(no subject)
White Chocolate
Liv Tyler/Miranda Otto w/ Karl Urban
R
Summary: A little NZ-era confection.
Disclaimer: The usual onslaught of lies.
Feedback: Love it! Will feed it with cookies.
A big, squishy thank you to raynemaiden for the beta. ♥
White Chocolate
Her eyes are like chocolate. The first time Liv meets her, Miranda’s eyes are smudged with mocha shadow, warming the cool gray of her irises. Freckles fleck the skin around them, soft brown on pale cream. The tip of Liv's tongue tingles just thinking about her. Miranda is a creature of winter light, but Liv imagines her warm and melting in her mouth.
She watches her on film. On the dailies, she's a ghost, a lady in white. The sun silhouettes her body, faint shapes through Eowyn’s gossamer gown. Liv traces the lines with her mind. The space between her legs, the dark line drawing down. It's a negative exposure burned into her mind's eye: she sees it when she tries to sleep, dreams about it and wakes to the same.
When Miranda's on the set again, she's wearing jeans and a t-shirt and the illusion is shattered. But Liv has a memory of white cloth on white skin and the places between them, the places that hide from the light.
She buys white sheets for her bed and touches herself through them. The sheets are still damp the next morning.
She hasn't worn white panties since she was a little girl, but she's wearing them now. Thin cotton. Translucent when she holds them up to the vanity lights. She tastes them before putting them on, tongue flicking against the layered crotch. It tickles. She laughs. Slips them on, wet between her legs. When the car comes for her, she slides into the back seat and sits with her legs open and the hem of her skirt resting over her knees. The air from the open window dries her. She smiles, the only betrayal of her secret.
At the craft service table, there are white powdered doughnuts. Liv hooks one with her finger and grabs her coffee with the other. Powder shakes off, sprinkles down to the ground. The sugar melts as quickly as snow. As she's watching, the doughnut's yanked from her finger, and she looks up to see Dom trotting backwards, grinning at her with bulging cheeks and white dusted lips. Viggo hands her another doughnut and swears to hunt down the hobbit and avenge her honor. He leaves and returns with a stripe of powder on his cheek and a dusting of more in his hair. Liv reaches for another doughnut to give to him, but only chocolate are left. And she remembers Miranda's eyes.
Miranda's apartment has dark wood floors. Old and weathered. In the low light, almost black. This is the first thing Liv notices.
Her front door is open, trusting of neighbors and partygoers alike. Candles light the way and the cacophony of voices pulls Liv in. Miranda greets her with a glass of red wine, pushes it into her hand, smiling wide. Her hair reflects the flames of the candles, warm red and flickers of shadow. Liv follows her inside, watching the grace of her bare feet over the floors-the arch of her instep, the curl of her toes. The pale lines of her bare legs disappear beneath the short shift of her skirt, swaying and brushing against her thighs. Miranda says something over her shoulder and laughs. Liv holds her breath and a mouthful of wine, nodding at her. As they walk on, Dom catches Liv by the waist and she watches Miranda go and sighs, pressing her wet lips against Dom's temple.
After midnight, half the guests have gone and Dom has commandeered the stereo. The low thrum of music is conspiring with the wine to pull Liv toward sleep. She's watching Billy and Sean play chess with discarded glasses, only they can't remember if the blue tumblers are knights or bishops. Karl lifts an amber glass still half-filled with beer and empties it. Billy throws a pillow at him for stealing his pawn. Karl grabs the pillow and sits down on it next to Liv. She takes the glass from him and hands it to Billy, who smiles at her and grunts at Karl. For all Karl's talents at glowering and brooding, he's laughing now, lit up with it, shoulders shaking. Someone asks him what's so funny, and suddenly Miranda squeezes in between them.
Her legs are soft, brushing against Liv's-several shades paler and several inches shorter. Liv unfolds her legs and stretches them in front of her to compare, bumping her knee against Miranda's as she does so. Miranda nudges her knee in return. Karl whispers something in her ear and she grins wide as a cat, saying wouldn't he just love that. Liv wonders what, arches her eyebrow, ready to ask. But Miranda's head falls on her shoulder, her hair swinging down against Liv's arm and back, her lips brushing against Liv's neck, and her question is answered. Karl stares at them with a hungry lick of his grinning lips and Liv grins and licks back. She bites her lip as her arm circles Miranda's back and her hand rests lightly on her hip. Miranda hums and leans in further, and Liv's hand relaxes, heavier now. She can feel the slippery silk of her skirt and the protruding line of her thong underneath it. Her fingers slide against the silk and her middle finger traces the line to where it disappears. And, here, her finger traces the crease down her backside, right down to the edge of her skirt, where she holds onto it, tips of her fingers just under the hem. Karl's eyes widen, but Liv looks down at Miranda. Her eyes are closed. Her mouth twists out of its teasing grin and opens against Liv's neck. The tip of her tongue makes circles there.
While Billy and Sean play glassware chess and Dom shuffles through cds and Viggo harasses him and Karl looks on, Liv dips her fingers beneath Miranda's skirt and into that dark place she only imagined before. Her finger finds Miranda wet and warm. She pushes in against the wet pull of muscles. She pulls out and pushes up toward her clit, her knuckle stretching the sheath of cotton at the front of her thong. Karl can see none of this, just the movement of Liv's arm and the slight shift of Miranda's legs. She braces herself, hands firm against Liv's stomach and waist, but she doesn't stop kissing Liv's neck. She makes the sweetest sounds.
Karl leans forward, hands to the floor, as if to get up. But he doesn't move. Liv watches him breathe; his chest moves in time with Miranda's breaths. She likes that he's watching, doesn't mind at all. In this light, his eyes are almost a smoky brown. The color of Miranda's closed lids. She wonders what sounds he'd make under her hands. She wonders if, tonight, he'll touch himself too, under damp, white sheets.
Liv Tyler/Miranda Otto w/ Karl Urban
R
Summary: A little NZ-era confection.
Disclaimer: The usual onslaught of lies.
Feedback: Love it! Will feed it with cookies.
A big, squishy thank you to raynemaiden for the beta. ♥
White Chocolate
Her eyes are like chocolate. The first time Liv meets her, Miranda’s eyes are smudged with mocha shadow, warming the cool gray of her irises. Freckles fleck the skin around them, soft brown on pale cream. The tip of Liv's tongue tingles just thinking about her. Miranda is a creature of winter light, but Liv imagines her warm and melting in her mouth.
She watches her on film. On the dailies, she's a ghost, a lady in white. The sun silhouettes her body, faint shapes through Eowyn’s gossamer gown. Liv traces the lines with her mind. The space between her legs, the dark line drawing down. It's a negative exposure burned into her mind's eye: she sees it when she tries to sleep, dreams about it and wakes to the same.
When Miranda's on the set again, she's wearing jeans and a t-shirt and the illusion is shattered. But Liv has a memory of white cloth on white skin and the places between them, the places that hide from the light.
She buys white sheets for her bed and touches herself through them. The sheets are still damp the next morning.
She hasn't worn white panties since she was a little girl, but she's wearing them now. Thin cotton. Translucent when she holds them up to the vanity lights. She tastes them before putting them on, tongue flicking against the layered crotch. It tickles. She laughs. Slips them on, wet between her legs. When the car comes for her, she slides into the back seat and sits with her legs open and the hem of her skirt resting over her knees. The air from the open window dries her. She smiles, the only betrayal of her secret.
At the craft service table, there are white powdered doughnuts. Liv hooks one with her finger and grabs her coffee with the other. Powder shakes off, sprinkles down to the ground. The sugar melts as quickly as snow. As she's watching, the doughnut's yanked from her finger, and she looks up to see Dom trotting backwards, grinning at her with bulging cheeks and white dusted lips. Viggo hands her another doughnut and swears to hunt down the hobbit and avenge her honor. He leaves and returns with a stripe of powder on his cheek and a dusting of more in his hair. Liv reaches for another doughnut to give to him, but only chocolate are left. And she remembers Miranda's eyes.
Miranda's apartment has dark wood floors. Old and weathered. In the low light, almost black. This is the first thing Liv notices.
Her front door is open, trusting of neighbors and partygoers alike. Candles light the way and the cacophony of voices pulls Liv in. Miranda greets her with a glass of red wine, pushes it into her hand, smiling wide. Her hair reflects the flames of the candles, warm red and flickers of shadow. Liv follows her inside, watching the grace of her bare feet over the floors-the arch of her instep, the curl of her toes. The pale lines of her bare legs disappear beneath the short shift of her skirt, swaying and brushing against her thighs. Miranda says something over her shoulder and laughs. Liv holds her breath and a mouthful of wine, nodding at her. As they walk on, Dom catches Liv by the waist and she watches Miranda go and sighs, pressing her wet lips against Dom's temple.
After midnight, half the guests have gone and Dom has commandeered the stereo. The low thrum of music is conspiring with the wine to pull Liv toward sleep. She's watching Billy and Sean play chess with discarded glasses, only they can't remember if the blue tumblers are knights or bishops. Karl lifts an amber glass still half-filled with beer and empties it. Billy throws a pillow at him for stealing his pawn. Karl grabs the pillow and sits down on it next to Liv. She takes the glass from him and hands it to Billy, who smiles at her and grunts at Karl. For all Karl's talents at glowering and brooding, he's laughing now, lit up with it, shoulders shaking. Someone asks him what's so funny, and suddenly Miranda squeezes in between them.
Her legs are soft, brushing against Liv's-several shades paler and several inches shorter. Liv unfolds her legs and stretches them in front of her to compare, bumping her knee against Miranda's as she does so. Miranda nudges her knee in return. Karl whispers something in her ear and she grins wide as a cat, saying wouldn't he just love that. Liv wonders what, arches her eyebrow, ready to ask. But Miranda's head falls on her shoulder, her hair swinging down against Liv's arm and back, her lips brushing against Liv's neck, and her question is answered. Karl stares at them with a hungry lick of his grinning lips and Liv grins and licks back. She bites her lip as her arm circles Miranda's back and her hand rests lightly on her hip. Miranda hums and leans in further, and Liv's hand relaxes, heavier now. She can feel the slippery silk of her skirt and the protruding line of her thong underneath it. Her fingers slide against the silk and her middle finger traces the line to where it disappears. And, here, her finger traces the crease down her backside, right down to the edge of her skirt, where she holds onto it, tips of her fingers just under the hem. Karl's eyes widen, but Liv looks down at Miranda. Her eyes are closed. Her mouth twists out of its teasing grin and opens against Liv's neck. The tip of her tongue makes circles there.
While Billy and Sean play glassware chess and Dom shuffles through cds and Viggo harasses him and Karl looks on, Liv dips her fingers beneath Miranda's skirt and into that dark place she only imagined before. Her finger finds Miranda wet and warm. She pushes in against the wet pull of muscles. She pulls out and pushes up toward her clit, her knuckle stretching the sheath of cotton at the front of her thong. Karl can see none of this, just the movement of Liv's arm and the slight shift of Miranda's legs. She braces herself, hands firm against Liv's stomach and waist, but she doesn't stop kissing Liv's neck. She makes the sweetest sounds.
Karl leans forward, hands to the floor, as if to get up. But he doesn't move. Liv watches him breathe; his chest moves in time with Miranda's breaths. She likes that he's watching, doesn't mind at all. In this light, his eyes are almost a smoky brown. The color of Miranda's closed lids. She wonders what sounds he'd make under her hands. She wonders if, tonight, he'll touch himself too, under damp, white sheets.