Title: "On the Seventh Day, We Arrest"
Author: monimala
Fandom: VM
Rating/Classification: AC for adult situations, language. Humor, fluff, AU, V/Lamb.
Disclaimer: Still not my characters, despite the fact I called dibs and even licked the spoon.
Summary: 19th in the "Between The Rock…" series. An 800 word filler for 3.1, "Welcome Wagon," set in my universe. Sometimes, Lamb said the sweetest things.
It shouldn't have surprised her. She went a whopping six days without Lamb. Six. Days. So much for taking a break to play Jane College and act out her own version of "Saved by the Bell: The College Years" -- complete with a criminology prof who looked a Hell of a lot like Zack and Kelly's cute anthro prof.
She'd, rather impressively, visited the sheriff's department and *not* gone directly into the office to wax the desk. Instead, she'd watched Sacks gesture uncomfortably towards Lamb's shut door before he handed her a list of students who'd been robbed during their first week at Hearst. She'd told him he could make the bust…and sweetened the deal by assuring him that she'd make sure his boss didn't mind her interference one bit. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Poor Sacks. The mental image had probably scarred him for life.
That had been Day Five.
On the sixth day, after a particularly dull honors lecture and an excruciating women's studies class where a bunch of over privileged twits whined about being oppressed by the patriarchy, she'd found herself at Lamb's apartment. Breaking in, like the good ol' days, with a supersized tub of gourmet popcorn in one hand and a bootleg DVD of "Gridiron Gang" in the other. "Oppress me, will you?" she'd pleaded, batting her eyelashes. "Oppress me repeatedly. Preferably until I can't walk."
"Oh, thank God," he'd gasped, demanding she take off her Chucks so he could see her toes.
"Has anyone ever told you that you have a foot fetish?" she'd asked, wiggling Scarlet Harlot at him.
"I think I just have a Veronica Mars fetish."
Sometimes, he said the sweetest things.
Followed by the dirtiest things.
They didn't even make it to the bedroom, landing on the carpet somewhere between the couch and the hallway, shedding clothes like their lives depended on it. It was hot, fast, "Oh, God, I missed you, don't ever go away again" sex. The kind that melted her skin to her bones like she was in some horrible post-nuclear apocalypse movie. Only, you know, way more pleasurable than gruesome death.
"Wallace's new roommate asked if Logan was my boyfriend," she announced, after Lamb rolled off her and gave over to post-coital snooze mode.
He opened one eye, sleepily mumbling, "You're a two-timing slut."
"Three-timing. You forgot about Duncan. True love stories never have endings."
"I really wish you didn't have that goddamn fortune cookie fortune framed in your bedroom."
"And I wish you had a personality. I guess we'll both have to suffer."
"Back to this roommate. Who is he? Does he like you? Who am I kidding? Of course he likes you. He's probably jerking off to you right this very second in some athlete's foot-ridden shower stall. When can I kill him?"
It was amazing how quickly the man could wake up. His blue eyes were bright with absolute clarity, no signs of the sex coma remaining.
"He's from Oregon or something, Donald. Totally harmless, easily victimized, and his name's Piz."
"Piz? What kind of name is Piz? You know it rhymes with ji--"
She cut off the ranting by kissing him. Hard. He tasted like her. And like loneliness and desperation. Aw.
She'd wanted to run. As far and as fast as possible. First, from her life, then from Neptune, and then from this man who wore tube socks and spouted marriage proposals as he came. She should've known. Any time she wanted to run away, all she did was come right back. Because this was where she belonged. In this tiny shithole of a town, with its seedy criminal underbelly and hard six pack of the law.
"So, is Logan your boyfriend?" Apparently he needed *more* distractive kissing. Men were so fragile. "What exactly did you tell this Piz character?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Lamb. We've actually been together this whole time. I have all my calls forwarded to his hotel room and I let him use my taser. And I call him 'Big Papi,' and spank him every Tuesday night at 9."
"'Big Papi,' huh? Well, that's mighty optimistic."
"That's me! Queen of Optimism!"
"Veronica?"
"Yeah?"
"Oppress me?"
"But I'd have to get dressed and leave in order to find a less qualified minority candidate who would take your job and, thereby, fulfill a quota…"
"Fine. Don't oppress me. Just climb back on top of me and screw me till my eyes roll back in my head."
"Is that your definition of the White Man's Burden?"
"No, it's my definition of 'my girlfriend needs to let me fuck her at least three more times before we watch a pirated movie that I can't acknowledge she bought off the street.'"
"You missed me that much, huh?"
"You missed me, too, Mars."
Yeah, she had.
"Terribly, Donald."
And it shouldn't have surprised her at all.
--end--
October 1, 2006