RANDOM FLUFF: The second rule of Opera...
TITLE: The second rule of Opera...
AUTHOR: ncruuk
FANDOM & PAIRING: SVU, Alex & Olivia
DISCLAIMERS: none of this is mine, and nothing is for anything other than free fun....
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I went to the Opera this evening...
SPOILERS: Umm, loads for Shostakovich's 'Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk' (1934 version, not the post Stalin objection sanitised, pro-communism re-write), but I think you can probably live with those....can't you?
Sometimes, life was expensive for the strangest reasons: Olivia Benson had started the day with $100 in her pocket...only to 'donate' $20 to a hooker's memory reclamation project, another $20 to a barman's 'college fund' (coincidentally, his memory improved in leaps and bounds after the 'donation')...a couple of street dogs later, and her last $50 was being 'donated' to the barman at the Opera. It was ten minutes before curtain up and Alex had just rung to say she was five minutes away - the champagne and sandwiches needed to be moved to the intermission....
Settled in her plush velvet seat, Olivia couldn't stop, as she did every time she came now to the Opera, to marvel at the eclectic and yet successful seating arrangements. Unlike theatres on Broadway or the many cinemas she'd visited, the opera house managed to have the seats arranged in a far more 'random', or eclectic configuration - whilst there were rows, there were also seemingly isolated pairs of seats, shielded from the rest of the audience by a pillar or ailse, but still in the heart of the house. As she settled back to scan the synopsis for the evening's performance, she automatically noticed the pillar to her left, and the large, obstructive bodies of the elderly gentleman and his 'partner' (blonde, two generations younger, no obvious family connection) two seats away to her right. The people in the row in front of her may have been in the stalls for all the impact it had on her...until they started tonsil hockey. Really....there were things you didn't expect to have to suffer when you came to the Met....
"You'll have to climb over - he doesn't stand up..." Olivia's reading was interrupted by the painful drawl from her right.
"Hey!" The tonsil hockey continued oblivious to the protestations of their neighbour coming from the row in front of Olivia.
"I'm sorry, did I catch you?" enquired the elegant, 'society' blonde as she struggled to juggle purse and briefcase whilst 'climbing' past the obstructions.
"Only three of us..." came the sharp retort, fortunately once the blonde had settled into her seat.
"I'm sorry, I was aiming for five..." muttered Alex sarcastically, as she pushed her case under her seat and tucked her purse between her feet.
"You made it..." grinned Olivia, brushing a tender caress down Alex's thigh in private greeting.
"Arthur wouldn't shut up..." began Alex, tucking her scarf into her purse and shimmying out of her suit jacket - it was still autumn in New York, enabling the elegant ADA to not need to wear an outdoor coat, although her concession to the cooling days was a carefully coordinated scarf...
"Unfortunate...champagne's now between Act 2 and 3..." murmured Olivia, scanning the synopsis for Act 1.
"Why not sooner?" queried Alex, knowing there was a good reason, but inwardly wishing she could have some now. It really hadn't been a good day.
"Because there's only one intermission..." explained Olivia, unsurprised by Alex's surprise - the ratio of opera to interval was unusually high this evening....
"Ah...after the murder, right?" clarified Alex, her brain shifting into 'operatic' gear, which, considering the plot of this particular opera, wasn't all that different from their day job.
"Second murder...and don't forget the two attempted rapes..." groused Olivia, game to go to the Opera with Alex (she had found she actually rather enjoyed the 'spectacle' and the orchestration), but wishing sometimes the plots could be a little less...like her day job.
"Don't think about the plot...just remember it's Shostakovich..." whispered Alex, slipping her hand out from Olivia's light grasp in order to applaud the arrival of the conductor....
"Huh?"
"Shh..."
Olivia tried not to over-think...really she did. She tried not to follow the surtitles and get obsessively caught up in the plot, really she did. The reality though, was that, even without the surtitles, it was impossible not to follow the plot, so clear was the acting of the cast as they sang of a sexless marriage, overbearing father-in-law and labourers only interested in seducing the ladies of the house staff...with, or without her especially enthusiastic invitation. Just when she was about to find it too much (although the use of a soda siphon as a sex aid was a new one, even for her 'professional' persona), she felt Alex's hand slip onto her thigh, concealed from their neighbours by the darkness, the crescendo, and Olivia's folded leather jacket.
"Close your eyes..." whispered Alex, breathing on Olivia's neck, the gentle instruction being immediately obeyed by her lover...
"Why....?" whispered Olivia, happy to comply, content not to watch the activities on stage as the labourer, confident in his welcome, was stealing his way to the lady of the house's bedroom...
"Listen..." explained Alex, allowing her brain to finally let go, to no longer place what she was seeing on stage in the context of her job, or reality, but instead see it as the piece of subversive social criticism it was interpreted as, and then....
then to just listen....
and feel....
feel the subtle texture's of Olivia's thigh, shrouded in soft denim, radiating familiar heat as the lyric beauty of Shostakovich's melodies and harmonies swelled and grew into something great, something special, something so rarely presented....
As the action came to a climax on stage, with the sweaty, swarthy Sergey collapsing into the sated, 'relieved' embrace of Katerina and her bed, Olivia found herself understanding something, actually, many somethings, although it took her surprised brain and body a good few moments (fortunately, Shostakovich had the presence of mind to write an 'interlude' especially for such needs of mental collection).
Her lover had fabulous fingers.
Her jeans had washed very thin.
Alex had a daring streak.
Her cheeks were rather warm.
The first rule of opera - the plot is irrelevant when there are good ‘tunes’.
"You ok?" whispered Alex, her tone revealing to Olivia the amused, satisfied smirk that was gracing Alex's face under cover of dimmed house lights.
"Peachy...you're evil..." whispered back Olivia, amazed that none of their neighbours seemed to have noticed their activities....
"You know what the second rule of this opera is?" whispered Alex, seconds before the interlude began morphing into Act Two.
"What?"
"Shostakovich really understood the female orgasm...."
AUTHOR'S NOTES 2: It's fluffy, I promise.... but for those of you curious about Shostakovich, try
Shostakovich bio article
and for those curious about Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, try
Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk synopsis
AUTHOR: ncruuk
FANDOM & PAIRING: SVU, Alex & Olivia
DISCLAIMERS: none of this is mine, and nothing is for anything other than free fun....
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I went to the Opera this evening...
SPOILERS: Umm, loads for Shostakovich's 'Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk' (1934 version, not the post Stalin objection sanitised, pro-communism re-write), but I think you can probably live with those....can't you?
Sometimes, life was expensive for the strangest reasons: Olivia Benson had started the day with $100 in her pocket...only to 'donate' $20 to a hooker's memory reclamation project, another $20 to a barman's 'college fund' (coincidentally, his memory improved in leaps and bounds after the 'donation')...a couple of street dogs later, and her last $50 was being 'donated' to the barman at the Opera. It was ten minutes before curtain up and Alex had just rung to say she was five minutes away - the champagne and sandwiches needed to be moved to the intermission....
Settled in her plush velvet seat, Olivia couldn't stop, as she did every time she came now to the Opera, to marvel at the eclectic and yet successful seating arrangements. Unlike theatres on Broadway or the many cinemas she'd visited, the opera house managed to have the seats arranged in a far more 'random', or eclectic configuration - whilst there were rows, there were also seemingly isolated pairs of seats, shielded from the rest of the audience by a pillar or ailse, but still in the heart of the house. As she settled back to scan the synopsis for the evening's performance, she automatically noticed the pillar to her left, and the large, obstructive bodies of the elderly gentleman and his 'partner' (blonde, two generations younger, no obvious family connection) two seats away to her right. The people in the row in front of her may have been in the stalls for all the impact it had on her...until they started tonsil hockey. Really....there were things you didn't expect to have to suffer when you came to the Met....
"You'll have to climb over - he doesn't stand up..." Olivia's reading was interrupted by the painful drawl from her right.
"Hey!" The tonsil hockey continued oblivious to the protestations of their neighbour coming from the row in front of Olivia.
"I'm sorry, did I catch you?" enquired the elegant, 'society' blonde as she struggled to juggle purse and briefcase whilst 'climbing' past the obstructions.
"Only three of us..." came the sharp retort, fortunately once the blonde had settled into her seat.
"I'm sorry, I was aiming for five..." muttered Alex sarcastically, as she pushed her case under her seat and tucked her purse between her feet.
"You made it..." grinned Olivia, brushing a tender caress down Alex's thigh in private greeting.
"Arthur wouldn't shut up..." began Alex, tucking her scarf into her purse and shimmying out of her suit jacket - it was still autumn in New York, enabling the elegant ADA to not need to wear an outdoor coat, although her concession to the cooling days was a carefully coordinated scarf...
"Unfortunate...champagne's now between Act 2 and 3..." murmured Olivia, scanning the synopsis for Act 1.
"Why not sooner?" queried Alex, knowing there was a good reason, but inwardly wishing she could have some now. It really hadn't been a good day.
"Because there's only one intermission..." explained Olivia, unsurprised by Alex's surprise - the ratio of opera to interval was unusually high this evening....
"Ah...after the murder, right?" clarified Alex, her brain shifting into 'operatic' gear, which, considering the plot of this particular opera, wasn't all that different from their day job.
"Second murder...and don't forget the two attempted rapes..." groused Olivia, game to go to the Opera with Alex (she had found she actually rather enjoyed the 'spectacle' and the orchestration), but wishing sometimes the plots could be a little less...like her day job.
"Don't think about the plot...just remember it's Shostakovich..." whispered Alex, slipping her hand out from Olivia's light grasp in order to applaud the arrival of the conductor....
"Huh?"
"Shh..."
Olivia tried not to over-think...really she did. She tried not to follow the surtitles and get obsessively caught up in the plot, really she did. The reality though, was that, even without the surtitles, it was impossible not to follow the plot, so clear was the acting of the cast as they sang of a sexless marriage, overbearing father-in-law and labourers only interested in seducing the ladies of the house staff...with, or without her especially enthusiastic invitation. Just when she was about to find it too much (although the use of a soda siphon as a sex aid was a new one, even for her 'professional' persona), she felt Alex's hand slip onto her thigh, concealed from their neighbours by the darkness, the crescendo, and Olivia's folded leather jacket.
"Close your eyes..." whispered Alex, breathing on Olivia's neck, the gentle instruction being immediately obeyed by her lover...
"Why....?" whispered Olivia, happy to comply, content not to watch the activities on stage as the labourer, confident in his welcome, was stealing his way to the lady of the house's bedroom...
"Listen..." explained Alex, allowing her brain to finally let go, to no longer place what she was seeing on stage in the context of her job, or reality, but instead see it as the piece of subversive social criticism it was interpreted as, and then....
then to just listen....
and feel....
feel the subtle texture's of Olivia's thigh, shrouded in soft denim, radiating familiar heat as the lyric beauty of Shostakovich's melodies and harmonies swelled and grew into something great, something special, something so rarely presented....
As the action came to a climax on stage, with the sweaty, swarthy Sergey collapsing into the sated, 'relieved' embrace of Katerina and her bed, Olivia found herself understanding something, actually, many somethings, although it took her surprised brain and body a good few moments (fortunately, Shostakovich had the presence of mind to write an 'interlude' especially for such needs of mental collection).
Her lover had fabulous fingers.
Her jeans had washed very thin.
Alex had a daring streak.
Her cheeks were rather warm.
The first rule of opera - the plot is irrelevant when there are good ‘tunes’.
"You ok?" whispered Alex, her tone revealing to Olivia the amused, satisfied smirk that was gracing Alex's face under cover of dimmed house lights.
"Peachy...you're evil..." whispered back Olivia, amazed that none of their neighbours seemed to have noticed their activities....
"You know what the second rule of this opera is?" whispered Alex, seconds before the interlude began morphing into Act Two.
"What?"
"Shostakovich really understood the female orgasm...."
AUTHOR'S NOTES 2: It's fluffy, I promise.... but for those of you curious about Shostakovich, try
Shostakovich bio article
and for those curious about Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, try
Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk synopsis