Fandom: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
Characters: Jack Rudolph/Jordan McDeere
Word Count: ~500
Summary: “I always wanted to be this girl, she told him, voice thick with memories of old movies and teenage fantasies.”
A/N: These two will just not leave me alone, and I hope it stays that way.
“I kissed your throat every time they said it wouldn’t last
But then I knew you, I knew you, I knew you, I really knew you”
-Stars, ‘What I’m Trying to Say’
She hadn’t been expecting it.
They’d been shouting at each other (as per usual), him screaming something along the lines of the ratings can’t keep falling like this! and her retorting with something like just give it time, Jack! and before she knew it his hands were grabbing at her upper arms (firm, but not rough) as his voice dropped a few decibels, growling a goddamnit, Jordan before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.
And their argument didn’t end (it just changed mediums) as their fight became a flurry of lips and teeth and tongue. She noticed that he tasted faintly of cigarette smoke and he noticed that she tasted vaguely of cheap coffee, but neither of them really cared (she was more preoccupied with the feeling of Jack’s hand on her ass, and he was more preoccupied with putting it there).
In the moment, she knew she should be thinking about the ring on the finger of the hand that was now tangled in her hair, but the only truly coherent (if that) thought running through her mind was merely ohmygod, Jack because what this man was doing to her felt so damn good.
She stumbled backward under the force of it all, and with a painful twist of an ankle (she knew those stilettos weren’t suited for work) her hip collided with a desk corner, shocking her back to reality. He caught her mid-fall, hands on her waist, as her grip around his neck tightened.
Jack’s lips suddenly felt too close as he whispered you okay? with a tenderness she had no idea he was even capable of (but was glad to hear nonetheless). She swallowed as she nodded, and they let go at the same time, her leaning on the desk for support.
(And she was only acting like she was nursing her ankle; truth was, she could hardly breathe.)
He ended up next to the door, standing tall with (fake) nonchalance. Jordan straightened up on shaky knees, smoothing her hair back into place. She stepped up to him with (fake) confidence, shorter now with her heels in hand, and looked him over with one long glance.
She smirked, then, and shook her head with a ghost of a laugh. I always wanted to be this girl, she told him, voice thick with memories of old movies and teenage fantasies. Rising onto tiptoes, she kissed him, slowly, a hand flat on his chest for balance. When she pulled away, he quirked an eyebrow, murmuring You know, I never wanted to be this guy.
He ran a hand through his hair and took a step backward, holding her gaze for a suspended moment before leaving, the door swinging shut with a resounding thud behind him.
In an empty room, bathed in pale fluorescent lighting, Jordan only smiled.
That’s how it always begins.