DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and its characters are the property of NBC and Dick Wolf.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This one's dedicated to imp, who reminded me that Alex shouldn't always be such a girly-girl and submissive in bed just because I am and it's easy for me to write that way. I know it seems like she is at the start, but keep reading. The tables turn! This is NOT part of the Magnetic Resistance universe.
SPOILERS: None. Slightly AU, Alex is still ADA for the 1-6. Warning for stream-of-consciousness techniques and first person POV. Hope you enjoy anyway.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To raedmagdon[at]yahoo.com
By Rae D. Magdon
I can't believe she has reduced me to this.
This shivering, trembling mess of need and desperation.
She is having me over the desk now one of her favorite ways, and because she likes it, I like it even more. Really, I don't know what she feels about our arrangement one way or the other. Those brown eyes never tell.
I so want to believe that she is doing this because she wants me, loves me, needs me like I want, love, and need her, but I am no woman's fool. It is just as likely that she is doing this as a joke or some kind of sick power trip. The frightening thing is that I let her.
She's using three fingers, and even though her hands are relatively small, it's enough to create a burning, stinging stretch that would be painful with anyone else, but knowing she is the cause, I take it and enjoy it. Plead for it by rocking my hips back against her hand.
And then her lips are on my neck and she is whispering against the shell of my ear. "Don't come until I give you permission."
She doesn't need to say it. I know the rules. I know what she demands from me, and because she is the one demanding it, I can't help but love it. No request ever seems like too much while she is inside of me. Her fingers curl, stroking my inner walls, and I cannot swallow back a whimper. My heart is racing like a captured bird's and I have no control over my body.
It isn't gentle.
Her touch drives me crazy. She drives me crazy. I love her. I can't tell if she is doing this because she hates me or because she loves me, too. Maybe both. I have no idea.
Before her, lovers left me cold. It has been a while, but I pleased them, the various men and women that were granted temporary access to my body. Pleasured them with great skill and almost clinical efficiency. Made them lose control over and over and remained completely unmoved. I never burned for them, and they knew it and hated me for it. I felt nothing. Now, I am the one that has no control. I am the helpless one, spread and exposed while my cheek is pressed against the wooden surface of my desk and my damp hair is clinging to my face and throat. If there is a God, He is surely laughing at me.
She kisses my neck again, exactly the way I like it.
Maybe she does this to prove a point. To humiliate me. To watch me writhe against her hand and cry out for her, reveling in her conquest of the cold, unattainable Alexandra Cabot. Maybe it pleases her to know that I would do anything, anything she asked. Maybe she turns my vulnerability in to some kind of sick joke. For all I know, she gives the details to her partner and they share a good laugh over me, at her ability to put me in my place.
"Is this what you need?"
Damn her. She knows this is what I need. She is only asking because she knows how embarrassed it makes me to tell her... and the more I hate it, the more I want it, and the more she enjoys me.
"No." I always say no at first. I never mean it.
Again. "Is this what you need?" Fingers sliding up and down, in and out.
Sometimes I can hold out for several minutes, clinging to some semblance of control. Sometimes it's over in seconds. This time, it doesn't take long. "Yes," I gasp instead.
"Are you mine?" she purrs, pressing a kiss behind my ear.
A sharp, hard thrust that makes me wince, stretching tender muscles to the point of soreness and pain. "Are you mine?"
Always... Only yours. "Yes." I wonder if she has figured out that 'yes' means 'I love you' yet. I wonder if she would care.
A soft, gentle bite behind my ear. I love her teeth, her mouth on me. Anything she gives me. "Do I own you?" The pad of her thumb finds me, swollen and waiting for her, the spot she has purposely avoided because she likes watching me suffer.
I can't even say no this time. "Yes." My mouth is dry, lips swollen, makeup kissed away. I am not allowed to kiss her back when she kisses me. Like the sex, I greedily take whatever she decides to give, even when it is not enough, never enough...
"Now. Come for me now."
I scream her name, always her name, all four syllables of it burning in my mouth, letting her know that my body, my orgasm, and my heart are hers. It is terrifying, not owning your own soul anymore.
For a while, she stays inside of me, removing one finger at a time, stroking my thighs with her other hand to ease me back down. It is almost tender, what she does for me after we fuck, make love, whatever this disaster should be called.
But she doesn't kiss me.
Instead, she offers me her hand, which I clean with my mouth. Pleasant, but just another way of dominating me. For once, my own taste is bitter and unfamiliar on my tongue, but I realize that I can taste my own shame and despair, and it was there long before Olivia entered the room.
I hate this.
I hate her.
It's unfortunate inconvenient that I love her as well.
Things would be so much simpler...
I am so tired. Tired of this unequal game. Belonging to someone is an empty pleasure unless they belong to you as well. I have never touched her. Never seen her beautiful body unclothed. Never made her writhe or scream for me. And I want those things. I need those things.
It is late, but I refuse to leave my office, the place where I feel most connected to her even when she is not there. My home is my refuge. She has never been there. But this office is filled with ghosts of Olivia. For a moment, I consider going to the squad room, but she might be there and I am not sure if I can bear seeing her. I remember the low, melodic line of her voice. Mesmerizing, but not suspicious to anyone but me...
The door opens. She never knocks. It drives me crazy, but I never say anything.
"Working late this evening, huh, Counselor? I think you have something for me?"
I blink, confused. Something for her? I am wet for her, but that can't possibly be what she means. I wonder if she knows. I wonder if she knows, and is gloating inwardly...
"The paperwork on Long?" she prompts. I clench my teeth and say yes.
How can she continue to stare at me with those brown eyes, hands resting casually in the pockets of her slacks, mere hours after she's had me, addressing me as though nothing has ever happened between us?
I am furious. This is it, Olivia, I think. I can't take one more second of...
And then I am standing up from my desk and I am grabbing her by the lapels of her jacket and I am kissing her kissing her kissing her and it is blissful and perfect and
"I'll be damned if I keep letting you fuck with my head, Olivia Benson." Her name is not a plea this time. I refuse to beg like a dog for her anymore. My heart is pounding. My skin burns. I am reborn.
She is speechless. Completely speechless with her lips under my lips. Somehow, I am talking anyway. "I've let you take what you want because I love you, but that ends now. You've ruined me..."
I do not even realize that I have told her I love her, I am so intent on the feel of her body pressed against mine. We are against the window, and I know that the blinds must be uncomfortable, digging in to her back, but I don't care. Maybe I want it to hurt a little. Maybe it's her turn to feel some of the things I have felt while she used me over and over again for God knows what reasons.
"Now I'm going to ruin you."
At first, I am able to remain cold and detached as I strip her, throwing her jacket onto the floor, tugging her pullover over her head and mussing her hair. She smells like leather and warmth and Olivia and, oh I want. I do not know if I want to kill her or kiss her. If I killed her, I would probably get away with it. There is a reason that I am one of Manhattan's best prosecutors. But I would much rather kiss her. Maybe if I keep kissing her, I can consume a part of her, steal it to keep for myself as she has stolen a part of me. I want that part of me back and I don't. I am not sure of anything anymore.
My thigh shoves between hers, riding up, pushing into her as I reach behind her, not caring that the wall scrapes the back of my hands as I struggle to undo the clasp of her bra. I scream inside my head with frustration until I realize that it is a front clasp and finally release her that way...
Her torso swells with air as the bra falls away, revealing the loveliest pair of breasts I have ever seen. Soft curves, proud brown nipples straining to stiff peaks because of the air-conditioning or me I hope me...
Suddenly, she realizes that I have begun undressing her. Her brown eyes clear, the thin film of cloudy lust disappearing from around her irises, replaced with hot, burning anger. "No," she says. She covers her breasts, not shyly, but defensively. "No."
"Yes." I do not care if I have to hiss or shout or scream, I will have this woman and I will make her mine to reclaim what she has taken from me. I have said no before, but I meant yes, and she knew it. This time, I have no idea what she means, but I am praying that her 'No' also means 'Yes'.
So far, she has not done anything to stop me besides pushing me away. There is a gun and a set of handcuffs at her belt. She has police training and about twenty pounds on me, even though I'm two inches taller. If she really did not want this, she could stop me.
I ignore her, threading my fingers through her hair, bruising her lips with mine, exploring her mouth with her tongue. She whimpers, sags, sighs under me as I squeeze her breasts, my inner muscles clenching with desire as I feel those hard little points against the center of both palms.
Slowly, deliberately, I unbuckle her belt. She glares at me. Defiant. Challenging. Oh, my Olivia... Oh, love.
"Why?" the question is soft, almost helpless as I thread the belt through the loops of her jeans. I wonder why she is even wearing jeans at work, but dismiss it. Suddenly, I am struck with the urge to mark her. Maybe that will answer her question. I undo the snap and pull down the zipper, the sound echoing even in the dead, still silence of my carpeted office where no sounds should carry. Meanwhile, I think about where to mark her.
Her cheekbone. The tender, thin skin right over the high point of her face. Right there.
I lean forward, my breath mingling with hers, fingers shoving their way into her jeans as I kiss around her lips, building it up. My hip presses against the gun at her belt, and for some reason, that arouses me even more. Her gun and badge and stance... her job... it is all Olivia. The Olivia I am going to claim because she should be mine as I am hers. It is only fair, after all.
She gasps, shudders as my teeth pull hard at the skin of her cheekbone, leaving indents, and then a red mark. A quick nip-and-tug of teeth and tongue. I am ashamed and excited to feel another gush of wetness underneath my skirt as I realize that she will be forced to remember me for days, maybe even a week. A pretty little mark, even with the bridge of her nose, somewhere beneath her eye. But I want more of her. More. Always more.
"And this time, I own you," I whisper against her cheek, kissing the shell of one delicate ear. My fingers tease the elastic of her underwear and slide beneath, gliding through more wetness than I ever imagined... Oh God, for me. That's for me.
"Alex... Alex..." My name. She is panting my name. She almost collapses to the floor, a helpless doll in my arms. Heaven help me. I know that, if I asked, she would let me have her. Fuck her right against the window, probably even if I opened the blinds first.
Now, I am sure. Now, I know that none of this was a joke to her. None of this was about hurting me. She was reaching out, touching me in the only way she knew how... and now that I finally have the power I have been craving, I make a decision.
I decide to give some of it back.
"I love you," murmured over and over into the tanned skin of her neck. Biting down, leaving another mark. "I love you." Pulling her into my arms, kissing her hair. "I love you."
I'm yours. You're mine. Can't we belong to each other?
Our first real kiss is perfect. She is not kissing me and taking me, and I am not taking her and kissing her. We are kissing each other, and it is gentle and beautiful and soft and wet and warm and everything I ever wanted and please, please, oh God please don't let this moment end, because I think I might die...
My hand is still trapped between quivering thighs. Fingers covered in Olivia. Gently, I find the hard point of her and stroke, pinch, flick, closing my eyes and kissing her, never wanting to stop.
Somehow, both of us fall onto the floor. She is spread over top of her discarded leather jacket, jeans balled at her ankles, staring up at me with a helplessness that steals the breath from me. "Oh, love..."
Slowly, we pull apart and stare into each other's eyes. When she says, "make love to me," I feel like I really will die. Both of us are crying, pressing tear-salted kisses over each other's faces and lips. Tenderly, she undresses me, leaving me as naked as her, but for once, I do not feel ashamed or exposed. I feel beautiful and clean and whole. Myself, but more. More. Us. There is an awareness of Us.
And then I am inside her and she is inside me and we are moving slowly, gently, against each other, meeting in some other realm of being where We are Us and there is no more Olivia hurting Alex or Alex hating Olivia.
"I love you."
I am not the only one voicing those words. Olivia is, too, the Olivia who is a part of me. As I am a part of her. As we are of each other. Hearing those words tumble from well-kissed lips and vibrate against the column of my throat, which she is suckling at, makes my entire body shiver.
In some moments, it is frantic and desperate. We are consuming each other as though we will never have another chance, right here on my office floor. In other moments, it is slow and tender and sweet, leaving us keening for more, lost in each other. A collage of moments and images and colors and pictures and tastes and smells and all of it is imbued with Olivia, and I know that she has been stitched into my heart forever. Forever-mine.
And then we explode in quivering, bursting points of light, flying together and falling, falling, falling... catching each other. Warm. In her arms. Safe. This is the first time that I have felt safe while releasing. She has not stolen something from me, she has given. And she allowed me to give back.
"You came for me," I say in breathless wonder when words return, awkwardly, to my mouth, which is somehow dry and wet at the same time and numb from kisses and love-words.
"Didn't you know? I am yours."
Our eyes say the same things. I'm sorry, and I love you, and I need you so please please please don't ever hurt me, because I just can't - ...
"There are stars in your eyes," I say, kissing her nose, amazed and thrilled that I am allowed to hold her, kiss her, touch her, claim her. I am still inside of her and I never want to leave the warmth that is my Olivia.
"There is hurt in yours. I caused it, so now I want to take it away."
Well, I say inside of my head, but I feel that she hears me, you have the rest of our lives to do that, now.
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