Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Veronica didn’t want nice.  She didn’t need nice.

She had tried nice with Duncan.  And he was, until he wasn’t.

She had tried nice with Troy.  Turns out, he never was.

She had tried nice with Logan.  Well, that’s not totally accurate.  She’d tried to make him nice and be nice herself.  Tried to be what he needed; he tried the same in return.  It  immediately turned out to be a big, cosmic blunder.

She’d tried, and tried, and tried.  Because even though she didn’t want nice, it’s what she thought she ought to want.  Trying was the least she could do, she reckoned.  For normalcy’s sake.  For her father’s sake.  Nevertheless, for all the niceties she strived for, none of it ever ended nicely.

So for her fourth try, she didn’t seek nice.  She sought mean, and snarky, and dangerous, and everything she ever thought she shouldn’t want, what everyone told her she shouldn’t want.  That didn’t stop her from wanting.

“So, what, am I your go-to backup now?  The local trash owes the white girl a favor, and now I’m expected to drop everything to follow you around like a puppy?” Weevil’s normal suggestiveness taking on an edge neither of them were completely ready for.  The rigor of his body taut and leaning towards her, eyebrows raised in contempt rather than humor.

Veronica barked out a laugh.  “No,” she emphasized, “Backup is my go-to backup,” she grinned, a little too easily for the situation, “You know, my actual puppy.”  Putting a finger to her lips, she pasted on her best contemplative expression, “Although, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind another dog in the house.  He gets lonely sometimes, ya know.”  A slow, intentional wink was her closing argument.

Weevil, obviously wrestling between a smile and a scowl, uncrossed his thick arms and pushed off the seat of his bike to approach her car door.  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel of the LeBaron until they were white with tension, wishing she could will the top of her convertible back up before he made it close enough to hover over her.  Dull panic shot through her, outshined by her more evident spike in curiosity.

“You callin’ me your bitch, Mars?”  he groused, fists clenching sinisterly at his sides.

Despite the dark parking lot of the school, despite their two vehicles being the only ones visible, and despite his long list of run-ins with the law, she couldn’t stop herself from prodding him, seeing how far she could push him, “If the muzzle fits,” she delivered as her shoulder gave a shrug as nonchalantly as she could manage given the circumstances.  Her face was as cold as the wind off the Pacific and her burning gaze held his own.

“Fuck,” hissed out between his clenched teeth.  Weevil’s face remained a mask of indignation until Veronica interrupted his inner turmoil.

“Soooo,” she led, her own amusement obvious in the way she tilted her head.

“Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ do it.”  He turned tail and huffed back to his ride.  It was only after the roar of the engine had faded into the night and she exhaled her excess adrenaline that she realized she didn’t give him the particulars of her request.

Two hours later, she received a text from an unknown number stating only, ‘when n where puta’.  How he got her number, she’ll never know, but she smirked down at her phone anyway.

Weeks after their, well, her, risky operation that she guilted him into, things were still tense.  In the hallways at school, it was as if Veronica’s body knew he was there before her brain did.  She’d be talking to Wallace and feel a zing up her spine.  She didn’t need to look to know Weevil was stalking through, his boys in tow.  She’d be plotting with Mac in the Journalism room when a flush would overtake her, a cough cutting off her explanation.  Mac would lay a hand on her arm, concerned, and ask if she were okay, completely oblivious to the fact that out of the corner of her eye, she saw Weevil pause and peer past the open door.

The tension finally broke when he approached her, after school, in some forgotten hallway (if you asked Veronica now, she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she was in that wing of the school or where she was headed or what she had been doing).  Weevil’s swagger had lost none of its inherent lasciviousness in the days she’d been purposefully avoiding him.

“Hey, V, whatchu doin’ later?”

Quirking an eyebrow, and for all the world, hoping it looked more natural than it felt, she responded, “Mm, I don’t know.  Why don’t you tell me.”

She let his answering chuckle sweep past her with only a periphery tightening of her muscles.

“I need you for something,” Weevil’s eyes twinkled momentarily before he ducked his head and gazed up at her from under those long dark lashes.

“Oh really, something, is it,” she scoffed, “Is that supposed to be an invitation?”

He considered, “You know what, yeah.  Yeah, it is,” a smirk fought its way onto his face.

“Well, I’ll be,” Veronica recovered quickly from her balk and the metaphorical snake she had curling around her midsection.  Ready to reply in their usual witty fashion, she suddenly remembered his acerbity the last time she asked him for a favor and her feigned brightness switched to hostility on a dime, “Looks like I don’t care!  Figure it out yourself.”

Already half turned on her heel, when she heard his sigh of resignation (desperation?), she paused, “Unless,” dragging out the word until his attention was solely on her, “you finally decided to take me up on my offer?”  The glint to her gaze she thought she’d lost in these interactions had finally returned when she fixed it on him.

Bemused, he matched her stare.  Eventually something clicked and his eyes darkened.  Voice menacingly low, he clarified, “Which offer, Veronica?”

Never had the syllables of her name sounded so indecent and the resulting desire it stirred in her made her close to angry.  So she swiveled back towards him and got right up in his face, closer than she knew even the bravest rivals in his motorcycle gang would dare.

“The one where you’re my dog,” she spat out.

If Veronica died now, she might be happy.  She’d be able to tell Lilly all about the expression that twisted Weevil’s face right before she bit it.  One of stunned silence, one of exasperation, never having thought she’d actually follow through on his undeniable taunt.

Flashing him a devilish grin she almost turned too quickly to see the shiver work its way up his back, leaving him slack jawed and nearly starry-eyed.  She might’ve stayed to mock him, really drive the point home, but the feelings that looked stirred in her own gut made it much too risky.

She figured he must’ve recovered quickly enough because he called out to her, his voice tinged with incredulity and duly deserved rage, “Tonight, 7pm, corner of your street.  Or else I’ll show up at your fucking house, puta!”

For the rest of the school day, she liked to pretend she wouldn’t meet up with him.  Even the rest of the day, as she took a shower and laid out her clothes (practical enough to wear while taking a ride on the back of a hog) and followed the hands of the clock, she still wouldn’t concede that she was goddamn curious.  When the dial hit 6 o’ clock, and she finally accepted that she was going, she spent the rest of the hour telling herself it was because she couldn’t have Weevil, a known criminal, a local gang leader, a teenage rebel, show up at her father’s house frothing at the mouth and eager to rip her away.

The corner was deserted and unlit when she arrived at 6:50pm.  Her block, although relatively safe, wasn’t nice enough to have street lights every ten feet like some in the ‘09 and the late time of year meant the timers on the lamps that did exist hadn’t caught up to the time change quite yet.  It left her in the quiet dark, anticipation shuddering through her body, to wonder about Weevil.

God, everything’d been so tense since she requested (demanded) his help on the last job.  This had happened before, everything strained and left unsaid between them, but enough days later, enough favors later, and their dynamic bled back into their usual routine.  Banter and snark and innuendo and the comfortability of knowing they had each other, no matter what fucked up thing (because the thing was always fucked up) came their way.

This time was different.  She tried to remember why (that was a lie, she knew why) it was off this time around. ‘Dog’, she thought, ‘I called him my dog.’ The guilt was threatening to seep in, and yet, when she thought back she could only remember him hissing ‘fuck’ and the shiver so sudden he couldn’t attempt to hide it.

With this in her mind, when Weevil’s bike screamed to halt in front of her, exactly on time, she felt giddy.

“Hey,” she offered, trying to keep her smile demure and questioning.  Veronica couldn’t tell if it played accurately through his visor, but he grunted and handed her an extra helmet all the same.

Chapter Text

Veronica could’ve sworn she felt Weevil’s abdominal muscles twitch as she slid her arms around him, her hands grabbing just past his hips to tease along either side of his belly button.  She couldn’t be sure, because the rumble of the engine and the pocked pavement jostled them both as they rode.  Regardless, she gave a toothy grin into the back of his shoulder; again, she couldn’t be sure, but even an imagined growl from his mouth humming along with the motor only fed her self-satisfaction.

Having not asked where they were headed, his pulling off the road into an isolated spot deep into Dog Beach didn’t surprise her.  They didn’t talk when he kicked the stand into place next to a dozen other bikes and removed their respective helmets.  Her sidelong looks were met with staunch disinterest and a frustrated rigidity to his posture; it only made her smug little smirk grow and grow until she was grinning as they crested the dune to reveal a worn path through the brush to a raging party, bonfire included.

At first glance, it was no different to the bygone ‘09er beach parties she had attended, but as they neared, it was obviously something else.  Some Don Omar hit was blasting on a battery powered boombox, rather than out of the newest fashionable off-the-line car. There were leather clad boys gathered close to the fire, voluptuous Latina girls intermixed.  Some people were playing cards on large sheets, obviously stolen from beds rather than on expensive beach towels bought for the sole purpose of rotting in the back of teenagers’ too expensive cars.  The kegs were the same, but there were no puka shell necklaces or surf boards or white boys yelling from the back of an open air jeep.

Just before converging with the rest of the crowd, Veronica grabbed Weevil’s arm and pulled him aside.  There was no nervousness in her gaze, but there was a stern look she hoped he recognized, “You’re sure about this.  About bringing me here?”

“V, shut up for once and relax.”

With as much bravado as he delivered his last line with, he grabbed her hand almost hesitantly, but she could see him shake himself out of uncertainty and into overconfidence, sliding into his Weevil persona as easily as he slid onto his bike.  She had no choice but to follow behind him, reminding herself she was a new Veronica Mars, who didn’t cringe at any situation thrown her way.

Everything was fine.  It was fine; she was getting along with everyone, had a few too many beers as is required at these sort of events and even played a few rounds of poker with some people she only sort of recognized until they banned her for winning too many times.  It wasn’t until his boys started teasing him about bringing an ‘09er gringa to a barrio beach party that it got testy.

As for herself, she didn’t mind; everything they said was too mild compared to what she’d experienced from the kids at school to even bat an eyelash.  Some of it wasn’t even wrong.  Weevil, though, well, he had a rep to think about and she could see the anger burrowing its way up his legs and into the rest of him, until his arms were stiff and he was pulled taut as a bow string.  Extracting herself from a conversation with several other girls, she got up from her seat to head to him, tell him it was fine and she was ready to go home anyway, when all the tension left his body and a swaggering lothario took Weevil’s place.

“Nah, don’t you know, the best lays are rich white girls who don’t know what they’re getting into.  Be a little sweet, and they fall all over themselves to ride my legendary hog.”

Veronica was three steps from him.  It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a rich girl.  It didn’t matter he’d never been sweet to her in his life.  And it didn’t matter that she knew he wasn’t talking about her, but another blonde girl who’d torn his heart out.  What mattered was that she was here, and every single person sober enough to notice his monologue was now staring at her, waiting for her to cry or call out or get self-righteous.  None of those things came to mind for her.  She stopped dead in her tracks and cackled.  Weevil, with his back to her, almost jumped out of his skin and covered it by turning to her, a thin-lipped smile still on his face.

“Oh, poor sweet Weevil, is that what you think?  I’ve had enough hogs to know, yours isn’t anything special.”  With a grin plastered to her face, she gave a sweeping wave to the attendants of the party, and headed up the dune.  Distantly, she heard him chuckle, “Better go take care of that, thanks pendejos.” To which they all laughed along, eased into disregarding her exiting statement.

He didn’t reach for her arm until she was marching past his bike, but when he did, she found herself twirled around and facing his vaguely apologetic face.

“Listen, V, I know you’re mad-”

“Mad?” she guffawed loudly enough to send spittle flying in his face.  He flinched. “I’m not mad, Weevil, in fact, I’m relieved.  You’ve finally confirmed what I suspected from day one: you’re a no-good delinquent with a one-track mind.  I don’t give a shit what they say about me or if they think I’m a slut, just as long as they don’t think I’m a slut for you. ”

She could feel his hand begin to shake around her elbow where he still clung to her, could see the ire etching itself into his features.

“Maybe if you weren’t so willing to whore yourself out for favors, you wouldn’t have to admit to being such a fucking slut.”

Before she knew what she was doing, her right hand cocked back and was slapping him, hard enough to turn his face away from her in a sickly snap.  A languid eternity stretched within that millisecond, giving them both time to think about the choices that led them there, to that moment.

Then it passed as Weevil exhaled a rush of shuddering breath, his eyes unfocused and glazed.  Another millisecond passed, also seeming to stretch on, her hand still raised, stinging from the contact.  It was this second eternity when she understood what had been niggling its way into her brain for the past several weeks.

“Holy shit,” she whispered out on a breathless laugh, “You fucking like it.”

Weevil’s head finally wrenched itself back to her and his eyes cleared, but his mouth gaped, opening and closing like the parody of a dying fish.  Veronica cackled for real this time.

“Tell me, puta, when did you know you wanted to be my dog?” She stepped closer, the remaining distance between them vanishing as surely as the pretense did the moment her hand connected against his cheek. “Was it before or after I offered?  Or maybe, when I did, that ‘fuck’ you let loose was the realization hitting home.”

Weevil had no response.  His eyes tracked her lips and began to grow darker the more she spoke.  Hearing no objection, she began to circle him, staying in his proximity enough that she was sure he could feel her breath on his neck, skimming over his bare shoulders, her hands played along his sides as she spoke, “If I had known you’d be so desperate to serve me I would’ve offered sooner.  Although, I should’ve known whenever I asked for a favor and you never failed to reply ‘How high?’  You should’ve just told me, Weevil, we could’ve been having such fun already.” The faux brightness wormed its way back into her tone, just to needle him that modicum more.

This time, it was unmistakable, the tremor in his thighs and up his back.  When she came to stand before him again, she gave him her best soft, condescending smile.  He grimaced and looked at his feet, though the red mark burning across his cheek helped lessen the effect considerably.

Grabbing his chin in her tiny hand, she yanked him back to face her, eyes abruptly serious, “Say it,” she snarled, “Say it now, or never ask me for another favor again.”

Weevil squeezed eyes shut and screwed up his face, but his mouth opened at any rate, “ Yes , alright?” he hissed, “Yes, Jesucristo, everytime you fucking come near me I want you.  I want to get on my knees for you, is that what you want to fucking hear, Veronica?”

Veronica was as worked up as he was, both of their chests rising and falling in rapid pants, “Yeah,” she breathed.