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Happy Birthday, Kay!!!
a few days late but just as great......i hope. 
2nd-Jan-2008 06:36 pm
science bros - catch me when i fall <3
For the ever-so-clever velocityofsound. Because anyone who can bring us csicracklab deserves this and MUCH MUCH more.

Title: History on Skin
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: Weevil/Various
Rating: NC-17

My challenge fic attempt? EPIC FAIL, for many many reasons. So instead, I present gratuitous Weevil pr0n, with just about every female we've ever seen bat an eyelash at him and some that we haven't (.....because I totally stalked your LJ, saw Weevil listed as an interest, and flailed a bit). Hope you enjoy, lol I certainly enjoyed writing it!


Weevil loses his virginity at the tender age of thirteen, snuggled under the covers of his bed while his parents are out to dinner.

Except that even at thirteen he's none too tender thanks to Chardo and the boys; he's already been forced to shave his head. learn to swear, to drink, and to steal. Gustavio is trying to get him to start smoking, but the feeling of the smoke burning his throat is one he can't endure without coughing violently. He doesn't want to be called a pussy, so he drinks until he passes out and breaks into the places that the others are scared to even approach in order to compensate. In two years, while the girls are having their fancy parties with their fancy dresses, he will be allowed to get his first tattoo and join the PCHers officially. But for now he dons a hand-me-down leather jacket that brings with it bravado and posturing, just like all of the boys his age.

His parents are down the street cooking dinner for his grandmother Letty, and they hired one of the neighborhood girls to watch him while they're there. Weevil whined in vain, because even though he was allowed free reign of the streets during the day with the boys, in the confines of his own home he was still treated like he was thirteen and not thirty. So at seven thirty on the dot, Manny showed up at his front door. Manny was supposed to take care of him, to feed him dinner and make sure that he didn't try to sneak out, but Manny is under the covers next to him, hands sliding down his bare chest.

Manuela Santos has lived in Neptune all her life, grew up down the street, went to school with some of Weevil's older cousins. She's tall, outspoken, and absolutely gorgeous. Weevil wonders briefly if she's deflowered any of his friends, but finds that he'd really rather not know. Manny fingers the waistband of his pants, and Weevil lets her slide them down his legs. Touch her, you dumbfuck! he reminds himself. His hands are unsure, shaking slightly, and Manny lets out a yelp when he squeezes her left breast just a bit too hard.

"Sorry," he mumbles, mouth tasting the skin of her neck hungrily. She giggles.

"Calm down, Eli," she says. The use of his name, his real name, gives him pause. No one calls him Eli anymore. He moves to kiss her, but she ducks her head out of the way and traces her tongue down his stomach. She's gloriously naked on top of him, all brown curves and sly smile, and he pushes his boxers out of the way eagerly. They land on top of his jeans on the floor with a soft thud. Manny takes the condom from the dresser and rolls it onto him, lowering herself with a small groan.

It's all instinct from there - Weevil might not have had sex before, but her certainly knows how. He grabs Manny by the waist and rolls them over until he's on top, sliding in and out. She wraps her legs around his waist and urges him on, so he speeds up, and faster still. He worries about hurting her, but Manny doesn't seem to mind; if anything, she appears to enjoy it. Weevil props himself up on one hand and reaches the other downwards, to stroke her clit. He fumbles, doesn't know if he's supposed to do anything other than rub, but apparently his small circles do the trick because Manny lets out small gasps and sighs to the rhythm of his steadily-moving fingers. The sound turns Weevil on even more so than the feeling of her hands stroking down his back, and he slams into her without warning. Manny cries out. It only takes a few short thrusts before Weevil feels his balls tighten, and then he's releasing himself into her in a flood of warmth. He collapses on top of her, but Manny squirms beneath him.

"I wasn't done yet," she says irritably. Weevil doesn't know how to respond, doesn't know how he was supposed to know that. She reaches between her legs and pinches herself, then shoves several fingers inside. Weevil is mesmerized by the sight of her, of one hand pumping furiously between her thighs and the other circling a nipple. Her eyes flutter closed, and after several swift movements of her hand her long taut body is arcing towards him and spasming in pleasure. When she's finished, she flops backwards. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she lets out a sigh of relief, almost as if she's glad that it's over.

Weevil feels the same.


He's had his first tattoo sketched out since the day he was old enough to realize that the markings were a choice instead of something that bloomed onto your skin when you did something brave, as he once believed in middle school (not that he'll ever admit it aloud). It's the petal of a tiger lily - his Ma's favorite - with his initials and birth date scrawled across the center of it. He practices nonchalance in the mirror so that the boys will believe he made up the design on the spot.

But his fifteenth birthday falls just two months after his parents' car accident, and even looking at the picture brings tears to his eyes. He brushes them away defiantly, and in the sanctity of his room, crumples the paper into a tiny little ball and drops it into the wastebasket. When it comes time for his first ink, he lets them brand some vaguely tribal-looking pattern with no meaning into his upper arm. The boys let out a whoop of triumph, but Weevil only nods along numbly.

There's a party down at Dog Beach, predictably. He gets to tap the keg and is poured the first drink, but other than that it's no different than a thousand other parties that have come before and a thousand others that will surely come afterwards. Some of his friends congratulate him, but the older boys just shrug because he's only one in a long line.

Marisol approaches him as the fire is beginning to die out because most everyone is too drunk to bother throwing on any more wood. Her stride is wobbling and her eyes are wide and bright with alcohol.

"How does it feel?" she asks breathlessly, running her tiny fingers across the skin. It hurt - badly. It hurts even more now that the gentle pressure of her thumb is causing the bandage to press against the raw wound, and he really really wishes he had gotten something other than a lame, generic design that sort of looked cool at the moment. But he doesn't say any of this to her. What he says, with a shrug, is:

"It is what it is." It sounds ridiculous to his ears, but Marisol eats it right up as if he's just quoted Confucius. The alcohol has made him brazen, and he trails a hand along her waist. "Wanna get outta here?" he asks. Mari nods eagerly.

There's really nowhere to go, considering that neither of them are old enough to drive and those that are, are in no condition to do so. So they follow the grand tradition of their predecessors and find a little niche along the seawall that leaves them mostly out-of-sight. Mari is tiny, the top of her head only coming to Weevil's pec, and he has to bend down at a slightly awkward angle to kiss her. But it's worth it - Mari is an excellent kisser. Weevil grows hard quite quickly as they grind against each other in the dark, her tongue warm and wet and inviting. He slides a hand up her dress to find that her inner lips are in a similar state. There is no barrier of underwear. Mari wiggles at the touch of his hand.

"Do you have something?" she whispers in his ear. Weevil smirks. There is a condom in his wallet given to him by Hector that he's all too ready to use, and he pulls it out to show to her. Mari unbuckles his belt and lowers his pants and boxers to his knees. Weevil readies himself to open the wrapper, but her mouth closes around the head of his cock, rendering him speechless. She gives him several long, slow licks, tracing up and down the length of him. Then she takes him between her lips and slides him all the way in. One hand fists around the base of him, moving in counterpoint to the slide of her mouth. It's exquisite torture, the slow build-up that burns inside of him, exploding out like a burst of stars behind his eyes. Mari swallows every drop, fingers clutching the globes of his ass tightly. He pants heavily, grateful to have the wall behind him to lean on. Mari rises to her feet, sucking gently at his collarbone.

"Your turn," she says with a grin. Weevil panics for a moment, but they never get to finish their evening because Mari's brother Stefan can be heard calling her name. Weevil hastily re-dresses himself and Mari hurries off towards the sound of Stefan's voice; everyone knows that everyone else is having sex, but the unwritten rule is that you don't get caught; especially not by a family member.

He passes out by the fire. His body is limp and sated, but even with one orgasm under his belt that evening he can't help but feel like something is missing.


Carmen is the most beautiful girl Weevil has ever seen.

He wishes he could pinpoint the exact day that she morphed from a little tomboy with a backwards baseball cap, chasing the guys around the neighborhood begging to be allowed into their pickup games down at the park, into a woman. But it just happens one day - he looks over and she has curves and flirty eyes and a smile like sunshine.

But Weevil clearly isn't the only one who notices, because before long she has a skinny white boyfriend tailing after her, carrying her books and holding her hand in the hallways. Weevil's boys shout at her in the courtyard, calling her coconut and </i>Oreo</i> and names in Spanish that are far more cruel. Puffed up with the bravado of the boys, of being named leader of the PCH club, Weevil strides over to her at lunch.

"You're doing the Latino community a crime, mama," he purrs in her ear. "Come back to our side - I'll show you what a real man can do." His hand slides between her thighs and Carmen is on her feet in an instant, head held high, long dark hair streaming out behind her. The sun lights the apples of her cheeks and Weevil has never seen her look quite so gorgeous.

"You're doing enough insulting of our race for the both of us," she spats, and plows through the crowd on her way inside. The boys whoop and holler and tease him. Weevil scowls as he watches her go.

Later that night he stretches out in his bed and trails a hand down his stomach. He hates that even after completely shutting him down, he's more attracted to her than ever. His fingers coax himself into hardness in quick, brutal strokes. A small bottle of hand lotion that sits on his bedside table serves as lube, and the motions are so achingly familiar. But this time he forces himself to think about someone else - anyone else.

For reasons that he chooses not to dwell on, his mind settles on Veronica Mars, the tiny blonde '09er in his English class. He tells himself that it has nothing to do with the intensity of her stare when he read his assignment aloud; the only one who paid attention to him, that made him wish he had written something real. He tells himself that it's only because she's the complete antithesis of Carmen. Pale where she is dark, skinny where she is curvy, short choppy blonde hair instead of long dark curls. That's why.

His orgasm rips out of him like the means to an end, offering little to no comfort, because at the end of the day he realizes that there is one common factor Carmen and Veronica share: they are unattainable. They are too good for Weevil, which only means that he will always want them.


When he's sixteen, Weevil falls in love with Lilly Kane. He knows that it's ridiculous, that it will never end well if it even begins, but when he falls he falls hard, and he's learned to just go with it.

She skinny-dips at the beach some nights. Weevil doesn't know if it's because she thinks it's deserted or because she likes knowing that she's being ogled - from what he's seen of her either could be true. He sits against the rocks and watches, but never reveals himself.

She likes the bars on his side of town because she knows that she can waltz in without an ID. She drinks whiskey straight up, does shots of tequila with the best of them, and always scrunches up her nose in a way that Weevil finds incredibly charming. He hangs back behind the counter, straightening bottles and wiping down cabinets and watching. Always just watching.

It's she who approaches him, in the end. She's sitting on the bar - no, not just at the bar, but on the bar, perching there in a way that only she could make look completely natural - talking to his cousin Berto, flirting mode in overdrive. Weevil is in the back unloading the dishwasher, wiping any stray water droplets off of the bar glasses, and hanging them back up. They were technically closed an hour ago.

"Who's your friend that keeps hiding from me?" Lilly asks Berto. Berto chuckles heartily. He's a bigger flirt than all of the PCHers put together, but happily married and more than willing to foist Lilly off onto his nephew.

"Go pay him a visit," he says. He nods at Weevil. "Lock up when you leave." The back door makes a mighty bang when it swings shut, leaving them alone in the deserted bar.

"C'mere," Lilly says, crooking her index finger at him. Weevil can see no reason to resist, so he does as she says. When he gets within reach, she hooks a leg around his waist and draws him to stand between her thighs. "You go to Neptune," she says matter-of-factly. Weevil's bravado floods back to him.

"You notice a non-'09er," he says, feigning awe. "It must be my lucky day." Lilly rolls her eyes.

"Leader of the PCH?" she counters. "Like there's anyone at that school who doesn't know you."

"Yeah?" Weevil challenges. "What's my name?" Lilly bites her lower lip and giggles like it's supposed to be an answer. Weevil quirks an eyebrow. Another stuck-up bitch who doesn't even know he exists and he's smitten. Typical. He forces himself to take the upper hand, and his kiss is fierce and bruising. His hands grope at her thighs and yank her closer.

They have sex right there on the bar (afterwards he scrubs it down with Lysol, crosses himself, and swears her to secrecy), on equal level. Lilly's nails make crimson ribbons down his back, and they come simultaneously in a slow bloom of passion, pleasure curling around them and seeming to drawing them closer to one another.

"Weevil," she breathes against his neck.


He sleeps with Mac's roommate, but once he finds out who she is he never tells anyone.

She pulls out of the carwash just as he's getting off shift. He's busying himself with stuffing his coveralls into his bag and fishing for his car keys, so he doesn't see her cruise to a stop just past the exit. His shin hits metal and he glances up, startled.

"Watch where you're going," she snarls. Weevil is incredulous. She (Parker, he will later learn) climbs out of the car to snap her mirrors back into place. She's cute but not hot, though he has no complaints about the gorgeous athletic figure wrapped in jeans and a tank top. Still, all he can see right now is bitch.

"Me watch where I'm going?!" he exclaims. "You stopped in the middle of the lane!" Parker rolls her eyes.

"There's no lane, it's a parking lot," she says. "Take a pill." She roars around the corner, and Weevil thinks that's that. Except that he still can't find his keys, and realizes that he left them behind the counter earlier in the afternoon, when he had been using his keychain pocketknife to open a box of fasteners. Eduardo looks up from his post (reading a magazine and pretending to be processing order forms) and reaches into the drawer.

"Forget something?" he teases. Weevil rolls his eyes and makes a grab for the keys.

"It all right if I snag a soda?" he asks. Eduardo glances out the window for their boss, but sees that he's nowhere to be found.

"Knock yourself out."

Weevil skirts around the snack cake rack and skids to a halt when he sees Parker standing in front of the soda fountain, snapping a lid onto a 22-ounce cup. She's thumbing through the cash in her wallet and doesn't see him, colliding directly with his chest. She squeaks, startled, and Weevil reaches out to steady her. When she sees who it is she laughs.

"We seem to be quite good at this whole bumping into each other thing," she says. Gone is the prissy bitch and suddenly she's all loose and flirty. Weevil smirks. He hardly minds.

They fuck in the backseat of her SUV. It's not mind-blowing, or awkward, it's just nice and easy. They even manage to share a few laughs as they maneuver around the tiny cramped space. They don't exchange names or phone numbers, just collect their sodas and go their separate ways, having found a pleasurable way to kill a few lazy summer hours.

School officially starts three days later. Weevil loses his job two weeks after that. It's with great hesitance that he and Veronica somewhat rekindle their high school friendship, leading to several awkward attempts to incorporate him into her new life. On the second of such futile attempts, Weevil "meets" Parker. They share a smirk and nothing more need be said.


Veronica is different from any girl Weevil has ever known. She's smart, she's hot, and she doesn't take his crap, and it takes him very little effort to fall head-over-heels for her. The fact that he's a romantic at heart is a bit of an epiphany, and not a welcome one at that, but the evidence is overwhelming - Weevil cannot simply like a girl, no matter how hard he tries. He will fight it until his dying breath, but in the end he falls in love with them anyway.

He just wishes sometimes that it didn't always make things so complicated. Like this thing with Veronica. He wishes that he could be satisfied, cruising down the highway after some suspect with the sun in their eyes and the way she bounces impatiently in the seat next to him as if the thought of being still for even a few minutes is pure torture. It's a great feeling - he and Veronica connect on some base level that he's been able to do with few others. But Weevil is Weevil and he will never be satisfied with what he has because he always wants more.

He tried in high school, repeatedly, to hint to her that he was interested, but she never seemed to get the message. They're in college now, supposedly mature and sexually liberated adults, but still it takes him time to work up the courage to ever show his hand for real. Veronica is not Lilly (Veronica is not Lilly. It sounds like a litany inside his head some times), and she will not approach him first. By the time she's through being toyed with by Logan Echolls she's barely a shell of the girl she used to be, and Weevil's savior complex leaps at the opportunity to be the one to "save her".

"This pizza tastes like shit," she decrees, in his trailer late at night when she should probably be studying or bowling. It was a frozen pizza that they dug out of the recesses of his freezer, covered in snowy hunks of ice and looking like it had seen better days, and now Veronica is looking at it like it's sprouted another head. There's grease on her lips, making them look full and inviting and Weevil takes that giant leap, leaning over to her side of the couch and closing his lips around hers.

"Bet I taste better," he murmurs.

She doesn't push him away. But she doesn't exactly warm to his touch either. She lets him pry her lips apart and stroke her tongue with his, lets him take her by the waist and draw her closer. Her lack of response is frustrating, to say the least. Weevil fondles her breasts through her shirt, then sneaks his fingers up underneath to push her bra out of the way and pinch her nipples. They're hard. He unbuttons the front of her blouse, slides it down her shoulders, strips off her tank top and unhooks her bra and she still hasn't put up a complaint.

This is not what sex with Veronica Mars is supposed to be like - she's not supposed to lie passively beneath him and squeeze her eyes shut. He lets out a strangled gasp when he realizes what she's doing - she's imagining that he's someone else.

"Hey. Hey, V. Look at me, girl." He tugs hard at her hair, now so long that it spills down past her shoulders. Veronica's eyes widen. Weevil takes off his t-shirt, slowly, letting her get an eyeful of what she's getting herself into. If she's going to sleep with him she's going to sleep with him; no matter how much he loves her he will not be a pity fuck. She watches him remove his belt, stand up to remove his pants and underwear, and then he's standing proud and tall before her. Her eyes trace the lines of ink down his arms and across his chest and when she reaches for him he has no doubt that she's reaching for him. Their bodies smash together on the crappy little couch, and he almost falls off in an attempt to peel her jeans down her legs.

It's she who rolls the condom down his aching cock, but it feels good, in that moment, to relinquish control. And when she comes, sighing his name into his neck, he clutches at her hair and finds that he's guilty of his own accusation.


Logan Echolls is, as far as Weevil is concerned, the absolute embodiment of everything he hates about Neptune. He doesn't fault him for being rich, any more than he'd expect someone to fault him for being poor; it's simply a condition of circumstance. But there are those that manage to be semi-decent people despite their wealth; Meg Manning, who used to talk to him in study hall. The younger Casablancas kid, who tutored him in math without treating him like a moron. Even, as much as he hates to admit it, Kane. Not once he found out he had been sleeping with his sister, mind you, but before that he had at least had the decency to be polite when they ran into each other.

But Logan is a different story entirely. He throws his affluence in others' faces, uses it to his advantage, and scorns those that don't. He's personally been giving Weevil shit for years, far more frequently than he'll ever admit. Abuela Letty has been working for the Echolls for half his life and Logan has never let even one opportunity for ridicule slip by. At age nine he learned the word "spic" from his father and used it mercilessly. At age eleven he would hide in the shadows and pop out when Weevil least expected it, chanting about how much of a sissy he was. As the years passed, the taunting only grew more cruel, and Weevil gave back as good as he got, so that by the time they were beyond Neptune High they were bitter enemies without ever truly knowing why.

Of course, being in love with the same girl didn't really help the matter.

There's a hole-in-the-wall little pub a block away from the Hearst campus that Weevil has taken to frequenting on his nights off. The snotty college kids turn up their nose at the ramshackle construction and peeling paint, which means that there's always an empty booth in the back corner that he can claim. He's become quasi-friends with the owner due to his repeated presence, and has thus spent nights curled on the cracked, faded leather trying to stave off the feeling of nausea swimming in his belly. Pat just shakes his head, because to him Weevil is just another drunk.

He really doesn't know why he's surprised to see Logan sitting in his booth one late Wednesday night - the guy practically has radar for opportunities such as these.

"Disappointed to see me?" he sneers as Weevil sinks down into the familiar leather, beer in hand. He scowls right back.

"That's one word for it." Logan looks like he's about to tip over, and even from across the booth Weevil can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. He scoffs. "Let me guess - Veronica broke up with you. Again." Logan's silence is far more telling that his words ever could be. "Man, that's just sad. You get blasted every time this happens?"

"Like you're any better?" Logan counters. Well, the man does have a point.

Closing time comes and goes and Pat nods on his way out which means lock the door behind you when you leave and don't steal any of my shit. They're well past their tenth beer and Weevil is anticipating yet another night spent passed out in a dark, empty bar. Logan is wavering despite his valiant attempts to stay upright.

"How're you getting home, man?" Weevil asks. Logan shrugs.


"Past four - cabs have stopped running."

"Well I guess I'm stuck here with you then, aren't I?" He slumps over, the tips of his hair brushing Weevil's arm.

"Great." Weevil drops the stub of his cigarette into his last swallow of beer; all of his vices in one glass. Well. Two of them, at least.

"Could be worse," Logan murmurs, his head lolling back against the booth before resting on Weevil's shoulder. Weevil studies him out of the corner of his eye, forlorn expression and the way his shirt is riding up above the waistband of his jeans. He swallows hard.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Could be."


Weevil will never understand how he ends up pressed between Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars in Logan's penthouse suite of the Neptune Grand, but he can't say that he exactly minds.

Veronica graduated Hearst last year, and as far as Weevil knows she's taken over Mars Investigations. But then that's just supposition from the plans she told him of years ago - in reality he hasn't seen or heard from her in about as long. He keeps to himself, working at Angel's shop and taking care of the kids. After all, he's just another delinquent trying to get by. He hasn't heard any rumblings about her, and almost wonders if she's moved away completely. Logan, on the other hand, is harder to ignore. He sits still as the world rushes past him, still in the same suite that daddy's money bought for him, still "going to college" by way of drinking and skipping class. Every week, like clockwork, another story of Logan Echolls being a drunken asshole to some unsuspecting townsperson will circulate, until they all start to blend together and look like one huge swirling mass of self-pity.

He runs into Veronica at the grocery store, late on a Tuesday night. The entire situation is wholly surreal - the bags under her eyes, the ring on her finger, the bright fluorescent sheen that makes it impossible not to see one another in stark detail. Weevil fidgets slightly, wonders what she sees when she looks at him. Something pleasant, if the way her eyes light up at the sight of him is anything to go by.

"What are you doing here?" she cries, lunging forward to capture him in a hug. Weevil squeezes her probably tighter than necessary. When she releases him, he holds up the cough syrup in his left hand.

"My sister's kid," he explains. "Been coughing so hard her little head is rattling."

"Ophelia?" she asks. Weevil nods; he had almost forgotten that she knew that part of him. He clenches his fist, hoping that she doesn't pry further; the last thing he wants to do is talk about his dead grandmother in the middle of the pharmacy aisle. Then again, this is Veronica Mars - he's never known her not to pry. Thankfully, they're interrupted by the trill of Veronica's phone. Weevil scans the rows of multicolored vitamins as she carries on her conversation. It's short and to-the-point, and she snaps the phone closed decisively when she's through, reaching for a bottle of Aspirin. "I have to get going," she says. Regretfully, he likes to imagine.

"I'll see 'ya when I see 'ya," he says with a shrug, ready to chalk the whole thing up to a bizarre coincidence, but Veronica catches his arm as he turns. Her small palm is warm against his bicep.

"Why don't you come over to Logan's tomorrow?" she asks. "Have dinner, we can catch up."

He should say no. He needs to say no, for a thousand different reasons. Not least of which is the fact that this small touch shocks him back to all of the reasons he fell for her so many years ago. He should say no, but what he finds himself saying is:

"What time?"

Veronica smiles up at him and he's glad he made the right decision.

Logan had clearly been drinking since before Weevil arrived, and greets him with an awkward hug. Weevil regards him oddly. Veronica strolls out of the bedroom, barefoot in a sparkling knee-length dress, and latches onto Logan after giving Weevil a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. He watches them, unable to believe that they're still together. And honestly, he isn't sure which he's more disgusted with. He'll admit (under extreme duress) that he and Logan have a lot in common, but it doesn't mean that he likes the guy any better than he likes himself most days. Veronica deserves better and she knows it.

"Let me get you a drink," she says, and it's all downhill from there.

Dinner is a study in awkwardness, from stilted conversations to pregnant silences to predictably tasteless jokes on Logan's part at the expense of his (family, race, sexual orientation, *insert defining characteristic here*), and the way that no one wants to look each other in the eye, and Weevil wonders why the hell he ever agreed to come. So he tips back another beer (he's lost count of what number he's on by this point) and digs into the slightly-overcooked rice. He's amused by the thought of Veronica as a housewife, slaving over a hot stove to make dinner for her man, and he doesn't stop the chuckle that rises to his throat. He helps them carry the plates to the kitchen when they're finished eating, then stands restlessly as they collapse onto one of the couches, side-by-side.

"I'm gonna head out," he says.

"No, don't," Veronica rushes to say. "Stay. Please?" There's more meaning than he cares to discern between her words and her tone, and she glances to Logan seeking agreement. He looks Weevil up and down, glaring, but nods. Weevil frowns, and remains rooted to the spot.

Veronica stands. She wobbles slightly, but he catches her by the waist. She uses the opportunity to press closer, sliding her thin arms around his neck. "Stay," she practically begs. "Please stay." She licks a line up his neck to the base of his jaw, then waits hovering below his lips. She's waiting for him to make the next move, but he doesn't, so she makes it anyway. When she kisses him, he tastes the sting of brandy, but his tongue worms its way into her mouth and he kisses her until they can only taste each other. "Stay," she says again in the midst of a gasp of air. "Stay for me." It's the for me that does him in, and he allows her to maneuver him over to the couch. They collapse with her straddling his lap, and his large hands slide underneath her dress to cup the globes of her ass and squeeze.

There's a hand gripping his bicep. Weevil pulls away from Veronica's mouth, blinking in confusion; one of her hands is already on his neck, the other sliding across his stomach. The third, he discovers, belongs to Logan, whose presence he had nearly forgotten about. Logan is regarding them darkly, mouth slightly slack jawed, and Weevil goes for broke. He leans over, taking Veronica with him, and kisses the other man. Man? Boy would be far more fitting.

Logan groans into his mouth, and yanks Weevil to him. Veronica nearly goes toppling to the floor, and their arms reach out in unison to catch her. She giggles, from the alcohol and the feeling of both of them pressed against her.

"We should probably move this into the bedroom," she suggests.

It's more than a location change - it's the complicit agreement to involvement in this night of debauchery. Logan leaps up giddily, wiggling his eyebrows at both of them and backing into the bedroom, and Veronica stands to follow him. She regards Weevil with her head tilted to the side; he wonders if she even knows she's doing it. "Coming?" she asks with a smile. He hesitates. But ultimately, he lets her take his hand and lead him into the darkened room.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I'm coming."

Logan has already shed his clothes, and is sprawled, nude, across the bed, slowly stroking himself. He grins when the others enter. Veronica deposits herself on the bed and begins crawling towards him, her hands taking over the duty of teasing him. They rock against one another, kissing and licking, and Weevil starts to feel like the third wheel again. But it's Logan, this time, who gestures for him.

"Can't have much fun standing on the other side of the room," he says simply.

Weevil kicks off his shoes and outer shirt and lies down next to Logan. Veronica twists so that she's lying on top of both of them; mouth on Weevil's, but legs still straddling Logan. She slips a hand up underneath his wifebeater and caresses his nipples. Weevil's mouth falls open more fully to her, and his hands clutch the back of her head. The memory of Lilly Kane will always surround the three of them, but he is happy to note that her ghost is not in the bed with them this time; the only blonde he sees before him is Veronica.

She lifts his shirt up over his head, and shifts off of Logan so that she's equally in-between them. Logan undoes the zipper of her dress and Weevil tugs it down her shoulders, leaving her in two tiny scraps of wine-colored lace. It's Logan's hand that reaches for Weevil's buckle then, fingers purposefully brushing the growing bulge straining against his jeans. He climbs over Veronica to be the one to ease the denim down Weevil's legs, followed closely by his cotton boxer shorts. The look in Weevil's eyes as he reveals his nudity is a challenge, and Logan accepts it. He grabs Weevil's cock and jerks it, unlubricated, with no gentleness in sight. Weevil's breath hisses out between his teeth but the sensation is not entirely unpleasant.

Veronica crawls between them, licking one hard cock and then the other. Logan eases himself downward, hovering above Weevil with his arms braced against the bed as Veronica sucks them both into her mouth at the same time. She can only fit a small amount, but it makes all three of them groan nonetheless. Logan's arm gives out, and he ends up completely on top of Weevil. Their mouths meet without pretense, without any reason save for blind lust. They grope at one another, reveling in the full skin-on-skin contact.

Veronica lets them be for a moment, but before things can get too heated she begins to pepper kisses along Logan's neck. He pulls back, and both of them focus their attention on her. She blinks, startled by the intensity in their eyes. With a wolfish grin at each other, they practically lunge at her, knocking her backwards. Logan reaches for her bra, Weevil her panties, and they strip her in a matter of moments, each attacking one hemisphere of her body with their mouths. Weevil bites the inside of her thigh, a bit harder than he meant to in all the excitement, but she shudders in anticipation and he plunges his tongue right into her, licking her clit in an alternation of long, broad strokes and quick, hard thrusts. She moans beneath him, writhes, and a sense of empowerment rises up within him. This is what sex with Veronica Mars should be like.

He glances upwards, to see her face. He finds Logan half-heartedly playing with one nipple, but most of his attention is focused on Weevil. Veronica's face is screwed up in a tight wad, and she vocalizes her pleasure. Weevil suddenly wants to be closer to both of them, and he slides up her body to lay on top of her, capturing her mouth. She's less than gentle with him and grabs wildly for his shoulders. Her small feet link at the ankles, right at the small of Weevil's back. Logan, however, twists them apart, giving himself room to lie across Weevil's back. They're all rutting against one another, and Weevil knows that they won't last much longer. He takes another moment to revel in the feeling of being practically smothered in flesh, hands coming from all angles, before he gasps out:


"Right...right," Veronica gasps. They separate, allowing her to crawl across the bed towards Logan's nightstand. Weevil and Logan lay side-by-side, and Logan reaches out to pinch Veronica's ass, sticking right up into the air as she rummages through the drawer. She straightens, waving a box at them in triumph. Logan reaches for it, but she pulls it out of his grasp. "Stay there," she commands.

There was never really a question as to whether they'd obey.

Veronica takes two packages out of the box and sets it back on top of the nightstand. Unwrapping the first, she smoothes it down Logan's cock achingly slow, and Weevil's own twinges in sympathy. The second condom she rolls just a centimeter or so down Weevil's cock. Then her mouth is coming towards him, and she uses tongue and teeth to slip it into place. Weevil clenches his fists and fights to stay in place so that he doesn't buck up against her face and hurt her, but it's a difficult task with the warm wetness of her tongue denied him by the thin latex, and the way her teeth scrape gently against the length of him. With both of the boys appropriately suited, Veronica lies back. Her legs are spread wide, one draped over either of their thighs. Under their watchful eye she inserts two fingers into her pussy, extracting them slowly so that they're covered in her slick juices. Down they travel, until they reach the rosy pucker of her anus. Veronica spreads it with lubricant, then clenches her teeth and inserts the first finger. It's slow-going, and she's noisier than ever, but she manages to bury it as far as possible. Out it comes, and a second slides in beside it. This time she rests for a moment when she passes the second knuckle, then scissors her fingers apart to prepare the entryway for something much wider than a few delicate female fingers. Weevil and Logan can only watch in awe, frozen by the sight of her. She withdraws her fingers and sits up, making a show of wiggling her ass. Her fingers are still wet with cum, and Weevil grabs her wrist, sucking one finger into his mouth to clean it with her tongue. She watches him, dazed, and when he's through he offers the other finger to Logan, who heartily accepts.

Fingers now clean, Veronica reverses her position on the bed so that her back is now facing the boys. She scoots over to straddle Logan once again, this time reaching around to position his cock properly to pierce her anus. She lowers herself oh-so-slowly, inch by inch. Logan grasps her waist, helping her along, his entire body a live wire of raw nerves. Finally, she is able to sit fully on top of him, and breathes a sigh of relief as she allows her body adequate time to adjust to the sensation. Still moving at the pace of molasses, she eases herself so that she's lying on her back on top of Logan, both of them panting heavily. She fixes Weevil with a look.

"Your turn," she says.

Weevil wastes no time; he steadies himself into position and pushes inside of her. Veronica's mouth is gaping open, her eyes wide, and Weevil kisses her neck gently, setting the sweaty pile of bodies into motion. The problem is they're all so fiercely independent that each of them wants to be the one in control, so setting a steady rhythm takes time. But once they find it they know, and all three gasp as they hit thererightthereohhhhhhhhyes. Weevil feels the ghost of Logan's cock through Veronica's skin, and the feeling is intoxicating and overwhelming at the same time. He braces his hands on Logan's shoulders and Logan grabs his ass, completing this rough, imperfect circle.

He still hates Logan. He hates him for what he is, but even more so for what he's done to Veronica. That he doubts will ever change. But this is just Weevil drowning himself in booze and human comfort, once again, and after awhile it all blends together. Logan, Veronica...at the end of the day a warm hand is still a warm hand. And here, squished between the girl he loves and the boy he hates, there's a balance.

Weevil clings to that, in hopes that it will bring him some sort of truth, and explodes.
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