SVU Fic: Love & Happiness (Olivia/Other; Olivia/Elliot)
I suppose I should say something profound or witty regarding finally
getting my ass in gear and joining the rest of the world on
LiveJournal. Instead, I'll just shut up and post fic. This is the
beginning of a sequel to a fic I posted over at SVUFiction, "Close
Enough",
an Olivia/Chris Keller, pseudo Olivia/Elliot, Oz crossover thing. I'm
usually all about the hot chicks making out, but there's something
oddly appealing about the dysfunction of an Olivia desperately in love
with something she can never have. Chapter two still isn't completed
but I figured getting something up was better than nothing.
Law & Order: SVU
Love and Happiness
**
‘People say, that I’ve found a way
To make you say you love me’
**
Olivia laid face up on Keller’s bed, staring at the ceiling. She inhaled deeply. Took in the scents and smells around her. She’d purchased one of those plug-in air fresheners. Keller had scoffed at first. The idea of continuous air freshening seemed so anti-him. But, she softened him with promises of not bringing in scents with such titles as ‘mountain breeze’, ‘spring shower’ or ‘country garden’, lest they diminish his masculinity. So, she stuck with the ubiquitously neutral vanilla.
There had been other purchases; a microwave, some bed linens, new pillows to replace the wet sandbags he laid his head on. Nothing too domestic or girly. In essence, it was her way of equaling the scales, placing her a mark on him, as he had on her. She’d fuck like an animal, didn’t mean she’d have to live like one. Even with the hint of vanilla in the air, she could still smell him around her; an odd mix of skin, sweat, machine grease and the always present yet subdued musk of sex.
Keller exited the bathroom. Her eyes glued to him. Watched a hand lazily graze across the muscular bands of his stomach, sliding in a manner both subconscious and completely manipulative. She’d never admit it to him, but she’d fantasized about using some of the prodigious number of accrued vacations days and taking Keller with her. The image of Keller in a sarong had overtaken her imagination as of late. Someplace with empty beaches and picturesque sunsets. Where they could walk, sleep, eat, fuck, 24/7 for days on end completely buck ass naked. No constraints, no rules, no boundaries. Even now, she could feel the all too familiar heat building in the pit of her stomach as the visions took hold; the two of them on a secluded beach, swaying in a hammock, Keller in a sarong, Keller without a sarong, on top of her, beneath her, inside her.
He caught the look in her eye. His eyes darkened lasciviously as he approached the foot of the bed. It’s what he liked most about Olivia; she was always in the mood. Keller was always willing to oblige. Olivia rose onto her elbows. As Keller lowered himself, Olivia lifted a leg, planting her foot squarely on Keller’s chest halting his motions.
“What?“ he stared down at her.
She traced her toes across the ridges of his stomach. “How come you never go down on me?”
“I don’t go down on anyone.”
“What?” she smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Afraid I’ll snap your neck?”
He sneered his reply. Grabbing her ankle, he yanked gruffly, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He slid down to his knees, hands grasping her by the swell of her hips, pulling her to him until she was pressed against his heat. Olivia stifled the groan on her lips, at the stiff throbbing sensation grinding against her wetness.
“You’ll say ‘no’ to this?“ he taunted with another thrust of his hips.
“I’m not saying no,” she matched his rhythm, teasing with her opened flesh. “I'm issuing an ultimatum.”
“By not putting out.”
“I’m a woman. We’re genetically programmed to withhold sex when it suits our needs.”
“Suit yourself,“ he released his hold on her. Rising to his feet before flopping down on the opposite side of the bed. Olivia gaped at him incredulously. Keller pulled a magazine from the nightstand and began to stroke. As calmly and casually as if she weren’t in the room. It was an odd game between them, of submission and dominance, a continuous battle of ‘who’s on top?’. A game where there were no losers.
“Fuck you,“ Olivia snorted, unable to hide her smile.
“I tried,” Keller shrugged, the hint of a smile on his lips. “You weren’t interested.”
Olivia rose onto her feet, walking towards her clothes. She snatched the first thing her fingers touched, a tangled ball of fabric that resembled her shirt.
Keller looked up from his magazine, “Where’re you going?”
“Out. If you‘re not gonna fuck me, I‘ll just have find someone else to do the job.”
“You’re not going anywhere.“ He tossed the magazine haphazardly over a shoulder. With a lightening quickness, he crawled across the bed, towards Olivia, grabbing her by the waist and flopping her back onto the bed. She resisted, twisting her body underneath him. It wasn’t ‘no’, it wasn’t ‘yes’ either. Resisted just enough to get their pulses racing, until their skin beaded with sweat, until the tension between them was so thick it practically choked. Enough to get her message across - if he wanted her, he’d have to take her. A challenge Keller was always up for.
It didn’t last long. A battle of legs, limbs, resistance. He clamped his mouth onto hers, inhaling, consuming. A hand hurriedly pushed between her legs, massaging, prodding, teasing, until he could feel her whimpering in his mouth. Felt her shudder as he plunged his fingers inside her. Just like she liked it, fast, hard, deep. Olivia dug her fingers into Keller’s shoulders. Knuckles turning white as they gripped his flesh, accenting the nonverbal command. One way or another, he was going down on her, dammit. Finally, he acquiesced, slowly making his way down her body.
She arched into him. Groaned as she felt the wet rasp of his tongue sloppily working its way down her neck, her breasts, the plain of her stomach, finally dipping between her legs. She released her hold on his shoulders, opting for the vertical slats of the headboard.
Her sex open and wanting beneath him, legs gruffly placed over his shoulders, Keller clamped onto her like a fat kid at a pie eating contest. There was nothing soft or gentle about his motions, he was all hunger, devouring her, consuming her. Until the whimpers crescendoed into soft moans, to louder groans, culminating into a guttural animalistic cry that threatened to burst their eardrums.
**
“Goddamnit,” Olivia growled at her reflection. She craned her neck, running a hand across her skin, examining herself in the mirror. Fucking Keller. She was going to have to wear a turtleneck. Again. In fucking August.
Sex with Keller was rough. She knew that before the first moment he touched her. She just wished the marks weren’t so obvious. Or that she didn’t bruise so easily.
Olivia exited the bathroom. Keller was still lying on the bed. A picture of unkempt bed sheets, sculpted muscles and naked skin. One hand tucked behind his head the other leisurely holding a cigarette. He was the ultimate exhibitionist. Clothed or unclothed, Keller was always on display. It was part of their routine. They’d have sex. Olivia would shower. Chris would stay in bed. Watch her as she dressed, then undressed and returned to bed, starting the cycle all over again. Her record was four showers in one night. Not that she was counting.
She ran a hand through her still damp hair, walking towards the remainder of her clothes. Her shirt and jeans were folded and neatly placed on the kitchen table. That was the other part of their routine. While Olivia showered, Keller would pick up and fold her clothes. He was great at a lot of things, laundry, was one of them. Her jacket, where she kept her gun and badge, was always left where Olivia had last placed it, whether it be the floor, hanging on a doorknob, or a hanger inside the tiny little closet. Always untouched. It was an unspoken rule between them. Keller could touch her in every way possible, every way except her gun and badge.
“You should leave it like that,” Keller finally spoke, breaking the odd silence between them.
“What?”
“Your hair.”
“Why?”
“It makes you look,” he paused, grinning at the image in his mind, “like some of those twink hustlers you see cruising the parks. Reminds me of this guy I knew in the pen, had a mouth that could suck the marrow from your bones.”
He was teasing her. Teasing her in his own way, reminding her of his other predilections. Whether he did it intentionally or it was nothing more than a byproduct of their odd relationship where they revealed aspects of themselves subconsciously, Olivia did not know. She opted to maintain the levity rather than get offended at the idea her current haircut made her look like a gay prostitute. “You’re such a romantic.”
"It was a compliment," he smiled, pleased with himself. “Not many can suck one like Red-Lipped Rudy.”
“If you want, I can put a roll of quarters down my pants. Complete the image.” Olivia wasn’t one for breaking taboos. For Keller, she just might.
“You keep talking like that and I might have to ravage you all over again.” She froze slightly, cocking an eyebrow. Something about the way he said the word ‘ravage’. Part taunt, part come-on and part threat. The way his eyes stared at her, waiting for her to play her part - undress. It was enough to give her pause. Enough to think about the dull throbbing sensation warming the lower part of her stomach. Keller never said anything he didn’t mean.
“What are we doing?”
He squinted slightly. Eyed the gun being tucked onto the side of her jeans. Olivia was always unpredictably prickly. One minute, she’s raking her nails down his back. The next, cold as ice. Keller shrugged, “I thought it was foreplay.”
“Is it?“ She’d told herself dozens of time that it was just sex, that she could stop anytime she wanted. She was nesting, and she knew it. But, everything seemed easier with Keller in the picture. He was a release from the constant tension that filled her day. Having him was better than her usual solitary moping, drinking, masterbating over a fantasy. It’s not that she wasn’t doing exactly that with Keller, just now, she wasn’t doing it alone. Keller, she measured, was nothing more than a chapter in her life. Elliot, he’d be with her forever.
“I ain’t making you leave,” he leaned up onto his elbows, features blank and unreadable. “I ain’t making you stay.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just laying here on the bed waiting for you to take off your clothes and fuck me.” An inevitable cloud hung over their relationship, regardless of what kind of relationship it was. Created both a leisureness and urgency to everything around them. Sooner or later, it would have to end. For now, as she removed her gun, her badge, her clothes, Olivia decided it would be later.
Besides, she could always take another shower.
**
Elliot thumbed through the folder in his hands, halfway paying attention to the words on the form. He continually glanced at the empty space across from him. Olivia was always early. It didn’t matter what time of day, if she was in the station it was long before her scheduled time.
He’d barely paid attention to Munch and Fin as they entered the Squad Room. Now, he could sense them staring at him, boring holes into the side of his head with their eyes.
“What?”
The partners shared a glance between them. Fin turning his chair towards Elliot, “C’mon man, fess up. Who is he?”
“Who?”
It was Munch’s turn. “Benson’s new paramour.”
“Don’t tell us you haven’t noticed?”
“You know,” Munch tilted his head forward, eyes peering over his sunglasses, “the turtlenecks in a heat wave. The exhausted yawns. The slight spring in her step that says ’look at me, someone’s been parking their Cadillac in my garage of love’.. repeatedly.”
“Garage of love?” Fin gaped at him incredulously. “Man, where do you get this stuff?”
“It was either that or gleaming mound of Venus. A man has to be particular with his euphemisms these days.”
They were prodding him, using the classic interrogation technique of the chummy best friends. Elliot wasn’t in the mood to be prodded. He snapped closed the file in his hands, throwing it on the stack before grabbing another. “Sorry guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s bull,” Fin huffed. “You’re partners.”
Elliot shrugged, decided playing obtuse was the only path of discourse regarding this particular conversation. He loved the two men like brothers. Trusted them with his life. But, there were some things you didn’t tell siblings, no matter how close they were. The truth of the matter was, he had noticed. He’d noticed almost immediately. Olivia was never particularly open about her dates. But, she’d never been this closed off either.
As the months wore on, his casual observations had grown from curiosity to concern. He’d noticed the turtlenecks in a heat wave, the occasional bruises, the increasingly forced lack of eye-contact in casual conversation. If he hadn’t suspected Olivia was avoiding him before, her refusal to join the Stabler family for crab cake night clinched it. No matter how pissed, broody, sullen or just out and out bitchy she could be, Olivia never missed crab cake night.
“Speak of the devil.” Elliot looked up at the sound of Fin’s voice. Olivia walked casually into the Squad Room a whopping twenty minutes late, donning another turtleneck. Brand new, since Elliot hadn’t seen this particular shade before. As if to confirm all of their suspicions, especially Munch’s, Elliot noted the certain gait in her walk. More than her usual confident swagger, it was, as Kathy had aptly put it once, the walk of the sexually satisfied woman.
Olivia pulled off her jacket, throwing it around the back of her chair. She stopped suddenly, her eyes going from Munch to Fin before connecting with Elliot’s. “What?”
“Nothing,” he gave a sideways glance towards the squad gossips. Both of whom had suddenly found something of keen interest on their desks. He returned his attention to his partner. “Kathy wanted to know if she should set an extra plate at the table, it’s crab cake night.”
“Naw,” Olivia shrugged. Her eyes immediately going elsewhere as she sat down at her desk. “Thanks anyway but I’ve got plans.”
**
She’d kill him if she knew he’d followed her.
It was an old dingy bar. One Elliot had never been to before. One, he was certain, Olivia never went to. He parked his car across the street. Tried futilely to follow her with his eyes through the crowd of people and dim lighting, cursing himself for not bringing binoculars. Olivia didn’t go to bars very often. Usually when she did, it was with the guys at the typical Irish pubs they often hung out it. This place was not Olivia.
After a couple hours, Elliot exited his car. He needed to stretch his legs. Clear his thoughts. This was crazy. He knew it. Olivia’s private life was her own. If she didn’t want to share it with Elliot, that was her business. It wasn’t jealously. He knew that much. If there was some guy in Liv’s life making her happy, he’d be the first to congratulate her. But, sitting in his car, alone with nothing but his thoughts had allowed him the clarity to pinpoint what was bothering him. It stung as hard and biting like a backhand across the face - Olivia didn’t trust him. Elliot knew he wasn’t the most open guy on the face of the planet but, when push came to shove, he always let Olivia in. With all his pushing and shoving, Olivia still shut him out.
Hands in his pockets, Elliot walked up the block. The air crisp and cool, the first wisps of winter in the air. Content he’d stretched his legs enough and not wanting to circle the entire block, Elliot cut back through the alleyway behind the bar.
The back door to the bar opened. He could see the familiar crop of short brown hair over the dumpster hampering his vision. Another followed her. Elliot moved closer towards the wall, hiding in the shadows. They were close to each other. Invading each other’s personal space in that way lover’s do. Whispering loud enough for Elliot to know they were talking but not enough to comprehend the words. He watched as Olivia drew her arms over the man’s shoulders, inhaling him hungrily as their lips met. The two staggered against a wall. Olivia now pinned between the man smothering her with his lips and the cement barrier behind her.
Elliot could feel his heart begin to drum faster. Something about this didn’t seem.. right. The voices in his head screaming about irrationality, his instinct gut screaming ‘watch out’.
“Do it,” Olivia’s voice cut through the din. Suddenly, roughly, she was jerked around. Fast and hard enough to make her yelp. Her jeans yanked down past her hips. The sound of a belt hastily being undone.
Elliot’s hand went to his gun belt. In a nanosecond, he calculated the distance, height and angle he needed to blow the guy’s head off. Something kept his fingers in check. Kept him from clicking off the safety, raising his gun and firing into the alleyway. It looked like an assault. It sounded like an assault. But, if there was a victim in all this, it was the man standing behind the dumpster with a hand on his gun.
Olivia was no victim. He could see it in the way her hips jutted out, meeting the man thrust for thrust. The way her arm raised, reaching back and clasping around his neck, pulling him into her. The throaty cries, both painful and passionate.
Elliot knew he should stop. Just turn and walk away. This wasn’t his business. If Olivia wanted him to know she’d tell him. But, he couldn’t. This was his partner. If Olivia wasn’t going to look out for herself, someone had to do it.
A sound escaped her throat. One he’d never heard from her before. Heard a million times. The man was quick to followed with a hurried bellowing grunt. They stood there for an eternity, holding onto each other in their mutual afterglow. He could hear them laughing as they rearranged their clothes, Liv turning around and facing him for more back alley heavy petting.
They made their way back towards the bar. Passing under the light, Elliot glimpsed the man. He blinked. Blinked again. Staring in that way to confirm he was seeing what he was actually seeing. At the mirror image of himself.
A thousand thoughts fired through his brain. Who? What? Where? When? Why? The answers didn’t alleviate the sense of dread clenching at his stomach.
“Liv,” Elliot slumped against the wall, running a hand across his face. “What have you done?”
End Chapter One
Law & Order: SVU
Love and Happiness
**
‘People say, that I’ve found a way
To make you say you love me’
**
Olivia laid face up on Keller’s bed, staring at the ceiling. She inhaled deeply. Took in the scents and smells around her. She’d purchased one of those plug-in air fresheners. Keller had scoffed at first. The idea of continuous air freshening seemed so anti-him. But, she softened him with promises of not bringing in scents with such titles as ‘mountain breeze’, ‘spring shower’ or ‘country garden’, lest they diminish his masculinity. So, she stuck with the ubiquitously neutral vanilla.
There had been other purchases; a microwave, some bed linens, new pillows to replace the wet sandbags he laid his head on. Nothing too domestic or girly. In essence, it was her way of equaling the scales, placing her a mark on him, as he had on her. She’d fuck like an animal, didn’t mean she’d have to live like one. Even with the hint of vanilla in the air, she could still smell him around her; an odd mix of skin, sweat, machine grease and the always present yet subdued musk of sex.
Keller exited the bathroom. Her eyes glued to him. Watched a hand lazily graze across the muscular bands of his stomach, sliding in a manner both subconscious and completely manipulative. She’d never admit it to him, but she’d fantasized about using some of the prodigious number of accrued vacations days and taking Keller with her. The image of Keller in a sarong had overtaken her imagination as of late. Someplace with empty beaches and picturesque sunsets. Where they could walk, sleep, eat, fuck, 24/7 for days on end completely buck ass naked. No constraints, no rules, no boundaries. Even now, she could feel the all too familiar heat building in the pit of her stomach as the visions took hold; the two of them on a secluded beach, swaying in a hammock, Keller in a sarong, Keller without a sarong, on top of her, beneath her, inside her.
He caught the look in her eye. His eyes darkened lasciviously as he approached the foot of the bed. It’s what he liked most about Olivia; she was always in the mood. Keller was always willing to oblige. Olivia rose onto her elbows. As Keller lowered himself, Olivia lifted a leg, planting her foot squarely on Keller’s chest halting his motions.
“What?“ he stared down at her.
She traced her toes across the ridges of his stomach. “How come you never go down on me?”
“I don’t go down on anyone.”
“What?” she smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Afraid I’ll snap your neck?”
He sneered his reply. Grabbing her ankle, he yanked gruffly, pulling her to the edge of the bed. He slid down to his knees, hands grasping her by the swell of her hips, pulling her to him until she was pressed against his heat. Olivia stifled the groan on her lips, at the stiff throbbing sensation grinding against her wetness.
“You’ll say ‘no’ to this?“ he taunted with another thrust of his hips.
“I’m not saying no,” she matched his rhythm, teasing with her opened flesh. “I'm issuing an ultimatum.”
“By not putting out.”
“I’m a woman. We’re genetically programmed to withhold sex when it suits our needs.”
“Suit yourself,“ he released his hold on her. Rising to his feet before flopping down on the opposite side of the bed. Olivia gaped at him incredulously. Keller pulled a magazine from the nightstand and began to stroke. As calmly and casually as if she weren’t in the room. It was an odd game between them, of submission and dominance, a continuous battle of ‘who’s on top?’. A game where there were no losers.
“Fuck you,“ Olivia snorted, unable to hide her smile.
“I tried,” Keller shrugged, the hint of a smile on his lips. “You weren’t interested.”
Olivia rose onto her feet, walking towards her clothes. She snatched the first thing her fingers touched, a tangled ball of fabric that resembled her shirt.
Keller looked up from his magazine, “Where’re you going?”
“Out. If you‘re not gonna fuck me, I‘ll just have find someone else to do the job.”
“You’re not going anywhere.“ He tossed the magazine haphazardly over a shoulder. With a lightening quickness, he crawled across the bed, towards Olivia, grabbing her by the waist and flopping her back onto the bed. She resisted, twisting her body underneath him. It wasn’t ‘no’, it wasn’t ‘yes’ either. Resisted just enough to get their pulses racing, until their skin beaded with sweat, until the tension between them was so thick it practically choked. Enough to get her message across - if he wanted her, he’d have to take her. A challenge Keller was always up for.
It didn’t last long. A battle of legs, limbs, resistance. He clamped his mouth onto hers, inhaling, consuming. A hand hurriedly pushed between her legs, massaging, prodding, teasing, until he could feel her whimpering in his mouth. Felt her shudder as he plunged his fingers inside her. Just like she liked it, fast, hard, deep. Olivia dug her fingers into Keller’s shoulders. Knuckles turning white as they gripped his flesh, accenting the nonverbal command. One way or another, he was going down on her, dammit. Finally, he acquiesced, slowly making his way down her body.
She arched into him. Groaned as she felt the wet rasp of his tongue sloppily working its way down her neck, her breasts, the plain of her stomach, finally dipping between her legs. She released her hold on his shoulders, opting for the vertical slats of the headboard.
Her sex open and wanting beneath him, legs gruffly placed over his shoulders, Keller clamped onto her like a fat kid at a pie eating contest. There was nothing soft or gentle about his motions, he was all hunger, devouring her, consuming her. Until the whimpers crescendoed into soft moans, to louder groans, culminating into a guttural animalistic cry that threatened to burst their eardrums.
**
“Goddamnit,” Olivia growled at her reflection. She craned her neck, running a hand across her skin, examining herself in the mirror. Fucking Keller. She was going to have to wear a turtleneck. Again. In fucking August.
Sex with Keller was rough. She knew that before the first moment he touched her. She just wished the marks weren’t so obvious. Or that she didn’t bruise so easily.
Olivia exited the bathroom. Keller was still lying on the bed. A picture of unkempt bed sheets, sculpted muscles and naked skin. One hand tucked behind his head the other leisurely holding a cigarette. He was the ultimate exhibitionist. Clothed or unclothed, Keller was always on display. It was part of their routine. They’d have sex. Olivia would shower. Chris would stay in bed. Watch her as she dressed, then undressed and returned to bed, starting the cycle all over again. Her record was four showers in one night. Not that she was counting.
She ran a hand through her still damp hair, walking towards the remainder of her clothes. Her shirt and jeans were folded and neatly placed on the kitchen table. That was the other part of their routine. While Olivia showered, Keller would pick up and fold her clothes. He was great at a lot of things, laundry, was one of them. Her jacket, where she kept her gun and badge, was always left where Olivia had last placed it, whether it be the floor, hanging on a doorknob, or a hanger inside the tiny little closet. Always untouched. It was an unspoken rule between them. Keller could touch her in every way possible, every way except her gun and badge.
“You should leave it like that,” Keller finally spoke, breaking the odd silence between them.
“What?”
“Your hair.”
“Why?”
“It makes you look,” he paused, grinning at the image in his mind, “like some of those twink hustlers you see cruising the parks. Reminds me of this guy I knew in the pen, had a mouth that could suck the marrow from your bones.”
He was teasing her. Teasing her in his own way, reminding her of his other predilections. Whether he did it intentionally or it was nothing more than a byproduct of their odd relationship where they revealed aspects of themselves subconsciously, Olivia did not know. She opted to maintain the levity rather than get offended at the idea her current haircut made her look like a gay prostitute. “You’re such a romantic.”
"It was a compliment," he smiled, pleased with himself. “Not many can suck one like Red-Lipped Rudy.”
“If you want, I can put a roll of quarters down my pants. Complete the image.” Olivia wasn’t one for breaking taboos. For Keller, she just might.
“You keep talking like that and I might have to ravage you all over again.” She froze slightly, cocking an eyebrow. Something about the way he said the word ‘ravage’. Part taunt, part come-on and part threat. The way his eyes stared at her, waiting for her to play her part - undress. It was enough to give her pause. Enough to think about the dull throbbing sensation warming the lower part of her stomach. Keller never said anything he didn’t mean.
“What are we doing?”
He squinted slightly. Eyed the gun being tucked onto the side of her jeans. Olivia was always unpredictably prickly. One minute, she’s raking her nails down his back. The next, cold as ice. Keller shrugged, “I thought it was foreplay.”
“Is it?“ She’d told herself dozens of time that it was just sex, that she could stop anytime she wanted. She was nesting, and she knew it. But, everything seemed easier with Keller in the picture. He was a release from the constant tension that filled her day. Having him was better than her usual solitary moping, drinking, masterbating over a fantasy. It’s not that she wasn’t doing exactly that with Keller, just now, she wasn’t doing it alone. Keller, she measured, was nothing more than a chapter in her life. Elliot, he’d be with her forever.
“I ain’t making you leave,” he leaned up onto his elbows, features blank and unreadable. “I ain’t making you stay.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just laying here on the bed waiting for you to take off your clothes and fuck me.” An inevitable cloud hung over their relationship, regardless of what kind of relationship it was. Created both a leisureness and urgency to everything around them. Sooner or later, it would have to end. For now, as she removed her gun, her badge, her clothes, Olivia decided it would be later.
Besides, she could always take another shower.
**
Elliot thumbed through the folder in his hands, halfway paying attention to the words on the form. He continually glanced at the empty space across from him. Olivia was always early. It didn’t matter what time of day, if she was in the station it was long before her scheduled time.
He’d barely paid attention to Munch and Fin as they entered the Squad Room. Now, he could sense them staring at him, boring holes into the side of his head with their eyes.
“What?”
The partners shared a glance between them. Fin turning his chair towards Elliot, “C’mon man, fess up. Who is he?”
“Who?”
It was Munch’s turn. “Benson’s new paramour.”
“Don’t tell us you haven’t noticed?”
“You know,” Munch tilted his head forward, eyes peering over his sunglasses, “the turtlenecks in a heat wave. The exhausted yawns. The slight spring in her step that says ’look at me, someone’s been parking their Cadillac in my garage of love’.. repeatedly.”
“Garage of love?” Fin gaped at him incredulously. “Man, where do you get this stuff?”
“It was either that or gleaming mound of Venus. A man has to be particular with his euphemisms these days.”
They were prodding him, using the classic interrogation technique of the chummy best friends. Elliot wasn’t in the mood to be prodded. He snapped closed the file in his hands, throwing it on the stack before grabbing another. “Sorry guys, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s bull,” Fin huffed. “You’re partners.”
Elliot shrugged, decided playing obtuse was the only path of discourse regarding this particular conversation. He loved the two men like brothers. Trusted them with his life. But, there were some things you didn’t tell siblings, no matter how close they were. The truth of the matter was, he had noticed. He’d noticed almost immediately. Olivia was never particularly open about her dates. But, she’d never been this closed off either.
As the months wore on, his casual observations had grown from curiosity to concern. He’d noticed the turtlenecks in a heat wave, the occasional bruises, the increasingly forced lack of eye-contact in casual conversation. If he hadn’t suspected Olivia was avoiding him before, her refusal to join the Stabler family for crab cake night clinched it. No matter how pissed, broody, sullen or just out and out bitchy she could be, Olivia never missed crab cake night.
“Speak of the devil.” Elliot looked up at the sound of Fin’s voice. Olivia walked casually into the Squad Room a whopping twenty minutes late, donning another turtleneck. Brand new, since Elliot hadn’t seen this particular shade before. As if to confirm all of their suspicions, especially Munch’s, Elliot noted the certain gait in her walk. More than her usual confident swagger, it was, as Kathy had aptly put it once, the walk of the sexually satisfied woman.
Olivia pulled off her jacket, throwing it around the back of her chair. She stopped suddenly, her eyes going from Munch to Fin before connecting with Elliot’s. “What?”
“Nothing,” he gave a sideways glance towards the squad gossips. Both of whom had suddenly found something of keen interest on their desks. He returned his attention to his partner. “Kathy wanted to know if she should set an extra plate at the table, it’s crab cake night.”
“Naw,” Olivia shrugged. Her eyes immediately going elsewhere as she sat down at her desk. “Thanks anyway but I’ve got plans.”
**
She’d kill him if she knew he’d followed her.
It was an old dingy bar. One Elliot had never been to before. One, he was certain, Olivia never went to. He parked his car across the street. Tried futilely to follow her with his eyes through the crowd of people and dim lighting, cursing himself for not bringing binoculars. Olivia didn’t go to bars very often. Usually when she did, it was with the guys at the typical Irish pubs they often hung out it. This place was not Olivia.
After a couple hours, Elliot exited his car. He needed to stretch his legs. Clear his thoughts. This was crazy. He knew it. Olivia’s private life was her own. If she didn’t want to share it with Elliot, that was her business. It wasn’t jealously. He knew that much. If there was some guy in Liv’s life making her happy, he’d be the first to congratulate her. But, sitting in his car, alone with nothing but his thoughts had allowed him the clarity to pinpoint what was bothering him. It stung as hard and biting like a backhand across the face - Olivia didn’t trust him. Elliot knew he wasn’t the most open guy on the face of the planet but, when push came to shove, he always let Olivia in. With all his pushing and shoving, Olivia still shut him out.
Hands in his pockets, Elliot walked up the block. The air crisp and cool, the first wisps of winter in the air. Content he’d stretched his legs enough and not wanting to circle the entire block, Elliot cut back through the alleyway behind the bar.
The back door to the bar opened. He could see the familiar crop of short brown hair over the dumpster hampering his vision. Another followed her. Elliot moved closer towards the wall, hiding in the shadows. They were close to each other. Invading each other’s personal space in that way lover’s do. Whispering loud enough for Elliot to know they were talking but not enough to comprehend the words. He watched as Olivia drew her arms over the man’s shoulders, inhaling him hungrily as their lips met. The two staggered against a wall. Olivia now pinned between the man smothering her with his lips and the cement barrier behind her.
Elliot could feel his heart begin to drum faster. Something about this didn’t seem.. right. The voices in his head screaming about irrationality, his instinct gut screaming ‘watch out’.
“Do it,” Olivia’s voice cut through the din. Suddenly, roughly, she was jerked around. Fast and hard enough to make her yelp. Her jeans yanked down past her hips. The sound of a belt hastily being undone.
Elliot’s hand went to his gun belt. In a nanosecond, he calculated the distance, height and angle he needed to blow the guy’s head off. Something kept his fingers in check. Kept him from clicking off the safety, raising his gun and firing into the alleyway. It looked like an assault. It sounded like an assault. But, if there was a victim in all this, it was the man standing behind the dumpster with a hand on his gun.
Olivia was no victim. He could see it in the way her hips jutted out, meeting the man thrust for thrust. The way her arm raised, reaching back and clasping around his neck, pulling him into her. The throaty cries, both painful and passionate.
Elliot knew he should stop. Just turn and walk away. This wasn’t his business. If Olivia wanted him to know she’d tell him. But, he couldn’t. This was his partner. If Olivia wasn’t going to look out for herself, someone had to do it.
A sound escaped her throat. One he’d never heard from her before. Heard a million times. The man was quick to followed with a hurried bellowing grunt. They stood there for an eternity, holding onto each other in their mutual afterglow. He could hear them laughing as they rearranged their clothes, Liv turning around and facing him for more back alley heavy petting.
They made their way back towards the bar. Passing under the light, Elliot glimpsed the man. He blinked. Blinked again. Staring in that way to confirm he was seeing what he was actually seeing. At the mirror image of himself.
A thousand thoughts fired through his brain. Who? What? Where? When? Why? The answers didn’t alleviate the sense of dread clenching at his stomach.
“Liv,” Elliot slumped against the wall, running a hand across his face. “What have you done?”
End Chapter One