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smallfandomflsh2016-04-04 07:34 am
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Entry tags:
Saved by the Bell, Slater/Jessi, #171: Joie de Vivre, Kat Lee
Title: Momma and Poppa Together Again
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Saved By the Bell
Character/Pairing: Slater/Jessi
Rating: PG-/13/T
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
smallfandomflsh #171: Joie de Vivre
Warning(s): Future Fic
Word Count: 2,541
Date Written: 4 April, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Her brilliant mind is spinning quietly by the time they reach the small cafe. Slater clearly knows his way around the famous city, and Jessi is trying hard not to let herself consider how many times he's been here without her and with some one else. It shouldn't matter. They haven't even seen each other for years, not since Kelly's and Zack's wedding. She shouldn't even be here, but yet, somehow, she couldn't tell him "no" at the airport.
She had been about to say "no". She had been about to tell him it was wonderful to see him again but she couldn't possibly allow him to whisk her away even just for coffee. She had work to do. But then, she's always got work to do, and she's not actually meeting with her client until tomorrow morning. Still, she's not quite sure how "yes" tumbled out of her mouth, but it had hung there between them for a moment, its weight heavy though unseen, before Slater had grabbed her hand and dashed them towards a waiting car.
She knows he's got security. He managed to elude them at the airport, but she's pretty certain those are the tall, burly glasses dressed in suits and wearing dark sunglasses two tables away from them. Still, they evidently know to let him have his space for now which means again, she thinks though she doesn't want to, that he must have done this before. She's also read about his adventures in the papers. He and Lisa are the only reasons why she buys those silly things at the check out stands, most notably for him rather than her famous, fashion designer friend.
He makes her order for her without even bothering to ask her what she wants. She looks up, surprised, as he speaks in perfect French. She knows every word he says, but the A.C. Slater she knew couldn't be bothered to pick up more than a few phrases in French, just enough to whisper into her ear in the theater before sneaking his tongue into her ear. She shivers at the memories, but they're good memories that make her smile.
Any other guy making the move to order for her would make her mad. He used to when he did at the Max, but today, he gets her order perfect and it's a sweet reminder that, after all this time apart, maybe he does know her, after all. Their waitress rushes to fulfill their order and is back in record time. Jessi never gets waited on this fast when she's by herself, but then, Slater's famous. The whole world knows him.
She sips her coffee, watching him intently over the rim of her mug. He ordered her a pastry but got fruit for himself. She knows he doesn't want it. She'd laugh at the sideways eyeball he's giving the slices of apple, if her mouth wasn't full of whipped cream. His eyes turn toward her as she licks the cream from her lips, and she knows they're both thinking about the times their tongues have met. She sees the hunger in his gaze as his eyes follow the flickers of her tongue and blushes deeply, suddenly wishing she'd worn a turtleneck instead of her business suit.
She has to force her eyes away from him. She busies herself with cutting her pastry in half. "Here," she says, picking up half of it with her fork and knife and placing it next to the slices of apple but without allowing it to touch the apple. "I know you don't want that." She grins and then shivers again at the sound of his deep voice.
"You always knew me, Momma." She hasn't been called that in years. True to the promise she made him the night before their graduation, he has always been her Poppa, but she doesn't comment on that. She doesn't dare.
Instead, she makes the first comment away from their past that springs to her mind. "So you're speaking French now."
"You were right back in high school," he says, still not touching the pastry. He drinks his own, black coffee and actually doesn't shudder in distaste as he lowers the mug. "It helps to know other languages."
"What are you doing here?" she asks as though she doesn't know.
"I thought you said you've been following my career?" he teases, flashing her the same, wide grin that used to fill her stomach with butterflies and make her feel weak all over inside. It used to feel like his smile had the power to turn even her bones to jelly. It still has all those effects, and more.
If her lips tremble as she smiles back across the tiny table, they both pretend not to notice. "I do as I can." It's not a lie. She doesn't always have time to read the magazines she picks up until weeks later.
"I'm on an universal tour right now. I'm here to wrestle France's best." She nods, still surprised that he decided to make his career in wrestling. "What?" he asks with that same smile that makes her insides go crazy.
She sips her coffee again. "I just . . . " She shakes her head and slowly, carefully admits, "I never thought you'd make your future in wrestling." But then, her own future hasn't exactly turned out the way she expected. She's a top lawyer for her firm, but that's as close as she's gotten to running for any government office. The presidency is a dream, as is, especially, the idea of being America's first female President. There's a woman in the office right now, one for whom she was only too happy to vote in the last election.
He rolls his shoulders, and her eyes go to them. His tan's deeper and more golden now than it was in high school, and his muscles have grown, too. She hides her gulping reaction carefully behind her mug. "It pays the bills," he's saying, and they both know it more than does that. "What about you, Jess? What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to help a client," she says without pause. "She was visiting and got into trouble."
He arches a dark eyebrow at her. "Not that little actress who got into trouble for bringing her dog?" Her answering smirk gives her away. "You're in it for the animal," he says, dismissing the idea that anything's wrong with representing a spoiled heiress who clearly did wrong.
She's actually in it, because this was the job her firm handed to her. She's in it to keep her job and pay her bills. But she certainly does prefer to think of herself as representing the dog rather than the actress and keeping the poor animal off of death's row. So she nods and watches as he bites into the pastry.
She glances to his security, noting how the smaller man shifts as if disapproving of Slater's choice and is stopped by a stern look and shake of the head by his older partner. They're here to protect Slater, all right, but not from sugary substances of the possibility of diabetes. Her eyes flick back to Slater just in time to see that his eyes are shut and he's thoroughly enjoying his bite. He clearly hasn't had anything like the French version of a glazed bear claw in a long time. She lets him eat in peace, just watching him and trying not to remember. He's a beautiful man, but then, he's always been more than handsome enough to steal away her breath.
Suddenly, there's a flash of cameras. The security guards jump from their table and rush out the door, undoubtedly following the paparazzi who stole the picture. Slater's eyes are opened, and Jessi's heart aches for him as, for just a second, he actually looks so sad that she finds herself reaching for his hand. She remembers another sad boy from years ago and realizes that it's no wonder he chose this career path. Even back then, he felt like he had only the military and his wrestling between which to choose. She knows now why he chose wrestling.
He lays the pastry back down, clearly disgusted. "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his curly head.
She blinks. "For what?"
"My damn paparazzi. I should've known they'd find us here. I'm afraid you'll be the next one whose name they'll be dragging through their ridiculous magazines because of me."
Her brow furrows. "You mean all those other girls . . . "
"Were mostly friends," he answers before she can finish forming the question. "I did date a few of them," he admits, and then his deep, dark eyes look up directly into hers, "but none of them were to me what you were. I've never had another Momma."
She can't stop herself from answering earnestly and with a quick shake of her head, "I've never had another Poppa." Her hand drops on top of his. She's leaning across the table and doesn't even realize it. There's something about Slater that pulls her, literally, to him. It always has, and she wants nothing more right now than to comfort the hurting man of whom she saw a flash of just a moment ago.
"Really?" he asks, and she nods.
Suddenly, she realizes how close she's come to him. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears like it hasn't done since they were teenagers. She knows she should pull back, but she doesn't want to be further away from him. She aches instead to be close to him again.
"Jessi." His hand turns; his fingers interlace with hers. His lips pull up into a mischievous smile, and there's a gleam she hasn't seen in years suddenly dancing in his dark eyes. "Would you mind . . . giving them something to talk about?"
She can barely think for the hammering of her heart. She knows what he intends. She knows, too, that it won't help her own career. But she isn't studying the paparazzi or either of their careers. "That depends, Poppa," she returns with a boldness she'd almost forgotten but which his presence suddenly back at her side is beginning to return to her. She licks her lips and grins this time as his gaze follows the motions of her tongue. "Is it only for the cameras?"
"No. I never forgot about you, Momma. I never stopped -- "
It's her lips that seal the deal, hers that finally slip down onto his, but then he's leaning up and over the table and kissing her back in full. She feels the gentle, still familiar pry of his tongue against her lips and lets them open. Their tongues twist together, and they both moan softly as their mouths meld together.
She knows what he was about to say. She knows, too, that she wasn't ready to hear it, but here in their kiss, she hears the words and so much more. She hears the echoes of the past and what they shared before and the promises of things that might come, if they let them and don't let life part them again. She feels joy and passion like she hasn't felt since their younger days.
His hand cups her face. His thumb brushes softly against her cheek, and his fingers thread into her long hair. She moans as he expertly tilts her head as he used to back in California, moving them both so that their embrace is gentler for her, better for her. His tongue reaches deeper. His other arm goes around her lithe body, holding him to her in an almost crushing blow.
She feels, in his every inch, how desperately he's missed her, and she feels the echo in her own heart. She's missed him, too, more than she realized, more than she dared admit to even herself until now. There's been a part of her missing for a long time, a part that the adult world took away from her, a part that the law firm for which she works and through which she's climbed to hold a high ranking position despite being one of the few women in the organization had all but killed. His lips breathe new life into her, just as they did the first time they kissed so many years ago.
The years fall away. The ideas of the modern world fall, taking with them all the things to which, as adults, they must pay heed. Slater's got one hand on her face, the other on the small of her back, and he's gently massaging both as his lips pay homage to her. She's never felt this way in any one else's arms. No one else has ever came close to giving her what he does or making her feel as he does.
And, suddenly, Jessi realizes, she knows that about which the French are always shouting. She understands the true meaning of, "Joie de Vivre!" It's about finding the happiness in life but not necessarily the lives they've been cast into as adults. It's about finding the happiness they felt before when they were free and keeping it. It's about doing what makes them happy, about following passion, and Jessi has always found both joy and passion with her Poppa and only with her Poppa.
She melts into his strong arms, the last of her restraints fleeing. His head starts to rise, his lips start to move from hers, but her fingers grasp his dark curls and pull him back down. They've waited too long for this. She knows, somewhere in the recesses of her mind to which she's not paying attention now, that they're being surrounded, their pictures are being taken by a flurry of cameras, and there are French people crying out in their native language all around them. But she doesn't care about any of that right now.
She knows, too, that this moment is that for which she's been unconsciously waiting all these years. This kiss they're sharing, as bold and passionate as any they shared before but made more so, too, by their experiences as adults and longing for each other, is that of which her most cherished dreams have been made. She may never reach the White House, but it wasn't necessarily the White House for which she was destined. Loving this man and being loved by him is that for which she's truly been destined all along.
This moment is the best moment in her life so far, and she isn't about to let it or him go so easily. Surrounded by their passion, enraptured with his mouth, she makes a promise to them both. She'll never have another Poppa, he'll never have another Momma, and this time, now that they're together again, they'll never let the world separate them again. Somehow, they'll find a way to live their adult lives together, as always they've been destined.
She hears herself cry, "Joie de Vivre!" Against his mouth, it only comes out as a deep moan. She pulls him in closer, deeper. His arms are crushing around her body, but she doesn't care. They're home. They're back together at last, and they'll never separate again.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Saved By the Bell
Character/Pairing: Slater/Jessi
Rating: PG-/13/T
Challenge/Prompt:
smallfandomflsh #171: Joie de VivreWarning(s): Future Fic
Word Count: 2,541
Date Written: 4 April, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
Her brilliant mind is spinning quietly by the time they reach the small cafe. Slater clearly knows his way around the famous city, and Jessi is trying hard not to let herself consider how many times he's been here without her and with some one else. It shouldn't matter. They haven't even seen each other for years, not since Kelly's and Zack's wedding. She shouldn't even be here, but yet, somehow, she couldn't tell him "no" at the airport.
She had been about to say "no". She had been about to tell him it was wonderful to see him again but she couldn't possibly allow him to whisk her away even just for coffee. She had work to do. But then, she's always got work to do, and she's not actually meeting with her client until tomorrow morning. Still, she's not quite sure how "yes" tumbled out of her mouth, but it had hung there between them for a moment, its weight heavy though unseen, before Slater had grabbed her hand and dashed them towards a waiting car.
She knows he's got security. He managed to elude them at the airport, but she's pretty certain those are the tall, burly glasses dressed in suits and wearing dark sunglasses two tables away from them. Still, they evidently know to let him have his space for now which means again, she thinks though she doesn't want to, that he must have done this before. She's also read about his adventures in the papers. He and Lisa are the only reasons why she buys those silly things at the check out stands, most notably for him rather than her famous, fashion designer friend.
He makes her order for her without even bothering to ask her what she wants. She looks up, surprised, as he speaks in perfect French. She knows every word he says, but the A.C. Slater she knew couldn't be bothered to pick up more than a few phrases in French, just enough to whisper into her ear in the theater before sneaking his tongue into her ear. She shivers at the memories, but they're good memories that make her smile.
Any other guy making the move to order for her would make her mad. He used to when he did at the Max, but today, he gets her order perfect and it's a sweet reminder that, after all this time apart, maybe he does know her, after all. Their waitress rushes to fulfill their order and is back in record time. Jessi never gets waited on this fast when she's by herself, but then, Slater's famous. The whole world knows him.
She sips her coffee, watching him intently over the rim of her mug. He ordered her a pastry but got fruit for himself. She knows he doesn't want it. She'd laugh at the sideways eyeball he's giving the slices of apple, if her mouth wasn't full of whipped cream. His eyes turn toward her as she licks the cream from her lips, and she knows they're both thinking about the times their tongues have met. She sees the hunger in his gaze as his eyes follow the flickers of her tongue and blushes deeply, suddenly wishing she'd worn a turtleneck instead of her business suit.
She has to force her eyes away from him. She busies herself with cutting her pastry in half. "Here," she says, picking up half of it with her fork and knife and placing it next to the slices of apple but without allowing it to touch the apple. "I know you don't want that." She grins and then shivers again at the sound of his deep voice.
"You always knew me, Momma." She hasn't been called that in years. True to the promise she made him the night before their graduation, he has always been her Poppa, but she doesn't comment on that. She doesn't dare.
Instead, she makes the first comment away from their past that springs to her mind. "So you're speaking French now."
"You were right back in high school," he says, still not touching the pastry. He drinks his own, black coffee and actually doesn't shudder in distaste as he lowers the mug. "It helps to know other languages."
"What are you doing here?" she asks as though she doesn't know.
"I thought you said you've been following my career?" he teases, flashing her the same, wide grin that used to fill her stomach with butterflies and make her feel weak all over inside. It used to feel like his smile had the power to turn even her bones to jelly. It still has all those effects, and more.
If her lips tremble as she smiles back across the tiny table, they both pretend not to notice. "I do as I can." It's not a lie. She doesn't always have time to read the magazines she picks up until weeks later.
"I'm on an universal tour right now. I'm here to wrestle France's best." She nods, still surprised that he decided to make his career in wrestling. "What?" he asks with that same smile that makes her insides go crazy.
She sips her coffee again. "I just . . . " She shakes her head and slowly, carefully admits, "I never thought you'd make your future in wrestling." But then, her own future hasn't exactly turned out the way she expected. She's a top lawyer for her firm, but that's as close as she's gotten to running for any government office. The presidency is a dream, as is, especially, the idea of being America's first female President. There's a woman in the office right now, one for whom she was only too happy to vote in the last election.
He rolls his shoulders, and her eyes go to them. His tan's deeper and more golden now than it was in high school, and his muscles have grown, too. She hides her gulping reaction carefully behind her mug. "It pays the bills," he's saying, and they both know it more than does that. "What about you, Jess? What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to help a client," she says without pause. "She was visiting and got into trouble."
He arches a dark eyebrow at her. "Not that little actress who got into trouble for bringing her dog?" Her answering smirk gives her away. "You're in it for the animal," he says, dismissing the idea that anything's wrong with representing a spoiled heiress who clearly did wrong.
She's actually in it, because this was the job her firm handed to her. She's in it to keep her job and pay her bills. But she certainly does prefer to think of herself as representing the dog rather than the actress and keeping the poor animal off of death's row. So she nods and watches as he bites into the pastry.
She glances to his security, noting how the smaller man shifts as if disapproving of Slater's choice and is stopped by a stern look and shake of the head by his older partner. They're here to protect Slater, all right, but not from sugary substances of the possibility of diabetes. Her eyes flick back to Slater just in time to see that his eyes are shut and he's thoroughly enjoying his bite. He clearly hasn't had anything like the French version of a glazed bear claw in a long time. She lets him eat in peace, just watching him and trying not to remember. He's a beautiful man, but then, he's always been more than handsome enough to steal away her breath.
Suddenly, there's a flash of cameras. The security guards jump from their table and rush out the door, undoubtedly following the paparazzi who stole the picture. Slater's eyes are opened, and Jessi's heart aches for him as, for just a second, he actually looks so sad that she finds herself reaching for his hand. She remembers another sad boy from years ago and realizes that it's no wonder he chose this career path. Even back then, he felt like he had only the military and his wrestling between which to choose. She knows now why he chose wrestling.
He lays the pastry back down, clearly disgusted. "I'm sorry," he says, shaking his curly head.
She blinks. "For what?"
"My damn paparazzi. I should've known they'd find us here. I'm afraid you'll be the next one whose name they'll be dragging through their ridiculous magazines because of me."
Her brow furrows. "You mean all those other girls . . . "
"Were mostly friends," he answers before she can finish forming the question. "I did date a few of them," he admits, and then his deep, dark eyes look up directly into hers, "but none of them were to me what you were. I've never had another Momma."
She can't stop herself from answering earnestly and with a quick shake of her head, "I've never had another Poppa." Her hand drops on top of his. She's leaning across the table and doesn't even realize it. There's something about Slater that pulls her, literally, to him. It always has, and she wants nothing more right now than to comfort the hurting man of whom she saw a flash of just a moment ago.
"Really?" he asks, and she nods.
Suddenly, she realizes how close she's come to him. Her heartbeat thunders in her ears like it hasn't done since they were teenagers. She knows she should pull back, but she doesn't want to be further away from him. She aches instead to be close to him again.
"Jessi." His hand turns; his fingers interlace with hers. His lips pull up into a mischievous smile, and there's a gleam she hasn't seen in years suddenly dancing in his dark eyes. "Would you mind . . . giving them something to talk about?"
She can barely think for the hammering of her heart. She knows what he intends. She knows, too, that it won't help her own career. But she isn't studying the paparazzi or either of their careers. "That depends, Poppa," she returns with a boldness she'd almost forgotten but which his presence suddenly back at her side is beginning to return to her. She licks her lips and grins this time as his gaze follows the motions of her tongue. "Is it only for the cameras?"
"No. I never forgot about you, Momma. I never stopped -- "
It's her lips that seal the deal, hers that finally slip down onto his, but then he's leaning up and over the table and kissing her back in full. She feels the gentle, still familiar pry of his tongue against her lips and lets them open. Their tongues twist together, and they both moan softly as their mouths meld together.
She knows what he was about to say. She knows, too, that she wasn't ready to hear it, but here in their kiss, she hears the words and so much more. She hears the echoes of the past and what they shared before and the promises of things that might come, if they let them and don't let life part them again. She feels joy and passion like she hasn't felt since their younger days.
His hand cups her face. His thumb brushes softly against her cheek, and his fingers thread into her long hair. She moans as he expertly tilts her head as he used to back in California, moving them both so that their embrace is gentler for her, better for her. His tongue reaches deeper. His other arm goes around her lithe body, holding him to her in an almost crushing blow.
She feels, in his every inch, how desperately he's missed her, and she feels the echo in her own heart. She's missed him, too, more than she realized, more than she dared admit to even herself until now. There's been a part of her missing for a long time, a part that the adult world took away from her, a part that the law firm for which she works and through which she's climbed to hold a high ranking position despite being one of the few women in the organization had all but killed. His lips breathe new life into her, just as they did the first time they kissed so many years ago.
The years fall away. The ideas of the modern world fall, taking with them all the things to which, as adults, they must pay heed. Slater's got one hand on her face, the other on the small of her back, and he's gently massaging both as his lips pay homage to her. She's never felt this way in any one else's arms. No one else has ever came close to giving her what he does or making her feel as he does.
And, suddenly, Jessi realizes, she knows that about which the French are always shouting. She understands the true meaning of, "Joie de Vivre!" It's about finding the happiness in life but not necessarily the lives they've been cast into as adults. It's about finding the happiness they felt before when they were free and keeping it. It's about doing what makes them happy, about following passion, and Jessi has always found both joy and passion with her Poppa and only with her Poppa.
She melts into his strong arms, the last of her restraints fleeing. His head starts to rise, his lips start to move from hers, but her fingers grasp his dark curls and pull him back down. They've waited too long for this. She knows, somewhere in the recesses of her mind to which she's not paying attention now, that they're being surrounded, their pictures are being taken by a flurry of cameras, and there are French people crying out in their native language all around them. But she doesn't care about any of that right now.
She knows, too, that this moment is that for which she's been unconsciously waiting all these years. This kiss they're sharing, as bold and passionate as any they shared before but made more so, too, by their experiences as adults and longing for each other, is that of which her most cherished dreams have been made. She may never reach the White House, but it wasn't necessarily the White House for which she was destined. Loving this man and being loved by him is that for which she's truly been destined all along.
This moment is the best moment in her life so far, and she isn't about to let it or him go so easily. Surrounded by their passion, enraptured with his mouth, she makes a promise to them both. She'll never have another Poppa, he'll never have another Momma, and this time, now that they're together again, they'll never let the world separate them again. Somehow, they'll find a way to live their adult lives together, as always they've been destined.
She hears herself cry, "Joie de Vivre!" Against his mouth, it only comes out as a deep moan. She pulls him in closer, deeper. His arms are crushing around her body, but she doesn't care. They're home. They're back together at last, and they'll never separate again.
The End