DISCLAIMER: The characters contained herein are not my intellectual property. They belong to Dick Wolf, NBC and other people that I don't associate with. If they were mine, Alex would still be on the show and things would be slightly different. This is for fun…read - me mucking about for some entertainment in another person's sandbox, not for money.
SPOILERS: Nothing major in terms of spoilers, time line wise it takes place post season 10, but that's about it. This is also a response to challenge by KC on SFC# 24 – that had to meet the following criteria – "Must include; a first impression, a bad pun and a discussion on the social confines of society. Must include at least ONE of the following: Munch getting laid, Fin giving relationship advice to Cragen, or Elliot being kissed unexpectantly by a male suspect." I think that I met the criteria and I really did try to fit in a kiss with a male suspect, but Damnit it felt forced so I yanked the scene…sorry, I tried. Thank you to my long suffering beta, the poor bastard has to put up with my awful spelling, bless you Dirk! Lastly, read and enjoy.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

I'll Be Your Disguise
By Whedonist


Ch. 1 – Deflection

Glancing over at the display on my phone a smile grows as I pick up the device and read the screen. A quick check on El, who happens to be smirking in my direction, and I press a few buttons unlocking the screen to read the text message.

"Tonight?" is all it reads.

Doing some mental math, I figure that I may be able to get out of here before nine tonight.

"Sure, same place?" I type back and hit send.

"Of course. Do you know what I'm going to do to you tonight?" the reply comes back a few seconds later.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" I smirk, 'cause if it's anything like our Sunday rendezvous…walking right tomorrow may be a problem.

"Haha," the new message reads. "I've been thinking about it all day…"

My eyebrows rise as I lean back in my slightly uncomfortable chair and try to resist taking this conversation to where it seems to be headed. Which is straight for the gutter.

Screw it.

"What have you been thinking about?" I send.

It takes a moment for the display to light up again, but as soon as it does, I grab for it and read, "My face buried between your thighs, fucking you with my mouth. Making sure that we're clear on who is between your thighs and making you scream." My eyes bulge and I swallow, hard.

Well, that was uhm, I try to find something to say to that, but the images it provides leave my mouth gummy and parched. It's easy to see, me gripping the headboard for dear life rocking with the body beneath me.

Heat rises to my cheeks and I duck behind a curtain of hair and type out a response, "It takes a lot to get me to scream. You sure you're up to the challenge?" I'm not sure if egging this conversation on is good or not, if only for the sake of the new underwear I'm wearing and my mood for the rest of the day.

I'd feel bad about subjecting the rest of the squad to it.

"Oh, I'm up *wiggles eyebrows* for it. I fully intend to have you hoarse and spent before the day's end." I lick my lips as I read the message and the one that comes shortly after may have short circuited something in my brain, "Burying myself inside you as your legs wrap around my waist. Marking you. Making you mine, again and again. I'd do that on your desk, if I could. Right there where everyone could see. Letting them know you're taken."

Sucking in a breath, I set the phone down with a shaky hand. That's just evil. Images like that should not come to me in the middle of a work day when I'm working on three different rape cases. Having sex on my desk in the sex crimes unit is just…well it's wrong. I shake my head and look up at the shadow that's fallen over my desk.

Fin and Munch lean casually at either side of our desks and look between Elliot and I. "Liv," Fin says.

I offer him a half smile and parrot back, "Fin."

His arms fold across his chest, stretching the dark blue silk button down he's wearing. The gold chain around his neck tightens as the cross on the bottom is trapped under his bulging forearms. What are Frick and Frack up to?

"Can I help you two with something?" I blink up at them, head cocked to the side.

"Olivia," Munch starts out, "My partner and I were just sitting there, minding our business and we couldn't help notice you sitting here all blushes and giggles." Munch's hand waves between me and my phone.

"Yeah, you got the silly ass, puppy love grin thing goin' on. I'm wonderin' why," Fin butts in, amusement making his eyes twinkle in the harsh florescent light the department likes to subject us to.

I'm about to reply when my phone lights up. Rolling my eyes I snatch it off my desk and read, "Cat got your tongue, gorgeous?"

Smart ass.

"See, Fin, I'm telling you she's got the same look now as she does when Cabot comes in the room," John says, causing me to shift in my seat.


"Help!" I type back and toss the phone in my drawer.

Flipping Munch off, I say, "What is it with boys?"

We look up as a soft vibration courses through my desk from Elliot's. Not the first time it's happened today, but it's the first time with John and Munch around. The three of us look at the smile spreading across my partners face and I laugh.

He's such a goofball sometimes.

Fin looks between me and my partner and his eyebrows rise in suspicion. I watch El type a response and then catch his eye as he looks up.

"What's up?" he asks to no one in particular.

John takes up the question, "Well, Odafin and I were discussing Olivia's flushed state from a few minutes ago, thinking that perhaps my wildest fantasies had come true and she was smitten with our long lost A.D.A. But that was before you got an equally silly grin on your face from the text message you just received."

As if on cue, my phone lights up and I snatch it off the desk, reading quickly, "Help's on the way."

"Yeah, and lets also add in the fact that you received said text message right after Liv got done sending one and now this." Fin's eyes narrow as he waits on an answer.

"Really?" I say. "Is this what my tax dollars are going towards? You two with nothing better to do than base the nature of a few text messages between consenting adults on conjecture and speculation?"

"Hey now," Elliot grunts across from me, "Leave Liv alone."

I scowl in his direction and he shrugs.


"Whoever my partner decided to…exchange text messages with is no one's business but her and her texting buddy," Elliot waggles his eyebrows at the three of us and I shake my head.

"Who's Olivia exchanging text messages with?" the voice asks from the doorway.

All of us turn our attention to the ever prim and well put together Alex Cabot propped against the frame of the door. Her blue eyes are clear and bright behind her black framed glasses and her mouth is turned up in the slightest hint of a smirk.

"Counselor!" Munch booms.

"Hey, Cabot, can you get us Liv's phone records?" Fin asks.

Our A.D.A. steps into the bullpen and supporting herself against my desk, raises a sculpted eyebrow. She looks between the four of us. Her gaze finally settles on me and silently asks for an explanation.

"The boys are letting their imaginations runaway with them," I offer by way of explanation. "And, no," I huff; smacking Fin with the nearest file folder I have on the hip, "she will not be getting my phone records for you to gossip over."

"Besides," Alex says, the smile creeping up her face, "I'm sure we'd only find calls to anyone of us and all the best take-out Manhattan has to offer."

"Oh, so now we're assuming that I can't cook and all I do is work?" I'd like to think my question didn't come out pouty, but the look Elliot gives me lets me know otherwise.


"It's not an assumption," Fin says, "It's the truth. We know it. You know it. Don knows it."

"They're right," Alex looks down at me, "Besides pissing me off the first time we met, the impression was that you lived for your job…" she trails off and then looks between the three men now gathered around my desk and picks back up, "Of course, while I've adjusted the opinion of you as a raving bitch, I can say that all of us live for our jobs."

"Isn't that just a little bit stereotypical?" El asks from his position next to John on my left.

"There's a reason some stereotypes are true Elliot," John answers.

Fin rolls his eyes then looks pointedly at his partner, "So then we can just call your skinny Jewish ass a miser and be done with it?"

Munch's lips purse, but he turns his version of wit to my partner and says, "Or Elliot we can rename you Gomer Pyle and make a dunce cap out of some paper, Jarhead."

"But Cabot's far from a slimy lawyer," I say looking up at her.

"Yeah, but you remember her nickname from way back," Fin says, bumping his shoulder with our friend.

"You mean the Ice Queen moniker that those wanting to take the fifth and not self incriminate bestowed upon me once upon a time?" She glares at each of us and I slink down in my seat just a little. In fact all of us seem to shrink under the gaze. At least that much hasn't changed. "And please, if we can, I would like to resurrect the bitch so the junior A.D.A.'s will not ask me such inane questions."

Her face splits into a grin and we all laugh.

"We'll see what we can do to help out Alex," Elliot promises.

Smirking Fin asks, "Speakin' of stereotypes, should we just get 'Liv the membership to GLAAD now or not?"

I scowl at him and Elliot says, "Weren't you just sayin' something about," and waves a hand between the two of us.

"We were indeed El. But let's be honest, the leather, the gun, the walk and the fact that she can probably kick anyone of our asses…" John sends me an apologetic look and shrugs. "Unfortunately, Liv, it's enticing to many a women and those of us men who don't mind being emasculated by strong women."

Rolling my eyes, I hear Alex sigh, "It's true. All of us are sort of stuck in boxes with labels due to the nature of society and its confines." She winks at me while she says, "It doesn't mean we have to like it nor should we contribute to false assumptions."

"Does that mean you don't want us to start referring to you as the Ice Queen or some such variation that will strike fear in the hearts of those down at the D.A.'s office?" I ask, smirking.

She shakes her head and lays her hand on my shoulder, squeezing as she says, "Olivia, there are some stereotypes that would be criminal to dissolve."

Everyone laughs and I duck my head, grab my phone and stand up. "Good. But what I really want to know Cabot is if you got that warrant we asked for?"

She reaches down and hands me the folded pieces of blue and white paper tucked into the side of her bag. "Go. I think some of us have work to do."

I look over at Elliot and he's tugging on his jacket.

Grabbing mine, I say over my shoulder heading for the exit, "Thanks, we'll be back in a few with another sleaze bag for you to intimidate." I hear a round of 'see ya's' before I feel a large meaty hand cover my right ass cheek and give it a solid squeeze.

Glaring, my vision snaps to Elliot who's wearing the biggest grin I've seen him sport in ages. Asshole.


Ch. 2 – Remove the Veil

Standing behind the two-way mirror my arms fold across my chest, I watch Elliot and Olivia inside the box working their suspect over. Watching them reminds me of the first time I ever saw a suspect interrogated. It was my third day at the D.A.'s office and the two detectives were not nearly as skilled as Olivia and Elliot are. The case details are vague, but the detectives, Jordan Domingues and Chris Fleck, were a bear to work with. Between their inability to fill out paperwork correctly and then the fact no one warned me Chris shouldn't be put on a witness stand, under any circumstances, I came to S.V.U. with a larger stick up my ass than usual.

But watching El and Liv work over Philip Barnhart I know that if he doesn't crack soon, he'll lawyer up and then I have to deal with an idiotic defense attorney.

I study the man sitting between Liv and El. Early forties, a warm expressive face, sandy brown hair, cut in a shaggy style, a full bottom lip, patrician nose and no facial hair. His body is trim, compact and muscular. His height and weight fit with the assailant's physicality that Warner gave in her report. What causes me pause are his hands.

They're delicate.

No markings. They're classic look of what most people think of as 'soft' hands. The killer was brutal in their attack, using their fists to pummel the two victims lying in the morgue.

Barnhart's hands have no cuts or markings. The knuckles are not swollen nor is the skin broken or bruised. Even though the perp used leather gloves to cover his hands, there should be bruising. Shaking my head, I tune back into Elliot laying into the man sitting next to him.

El sits on Barnhart's left, Olivia on his right. They have photos of the victims spread out on the table and Barnhart's eyes are anywhere but on that table top. "Liv," Elliot starts, "You know what gets me?" He doesn't wait on a reply and continues, "I just don't get it."

"How so?" Olivia asks from her reclined position.

"Two guys beat to death and the only thing we have tying them together are orientation and both of 'em had stashed in their pocket a business card with nothing more than a phone number on it." El claps a hand to Phil's shoulder and squeezes. "Oh, and the fingerprints on the card. Those Phil belong to you."

The man flinches and Olivia says, "Phil, you maintain your innocence, but right now, everything that we have points to you. The card, the witnesses and the fingerprints." She leans forward and catches his gaze. "Why'd you do it?"

Olivia and Elliot exchange glances then she deflates a little, leans back in her seat, watching as Barnhart rolls his eyes and sighs. Elliot whispers in his ear, but I can't make out what he's said. The suspect licks his lips and barely shakes his head. He's coming to some decision, but I can't figure out what it is.

It's then that Barnhart smiles and says as evenly as possible, "I understand that you are doing your job, but I'm not homophobic, detectives. I'm in the closet. If it got out, my career would be ruined."

Olivia is the first to recover as she asks, "You trade stock for Abbassi and Sadehi. How would that ruin your career?"

"My boss is very homophobic. I make good money and I'm not willing to lose my job to be out at work. I play by the rules. I get paid well. I'm discrete." His eyes dart to Elliot who is sitting back in his chair, arms folded across his broad chest.

"Jackson and," he falters trying to think of the other name, "Long Island boy…"

"Steve," Olivia supply's.

"Yeah, Steve, they were just hook ups. I gave them the cards because they were fun for the evening and left an open invite after I left the club." Phil licks his lips and his eyes finally drop to the two photos in front of him, morgue shots of the two victims. His jaw clenches and his face sours. "If I knew, I would tell you guys."

Shaking his head, he slumps further in his chair and wipes his face with his hand.

"The only thing I can think of is that whoever killed them, followed them after our liaisons," Philip finishes, deflating a little.

The detectives exchange a series of looks, conversations in ticks of muscle and tissue that I'll never be privy to. As trite as it may seem their tag team effort is a dance in subtle hand gestures, eye contact and non verbal cues that would leave most confused.  It's a language and rhythm all their own that they have developed working together.

I don't pay attention to what they're saying anymore, none of it as important as the subtext being played out.  A conclusion is reached and Elliot nods.

"Let's say we believe you. We're still going to need to verify some of the information you've given us," Elliot says and then swipes at his mouth. Olivia gets up and comes through the door of the box and through the observation room I'm in. She doesn't leave me alone, but her head disappears around the frame of the door. A uniform follows her head back inside and I watch as they escort Barnhart out and back to the holding cell.

The two detectives gather with me in the observation room, my only response to the silence is a raised eyebrow in Elliot's direction. He blushes and hangs his head.

"Sleaze ball," he spits, "Why'd I have to touch him?"

"Because you forgot my coffee this morning," Olivia says, smiling sweetly.

"It wouldn't have been so bad if we had brought him in before his pants were down around his ankles." Elliot's face pinches in disgust and the visual from how they described finding him, in the back alley on his lunch break getting a blow job. "I need to go wash up."

"If you want there's some antiseptic wipes in my drawer," Olivia says her tone light and teasing.

Elliot promptly tosses a balled up napkin from his pocket at his partner and readies to leave. His hands on the knob of the door when I clear my throat to garner his attention.

Smirking, I say, "Be sure to use lots of soap. And Elliot, make sure those hands keep to themselves around things that belong to me."

His face reddens further, so much so that the tips of his ears are the color of Santa Clause's suit. He scurries from the room, leaving Olivia alone with me.

Finally, my gaze turns to her and I lean against the glass of the mirror.

"What do you think of our suspect?" she asks mirroring my position a few inches in front of me.

That's really what she wants to talk about? Quickly, I shift gears and shrug. "I think that there's a lot of circumstantial evidence that points in his direction. I don't think he did it."

Her mouth pinches and bunches to the side in thought. Slowly, she nods and sighs. "Me neither."

Smirking, she inches closer to me, the warmth coming from her body more apparent. Her mouth so close to mine I feel her breath come in warm puffs to slide across my skin. Not bothering to care about our location, I close the gap and press my lips against hers. Pushing off the glass, one hand snakes around her waist to bring our bodies flush while the other wraps itself in the hair at the nape of her neck.

Olivia's the first to deepen the kiss as her tongue slides against mine. I hum in approval as her hands slip down my back and over my ass. I lose my sense of place and take refuge in her arms for a few moments, letting the feel of her around me weave together some of my frayed nerves. Gently, she pulls away and nips at my swollen lips.

"Your property, huh?" she teases.

I look her in the eyes; they're dark and the warmest shades of brown. She meets my gaze unflinching. Unable to resist, I kiss the corner of her mouth then firmly nod and say, "I asked him to help you, not grope you."

"Hmmm," she hums as her hands continue to wander over my back and hips.

"Besides," I say nipping at her bottom lip, "I've claimed these," I say kissing her lips, "this," and press a kiss to the tip of her nose. I travel north and lay one kiss on each closed eyelid, "these and…" I trail off, drop to my knees, press my nose against her pubic bone and kiss the fabric covered body part. "This and everything between these beautiful thighs." I gently push my hand between her legs and press into her.

My action causes her knees to weaken and I smirk. "So," she husks from above me as I work the buckle of her belt open, "You're claim is that I'm yours because possession is nine-tenths of the law?"

"Uh-huh" I answer as I snap open her pants and undo her zipper. The green silk underwear she put on this morning stare back at me. Working her pants down around her thighs, I use my teeth and hands to pull her underwear down, exposing her mound. Nuzzling her hair, I hear the sharp intake of breath, as I'm assaulted with her scent. Licking my lips in anticipation, I lay a kiss against heated skin and another on her hip bone.

"We're gonna get caught," she manages through clenched teeth.

My nose brushes against her hair as I shake my head. "Elliot locked the door on his way out," is all I say before I press her against the wall, spread her thighs and push my tongue into her folds. She removes my glasses that are pressing into her and then wraps her free hand in my hair. She pushes my face further between her legs and I willingly oblige. The last thought I have before being completely surrounded by my lover is of my stockings, I hope they make it out of this room, somewhat intact.

Part 3

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