Fic: "witb: a contemplative montage", 1/1, V/Weevil, sap/angst.
Here's what came before this:
washed in the blood I
washed in the blood II
witb: Saving Grace
Title: "witb: a contemplative montage" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating/Classification: angst, sap, V/Weevil, V/Lamb-ish, with brief V/D and LoVe references.
Disclaimer: I still don't own the characters.
Summary: Fourth in the "washed in the blood" series, this is just a glimpse at Veronica and Weevil's relationship.
"What are we doin' here, V?" he asked, sliding his arm between the small of her back and the blanket.
She was guessing he didn't want an answer like "the back stroke." She sighed, curving against his side for the warmth. For the solid security. For a dozen other things that she couldn't even venture to name. "Besides cheating on Duncan and ensuring that the PCH-ers overthrow you in some kind of pseudo-military coup? I have no idea."
"Nah, my boys ain't restless," Weevil assured with a low chuckle. "I told 'em you were putting out."
"Is that so? You sly dog!" She elbowed him, only half-certain he was kidding.
All she knew for sure was that these hours with Eli were precious, uncomplicated, and that when he kissed her, she didn't have to think. All she had to do was feel. The rumble of his bike engine was like her own gospel choir singing "Hallelujah." The Leonard Cohen song, no less. Maybe the Jeff Buckley version. Beautiful and mournful and perfect for a contemplative montage.
That day... that day at Luciano's, he'd saved her. His timing had been perfect.
There was no telling what she would have done with Lamb to catch Martin. To catch Martin. Ha. That's what she could tell herself, but she knew busting a prostitution ring wasn't what had made her act stupid, leave herself vulnerable, and dress up in lace and heels.
"What *are* we doing here?" she echoed, quietly.
Four weeks was practically a lifetime by high school standards, but Eli hadn't tried to get her pants off and she hadn't offered to strip. Instead, she ran her hands beneath his shirts and held on tight. They watched whatever was playing on Turner Classic Movies, went for long rides, talked till dawn. She didn't have Lilly anymore and Wallace was AWOL for the duration. But she had this.
It was funny, ironic maybe -- and not in the Alanis Morrissette way -- but she didn't care about what face Weevil presented to the world, what his friends thought, any of it.
*She* knew who he was.
More importantly, *he* knew who he was.
"PCH-er till I die, abuela's boy, and your back door lover."
"Wouldn't that imply actual lovin', Eli?"
"Just say the word, V."
She pressed her mouth to his pulse, swallowed the beat, and shut her eyes tightly. "No."
The word was always "no."
And maybe that made her a bitch and a tease and everything else she'd become since Shelly's party all those months ago, but it also kept Eli from being second best. Because it wasn't him she saw on her eyelids. It wasn't Duncan -- because that would make sense, wouldn't it? And sense was a rare commodity in these parts. It wasn't even Logan, who kept putting signs on the girls' room door so he could pester her about Felix's murder. Because fantasizing about your ex was reasonable. And reason, being a synonym for sense, was in short supply.
"Give me a chance, Babe," Eli urged. "I'll knock Lamb right out of your system."
She'd taken a chance already when she'd confided in him. She knew that. But, Hell, he'd already seen them looking suspiciously cozy, already issued the threat of protection and harbored the muscle to back it up if necessary. And it was a relief to have someone in the know, someone who would listen and understand. And withhold judgment.
"Oh, great. And then you'll replace him as my resident obsession." she pointed out, tracing the web of lines on his chest. Every time she saw him, he had new ink. *His* resident obsession. Was that a naked woman...? A naked *blond* woman...? Well. Weevil certainly had a vivid imagination when it came to what she looked like in the buff.
"That ain't a bad thing, you know." He kissed the corner of her mouth as he laced his fingers through hers and stopped her investigation. He moved her hand just a little to the left, flattening her palm against his skin. "Like I told you once, V...Weevil love you long time."
Hearts were strange things. A mass of muscle, tissue and blood. They weren't pretty and rounded and red. But, God, they were strong. Especially his.
These hours with Eli were precious, uncomplicated, and when he kissed her, she didn't have to think.
All she had to do was care.
And it was enough.
--end--
December 6, 2005.
washed in the blood I
washed in the blood II
witb: Saving Grace
Title: "witb: a contemplative montage" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating/Classification: angst, sap, V/Weevil, V/Lamb-ish, with brief V/D and LoVe references.
Disclaimer: I still don't own the characters.
Summary: Fourth in the "washed in the blood" series, this is just a glimpse at Veronica and Weevil's relationship.
"What are we doin' here, V?" he asked, sliding his arm between the small of her back and the blanket.
She was guessing he didn't want an answer like "the back stroke." She sighed, curving against his side for the warmth. For the solid security. For a dozen other things that she couldn't even venture to name. "Besides cheating on Duncan and ensuring that the PCH-ers overthrow you in some kind of pseudo-military coup? I have no idea."
"Nah, my boys ain't restless," Weevil assured with a low chuckle. "I told 'em you were putting out."
"Is that so? You sly dog!" She elbowed him, only half-certain he was kidding.
All she knew for sure was that these hours with Eli were precious, uncomplicated, and that when he kissed her, she didn't have to think. All she had to do was feel. The rumble of his bike engine was like her own gospel choir singing "Hallelujah." The Leonard Cohen song, no less. Maybe the Jeff Buckley version. Beautiful and mournful and perfect for a contemplative montage.
That day... that day at Luciano's, he'd saved her. His timing had been perfect.
There was no telling what she would have done with Lamb to catch Martin. To catch Martin. Ha. That's what she could tell herself, but she knew busting a prostitution ring wasn't what had made her act stupid, leave herself vulnerable, and dress up in lace and heels.
"What *are* we doing here?" she echoed, quietly.
Four weeks was practically a lifetime by high school standards, but Eli hadn't tried to get her pants off and she hadn't offered to strip. Instead, she ran her hands beneath his shirts and held on tight. They watched whatever was playing on Turner Classic Movies, went for long rides, talked till dawn. She didn't have Lilly anymore and Wallace was AWOL for the duration. But she had this.
It was funny, ironic maybe -- and not in the Alanis Morrissette way -- but she didn't care about what face Weevil presented to the world, what his friends thought, any of it.
*She* knew who he was.
More importantly, *he* knew who he was.
"PCH-er till I die, abuela's boy, and your back door lover."
"Wouldn't that imply actual lovin', Eli?"
"Just say the word, V."
She pressed her mouth to his pulse, swallowed the beat, and shut her eyes tightly. "No."
The word was always "no."
And maybe that made her a bitch and a tease and everything else she'd become since Shelly's party all those months ago, but it also kept Eli from being second best. Because it wasn't him she saw on her eyelids. It wasn't Duncan -- because that would make sense, wouldn't it? And sense was a rare commodity in these parts. It wasn't even Logan, who kept putting signs on the girls' room door so he could pester her about Felix's murder. Because fantasizing about your ex was reasonable. And reason, being a synonym for sense, was in short supply.
"Give me a chance, Babe," Eli urged. "I'll knock Lamb right out of your system."
She'd taken a chance already when she'd confided in him. She knew that. But, Hell, he'd already seen them looking suspiciously cozy, already issued the threat of protection and harbored the muscle to back it up if necessary. And it was a relief to have someone in the know, someone who would listen and understand. And withhold judgment.
"Oh, great. And then you'll replace him as my resident obsession." she pointed out, tracing the web of lines on his chest. Every time she saw him, he had new ink. *His* resident obsession. Was that a naked woman...? A naked *blond* woman...? Well. Weevil certainly had a vivid imagination when it came to what she looked like in the buff.
"That ain't a bad thing, you know." He kissed the corner of her mouth as he laced his fingers through hers and stopped her investigation. He moved her hand just a little to the left, flattening her palm against his skin. "Like I told you once, V...Weevil love you long time."
Hearts were strange things. A mass of muscle, tissue and blood. They weren't pretty and rounded and red. But, God, they were strong. Especially his.
These hours with Eli were precious, uncomplicated, and when he kissed her, she didn't have to think.
All she had to do was care.
And it was enough.
--end--
December 6, 2005.