Fic: A Year (Firsts): 7 Kisses (Kristin Chenoweth/Idina Menzel RPF)
NOTE: Someone should've given me a heads up that 2nd year of medschool is honestly hell on earth. I don't sleep.
Title: 7 Kisses
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Kristin Chenoweth/Idina Menzel
Spoilers: none
Summary: They've discovered the joys of kissing.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
1.
The lights die and the curtain falls and Idina's hussled backstage, quickly, clumsily, a small hand pulling on her own; pulling all of her away from all of them. Kristin's blue dress swirls in her line of vision and she struggles with her feet, through rooms and down corridors and up steps: two, five, nine, twenty, a hundred. And the doors click behind them, one after the other, locking for good, holding the secret they don't know they keep.
Kristin spins around so fast she almost trips. "Hi."
"Hi," Idina smiles.
"Hi," she says again, gently this time, stepping forwards and lifting up on tiptoes. But their lips don't touch. "Kiss me."
"Now?"
"Now."
Idina cocks her head and considers. Her arms are loose by her sides and Kristin's still leaning up to her, precariously balanced and waiting breathlessly. But they don't touch.
"You kiss me."
"No." A whine, the sweetest sound Idina's ever heard, morphs into hot breath against her face.
"Why not?"
"I want you to do it." The small hands that only moments ago gripped her, now rest lightly on the beaded material of her black dress and coax out a sigh.
"But you always get your way."
Kristin sparkles, "Yes."
So she does as she's told, like she knew she would, buzzing, eager, fighting to contain how much she really wants this. Kristin's so perfect against her. She's so perfect and giggly and so very, very alive.
"One more."
"One more?"
"Yes." And this time, this time Kristin doesn't wait.
2.
They go on a date. A real date, with a time and a place and the two of them together, perfectly placed and in perfect time.
They eat. Kristin watches more food go into Idina's mouth than she gets around to having herself. Because Idina's concentrating and enjoying the moment and laughing and 'oh my', Kristin takes a sip of wine, hand tremolo around the glass stem.
Idina's the one to pick up the check. She likes to be chivalrous; likes to throw Kristin smiles, open doors, help Kristin with her coat.
They walk hand in hand and traverse miles of pavement and Kristin comments on the sky and New York. She people-watches. Her eyes stray but never too long, never too far from the quiet storm beside her.
"This was so wonderful."
"It really was." The thick glow of the light cradles Idina's face and her eyes melt into pools of silver.
"We should...I mean, it'd be nice to...if you want to, do this more...again, some time. Only if you want to." Nervous chuckles hug the cold air. Kristin blushes into her scarf.
"I do...want to, that is...What about, maybe tomorrow?"
"Okay. Tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow sounds great. I'm free tomorrow. I can't wait."
"Kris, you're so...you look...I never got a chance-"
"Would you like to come up? Not to...just to..."
Cars rush and streets hum but there is no sound.
She could come up. They could talk. They could kiss. They could swim in the moonlight and navigate through sheets. They could put the horse before the cart and ruin it all.
"Have a good night," Idina smiles and runs a trembling hand down Kristin's sleeve, brushing her cheek, touching the earring that dances at a jaw. Meet her half way, meet her half way.
The world turns but all Idina hears is the soft union of their lips.
3.
Kristin sits on her floor with Idina's head in her lap. She looks down with undivided attention and lets brown hair slip between her fingers, curling and uncurling, giggling every time Idina's eyes fall shut and she teeters on the edge of consciousness.
She likes the way Idina caresses her wrists and up her forearms, lazily and naturally, as if she's done it a thousand times before, as if she could do it in her sleep.
"Your hands," Kristin takes pale fingers in her own.
"Man hands, I know."
"Dee," she rolls her eyes and brings a palm to her lips, "you have the most beautiful hands. Look at them. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You're so...They're so...kind," she pinches the index finger tenderly and bends it at the knuckle. "And apparently I'm weird," she laughs.
Idina cackles in that way she does, where her whole body trembles and her toes curl. "A little."
"My grandmomma used to read my palm," Kristin smooths her hand out, straightening it. She traces a diagonal path to the beginning of Idina's wrist, a look of fierce concentration on her face.
"Tickles."
"You'll have a long life."
"Oh yeah? Will it be a good life?"
"The best, I hope." She gives a warm, heart-breaking smile and leaves a kiss on the crease. Idina immediately cups her chin.
"What else?"
"You're loved."
"I am?"
"You'll be loved for a long time," Kristin chews her bottom lip and something in her coils, maybe from the way Idina's looking at her, hurting her beautifully.
"By who?"
"Your family, your friends, fans..."
The question battles to slide out, skating on the surface of Idina's lips. "Who else?"
Kristin lowers her gaze and brings Idina's fingertips to her mouth, kissing each one carefully, enveloping each one with fleeting warmth and softness. She thumbs the underside of Idina's palm to her hamate, then over the tendons and knuckles on the other side. When she's finished, she presses the hand to her racing heart.
Idina doesn't need an answer.
4.
The cookies are in the oven, 'bronzing' as Kristin likes to put it, and she busies herself with a new batch, flower on her forehead and smattering her jaw.
Idina keeps stealing chocolate chips from the bag when she thinks Kristin isn't looking. Except Kristin is looking. It's annoying and cute, how childish Idina can be. How playful she can be. But only when they're alone. Only then.
"Would you stop?"
"What?" she grins, chewing quickly. She pops another into her mouth and Kristin snags her wrist.
"Idina!"
"Yessum?"
"There aren't going to be any left!"
"You're probably right," Idina snorts and backs Kristin against the marble counter, pinning her hips ever so lightly as she traces a shape in the flour on her cheek. "You are so adorable right now."
Kristin rolls her eyes, swatting the side of her thigh. "You mean I'm not always adorable?" She bats her eyelashes, pouting cutely.
"Always."
"Honey you just contradic-"
She's cut off by a kiss that tastes like dark chocolate and feels like a dream, minty from the chewing gum Idina had before. Idina pokes her finger into squishy dough and smears it along Kristin's neck, elliciting squeals and a futile attempt at escape.
"Idina!" She drags out the 'a' until she's hitting high notes and Idina's nibbling on the sensitive skin just below her ear, sucking the fleshy lobe and then licking around the shell.
When she's satisfied with her work, she steps away and casually pushes herself on top of the work surface, swinging her feet. "Are they done yet?"
Kristin grabs a chip, tossing it at her. "Probably. But you ain't gettin' any."
5.
They always do stage door. Kristin struggles through the sea of programmes and frenzied fans, night after night waiting for Idina to finish her shower, praying for some help. She can't do this on her own. She can't do any of it on her own. Just having Idina by her side, tall and quiet and sturdy, centres her world and helps her find peace.
When Idina circles her waist, she all but falls asleep.
When Idina looks at her, she hears herself breathe and her blood runs slick.
When Idina gets protective and parts the crowds, like some woman-Moses-god, she wants to cry because it's so obvious, it's such a clear way for her.
When she runs her pen across another glossy page, smiling for the flashes and waving for the kids, Idina calls for her. It's always so soft and undemanding, 'Kris, I made it!' or 'I've turned the shower green again!' or 'Wait for me!' or simply 'Kristin!' and she grins as if they'd been apart for decades and not half an hour.
Idina's still beautiful, with her wet hair and her red nose. Kristin will never grow tired of watching her make short work of her greetings and signings just to catch up; so they can share the cab fare home and maybe a bottle of wine.
But until the line is over and Idina's holding her hand, she settles for winks and nods and kisses Idina sometimes blows her way. She'll kiss the night air and Kristin will bat her eyelashes and place her hand by her heart.
Later, when they're on the sofa and the TV's too quiet, Idina will kiss her for real so she feels it. So she knows it's true.
6.
Maddie's a brat. If she were human, she'd be the blonde cheerleader who calls you fat at school and shoves gum down the side of your locker so you can't open it and end up late for class, half of your books missing from your bag.
She treats Kristin like crap. She's selfish and two-faced and so damn needy, yipping every time she hears the key in the front door lock, every time she sees Kristin wake up in the morning, every time Kristin finally gets a chance to a moment for herself.
But with Idina, well, that's a different story. With Idina, she's sweetness and light, angelic to the point of sanctity. Because Idina never pays attention to her.
She watches Kristin slice up peppers in the kitchen and turns away when the dog nudges a squeaky toy towards her feet.
"She's annoying," Idina admits, trying not to laugh at the stern look Kristin gives her.
"Be nice."
"And she's got you eating out the palm of her hand."
"Paw."
"Whatever. The point is, that dog's a total diva."
"She's sweet," Kristin reasons, crunching down on a red piece of pepper. She watches Maddie's tail smack back and forth against the kitchen tiles and the look of pure adoration on her face makes Idina want to puke.
"See? She's playing you."
"She's not playing me! She's mommy's little princess, aren't you darlin," the southern drawl resonnates through the room as Kristin abandons the knife and kneels down to scoop Maddie into her arms. "Who's my little princess, hmm?"
Maddie blinks at her, contemplating her until she finally decides that the blonde woman is in fact worthy of her time. "Are you giving mommy doggy kisses? Who likes doggy kisses? Me? Hmm?" Kristin lets the ball of fluff slobber all over her, much to Idina's disgust.
"I'll give you two a minute," she turns to walk back to the living room but Kristin takes her wrist and spins her around and before she knows it she's got Maddie's dog-breath on her face and saliva on her jaw. "Kristin, fuck, that's disgusting, would you stop! Ugh, shit, Maddie, stop it."
Kristin tuts, moving the dog away and using her sleeve to wipe at the wetness, "Aw, come here," she leans up and rubs their noses together, creating a soft, warm Eskimo kiss. "Better?"
"Stupid dog."
7.
She sits at the piano and warms up. She goes through the 'me me me' and the 'you you you', stringing arpeggios and scales with practised ease. She likes to close her eyes and feel the ivory Yamaha keys beneath her fingertips, breaking chords by heart.
Idina usually stands by the door or sits on the couch, listening intently at how pitch perfect Kristin is, hitting highs and dropping lows without a second guess. It's humbling. It's inspirational. Today, she props herself by Kristin's side, on the small piano stool, straddling it so she's head-on with the dainty outline of Kristin's profile.
The moment Kristin stops, turning her head in sweet curiosity, Idina places her hand over the one at the keyboard and urges her on. "Keep going."
So Kristin giggles and carries on with her routine. And Idina edges closer and closer until her chin's on Kristin's shoulder and her nose is pressing into a jaw. And then her lips are pressing against a temple and Kristin's voice is softer, settling into a hum.
"I like it when you sing."
"That's good."
"I like listening to you," Idina murmurs lovingly, practically hugging Kristin to her. "Play me something." But instead of moving back to listen again, she tilts her head so she can pepper Kristin's neck with kisses, at the delicious flicker of her pulse beneath her summer skin.
Kristin's fingers trip up over the melody because she's trembling from her head to her feet and Idina's like a furnace against her. The dissonance distracts her and she tries a few lines of Frank Sinatra. Idina sighs in approval, fingering the keys an octave higher, improvising a melody to go with Kristin's base. Her fingertips travel over black and white, stroking and pressing, staccato and smooth, blurring edges as Kristin's foot falls asleep on the pedal.
She can imagine the metal strings beneath the lid, tightly wound and glistening as the soft hammers kiss them. She can feel the sound building, resonating below the mahogany.
"Don't stop."
She couldn't if she tried. With the way Idina's whispering over the ridge of vertebra just below her hairline, chest heaving against the side of her arm, thighs tight around her, hands skittering and hungry for the perfect harmony, the perfect resolution, Kristin isn't sure if they're making music or making love.
**
+4
Title: 7 Kisses
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Kristin Chenoweth/Idina Menzel
Spoilers: none
Summary: They've discovered the joys of kissing.
Disclaimer: You know the drill.
1.
The lights die and the curtain falls and Idina's hussled backstage, quickly, clumsily, a small hand pulling on her own; pulling all of her away from all of them. Kristin's blue dress swirls in her line of vision and she struggles with her feet, through rooms and down corridors and up steps: two, five, nine, twenty, a hundred. And the doors click behind them, one after the other, locking for good, holding the secret they don't know they keep.
Kristin spins around so fast she almost trips. "Hi."
"Hi," Idina smiles.
"Hi," she says again, gently this time, stepping forwards and lifting up on tiptoes. But their lips don't touch. "Kiss me."
"Now?"
"Now."
Idina cocks her head and considers. Her arms are loose by her sides and Kristin's still leaning up to her, precariously balanced and waiting breathlessly. But they don't touch.
"You kiss me."
"No." A whine, the sweetest sound Idina's ever heard, morphs into hot breath against her face.
"Why not?"
"I want you to do it." The small hands that only moments ago gripped her, now rest lightly on the beaded material of her black dress and coax out a sigh.
"But you always get your way."
Kristin sparkles, "Yes."
So she does as she's told, like she knew she would, buzzing, eager, fighting to contain how much she really wants this. Kristin's so perfect against her. She's so perfect and giggly and so very, very alive.
"One more."
"One more?"
"Yes." And this time, this time Kristin doesn't wait.
2.
They go on a date. A real date, with a time and a place and the two of them together, perfectly placed and in perfect time.
They eat. Kristin watches more food go into Idina's mouth than she gets around to having herself. Because Idina's concentrating and enjoying the moment and laughing and 'oh my', Kristin takes a sip of wine, hand tremolo around the glass stem.
Idina's the one to pick up the check. She likes to be chivalrous; likes to throw Kristin smiles, open doors, help Kristin with her coat.
They walk hand in hand and traverse miles of pavement and Kristin comments on the sky and New York. She people-watches. Her eyes stray but never too long, never too far from the quiet storm beside her.
"This was so wonderful."
"It really was." The thick glow of the light cradles Idina's face and her eyes melt into pools of silver.
"We should...I mean, it'd be nice to...if you want to, do this more...again, some time. Only if you want to." Nervous chuckles hug the cold air. Kristin blushes into her scarf.
"I do...want to, that is...What about, maybe tomorrow?"
"Okay. Tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow sounds great. I'm free tomorrow. I can't wait."
"Kris, you're so...you look...I never got a chance-"
"Would you like to come up? Not to...just to..."
Cars rush and streets hum but there is no sound.
She could come up. They could talk. They could kiss. They could swim in the moonlight and navigate through sheets. They could put the horse before the cart and ruin it all.
"Have a good night," Idina smiles and runs a trembling hand down Kristin's sleeve, brushing her cheek, touching the earring that dances at a jaw. Meet her half way, meet her half way.
The world turns but all Idina hears is the soft union of their lips.
3.
Kristin sits on her floor with Idina's head in her lap. She looks down with undivided attention and lets brown hair slip between her fingers, curling and uncurling, giggling every time Idina's eyes fall shut and she teeters on the edge of consciousness.
She likes the way Idina caresses her wrists and up her forearms, lazily and naturally, as if she's done it a thousand times before, as if she could do it in her sleep.
"Your hands," Kristin takes pale fingers in her own.
"Man hands, I know."
"Dee," she rolls her eyes and brings a palm to her lips, "you have the most beautiful hands. Look at them. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You're so...They're so...kind," she pinches the index finger tenderly and bends it at the knuckle. "And apparently I'm weird," she laughs.
Idina cackles in that way she does, where her whole body trembles and her toes curl. "A little."
"My grandmomma used to read my palm," Kristin smooths her hand out, straightening it. She traces a diagonal path to the beginning of Idina's wrist, a look of fierce concentration on her face.
"Tickles."
"You'll have a long life."
"Oh yeah? Will it be a good life?"
"The best, I hope." She gives a warm, heart-breaking smile and leaves a kiss on the crease. Idina immediately cups her chin.
"What else?"
"You're loved."
"I am?"
"You'll be loved for a long time," Kristin chews her bottom lip and something in her coils, maybe from the way Idina's looking at her, hurting her beautifully.
"By who?"
"Your family, your friends, fans..."
The question battles to slide out, skating on the surface of Idina's lips. "Who else?"
Kristin lowers her gaze and brings Idina's fingertips to her mouth, kissing each one carefully, enveloping each one with fleeting warmth and softness. She thumbs the underside of Idina's palm to her hamate, then over the tendons and knuckles on the other side. When she's finished, she presses the hand to her racing heart.
Idina doesn't need an answer.
4.
The cookies are in the oven, 'bronzing' as Kristin likes to put it, and she busies herself with a new batch, flower on her forehead and smattering her jaw.
Idina keeps stealing chocolate chips from the bag when she thinks Kristin isn't looking. Except Kristin is looking. It's annoying and cute, how childish Idina can be. How playful she can be. But only when they're alone. Only then.
"Would you stop?"
"What?" she grins, chewing quickly. She pops another into her mouth and Kristin snags her wrist.
"Idina!"
"Yessum?"
"There aren't going to be any left!"
"You're probably right," Idina snorts and backs Kristin against the marble counter, pinning her hips ever so lightly as she traces a shape in the flour on her cheek. "You are so adorable right now."
Kristin rolls her eyes, swatting the side of her thigh. "You mean I'm not always adorable?" She bats her eyelashes, pouting cutely.
"Always."
"Honey you just contradic-"
She's cut off by a kiss that tastes like dark chocolate and feels like a dream, minty from the chewing gum Idina had before. Idina pokes her finger into squishy dough and smears it along Kristin's neck, elliciting squeals and a futile attempt at escape.
"Idina!" She drags out the 'a' until she's hitting high notes and Idina's nibbling on the sensitive skin just below her ear, sucking the fleshy lobe and then licking around the shell.
When she's satisfied with her work, she steps away and casually pushes herself on top of the work surface, swinging her feet. "Are they done yet?"
Kristin grabs a chip, tossing it at her. "Probably. But you ain't gettin' any."
5.
They always do stage door. Kristin struggles through the sea of programmes and frenzied fans, night after night waiting for Idina to finish her shower, praying for some help. She can't do this on her own. She can't do any of it on her own. Just having Idina by her side, tall and quiet and sturdy, centres her world and helps her find peace.
When Idina circles her waist, she all but falls asleep.
When Idina looks at her, she hears herself breathe and her blood runs slick.
When Idina gets protective and parts the crowds, like some woman-Moses-god, she wants to cry because it's so obvious, it's such a clear way for her.
When she runs her pen across another glossy page, smiling for the flashes and waving for the kids, Idina calls for her. It's always so soft and undemanding, 'Kris, I made it!' or 'I've turned the shower green again!' or 'Wait for me!' or simply 'Kristin!' and she grins as if they'd been apart for decades and not half an hour.
Idina's still beautiful, with her wet hair and her red nose. Kristin will never grow tired of watching her make short work of her greetings and signings just to catch up; so they can share the cab fare home and maybe a bottle of wine.
But until the line is over and Idina's holding her hand, she settles for winks and nods and kisses Idina sometimes blows her way. She'll kiss the night air and Kristin will bat her eyelashes and place her hand by her heart.
Later, when they're on the sofa and the TV's too quiet, Idina will kiss her for real so she feels it. So she knows it's true.
6.
Maddie's a brat. If she were human, she'd be the blonde cheerleader who calls you fat at school and shoves gum down the side of your locker so you can't open it and end up late for class, half of your books missing from your bag.
She treats Kristin like crap. She's selfish and two-faced and so damn needy, yipping every time she hears the key in the front door lock, every time she sees Kristin wake up in the morning, every time Kristin finally gets a chance to a moment for herself.
But with Idina, well, that's a different story. With Idina, she's sweetness and light, angelic to the point of sanctity. Because Idina never pays attention to her.
She watches Kristin slice up peppers in the kitchen and turns away when the dog nudges a squeaky toy towards her feet.
"She's annoying," Idina admits, trying not to laugh at the stern look Kristin gives her.
"Be nice."
"And she's got you eating out the palm of her hand."
"Paw."
"Whatever. The point is, that dog's a total diva."
"She's sweet," Kristin reasons, crunching down on a red piece of pepper. She watches Maddie's tail smack back and forth against the kitchen tiles and the look of pure adoration on her face makes Idina want to puke.
"See? She's playing you."
"She's not playing me! She's mommy's little princess, aren't you darlin," the southern drawl resonnates through the room as Kristin abandons the knife and kneels down to scoop Maddie into her arms. "Who's my little princess, hmm?"
Maddie blinks at her, contemplating her until she finally decides that the blonde woman is in fact worthy of her time. "Are you giving mommy doggy kisses? Who likes doggy kisses? Me? Hmm?" Kristin lets the ball of fluff slobber all over her, much to Idina's disgust.
"I'll give you two a minute," she turns to walk back to the living room but Kristin takes her wrist and spins her around and before she knows it she's got Maddie's dog-breath on her face and saliva on her jaw. "Kristin, fuck, that's disgusting, would you stop! Ugh, shit, Maddie, stop it."
Kristin tuts, moving the dog away and using her sleeve to wipe at the wetness, "Aw, come here," she leans up and rubs their noses together, creating a soft, warm Eskimo kiss. "Better?"
"Stupid dog."
7.
She sits at the piano and warms up. She goes through the 'me me me' and the 'you you you', stringing arpeggios and scales with practised ease. She likes to close her eyes and feel the ivory Yamaha keys beneath her fingertips, breaking chords by heart.
Idina usually stands by the door or sits on the couch, listening intently at how pitch perfect Kristin is, hitting highs and dropping lows without a second guess. It's humbling. It's inspirational. Today, she props herself by Kristin's side, on the small piano stool, straddling it so she's head-on with the dainty outline of Kristin's profile.
The moment Kristin stops, turning her head in sweet curiosity, Idina places her hand over the one at the keyboard and urges her on. "Keep going."
So Kristin giggles and carries on with her routine. And Idina edges closer and closer until her chin's on Kristin's shoulder and her nose is pressing into a jaw. And then her lips are pressing against a temple and Kristin's voice is softer, settling into a hum.
"I like it when you sing."
"That's good."
"I like listening to you," Idina murmurs lovingly, practically hugging Kristin to her. "Play me something." But instead of moving back to listen again, she tilts her head so she can pepper Kristin's neck with kisses, at the delicious flicker of her pulse beneath her summer skin.
Kristin's fingers trip up over the melody because she's trembling from her head to her feet and Idina's like a furnace against her. The dissonance distracts her and she tries a few lines of Frank Sinatra. Idina sighs in approval, fingering the keys an octave higher, improvising a melody to go with Kristin's base. Her fingertips travel over black and white, stroking and pressing, staccato and smooth, blurring edges as Kristin's foot falls asleep on the pedal.
She can imagine the metal strings beneath the lid, tightly wound and glistening as the soft hammers kiss them. She can feel the sound building, resonating below the mahogany.
"Don't stop."
She couldn't if she tried. With the way Idina's whispering over the ridge of vertebra just below her hairline, chest heaving against the side of her arm, thighs tight around her, hands skittering and hungry for the perfect harmony, the perfect resolution, Kristin isn't sure if they're making music or making love.
**
+4