highway 5 (r, dean/veronica)
title: highway 5
pairing: dean winchester/veronica mars
rating: r-ish
notes: just some dean/veronica that's been kicking around my laptop, figured it should be dusted off and polished up a bit
Veronica is made up of soft skin and sharp bone and dull scars. Dean thinks that she wears her contradictions well enough that they seem to suit her, but he never tells her. He’s not entirely sure why.
He meets her in a bar.
He’s driving down highway 5 and he pulls off of gravel and dust to order a beer.
She sits in the corner. She’s blonde and tiny and pretty. And on days like this, he finds that he doesn’t really care if that’s enough or not.
He looks at her from the opposite end of the bar. She perches kind of halfway-delicately on the end of the stool and keeps her small shoulders hunched forward. In between sips of her drink, she keeps her thumb tucked between her teeth.
She turns her head and smiles at him long enough to huff out an annoyed, “What?”
Maybe it was more of smirk than a smile. Dean puts on his best grin and shrugs. “Buy you drink?”
This is what he expects:
“No, thank you.” Firm, but polite, and they both go back to their own business.
He expects a pert shake of her head, all schoolgirl charm. Just to mess with him a bit.
Maybe even a blunt, “Fuck off.”
What he gets is this:
She slides off of the barstool and climbs up on the one next to his, pushing their shoulders together until white lace seems to disappear into worn leather.
He smirks out a parroted, “What?”
“I’m Veronica.” She thrusts her tiny hand forward and he shakes it, surprised at how cold her fingers are. “Everyone around here calls me Ronnie.” Her shoulders move up in a little shrug and he hears that lace scratch against the leather. “Feel free.”
Dean can always spot a liar. Nobody calls this girl Ronnie, he knows that much. And so he says, “I’m Dean. But everyone calls me Dino. Feel free.”
He can tell from the tilt of her lips that she doesn’t believe him either, but that’s okay. Lies are probably messier than the truth, but it doesn’t stop them from being easier.
She laughs, says, “Wanna get out of here?” and he nods.
When she’s bare-chested with her knees pressed into his hips in the front seat of his car, he finds out just how tiny she is. He has one hand flattened against her belly and with his fingers stretched wide, he can almost touch his thumb and his pinkie finger to each of her hipbones. She puts her lips to his throat and breathily says, “Fuck me”.
Blonde and tiny and pretty and when Dean closes his eyes and buries himself inside of her (and it’s tight and wet and slippery and perfect), he doesn’t see Sammy’s face.
It’s enough.
He’s always had a thing for blonde and tiny and pretty and he ends up saying, “You should come with me.”
He watches her button up her blouse and roughly pull her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She buckles her belt and settles back into the passenger seat.
“Sure, why not?”
After, there are hotel rooms and truck stop bathrooms somewhere in between it all. She keeps saying that she can help, but he never tells her the whole story (she wouldn’t believe the whole story), so she can’t understand what she’s offering.
pairing: dean winchester/veronica mars
rating: r-ish
notes: just some dean/veronica that's been kicking around my laptop, figured it should be dusted off and polished up a bit
Veronica is made up of soft skin and sharp bone and dull scars. Dean thinks that she wears her contradictions well enough that they seem to suit her, but he never tells her. He’s not entirely sure why.
He meets her in a bar.
He’s driving down highway 5 and he pulls off of gravel and dust to order a beer.
She sits in the corner. She’s blonde and tiny and pretty. And on days like this, he finds that he doesn’t really care if that’s enough or not.
He looks at her from the opposite end of the bar. She perches kind of halfway-delicately on the end of the stool and keeps her small shoulders hunched forward. In between sips of her drink, she keeps her thumb tucked between her teeth.
She turns her head and smiles at him long enough to huff out an annoyed, “What?”
Maybe it was more of smirk than a smile. Dean puts on his best grin and shrugs. “Buy you drink?”
This is what he expects:
“No, thank you.” Firm, but polite, and they both go back to their own business.
He expects a pert shake of her head, all schoolgirl charm. Just to mess with him a bit.
Maybe even a blunt, “Fuck off.”
What he gets is this:
She slides off of the barstool and climbs up on the one next to his, pushing their shoulders together until white lace seems to disappear into worn leather.
He smirks out a parroted, “What?”
“I’m Veronica.” She thrusts her tiny hand forward and he shakes it, surprised at how cold her fingers are. “Everyone around here calls me Ronnie.” Her shoulders move up in a little shrug and he hears that lace scratch against the leather. “Feel free.”
Dean can always spot a liar. Nobody calls this girl Ronnie, he knows that much. And so he says, “I’m Dean. But everyone calls me Dino. Feel free.”
He can tell from the tilt of her lips that she doesn’t believe him either, but that’s okay. Lies are probably messier than the truth, but it doesn’t stop them from being easier.
She laughs, says, “Wanna get out of here?” and he nods.
When she’s bare-chested with her knees pressed into his hips in the front seat of his car, he finds out just how tiny she is. He has one hand flattened against her belly and with his fingers stretched wide, he can almost touch his thumb and his pinkie finger to each of her hipbones. She puts her lips to his throat and breathily says, “Fuck me”.
Blonde and tiny and pretty and when Dean closes his eyes and buries himself inside of her (and it’s tight and wet and slippery and perfect), he doesn’t see Sammy’s face.
It’s enough.
He’s always had a thing for blonde and tiny and pretty and he ends up saying, “You should come with me.”
He watches her button up her blouse and roughly pull her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She buckles her belt and settles back into the passenger seat.
“Sure, why not?”
After, there are hotel rooms and truck stop bathrooms somewhere in between it all. She keeps saying that she can help, but he never tells her the whole story (she wouldn’t believe the whole story), so she can’t understand what she’s offering.