Preparation is the Father of Inspiration
Title: Preparation is the Father of Inspiration
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: WeeVer
Rating: R.
Spoilers: "President Evil"
"No 'naughty or nice' jokes, no talk of spiking the eggnog, and no inappropriate mistletoe placement," Veronica barks before he even has the car door all the way opened. Weevil chuckles.
"I'll be on my best behavior," he promises as he climbs into the passenger seat of her Saturn. The familiar scenery that passes them by on the way to the Mars apartment is still tinged with the setting late-afternoon sun, and the digital thermometer on the dash reads 76 degrees. Winter wonderland indeed. Weevil shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "We don't have to do this, you know," he says. "You could take me back and say that I wasn't home."
"Yeah," she agrees. "I could." Another mile passes in silence. "Look, my dad invited you to Christmas dinner. It may not seem like that big of a deal to you, but there hasn't been another guest at a Mars family holiday since before my mom left." He fixes her with a pointed stare.
"It's a pity invite, V. Don't think I don't know that." Veronica keeps her eyes on the road, but her fingers fidget against the steering wheel.
"Maybe a little," she admits. "But he does really like you."
"So much so that he fired me after less than a week on the job," Weevil mutters bitterly. Veronica opens her mouth, unsure whether she's about to deny it or leap to her father's defense. But he saves her from having to make the choice by waving his hand in front of him. "Never mind," he says.
Things have been...tense between the two of them. For a long time. They've struck a tentative truce for the time being, but the carefree ease with which they use to tease and banter is long-since gone, and Veronica gets this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she wonders if it will ever return.
About five minutes away from the Mars' apartment complex, Veronica's cell phone rings. She digs it out of her pocket, checking the blinking LCD screen before flipping it open and clutching the receiver to her ear.
"Hey Dad," she greets.
"How are things going?" Keith sing-songs. Were she there in the same room, Veronica would have stuck her tongue out at him. She almost does anyway.
"Super!" she chirps. Weevil smirks from his side of the car, fingers stroking the hair on his lower lip.
"I just realized we're out of butter. Think you can pick some up on your way over here?" As he's finishing the sentence, Veronica pulls a U-ie on the deserted side street, heading back towards the Meijer at the corner of Gregor and Benson.
"Will do. Anything else?"
"No, that's it. I'll see you when you get here."
"Bye." She snaps the phone closed and stuffs it back into her pocket, turning to Weevil. "Last-minute grocery run. You up to it?" she asks teasingly. He chuckles.
"Does it really matter?" he responds. The supermarket looms over them, looking more and more menacing the closer they get. When they're pulling into the parking lot, Weevil grimaces. "I hate these places," he admits. "They're so fucking big." Veronica suppresses the urge to laugh at him, climbing out of the car and leading the way across the blacktop. Outside the store, the pair is assaulted by a bell-ringing, Santa-suited solicitor, his donation pot emblazoned with the "Toys for Tots" logo. Veronica pauses. She squints, cocks her head, and watches him greet a group of shoppers. Weevil comes up behind her.
"What?" he asks. She shakes her head.
"Nothing," she insists. "He just looks...sort of familiar, doesn't he?" Weevil gives the panhandler a half-hearted once-over, then shrugs.
"Not really." Veronica mimics the gesture and follows him through the sliding glass doors.
Inside is a blinding mess of industrial gray walls and fluorescent lights. Veronica watches Weevil shift uncomfortably from side-to-side and suddenly realizes the real reason he dislikes being here: no place to hide. She turns her head to hide a fond smile, making a beeline for the dairy section. Weevil follows, dragging his feet like a six-year old. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the sherriff's concern, but to be honest he'd rather be at home. The last thing he wants to be doing on Christmas Eve is admitting that it's the only place he had to go because his own family is treating him like a leper. He's lost count of how many other Navarros have done time, but he was the first one that was stupid enough to make a promise not to. The way Lupe glares at him, you would think that he caused Letti's death by way of his broken promise. It's the reason he moved out, into the trailer park that's a thousand times worse than what the '09ers consider "the ghetto". He sleeps with the windows cracked open at night sometimes. It's not the safest move, but he can't sleep in the silence of what amounts to little more than an aluminum box with a mattress on the floor.
On her way to the back of the store, Veronica gets sidetracked by the candy aisle. "Oh, score!" she crows, holding up a bag of Almond Joys. "I know, I know - they go straight to your hips. Don't care. You want?" There are oh-so-many dirty comments he could make in response to that, and okay maybe she said it on purpose, but he just shakes his head, brushing past her and heading towards the butter. Veronica lets out a grunt of frustration, tossing the bags back onto the shelf.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she calls. He stops, turns, an eyebrow quirked, and this is probably the world's most inappropriate time to be having this conversation, but the words start spilling out before Veronica can stop them. "I never thought you stole the necklace. I lashed out, because you were there and you were convenient, but I know what Lilly meant to you, and -"
"V?"
"You're my friend, Weevil. I'm not the crazy chick that wants the whole high-school gang to keep hanging out until we're all 80, but of all people, you and I-"
"V."
"No, let me finish. I know I'm talking a lot, but I'm not good at this whole apology thing, and..."
"V!"
"What?!" Veronica finally snaps, annoyed. Can't he see she's trying to say something important here? But Weevil isn't even looking at her - he's looking over her shoulder at something behind her. Furrowing her brow in confusion, Veronica turns around to see the panhandler in the Santa suit from outside...chatting with Deputy Sacks. Her eyes widen. Underneath the fake padding and polyester beard, there is no longer any doubt that it's Neptune's own Sheriff Don Lamb. "Oh, my..."
"For the love of God tell me you have your camera." Veronica snickers, pulling the trusty Nikon out of her bag. She zooms in and snaps a few shots, forgetting to turn off the flash. Lamb's head jerks up.
"Mars!" he roars, taking off towards them. Veronica giggles, more girly than he's ever heard her, but Weevil has no time to make fun of her, because she's grabbing his wrist and yanking him after her, tearing down the aisle as Lamb begins his pursuit.
"Fuck," she mutters. No place to hide indeed. All that lies in front of her is bright light and wide, unobstructed aisles. As they pass the meat counter, however, she sees a door marked "Employees Only." Without pause, she shoves Weevil inside and pulls the door closed behind them.
It's a closet of some sort, she guesses, with barely enough room for the two of them to stand. Weevil's chest is pressed against her back, her nose right in front of the door. Outside, they hear footsteps thundering past, a few moments of blessed silence, then the squawk of a two-way radio.
"Goddamn," Lamb laments. "Sacks, do you see her?"
"Negative," Sacks replies. Under the crack of the door, they can see Lamb's shadow moving anxiously from side-to-side.
"Well she can't hide forever. Stay where you are. If she tries to leave, arrest her."
"On what grounds?" Lamb snorts.
"We'll think of something," he assures. And then there's a thud as he leans up against the wall to wait them out...right next to the door.
Veronica turns to face Weevil, standing on tip-toes to whisper in his ear. "Turn your cell phone off," she instructs, reaching for her own. The screen provides just enough light to see his lips twist up into a half-smile.
"You think I can afford a cell phone bill these days?" he responds, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Veronica tries not to shiver as his breath warms her bare neck. Her phone powers down, leaving them in darkness once again. Their breathing seems unnecessarily loud in the silent closet, punctuated only by the sounds of Lamb humming softly to himself. Weevil's hands settle on Veronica's hips, trying to maneuver them into a comfortable position. "How long you think he's going to wait?" he asks.
"The man has the attention span of a fruit fly," she scoffs. When he laughs quietly in response, his whole body rumbles against hers. Veronica feels her own body begin to respond with a familiar tightening of her nipples, and she bites back a groan. Not good - not good at all. She tries to distract herself by bringing up their previous conversation.
"Look, what I was saying earlier?" she breathes. "I meant it." Weevil's fingers tighten on her hips.
"I know you did, V," he responds. Still on tip-toes, Veronica wavers as she tries to keep her balance. Weevil tries to hold her upright, but she ends up falling against him. Her lips skim against his collarbone.
"Fuck," he stutters. Intrigued, Veronica does it again, intentionally. This time there's no mistaking the way his body arches into hers, callused fingers inching up underneath her shirt. Weevil presses Veronica up against the door, lowering his lips to her own neck, intent on driving her as crazy as she's driving him. He kisses, licks, sucks, until she's grasping feverishly at his arms, his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. A strangled gasp escapes her, and suddenly Weevil's lips are swooping down to cover hers and swallow the small noise, lest they be discovered.
Mouth-to-mouth kissing is a whole new ballgame, and any semblance of control that Veronica thought she had over the situation is quickly lost as their tongues fight for dominance, struggling to let out months of pent-up aggression. Outside the door, she hears Lamb jingling change in his picket, and she finds that she no longer cares about preserving the ridiculous image of Lamb in a Santa suit - the only reason she wants to keep from being discovered is so that Weevil's hands and mouth never have to leave her body.
His hands travel down her leg to her knees, pulling her up so that she's wrapped around his waist. And then he presses closer, hot and hard and shameless in how much he wants her. There's no gentlemanly slow-down, where pulls back and asks her if she's sure. Because she's not, really. Not one hundred percent. But that's really not going to stop her right now.
Slowly, painstakingly, they begin to move against one another. The closeness of their bodies and the cramped atmosphere are making Veronica so hot that she can feel beads of sweat roll down her back, making her shirt stick to her skin. She thinks about pulling it off, but can't find the right position to do so without one or both of them falling over, so she leaves it in place. Weevil doesn't seem bothered - he shoves the material up around her armpits and releases the clasp of her bra one-handed, gently plucking at the her rock-hard nipples. When he takes one into his mouth, she squirms harder against him.
"This isn't going to last very long if you keep that up," Weevil murmurs, tongue tracing the delicate shell of her ear. Veronica ignores him, twisting her hips to gain maximum friction. She grinds down, up, then back down again, and Weevil's fingers are grabbing her so hard that she's sure she'll have bruises on her hips tomorrow. Today, however, she doesn't care. One hand grasps the back of his head as she kisses him again, firm and hot and wet, and the other reaches for his belt buckle. In retaliation, he pinches her left nipple, twisting it mercilessly between his fingers. Veronica can't help the squeal of pleasure the escapes her.
They both freeze. Outside, there's a sigh, followed by the repetitive squeak of rubber-on-tile, which grows gradually softer. Then nothing.
"I think he's gone," Veronica says, her voice at normal volume.
The floodgates burst.
Weevil slams her back against the door, rutting against her in full force. His mouth is hard and demanding on hers, biting her lower lip. Veronica groans loudly as he shoves his hand down her pants with no pre-amble, finding her opening slick and ready. Two fingers slip easily inside. Weevil slides them in as far as he can get them, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her opening - just resting there for now. He scissors his middle and index finger apart, then curls them forward, searching, until he feels her entire body jerk and he knows that he's hit just the right spot. Weevil strokes it, back and forth, then sweeps his thumb against her clit. Veronica spasms, cries out, and finally comes to rest against him, her face pressed into his neck.
"Your dad's probably going to be wondering where we are," Weevil murmurs, smoothing her T-shirt back into place.
"Right," Veronica agrees shakily, reaching up to re-fasten her bra. "Wait, but you..." She trails off, stroking his still-erect cock. Weevil groans, flinching away from her.
"Too messy and we don't have time," he hisses. Veronica smiles, kissing his jaw.
"Later," she murmurs. Even though it's too dark to see anything, she swears she can see his eyes boring into hers.
"I'm going to hold you to that," he says seriously.
"I'm counting on it." Gently, she tucks him back into his pants. "Let's get out of here." On their way to the car, Veronica pulls the camera back out, showing him the priceless snapshot of Lamb, beard askew, glaring at them. Weevil chuckles. "I'm thinking, cover of the Sheriff’s department annual newsletter?" He just laughs harder, falling easily into step next to her and wondering if it would be too weird to reach over and take her hand in his.
As they pull into the apartment complex, Veronica suddenly shoots up in her seat, ramrod-straight. "Oh, fuck!" she cries.
"What?" Weevil asks, instantly checking to see if either of them left any telltale marks.
"We forgot the butter!"
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: WeeVer
Rating: R.
Spoilers: "President Evil"
"No 'naughty or nice' jokes, no talk of spiking the eggnog, and no inappropriate mistletoe placement," Veronica barks before he even has the car door all the way opened. Weevil chuckles.
"I'll be on my best behavior," he promises as he climbs into the passenger seat of her Saturn. The familiar scenery that passes them by on the way to the Mars apartment is still tinged with the setting late-afternoon sun, and the digital thermometer on the dash reads 76 degrees. Winter wonderland indeed. Weevil shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "We don't have to do this, you know," he says. "You could take me back and say that I wasn't home."
"Yeah," she agrees. "I could." Another mile passes in silence. "Look, my dad invited you to Christmas dinner. It may not seem like that big of a deal to you, but there hasn't been another guest at a Mars family holiday since before my mom left." He fixes her with a pointed stare.
"It's a pity invite, V. Don't think I don't know that." Veronica keeps her eyes on the road, but her fingers fidget against the steering wheel.
"Maybe a little," she admits. "But he does really like you."
"So much so that he fired me after less than a week on the job," Weevil mutters bitterly. Veronica opens her mouth, unsure whether she's about to deny it or leap to her father's defense. But he saves her from having to make the choice by waving his hand in front of him. "Never mind," he says.
Things have been...tense between the two of them. For a long time. They've struck a tentative truce for the time being, but the carefree ease with which they use to tease and banter is long-since gone, and Veronica gets this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when she wonders if it will ever return.
About five minutes away from the Mars' apartment complex, Veronica's cell phone rings. She digs it out of her pocket, checking the blinking LCD screen before flipping it open and clutching the receiver to her ear.
"Hey Dad," she greets.
"How are things going?" Keith sing-songs. Were she there in the same room, Veronica would have stuck her tongue out at him. She almost does anyway.
"Super!" she chirps. Weevil smirks from his side of the car, fingers stroking the hair on his lower lip.
"I just realized we're out of butter. Think you can pick some up on your way over here?" As he's finishing the sentence, Veronica pulls a U-ie on the deserted side street, heading back towards the Meijer at the corner of Gregor and Benson.
"Will do. Anything else?"
"No, that's it. I'll see you when you get here."
"Bye." She snaps the phone closed and stuffs it back into her pocket, turning to Weevil. "Last-minute grocery run. You up to it?" she asks teasingly. He chuckles.
"Does it really matter?" he responds. The supermarket looms over them, looking more and more menacing the closer they get. When they're pulling into the parking lot, Weevil grimaces. "I hate these places," he admits. "They're so fucking big." Veronica suppresses the urge to laugh at him, climbing out of the car and leading the way across the blacktop. Outside the store, the pair is assaulted by a bell-ringing, Santa-suited solicitor, his donation pot emblazoned with the "Toys for Tots" logo. Veronica pauses. She squints, cocks her head, and watches him greet a group of shoppers. Weevil comes up behind her.
"What?" he asks. She shakes her head.
"Nothing," she insists. "He just looks...sort of familiar, doesn't he?" Weevil gives the panhandler a half-hearted once-over, then shrugs.
"Not really." Veronica mimics the gesture and follows him through the sliding glass doors.
Inside is a blinding mess of industrial gray walls and fluorescent lights. Veronica watches Weevil shift uncomfortably from side-to-side and suddenly realizes the real reason he dislikes being here: no place to hide. She turns her head to hide a fond smile, making a beeline for the dairy section. Weevil follows, dragging his feet like a six-year old. It's not that he doesn't appreciate the sherriff's concern, but to be honest he'd rather be at home. The last thing he wants to be doing on Christmas Eve is admitting that it's the only place he had to go because his own family is treating him like a leper. He's lost count of how many other Navarros have done time, but he was the first one that was stupid enough to make a promise not to. The way Lupe glares at him, you would think that he caused Letti's death by way of his broken promise. It's the reason he moved out, into the trailer park that's a thousand times worse than what the '09ers consider "the ghetto". He sleeps with the windows cracked open at night sometimes. It's not the safest move, but he can't sleep in the silence of what amounts to little more than an aluminum box with a mattress on the floor.
On her way to the back of the store, Veronica gets sidetracked by the candy aisle. "Oh, score!" she crows, holding up a bag of Almond Joys. "I know, I know - they go straight to your hips. Don't care. You want?" There are oh-so-many dirty comments he could make in response to that, and okay maybe she said it on purpose, but he just shakes his head, brushing past her and heading towards the butter. Veronica lets out a grunt of frustration, tossing the bags back onto the shelf.
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" she calls. He stops, turns, an eyebrow quirked, and this is probably the world's most inappropriate time to be having this conversation, but the words start spilling out before Veronica can stop them. "I never thought you stole the necklace. I lashed out, because you were there and you were convenient, but I know what Lilly meant to you, and -"
"V?"
"You're my friend, Weevil. I'm not the crazy chick that wants the whole high-school gang to keep hanging out until we're all 80, but of all people, you and I-"
"V."
"No, let me finish. I know I'm talking a lot, but I'm not good at this whole apology thing, and..."
"V!"
"What?!" Veronica finally snaps, annoyed. Can't he see she's trying to say something important here? But Weevil isn't even looking at her - he's looking over her shoulder at something behind her. Furrowing her brow in confusion, Veronica turns around to see the panhandler in the Santa suit from outside...chatting with Deputy Sacks. Her eyes widen. Underneath the fake padding and polyester beard, there is no longer any doubt that it's Neptune's own Sheriff Don Lamb. "Oh, my..."
"For the love of God tell me you have your camera." Veronica snickers, pulling the trusty Nikon out of her bag. She zooms in and snaps a few shots, forgetting to turn off the flash. Lamb's head jerks up.
"Mars!" he roars, taking off towards them. Veronica giggles, more girly than he's ever heard her, but Weevil has no time to make fun of her, because she's grabbing his wrist and yanking him after her, tearing down the aisle as Lamb begins his pursuit.
"Fuck," she mutters. No place to hide indeed. All that lies in front of her is bright light and wide, unobstructed aisles. As they pass the meat counter, however, she sees a door marked "Employees Only." Without pause, she shoves Weevil inside and pulls the door closed behind them.
It's a closet of some sort, she guesses, with barely enough room for the two of them to stand. Weevil's chest is pressed against her back, her nose right in front of the door. Outside, they hear footsteps thundering past, a few moments of blessed silence, then the squawk of a two-way radio.
"Goddamn," Lamb laments. "Sacks, do you see her?"
"Negative," Sacks replies. Under the crack of the door, they can see Lamb's shadow moving anxiously from side-to-side.
"Well she can't hide forever. Stay where you are. If she tries to leave, arrest her."
"On what grounds?" Lamb snorts.
"We'll think of something," he assures. And then there's a thud as he leans up against the wall to wait them out...right next to the door.
Veronica turns to face Weevil, standing on tip-toes to whisper in his ear. "Turn your cell phone off," she instructs, reaching for her own. The screen provides just enough light to see his lips twist up into a half-smile.
"You think I can afford a cell phone bill these days?" he responds, leaning down to whisper in her ear. Veronica tries not to shiver as his breath warms her bare neck. Her phone powers down, leaving them in darkness once again. Their breathing seems unnecessarily loud in the silent closet, punctuated only by the sounds of Lamb humming softly to himself. Weevil's hands settle on Veronica's hips, trying to maneuver them into a comfortable position. "How long you think he's going to wait?" he asks.
"The man has the attention span of a fruit fly," she scoffs. When he laughs quietly in response, his whole body rumbles against hers. Veronica feels her own body begin to respond with a familiar tightening of her nipples, and she bites back a groan. Not good - not good at all. She tries to distract herself by bringing up their previous conversation.
"Look, what I was saying earlier?" she breathes. "I meant it." Weevil's fingers tighten on her hips.
"I know you did, V," he responds. Still on tip-toes, Veronica wavers as she tries to keep her balance. Weevil tries to hold her upright, but she ends up falling against him. Her lips skim against his collarbone.
"Fuck," he stutters. Intrigued, Veronica does it again, intentionally. This time there's no mistaking the way his body arches into hers, callused fingers inching up underneath her shirt. Weevil presses Veronica up against the door, lowering his lips to her own neck, intent on driving her as crazy as she's driving him. He kisses, licks, sucks, until she's grasping feverishly at his arms, his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. A strangled gasp escapes her, and suddenly Weevil's lips are swooping down to cover hers and swallow the small noise, lest they be discovered.
Mouth-to-mouth kissing is a whole new ballgame, and any semblance of control that Veronica thought she had over the situation is quickly lost as their tongues fight for dominance, struggling to let out months of pent-up aggression. Outside the door, she hears Lamb jingling change in his picket, and she finds that she no longer cares about preserving the ridiculous image of Lamb in a Santa suit - the only reason she wants to keep from being discovered is so that Weevil's hands and mouth never have to leave her body.
His hands travel down her leg to her knees, pulling her up so that she's wrapped around his waist. And then he presses closer, hot and hard and shameless in how much he wants her. There's no gentlemanly slow-down, where pulls back and asks her if she's sure. Because she's not, really. Not one hundred percent. But that's really not going to stop her right now.
Slowly, painstakingly, they begin to move against one another. The closeness of their bodies and the cramped atmosphere are making Veronica so hot that she can feel beads of sweat roll down her back, making her shirt stick to her skin. She thinks about pulling it off, but can't find the right position to do so without one or both of them falling over, so she leaves it in place. Weevil doesn't seem bothered - he shoves the material up around her armpits and releases the clasp of her bra one-handed, gently plucking at the her rock-hard nipples. When he takes one into his mouth, she squirms harder against him.
"This isn't going to last very long if you keep that up," Weevil murmurs, tongue tracing the delicate shell of her ear. Veronica ignores him, twisting her hips to gain maximum friction. She grinds down, up, then back down again, and Weevil's fingers are grabbing her so hard that she's sure she'll have bruises on her hips tomorrow. Today, however, she doesn't care. One hand grasps the back of his head as she kisses him again, firm and hot and wet, and the other reaches for his belt buckle. In retaliation, he pinches her left nipple, twisting it mercilessly between his fingers. Veronica can't help the squeal of pleasure the escapes her.
They both freeze. Outside, there's a sigh, followed by the repetitive squeak of rubber-on-tile, which grows gradually softer. Then nothing.
"I think he's gone," Veronica says, her voice at normal volume.
The floodgates burst.
Weevil slams her back against the door, rutting against her in full force. His mouth is hard and demanding on hers, biting her lower lip. Veronica groans loudly as he shoves his hand down her pants with no pre-amble, finding her opening slick and ready. Two fingers slip easily inside. Weevil slides them in as far as he can get them, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at her opening - just resting there for now. He scissors his middle and index finger apart, then curls them forward, searching, until he feels her entire body jerk and he knows that he's hit just the right spot. Weevil strokes it, back and forth, then sweeps his thumb against her clit. Veronica spasms, cries out, and finally comes to rest against him, her face pressed into his neck.
"Your dad's probably going to be wondering where we are," Weevil murmurs, smoothing her T-shirt back into place.
"Right," Veronica agrees shakily, reaching up to re-fasten her bra. "Wait, but you..." She trails off, stroking his still-erect cock. Weevil groans, flinching away from her.
"Too messy and we don't have time," he hisses. Veronica smiles, kissing his jaw.
"Later," she murmurs. Even though it's too dark to see anything, she swears she can see his eyes boring into hers.
"I'm going to hold you to that," he says seriously.
"I'm counting on it." Gently, she tucks him back into his pants. "Let's get out of here." On their way to the car, Veronica pulls the camera back out, showing him the priceless snapshot of Lamb, beard askew, glaring at them. Weevil chuckles. "I'm thinking, cover of the Sheriff’s department annual newsletter?" He just laughs harder, falling easily into step next to her and wondering if it would be too weird to reach over and take her hand in his.
As they pull into the apartment complex, Veronica suddenly shoots up in her seat, ramrod-straight. "Oh, fuck!" she cries.
"What?" Weevil asks, instantly checking to see if either of them left any telltale marks.
"We forgot the butter!"