Red (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} hellogaynow) wrote,@ 2006-05-13 21:35:00 |
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[SVU] If It Isn't Her - Part Two.
A tea kettle’s whistle broke Olivia’s concentration. She arose, joints popping along the way, and headed towards her kitchen counter covered with files and various case notes. Dragging her hand carefully across the tile her mind wandered backwards. “Liv,” she mouthed. All over again she felt it, the breath on her neck, soft hands and nails down her sides past the hem of her skirt to her hipbones. Olivia’s eyes closed and choked back tears, remembering the feel of curves against her back, blonde hair draped over her shoulder. With hardly any effort she still smelled her lover’s skin and heard her own voice reply, shivering, “Alex, you’re such a tease.”
Though a distant memory Olivia wished to stay there remembering those mornings Alex would drag her feet about the apartment, refusing to leave the bed, and exclaiming, “Fuck Cragen! Let’s spend the day just like this.”
“In the kitchen, in our underwear?” She sighed, remembering the way her lover’s lips curled into a smile and wink as she ran, giggling, into the bedroom.
Why couldn’t she forget? How come the rotting stench of a corpse, or a pool of blood, hardly affected her, but beautiful blue eyes staring into her made her stomach turn in the worst, and best, of ways?
Olivia’s eyes again found the computer screen, and with a deep breath her shoulders fell as if defeated.
***
Neither was I answering them. Not consciously, at least. My lingering hand on her arm and appreciative smiles could have been interpreted as such, but I was convinced all was accidental. There was a heat between us, something damp and heavy pulling us closer. It wasn’t like Alex, it wasn’t my heart beating out of my chest, but rather a raw, shallow attraction.
To be honest I avoided it as much as possible, but I became drawn in. This isn’t to say that I never cared for her, but rather that I was never looking for a relationship with Casey. Especially not romantic. I was never fully invested in anything between us, and she knew it from the very beginning.
I am also not saying I was… pursued, exactly, but it was she who made the first moves. They were small: Caressing the back of my hand with her thumb, leg entangled with mine under the table, a kiss on my cheek when saying goodbye. To any other two close women friends it would most likely have been less questionable, but it is my nature to suspect.
Well. That and my relationship with another woman had just ended. I suppose I was hypersensitive to any advances made my way at the time, even by Casey who I assumed straight.
‘Ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’
The first time we kissed was in the bathroom of a bar, which explains our relationship right away: physical and without romance. Casey needed to blow off steam after working on a case involving a paranoid and racist war veteran, so the group decided to get together that night and buy her drinks. Many drinks. A matter of minutes after entering the bar Casey was wrapping her arm around my shoulders and whispering, “You’re so goddamn sexy,” into my ear, which she would never do sober, much less around co-workers (apparently it is an ADA stereotype to be a cold, career-focused first class bitch). Admittedly she flirted with the men at the table as well; Fin especially since he was giving her a run for her money on blood-alcohol ratio. Mostly my concentration strayed all over the room, watching the condensation grow in lakes covering the bar’s surface. I watched the women bored by the men attempting to make passes at them, amusing themselves by writing “Fuck You” with their fingertips with water as ink. I pitied them. I pitied them the most because I understood them.
Fin’s hand traveled up Casey’s thigh, under her skirt hem, an instant signal for her to get up, grab my hand, and pull me towards the bathroom. Worried and suddenly brought back to reality I asked, “Are you okay?” but she never answered, just led. The alcohol in my body declared war on my motor skills, causing me to trip over myself and into Casey against the cold tiled bathroom wall.
“Hey,” she breathed, reeking of tequila. I smiled.
“I think you, uh... mm... didn’t pull me in here to talk?” My words were as clumsy as my limbs, yet somehow they managed to spill out of my mouth somewhat coherently. My limbs were not so lucky, barely holding me up as my knees shook with drunkenness and my arms climbed the wall above my seductress’ shoulders. Her eyes moved quickly, chased by her fluttering eyelids, and a fragile hand in the small of my back led our lips together.
She was a very calculated kisser, every movement of her tongue fluid, slow, and with purpose. I fell into her and dared her to invite me to her apartment for the night, suddenly interested in a possible one night stand.
A one night stand because even in my highly intoxicated state–alcohol, loneliness, and nails scratching secrets into my skin all at fault–there was still Alex.
A tea kettle’s whistle broke Olivia’s concentration. She arose, joints popping along the way, and headed towards her kitchen counter covered with files and various case notes. Dragging her hand carefully across the tile her mind wandered backwards. “Liv,” she mouthed. All over again she felt it, the breath on her neck, soft hands and nails down her sides past the hem of her skirt to her hipbones. Olivia’s eyes closed and choked back tears, remembering the feel of curves against her back, blonde hair draped over her shoulder. With hardly any effort she still smelled her lover’s skin and heard her own voice reply, shivering, “Alex, you’re such a tease.”
Though a distant memory Olivia wished to stay there remembering those mornings Alex would drag her feet about the apartment, refusing to leave the bed, and exclaiming, “Fuck Cragen! Let’s spend the day just like this.”
“In the kitchen, in our underwear?” She sighed, remembering the way her lover’s lips curled into a smile and wink as she ran, giggling, into the bedroom.
Why couldn’t she forget? How come the rotting stench of a corpse, or a pool of blood, hardly affected her, but beautiful blue eyes staring into her made her stomach turn in the worst, and best, of ways?
Olivia’s eyes again found the computer screen, and with a deep breath her shoulders fell as if defeated.
***
Neither was I answering them. Not consciously, at least. My lingering hand on her arm and appreciative smiles could have been interpreted as such, but I was convinced all was accidental. There was a heat between us, something damp and heavy pulling us closer. It wasn’t like Alex, it wasn’t my heart beating out of my chest, but rather a raw, shallow attraction.
To be honest I avoided it as much as possible, but I became drawn in. This isn’t to say that I never cared for her, but rather that I was never looking for a relationship with Casey. Especially not romantic. I was never fully invested in anything between us, and she knew it from the very beginning.
I am also not saying I was… pursued, exactly, but it was she who made the first moves. They were small: Caressing the back of my hand with her thumb, leg entangled with mine under the table, a kiss on my cheek when saying goodbye. To any other two close women friends it would most likely have been less questionable, but it is my nature to suspect.
Well. That and my relationship with another woman had just ended. I suppose I was hypersensitive to any advances made my way at the time, even by Casey who I assumed straight.
‘Ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’
The first time we kissed was in the bathroom of a bar, which explains our relationship right away: physical and without romance. Casey needed to blow off steam after working on a case involving a paranoid and racist war veteran, so the group decided to get together that night and buy her drinks. Many drinks. A matter of minutes after entering the bar Casey was wrapping her arm around my shoulders and whispering, “You’re so goddamn sexy,” into my ear, which she would never do sober, much less around co-workers (apparently it is an ADA stereotype to be a cold, career-focused first class bitch). Admittedly she flirted with the men at the table as well; Fin especially since he was giving her a run for her money on blood-alcohol ratio. Mostly my concentration strayed all over the room, watching the condensation grow in lakes covering the bar’s surface. I watched the women bored by the men attempting to make passes at them, amusing themselves by writing “Fuck You” with their fingertips with water as ink. I pitied them. I pitied them the most because I understood them.
Fin’s hand traveled up Casey’s thigh, under her skirt hem, an instant signal for her to get up, grab my hand, and pull me towards the bathroom. Worried and suddenly brought back to reality I asked, “Are you okay?” but she never answered, just led. The alcohol in my body declared war on my motor skills, causing me to trip over myself and into Casey against the cold tiled bathroom wall.
“Hey,” she breathed, reeking of tequila. I smiled.
“I think you, uh... mm... didn’t pull me in here to talk?” My words were as clumsy as my limbs, yet somehow they managed to spill out of my mouth somewhat coherently. My limbs were not so lucky, barely holding me up as my knees shook with drunkenness and my arms climbed the wall above my seductress’ shoulders. Her eyes moved quickly, chased by her fluttering eyelids, and a fragile hand in the small of my back led our lips together.
She was a very calculated kisser, every movement of her tongue fluid, slow, and with purpose. I fell into her and dared her to invite me to her apartment for the night, suddenly interested in a possible one night stand.
A one night stand because even in my highly intoxicated state–alcohol, loneliness, and nails scratching secrets into my skin all at fault–there was still Alex.
