Fic: History of Abuse (Logan/Veronica) R
Oct. 29th, 2011 04:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
onceuponapillowFic: History of Abuse
Title: History of Abuse
Author: Aurelia
Characters: Logan, Veronica, Aaron, and mentions of others
Rating: R
Spoilers: All seasons
Word count: 707
Summary: “Logan,” she whispered in a comforting tone he hadn’t heard in years, hadn’t heard from her ever. “How did you get this scar?”
Warning: This story will include rather descriptive child abuse. If you can’t handle it I suggest you don’t read past the first chapter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but if Rob and co. ever decide to sell I would gladly take Logan.
A/N I appreciate advice on how to improve, or being corrected when I’ve gotten facts or words mixed up. However, if all you have to say is a rude and/or degrading comment I prefer you keep it to yourself
It started out as a gentle caress, a whisper across his skin, almost tickling the length of his back. As time went on her touch became more firm, more certain but still gentle, almost soothing. Logan kept his eyes closed and his breathing at a steady rhythm, pretending to sleep.
He’d been keeping up the pretense for the past several nights, since the first time she’d reached over and begun her soft exploration of his back. When he’d first awoken to her probing touch he hadn’t known how to respond, he still didn’t know. It wasn’t the first time a girl, a woman had seen his scars, but her touch was so much different from his past lovers, so full of curiosity, sympathy, understanding, and... love?
For Lilly his scars had been a turn on. She’d loved that he was so damaged. She had loved the anger and passion they inspired. Lilly hadn’t been one for –in her mind- useless expressions, such as sympathy and compassion, and he’d long past stopped looking for any. He would show up at her door angry, tense, in pain, and looking for a release, and she would lead the way to her room, lips curving in that devious and seductive smile of hers. They would spend the next few hours tangled together in her bed, Lilly running her hands down his back as he pounded into her, she had loved the way he would flinch when her nails caught in a fresh wound; she had relished the feeling of raking her nails down his back, hoping to leave behind a few scars of her own.
Hannah was barely worth mentioning, besides she had barely had a chance to see him sans his shirt before her father was there ripping her from his grasp and shipping her away. The only scar she had been privy to was one on his waist, which she had caught a glimpse of during one of their “tickle fights,” she had asked him how he’d gotten it, her eyebrows scrunched as she ran a finger along its puckered line. He had proceeded to drag her hand away and distract her with a light kiss to her knuckles and some bullshit story. Something about falling off his surf board and his harrowing escape from death, which she had bought hook, line, and sinker.
Kendall had seen every inch of him, from every angle. And the one time he had seen the tiniest spark of curiosity begin to form he had forced her down onto the bed and pinned her hands over her head, driving all thoughts but those about his tongue and what it was doing from her head. He hadn’t wanted to go there with her, not even on the superficial level their conversation would have been. Kendall was as much a distraction for him as he was for her. He didn’t want to know anything about her and he certainly didn’t want her knowing anything about him. It was sex. Not love. Not even like, just good old, sweaty, no-strings-attached sex.
There had been a few others, but they either hadn’t been in a position to notice or hadn’t cared to. Nothing in any of his past relationships had prepared him for Veronica. He knew the questions would be coming; it was a part of who she was. She asked questions, she solved the mystery, and each of his scars was a small mystery waiting to be solved. Veronica knew the who, but the where, the why, and the how were all questions waiting for answers.
Logan tried and failed to suppress a shiver as Veronica drew a dainty black-tipped finger up his back, across his shoulders and then down his arm, before coming to rest in the space between his thumb and index finger. He remained still as she traced the faded diagonal scar that lay there, up and down. He knew the question was coming, and he wasn’t surprised when a second later she took a deep breath and asked what had been on her mind for the past few nights.
“Logan,” she whispered in a comforting tone he hadn’t heard in years, hadn’t heard from her ever. “How did you get this scar?”
Title: History of Abuse
Author: Aurelia
Characters: Logan, Veronica, Aaron, and mentions of others
Rating: R
Spoilers: All seasons
Word count: 707
Summary: “Logan,” she whispered in a comforting tone he hadn’t heard in years, hadn’t heard from her ever. “How did you get this scar?”
Warning: This story will include rather descriptive child abuse. If you can’t handle it I suggest you don’t read past the first chapter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but if Rob and co. ever decide to sell I would gladly take Logan.
A/N I appreciate advice on how to improve, or being corrected when I’ve gotten facts or words mixed up. However, if all you have to say is a rude and/or degrading comment I prefer you keep it to yourself
It started out as a gentle caress, a whisper across his skin, almost tickling the length of his back. As time went on her touch became more firm, more certain but still gentle, almost soothing. Logan kept his eyes closed and his breathing at a steady rhythm, pretending to sleep.
He’d been keeping up the pretense for the past several nights, since the first time she’d reached over and begun her soft exploration of his back. When he’d first awoken to her probing touch he hadn’t known how to respond, he still didn’t know. It wasn’t the first time a girl, a woman had seen his scars, but her touch was so much different from his past lovers, so full of curiosity, sympathy, understanding, and... love?
For Lilly his scars had been a turn on. She’d loved that he was so damaged. She had loved the anger and passion they inspired. Lilly hadn’t been one for –in her mind- useless expressions, such as sympathy and compassion, and he’d long past stopped looking for any. He would show up at her door angry, tense, in pain, and looking for a release, and she would lead the way to her room, lips curving in that devious and seductive smile of hers. They would spend the next few hours tangled together in her bed, Lilly running her hands down his back as he pounded into her, she had loved the way he would flinch when her nails caught in a fresh wound; she had relished the feeling of raking her nails down his back, hoping to leave behind a few scars of her own.
Hannah was barely worth mentioning, besides she had barely had a chance to see him sans his shirt before her father was there ripping her from his grasp and shipping her away. The only scar she had been privy to was one on his waist, which she had caught a glimpse of during one of their “tickle fights,” she had asked him how he’d gotten it, her eyebrows scrunched as she ran a finger along its puckered line. He had proceeded to drag her hand away and distract her with a light kiss to her knuckles and some bullshit story. Something about falling off his surf board and his harrowing escape from death, which she had bought hook, line, and sinker.
Kendall had seen every inch of him, from every angle. And the one time he had seen the tiniest spark of curiosity begin to form he had forced her down onto the bed and pinned her hands over her head, driving all thoughts but those about his tongue and what it was doing from her head. He hadn’t wanted to go there with her, not even on the superficial level their conversation would have been. Kendall was as much a distraction for him as he was for her. He didn’t want to know anything about her and he certainly didn’t want her knowing anything about him. It was sex. Not love. Not even like, just good old, sweaty, no-strings-attached sex.
There had been a few others, but they either hadn’t been in a position to notice or hadn’t cared to. Nothing in any of his past relationships had prepared him for Veronica. He knew the questions would be coming; it was a part of who she was. She asked questions, she solved the mystery, and each of his scars was a small mystery waiting to be solved. Veronica knew the who, but the where, the why, and the how were all questions waiting for answers.
Logan tried and failed to suppress a shiver as Veronica drew a dainty black-tipped finger up his back, across his shoulders and then down his arm, before coming to rest in the space between his thumb and index finger. He remained still as she traced the faded diagonal scar that lay there, up and down. He knew the question was coming, and he wasn’t surprised when a second later she took a deep breath and asked what had been on her mind for the past few nights.
“Logan,” she whispered in a comforting tone he hadn’t heard in years, hadn’t heard from her ever. “How did you get this scar?”
