L&O: SVU fic: a chorus of typewriters
Title: a chorus of typewriters
Fandom: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Characters/Pairings: Olivia, Elliot/Olivia
Word Count: 742
Rating: R
Spoilers: Infiltrated. ♥
Summary: She remembers the first time like a rush, that fierce burn that she gets when she runs too hard through the park and she just forgets the world for that one, long hour. It could be forever.
Author's Notes: For cathiexx. ♥ Because she’s love.
do you know?or maybe did
something go away
ever so quietly
when we weren't looking.
e e cummings, why did you go
m is for memento.
She remembers the first time like a rush, that fierce burn that she gets when she runs too hard through the park and she just forgets the world for that one, long hour. It could be forever.
But Elliott wasn’t supposed to kiss her in the alley behind her apartment. And her fingers weren’t supposed to curl in his hair, her lips parting with an ohfuck as they slammed against the wall.
He was supposed to go home to Kathy. Not leave her with this memory.
e is for excuse.
Olivia hates flying. And sitting still. But she’s exhausted and her nerves are twisting into knots too quickly for her comfort.
She’s not ready to go home. But she understands promises, a job, and duty- interchangeable in order.
It’s going to be about monsters in her closet, memories at the foot of her bed (no chest). But it’s survival.
Liv knows survival.
d is for denial.
Distance is the strangest thing between her and El. They do this I’m fine thing like pros, flipping the through files and switching coffee cups in a strange routine of causes.
Olivia likes the routine, thrives on it. Liv doesn’t know what to do with it.
But thinking about this stretches inside and out, bringing her to the ledge again- she hates that Madonna song because are you ready to jump? just messes with your head. She likes to stare down sometimes. But that’s about it.
It’s not the distance that made her agree to leaving for just a little bit. It’s not the routine. It’s not that all.
She doesn’t know where it begins and ends, and no end-
Well, it’s kind of scary. (She kinda needs him.)
r is for run.
Closing her eyes, she ignores the murmur of conversation. Four hang ups, spar words- Liv and El at their finest. But she keeps going back to that first time.
In the alley. Pinned against the wall- god, sometimes all she can think about is his mouth brushing against her throat and the motion of his lips livfuckliv.
But that’s it.
Nothing’s changed. It’s what she comes home to.
v is for villian.
She knows.
She knows. She knows. She knows. It’s in his eyes, in the way he can’t look at her and so she turns and walks the other way.
Her coffee mug is on Fin’s desk, tucked away in the corner. She says nothing. She’s only back for a visit, she’ll be back and ready in a couple days. Right now, it’s about getting used to being in the city again, the comfort of noise and crowds.
She doesn’t watch them, her throat drying when there’s a softness to Elliot’s laugh (my best friend). She doesn’t say hi and the nod takes a little bit more of her energy.
She eventually settles for a see ya later.
p is for parachute.
“Like the hair.”
She almost smiles, leaning back against the couch and stretching her legs over her coffee table. Her coffee table- she still hates it, but it’s functional. And it’s hers. Her coffee table.
“It’s still the same,” she murmurs tiredly, tasting the lazy lie.
She should’ve expected him. They do this, sometimes, this whole it’s really good to see you again stuck between the motives of old friends and not quite lovers.
(Sometimes she remembers the burn of the brick pressing against the arch of her hip and his cock sliding against her clit- she said harder, harder, harder and he left his mark on the dip between her shoulder and neck.)
He snorts, leaning forward and catching a strand of her hair. She almost freezes. Almost closes her eyes. But she’s caught, again, at the ledge.
He gives her a crooked smile. “It’s different, Liv. It’s you.”
She doesn’t know what that means. And maybe it means nothing at all, but she keeps watching him carefully, keeps picturing him and-
“Yeah. I guess.” Her voice is quiet. And the months are catching up to her.
Home. Away. Home. Away. There’s an awkwardness in her outside the job, outside what she knows best- she recognizes the distinction between both worlds, personal and private.
But it’s the stepping back instead of forward that gets her.
”Are we okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lunch on me, tomorrow.”
She takes a deep breath. Liv’s got her routine. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Sounds good.”
l is for lesson.
It might be okay. /end/
Fandom: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
Characters/Pairings: Olivia, Elliot/Olivia
Word Count: 742
Rating: R
Spoilers: Infiltrated. ♥
Summary: She remembers the first time like a rush, that fierce burn that she gets when she runs too hard through the park and she just forgets the world for that one, long hour. It could be forever.
Author's Notes: For cathiexx. ♥ Because she’s love.
do you know?or maybe did
something go away
ever so quietly
when we weren't looking.
e e cummings, why did you go
m is for memento.
She remembers the first time like a rush, that fierce burn that she gets when she runs too hard through the park and she just forgets the world for that one, long hour. It could be forever.
But Elliott wasn’t supposed to kiss her in the alley behind her apartment. And her fingers weren’t supposed to curl in his hair, her lips parting with an ohfuck as they slammed against the wall.
He was supposed to go home to Kathy. Not leave her with this memory.
e is for excuse.
Olivia hates flying. And sitting still. But she’s exhausted and her nerves are twisting into knots too quickly for her comfort.
She’s not ready to go home. But she understands promises, a job, and duty- interchangeable in order.
It’s going to be about monsters in her closet, memories at the foot of her bed (no chest). But it’s survival.
Liv knows survival.
d is for denial.
Distance is the strangest thing between her and El. They do this I’m fine thing like pros, flipping the through files and switching coffee cups in a strange routine of causes.
Olivia likes the routine, thrives on it. Liv doesn’t know what to do with it.
But thinking about this stretches inside and out, bringing her to the ledge again- she hates that Madonna song because are you ready to jump? just messes with your head. She likes to stare down sometimes. But that’s about it.
It’s not the distance that made her agree to leaving for just a little bit. It’s not the routine. It’s not that all.
She doesn’t know where it begins and ends, and no end-
Well, it’s kind of scary. (She kinda needs him.)
r is for run.
Closing her eyes, she ignores the murmur of conversation. Four hang ups, spar words- Liv and El at their finest. But she keeps going back to that first time.
In the alley. Pinned against the wall- god, sometimes all she can think about is his mouth brushing against her throat and the motion of his lips livfuckliv.
But that’s it.
Nothing’s changed. It’s what she comes home to.
v is for villian.
She knows.
She knows. She knows. She knows. It’s in his eyes, in the way he can’t look at her and so she turns and walks the other way.
Her coffee mug is on Fin’s desk, tucked away in the corner. She says nothing. She’s only back for a visit, she’ll be back and ready in a couple days. Right now, it’s about getting used to being in the city again, the comfort of noise and crowds.
She doesn’t watch them, her throat drying when there’s a softness to Elliot’s laugh (my best friend). She doesn’t say hi and the nod takes a little bit more of her energy.
She eventually settles for a see ya later.
p is for parachute.
“Like the hair.”
She almost smiles, leaning back against the couch and stretching her legs over her coffee table. Her coffee table- she still hates it, but it’s functional. And it’s hers. Her coffee table.
“It’s still the same,” she murmurs tiredly, tasting the lazy lie.
She should’ve expected him. They do this, sometimes, this whole it’s really good to see you again stuck between the motives of old friends and not quite lovers.
(Sometimes she remembers the burn of the brick pressing against the arch of her hip and his cock sliding against her clit- she said harder, harder, harder and he left his mark on the dip between her shoulder and neck.)
He snorts, leaning forward and catching a strand of her hair. She almost freezes. Almost closes her eyes. But she’s caught, again, at the ledge.
He gives her a crooked smile. “It’s different, Liv. It’s you.”
She doesn’t know what that means. And maybe it means nothing at all, but she keeps watching him carefully, keeps picturing him and-
“Yeah. I guess.” Her voice is quiet. And the months are catching up to her.
Home. Away. Home. Away. There’s an awkwardness in her outside the job, outside what she knows best- she recognizes the distinction between both worlds, personal and private.
But it’s the stepping back instead of forward that gets her.
”Are we okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lunch on me, tomorrow.”
She takes a deep breath. Liv’s got her routine. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Sounds good.”
l is for lesson.
It might be okay. /end/