![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pop_tartswip day (linked *everywhere*) has resulted in these two fiascos coming to light: [newly wed] - which was a Joey/JC story that got stalled and had no point - and [empties to the tide] - which is actually an incarnation of Sandy the Older's birthday story from two years ago, and two scenes were cannibalized for "miss you like sleep."
also, there's something in my brain that won't let me stop. what I really love about Nick and Paris is that I get a chance to be soppy regarding my own romantic life without making people gag too much, via shunting all those soppy feelings and thoughts into Paris's brain. heh. maybe that's obvious.
--
"I had a fight with Nicky today," Paris says as they finally get into the suite. Nick met her at the airport.
"Why?" he asks, putting their bags down. Nick always carries her bag, and always holds her hand.
Paris feels really drained, more drained than after Sundance even if they partied for a week straight then, and after all the parties fucked all morning too. "She just." Stupid Nicky. "I think she doesn't get why I'm dating you."
"What?" Nick looks confused and maybe even a little alarmed. Paris stops pacing in front of the TV and immediately crawls into in his lap, fits herself into the space his legs make in the armchair. She always fits right there; his arm comes up to snake around her waist, hold her on steady. "What does she," he starts, and stops.
Paris tries to burrow into his chest. "I think that she just. I dunno." She doesn't want to say that Nicky doesn't think Nick is up to Paris's usual standards, that Nicky actually said that. Nick would be hurt by something like that. already she knows that about him. She knows everything about him. "She's stupid."
"Does she not like me or something?" he asks her - or really, asks her hair, lips nearly touching the top of Paris's head.
"That's not possible," she says, arms around her neck, "for someone not to like you."
They start kissing in the chair, and Paris always has her arms around Nick's back, feeling the smooth skin of his back, running her hands up and down. It's like nothing she's known, it's enough to keep her occupied for hours, enough to turn her on, Nick's spine. Nick says, "hang on--" and pulls her onto the bed.
When they have sex, Paris claws at his back, his hips. She alternates between throwing her head back, staring at nothing, at the inside of her eyelids, and trying to stay still enough to look right into Nick's eyes. He likes to watch her face while they have sex. She likes it all, she can't decide whether she wants to kiss him, have every part of their skin touching, chests, feet wrapped together, feeling his lungs against hers - or whether she wants to hold his neck and stare into his face while they go at it, endless.
She's had a lot of sex with people, in a lot of different positions, and could never figure out what was so special about just having it like this, her on the bottom with her legs around some guy's waist. They don't talk during sex, either, so it's not even like that; she just watches him, his face, feels him everywhere. Paris says, quietly, "Nick--" and he drops his face to her neck, kisses it, all the while holding her hand. It's not supposed to be this good, not without any effort, at least it never has been before. But it's this good.
When they're done, Nick is always sure to keep them close together. "Feel better?" he asks, whispering into her ear. Paris replies by kissing his cheek, his nose. Nicky didn't matter, nothing mattered. "Good," nick says, because he can read the words on her mouth before she says them.
also, there's something in my brain that won't let me stop. what I really love about Nick and Paris is that I get a chance to be soppy regarding my own romantic life without making people gag too much, via shunting all those soppy feelings and thoughts into Paris's brain. heh. maybe that's obvious.
--
"I had a fight with Nicky today," Paris says as they finally get into the suite. Nick met her at the airport.
"Why?" he asks, putting their bags down. Nick always carries her bag, and always holds her hand.
Paris feels really drained, more drained than after Sundance even if they partied for a week straight then, and after all the parties fucked all morning too. "She just." Stupid Nicky. "I think she doesn't get why I'm dating you."
"What?" Nick looks confused and maybe even a little alarmed. Paris stops pacing in front of the TV and immediately crawls into in his lap, fits herself into the space his legs make in the armchair. She always fits right there; his arm comes up to snake around her waist, hold her on steady. "What does she," he starts, and stops.
Paris tries to burrow into his chest. "I think that she just. I dunno." She doesn't want to say that Nicky doesn't think Nick is up to Paris's usual standards, that Nicky actually said that. Nick would be hurt by something like that. already she knows that about him. She knows everything about him. "She's stupid."
"Does she not like me or something?" he asks her - or really, asks her hair, lips nearly touching the top of Paris's head.
"That's not possible," she says, arms around her neck, "for someone not to like you."
They start kissing in the chair, and Paris always has her arms around Nick's back, feeling the smooth skin of his back, running her hands up and down. It's like nothing she's known, it's enough to keep her occupied for hours, enough to turn her on, Nick's spine. Nick says, "hang on--" and pulls her onto the bed.
When they have sex, Paris claws at his back, his hips. She alternates between throwing her head back, staring at nothing, at the inside of her eyelids, and trying to stay still enough to look right into Nick's eyes. He likes to watch her face while they have sex. She likes it all, she can't decide whether she wants to kiss him, have every part of their skin touching, chests, feet wrapped together, feeling his lungs against hers - or whether she wants to hold his neck and stare into his face while they go at it, endless.
She's had a lot of sex with people, in a lot of different positions, and could never figure out what was so special about just having it like this, her on the bottom with her legs around some guy's waist. They don't talk during sex, either, so it's not even like that; she just watches him, his face, feels him everywhere. Paris says, quietly, "Nick--" and he drops his face to her neck, kisses it, all the while holding her hand. It's not supposed to be this good, not without any effort, at least it never has been before. But it's this good.
When they're done, Nick is always sure to keep them close together. "Feel better?" he asks, whispering into her ear. Paris replies by kissing his cheek, his nose. Nicky didn't matter, nothing mattered. "Good," nick says, because he can read the words on her mouth before she says them.
