Work Text:
Pre-Production
Rhea knows it’s going to be her the second she watches the tape.
Vince had called and asked that she come into the casting office, just to take a look at the last few people they’d narrowed it down to. Of course, with how difficult casting this role had been going, a few had really meant a few dozen.
They’d gone over self-tape after self-tape, countless actresses that Rhea’s seen in one project or another, delivering performances that always seemed to fall short in some way. She didn’t know much about the role. Just that it was second on the call-sheet, and presumably going to somebody who she would be spending plenty of time with in the near future, both off and onscreen. But she did know that whatever Vince was looking for, he wasn't finding in any of the performers they’d seen so far.
That was until they reached a file that Sharon had said was special–Had urged them to take a chance on, remarking that she and the rest of casting had miraculously plucked her out of an old file and managed to track her down through some old commercial agent.
And as soon as the tape starts playing, Rhea knows. She can feel the way Vince’s attention zeroes in on the woman’s performance in seconds, and can practically hear the cogs in his head turning at having found the one. Rhea herself can’t take her eyes off the screen. This woman who she can’t seem to recall ever seeing onscreen or at carpets–and she knows that she would remember her–and yet has managed to transfix everybody in the room. The woman–brunette, doe-eyed, and sweet–is delivering her lines with a smooth voice and an inviting disposition, and somehow, without knowing anything about the show besides it being a Gilligan project, has managed to capture the show’s tone perfectly.
The tape ends, and for a moment everybody in the room is still. Vince exhales slowly beside her, and leans back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest in contemplation.
“I want her to test.”
Across from them, Sharon grins and begins typing away at her laptop, gushing about how she knew they’d love her.
Karolina.
Karolina Wydra.
Rhea turns the name over in her head, committing it to memory as she keeps her gaze trained on the paused screen in front of her, and the enticing dark eyes in it. She feels a sense of foreboding wash over her, although she won’t know why until much later, when those same eyes are crinkling with a smile and staring at her from across a testing room at the studio.
Production
The attraction isn’t new.
No, that has been there since the moment Vince hit play on that audition tape.
The guilt that that’s begun accompanying it however, is a different story entirely.
They’ve grown close during production. Maybe too close. It’s been five months since they began shooting, and in that time they’ve developed routines and habits that veer dangerously close to something domestic.
They live together in a small house in Albuquerque, much like she, Bob, and Fabian had back in the day. That had been more like living with college roommates, and hadn’t been loaded like whatever this was.
Every morning, she’ll get up and get started on coffee and wait for the wind chime sounds of Karolina’s alarm clock to ring through the house. It’s her cue to pour the drinks into their designated mugs–Karolina had made them as a small housewarming gift–and wait for the other woman to come padding down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and stretching her arms languidly above her head.
Rhea does her best to avert her eyes from the sliver of her waist that’s exposed by the silky camisole lifting from the arch in her back. She has to inwardly remind herself that no matter how at home the woman looks slipping on one of Rhea’s large robes, with her hair still mussed from sleep and her glasses slightly fogged up, she is not hers. Karolina has a husband, and two beautiful children, and just because Rhea and Graham have their own arrangement doesn’t mean she can suddenly start coming onto her married costar.
They’ll sit at the tiny coffee table, eating their breakfast and going over the day’s lines.
There’s a familiarity there. A routine that they’ve settled into with too much ease. It’s tender, and comforting in a way Rhea can’t–won’t–allow herself to have.
After breakfast they’ll both excuse themselves to their rooms to get ready, before meeting in the driveway to head to work. Rhea will drive the roomy SUV they’ve been lent, while Karolina shuffles through a playlist she’s made of whatever episode they’re shooting on that day, and they’ll bask in their final moments of reprieve before getting swept up into the long and gruelling schedule ahead of them.
And if Rhea chances a look at Karolina, with her profile framed against the bright Albuquerque sunshine and sprawling desert mountain, then that’s really nobody’s business but hers.
The nights are probably the worst anyways. The time of day in which the lines between co-workers, friends, and something decidedly more blur together in an indiscernible pool of quiet familiarity. They’ll arrive home, bone-tired and starving, and wash up while they wait for their food to arrive because there’s no way in hell either of them are in any condition to cook. Rhea’ll always be down first–a natural consequence of Karolina’s affinity for long, drawn-out baths–and get the food and wine ready by the couch. When the younger woman joins her, she’ll eagerly seize control of the remote and put on a movie before they settle into the routine of eating room temperature take out.
Eventually, once the plates have been put on the coffee table in front of them, and the large fleece blanket is strewn across their legs, Rhea will inevitably feel the weight of Karolina’s head settle on her shoulder. Everytime. Like clockwork. And every time it happens, Rhea will have to fight the urge to turn and tuck her chin into the woman’s hair and inhale the warm scent of her shampoo.
Apples and jasmine.
And as much as Rhea would like to fall asleep there, under the harsh artificial light projected off of the TV, she knows that her body will protest when she wakes up, and while she may be able to stomach it, she wouldn’t do that to Karolina. She’ll wake her up.
Even through her grogginess, Karolina will, without fail, insist on calling Chad and the boys, no matter what time of night it is, no matter if her children have already gone to bed, she will always call to say goodnight.
This is when the guilt creeps in. Because it's one thing to pine after a co-star that you live alone with, whom you spend all your time with, and who falls asleep in your arms. It's another to be faced with the reality of said co-star’s marriage, and life away from their show that will soon need tending to. It’s another thing entirely to be confronted with the fact that what they have is not permanent, and has an expiration date. That in five months time, they’ll go back to their usual lives, and Rhea will have to learn to live without someone who’s already been spoken for.
Post-Production
Even with the Critics Choice Award in hand, all she can think about is the mark on her cheek.
It’s long gone, having been rubbed away by a combination of tears and sweat from giving an acceptance speech she never thought she’d be able to. But the memory of it still burns.
She’s in her hotel room. Had told Graham that she’d be at afterparties all night.
She scrolls through her phone. Instagram that she barely touched and Twitter that she never did. Karolina had gained the reputation of being the online one between the two but the fact that she rarely interacted didn’t mean she wasn’t just as aware of what was being posted.
She’s been tagged in dozens of them by now. Pictures of her onstage with lipstick on her cheek. Karolina’s lipstick.
She rubs absentmindedly at her cheek.
The thought of the other woman’s mouth pressed against her cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. The thought of her mouth in other places. Rhea shudders, as the (un?)wanted thought occupies her mind.
Her eyes fall shut, and she wills herself to let go of the image.
The guilt hasn’t gone away. Especially since she’d been seeing a whole lot more of Chad whenever she was with Karolina. Chad who was kind, and loving, and generous, and infinitely good to Karolina. Chad who didn’t deserve to have his wife’s co-star lusting after her behind his back.
Her phone chimes, and it gets her eyes to snap open.
Lina.
Congratulations, sweet Rhea.
There is nobody on earth more deserving of this than you!
Sorry I couldn’t stay and celebrate with you, but I was needed at home!
Hope you have an amazing night celebrating!
Love you always, xoxo
It wasn’t the messages that caught her off guard. She was used to the overly affectionate way Karolina addressed her. It was what followed that left her more than a little breathless.
It was a selfie. Of Karolina. Taken from the tub and capturing her from the shoulders up, the rest of her body concealed under a shroud of bubbles. She’s doing a heart sign with the hand not holding her phone, and there’s a bright, loving smile on her face.
Rhea can’t help what she does next. She tries–God she tries. But she’s had far too much to drink, and has been holding back from doing this for far too long. Doing it under their roof felt infinitely wrong, and she’d hardly had any time to herself since they’d wrapped.
So when she inches her hand down the length of her own body, and slips her fingers under the waistband of her sleep shorts, and her underwear, who can blame her, really? It’s been building up for far too long.
She slips her fingers through surprisingly wet folds, and rubs the pads in firm circles against her clit as she inhales sharply.
Her eyes slip shut again, as the image of Karolina in the bathtub settles behind her lids. She’d seen her in that state before. In person, when they’d been filming episode nine, and they’d been in the tub together blowing bubbles and teasing. The memory is replaced with the image of Karolina rising in the tub, high enough that Rhea can see her stiff nipples and taught stomach. She pictures her settling over her lap, and can practically feel the warmth of her skin against her hands.
She lets out a throaty groan, as she finally slips her fingers inside, curling just so to find the spot she knows will finish her off quickly. Karolina’s voice rings through her head.
My love
My sweet
My girl
Rhea
She’s built up a rhythm, and the pace of her pumping fingers has picked up significantly as she chases her release, languid moans spilling from her mouth as she glances back at the picture Karolina sent displayed on her phone.
The image spurs her on, and right as she feels herself cresting, her pleasure is cut short by a buzzing notification.
Chad
Hello, Rhea.
Congratulations on your win! I’m sorry I couldn’t see it in person, but Karolina won’t stop gushing about how proud she is, and I’ve been assured that this was a long time coming
Cheers!
And just like that, Rhea’s fingers still, and the high she’d been chasing ebbs away. The message had cut through her drunken ministrations, and sobered her up considerably to what she was doing. Touching herself to an innocent photo of her co-star.
The familiar guilt settles in her chest again as she stares down at the texts. They don’t text often, of course, but she’d gotten Chad’s number not long after inviting him and Karolina to her home after she’d been cast. The thought of him typing this message out while laying in bed, waiting for Karolina to finish up her undoubtedly long bath while she masturbates to a photo of his wife is sickening, and enough to make Rhea pull her hand out of her shorts and wipe her fingers down with the duvet corner.
She types out a small thank you, and turns her phone–and the lights–off, settling on her side facing away from the device.
The ache between her thighs, and in her chest persists until sleep blissfully overtakes her.