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rareslashTitle: Zephyr
Pairing: Lily Tomlin/Meryl Streep
Rating: PG (for now)
Summary: In her head, she’d been having this affair for years; but it was nothing like the real thing.
Notes: Yeah, I’m not kidding. You read the pairing line correctly. (This is an incomplete fic, btw. Work in progress, you could say.) Sorry for the crossposting if you're on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rpfs, girlslash, and rareslash.
zeph·yr
1. a light warming breeze
2. a delicate fabric or garment
A pile of purple jewels and silk lay at the foot of the bed. Delicate blonde curls spill over the side of her white feather pillow. Sunlight streams through the open French doors, and the long white curtains dance in the warm California breeze. She can smell the ocean from her hilltop Malibu home.
She’s awake, but it’s still that moment before anyone knows she’s awake, and she doesn’t want to ruin the innocence of the early morning. Eggshells. Unspoiled innocence.
She rolls over silently and peers out of one eye, the other smushed into the soft, warm pillows. She can see a small, dark figure, full of energy, through the distortions of the beveled glass doors.
She can see Lily leaning over the balcony, balancing on the railing, standing on her tippy-toes. Wrapped in Meryl’s gauzy white cotton robe with the embroidered monogram of MSL, her initials, in gold thread over Lily’s chest. Safe and warm, she thinks.
Meryl closes her eyes and listens to the waves crash against the beach below.
Lily rocks back and forth, holding her arms tightly across her body, letting the wind blow through her wild, dark locks. She runs her fingers through her hair, breathes in deeply the smell of the Pacific Ocean, and smiles to herself.
Meryl opens her eyes again to see the sheer curtains waltzing about in the expanse.
How far between these two souls? She asks herself.
Squinting, she imagines the feet between her own gracefully outstretched arm and the other woman’s barefoot feet on the balcony tiles. She counts and adds it up in her head.
Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. She forgets what she was counting. None of that really matters, she decides.
The leggy blonde one stares at the intense tempest on the balcony, enraptured. She looks like she knows exactly what happened last night and exactly where it’s going this morning.
Meryl sighs. She has no idea.
******
“But what about the children? What about Don?” There was a worried look in her eyes. Momentary panic for what she’d done. “What about Jane?”
Lily held her finger up to Meryl’s lips. “No strings attached,” she said.
But of course that wasn’t true. There were strings everywhere. Strings between their two hearts. Strings between their souls. A string of pearls around her neck.
In her head, she’d been having this affair for years; but it was nothing like the real thing.
What did she imagine it’d be like? Fairytales and satin and lace. Fine dining and waking up with the sunrise in a holiday home with her dreamland lover.
Bullshit, she thought.
The real thing was gritty and tough. She couldn’t make it perfect, like she could make everything else in her life. Her husband. Her children. Her home.
Her characters. Her roles. Learning to play the violin in eight weeks because she’d practice daily until her fingers bled.
She couldn’t make this into perfection, and that frustrated her beyond belief.
She sighed. Her affair was just that. Sick, twisted, self-indulgent, and bordering on lonely and mid-life crisis-like. It was an affair. She’d have to come to terms with that, she thought.
But at the same time it was passionate and free. There was a connection there like she hadn’t felt in years. Perhaps she’d never felt it before.
Lily did magic things. Not just to her body, but to her mind. And dare she let the thought enter her head, to her heart.
It was something deeper than that…this affair…maybe.
And that was the turmoil troubling Meryl this cloudy Sunday afternoon as she stared off into space and mindlessly let her thumb play with her upper lip.
“Mom?” her daughter asked. “What are you doing?”
“What?” Meryl looked up to see Louisa leaning against the doorway to the study. She quickly sat up straight, picked up her book and opened it to the page her finger held uselessly. “I’m reading,” she lied.
Her daughter was still giving her a strange look. “Whatever,” the tall-for-her-age, smartass 15-year-old said and left the room as quickly as she had appeared.
“Teenagers,” her mother muttered. She looked at her book and frowned, placing a pressed flower bookmark on the page she’d read over and over again about three hours ago—before she started daydreaming.
Everything was so confusing. Why did Lily always have to be so certain of everything? She made it seem like Meryl was failing at getting the point. Or something.
“You know I love you Meryl, I do.”
The blonde one narrowed her eyes and gave her That Look. “I know it’s easy to say, but it’s harder to feel.”
Lily began to protest, but Meryl held her hand up and without a word she silenced her. Her long fingers curled back down to her palm and she withdrew her hand, pulled it close to her chest as her whole frame crumpled in a bit.
Not damaged, but reserved.
And so her day went, floating in and out—caught between daydreams and reality, with Lily never far from her mind.
Pairing: Lily Tomlin/Meryl Streep
Rating: PG (for now)
Summary: In her head, she’d been having this affair for years; but it was nothing like the real thing.
Notes: Yeah, I’m not kidding. You read the pairing line correctly. (This is an incomplete fic, btw. Work in progress, you could say.) Sorry for the crossposting if you're on
rpfs, girlslash, and rareslash.zeph·yr
1. a light warming breeze
2. a delicate fabric or garment
A pile of purple jewels and silk lay at the foot of the bed. Delicate blonde curls spill over the side of her white feather pillow. Sunlight streams through the open French doors, and the long white curtains dance in the warm California breeze. She can smell the ocean from her hilltop Malibu home.
She’s awake, but it’s still that moment before anyone knows she’s awake, and she doesn’t want to ruin the innocence of the early morning. Eggshells. Unspoiled innocence.
She rolls over silently and peers out of one eye, the other smushed into the soft, warm pillows. She can see a small, dark figure, full of energy, through the distortions of the beveled glass doors.
She can see Lily leaning over the balcony, balancing on the railing, standing on her tippy-toes. Wrapped in Meryl’s gauzy white cotton robe with the embroidered monogram of MSL, her initials, in gold thread over Lily’s chest. Safe and warm, she thinks.
Meryl closes her eyes and listens to the waves crash against the beach below.
Lily rocks back and forth, holding her arms tightly across her body, letting the wind blow through her wild, dark locks. She runs her fingers through her hair, breathes in deeply the smell of the Pacific Ocean, and smiles to herself.
Meryl opens her eyes again to see the sheer curtains waltzing about in the expanse.
How far between these two souls? She asks herself.
Squinting, she imagines the feet between her own gracefully outstretched arm and the other woman’s barefoot feet on the balcony tiles. She counts and adds it up in her head.
Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. She forgets what she was counting. None of that really matters, she decides.
The leggy blonde one stares at the intense tempest on the balcony, enraptured. She looks like she knows exactly what happened last night and exactly where it’s going this morning.
Meryl sighs. She has no idea.
******
“But what about the children? What about Don?” There was a worried look in her eyes. Momentary panic for what she’d done. “What about Jane?”
Lily held her finger up to Meryl’s lips. “No strings attached,” she said.
But of course that wasn’t true. There were strings everywhere. Strings between their two hearts. Strings between their souls. A string of pearls around her neck.
In her head, she’d been having this affair for years; but it was nothing like the real thing.
What did she imagine it’d be like? Fairytales and satin and lace. Fine dining and waking up with the sunrise in a holiday home with her dreamland lover.
Bullshit, she thought.
The real thing was gritty and tough. She couldn’t make it perfect, like she could make everything else in her life. Her husband. Her children. Her home.
Her characters. Her roles. Learning to play the violin in eight weeks because she’d practice daily until her fingers bled.
She couldn’t make this into perfection, and that frustrated her beyond belief.
She sighed. Her affair was just that. Sick, twisted, self-indulgent, and bordering on lonely and mid-life crisis-like. It was an affair. She’d have to come to terms with that, she thought.
But at the same time it was passionate and free. There was a connection there like she hadn’t felt in years. Perhaps she’d never felt it before.
Lily did magic things. Not just to her body, but to her mind. And dare she let the thought enter her head, to her heart.
It was something deeper than that…this affair…maybe.
And that was the turmoil troubling Meryl this cloudy Sunday afternoon as she stared off into space and mindlessly let her thumb play with her upper lip.
“Mom?” her daughter asked. “What are you doing?”
“What?” Meryl looked up to see Louisa leaning against the doorway to the study. She quickly sat up straight, picked up her book and opened it to the page her finger held uselessly. “I’m reading,” she lied.
Her daughter was still giving her a strange look. “Whatever,” the tall-for-her-age, smartass 15-year-old said and left the room as quickly as she had appeared.
“Teenagers,” her mother muttered. She looked at her book and frowned, placing a pressed flower bookmark on the page she’d read over and over again about three hours ago—before she started daydreaming.
Everything was so confusing. Why did Lily always have to be so certain of everything? She made it seem like Meryl was failing at getting the point. Or something.
“You know I love you Meryl, I do.”
The blonde one narrowed her eyes and gave her That Look. “I know it’s easy to say, but it’s harder to feel.”
Lily began to protest, but Meryl held her hand up and without a word she silenced her. Her long fingers curled back down to her palm and she withdrew her hand, pulled it close to her chest as her whole frame crumpled in a bit.
Not damaged, but reserved.
And so her day went, floating in and out—caught between daydreams and reality, with Lily never far from her mind.
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