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OMG RPF. AVERT YOUR EYES.
So Claira and I decided to reward ourselves for working by writing Katie for each other. Opening line prompt provided by moi, and if you think they sound similar, it's because we're ACTUALLY THE SAME PERSON.
*duhn duhn duuuuuhn*
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stars_like_dust:
"Tell me something true," she says, and isn't sure what to expect.
She can barely make out his face in the dimness, no more than she can make out the curve of Tahmoh's shoulder as he lies sprawled on the couch. Grace and Tricia at had the foresight to drag a mattress from Tricia's room into Katee's, and they're both fast asleep.
It's past three.
"What did you say?" Jamie murmurs, and rests his head a little more comfortably on her lap. She resists the urge to brush her fingers through his hair.
"Something true. Tell me something true."
His fingers dance around the rim of the glass he has resting on his stomach. "I hate the color blue," he says finally, and she smiles down at him, presses her palm hard into his shoulder.
"Tame," she says softly. "You can do better than that."
"You first."
"The first boy I kissed was three years older than me."
He lets out a small huff of amusement. "The first girl I slept with had a boyfriend."
"Jamie, that's terrible!"
"It was news to me as well."
She snickers, pats him on the head and reaches blindly for her beer. The liquid is lukewarm, so she steals Jamie's jack and coke instead.
"It's your turn," Jamie says, when she's drained his glass and she'll play forever if he'll stay near her, warm and comfortable and so close that if she closes her eyes she could almost pretend...
"Katee?"
She blinks and stares around the room at her sleeping friends.
"I feel more like Starbuck this year than ever before," she says, and then wishes she hadn't because all she needs to see is the line of his jaw to know what the look in his eyes is.
He's silent, and then his hand finds hers where it's resting on the floor (it's dark, she thinks, no one will see) and his fingers slip and press until he's holding her hand tight.
"I remembered my wedding anniversary," Jamie says slowly, and she can't help the exhalation of breath, loud in the silence, because it's just like he's placed his fist hard in her diaphragm. "I pretended I forgot."
"Oh," she says before she can help it, and he looks up at her and she knows. She lays her free hand carefully on the side of his face, traces her fingertips over the planes of his cheekbone, forehead. He turns his face and presses a kiss against her fingers, and she shudders, pauses and bites her lip.
He nods, almost imperceptibly, and then the minutes tick over without sound, three into four, four into five....
When she wakes up, it's light, and they're a careful metre apart. He's reading, fingers caught in the pages of a hotel paperback and she can't help wondering if she was dreaming when she felt his lips against her palm.
Jamie pushes his coffee towards her without a sound and when she reaches for it, his fingertips brush over the skin of her hand. He smiles.
"Good morning," she says, and it's true.
Byfahye:
"Tell me something true," she says, and isn't sure what to expect. All she knows is that he's been feeding careful lies down the phone to his wife for the past half an hour and the falsehood is shadowing his face in a sickening way.
"Something true?"
"Mmhmm." She waits for him to sit down and then stretches her legs out over his, hands him his coffee and takes her place in the casual, practiced composition: Co-Stars At Rest.
No more, no less.
He sighs, takes a sip and almost chokes. "This coffee is foul, Katee."
"True, that," she says solemnly, and then the shadows are inching aside, and then he's laughing, and then she's almost happy.
"I hate this," he says later, about nothing in particular (about everything). She's about to agree when he follows it with "But I love you" and her breath refuses to budge from her throat because that's her addendum, the one that she keeps fed and watered inside her head, attaching it silently to the end of that statement (and she does hate it) with a quick ruthless lacing of emotions and justifications but never letting it see the light of day.
She's replaying the words carefully to see if she might have imagined them or mistakenly said them out loud, comparing the inflections to her own, wondering if she's finally going mad. But unless her inner monologue can do a far better British accent than she can -
"Katee?"
And he's obviously waiting for a reply, tapping his palms nervously on her knees, looking at her with no hint of laughter. She closes her eyes and nods, knowing that it's not quite enough. But the words still don't want to come.
"I'm sorry, look -"
"Don't move," she manages to get out, spurred by the same wild neural instinct that is currently rendering her legs rigid and firm over his, effectively trapping him on the couch. "Move and I'll kill you," but she opens her eyes and wills him to see leave me and I won't be myself, and maybe it works. He stops trying to stand up and settles back with something that's close to a smile.
Her tight lacing isn't so tight any more.
Jamie takes her hand; doesn't even kiss her, just rubs his thumb over her knuckles; and there isn't so much as a heartbeat between when she comes all unravelled and when she finds herself tangled in him beyond all hope of repair.
*duhn duhn duuuuuhn*
By
stars_like_dust:"Tell me something true," she says, and isn't sure what to expect.
She can barely make out his face in the dimness, no more than she can make out the curve of Tahmoh's shoulder as he lies sprawled on the couch. Grace and Tricia at had the foresight to drag a mattress from Tricia's room into Katee's, and they're both fast asleep.
It's past three.
"What did you say?" Jamie murmurs, and rests his head a little more comfortably on her lap. She resists the urge to brush her fingers through his hair.
"Something true. Tell me something true."
His fingers dance around the rim of the glass he has resting on his stomach. "I hate the color blue," he says finally, and she smiles down at him, presses her palm hard into his shoulder.
"Tame," she says softly. "You can do better than that."
"You first."
"The first boy I kissed was three years older than me."
He lets out a small huff of amusement. "The first girl I slept with had a boyfriend."
"Jamie, that's terrible!"
"It was news to me as well."
She snickers, pats him on the head and reaches blindly for her beer. The liquid is lukewarm, so she steals Jamie's jack and coke instead.
"It's your turn," Jamie says, when she's drained his glass and she'll play forever if he'll stay near her, warm and comfortable and so close that if she closes her eyes she could almost pretend...
"Katee?"
She blinks and stares around the room at her sleeping friends.
"I feel more like Starbuck this year than ever before," she says, and then wishes she hadn't because all she needs to see is the line of his jaw to know what the look in his eyes is.
He's silent, and then his hand finds hers where it's resting on the floor (it's dark, she thinks, no one will see) and his fingers slip and press until he's holding her hand tight.
"I remembered my wedding anniversary," Jamie says slowly, and she can't help the exhalation of breath, loud in the silence, because it's just like he's placed his fist hard in her diaphragm. "I pretended I forgot."
"Oh," she says before she can help it, and he looks up at her and she knows. She lays her free hand carefully on the side of his face, traces her fingertips over the planes of his cheekbone, forehead. He turns his face and presses a kiss against her fingers, and she shudders, pauses and bites her lip.
He nods, almost imperceptibly, and then the minutes tick over without sound, three into four, four into five....
When she wakes up, it's light, and they're a careful metre apart. He's reading, fingers caught in the pages of a hotel paperback and she can't help wondering if she was dreaming when she felt his lips against her palm.
Jamie pushes his coffee towards her without a sound and when she reaches for it, his fingertips brush over the skin of her hand. He smiles.
"Good morning," she says, and it's true.
By
fahye:"Tell me something true," she says, and isn't sure what to expect. All she knows is that he's been feeding careful lies down the phone to his wife for the past half an hour and the falsehood is shadowing his face in a sickening way.
"Something true?"
"Mmhmm." She waits for him to sit down and then stretches her legs out over his, hands him his coffee and takes her place in the casual, practiced composition: Co-Stars At Rest.
No more, no less.
He sighs, takes a sip and almost chokes. "This coffee is foul, Katee."
"True, that," she says solemnly, and then the shadows are inching aside, and then he's laughing, and then she's almost happy.
"I hate this," he says later, about nothing in particular (about everything). She's about to agree when he follows it with "But I love you" and her breath refuses to budge from her throat because that's her addendum, the one that she keeps fed and watered inside her head, attaching it silently to the end of that statement (and she does hate it) with a quick ruthless lacing of emotions and justifications but never letting it see the light of day.
She's replaying the words carefully to see if she might have imagined them or mistakenly said them out loud, comparing the inflections to her own, wondering if she's finally going mad. But unless her inner monologue can do a far better British accent than she can -
"Katee?"
And he's obviously waiting for a reply, tapping his palms nervously on her knees, looking at her with no hint of laughter. She closes her eyes and nods, knowing that it's not quite enough. But the words still don't want to come.
"I'm sorry, look -"
"Don't move," she manages to get out, spurred by the same wild neural instinct that is currently rendering her legs rigid and firm over his, effectively trapping him on the couch. "Move and I'll kill you," but she opens her eyes and wills him to see leave me and I won't be myself, and maybe it works. He stops trying to stand up and settles back with something that's close to a smile.
Her tight lacing isn't so tight any more.
Jamie takes her hand; doesn't even kiss her, just rubs his thumb over her knuckles; and there isn't so much as a heartbeat between when she comes all unravelled and when she finds herself tangled in him beyond all hope of repair.