Fic: Hate, Detest, Loathe (PG-13) Veronica/Logan
Title: Hate, Detest, Loathe
Author: mutinousmuse
Rating: PG-13 for being a bit faaaaabulous
Word Count: 1,123
Spoilers: None really - college AU
Characters: Logan, Veronica, Wallace
Summary: Logan regrets volunteering to help Veronica out with a case.
Author’s Notes: Written for the vm_have_a_day challenge. X-posted to veronicamarsfic. Thanks so much to truemyth for the beta!
Hate, Detest, Loathe
“Have I mentioned recently that I hate you?” Logan’s eyes narrowed into a practiced glare, aimed directly at a mascara-wielding blonde whose face was stretched into a rather obscene grin.
“Quit wiggling,” she said, and then planted her left hand across his face, effectively stilling him. “And quit glaring or I’ll never be able to get this stuff on.”
Logan concentrated on glaring with his left eye while his right was assaulted with gooeyness. She finished the one, and he switched the glare to the other.
“Because if I haven’t mentioned it recently, this feels like an excellent time to do so,” he groused.
Veronica capped the mascara, grin still firmly in place, and then admired her artistry. “You were the one who wanted to help out on my cases, Logan.” She licked her thumb and reached out to wipe a stray bit of eyeliner from the corner of his eye.
“I guess I just thought there would be a bit more bursting through doors and rescuing dames involved,” he mused. “And a bit less satin. At least, on me.”
Veronica snorted. “Dames?”
Logan shot her a look of doom, and she chuckled. He stood and staggered awkwardly towards the mirror, weight shifting unsteadily from one 4-inch heel to the other. “Did it really have to be orange? I mean, really?” He plucked at the strap of his dress forlornly.
“Don’t you dare get weepy on me,” Veronica chuckled. “I am not doing your make-up again. Besides, it’s like, the new pink. Or something.”
Logan stared at his reflection from the floor up, shaking his head as his eyes traveled over his feminine twin. His feet were crammed into what he could only think of as fuck-me boots that extended, black and shiny, all the way up to his knees. Above them stretched a strappy garter belt that disappeared under the hem of his thigh-length dress. The dress itself a cacophony of orange ruffles and - proof positive that Veronica was a fucking sadist - sequins. A wig of matching color adorned the top of his head, shaped into a beehive.
And then there was his face. His face, which would have been cringing, had it not been held firmly in place with four pounds of foundation.
“You look lovely,” Veronica said.
“I look like a three-dollar hooker!”
“Oh, I’d say at least four,” she replied, face straight. “And from what I gather, our philandering husband seems to have a taste for rather masculine four-dollar hookers.”
“Did I say hate?” he asked, turning to face her. “Because I think I meant detest. Hate seems too pedestrian.”
Grinning wickedly, Veronica pulled her phone from her pocket and flipped it open. “Smile pretty!”
“Ack!” Logan threw his arms up in front of his face a split second after the phone had already grabbed his image and converted into a magnificent rainbow of ones and zeros. “Loathe, even!” he howled, and then lunged for the door as a knocking sound echoed through Veronica’s dorm room. “Oh no you don’t,” he cried, teetering forward like a drunken giraffe.
But Veronica moved a bit faster, and he arrived just in time for her to fling open the door, placing him face-to-face with a rather stunned Wallace. Logan let his head clunk sideways into the doorframe with a groan, bemoaning the lack of dramatic effect as the wig muffled the sound.
“Logan?” Wallace asked.
“Actually,” Veronica supplied helpfully, “it’s Lorraine.”
“Oookay,” Wallace said, recovering quickly. “Hey, Lorraine, I’ll give you a three bucks if you’ll sing ‘I Feel Pretty’.”
Logan turned to Veronica. “See? I told you. Three dollars. Not four. Three.”
Veronica shrugged. “Maybe it’s the boots.”
Wallace cleared his throat. “You know, if I’m interrupting some sort of college-experimentation thing, I can always come back later.”
“It’s for a case,” Logan ground out. “I’m...” He trailed off, a pained look on his face.
“He’s the bait!” Veronica chirped. “Look,” she said, pulling down the front of Logan’s dress to reveal a small camera nestled between what the package had truthfully promised would be “ample bosoms.” The lens peered out through a tiny hole in the exceedingly sparkly neckline, disguised as just another piece of sequins.
“Nice,” Wallace admired, as Logan batted Veronica’s hands away from his chest.
“Birthday present,” Veronica responded.
“Gives ‘money shot’ a whole new meaning,” Wallace continued, ducking as Logan attempted to attack him with a tasteful, cream-colored purse.
“You know, Veronica, don’t you think this would work even better as a two-man sting?” Logan asked, and Veronica turned and gave Wallace an appraising look.
“Actually,” Wallace said, arms crossing protectively over his non-ample chest, “I just came by because I was hoping I could borrow your Psych book. Jack spilled beer on mine. So I’ll just grab that and be on my way. Now.”
“Nothing says teammate love like destruction of property.” Veronica crossed the room and grabbed a large, brown textbook from her desk. “Just give it back to me tomorrow in class.”
“Will do,” Wallace said. “Oh, and Lorraine?”
“Out!” Logan pointed at the door. “Or so help me god, I will give you a lap dance in the cafeteria.”
Wallace held up his hands in mock surrender and backed away. “Later, ladies!”
Logan slammed the door shut behind him.
“Not a word,” he warned, readjusting his recently manhandled boobs.
Taking pity on him, Veronica swallowed her smirk and sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to her. Logan flopped down beside her, his angular movements belying his accoutrements.
“Logan, I really do appreciate this,” she said.
He sighed and lay back on the bed, pulling her down with him. “I know.” Veronica scooted closer to him, an arm creeping across his hips to dangle lazily over the edge of the bed.
Logan’s fingers trailed back and forth over the bare skin of her arm, and she smiled against his shoulder. “You know, we do have a few more minutes before we have to leave,” she said softly, her hand snapping devilishly at one of his garters.
Logan sat up, looking scandalized. “You can’t be serious.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow at him, and for a split second, Logan’s hand began to inch forward. Then she laughed, and rolled her eyes, and hopped up off the bed to grab her keys and her camera. Logan stared after her and blinked, suddenly glad for the, ah, obfuscating protection provided by the ruffle-fluffiness of his skirt. And that was a thought he’d never thought he’d think.
“Ready?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.
“And willing.” He stood, grabbed his purse, and took a last look in mirror. “You know, these stockings make my legs look hot.”
Veronica laughed. “That they do.”
~fin
Note: The prompt was...
Yup. :)
Author: mutinousmuse
Rating: PG-13 for being a bit faaaaabulous
Word Count: 1,123
Spoilers: None really - college AU
Characters: Logan, Veronica, Wallace
Summary: Logan regrets volunteering to help Veronica out with a case.
Author’s Notes: Written for the vm_have_a_day challenge. X-posted to veronicamarsfic. Thanks so much to truemyth for the beta!
Hate, Detest, Loathe
“Have I mentioned recently that I hate you?” Logan’s eyes narrowed into a practiced glare, aimed directly at a mascara-wielding blonde whose face was stretched into a rather obscene grin.
“Quit wiggling,” she said, and then planted her left hand across his face, effectively stilling him. “And quit glaring or I’ll never be able to get this stuff on.”
Logan concentrated on glaring with his left eye while his right was assaulted with gooeyness. She finished the one, and he switched the glare to the other.
“Because if I haven’t mentioned it recently, this feels like an excellent time to do so,” he groused.
Veronica capped the mascara, grin still firmly in place, and then admired her artistry. “You were the one who wanted to help out on my cases, Logan.” She licked her thumb and reached out to wipe a stray bit of eyeliner from the corner of his eye.
“I guess I just thought there would be a bit more bursting through doors and rescuing dames involved,” he mused. “And a bit less satin. At least, on me.”
Veronica snorted. “Dames?”
Logan shot her a look of doom, and she chuckled. He stood and staggered awkwardly towards the mirror, weight shifting unsteadily from one 4-inch heel to the other. “Did it really have to be orange? I mean, really?” He plucked at the strap of his dress forlornly.
“Don’t you dare get weepy on me,” Veronica chuckled. “I am not doing your make-up again. Besides, it’s like, the new pink. Or something.”
Logan stared at his reflection from the floor up, shaking his head as his eyes traveled over his feminine twin. His feet were crammed into what he could only think of as fuck-me boots that extended, black and shiny, all the way up to his knees. Above them stretched a strappy garter belt that disappeared under the hem of his thigh-length dress. The dress itself a cacophony of orange ruffles and - proof positive that Veronica was a fucking sadist - sequins. A wig of matching color adorned the top of his head, shaped into a beehive.
And then there was his face. His face, which would have been cringing, had it not been held firmly in place with four pounds of foundation.
“You look lovely,” Veronica said.
“I look like a three-dollar hooker!”
“Oh, I’d say at least four,” she replied, face straight. “And from what I gather, our philandering husband seems to have a taste for rather masculine four-dollar hookers.”
“Did I say hate?” he asked, turning to face her. “Because I think I meant detest. Hate seems too pedestrian.”
Grinning wickedly, Veronica pulled her phone from her pocket and flipped it open. “Smile pretty!”
“Ack!” Logan threw his arms up in front of his face a split second after the phone had already grabbed his image and converted into a magnificent rainbow of ones and zeros. “Loathe, even!” he howled, and then lunged for the door as a knocking sound echoed through Veronica’s dorm room. “Oh no you don’t,” he cried, teetering forward like a drunken giraffe.
But Veronica moved a bit faster, and he arrived just in time for her to fling open the door, placing him face-to-face with a rather stunned Wallace. Logan let his head clunk sideways into the doorframe with a groan, bemoaning the lack of dramatic effect as the wig muffled the sound.
“Logan?” Wallace asked.
“Actually,” Veronica supplied helpfully, “it’s Lorraine.”
“Oookay,” Wallace said, recovering quickly. “Hey, Lorraine, I’ll give you a three bucks if you’ll sing ‘I Feel Pretty’.”
Logan turned to Veronica. “See? I told you. Three dollars. Not four. Three.”
Veronica shrugged. “Maybe it’s the boots.”
Wallace cleared his throat. “You know, if I’m interrupting some sort of college-experimentation thing, I can always come back later.”
“It’s for a case,” Logan ground out. “I’m...” He trailed off, a pained look on his face.
“He’s the bait!” Veronica chirped. “Look,” she said, pulling down the front of Logan’s dress to reveal a small camera nestled between what the package had truthfully promised would be “ample bosoms.” The lens peered out through a tiny hole in the exceedingly sparkly neckline, disguised as just another piece of sequins.
“Nice,” Wallace admired, as Logan batted Veronica’s hands away from his chest.
“Birthday present,” Veronica responded.
“Gives ‘money shot’ a whole new meaning,” Wallace continued, ducking as Logan attempted to attack him with a tasteful, cream-colored purse.
“You know, Veronica, don’t you think this would work even better as a two-man sting?” Logan asked, and Veronica turned and gave Wallace an appraising look.
“Actually,” Wallace said, arms crossing protectively over his non-ample chest, “I just came by because I was hoping I could borrow your Psych book. Jack spilled beer on mine. So I’ll just grab that and be on my way. Now.”
“Nothing says teammate love like destruction of property.” Veronica crossed the room and grabbed a large, brown textbook from her desk. “Just give it back to me tomorrow in class.”
“Will do,” Wallace said. “Oh, and Lorraine?”
“Out!” Logan pointed at the door. “Or so help me god, I will give you a lap dance in the cafeteria.”
Wallace held up his hands in mock surrender and backed away. “Later, ladies!”
Logan slammed the door shut behind him.
“Not a word,” he warned, readjusting his recently manhandled boobs.
Taking pity on him, Veronica swallowed her smirk and sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to her. Logan flopped down beside her, his angular movements belying his accoutrements.
“Logan, I really do appreciate this,” she said.
He sighed and lay back on the bed, pulling her down with him. “I know.” Veronica scooted closer to him, an arm creeping across his hips to dangle lazily over the edge of the bed.
Logan’s fingers trailed back and forth over the bare skin of her arm, and she smiled against his shoulder. “You know, we do have a few more minutes before we have to leave,” she said softly, her hand snapping devilishly at one of his garters.
Logan sat up, looking scandalized. “You can’t be serious.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow at him, and for a split second, Logan’s hand began to inch forward. Then she laughed, and rolled her eyes, and hopped up off the bed to grab her keys and her camera. Logan stared after her and blinked, suddenly glad for the, ah, obfuscating protection provided by the ruffle-fluffiness of his skirt. And that was a thought he’d never thought he’d think.
“Ready?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.
“And willing.” He stood, grabbed his purse, and took a last look in mirror. “You know, these stockings make my legs look hot.”
Veronica laughed. “That they do.”
~fin
Note: The prompt was...
Yup. :)