Fic: If You Could Only Imagine (Crossover)
Fandoms: Heroes/Veronica Mars
Pairings: Peter/Logan, implied Logan/Veronica
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through "Five Years Gone" for Heroes; nothing explicitly mentioned in Veronica Mars.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.
Notes: Written for _usakeh_, to the prompt "nothing can stop him from believing". Which I didn't really follow. But that's okay.
Summary: “You know,” says Logan, “I don’t usually let strangers pick me up in bars.”
- - -
“You know,” says Logan, “I don’t usually let strangers pick me up in bars.”
The other man - Peter, that’s his name, though Logan doesn’t remember his last name - raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twisting. “I don’t usually pick up strangers in bars,” says Peter, his voice low.
Logan’s eyes are caught, again, by the scar tracing next to Peter’s eye. He looks like a criminal, or an action hero; looks dangerous.
There’s a script, for this kind of occasion. And Logan knows how it should go - he should be himself, arrogant and cutting and abrasive, and, hopefully, he’ll get the guy mad enough that Logan can get what he wants.
But - somehow it doesn’t really look like it’s going to work, with Peter.
Logan sits back, on the hotel bed. “So. Where you from?” -because maybe drawing it out will work. Peter already looked possessive enough, intent enough, on the way back from the bar.
“New York City,” says Peter, shortly, and Logan winces. Probably not the best plan, to bring up ex-city-now-radioactive-wasteland.
“I’m sorry,” says Logan, but it doesn’t come out right. More snarky than he intends.
Peter’s mouth thins.
Well, maybe Logan will get what he wants after all.
“What is it you want?” asks Peter. “You want me to be rough, is that it?”
“Not particularly,” lies Logan.
“Take off your clothes.”
Logan stands, slipping his shirt over his head. “I get it. Direct. To the point.”
When Peter’s eyes meet his, Logan has the first sting of trepidation. Swallows it, ignores it; he strips, the rest of the way, and eases back on the bed, settling against the headboard.
“What is it you blame yourself for?” asks Peter, and he tilts his head. “Ex-girlfriend?”
Logan tenses. “Hey, friend, if New York City is off-limits, then so is my love life, got it?”
Peter drapes his shirt over the chair. Logan’s eyes are drawn to the shape of his body - slim and spare, and there’s an ease of movement that speaks of at least a passing familiarity with physical labor.
Or combat.
“I never said New York City was off-limits.”
Logan grits his jaw. “Listen, this isn’t really about conversation, so how about we just move on to the good stuff and quit the heart-to-heart.”
“You’re pretty good at knowing what you want,” says Peter. He moves on top of Logan, faster than Logan is expecting, somehow; shifts Logan’s legs apart, and brings them close. Close, but not close enough.
“Thanks, I think.” Logan moves up, for a kiss - and Peter moves back just enough.
“Right,” sighs Logan. “You’re one of those.”
“Hardly,” says Peter. “You want me to kiss you?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“All right.” And Peter does kiss him - but it’s definitely not what Logan wants. It’s too intent, too gentle, and it feels more like a confession of longing, a desperate kind of longing, than the seizure Logan hoped for.
Logan turns away, breaking the kiss, but Peter brings him right back into it, utterly relentless. And Logan finds himself threading his fingers into Peter’s hair, opening up to Peter’s tongue. Not even trying to break away. It reminds him of something, something he can’t quite pinpoint -
“How was that?” asks Peter, lowly.
“It sucked,” says Logan.
Peter laughs. “I like you,” and he draws Logan into another kiss. And damned if Logan can’t feel himself responding, beyond what a dirty one-night-stand should possibly warrant. He feels a little dizzy, and Peter’s hands are on him, moving down, shifting his legs up, and Logan can’t even find it within himself to object to the gentle treatment.
“I’m going to fuck you,” promises Peter, in Logan’s ear, “and it’s not going to hurt, and you’re going to like it.”
Logan inhales, sharp and fast.
“Not a combination that you get much, I’d imagine,” continues Peter, his fingers slipping inside, one, two - and how did he get any lubricant, anyhow? Logan is sure he would have remembered if Peter had been holding a bottle when he’d gotten on the bed -
“Stop thinking,” snaps Peter, like it annoys him, like it’s actually an order he expects Logan to follow.
“Then fuck me already,” hisses Logan, in return. He wonders if the danger he senses from Peter is real, if he’s really flirting closer with his fear than he thinks.
Peter pushes inside Logan roughly - not cruel but ragged, like Peter wants this more than he betrays, like he can’t wait any longer. Logan muffles a cry in his fist (face-to-face; he hasn’t ever done this face-to-face) and Peter shushes him, a hand sliding flat on Logan’s stomach.
Peter isn’t moving, inside him, but somehow, suddenly there’s an intense wave of pleasure - has to be from his prostate - like it’s being constantly stimulated, and Logan twists, his head falling back against the pillow.
“Holy shit,” he gasps, and that’s when Peter starts to fuck him.
~*~
“Why’d she leave you?”
Logan really wishes that he felt annoyed enough by that question to actually get up and move; his limbs are all so heavy, though, and he might as well just stay here for a while.
“I told you, man. My love life is off-limits.”
Peter settles on his side, facing Logan. Braces himself on his elbow. “You do blame yourself, though, right?”
“Of course I blame myself,” spits Logan. “It was my fault.”
“Sometimes,” says Peter, “something seems like it’s your fault, but it’s really part of circumstances outside your control.”
Circumstances outside his control. Sure, maybe Logan could blame Veronica’s departure on the nuclear detonation in New York City. That certainly changed a lot.
“Maybe you just have to move on.”
“Some things,” says Logan, “don’t let you move on.”
Peter considers that, for a moment; he leans in, and kisses Logan, once. Shifts the sheets off, gets to his feet -
“Hey, hey.” Logan sits up. “You leaving?”
“Yeah. I have to go.” And Peter gets dressed, covering himself up bit by bit.
Logan pauses, then, “am I going to see you again?”
Peter half-smiles, gathering his coat in his hands. “I’ll call you.”
“You don’t know my number,” Logan points out.
Peter sends him an enigmatic smile and slips away, the hotel door closing with a soft ‘click’ behind him.
Logan curls onto his side, and imagines that he can still smell Peter on the pillow next to him.
Pairings: Peter/Logan, implied Logan/Veronica
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through "Five Years Gone" for Heroes; nothing explicitly mentioned in Veronica Mars.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine.
Notes: Written for _usakeh_, to the prompt "nothing can stop him from believing". Which I didn't really follow. But that's okay.
Summary: “You know,” says Logan, “I don’t usually let strangers pick me up in bars.”
- - -
“You know,” says Logan, “I don’t usually let strangers pick me up in bars.”
The other man - Peter, that’s his name, though Logan doesn’t remember his last name - raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twisting. “I don’t usually pick up strangers in bars,” says Peter, his voice low.
Logan’s eyes are caught, again, by the scar tracing next to Peter’s eye. He looks like a criminal, or an action hero; looks dangerous.
There’s a script, for this kind of occasion. And Logan knows how it should go - he should be himself, arrogant and cutting and abrasive, and, hopefully, he’ll get the guy mad enough that Logan can get what he wants.
But - somehow it doesn’t really look like it’s going to work, with Peter.
Logan sits back, on the hotel bed. “So. Where you from?” -because maybe drawing it out will work. Peter already looked possessive enough, intent enough, on the way back from the bar.
“New York City,” says Peter, shortly, and Logan winces. Probably not the best plan, to bring up ex-city-now-radioactive-wasteland.
“I’m sorry,” says Logan, but it doesn’t come out right. More snarky than he intends.
Peter’s mouth thins.
Well, maybe Logan will get what he wants after all.
“What is it you want?” asks Peter. “You want me to be rough, is that it?”
“Not particularly,” lies Logan.
“Take off your clothes.”
Logan stands, slipping his shirt over his head. “I get it. Direct. To the point.”
When Peter’s eyes meet his, Logan has the first sting of trepidation. Swallows it, ignores it; he strips, the rest of the way, and eases back on the bed, settling against the headboard.
“What is it you blame yourself for?” asks Peter, and he tilts his head. “Ex-girlfriend?”
Logan tenses. “Hey, friend, if New York City is off-limits, then so is my love life, got it?”
Peter drapes his shirt over the chair. Logan’s eyes are drawn to the shape of his body - slim and spare, and there’s an ease of movement that speaks of at least a passing familiarity with physical labor.
Or combat.
“I never said New York City was off-limits.”
Logan grits his jaw. “Listen, this isn’t really about conversation, so how about we just move on to the good stuff and quit the heart-to-heart.”
“You’re pretty good at knowing what you want,” says Peter. He moves on top of Logan, faster than Logan is expecting, somehow; shifts Logan’s legs apart, and brings them close. Close, but not close enough.
“Thanks, I think.” Logan moves up, for a kiss - and Peter moves back just enough.
“Right,” sighs Logan. “You’re one of those.”
“Hardly,” says Peter. “You want me to kiss you?”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“All right.” And Peter does kiss him - but it’s definitely not what Logan wants. It’s too intent, too gentle, and it feels more like a confession of longing, a desperate kind of longing, than the seizure Logan hoped for.
Logan turns away, breaking the kiss, but Peter brings him right back into it, utterly relentless. And Logan finds himself threading his fingers into Peter’s hair, opening up to Peter’s tongue. Not even trying to break away. It reminds him of something, something he can’t quite pinpoint -
“How was that?” asks Peter, lowly.
“It sucked,” says Logan.
Peter laughs. “I like you,” and he draws Logan into another kiss. And damned if Logan can’t feel himself responding, beyond what a dirty one-night-stand should possibly warrant. He feels a little dizzy, and Peter’s hands are on him, moving down, shifting his legs up, and Logan can’t even find it within himself to object to the gentle treatment.
“I’m going to fuck you,” promises Peter, in Logan’s ear, “and it’s not going to hurt, and you’re going to like it.”
Logan inhales, sharp and fast.
“Not a combination that you get much, I’d imagine,” continues Peter, his fingers slipping inside, one, two - and how did he get any lubricant, anyhow? Logan is sure he would have remembered if Peter had been holding a bottle when he’d gotten on the bed -
“Stop thinking,” snaps Peter, like it annoys him, like it’s actually an order he expects Logan to follow.
“Then fuck me already,” hisses Logan, in return. He wonders if the danger he senses from Peter is real, if he’s really flirting closer with his fear than he thinks.
Peter pushes inside Logan roughly - not cruel but ragged, like Peter wants this more than he betrays, like he can’t wait any longer. Logan muffles a cry in his fist (face-to-face; he hasn’t ever done this face-to-face) and Peter shushes him, a hand sliding flat on Logan’s stomach.
Peter isn’t moving, inside him, but somehow, suddenly there’s an intense wave of pleasure - has to be from his prostate - like it’s being constantly stimulated, and Logan twists, his head falling back against the pillow.
“Holy shit,” he gasps, and that’s when Peter starts to fuck him.
~*~
“Why’d she leave you?”
Logan really wishes that he felt annoyed enough by that question to actually get up and move; his limbs are all so heavy, though, and he might as well just stay here for a while.
“I told you, man. My love life is off-limits.”
Peter settles on his side, facing Logan. Braces himself on his elbow. “You do blame yourself, though, right?”
“Of course I blame myself,” spits Logan. “It was my fault.”
“Sometimes,” says Peter, “something seems like it’s your fault, but it’s really part of circumstances outside your control.”
Circumstances outside his control. Sure, maybe Logan could blame Veronica’s departure on the nuclear detonation in New York City. That certainly changed a lot.
“Maybe you just have to move on.”
“Some things,” says Logan, “don’t let you move on.”
Peter considers that, for a moment; he leans in, and kisses Logan, once. Shifts the sheets off, gets to his feet -
“Hey, hey.” Logan sits up. “You leaving?”
“Yeah. I have to go.” And Peter gets dressed, covering himself up bit by bit.
Logan pauses, then, “am I going to see you again?”
Peter half-smiles, gathering his coat in his hands. “I’ll call you.”
“You don’t know my number,” Logan points out.
Peter sends him an enigmatic smile and slips away, the hotel door closing with a soft ‘click’ behind him.
Logan curls onto his side, and imagines that he can still smell Peter on the pillow next to him.