fic: flirt with love (and your certainty) (rps - cheryl cole/kimberley walsh)
Title: Flirt With Love (And Your Certainty)
Author: ripptyd
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Girls Aloud, Cheryl Cole/Kimberley Walsh (RPS)
Word Count: 676
Summary: And you swear, hand to God, in those moments it was for you.
She didn’t write it. You know she didn’t, but you like to humor yourself. You like to think maybe she thought of you when she picked it. But that is a silly thought, so you try not to let your mind wander there often. Except that you love her album, and it makes your heart swell with pride when you hear it.
You’ve sat at home alone and you’ve played it on a loop. And you swear, hand to God, in those moments it was for you. That song is yours when you close your eyes and the stereo is making your floor thump rhythmically. It feels desperate. You sitting there, thinking some pop song is for you. But, you reason, the lyrics sound just as desperate. You’re just not sure which situation is the saddest one of all.
She asks you if it’s cocky that she plays her own album. You want to laugh and tell her that is quite big headed. But she’s looking at you with genuine concern. And you’re a bit taken aback by how much she’s changed in the past seven years. And if she asked you this back at the beginning of the band, you’d be giving her a different answer.
But you smile at her and shake your head, and you tell her that if you had made the album, you’d be fighting to play it from the rooftops as well. You know it was the right thing to say because she gives you this wide grin, but she’s blushing too. And for a moment you’re absolutely blinded and it all goes fuzzy until she’s moving around her hotel room again.
You don’t remember planning on doing it, but you move across the room until you’re standing at her side while she puts in a pair of earrings. Your right hip is pressing into the small table while your eyes flicker between her reflection and the very real figure to your left. And her lips are moving while she’s talking animatedly about something. But it’s going quite literally in one ear and out the other. And then you rest your hand on her forearm.
She stops and she looks at you with this wide eyed confusion. And her lips are parted just that little bit, and her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth. And you’re there.
You’re kissing her a little bit harder than you mean to, and the whole center of your body is coiled up tightly because you’re waiting for her to push you away. And for the first few seconds you think she might until your fingers slip into her dark hair. Her hands that a moment ago were flat on your stomach and ready to keep you from getting closer are now small fists gripping the cotton of your shirt while her knuckles are brushing against you with every deep breath you take.
When she does move back, it’s gently, and with her lips lingering on yours. You sigh with slight difficulty while you try and even out your breathing without too much embarrassment. So you busy yourself by pressing your mouth against her chin and you tell her that you didn’t mean to wrinkle her dress. You smooth your hands down the fabric, and she gives you this throaty chuckle that makes your head feel heavy and you can’t help the small bite you give her jaw when she tells you that you’re welcome to muss up her clothes anytime.
She groans and she pulls away completely with a soft laugh and a flush of color in her cheeks. And you watch her when she turns back to the mirror. She’s fixing her makeup, and your hand rests on her lower back, and you notice the gloss in her hand is trembling just the slightest bit. But she’s looking at you steady as ever in the glass and she smiles.
So you smile too, because now you have a lifeline to hang on to when you listen to her album again.
Author: ripptyd
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Girls Aloud, Cheryl Cole/Kimberley Walsh (RPS)
Word Count: 676
Summary: And you swear, hand to God, in those moments it was for you.
She didn’t write it. You know she didn’t, but you like to humor yourself. You like to think maybe she thought of you when she picked it. But that is a silly thought, so you try not to let your mind wander there often. Except that you love her album, and it makes your heart swell with pride when you hear it.
You’ve sat at home alone and you’ve played it on a loop. And you swear, hand to God, in those moments it was for you. That song is yours when you close your eyes and the stereo is making your floor thump rhythmically. It feels desperate. You sitting there, thinking some pop song is for you. But, you reason, the lyrics sound just as desperate. You’re just not sure which situation is the saddest one of all.
She asks you if it’s cocky that she plays her own album. You want to laugh and tell her that is quite big headed. But she’s looking at you with genuine concern. And you’re a bit taken aback by how much she’s changed in the past seven years. And if she asked you this back at the beginning of the band, you’d be giving her a different answer.
But you smile at her and shake your head, and you tell her that if you had made the album, you’d be fighting to play it from the rooftops as well. You know it was the right thing to say because she gives you this wide grin, but she’s blushing too. And for a moment you’re absolutely blinded and it all goes fuzzy until she’s moving around her hotel room again.
You don’t remember planning on doing it, but you move across the room until you’re standing at her side while she puts in a pair of earrings. Your right hip is pressing into the small table while your eyes flicker between her reflection and the very real figure to your left. And her lips are moving while she’s talking animatedly about something. But it’s going quite literally in one ear and out the other. And then you rest your hand on her forearm.
She stops and she looks at you with this wide eyed confusion. And her lips are parted just that little bit, and her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth. And you’re there.
You’re kissing her a little bit harder than you mean to, and the whole center of your body is coiled up tightly because you’re waiting for her to push you away. And for the first few seconds you think she might until your fingers slip into her dark hair. Her hands that a moment ago were flat on your stomach and ready to keep you from getting closer are now small fists gripping the cotton of your shirt while her knuckles are brushing against you with every deep breath you take.
When she does move back, it’s gently, and with her lips lingering on yours. You sigh with slight difficulty while you try and even out your breathing without too much embarrassment. So you busy yourself by pressing your mouth against her chin and you tell her that you didn’t mean to wrinkle her dress. You smooth your hands down the fabric, and she gives you this throaty chuckle that makes your head feel heavy and you can’t help the small bite you give her jaw when she tells you that you’re welcome to muss up her clothes anytime.
She groans and she pulls away completely with a soft laugh and a flush of color in her cheeks. And you watch her when she turns back to the mirror. She’s fixing her makeup, and your hand rests on her lower back, and you notice the gloss in her hand is trembling just the slightest bit. But she’s looking at you steady as ever in the glass and she smiles.
So you smile too, because now you have a lifeline to hang on to when you listen to her album again.