Rules and Ruins (MA) ~ SVU ~ Chap 3
Sorry this took me so long again, I keep thinking I have a handle on what's gonna happen next but...yeah, there are no excuses really. I just am sucking at getting this one out. I did stay up until 4 so I could finish and post this chapter though...so does that win me some brownie points? :)
Enjoy and let me know what you think...good and bad, I like it all.
Song Writing Ficathon for scullyseviltwin: http://scullyseviltwin.livejournal.com/355802.html?page=1
Chapter 3: Light of the Morning
Song: Light of the Morning
Click to viewThey waited until they got upstairs…she’s proud of herself for that, and a little nervous because they didn’t touch in the taxi the whole way back to her place. She wasn’t rethinking so much as allowing the alcohol to leach from her system, along with the last shots of adrenaline that had been coursing through her from the events of the day.
He paid the taxi driver and they both trudged to her front door. She could tell he was wavering too; there was a noticeable hesitancy in his step, the wariness he was wearing when he first approached her at the bar. She fumbled at opening the door, her hands shaking. He pretended not to notice and she was grateful when he didn’t say anything.
He followed her upstairs and they both paused outside her apartment door, unsure what was going to happen…what should happen.
“If you wanna…” he started.
“Do you wanna come in for a…” she spoke at the same time, but immediately stopped and looked at her feet.
He sighed and stepped in closer to her. She didn’t move away, and liked how unlike her that felt.
“Do you want me to go?” She shook her head. He picked up a piece of her hair and swept it behind her shoulder.
“You’re gonna have to invite me in then.” She felt easier because of the way his eyes were so focused on the lock of hair he was tugging slightly between his fingers, the way he was telling her what he wanted and giving her room to think.
“Do you read people this well all the time?” She felt dangerous and sure, and the combination was heady.
“Mostly it’s luck.”
“You don’t believe that.”
He paused, smirked. “No, but it makes me sound like less of an asshole.”
“Good thing-wouldn’t want to come off as too cocky,” she ran her hand along the neck of his sweater.
“’Cause that wouldn’t work for you…” she laughed and looked up at his face then.
She swallowed hard. “Get inside.” She pushed open the door behind her and backed in enough for him to squeeze by.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’ll be the last time you call me ma’am,” she said with a smile, closing the door, “if you know what’s good for you.”
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She had lived in New York her whole life, so she really had no frame of reference for what a tornado felt like…that is, except what she saw in the movies. She doesn’t think it would be like the Wizard of Oz, where the camera had clearly tilted and objects had flown past in the periphery. Nor does she think it would be like the first half of that silly movie Twister, where those idiots had run after the storm and dropped themselves in its path, all while seeming surprised that the wind was ruining their hairdos.
She does think of that final scene though, where the main characters were sucked up into the funnel as the storm battered them on all sides. She thinks of the sheer abandon at having no discernable control over your fate. She thinks of the freedom that would come from your body being whipped around, drawn towards a powerful conclusion.
Tortured metaphor aside, she thinks she might now have some idea what that feels like.
Tom’s tongue is licking a path along her breast. It feels warm and rough, and the consistent push of it around her nipple is making her short of breath. She can feel the pucker as his teeth come into the mix, scraping against her skin. One of his hands is pulling slightly at her hair and the other is sweeping a mad path from her hip to her knee, kneading the skin as it goes. She moans aloud into the room.
She can sense his smile without looking down and just as she’s about to comment, the hand that was gripping her thigh is now pushing at her entrance. He lightly bites down on her breast, lapping at her nipple as he inserts a finger through her wetness. She bucks then and grips his shoulder harder.
“Tom, oh…fuck…duph…dumph…stop,” the words feel unintelligible even as they leave her mouth.
“Stop?” Tom raises an eye in her direction and gives a cautious nudge to the dark rise of her breast. He doesn’t remove his hands, not quite sure she knows what she’s saying. “Are you sure you want that?”
“What?” He twists the hand inside of her and his thumb finds her clit. “Hell…god…” She trails off as her head falls back.
“You said stop, Olivia,” he says, stroking her softly, finger curled into an advantageous position. Her eyes are shut tight and her breathing is so shallow it’s like she’s running out of air. He pulls his finger from inside of her, bringing it up to her hip. He rests his chin on her chest and just looks at her calmly.
“Fuck…what?” Her gaze fixes on him and it’s glassy and slightly angry. “What’s the matter?”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No…no…did I,” she pauses and draws a shaky breath. “I said don’t stop,” she can’t help the childish way she pouts at that. She hates it when men stop when she is so goddamn close…and she hates it even more that he knew how close she was and is playing her now.
“I know,” he smirks again and god she’s starting to hate how much she likes that look on his face. “I just wanted to make sure you were still with me.”
She smacks his shoulder and pulls on his neck until his lips come up to meet hers. They wrestle around for a minute, both seeking a bit of dominance in the kiss. She wraps her legs around his bare thighs and grinds her pelvis up into his still clothed erection. She reaches a hand down and tries to push down his boxer briefs.
“Patience, Benson.”
“Shut up.” She uses her teeth to make her point, biting at his bottom lip and trying to distract him from letting this slow down.
He lets her.
Without warning, he dislodges himself from her grasp and starts making his way swiftly down her body, using his hands and teeth to feel as much of her as he can. She feels as if she’s in the tornado again, his mouth causing a torrent of want to flood from her body. She doesn’t know how a person she just met four hours ago could be bringing up this much inside of her, but she isn’t gonna question it; her body, it seems, won’t allow her to have any second thoughts.
“Olivia,” he mutters into her skin, his mouth’s hasty pursuit of all her pleasure points obscuring her name, but not the tone. She runs her fingers over his neck and through his hair, suddenly conscious of how he is tangled up in every part of her exposed skin. His teeth skim her thigh and she has only a moment to realize what’s happening before he latches on to her wetness. She thinks she should stop him, that the act is too intimate, but that would require some thought on her part and she can’t find the will to use her brain right now.
The electricity burning through her system is too strong to fight. So she gives in. It may be the best decision she’s ever made.
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God, she’s sore…but fuck, it’s a good sore.
She stretches in her bed, sending her arms above her head to try out their mobility. She looks to her right, not expecting to see him there, but finding herself hoping just the same. The bed is rumpled and she can see a piece of paper on the nightstand, but can’t read it from her angle.
She could get up and look at the note. She should, but she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to know yet. At least he left something. At least he wanted her to think he wasn’t an asshole.
She sighs and combs her fingers through her hair. She can smell the remnants of his sweat, the sweet mustiness of his skin mixed into the comforter, and it makes her wonder how long it’s been since he left.
You can do this. A one night stand is nothing…you’ve had them before. She doesn’t want to admit that Tom had felt different to her. She doesn’t want to think about the fact that her Saturday will now be a solitary event-that, as ever, she will do her laundry, attempt to read the same book she’s been reading for the last 6 months, cook another casserole (just for her)-that weekends and time away from work will forever be alone where she’s concerned.
She reaches for her phone to check for any messages. She hears a murky sound from somewhere in the direction of her kitchen-a clash, maybe a bang. She knows it might just be her neighbors, up early as usual, working on their apartment. She’s woken to that collateral sound damage more than once. She wishes they would just finish already and she could stop thinking that someone is breaking through her living room wall.
She grabs her robe from the chair by her bed and quickly throws it on, noticing something fluttering to the floor from the corner of her eye. Another note? How many did he leave?
Clothing optional…but frowned upon.
She momentarily forgets that she was checking out a noise in the other room…or, at the very least, rethinks the possibility that it is a dangerous something. She turns to the bed stand and looks at the first note she spied when she woke up.
Meet me in the kitchen if you like pancakes.
A smile creeps onto her face. She can’t help the relief that floods her body, nor the slight panic. Pushing through it, she makes her way down the hall. She stops in the doorway and leans against the wall, taking in the scene. Tom flips a pancake in her small frying pan and curses when it lands funny. She laughs from her vantage point, not quite able to go any further into the room.
“It’s not nice to mock people when they’re making you things,” he says without turning around, trying to save the sloppy mess that he’s made.
“Who said I was nice?” She crosses her arms in front of her and throws one ankle over the other.
“I forgot. Badass Benson: does not play well with others.” His amusement is evident even though his back is turned to her.
“I think we disproved that theory last night,” she says, sleep still tingeing her voice.
Satisfied that he has saved the one in front of him, he sets the spatula on the counter and looks over in her direction. A frown immediately takes over his face.
“I thought I said clothing optional,” he starts to saunter in her direction, looking a little bit pouty.
“You’re wearing briefs and a t-shirt,” she points out.
“True, but I had to make a run for supplies. You have painfully little in this kitchen, Olivia,” he reaches her and runs his hands along her upper arms.
“Hmm,” she stands on tiptoes and kisses him once, quickly. “I was wondering where you got pancake mix.”
“It certainly wasn’t from these cupboards,” he replies, kissing her back.
“That’s what take out is for.” She puts her arms around his neck and draws him toward her for further exploration.
“That must explain why you don’t have a griddle. A frying pan is gonna make this take a lot longer.” He lets his hand drift down her backside, lingering on and lightly gripping her ass. She takes in a breath when he pulls her slightly into his ready body.
“You got somewhere you need to be right away?” Her nails drag thickly through the hair on the back of his neck.
“Besides your bed?”
She smiles into her shoulder and drops her hands down his arms, stepping back and heading towards her bedroom. The knot on her robe is loose and the material slips from her frame with ease.
“Turn off the stove,” she calls back without looking for him. She hears his soft laughter trailing her down the hall and that’s all she needs to know this day might turn out well after all.
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