VM Fic - Under an August Moon (Lilly/Logan, LoVe) - NC17
A Veronica Mars FanFic
Title: Under an August Moon
Author: Zaftig_darling
Pairing/Character: Lilly/Logan, LoVe, Logan/Caitlyn (brief and vaguely icky)
Word Count: 5594
Rating:NC17
Summary: some summer smut
Spoilers: All three seasons
Warnings: Sex and underage drinking
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
Written for the Summer Lovin' challenge at gogetem_bobcat , the title comes from an old Cole Porter song, "You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To"
A/N - Much of the fanfic I have read in this fandom implies that Lilly was not Logan's first lover. However, Logan tells the school counselor that he and Lilly would have been together for 2 years the week that she died, which would mean that they began dating at the beginning of Logan's 8th grade year, and he would have been about 13. I'm choosing to believe (er, hide my head in the sand) that 13 would be young for even a movie star's son to have had sex. So, in this story, Lilly is Logan's "first". (Whether Logan was Lilly's "first" I have left deliberately open to interpretation.)
A/N 2 - The author states that the actors who played all of these characters would have been at least 18 years old at the time the story is set.
August 2002
(Logan will soon be a freshman, Lilly will soon be a sophomore)
Logan was drifting off to sleep, thinking about Lilly's breasts. Thinking about Lilly's breasts is a pastime that can consume entire hours of Logan's day, every day. They've been dating for ten months, although it still astounds Logan that a freshman as assuredly hot as Lilly Kane wanted to be with an 8th grader. He doesn't kid himself that if his dad hadn't been Aaron Echolls, Lilly wouldn't have given him the time of day.
But he was the child of two darlings of Hollywood, who happened to be friends of Jake and Celeste Kane, and this had afforded him the opportunity to get up close and very personal with the fabulous breasts of the fabulous Lilly Kane on a fabulously regular basis.
It’s close to midnight and he is almost asleep when the cell phone on his bedside table begins to vibrate, the slight sound rousing him, the display reading, “L.KANE”.
“Hey, Lilly,” he says, happy and somewhat relieved to hear her voice. Earlier in the day she had turned down his invitation to spend the evening at the beach with him, instead insisting that she was having a "girl's night" with Veronica.
“Loooogaaaaaaaaan,” she purrs, “are you sleeping?”
“Almost…I was hoping you would call, though,” he admits.
“Oh, were you thinking about little ol’me?” she asks, slyly.
“Always,” he responds.
“Were you thinking about,” her voice turning to a whisper, “your mother’s 4th of July party?” She laughs, her signature Lilly laugh, and his adolescent hormones start running in overdrive.
“Maybe,” he says, the slight catch in his voice betraying his arousal.
“Were you thinking about the dress I wore that night?”
“If you could call it a dress,” he laughs, but his erection is suddenly straining against the fabric of boxer shorts as his remembers the red, white and blue micro-dress that Celeste Kane had angrily described as ‘bordering on obscene.’
Celeste and Jake had arrived at the Echoll’s 4th of July party a few hours after Lilly, who had convinced the Kane’s long suffering chauffer to drive her over early, telling Celeste she had to help Logan “decorate the pool house.” When the Kanes had arrived, to find Lilly decked out like some kind of expensively appointed, but extremely patriotic, stripper, Celeste had thrown a fit. Lynn Echolls had intervened, insisting that she was sure that there was something in Trina's closet that Lilly could change into, and Celeste had stormed off, demanding that Lilly go into the house and change into “something more appropriate.” Grinning behind her mother’s angry back, Lilly had dragged Logan into the Echoll’s mansion, but, instead of heading upstairs towards Trina's bedroom, had quietly opened the door to the expansive laundry room on the first floor, whispering, “why don’t you come help me find something to change into, lover.”
Lilly had leaned back against the Miele washing machine, and pulled Logan in for a long, messy kiss. Sliding her hand up along the inseam of his shorts, Lilly had cupped her hand around his cock through the fabric. "Do you have some fireworks in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" she had mocked, raising her eyebrows devilishly.
"I think it's safe to say that I am most definitely happy to see you," Logan had answered, kissing her again. A look of sudden determination had passed across Lilly's face, and she had slowly and deliberately unbuttoned and unzipped him, reaching her soft fingers in to grasp him. "Very happy to see me," she'd commented.
Lilly's hand in his pants had not been new territory for Logan, but Lilly's next move had taken him by surprise and was very new. Lilly had turned them so that it was Logan leaning against the washing machine, and then Lilly had sunk down to her knees in front of him, keeping her hand grasped around his growing erection, and looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Do you want me to," she had hesitated for what seemed like a year but was probably only a few seconds, "lick it?" she asked.
"Oh god, yes," he had barely managed to answer. Lilly's hand snaked his cock from his boxers and, still looking up at him with her enormous eyes, had licked a line from the base to the tip of him, then ran her tongue around the top several times, making Logan's eyes roll up into his head.
When she had taken him fully into her mouth, and then had made a concerted effort to swallow the full length of him, the pleasure was too much for his 14-year-old hormone-addled brain, and he had choked out, "Lilly, I can't...I'm going to..." as he tried to pull away from her mouth, but she had pushed his hands back and kept sucking and swallowing as he orgasmed, stunned by the phenomenal sensation of his first blow job.
As he'd opened his eyes, Lilly had stood up, wiping her mouth sloppily with the back of her hand. She'd grinned at him, and said, "It seems I forgot to put on any panties when I put on my dress," as she lifted the tiny skirt and boosted herself up onto the washing machine. "I guess it's just my luck you were so forgetful," Logan had said as he had kissed her, and, his legs shaking, had bent over and ran his lips along her perfect knee and up her perfect thighs. With Lilly's confidant instruction, he had returned the favor, licking, stroking and coaxing her to climax atop the German engineered washer.
"You ARE thinking about the 4th of July, aren't you, naughty boy," Lilly teased across the phone line.
"It was one of the more memorable Independence Day celebrations of my life," Logan smiled. "And I've been having trouble looking at laundry without thinking the dirtiest thoughts."
"That's my goal," Lilly says. "To fill your head with dirty thoughts - always. Like, now, for example."
"I have you on the phone, whispering in my ear. Rest assured I am thinking dirty thoughts," he tells her.
"Oh, are you thinking dirty thoughts about me...in my pep squad uniform?" she asks.
"I wasn't until just this very second," he replies, as he slides his hand into his boxers.
"You know tomorrow is the first day of pep squad practice?" she asks.
"I can't say as I knew that, no," he answers, gripping his cock in his fist gently and stroking himself.
"I want you to come to watch the end of my practice tomorrow," she demands.
"Why?" he asks, curious.
"Don't you ever think about fucking me, Logan?"
"Um, only about 6000 times a day, but, what does that have to do with pep squad practice?"
"Do you ever think about fucking me in my pep squad uniform?"
He blushes and he's glad she cannot see him through the phone. His erection is throbbing. "Well, on occasion, I may have contemplated..."
"I want you to come to pep squad practice tomorrow, and I want you to know that, underneath my uniform, I'll be wearing just a tiny, white lace thong, and the whole time I'm cheering, I'm going to be thinking about what I'm going to let you do to that tiny, little thong," she whispers.
"Uhhh...what's that?" he chokes out.
"I'm going to let you take me back to your parents' pool house, and I'm going to let you take that thong off of me."
"Yeah?" he squeaks out, his erection throbbing and threatening to explode.
"Yeah, I'm going to let you take that thong off of me ~ with your teeth ~ and THEN I'm going to let you lick me until I'm so wet for you that I'll be begging you to make me come."
His response is a quiet "Unh..."
"And THEN, I'm going to roll you over on your back, and I'm going to straddle you like the fabulous cowgirl that I am, and I'm going to..." she breaks off.
"What, Lilly?" he says, desperately.
"Do you think you're going to be hard for me after all that Logan?" she teases.
"Oh god, yes," he responds.
"Well, I'm going to straddle you, and I'm going to slide your cock between my legs, and I'm going to be so wet and soft, Logan. I'm going to be so wet and soft and I'm going to put you inside me."
"Oh, god, Lilly..."
"And then I'm going to ride you until I have the best orgasm ever, and then I'm going to keep riding you come deep inside of me."
He groans as quietly as he can as he climaxes into his own hand.
"Did you just shoot your wad into your pajamas, Logan?" she teases.
"No comment," he says, partly embarrassed and partly hoping, against all hope, that she means every word she just said.
"See you tomorrow, lover," she blows kisses into the phone.
(Never let it be said that Lilly Kane was not a woman of her word. The very next day Logan lost his virginity in the Echolls' pool house, with Lilly wearing her pep squad skirt and nothing else.)
August, 2004
(Logan will soon be a junior)
Caitlyn Ford is vacuous and cruel, and she doesn't even begin to fill the Lilly-shaped hole in Logan's soul. Logan is angry - angry at Lilly for being dead, furious with Abel Koontz for killing her, angry at his father for being such a vicious, duplicitous prick, angry at his mother for putting up with his father and for drinking herself into a stupor every night, and livid, absolutely livid with Veronica Mars.
In the backseat of the XTerrra, Caitlyn's head is in Logan's lap, and she's sucking him off with a great deal of (bogus) enthusiasm. (In truth, Caitlyn is thinking about Chardo, and the scam they are planning with the credit card applications she lifted from the Echolls' mail today. These thoughts do make her very excited, albeit not about the boy she is currently trying to please.)
Logan slides his hands through Caitlyn's golden blond hair, and thinks about how it is NOT the same blonde as Lilly's, and, for the briefest moment, allows himself to wish that it was Lilly here with him, allows himself to think about Lilly in his parent's laundry room, permits himself to be lost in that memory, and in the sheer hedonistic pleasure that mixes that memory with Caitlyn's not untalented tongue.
In the back of his mind, a monstrous grief begins to grow, begins to overtake his lust and arousal, and, before he allows his sorrow to engulf him, he draws on his rage instead.
As he continues to slide his fingers through his Caitlyn's hair, it occurs to him that, although her hair is decidedly not like Lilly's, it IS very much like Veronica's. He thinks about how angry he is at Veronica, how furiously, horribly, angry he is at Veronica. And he thinks about the fact that he has suggested that Veronica has gotten down on her knees and done this very thing for the entire lacrosse team, and the entire football team, and he contemplates the fact that he has never suggested that Veronica has gotten down on her pretty little knees for him, and he wonders why not. He wonders if, with all that alleged practice, she might actually be stupendously good at this. As he watches Caitlyn's blonde head bobbing up and down between his legs, he is consumed with the idea of it being Veronica, and not Caitlyn, and he thinks, "fucking bitch, fucking traitorous, fucking hot gorgeous bitch, fucking Veronica," and he blows his wad into Caitlyn's mouth without warning her.
She chokes and sits up abruptly, opens the door of the XTerra and leans her head out to spit on the pavement. "Jesus, Logan," she says. "Fucking warn me, okay? That's, like, so not cool." She pouts and he pushes his (disturbing) vision of Veronica out of his head. "Sorry babe, I'll make it up to you," he says, disingenuously, kissing her forehead and looking out the window at the waves crashing on the sand just beyond the car.
August 1, 2006 (Logan and Veronica will soon begin their freshman year at Hearst)
Veronica is on the couch in Logan's suite, curled up against the arm. Logan watches her, he can see the tension in her shoulders and back as she pulls her feet off the floor and rests her chin on her knees.
She had arrived about an hour earlier, with a bag of Chinese take-out and a copy of Fight Club. Veronica rarely drinks (no doubt burdened by visions of Lianne), but, this evening, as she sat watching Edward Norton and Brad Pitt intently, eating egg rolls with her usual gusto, she leaned her shoulder against his and said, "Buy a girl a drink, sailor?"
Logan is surprised, but, tries not to show it. Things have been good between them since she returned from her trip to New York with her dad. Good, but, still with moments of uncertainty - he doesn't want to upset by asking her why, tonight, she suddenly wants something other than Skist. He's certainly in no position to throw stones.
"Sure, pretty lady," he says as he kisses her nose. "What's your poison?"
"Anything is fine," she starts to say, and then clarifies, "um, anything but vodka." She does not look at him as she vetoes the drink-of-choice of both of their mothers.
From the mini-bar Logan pulls a can of pineapple juice and pours some into a highball. He adds ice and a shot of Bacardi Coco, grabs a Red Stripe from the fridge for himself, and walks back over the couch and hands the fruity drink to her.
She takes a small sip, and then another, much larger. Taking him completely by surprise she drains her glass and hands it back to him. "Time flies when you're having rum," she jokes, winking at him. The levity in her voice sounds forced. "More?" she asks, raising the glass back up to him.
Logan silently weighs the wisdom of getting her a second drink so quickly, contemplates what Keith Mars will do to him if he brings his baby girl home drunk, decides that he will start asking questions if she asks for a third, and returns to the kitchenette to mix another.
This one she drinks somewhat more slowly, leaning her tiny body into him while they continue to watch the movie. She finishes it and sets the glass on the table with determination.
She looks at him with unreadable emotions swirling in her blue eyes, and kisses him softly on the mouth.
He responds eagerly, her mouth tasting sweetly of coconut and pineapple. "You taste like the beach," he murmurs into her mouth.
Her fingers are caught in the hem of his t-shirt, and she pulls at the fabric, up, down, up again, as if she cannot decide if she wants to take his shirt off or not.
He is sliding his hand beneath her blouse, stroking at the soft flesh of her abdomen, and kissing a soft line down her throat, into the v-neck of her shirt.
He is so hard for her, so incredibly aroused by the feel of her body, and he wants to pick her up and carry her into his bedroom. He has been trying very hard not to push her, not to be demanding, in terms of their physical relationship.
She has been so tentative in touching him, more tentative, even, than she had been last summer. She is so hesitant and so unsure that he begins to wonder if she and the Donut had actually been having sex. Or if it was so awful that she's apprehensive about sex with someone else. Or if...well, Beaver.
He tries not to dwell on memories of their eager, almost-but-not-quite, just-about-everything-but enthusiastic couplings in the back of his XTerra last summer, and he is stabbed with shards of guilt when he does remember those moments. She hasn't had enough time, he tells himself, to process what she found out on the roof, to come to terms with Beaver's horrifying betrayal. Last summer she believed (did she really?) that her assumed rape had actually been consensual, if not sober, tender lovemaking (really, had she really believed that?) with her equally innocent first love. Now she knows her reconstruction of that night was, in large part, fiction.
Logan is terrified of pushing her away, so he has let her take the lead. In the past weeks things have been heating up, slowly. On two nights in the past week, his hand having slid up under her skirt, with his fingers carefully and patiently sliding in a steady rhythm against her slick folds, he has brought her to orgasm - gasping nonsense words, burying her face in his shoulder. Both times, afterwards, she had reached for his belt buckle, and then moved her hand lower to press her palm against him, rubbing timidly, experimentally. He had tried to lie very still, trying just to enjoy the sensation without scaring her off, but both times she had pulled away from him after a few minutes.
But right now her lips are sliding against his, tasting of rum, and she abruptly begins to pull his shirt over his head. He is helping her by sliding it off, and is surprised to feel her hand undoing the button of his shorts, sliding her hand between the khaki and the cotton of his boxers.
He thinks about the fact that she so rarely drinks, and calculates in his head that 1 tiny girl + 2 shots of rum in less than 30 minutes = probably more than a little tipsy. With every ounce of control he has, he gently pulls her hand away from his cock and twines his fingers through hers, kissing her gently.
She pulls back, and looks at him, purses her lips and says, incredibly, "why don't you want to have sex with me, Logan?"
He looks at her as if she has grown a second head.
"I," he says, "I...what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you," she points at him with one carefully manicured finger, "not wanting to have sex with me," she says, pointing her finger now at herself, her words only very slightly more rounded and slurred than they should be.
"What?!?" he says, confused. "Why would you think that?" he asks her, pulling her back against his body to hold her, but she struggles away from him, standing up.
She looks down at him and says, "You haven't asked me. You haven't even asked me to think about it!" A note of accusation rings in her tone.
"I haven't asked you because I thought you would tell me when you were ready," he says quietly. "I didn't want you to feel like I was pressuring you. I didn't want you to feel like I was just trying to 'get past second base,'" he throws her own words from last summer back at her.
Veronica walks away from him, over the mini-bar, pours another shot of rum into her glass, and, to Logan's dismay, downs it in one swallow.
She returns, walking in a deliberately careful way that makes her intoxication obvious (if only to him). She picks up the Fight Club DVD case in one hand, and faces him, channeling her best Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden impression (which truthfully, Logan would later reflect, was kind of awful), she improvises, saying, "I want you to fuck me, as hard as you can."
Logan stares in disbelief as she drops the DVD case and begins slowly unbuttoning her sleeveless blouse.
"Well, as tempting and romantic as that sounds, um...no more rum for you," he says, although his ability to remain rational in the face of her bizarre behavior is slipping with each button she manages to undo.
Her blouse falls to the floor and she is standing before him in a blue satin bra and her skirt.
"Veronica...," he says, his erection becoming painfully uncomfortable, and he's completely uncertain how to proceed. He takes her hand and pulls her down to sit next to him. Despite the bravado of her words and actions, she looks both angry and terrified at the same time.
"You don't want to have sex with me because of what - because of what Beav...what Cassidy did to me," she says, looking down at the couch and not at him.
"Veronica, I've wanted to have sex with you since," Logan hesitates for a second, because the truthful answer to this question is 'since the night I was thinking about you while Caitlyn Ford was blowing me in the backseat of my car,' but no WAY is he going to make that admission, so, he continues, "since the day we kissed on the balcony at the Camelot. I've been in love with you since," the phrase, "I was twelve" runs in circles like an over-eager puppy in Logan's brain, but, he pushes the thought away, "that day at the Camelot. I've been in love with you since that day and I assure you that not a day has passed since then that I haven't wanted to have sex with you. Even when I thought things were hopeless between us, even when you were with Duncan, even when I was being so stupid with Kendall, I still loved you, I still wanted you."
"I don't believe you," she insists, turning away from him, "why would you, after what, after what he did? Why would you want to be with someone who is broken like that?"
Logan suspects that she is even more intoxicated than he previously thought. He cannot imagine that she would allow him to hear these insecurities if she were sober. She has not talked about Beaver raping her since the night on the roof, she has not mentioned his name even once since that night.
(Cassidy had been buried, quietly and without ceremony, during the week that Veronica had been in New York City. She had not asked if Logan attended the burial. He had not, although he had gone to the cemetery the next night, drank a fifth of Jack Daniels while sitting on Lilly's grave, and then he had walked over to the freshly dug mound of earth over what was left of Cassidy Casablancas, whereupon he had screamed obscenities and accusations until he had doubled over, vomiting bile and whiskey into the displaced soil.)
Not for the first time, Logan thinks that it would be better for Veronica if she would talk about what happened, but he is only an 18-year-old boy from a criminally dysfunctional family, so, what does he know about 'coming to terms' and 'closure'?
He tries to pull her small body back into his arms, but, she is stiff and unyielding. "Veronica, you're not broken, you're like, the strongest person I know. You're not broken, and there is nothing that ANYBODY could do that would make me not love you. What Cassidy did to you, what he did to you and then misled you about...it was a crime, it was unforgivable. He did so many unforgivable things, but, I don't...I don't understand what you think that has to do with US, it doesn't have anything to do with you and me."
"You still haven't answered my question, why haven't you tried to have sex with me?" she says, very quietly.
"Veronica, look at me," he puts his hand on her chin and gently pulls her face around to look him in the eye. "I want to have sex with you very, very much. I would probably chew my own foot off to have that chance. But, I want it to be on your terms, and I don't want you to have to have three shots of rum before you even consider it."
She turns away from him. "Do you remember the night when you told me that if the cuddling was the best part Duncan wasn't doing it right?" she asks, her voice barely audible.
"Um, yeah, sorry about that," he says, sheepishly.
"I want to know what it's like when it's done right," she whispers. "I've wanted to tell you...I've wanted to know, I've wanted you to want to be with me like that. And I've been WAITING, and you haven't...and I couldn't tell you 'cause I..." she stops talking and reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, the blue satin falling down to her lap.
Her breasts are small but perfect, just as he remembers them from last summer. Conflicting thoughts rage in his head, from 'she's had too much to drink and she's not really ready' to 'if she has to get drunk to want to have sex with me she's not ready,' to 'she's not so drunk that she doesn't know what she's saying, she just needed to be able to relax enough to talk about these things,' to 'she needs to deal with Beaver's betrayal (rape! he fucking raped her! I'd kill him if he weren't fucking dead!) before she can really want to have sex with me,' to, 'jesus christ she's so damn beautiful and I will die if she won't let me touch her right this second.'
She is reaching for him and he pulls her towards him and kisses her mouth softly, his tongue probing and exploring and sucking her lower lip into his mouth. She responds with the fervor he remembers from last summer and soon they are wrapped up around eachother, and she is straddling him, pulling her skirt up around her hips. She is rubbing herself against him and the friction is incredible and he thinks he might actually come in his pants, something that hasn't happened to him since he was a thirteen-year-old playing 'seven minutes in heaven' with Lilly in the Kane's basement.
He runs his tongue down her neck to her collar bone, and ventures further down, circling her nipple with kisses, then sucking it into his mouth. He feels like something primal has taken control of him and her nipple is hard and he is caressing her other breast with his fingers, carefully, desperately wanting her to feel as good as he is feeling right now.
Her fingers are in his hair and she is making small, breathy, wordless sounds, and as he slips his hand under her skirt, running his fingers between her thighs, against the slippery satin of her underpants, she moans, "oh...god," and something that sounds like, "good" and something further that sounds, maybe, like, "now now now."
Her fingers are trying to unzip his shorts, and surprising even himself, Logan hears himself say, "Wait. Wait, Veronica, wait, please." But he is still kissing her and rubbing her and sliding his his tongue from one nipple to the other, as she pants, "Wait? No, no waiting, what?"
He pulls away from her, just for a second, and looks at her blue eyes, half-closed with lust. "Are you sure?" he asks her.
"Yes, I'm sure, I want this, I want to be with you like this, Logan. I want to be with you and feel like this, I want you to want to be inside me," she declares as she lunges back at him to kiss his neck and his shoulders, her fingers once again seeking out his zipper.
Logan stands up from their awkward position on the couch, with her body wrapped around his, he slides his hands under her ass, pulling her closer to him, nestling her sex against his erection, his walks them into his bedroom.
"I want to be inside you," he whispers in her ear, "I want to be inside you and around you and all over you, I want to make love to you, I want to make you come a thousand times, Veronica. I want to be with you in my bed, and if I have to take you home, I want to smell the smell of you on my sheets all night long."
He sets her down on the bed gently, and slides her skirt and underpants over her hips and down to her ankles, leaving them in a pool at the foot of the bed. It's the first time he's ever seen her completely naked and he fights against the urge to lift her legs over his shoulders and bury his cock inside of her right. this. second.
Instead he reminds himself that he wants this to be her best time, ever, that he wants to turn her into a delirious lump of quivering pleasure.
He kneels between her feet and pushes her legs apart. He leans down to kiss first one knee and then the other. He kisses back and forth until he is kissing the tops of her thighs. He opens and mouth and begins licking her thigh, sucking gently, and then his nose is buried in her thatch of blonde curls and he begins a circular motion with his tongue around the most sensitive part of her, and she is grabbing his hair, and pushing him away and pulling him back again. He is patient and consistent with the motion of his tongue, and she begins to quiver and shake.
"I need," she pants. "I neeeeeeeeeed..."
"What Veronica, what do you need?" he murmurs into her as he laps at her slick, wet folds. "What do you need?"
"I need...I don't know, I," she is tossing her head from side to side, desperate for something she doesn't know how to describe.
"Do you need this?" he asks her as he slips one finger, then two, into her, sliding them in and out and twisting them just so as he continues to drive her towards the brink of insanity with his tongue.
"Oh god, yessssssssssssss, that's what I need, that. is. what. I. need..." she declares as her body trembles and explodes with a toe-curling release.
For a moment she lays with her eyes closed, moving only her fingers against the soft comforter on the bed. Then she looks at him through half-lidded eyes, drunk on rum and pleasure.
He begins kissing her abdomen and then her breasts and then her neck and then he is kissing her mouth and he is desperate to be inside her. She is spreading her legs and reaching for him, and then she asks, "Logan, do you...do have a...?"
He is reaching for the drawer in the bedside table and finds a box of condoms. There is a moment of awkwardness while he rips it open and maneuvers it onto himself, and he is watching her watching him, and he is terrified she is going to jump away from him and say, "no, maybe I don't want to do this after all."
But instead she wraps her legs around him and pulls him closer to her, and he is sliding inside of her and she is impossibly tight and he knows he will not last very long. She is looking at up at him like she is trying to decide how she feels about this, and then he slides out of her and in again very slowly and her eyes close and her mouth forms the most perfect little "o" and he keeps doing just exactly that for as long as he can stand it, and he is thinking of baseball scores and the periodic table of elements and the names of all of the State capitals, and then he feels her spasming around him and he lets go of his carefully wrought control and he lets out an animalistic cry of ecstasy as he comes inside her.
They lie together, joined as one, for a few minutes. He carefully climbs off of her and discards the condom. He wraps his arm around her and kisses her face. "That was amazing," he says.
"My dad's in Reno chasing a bail jumper," she says, incongruously.
Logan looks at her, confused. "You don't have to take me home," she explains. "I can stay here all night. And I thought it was pretty incredible, too." She winks at him.
He grins at her, and turns off the light, and they drift off to sleep, tangled up in each other.
Title: Under an August Moon
Author: Zaftig_darling
Pairing/Character: Lilly/Logan, LoVe, Logan/Caitlyn (brief and vaguely icky)
Word Count: 5594
Rating:NC17
Summary: some summer smut
Spoilers: All three seasons
Warnings: Sex and underage drinking
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
Written for the Summer Lovin' challenge at gogetem_bobcat , the title comes from an old Cole Porter song, "You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To"
A/N - Much of the fanfic I have read in this fandom implies that Lilly was not Logan's first lover. However, Logan tells the school counselor that he and Lilly would have been together for 2 years the week that she died, which would mean that they began dating at the beginning of Logan's 8th grade year, and he would have been about 13. I'm choosing to believe (er, hide my head in the sand) that 13 would be young for even a movie star's son to have had sex. So, in this story, Lilly is Logan's "first". (Whether Logan was Lilly's "first" I have left deliberately open to interpretation.)
A/N 2 - The author states that the actors who played all of these characters would have been at least 18 years old at the time the story is set.
August 2002
(Logan will soon be a freshman, Lilly will soon be a sophomore)
Logan was drifting off to sleep, thinking about Lilly's breasts. Thinking about Lilly's breasts is a pastime that can consume entire hours of Logan's day, every day. They've been dating for ten months, although it still astounds Logan that a freshman as assuredly hot as Lilly Kane wanted to be with an 8th grader. He doesn't kid himself that if his dad hadn't been Aaron Echolls, Lilly wouldn't have given him the time of day.
But he was the child of two darlings of Hollywood, who happened to be friends of Jake and Celeste Kane, and this had afforded him the opportunity to get up close and very personal with the fabulous breasts of the fabulous Lilly Kane on a fabulously regular basis.
It’s close to midnight and he is almost asleep when the cell phone on his bedside table begins to vibrate, the slight sound rousing him, the display reading, “L.KANE”.
“Hey, Lilly,” he says, happy and somewhat relieved to hear her voice. Earlier in the day she had turned down his invitation to spend the evening at the beach with him, instead insisting that she was having a "girl's night" with Veronica.
“Loooogaaaaaaaaan,” she purrs, “are you sleeping?”
“Almost…I was hoping you would call, though,” he admits.
“Oh, were you thinking about little ol’me?” she asks, slyly.
“Always,” he responds.
“Were you thinking about,” her voice turning to a whisper, “your mother’s 4th of July party?” She laughs, her signature Lilly laugh, and his adolescent hormones start running in overdrive.
“Maybe,” he says, the slight catch in his voice betraying his arousal.
“Were you thinking about the dress I wore that night?”
“If you could call it a dress,” he laughs, but his erection is suddenly straining against the fabric of boxer shorts as his remembers the red, white and blue micro-dress that Celeste Kane had angrily described as ‘bordering on obscene.’
Celeste and Jake had arrived at the Echoll’s 4th of July party a few hours after Lilly, who had convinced the Kane’s long suffering chauffer to drive her over early, telling Celeste she had to help Logan “decorate the pool house.” When the Kanes had arrived, to find Lilly decked out like some kind of expensively appointed, but extremely patriotic, stripper, Celeste had thrown a fit. Lynn Echolls had intervened, insisting that she was sure that there was something in Trina's closet that Lilly could change into, and Celeste had stormed off, demanding that Lilly go into the house and change into “something more appropriate.” Grinning behind her mother’s angry back, Lilly had dragged Logan into the Echoll’s mansion, but, instead of heading upstairs towards Trina's bedroom, had quietly opened the door to the expansive laundry room on the first floor, whispering, “why don’t you come help me find something to change into, lover.”
Lilly had leaned back against the Miele washing machine, and pulled Logan in for a long, messy kiss. Sliding her hand up along the inseam of his shorts, Lilly had cupped her hand around his cock through the fabric. "Do you have some fireworks in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" she had mocked, raising her eyebrows devilishly.
"I think it's safe to say that I am most definitely happy to see you," Logan had answered, kissing her again. A look of sudden determination had passed across Lilly's face, and she had slowly and deliberately unbuttoned and unzipped him, reaching her soft fingers in to grasp him. "Very happy to see me," she'd commented.
Lilly's hand in his pants had not been new territory for Logan, but Lilly's next move had taken him by surprise and was very new. Lilly had turned them so that it was Logan leaning against the washing machine, and then Lilly had sunk down to her knees in front of him, keeping her hand grasped around his growing erection, and looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Do you want me to," she had hesitated for what seemed like a year but was probably only a few seconds, "lick it?" she asked.
"Oh god, yes," he had barely managed to answer. Lilly's hand snaked his cock from his boxers and, still looking up at him with her enormous eyes, had licked a line from the base to the tip of him, then ran her tongue around the top several times, making Logan's eyes roll up into his head.
When she had taken him fully into her mouth, and then had made a concerted effort to swallow the full length of him, the pleasure was too much for his 14-year-old hormone-addled brain, and he had choked out, "Lilly, I can't...I'm going to..." as he tried to pull away from her mouth, but she had pushed his hands back and kept sucking and swallowing as he orgasmed, stunned by the phenomenal sensation of his first blow job.
As he'd opened his eyes, Lilly had stood up, wiping her mouth sloppily with the back of her hand. She'd grinned at him, and said, "It seems I forgot to put on any panties when I put on my dress," as she lifted the tiny skirt and boosted herself up onto the washing machine. "I guess it's just my luck you were so forgetful," Logan had said as he had kissed her, and, his legs shaking, had bent over and ran his lips along her perfect knee and up her perfect thighs. With Lilly's confidant instruction, he had returned the favor, licking, stroking and coaxing her to climax atop the German engineered washer.
"You ARE thinking about the 4th of July, aren't you, naughty boy," Lilly teased across the phone line.
"It was one of the more memorable Independence Day celebrations of my life," Logan smiled. "And I've been having trouble looking at laundry without thinking the dirtiest thoughts."
"That's my goal," Lilly says. "To fill your head with dirty thoughts - always. Like, now, for example."
"I have you on the phone, whispering in my ear. Rest assured I am thinking dirty thoughts," he tells her.
"Oh, are you thinking dirty thoughts about me...in my pep squad uniform?" she asks.
"I wasn't until just this very second," he replies, as he slides his hand into his boxers.
"You know tomorrow is the first day of pep squad practice?" she asks.
"I can't say as I knew that, no," he answers, gripping his cock in his fist gently and stroking himself.
"I want you to come to watch the end of my practice tomorrow," she demands.
"Why?" he asks, curious.
"Don't you ever think about fucking me, Logan?"
"Um, only about 6000 times a day, but, what does that have to do with pep squad practice?"
"Do you ever think about fucking me in my pep squad uniform?"
He blushes and he's glad she cannot see him through the phone. His erection is throbbing. "Well, on occasion, I may have contemplated..."
"I want you to come to pep squad practice tomorrow, and I want you to know that, underneath my uniform, I'll be wearing just a tiny, white lace thong, and the whole time I'm cheering, I'm going to be thinking about what I'm going to let you do to that tiny, little thong," she whispers.
"Uhhh...what's that?" he chokes out.
"I'm going to let you take me back to your parents' pool house, and I'm going to let you take that thong off of me."
"Yeah?" he squeaks out, his erection throbbing and threatening to explode.
"Yeah, I'm going to let you take that thong off of me ~ with your teeth ~ and THEN I'm going to let you lick me until I'm so wet for you that I'll be begging you to make me come."
His response is a quiet "Unh..."
"And THEN, I'm going to roll you over on your back, and I'm going to straddle you like the fabulous cowgirl that I am, and I'm going to..." she breaks off.
"What, Lilly?" he says, desperately.
"Do you think you're going to be hard for me after all that Logan?" she teases.
"Oh god, yes," he responds.
"Well, I'm going to straddle you, and I'm going to slide your cock between my legs, and I'm going to be so wet and soft, Logan. I'm going to be so wet and soft and I'm going to put you inside me."
"Oh, god, Lilly..."
"And then I'm going to ride you until I have the best orgasm ever, and then I'm going to keep riding you come deep inside of me."
He groans as quietly as he can as he climaxes into his own hand.
"Did you just shoot your wad into your pajamas, Logan?" she teases.
"No comment," he says, partly embarrassed and partly hoping, against all hope, that she means every word she just said.
"See you tomorrow, lover," she blows kisses into the phone.
(Never let it be said that Lilly Kane was not a woman of her word. The very next day Logan lost his virginity in the Echolls' pool house, with Lilly wearing her pep squad skirt and nothing else.)
August, 2004
(Logan will soon be a junior)
Caitlyn Ford is vacuous and cruel, and she doesn't even begin to fill the Lilly-shaped hole in Logan's soul. Logan is angry - angry at Lilly for being dead, furious with Abel Koontz for killing her, angry at his father for being such a vicious, duplicitous prick, angry at his mother for putting up with his father and for drinking herself into a stupor every night, and livid, absolutely livid with Veronica Mars.
In the backseat of the XTerrra, Caitlyn's head is in Logan's lap, and she's sucking him off with a great deal of (bogus) enthusiasm. (In truth, Caitlyn is thinking about Chardo, and the scam they are planning with the credit card applications she lifted from the Echolls' mail today. These thoughts do make her very excited, albeit not about the boy she is currently trying to please.)
Logan slides his hands through Caitlyn's golden blond hair, and thinks about how it is NOT the same blonde as Lilly's, and, for the briefest moment, allows himself to wish that it was Lilly here with him, allows himself to think about Lilly in his parent's laundry room, permits himself to be lost in that memory, and in the sheer hedonistic pleasure that mixes that memory with Caitlyn's not untalented tongue.
In the back of his mind, a monstrous grief begins to grow, begins to overtake his lust and arousal, and, before he allows his sorrow to engulf him, he draws on his rage instead.
As he continues to slide his fingers through his Caitlyn's hair, it occurs to him that, although her hair is decidedly not like Lilly's, it IS very much like Veronica's. He thinks about how angry he is at Veronica, how furiously, horribly, angry he is at Veronica. And he thinks about the fact that he has suggested that Veronica has gotten down on her knees and done this very thing for the entire lacrosse team, and the entire football team, and he contemplates the fact that he has never suggested that Veronica has gotten down on her pretty little knees for him, and he wonders why not. He wonders if, with all that alleged practice, she might actually be stupendously good at this. As he watches Caitlyn's blonde head bobbing up and down between his legs, he is consumed with the idea of it being Veronica, and not Caitlyn, and he thinks, "fucking bitch, fucking traitorous, fucking hot gorgeous bitch, fucking Veronica," and he blows his wad into Caitlyn's mouth without warning her.
She chokes and sits up abruptly, opens the door of the XTerra and leans her head out to spit on the pavement. "Jesus, Logan," she says. "Fucking warn me, okay? That's, like, so not cool." She pouts and he pushes his (disturbing) vision of Veronica out of his head. "Sorry babe, I'll make it up to you," he says, disingenuously, kissing her forehead and looking out the window at the waves crashing on the sand just beyond the car.
August 1, 2006 (Logan and Veronica will soon begin their freshman year at Hearst)
Veronica is on the couch in Logan's suite, curled up against the arm. Logan watches her, he can see the tension in her shoulders and back as she pulls her feet off the floor and rests her chin on her knees.
She had arrived about an hour earlier, with a bag of Chinese take-out and a copy of Fight Club. Veronica rarely drinks (no doubt burdened by visions of Lianne), but, this evening, as she sat watching Edward Norton and Brad Pitt intently, eating egg rolls with her usual gusto, she leaned her shoulder against his and said, "Buy a girl a drink, sailor?"
Logan is surprised, but, tries not to show it. Things have been good between them since she returned from her trip to New York with her dad. Good, but, still with moments of uncertainty - he doesn't want to upset by asking her why, tonight, she suddenly wants something other than Skist. He's certainly in no position to throw stones.
"Sure, pretty lady," he says as he kisses her nose. "What's your poison?"
"Anything is fine," she starts to say, and then clarifies, "um, anything but vodka." She does not look at him as she vetoes the drink-of-choice of both of their mothers.
From the mini-bar Logan pulls a can of pineapple juice and pours some into a highball. He adds ice and a shot of Bacardi Coco, grabs a Red Stripe from the fridge for himself, and walks back over the couch and hands the fruity drink to her.
She takes a small sip, and then another, much larger. Taking him completely by surprise she drains her glass and hands it back to him. "Time flies when you're having rum," she jokes, winking at him. The levity in her voice sounds forced. "More?" she asks, raising the glass back up to him.
Logan silently weighs the wisdom of getting her a second drink so quickly, contemplates what Keith Mars will do to him if he brings his baby girl home drunk, decides that he will start asking questions if she asks for a third, and returns to the kitchenette to mix another.
This one she drinks somewhat more slowly, leaning her tiny body into him while they continue to watch the movie. She finishes it and sets the glass on the table with determination.
She looks at him with unreadable emotions swirling in her blue eyes, and kisses him softly on the mouth.
He responds eagerly, her mouth tasting sweetly of coconut and pineapple. "You taste like the beach," he murmurs into her mouth.
Her fingers are caught in the hem of his t-shirt, and she pulls at the fabric, up, down, up again, as if she cannot decide if she wants to take his shirt off or not.
He is sliding his hand beneath her blouse, stroking at the soft flesh of her abdomen, and kissing a soft line down her throat, into the v-neck of her shirt.
He is so hard for her, so incredibly aroused by the feel of her body, and he wants to pick her up and carry her into his bedroom. He has been trying very hard not to push her, not to be demanding, in terms of their physical relationship.
She has been so tentative in touching him, more tentative, even, than she had been last summer. She is so hesitant and so unsure that he begins to wonder if she and the Donut had actually been having sex. Or if it was so awful that she's apprehensive about sex with someone else. Or if...well, Beaver.
He tries not to dwell on memories of their eager, almost-but-not-quite, just-about-everything-but enthusiastic couplings in the back of his XTerra last summer, and he is stabbed with shards of guilt when he does remember those moments. She hasn't had enough time, he tells himself, to process what she found out on the roof, to come to terms with Beaver's horrifying betrayal. Last summer she believed (did she really?) that her assumed rape had actually been consensual, if not sober, tender lovemaking (really, had she really believed that?) with her equally innocent first love. Now she knows her reconstruction of that night was, in large part, fiction.
Logan is terrified of pushing her away, so he has let her take the lead. In the past weeks things have been heating up, slowly. On two nights in the past week, his hand having slid up under her skirt, with his fingers carefully and patiently sliding in a steady rhythm against her slick folds, he has brought her to orgasm - gasping nonsense words, burying her face in his shoulder. Both times, afterwards, she had reached for his belt buckle, and then moved her hand lower to press her palm against him, rubbing timidly, experimentally. He had tried to lie very still, trying just to enjoy the sensation without scaring her off, but both times she had pulled away from him after a few minutes.
But right now her lips are sliding against his, tasting of rum, and she abruptly begins to pull his shirt over his head. He is helping her by sliding it off, and is surprised to feel her hand undoing the button of his shorts, sliding her hand between the khaki and the cotton of his boxers.
He thinks about the fact that she so rarely drinks, and calculates in his head that 1 tiny girl + 2 shots of rum in less than 30 minutes = probably more than a little tipsy. With every ounce of control he has, he gently pulls her hand away from his cock and twines his fingers through hers, kissing her gently.
She pulls back, and looks at him, purses her lips and says, incredibly, "why don't you want to have sex with me, Logan?"
He looks at her as if she has grown a second head.
"I," he says, "I...what are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you," she points at him with one carefully manicured finger, "not wanting to have sex with me," she says, pointing her finger now at herself, her words only very slightly more rounded and slurred than they should be.
"What?!?" he says, confused. "Why would you think that?" he asks her, pulling her back against his body to hold her, but she struggles away from him, standing up.
She looks down at him and says, "You haven't asked me. You haven't even asked me to think about it!" A note of accusation rings in her tone.
"I haven't asked you because I thought you would tell me when you were ready," he says quietly. "I didn't want you to feel like I was pressuring you. I didn't want you to feel like I was just trying to 'get past second base,'" he throws her own words from last summer back at her.
Veronica walks away from him, over the mini-bar, pours another shot of rum into her glass, and, to Logan's dismay, downs it in one swallow.
She returns, walking in a deliberately careful way that makes her intoxication obvious (if only to him). She picks up the Fight Club DVD case in one hand, and faces him, channeling her best Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden impression (which truthfully, Logan would later reflect, was kind of awful), she improvises, saying, "I want you to fuck me, as hard as you can."
Logan stares in disbelief as she drops the DVD case and begins slowly unbuttoning her sleeveless blouse.
"Well, as tempting and romantic as that sounds, um...no more rum for you," he says, although his ability to remain rational in the face of her bizarre behavior is slipping with each button she manages to undo.
Her blouse falls to the floor and she is standing before him in a blue satin bra and her skirt.
"Veronica...," he says, his erection becoming painfully uncomfortable, and he's completely uncertain how to proceed. He takes her hand and pulls her down to sit next to him. Despite the bravado of her words and actions, she looks both angry and terrified at the same time.
"You don't want to have sex with me because of what - because of what Beav...what Cassidy did to me," she says, looking down at the couch and not at him.
"Veronica, I've wanted to have sex with you since," Logan hesitates for a second, because the truthful answer to this question is 'since the night I was thinking about you while Caitlyn Ford was blowing me in the backseat of my car,' but no WAY is he going to make that admission, so, he continues, "since the day we kissed on the balcony at the Camelot. I've been in love with you since," the phrase, "I was twelve" runs in circles like an over-eager puppy in Logan's brain, but, he pushes the thought away, "that day at the Camelot. I've been in love with you since that day and I assure you that not a day has passed since then that I haven't wanted to have sex with you. Even when I thought things were hopeless between us, even when you were with Duncan, even when I was being so stupid with Kendall, I still loved you, I still wanted you."
"I don't believe you," she insists, turning away from him, "why would you, after what, after what he did? Why would you want to be with someone who is broken like that?"
Logan suspects that she is even more intoxicated than he previously thought. He cannot imagine that she would allow him to hear these insecurities if she were sober. She has not talked about Beaver raping her since the night on the roof, she has not mentioned his name even once since that night.
(Cassidy had been buried, quietly and without ceremony, during the week that Veronica had been in New York City. She had not asked if Logan attended the burial. He had not, although he had gone to the cemetery the next night, drank a fifth of Jack Daniels while sitting on Lilly's grave, and then he had walked over to the freshly dug mound of earth over what was left of Cassidy Casablancas, whereupon he had screamed obscenities and accusations until he had doubled over, vomiting bile and whiskey into the displaced soil.)
Not for the first time, Logan thinks that it would be better for Veronica if she would talk about what happened, but he is only an 18-year-old boy from a criminally dysfunctional family, so, what does he know about 'coming to terms' and 'closure'?
He tries to pull her small body back into his arms, but, she is stiff and unyielding. "Veronica, you're not broken, you're like, the strongest person I know. You're not broken, and there is nothing that ANYBODY could do that would make me not love you. What Cassidy did to you, what he did to you and then misled you about...it was a crime, it was unforgivable. He did so many unforgivable things, but, I don't...I don't understand what you think that has to do with US, it doesn't have anything to do with you and me."
"You still haven't answered my question, why haven't you tried to have sex with me?" she says, very quietly.
"Veronica, look at me," he puts his hand on her chin and gently pulls her face around to look him in the eye. "I want to have sex with you very, very much. I would probably chew my own foot off to have that chance. But, I want it to be on your terms, and I don't want you to have to have three shots of rum before you even consider it."
She turns away from him. "Do you remember the night when you told me that if the cuddling was the best part Duncan wasn't doing it right?" she asks, her voice barely audible.
"Um, yeah, sorry about that," he says, sheepishly.
"I want to know what it's like when it's done right," she whispers. "I've wanted to tell you...I've wanted to know, I've wanted you to want to be with me like that. And I've been WAITING, and you haven't...and I couldn't tell you 'cause I..." she stops talking and reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, the blue satin falling down to her lap.
Her breasts are small but perfect, just as he remembers them from last summer. Conflicting thoughts rage in his head, from 'she's had too much to drink and she's not really ready' to 'if she has to get drunk to want to have sex with me she's not ready,' to 'she's not so drunk that she doesn't know what she's saying, she just needed to be able to relax enough to talk about these things,' to 'she needs to deal with Beaver's betrayal (rape! he fucking raped her! I'd kill him if he weren't fucking dead!) before she can really want to have sex with me,' to, 'jesus christ she's so damn beautiful and I will die if she won't let me touch her right this second.'
She is reaching for him and he pulls her towards him and kisses her mouth softly, his tongue probing and exploring and sucking her lower lip into his mouth. She responds with the fervor he remembers from last summer and soon they are wrapped up around eachother, and she is straddling him, pulling her skirt up around her hips. She is rubbing herself against him and the friction is incredible and he thinks he might actually come in his pants, something that hasn't happened to him since he was a thirteen-year-old playing 'seven minutes in heaven' with Lilly in the Kane's basement.
He runs his tongue down her neck to her collar bone, and ventures further down, circling her nipple with kisses, then sucking it into his mouth. He feels like something primal has taken control of him and her nipple is hard and he is caressing her other breast with his fingers, carefully, desperately wanting her to feel as good as he is feeling right now.
Her fingers are in his hair and she is making small, breathy, wordless sounds, and as he slips his hand under her skirt, running his fingers between her thighs, against the slippery satin of her underpants, she moans, "oh...god," and something that sounds like, "good" and something further that sounds, maybe, like, "now now now."
Her fingers are trying to unzip his shorts, and surprising even himself, Logan hears himself say, "Wait. Wait, Veronica, wait, please." But he is still kissing her and rubbing her and sliding his his tongue from one nipple to the other, as she pants, "Wait? No, no waiting, what?"
He pulls away from her, just for a second, and looks at her blue eyes, half-closed with lust. "Are you sure?" he asks her.
"Yes, I'm sure, I want this, I want to be with you like this, Logan. I want to be with you and feel like this, I want you to want to be inside me," she declares as she lunges back at him to kiss his neck and his shoulders, her fingers once again seeking out his zipper.
Logan stands up from their awkward position on the couch, with her body wrapped around his, he slides his hands under her ass, pulling her closer to him, nestling her sex against his erection, his walks them into his bedroom.
"I want to be inside you," he whispers in her ear, "I want to be inside you and around you and all over you, I want to make love to you, I want to make you come a thousand times, Veronica. I want to be with you in my bed, and if I have to take you home, I want to smell the smell of you on my sheets all night long."
He sets her down on the bed gently, and slides her skirt and underpants over her hips and down to her ankles, leaving them in a pool at the foot of the bed. It's the first time he's ever seen her completely naked and he fights against the urge to lift her legs over his shoulders and bury his cock inside of her right. this. second.
Instead he reminds himself that he wants this to be her best time, ever, that he wants to turn her into a delirious lump of quivering pleasure.
He kneels between her feet and pushes her legs apart. He leans down to kiss first one knee and then the other. He kisses back and forth until he is kissing the tops of her thighs. He opens and mouth and begins licking her thigh, sucking gently, and then his nose is buried in her thatch of blonde curls and he begins a circular motion with his tongue around the most sensitive part of her, and she is grabbing his hair, and pushing him away and pulling him back again. He is patient and consistent with the motion of his tongue, and she begins to quiver and shake.
"I need," she pants. "I neeeeeeeeeed..."
"What Veronica, what do you need?" he murmurs into her as he laps at her slick, wet folds. "What do you need?"
"I need...I don't know, I," she is tossing her head from side to side, desperate for something she doesn't know how to describe.
"Do you need this?" he asks her as he slips one finger, then two, into her, sliding them in and out and twisting them just so as he continues to drive her towards the brink of insanity with his tongue.
"Oh god, yessssssssssssss, that's what I need, that. is. what. I. need..." she declares as her body trembles and explodes with a toe-curling release.
For a moment she lays with her eyes closed, moving only her fingers against the soft comforter on the bed. Then she looks at him through half-lidded eyes, drunk on rum and pleasure.
He begins kissing her abdomen and then her breasts and then her neck and then he is kissing her mouth and he is desperate to be inside her. She is spreading her legs and reaching for him, and then she asks, "Logan, do you...do have a...?"
He is reaching for the drawer in the bedside table and finds a box of condoms. There is a moment of awkwardness while he rips it open and maneuvers it onto himself, and he is watching her watching him, and he is terrified she is going to jump away from him and say, "no, maybe I don't want to do this after all."
But instead she wraps her legs around him and pulls him closer to her, and he is sliding inside of her and she is impossibly tight and he knows he will not last very long. She is looking at up at him like she is trying to decide how she feels about this, and then he slides out of her and in again very slowly and her eyes close and her mouth forms the most perfect little "o" and he keeps doing just exactly that for as long as he can stand it, and he is thinking of baseball scores and the periodic table of elements and the names of all of the State capitals, and then he feels her spasming around him and he lets go of his carefully wrought control and he lets out an animalistic cry of ecstasy as he comes inside her.
They lie together, joined as one, for a few minutes. He carefully climbs off of her and discards the condom. He wraps his arm around her and kisses her face. "That was amazing," he says.
"My dad's in Reno chasing a bail jumper," she says, incongruously.
Logan looks at her, confused. "You don't have to take me home," she explains. "I can stay here all night. And I thought it was pretty incredible, too." She winks at him.
He grins at her, and turns off the light, and they drift off to sleep, tangled up in each other.