Oh, man.
I BLAME @ripptyd. This is a companion piece to her latest piece, which came about because of THE OMG FLAILWORTHY PODCAST.
Title: The Ideal Date
Author: brinshannara
Rating: PG-13? R?
Fandom: GL (CC/JL) (RPS)
Summary: Set during and post 10/06/09 podcast.
Author's Note: Again, this is entirely ripptyd's fault. No disrespect meant to two amazing actors. This is a work of fiction and no conclusions should be drawn about the actors within.
The podcast host asks you both which female celebrity you'd date and you have to restrain your laughter. Your leading lady is quiet, which tells you she wasn't expecting that one. Neither were you, but you do have an answer ready to give. Should you give it, is the question.
'Hell with it,' you think to yourself.
"She's in New York, taking care of her baby right now, so..." you say, unable to hold it in any longer. And why not? The fans will go nuts. They don't have to know it's the truth, right?
You can hear the smile on her face when she responds that you're the one and you are filled with adoration for her when she says that she was embarassed because you were "ON THE PHONE". She's the most adorable thing ever.
And then you're supposed to describe your ideal date together. Which is hilarious, because you've thought about this a dozen times, at least.
"And it's very isolated," you say, about the beach destination you have in mind for your date, "'cause you don't want a bunch of people around." You know she's gotten your meaning when she chimes in with a "No."
The hostess asks about long walks on the beach and you both agree. And you're almost there, in your mind, you can almost feel the softness of her hand in yours, almost smell the salt of the air as you envision the two of you walking down the beach, barefoot, at sunset. Just the two of you. No one around, no one to worry about, no one to think about, except for each other.
The last few minutes of the podcast go by in a haze. And then they're saying goodbye, and you sneak in a "love you," to your co-star. And she sends kisses back, and you smile, because you know what kinds of kisses she means.
And then it's over and the host is thanking you guys. And before you go, you confirm with her that you'll talk soon and she says yeah, absolutely.
You hang up and wait about three seconds before calling her.
"Hello?" she asks and you almost laugh, because who else would it be but you?
"I can't stop thinking about that beach," you confess, without even saying hi. "And what I'd do to you there."
She makes a quiet noise in her throat, almost a whimper, but not quite. So you press on.
"My real ideal date," you say, in that deep, resonant voice of yours, "has us at a beach house for the weekend. I'd step out for a bit, then come back, with flowers. I wasn't kidding. And then we'd go to dinner and there would be wine and amazing food and more wine." She chuckles at that and you continue. "We'd be just a little drunk," you say, "you know, drunk enough to not feel any pain, but not so drunk that we wouldn't remember things. Because I know I would really, really regret not remembering things the next morning."
You're aware that you're breathing more quickly and you can hear the hitch in her breath, too. Still, you continue describing things to her.
"We'd arrive back at the place by the beach and we'd go out on to the deck. The beach itself would be lit up by the full moon. The ocean would practically glow with how the moonlight's shining off it. And then, that's when I'd kiss you."
"Oh," she says, full of emotion.
Your eyes are closed, now, envisioning it all. "It'd be the first time I'd kiss you all night, after hours of teasing you," you say. "I'd press our lips together and slide my hand up the back of your neck and hold you close so I could keep kissing you, because I can never get enough of your lips."
There's a tiny whimper from the other end of the line and you know exactly what effect your words are having on her.
"And then I'd push you so your back would be against the side of the beach house. I'd push myself tightly against you, pinning you to the wall. Breasts against breasts, hips against hips..." You trail off, making sure she's got the image firmly in her head before you add the next element. "My thigh pressing between yours."
She gasps at that and you find that your mouth is so very dry, but you don't want to break this moment, you don't want to lose this connection.
"God, do you know how much I need you?" you say, dropping the narrative and just speaking the truth. "Do you know how much I think about you? About us? And not just... you know," you say, suddenly shy, "but everything else, too." You take a breath. "I need you," you admit. "We're so good together," you say. And then, something you didn't think you would ever say with any seriousness manages to fall from your lips. "Let's do it," you suggest. "Let's go to that beach, that isolated beach, alone, just you and me. We can spend a whole weekend together, just us, no one else. Let's just say screw the rest of the world for one weekend." You pause and there's nothing but silence. "Say yes, honey, say yes. Please, please say yes." You hope you don't sound like you're begging and you pray that her silence means she's actually thinking about it instead of thinking about how to let you down easy.
And then you hear the baby crying.
You sigh.
When she speaks, she sounds as if she wants to cry. "I'm so sorry, I have to--"
"It's okay," you say, struggling to sound casual, "it's fine. Go on," you urge her. You pause. "But I'll miss you."
"Me too," she says and you try to let those two syllables filled with longing drown out the baby in the background.
"I love you," you tell her, firmly.
"Me too," she says again and you know she can't speak entirely freely, so you'll take what you can get. "Goodnight," she says, her voice cracking a bit.
"Goodnight," you reply, and you wait for her to hang up the phone before you end the call. You put the phone down on the coffee table and sit back in the overstuffed chair you're sitting in. You take a breath to calm yourself down. You'll see her in just a couple of days at the show's luncheon, you tell yourself. And maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to convince her to run away to the beach with you. Maybe.
Title: The Ideal Date
Author: brinshannara
Rating: PG-13? R?
Fandom: GL (CC/JL) (RPS)
Summary: Set during and post 10/06/09 podcast.
Author's Note: Again, this is entirely ripptyd's fault. No disrespect meant to two amazing actors. This is a work of fiction and no conclusions should be drawn about the actors within.
The podcast host asks you both which female celebrity you'd date and you have to restrain your laughter. Your leading lady is quiet, which tells you she wasn't expecting that one. Neither were you, but you do have an answer ready to give. Should you give it, is the question.
'Hell with it,' you think to yourself.
"She's in New York, taking care of her baby right now, so..." you say, unable to hold it in any longer. And why not? The fans will go nuts. They don't have to know it's the truth, right?
You can hear the smile on her face when she responds that you're the one and you are filled with adoration for her when she says that she was embarassed because you were "ON THE PHONE". She's the most adorable thing ever.
And then you're supposed to describe your ideal date together. Which is hilarious, because you've thought about this a dozen times, at least.
"And it's very isolated," you say, about the beach destination you have in mind for your date, "'cause you don't want a bunch of people around." You know she's gotten your meaning when she chimes in with a "No."
The hostess asks about long walks on the beach and you both agree. And you're almost there, in your mind, you can almost feel the softness of her hand in yours, almost smell the salt of the air as you envision the two of you walking down the beach, barefoot, at sunset. Just the two of you. No one around, no one to worry about, no one to think about, except for each other.
The last few minutes of the podcast go by in a haze. And then they're saying goodbye, and you sneak in a "love you," to your co-star. And she sends kisses back, and you smile, because you know what kinds of kisses she means.
And then it's over and the host is thanking you guys. And before you go, you confirm with her that you'll talk soon and she says yeah, absolutely.
You hang up and wait about three seconds before calling her.
"Hello?" she asks and you almost laugh, because who else would it be but you?
"I can't stop thinking about that beach," you confess, without even saying hi. "And what I'd do to you there."
She makes a quiet noise in her throat, almost a whimper, but not quite. So you press on.
"My real ideal date," you say, in that deep, resonant voice of yours, "has us at a beach house for the weekend. I'd step out for a bit, then come back, with flowers. I wasn't kidding. And then we'd go to dinner and there would be wine and amazing food and more wine." She chuckles at that and you continue. "We'd be just a little drunk," you say, "you know, drunk enough to not feel any pain, but not so drunk that we wouldn't remember things. Because I know I would really, really regret not remembering things the next morning."
You're aware that you're breathing more quickly and you can hear the hitch in her breath, too. Still, you continue describing things to her.
"We'd arrive back at the place by the beach and we'd go out on to the deck. The beach itself would be lit up by the full moon. The ocean would practically glow with how the moonlight's shining off it. And then, that's when I'd kiss you."
"Oh," she says, full of emotion.
Your eyes are closed, now, envisioning it all. "It'd be the first time I'd kiss you all night, after hours of teasing you," you say. "I'd press our lips together and slide my hand up the back of your neck and hold you close so I could keep kissing you, because I can never get enough of your lips."
There's a tiny whimper from the other end of the line and you know exactly what effect your words are having on her.
"And then I'd push you so your back would be against the side of the beach house. I'd push myself tightly against you, pinning you to the wall. Breasts against breasts, hips against hips..." You trail off, making sure she's got the image firmly in her head before you add the next element. "My thigh pressing between yours."
She gasps at that and you find that your mouth is so very dry, but you don't want to break this moment, you don't want to lose this connection.
"God, do you know how much I need you?" you say, dropping the narrative and just speaking the truth. "Do you know how much I think about you? About us? And not just... you know," you say, suddenly shy, "but everything else, too." You take a breath. "I need you," you admit. "We're so good together," you say. And then, something you didn't think you would ever say with any seriousness manages to fall from your lips. "Let's do it," you suggest. "Let's go to that beach, that isolated beach, alone, just you and me. We can spend a whole weekend together, just us, no one else. Let's just say screw the rest of the world for one weekend." You pause and there's nothing but silence. "Say yes, honey, say yes. Please, please say yes." You hope you don't sound like you're begging and you pray that her silence means she's actually thinking about it instead of thinking about how to let you down easy.
And then you hear the baby crying.
You sigh.
When she speaks, she sounds as if she wants to cry. "I'm so sorry, I have to--"
"It's okay," you say, struggling to sound casual, "it's fine. Go on," you urge her. You pause. "But I'll miss you."
"Me too," she says and you try to let those two syllables filled with longing drown out the baby in the background.
"I love you," you tell her, firmly.
"Me too," she says again and you know she can't speak entirely freely, so you'll take what you can get. "Goodnight," she says, her voice cracking a bit.
"Goodnight," you reply, and you wait for her to hang up the phone before you end the call. You put the phone down on the coffee table and sit back in the overstuffed chair you're sitting in. You take a breath to calm yourself down. You'll see her in just a couple of days at the show's luncheon, you tell yourself. And maybe, just maybe, you'll be able to convince her to run away to the beach with you. Maybe.