rpf: our mutual friend.
our mutual friend.
rpf. eva green/melanie laurent. (marion cotillard) "Professional..." Melanie muses, turning the liquid over her tongue, sharp hot, "You're not a whore are you, Green?"
"You were in--" she falters for a minute, puts her drink down and laughs. It is a little affected, just barely there, like the powder on her freckled cheeks, the line of her eyebrows arched over the bone and the complicated way she twists her fingers around the glass. "I'm sorry, I can't remember."
Melanie shrugs. Her legs slide down from the bar stool. "Basterds."
"Ah. Ah, of course." Eva's nose curls a little. "I'm sorry, I'm not terribly fond of blood."
"You're a Bond girl."
She waves her hand through the air. "That's all incidental."
"If you say so."
They are in a bar in New York, Melanie was there to meet someone, (you know who, don't you dare fucking ask) and someone wasn't there or was late or was fucking a stupid American actor in his stupid hipster loft or whatever, so now she is talking to this woman in French in very low hushed tones as though are sharing a secret.
But they are not. Melanie does not have any secrets.
"You did a movie with Louis, once, didn't you?" Eva asks.
"Yes," she answers, "But that's not how you know me."
"Oh. Oh."
Melanie smirks. "She told me about you, you know."
"Did she really?"
"She said you were a bitch."
"Ah."
"And that you were crap in bed."
Eva laughs and she knows that she is lying and her eyes narrow to long slits when she laughs. "Is that some kind of a challenge?"
"Maybe."
She finishes her drink, slides it across the bar and her voice is loud now. "If you want it to be," she says and they are sharing a secret but it is not one that matters.
+
Upstairs, they are on the bed but Melanie is still fully dressed and she hasn't laid a finger on her, on Eva, stretched out next to her in her lingerie with a cigarette in her mouth and she tips her head expectant but Melanie sits the edge of the bed and nurses her drink, taking long slow maddening sips through the smirk.
"So, who is she fucking now?" Eva asks, rolling over, her legs entwined in the air.
Melanie makes her eyes very wide.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Professional curiosity," she shrugs."
"Professional..." Melanie muses, turning the liquid over her tongue, sharp hot, "You're not a whore are you, Green?"
"Fine," she snaps, "You're not required to tell me."
"No. No, I'm not."
She does not say that she would prefer if she didn't know, she does not admit the weakness because it is a weakness, it is weak in this business, it is not love. She does not want to know who Marion is fucking right now. She does not want to know who Eva fucked yesterday. That doesn't mean she loves her, it only means that she is weak but she will not admit it. She is not required to, is she?
She waits a beat, puts her glass down on the table. Her fingers are wet and hard when she rubs them together and moves towards Eva on the bed.
"There's a man, now. Another one."
"Oh."
"He's very stupid."
"They all are." She bites her lip and the mask crawls down a little through the long black lashes, fanned out across her cheeks. "Who is it?"
"His name's Franco or something. I think she likes him. Not that it matters, because she'll be back across the ocean in a month and she'll be fucking you again."
"Yes." Eva raises herself up on her elbows and kisses her hard, teeth scraping her bottom lip and "Yes, she will," she repeats like she is proving to herself and Melanie is back on the bed. Her jacket is peeled from her shoulders and Eva slides a hand down her pants and watches her face for some reaction when her fingers move inside her, long and nails and she comes with the stubborn grin painted out across her face.
One startled moment later, Eva is laughing. There is very little mirth to it and her head is back and when she can see her face again, she says, "Fuck you."
Melanie raise her shoulders.
"Sure."
She doesn't think about anyone else when her is between Eva's legs (how can she when Eva tastes so different, when the wide length of her thighs spread out beneath her is nothing like Marion's; when you have memorized the tapestry of one woman's skin how can you pretend it is anothers?) but she doesn't fool herself into thinking she'll be extended the same courtesy.
+
After, Eva leaves, even though it her hotel room and Melanie wraps herself in a towel, lights a cigarette.
"You don't mind if I step out, do you?"
"Why would I?"
"Are you going to tell her?"
"No." And she means it, she will not tell Marion, because she has never needed to do things like that but Eva is different, Eva, for all her coldness, Eva, she knows will tell her. It will be petty and weak and Marion will smile but it will make her sad.
"I..."
"You'll do whatever you see fit, of course."
"It's not like that." She is angry for a minute, fire in her eyes.
"No."
"I'll see you around, Laurent."
They both know she won't, though. They are so good at pretending.
rpf. eva green/melanie laurent. (marion cotillard) "Professional..." Melanie muses, turning the liquid over her tongue, sharp hot, "You're not a whore are you, Green?"
"You were in--" she falters for a minute, puts her drink down and laughs. It is a little affected, just barely there, like the powder on her freckled cheeks, the line of her eyebrows arched over the bone and the complicated way she twists her fingers around the glass. "I'm sorry, I can't remember."
Melanie shrugs. Her legs slide down from the bar stool. "Basterds."
"Ah. Ah, of course." Eva's nose curls a little. "I'm sorry, I'm not terribly fond of blood."
"You're a Bond girl."
She waves her hand through the air. "That's all incidental."
"If you say so."
They are in a bar in New York, Melanie was there to meet someone, (you know who, don't you dare fucking ask) and someone wasn't there or was late or was fucking a stupid American actor in his stupid hipster loft or whatever, so now she is talking to this woman in French in very low hushed tones as though are sharing a secret.
But they are not. Melanie does not have any secrets.
"You did a movie with Louis, once, didn't you?" Eva asks.
"Yes," she answers, "But that's not how you know me."
"Oh. Oh."
Melanie smirks. "She told me about you, you know."
"Did she really?"
"She said you were a bitch."
"Ah."
"And that you were crap in bed."
Eva laughs and she knows that she is lying and her eyes narrow to long slits when she laughs. "Is that some kind of a challenge?"
"Maybe."
She finishes her drink, slides it across the bar and her voice is loud now. "If you want it to be," she says and they are sharing a secret but it is not one that matters.
+
Upstairs, they are on the bed but Melanie is still fully dressed and she hasn't laid a finger on her, on Eva, stretched out next to her in her lingerie with a cigarette in her mouth and she tips her head expectant but Melanie sits the edge of the bed and nurses her drink, taking long slow maddening sips through the smirk.
"So, who is she fucking now?" Eva asks, rolling over, her legs entwined in the air.
Melanie makes her eyes very wide.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Professional curiosity," she shrugs."
"Professional..." Melanie muses, turning the liquid over her tongue, sharp hot, "You're not a whore are you, Green?"
"Fine," she snaps, "You're not required to tell me."
"No. No, I'm not."
She does not say that she would prefer if she didn't know, she does not admit the weakness because it is a weakness, it is weak in this business, it is not love. She does not want to know who Marion is fucking right now. She does not want to know who Eva fucked yesterday. That doesn't mean she loves her, it only means that she is weak but she will not admit it. She is not required to, is she?
She waits a beat, puts her glass down on the table. Her fingers are wet and hard when she rubs them together and moves towards Eva on the bed.
"There's a man, now. Another one."
"Oh."
"He's very stupid."
"They all are." She bites her lip and the mask crawls down a little through the long black lashes, fanned out across her cheeks. "Who is it?"
"His name's Franco or something. I think she likes him. Not that it matters, because she'll be back across the ocean in a month and she'll be fucking you again."
"Yes." Eva raises herself up on her elbows and kisses her hard, teeth scraping her bottom lip and "Yes, she will," she repeats like she is proving to herself and Melanie is back on the bed. Her jacket is peeled from her shoulders and Eva slides a hand down her pants and watches her face for some reaction when her fingers move inside her, long and nails and she comes with the stubborn grin painted out across her face.
One startled moment later, Eva is laughing. There is very little mirth to it and her head is back and when she can see her face again, she says, "Fuck you."
Melanie raise her shoulders.
"Sure."
She doesn't think about anyone else when her is between Eva's legs (how can she when Eva tastes so different, when the wide length of her thighs spread out beneath her is nothing like Marion's; when you have memorized the tapestry of one woman's skin how can you pretend it is anothers?) but she doesn't fool herself into thinking she'll be extended the same courtesy.
+
After, Eva leaves, even though it her hotel room and Melanie wraps herself in a towel, lights a cigarette.
"You don't mind if I step out, do you?"
"Why would I?"
"Are you going to tell her?"
"No." And she means it, she will not tell Marion, because she has never needed to do things like that but Eva is different, Eva, for all her coldness, Eva, she knows will tell her. It will be petty and weak and Marion will smile but it will make her sad.
"I..."
"You'll do whatever you see fit, of course."
"It's not like that." She is angry for a minute, fire in her eyes.
"No."
"I'll see you around, Laurent."
They both know she won't, though. They are so good at pretending.