Real Person // Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock // You Came Late
Title: You Came Late
Fandom: Real Person
Characters: Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock
Prompt: #48; Discover.
Word Count: 677
Rating: PG-13 for some swears.
Summary: Sandra's wedding.
Author's Notes: It's written in second person and may be slightly awkward. But then again, so is Keanu. And, yeah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
You aren’t sure what you’re doing here. You were pissed when you realized it wasn’t a birthday party but, in fact, a fuckin’ wedding. And not just any wedding - but a wedding where complete C-list actors like Jason Biggs are present and country music is the only genre the DJ can play. A major part of you is aching to step away from the throngs of people constantly engaging you in idle chatter and take a ride on your bike. You consider it. But you won’t.
Because it’s Sandy.
You remember her reaction when you told her Jennifer was pregnant - she was ecstatic, grinning, teasing you about what an overprotective father you’d be. You knew it was an act. There was disappointment behind the shine in her eyes, covered by the lip glossed smile. You weren’t the only one who held things back, but you were better at hiding them. Like when she told you her and Jesse were thinking about getting married - she almost cried seeing the tears in your eyes. I know, I’m so happy; I can’t believe I found my one and only. Then again, maybe you were both faking.
The party is dwindling. Now would be an excellent time to escape, to sneak out behind Regina and flash a smile as you run for the motorcycle and the winding road home. He has an arm around her, the bastard, and he’s interspersing saying good-bye to guests with kissing her on the cheek. You throw back a swig of the beer you’ve been nursing all night - no sense in drinking too much because with this atmosphere, God knows what’ll happen.
Like in her apartment.
No need to think about what happened there. It was a long time ago. Unexpected loneliness encouraged the event, and when the next morning came, only regret remained in the sheets. Eight months of silence afterwards, her personal penance for giving into such a sweet sin. You marked it on your calendar like an anniversary.
She sees you. As she tilts her head and smiles, you want to hate her. She hasn’t come near you all night. But if she did you can’t be responsible for your actions . You will laugh a little too much at her jokes, you will allow your gaze to linger on her, you will whisper in her ear more than is allowed in polite society, and you will trickle your fingers down her bare back just to see the lust swirl in her eyes.
She knows all this.
And yet, here she comes. Jesse isn‘t running to stop her, but yet, he‘s secure in the fact that you‘re just friends. You rise from the empty table to greet her.
“You came late. Dance with me.”
She heads for the dance floor before you can answer. You saunter over, very suave, pretending you don’t really want to do this when inside you’re tingling at holding her so close. She’s on her tiptoes at the DJ’s booth, trying to find an appropriate song among all the country achy breaky hearts. Her hair is tousled, her dress wrinkled, her make-up askew. She’s quite a mess, really, not just from today’s events but all the time. It’s beautiful.
But you’ve already told her that.
She finds one and waits for it to start playing before she turns around.
You were two feet apart a minute ago.
But that was a minute ago.
Her breathing is shallow. Her body rubs against yours with every shift, and you keep waiting for the school master to step in with the ruler.
It isn’t physical.
She can hear your heart crack and lets you know it by laying her head on your shoulder. You know she’s doubting and reassure her through kissing her sweat glistened forehead. Communication without words has always been your specialty. She squeezes your shoulder and never releases. You look at her and she looks at you.
There’s a small gasp.
You’re in love with her.
She knows. She feels. She returns.
The song ends.
Fandom: Real Person
Characters: Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock
Prompt: #48; Discover.
Word Count: 677
Rating: PG-13 for some swears.
Summary: Sandra's wedding.
Author's Notes: It's written in second person and may be slightly awkward. But then again, so is Keanu. And, yeah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
You aren’t sure what you’re doing here. You were pissed when you realized it wasn’t a birthday party but, in fact, a fuckin’ wedding. And not just any wedding - but a wedding where complete C-list actors like Jason Biggs are present and country music is the only genre the DJ can play. A major part of you is aching to step away from the throngs of people constantly engaging you in idle chatter and take a ride on your bike. You consider it. But you won’t.
Because it’s Sandy.
You remember her reaction when you told her Jennifer was pregnant - she was ecstatic, grinning, teasing you about what an overprotective father you’d be. You knew it was an act. There was disappointment behind the shine in her eyes, covered by the lip glossed smile. You weren’t the only one who held things back, but you were better at hiding them. Like when she told you her and Jesse were thinking about getting married - she almost cried seeing the tears in your eyes. I know, I’m so happy; I can’t believe I found my one and only. Then again, maybe you were both faking.
The party is dwindling. Now would be an excellent time to escape, to sneak out behind Regina and flash a smile as you run for the motorcycle and the winding road home. He has an arm around her, the bastard, and he’s interspersing saying good-bye to guests with kissing her on the cheek. You throw back a swig of the beer you’ve been nursing all night - no sense in drinking too much because with this atmosphere, God knows what’ll happen.
Like in her apartment.
No need to think about what happened there. It was a long time ago. Unexpected loneliness encouraged the event, and when the next morning came, only regret remained in the sheets. Eight months of silence afterwards, her personal penance for giving into such a sweet sin. You marked it on your calendar like an anniversary.
She sees you. As she tilts her head and smiles, you want to hate her. She hasn’t come near you all night. But if she did you can’t be responsible for your actions . You will laugh a little too much at her jokes, you will allow your gaze to linger on her, you will whisper in her ear more than is allowed in polite society, and you will trickle your fingers down her bare back just to see the lust swirl in her eyes.
She knows all this.
And yet, here she comes. Jesse isn‘t running to stop her, but yet, he‘s secure in the fact that you‘re just friends. You rise from the empty table to greet her.
“You came late. Dance with me.”
She heads for the dance floor before you can answer. You saunter over, very suave, pretending you don’t really want to do this when inside you’re tingling at holding her so close. She’s on her tiptoes at the DJ’s booth, trying to find an appropriate song among all the country achy breaky hearts. Her hair is tousled, her dress wrinkled, her make-up askew. She’s quite a mess, really, not just from today’s events but all the time. It’s beautiful.
But you’ve already told her that.
She finds one and waits for it to start playing before she turns around.
You were two feet apart a minute ago.
But that was a minute ago.
Her breathing is shallow. Her body rubs against yours with every shift, and you keep waiting for the school master to step in with the ruler.
It isn’t physical.
She can hear your heart crack and lets you know it by laying her head on your shoulder. You know she’s doubting and reassure her through kissing her sweat glistened forehead. Communication without words has always been your specialty. She squeezes your shoulder and never releases. You look at her and she looks at you.
There’s a small gasp.
You’re in love with her.
She knows. She feels. She returns.
The song ends.