522.
So I'm sort of getting back into a groove, while watching the Good Wife - it's good, I think, so far. Anyways, the first few answers to this meme:
TICKET RECEIPTS;
david tennant/billie piper, for deadduck008
Billie calls late, and it’s been awhile since she’s called like this, which is the sort of thing that worries him anyway.
“You reckon if we hadn’t been here, you and I would’ve met?”
He blinks and then wants to groan. He bites his tongue and listens to her sigh loudly. He hears her turn the sink on. The sound of water is dull, and it’s the light pop that makes him uneasy.
“Well that’s something to say,” he murmurs, and stands from the bed, reaching for his glasses. There are his keys in a dish on the table by the bed. He slides his hand into his pocket.
“M’serious,” she says. “Someone has to think of these things, and I suppose you and your smiling self, and your hair, have other things to do, so I do this for you and me and so there.”
“Are you drinking?”
She sighs. “No.”
“The baby?”
She clears her throat. “Mum’s. As is the husband, being terribly posh and angry at me, of course.” He can imagine her as she sits somewhere, hair in a mess and her hand wrapped around a wine glass. There is the rustle of clothing. “He’s always angry with me these days,” she says, “and I reckon it’s like we’re dating again.”
She makes the joke. He laughs because he’s supposed to and it’s a case of missing her, all over again, when he’s not allowed to. This is why he goes and says things like we’re mates because it’s pratice.
“Of course,” he echoes. “Do you want me to come over?” he asks, and then chuckles as if hoping to soften the question. He reaches for his keys.
They’re cold to touch. There is a pause. The background noise is too faint for him to pick at it and it makes him a little too nervous.
“No,” she murmurs. They’ll be here again.
CRIMINALS;
david tennant/billie piper, for mylittlepwny
There is a party, and it’s a screening party; she has to be here and he’s early to surprise her. First there is Belle on a screen, and her knickers, lace and pearl, and then David with her champagne motioning for a step outside.
“This is a terrible idea.”
And really she should be saying things like it’s horrible, you know, watching myself. But his mouth brushes over her jaw, and then slides against her neck. His mouth is hot and wet and sticky as she makes a quick fist in his shirt.
“I reckon,” he says against her throat, and his fingers are in her hair and she really can’t bring herself to focus, pressing closer. Her fingers are clumsy and there is the sharp sound of his zipper.
He growls and there are people inside, actual people with positions and the industry. It should be her husband inside and she might laugh, or he might laugh, and it will be David and Billie and this as it always has been.
“I can’t even -” she breathes and then hisses, her hand sliding between the two of them. “What are we bloody doing?”
He chuckles softly. There is hand on her thigh, pushing her dress up as her fingers slide into his trousers. He presses her back against the wall and she inhales sharply, her head falling back.
“You started it,” he breathes.
His teeth slide against her skin. There is a champagne glass somewhere on the floor.
GLASS WALKING;
eric/sookie, for takethewords
In Dallas he waits for her in the stairwell.
She stops at the last step. Her hands rest at her sides. He straightens. She lets her fingers twist into fists.
“M’sorry,” she murmurs, and straightens too, rubbing her knuckles against her legs. She is a little too nervous. The fabric of her dress is rough against her skin, picking lightly against her nails.
He shakes his head slowly. The blood has long since dried, against the curve of his cheeks; he shifts forward then too, his gaze heavier than she’s used to. There’s no smile, no sharp words.
But her heart is still pounding. The sound rings in her ears. She stares at him without anything else to say, and if there were anything else, she wouldn’t know where to begin. Something is changing.
Upstairs, there is noise. There is no pause and her eyes are large as he pushes himself into her space.
His lips press against her forehead.
It will mean nothing. “Tomorrow,” he says.
CATCH YOUR ROSE WATER;
diane kruger/michael fassbender, for falseeeyelashes
There is a cigarette in the ashtray. Smoke waves tiredly into view.
“I really should quit,” Diane says, as she steps into view. There is low laughter off-screen and she turns absently to the side, a half-smile on her mouth.
“So quit, love.”
“Oh, fuck off. You’re doing it again - and if that damn camera is on, I’m going to kill you. And the city’s big enough for me to find some place to hide the body, you awful idiot.”
There is laughter again. Michael steps into view, catching her wrist. His hand is too big and she stumbles back, pressing against his chest. She laughs softly and his mouth slides over her shoulder.
“You wouldn’t,” he murmurs.
It’s almost too soft. “I can’t quit,” Diane says instead.
-
In the room she sighs.
The curtains are drawn close and a glass of wine rests on the table next to her. The television screen is blue, blank, and she hears the bedroom door open behind her, a quiet moan.
“You okay?”
Josh is home for a few days. “Yeah,” she says. “Fine.”
He yawns.
“Talking to someone?”
She shakes her head, reaching for her wine.
“No one, no one at all.”
TICKET RECEIPTS;
david tennant/billie piper, for deadduck008
Billie calls late, and it’s been awhile since she’s called like this, which is the sort of thing that worries him anyway.
“You reckon if we hadn’t been here, you and I would’ve met?”
He blinks and then wants to groan. He bites his tongue and listens to her sigh loudly. He hears her turn the sink on. The sound of water is dull, and it’s the light pop that makes him uneasy.
“Well that’s something to say,” he murmurs, and stands from the bed, reaching for his glasses. There are his keys in a dish on the table by the bed. He slides his hand into his pocket.
“M’serious,” she says. “Someone has to think of these things, and I suppose you and your smiling self, and your hair, have other things to do, so I do this for you and me and so there.”
“Are you drinking?”
She sighs. “No.”
“The baby?”
She clears her throat. “Mum’s. As is the husband, being terribly posh and angry at me, of course.” He can imagine her as she sits somewhere, hair in a mess and her hand wrapped around a wine glass. There is the rustle of clothing. “He’s always angry with me these days,” she says, “and I reckon it’s like we’re dating again.”
She makes the joke. He laughs because he’s supposed to and it’s a case of missing her, all over again, when he’s not allowed to. This is why he goes and says things like we’re mates because it’s pratice.
“Of course,” he echoes. “Do you want me to come over?” he asks, and then chuckles as if hoping to soften the question. He reaches for his keys.
They’re cold to touch. There is a pause. The background noise is too faint for him to pick at it and it makes him a little too nervous.
“No,” she murmurs. They’ll be here again.
CRIMINALS;
david tennant/billie piper, for mylittlepwny
There is a party, and it’s a screening party; she has to be here and he’s early to surprise her. First there is Belle on a screen, and her knickers, lace and pearl, and then David with her champagne motioning for a step outside.
“This is a terrible idea.”
And really she should be saying things like it’s horrible, you know, watching myself. But his mouth brushes over her jaw, and then slides against her neck. His mouth is hot and wet and sticky as she makes a quick fist in his shirt.
“I reckon,” he says against her throat, and his fingers are in her hair and she really can’t bring herself to focus, pressing closer. Her fingers are clumsy and there is the sharp sound of his zipper.
He growls and there are people inside, actual people with positions and the industry. It should be her husband inside and she might laugh, or he might laugh, and it will be David and Billie and this as it always has been.
“I can’t even -” she breathes and then hisses, her hand sliding between the two of them. “What are we bloody doing?”
He chuckles softly. There is hand on her thigh, pushing her dress up as her fingers slide into his trousers. He presses her back against the wall and she inhales sharply, her head falling back.
“You started it,” he breathes.
His teeth slide against her skin. There is a champagne glass somewhere on the floor.
GLASS WALKING;
eric/sookie, for takethewords
In Dallas he waits for her in the stairwell.
She stops at the last step. Her hands rest at her sides. He straightens. She lets her fingers twist into fists.
“M’sorry,” she murmurs, and straightens too, rubbing her knuckles against her legs. She is a little too nervous. The fabric of her dress is rough against her skin, picking lightly against her nails.
He shakes his head slowly. The blood has long since dried, against the curve of his cheeks; he shifts forward then too, his gaze heavier than she’s used to. There’s no smile, no sharp words.
But her heart is still pounding. The sound rings in her ears. She stares at him without anything else to say, and if there were anything else, she wouldn’t know where to begin. Something is changing.
Upstairs, there is noise. There is no pause and her eyes are large as he pushes himself into her space.
His lips press against her forehead.
It will mean nothing. “Tomorrow,” he says.
CATCH YOUR ROSE WATER;
diane kruger/michael fassbender, for falseeeyelashes
There is a cigarette in the ashtray. Smoke waves tiredly into view.
“I really should quit,” Diane says, as she steps into view. There is low laughter off-screen and she turns absently to the side, a half-smile on her mouth.
“So quit, love.”
“Oh, fuck off. You’re doing it again - and if that damn camera is on, I’m going to kill you. And the city’s big enough for me to find some place to hide the body, you awful idiot.”
There is laughter again. Michael steps into view, catching her wrist. His hand is too big and she stumbles back, pressing against his chest. She laughs softly and his mouth slides over her shoulder.
“You wouldn’t,” he murmurs.
It’s almost too soft. “I can’t quit,” Diane says instead.
-
In the room she sighs.
The curtains are drawn close and a glass of wine rests on the table next to her. The television screen is blue, blank, and she hears the bedroom door open behind her, a quiet moan.
“You okay?”
Josh is home for a few days. “Yeah,” she says. “Fine.”
He yawns.
“Talking to someone?”
She shakes her head, reaching for her wine.
“No one, no one at all.”