A/N: Sorry updates have been few and far between. It's called school.
It's called cheerleading. It's called Kara's life.
If you would have asked her what happened in the next few moments, Satine couldn't have answered. She was in a deep dreamlike trance that would not be broken. And had you asked Christian, he couldn't have answered either. Both were lost completely in the sea of the other's eyes, corny as it sounds.
If this was love, she wanted more.
And then it happened. The defining moment. Her shoe's heel snapped and bang! She fell right into his waiting arms. "Damn. Teaches me not to wear stilettos to a place where I'll be dancing all night long!" Satine used one of Christian's arms to support herself and examined the dangerous shoe. "Look. Cost me fifty dollars and they go and break. Why are you shaking?"
Christian was trembling with uncontrollable laughter. "What's so funny?" Satine asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"When you fell. . ." Amid gasps of merriment, he managed to recreate the moment. "You just looked so funny."
She glared, scrunching up her nose in a way that reminded him of one of those soft, feminine rabbits at the zoo. "You're cute when you're mad."
"I am mad. My heel snapped, my rescuer is making fun of me, and I can't seem to find my ride." Scouring the gyrating rainbow of dancers, Satine could see no one that even remotely resembled any of her friends. "And I'm tired. And they're playing Bee Gees again."
"Come on, fair princess. Your knight in shining armor is here to take you home." He offered her his arm, which she eagerly took and hobbled alongside him, leaving the paradise of Studio 54 and entering the paradise of Christian.
Step. "Ow." Step. "Damn." Step. "Shit." Step. "Stupid." Step. "Shoe." Step. "Ow."
"You know what, fair princess?"
"Oh, what, handsome knight?" There was the glimmer of amusement in her eyes that a moment ago had been flashing with frustration.
"I think I shall remove the source of your misery."
"Oh, handsome knight, thou art too kind to this unhappy princess!" She sighed dramatically as he swept her up in his strong arms.
"Fair princess, your voice is heavenly upon my unworthy ears." Fighting to keep his voice straight, Christian carted his bundle of red-white-silver- and-black princess to their transportation. "Where's your car?" She asked.
"I don't have a car."
"What? We have to take a cab, then?"
"No."
"We have to WALK?!"
"No."
"What then?"
"I have a motorcycle."
"Oh, great. A motor-" She stopped her complaining as he set her on the smooth leather of the glittering turquoise vehicle, revved up the engine, and slid on himself. "Hang on tight, fair princess."
Satine wrapped her arms tightly about his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, the motorcycle purring beneath them. With a flick of Christian's wrist they were off into the depths of a Manhattan night.
Cars were but blurs as they sped through the streets and streetlights only glimmers of a rainbow-rush. Satine's hair flew behind her like auburn ribbons on a child's bicycle, creating a Roman-Holiday-esque romanticism about the two of them. "I feel just like Audrey Hepburn," she sighed happily. Her ears were ringing, she smelt terribly of smoke, her stiletto's heel had broken, but that didn't matter. She was in love, she was flying; it was far sweeter than a dream, sweeter than the fairy-tale happily ever after. Intense burning love for Christian boiled in her Irish veins, sugar-spun cotton-candy love. "Oh, I love you."
"What'd you say?" He hollered over the noise of the motorcycle.
"I said, 'I LOVE YOU!'"
"What?"
"I'll tell you when you---where are you taking me?" Her shouting hurt her already hoarse voice.
"To my place," Christian replied nonchalantly.
"Oh . . .'kay."
How completely beautiful she was, how spectacular the night had become. He glanced back for a moment, savoring the vision behind him. Her cheek was on his shoulder and silky hair draped and flew, whipping in the wind the bike created. Short, dusky eyelashes brushed his skin as butterfly wings would and warm, long-fingered hands danced along his waist. A smoky rose scent drifted from her skin, overpowering his senses so much that Christian had to stop and catch his halting breath. Nina was quasi-beautiful and rich. Satine was ethereal and penniless. He'd have to choose between them. One day. But right now, he wasn't thinking of Nina. Oh, no.
Some other day he'd think about that.
She hobbled, barefooted with her shoes dangling from her little finger, behind him while he unlocked the door to his apartment building. "Christ," Satine said. "Your place makes mine look like a ghetto."
Christian laughed. "Fair princess, welcome to my castle." Once they'd climbed three sets of black lacquered stairs and wandered long hallways to the door marked "7E" Satine was up in his arms, kicking her feet and hitting him with the broken shoe. "Do you know something?"
"I know lots of things."
"I adore you. I am completely, madly, irrevocably in passionate love with you and I met you only three hours ago."
She kissed him then, tangling long white piano fingers into his tousled black-brown hair and pushing him up against the door to his apartment. The keys that had been clutched in her free hand clattered to the floor in a jangling symphony along with the rhinestone heels. "I," she managed to breathe when the two were forced to take in air. Kiss. "Love." Kiss. "You." Kiss. "You." Kiss. "Fucker."
Finally they stumbled in, dizzy from the intoxicating rush of hot, raspberry-syrup passion coursing through their entire bodies. The room was dark, lighted only by a star-shaped fixture dangling from the ceiling. It bathed their forms in a shimmery gold glow and in the glint of blue-green- gray eyes to sapphire ones the two were in each other's arms once more. "God," came Christian's gasp after one more consuming fiery kiss. "When you were a little kid, did you ever make Popsicles in your ice cube tray?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how you'd check them every five minutes to see if they were ready yet?"
She nodded, threading her fingers through his and curling into his embrace. "You could taste them already, that sweet Kool-Aid cherry or grape; it was agony on the hottest days of a Nevada summer," Satine replied. "And once you had them, it was perfection."
"That's how it feels with you. I feel like I've waited for you all my life and checked every five minutes to find you in everything. And now you're here. It's perfection."
"It feels like I'll melt into you or something. This. . .love. . .is so--- it's like an obsession. I've only just met you and you dominate my mind. I'm going to forget to breathe." She paused a moment. "Christian, what can I sleep in? Seeing I don't think my knight errant is going to take me home."
He grinned impishly. "In my bed."
But an hour later, with Satine dressed in a Yankees jersey, it seems they'd forgotten everything about sleeping. Christian's Marilyn Monroe wall clock had just announced the hour of four.
They talked. They discussed everything from Henry VIII to Henry Mancini, Liza Minnelli to the Jackson 5, John Travolta to Jerry Lewis, vampires to Verdi, love and hate, the color of Satine's toenails which she insisted was pink but Christian thought was magenta. They talked until the New York sun came up, painting the room with a blue-pink-yellow ménage of color. They talked until their voices finally gave out and they fell asleep like tired children on the blue sofa, his head in her lap.
The sunrise begins a new day.
If you would have asked her what happened in the next few moments, Satine couldn't have answered. She was in a deep dreamlike trance that would not be broken. And had you asked Christian, he couldn't have answered either. Both were lost completely in the sea of the other's eyes, corny as it sounds.
If this was love, she wanted more.
And then it happened. The defining moment. Her shoe's heel snapped and bang! She fell right into his waiting arms. "Damn. Teaches me not to wear stilettos to a place where I'll be dancing all night long!" Satine used one of Christian's arms to support herself and examined the dangerous shoe. "Look. Cost me fifty dollars and they go and break. Why are you shaking?"
Christian was trembling with uncontrollable laughter. "What's so funny?" Satine asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"When you fell. . ." Amid gasps of merriment, he managed to recreate the moment. "You just looked so funny."
She glared, scrunching up her nose in a way that reminded him of one of those soft, feminine rabbits at the zoo. "You're cute when you're mad."
"I am mad. My heel snapped, my rescuer is making fun of me, and I can't seem to find my ride." Scouring the gyrating rainbow of dancers, Satine could see no one that even remotely resembled any of her friends. "And I'm tired. And they're playing Bee Gees again."
"Come on, fair princess. Your knight in shining armor is here to take you home." He offered her his arm, which she eagerly took and hobbled alongside him, leaving the paradise of Studio 54 and entering the paradise of Christian.
Step. "Ow." Step. "Damn." Step. "Shit." Step. "Stupid." Step. "Shoe." Step. "Ow."
"You know what, fair princess?"
"Oh, what, handsome knight?" There was the glimmer of amusement in her eyes that a moment ago had been flashing with frustration.
"I think I shall remove the source of your misery."
"Oh, handsome knight, thou art too kind to this unhappy princess!" She sighed dramatically as he swept her up in his strong arms.
"Fair princess, your voice is heavenly upon my unworthy ears." Fighting to keep his voice straight, Christian carted his bundle of red-white-silver- and-black princess to their transportation. "Where's your car?" She asked.
"I don't have a car."
"What? We have to take a cab, then?"
"No."
"We have to WALK?!"
"No."
"What then?"
"I have a motorcycle."
"Oh, great. A motor-" She stopped her complaining as he set her on the smooth leather of the glittering turquoise vehicle, revved up the engine, and slid on himself. "Hang on tight, fair princess."
Satine wrapped her arms tightly about his waist and laid her head on his shoulder, the motorcycle purring beneath them. With a flick of Christian's wrist they were off into the depths of a Manhattan night.
Cars were but blurs as they sped through the streets and streetlights only glimmers of a rainbow-rush. Satine's hair flew behind her like auburn ribbons on a child's bicycle, creating a Roman-Holiday-esque romanticism about the two of them. "I feel just like Audrey Hepburn," she sighed happily. Her ears were ringing, she smelt terribly of smoke, her stiletto's heel had broken, but that didn't matter. She was in love, she was flying; it was far sweeter than a dream, sweeter than the fairy-tale happily ever after. Intense burning love for Christian boiled in her Irish veins, sugar-spun cotton-candy love. "Oh, I love you."
"What'd you say?" He hollered over the noise of the motorcycle.
"I said, 'I LOVE YOU!'"
"What?"
"I'll tell you when you---where are you taking me?" Her shouting hurt her already hoarse voice.
"To my place," Christian replied nonchalantly.
"Oh . . .'kay."
How completely beautiful she was, how spectacular the night had become. He glanced back for a moment, savoring the vision behind him. Her cheek was on his shoulder and silky hair draped and flew, whipping in the wind the bike created. Short, dusky eyelashes brushed his skin as butterfly wings would and warm, long-fingered hands danced along his waist. A smoky rose scent drifted from her skin, overpowering his senses so much that Christian had to stop and catch his halting breath. Nina was quasi-beautiful and rich. Satine was ethereal and penniless. He'd have to choose between them. One day. But right now, he wasn't thinking of Nina. Oh, no.
Some other day he'd think about that.
She hobbled, barefooted with her shoes dangling from her little finger, behind him while he unlocked the door to his apartment building. "Christ," Satine said. "Your place makes mine look like a ghetto."
Christian laughed. "Fair princess, welcome to my castle." Once they'd climbed three sets of black lacquered stairs and wandered long hallways to the door marked "7E" Satine was up in his arms, kicking her feet and hitting him with the broken shoe. "Do you know something?"
"I know lots of things."
"I adore you. I am completely, madly, irrevocably in passionate love with you and I met you only three hours ago."
She kissed him then, tangling long white piano fingers into his tousled black-brown hair and pushing him up against the door to his apartment. The keys that had been clutched in her free hand clattered to the floor in a jangling symphony along with the rhinestone heels. "I," she managed to breathe when the two were forced to take in air. Kiss. "Love." Kiss. "You." Kiss. "You." Kiss. "Fucker."
Finally they stumbled in, dizzy from the intoxicating rush of hot, raspberry-syrup passion coursing through their entire bodies. The room was dark, lighted only by a star-shaped fixture dangling from the ceiling. It bathed their forms in a shimmery gold glow and in the glint of blue-green- gray eyes to sapphire ones the two were in each other's arms once more. "God," came Christian's gasp after one more consuming fiery kiss. "When you were a little kid, did you ever make Popsicles in your ice cube tray?"
"Yeah."
"Remember how you'd check them every five minutes to see if they were ready yet?"
She nodded, threading her fingers through his and curling into his embrace. "You could taste them already, that sweet Kool-Aid cherry or grape; it was agony on the hottest days of a Nevada summer," Satine replied. "And once you had them, it was perfection."
"That's how it feels with you. I feel like I've waited for you all my life and checked every five minutes to find you in everything. And now you're here. It's perfection."
"It feels like I'll melt into you or something. This. . .love. . .is so--- it's like an obsession. I've only just met you and you dominate my mind. I'm going to forget to breathe." She paused a moment. "Christian, what can I sleep in? Seeing I don't think my knight errant is going to take me home."
He grinned impishly. "In my bed."
But an hour later, with Satine dressed in a Yankees jersey, it seems they'd forgotten everything about sleeping. Christian's Marilyn Monroe wall clock had just announced the hour of four.
They talked. They discussed everything from Henry VIII to Henry Mancini, Liza Minnelli to the Jackson 5, John Travolta to Jerry Lewis, vampires to Verdi, love and hate, the color of Satine's toenails which she insisted was pink but Christian thought was magenta. They talked until the New York sun came up, painting the room with a blue-pink-yellow ménage of color. They talked until their voices finally gave out and they fell asleep like tired children on the blue sofa, his head in her lap.
The sunrise begins a new day.