Title: Sleeping Sun
Pairing: Casey/Olivia [Law and Order: SVU]
Warnings: Hot Girl-on-Girl Comfort Sex.
Major spoilers for "Loss (5.4)," "Ghost (6.16)," and "Intoxicated (6.19)," and general canon.
"A moment for the poet's play
Until there's nothing left to say"
- Nightwish, Sleeping Sun
I walked into my apartment and tossed my keys onto the table. My hands were still shaking. I knew I was flushed. I was still burning with rage and shock and humiliation.
I hadn't known about Olivia.
I reviewed the conversation I'd had with Elliot when I'd stopped by the squad to pick up some papers. He'd known. Just like they'd known about Alex being alive. How many secrets did they keep from me? How left out was I, really? I had always considered them friends. Or, maybe, just wanted them to be.
"She had a friend, once," Elliot said.
"Now, she has a partner." He turned his back.
I threw a salad together from a bag in the fridge, and poured a glass of scotch. Good scotch. My father's scotch. I lifted the glass to the light and thought I could give up drinking for her. I'm sure she would appreciate the obsessive, imposing gesture. Elliot was right. Keep it professional. Pretend you're capable of one professional moment in your earnest little life.
This wasn't about me.
But Christ, I hadn't known.
I was half-way done with my salad, my breath reeking of garlic ranch, when a knock came at the door. I moved to open it and there Olivia stood, looking nervous. She started talking before I could open my mouth to invite her in. "I ask you to do things." She shoved her hands into her pockets. "Things I shouldn't. And I don't want you to think--" She faltered.
"Because you believe you're right?" I said.
Olivia laughed derisively and looked down. The tense lines of her cheekbones and her sorrowful eyes moved me as much as they had in the bar, when she'd told me about wanting to kill her mother as calmly as one could, confessing something like that, and I'd freaked out. I prompted, "Because you know I'll do them?"
She lifted her head. "Because I trust you."
"Oh." I stepped back and allowed her inside. Olivia stood in my foyer in her overcoat. I stepped over the lies and secrets between us, closer to her. She half-smiled and accepted my intrusion into her personal space. I touched her side, hesitantly, and she responded by wrapping her arms around my shoulders. I found myself hugging her with my head tucked against her neck. "I'm sorry."
I felt her head move against mine, and then she kissed my temple. Her lips were warm, and softer than I'd imagined. I exhaled, rolling my head back slightly. I felt her next kiss on my cheek, lingering. I felt the wetness on my skin. My face felt swollen. I tried to fight the tears burning my cheeks, but the relief at hoping she was a friend, after all, was too much to contain.
"I've tried not to care about anyone since--"
She kissed my cheek again. I felt her lips tremble. "I'm sorry," she said, in a low murmur that barely reached my ears. "I didn't see what it was doing." She straightened, and I kept my hand cupping her neck, so she couldn't escape. "I forget how innocent you are," she said to me.
I frowned, and opened my mouth to defend the soiled state of my soul, after all, she'd been abused and I was making it all about me, but she dipped her head and kissed me before I could get the words out. So she liked innocent? I could be innocent. I kissed her back, holding her head and lifting myself on my toes to maintain the pressure my lips exerted against her mouth.
She held me tighter. Her body was lean and strong, and I felt a pang of bourgeois shame at the lifestyle difference between district attorney and police officer, special task force or no. She didn't seem to mind my softness, though, and pressed into me. She was still wearing her overcoat, and her hot kisses and the warmth of her body coupled with the heavy layers of cloth between us was almost suffocating. I gasped for air and her tongue entered my mouth, and I decided this would be an okay way to die.
We kissed until my knees gave out and she was holding me up, and she wasn't that strong, so she said, her tongue vibrating in my mouth, "Maybe we should sit."
"I have a bed," I said.
She lifted her head, looking beyond me at the perfectly-made queen size-bed, which was really a box-spring and mattress sitting on the floor. I wasn't a Bed, Bath, and Beyond person, and I hadn't been expecting company.
I stepped back, ignored the pang in my body at the separation from her warmth, and moved toward the bed. She followed, and perched on the edge, looking up at me. I caught her eye. She smiled.
Olivia smiled rarely. The curled lips made her look unsure and vulnerable, breaking the guarded expression she usually wore. I'd only seen her smile at children. But now she trusted me. She'd said it. I realized I'd fallen for her when she'd smiled.
I almost told her.
Instead, I said, "Stay."
She hesitated, and then nodded.
I pulled my blouse free of my skirt and yanked the silk over my head. I heard her intake of breath. She was watching me. I had her complete attention, and she wasn't yelling at me or asking me for something. I could tell she wasn't thinking about anyone else. I turned around, facing away from her. "I need help with my clasp."
It was the coyest thing I'd ever said, and I blushed, glad she couldn't see my face growing hot. Her fingers began to fumble with my bra and I felt her lips against my back. I closed my eyes and forgot all about wondering whether Olivia Benson even liked me. She pushed the straps off my shoulders and her lips followed her hands. She kissed the side of my neck. I arched and made the most enticing sound I could muster, which came out as a strangled squeak.
She responded, her hands roving over my breasts, brushing them lightly and straying to my abdomen so that my nipples tightened and strained but didn't make contact. I gasped, suddenly on fire even though I was barely undressed and she was still wearing that damned overcoat. She growled against my ear, and as her hand finally cupped my breast, securely holding me, I wondered how long it had been since she'd been with a woman.
"Olivia," I begged, because my knees were going weak again and weren't we going to do something about this?
She took my earlobe between her teeth and tugged. Her breath was hot against my ear. I sagged, leaning back. She pivoted, pulling me, until I fell against the bed. I knelt on the comforter. She pulled my shoes off. I looked over my shoulder.
The overcoat fell into a heap on the floor. Olivia stripped off her shirt and pants, and then her underwear. I rolled onto my back and propped myself up on my elbows to look at her. She was so long. My eyes wandered from her hard nipples to lower curls, and lower to her legs. She was long and lean and--
I found her face. Her tone was husky, slightly hoarse, and I realized how aroused she was. For me. The pounding between my legs intensified. I resisted the urge to touch myself for relief and instead reached for her.
She took my wrist and leaned over me to kiss my palm. "Casey, I'm not sure I can wait..."
If she was apologizing for a fast and furious climax, I felt no urge to forgive her. I pulled my hand free and grabbed her shoulder, urging her down. She kissed me and I responded hungrily. I bit into her lower lip. She held her body above mine, bracing herself on one arm while her fingers found the zipper of my skirt. "Skip it," I said against her lips, and she moved her hand to my hem, pushing up the skirt. Her hand slid up my thigh and I tore myself away from her lips, arching my head back and gasping for air. "Olivia."
Her fingers slid across my panties. I was sure she could feel how wet I was even through the silk. One finger found me, stroking my clitoris through the fabric until I thrust my hips, knowing I was shaking. She lowered herself onto me, her arm crushed between us, only her fingers moving, sneaking inside the leg of the panties and touching me, flesh to wet flesh. Her weight felt heavy and wonderful against me. She was kissing my face, and her fingers... God, her fingers...
I convulsed. I shuddered against her, clinging, and finally begging for respite. She lifted herself, the presence of her body not fully leaving, and gazed down at me. Olivia smiled at me. "Did I--?" I interrupted her words by arching up to kiss her. She rolled onto her back, and I fell on top of her and pushed my leg between her thighs.
"Did you?" I grinned. "Let me show you."
I slid down. I took her nipple into my mouth, wanting time to explore her body, but she reminded me of her impatience with her hands in my hair, urging me down. "Later," she said, and I conceded. I kissed her abdomen, pleased when her belly quivered under my lips. When I reached my destination between her legs, I paused, waiting for the universe to intercede, still not quite believing I would get to taste Olivia. The only response was Olivia's fingers gently massaging my scalp, and the scent of her desire reaching my nose. I descended.
* * *
After our first, grasping moment, we'd done mundane things like gotten dressed, had dinner, and talked again about the case troubling her. We'd made love again, more slowly, and she'd fulfilled her promise to let me explore her, though she'd been impatient again by the end. We'd fallen asleep on top of the covers after setting the alarm for 5 A.M. The plea bargain was scheduled for tomorrow.
I woke when Olivia's movements jostled me precariously at the edge of the bed. Olivia was trembling in her sleep. Was she dreaming about her mother? Or her father? Which torment troubled her, I wondered. Rape? Abuse? Violence? My imagination, I was sure, fell short of whatever was going through her head. Maybe she was dreaming about the things people did to children... I touched her shoulder.
She jerked awake. "Alex."
"It's okay." I stroked her arm. "Alex isn't dead."
She cleared her throat, removing the brusqueness from her voice. "Casey."
Olivia rolled onto her back. I smiled down at her, seeing the glint of her eyes in the semi-darkness. She cupped my neck and drew me down. I rubbed my body against hers. She reacted with more precision. Her fingers slid between my legs and she pushed one inside me. I gasped at the penetration. I realized that she'd killed before with those fingers. Would kill again. Her thumb brushed my clitoris. I pressed my lips against her sweaty temple and tried to expel the unwanted fear.
She tilted her head to kiss me gently, and then pulled back. Her fingers left me, stilling against my inner thigh. I saw concern in her expression when I brought myself to look at her.
"Do you think I'm dangerous?" She asked.
"Because I'm a cop?"
"Because I'm damaged?"
I watched her smile.
* * *
The judge approved. The plea bargain was signed. The 15-year-old murderess got a slap on the wrist and a trip to juvenile detention. The defense attorney looked nervously grateful. I'd had a slam-dunk case. I could have destroyed her. If the death penalty was still legal for 15 year old girls, I could have gotten it.
She followed my eyes to the back of the courtroom, where Olivia sat, watching us dispassionately, assured that justice was being done.
Too little, too late.
She nodded at us. The grateful defense attorney offered her hand to me and I shook it, feeling her clammy, damp palm against mine. For Olivia, her expression seemed to say, as she took another meaningful glance in her direction.
Because it was the right thing to do.