Fic: Monochrome (Amber Heard/Tasya Van Ree RPF)
NOTE: Jesus on a bicycle. I never thought it was possible to have two people in the world that are identical, physically, in their mannerisms, their voice...but it's happened. And they're on different continents.
I found this girl on Youtube and she is my sister-in-law's long lost twin...but younger. Creepy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qOclVCnWCdI&feature=related
Check it out anyway. Girlfriend's got some wisdom for an 18-year-old.
On a different note, where the fuck's this woman been in my life?
Title: Monochrome
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Amber Heard/Tasya Van Ree
Spoilers: none
Summary: Through the lens.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
As any artist would, Tasya revels in the intricate way the early morning light casts languid shadows over Amber's sleeping form. It tangles in her blonde hair and bathes her in a smoldering, cosy hue Tasya could quite happily curl up in for hours at a time.
Every snowflake beyond the clouded glass above Amber's head reflects across the smooth expanse of her naked back and Tasya swivells in the leather chair by Amber's feet, yawning as the click of her lens slices through the calm.
Amber stirs. She rolls over, coasting a hand along the empty bedsheets beside her, cold and lingering with Tasya's scent. Cinnamon and pomegranate- she could recognise it anywhere. She buries her nose in the pillow.
"Baby."
Tasya continues to take pictures: the crest of Amber's hip, the slope of her waist, the plane of her stomach. Monochrome. She knows Amber hates it- when she's being watched as she sleeps, when she's being photographed as she sleeps. But she looks so gorgeous, so at one, so peaceful, that Tasya can't help herself despite feeling like she's walked in on something entirely otherwordly.
When Amber pulls the covers over her head, Tasya throws her head back and lets out the raspiest laugh.
She takes a sip of her coffee- black, no sugar- and inhales, savouring its sticky aroma as it swirls in front of her. The drag of her cigarette coaxes thick smoke into her line of vision, eagerly pirouetting with the coffee vapours up towards the ceiling fan.
She knows Amber hates it- the smoking that is. Tasya's trying to quit, she really is. But it's good, it's comforting to have a fragile heaviness resting at her mouth, settling in her lungs when she's elbow-deep in paint and there's no end to her art. She sets her camera on the floor. She wishes she could paint Amber right there, paint on her perhaps; smear her in tangerines and auburns, her skin a perfect canvas.
The white fairy lights still flicker from the night before, draped over the metal railing that provides a viewpoint of the ground floor to their flat. They wind down the glass staircase- Tasya had decorated before going to pick up Amber from the airport. She'd made sure her girlfriend came home to a warm apartment, 1967 Rioja and Nouvelle Vague.
"Mmmh, come back," Amber peeks out over the edge of the sheet, squinting as the sun breaks through half-drawn drapes. She manages a lop-sided smile.
Tasya winks, "Hi." She watches Amber arch her back like a lioness, stretching, arms straight above her head, toes poised like a ballerina. She's delicate as she is careless. Hair falls across her azure eyes and Tasya falls in love all over again.
"C'mere."
The sheets fall- accidentally, on purpose, Tasya isn't sure- but Amber props herself up with a pillow and bites her thumb playfully, crossing her legs and looking at her like that and Tasya thinks about the night before, how they'd finally found each other again.
She abandons the chair and crawls her way across the bed towards Amber's lap. She's tempted to pull off her tanktop, to feel skin against skin. Instead she fingers the tiny diamond bead resting at the junction of Amber's collar bones. That's her favourite, the epitome of beauty- a naked lover. And jewellery: silver, leather, diamonds, onyx, it doesn't matter, it compliments Amber's complexion perfectly.
Amber kisses her. "I love you." She's sleepy and tender, breath still sweet against Tasya's tongue.
"I love you too," Tasya says sternly. She's never had much experience being soft, she's not the soft kind. But Amber taught her the difference and fights her to the end still, insists on how sensitive, how feminine she can really be.
Then hands sneak under Tasya's tank and up her back, the sedative effect kicking in almost instantly, tugging on her already drooping eyelids. She feels kisses rain down on top of her shoulder, sweep under her chin and along her jaw, teeth nipping the shell of her ear, quiet, slow words tickling her.
"Here is the deepest secret nobody knows," Amber closes her eyes and takes Tasya's hands into her own- Reneissance hands she calls them- and places them on her waist, "here is the root of the root," she continues, swelling with awe when Tasya leans in blindly and kisses her forehead. "And the bud of the bud," she pecks Tasya's lips lightly, dipping her head to trace her tongue over Tasya's heart. It thuds hard, steady but sure, thrumming under her mouth.
She hooks her index finger into the familiar cotton of Tasya's neckline and snags it down until the slope of Tasya's chest is so close she's almost kissing there. "Higher than the soul can hope."
Tasya trembles. She's so visceral, so high, she knows she'll splinter infinitely if Amber so much as fails to catch her, impossible as it may sound.
"Or mind can hide," Tasya chokes and senses Amber stop her affections, misses them horribly.
There's something in the way Amber takes time to look at her, holds her, holds onto her, glowing with happiness in the fairy light, that makes Tasya feel like her whole life has been given worth.
"And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart."
Amber breaks into a beaming smile. "You taught me that, remember?"
Of course Tasya remembers. She remembers it all. She remembers the time they headed for Miami in the middle of the night, drop top down, racing across the highway to the throbbing music beat; how they'd ended up on the beach, sprawled out on the hood, waiting for the sun to catch up with their restlessness.
Wedged in the glove box, Tasya had found her grandmother's copy of E.E.Cummings Complete Poems, sandy and wrinkled as she'd flicked through, reading out lines here and there much to Amber's delight. They'd learned together, stringing words in the night sky until Amber had recited the whole poem back, cliche and unsure and fantastic.
"You carry my heart."
"Inside mine," Amber whispers. She embraces her, kisses her like before; keeps her, like treasure.
And those things that Amber gives to her, make it clear to Tasya that she'll never want for more.