waywardpen
in
rpfs
RPFS Fic - Tina Fey/Amy Poehler, PG-13
Burn
Author: waywardpen
Fandom: RPFS
Characters: Tina Fey/Amy Poehler (SNL)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This scenario exists only in the inner workings of my warped, slashy mind.
Summary: She smells of perfume and cigarettes.
As someone once told me, I crush very quickly. Here's my latest. Hope someone enjoys :)
X-posted to tamy_love
My fingers tense when they entwine in her hair. The strands are cold; the harshness of the wind she encountered as she walked towards me remains on her hair, her skin, and her coat. I try to kiss it off of her, pulling her into the alley so we can’t be seen; my fingernails burn with the coldness from her hair, and her eyes as she pushes me away.
She hates this, the clandestine meetings, the stolen 15 minutes of a lunch break in between writing and learning lines. Canned laughter echoes in our ears as I try to kiss her again and she finally gives up, sinking into me and leaning us both against the concrete wall. She smells of perfume and cigarettes; she’s been hanging out backstage “with the guys,” the only place, she’s told me, that she really feels comfortable - when she’s not with me. My bare hands roam over her, caressing her face, her neck, the blonde tresses that fall over her black coat… and then I slip into her coat, grasping her waist, letting the warmth hold me. My lenses start to cloud and I pull one hand out to remove them, but she takes them from me and puts them back over my ears and on my nose.
She smiles that thousand-watt smile and gently brushes her lips over that space on my neck that falls just below my ear, and it isn’t the wind that makes me shiver. “Later?” she whispers, not a question, but a plea.
I don’t respond; we both know the answer isn’t necessary. We know what the answer always will be.
I watch her go, pushing my glasses back up as they threaten to slide off with the sweat that took over my skin when we kissed. She doesn’t like it when I take my glasses off, I remember as her form retreats towards the studio. She says it makes my eyes look bleary, tired, as if I’ve spent too long a day creating scenes, until words and letters become burned on my irises like the ghosting of a computer.
She hasn’t realized it’s her face that I have burned in my vision.
Author: waywardpen
Fandom: RPFS
Characters: Tina Fey/Amy Poehler (SNL)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This scenario exists only in the inner workings of my warped, slashy mind.
Summary: She smells of perfume and cigarettes.
As someone once told me, I crush very quickly. Here's my latest. Hope someone enjoys :)
X-posted to tamy_love
My fingers tense when they entwine in her hair. The strands are cold; the harshness of the wind she encountered as she walked towards me remains on her hair, her skin, and her coat. I try to kiss it off of her, pulling her into the alley so we can’t be seen; my fingernails burn with the coldness from her hair, and her eyes as she pushes me away.
She hates this, the clandestine meetings, the stolen 15 minutes of a lunch break in between writing and learning lines. Canned laughter echoes in our ears as I try to kiss her again and she finally gives up, sinking into me and leaning us both against the concrete wall. She smells of perfume and cigarettes; she’s been hanging out backstage “with the guys,” the only place, she’s told me, that she really feels comfortable - when she’s not with me. My bare hands roam over her, caressing her face, her neck, the blonde tresses that fall over her black coat… and then I slip into her coat, grasping her waist, letting the warmth hold me. My lenses start to cloud and I pull one hand out to remove them, but she takes them from me and puts them back over my ears and on my nose.
She smiles that thousand-watt smile and gently brushes her lips over that space on my neck that falls just below my ear, and it isn’t the wind that makes me shiver. “Later?” she whispers, not a question, but a plea.
I don’t respond; we both know the answer isn’t necessary. We know what the answer always will be.
I watch her go, pushing my glasses back up as they threaten to slide off with the sweat that took over my skin when we kissed. She doesn’t like it when I take my glasses off, I remember as her form retreats towards the studio. She says it makes my eyes look bleary, tired, as if I’ve spent too long a day creating scenes, until words and letters become burned on my irises like the ghosting of a computer.
She hasn’t realized it’s her face that I have burned in my vision.