Dugout 1/2
Title: Dugout 1/2
Fandom: L&O: SVU
Pairing: C/O
Rating: NC-17
Summary: After practice one night…
Inspiration: A few suggestions by scubysnak when I couldn’t decide the starting plot of this thing.
Note: This is sort of set in the “Shortstop” universe, but is fine as a stand-alone. Also, LJ made me chop it up. This is all supposed to be just one piece.
“Casey, what are we doing? We’ve searched for 20 minutes and I never even saw I fly ball go out here! I’ll BUY Hennessey a new damned ball,” I grouse. I’m tired and I just want a beer after that long practice.
For some reason, you smirk, and then look all around the softball field before finally answering.
“Alright Liv. We can give it up. Come on.” You grab my hand and take off running. I am too shocked to argue and just try to keep up. Running after my long-legged girlfriend as she very happily sprints back toward the diamond is not something I was prepared for at this moment.
You stop near third base and drop my hand. You disappear behind the solid backstop, and re-emerge on the first base side a moment later, beaming.
“Casey, what the hell?”
Without a word you come up and take my hand again. You lead me down into the dugout on the third base side, where our whole team had been joking after practice not a half hour before. Now, it is deserted, as is the field, except for three sports bags.
Wait.
“Look Casey, someone left their bag.” I start toward it to check for an ID.
“Nope, that would be mine,” you say, stopping me.
“Oh,” I say, perplexed.
“Do you remember a certain conversation after a certain ‘special meeting’ late at night at the court house?” You unzip the bag and look up at me.
I am not someone who blushes. But the memory of that night has the heat creeping up my neck toward my cheeks. You grin at me. I know you love seeing me blush.
I clear my throat which is suddenly scratchy.
“Uh, what conversation was that?” Apparently, I have post-orgasm memory loss. I zone out briefly, enjoying what I DO remember about that night.
“Olivia.” Your velvety voice brings me back to the present. It is then that I notice several yoga mats lying side by side on the ground. You have a blanket in your hands and begin spreading it over them.
“Case, what…?” Then my brain supplies what I could not consciously recall before now.
We both lay panting on the couch in Judge Petrovsky’s chambers.
“I can’t believe we just did that.” I manage.
“I can’t believe you wanted to do that here!” You laugh.
“What can I say? Knowing that she’ll never know that I fucked your brains out in her office is totally hot. It’s like holding something over her, without the retribution.”
You laugh again as you reach for your clothes. “Just remember that you owe me. No matter what my fantasy is…”
I grab you around the waist and pull you back on top of me. You are giggling.
“Whatever you want,” I promise.
“THIS is your fantasy?” I really can’t believe it. My arms are actually akimbo and flailing around, indicating the dugout and field.
You take no offense.
“Mmmhmm.” You saunter toward me. “Ever since you agreed to join the team.” You trace your fingers across my shoulders and down my arms, eventually interlacing our fingers. “I’ve just been waiting for Elliot to not want to go out for beer afterwards. That man can be such a cockblock.”
I throw back my head and laugh at the prospect of telling him that, but stop as your mouth finds my throat. I am soon humming with pleasure as your lips whisper across my pulse.
“What about…” I start to ask, worried about getting collared for public indecency.
“Don’t worry. This is private land. I checked,” you say into my skin. “We’re blocked from view down here. “ A few more kisses. “And nobody ever comes here unless there’s a game.” My resistance is stolen by your lips and I sigh.
Your tall frame presses into mine as you make your way up to my mouth, knowing I have relented.
Every time you kiss me, I am amazed at how soft your lips are. Not just in texture, though they are smooth. No, what stuns me is the amount of quiet passion you can put into the lightest contact of your lips on mine. With barely any pressure at all, I am reeling. I could kiss you for hours.
As my thoughts briefly wandered - though definitely not far - you slowly deepened that kiss into something that promises even greater things to come. I move my hands up and around your trim waste, holding you close. We stand there for long minutes, exploring mouths tangled in a familiar dance. I soon feel your hands at my back, sneaking under my t-shirt to glide across flesh.
I groan softly at the contact. Your lips wander to my jaw briefly before you gather the fabric in your hands and begin to lift it. My stomach is revealed and you place a soft kiss there. You raise my shirt higher and higher, slowly following its trail with your lips: my ribs, the top of my breast, my collarbone, my tricep. Once my face has reappeared from under the cotton, you return to my mouth, kissing hungrily. The skin of your arms is burning into my torso.
Impatient to taste your beautiful skin, I pull back from the kiss and tug your shirt off quickly. I am stopped in my tracks by what lies underneath. Instead of a sports bra like the one I am currently clad in, you are wearing a forest green cotton bra that may as well have been silk and lace in this setting.
You smile. “One of the advantages of not being quite as well-endowed as you are: I can wear regular bras when playing sports, if I feel like it. I usually don’t, but tonight was special.”
“Gorgeous,” I breathe, quickly wrapping you in my arms and descending on the creamy skin of your chest. You don’t let me have the upper hand for long, though, as you are soon sliding your hands under my waistband, dragging your hands deliberately across my backside until loose shorts fall to the ground.
“Mmmm,” you purr as I nibble at your collarbone. “Let’s get you out of those sliders.”
This could be awkward. The compression shorts are hard enough to get on without falling over.
It seems you’ve thought of this particular dilemma. You turn me around and back me toward the little improvised bed you’ve made on the floor of the dugout. I take the hint and sit, and you drop slowly to your knees in front of me.
You kiss me again and lower me down so that I’m lying on my back. You straddle me so our pelvises touch, briefly pressing down and drawing a long moan from me. Your hands trail down my sides and fingers hook the snug elastic at my waist. You lock eyes with me as you slowly peel the shorts off of my legs, scooting backwards as necessary to get them all the way off. When you turn to disentangle them from my feet, I take the opportunity to divest myself of my sports bra.
Part 2