FIC: The Deal [SVU - Olivia/Elliot]
Title: The Deal, Complete
Fandom: SVU
Pairing: Elliot/Olivia
Rating: R, for the standard stuff
Originally Posted: June 2005
Word Count: 1338
Summary: An E/O fic based on their undercover characters in "Risk". Going undercover has it's risks, some are worth them.
My name’s Gregory (named after the Peck) Charles Elliot. Most people call me Greg. The most boring, prolific name in the world. But there’s nothing boring about me. I’m the man. The man most men wish they could be. Rich. Handsome. Talented. But, most of all, rich.
I check myself in the rearview mirror, 1998 Cadillac, definitely not my style but a cock up at the dealership and she’s mine for the day. My hair looks good. I adjust my 300 dollar frames. Grin in the rearview mirror, checking my perfectly capped white teeth.
Like the cars I drive and the women I fuck before I even know their name, I live my life fast. When the rush of the market isn’t enough to get my juice going, there are other things I do to fill the void. Like I said, cars, women, money. And then there’s the drugs. A little bump here and there is nice but it’s not the chemical rush I crave, it’s the rush of the deal. Of being in places I shouldn’t and wiggling my way out with more cash in my pockets than I started.
Which is why I’m here. Not my usual haunt. The air’s too stale and the company too fat, too slow. As if they’ve surrendered to the fact that they’ll someday die. Like cows in a slaughterhouse, they sit on their stools, sloshing cheap beer, eating greasy food, waiting for the inevitable.
Except for her.
We catch each other out of the corner’s of our eyes, neither wanting to tip their hand. I can feel her eyes on me, checking me out, liking what she sees. She should. 2,000 dollar gym fee, personal trainer, mile in the pool and 2 mile jog a day, I’m an Adonis in Gucci.
I turn towards her, entering stage two of the deal. Beautiful brown eyes match the thousand watt smile. She’s wearing a tight black dress, showing off to these stiffs what they will never have because her body, it was made for me. Already my hands are itching to feel her breasts in my palms. To feel that body, legs wrapping around me as I enter her and she screams into my ear.
“Hi.” She smiles at me. She’s accepted my offer and we’ve now entered the bartering period of our exchange. The key is to make them think they have the power, that it’s within their hands to say yes or no. What she doesn’t know yet, is the moment I set my eyes on her, she never had a choice. That’s the key - make them want it, even when they think they don‘t.
“What are you having?”
We banter back and forth. She’s feeling it now. She shifts slightly in her chair, giving me a flash of leg and I’m wondering how late I can be today. Her name’s Donna Something. The particulars aren’t important. Those can always be worked out later. What’s important is the deal. The ‘yes‘. The rush. I can feel my blood boiling. See it in the irises of her eyes, slowly dilating as she feels the rush, the anticipation of the closing of the deal.
The only thing worse than a deal going good, is a deal interrupted. And I’m interrupted. The real reason I’m here. A piece of white trash scum who thinks he’s a bigger shark than he really is. I slide casually off my barstool, give her a parting thousand dollar perfectly capped teeth smile and head towards the bathroom. The particulars aren’t important, just the deal. A couple keys here, a couple thousand there, and I’m richer than when I walked in.
We meet again. I catch her coming out of the bathroom. It all comes back to me. The boil of blood, the pumping of adrenaline. Cars, women, money, drugs, they’re all the same. It‘s the rush I crave. And she’s the perfect remedy for what I’m craving.
“I thought you left.” She says to me, an annoyed tone in her voice. I smile back at her, a shark circling its prey.
“Not before I did this.” My hands find her face and I press my lips against hers. She tastes like martini, only the very opposite of dry. Her mouth is wet and warm. We’re kissing like two virgins on prom night, sloppy and wanting. We push pull each other into the restroom, into a stall. The one with the wall, where I press against her. Her legs opening like a pro at a penis convention. My hands find her breasts, pushing down the thin black straps until she’s in my hands, round and firm, nipples already rock hard. She moans in my mouth. I nibble on her lip, not hard, just enough to show her who’s in charge. Until she‘s whimpering in submission. Get them to want it, even when they don’t.
I free a hand from her breast and trail it down between her legs. If her mouth was a lake, her pussy’s an ocean. No stockings, no panties, just leg and skin and that hotness my body craves. My legs go rubbery for a second as I plunge my fingers inside her. She begins writhing against me like a cat in heat, growling in my mouth, fingers in my hair scraping against my scalp.
“That’s it baby,” I growl into her mouth, “Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me.” She whispers breathless, almost painfully. Like an angel that’s fallen, knowing she shouldn’t but unable to stop.
Her fingers grapple with my 300 dollar belt. Nimble fingers slide the latex onto me. One of those small particulars of the deal I’d rather leave out but it’s too late to barter now. Instead, I lift her by the thighs, jam my hips until I‘m so deep I swear I can feel her tonsils. The blood rushes to my head, a high better than any drug I‘ve sold. She’s tight, virgin tight. Either she doesn’t fuck a lot or the guys she’s been with had small dicks because she’s squeezing around me like a glove several sizes too small. I thrust into her, make her take it. Long, hard, deep, giving her my all, not holding back. I never hold back. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into her, holding on for dear life. Her nails scratch across my scalp. We kiss as we fuck, hard, fast and sloppy. She whimpers in my mouth as I grunt in hers.
Donna Whatsherface comes first. I feel her teeth bite into my shoulder. The pressure squeezing around me as she bucks hard in my arms. My jacket and shirt muffling her scream, saving me from having her teeth cleaved into my flesh. I’m close and getting closer, ramming like a jackhammer, taking her for a ride they don’t sell at any amusement park. My head spins, my body spasms, one last grunt, one final push..
And the deal is done.
I hold her a few more moments to catch my breath. We pull away from each other, fixing our clothes. She refuses to make eye contact. The blush on her face deepens, changing from passion to embarrassment. I flush the remaining evidence of our non-verbal tete-a-tete down the toilet.
“I should..” She mumbles nervously. I smile back at her, at the little fish who wrestled with a shark and lived to tell the tale. I place my hand against her cheek, run my thumb across the full lips that feel like heaven and taste like sin, until her beautiful brown eyes are staring into mine.
“Deal’s over, hon. Now beat it before somebody calls the cops.”
I watch her ass as she walks out the stall. Wonder whether I should give her my card and ask her if she has a friend. Women like her? They always have friends.
I check myself in the mirror. Perfect hair. Perfect smile. My name’s Greg Charles Elliot. I’m a stock broker. And I live for the deal.
End
A/N: This is just me attempting to upload all my old fic.
Fandom: SVU
Pairing: Elliot/Olivia
Rating: R, for the standard stuff
Originally Posted: June 2005
Word Count: 1338
Summary: An E/O fic based on their undercover characters in "Risk". Going undercover has it's risks, some are worth them.
My name’s Gregory (named after the Peck) Charles Elliot. Most people call me Greg. The most boring, prolific name in the world. But there’s nothing boring about me. I’m the man. The man most men wish they could be. Rich. Handsome. Talented. But, most of all, rich.
I check myself in the rearview mirror, 1998 Cadillac, definitely not my style but a cock up at the dealership and she’s mine for the day. My hair looks good. I adjust my 300 dollar frames. Grin in the rearview mirror, checking my perfectly capped white teeth.
Like the cars I drive and the women I fuck before I even know their name, I live my life fast. When the rush of the market isn’t enough to get my juice going, there are other things I do to fill the void. Like I said, cars, women, money. And then there’s the drugs. A little bump here and there is nice but it’s not the chemical rush I crave, it’s the rush of the deal. Of being in places I shouldn’t and wiggling my way out with more cash in my pockets than I started.
Which is why I’m here. Not my usual haunt. The air’s too stale and the company too fat, too slow. As if they’ve surrendered to the fact that they’ll someday die. Like cows in a slaughterhouse, they sit on their stools, sloshing cheap beer, eating greasy food, waiting for the inevitable.
Except for her.
We catch each other out of the corner’s of our eyes, neither wanting to tip their hand. I can feel her eyes on me, checking me out, liking what she sees. She should. 2,000 dollar gym fee, personal trainer, mile in the pool and 2 mile jog a day, I’m an Adonis in Gucci.
I turn towards her, entering stage two of the deal. Beautiful brown eyes match the thousand watt smile. She’s wearing a tight black dress, showing off to these stiffs what they will never have because her body, it was made for me. Already my hands are itching to feel her breasts in my palms. To feel that body, legs wrapping around me as I enter her and she screams into my ear.
“Hi.” She smiles at me. She’s accepted my offer and we’ve now entered the bartering period of our exchange. The key is to make them think they have the power, that it’s within their hands to say yes or no. What she doesn’t know yet, is the moment I set my eyes on her, she never had a choice. That’s the key - make them want it, even when they think they don‘t.
“What are you having?”
We banter back and forth. She’s feeling it now. She shifts slightly in her chair, giving me a flash of leg and I’m wondering how late I can be today. Her name’s Donna Something. The particulars aren’t important. Those can always be worked out later. What’s important is the deal. The ‘yes‘. The rush. I can feel my blood boiling. See it in the irises of her eyes, slowly dilating as she feels the rush, the anticipation of the closing of the deal.
The only thing worse than a deal going good, is a deal interrupted. And I’m interrupted. The real reason I’m here. A piece of white trash scum who thinks he’s a bigger shark than he really is. I slide casually off my barstool, give her a parting thousand dollar perfectly capped teeth smile and head towards the bathroom. The particulars aren’t important, just the deal. A couple keys here, a couple thousand there, and I’m richer than when I walked in.
We meet again. I catch her coming out of the bathroom. It all comes back to me. The boil of blood, the pumping of adrenaline. Cars, women, money, drugs, they’re all the same. It‘s the rush I crave. And she’s the perfect remedy for what I’m craving.
“I thought you left.” She says to me, an annoyed tone in her voice. I smile back at her, a shark circling its prey.
“Not before I did this.” My hands find her face and I press my lips against hers. She tastes like martini, only the very opposite of dry. Her mouth is wet and warm. We’re kissing like two virgins on prom night, sloppy and wanting. We push pull each other into the restroom, into a stall. The one with the wall, where I press against her. Her legs opening like a pro at a penis convention. My hands find her breasts, pushing down the thin black straps until she’s in my hands, round and firm, nipples already rock hard. She moans in my mouth. I nibble on her lip, not hard, just enough to show her who’s in charge. Until she‘s whimpering in submission. Get them to want it, even when they don’t.
I free a hand from her breast and trail it down between her legs. If her mouth was a lake, her pussy’s an ocean. No stockings, no panties, just leg and skin and that hotness my body craves. My legs go rubbery for a second as I plunge my fingers inside her. She begins writhing against me like a cat in heat, growling in my mouth, fingers in my hair scraping against my scalp.
“That’s it baby,” I growl into her mouth, “Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me.” She whispers breathless, almost painfully. Like an angel that’s fallen, knowing she shouldn’t but unable to stop.
Her fingers grapple with my 300 dollar belt. Nimble fingers slide the latex onto me. One of those small particulars of the deal I’d rather leave out but it’s too late to barter now. Instead, I lift her by the thighs, jam my hips until I‘m so deep I swear I can feel her tonsils. The blood rushes to my head, a high better than any drug I‘ve sold. She’s tight, virgin tight. Either she doesn’t fuck a lot or the guys she’s been with had small dicks because she’s squeezing around me like a glove several sizes too small. I thrust into her, make her take it. Long, hard, deep, giving her my all, not holding back. I never hold back. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, pulling me into her, holding on for dear life. Her nails scratch across my scalp. We kiss as we fuck, hard, fast and sloppy. She whimpers in my mouth as I grunt in hers.
Donna Whatsherface comes first. I feel her teeth bite into my shoulder. The pressure squeezing around me as she bucks hard in my arms. My jacket and shirt muffling her scream, saving me from having her teeth cleaved into my flesh. I’m close and getting closer, ramming like a jackhammer, taking her for a ride they don’t sell at any amusement park. My head spins, my body spasms, one last grunt, one final push..
And the deal is done.
I hold her a few more moments to catch my breath. We pull away from each other, fixing our clothes. She refuses to make eye contact. The blush on her face deepens, changing from passion to embarrassment. I flush the remaining evidence of our non-verbal tete-a-tete down the toilet.
“I should..” She mumbles nervously. I smile back at her, at the little fish who wrestled with a shark and lived to tell the tale. I place my hand against her cheek, run my thumb across the full lips that feel like heaven and taste like sin, until her beautiful brown eyes are staring into mine.
“Deal’s over, hon. Now beat it before somebody calls the cops.”
I watch her ass as she walks out the stall. Wonder whether I should give her my card and ask her if she has a friend. Women like her? They always have friends.
I check myself in the mirror. Perfect hair. Perfect smile. My name’s Greg Charles Elliot. I’m a stock broker. And I live for the deal.
End
A/N: This is just me attempting to upload all my old fic.