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It's been a wild night. Jennifer's been going nonstop, interviews and pre-parties and interacting with fellow actors and, dammit, she hasn't eaten in hours. How can you even think about calling an event a party if there's no food? And no, those goofy little finger sandwiches don't count – if she'd even had time to eat any, which she didn't.
Not that she doesn't appreciate the prestigious nature of the event. Fuck, it's the Oscars – every actor, no matter how small potatoes, dreams of even being invited to sit in the audience. She's done this shindig before, so she knows the ropes, but it's still really cool, and she's proud of the film they've made and happy and grateful to be honored in this way. But…she's also really, really hungry.
Even the opportunity to make the next move in her play-rivalry with Emma Stone isn't enough to distract her for more than a minute or two. Her threat would've been delivered face-to-face, but Emma's surrounded by a sea of people at the other end of the red carpet and there's no way Jennifer's even going to try to brave that circus for a quick joke. "Dammit, Stone, why you gotta be all the way over there?" she mutters to herself in a rare camera-free moment. There's nobody around to make fun of all this hulabaloo with, and that means it kind of sucks.
She's taking part in approximately the millionth interview when she hears a new wave of cameras and shouts go off to her left, and turns her head just a bit to see who the new arrival is. Once she realizes who it is, she turns away from the reporter as if pulled by a magnet.
Kristen looks like a queen. Whatever she's wearing looks a thousand times easier to maneuver in, even with the fluffy train, than Jennifer's ridiculous Disney Princess-esque ballgown. Her hair's a little messy, but it's Jennifer's favorite look for her and hell if it isn't her best look. She hasn't seen Jennifer yet, and that's mostly because of the crutches that she's attempting to ease her way off of (without much success). It’s like watching a fawn try and walk on ice, and Jennifer's heart melts instantly.
This completely violates their unspoken agreement about minimizing contact at public events to avoid suspicion, but Jennifer doesn't care. Fuck propriety, her girl is hurt and she's going to help her. "Hey, dude!" she asks, raising a hand in greeting as she waddles over to Kristen (whose idea was this dress? She and it will have words later). "What happened?" Some people call her face an open book, but she hopes her concerned expression will be interpreted as just friendly sympathy for a fellow actress.
"I was a dumbass, as usual," mutters Kristen. "Stepped on some glass. Tore up the ball of my foot and now I'm on pain meds, so that's awesome." She bites her lip in that way she does that she insists isn't sexy, but totally is, and looks up at Jennifer almost shyly. Jennifer's not used to being taller than Kristen. She knows it's just because of her heels, but suddenly she can see the appeal of the whole half-a-head-taller relationship ideal.
"Ah, god, that sucks." Jennifer's not very good at comforting people, but hell if she doesn't want to pick Kristen up bridal-style – which she can totally do, they've tried – and carry her away from all this. Which strikes her as funny, considering they've made jokes that Kristen's the boyfriend. ("At least you've got curves," said Kristen when Jennifer tried to protest, citing her tomboyish childhood. "Me, I've literally been part of a crossdressing shoot. And yeah, I know, you think that's really hot," she adds, holding up a finger before Jennifer can get a word in edgewise, "so it sure as hell qualifies me to be the butch in this relationship.") In lieu of being able to sweep her away, Jennifer wraps her right arm around Kristen, letting the other girl sort of fall into her embrace. It's risky. She hears a dozen cameras go off, but it doesn’t matter because Kristen is hurt and the one thing she knows how to do when people are hurt is give hugs. Even an awkward one-armed hug is something.
Kristen goes a little limp. "I've missed you," she murmurs, too quiet for anyone but Jennifer to hear. Just for a second, Jennifer closes her eyes and breathes in the Kristen smell that she's missed so much during the last few months. There's just a hint of that fancy rose perfume that she hawked last year (it smells more like an herb garden to Jennifer – she prefers that over roses anyway), but mostly it’s her natural scent, sharp and warm and so Kristen and Jennifer wishes she never had to let go.
But then they do, probably a second too late, and Jennifer helps Kristen right herself - only to stumble thanks to those damned heels. Her hand on Kristen's shoulder saves her. "Easy there," says Kristen, and it makes Jennifer laugh. "Hey, I'm supposed to be the one helping you," she protests. "You're actually hurt and stuff. Do I have to set up camp in your house or something to keep you out of trouble?"
Kristen chuckles, deep in her throat. "Nah, man, I'm too far gone for that. I'll hurt myself somehow even with you there." They lock eyes for just a second, and Jennifer understands everything she's not saying, how much she likes the idea of Jennifer moving in with her. That would be great, she thinks, if the “mornings after” that they have now are any indication. Waking up with her face buried in Kristen's neck so that Kristen smell is the first thing that greets her; lazy pajama days where they spend hours in front of the TV watching whatever comes up on Netflix that looks even remotely good (or funny-bad); sneaking out of bed and making Kristen giant stacks of blueberry pancakes to surprise her; rummaging through Kristen's closet for half-decent grocery run disguises for both of them when it turns out there isn't anything even remotely edible in Kristen's fridge.
Jennifer blinks, forcing herself out of her reverie. Oops. Hopefully she didn’t get too glazed-over. She grins as if nothing’s happened, bumping Kristen with her shoulder. "Well, I had to offer. Alright, they're probably gonna start soon, better go finish some interviews or mingle or something before we all get herded in there. Um, In N Out later?" she adds.
Kristen nods. "The Studio City one?" That's their code for Kristen's place, which they had to start using for their "sleepovers" after some paps staked out Jennifer's house for a week and almost caught them (fortunately Jennifer just happened to have a trenchcoat and a ridiculous man-wig lying around, so crisis averted, but from then on they agreed to switch off locations just in case). Makes sense this time; Jennifer won't be able to get out of here until Kristen’s long gone, especially if she wins. Now she kind of hopes she doesn't.
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Hours later, most of the chaos has died down and she can start working her way towards the exit. Being an Oscar-winning actress is awesome and all, but damn, it’s exhausting. Now all she wants is to fall into Kristen’s arms and sleep. (At least there was finally some food after the ceremony.)
Nimbly dodging the final few reporters lurking around in hopes of last-minute interviews, she takes a moment to check in with her mom – “I’m gonna head home, I’m beat. Probably just barricade myself inside all day tomorrow and not put on pants” – and then books it for her car, thanking every relevant divinity that In N Outs were open late. Granted, Kristen would want to see her whether she actually brought food or not, but far be it from Jennifer Lawrence to pass up food.
The employees, bless them, ask no questions (even the sleepy-looking one with floppy bangs who did a double-take when he brought her food to the window), and soon Jennifer’s pulling into Kristen’s driveway at 1 AM. Then, because she’s lazy and she only wants to make one trip, she spends several minutes struggling to hold onto the two giant bags of food and both milkshakes at all at once. When she finally makes it to the front door, she resorts to knocking with her forehead because, well, what the hell else is she supposed to do?
She waits there for what seems like forever before Kristen finally opens the door and lets her in. “Sorry, man, I was napping,” she says, yawning. “And then I had to, y’know, drag myself over to the door and stuff.” She grins. Jennifer knows it’s a joke and Kristen will be fine, but she also just wants to make Kristen lay down for a week while she brings her soup and macaroni and cheese and whatever else you make for injured people. At least she’s managed to get out of her dress by herself, and is now dressed in sweatpants and a ratty grey tee that’s at least two sizes too big. Her hair is disheveled and she’s wearing hobo clothes and it’s weirdly hot. “You look like you’re wearing your boyfriend’s shirt” is what comes out of Jennifer’s mouth before she can stop herself.
Fortunately, Kristen’s used to it and just laughs. “Please. I thought I was your boyfriend.” And just like that, all the bullshit falls away and it’s normal and good between them.
Kristen moves to help her in, but Jennifer waves her away. “Go sit down, dumbass, you’re hurt. No more standing up for you tonight.” Kristen does as she’s told, though Jennifer hears her snort as she leaves. It’s probably affectionate.
She heads to Kristen’s guest room, where she’s got a change of clothes stashed in the back of the closet. She’s considering setting this dress on fire after all the trouble it’s given her. She settles for kicking it as far away from her as it will go once she manages to finally get out of it.
Once she feels more like herself, she joins Kristen in her living room. They collapse onto Kristen’s couch and begin stuffing their faces with delicious fast food, neither commenting on the evening’s events until it’s polished off.
“So, Oscar-winning actress Jennifer Lawrence,” says Kristen, her tone sardonic as she picks up her empty milkshake cup to use as a microphone. “What are you going to do next?”
At that moment Jennifer happened to be licking the last of the secret sauce from her fries off of her fingers, and she knows she looks like a dork and that Kristen picked that moment on purpose. She retaliates by sticking her tongue out at her. “I think I’m gonna make out with this totally hot girl named Kristen Stewart,” she says, sliding to the right so she’s leaning over Kristen’s body. “And then…well, I don’t think you’ll be able to print what happens next.”
“Promise?” Kristen raises an eyebrow and smirks and it’s all Jennifer can do not to lunge at her. But while Kristen’s shifting positions she hisses, grimaces and reaches to rub her feet. “Fucking shoes,” she mutters. “I took them off like an hour ago and my feet still feel like I dipped ‘em in acid. Maybe I should’ve just worn both flats.”
Jennifer whines sympathetically, abandoning all thought of makeouts until she makes sure Kristen’s comfortable. “Want drugs?”
“Nah, I took some already earlier.” Kristen stretches like a cat. “What I want is a sexy lady to come give me a shoulder rub.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to settle for me, I guess.” Grinning, Jennifer adjusts her body, putting her legs around Kristen so she can lean back into her. She begins to knead her thumbs into Kristen’s shoulders (awesome, she’s not wearing a bra) and is rewarded with a low moan. “God, you’re so good at this,” says Kristen, closing her eyes. “Maybe you are the boyfriend after all.”
“Damn straight.” Jennifer nips the back of her neck, not really hard enough to leave a mark, then kisses the same spot. It makes Kristen groan and her head falls back, exposing more of her neck. Jennifer could take this opportunity to attack it with more kisses, but instead she continues the massage. Her girl is in pain, which means it’s her job to fix that as best she can before they get to proper fooling around.
“Congratulations, by the way.” Kristen sounds like she’s half-asleep already. “When they read your name I cheered like hell.”
“Aw, thanks. It’s pretty awesome. Could’ve done without the falling though. That dress was a bitch to move in.”
“You gonna torch it?” Kristen’s almost completely limp now, which Jennifer guesses is a good sign.
“Duh,” replies Jennifer, ending the shoulder rub so she can run her fingers through Kristen’s hair. “You wanna help?”
“Fuck yeah.” Kristen inclines her head like a cat getting scratched behind the ears and makes a little mmm noise that’s probably the human version of purring. After about a minute of playing with her hair, during which Kristen makes almost no noise at all, Jennifer concludes that she’s probably fallen asleep. To wake her up, she reaches around under her shirt and cups one of Kristen’s boobs. It works – Kristen squeals, which is probably the highest-pitched noise she’s ever made, and wriggles away. “Shit, you have cold hands!”
“So help me warm ‘em up.” It’s not Jennifer’s smoothest line, but Kristen laughs and maneuvers her way around so she’s cuddled up next to her, and then they’re kissing and god, winning an Oscar’s got nothing on this. Suck it, Academy.