Fic: Wrestlefic: Nightriders (Chris/Trish)
Title: Nightriders
Type: Shipperfic
Genere: Romance
Rating: PG (Adult Language)
Het/Gen/Slash/Bi: Het
Players: Chris Jericho, Trish Stratus
Pairing: Chris/Trish
Disclaimer: What's Vince's is Vince's, and what's mine is mine. If you don't recognize it, it does belong to me.
Author's Note: A None
Summary: A ride by a beach.
Moonlight is a tinting influence. It makes your blue sweater a darker blue; your teeth brighter and pearlescent, like rocks dragged up from the ocean's belly. But the tones of waking colors remain; your hair is still the same shade as in the daylight, only touched with an ethereal, creamy light.
So, he thinks, she is a silver blonde by the shine of the moon, but golden in the light of the sun. The difference is subtle, but he knows and notices.
"Please watch the road."
Her tone is light, unnerving him. He feels serious tonight, a rare occasion, and he wants her to understand, too. "I'm sorry, I just like looking at you."
The words are filled with syrup, and make him wince, but she smiles. "If you want to do that, just pull over." He does, and she turns to watch him. "I'm glad you shaved that beard."
"I liked that beard."
"You were the only one." She pats his outstretched hand. "But I had a horrible perm when I was fifteen. I know what it's like to live with a bad personal hair choice."
"Yeah? Then why did you want to pull the car over?"
"I wanted to look at you. And neither of us can drive if we're not watching the road."
"Good point." She lets the idea go, turning her head to watch the ocean roll up against a sandbar.
He hadn't realized that they had been driving for as long as they had. There, certainly, is something odd about suddenly looking up and noticing that you were at a place where the ocean met the land. Not a place; the place, the only one in the known world.
She shivers; her sculpted nails pinch closed the throat of her tee shirt as the sea winds whip up over the beach and over the car. He wraps a protective arm around her out of instinct, and her locks whip against his lips as she rests the back of her head against his jaw.
"What am I going to do with you, Christopher Irvine?"
He winces beneath the impact of his full name. "I don't know. What do you with a person when you're done with him?"
"I'm not done with you. I'm scared that I'm never going to be."
The words sounded wrong, but the feeling was a universal chord. "I fit into your inner landscape, don't I?"
Her weight sagged more firmly against him. "You fit on my planet." She said without thinking. Then, with a little thought. "Inner landscape?"
"Heh, I've been riding around with Rob lately. He has these fung shi class books on tape and..."
"I was wondering. But it's true." She moved, suddenly, then opened the door of the car. "Will you come with me?"
The double meaning of the phrase struck him, and he suppressed a laugh. "Right now, I'd go to the moon with you."
"I'm serious, Chris."
Her sudden vulnerability was sweet. In her tank top and jeans, her hair untied, her face bare of makeup, she looked like a good Greek daughter, the righteous sort, the child he had lead astray. Her hair was a plume of clouds on the wind.
He climbed over the passenger side, meeting her. The plainspoken honesty in his voice meant everything. "Anywhere."
Relief and pleasure glittered in her eyes, and she cupped his cheek before turning around and heading down to the shore. He joined with her, one hand tucked inside of hers, the other dragging a piece of driftwood, marking their progress with an unbroken trail shining white in the nightlight.
Type: Shipperfic
Genere: Romance
Rating: PG (Adult Language)
Het/Gen/Slash/Bi: Het
Players: Chris Jericho, Trish Stratus
Pairing: Chris/Trish
Disclaimer: What's Vince's is Vince's, and what's mine is mine. If you don't recognize it, it does belong to me.
Author's Note: A None
Summary: A ride by a beach.
Moonlight is a tinting influence. It makes your blue sweater a darker blue; your teeth brighter and pearlescent, like rocks dragged up from the ocean's belly. But the tones of waking colors remain; your hair is still the same shade as in the daylight, only touched with an ethereal, creamy light.
So, he thinks, she is a silver blonde by the shine of the moon, but golden in the light of the sun. The difference is subtle, but he knows and notices.
"Please watch the road."
Her tone is light, unnerving him. He feels serious tonight, a rare occasion, and he wants her to understand, too. "I'm sorry, I just like looking at you."
The words are filled with syrup, and make him wince, but she smiles. "If you want to do that, just pull over." He does, and she turns to watch him. "I'm glad you shaved that beard."
"I liked that beard."
"You were the only one." She pats his outstretched hand. "But I had a horrible perm when I was fifteen. I know what it's like to live with a bad personal hair choice."
"Yeah? Then why did you want to pull the car over?"
"I wanted to look at you. And neither of us can drive if we're not watching the road."
"Good point." She lets the idea go, turning her head to watch the ocean roll up against a sandbar.
He hadn't realized that they had been driving for as long as they had. There, certainly, is something odd about suddenly looking up and noticing that you were at a place where the ocean met the land. Not a place; the place, the only one in the known world.
She shivers; her sculpted nails pinch closed the throat of her tee shirt as the sea winds whip up over the beach and over the car. He wraps a protective arm around her out of instinct, and her locks whip against his lips as she rests the back of her head against his jaw.
"What am I going to do with you, Christopher Irvine?"
He winces beneath the impact of his full name. "I don't know. What do you with a person when you're done with him?"
"I'm not done with you. I'm scared that I'm never going to be."
The words sounded wrong, but the feeling was a universal chord. "I fit into your inner landscape, don't I?"
Her weight sagged more firmly against him. "You fit on my planet." She said without thinking. Then, with a little thought. "Inner landscape?"
"Heh, I've been riding around with Rob lately. He has these fung shi class books on tape and..."
"I was wondering. But it's true." She moved, suddenly, then opened the door of the car. "Will you come with me?"
The double meaning of the phrase struck him, and he suppressed a laugh. "Right now, I'd go to the moon with you."
"I'm serious, Chris."
Her sudden vulnerability was sweet. In her tank top and jeans, her hair untied, her face bare of makeup, she looked like a good Greek daughter, the righteous sort, the child he had lead astray. Her hair was a plume of clouds on the wind.
He climbed over the passenger side, meeting her. The plainspoken honesty in his voice meant everything. "Anywhere."
Relief and pleasure glittered in her eyes, and she cupped his cheek before turning around and heading down to the shore. He joined with her, one hand tucked inside of hers, the other dragging a piece of driftwood, marking their progress with an unbroken trail shining white in the nightlight.