Real Person // Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock // Our Characters Meet (three)
Title: Our Characters Meet (Part Three)
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 61. Plunge
Word Count: 1,912
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The end.
Author's Notes: Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
The year? 1998. The people? Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. The twist? Keanu never got a part in Speed.
Please know: Constructive feedback on this would be wonderful. If you don't think it properly connects to the other stories, and enough people say so, I can write another one. I myself am questioning.
Keanu takes a drag on his cigarette, sucking it down to the filter, which he promised himself he wouldn’t do anymore because that’s when it tastes the worst. He snubs the end into the $300 glass ashtray; weighs the pros of taking out another. The rain started up again. A sprinkle compared to what it was before, it’s enough to cool the humid Los Angeles night. Keanu’s dry lips smack together as he fumbles for his lighter.
“I thought you left.” his fingers hit the smooth plastic in his pocket but he leaves it be. Shuffles out of the padded lounge chair and to his feet. Sandra’s tan arms cross over her chest. She had changed out of her strict producer clothes and into jeans, a razorback tank, her feet bare. He’s taller than her, he realizes standing there, and though it can’t be more than three inches there’s something oddly masculine, powerful, heroic even in the fact that she has to tilt her neck back to talk to him.
“I needed a smoke. It’s a disgusting addiction, I know.” he doesn’t know where that came from, maybe to appease the look of disappointment in her eyes. Did she think he was kidding earlier? Ten years now he’s been lighting up and suddenly this prima donna spends a couple hours with him and he’s set to quit.
She shivers. “Do you want to stay out here or come in? Doesn’t matter to me.”
He starts forward without an answer, nudging her inside and sliding the glass door close behind them. His hand reaches for the blinds to draw them across, privacy reasons, but maybe that suggests something that two hours of conversation hasn’t prepared them for. Instead his fingers twirl the cord nervously. Lost for a moment in times where situations such as this were commonplace. Feels like an eternity instead of a couple years.
“What is it?”
“The cord was twisted.” his voice is monotone. He draws his eyes away and realizes Sandra isn’t looking at the blinds at all, couldn’t care less, she’s staring at him. The look on her face belongs to the psychiatrist he saw for a couple months during his mother’s divorce with Paul. She thought she knew exactly what was going on in his head. Keanu doesn’t acknowledge the look; lets the cord slip out from his fingers and heads for the couch.
“Drink?” she asks, making a move for the liquor cabinet. “I think I saw brandy in there … but there’s others too, if you don’t like that … I really don’t know what you drink. Of course.” she’s giggling, nervous laughter spurting out of her as if she’s never been alone with a man before. Sitting in a public area allows more confidence than being alone in a hotel room. Now all that flirting she did needs some action to back it up. Her quivering hand steadies on the latch. It’s been a bit, that she’ll admit, but she shouldn’t be this rusty. The marriage didn’t span over many years. Maybe it’s just too soon to be dating … entertaining … falling. Are you falling for this guy, this stranger, this has been? she asks her reflected image in the door’s glass. Her perplexed face stares back. Static crackles in her ears. “What?”
“… rum and Coke. For now.” she lets go of the handle. Sounds good. Sandra turns away from the fear and gets into the mini fridge, pulling out a couple cans of Coke. She sets that along with the bottle of rum and two glasses, which she half fills with ice, on a tray.
Keanu makes room for her on the couch when she comes over. She sets the tray down before sitting. There both stare at the display for a moment before Keanu leans forward and starts mixing the simple drink. Sandra crosses her legs, right over left, and watches. He pours more rum into his glass than hers and she’s grateful. It’s been a few months since she drank anything harder than beer.
“So,” she begins. He pops the tabs on the sodas, allowing them to fizzle a moment before pouring. Just as she’s about to move forward with awkward chitchat the phone rings. Sandra leaves him to pick up the extension sitting on the desk.
“Hello?”
“I’m so glad I caught you,” her friend’s voice breathes on the other end. “I had to call three people before I got this number. When did you split with Tate? I called the house and he told me you guys were through before hanging up.”
Sandra turns her back on Keanu, who has already settled in with his drink. “Uh, the divorce hasn’t been final too long,” she murmurs vaguely, running a cool hand along her neck to thwart any creeping blush.
“I thought you guys were going to make it,” she offers sympathetically.
“Yeah, me too. Um, can I ask why you’re calling so late?”
“I wanted to catch up with you! I haven’t seen you since the reunion and that was, God, what, ages ago?”
“It’s been too long,” Sandra agrees, getting hit with a stab of guilt for making Keanu wait and subconsciously avoiding a friend for so long. “However--”
“Plus, I needed some advice,” she admits. “I know, how selfish of me, but you’re the only one who knows everyone involved.”
Sandra bites her lip. “How long is it going to take? I’m kind of …” Entertaining a guest? Trying to get laid? “… in the middle of something.”
“Just a few minutes. Please? You’re the only one I could think of that would understand. I wouldn’t have called so late if it wasn’t important.”
“Hold on.” Sandra clicks the hold button, setting the phone back in its cradle carefully.
“I can go, if you need some privacy.” Keanu offers.
“No, I mean, it shouldn’t take that long. I’ll keep it under fifteen minutes. Can you wait, please?”
“Yeah.”
Sandra smiles, relieved, and goes to pick up the bedroom extension to guarantee some privacy. She closes the door behind her with hopes that when she opens it later Keanu is still there.
“Listen, I have company …” she sheepishly admits an hour and a half later. It had been a sticky situation, one Sandra gladly navigated through for her friend. Yet the solution led to reminiscing and recapping the past few years; she really didn’t realize how much time had slipped by her. Lost to her movie career and a crumbling marriage, she supposed. When she finally hangs up, she runs for the door, certain that the couch will be empty.
But Keanu is lying on the couch sleeping. His hand is behind his head, almost cradling it, and she can tell he ran his fingers through his hair because it is casually mussed compared to earlier. An empty glass sits on his chest, condensation bound to leave a wet ring as it rises and falls with every breath. The bottle of rum is on the coffee table; half full though her glass remains untouched.
Sandra stands over him, arms crossed, a bemused expression on her face. He is adorable. His mouth is slightly ajar, his face turned into his arm and almost snuggling against his taut bicep. Keanu has such a slim figure, she notices, narrow at the hips and only slightly broader by his chest and shoulders.
“Keanu?” she says his name quietly, not really wanting to disturb his tranquil sleep. As she situates herself onto the small space left on the couch, Sandra picks the glass up off his chest and sets it onto the tray.
Very slowly, and as if pulled down by an invisible force, Sandra finds herself lying beside him. It feels extremely forward (much more so because they met a few short hours earlier) but at the same time comforting. A couple weeks divorced and for six months separated, Sandra misses the warmth of a man beside her. She rests her cheek on his shoulder, careful not to lean too much on him, and for a brief moment feels the peace she’d lost so long ago and thought would never return.
“Mmmhmm?” Keanu stirs, eyes blinking open, and when he focuses on her he doesn’t seem surprised. Almost as if he expects her there.
“Hi,” she says softly with a giggle. He half smiles.
“Are you about to kick me out?” his voice is groggy, adding a throaty sexiness.
“Maybe.”
“You just experienced the breath of a pirate,” he mumbles, his eyes starting to drift close again. He seems determined to keep them open, though.
“What?” she asks, his words taking a moment to register. “You mean the rum?”
“Yo ho.” his hand lifts as if holding a sword; he swishes the air. “The drink of victorious pirates. Or any for that matter.”
Sandra laughs, clapping a hand over her mouth. Is he drunk? Does he always talk this way? Does it matter?
Keanu’s free hand falls back, tucking under her back and she shifts to accommodate. It circles around her hip, his fingers grazing against her shirt, and without touching her skin he still sends shivers over her body. Even if it’s under the pretense of keeping her on the couch, Sandra’s breath catches in her throat as Keanu tugs her closer, shifting to give her more room and bring her against his chest. His face sobers as he looks over her, the gap between them closing. His nose traces around the shell of her ear before following the line of her jaw down to her chin.
“Keanu …” his name falls effortlessly from her lips when he looks up. Sandra’s fingertips brush over his chest as she leans in, their mouths so close to pleasure it makes her dizzy.
“I’m leaving on Friday,” he says suddenly. The spell breaks as she looks at him incredulously.
“What? That’s in two days. For where?” her voice heightens to a panic note at the last word.
“I’m going home -- Canada,” he clarifies. Keanu shifts, the gap returning.
“Why?”
“One of my high school friends got me a try out with a minor league hockey team.”
“That’s great,” she hears herself say, though she doesn’t mean it. “What about the band?”
“I haven’t gotten a position yet,” he points out. “But we’ve been thinking of taking a hiatus anyway.” he quiets. “I just met you, and it’s why I wanted to say good-bye earlier. I didn’t want anything to happen tonight … not that anything … I wanted you to know. Nothing was going to happen.” he pauses and hoists himself up. “I should probably go.”
“No, please. Don‘t go. It‘s okay.” Sandra puts a hand on his arm; he settles back against her.
She smells the beef he had for dinner, the cigarette he enjoyed on the balcony, the rum he drank to keep himself busy while he waited for her. Her fingers play on his palm, memorizing through feel the calluses and old blisters from being a musician. It’s so comfortable here with him, more so than it ever was with Tate. The reality that if he leaves tonight she will be once again alone in this big, depressing hotel room scares her. “Could you just stay here for the night, though?” she asks, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Would that be okay?”
Keanu smiles, bringing her closer to him. “Yeah. I can stay.”
Fandom: Real People
Characters: Keanu Reeves & Sandra Bullock
Prompt: 61. Plunge
Word Count: 1,912
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The end.
Author's Notes: Ah, I don't know them. This is just how I think it should be.
The year? 1998. The people? Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock. The twist? Keanu never got a part in Speed.
Please know: Constructive feedback on this would be wonderful. If you don't think it properly connects to the other stories, and enough people say so, I can write another one. I myself am questioning.
Keanu takes a drag on his cigarette, sucking it down to the filter, which he promised himself he wouldn’t do anymore because that’s when it tastes the worst. He snubs the end into the $300 glass ashtray; weighs the pros of taking out another. The rain started up again. A sprinkle compared to what it was before, it’s enough to cool the humid Los Angeles night. Keanu’s dry lips smack together as he fumbles for his lighter.
“I thought you left.” his fingers hit the smooth plastic in his pocket but he leaves it be. Shuffles out of the padded lounge chair and to his feet. Sandra’s tan arms cross over her chest. She had changed out of her strict producer clothes and into jeans, a razorback tank, her feet bare. He’s taller than her, he realizes standing there, and though it can’t be more than three inches there’s something oddly masculine, powerful, heroic even in the fact that she has to tilt her neck back to talk to him.
“I needed a smoke. It’s a disgusting addiction, I know.” he doesn’t know where that came from, maybe to appease the look of disappointment in her eyes. Did she think he was kidding earlier? Ten years now he’s been lighting up and suddenly this prima donna spends a couple hours with him and he’s set to quit.
She shivers. “Do you want to stay out here or come in? Doesn’t matter to me.”
He starts forward without an answer, nudging her inside and sliding the glass door close behind them. His hand reaches for the blinds to draw them across, privacy reasons, but maybe that suggests something that two hours of conversation hasn’t prepared them for. Instead his fingers twirl the cord nervously. Lost for a moment in times where situations such as this were commonplace. Feels like an eternity instead of a couple years.
“What is it?”
“The cord was twisted.” his voice is monotone. He draws his eyes away and realizes Sandra isn’t looking at the blinds at all, couldn’t care less, she’s staring at him. The look on her face belongs to the psychiatrist he saw for a couple months during his mother’s divorce with Paul. She thought she knew exactly what was going on in his head. Keanu doesn’t acknowledge the look; lets the cord slip out from his fingers and heads for the couch.
“Drink?” she asks, making a move for the liquor cabinet. “I think I saw brandy in there … but there’s others too, if you don’t like that … I really don’t know what you drink. Of course.” she’s giggling, nervous laughter spurting out of her as if she’s never been alone with a man before. Sitting in a public area allows more confidence than being alone in a hotel room. Now all that flirting she did needs some action to back it up. Her quivering hand steadies on the latch. It’s been a bit, that she’ll admit, but she shouldn’t be this rusty. The marriage didn’t span over many years. Maybe it’s just too soon to be dating … entertaining … falling. Are you falling for this guy, this stranger, this has been? she asks her reflected image in the door’s glass. Her perplexed face stares back. Static crackles in her ears. “What?”
“… rum and Coke. For now.” she lets go of the handle. Sounds good. Sandra turns away from the fear and gets into the mini fridge, pulling out a couple cans of Coke. She sets that along with the bottle of rum and two glasses, which she half fills with ice, on a tray.
Keanu makes room for her on the couch when she comes over. She sets the tray down before sitting. There both stare at the display for a moment before Keanu leans forward and starts mixing the simple drink. Sandra crosses her legs, right over left, and watches. He pours more rum into his glass than hers and she’s grateful. It’s been a few months since she drank anything harder than beer.
“So,” she begins. He pops the tabs on the sodas, allowing them to fizzle a moment before pouring. Just as she’s about to move forward with awkward chitchat the phone rings. Sandra leaves him to pick up the extension sitting on the desk.
“Hello?”
“I’m so glad I caught you,” her friend’s voice breathes on the other end. “I had to call three people before I got this number. When did you split with Tate? I called the house and he told me you guys were through before hanging up.”
Sandra turns her back on Keanu, who has already settled in with his drink. “Uh, the divorce hasn’t been final too long,” she murmurs vaguely, running a cool hand along her neck to thwart any creeping blush.
“I thought you guys were going to make it,” she offers sympathetically.
“Yeah, me too. Um, can I ask why you’re calling so late?”
“I wanted to catch up with you! I haven’t seen you since the reunion and that was, God, what, ages ago?”
“It’s been too long,” Sandra agrees, getting hit with a stab of guilt for making Keanu wait and subconsciously avoiding a friend for so long. “However--”
“Plus, I needed some advice,” she admits. “I know, how selfish of me, but you’re the only one who knows everyone involved.”
Sandra bites her lip. “How long is it going to take? I’m kind of …” Entertaining a guest? Trying to get laid? “… in the middle of something.”
“Just a few minutes. Please? You’re the only one I could think of that would understand. I wouldn’t have called so late if it wasn’t important.”
“Hold on.” Sandra clicks the hold button, setting the phone back in its cradle carefully.
“I can go, if you need some privacy.” Keanu offers.
“No, I mean, it shouldn’t take that long. I’ll keep it under fifteen minutes. Can you wait, please?”
“Yeah.”
Sandra smiles, relieved, and goes to pick up the bedroom extension to guarantee some privacy. She closes the door behind her with hopes that when she opens it later Keanu is still there.
“Listen, I have company …” she sheepishly admits an hour and a half later. It had been a sticky situation, one Sandra gladly navigated through for her friend. Yet the solution led to reminiscing and recapping the past few years; she really didn’t realize how much time had slipped by her. Lost to her movie career and a crumbling marriage, she supposed. When she finally hangs up, she runs for the door, certain that the couch will be empty.
But Keanu is lying on the couch sleeping. His hand is behind his head, almost cradling it, and she can tell he ran his fingers through his hair because it is casually mussed compared to earlier. An empty glass sits on his chest, condensation bound to leave a wet ring as it rises and falls with every breath. The bottle of rum is on the coffee table; half full though her glass remains untouched.
Sandra stands over him, arms crossed, a bemused expression on her face. He is adorable. His mouth is slightly ajar, his face turned into his arm and almost snuggling against his taut bicep. Keanu has such a slim figure, she notices, narrow at the hips and only slightly broader by his chest and shoulders.
“Keanu?” she says his name quietly, not really wanting to disturb his tranquil sleep. As she situates herself onto the small space left on the couch, Sandra picks the glass up off his chest and sets it onto the tray.
Very slowly, and as if pulled down by an invisible force, Sandra finds herself lying beside him. It feels extremely forward (much more so because they met a few short hours earlier) but at the same time comforting. A couple weeks divorced and for six months separated, Sandra misses the warmth of a man beside her. She rests her cheek on his shoulder, careful not to lean too much on him, and for a brief moment feels the peace she’d lost so long ago and thought would never return.
“Mmmhmm?” Keanu stirs, eyes blinking open, and when he focuses on her he doesn’t seem surprised. Almost as if he expects her there.
“Hi,” she says softly with a giggle. He half smiles.
“Are you about to kick me out?” his voice is groggy, adding a throaty sexiness.
“Maybe.”
“You just experienced the breath of a pirate,” he mumbles, his eyes starting to drift close again. He seems determined to keep them open, though.
“What?” she asks, his words taking a moment to register. “You mean the rum?”
“Yo ho.” his hand lifts as if holding a sword; he swishes the air. “The drink of victorious pirates. Or any for that matter.”
Sandra laughs, clapping a hand over her mouth. Is he drunk? Does he always talk this way? Does it matter?
Keanu’s free hand falls back, tucking under her back and she shifts to accommodate. It circles around her hip, his fingers grazing against her shirt, and without touching her skin he still sends shivers over her body. Even if it’s under the pretense of keeping her on the couch, Sandra’s breath catches in her throat as Keanu tugs her closer, shifting to give her more room and bring her against his chest. His face sobers as he looks over her, the gap between them closing. His nose traces around the shell of her ear before following the line of her jaw down to her chin.
“Keanu …” his name falls effortlessly from her lips when he looks up. Sandra’s fingertips brush over his chest as she leans in, their mouths so close to pleasure it makes her dizzy.
“I’m leaving on Friday,” he says suddenly. The spell breaks as she looks at him incredulously.
“What? That’s in two days. For where?” her voice heightens to a panic note at the last word.
“I’m going home -- Canada,” he clarifies. Keanu shifts, the gap returning.
“Why?”
“One of my high school friends got me a try out with a minor league hockey team.”
“That’s great,” she hears herself say, though she doesn’t mean it. “What about the band?”
“I haven’t gotten a position yet,” he points out. “But we’ve been thinking of taking a hiatus anyway.” he quiets. “I just met you, and it’s why I wanted to say good-bye earlier. I didn’t want anything to happen tonight … not that anything … I wanted you to know. Nothing was going to happen.” he pauses and hoists himself up. “I should probably go.”
“No, please. Don‘t go. It‘s okay.” Sandra puts a hand on his arm; he settles back against her.
She smells the beef he had for dinner, the cigarette he enjoyed on the balcony, the rum he drank to keep himself busy while he waited for her. Her fingers play on his palm, memorizing through feel the calluses and old blisters from being a musician. It’s so comfortable here with him, more so than it ever was with Tate. The reality that if he leaves tonight she will be once again alone in this big, depressing hotel room scares her. “Could you just stay here for the night, though?” she asks, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “Would that be okay?”
Keanu smiles, bringing her closer to him. “Yeah. I can stay.”