Fic: On The Edge Of My Breath (RPS - Hope Solo/Alex Morgan)
Title: On The Edge Of My Breath
Author: ripptyd
Pairing: Hope Solo/Alex Morgan (US WNT, Soccer)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,081
Summary: Sweat pants and a hoodie. Nothing spectacular, but pretty close to perfect. And she’s looking at you with something in her eyes that you’ve only just started to understand.
She’s cocky and full of attitude.
You laugh a little bit when she talks to people about being the best.
Swagger and smirks.
Save the goal. Save the game. Save the day.
It’s always the same determination. Determined to make it to the finals. Determined to push herself as far as she can go.
But she’s just as determined to push you.
---
She tells you that you’re amazing while you’re sitting on the bench together. You smile and you blush, because you really weren’t expecting anything like that from her. She doesn’t talk to you that often. Not because you don’t get along, but she has her own agenda and you respect that.
You tilt your head to look at her, but she just wipes her face on her jersey and you squeeze the edge of the bench in your hands before looking out across the stadium. You swing your leg just the slightest bit to bump her in the knee, and you thank her.
---
Nothing shakes you on the field. You know that you were born for this. But when you practice, she stares you down and you get caught up. You watch her instead of just focusing on the follow through. You can’t help it and it’s the most foreign feeling to you. An out of body experience. And before you can connect with the ball, you’re suddenly intimate with the field and hoisting yourself back to your feet.
Pay attention, Morgan.
You run. You run far and fast and you don’t want to stop. But you spare a glance over your shoulder.
She’s holding onto the upright with one hand and looking right at you.
You play hard. You have to be as amazing as she thinks you are. But she blocks you. And again. And you’re colliding with her, desperately trying to hit the back of the net.
You’re worked up. Really worked up. She looks at you with a quick grin, and it just makes it worse.
---
She catches up to you leaving the field, carrying her duffel bag, and she doesn’t speak right away. You wait out the silence, and she finally tells you that the pink works for you. And you notice that she isn’t just looking at your headband.
---
When you’re on the bus, she starts to sit next to you when she can, and Tobin looks a little confused before picking a new seat. You share headphones and card games and you talk. And she doesn’t pull away when you start to fall asleep. Instead, she leans closer so you can use her (good) shoulder. So you do, and it’s warm against your face and you hope that she doesn’t realize that you’re still awake for another twenty minutes before you drift off to the gentle movements of the bus.
---
Roommate rotation in the hotel lobby. Always someone new, always a new friend. That’s how the managers like it. You like it too, because you’re young and social and you enjoy being part of this team so much. She’s your roommate for the first time.
Now you love it.
She’s standing at the edge of the bed she claimed. Sweat pants and a hoodie. Nothing spectacular, but pretty close to perfect. And she’s looking at you with something in her eyes that you’ve only just started to understand.
You barely get through formalities, talking about quirky routines and habits you may have, before she’s in your personal space.
---
You like the way you have to tilt your head just slightly to meet her eyes. You like how you have to brush your hands on your shorts because they just got clammy like they did when you were a teenager. Though it wasn’t that long ago, now that you think about it.
You’re licking your lips and that’s all the invitation she needs.
She kisses you. Soft, like she’s barely there. Hovering. Your fingertips brush her jaw and she exhales deeply before pressing closer, and you welcome her with open arms.
---
You can’t catch up with your body. Because it feels like she’s everywhere, and you’re learning just why she’s so good with her hands. They slide up your shirt and you grip her sides so tight.
Her fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and underwear and you arch up from the bed to help her. You realize that you don’t remember when your clothes make it to the floor, but you think it was right before her head dipped down to tease you through your bra. When you pull her shirt up and off, she leans back so you can see. And you can’t see anything else for the rest of the night.
---
Your fingers are wrapped tight around the strands of her dark hair, and you remotely think to yourself that you’re glad she left the blonde behind. You pull when she curls her fingers inside of you just right. She’s looking at you with this heavy stare and it’s just too much. Her lips are full and red from your eager teeth, and you can barely see the iris of her eyes.
You bury your face into anything around you. It’s all freshly starched and kind of scratchy but you dig in deeper to the sheets. Because it feels like you’re falling upwards.
She was the name on everyone’s lips going into this tournament. And right now it’s the only name on yours while you moan, and you feel her tongue on your pulse. It’s so warm and soft that you ask for more. Her lips press against your skin and when you finally cry out you think you hear her breath hitch just a little bit.
All you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears. You lay there, the both of you. You feel her breathing hard against you. She’s hot and wet on your neck and you loosen your fingers to brush through her hair. You just look at the ceiling of the German hotel room and you can’t stop the chuckle that rumbles in your chest.
She doesn’t even bother to lift her head. Her voice is right next to your ear and it sends a tremor through your body when she asks what’s so funny. You smile even though you know she can’t see it. And you tell her.
You feel her grin against your neck when you tell her that she is the best.
Author: ripptyd
Pairing: Hope Solo/Alex Morgan (US WNT, Soccer)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,081
Summary: Sweat pants and a hoodie. Nothing spectacular, but pretty close to perfect. And she’s looking at you with something in her eyes that you’ve only just started to understand.
She’s cocky and full of attitude.
You laugh a little bit when she talks to people about being the best.
Swagger and smirks.
Save the goal. Save the game. Save the day.
It’s always the same determination. Determined to make it to the finals. Determined to push herself as far as she can go.
But she’s just as determined to push you.
---
She tells you that you’re amazing while you’re sitting on the bench together. You smile and you blush, because you really weren’t expecting anything like that from her. She doesn’t talk to you that often. Not because you don’t get along, but she has her own agenda and you respect that.
You tilt your head to look at her, but she just wipes her face on her jersey and you squeeze the edge of the bench in your hands before looking out across the stadium. You swing your leg just the slightest bit to bump her in the knee, and you thank her.
---
Nothing shakes you on the field. You know that you were born for this. But when you practice, she stares you down and you get caught up. You watch her instead of just focusing on the follow through. You can’t help it and it’s the most foreign feeling to you. An out of body experience. And before you can connect with the ball, you’re suddenly intimate with the field and hoisting yourself back to your feet.
Pay attention, Morgan.
You run. You run far and fast and you don’t want to stop. But you spare a glance over your shoulder.
She’s holding onto the upright with one hand and looking right at you.
You play hard. You have to be as amazing as she thinks you are. But she blocks you. And again. And you’re colliding with her, desperately trying to hit the back of the net.
You’re worked up. Really worked up. She looks at you with a quick grin, and it just makes it worse.
---
She catches up to you leaving the field, carrying her duffel bag, and she doesn’t speak right away. You wait out the silence, and she finally tells you that the pink works for you. And you notice that she isn’t just looking at your headband.
---
When you’re on the bus, she starts to sit next to you when she can, and Tobin looks a little confused before picking a new seat. You share headphones and card games and you talk. And she doesn’t pull away when you start to fall asleep. Instead, she leans closer so you can use her (good) shoulder. So you do, and it’s warm against your face and you hope that she doesn’t realize that you’re still awake for another twenty minutes before you drift off to the gentle movements of the bus.
---
Roommate rotation in the hotel lobby. Always someone new, always a new friend. That’s how the managers like it. You like it too, because you’re young and social and you enjoy being part of this team so much. She’s your roommate for the first time.
Now you love it.
She’s standing at the edge of the bed she claimed. Sweat pants and a hoodie. Nothing spectacular, but pretty close to perfect. And she’s looking at you with something in her eyes that you’ve only just started to understand.
You barely get through formalities, talking about quirky routines and habits you may have, before she’s in your personal space.
---
You like the way you have to tilt your head just slightly to meet her eyes. You like how you have to brush your hands on your shorts because they just got clammy like they did when you were a teenager. Though it wasn’t that long ago, now that you think about it.
You’re licking your lips and that’s all the invitation she needs.
She kisses you. Soft, like she’s barely there. Hovering. Your fingertips brush her jaw and she exhales deeply before pressing closer, and you welcome her with open arms.
---
You can’t catch up with your body. Because it feels like she’s everywhere, and you’re learning just why she’s so good with her hands. They slide up your shirt and you grip her sides so tight.
Her fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and underwear and you arch up from the bed to help her. You realize that you don’t remember when your clothes make it to the floor, but you think it was right before her head dipped down to tease you through your bra. When you pull her shirt up and off, she leans back so you can see. And you can’t see anything else for the rest of the night.
---
Your fingers are wrapped tight around the strands of her dark hair, and you remotely think to yourself that you’re glad she left the blonde behind. You pull when she curls her fingers inside of you just right. She’s looking at you with this heavy stare and it’s just too much. Her lips are full and red from your eager teeth, and you can barely see the iris of her eyes.
You bury your face into anything around you. It’s all freshly starched and kind of scratchy but you dig in deeper to the sheets. Because it feels like you’re falling upwards.
She was the name on everyone’s lips going into this tournament. And right now it’s the only name on yours while you moan, and you feel her tongue on your pulse. It’s so warm and soft that you ask for more. Her lips press against your skin and when you finally cry out you think you hear her breath hitch just a little bit.
All you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears. You lay there, the both of you. You feel her breathing hard against you. She’s hot and wet on your neck and you loosen your fingers to brush through her hair. You just look at the ceiling of the German hotel room and you can’t stop the chuckle that rumbles in your chest.
She doesn’t even bother to lift her head. Her voice is right next to your ear and it sends a tremor through your body when she asks what’s so funny. You smile even though you know she can’t see it. And you tell her.
You feel her grin against your neck when you tell her that she is the best.