Fic: Hand in Hand (Stephanie March/Mariska Hargitay, R-ish)
Title: Hand in Hand
Words: 961
Pairing: Stephanie March/Mariska Hargitay, Stephanie March/Bobby Flay
Rating: A light R, I think
Notes: Er ... I'm going to hell?
Based around the airing of this Law and Order: Special Victims Unit episode: "Design," 7x02, 09/27/2005.
Hand in Hand
Since she left SVU, Stephanie has rarely made time to watch it, and she can count on one hand the number of times she's sat down to see it air the first time, ten o'clock on Tuesdays. She used to know that time like the back of her hand, especially in the fall, when the season had just started airing and the cast was still enjoying their vacation from filming. She used to cut short dinners and dances and parties so that she could be home at ten, curled up in sweats and socks in front of the television, thinking about Chris and Mariska and Bradd (it cracks her up when people refer to him as "B.D.," as if they know him) and wondering if they smiled the same little smile when the sepia-toned credits rolled across the screen.
She doesn't watch anymore. She makes sure to visit Bobby at the restaurant, or call a friend who's in town, or just go out somewhere, wearing something tight and something heeled. It doesn't mean she won't catch a rerun once in a while, accidentally see Mariska playing the character she was playing the last time Stephanie saw her in person. But she doesn't make time for it anymore.
Tonight it's different, though, because it's the episode her husband is on, playing himself - well, sort of. His character is unnamed, but he's playing a well-known chef who owns a restaurant in New York, and Stephanie is sure that hundreds of viewers across America (well, okay, maybe dozens, she doesn't flatter herself) had a private chuckle when they saw him pop up on the screen. Dick Wolf offered her a cameo as a patron in the restaurant, but she said no. She was glad it was over the phone, glad she didn't have to see Mariska's eyes on her when she turned him down.
So now she and her husband are tucked onto the wide cream-coloured leather couch with an authentic Indian throw draped artfully over the back, and she squeezes his hand when he comes onto the screen, looking natural at the grill and not quite so natural reciting lines. His fingers are laced with hers, but she's looking at Mariska's face, at the lines curling around her eyes, feathery hair growing longer than it was the last time Stephanie touched it with manicured fingers.
The last time Stephanie really saw her was after they filmed "Loss." She stuck around on the set to gather up some stuff and say some goodbyes, but that was a mistake and she probably should have left right after she handed the brown leather coat back to the wardrobe mistress. There wasn't really any place for her on the set once her character was shot and gone, and Mariska and Chris and Richard and Ice and Bradd were all getting to know Diane Neal, who was much nicer than first-few-episodes-Casey Novak. Stephanie would have liked a proper goodbye, five minutes alone in makeup with Mariska, but she had to be content with a wave and a cell phone number.
Maybe - Bobby caressing her leg now, a grin splitting the corners of his mouth as his TV self gesticulates with the spatula - it was because she was already with Bobby then, and Mariska was already with Peter. Their wedding dates were set, dresses ordered, reception halls booked. Whatever pressures the outside world put on them hadn't stopped Mariska before, but that was before she was engaged, before she introduced Stephanie to Bobby and stepped back and smiled.
Steph hasn't forgotten Mariska's hands on her and inside her, her fingers playing Stephanie's clit as easily as she carries her gun, but that seems like a very long time ago. A more recent, and much less satisfying memory, is the filming of "Loss," Mariska's hands at her throat, puddled in fake blood, one thumb grazing Stephanie's collarbone. Steph lay on her back and stared at the boom mics hovering overhead. It was hard not to show anything on her face when Mariska touched her, skin to skin grinding the blood into her clavicle, but then, when you've just been shot, as Alex Cabot was, you're probably not going to be smiling.
Whatever there was between them, it stopped when they fell in love with other people.
Stephanie doesn't think she's much like Alex Cabot, but she thinks Mariska is more like Olivia Benson than she cares to admit. Serious, stoic, motherless. And striking, beautiful, and totally unwilling to define herself. Stephanie was sleeping with her for seven months, four during the filming of season three and another three during the filming of season four, and never once did Mariska mention the word label. Stephanie might have tried if Mariska hadn't stroked her hip after sex and asked if Steph wanted to meet her friend Bobby.
Now, nestled in the wide curve of her husband's neck, Stephanie thinks that it was all for the best. Mariska is the daughter of Jayne Mansfield, everyone knows that, and she suspects that that puts more pressure on Mariska than she'll admit. And Stephanie is the quintessential blonde wealthy Texan, whether she wants to admit it or not.
They've both ended up where they should be, and yet, watching Mariska's fingers wrap around Estella Warren's wrists to cuff her, Stephanie has to close her eyes and ask for the memory of Mariska's hands on her cheek, her breasts, the inside of her thigh. She'd like nothing better than to go out, the way she normally does on Tuesday nights now, and have a drink to forget.
Instead she picks up the remote control and starts the recordable DVD player, then takes her husband's hand and leads him back to their bedroom.
fin
Words: 961
Pairing: Stephanie March/Mariska Hargitay, Stephanie March/Bobby Flay
Rating: A light R, I think
Notes: Er ... I'm going to hell?
Based around the airing of this Law and Order: Special Victims Unit episode: "Design," 7x02, 09/27/2005.
Hand in Hand
Since she left SVU, Stephanie has rarely made time to watch it, and she can count on one hand the number of times she's sat down to see it air the first time, ten o'clock on Tuesdays. She used to know that time like the back of her hand, especially in the fall, when the season had just started airing and the cast was still enjoying their vacation from filming. She used to cut short dinners and dances and parties so that she could be home at ten, curled up in sweats and socks in front of the television, thinking about Chris and Mariska and Bradd (it cracks her up when people refer to him as "B.D.," as if they know him) and wondering if they smiled the same little smile when the sepia-toned credits rolled across the screen.
She doesn't watch anymore. She makes sure to visit Bobby at the restaurant, or call a friend who's in town, or just go out somewhere, wearing something tight and something heeled. It doesn't mean she won't catch a rerun once in a while, accidentally see Mariska playing the character she was playing the last time Stephanie saw her in person. But she doesn't make time for it anymore.
Tonight it's different, though, because it's the episode her husband is on, playing himself - well, sort of. His character is unnamed, but he's playing a well-known chef who owns a restaurant in New York, and Stephanie is sure that hundreds of viewers across America (well, okay, maybe dozens, she doesn't flatter herself) had a private chuckle when they saw him pop up on the screen. Dick Wolf offered her a cameo as a patron in the restaurant, but she said no. She was glad it was over the phone, glad she didn't have to see Mariska's eyes on her when she turned him down.
So now she and her husband are tucked onto the wide cream-coloured leather couch with an authentic Indian throw draped artfully over the back, and she squeezes his hand when he comes onto the screen, looking natural at the grill and not quite so natural reciting lines. His fingers are laced with hers, but she's looking at Mariska's face, at the lines curling around her eyes, feathery hair growing longer than it was the last time Stephanie touched it with manicured fingers.
The last time Stephanie really saw her was after they filmed "Loss." She stuck around on the set to gather up some stuff and say some goodbyes, but that was a mistake and she probably should have left right after she handed the brown leather coat back to the wardrobe mistress. There wasn't really any place for her on the set once her character was shot and gone, and Mariska and Chris and Richard and Ice and Bradd were all getting to know Diane Neal, who was much nicer than first-few-episodes-Casey Novak. Stephanie would have liked a proper goodbye, five minutes alone in makeup with Mariska, but she had to be content with a wave and a cell phone number.
Maybe - Bobby caressing her leg now, a grin splitting the corners of his mouth as his TV self gesticulates with the spatula - it was because she was already with Bobby then, and Mariska was already with Peter. Their wedding dates were set, dresses ordered, reception halls booked. Whatever pressures the outside world put on them hadn't stopped Mariska before, but that was before she was engaged, before she introduced Stephanie to Bobby and stepped back and smiled.
Steph hasn't forgotten Mariska's hands on her and inside her, her fingers playing Stephanie's clit as easily as she carries her gun, but that seems like a very long time ago. A more recent, and much less satisfying memory, is the filming of "Loss," Mariska's hands at her throat, puddled in fake blood, one thumb grazing Stephanie's collarbone. Steph lay on her back and stared at the boom mics hovering overhead. It was hard not to show anything on her face when Mariska touched her, skin to skin grinding the blood into her clavicle, but then, when you've just been shot, as Alex Cabot was, you're probably not going to be smiling.
Whatever there was between them, it stopped when they fell in love with other people.
Stephanie doesn't think she's much like Alex Cabot, but she thinks Mariska is more like Olivia Benson than she cares to admit. Serious, stoic, motherless. And striking, beautiful, and totally unwilling to define herself. Stephanie was sleeping with her for seven months, four during the filming of season three and another three during the filming of season four, and never once did Mariska mention the word label. Stephanie might have tried if Mariska hadn't stroked her hip after sex and asked if Steph wanted to meet her friend Bobby.
Now, nestled in the wide curve of her husband's neck, Stephanie thinks that it was all for the best. Mariska is the daughter of Jayne Mansfield, everyone knows that, and she suspects that that puts more pressure on Mariska than she'll admit. And Stephanie is the quintessential blonde wealthy Texan, whether she wants to admit it or not.
They've both ended up where they should be, and yet, watching Mariska's fingers wrap around Estella Warren's wrists to cuff her, Stephanie has to close her eyes and ask for the memory of Mariska's hands on her cheek, her breasts, the inside of her thigh. She'd like nothing better than to go out, the way she normally does on Tuesday nights now, and have a drink to forget.
Instead she picks up the remote control and starts the recordable DVD player, then takes her husband's hand and leads him back to their bedroom.
fin