AN: Woo, song-fic. Lyrics of Panic! At The Disco, Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off. I'm sorry, the first verse just drew me into it. I usually frown upon song-fics, but I've got about three prepared, including this one. Whoops. I suppose the setting is up through the middle of season seven-ish. Elliot's separated/divorced, whatever.
Disclaimer: Yeah, of course they're mine. (Assistant whispers into her ear.) What?! I don't?! Excuse me while I go slit my wrists.
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Chapter 1: Let's Get These Teen Hearts Beating
Olivia sighed, noting that the persistent blonde from across the room was making eyes at her again. He was young, and she knew tonight would be all there was, if there even was a tonight. Accepting the second rum and coke glass, she ran a hand through her hair and knew if she took a sip he'd approach. Closing her eyes against the scrutinizing eye of the bartender, she raised the alcohol to her lips, deciding the free booze was worth it. Predictably, the hotshot slithered across the room, sliding onto the stool next to her and invading her personal space to murmur what she assumed he thought was seductively.
"I was beginning to think you'd never notice me over there," he said, offering a smile that she had to admit was quite charming. She repressed another tired sigh and forced the flirtatious retort.
"I was beginning to think you didn't have the guts to make a move," she teased, knocking back the rest of the liquor, wishing there was more in her system already. He was handsome, but it was going to take a lot more than some watered down rum to convince her brain it was him.
"Feisty. I could tell you were from where I was sitting," he noted, going for the obvious. Nodding for the tender to bring another drink for her, she called to him, asking for a shot of tequila instead. "Damn, tequila? I don't know if I can keep up with you," he chuckled, leaning his arm on the bar and nearly leering at her.
She almost snorted, eyeing him once more, wondering if he was too young for her. "If you can't keep up with an old woman, I don't think we should be speaking."
"Old? Please. You're only what, 34, 35?" She licked her lips and gave him a sideways glance. He was pretty good, at flattery anyway.
"Sure." Her grin belied the lie, but his steely blues only twinkled with amusement as he leaned in again, the movement more endearing than the first time. (Maybe the alcohol was finally kicking in.)
"So maybe I like older women."
"Oh? You were targeting me, then?"
"Heh. No, but I did think you were the most beautiful woman in the room." She rolled her eyes at this, and caught the shot sliding down the wood with an experienced hand.
"Save the chit-chat, kiddo." Downing the shot, she immediately felt the rush the tequila offered and knew she'd be much more amenable to his corny lines in a few minutes.
"What do you do?" He asked, an innocent question for most, the relationship-killer for her.
Stifling the groan threatening to break through, she nodded for one last drink before turning to him, standing from her stool and realizing that he was tall, even in heels. Good. He was taller than her too. It'd be easier to imagine.
"Don't ask, don't tell. Trust me," she said, raising the shot glass to her lips and gazing at him over the amber liquid, feeling a little more scandalous than usual. "You don't wanna know."
He stood as well, leaning forward to the small cup of liquid, his lips grazing her knuckles curled around the glass and his tongue flicking at the tequila, his eyes never leaving hers, even as she arched a brow at his effrontery.
"Fine."
"Fine," she repeated, swallowing the last gulp of the intoxicating liquid and leaving the glass on the bar. "Did you drink?" She leaned into him as he pulled out his wallet, dropping a few bills for the tender. He moved closer to her, his hands roving down the sides of her smooth navy dress while hers slid over the pressed black shirt hiding what felt like a rock-solid body.
"Too busy watching you," he mumbled, eager to press his lips against hers, but she pulled back, only offering her neck as she grabbed at his arms, whispering.
"Good. Let's get out of here." Things were starting to get fuzzy as she accompanied him out of the bar, barely making it outside before he pushed her into the wall, finally capturing her mouth with a rather skilled one. His tongue wasn't immediately shoved down her throat, and he was passionate nonetheless.
She knew she was slipping into that state of consciousness where her fantasy meshed with reality. If he spoke in a low voice and she didn't look into the eyes that weren't quite the same shade of blue, she might be able to hold onto his hard body and pretend.
Is it still me that makes you sweat?
Am I who you think about in bed?
Yes, it was him who she thought about in bed. She didn't even know this boy's name as they tumbled into his sleek BMW, their heavy breathing the only sounds in the subdued ride back to her apartment. She kept her eyes closed, his hand roving over as far as he could reach and her thoughts of a different man on her mind.
They never made it out of the car. As he pulled to a stop in front of her building, he reached over slowly, giving her a chance to back out. She opened her eyes, the brown hues rusted with lust.
When the lights are dim and your hands are shaking as you're sliding off your dress?
Then think of what you did,
And how I hope to God he was worth it.
In the light filtered in from his extremely dark windows, his eyes were filled with the shadowed hunger that haunted her dreams. For an instant, he had the eyes she needed, and she pulled him toward her, her hands reaching for the buttons to divest him of the garment hiding his chest. He moved with a practiced grace over the console, trapping her between the seat and the door, quietly and predatorily. She found the zipper on the side of her dress, adrenaline making her shake, his intensity making her quiver. The booze in her system clouded her judgment, and for now, he'd do.
When the lights are dim and your heart is racing as your fingers touch your skin.
His long fingers skimmed over her exposed shoulders, sliding the straps over her curves and kissing all the skin he could find, bending his neck to nibble at hers, her back arching into his touch. She felt her pulse quicken and she stripped off his shirt, her hands finding his back and feeling the heat of his tensed muscles under his smooth skin.
I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck
Than any boy you'll ever meet, sweetie you had me.
She was glad for his silence, glad to let her mind slip into make-believe. He did have more wit, and a touch that burned her even when their fingertips simply grazed in exchanging a file. But she could only dream of his kiss, how he could make her melt with a skilled fuck better than she'd probably ever had. She could only imagine, and she only had him in a way that killed her little by little inside.
Girl, I was it, look past the sweat, a better love deserving of
Exchanging body heat in the passenger seat?
No, no, no, you know it will always just be me.
She'd give almost anything for something more than a quick, reckless moment in a car, or a frenzied fuck on the couch of her apartment, but she'd never had him like that, and she wouldn't give up what they had for what they could have. She let herself go, moaning and groaning under the man's kneading touch, his pants pooling around his ankles and her dress bunching around her middle.
He lasted longer than she thought he would, and she realized as long as she had his face in her mind, she could let herself go over the edge at any time, because it would always just be him. The only time she held back was when she kept from screaming his name at the end, and she just moaned in a low voice, growling her way into panting and recovering from the feverish screwing they'd just participated in.
Let's get these teen hearts beating. Faster, faster!
So testosterone boys and harlequin girls,
Will you dance to this beat, and hold a lover close?
He slid back into his seat, his head falling back to the headrest as he pulled himself together. Olivia did the same, taking a deep breath and pulling her dress enough to cover herself from voyeuristic onlookers. She turned her head toward him, feeling more than her usual wrenching regret, almost content with this replacement. He blinked at her, a smirk twitching his lips.
"So, are you going to invite me up?"
She even laughed, wiggling back into the proper way to wear her dress, his fingers beating hers to the zipper, which was somehow sensually drawn up to the swell of her breast.
"Why not?"
So testosterone boys and harlequin girls,
Will you dance to this beat, and hold a lover close?
She gripped him as they tangled in her sheets, her mind hazy as they spent more time on the third round, the second having been against her door. He somehow began to fill the void, even if it was on some shallow, superficial, animalistic level of physical need. With the liquor in her system, she sweated out the guilt that it wasn't him, and held the youthful substitute under her, blood pounding in her ears with the energy of their 'dance'.
A little later after they lay curled in the sheets, he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with a small smile.
"As much fun as this is," he said, the present tense not lost on her, "I'm sure the job that must-not-be-named would prefer you get some actual sleep tonight." She sat up, modest and pulling the covers with her, an arm strapped across her chest, her hair tousled and framing her face.
"Yeah," she whispered, wondering why she had the notion anything louder would echo through her empty apartment once he left. He dressed casually and quietly, sitting back on the bed to lace his shoes. Olivia drew her knees up, watching shamelessly as he dressed, her eyes wandering over the hard edges of the body she'd just so intimately known. Sobriety was rapidly catching up with her, and she crossed her arms over her knees, placing her chin on her wrists and allowing a large sigh to escape.
She was surprised when he leaned back onto the bed, touching her arm gently. She gave him credit for a single downward glance, the awkwardness of a one-night stand not lost on him.
"If… if this was it, then I guess I'll be okay with that, but I'd like to see you again, if you'd have me." He didn't ask for an answer, simply took her chin gently in his hand and guided her lips to his in the softest kiss they'd shared all night. "James."
She blinked, suddenly breathless. She exhaled, an airy, "Olivia… Benson…" passing her swollen lips as he smiled at her, his eyes taking on that darkness that reminded her so much of him.
"James Riley. Goodnight, Olivia." He stole one more kiss from her, leaving her quite stunned with a card tucked neatly into her alarm clock and locking the door behind him.