Rafael drew his tongue slowly up Olivia's inner thigh, watching her eyes shutter in pleasure as he did so. He slid his hands up the outsides of her legs, drawing them further apart, loving the view he was getting. She was so wet for him already. Her legs were long, so long, and she wrapped them around his back and held on. He bent his head to kiss her clit, laving and sucking the way he knew she liked. She was always so responsive, so vocal—even now she was chanting his name.

"Barba, Barba, Barba... Rafael."

The last was accompanied with a light but firm kick.

Rafael jolted awake, scattering papers all over Benson's office floor as he sat up.


Olivia hid her grin as her ADA glanced jerkily around her office, clearly trying to ascertain his surroundings. She felt marginally bad about waking him up, when they both probably needed several good nights' sleeps, but they had work to do.

And she had a pressing question to ask him.

"Good dream?"

Barba's eyes snapped to hers, round and shaken. He ran his hands through his hair and jostled his shoulders, still lost in that hazy area between deep sleep and wakefulness. He was—although he'd kill her to hear her say it—adorable. And rumpled.

Delicious.

She smiled at him, casually leaning back in her chair. She doubted he knew whether or not she'd spoken out loud, or if he'd still been dreaming. So she asked again.


"Good dream, Barba?"

His cock, which had so recently been begging for release, only to be promptly flustered and deflated by the manner of his awakening, stiffened right back to attention at the husky tone of her voice. He swallowed, hard, and didn't answer. Instead he looked down and registered the mess of papers on his lap, the sofa, and the floor.

The work for tomorrow's case had led him to her office, and their—alright, his—unflagging diligence had led to exhaustion and his falling asleep at the hour of...checking his watch, he saw that it was past one in the morning. He sometimes drifted off when he was up late prepping for a case, but typically he was alone in his office.

And typically he didn't come this close to a very happy ending of a dream...

Clearing his throat and still refusing to make eye contact, he sank to the floor and began gathering up his papers. Olivia—no, Sergeant Benson—came around the desk and knelt to help him. Off-kilter as he was from his dream, her scent and her nearness wreaked such havoc on his system that he almost jumped up and ran from the room.

Almost.

But he wasn't a coward, so he stayed put. They finished picking up his papers and Benson handed them back to him. And it had to be his imagination, but did her hand linger against his for the tiniest moment? Briefly he raised his eyes to scan her face, then dropped them again. He saw nothing but faint amusement.

Benson stood and backed towards her desk. "It sounded good," she prodded.

Rafael frowned and focused his attention on sorting the sheaves of paper. He shook his head ever so slightly, hoping she would just let it go already. He did not need her to find out what he'd been dreaming of...

He pretended to look completely absorbed in his task. But she leant back against her desk and pinned him with her gaze—he could feel her eyes boring into him.

"You said my name," she prompted.

His heart stopped, then thundered into overdrive. "I don't think so," he said, proud of how calm his voice sounded. Cool. Unaffected. Absorbed in his work...

"You did." Olivia crossed her arms, drawing his gaze to her chest before he knew what he was doing. He forced his eyes up and bravely kept them on her face this time. She was smiling that victorious smile that he only rarely saw on her. And which he found completely irresistible. He was about to deny it, again, when she closed her eyes and insisted, "You did. You said, 'Ooooooh-livia'. Just like that." Her big brown eyes opened again, drawing him into their depths as they always did.

God. He was sunk. He probably had moaned her name out loud—it would hardly be surprising given the activities of his fantasy. And watching her mimic him—well, that was its own form of torture. He felt his cheeks heat and he scrambled for a response, but none came to mind.

Her eyes dropped briefly to his crotch and then meet his again, amused and full of something else, something undefinable. Or, at least, something impossible. She tilted her head in that endearing way that he loved. "Were you dreaming about me, Barba?"

"Hardly." He scowled for good measure.

"Hmmm."

"I'm not going to discuss this with you, Sergeant." He wouldn't. He couldn't. Neither of them could afford to cross that line. Even if he desperately wanted to, just once.

"That's fair," she answered, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward, voice gone husky. "Why don't you show me then?"

His mouth went dry. She straightened away from the desk and prowled closer, stopping only when their bodies were a hairs-breadth apart. He inhaled sharply, fists clenching against the primal need to grab her and show her exactly what he'd been dreaming about. "You're certainly being provocative this evening," he countered instead.

"An interesting choice of words for the man who was having sex dreams on my sofa not ten minutes ago," she retorted.

He ground his teeth together, beginning to sympathize with animals of prey when faced with a predator. He felt like he was about to jump out of his own skin if she didn't back up. Sometimes small concessions were required to win a court case—perhaps it would be the same here. "Fine. I did have a very short dream sequence, of which you were a part. Dreams are merely the subconscious' way of sorting through recent events and your presence there is unsurprising given that we've spent the past fourteen hours working on this case. We're both healthy adults and it means nothing. Now can we please get back to work?" he begged.

"Are you done?" she asked quietly. He had barely started to nod when she grasped his face in her hands and planted her lips on his. He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, but she took the opportunity to swipe her tongue into his mouth, and he was lost. His fists unclenched and he wrapped his hands around her waist, yanking her against him. She growled—growled—and bore him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the sofa and he was forced to sit. Handfuls of Benson landed in his lap then, and her mouth blazed a heady path from his lips to his ear and then down his neck until she hit the collar of his shirt. She nibbled his ear lobe and he couldn't help it—he moaned. She brought her lips back to his and they kissed wildly for another few moments until she pulled back, sitting up in his lap. He'd never seen her more beautiful than with her lips red from kissing and her chest heaving with emotion.

"Do you really want to go down this path?" he managed, his own breathing coming fast and hard.

"I want you to want me the way you did in your dream, Barba," she said on a rush. "God, it was so hot. All that intensity." She framed his face with her hands again. "And you didn't even have those piercing eyes of yours open," she added, smiling slightly.

"So help me then, Oooooh-livia, I'm going to make you scream my name like you were before." He brought his hands up to cup her breasts, and her head fell back. He licked and nipped at her neck as he thrust his hips up, rubbing his erection against her. "And just so you know, you're even sexier in real life," he murmured into her ear.

The resulting race to remove their clothing was the best prize he'd ever won.


A/N: Just a little scenario that popped into my head on my commute this morning...I had to get it written down! Dear SVU writers (because I know you scroll around fanfiction trying to find storylines) - please feel free to use this in a future episode. I won't even demand royalties. ;)