A/N: A one-word-one-shot suggested by Becca! Love you, girl!

DISCLAIMER: SVU and characters are owned by Dick Wolf. TStabler© owns this story

He stepped into the field, looking around through the fog, scanning the area for his prey. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. He stalked silently through the room, eyeing the flock, dismissing each member of the herd as he passed. Too short, too blonde, too drunk, too slutty. They all had imperfections that shouted at him loudly as he looked for his mark, his perfect doe.

There was no room for error. He was operating with a single arrow; he had one shot; he had to make it good; he had to make it count; he had to hit her right in the heart and make it a clean kill. He smirked at the thought, because he had to find her first. He moved through the field, his hawk-like eyes focused and searching madly for what he wanted, needed.

He stopped when he saw her, her delicate hand resting on the arm of someone who, it seemed, was also on the prowl. He waited, knowing she would turn to him, look at him. Knowing his gaze would be enough, his stare would penetrate and hit its mark, he waited, baiting her.

She threw her head back in a laugh, then tossed her hair, flirting, on a hunt of her own it appeared. Then she saw him.

Their eyes locked.


She didn't even tell him she was getting up, she just left him there and walked toward the hunter, unaware that she was the hunted. The chosen one. The prey.

He smirked; he'd won. He watched her coming closer, and part of him thought the catch was too easy. The chase should have lasted a bit longer. She smirked, and that's when it dawned on him.

Just who was hunting whom?

"Thought you weren't coming," she said, her voice low, dripping with alcohol and sex, two things to which he'd never been privy before, since neither were very welcome at work.

He shrugged. "Changed my mind," he said. "Who the hell is that?" he asked, nodding at the man who had fired and missed. Shit. He sounded bitter and jealous already. He glared at he fellow hunter, but was pulled toward his doe again, and relaxed when his eyes met hers.

She smirked again; her eyes darkened. At least, he thought they did. It was hard to tell as the only lights in the place were dim and red. "No one," she said. It was either the drink or the ambiance, but something gave her guts tonight. She was not about games, she was about getting what she wanted. She ran her hand down his arm, letting her hand tangle with his. Her eyes flashed when she felt the absence of the gold band that, until three weeks ago, had been there.

He looked at her, wanting her, and asked, "Why am I here, again?"

"Dance with me," she demanded, not a question. The huntress did not ask, she simply commanded, and was obeyed. The sooner he found that out, the sooner they would both get what they so desperately wanted.

He smirked and pulled her toward the middle of the hunting ground, ignoring the glances from other sheep, male and female alike, who it was certain were all asking, "Why not me?" They would all be jealous of the two predators tonight, as they had only planned on feasting on each other. He tugged her closer to him and whispered, "You never answered my question."

She pressed herself against him, making sure she could feel how much he wanted her, and making sure he knew she could. She writhed with him, working her magic and showing him her moves, of which there were many. "You're here because I wanted you to come," she said, the double entendre not lost on him. "You came," she said, her eyes looking into his, dangerously aware that he knew she was teasing him, "Because you would do anything to make me happy."

"Or I was bored," he said, smirking, trying not to let her see that he was as wrapped around her finger as she knew he was. "I've been alone in that apartment for three weeks wondering how the hell I fucked up my marriage. Maybe I just decided to live a little."

"That could be it," she said, her hips moving with his to the heavy beat, something that was definitely not his gun pressing hard against her thigh, "But it's not."

He swallowed back the urge to moan, as if she wasn't fighting the same damned urge, and said, "It's not."

Her hands slid up his back, wrapping around his neck. "I told you to dance with me," she said. "Show me what you're really made of, and stop acting like an eighth-grader," she challenged.

He pulled her close, surprising her, and said, "You wanna dance? We'll dance." He moved as he would if they were lying down, making love to her on the dance floor. He gripped her hips, making sure she couldn't get away if she wanted to, his head turning, bending into the crook of her neck. He moaned softly, knowing what he was doing, knowing what she was doing to him, inhaling her scent. "Do you have any idea..." he trailed off, his words slipping into another moan as she ground into him.

Her eyes were closed, her hands were threaded through his hair, and she needed him to make a real move before the people in the bar got a real show. There was nothing like two hunters, finally getting the one, big game for which they'd been waiting. "Home," she whispered, the pressure too much for her to take in public, her need becoming too powerful for her less-than-sober state to keep in check.

"What?" he asked, sliding his hands down to her ass, cupping it, squeezing it.

"Take me," she whispered into his ear, "Home."

He had to breathe deeply as he let her go. He slid his hands around to the front of her body and gripped her hands, then pulled, taking her back the way they came. "Dragged me out, just to tell me to go home," he said, shaking his head.

"No," she said, pulling him back to her, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "You came out to pick me up and take me home," she said, making sure he understood. Making sure he realized that he was never in charge, it had always been her, he was always the prey.

He smirked at her and pulled her hand again, heading for the door, hoping the could make it to her place without combusting. He tugged her closer to him, looping an arm around her waist as they walked, unable to keep his hands off of her.

She moaned lightly, nearly tripping as his hand slipped from her hip to her ass again, and they made it another half a block before he growled and pulled her into a dark alley.

"Now," he whispered, pressing against her. "You made me wait three weeks," he complained, almost a whine, as his hands traveled up her dress, gripping onto her undergarment. "Three fucking weeks," he hissed, sliding the panties down, "Because you didn't want to be a rebound, or you thought people would think I was fucking you the whole time."

"You needed time," she moaned, trying to control herself. "I wanted you to be sure," she said.

He pressed into her again and asked, "Does that feel sure to you?" He moved his hands up her dress again, this time knowing the barrier between his fingers and her willing flesh was gone. He danced along the edge of her quivering core, stalking his prey yet again. He smirked as she nearly came undone. "Are you sure?" he asked with a nod.

She moved slightly to the right and moaned as his fingers slipped over her dripping slit. "Does that feel sure to you?" she asked, her eyes boring into his.

He smirked, sliding his fingers down, playing with her, loving the way she became putty in his hands, as a hawk teases a mouse before swallowing it whole. He chuckled when her hands moved to his belt, unbuckling, unzipping, uncovering him.

She moaned at the sight of him and dropped her head into the wall behind him. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she felt him pressing into her, his tip alone stretching her. She moaned, her nails digging into his back. "God," she moaned, feeling him pushing deeper inside of her.

"You feel so, so, good," he grunted, moving slow, savoring the feel of his victory, savoring his catch. "Baby," he murmured, lifting her leg up over his body, picking up speed. "It's been too damn long," he mumbled.

She nodded, meeting his thrusts. "Once," she said, "Wasn't enough. Harder."

He grinned, thrusting harder. "Didn't want it to be like this," he breathed, dropping his head to hers, "Just couldn't wait anymore."

She shook her head. "You got me," she said.

He kissed her, madly, deeply, hitting into her, and he said, "I love you, Liv." He hit harder, faster, bruising her. He was claiming her, possessing her, making her his the way he'd never made anyone his before, and he was promising he would never let her go. He was done hunting; he had found his prey. His mate.

"I love you, too, El," she returned, hitting back at him, relieved that her hunt was over, her prey was in her arms, in her heart, and she had her claws in deep, promising she'd never let go either.

A/N: The word was "Hunter" I had fun with it.