VM: Hot Shot (The Quarter Mile Remix) [Veronica/Logan]
musesfool organized remixredux. I did a backup remix of quiet_rebel's Hot Shot.
Title: Hot Shot (The Quarter Mile Remix)
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Ship: Veronica/Logan
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Maybe this is what he'd been wanting all along.
Notes: Futurefic, no spoilers
When he hits the gas pedal, Logan can feel the engine rev, from his toes to his cock to his chest to his smile.
It feels good, so like everything that feels good to him, Logan does it again and again.
It doesn't take much, just a sidelong glance from a frat boy or cholo at an intersection. He grins, guns his engine, and lets the horsepower cycle through him.
The way's clear, the light turns green, and in seven and a half seconds, he's flying.
*
The first time he does it while Veronica's in the car, she doesn't say a thing. Just sits there, jaw clenched, eyes trained forward.
After a long screech of a stop, she kicks her door open, stands and waits for him to come to her.
"Veronica," he starts, and then she slugs him full in the stomach.
The punch staggers him, and he wheezes for half a minute. She glares at him until he catches his breath.
"Veronica," he tries again, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"Scare me?" She steps forward, fist half lifted, then stops. Closes her eyes. "Let me guess." She opens her eyes, and her smirk is impervious. "You live your life a quarter mile at a time."
"What can I say?" He straightens, finally, and rubs his stomach. "I love me some Diesel."
She walks away, and doesn't talk to him for a week and a half.
*
He glimpses Veronica, off and on, in the corridors. The curve of her shoulder, the swing of her hair as she turns a corner.
She doesn't stop, and she doesn't talk to him.
The next time he looks her in the face, it's a minute and a half after his latest race on Sheridan Drive.
She's standing just past the finish line, and her face is pale and grim. Weevil's standing next to her, nudging her shoulder with his.
Logan slides out of his Civic and ambles over, hands in his pockets and prepared to care less.
He stares Weevil down, but feels Veronica's gaze. Finally, before them, he smiles at her.
She doesn't smile back, instead crosses her arms. "You're not going to stop doing this, are you?"
Logan lowers his chin and says, "No."
Veronica sighs, looks away, then back at him. "Fine." She reaches out and snags his jacket in her hands. Pulls him close, and kisses him.
He doesn't notice when Weevil walks away.
*
They make it back to his car, just barely, and Veronica straddles him in his seat. She's wearing a skirt, and in a scramble and a twist, he's inside her and panting.
She tastes like coffee and vanilla lip gloss, and a week and a half is too long.
Afterwards, she rests her head against his chest, and he wonders if she's the type to count heartbeats.
"Logan," she murmurs.
He hums, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Seriously," she continues, and raises her head. Looks him in the eye. "Are you trying to get killed?"
"Flashing my ankles." He shrugs. "So to speak."
She raises her eyebrows. "Quaint."
The ocean is loud, and so is the moon. He traces warm circles up Veronica's thighs.
She exhales with a hiss, and her nails dig into his arms.
"What do you want, Logan?"
The list scrolls across his mind, blinking hypertext. He shakes all the wants away, and tells her the one attainable thing.
"To see you smile."
She rolls her eyes, but he catches the twitching corners of her mouth.
He kisses her, then again, until the sun comes up.
###
Originally archived here and linked here.
Title: Hot Shot (The Quarter Mile Remix)
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Ship: Veronica/Logan
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Maybe this is what he'd been wanting all along.
Notes: Futurefic, no spoilers
When he hits the gas pedal, Logan can feel the engine rev, from his toes to his cock to his chest to his smile.
It feels good, so like everything that feels good to him, Logan does it again and again.
It doesn't take much, just a sidelong glance from a frat boy or cholo at an intersection. He grins, guns his engine, and lets the horsepower cycle through him.
The way's clear, the light turns green, and in seven and a half seconds, he's flying.
*
The first time he does it while Veronica's in the car, she doesn't say a thing. Just sits there, jaw clenched, eyes trained forward.
After a long screech of a stop, she kicks her door open, stands and waits for him to come to her.
"Veronica," he starts, and then she slugs him full in the stomach.
The punch staggers him, and he wheezes for half a minute. She glares at him until he catches his breath.
"Veronica," he tries again, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
"Scare me?" She steps forward, fist half lifted, then stops. Closes her eyes. "Let me guess." She opens her eyes, and her smirk is impervious. "You live your life a quarter mile at a time."
"What can I say?" He straightens, finally, and rubs his stomach. "I love me some Diesel."
She walks away, and doesn't talk to him for a week and a half.
*
He glimpses Veronica, off and on, in the corridors. The curve of her shoulder, the swing of her hair as she turns a corner.
She doesn't stop, and she doesn't talk to him.
The next time he looks her in the face, it's a minute and a half after his latest race on Sheridan Drive.
She's standing just past the finish line, and her face is pale and grim. Weevil's standing next to her, nudging her shoulder with his.
Logan slides out of his Civic and ambles over, hands in his pockets and prepared to care less.
He stares Weevil down, but feels Veronica's gaze. Finally, before them, he smiles at her.
She doesn't smile back, instead crosses her arms. "You're not going to stop doing this, are you?"
Logan lowers his chin and says, "No."
Veronica sighs, looks away, then back at him. "Fine." She reaches out and snags his jacket in her hands. Pulls him close, and kisses him.
He doesn't notice when Weevil walks away.
*
They make it back to his car, just barely, and Veronica straddles him in his seat. She's wearing a skirt, and in a scramble and a twist, he's inside her and panting.
She tastes like coffee and vanilla lip gloss, and a week and a half is too long.
Afterwards, she rests her head against his chest, and he wonders if she's the type to count heartbeats.
"Logan," she murmurs.
He hums, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Seriously," she continues, and raises her head. Looks him in the eye. "Are you trying to get killed?"
"Flashing my ankles." He shrugs. "So to speak."
She raises her eyebrows. "Quaint."
The ocean is loud, and so is the moon. He traces warm circles up Veronica's thighs.
She exhales with a hiss, and her nails dig into his arms.
"What do you want, Logan?"
The list scrolls across his mind, blinking hypertext. He shakes all the wants away, and tells her the one attainable thing.
"To see you smile."
She rolls her eyes, but he catches the twitching corners of her mouth.
He kisses her, then again, until the sun comes up.
###
Originally archived here and linked here.