VM: Insatiate #10 (V/L, V/D, L/K)
This is all Kate's fault. Actually, it's all my fault, but I'm going to blame her.
Title: Insatiate #10
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Ship: Veronica/Logan (V/Duncan, L/Kendall)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Whatever happens, this is.
Notes: Early S2, no spoilers
Duncan's hand is warm, and she likes the way his thumb rubs over the curve of her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and he's already falling asleep. "I wanted you to--"
"Don't worry about it," she interrupts, pulling his hand to her mouth, kissing his palm. "It's okay."
"Sorry," he mumbles again, and his breathing slows, evens out.
Veronica sighs, squirms a little away. Her skin's still humming, throbbing for completion. Counterpoint is Kendall, her hands slamming into the headboard, two rooms away.
Thump. Thump. Thump. And every seventh iteration, Kendall utters a little wail. It's familiar.
Veronica counts the beats, three dozen, then four. She closes her eyes, and slips a hand between her legs.
She sets her time to theirs, and tries not to feel guilty until afterwards.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Adrienne Rich's The Floating Poem, Unnumbered:Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine -- tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come --
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there --
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth --
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I have been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave -- whatever happens, this is.
Originally linked here.
Title: Insatiate #10
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Ship: Veronica/Logan (V/Duncan, L/Kendall)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Whatever happens, this is.
Notes: Early S2, no spoilers
Duncan's hand is warm, and she likes the way his thumb rubs over the curve of her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, and he's already falling asleep. "I wanted you to--"
"Don't worry about it," she interrupts, pulling his hand to her mouth, kissing his palm. "It's okay."
"Sorry," he mumbles again, and his breathing slows, evens out.
Veronica sighs, squirms a little away. Her skin's still humming, throbbing for completion. Counterpoint is Kendall, her hands slamming into the headboard, two rooms away.
Thump. Thump. Thump. And every seventh iteration, Kendall utters a little wail. It's familiar.
Veronica counts the beats, three dozen, then four. She closes her eyes, and slips a hand between her legs.
She sets her time to theirs, and tries not to feel guilty until afterwards.
###
A/N: Title and summary adapted from Adrienne Rich's The Floating Poem, Unnumbered:Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine -- tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come --
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there --
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth --
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I have been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave -- whatever happens, this is.
Originally linked here.