RPS FIC: Kristen Stewart/Charlize Theron
Title: This Time (Maybe)
Cast: Kristen Stewart/Charlize Theron
Summary: This isn't Kristen's first rodeo. She's hooked up with costars before, but some things about Charlize are different -- like age and an overall lack of interest in the long term. This should be totally doable, right?
Notes: PG-13. References to sex, but nothing too explicit. Around 1,400 words. Big thanks to theagonyofblank for a wonderful suggestion that helped me finish this off, and for basically telling me to post this already.
These dresses aren't made to be removed. Kristen's isn't so bad, designed so she can slip and slide around in sewers, but everything about Charlize's is impossible to manage, especially under time constraints.
That's how everything gets so lopsided so quickly, with Kristen up on the counter in her trailer and Charlize's hands underneath three layers of skirts.
"Oh," Kristen gasps, and then, "yes, there."
Charlize smiles in that same wicked way she does in the middle of a scene and coos when Kristen starts to bite her own lip.
"Hey, hey. Make up."
Kristen laughs, a sound so light and heady it almost tickles in her nose. "Yeah," she says, hiccuping on her next gasp; "I'll make it up to you."
"No." Charlize's laugh is so close and her hand is warm on Kristen's cheek. "Your makeup," she says and this time it's made clear from the way her thumb brushes lightly against skin, just a faint fluttering touch. Anything more and she might smear.
It's hard enough keeping everything set with the lights, so she understands the concern -- and the questions -- that would follow coming back from her trailer with lipstick smeared; but Kristen still can't help the way the disappointment writes itself across her face. "Oh, right."
"Still with me, buddy?"
"Sure." Except now Kristen can't stop watching the other woman's mouth, red and round but open, spreading wide in another big grin. "But--" This is probably when you'd normally shut someone up with a kiss, but Charlize improvises with something even better, just applying the right amount of pressure, and-- "Oh."
"Ohh, yeah."
Kristen's tongue curls and her eyes crinkle in a smile. Steady and heavy gasps puff out near Charlize's cheek, but their mouths don't touch.
*
Kristen's used to being with people who are older. All her puppy dog emotions and the heart she wears on her sleeve are things she picked up around people like Jodie and Joan. They taught her about living large and loud, with an almost pyrotechnic personality.
It's possible she misinterpreted a few things on the way. Both of them have taught themselves how to be cool and calm as well, making their way through life with level-headed composure. Kristen, on the other hand, is pretty sure she still comes across as a yapping dog chasing at someone's heels.
With Charlize it's not much different, except in all the ways that it is.
People always laugh when Kristen does her thing. It might be actual amusement or maybe it's some kind of contact embarrassment on her behalf. These days it seems like they laugh just because she's famous. She's Bella fucking Swan, and that makes her the center of attention, no matter how much she might not want to be.
Charlize is such a relief because she just doesn't give a shit. Not about Twilight or Kristen's might-be boyfriend, or even the obligation everyone else seems to feel to laugh at her jokes.
"Fuck," Kristen says, mouth twisting and fingers working through her own hair like they're digging down inside her skull for answers.
Charlize has one eyebrow raised, but her face is otherwise blank. "Oh, that was a joke?"
"Shit, yeah--" And it's Kristen who's laughing, hiding her face against her palm. Sometimes her jokes just fall flat now, and it's almost like being normal again. It's almost like a relief.
"Oh, okay." Charlize smiles a little then, just a small one. Sometimes she does that, just a little smile like a life line to remind Kristen it's okay. They can be normal people sometimes who only smile when they want to. It feels good, man. "Maybe give me some warning next time. I'll laugh--"
"Hey."
"No, I'm good with a courtesy laugh."
Sometimes Kristen has to bite her own lip to keep her mouth from getting away from her. Sometimes she has to crack her knuckles just to keep her hands occupied, fingers fidgeting and tongue tied. It's hard to remember that when she squeezes Charlize's arm she shouldn't linger. Shouldn't, but does.
Their eyes meet, and this time Charlize's laugh is there, loud and sincere.
"Like that?" Kristen says, and then she lets go.
"No, the courtesy I'm paying you there is in not tickling you back."
*
It's not like this is true love. Kristen isn't that kind of girl, not that sort of naive. Love is supposed to be about two pieces of a whole coming together in all the ways that they align, and when you're built so lopsided and strange there isn't going to be anyone who lines up just right. She's sort of a butter knife of a person and Charlize is sleek and sharp like real steel. That's just the way it goes.
This isn't love, not really, but it's something larger than just two bodies coming together to create friction. She isn't sure what you call that in between space, but that's where her heart and head occupy almost all the time.
It's just that she doesn't like to let anyone in, spends all this time ducking down behind big brick walls, so that when she finally opens the door to pull someone inside, they get to go all the way to the back.
Like a pillow fort of psychosis.
It's a party inside Kristen's heart and in her head: a constant conga line of whatcouldhavebeens.
*
"God," Charlize will say sometimes, laughing in that way she has that tightens something inside Kristen's chest. "Look at you."
Her laugh is like her hands, light and drifting. Her smile stops for a while and lingers, like her hand on the inside of Kristen's thigh while they're driving in the car.
"No thanks," Kristen says.
Chris isn't on this round of interviews today, and even when he's there he's too polite to acknowledge that he notices them -- their prolonged looks and subtle touches. At least, Kristen thinks of herself as subtle.
Probably subtle like her feelings for the press or her slouching hoodie and sneakers. Subtle like how she sits too close, smiles too long. Subtle like her disdain or occasional disinterest. Subtle like her hand in Nikki's or her eyes on Dakota.
Maybe subtle isn't really the word.
*
Some days, the world progresses as it should, everything moving in time with a natural rhythm and flow.
Other times everything is quick and sudden, jolting you out of your own purpose and place. Like Charlize suddenly here, now, in her trailer and then in her pants, though that's just the beginning.
It goes like this.
Kristen has a simple t-shirt on because they've already wrapped for the day, she should be heading home, but now it's lifting until it's nearly off again.
Charlize's nails are extra long and perfectly manicured. Whether it's for the role or force of habit, Kristen can't be sure, but what she does know is the way they feel raking down her front.
The sound rising in her throat is high and needier than she'd like. How come she's always the one who ends up naked, and underneath Charlize no less?
Not that she's complaining exactly.
But now her shirt is gone, bunched up in Charlize's free hand, which she's pressed up against the mirror on the wall to support whatever remaining weight she doesn't press directly against Kristen. Because Charlize is so large and direct, a force to be reckoned with, and genuinely forceful too. She drops Kristen's shirt somewhere on the floor and fists fingers through her hair while the other hand goes exploring.
Expedition to the center of a girl, with tours leaving daily at whatever time strikes Charlize's fancy.
Kristen knows she should notice the imbalance or at least feel some guilt since this is the second time she's come today, but all she really sees is the rise and fall of Charlize's chest and the amused curl of her mouth. Hard to focus past that, just keep breathing.
As if to assist, Charlize latches her mouth onto Kristen's, and it's like they're gasping through and for one another. In and out, over and over.
They play this game often enough that she's sure she should know the rules by now, land on a level playing field, but Charlize is the big time and Kristen can only watch in awe. She's way out of her league, with no relief hitter on deck, and that's about the full extent of all her sports related knowledge.
Best to start over, begin again.
And when Kristen comes, shuddering and whimpering, Charlize flips her over and does precisely that.
Cast: Kristen Stewart/Charlize Theron
Summary: This isn't Kristen's first rodeo. She's hooked up with costars before, but some things about Charlize are different -- like age and an overall lack of interest in the long term. This should be totally doable, right?
Notes: PG-13. References to sex, but nothing too explicit. Around 1,400 words. Big thanks to theagonyofblank for a wonderful suggestion that helped me finish this off, and for basically telling me to post this already.
These dresses aren't made to be removed. Kristen's isn't so bad, designed so she can slip and slide around in sewers, but everything about Charlize's is impossible to manage, especially under time constraints.
That's how everything gets so lopsided so quickly, with Kristen up on the counter in her trailer and Charlize's hands underneath three layers of skirts.
"Oh," Kristen gasps, and then, "yes, there."
Charlize smiles in that same wicked way she does in the middle of a scene and coos when Kristen starts to bite her own lip.
"Hey, hey. Make up."
Kristen laughs, a sound so light and heady it almost tickles in her nose. "Yeah," she says, hiccuping on her next gasp; "I'll make it up to you."
"No." Charlize's laugh is so close and her hand is warm on Kristen's cheek. "Your makeup," she says and this time it's made clear from the way her thumb brushes lightly against skin, just a faint fluttering touch. Anything more and she might smear.
It's hard enough keeping everything set with the lights, so she understands the concern -- and the questions -- that would follow coming back from her trailer with lipstick smeared; but Kristen still can't help the way the disappointment writes itself across her face. "Oh, right."
"Still with me, buddy?"
"Sure." Except now Kristen can't stop watching the other woman's mouth, red and round but open, spreading wide in another big grin. "But--" This is probably when you'd normally shut someone up with a kiss, but Charlize improvises with something even better, just applying the right amount of pressure, and-- "Oh."
"Ohh, yeah."
Kristen's tongue curls and her eyes crinkle in a smile. Steady and heavy gasps puff out near Charlize's cheek, but their mouths don't touch.
*
Kristen's used to being with people who are older. All her puppy dog emotions and the heart she wears on her sleeve are things she picked up around people like Jodie and Joan. They taught her about living large and loud, with an almost pyrotechnic personality.
It's possible she misinterpreted a few things on the way. Both of them have taught themselves how to be cool and calm as well, making their way through life with level-headed composure. Kristen, on the other hand, is pretty sure she still comes across as a yapping dog chasing at someone's heels.
With Charlize it's not much different, except in all the ways that it is.
People always laugh when Kristen does her thing. It might be actual amusement or maybe it's some kind of contact embarrassment on her behalf. These days it seems like they laugh just because she's famous. She's Bella fucking Swan, and that makes her the center of attention, no matter how much she might not want to be.
Charlize is such a relief because she just doesn't give a shit. Not about Twilight or Kristen's might-be boyfriend, or even the obligation everyone else seems to feel to laugh at her jokes.
"Fuck," Kristen says, mouth twisting and fingers working through her own hair like they're digging down inside her skull for answers.
Charlize has one eyebrow raised, but her face is otherwise blank. "Oh, that was a joke?"
"Shit, yeah--" And it's Kristen who's laughing, hiding her face against her palm. Sometimes her jokes just fall flat now, and it's almost like being normal again. It's almost like a relief.
"Oh, okay." Charlize smiles a little then, just a small one. Sometimes she does that, just a little smile like a life line to remind Kristen it's okay. They can be normal people sometimes who only smile when they want to. It feels good, man. "Maybe give me some warning next time. I'll laugh--"
"Hey."
"No, I'm good with a courtesy laugh."
Sometimes Kristen has to bite her own lip to keep her mouth from getting away from her. Sometimes she has to crack her knuckles just to keep her hands occupied, fingers fidgeting and tongue tied. It's hard to remember that when she squeezes Charlize's arm she shouldn't linger. Shouldn't, but does.
Their eyes meet, and this time Charlize's laugh is there, loud and sincere.
"Like that?" Kristen says, and then she lets go.
"No, the courtesy I'm paying you there is in not tickling you back."
*
It's not like this is true love. Kristen isn't that kind of girl, not that sort of naive. Love is supposed to be about two pieces of a whole coming together in all the ways that they align, and when you're built so lopsided and strange there isn't going to be anyone who lines up just right. She's sort of a butter knife of a person and Charlize is sleek and sharp like real steel. That's just the way it goes.
This isn't love, not really, but it's something larger than just two bodies coming together to create friction. She isn't sure what you call that in between space, but that's where her heart and head occupy almost all the time.
It's just that she doesn't like to let anyone in, spends all this time ducking down behind big brick walls, so that when she finally opens the door to pull someone inside, they get to go all the way to the back.
Like a pillow fort of psychosis.
It's a party inside Kristen's heart and in her head: a constant conga line of whatcouldhavebeens.
*
"God," Charlize will say sometimes, laughing in that way she has that tightens something inside Kristen's chest. "Look at you."
Her laugh is like her hands, light and drifting. Her smile stops for a while and lingers, like her hand on the inside of Kristen's thigh while they're driving in the car.
"No thanks," Kristen says.
Chris isn't on this round of interviews today, and even when he's there he's too polite to acknowledge that he notices them -- their prolonged looks and subtle touches. At least, Kristen thinks of herself as subtle.
Probably subtle like her feelings for the press or her slouching hoodie and sneakers. Subtle like how she sits too close, smiles too long. Subtle like her disdain or occasional disinterest. Subtle like her hand in Nikki's or her eyes on Dakota.
Maybe subtle isn't really the word.
*
Some days, the world progresses as it should, everything moving in time with a natural rhythm and flow.
Other times everything is quick and sudden, jolting you out of your own purpose and place. Like Charlize suddenly here, now, in her trailer and then in her pants, though that's just the beginning.
It goes like this.
Kristen has a simple t-shirt on because they've already wrapped for the day, she should be heading home, but now it's lifting until it's nearly off again.
Charlize's nails are extra long and perfectly manicured. Whether it's for the role or force of habit, Kristen can't be sure, but what she does know is the way they feel raking down her front.
The sound rising in her throat is high and needier than she'd like. How come she's always the one who ends up naked, and underneath Charlize no less?
Not that she's complaining exactly.
But now her shirt is gone, bunched up in Charlize's free hand, which she's pressed up against the mirror on the wall to support whatever remaining weight she doesn't press directly against Kristen. Because Charlize is so large and direct, a force to be reckoned with, and genuinely forceful too. She drops Kristen's shirt somewhere on the floor and fists fingers through her hair while the other hand goes exploring.
Expedition to the center of a girl, with tours leaving daily at whatever time strikes Charlize's fancy.
Kristen knows she should notice the imbalance or at least feel some guilt since this is the second time she's come today, but all she really sees is the rise and fall of Charlize's chest and the amused curl of her mouth. Hard to focus past that, just keep breathing.
As if to assist, Charlize latches her mouth onto Kristen's, and it's like they're gasping through and for one another. In and out, over and over.
They play this game often enough that she's sure she should know the rules by now, land on a level playing field, but Charlize is the big time and Kristen can only watch in awe. She's way out of her league, with no relief hitter on deck, and that's about the full extent of all her sports related knowledge.
Best to start over, begin again.
And when Kristen comes, shuddering and whimpering, Charlize flips her over and does precisely that.