Title: Kissing Veronica Mars
Fandom/Pairing: Veronica Mars, Logan/Veronica
Summary: Pretty much just Logan's PoV of the events of 1x18. Or, you know, the kiss.
Standard Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine. All I own of Veronica Mars are three box sets and an obsession that is six years too late. Everything else belongs to Rob Thomas.
A/N: I feel like I should warn that it is not great, even though no one will read it. Dead fandom, remember? That said, years of not writing fanfic + not so much a great writer in the first place = not such a great piece of fiction. But it moved into my head and would not get out until I wrote it down, the bitch, so I did.
It's late, and you're exhausted, but you find yourself unable to sleep. Instead, you lay on your bed staring at the ceiling and mulling over the events of the past couple of days - all of them. The fire drills that weren't, the FBI guy who turned out to be kind of a jerk, the arrest and release of that Norris kid - both at the hands of one Veronica Mars. Your best friend more than likely fleeing the country, which is probably both Veronica's fault and yours, a little bit. Kissing Veronica Mars outside a random room at the Camelot.
The last is what your mind keeps coming back to, despite your best efforts to distract yourself with yet another arrest at Neptune High and your very real worry for Duncan. You just can't seem to forget it. The sudden shock of soft lips at the corner of your mouth; the startled look in her eyes when she'd pulled back, as if she hadn't quite meant to kiss you and had no clue why she did. The incredulous shake of her head as she'd started to walk away.
You'd known, somehow, as soon as she turned, that if you let her leave then nothing between you would change. That the odd almost-but-not-quite friendship that had sprung between you in the last weeks as she'd helped you uncover and come to terms with the truth about your mother would disintegrate, putting you both back at square one, sniping at each other and doing your best to inflict as much damage as possible with cruel words. You knew that you didn't want to go back to that. You liked being able to get along with her again, and it was that more than anything that had you spinning her around and kissing her back.
Even now, you're positive that you'd only meant to give her a peck; a brief press of lips to reassure her that you didn't think anything of the small kiss she had given you. Just something to keep things amiable. You weren't prepared for how good she would feel in your arms, or how easily her lips would open for you. Once you did, the last thing on your mind had been keeping it short and sweet. Your arms had drawn her to you, your eyes had slid closed and your only thought was how it felt too good to stop.
When she'd pulled back you'd only been able to stare down at her, mouth open, stunned, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and kiss her again, and from the way she was looking back you got the idea that she might actually let you. Your hands had twitched at her waist with the thought, and that had broken the moment. You'd stepped away, and she'd taken off at top speed, leaving you to stare after, still unable to comprehend how exactly the two of you had gotten to that point. Still wanting to feel her pressed against you.
The next couple of days had been weird, to say the least. There ware what should have been perfect distractions in the form of a frame up and a missing best friend, but always in the back of your mind were soft lips and wide blue eyes; the feel of soft blond hair through your fingers and a small, slightly trembling body straining against yours. You don't understand why it's affecting you so much. All you know is that you want to do it again, but you haven't the first idea how to go about it. This is what is keeping you up when you should be sleeping; this constant plotting to get your mouth back on hers at the earliest opportunity.
Your phone rings, startling you out of your thoughts, and you answer half-hoping that it will be her, knowing it wont be. Knowing that she is the last person who would be calling you, especially at this late hour. Celeste Kane is also unexpected, but once she asks you - demands really, right away, no small talk. Light pleasantries have never been the Kane matriarch's style - if you have any idea where Duncan might be, you understand. You're relieved to be able to tell her quite honestly that you haven't the faintest clue, grateful that she doesn't ask if you know why he might have run in the first place. You know that you would lie if she asked, but you're happy not to have to bother. As she thanks you and you hang up, it occurs to you that while you may not know where Duncan has fled, you do know someone who is in the business of finding such information out. Someone who specializes in locating what is lost. As a conversation starter, you could do worse.
Mind made up, you close your eyes, finally ready to get some sleep. You'll talk to her tomorrow. If you're lucky, and you play your cards just right, you might just find yourself in a position to be kissing Veronica Mars once again.