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“Any Love Is Good Love, Baby”

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Logan woke up hard.

He was a healthy, seventeen year old boy, so the actual erection didn’t bother him at all. All it meant, really, was that he was still alive. What irked him, what really got under his skin and made him want to sharpen his nails so he could just scratch it out, was the face behind his eyes and the name on his lips when he did so.

Veronica fucking Mars.

Just thinking the name, picturing her more clearly, made him groan into his pillow and wrap his fist around his aching dick. Hard and throbbing and eager for more. Again. He gave himself a sharp tug and threw the blankets off, rolling out of bed.

It was the fourth morning in a row and he was getting sick of it.

He didn’t sleep in the pool house anymore.

She was in his dreams, sneaking into his stray, unconscious daytime thoughts, unbidden memories popping up at the most inconvenient times, a shadow in the school hall that somehow disappeared just as he approached, a blushing face if he ever caught her eye in the distance. She would not leave him alone.

It wasn’t like he had become some lovesick puppy following her around from class to class, but he had suddenly developed a morbid fascination with tracking her down and studying her. Trying to understand what made her tick, what made her move, what made her sneak into enemy territory, tie them up, and screw them so hard their brains shot out their dick.

Okay, so she hadn’t exactly tied him up – oh god, he wished – but the blindfold counted.

And whenever he managed to corner her, catch her unawares as she skulked from class to class, carpark to locker to office to wherever the hell she disappeared to and couldn’t be found, she always blushed. A subtle flooding in her cheeks and a panic in her eyes, until he managed to open his mouth and let the usual venom pour through.

He wondered about the state of her health when sarcasm and insults made relief ease into her muscles.

Probably wasn’t any more or less healthy than the fact that their shared animosity, the anger and the pettiness, made his fantasies more intense, made him want her more. It wasn’t about puppies and flowers and brightly colored wrapped packages. It wasn’t about what was good for her or him.

He didn’t want to love her, he wanted to fuck her out of his system and forget her.

Something easier said than done when his dreams were peppered with wide-eyed, petite blondes who snapped comments at him like a chained whip. – And, oh god, he wished that, too –

The water pressure in his shower was set to hard, just like him, merciless and unforgiving. He let his hand hover over the cold tap for mere seconds before giving up, knowing it would be useless, then he leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, hot water battering the back of his neck and spine, bouncing and flowing in rivulets down to the curves of his ass and around his thighs, snaking down his legs.

He tried to think about random girls, Shelley, Madison, Meg, fuck, even Caitlin, the usual line up, the brief fantasies, but his jaw tightened and his cock throbbed in frustration. He reached further, dragging up forgotten scenes in movies, Jessica Alba in a cowgirl stripper costume gyrating against a pole, that brunette Buffy chick lifting her top in the uncut Eurotrip, Angelina in any rotation, but mostly with guns, Jennifer Garner, also with guns, - ooh, Jessica Alba with guns – but the tired old Hollywood standards didn’t always do anything for him. Too many visits to too many sets had destroyed large and small screen magic early on.

And then, to stave off the inevitable, he even sank as low as to plunder his memory. The long locked images of Lilly Kane.

Fuck, she’d even gotten to those too, because Lilly’s face swam and morphed, the memory scent of her sex clouded with images of Veronica floating above him.


Then it was over. Logan’s fingers tightened painfully and he gave into the real reason he was there. Tiny blonde bitches with smart mouths and hot little bodies that moved under his fingers. He hated himself for letting her get to him, for getting off to the memory of her, the very thought of that girl on her knees in front of him, cheeks hollowed out and eyes glaring at him.

Oh, Jesus.

It was vicious and brutal, a tug of war argument with himself as he yanked, hard and rough, not caring to be gentle. If this is what his dick wanted, then it had to take it however the fuck he wanted to give it. He flicked his thumb over the end, the little slit, and spread the foreskin.

“Fuck you.” He groaned it as he punished himself, turning it to honest pain. “You stupid, fucking…”

His release splattered against the wall and he closed his eyes.


The question of why was never really far from his mind. Not when he woke up, not when he ate breakfast, not when he drove to school and not when he watched her bump shoulders with that new kid she cut down from the pole, the basketballer.

He had, for all intents and purposes, made her life a living hell. He’d all but ensured that she would never even look at him in a kind way again, let alone crawl up his naked body in the middle of the night. She should not, for any conceivable reason, want to jump him or any of his bones. She should be plotting to break them instead.

Which left the only plausible explanation. She had some devious scheme, some nefarious plot to ruin him. Maybe she’d planted bugs while she was there. Maybe she had rigged the room to explode... and was waiting a week before detonating.

Jesus Logan, he shook his head to clear it, you’re going crazy. Now stop it.

He watched her walk down the hall; apparently oblivious to him and the maelstrom of thoughts she’d created.

Apparently, Hollywood was wrong, the devil did not wear Prada. The devil wore butch black boots and tiny little skirts that showed off slender, pale thighs he could just about feel climbing his waist, and dark hoodies his fingers itched to unzip and peel from her shoulders.

Maybe her ultimate plan wasn’t anything as complicated as hidden wires or dastardly motives. Maybe she was working with the simple goal of driving him insane.

And she was succeeding.


“Hello?” A hand clicked rudely in front of his face, fingers snapping him to attention. “Yo, Echolls, you awake?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head again and focused on the person in front of him. “Sure. What’ve we got now? Biology?”

“Could you be any more obvious?” Dick glared at him through a sea of messy bangs. “Why don’t you just make out with her in the hallway? What is it with that skank, anyway?”

Logan cuffed the back of his head, maybe a little harder than strictly necessary.

“Why don’t you ask your dad?” And Dick began to fight back good naturedly as they hustled through the hall. “I hear he’d know.”


His notebook sat blank in front of him as he ignored the teacher in the front of the room.

Two rows in front of him, one to the left, sat Veronica. And he was in the perfect position to watch her without her noticing. Her skirt rode up her thigh as she sat in the chair and Logan’s eyes kept drifting down to the pale flesh that pouched against the lip of the seat.

He wanted to touch her again.

And she wasn’t helping.

For her part, Veronica was apparently doing everything in her power to continue driving him crazy. Her fingers played idly with her pen, twirling it around long, slender digits, sliding fingernails up the base of it, tapping it in a staccato rhythm against the edge of the desk. When someone sent a glare her way, Logan watched Veronica thrust the pen under the desk, pressing the half chewed lid into the soft skin at the side of her thigh.

He bit back the groan as he watched the indentation take form, the pink skin bleached white with the pressure, light scratches left in the wake that flooded red with blood when she dragged the pen away. All of a sudden, her hand moved swiftly to sit primly on the top of the desk, slapping the pen down hard, and Logan lifted his eyes to see hers glaring at him.

He’d been caught and he grinned.

She nearly snapped her neck; she turned back to the front of the class that quickly.

Five minutes later, she hadn’t changed position once, he was watching, but then she rustled her shoulders. He smiled as she sat up straighter, fidgeted with the pen some more, and then reached down to tug the hem of her skirt down her legs.

It moved, maybe, half an inch.

Her shoulders remained tense, her spine ramrod straight as she stared at the front of the class and he knew he’d gotten to her. He knew she could still feel him watching. Carefully, slowly, delicately, he tore the corner of his notebook, accusingly blank and free of any notes, and began to scrunch it up into a little ball between his fingers.

Perfect precision aiming had it curving in a high arc towards her desk. It sailed over her shoulder, slipping beautifully between the strands of her hair, and landed right in the middle of her book. The sides of her jaw tightened and her hands clenched into little fists, but she didn’t turn around.

Five minutes after that, she raised her hand and asked to be excused.

Logan watched her gather her books and scurry out of the classroom without looking back. It felt like success.


It was wrong.

He knew it was wrong. There was nothing right about it. Somewhere along the line it had gone from puzzling out the whys and wherefores, to a more subtle fantasy, and then bam, headfirst into all out obsession as he could not get Veronica Mars and all her milky thighed short skirtedness out of his head.

Really, it was all her fault.

When he’d first woken up that night, half hazy and in the middle of a dream, his brain and his dick had automatically registered the blindfold and had let loose with simultaneous whoops of delight, even as a small segment of logic had tried to worm itself into his thinking.

Somebody had snuck into his pool house, taken away his sight, and then crawled on top of him. Before he’d even been able to demand an explanation she’d begun to draw the expected response out of him. He was a Hollywood star’s son, two of them really, and as hollow as it sounded, he never really questioned the girls that threw themselves at him at various times in his life.

He hadn’t questioned it since he was thirteen.

As his hands had flattened themselves over her, feeling the warmth rising to her skin from his touch, his nostrils had picked up the scent of Lilly’s perfume and his brain had beaten him senseless with a confusing blend of images.

Fleeting, contradictory images.

She’d been a mixture of confused, shy, nervous, but with a determined purpose that wouldn’t be swayed. In Logan’s experience, girls who treated sex like a mission, like a job that had to be gotten through, weren’t really the inexperienced type. And the blushing virgins who needed to be led rarely ever tied anyone up in the middle of the night and jumped them without notice.

He’d wondered, of course he’d wondered, picturing all sorts of girls in his head. Blonde hair, red hair, brunette, tanned skin, pale and freckled, small upturned pug nose, pointed sleek roman nose, cupids bow mouth or full pouty lips.

Even as all these had flown through his head, picturing any and all girls he’d ever come into contact with and cataloguing them against the feel of the one is his hands and on his hips, his brain had whispered the name… Veronica… small, slender, tiny, determined… bing, bing, bing!… he couldn’t quite let himself believe it.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know she was hot. That was a given. Every guy in school, no matter how much they publicly decried her, had checked her out at least once. She was definite spank bank material and Logan had indulged in more than one or two fantasies along that direction. Early, innocent Veronica and the later, smarter, sassier, bitchier version, either/or and in one confusing dream even both.

But reality was reality and Logan knew, without a doubt, that the last place he was ever going to see Veronica Mars was in his bedroom riding him like a rodeo bull. He’d made sure of that in the last year. So, even as his brain kept hitting him over the head, it’s a match! See? See? Bingo! he hadn’t truly believed that the female person letting him flip her over and making her writhe underneath him was her.

Veronica hated him, it was well known that he hated her, so logically it stood to reason that the last person’s clit he would have been cleaning with his tongue would be hers.

Yet, that very second she spoke, it had all come crashing down on him. Months of pent up frustrations, anger, betrayal, the way she just seemed to walk all over everything and anything to get what she wanted, even and especially him, and just when he’d managed to convince his overactive imagination that it wasn’t her… it was.

He’d been so angry and so turned on he couldn’t stop even as he fought her.

And it had been good.

So good that he found himself waiting on edge, nearly biting his nails, for some Freshman kid to deliver the note to her class. It had cost him a fifty, but he hoped it would be money well spent. The second he saw her walking down the hall towards the office, a look of blank confusion on her face and his note held precariously between two of her fingers, he knew it had been.

She didn’t even look sideways to see him waiting for her.

Veronica had always been petite, small and easily manhandled into a tickling session with Lilly as she struggled, so it was no surprise that his arm came around her with ease as he pulled her into the janitor’s closet, her body stiffening in protest.

His other hand came down over her mouth quickly as she bucked against him, her feet kicking back at his shins.

“Shh.” He whispered it against the back of her neck. “Veronica, it’s me.”

He could tell the instant she recognized him. Her entire body softened, relaxed from real fear into something close to resignation as his arms loosened their hold and she slid down to the floor. Yup, his brain amended, definite resignation as her foot slammed down hard on his.

“What the hell are you doing, Logan?” She hissed the words as she spun around, trying to adjust to the dark space they found themselves in. “You can’t just pull random girls into closets. Clemmons is looking for…”

He grinned at the fire in her eyes.

“No one.” The way her jaw slackened and her eyes narrowed told him she’d caught on quickly. “And you’re not just any girl. I wanted to talk to you and you seem to be in a severe avoiding me stage, so…”

The words trailed off as he shrugged.

Her jaw set as she began to take in the surroundings. Small, dark closet with Logan standing between her and the door. She had no way out and no other choice but to talk.

He smiled.

“Logan, come on.” She rolled her eyes at him, just the fainted hint of desperation clinging to her gesture. “What do you want?”

There was, perhaps, two and a half feet between them and he stepped forward, closing the distance a little further. She narrowed her eyes and her hands came to grasp at her elbows, hugging her arms in close to her body.

“What the hell do you think I want, Veronica?” He couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice. “I want to talk about what happened the other night.”

The shake of her head was instantaneous; he knew it.

“Nothing.” But not even she could get through the sentence without blushing. “Nothing happened…”

He couldn’t say he was surprised at her denial, just that she thought she could get away with it. She could not, honestly, believe that he would walk away and never mention it again, that it would pass without acknowledgement after everything they’d been through.

“Oh, really?” So he rewarded her absolute audacity by stepping forward again and reaching for the striped pink scarf wound around her neck. “Because I seem to remember something.”

The wool was slightly scratchy in his fingers, but he wound it around his wrist anyway, pulling it softly from around her shoulders. His eyes followed the slither of material until it revealed slender, pale flesh and the mottled, greenish blue healing bruise of his mouth.

“You’ve been wearing turtlenecks, jackets and scarves all week.” He supplied cheerily as she blushed under his scrutiny. “It’s a pity.”

He reached out again and ran the pad of this thumb over the slightly rough patch. The sudden tremble of her throat and the intake of her breath didn’t escape him, either. It was a light touch, barely even there, but he could feel heat between them.

“You…” Her own eyes dipped from his face to his neck, proudly displayed above the neck of a t-shirt. “You haven’t.”

“Yeah, that’s the beauty of it.” He couldn’t take his hand away, relishing in the throb of her pulse just under his thumb. “I bruise easily, but I heal quickly.”

He didn’t want to say that the last thing he wanted was to cover the whole thing up.

What he wanted to ask was if she remembered the way she’d flushed, moaning beautifully as she’d ridden him, pushed him down and forced him to submit to her own mouth, her own payback for his little gift on her neck.

“Why?” He found himself asking instead. “Why’d you do it?”

She flushed, cheeks turning crimson as she ducked her head.

“We went through this already. It’s not important.” She must have felt him huff, because her eyes darted up and he saw them fill with a steely resolve. “Just leave it alone, Logan, it doesn’t matter, okay? It’s inconsequential.”

The space between them became almost negligible when he stepped forward again. He could feel her breath on his face.

“I think I need to check my dictionary, because last time I looked ‘inconsequential’ doesn’t lead to nights like that.” He leaned forward, too close, and his fingers held her neck still as his mouth came close to her ear. “Do you remember it, Veronica? I do. You came eight fucking times and it was beautiful.”

The hot, silky puffs of air on his face hitched and she tried to hide the small moan in the back of her throat, but he’d caught it. It made him grin.

“Four.” She breathed quickly, shallowly. “It was four times.”

They were close, pressed against each other in the closet, and he had his hand wrapped around her neck, holding her there as he breathed on her ear. She felt frozen under his touch, as if she couldn’t move, but wanted to flee as fast as she possibly could anyway.

All he wanted was to keep her there.

“I knew it.” He couldn’t stop the smug, gleeful tone in his voice and he watched the way his breath rustled the small hears on the side of her neck. The way it made her shiver. “Close your eyes, Veronica.”

“Huh?” She seemed to snap out of it, turning her head to face him. “What? Logan…”

“I did it for you.” He reminded her quietly with another stroke of his finger up the cartilage poking out of her throat. “More than, so you can at least do that much.”

She bit her lip, little white enamel buds that pressed into the cherry red cushion of her lower lip, and he all but cried to watch it. She looked nervous, scared to death, but she did it. Her lids closed and Logan closed his teeth gently on the edge of her lobe.

He gave it a small tug, playful, and the edges of her fingers twitched.

“I want to do it again.” He whispered. “I want to do you again.”

“Logan…” It came out like a moan and he could feel her making him hard again. “Wait…”

But he really didn’t want to and she still had her eyes closed.

“I’ve been waiting.” He growled it lightly as he nuzzled the sensitive area of her neck, just below her ear, teasing her with it. “Ever since you left me there. It’s been days and I can’t get you out of my head.”

To prove his point, he took another step, effectively pushing her backwards, pushing right up into her space. She had to feel him, all of him; she had to know exactly what he meant when it pressed into her hip. A deep thud sounded and he felt the reverberation of her back hitting the shelves behind her.

“God, do you even remember?” He mouthed the tendon under his lips, sucked it ruthlessly until she squirmed against him. It wasn’t nice or tender. “That wasn’t just sex, Veronica, that was good sex. Really good.”

He was past the point of caring if she took that information and used it against him. She felt good and it was all her fault. His memory hadn’t been playing tricks at all, she actually did sound and feel like that, all breathy and caught and soft and needy.

His knees dipped down and forward until his hips hooked under the bones of hers and she ended scrambling up, moving to escape the pressure in the only way she could, until her backside crawled onto the bench and her legs jutted out.

“I remember. I…” Her breath caught in her throat when his teeth bit down gently on the front of her neck. “Oh god, I remember…”

Logan swallowed a moan and let his hands fall down, dropped them from her neck so that he could grab her knees and spread them, so he could wrestle his hips between her legs and thrust. It was automatic and he could barely control himself as he felt her respond, pushing her own hips forward against his in desperate little movements.

“Jesus Christ, Mars.” It came out as a harsh whisper as he sucked a line down the front of her collarbone. “What are you doing to me?”

She jerked against him.

“Me?” But it was only a halfhearted, automatic protest as her hands pulled him closer by his upper arms. “I’m not doing… You’re the one… with the staring… and the… paper… and, god, Logan…”

There was something decidedly wrong about the two of them hiding in a closet and groping like desperate teenagers. Truthfully, it was easier when they hated each other and he could expect a seething rejoinder for every comment he dished out.

“Please.” He was almost begging as his hands curved around the side of her knees and began to slide up the outsides of her thighs. “Please complete the fantasy? Tell me you’ve got white cotton underwear under that skirt?”

The last thing he expected was for her, sharp tongued, quick witted, sarcastic Veronica Mars, to collapse forward in a giggling heap. Her fingers curled into the sides of his shirt and she smothered her face into the hollow of his neck.

“Green.” She eventually managed, gasping for breath through laughter. “With little cartoon rabbits.”

His brain couldn’t even process the fact as all he felt was hot panting air against the front of his throat and her shaking form against his.

“Fuck.” He groaned and leaned his head back. “Bunnies are hot.”

It was, apparently, the right thing to say as she rewarded him with a hot mouth closing over his neck, peppering this throat with sucking little kisses that began to heat up the more his hands rose on her legs.

“What do you want, Logan?”

Her words were directed at the skin of his ear and he shivered with it. He wondered if she realized exactly what she was doing, that she was showing a softer side of herself that she hadn’t even let through that night. He could still remember the fire in her eyes, the hatred, and the vigor with which they’d both finished things.

“I want this.”

He reached up, grabbing the back of her head with one hand and slamming his mouth down hard on hers, giving her no time to protest as he thrust his tongue past her lips. She didn’t hesitate in giving back, going quickly from defense to attack, and it turned into a struggle, a fight for control.

“I want you.” He growled. “I want to watch this time.”

She moaned low in her throat.

“I want to see you, I want to see your body, I want to see everything.” His free hand slid up the back of her shirt, fingering the knobs of bone along her spine until he came into contact with the firm strap of a bra. “I want to be in control this time.”

The clasp unsnapped easily.

“I want to blindfold you.” He felt the tension rise in her and knew he was going too far, but his brain forgot to tell his mouth. “God, I want to tie you down, Veronica.”

The struggle between them suddenly turned serious and her body closed in on itself, hunching down protectively and inching him out and away, even as her hands began to push at him and her eyes snapped open. He fell back, surprised, as she practically jumped away from him.

“I’m sorry.” She gasped. “I… I can’t…”

Logan blinked.

“What? What did I…?”

“Look.” Veronica closed her eyes and her face pointed down to the floor for a long second before she looked up and met his eyes. “Whatever you think of me, Logan, whatever you say to your friends, that’s not me. I’m not like that. I can’t do this.”

And then it clicked. All the time he’d spent wondering why she would look past their current history, past all his transgressions against her, and the second he’d relaxed she threw them in his face.

“I just… I can’t.”

He watched the door close after her and stood, alone, in the janitor’s closet with a hard on strong enough to cut titanium steel and the knowledge that Veronica was going to drive him crazy.