#48 sloth (remainder) ~ Weeds/RPF
title: Mary Jane Green
fandom: Weeds (s1e05) / RPF
pairings: Nancy/Ms. Greenstein, Mary Louise Parker/Allison Janney
rating: P for post-coital
words: 2x200
challenge: #48 ~ sloth
thanks: to Shoemoney Haus, especially iamsab
You hold the joint to her lips, and she takes a drag.
You watch her mouth pucker around the tip. “The first one’s free,” you joke.
“Man, this is primo shit,” she says, after she exhales. “You should give me your card.” She closes her eyes and sinks back against the pillows. You watch her breasts rise and fall as she breathes.
It was the way she said, “Call me anytime,” the way she turned her head and looked at you sidelong. Nobody else in this town is coy with you. You met for coffee, and she did all the work of seduction. You refused to feel guilty for letting someone coddle you, for a change.
It’s possible that you will never leave this bed. It’s possible that you will forget all about motherhood, and mourning, and making a living, and just spend eternity here, stroking a meandering trail from her collarbone to the swell below her belly button, where the sheets are tangled around her hips.
She opens her eyes. She smirks at you, plucks the joint from between your fingers, and grasps your wrist to guide your hand down, under the sheet. She says, “I’m glad you called.”
::
She says, “I’m glad you called.”
You’re the one who invited her to guest-star, of course. You couldn’t bring yourself to call just to say you missed her.
She used to end up naked in your trailer, just like this. It was something you never talked about. But when she knocked on your door after today’s shoot, when she pinned you against the wall and kissed you until you saw stars, the familiarity of it made you ache.
The sex was hard and desperate. It was over so quickly that you think you might have dreamed it. But there she is, humming and stripping off her skirt and bra, which got bunched around her waist in your urgency. She stretches out on the couch, so long and pale that it steals your breath.
“Doing this show must make you crave pot,” she says. You grin at her and take an Altoids tin out of the drawer.
You sit down next to her, when you’re done rolling. You tuck your hip in the crook of hers, and she throws her arm across your thighs as you thumb the lighter. You hold the joint to her lips, and she takes a drag.
fandom: Weeds (s1e05) / RPF
pairings: Nancy/Ms. Greenstein, Mary Louise Parker/Allison Janney
rating: P for post-coital
words: 2x200
challenge: #48 ~ sloth
thanks: to Shoemoney Haus, especially iamsab
You hold the joint to her lips, and she takes a drag.
You watch her mouth pucker around the tip. “The first one’s free,” you joke.
“Man, this is primo shit,” she says, after she exhales. “You should give me your card.” She closes her eyes and sinks back against the pillows. You watch her breasts rise and fall as she breathes.
It was the way she said, “Call me anytime,” the way she turned her head and looked at you sidelong. Nobody else in this town is coy with you. You met for coffee, and she did all the work of seduction. You refused to feel guilty for letting someone coddle you, for a change.
It’s possible that you will never leave this bed. It’s possible that you will forget all about motherhood, and mourning, and making a living, and just spend eternity here, stroking a meandering trail from her collarbone to the swell below her belly button, where the sheets are tangled around her hips.
She opens her eyes. She smirks at you, plucks the joint from between your fingers, and grasps your wrist to guide your hand down, under the sheet. She says, “I’m glad you called.”
::
She says, “I’m glad you called.”
You’re the one who invited her to guest-star, of course. You couldn’t bring yourself to call just to say you missed her.
She used to end up naked in your trailer, just like this. It was something you never talked about. But when she knocked on your door after today’s shoot, when she pinned you against the wall and kissed you until you saw stars, the familiarity of it made you ache.
The sex was hard and desperate. It was over so quickly that you think you might have dreamed it. But there she is, humming and stripping off her skirt and bra, which got bunched around her waist in your urgency. She stretches out on the couch, so long and pale that it steals your breath.
“Doing this show must make you crave pot,” she says. You grin at her and take an Altoids tin out of the drawer.
You sit down next to her, when you’re done rolling. You tuck your hip in the crook of hers, and she throws her arm across your thighs as you thumb the lighter. You hold the joint to her lips, and she takes a drag.