Title: "To Perv and Protect"
Author: monimala
Fandom: VM
Rating/Classification: adult language, sexual situations, humor, V/Lamb, AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, no infringement intended, blah bliddy blah.
Summary: His Holiness Dwayne requires a sacrifice. Ninth in the Between The Rock and a Not-So Hard Placeseries.
At random moments, like when he was stuck catching up on paperwork or avoiding Goodman's phone calls or trapped behind a truck full of migrant workers who were miming throwing oranges at his windshield, he let himself revel in the fact that he was dating Veronica Mars. His best friend and worst enemy. The teenage daughter of the guy who lost to him in the last county election. A girl who, by all rights, shouldn't have forgiven him for being a colossal shithead, much less taken over a drawer in his bureau and at least two chambers in what passed for his heart.
It was one of those fucked up things they made Lifetime movies out of. Not that he *watched* Lifetime movies. He did have *some* standards. But, yeah, he could just see it. "Secrets in a Small Town." Or "To Serve and Protect." And they would get Brian Dennehy to play him even though the man was ninety by now. No, no, Dennehy would be Keith…the outraged dad who shot his former friend for defiling his precious baby girl.
Actually, Lamb wasn't entirely sure *who* was doing the defiling. And, holy Christ, but he really hoped he didn't end up getting shot for it. It was beginning to be a preoccupation with him, though. Now that he really liked his life, he really didn't want to die. Unless it was from a sex-induced heart attack.
All in all, there were few differences in their relationship. She still broke in every time he forgot to leave the door unlocked. She still helped herself to his oven and his sweatshirts whenever she felt like it. He still ate egg rolls in a bite and a half because he'd landed the girl, so why change his table manners now? They still got together every other Sunday to veg out and watch movies and trade insults and traded worse insults whenever she showed up at the station.
The changes were definitely for the better, though. He couldn't complain -- not that she'd listen if he did -- because he got to see her on Saturdays and Wednesdays and alternate Thursdays, too. And he was no longer banished to the chair. He got couch! He got couch with Veronica snuggling against his chest; her legs twisted up with his, and her various curvy parts readily accessible. And, Jesus Christ, but he loved to access them. He loved the back of her neck and the slope of her shoulder and he loved sliding his hand down her pants and stroking her perky little ass. And he could do it any time he wanted.
Proof that there was a God.
"I never pegged you for a religious man." Her laugh was lazy as she felt around beneath them for the remote control.
"You think all the swearing's for show?" He grinned. He'd been doing that a lot lately. Grinning like an idiot. Maybe it was some side effect of all the sexual gymnastics with an athletic 18-year-old. Talk about a rush. "The only thing to do on Sundays in west Texas was go to church."
Veronica gave up her search for the remote. Forcing her to watch Motorcross unless she actually wanted to get up and change the channel. Which she didn't. Because she stayed curled against him, warm and soft and entirely too comfortable. "And now you worship at the Temple of the Holy Rock. I have to tell you...I don't think it's a state-recognized religion."
"Well, it should be," he scoffed.
"Really? Make your case, Donald. What's so great about Rockism?"
"Hmm. Communion wafers are boring, so, in order to reach a state of One with The Dwayne, you eat white cheddar popcorn."
"Sounds delicious so far." She lightly licked his jaw.
"No doors shall be locked by those who follow The Rock because he could kick them in anyway."
"Oh, is THAT why you started doing that?"
"Absolutely."
She poked him in the thigh. "Come on, Oh, Pious Lamb...tell me more. I think we're on to something here."
On *to* something or *on* something? He laughed. "We don't use a Bible or anything. Live by the NetFlix queue and die by the NetFlix queue." He poked her...and not with his finger. Her little gasp of acknowledgment was the sexiest thing he'd ever heard. So he did it again, grasping her hip and moving her the crucial few inches so she was straddling him completely. "And His Holiness Dwayne requires regular sacrificial offerings in the form of sex with blondes named Veronica."
"How is that a sacrifice?"
"You're annoying, nosy, and smarter than me."
"My best qualities," she giggled, crinkling her nose.
"Oh, no, those aren't your best qualities," he assured, tugging down the zipper on her cargo pants, followed by the appropriate adjustment of his jeans. He remembered before she could chirp "safety first!" and swiped a condom off the coffee table. They had them everywhere. Practically a Hansel and Gretel trail all over the apartment. In case they wanted to do it in the doorways, on the kitchen counter, and against every bit of wall space between the couch and the bed. ("You can say 'fuck' more than once, Veronica. It won't kill you.")
Veronica was pretty resistant to serious conversations, but they'd had the one about the Pill. If asking her about it halfway through their first time together actually counted. But she'd looked at him and said, "Don't worry, we are not getting started on those babies now," and curved her leg around his waist and pulled him inside her.
He could do this anytime he wanted, too. Sink into her. Listen to her pant and moan and make his name sound exotic. Okay, not anytime. Not at the office. Not at her place. Not at the Neptune Grand…because that place had cameras and ex-boyfriend associations.
"Donald…stop…thinking…you can't run your two major organs at the same time…"
"Oh, yeah?"
He set about proving her wrong. Sliding with her, slick against the leather he was going to have to clean later. He pushed sweat-soaked strands of hair out of her face, kissing her mouth and her cheek and the arch of her eyebrow. It had only been a few weeks, but he knew her body, he knew just how deep to go to make her come and he was addicted to the way she went tight around him.
"Don…?"
"Yeah?"
"Consider me a convert."
"Really?"
"I have seen the light. Praise The Rock."
"Veronica?"
'Mhmm?"
"We'd better make sure."
***
She was tangled in his sheets, stretched out on her stomach, looking like she belonged there. Only, he knew she wouldn't stay. She was catching a few hours of sleep before she headed home…determined to sneak in the door like she'd been out fighting crime instead of fucking a crime stopper. And she looked gorgeous doing it. Hell, she looked gorgeous painting her toenails. And tasering people. And walking. And breathing. She generally existed in a perpetual state of hotness.
Some day, he was going to recognize that he was Neptune's biggest pussy, that Veronica Mars had probably had his balls in her messenger bag since the day they met. For now, though, he settled for doing something that was either really brave or really goddamned stupid.
And he made sure to pull the bedroom door shut as he walked into the living room with his cell phone.
"Keith?"
"Don? Why are you calling me after 11 on a Saturday night?"
"We have to talk."
"*Now*?"
"Yes, now."
"About what? And you'd better not say 'programming your TiVo.'"
"No, this is a little more complicated."
"You're going to admit you need my help with the bus crash investigation?"
"Uh, no." He glanced towards the still-shut door, knowing that this thin, nervous, laugh could very well be his last. "How do you feel about religious experiences?"
--end--
April 1, 2006.