise he's not in the Mars' kitchen or on the landing but appears to be back in his own bed—looking down to the source of the weight he sees Veronica snuggled against his chest, her arms wrapped around one of his. He shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable and ease the pain in his back from when he fell.

"Don't you ever do that again," comes a firm voice from beside him.

Veronica sits up in a flurry of blonde, one hand automatically reaching to run fingers through his hair—easing the tension out of him. "We had to call 911," she chokes out. "But you started breathing again when you passed out. Do you know how scared I was?"

From the red tear stains across her face and the puffy eyes Logan can take a guess but he doesn't feel like it's really his turn to talk yet. Veronica's eyes are raging.

"Talk to me, Logan!" she pleads, her voice cracking.

"I'm sorry," he struggles out, his throat still feeling kind of tight.

"Don't be sorry, explain," she demands, her hands and body still soft in juxtaposition to the words spilling out of her mouth.

He rolls back, a groan leaving his lips at the feeling of blood whip lashing through his brain. And swiftly Veronica switches, her eyes searching and her hands stilling.

"Logan? Are you okay? Do I need to call for an ambulance?"

"I'm fine, V," he manages to get out. He's just so completely exhausted of everything. He's tired of being so far away from Neptune, of flunking most of his classes, of spending a fortune on his phone bill when it still doesn't bring him any closer to Veronica, not really. He's just tired in general.

And it shouldn't feel any better when she kisses him, but as her lips descend on his carefully Logan feels lighter. Her kiss is sweet and soft, carefully controlled with no tongue and Logan almost sighs against her mouth with the familiar safeness of it.

When she leans back down against him, he hears her muffle into his shirt, "I'm still waiting."

He does sigh now, trying to find an adequate way to put his feelings into words, "It was just… family stuff. I just… I shouldn't be here, Veronica, this is your first Christmas with your new family and—"

The smile she gives him as she looms over his relaxed form is best described as annoyed, but she can't hide the warmth that floods through it as she reminds him gently, but firmly, "I love you, Logan. I want you here."

He shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah, but your family doesn't—can't blame them."

"Logan—" she tries to cut him off, probably to protest his statement but Logan doesn't want to hear it. He's sick of platitudes and people telling him how brave he is or how well he's done to get out of Neptune and go to school, try and make something of himself even though he's practically an orphan. He doesn't want that from Veronica too, those lies that everybody loves him and nobody cares what he's done in the past.

"No, Veronica, you can't just make everything okay 'cause you say so, alright?" he's so angry, not particularly at Veronica but at the fact that she really can't make things okay on her say so. He wants her to so badly.

"I know that—"

"No, you don't, you haven't seen me in months, you don't know how things are so don't pretend you do."

"And whose fault is that? I'm not the one who moved as far away as they could! I've talked to you every day, Logan."

"It's not the same."

"I know!"

"Then why are we even together? Your family hates me, my dad tried to kill you and yours, we live in different states—"

"Because I love you, okay?" she says calmly, cutting through the rising crescendo with her words until everything is eerily quiet. "I really, really love you or I wouldn't put up with all your bullshit," she gestures to him with a careless hand. "So deal with it, actually talk to me, or get out now."


"It's tough decision time, Logan. I know you're hurting but you do not get to treat me like shit because of it."

"I'm not…"

"Not what? Whaling on me? Yeah you are, and if my dad knew he'd be up here kicking your ass—panic attack or no." She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself again Logan guesses. He hates that he's inspiring this much rage in Veronica, he hates that she actually thinks leaving her or dealing is any kind of decision. "So either talk to me or start packing."

"Holidays are difficult, and I don't know why and I know your family's not perfect but in comparison it just looks that way and I just… I don't have that and I won't so it's…" he trails off, watching her surprised expression. Veronica obviously didn't think it would be that easy.

She lets her hand fall back to his face, her other curling around his shoulder to pull him toward her. They're both kneeling on the stiff bed now and Logan feels like he could just start crying all over again as she wraps him up in her arms—a feat that should be impossible given her size—and tells him, "You have me."

"I love you," he all but sobs into her chest and Logan realizes that he's never said it before. That he didn't say it back to Veronica when she told him earlier. And mostly that it's so very true, he loves her—a lot—to the degree of 'in love' even. And he means it this time.

He feels her swallow, her muscles working around the tricky lump that seems to have appeared in her throat. "You know I love you," he repeats again, a little more control in his voice as he looks up at her.

Veronica's eyes are watery; her words dictated carefully to try and hide the emotion frothing up in her chest, "Doesn't hurt to remind me."

"I love you," he obliges. "A lot."

"Good," she tells him, burying her face in his neck as she clings to him, trying to hide her tears.

"How long until Christmas?" he mumbles into her hair.

"Long enough to come downstairs and watch cheesy specials before dinner—you were only out for an hour or so," she lets him know.

He nods quietly repeating his apology, "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just be okay," she tells him.

Logan nods again softly, trying to convince himself that it's really that easy as Veronica pulls herself off of his chest and extends a hand toward him—willing him to come downstairs with her and face reality for a little while in the form of the Mars, the Fennels and endless Christmas specials.


TV time really isn't that bad. Logan sits in an armchair with Veronica perched on the armrest, leaning over every now and then to whisper something of vital importance to him about whatever they're watching. On the couch, Keith sits with one arm wrapped around Alicia, Darrel clambering for his attention on the other side. Wallace sprawls on the floor by his mother's feet—trying to get comfortable despite the lack of seats.

A cold compress lies on the ground next to Logan as he refuses to use it, Veronica's attempts to hold it against his forehead all shot down as he complained that he couldn't see the TV anymore. He feels better, a lot better even, as he sits there as part of the family soaking in the normal, wholesome behavior of eating too much junk food and watching crappy TV together.

Eventually when she's sure her dad's much too preoccupied with Alicia and his next child living it up inside her, Veronica slides down onto Logan's lap, wrapping one arm around his neck as she leans against him—trying to get comfortable. Veronica's never been the clingy type with him before and Logan feels like there's something he's missing in this scenario—something wrong with her that he's not picking up on and he really should. It feels bad but she doesn't seem to be willing to give him any hints past her overly affectionate nature and he can't really complain about that.

"He took a swing at me!" Keith declares, lifting his hand from Alicia's stomach. "Finally, someone I can play ball with!"

"Pfft, when have you ever played ball," Veronica scoffs.

"When I had a son to play with," Keith protests as his daughter rolls her eyes.

Logan notices that Veronica's grip on his intensifies as the family gather around Alicia, all taking turns to feel the new baby kicking. Keith doesn't really know if it's a girl or a boy, but Logan guesses that after a life of being surrounded by woman it must be a nice prospect to imagine a son. Of course, if the jealousy radiating off Veronica is anything to go by, then it had better be a boy because a girl might actually throw her over the edge into a temper tantrum.

He runs a comforting hand up and down her spine, trying to ease the tension out of her muscles without much success. He'd never really realized how upset she was about the new baby, he feels like an awful boyfriend. The long distance thing just wasn't working out that well. She swallows and he's about to ask if she's okay when Veronica announces to the room: "I'm going to take Logan back upstairs so he can sleep before dinner."

"Because he can't get upstairs unsupervised?" Wallace shoots back with an oblivious grin.

"Thanks, man," Logan quirks an eyebrow in distaste while Veronica climbs off him, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of the stairs.

"We start eating at five," Keith calls, "be there or lose your place!"

Veronica's arm hooks around his and Logan tips his head to lower his mouth to her ear, asking, "You okay?"

"I'm fine, better than fine—great," she answers with a tight smile. "Why?"

"Because you looked about ready to chew your own arm off rather than talk about the baby," he observes.

"I'm not kid-friendly, what can I say—having an ex-boyfriend with a brat sort of makes you re-evaluate the whole thing. Me and kids? We just don't mix, it's how nature intended."

Logan rubs his hand up and down her arm in a quick gesture, rationalizing, "Yeah, but this is your Dad, that's going to be your brother… or sister."

"I don't want a brother or sister though; I'm perfectly fine as I am. I have my dad, I have Wallace, I have you—I don't need any more people," she lets her lips fall into a pout as they reach the landing at the top of the stairs and start down the long corridor to her room.

Logan gives up on making Veronica feel any better about the situation as they reach her bedroom and decides that it would be much more productive to just take her mind off the whole thing. She pushes open the door and walks backwards into the room, pulling Logan along by the lapels of his open shirt, her hands grasping over the t-shirt he wears underneath. Her knees hit the edge of her bed as she flops backward, taking him with her and pulling his mouth to her own.

"I thought I was up here to rest?" he grins.

Veronica talks into his mouth as Logan settles himself between her legs, short, teasing kisses transpiring between them as she shifts her thighs awkwardly to accommodate him. "You won't sleep 'till you're relaxed."

"So, you're going to do this every time I don't feel good?" he asks innocently, the tease in his voice evident.

Veronica rotates her hips up against his, releasing a solid groan from Logan and a gasp from herself as she replies, "What you want me to have my legs spread 24/7? A girl's got to sleep you know."

"And eat," he adds, squirming against her to try and retrieve the friction she could so willingly provide.

"And most definitely eat," she agrees, with a lick to the base of his neck right before she closes her lips over his pounding pulse point.

"Well we could just bring whipped cream and chocolate sauce in here…" he trails off, trying for seductive and falling a little short as Veronica's hands wander down to his pants and rub over the join in his jeans, catching him off guard as he moans.

"Shh!" she reprimands with a giggle that maybe turns Logan on more than her hands ever have—and he really, really likes her hands. However it's not until she's somehow worked the zipper of his jeans all the way down the fly and tugged the offending denim and accompanying boxers part-way down his thighs that Logan remembers as much as he likes her hands—he loves her mouth.

Veronica's tongue darts out to taste just the tip of him before licking leisurely down the length of his cock as one hand wraps around the base. He moans and she grunts with frustration at the confining nature of his pants and the fact that she can't get access to anything other than his painfully swollen cock. She doesn't let his deter her, taking a deep breath before enveloping the head in the silky, wet heat of her mouth. She sucks lightly, testing, before moving to take in more of him.

Logan is fisting the sheets now, trying desperately not to pull Veronica down onto him and fuck the hell out of her face. He tells himself he wouldn't do that to anyone, especially not Veronica, but it's so fucking tempting as she teases with her lips and tongue—teeth tucked safely away behind the plump, moist flesh of her mouth.

When he bites the back of one hand hard enough to leave instant bruises where his teeth sink in, she ups the ante—increasing the suction and God he could kiss her—will kiss her when he mouth isn't so busy—because it feels amazing. And, yeah, it feels like any other blowjob—but it's Veronica, and she's doing this because she wants to, not because she was asked or feels obligated or has to. And he doesn't know what triggers his release more—the feel of her hot, wet mouth pulling mercilessly at his sensitive flesh or the thought of her down there, head ducked willingly, trying to bring him as much pleasure as she can because she loves him. Maybe it's both.

But when he comes it's white light and her tiny hands holding his hips against the mattress and full body spasms that would hurt if they didn't feel as good. And Logan fights the glow, the lull, to open his eyes—rewarded with the sight of Veronica's neat, little throat muscles working around as she swallows. His head falls back and he doesn't think he can move—ever.

She crawls back up his supine body and Logan realizes that he's not even undressed—his t-shirt plastered to him with sweat, his jeans hanging somewhere off his hips. He doesn't have the energy to care. Then Veronica's mouth is aligned with his and Logan's making good on his promise to kiss her, his tongue delving deep into her mouth, the knowledge of the taste in her mouth making it even more satisfying.

When they break apart, finally, she whispers, "Nap time?" And he merely nods slightly, letting his eyes fall closed and the girl on top of his fall against his chest as they sprawl diagonally, mostly clothed, mostly on her bed and fall asleep.


When Logan finally rouses from sleep the alarm clock on Veronica's desk proclaims the time as eleven thirty-four p.m. Doused in sleep he hardly realizes the significance of the time before realizing how long they've been sleeping and exactly what day it still is. Shaking Veronica slightly he tries to wake her gently, not wanting to wake the rest of the house who are almost definitely asleep by now. He's not exactly looking forward to the wrath of a family deprived their Veronica for Christmas Eve dinner but he hopes that in the spirit of the holidays they'll let it slide this one time—since it was mostly her fault and all.

"Veronica!" he hisses sharply.

"Mmm?" she murmurs, trying to tuck herself closer to him on top of the rumpled sheets.

"Wake up," he instructs as gently as he can while still trying to convey the urgency of the situation.

She pulls herself up slowly, groggily, and rubs a hand across the back of her eyes, looking down at him her eyes full of question. "What?" she asks, only a little pissed off that he woke her.

"We slept in…" he tells her, "by like five hours."

She gasps a little in shock as he points to the clock on her bedside table, "What?!"

"I need to get out of here," he decides, lifting Veronica off of him reluctantly as he pulls together his jeans and re-zips.

"Why?" she pouts breathily. "No one's going to bother us right now, they'll all be asleep."

"Wouldn't want Santa to catch me with my pants down," he grins at her, pressing a kiss to the side of her face, near her hairline.

"Do we need to have the talk?" she asks quietly and suddenly Logan is very, very scared, the tone of her voice is much too grave.

"What talk?" he asks carefully, dreading the response.

"Well… remember the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy?" she begins, a smile cracking her jaw part-way through the first sentence.

He releases a tight sigh, shaking his head at her incredulously. Without thinking he ducks his head to plant another kiss against her mouth. "I love you."

"I know you do," she grins.

He nods, maneuvering himself off the bed. Just as he's swung his legs on the ground he hears her voice calling him back softly, "Logan," and then she's on her knees by his side, pulling his face to hers with soft hands, her mouth coming down gently on his. "I love you too, alright? Merry Christmas," she says tenderly, emphatically.

He can't stop the beam that breaks out on his face, because this holiday—well, let's just that that it's pretty fucked up right about here—it's not the easiest thing ever. But, it's okay; it's something not altogether awful. Logan thinks that's doing pretty well.

"Save it for twenty minutes time, babe," he smirks, causing the instant reaction of her mouth tugging on his.

Slowly, with as much hesitation as he can conjure up, Logan extracts himself from Veronica, padding swiftly and softly down the hallway toward his own bedroom for the duration. The sheets are cold and the room is blank, there are no decorations, no stocking, no mother, no father, no sister, no Christmas cards, no mistletoe and fucking holly.

But it's okay because Veronica is just down the hall. And when Logan wakes up there will be a dull ache in his jaw, creases on his cheek and probably a small blonde in his bed.

Merry Christmas, Logan.