(no subject)
Title: Playing Sisters
Author: Sonata Night
Rating: R
Pairing: Angelina Jolie/Gillian Anderson
Notes: Mmm, femmeslash. :D <3 So much love.
Disclaimer: Fish are friends, not food - Erhm, I mean, all of this is purely from my imagination.
Archive: If you think it's good enough, drop me a line at jiradamister@gmail.com and archive away!
Playing sisters wasn't easy anymore. Not after last night.
Last night. Oh, jesus. The alcohol - that was a bad idea. That was a very bad idea. Maybe. After all, it had been there, hadn't it, and she just wouldn't have admitted it? She was attracted to Angelina. She being Gillian Anderson.
And the alcohol. She was never touching that again. No more Jack Daniels for a long time. It was all so blurry. Her, sitting across from Angelina, sitting on the floor with her. She wasn't sure why they ended up sitting on the floor, but it just seemed like the sort of thing their characters would do, sit on a floor together as they made their lists of guys and their categories, drinking, and so they sat on the floor drinking. They had no lists of guys, but they talked about guys. How guys were assholes.
Gillian mentioned that Angelina was bisexual, right, and Angelina replied back yeah, sure, with a fast affirmative nod as she took another sip of alcohol. Gillian didn't know what she was. Yeah, she'd probably had a crush on a girl or two back when she was younger, but didn't everybody? That was just a natural part of growing up. But now this was Angelina. The first time she'd met Angelina, her hair was bleached blonde and to her shoulders - still fresh from making "Hell's Kitchen". So contrasting to the movie she'd seen her in, "Gia" a few years ago, with long, dark hair that looked gorgeous and silky, not like the dry strands now.
And it was amazing what they could do to fix hair - Angelina's hair was a reddish brown, and although it was sprayed and teased to look like a clubber during filming, right now, it was a messy bedhead look that still looked soft and touchable - Gillian shook herself away from that thought process.
And Angelina had smiled at her when they'd first met, offered her hand, and Gillian had stared at those cat-green eyes and realised that this was one of the most beautiful women in the world - even if she looked like she'd bleached her hair one too many times and her pants were patched in the back several times, a scar lining her chin from some part of her past ((She would later learn it to be knife-play with an ex-boyfriend)).
And maybe right then, she'd gotten a crush on Angelina. Which led to them hanging out more often - trying to fit the role of sisters, but finding an increasing amount of pauses that didn't quite fit, looks that seemed to be maybe more, or was it just Gillian's imagination and this alcohol? But it was late now and she needed to sleep this off for the morning, because it was two in the morning, and they'd want her there by six at latest, and if she wandered in, hungover with the worst headache and breath smelling like something from the bowels of hell, she couldn't imagine they'd be pleased with her.
And then things got ... hazy. Getting to her feet, wobbling, giggling, and watching Angelina stand with much more grace to offer her the couch for the night. Or her bed. I'll sleep on the couch, Angelina had said. And someone, they'd both just collapsed on the couch, half-asleep already. And at some point in the night, she woke up, still half-drunk, and Angelina was watching her.
And then - She had to stop here and take a breath, finding herself lying in her bed remembering this and fingers trying to crawl under her pants; she clenched her fingers into fists, grabbed the bedsheets, and tried to calm down.
She couldn't focus on the sex. It was too much. It wasn't even sex - but there had been kissing, Angelina's fingers twisting in Gillian's hair and Gillian unsure of what to do with this, finally coming to place her hands on Angelina's shoulders. And she found herself embarrasingly pressing up against Angelina, pushing for friction, and getting a response from the other woman - oh, god, she had to stop thinking about this.
The scent of Angelina on her skin - it made her ache. She'd managed to show up on set washed and refreshed and only mildly hungover - or maybe that was just the throb in her head of what had happened the night before, the twist in her stomach of nerves as she went to see Angelina, to sit next to her in the makeup chair, to be offered a friendly smile that she returned carefully.
But it was still there. She could still smell Angelina - the smell of soap and a light perfume, skin, sweat later on, a little bit of alcohol on her breath - when she breathed in, exhaling, not wanting to let it go. And then there was a click of her door opening.
She'd given Angelina a spare set of keys to her apartment. And before she opened her eyes, she knew it wasn't possible, but she thought she smelled her. She thought she could taste her again already. And she heard the quiet sound of the bed squeaking as Angelina sat next to her.
"You left early." Quiet, not accusatory, but still asking without really asking.
"I..." No answer. She couldn't answer. Not with Angelina so close to her. So close to her heart - she could find it, take it, smash it, not sure what to think.
A hand on her shoulder - "You shouldn't have. I wanted to talk to you." Opening her eyes, seeing those cat-eyes staring back. Hair down, pulled back in a ponytail, strands falling out of it, tucked loosely behind an ear. Plain white tee-shirt and loose grey pants. Patched on one knee, worn threadbare in several other spots - still the most beautiful woman in the world.
Still no answer. No need for one, because now Angelina was moving in close to her and running her fingers along Gillian's spine. "I know." Kisses on her neck, and now she was falling and in the heat of the moment -
Absolute.
Author: Sonata Night
Rating: R
Pairing: Angelina Jolie/Gillian Anderson
Notes: Mmm, femmeslash. :D <3 So much love.
Disclaimer: Fish are friends, not food - Erhm, I mean, all of this is purely from my imagination.
Archive: If you think it's good enough, drop me a line at jiradamister@gmail.com and archive away!
Playing sisters wasn't easy anymore. Not after last night.
Last night. Oh, jesus. The alcohol - that was a bad idea. That was a very bad idea. Maybe. After all, it had been there, hadn't it, and she just wouldn't have admitted it? She was attracted to Angelina. She being Gillian Anderson.
And the alcohol. She was never touching that again. No more Jack Daniels for a long time. It was all so blurry. Her, sitting across from Angelina, sitting on the floor with her. She wasn't sure why they ended up sitting on the floor, but it just seemed like the sort of thing their characters would do, sit on a floor together as they made their lists of guys and their categories, drinking, and so they sat on the floor drinking. They had no lists of guys, but they talked about guys. How guys were assholes.
Gillian mentioned that Angelina was bisexual, right, and Angelina replied back yeah, sure, with a fast affirmative nod as she took another sip of alcohol. Gillian didn't know what she was. Yeah, she'd probably had a crush on a girl or two back when she was younger, but didn't everybody? That was just a natural part of growing up. But now this was Angelina. The first time she'd met Angelina, her hair was bleached blonde and to her shoulders - still fresh from making "Hell's Kitchen". So contrasting to the movie she'd seen her in, "Gia" a few years ago, with long, dark hair that looked gorgeous and silky, not like the dry strands now.
And it was amazing what they could do to fix hair - Angelina's hair was a reddish brown, and although it was sprayed and teased to look like a clubber during filming, right now, it was a messy bedhead look that still looked soft and touchable - Gillian shook herself away from that thought process.
And Angelina had smiled at her when they'd first met, offered her hand, and Gillian had stared at those cat-green eyes and realised that this was one of the most beautiful women in the world - even if she looked like she'd bleached her hair one too many times and her pants were patched in the back several times, a scar lining her chin from some part of her past ((She would later learn it to be knife-play with an ex-boyfriend)).
And maybe right then, she'd gotten a crush on Angelina. Which led to them hanging out more often - trying to fit the role of sisters, but finding an increasing amount of pauses that didn't quite fit, looks that seemed to be maybe more, or was it just Gillian's imagination and this alcohol? But it was late now and she needed to sleep this off for the morning, because it was two in the morning, and they'd want her there by six at latest, and if she wandered in, hungover with the worst headache and breath smelling like something from the bowels of hell, she couldn't imagine they'd be pleased with her.
And then things got ... hazy. Getting to her feet, wobbling, giggling, and watching Angelina stand with much more grace to offer her the couch for the night. Or her bed. I'll sleep on the couch, Angelina had said. And someone, they'd both just collapsed on the couch, half-asleep already. And at some point in the night, she woke up, still half-drunk, and Angelina was watching her.
And then - She had to stop here and take a breath, finding herself lying in her bed remembering this and fingers trying to crawl under her pants; she clenched her fingers into fists, grabbed the bedsheets, and tried to calm down.
She couldn't focus on the sex. It was too much. It wasn't even sex - but there had been kissing, Angelina's fingers twisting in Gillian's hair and Gillian unsure of what to do with this, finally coming to place her hands on Angelina's shoulders. And she found herself embarrasingly pressing up against Angelina, pushing for friction, and getting a response from the other woman - oh, god, she had to stop thinking about this.
The scent of Angelina on her skin - it made her ache. She'd managed to show up on set washed and refreshed and only mildly hungover - or maybe that was just the throb in her head of what had happened the night before, the twist in her stomach of nerves as she went to see Angelina, to sit next to her in the makeup chair, to be offered a friendly smile that she returned carefully.
But it was still there. She could still smell Angelina - the smell of soap and a light perfume, skin, sweat later on, a little bit of alcohol on her breath - when she breathed in, exhaling, not wanting to let it go. And then there was a click of her door opening.
She'd given Angelina a spare set of keys to her apartment. And before she opened her eyes, she knew it wasn't possible, but she thought she smelled her. She thought she could taste her again already. And she heard the quiet sound of the bed squeaking as Angelina sat next to her.
"You left early." Quiet, not accusatory, but still asking without really asking.
"I..." No answer. She couldn't answer. Not with Angelina so close to her. So close to her heart - she could find it, take it, smash it, not sure what to think.
A hand on her shoulder - "You shouldn't have. I wanted to talk to you." Opening her eyes, seeing those cat-eyes staring back. Hair down, pulled back in a ponytail, strands falling out of it, tucked loosely behind an ear. Plain white tee-shirt and loose grey pants. Patched on one knee, worn threadbare in several other spots - still the most beautiful woman in the world.
Still no answer. No need for one, because now Angelina was moving in close to her and running her fingers along Gillian's spine. "I know." Kisses on her neck, and now she was falling and in the heat of the moment -
Absolute.