Well, people kept subtly hinting at this in the comments. And never let it be said I don't do requests. I did change it a little, I didn't quite make Olivia sick. I'm an absolute SUCKER for Liv getting hurt in the line of duty. Written well, you'll have me as a fan for life. **hint hint**
This, once again, was written while I was doing things you possibly wouldn't believe. Well, in between doing them. That oughta make some people (you know who you are) even more curious.
Rating: X. NSFW.
I don't own these characters, I just use them to my own end.
if I wasn't angry, I'd be pretty well lost.
I've kept my poise. I'm almost legendary for keeping my cool under most circumstances, but, this? This is trying me.
I bite my lip to hold back from yelling at the cab driver, telling him to drive faster or at least in a better lane. It's pointless: traffic is traffic and it's only a few more blocks; nevertheless, I'm on the edge of my seat, poised to get out with a twenty in my hand.
He's going to get a huge tip but only because I won't wait for the change.
Only one person could make me do this. For only one person could I get this worked up and this anxious and that's where I'm headed.
Elliot called me. I'm not sure if it's because she knew what my reaction would be or just because she couldn't call me at the time. So, he called me. I'm fairly sure he's as worried as I am, just not quite as angry. Oh, I'll get over the anger - it's just a Cabot thing - but for the moment, it's sustaining me.
"Liv's been hurt," he said. He didn't go into much detail until I pushed him on it, refusing to get off the telephone until he told me exactly what had happened. Liv is in the operating theatre now and I'm in a taxi. I left work so fast I left my coat behind.
When the cab pulls up at the hospital, I thrust the twenty into the cab driver's hand and walk out. I'm in my heels and I can't run in my heels, but I can stalk as fast as possible.
I find Elliot in the corridor outside of the operating theatre. Seeing him makes everything coalesce. I have to fight very hard not to cry. He sees me and I can see the worry all over his face.
Worse, I can see the blood all over his shirt.
That's my Liv's blood.
My fiancée, my baby, my darling, my girl. My Liv's blood is all over Elliot.
That goddamned idiot.
She took on a man with a sword. My idiot of a fiancée, who thinks she's invincible, took on a man with a samurai sword to save her partner's life. Elliot at least has the sense to look mildly guilty.
"Is she okay?" I'm entirely too surprised that my voice is so even. I know it's no reflection of what's inside. Inside, I'm a mess.
"Yeah. They just thought they'd have a better chance of sewing her up if she was seen by the vascular surgeons."
I sit down, shutting my eyes and pulling my glasses off. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try very, very hard not to cry.
He sits down next to me.
"She's okay, Alex."
"You have your blood on her." I can't look at him.
He takes a while to answer. "I had to hold her arm."
I take my own time answering him. "If she dies, I'm going to kill you."
"She's fine, Alex. It's her arm. She's not going to die. She was perfectly conscious going into surgery. She's fine."
I'm not sure who he's trying to convince, me or him.
She thinks she's bulletproof. That's what worries me the most. It's not that she's that likely to get shot. I mean, the police force is huge and the mortality rate isn't that high, so an individual's chances are actually quite small. But she'll always throw herself into the affray.
Especially if Elliot is under threat.
As far as I understand, that's what happened today. The perp went at Elliot with his samurai sword and Liv got in the way. She deliberately got in the way to save him. She may have only taken a sword to the arm but if it had been higher… I can't bear to finish that thought.
"You should change your shirt." I still can't look at Elliot, either.
"You should change your shirt."
You see, I know he's her partner. I know he's going to wait outside this operating theatre as long as I am because, essentially, he's the closest family that Liv has. But Liv has me now and sometimes I wonder if that grates on him a little. He's been really supportive of us and I know he's going to be her best man.
When we get married.
I feel Elliot get up from beside me and my head remains dropped. For a moment I stare at my hands, sitting on top of my perfect pencil skirt, and then close my eyes. All I need right now is Liv in my arms.
It's not like I haven't thought about the times I might find myself sitting in the hospital, just waiting. I think about it more than I should. If anything, it's just this exact situation that gets me worried, that Liv would never let anything happen to Elliot if she thought she could help it.
My heart beats just a little bit faster.
When I feel the seat next to me depress a little, I open my eyes and look.
Elliot is wearing a scrub shirt, just like the ones the doctors and nurses are wandering around in. I can see a tuft of chest hair protruding from the top and, if I wasn't so completely focused on Liv, I'd probably be a little bit repulsed.
I see he has a bag in his hand: his shirt. He took his shirt off because it was upsetting me. Yet, he didn't go home. He hasn't gone to find his wife and get comfort for himself. Some lunatic came at him with a sword and his life was in danger just as much as Liv's, possibly more, yet he's still here.
And he won't leave until he knows she's okay. Even though he's spent the whole time he's been talking to me trying to convince me that she's okay, he won't leave.
And I can't help but love him a little bit for that.
"Thank you," I whisper to him.
"It's no big deal."
"Not the shirt." I'm not looking at him. I'm staring directly at the bland taupe wall in front of me, mentally scrubbing off the scuff marks. "For saving her life."
"She was never -"
"You stopped her bleeding."
It's only a few minutes before I realise I'm shaking. I must be trembling hard enough for Elliot to notice because he says my name and my only response is to put my glasses back on. Olivia loves my glasses.
This waiting is interminable and it's going to be the death of me. I don't even know how long she's been in there or how long this is likely to take. I doubt Elliot knows either and I don't have the strength to open my mouth right now. I'm fairly sure that, if I did, what would come out would be either a string of epithets so blue it would make even Stabler raise his eyebrows or just some uncontrollable sobbing.
More likely the latter.
It's not like anyone but Liv could make me feel like this. It's not like I've ever really been in love before either.
Four years, four beautiful years she's been mine. Since that first moment when we both finally broke, lost control and ended up on the floor of my apartment naked and practically screaming in pleasure, she's been mine. I don't intend for that to end any time soon, certainly not in the next four, fourteen or forty years.
When Detective Benson comes out of theatre, I'm going to give her a goddamn piece of my mind about that.
Who does she think she is, running at men with swords? Doesn't she know that even the slightest of injuries to her causes me ten times the pain? Doesn't she know that the very thought of losing her makes me die inside?
Doesn't she know that Elliot's hide has to be at least six times thicker and can probably take a sword better?
The ironic thing is, if he was in there, if he was the one on the table under anaesthetic having his damned arm sewed up, Liv and I would be here anyway with Kathy.
That's what family is for.
If I were the kind of girl who did that kind of thing, I'd lean my head on his shoulder. I'm only that kind of girl for Liv.
I have no idea how long it is before a man in scrubs appears before us. He's clearly just come out of theatre and when Elliot jumps up I assume it's because the man is here about Liv.
I get to my feet carefully.
"Is she okay?" Elliot is the first to speak.
"She's fine, just fine," the doctor replies. "It missed pretty much everything vital. A few weeks in a sling and she'll be almost back to normal."
I didn't realise my heart had been beating quite so fast until it slowed down. I know that Elliot told me she'd be okay, but it took till now for me to believe even a minute part of that. Even now, I probably won't be thoroughly convinced until I've seen her myself. That's Alex Cabot for you, always wanting to see all of the evidence.
"When can I see her?" I blink at the tall, grey-haired man who just put my Liv back together.
"Uh," he looks back at me, confused, "and you are?"
"Alex Cabot," I reply dryly. "I would be Olivia's fiancée."
He grins at me. "You can come on through to recovery if you like. Both of you, in fact."
Elliot looks at me. "That's okay. You go, Alex."
Right then, my heart bends for him. After everything he's been through today, and after all the years they've been partners, he's still gentleman enough to stand back and recognise what Liv and I have.
"Don't be ridiculous." I grab him by the wrist and pull him after me, following the grey-haired doctor through the doors.
I'm secretly thrilled when Olivia's first word as she wakes up is a croaky "Alex…"
She blinks those amazing brown eyes, focusing the world and looking around. When her sight finds me, I see her relax just slightly. Then, she frowns; then, she winces; and I realise she's in pain.
"It's okay, baby. I'm here," I say softly. My poor baby, my poor darling… I'm going to kill her. My hand tangles gently with her good hand, winding our fingers together and stroking with my thumb.
She clears her throat and looks up, seeing Elliot standing behind me. "Ell…"
"I'm here," he rumbles. "You're okay."
She laughs -it's raspy - and I remove my hand so I can give her a sip of water with a straw. After she drinks, she clears her throat again and smiles at us. "Bastard had a sword."
"Not any more he doesn't," Elliot avows.
I hold back, knowing that now is not the right time to tell her off. Later, later, I will make my feelings on the subject very clearly known. And she, in turn, will come to the conclusion that running at men with swords is something she is most decidedly not allowed to do. I don't exactly make a lot of rules within our relationship, certainly no more than she does, but I think I have the right to at least institute that one.
After all, I'd like her in one piece for the wedding.
She looks so tired, so worn out. She has just been through surgery.
"When can I go home?" Typical Olivia, just out of surgery and she wants to go home.
"When the doctors say you're good and ready," I reply, my tone brooking no opposition.
She just looks at me mournfully and, in order to make her stop, I gently stroke her hand and tell her to rest. If she looks at me too mournfully, she might get her way.
She does, however, do what she's told and lets her head fall back against the pillow, eyes closed. After a few minutes, when I think she's fallen asleep, she props open an eye and looks at me again.
"Can you ask them when I can go home?"
Goddamn incorrigible, I tell you.
"You've just had surgery."
"I hate hospitals."
I know she does. "Baby, you're coming out of an anaesthetic. You need to stay here for a while."
"Don't make me handcuff you to the bed," Elliot chimes in helpfully.
If only he knew how many times I've done that for completely different reasons. I feel the tips of my ears go pink and am glad that he's really quite unlikely to notice. I know Olivia's not her normal self because she doesn't give me any of her usual looks that a comment like that would normally bring out.
Some of those looks are enough to get me wet.
Right now, however, I'm just worried. It will take me a good few months to get my worry level down, so she's just going to have to put up with part measures of me coddling her excessively and giving her hell for making me fret this much.
She seems to take our insistence at face value and closes her eyes again. Within a few minutes, she really is asleep and I gently take hold of her hand. Leaning my chin on the bedrail, I watch her beautiful face and let my eyes drift to her arm, covered in a bandage and lying at her side.
The tears rise now and I blink to fight them back.
"I'll be back in a bit, Alex. I'm just going to call the precinct and let them know how she is."
I acknowledge Elliot's words with a slight nod, unable to drag my eyes from Liv and desperate that he shouldn't see the slight moisture around my eyes. Olivia is the only person who ever sees me cry and, even then, it's not very often.
I don't know how long he's gone. I could stare at Olivia forever, my eyes tracing the gentle curves of her face, the very slight creasing at the edge of her eyes, her mouth. She doesn't look her age - come to think of it, neither do I - but I love those very slight lines. They're all about her laughter, her tears, her passions, and that makes them beautiful to me.
I only notice he's back when a cardboard cup of coffee appears in front of me. It smells heavenly and I use my free hand to take it from him, tearing my eyes from Liv for a second to look at her partner.
He pulls up a seat and I note that he has his own coffee. The gift implies he knows that I'm going to be here for quite some time and his matching cup implies that he doesn't intend to make me sit it out alone.
I turn back to Olivia, but smile. He might not know it, and I might never tell him, but I'm thoroughly grateful he's here and, together, we set in for our vigil.
It took every power of persuasion I had to keep Liv in hospital over night. I didn't really give her a choice, but that probably wouldn't have stopped her if she was really determined. In the end, the exhaustion and pain got her and the offer of painkillers was too much to turn down.
I would have slept by her bed if they hadn't insist that I leave. Elliot took me home, after much urging on his part, because I was willing to pull out my phone and call some of the most powerful people in the city to overrule the nursing staff.
Some of them are even on the hospital board.
Stabler talked me out of it, which was probably quite sensible.
Naturally, it's Elliot that takes me to pick Liv up from the hospital the next morning and drops us back at our place. He insists on coming up with us, even though I'm the one who has my arm firmly around my girl's waist. She only has an injured arm, it's not like she can't walk, but I still don't let go.
It stuns me how tired she looks. She's been hurt in the line of duty before, usually just bruising. Once, she had a rib broken when someone charged and tackled her but, even then, she brushed it off.
I spoke to the doctor. He said the sword went deep enough to chip her bone and took a fair slice of her with it. The initial 'flesh' wound has turned out to be something a little bigger, I think. Even though it managed to avoid nerves, tendons and blood vessels, I can't imagine that it doesn't hurt like hell nearly all the time.
My poor girl.
As I close the door on Elliot and turn around, I find her just standing there, staring out one of the large windows in the living room from next to the couch.
"Hey, shall we get you to bed?" I say softly.
She turns around at me and it's the look on her face that makes me relax. It's just so quintessentially Olivia, a mixture of 'are you nuts?' with 'please explain yourself.'
"Alex, it's ten in the morning."
"Yeah, but you look sore."
"Uh-huh," she grins at me. "That's why you want me in bed."
Despite everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours, my first response is purely sexual. Four years we've been together and she can still turn me on with a single look. Words like that, well, they do more than just turn me on.
I feel myself clench and moisten, and my chest tightens.
Christ. I really shouldn't be having lustful thoughts about her right now. She's been injured.
"Yeah, I totally find surgery a turn on," I counter. Even in the midst of thinking about fucking her, I can still string a logical sentence together. Chalk one up for Alex Cabot, Assistant District Attorney.
She pouts and I laugh.
I do make her settle on the couch, though. She's tired, she's sore and she looks like she's been through the wringer.
I've taken two days off work, enough to get me to the weekend and make it four days in a row with her. I don't take time off when I'm sick, so it's a big deal. Not that Liz even questioned it, aside from suggesting I take the next week off as well, but that was a little unthinkable, even now.
So, while Olivia watches old episodes of Charlie's Angels on cable, I set up at the table and do some paperwork. Old habits die hard. I can't be home and not work. Not unless I'm home and Olivia is distracting me, which she's not exactly up to doing right now.
When I hear her move on the couch and make a small noise, I drag my eyes from the papers in front of me and look at her. She's still staring at the television, but I don't miss the oh-so-brief wince. She's in pain.
Standing up, I head to the kitchen, grab a glass of water and her pain tablets, and go back out to the living room. Kneeling by the couch, I hand her the water and pop the lid of the pill jar.
She shakes her head. "I don't want them."
"Baby, you're sore."
"Yeah, well, I got hit by a sword. That usually causes some pain."
"So take your damn pain killers." She's stubborn, but I'm worse.
"If you don't take them, I'll shove them down your throat."
That gets her to raise an eyebrow. She has to know I'm bluffing. I'd never do any such thing. Never in the history of our relationship have either of us raised a hand in anger. It isn't going to stop me from trying to make her take her pills, though.
For a few moments, it's her sheer will against mine. The difference turns out to be my complete lack of pain and she relents, taking her pills. There are pain lines around her eyes and mouth and, now that I'm closer, I can see them.
They break my fucking heart.
Instead of going back to the table and my work, I gently place a hand behind her and lift her forward. It takes a few seconds for her to get what I'm doing then she shuffles forward so that I can slide behind her on the couch, my legs on either side, and hold her.
She settles back into me, turning ever so slightly so that her sore arm isn't pressed into anything. My arms go around her waist and I can't hold back a gentle sigh as her head rests on my shoulder.
"This is nice," she whispers.
"We're never both home during the day."
It's true. "That's because you rarely attack men with swords." I'm not about to let her forget it. My obvious care for her doesn't mean she's not going to eventually have to account for her actions. And if she thinks I'm going to take 'I was saving Elliot' as an answer, she's got another think coming.
She has a damn gun. She should have shot the bastard.
I can almost hear the cogs in her brain turning and she eventually takes the easy way out: she just settles into my hug and says nothing. I let her get away with it, for now.
By Saturday morning, she's doing better. Enough that she's agitating to go back to work on Monday, something that Elliot, Cragen and myself are not about to let happen. That won't stop her trying, though. I wouldn't be at all surprised if, on Monday night, she and I are having a rip-roaring argument about the fact that she has sneaked into work after I've left for mine.
In fact, I suspect we're about to have a rip-roaring argument now.
I've let it go for three days but I can feel it building inside me. While I'm less worried about her now because she's up and about, doing things, albeit in a sling, the fear inside me has grown almost exponentially.
Seeing her okay reminds me how close she came to not being okay.
And that feeling inside me is like nothing I've felt before.
This is the first time I've had to rush to the hospital for her. This is the first time I've been truly afraid - and had good reason - that she might not be there when I got there.
That's about to break inside me.
She's hunting through the hall cupboard looking for God-knows-what when it hits me full in the face. Maybe it's because she's down on one knee, looking so damn adorable, reminding me of the day she proposed.
God knows that was unexpected. We were already living together, had been for some time. We'd been together over three years and I was happy to keep things at the status quo. We weren't hiding our relationship. My family knew, her 'family' - ie her team at work - knew but, at the same time, we'd never talked about anything more. Even at that point, the idea of not being with her was anathema to me but. similarly, the idea of proposing seemed ludicrous.
I am not a soppy woman. Olivia Benson is even less soppy than I am. I'd had the overwhelming feeling that, if I'd proposed, she would have laughed in my face. So, when she took me out to our favourite Italian restaurant and then in the middle of dessert presented me with a ring while down on one knee, it's an understatement to say I was gobsmacked.
She'd saved for over a year. The ring wasn't Tiffany's, for which she apologised, the idiot. Like I cared. It was perfect: a small but beautiful diamond set in white gold, with four tiny little diamonds, set two aside of the main stone, to represent each of the years we'd been together.
She made me cry in public.
Of course I said yes: she's the love of my life.
Which is why I'm shaking right now.
Lose the love of my life? Not likely. I'd lose myself. Since I was knee high to a grasshopper and watched my parents put more into their careers than they were ever going to put into me, I've been self-sufficient. Olivia changed that. For the first time in my life, I actually depend on someone else. And she took that someone else and hurled it at a man holding a sword.
I'm trembling so hard and staring at the floor so intently trying to stop that shaking that I don't notice she's looking at me till she says, "Baby?"
I look up. She looks concerned. She comes over.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
She stops in front of me, where I'm leaning against the back of the couch and holding myself, like my insides are about to fall out, my arms wrapped around in a mute self-hug.
"What's wrong?" I echo hoarsely. "What's wrong? You… You… you asshole!" I don't think I've ever seen Olivia so taken aback in her life. I reach out and smack her good arm. "You complete asshole, why would you do that?"
"Why? Why, why, why, why, why?"
"I was just looking for my old running shoes…"
I smack her again, still lightly. "You idiot. Why would you take on a man with a sword? Why the hell didn't you just shoot him?" It's only now I realise that tears are coursing down my face.
"Don't you 'baby' me! I'm furious!" Alex Cabot, Captain Obvious.
"No. No, no, no. Did you even think? Did you even wonder how much… what I'd do if… if -" I choke, completely unable to finish that sentence. I'm gone, crying harder than I have in so very, very long, harder than Olivia has ever seen me cry. "Liv!" I sob.
Her arm is around me, pulling me against her, cradling as close and as tight as she can with her other arm in a sling. I feel her lips on my head, kissing, murmuring. "Baby. Baby, it's okay. I'm fine. Alex, I'm here, I'm fine."
"I can't…" I'm almost hysterical now. I can't even get words out properly… "I ca-n't... lose… you."
"You won't. Oh Alex, you won't… I'm not going anywhere."
"You asked me to marry you!" I look up at her accusingly.
"Uh… mmm, and you said yes, I recall…"
"Then don't be a suicidal nutcase!"
That makes her laugh. "You don't think you might be exaggerating the situation here, honey?"
"No." I pull back with my arms crossed obstinately. "You're engaged now. You can't just go around throwing yourself at every sword you come across."
Her hand comes up to cup my cheek, her thumb brushing a tear from my cheek. "Al, that's not quite what happened."
"Why didn't you just shoot him?" My voice hiccoughs in the middle.
"It was kind of a blur, baby. I was reaching for my gun with one hand and trying to push Elliot out of the way with the other. I kinda accidentally got my arm in the way and that's when he hit it. I didn't go running at him, begging him to stab me."
I sigh. "I know." I'm being ridiculous.
She cups the back of my head, pulling my face into her shoulder and holding me, cradling me. "Alex," she murmurs.
I wrap my arms around her, nuzzling into her, breathing her scent.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I never meant to scare you, I swear."
"I know," I mumble against her skin.
She sighs. "Baby…"
I don't reply, just pushing my face further into her, tightening my arms and trying to merge by fusion.
"I swear to you, I will never recklessly endanger myself..." I pull back a little at her words, there is a definite 'but' on the end of that sentence. "But if someone's trying to kill my partner, or someone I care about…"
I lean my forehead back on her shoulder but leave my face clear this time. I know this is the truth. This is Olivia. She will never let anyone be in danger if she can help it.
"I couldn't not, Al."
"You wouldn't be you," I finish for her. "And that would be horrible."
She chuckles. "Horrible? I don't know. I think sometimes you'd like it if I was a little less me."
I look up at her frowning. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that. I love you just as you are. I never want you to change."
Leaning up, I kiss the corner of her mouth.
She turns her head.
It starts slow and soft, a gentle kiss of love and understanding. It doesn't stay that way. I don't know that Olivia and I kissing could ever stay that way for long. Mostly it changes when I moan and open my mouth.
Just kissing her could be defined as one of the most erotic moments in my life. Every time.
Her tongue slips between my lips, tasting them - top, then bottom - running across my teeth and then tangling with my own. I straighten up, pushing our bodies together and growling as her hand tightens on my neck.
God damn, but my fiancée can kiss!
The urgency to fuse with her, merge, be as close as possible, becomes almost painful. My hands come up, sliding under her sling and unbuttoning her shirt as fast as I possibly can, my mouth still on hers.
She pulls back when I get to the last button and trail my fingers across the skin on her abdomen.
I love it when Olivia swears during sex. It makes me wet.
I move my mouth to her jawline, her cheek, her ear, stopping to snare her earlobe between my teeth and then to suckle it gently. Her good hand drops to my hip.
My hands trail down her stomach to the buckle on her belt. I did this up for her this morning, since belts and one good arm don't work so well together. Now, I can't unsnap it fast enough. I pull the belt through its loops until it's free, then I loop it back around her back and use it to pull her body as close to mine as it'll possibly go.
"Alex!" she gasps. It might have something to do with our bodies colliding, or possibly the bite I just gently pressed into her neck.
Her good hand slides around, pulling at my shirt, but I swat her off.
"Baby!" she pleads
"Shh," I whisper, dropping her belt and sliding my hands up under her unbuttoned shirt. I cup her breasts, feeling their weight through her bra and thumbing over her already straining nipples. When she shudders, I let one go, using that hand to scrape my nails across her abdomen.
Later, I can take time to savour her. Later, I can make love to her slowly, over and over and over.
Right now, I need to claim her. I need to brand her, imprint myself on her, make her mine right now. Even though she's already mine, I feel an uncontrollable need to reinforce that.
I pinch her nipple, sucking on her pulse point and relishing her throaty moan. Her head is thrown back and it's so damn sexy.
My free hand finds the catch on her jeans, unzipping and sliding my hand across the top of her black briefs. My finger lifts up the edge, running back and forth as I move my mouth back to hers.
Kissing her with an intensity that nearly knocks me out, one hand squeezing her breast and worrying her already over-sensitive nipple and one finger teasing the very top of her underwear, I feel my girl tremble under my onslaught.
"Please," she moans against my lips.
I relent, sliding my hand into her underwear, palm facing her, and straight down.
We gasp simultaneously.
God, she's wet.
"Oh, yes, baby," I groan. This is so sexy, every time. I can't believe how wet I get her. I can't believe I can do this to her.
Her hips buck against me. Wedged between her jeans and her centre, I can barely move. Growling, I pull both hands from teasing her and grasp the waist of her jeans, shoving them down her hips to her ankles. As soon as she's stepped out of them, I've pulled the bridge of her underwear aside and my fingers are coated in her wet warmth.
"Yessssss," she hisses.
I almost can't wait but I want her closer. Using my free hand, I lift myself so that I'm perching on the back of the couch and pull Liv close to me, wrapping my legs around her. Careful that her sore arm is gently between us, not being crushed, I slip my hands back under the crotch of her underwear and tease her wet curls.
"Alex…" she groans.
I love it when she says my name like that. I like it even better when she shuffles, moving her legs apart for me and leaning in, her good hand on my shoulder, gripping.
I can't wait. I can't. I need her and I need her now.
Snaring her lips with my own, I thrust into her, two fingers deep, deep inside. She cries out into my mouth, our hot open kiss getting sloppy as I thrust again. She's so wet, so very wet, around my fingers.
"You feel so good," I whimper into her mouth.
Her tongue finds mine before she pulls back, forehead on mine, panting.
She's trembling as my fingers thrust and thrust again. I curl my fingers, bringing the heel of my hand up against her clit, pushing, thrusting, pushing. She's going to come. She's going to clench around me. I pull my spare arm around her, my legs tightening, pulling her into me.
When she moans so loudly it reverberates, and she tightens around my fingers, shaking her orgasm so hard it's painful to me. Breathing harshly, she rests her forehead on the top of my head. I leave my fingers buried inside her, listening to her breathing slow gently.
"Damn, baby," she whispers.
I flex my fingers and she whimpers. I grin. My knees tighten, pulling her even closer until she says, very quietly, "Ow."
I pull back, my fingers slipping out.
"Just my arm, uh, got a bit squashed…"
Shit! "Oh God, I'm so sorry!" I let go of her all at once, my legs unfurling, my arms coming free and my hand pulling out of her underwear.
It's a mistake. I'm perched up on the back of the couch. It's about four inches wide. Olivia was keeping me up here, keeping me steady. Having now let go of all my holds on her, I unbalance and fall backwards, straight onto the couch.
And because I'm going at a reasonable speed with my fall, and flailing in a way that is nothing but purely embarrassing, I keep falling and end up on the floor.
When I sit up, glaring, Olivia is shaking uncontrollably, laughing so hard she's holding her sides.
"Oi!" I say, getting up off the floor and dusting myself off. She's the one standing there, in an unbuttoned shirt and underwear, gasping with laughter.
"Sorry," she gasps. I stand with my hands on my hips until she finally stops laughing, brushing a tear from her eye. "Sorry, it was just… Oh, come on, that was pretty funny."
"Oh really?" I say, adopting my severest tone.
"Aw, Alex… come on."
"Hmm… well, Olivia Benson, do you think it's funny enough for you to sleep in the spare room?" It's not a real threat, it's a complete bluff, but I can't help myself.
"Baby…" she whines plaintively.
I walk around the couch, hands still on my hips, fake displeasure plastered to my face. When I'm close to her, she reaches out with her good arm, but I avoid it. "So, you think it's funny, huh?"
"Uhhhhh…" I have her fooled. She thinks I'm genuinely pissed off.
I step closer, slapping her good hand away and getting as close into her personal space as I can without touching her. She eyes me, her face flushed from her orgasm, her laughter and my sudden intrusiveness.
"You think me falling is funny?"
"No," she replies weakly.
"You seemed to."
"Sorry?" she tries, hopefully.
I lean in, so my mouth is right next to her ear and I tickle her skin with my breath. "If you think that's funny, maybe you'll find the fact that I'm aching for you, so fucking wet, and dying to have you inside me, funny as well?"
That makes her groan. "Alex."
I lean back, smiling so that she can see I was bluffing. Our lips meet, hot, open, wet, and I pull back.
"Yeah?" she breathes.
"Wanna go to bed?"
"Oh yeah," she says.
I look at her with twinkling eyes. "You gonna laugh at me again?"
"Fuck, no." She's eyeing me up and down, and I know what she wants.
"Good girl." I grin. Holding out my hand, she takes it with her good one. "And, baby?"
"While we're at it, no more god-damn swords."