RPF (Chris Meloni/Mariska Hargitay) Just like you and just like me (some things can never be)
So. I wrote RPF! And it's... I'm not exceptionally excited and pleased by it, but it's just a one-off, so it's okay. This is kind of based on my RPF theory that Chris is and was totally in love with Mariska, while her feelings are probably... more ambiguous.
This is a work of fiction and not based in any sort of FACT. Yo.
I do tend to write angst, but next time I'll actually have them make-out or something. :P
Just like you and just like me (some things can never be)
Chris/Mariska, SVU, PG, based on That Scene in Wildlife.
+ +
He can’t look at her during the scene. And it isn’t so much that she’s only in jeans and a black bra as it is that smirk on her face. She’s playing this for hidden amusement. She’s the one not looking at the camera. The one doing most of the action. So he has to stay stoic and act.
When she puts her arms around him, she tickles him, and he grins.
“Cut!”
+ +
They’ve always flirted. It was more serious in the first few years. The last few have been more about hiding it behind character acting. Behind-the-scenes hi-jinks. That shit. It’s been a while since he was half out the door, suitcase in hand, half in love already and ready to give it a try. He’d been sure she was just holding out because she liked his wife.
And then Peter came along.
+ +
She grabs his ass on the second take and no one can see. He drops his gaze to her because he knows this take is going south quickly, and she’s already losing it.
It’s fun. And it’s not like he’s in danger of going full-on. There are eight thousand people around them, cameras and lights. There’s a reason he isn’t a porn star.
+ +
The funny thing? She was more flirtatious after she got married. Like she was suddenly safe or something. Touching, kissing, wrestling until he throws her over his shoulder and laughs.
And it’s kind of okay. He comes to work and she’s there. She’s his. And when he goes home, he just doesn’t think about it. He still has her, and he has his family. It’s his cake, and he gets to eat it.
It’s when she has August that it all gets fucked up.
+ +
She grabs him kind of rough, arms looping under his shoulders. It brings her flush against him, and he just cannot look at her. Because she knows he likes it.
Then she kisses his neck, and he can’t stop the grin. He grabs her by the waistband of her jeans, under the view of the camera. She huffs a hidden laugh out against his skin, and it’s that more than anything else that finally gets a rise out of him.
He knows his skin is turning red when she drags a casual hand down over his chest, saying her lines into his chin. He can hear the smirk in her voice.
Fuck.
+ +
When she has August, he suddenly realizes that she’s found the love of her life. And it isn’t him. It isn’t Peter either, but at least he gets to follow her around. It’s like she forgets, and he’s just one more thing that’s over for her.
And he’s pissed off for a while. She keeps piling up the nominations and she wins the same year he finally gets his, but she has history with Hollywood and he doesn’t. She loves him, but not as much as he loves her. He’d been willing to walk away for her, but she’s not willing to walk away for him.
It isn’t that they fight. He never says anything. He just… there’s a sharp edge to him that comes through: in their scenes, at home, on the phone, in the press.
He doesn’t know what’s worse. The way he can’t seem to stop himself, or the way she doesn’t seem to notice.
He’s never been good with power imbalances. Especially when he’s the one on the pavement.
+ +
He throws her on the bed as she breaks out laughing.
“Could you hold on a minute?” he asks the smugglers. “This is ten years of unresolved sexual tension.”
“Oh. Right. Sure.” They play along.
She laughs underneath him as he stretches out over the top of her, presses her into the mattress.
“Finally,” he mutters, over-dramatically.
She grips him around the neck and bounces. He has to laugh with her.
He pretends to give her a hickey.
The crew laughs.
+ +
He was fucking money in those first few years. Fifteen-hour days, two shows, and all the wet panties he could have wanted. Had he wanted.
And Mariska was just… fuck. She was sex and attitude and talent and sin. And she was such a fucking princess, and it made him feel protective and big and tough, and just… God, he wanted to ruin the fuck out of her.
She might even have let him throw her up against the wall and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, except…
Well.
When he’d finally decided he might really want to do that, and she might really have wanted that too, she was ten kinds of gone on Peter.
Didn’t it just fucking figure.
+ +
They break to move one of the cameras. Mariska crosses her arms but doesn’t reach for the jacket that her assistant holds. He’s on the verge of sweating, so he just stands there, cooling off.
She hides behind him, standing so close he can feel her hands, the way she rubs at them. He stretches his arms, arches his neck, hears the crack in his vertebrae.
She leans into his back, giving him all of her weight. He braces his legs and takes her. He hears her sigh tiredly, and then she rests her cheek against him. He thinks he feels the brush of her eyelashes as her eyes close.
“Okay?” he asks, as quietly as he can.
She nods against his back and her fingers brush his hip. “Do you think they joke about this later?” she asks. “Or do they just ignore it?”
He doesn’t answer.
+ +
She knows how he feels. Of course she does. He’s never been good at subtle, and she knows how to play a man. It’s one of the things he both loves and hates about her. She lets him play the tough guy around her, but she knows.
And it’s not disingenuous on her part, it’s just her having fun. Getting what she needs. And it’s not like he’s unwilling. It’s just that she knows.
He’s torn now, because part of him just wants to play this scene out straight. Without all the teasing and fun. He just wants it to be business and over with.
The other part of him really, really, really wants to get whatever he can from this, because it feels good, and it’s as close as he’s going to get.
Yeah.
He’s never been good at playing the straight guy.
Ha.
+ +
He tries to decide how Elliot would play this. Stripped to his underwear with about a buck thirty (maybe forty nowadays, but he liked that) of Olivia Benson up against him, skin to skin.
He thinks the situation is too dire to really go for the hard swallow of lust.
He goes protective and sort of clueless, which isn’t difficult. He slides his fingers into the waist of her jeans, curling against the warm skin of her hip. She presses into him just a bit more solidly. When they drag her away, he lets her take his hand until her distance pulls them apart.
It works. It’s a take.
And it wasn’t really sexy. But.
But.
Just.
Fuck.
+ +
“You think Elliot’s over her?” she asks as she curls up in his armchair in his trailer.
He shrugs and leans back into his own chair. It’s dark now, and the day is heavy on them both. “I think… he just wishes things could have been different.”
It’s silent for a moment as her dark eyes find his and hold. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is a rasp.
He stares back, feeling his gut twist. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t look away, so neither does he.
Yeah.
~end~
That actually felt better than writing a fix for this episode about the characters. I think my fix for the actual show would involve more a future fic that explains how they get together REGARDLESS of what the show intends. I LAUGH AT YOUR PUNY CANON, SHOW. GRRRRAH.
This is a work of fiction and not based in any sort of FACT. Yo.
I do tend to write angst, but next time I'll actually have them make-out or something. :P
Just like you and just like me (some things can never be)
Chris/Mariska, SVU, PG, based on That Scene in Wildlife.
+ +
He can’t look at her during the scene. And it isn’t so much that she’s only in jeans and a black bra as it is that smirk on her face. She’s playing this for hidden amusement. She’s the one not looking at the camera. The one doing most of the action. So he has to stay stoic and act.
When she puts her arms around him, she tickles him, and he grins.
“Cut!”
+ +
They’ve always flirted. It was more serious in the first few years. The last few have been more about hiding it behind character acting. Behind-the-scenes hi-jinks. That shit. It’s been a while since he was half out the door, suitcase in hand, half in love already and ready to give it a try. He’d been sure she was just holding out because she liked his wife.
And then Peter came along.
+ +
She grabs his ass on the second take and no one can see. He drops his gaze to her because he knows this take is going south quickly, and she’s already losing it.
It’s fun. And it’s not like he’s in danger of going full-on. There are eight thousand people around them, cameras and lights. There’s a reason he isn’t a porn star.
+ +
The funny thing? She was more flirtatious after she got married. Like she was suddenly safe or something. Touching, kissing, wrestling until he throws her over his shoulder and laughs.
And it’s kind of okay. He comes to work and she’s there. She’s his. And when he goes home, he just doesn’t think about it. He still has her, and he has his family. It’s his cake, and he gets to eat it.
It’s when she has August that it all gets fucked up.
+ +
She grabs him kind of rough, arms looping under his shoulders. It brings her flush against him, and he just cannot look at her. Because she knows he likes it.
Then she kisses his neck, and he can’t stop the grin. He grabs her by the waistband of her jeans, under the view of the camera. She huffs a hidden laugh out against his skin, and it’s that more than anything else that finally gets a rise out of him.
He knows his skin is turning red when she drags a casual hand down over his chest, saying her lines into his chin. He can hear the smirk in her voice.
Fuck.
+ +
When she has August, he suddenly realizes that she’s found the love of her life. And it isn’t him. It isn’t Peter either, but at least he gets to follow her around. It’s like she forgets, and he’s just one more thing that’s over for her.
And he’s pissed off for a while. She keeps piling up the nominations and she wins the same year he finally gets his, but she has history with Hollywood and he doesn’t. She loves him, but not as much as he loves her. He’d been willing to walk away for her, but she’s not willing to walk away for him.
It isn’t that they fight. He never says anything. He just… there’s a sharp edge to him that comes through: in their scenes, at home, on the phone, in the press.
He doesn’t know what’s worse. The way he can’t seem to stop himself, or the way she doesn’t seem to notice.
He’s never been good with power imbalances. Especially when he’s the one on the pavement.
+ +
He throws her on the bed as she breaks out laughing.
“Could you hold on a minute?” he asks the smugglers. “This is ten years of unresolved sexual tension.”
“Oh. Right. Sure.” They play along.
She laughs underneath him as he stretches out over the top of her, presses her into the mattress.
“Finally,” he mutters, over-dramatically.
She grips him around the neck and bounces. He has to laugh with her.
He pretends to give her a hickey.
The crew laughs.
+ +
He was fucking money in those first few years. Fifteen-hour days, two shows, and all the wet panties he could have wanted. Had he wanted.
And Mariska was just… fuck. She was sex and attitude and talent and sin. And she was such a fucking princess, and it made him feel protective and big and tough, and just… God, he wanted to ruin the fuck out of her.
She might even have let him throw her up against the wall and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, except…
Well.
When he’d finally decided he might really want to do that, and she might really have wanted that too, she was ten kinds of gone on Peter.
Didn’t it just fucking figure.
+ +
They break to move one of the cameras. Mariska crosses her arms but doesn’t reach for the jacket that her assistant holds. He’s on the verge of sweating, so he just stands there, cooling off.
She hides behind him, standing so close he can feel her hands, the way she rubs at them. He stretches his arms, arches his neck, hears the crack in his vertebrae.
She leans into his back, giving him all of her weight. He braces his legs and takes her. He hears her sigh tiredly, and then she rests her cheek against him. He thinks he feels the brush of her eyelashes as her eyes close.
“Okay?” he asks, as quietly as he can.
She nods against his back and her fingers brush his hip. “Do you think they joke about this later?” she asks. “Or do they just ignore it?”
He doesn’t answer.
+ +
She knows how he feels. Of course she does. He’s never been good at subtle, and she knows how to play a man. It’s one of the things he both loves and hates about her. She lets him play the tough guy around her, but she knows.
And it’s not disingenuous on her part, it’s just her having fun. Getting what she needs. And it’s not like he’s unwilling. It’s just that she knows.
He’s torn now, because part of him just wants to play this scene out straight. Without all the teasing and fun. He just wants it to be business and over with.
The other part of him really, really, really wants to get whatever he can from this, because it feels good, and it’s as close as he’s going to get.
Yeah.
He’s never been good at playing the straight guy.
Ha.
+ +
He tries to decide how Elliot would play this. Stripped to his underwear with about a buck thirty (maybe forty nowadays, but he liked that) of Olivia Benson up against him, skin to skin.
He thinks the situation is too dire to really go for the hard swallow of lust.
He goes protective and sort of clueless, which isn’t difficult. He slides his fingers into the waist of her jeans, curling against the warm skin of her hip. She presses into him just a bit more solidly. When they drag her away, he lets her take his hand until her distance pulls them apart.
It works. It’s a take.
And it wasn’t really sexy. But.
But.
Just.
Fuck.
+ +
“You think Elliot’s over her?” she asks as she curls up in his armchair in his trailer.
He shrugs and leans back into his own chair. It’s dark now, and the day is heavy on them both. “I think… he just wishes things could have been different.”
It’s silent for a moment as her dark eyes find his and hold. “Yeah,” she says. Her voice is a rasp.
He stares back, feeling his gut twist. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t look away, so neither does he.
Yeah.
~end~
That actually felt better than writing a fix for this episode about the characters. I think my fix for the actual show would involve more a future fic that explains how they get together REGARDLESS of what the show intends. I LAUGH AT YOUR PUNY CANON, SHOW. GRRRRAH.