Silver Screens, Silver Bells

"Eve, I can't-"

"It's okay, babe," she murmured, sobbing a little at the end. "Give it to me. Give me all of it. Give me all of you."

I closed my eyes just for a moment, then felt a pang of regret at losing sight of her needy dark eyes. My eyes flashed open, staring intently down at her once again. Her hand rose from her sex for just a moment, flicking against the vibrator's controls, kicking it up just a single notch before settling back between her legs.

The new, more intense thrum against my clit and the way she licked her lips sent me over the edge. My back went rigid, my hips went still for a moment, then I was plowing into her again, mewling and whimpering and cursing in between heavy breaths. The wild waves of the climax spurred me on, the pressure of the vibrator against my clit sending more and more heat through my core.

I didn't stop, even as the great waves faded away into softer ebbs. Eve's eyes closed but for a moment. She moaned out my name before she joined me in bliss, her chest rocking upwards, her one hand raking over my back, her fingers a blur between her legs.

And still I didn't stop, but instead gave her a fierce, quick kiss that I had to cut short in order to catch my breath. She bit her lip and whimpered, and I noticed a faint wet gleam in the corners of her eyes.

Worried that I'd hurt her, I slowly stopped, and she let out a needy moan.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she said with a soft, breathless laugh. "Sometimes...sometimes just happens when things get crazy." She took several deep breaths, cooing a little as she rubbed her hands up and down my back. I shuddered at her touch, and then again because the vibrator was still going.

I kissed her, soft and slow, and brushed away one of the teardrops that had started to roll down her cheek. After a few gentle moments I pulled away, turned off the vibrator and slipped the harness off. Taking just a moment to marvel at how wet and messy the dildo was, I set it aside, then took her back into my arms.

I gently cradled her head as she panted and blinked away the lingering tears. We remained there for several minutes, and I grabbed a pillow and propped it up to help her relax.

"Can I tell you something, at the risk of making you mad?"

Unsure if this was a joke or the start of a confession about something truly damning, I nodded slowly.

"I wasn't really honest with you earlier. About the reason for me messing up my lines over the first few days." She sighed and closed her eyes. "It's hard to put my finger on it, but something about that first courtroom scene got me all flustered. Created this itch that I couldn't quite scratch. I never really had that trouble in any of my other scenes for the shoot before you showed up.

I laughed softly at that 'confession' and ran my fingers along her shoulder.

"Now you're making me feel bad."

"Don't, it's all on me. I've been on set with plenty of gorgeous women before, but...that hadn't happened before. I think maybe I just wasn't really expecting anything like that on this set. I just thought it was going to be a straightforward, silly little shoot. And then I walked onto the set and there's this hot lady in a trim, well-tailored suit just watching me walk by..." She shuddered. "And then she's glaring at me and snapping at me. And when you brushed your fingers over my hand when you handed me that evidence..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said with a grin. "That was you, brushing your fingers againstme. Shocked me a bit at the time."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Could have sworn it was you who did that." She then gave me an impish grin. "Or maybe it was just a spark of Christmas magic."

I laughed again and nuzzled against her cheek, amused to no end that the faintest of touches had thrown her off her game.

"Glad you got over it, then. Would have made the rest of the shoot a hell of a lot harder."

"Oh, no, I definitely didn't get over it. I just slept with you, and then I no longer had toimagine what that would be like. Then I could focus just fine."

"Well why didn't you just say that from the start?" I teased, gently poking at her hip. "When I came up to you when you were on the stand, you should have just looked me in the eye and offered to drag me back to the makeup trailer for a quickie. We could have solved the problem then and there."

She giggled and yawned, and I rolled onto my back upon the pile of blankets and cushions, basking in the warmth of the fireplace and her soft body. God, that warm silence felt good. The stress of the past week faded away, until all that remained was the warmth of her touch and the softness of her body, and the occasional little murmur she made when she turned to nuzzle my cheek.

"Merry Christmas," I murmured.

"One of my better ones," she said softly, then leaned over to kiss me slowly on the lips.

God, I was so glad I took on that stupid role.

**

One year later

Eve and I were in my parents' kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the latest batch of Christmas cookies. My girlfriend was a damned fine actress, one hell of a lover, and a decent enough surfer, too, but she was absolutely rubbish at baking and cookie-decorating. As I result, I ended up doing most of the work.

Not that I really minded, of course. I could still lick the frosting from her fingers and tease her about the cross-eyed little elves and the misshapen reindeer she'd made.

My mother's frantic voice echoed through the house, and her feet pattered across the floor. She burst into the kitchen, eyes wide. Dressed in a reindeer-themed bathrobe and a Santa hat, the mousy, bright-eyed little woman was the picture of Christmas cheer.

"Oh, oh, oh! It's on, it's on."

"Mom," I said with an exasperated sigh. "I told you I didn't want to watch it. Yes, it's where I met Eve and it helped open some new doors career-wise, but it's not my proudest project. I really don't want to sit through it. I don't mind if you want to watch it, but I'll just stay in here and finish up the cookies."

"Ernest Beckwith's in it!" came my father's shout from the next room.

"Yes, dear, you've been more excited about seeing him in that movie than you are about seeing your own daughter on-screen," my mom said with a roll of her eyes. "Come on, Ariane. I just want to see your name in the credits."

"Mom, there's still work in here to do. You can enjoy it with dad. Just try to ignore all the factoids he'll spout about Ernest's career."

"How about a compromise?" Eve said to my mom. "You and Bruce watch it, we'll finish up the cookies, but give a shout at the scene where the judge brings his dog into the courthouse. Right after that is a very important scene that I would actually like for us all to watch. Just a quick one."

"All right, all right." My mom peeked down at Eve's work, snatched up a cookie, then wandered off back to the living room.

"What scene are you talking about?" I asked. "I don't remember the judge having a dog."

"They added it during the summer re-shoots. The producers really liked the scenes with the puppies so they wanted to add in another dog or two." She gave me one of her sly smiles. "You'll see."

We settled back to work, and made idle conversation to drown out the occasional laugh or whoop from my mother in the next room. And true to form, my father shouted out the occasional bit of trivia about Ernest Beckwith every ten minutes or so.

"I'll just watch the one scene," I said, pointing at her. "Just the one."

"Just the one. That's all I want us to see," she said, before returning to her bumbling attempt to apply frosting to a snowman-shaped cookie.

"Did you have a chance to read that script?" she asked after a short while.

I nodded. Her agent had recommended me for a prominent guest appearance in a critically acclaimed crime drama, playing a lawyer for a Russian crime syndicate. It was a meaty part, maybe even award-worthy, given the pedigree of the show.

"I did. But, uh, I'm not gonna audition for it." Her eyes widened, but I eased her shock with a warm smile. "I got another part, though. Not a movie. I was going to wait a few weeks, make it a surprise but...I got the Lady Macbeth part. For the next LA season. Twelve shows, huge venue, and a chance for the production to tour elsewhere."

She dropped one of the cookies and clasped her hands over her mouth.

"That's awesome, babe. Awesome." She patted my hand, leaving behind a smear of powdered sugar and frosting. "I know how big of a deal that role is." Her voice dropped low. "And does this mean you can keep some of the costumes? Maybe do a bit of bedroom roleplay with you as a wicked, domineering queen..."

"Don't you get started on that here," I said. "You're incorrigible."

She stuck her tongue out at me.

"Dog!" my mom shouted from the next room. "Oh, never mind! Not the judge's dog, false alarm."

After our amusement died down, Eve and I went back to work, finishing up the cookies just in time for my mom to call out again a few minutes later.

"Dog! Judge's dog, just like you said."

Girding myself for the experience of watching even a single scene from that ridiculous movie, I followed Eve into the living room and took a seat next to her on the couch. My father, who was a tiny, scrawny guy barely bigger than my mother, was curled up under a fluffy blanket on his favorite chair. In his lap was the book that Eve and I had gotten him for Christmas: an autographed copy of Ernest Beckwith's autobiography, filled with tales and trivia about Hollywood's golden age of Westerns. My dad had already flipped through it, and had been spouting out factoids all day.

On-screen, the judge walked his dog into the courthouse, and handed the leash over to a bailiff. The golden retriever even had on a little Christmas-themed scarf, and my mother chuckled when the judge turned around and admonished the dog, telling it not to interrupt yet another court hearing. Of course the dog barked back, and even I snorted at that.

The movie shifted to my first scene with Eve: the tense courtroom confrontation where Emilia was on the stand, testifying about the ecological significance of the trees of Wagner's Grove. My mom commented on how pretty Eve's hair looked, and my dad wondered if Ernest Beckwith was in the scene.

The moment the old Hollywood gunslinger popped up in the background, my dad leaned up out of his chair and pointed.

"A legend," he said approvingly.

On-screen, I rose from my table, all severe and cold, and settled into the nasty line of questioning.

"You're so mean in this scene," my mom said. "Even nastier than you were with the puppies."

"This was filmed just minutes after we met," Eve said, resting her hand on my knee. "This exact scene. This conversation you're watching now is one of the very first times we talked."

I leaned my head against Eve's shoulder, sighing a little as I saw a little spark in her eyes on-screen, a flicker of warmth that I'd missed during the actual filming.

God, what a day that had been. What a week. What a year.

My dad let out one of his little raspy chuckles, picked up the remote and rewound it a few seconds, back to just before that little spark had emerged in Eve's eyes.

"Doesn't exactly look like you're undergoing a nasty interrogation there, Eve. I'm guessing that wasn't part of the script, huh?"

"No," Eve said, her smile as bright as it had ever been, as my dad let the movie resume. "Not at all. Just a total lack of professionalism on my part. Guess the editors didn't catch it."

Fighting back tears at all the memories brought about by watching that scene, I nonetheless managed to keep my composure.

"All right," Eve said, staring to rise once the courtroom scene had wrapped up. "That was all I wanted to show you. Back to the cookies."

"Nah," I said with a soft smile, taking her by the hand and guiding her back to the couch beside me. "We can watch the rest. I still kind of want to watch that silly scene where I sabotage the pie-baking, and I want to see if you had any more slip-ups."

"Oh, I had a few," she said with a wry smile.

As we settled in to watch the rest of that cozy, Christmas nonsense, I reflected back on the events of that wild shoot. The desperate need for the job, the thrill of meeting Eve, the confrontation with Drew and my firing, and then being brought back into the fold thanks to the others standing up for me. The warm nights with Eve, the long walks through the cold, the swapping of stories at the bar, the kiss we'd shared in front of the tree, the swapping of gifts...

God...I reallyhad lived through my own version of one of those silly holiday movies, hadn't I?

And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.