Interrogate Me, Please
If I owned SVU, something like this would have happened already
Interrogate Me, Please
Elliot Stabler loves to watch Olivia Benson interrogate suspects; it's easily his favorite part of the job. It's the thing his fantasies are made of, dreams that he can't get rid of, and that he wouldn't want to even if he could. Dreams that worry him, because when he has them, he always seems to be the perp.
The fantasy starts out the same, he's sitting at the table, staring at his reflection in the two way mirror. Then, she comes in, the door shutting behind her with a soft click, paper file hitting the wood surface with a smack as she slams it down in front of him. They don't talk at first, she watches him, false sympathy in rich brown eyes as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice is quiet when she does speak; she tells him to just give in, to make is easier, that she'll try to get him a deal, that she understands completely.
When he refuses, anger flickers through her face and she stands, palms flat on the table as she leans forward on her arms. Her smooth, olive hands inches away from his, he could touch them if he wanted to, and he always does. Her tone is harsher now, rich with authority that's intended to be intimidating, but really only succeeds in turning him on even more. His breathing speeds up, heart thudding in his chest almost painfully, so hard by now that he's willing to confess to anything if it'll get her to kiss him.
Finally, she gives up the good cop approach, voice dropping an octave as she comes up behind him and talks directly into his ear. She says she knows that he's guilty, that he did it, that he's such a bad man who deserves to be punished for it. Her breasts press against his back, whispering in that deadly seductive way, so close he can smell her perfume and sweet bubblegum flavored lip gloss.
When it's over, she stands him up, warm palms wrapping around his wrists, slapping cold steel against the heated skin. Her expression is the poster face for triumph, pink lips pressed together in a firm line, corners of her mouth turning up with a tiny smirk. He supposes it's supposed to be intimidating, but it's just so fucking hot he doesn't care. Her body against his, hot and soft, musical voice reciting his Miranda rights from memory, it's the stuff his every erotic fantasy is made of.
So he watches her, watches her with them, jealousy coursing through his veins because they're lucky enough to get her to play that game with. And when he can't take it anymore, he goes for it.
"Hey Liv, you mind doing something with me?" He asks her one day, beckoning her towards the interrogation room.
"What do you need?" Her smile is bright, perfectly gleaming teeth against perfectly formed lips that make him hate the ring on his left hand.
"We have a suspect coming down in an hour, would you mind practicing interrogating me?"
"Sure."
He grins at her; he isn't going to have to imagine anymore.