InsaneJournal

Fic: Real Life (RPFS, Stephanie March/Tina Fey, R)
Title: Real Life
Fandom: RPFS
Pairing: Stephanie March/Tina Fey
Words: 1400
Rating R, for sex
Notes: Not mine, really not mine. Most of this is not true. Except for the things you can find on IMDb and Wikipedia.
Summary: Nobody seems to know that Stephanie March knew Tina Fey before her guest appearance on 30 Rock. But she did. It has been more than five years since that first night.

Real Life

Nobody seems to know that Stephanie March knew Tina Fey before her guest appearance on 30 Rock this fall. Stephanie knows that nobody knows this because she does that thing that actresses are not supposed to do: she gets online, Googles her own name, and watches as all kinds of weird things pop up on the screen. She realizes that this little habit may be shamelessly self-centered. Strangely, though it makes her feel less confident, rather than more.

It has been five years since she attained something that might be called fame, and yet she's still amazed and shocked at what she can find out about herself with a few quick keystrokes. Her name is Stephanie Caroline March. (True.) She was born and raised in Texas and attended the same high school as Angie Harmon. (Also true.) Her connection to Angie Harmon was the reason that she was hired to play ADA Alexandra Cabot on Law & Order: SVU. (Not true.) She is married to Bobby Flay. (True.) Bobby Flay's marriage to her is his third. (Not true; he had a brief, silly thing in high school that was promptly annulled, but really, Stephanie sees no reason to enlighten anyone or any webpage with that information.)

Here are the things that are not on IMDb or Wikipedia:

It is true that she began acting the way most high school students do, in plays, but it wasn't the only thing she considered doing. Her freshman year of college passed in a blur of sociology, then broadcast journalism, before she decided on theater and Hispanic Studies.

Despite the fact that she and Angie attended the same high school, Highland Park, Angie is three years older, so they barely knew each other before they both ended up in New York. Their respective tenures as ADAs only overlapped for a year. Still, Angie called her -- or rather, Angie called her agent who called Stephanie's agent who called Stephanie -- after the role of Alexandra Cabot had been cast and the announcements had been made. They met for a drink, because that's what you do when you're practically long-lost neighbors from Dallas. That was in 2000. Neither of them was married then. Stephanie tries not to think about the rest, about how quickly Angie cemented her engagement to Jason. She knows that Angie pretends -- or worse, has convinced herself -- that it never happened.

During the period that Stephanie never wants to think about, Angie introduced Stephanie to Tina Fey. Angie and Tina had made some horrible, hilarious TV movie in which Angie played herself -- looking slender, cool, and collected as ever -- and Tina played Bjork -- looking and sounding stoned -- and that's how Stephanie likes to think of her, the night she was introduced to TIna at the party. There are no red carpets and crowds and flashbulbs for the premieres of TV movies, but there was a party in a lavish apartment with champagne and cubes of fruit that were drained of all calories and taste. That was in early 2001. Tina was not married then either.

She did have a boyfriend, Jeff, her husband now. But at the time they were just dating, and Stephanie rationalized it all to herself as she called a cab, scanned into her building, and led Tina to the elevator. By the time she was unlocking her apartment door, neither of them was thinking about Tina's boyfriend or Stephanie's nonexistent boyfriend.

It has been more than five years since that first night and the following month. Then Stephanie smashed her face up against Tina and Jeff's wedding date. That was in June 2001. Stephanie tries not to think about the rest, the intervening five years until she landed this guest spot on Tina's newest project, 30 Rock. Adam Bernstein, the director, loved working with her; he told her so. Audiences loved her; she knows this because she Googles herself. Tina apparently loved working with her; she hopes so, at least, because now Stephanie has her hands on Tina's hipbones and Tina's tongue in her mouth.

"This isn't right," Stephanie says, which apparently isn't enough to stop her hands from sliding upward, toward the second button on Tina's white shirt.

"You're right," Tina agrees in a way that must be completely disconnected from her mouth, because she keeps kissing Stephanie.

Stephanie means to say a lot of things as she unbuttons one iridescent button, then another. Things like You're married and I'm married and You have a baby, because the baby is much more and much worse than both their husbands put together. Instead, what comes out is "I'm not sure when Bobby will be home."

"Oh," Tina says, and now she sounds sure of herself, like her brain is in control, because she stops kissing and places her hands on top of Stephanie's. "Then this is really happening."

Stephanie feels a sinking in the pit of her stomach, because apparently Tina employs the same kind of selective memory that Angie does and that Stephanie herself does, until Tina says, "Again." It comes out like a question.

Stephanie spreads her palms over Tina's flat stomach, small and circled in the waistband of her jeans, and when Tina doesn't stop her, she goes back to the buttons. "Again."

"You're married," Tina says as Stephanie finishes with the shirt buttons and turns her attention to the two metal hooks at the back of her bra. "Your husband is famous too."

Stephanie is fairly sure that Tina meant to list a bunch of reasons that they shouldn't be doing this, but instead, it's coming out more like a list of things you can find out by Googling Bobby Flay. "I'm not famous," she says against the soft skin in the center of Tina's throat.

"Sure you are," Tina says. Without bothering to strip off Stephanie's stretchy shirt, she pushes it up just enough for her fingers and wrists to fit underneath. "Fans love you."

"Not as much as they love you," Stephanie says, kissing her way down Tina's chest, and she means it. For someone who was only well-known in a small niche of the entertainment world a few years ago, Tina has accomplished a remarkable amount in a relatively short time. When Stephanie met her, she was working on Saturday Night Live, but that was about it. Now she's been celebrated for her work on Mean Girls, her gutsy launching of 30 Rock, the upcoming project she's starting with, once again, Amy Poehler. She's been lauded by publications and writers from Bust to afterellen.com.

Stephanie knows this because she's capable of Googling people other than herself. Tina is, like, every gay person's number-one straight person. This is possibly because she is making delicious noises as Stephanie licks her way around one nipple, and because she has one jean-clag leg shoved hard and fast between Stephanie's. This is not something that you can find out by Googling either one of them.

She would be hard-pressed to share with anyone the slick heat inside Tina's sensible, high-cut black underwear, the exposed curve of her throat when Tina throws her head back, the fact that the barely manages to hold on until Tina gets Stephanie's jeans down and her fingers on Stephanie's clit.

Stephanie blinks when she finishes, spots swimming before her eyes, trying to remember why Tina is standing in the spacious living room decorated in way too much white, her shirt draped over the arm of the couch and her jeans pooled inelegantly around her ankles.

Tina borrows her hands back from Stephanie's body awkwardly. "That ... just happened," she says.

"Yes," Stephanie says. She takes a step, or two or three, away from Tina. "Again," she says, for good measure, just in case Tina plans on trying to forget this as well.

Tina nods. She tugs at her jeans. She turns away while she buttons them. "Adam would like to work with you again."

It is such an abrupt change in topic, a casual mix of business and chitchat, that Stephanie stops straightening her own clothes and stares. "Adam Bernstein?"

"He loved working with you. And the fans, the fans loved you." Tina shrugs, stares at the floor, looking like Liz Lemon for a second. "But you know that. So." She puts on her bra in an equally undignified way, buttons her shirt. "Maybe next time will be a little less than five years."

finis.