Carrison One-Shots

Miss Carrie Frances Fisher

Rating: T for language
Summary: Harrison gets into Carrie's dressing room and he's angry. Set during promo of A New Hope.
Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I'm not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill).
A/N: I hope y'all like this and if you do pretty please tell me what you thought of it, writers feed on reviews

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She was the million dollar question to him, a buck and a change short of an actual adult and a fucking five foot kid completely bored with anything and everything.

The way she twirls her hair with her finger and bites her lip like she wants to dig a hole in it while Mark asks her about her mother and how it was to grow up as a Hollywood princess is fucking ironic to say the least.

She stomps back to her dressing room - more like a sanctuary - and he follows her every step. She walks like she's six feet tall and has everyone at her feet (but she doesn't even know it). Her door slams shut and he backs away, hiding in the corner of her periphery.

He opens it again and closes it swiftly, finding her propped on the window, cigarette already in between her lips. The room is dimly lit only by a small lamp on the table and her black dress melds in the darkness.

"What the fuck do you want?"

He sits on her couch like he owns it and she's merely a guest. His arms are wide open and he props his foot on his knee, smugly sporting a cocky grin. She falls for it every time.

"Mrs. Robinson, but you're the next best thing." he winks at her and she turns around to face him.

"Fuck you." she smiles, but she isn't playing around.

"Sorry kid, only on the weekends." she puts out her cigarette and and lets down her hair.

It's extraordinary how in one minute they're bantering and in the next miss tease is on his lap, sucking on his bottom lip like it belongs to her. Yes, she kisses like she acts around him - intense and with no notion of boundaries.

His hands move to her hips, forcing her tiny body against his until the fabric of their clothes ignites. He buries his face on her hair and she tugs on his hard, harder until he lets out a scream. She pulls away, not to see if he's fine, more so to wickedly rejoice in her victory.

"Who the fuck are you?" he breathes, genuinely fascinated for once.

"Rodeo Drive born and raised, baby." she whispers, in a low voice, almost raspy and sultry, just the way he likes it.

Yes, a daughter of Hollywood Royalty, miss Carrie Frances Fisher should be making headlines every fucking day, throwing tsunamis to the press every time she goes out to the street. She should be a spoiled little brat with a mind for pleasure and play. Instead, she makes absolutely no waves and seems all business, even in bed.

Her lips are already on his neck, a trail of wet, sloppy kisses being left behind. His hand travels to the small of her back and with the slightest of touches she responds by raising her body and meeting his lips in a panting cry.

Someone has the audacity to knock on the door and say: "We're ready, Miss Fisher."

The most enigmatic woman he's ever laid eyes on breaks free from his grip and straightens her dress and reapplies her sugar coat of pink lip gloss as he sits there utterly frozen in place.

He gets up eventually as she sends him away to, naturally, make sure no one knew about their little rendezvous.

Before he leaves, though, he asks:

"What are you doing?"

"Turning it on. You know, the actress switch."

She extends a hand to mister movie star and he gladly takes it:

"Carrie Fisher, the screw up daughter of Debbie Reynolds and Eddie Fisher." her little Girl Scout smile is almost too offensive for him.

Still hand in hand, he whispers:

"Aren't you tired of fucking pretending all the time?" God knows he was. Even just being in scene a short while made him exhausted, he can't even imagine if he was never able to stop like her.

She pulls him by the hand and locks a leg around his torso, imprisoning his lips with hers, sliding her mouth on his, taking his damned breath away. She deepens the kiss he never understood how it started and sucks on his bottom lip hard, until only incoherent thoughts and noises are able to escape his mouth. He pushes her away, finally, and orders:

"Stop, you can't leave a mark." she giggles like the sassy princess she damn well knows she is and whispers in his ear:

"Looks like your publicist has her work cut out for her."