DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: SVU and its characters are the property of Dick Wolf and NBC. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written as part of the 31 Aspects meme. Prompt from Tina.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author
I detest these places, with their thumping bass and sweaty bodies, all pressing in to drown out the senses. Hands reaching, touching, and then slipping away to hide behind their anonymity. As if, by walking inside these less-than-hallowed walls, I'd agreed to be debased and placed on display for all to see.
Fighting past a gyrating couple, I try to see into the murky depths of the club; the images that greet me an education and surprise. I'm not naive, I know what goes on between women, and better than most. What I hadn't quite envisioned was it going on in the midst of a public place, only the dimmed lights a barrier to full exposure, the voyeuristic urge drawing crowds of unrepentant heathens to watch the show.
What the hell is Olivia doing here?
I look past the faceless bodies and search out her familiar form. I try to remember what she'd been wearing but, during our earlier conversation, I'd been too caught up in avoiding her cleavage to notice the exact nature of her clothing. A fine detective I'd make.
The music, or whatever it is, changes; and for a moment, the bodies part and I catch my first glimpse of Olivia; blue jeans, black tee and a blonde practically sitting in her lap. The blood roars in my ears and I feel sick.
A couple growls in my direction but I push on by, their displeasure the least of my concerns. As I near, I can clearly make out the hand the blonde is running through my detective's hair, her bright red nails incongruous amidst Olivia's sable locks. The colour too pink to be seductive and the nails, now I could see more closely, bitten rather than filed.
The blonde doesn't raise her head until she realises she's lost Olivia's attention, which makes me doubt she even knows Olivia's name.
The tone and title let me know she's not pleased to see me. The blonde's pout is a less subtle indication of annoyance. Her face is absent of beauty and I can only assume she has a body worthy of interest, or that Olivia is desperate or drunk.
"Can I speak with you?"
The music's loud but I know she can hear me. The blonde definitely heard; her hands tighten around Olivia's neck and I can see her whispering into a disinterested ear. She doesn't know it yet, but I've already won her would-be lover's attention.
It takes some persuasion, but Olivia manages to disentangle herself from the woman, the lingering touch of those red-blunted claws brings a sour taste to my mouth.
"I'm off the clock, Alex: this had better be good."
She looks good. She looked good this morning but, somehow, being here adds a touch of wild abandon to her countenance. Her eyes look darker, a touch of danger lingering in their depths. I feel the breath catch in my throat.
"Elliot told me where you'd be."
He'd forced a piece of paper into my hand and practically shoved me out of the squad room. His big hands were oddly gentle as he'd patted my arm and urged me to 'stop being a damn coward'.
Olivia was getting annoyed, I could tell by the way her chest heaved and my eyes lost focus. Her little blonde must have the same Olivia-sense that I do because she's off her chair and hanging onto Olivia's arm before I even have a chance to answer.
They both look at me in shock but I don't have time to play nice.
"I said, sit down!"
I push against the blonde's shoulder, her stupid pink face suffused with outrage as she tumbles back into the chair. A spluttered oath assaults my ears but I ignore it. The few people who turn our way soon turn back: our little squabble hardly compares to the other delights on display. I haven't even drawn blood. Yet.
I've never seen Olivia look quite this confused.
I had a long speech prepared, full of dazzling argument and irrefutable evidence, without giving away any secrets that she could use against me. A coward's speech. The lawyer's tool to get what she wants without risk. I look at her, at this place and this woman at her side, and I realise that a coward will never fit into Olivia's life. I will never fit into her life unless I'm willing to take risks.
Her mouth is an inferno: hot, hungry and devouring without thought, my kiss returned before she even knows she's being kissed. It's not at all what I imagined. Realisation descends and, suddenly, she's pulling away, searching my face for a sign or reason. If I thought she was confused before, she's totally lost now.
I can see my name forming on her lips but I don't wait for the pointless question.
"I'm taking you home."
Stubborn pride, thick and unwieldy, colours her cheeks.
"I am taking you home."
I can see the fight in her eyes but I know mine are answering fire with fire, both of us waging a war that was won months ago.
It's during moments like this that I understand all those dumb blonde jokes. Can't she see we're in the middle of something important? Didn't my tongue down Olivia's throat clue her in to the way this evening is going to progress? I suppose I should feel sorry for her; in ten minutes, she'll be all alone and I'll be divesting Olivia of her clothes - but I don't.
"We're leaving," I tell the blonde.
Olivia's confusion has given way to embarrassment and I can see she is about to try and placate the woman. I don't have time for niceties. I grab Olivia by the wrist and pull her toward the dance floor, the blonde hot on our trail, and a swath of revellers in my way.
An elbow here and a 'move it' there and I'm standing next to the entrance, my hand still firmly attached to Olivia's wrist but without a blonde fool hanging on her coattails. As I try to leave it's Olivia who stops me, her stance firm and eyes unreadable.
I can feel my heart tripping over itself in an effort to outrun the rejection that is about to descend.
"My place. Not yours."
I don't have time to answer or smile or breathe before she's dragging me out of the club and towards her place. God, I love it when she's butch.
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