Mounting the Eiffel Tower - 2/2 - L/V - NC-17 - rindee
Title: Mounting the Eiffel Tower
Author: Rindee
Characters/Pairing: Logan and Veronica
Word Count: 10,990 - for both parts.
Rating: NC-17, for sex, language, sex, and, did I mention, sex.
Summary/Spoilers: AU fic set at the end of Season 2, the basic premise is that Veronica went to the Sorbonne instead of Hearst, and Logan went to rehab. No real spoilers, if you know what happened in Season 2, you’re golden. The fic starts on Christmas Day, in Minnesota, and ends on New Year’s Eve, in Paris. This is a continuation of my Christmas fic, Here Comes Santa Claus. Although it's not necessary to read the previous fic, it might be helpful because this one begins about 20 minutes after the first one ends.
A/N: Written for the "Losing It" challenge at vm_library, and cross-posted to veronicamarsfic. I intended for this to be short and simple and all smutty sex, but then rejeneration requested I write some angst too, so this fic is dedicated to my most amazing rejeneration. She beta'd as well, because she has my back and my heart. Also beta'd by the wonderful dandelion_gal, who has too many talents to list, and our very own Librarian, the delightfully wanton taken_with_you. Any remaining mistakes are mine, yo.
The afternoon of New Year’s Eve, about 4:15 pm.
Even half asleep on her cozy spot in the middle of their bed, Veronica could hear the shush-click of the electronic lock, and the pneumatic hiss of the door as Logan stole in. They’d spent the morning exploring the Quarter, but after a light meal at her favorite café, Logan had offered to let her take a nap while he ran an errand. Mystified but still a bit jet-lagged, Veronica had enthusiastically agreed, but now, she was determined to uncover what he’d been up to for the past two-and-a-half hours. Feigning sleep, she hid her face in a feather pillow and watched from a gap in the blanket as Logan tiptoed in and made straight for the closet. After hanging up a plump, designer-emblazoned garment bag, he glanced over his shoulder. Quickly she closed her eyes, keeping them closed until she felt the mattress sag under his weight.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he crooned, sweeping his hand over her tumbled blonde locks. “Nap time’s over. You have to get up now, we have to be somewhere.”
“Hi there,” she blinked sleepily. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He smiled indulgently. “Something tells me you did, but if that’s the way you want to play it.... You’re still going to have to get up, babe.”
“Right now?” She yawned. “Maybe we could cuddle for a minute or two?” she coaxed hopefully, stroking his arm. “Just a few minutes....”
“Veronica Mars,” he chastised in a whisper. “Are you trying to ... seduce me, again?”
“No,” she pouted. “I just want you to hold me....”
“Oh, well, in that case....” he kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to her, gathering her into to him. “How’s this?”
“Mmm...this is...nice,” she purred, laying her head on his heart. “...so, did you find what you were looking for?” she inquired sweetly, after a minute.
Barking a laugh, Logan squeezed her. “You’re going to have to do better than that, supersleuth. You’re as transparent as glass.”
“Hmpf. I guess I’ll just have to search you,” she threatened, patting her hand over his chest and down his abs.
“Hey - there will be none of that, young lady,” he admonished, grabbing and restraining her hand. “At least,” he amended, upon seeing her amazed, upturned face, “not right now. Maybe later,” he added, pulling her atop him and bucking his hips against hers as he kissed her.
“Okay, okay,” she agreed, licking her lips lasciviously. “I’ll get up now. Wouldn’t want to tempt you into doing something you might regret.”
He tightened his grip. “Doing you is something I’ll never regret,” he assured her, eyes glinting triumphantly as she opened her mouth, astonished by his coarseness. “We don’t have time right now, Veronica, but I promise I’ll get to you before the new year.... Now, are you going to move under your own power, or do I have to drag you into the bathroom?”
“Okay, I’m going,” she retorted, rolling over him and off the bed. “What are we doing? What am I dressing for?” she asked, looking down at him. Logan merely raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
“Just ... do whatever ... put on your robe and come back. I’ll tell you what to wear when you’re done.”
“But.... Okay, if that’s the way you’re going to play it.” She spun on her heel and departed to the bathroom, her lover grinning at her retreating form.
Sprawled out, Logan listened for the sound of running water. Once he heard it, he rose and pulled out the garment bag. Cautiously unzipping it, he extracted a gossamer ‘little black’ cocktail dress and laid it out on the bed. A pair of strappy, rhinestone studded heels joined it, along with a peu d’soie evening bag. Patting his jeans’ pockets, he located the slender, velvet box he’d hidden from Veronica’s prying hands and eyes. Cracking it open, he removed a long, delicate, platinum and diamond lariat, arraigning it in the deeply-veed neck of the frock. The last items to complete the ensemble were extracted from a sateen draw-string bag; an ephemeral, black lace garter belt and matching bra, and a pair of silk hose embossed with a tiny fishnet pattern.
Humming to himself, he returned to the closet and took out a newly-tailored tuxedo and crisp, pale grey shirt. Fishing another jewelry box from his jeans, he set it on the dresser and removed a pair of platinum cufflinks. Satisfied, he stuck his head into the bath. “Veronica?”
“Um hmm?”
“Your outfit’s on the bed. I’m going to use the guest bath to get ready, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You have to wear exactly what’s there, no changes or substitutions, alright?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Ten minutes later, unable to resist Logan’s mysterious instructions, a towel draped Veronica padded back into the bedroom. Mouth agape, she stared in wonder at the clothing arrayed before her. Tentatively, her hands skimmed the sensuous lines of the dress, lingering over the flirty, ruffled diagonal slit of the skirt. Gasping when she caught sight of it, she picked up the necklace, fingering the diamonds at each end of the silvery chains.
Sighing in wonder at her lover’s exquisite taste and generosity, she collected the outfit and took it into the bathroom. Hurriedly drying her hair, she set it into long, wavy strands pinned up at the crown of her head. After studying the undergarments for a moment, she slipped on black bikinis and fastened the garter over it. Rolling one silk stocking in her hand, she stepped into it and smoothed it up her leg, marveling at the sexy, whisper-light feel of real silk on her legs. Hooking the hose into the garters, she followed with the bra. After snicking the clasp between her breasts, she twirled in front of the mirror, marveling at the image of her in nearly head-to-toe black silk and lace.
Lounging against the door jam, throat constricted, eyes smudged with lust, Logan watched as she turned back to retrieve her dress. “Oh my God, you scared me,” she gasped, one hand crossing protectively over her chest.
His lustrous molasses eyes swept up and down her form as he fought for breath. “Wow.” He shook his head and swallowed heavily. “Just ... wow. You’re beautiful ... and I have even better taste than I thought.”
“Go away, Logan. I’ll never be able to get dressed with you looking at me like that,” she scolded, her face a brilliant pink.
“Maybe I should cancel our dinner reservations,” he said smoothly, one eyebrow arched for punctuation. Pretending to think for a moment, he announced, “nope. I have to show you off to the city. Finish,” he ordered, snapping his fingers. He turned to leave. “Oh, I almost forgot. The garter belt?”
She nodded. “It’s meant to be worn sans panties. I told you, no changes.”
Dumbfounded, she glanced down her stomach. “Take ‘em off, Veronica. I mean it.” Before she could argue, he left.
Ten minutes later, fully clothed, she swept into the sitting room, slinky necklace in hand. “How do I - it doesn’t have a clasp. How do I keep it on?”
Flinging down the guide book he’d been consulting, Logan bounced up from his seat with a loud wolf-whistle. “You look good enough to eat, baby,” he crowed, holding out his hand for the chain. “C’mere.” Wrapping the cool metal over the back of her neck, he expertly joined the ends and fastened the invisible clasp.
Nervously patting the sparkling stones, Veronica gave Logan the once over, noticing his attire for the first time. “Wow yourself,” she gushed, absently brushing his sleeves. “Who knew you’d clean up well? Nice cufflinks," she added.
Tucking his matte silver tie to his chest, he buttoned his dinner jacket and offered his arm. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Mars?” When she hesitated, he continued, “do you have everything? Evening bag and lipstick - check. Shiny baubles - check. Impractical shoes - check. Cab fare home, in case your date is a slob?”
“Check,” she interjected with a pixie’s smile.
“Okay, let me get your jacket and we’ll bounce. I hope you’re hungry.”
________________________________________________
Approximately 7 pm, New Year’s Eve, 2006.
Purposely twitching her hips in an exaggerated fashion, Veronica strolled out of the restaurant and into the busy, light-bedecked Parisian night. Following close behind, Logan enjoyed the show for a moment before hustling to catch up with her. Scooping her into his arms, he confided, “you look so alive and breathtaking tonight.”
Grinning giddily, she admitted, “I feel wonderful, Logan. Thank you ... for all this....” She swept her arms over her head, looking for all the world like a woman in love. “And thank you for the fantabulous dinner, it was ohmygod so good.”
“Did you have enough to eat?” he teased, as delighted as ever by her voracious appetite, for food and ... other things. Nodding, she bounced her hip against his.
“I didn’t ask you to take me to Le Violon d’Ingres. It’s not my fault the food was so good.... Thank goodness they had a tasting menu; you knew I’d want to try lots of things.”
Laughing, he tucked her hand in his pocket, and leaned in. “Are you ready to try ... another new experience?” Slyly, she cut her eyes to his, nibbling her bottom lip libidinously as she agreed. They continued their stroll down the rue St-Dominique, breathing the cool, crisp night air.
“Where are you taking me?” she teased happily, content to follow his lead and certain he had something specific on his mind.
“Still don’t trust me?” he smirked, pulling her into his side. “Have I disappointed you yet, Miss Mars?”
Stopping abruptly, ignoring the Parisians thronging the sidewalk, she turned to him, eyes wide, her face suddenly serious. Entwining her hands in his, she earnestly replied, “I trust you, Logan, you know I do. And you never let me down when it matters. You haven’t, not for a long time.” Tugging on his hands to pull him down to eye level, she smiled and kissed him, deep and sure.
When they broke away, Logan’s eyes were moist. “Thank you, Veronica,” he croaked, unable to say more.
“So,” she said, tilting her head, “where are we going?”
Huffing with mock exasperation, he pointed to the skyline. “Two o’clock, woman.”
“The Eiffel Tower?” Her eyes glowed. “On New Year’s Eve? Oh my God, I can’t wait. ... But ... don’t we have to get tickets? And, I thought they closed for the fireworks.”
“Yes, and yes. But I have tickets for the last lift, and we can stay up there until nine.” He dragged on her arm. “C’mon, we’re still going to have to stand in line, I think.”
“But .... Wait. You can only get a lift ticket by standing in line, so how did you ... get ours? I know they don’t take reservations.”
He smirked with smug delight, enjoying his mental victory before shrugging. “This afternoon, while you were napping, I paid a guy to stand in line for me.”
“You have been a busy boy,” she cooed, shivering in anticipation of other surprises. “Are we going now?” she pointed.
Crossing into the Jardin Du Champ De Mars, still holding hands, they quickly walked up the path to the Eiffel Tower. As they halted at the base of the world’s most famous landmark, Logan gazed ruefully at her fish-netted legs and elegant, dainty shoes, remarking, “I guess we’re not climbing to the second floor?”
“I assume that’s a rhetorical question, Mr. Echolls. If you’d wanted me to engage in athletic activity, you wouldn’t have given me such dangerous footware.”
“No, you’re right,” he agreed, ruffling his hair. “I had another type of aerobic activity in mind when I bought those.”
Blushing from the roots of her hair to the cleft of her throat, she winked. “Alrighty, then. Are we ... going up?”
Veronica felt like they were in a mosh pit as they sardined into the elevator. Her nose practically touched the back of the person in front of her, and she was afraid to take her hands out of her pockets for fear she'd smack the people on either side of her. Logan slid his arms around her and pulled her back until she was plastered against him.
The view from the top was more astonishing than even she’d imagined. Below them, the lights of Paris radiated out in every direction, twinkling and sparkling like a luminous web of lace. As the chilly wind whipped around them, he noticed she was shivering.
“Take my coat,” he said, beginning to undo the buttons. Stubbornly, she shook her head.
“I’m okay. You’ll freeze, Logan, don’t.”
Wanting not to spoil the night with a debate of any kind, he shrugged. “Well, c’mere then, and let me keep you warm,” he coaxed, opening his heavy overcoat invitingly. After a moment’s hesitation, she snuggled into his body, taking shelter there. As they swayed together, the rush of the wind and the heady buzz of the wine they’d shared began to take effect.
Nuzzling her face into his chest, Veronica sensed his burgeoning arousal almost before he did. “Mmm,” she murmured, sliding her leg between his. “Quel surprise.” She tightened her grip on him, one hand drifting lower to brush his ass.
“Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish, ‘Ronica,” he hissed in warning, rubbing against her body.
Batting her lashes, she grinned. “I’m sure you’ll manage something.”
“Don’t tease me,” he gritted, sucking huge gulps of air.
“Who, me?” she mocked, wiggling her body against his, letting him feel her taut nipples.
“That’s it,” he barked, walking backward, dragging her along with him. “I’ve had enough of the lights of gay Paree.”
“Where are we going?” she mumbled from inside his coat, confused and worried.
“Elevator. Now.”
“Wait, Logan, I’ll stop. I was only teas - ”
Stabbing the call button with his elbow, he raised his arms and jerked her up his body to flatten his lips on hers, roughly licking her mouth to gain admission. Protesting faintly, she sucked eagerly on his tongue, slipping hers into his waiting mouth. The doors opened, and Logan shoved her backward to the rear of the cab, hoisting her up and pinning her at the shoulders.
“Umm-mmm,” she mumbled as he slammed against her, the contours of his stiff prick clearly felt through the next-to-nothing fabric of her little black dress. The doors closed with a whoosh.
“Logan!” she gasped around his lips, breathless and excited. “People ... can see ... us. The car ... is all ... glass and brass,” she managed to utter before surrendering to the incessant thrust of his tongue in her mouth, his body against hers.
“No one ... will see a thing,” he assured her as his lips wandered down her chin to caress her throat. “Your dress has easy access, remember?”
Head pounding, she froze for a moment, staring into his charcoal eyes. A light dawned. “You ... you ... planned this?”
Looking up from beneath her, he smirked. “Up until this minute, I thought you were in on it too.” Before she could reply, he tilted his head to suck on the spot just below her ear. She arched into him, groaning her answer.
“Oh, God, Logan. I want you bad. Now,” she insisted, her hips bucking and heaving in quick, spastic spurts.
Settling the curve of her ass on the rail circling the interior of the car, he tented his topcoat over her, tucking the lapels around her shoulders. Hands freed, he cupped her face and plunged his tongue in again, chanting her name into her mouth, his eyes aglow in the burnished light. As they explored each other’s mouths, Logan palmed her breast with one hand, expertly rolling her nipple until she panted and shook.
Unbuttoning his handsome dress shirt with reckless abandon, she swiftly untucked it, opened her knees and pulled him to her by the waistband, fumbling frantically to unhook and open his fly. Dropping his hand lower, Logan parted her skirt with ease and reached between her legs to touch her naked sex. Spreading her wet folds with two fingers, he eagerly stroked her throbbing clit with his thumb. Hissing, Veronica scuffed her face into his chest, sucking and biting at him.
“Oh, fuck, Veronica,” he groaned, swiping his fingers over her slick skin. “You’re so fucking hot and wet, baby.” Burying his face in her hair, he grunted and cursed as he slid his fingers inside her.
“Oh God, ohgodohgodohgod,” she huffed inelegantly, arching and twisting against his fingers, shaking with want. “Please, please, please,” she begged mindlessly, her hand fisting his tight, pulsing cock, her thumb rimming the tip.
He forced his fingers deeper, thrilled by the feel of her writhing on him, her muscles constricting around him with harsh need. Turning her face to his, she mashed her lips against his. “I want you now, Logan, please. Fuck me,” she whimpered, urgently pumping his dick with rough pressure.
Without another word, he slid his fingers out and freed his dick from her hand. Securely clutching her bottom, he pressed against her pussy. Pinioning his hips between her knees, she grabbed his ass and surged against him, her body begging just as surely as her mouth had a moment before.
Overcome and unable to hold back, he wrapped his arm round her waist and thrust into her with a rapid jolt, his bellow muffled in the silk of her neck. Using the weight of his body to propel him, he drove deeper, pulling out with equal force, then plunging in again, over and over.
Hips jerking in counterpoint, Veronica cried out, heedless of her head banging against the plate glass behind her. Gasping for air, she shuddered uncontrollably. “Oh, yes. Oh, baby. Oh, God, Logan!” she cried, her body stiffening as she came.
Her guttural cry destroying the last shred of his self-control, Logan erupted, shooting hot, thick cum inside her.
When the bell clanged, indicating they’d reached the bottom floor, Logan gently hefted Veronica into his arms, murmuring apologies about his ‘wife’ having had too much wine as he carried her into the elevator which would take them to the ground floor. Hiding her face in the crook of his neck, she tattooed false threats into his ear. By the time they arrived en bas, she’d recovered sufficiently to stand on her quivering legs. Guiding her to the nearest bench, he smoothed and tucked back a few unruly wisps of hair which had escaped her coiffure and softly pressed his lips to her cheek as he tugged her skirt back in place.
Pulling her tiny bag from his coat pocket, she checked her glowing face, reapplying her lipstick with a smirk as he buttoned and fastened his loosed clothing. Feigning a yawn, she gave him a sideways glance. “All set there, big guy?” she murmured with a straight face and studied disinterest. “Okay, we did the Eiffel Tower. Did you have anything else planned, or are we just going to wait for the fireworks?”