singing love songs to break my fall (pg, zach/kristen)
title: singing love songs to break my fall
pairing: zachary quinto/kristen bell (with some milo ventimiglia, just for kicks)
rating: pg
notes: theladyscribe wanted schmoop and schmoop this is! (title stolen from regina spektor because that song is pretty much just as cute as they are)
Zach blames the whole thing on about six too many martinis. Or maybe it was the four too many gin and tonics. Or it could’ve been that last strawberry daiquiri with its cute and unassuming matching pink umbrella. It was probably that.
And let’s be honest, most of the mistakes that he’s made in life could be summed up the exact same way: an overdose of alcohol, a pretty girl or boy, and a dance floor.
He wonders if it makes a difference if the pretty girl is your best friend. In the end, he decides that it probably does.
(It’s not the first time that he’s kissed her off-camera.)
He has one hand flat on the small of her back and she smiles up at him and his body reacts before his brain gets a chance to tell him that this is a bad idea. He tilts her hips towards his and she laughs a little and easily moves in between his legs. Of course she stops laughing when he kisses her.
It’s a firm press of his mouth on hers and there’s no denying what it is. And they’re both warm and sticky from dancing and he can taste the sweat on her skin and rum on her tongue. His heart beats heavy and fast, veins thrumming and pumping hard to the sound of techno drumbeats and the feel of her pressed tightly against him.
She lets her mouth work over his long enough just to tell him that maybe this isn’t so wrong. A touch of tongue and lips and her small hands both soft and hard on his chest. And then those small hands suddenly fall and sharply curve around his elbows as she pulls herself back.
“Zach.”
He moves his lips up in a grin and sheepishly shrugs his shoulders as he wipes a hand over his mouth, having the good decency to look at least properly embarrassed about it. Even if he’s too drunk to be properly anything.
“So what, you kissed her? Big fucking deal.”
Milo has this way about him, where it seems like he just doesn’t give a fuck about anything and yet, somehow he still makes you feel like he cares. It’s a gift.
“I was wasted.” Zach bends down on one knee to tie his shoe. “Never said it was big deal. Fucking or otherwise.”
“Well, if I was friends with her for ten years, believe that I would’ve tapped that ass a long time ago.”
Zach looks up with an arched eyebrow. “Who says I haven’t?”
Milo smiles abruptly and then laughs. “Bullshit.”
Filming for the next week isn’t as awkward as it should be. She only has one scene left and they wrap pretty quickly.
He doesn’t say much. He concentrates on his blocking and the angle he has to lift his hand in order for them to add the special effect of flames and lightning bolts. And then someone yells, “Cut!” and it’s over and done with.
Kristen doesn’t say much either. Just frowns and rubs the tips of her fingers over her thigh and grunts out, “Ugh, this blood is never going to come off.”
But they smile at each other and, no it’s really not as awkward as it should be.
Here’s the thing:
It’s not like he’s just suddenly in love with her. Because, really he’s kind of always been in love with her. (And ask anyone who’s ever met her and they’ll probably tell you the exact same thing.)
Zach’s a pretty private person, so when some guy with a camera catches him taking Noah for a walk one morning (and seriously, since when did celebrities walking their dogs become something that people actually watch on television?) and asks him, “Yo, Zach! Zachary! What’s up with you and Kristen, man? You guys together?” the only thing he can think to respond with is an inarticulate, but wholly appropriate, “Dude, really?”
Two days later, Milo calls him up and says, “Yo, Zach! What’s up with you and Kristen, man?”
He hangs up the phone.
Milo can be such an asshole.
Kristen has a key to his place. He can’t exactly remember the when and why he gave it to her, but she’s had one for at least a year or two now. And it’s not entirely unusual for him to come home to her sitting on his sofa with Harold at her feet and a book balanced on her knees.
It’s also not unusual for him to be woken up to the sound of his front door being unlocked and the smell of coffee. But they haven’t had breakfast together in weeks and while he won’t really admit that he misses having her around all time, he totally misses having her around all the time.
So, when he finds her sitting at his kitchen table with a bag of bagels and a glass of orange juice and the morning crossword puzzle, he can’t help but smile.
“Hey, you,” she says. She pushes the bag towards him and then puts one foot up on the chair next to her and shoves it forward with tips of her bare toes. “I took the blueberry, but there’s sesame and plain.”
He sits down, pulls out the sesame and sips at her juice. “We’re not going to talk about it, are we?”
“Talk about what?” she asks, her mouth full of bagel.
“Nothing,” he says. He smears some cream cheese on his bagel, takes a large bite, and reaches for the crossword puzzle. “Got a pencil?”
She smiles and her teeth snag a bit on her lower lip as she slides a pencil across the table and then shifts herself into his lap, legs hooked around his hips. And he can’t help the way he lifts his eyebrows in surprise or the way his mouth falls open just a little.
She puts both hands on either side of his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks, and kisses him, her tongue softly sliding over his.
And how’s that for unexpected?
Leaning her forehead against his, she gives another teeth snagging smile. “No, we’re not going to talk about it.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding and laughing. “Yeah, sure.”
Kristen turns so she’s sitting with her legs hanging over his knees and makes a quick grab for the crossword. He looks over her shoulder, wraps an arm around her middle, and she settles against him and reads off, “Twenty-four across, seven letters : Happy to get what’s inside.”
“Content.”
pairing: zachary quinto/kristen bell (with some milo ventimiglia, just for kicks)
rating: pg
notes: theladyscribe wanted schmoop and schmoop this is! (title stolen from regina spektor because that song is pretty much just as cute as they are)
Zach blames the whole thing on about six too many martinis. Or maybe it was the four too many gin and tonics. Or it could’ve been that last strawberry daiquiri with its cute and unassuming matching pink umbrella. It was probably that.
And let’s be honest, most of the mistakes that he’s made in life could be summed up the exact same way: an overdose of alcohol, a pretty girl or boy, and a dance floor.
He wonders if it makes a difference if the pretty girl is your best friend. In the end, he decides that it probably does.
(It’s not the first time that he’s kissed her off-camera.)
He has one hand flat on the small of her back and she smiles up at him and his body reacts before his brain gets a chance to tell him that this is a bad idea. He tilts her hips towards his and she laughs a little and easily moves in between his legs. Of course she stops laughing when he kisses her.
It’s a firm press of his mouth on hers and there’s no denying what it is. And they’re both warm and sticky from dancing and he can taste the sweat on her skin and rum on her tongue. His heart beats heavy and fast, veins thrumming and pumping hard to the sound of techno drumbeats and the feel of her pressed tightly against him.
She lets her mouth work over his long enough just to tell him that maybe this isn’t so wrong. A touch of tongue and lips and her small hands both soft and hard on his chest. And then those small hands suddenly fall and sharply curve around his elbows as she pulls herself back.
“Zach.”
He moves his lips up in a grin and sheepishly shrugs his shoulders as he wipes a hand over his mouth, having the good decency to look at least properly embarrassed about it. Even if he’s too drunk to be properly anything.
“So what, you kissed her? Big fucking deal.”
Milo has this way about him, where it seems like he just doesn’t give a fuck about anything and yet, somehow he still makes you feel like he cares. It’s a gift.
“I was wasted.” Zach bends down on one knee to tie his shoe. “Never said it was big deal. Fucking or otherwise.”
“Well, if I was friends with her for ten years, believe that I would’ve tapped that ass a long time ago.”
Zach looks up with an arched eyebrow. “Who says I haven’t?”
Milo smiles abruptly and then laughs. “Bullshit.”
Filming for the next week isn’t as awkward as it should be. She only has one scene left and they wrap pretty quickly.
He doesn’t say much. He concentrates on his blocking and the angle he has to lift his hand in order for them to add the special effect of flames and lightning bolts. And then someone yells, “Cut!” and it’s over and done with.
Kristen doesn’t say much either. Just frowns and rubs the tips of her fingers over her thigh and grunts out, “Ugh, this blood is never going to come off.”
But they smile at each other and, no it’s really not as awkward as it should be.
Here’s the thing:
It’s not like he’s just suddenly in love with her. Because, really he’s kind of always been in love with her. (And ask anyone who’s ever met her and they’ll probably tell you the exact same thing.)
Zach’s a pretty private person, so when some guy with a camera catches him taking Noah for a walk one morning (and seriously, since when did celebrities walking their dogs become something that people actually watch on television?) and asks him, “Yo, Zach! Zachary! What’s up with you and Kristen, man? You guys together?” the only thing he can think to respond with is an inarticulate, but wholly appropriate, “Dude, really?”
Two days later, Milo calls him up and says, “Yo, Zach! What’s up with you and Kristen, man?”
He hangs up the phone.
Milo can be such an asshole.
Kristen has a key to his place. He can’t exactly remember the when and why he gave it to her, but she’s had one for at least a year or two now. And it’s not entirely unusual for him to come home to her sitting on his sofa with Harold at her feet and a book balanced on her knees.
It’s also not unusual for him to be woken up to the sound of his front door being unlocked and the smell of coffee. But they haven’t had breakfast together in weeks and while he won’t really admit that he misses having her around all time, he totally misses having her around all the time.
So, when he finds her sitting at his kitchen table with a bag of bagels and a glass of orange juice and the morning crossword puzzle, he can’t help but smile.
“Hey, you,” she says. She pushes the bag towards him and then puts one foot up on the chair next to her and shoves it forward with tips of her bare toes. “I took the blueberry, but there’s sesame and plain.”
He sits down, pulls out the sesame and sips at her juice. “We’re not going to talk about it, are we?”
“Talk about what?” she asks, her mouth full of bagel.
“Nothing,” he says. He smears some cream cheese on his bagel, takes a large bite, and reaches for the crossword puzzle. “Got a pencil?”
She smiles and her teeth snag a bit on her lower lip as she slides a pencil across the table and then shifts herself into his lap, legs hooked around his hips. And he can’t help the way he lifts his eyebrows in surprise or the way his mouth falls open just a little.
She puts both hands on either side of his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks, and kisses him, her tongue softly sliding over his.
And how’s that for unexpected?
Leaning her forehead against his, she gives another teeth snagging smile. “No, we’re not going to talk about it.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding and laughing. “Yeah, sure.”
Kristen turns so she’s sitting with her legs hanging over his knees and makes a quick grab for the crossword. He looks over her shoulder, wraps an arm around her middle, and she settles against him and reads off, “Twenty-four across, seven letters : Happy to get what’s inside.”
“Content.”