Title: Terms of Endearment Pairing: Kristen/Bil Rating: PG-13 Warning: Erm, excessive use of the word fuck, which is actually quite a lovely word. You should try it sometime.
* // *
The wigs are always, always, always itchy. It's a thing.
Kristen's still in the doorway of her dressing room when she's forced to start a wrestling match with this blonde bitch of a hairpiece (Greta van Susteren again--she always ends up with a headache and a crick in her neck) when Bill catches sight and rushes over, eyes flitting around the hall.
"Wiig's wigs," Bill shakes his head, "are always such a bother, aren't they?"
She'll ignore the pun. For now. "Where's your Carville bald-cap?" Kristen hisses (because Lorne's got some bullshit rule about how you nevernevernever yell backstage, and backstage is always backstage, even if it is just in the form of a linoleum hallway on the 8th floor of a balls-old building called 30 Rock. It's one of those rules she thought was dumb to begin with, but got used to after a while, like No hitting boys at lunch in the playground or Always wear a dress to church on Sundays. Though the second one doesn't really apply anymore).
"I've got Kenan's 'Scared Straight' sketch first, remember?" he whispers, his breath tickling the tiny hairs closest to her forehead as he hastily yanks out endless bobby-pins and hairnets. (They're on a schedule, you know.)
"You lucky fuck," Kristen says with a smile, a tiny little smile that says aren't-you-going-to-try-to-stop-me? and she glances up at Bill out of the corner of her eye. Her head's kind of at an angle (he's working on detangling the back right corner of the wig) but she can see he smiles a little bit, smiles at her like he always does. Lucky fuck is a term of endearment. He should know that by now. He does.
Laughter and applause come billowing out from down the hall, and Bill's smile is gone. "Shit," he says, tossing clips and pins to the floor at lightning speed. "We've seriously gotta...shit--"
Kristen catches his wrist as it moves to detach the wig that's now falling off to one side. He's reaching over her head with both hands so his arms are brushing her ears and she's in a Bill Hader entrapment, but he stops for a moment and looks down to meet her eyes, confused.
"Oh fuck," he realizes. "We seriously can't--"
But her lips are on his before he can finish, the applause drifting down the hallway till it's muffled in her ears and she might as well believe that fuck yeah, they're clapping for her, they're clapping for them right now and for once, for once it's for something true. They deserve it. She believes that.
She breaks away, ripping the rest of the wiig from her head with a bit of a wince, then grins smugly and pushes Bill back down the hall with both hands on his shoulder blades. (They're on a schedule, you know.)
"Jesus, Kristen," he says, "This is like the fourth time this month I'm going onstage with a boner."
"Not my fault!" she laughs, but it is, it totally is.
* // *
A/N: By the way, thanks for that bitchen prompt! Kristen/Bill is a new obsession of mine ever since that fucking gorgeous fic you wrote for them. Seriously, I hate you for that.
Pairing: Kristen/Bil
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Erm, excessive use of the word fuck, which is actually quite a lovely word. You should try it sometime.
* // *
The wigs are always, always, always itchy. It's a thing.
Kristen's still in the doorway of her dressing room when she's forced to start a wrestling match with this blonde bitch of a hairpiece (Greta van Susteren again--she always ends up with a headache and a crick in her neck) when Bill catches sight and rushes over, eyes flitting around the hall.
"Wiig's wigs," Bill shakes his head, "are always such a bother, aren't they?"
She'll ignore the pun. For now. "Where's your Carville bald-cap?" Kristen hisses (because Lorne's got some bullshit rule about how you nevernevernever yell backstage, and backstage is always backstage, even if it is just in the form of a linoleum hallway on the 8th floor of a balls-old building called 30 Rock. It's one of those rules she thought was dumb to begin with, but got used to after a while, like No hitting boys at lunch in the playground or Always wear a dress to church on Sundays. Though the second one doesn't really apply anymore).
"I've got Kenan's 'Scared Straight' sketch first, remember?" he whispers, his breath tickling the tiny hairs closest to her forehead as he hastily yanks out endless bobby-pins and hairnets. (They're on a schedule, you know.)
"You lucky fuck," Kristen says with a smile, a tiny little smile that says aren't-you-going-to-try-to-stop-me? and she glances up at Bill out of the corner of her eye. Her head's kind of at an angle (he's working on detangling the back right corner of the wig) but she can see he smiles a little bit, smiles at her like he always does. Lucky fuck is a term of endearment. He should know that by now. He does.
Laughter and applause come billowing out from down the hall, and Bill's smile is gone. "Shit," he says, tossing clips and pins to the floor at lightning speed. "We've seriously gotta...shit--"
Kristen catches his wrist as it moves to detach the wig that's now falling off to one side. He's reaching over her head with both hands so his arms are brushing her ears and she's in a Bill Hader entrapment, but he stops for a moment and looks down to meet her eyes, confused.
"Oh fuck," he realizes. "We seriously can't--"
But her lips are on his before he can finish, the applause drifting down the hallway till it's muffled in her ears and she might as well believe that fuck yeah, they're clapping for her, they're clapping for them right now and for once, for once it's for something true. They deserve it. She believes that.
She breaks away, ripping the rest of the wiig from her head with a bit of a wince, then grins smugly and pushes Bill back down the hall with both hands on his shoulder blades. (They're on a schedule, you know.)
"Jesus, Kristen," he says, "This is like the fourth time this month I'm going onstage with a boner."
"Not my fault!" she laughs, but it is, it totally is.
* // *
A/N: By the way, thanks for that bitchen prompt! Kristen/Bill is a new obsession of mine ever since that fucking gorgeous fic you wrote for them. Seriously, I hate you for that.
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"Jesus, Kristen," he says, "This is like the fourth time this month I'm going onstage with a boner."
DYING at this absolute perfection right here!!! Everything about this is just spot-on and hot, and thank you once again for writing this!
And hahaha I am glad to have incepted other people with this pairing!!! I am no longer completely alone!
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You're definitely not alone now. Ever since your fic I've gone on YouTube and watched, like, ALL the Kristen/Bill interviews in existence. Halp.
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