Title: Inertia Summary: Everything resists change. A/N: Several weeks back a discussion came up in nm973 's LJ about PWPs and she issued a challenge for a 1000 words PWP (porn without plot) character study, post 2.02. I failed at the 1000 words requirement -- I doubt anyone's surprised to hear that, but I came up with this. *g*
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~Galileo's principle / Newton’s First Law
Motion The garage light illuminated the speeding ticket lying on the leather passenger seat. The engine was still idling, and Logan curled up his lip in mock laughter. When the cop had pulled him over two blocks from the Neptune Grand and asked where he was going in such a hurry, he had taken a perverse pleasure in telling him the truth: “Nowhere, Officer.” Logan turned off the ignition and jumped out of the car. He was never one for sitting still, especially not tonight. The front door closed behind him, leaving him momentarily encased in darkness. The housekeeper had long since gone to bed, and he’d fired everyone else. For a second, the hallway echoed like a mausoleum. Taking the stairs two at a time, Logan remembered his flight instructor’s warning; it was the first time anyone had had to tell him to go faster. Every airplane had a stall speed—the minimum velocity that it had to maintain or it would fall out of the air. Apply more throttle, or risk stalling out. It was a piece of advice he never forgot. Once in his room, Logan slammed the door and scooped up the remote from his bed. Ignoring the single digits on the clock and the tired ache behind his eyes, he toyed with turning on his Play Station, but the allure of the Playmate channel set to loud rock won the day. Weezer thundered in the air, bouncing off his bedroom walls and reverberating through his bones. The beat thumped in his head, filling the empty space and pushed aside the lingering images of Veronica standing in the hallway, disheveled and flushed, and staring at him. The porn on the screen punctuated the music, jarring his senses even more. Logan’s mind emptied as he watched a man fucking some blonde, doggy style. Her tits bounced back and forth—dare he say, hypnotically—as the man pounded into her. Their rhythm blended into the drumbeat. Never taking his eyes fully off of the screen, he stripped off his clothes. They reeked of sweat and Kendall’s perfume, but even worse, something else was lingering: he could still feel the weight of Veronica’s eyes on him. “Oh yes—fuck me! Harder!” the blonde screamed in pleasure. Imagining himself doing that, plowing into someone with that kind of abandon, Logan closed his eyes. That’s what he needed tonight: not Kendall with her white-trash class, not Veronica in the backseat of his car, two months ago, and no wholesome images of Duncan fucking Veronica like he was her prince charming…just a cheap whore with no attitude, nothing except insatiable lust and energy—someone to fuck him at Mach three until his head exploded. The moans from the TV focused his attention again; the man had moved onto her ass. On autopilot, Logan closed his fist around his dick. The sounds of sex were all around him, luring him towards oblivion. He stroked his dick; every thrust the man made translated into pleasure for him. Every cry for more drove him harder. He was wound so tight, he didn’t think it would take him long. He pumped faster, chasing the promise of nothingness, letting his hunger consume everything. Throwing his head back, he concentrated on the mounting tension, feeling the blood rush between his legs and pleasure start to accumulate. At the last moment, however, instead of rushing towards oblivion, he heard Veronica’s soft moans as he slipped two fingers inside her, pulling him back. His stomach tightened and the bile rose in his throat, ripping him away from the moment. Forcing his eyes open, he turned away from the TV, walked to the bathroom, and turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it. His cock was still hard and quivering, aching for release, but he knew where this was headed and he didn’t want to go there. She was standing at the edge of his mind, waiting to sneak back in. The water felt like hot needles against his back as he turned around and put a hand forward to brace himself against the tiles. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t, but he needed to continue as badly as he wanted to stop. And just as he knew it would happen, as soon as he wrapped his hand around his dick, Veronica popped right back into his head—all images, sounds, tastes, and textures. They’d been so close to having sex that night, in the back of his XTerra, that just thinking about it made his stomach bottom out. Her soft smile, the trust in her eyes as she looked up at him, her feather-light touch on the back of his neck, pulling him towards her. The slow way she’d spread her legs and let him touch the edge of her underwear. The slight wetness he’d felt through the fabric. He rubbed his dick harder, helpless to stop the scene from playing out. He was chasing her now like he’d been chasing the moans moments ago on the TV, even understanding what it would cost him. In his mind, he heard her breathing hitch as he slid his fingers around the elastic band of her underwear. She was amazingly soft against his fingers. Looking back at her face, there had been no hesitancy; he’d let his fingers explore her, teasing her until she spread her legs, wordlessly begging him for more. Logan moaned and rested his head against the shower stall as he remembered the first feel of her, her tightness, her moans, the way she’d dug her nails into his skin and breathlessly said his name. He’d felt her body quivering around his fingers as he pumped them gently inside her, her muscles clenching as she chased her own release. He’d pulled his fingers out slowly, kissing her when she moaned in complaint. Finding his way to her sweet spot, she almost jumped out of her skin when he caressed her and it was then that he knew she was so close. All it would have taken was a few flicks of his thumb, a sweet kiss on her breasts— Then, his car window had shattered. His dick went limp and he pounded the wall with his fist. “I kept thinking that if I just stuck by you, that you'd get past this…this phase and you'd be you again.” The tension was still thick in his body, but he couldn’t do anything about it. This is who he was, didn’t she understand that? Or maybe she did, and that was the problem. Vertigo snuck up on him, forcing him to stumble out of the shower. His vision narrowed and he felt like he was in a flat spin on the verge of crashing into the ocean. Grabbing his towel, he ignored that the water was still on in the shower, and ripped open the connecting door to his room. The fresh air helped, but it wasn’t enough. He went over to his minibar, not caring about the puddles he was leaving behind, and didn’t stop until he found his half-open bottle of gin. He drank it straight until he finally vomited into his trashcan. The bed was too far away, so Logan just kneeled down and lay on the floor. As the ceiling spun around, he reached out for the leg of his night table and held on.
Rest Veronica lay perfectly still in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and avoiding the alarm clock. Inside her, emotions felt like balls of lead resting in her stomach. She didn’t know how she was suppose to feel—she’d just had sex, she was pretty sure she was supposed to be on cloud nine. Instead of floating, though, she felt like she was lying at the bottom of the ocean with leagues of water pressing down upon her. A minute later she glanced to her right again. It was one thirty-five. She sighed and rolled over on her other side. Duncan had been so sweet, exactly what she needed: tender, vulnerable, safe. The sex had been mostly the same—no fireworks, but that was okay. It had been so intimate. She still felt warm and happy thinking about it…which is why she couldn’t understand the feeling she had that there should have been more between them. Something to bridge the connection between their bodies and minds. Because although he’d been inside her, she had felt very much like her own person. Maybe it was just that it had been over too quickly, she thought wistfully, but thinking about what they’d done brought her more joy than the feelings she’d had during. The actual moments themselves had been sweet enough, but Duncan had been more worried about the logistics than anything else. Maybe that’s what normal was. She pushed those thoughts away. They were both new to this, and it wasn’t fair to blame Duncan. He couldn’t read her mind, and she’d been unable to work up the nerve to speak it. The words had been there, right on the tip of her tongue—“kiss my neck, touch my breasts, find that spot again, please”—but she hadn’t dared. He would have known where she’d got her information from. She’d never been scared to tell Logan anything. It was all Logan’s fault, she decided, cursing him. If she hadn’t run into him in the hallway, if she hadn’t figured out exactly what he was doing one room over, she would have been sleeping happily by now. Instead, the moans, the banging of the headboard, and the screams for more echoed in her head, taunting her. She couldn’t help wondering: maybe that’s the way it was supposed to be. She put her arm under the covers and brought her hand up between her legs, teasing herself slowly. She didn’t want to think about it, she didn’t want to compare. Logan and Duncan were night and day, apples and oranges, and every other diametrical opposite she could think of. That time in Logan’s back seat had been so very different from what she and Duncan did tonight—different in every way, except for the small knot of tension that remained. She was pretty sure that wasn’t normal, otherwise women might not be so eager to keep doing it. She slid down her pajama bottoms and slipped her hand in her underwear. Conjuring images from this evening, she tried to recreate the moments with Duncan. The way he kissed her body so tentatively, tickled her ear with his tongue, looked at her when she slowly took all her clothes off. Duncan was everything she wanted outside of herself. He was funny and sweet, and they had so much history together that it was easy to fit right back together again. So what was wrong with her? Slowly exploring her body, she wondered what would have happened if he’d understood her hint about trying to out-moan them. Would he have grabbed her and tossed her back on the bed? She almost laughed as she tried imagining it, but couldn’t. She just couldn’t picture him crawling over her, intent on having his way with her; he was no Logan Echolls. She twisted and squirmed, finally throwing off the quilt, but kept the top sheet close to her body. She didn’t want to think about Logan, but as she touched herself, he snuck back in. Instantly, she felt the weight pressing back down on her, trying to suffocate her. Everything was so difficult between them. Whenever they were together it was like they needed to take a separate car just to carry all their baggage. And yet, the weight seemed to turn up the tension in her body, as if with one thought, he could make this bubble burst inside her. As her mind raced back to that night in the back of his car, when even she didn’t know what to ask for, he already seemed to know. She dipped her finger inside herself, feeling the wetness as she thought about that night. Things had been so charged that even now, even tonight, when he should be the farthest thing from her mind, he was all she could think about. She sighed as she gave in. At least this was only in her head; there was no harm to Duncan in that. Inside her own head, it was safe to think about Logan and not have to acknowledge anything else. Her fingers moved up to her clit as she sank into the past. The memory of his cologne brought heat to her face. It was the same one she’d caught a whiff of when he’d walked past her in the hallway at the Neptune Grand, but because of that night in the Xterra, she’d forever associate it with the feel of his hands on her body—strong hands that knew where to move and how to make her skin tingle along every path that they took. She’d been so sure that she wasn’t ready for sex, but when she’d felt the weight of his hands on her thighs, all her hesitation had melted away instantly. She rubbed her clit faster as she felt the tension starting to heighten, the ache inside her starting to increase. Bringing her other hand under her t-shirt, she replayed Logan’s movements as best she could. The way he teased her nipples, the way he caressed the sides of her breasts, making her feel so feminine. The memory was so real that she could practically feel his fingers sliding back inside her. She threw her head back and desperately tried to catch the thread inside her body that promised her release. Concentrating on the ache, she worked towards it; feeling the leather of his seats under her back and the hardness of his fingers inside her, and hearing the moans escape from his lips. She’d been so close that she could feel it. Just then, his window crashed down on them. She sat up in a cold sweat. What the hell was she was doing, she wondered as she pushed the sheet on the floor. Shaking as she stood, she managed to find the pajamas and not trip as she put them back on. Looking at the mess of her bed she felt like she was drowning. “I can't stay with you. Not with you and your toadies cruising around at night and hatching plans, refusing to let everything get back to normal.” Her words echoed in her ears. This was who she was; didn’t he understand that? She needed some way to function, some way to navigate her life so that it didn’t destroy her. In that way, she envied Logan a little. He had his toadies to watch his back. All she had was herself. She moved over to her desk and picked up her cell phone. She’d long since had the number memorized. “Hi, Duncan,” she whispered cradling the phone between her shoulder and head. She could already feel the pressure subsiding, receding to more manageable levels. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep either, so I thought I’d call.”
2/2
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