Fic: "Notch," 1/1, VM, Weevil/Veronica/Lamb filler scene.
If I could channel this creative energy into my original fiction, I'd be "da bomb." Ah, well. Such is life.
Title: "Notch" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: VM
Rating/Classification: adult language, Weevil/Veronica/Lamb, filler ficlet.
Disclaimer: One line of dialogue is from the episode. I don't own this (damn!).
Summary: "Don't you want to nail the Fitzpatricks, Deputy?" 1200 words. A missing scene from 2.17, "Plan B."
Note: I've passed the 50 fic mark for this fandom…which is INSANE, so I thought I would celebrate with my "OT3."
"There's less I can do. Trust me," Lamb scoffs, shooting down her pitch like she's asking if he'd like to hear about the Book of Mormon.
She doesn't know why she's surprised, but she is. She can feel her jaw unhinge in shock even as she twists around and sees Weevil slouched in the corner, shaking his head. And that's all it takes, one look at the hardness in his dark brown eyes, the cynicism, the "time to do it my way" conviction, to make her rise from her seat.
"Oh, I know there's less you can do," she snaps at the man who doesn't even remotely deserve the title of "Sheriff." Who probably couldn't even handle being lifeguard at the pool -- if it still existed. "I know you're useless from personal experience." He's either looking down at his blotter in shame or in coincidence when she says that. Probably the latter. "But I was actually operating on the assumption that you might be human."
Weevil laughs from over her shoulder. "Aiming pretty high there, V. I would've guessed 'skunk.' Maybe 'maggot.' Or one of those paramecium things from science class…"
"Get out." Lamb's head jerks up and he reaches for the micro-cassette recorder again. His fingers close around it so tightly his knuckles go white. "Play time at the Romper Room is over, Kids."
"Don't you want to nail the Fitzpatricks, Deputy?" she demands, palms flat on his desk as she leans over him…like all those times he's leaned over her, trying to bully her into caving to his asinine accusations. "Don't you want that notch on your belt?"
"Not *that* notch, no. Not today." A slight smile plays on his lips.
He stares up at her, and his eyes are as blue as a Kmart Blue Light special…and just as cheap. She swallows hard and she can feel Weevil's hand on her arm, tugging her backwards. "Come on, Veronica. Let's get going. There's only one thing a piece of slime like him ever wants to nail…and it ain't the Fightin' Fitzpatricks."
"No. We're not going anywhere until he assures us he's going after Thumper." She turns, grasping Weevil's thick wrists in a pantomime of handcuffs. "I don't want you to do something you'll regret! Not when there's another way."
"What about you, Veronica? What about doing something *you'll* regret?" Lamb's voice is so soft she almost doesn't hear him. When she glances back at him, he's already up and moving around his desk. She almost thinks she imagined him speaking at all. Until he's right in front of them, in front of *her*. "Give me incentive, Veronica. Give me a reason."
"Whoa. Are you…?" For a second she thinks she's misunderstood him. She blinks. But those Blue Light Special eyes are half-lidded, dangerous, and his hands are loosely grasping his belt as two fingers lazily stroke the telltale rise just beneath. "You are, aren't you? You're propositioning me!" she gasps, surprised for the second time in less than ten minutes.
"You fucking prick!" Weevil lets out a harsh string of curses in both Spanish and English as he instinctively pushes her behind him and steps forward. "No way…I'll give you a reason…"
"Eli, stop it!" Using his real name means she's serious and she's quick to put herself between him and the taller man with the badge, the gun and the capability to introduce him to his new boyfriend Bubba Joe. "No regrets, remember? You came to me, now let me do what you asked."
"And what exactly is that? What *are* you trying to do? Your good deed for the day? Earn your merit badge in obstruction of justice?" Lamb snorts, shaking his head. "I thought you liked your boyfriends richer, Veronica. That's a bigger pay-off, isn't it? Why the slumming?"
"Fuck you, Lamb." She feels the shudder go through Weevil as he says it. And as much as she hates to gloss over his status as one of Neptune's second-class citizens, his wounded pride is going to have to wait. Better a bruised ego than a "Bitch" tattoo.
"Maybe I *am* trying to do my good deed for the day," she shrugs, narrowing her gaze at the sheriff, at the man -- although the classification is questionable. "Maybe this is my pro bono charity project for big karma points. And if I'm helping those less fortunate, God, I might as well trade you sexual favors for you doing your job, huh? Throw another shrimp on the barbie!" she quips, sarcastically, emphasizing "shrimp" as she eyes his erection.
Lamb doesn't seem insulted. In fact, he actually chuckles. "Like the man said…there's only one thing someone like me wants to nail."
"And that somethin' is Veronica Mars, huh?" Weevil shakes his head, disgusted. "You really…you're scum, you know that?"
"Casting stones from the glass trailer, Navarro?" Lamb arches an eyebrow and, by now, he's close enough that Veronica can feel the heat of his body, smell the grape bubblegum he always chews because he gave up the Skoal when he moved to Neptune. "You want her, too, Compadre. How could you not?"
Weevil doesn't deny it. He doesn't. Deny. It. And he's warm, too, against her back. All leather and soap and sucked-in breath.
And even as Veronica is processing that, Lamb is still talking, barely audible over the blood rushing against her eardrums. "Look at her," he whispers. "She's cute. She's perfect. Her skin is so soft and white. Don't you imagine what she'd be like? Don't you have those sweaty teenage fantasies, Navarro? Aren't you here because it's the closest she'll let you get to her?"
"You're sick, Man," Eli gasps, but it's feeble, barely a retort, considering it comes from someone who answers everything with his fists.
Veronica is frozen in place. And the only thing she can seem to do is point out, "You do realize you're both ridiculously close to me right now, right?" An astute observation, Miss Junior PI. Really. What would be even more astute would be a quick exit and some fresh air. Except that her legs refuse to move.
So, she's still standing there when Lamb hisses, "This is the notch I want today," mere millimeters above her lips. When he adds, almost profanely, "This is the one I've wanted for way too goddamn long," and, "Lock the door or get the Hell out, Navarro."
And she's standing there when Weevil comes back from checking the door. When he skims his hands across her shoulders and murmurs into the back of her neck, "V, you don't have to do this…"
His lips are soft against her throat. She shivers involuntarily. And voluntarily because he licks her pulse and sighs, "Lo siento." God, it's been too long since anyone's touched her with passion and her defenses are nonexistent. That's her rationale. *Her* incentive. She meets Lamb's gaze even as she arches into Eli's husky apologies.
"Give me a reason, Veronica," Don urges, sounding almost oddly tender.
She tangles her fingers in his hair; tight enough to yank strands out by the roots, and drags his mouth down to hers. "There's less I can do. Trust me."
--end--
April 30, 2006
Title: "Notch" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: VM
Rating/Classification: adult language, Weevil/Veronica/Lamb, filler ficlet.
Disclaimer: One line of dialogue is from the episode. I don't own this (damn!).
Summary: "Don't you want to nail the Fitzpatricks, Deputy?" 1200 words. A missing scene from 2.17, "Plan B."
Note: I've passed the 50 fic mark for this fandom…which is INSANE, so I thought I would celebrate with my "OT3."
"There's less I can do. Trust me," Lamb scoffs, shooting down her pitch like she's asking if he'd like to hear about the Book of Mormon.
She doesn't know why she's surprised, but she is. She can feel her jaw unhinge in shock even as she twists around and sees Weevil slouched in the corner, shaking his head. And that's all it takes, one look at the hardness in his dark brown eyes, the cynicism, the "time to do it my way" conviction, to make her rise from her seat.
"Oh, I know there's less you can do," she snaps at the man who doesn't even remotely deserve the title of "Sheriff." Who probably couldn't even handle being lifeguard at the pool -- if it still existed. "I know you're useless from personal experience." He's either looking down at his blotter in shame or in coincidence when she says that. Probably the latter. "But I was actually operating on the assumption that you might be human."
Weevil laughs from over her shoulder. "Aiming pretty high there, V. I would've guessed 'skunk.' Maybe 'maggot.' Or one of those paramecium things from science class…"
"Get out." Lamb's head jerks up and he reaches for the micro-cassette recorder again. His fingers close around it so tightly his knuckles go white. "Play time at the Romper Room is over, Kids."
"Don't you want to nail the Fitzpatricks, Deputy?" she demands, palms flat on his desk as she leans over him…like all those times he's leaned over her, trying to bully her into caving to his asinine accusations. "Don't you want that notch on your belt?"
"Not *that* notch, no. Not today." A slight smile plays on his lips.
He stares up at her, and his eyes are as blue as a Kmart Blue Light special…and just as cheap. She swallows hard and she can feel Weevil's hand on her arm, tugging her backwards. "Come on, Veronica. Let's get going. There's only one thing a piece of slime like him ever wants to nail…and it ain't the Fightin' Fitzpatricks."
"No. We're not going anywhere until he assures us he's going after Thumper." She turns, grasping Weevil's thick wrists in a pantomime of handcuffs. "I don't want you to do something you'll regret! Not when there's another way."
"What about you, Veronica? What about doing something *you'll* regret?" Lamb's voice is so soft she almost doesn't hear him. When she glances back at him, he's already up and moving around his desk. She almost thinks she imagined him speaking at all. Until he's right in front of them, in front of *her*. "Give me incentive, Veronica. Give me a reason."
"Whoa. Are you…?" For a second she thinks she's misunderstood him. She blinks. But those Blue Light Special eyes are half-lidded, dangerous, and his hands are loosely grasping his belt as two fingers lazily stroke the telltale rise just beneath. "You are, aren't you? You're propositioning me!" she gasps, surprised for the second time in less than ten minutes.
"You fucking prick!" Weevil lets out a harsh string of curses in both Spanish and English as he instinctively pushes her behind him and steps forward. "No way…I'll give you a reason…"
"Eli, stop it!" Using his real name means she's serious and she's quick to put herself between him and the taller man with the badge, the gun and the capability to introduce him to his new boyfriend Bubba Joe. "No regrets, remember? You came to me, now let me do what you asked."
"And what exactly is that? What *are* you trying to do? Your good deed for the day? Earn your merit badge in obstruction of justice?" Lamb snorts, shaking his head. "I thought you liked your boyfriends richer, Veronica. That's a bigger pay-off, isn't it? Why the slumming?"
"Fuck you, Lamb." She feels the shudder go through Weevil as he says it. And as much as she hates to gloss over his status as one of Neptune's second-class citizens, his wounded pride is going to have to wait. Better a bruised ego than a "Bitch" tattoo.
"Maybe I *am* trying to do my good deed for the day," she shrugs, narrowing her gaze at the sheriff, at the man -- although the classification is questionable. "Maybe this is my pro bono charity project for big karma points. And if I'm helping those less fortunate, God, I might as well trade you sexual favors for you doing your job, huh? Throw another shrimp on the barbie!" she quips, sarcastically, emphasizing "shrimp" as she eyes his erection.
Lamb doesn't seem insulted. In fact, he actually chuckles. "Like the man said…there's only one thing someone like me wants to nail."
"And that somethin' is Veronica Mars, huh?" Weevil shakes his head, disgusted. "You really…you're scum, you know that?"
"Casting stones from the glass trailer, Navarro?" Lamb arches an eyebrow and, by now, he's close enough that Veronica can feel the heat of his body, smell the grape bubblegum he always chews because he gave up the Skoal when he moved to Neptune. "You want her, too, Compadre. How could you not?"
Weevil doesn't deny it. He doesn't. Deny. It. And he's warm, too, against her back. All leather and soap and sucked-in breath.
And even as Veronica is processing that, Lamb is still talking, barely audible over the blood rushing against her eardrums. "Look at her," he whispers. "She's cute. She's perfect. Her skin is so soft and white. Don't you imagine what she'd be like? Don't you have those sweaty teenage fantasies, Navarro? Aren't you here because it's the closest she'll let you get to her?"
"You're sick, Man," Eli gasps, but it's feeble, barely a retort, considering it comes from someone who answers everything with his fists.
Veronica is frozen in place. And the only thing she can seem to do is point out, "You do realize you're both ridiculously close to me right now, right?" An astute observation, Miss Junior PI. Really. What would be even more astute would be a quick exit and some fresh air. Except that her legs refuse to move.
So, she's still standing there when Lamb hisses, "This is the notch I want today," mere millimeters above her lips. When he adds, almost profanely, "This is the one I've wanted for way too goddamn long," and, "Lock the door or get the Hell out, Navarro."
And she's standing there when Weevil comes back from checking the door. When he skims his hands across her shoulders and murmurs into the back of her neck, "V, you don't have to do this…"
His lips are soft against her throat. She shivers involuntarily. And voluntarily because he licks her pulse and sighs, "Lo siento." God, it's been too long since anyone's touched her with passion and her defenses are nonexistent. That's her rationale. *Her* incentive. She meets Lamb's gaze even as she arches into Eli's husky apologies.
"Give me a reason, Veronica," Don urges, sounding almost oddly tender.
She tangles her fingers in his hair; tight enough to yank strands out by the roots, and drags his mouth down to hers. "There's less I can do. Trust me."
--end--
April 30, 2006