whedonist

Fandom: Law & Order S.V.U.

Pairing: Alex/Olivia

Rating: PG-13 to R (depends on the chapter)

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. While this has been beta’d, we’re not perfect and I accept full responsibility for all mistakes.

A/N: 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 a challenge by KC on SFC# 24 over at Ralst– 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.

Summary: Elliot, Olivia & Alex mess with the rest of the units head and Elliot, poor Elliot, pisses Alex and Olivia off in the process.

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.

Ch. 3 - Until You Get It Right