fic: Old Enough to Know Better. VMars, Lamb/Logan
Old Enough to Know Better
Veronica Mars. Lamb/Logan
Rated R for steamy, angsty sexy-time and also for language.
Summary: Lamb wanted to say something juvenile, but he was the Sheriff, and the Sheriff didn’t lower himself to insult matches with a teenager--not even if the teenager in question was being really, really obnoxious. Spoilers for 3x14, “Mars Bars”
For Elspeth--my partner in crime, my other sister.
Right. This is unbeta-ed, because it's a present for my usual beta. All constructive criticism is not only welcome, but it is requested.
----
Sheriff Lamb was old enough to know better. Logan could hide behind his youth; what was Lamb’s excuse? He’s old enough to know better, and certainly not too young to care. It wasn’t Don’s fault--not really. Logan was the one who sat there smirking. The kid was practically begging to be slammed against the wall, pushed down onto the interrogation table, pressed up to the two-way mirror. As far as the Sheriff was concerned, that little fucker was asking for it. So Lamb gave it to him.
He started slow: snapping his gum, crossing his arms in his trademark “I’m the Sheriff, that’s why” stance. Logan slouched in his chair, avoiding the Sheriff’s eye contact. Lamb knew who Logan was covering for: Veronica fucking Mars. If Lamb had a nickel for every time that girl through a wrench in his clockwork he’d be a fucking millionaire by now.
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that you switched a batch of cookies with Veronica Mars?”
“Yeah,” Logan shrugged, his narrow shoulders rising and falling effortlessly. “Why not?”
“Because it’s bullshit, that’s why not.”
“Just let Veronica out of jail. You know she didn’t do anything wrong.”
Lamb sighed. It was hard to put so much annoyance, frustration and long-suffering resignation into one exhalation of breath, but Lamb was an expert. “Maybe she didn’t do anything wrong today, but your girlfriend has a long history of illegal acts.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Logan mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lamb grinned, “I think you dodged a bullet there, sport.”
“What do you know?”
“I know that you’re sitting in an interrogation room at the sheriff’s office trying to convince me that you switched sugar cookies for peanut butter to get an accused murderer out of jail. I know that you’re lying, and I know that you’re going to all this trouble for a girl who won’t give you a blow job for your trouble.” Lamb paused, considering. “Though with Veronica Mars, you never know.”
With a bang, Logan exploded out of his chair. “Don’t you ever--“ he snarled, advancing on Lamb.
“Now, now,” the Sheriff murmured, licking his lips. “If you hit me, I’ll have to lock you up. Assaulting an officer of the law and all that.”
Logan collapsed back into the chair. “Fuck you,” he muttered, but there was no venom in his words.
Lamb wanted to say something juvenile. Something like, “I’m rubber, you’re glue.” But he was the Sheriff, and the Sheriff didn’t lower himself to insult matches with a teenager--not even if the teenager in question was being really, really obnoxious. So Lamb settled for another smirk, another annoyingly loud gum pop and another inappropriate remark. He placed his hands on either side of Logan’s body--tense and still. Lamb leaned in so close he could smell the kid’s expensive cologne. He grinned, “Be my guest.”
Logan looked surprised. “What?” He said, eyes shifting from one end of the room to the other. Lamb wondered if he was searching for an escape route or if he just wanted to make sure the shades were closed.
“You heard me,” Lamb held still, uncomfortably close to Logan, before retreating to one corner of the interrogation room. Logan waited a moment or two, eyeing Lamb carefully, before he rose from the chair slowly. Lamb watched him walk towards the door. He let the kid think he was home free, that the interrogation was over, that the mean old Sheriff was just yanking his chain and wouldn’t put him in a jail cell. Lamb let Logan put his hand on the doorknob before he pounced.
Quick as lightning, Lamb pulled Logan away from the door and pushed him against the wall, hoping that Sacks wouldn’t hear the thump and come to investigate. Logan looked scared, but beneath the fear was something closer to arousal. Lamb kissed him hard--he pressed his mouth against Logan’s, refusing to give him time to protest. Not that Logan protested--instead he pressed his body close to Lamb’s, grinding their hips together. Lamb groaned at the friction, digging his hands into Logan’s side, pulling the teenager closer. He kissed the kid hard and fast, nipping his neck. Logan unbuttoned Lamb’s uniform shirt, sliding his hands down his chest, freezing at the belt buckle. Lamb pulled back, smirking.
“Don’t back down now, Logan. Show me what you got.” Lamb covered Logan’s hands with his own, pressing against his cock through the pants--already hard with arousal. Logan grinned and slid his fingers around Lamb’s belt, sliding the leather free from the buckle.
“Sheriff?” Both men jumped as Sacks rapped on the door. “We got a domestic disturbance call at the O’Dell’s.” Lamb groaned, pulling away from Logan reluctantly. Sacks knocked again. “Do you want to take this one or should I?”
“I’ll be right there, Sacks,” Lamb said, clenching his teeth as he buttoned up his shirt. Logan dropped into a chair, stretching lazily.
“Sheriff?”
“Goddamn it, Sacks, I’m coming!” Lamb snapped, ignoring Logan’s smirk.
“I know, it’s just... Keith Mars is here. He wants to know if you want back-up.”
Lamb snarled. That family. “I can handle it, Sacks. I’m the sheriff.” Sacks retreated, allowing Lamb to tuck in his shirt, smooth his hair and pretend he hadn’t been getting halfway to third base with a nineteen-year-old kid.
Logan’s eyes flicked from Lamb to the door and back again. “Should I...” he swallowed, “do you want me to wait?”
Lamb’s grin was wide and suggestive. “Hell yeah, I want you to wait.” Lamb grabbed Logan’s chin and pulled him close for a quick kiss. “Sit tight, kid. I’ll be back to finish you off later.” And he was gone.
So Logan waited. He crossed his arms, put his feet up on the table, imagined everything he would do to Lamb and everything Lamb would do to him. He waited until he heard the phone ring, until he heard Inga sobbing into a handkerchief. Logan waited until he heard words he never could have imagined. Attacked. Critical condition. Comatose. Logan waited until a Deputy--one of the new guys--opened the door and told him he was free to go. The Deputy said that the Sheriff was in the hospital and they had more important things to worry about than whether Logan Echolls switched out sugar cookies for peanut butter, even if it did mean that an accused murder got loose. So Logan went back to the Neptune Grand and waited for a call that never came, because who would think to call him to say that the Sheriff was dead?
Logan waited until Lamb returned. The sheriff came to him in his dreams. He came in fantasies involving handcuffs, tequila and long, steamy kisses. Lamb came, hooking his hands in his belt loops, smirking his trademark smirk. “I told you I’d be back.”
Veronica Mars. Lamb/Logan
Rated R for steamy, angsty sexy-time and also for language.
Summary: Lamb wanted to say something juvenile, but he was the Sheriff, and the Sheriff didn’t lower himself to insult matches with a teenager--not even if the teenager in question was being really, really obnoxious. Spoilers for 3x14, “Mars Bars”
For Elspeth--my partner in crime, my other sister.
Right. This is unbeta-ed, because it's a present for my usual beta. All constructive criticism is not only welcome, but it is requested.
----
Sheriff Lamb was old enough to know better. Logan could hide behind his youth; what was Lamb’s excuse? He’s old enough to know better, and certainly not too young to care. It wasn’t Don’s fault--not really. Logan was the one who sat there smirking. The kid was practically begging to be slammed against the wall, pushed down onto the interrogation table, pressed up to the two-way mirror. As far as the Sheriff was concerned, that little fucker was asking for it. So Lamb gave it to him.
He started slow: snapping his gum, crossing his arms in his trademark “I’m the Sheriff, that’s why” stance. Logan slouched in his chair, avoiding the Sheriff’s eye contact. Lamb knew who Logan was covering for: Veronica fucking Mars. If Lamb had a nickel for every time that girl through a wrench in his clockwork he’d be a fucking millionaire by now.
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that you switched a batch of cookies with Veronica Mars?”
“Yeah,” Logan shrugged, his narrow shoulders rising and falling effortlessly. “Why not?”
“Because it’s bullshit, that’s why not.”
“Just let Veronica out of jail. You know she didn’t do anything wrong.”
Lamb sighed. It was hard to put so much annoyance, frustration and long-suffering resignation into one exhalation of breath, but Lamb was an expert. “Maybe she didn’t do anything wrong today, but your girlfriend has a long history of illegal acts.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Logan mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Lamb grinned, “I think you dodged a bullet there, sport.”
“What do you know?”
“I know that you’re sitting in an interrogation room at the sheriff’s office trying to convince me that you switched sugar cookies for peanut butter to get an accused murderer out of jail. I know that you’re lying, and I know that you’re going to all this trouble for a girl who won’t give you a blow job for your trouble.” Lamb paused, considering. “Though with Veronica Mars, you never know.”
With a bang, Logan exploded out of his chair. “Don’t you ever--“ he snarled, advancing on Lamb.
“Now, now,” the Sheriff murmured, licking his lips. “If you hit me, I’ll have to lock you up. Assaulting an officer of the law and all that.”
Logan collapsed back into the chair. “Fuck you,” he muttered, but there was no venom in his words.
Lamb wanted to say something juvenile. Something like, “I’m rubber, you’re glue.” But he was the Sheriff, and the Sheriff didn’t lower himself to insult matches with a teenager--not even if the teenager in question was being really, really obnoxious. So Lamb settled for another smirk, another annoyingly loud gum pop and another inappropriate remark. He placed his hands on either side of Logan’s body--tense and still. Lamb leaned in so close he could smell the kid’s expensive cologne. He grinned, “Be my guest.”
Logan looked surprised. “What?” He said, eyes shifting from one end of the room to the other. Lamb wondered if he was searching for an escape route or if he just wanted to make sure the shades were closed.
“You heard me,” Lamb held still, uncomfortably close to Logan, before retreating to one corner of the interrogation room. Logan waited a moment or two, eyeing Lamb carefully, before he rose from the chair slowly. Lamb watched him walk towards the door. He let the kid think he was home free, that the interrogation was over, that the mean old Sheriff was just yanking his chain and wouldn’t put him in a jail cell. Lamb let Logan put his hand on the doorknob before he pounced.
Quick as lightning, Lamb pulled Logan away from the door and pushed him against the wall, hoping that Sacks wouldn’t hear the thump and come to investigate. Logan looked scared, but beneath the fear was something closer to arousal. Lamb kissed him hard--he pressed his mouth against Logan’s, refusing to give him time to protest. Not that Logan protested--instead he pressed his body close to Lamb’s, grinding their hips together. Lamb groaned at the friction, digging his hands into Logan’s side, pulling the teenager closer. He kissed the kid hard and fast, nipping his neck. Logan unbuttoned Lamb’s uniform shirt, sliding his hands down his chest, freezing at the belt buckle. Lamb pulled back, smirking.
“Don’t back down now, Logan. Show me what you got.” Lamb covered Logan’s hands with his own, pressing against his cock through the pants--already hard with arousal. Logan grinned and slid his fingers around Lamb’s belt, sliding the leather free from the buckle.
“Sheriff?” Both men jumped as Sacks rapped on the door. “We got a domestic disturbance call at the O’Dell’s.” Lamb groaned, pulling away from Logan reluctantly. Sacks knocked again. “Do you want to take this one or should I?”
“I’ll be right there, Sacks,” Lamb said, clenching his teeth as he buttoned up his shirt. Logan dropped into a chair, stretching lazily.
“Sheriff?”
“Goddamn it, Sacks, I’m coming!” Lamb snapped, ignoring Logan’s smirk.
“I know, it’s just... Keith Mars is here. He wants to know if you want back-up.”
Lamb snarled. That family. “I can handle it, Sacks. I’m the sheriff.” Sacks retreated, allowing Lamb to tuck in his shirt, smooth his hair and pretend he hadn’t been getting halfway to third base with a nineteen-year-old kid.
Logan’s eyes flicked from Lamb to the door and back again. “Should I...” he swallowed, “do you want me to wait?”
Lamb’s grin was wide and suggestive. “Hell yeah, I want you to wait.” Lamb grabbed Logan’s chin and pulled him close for a quick kiss. “Sit tight, kid. I’ll be back to finish you off later.” And he was gone.
So Logan waited. He crossed his arms, put his feet up on the table, imagined everything he would do to Lamb and everything Lamb would do to him. He waited until he heard the phone ring, until he heard Inga sobbing into a handkerchief. Logan waited until he heard words he never could have imagined. Attacked. Critical condition. Comatose. Logan waited until a Deputy--one of the new guys--opened the door and told him he was free to go. The Deputy said that the Sheriff was in the hospital and they had more important things to worry about than whether Logan Echolls switched out sugar cookies for peanut butter, even if it did mean that an accused murder got loose. So Logan went back to the Neptune Grand and waited for a call that never came, because who would think to call him to say that the Sheriff was dead?
Logan waited until Lamb returned. The sheriff came to him in his dreams. He came in fantasies involving handcuffs, tequila and long, steamy kisses. Lamb came, hooking his hands in his belt loops, smirking his trademark smirk. “I told you I’d be back.”