Title: You See Me In Hindsight (Tangled Up With You All Night)
Pairing: Alex Cabot/Olivia Benson
Rating: T
Author's Note: As always, these characters aren't mine. They belong to Dick Wolf and NBC.
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The mid-summer heat rolls over you in waves, overpowering the cool breeze floating off the ocean.
Sitting on your towel on the shore, you dig your heels into the wet sand, hoping for some relief from the heat but finding none.
You push your hand through your short hair, making it stick up every-which-way, and lean back, surveying the surrounding area for somewhere cool to hide.
And that's when you see her.
Insanely tall and hot as hell, she's practically strutting across the beach in her barely-there bikini with her blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail.
Your mind goes blank and it seems as though your body knows what it wants because you are up on your feet and walking toward her before you even have the option.
She's in the water and you're standing on the shore, waves lapping at your toes and words are tumbling past your lips without your consent, but she's smiling so you must not be saying anything too strange, and now she's looking at you expectantly, waiting for an answer to the question she must've asked.
"Sorry," you say, grinning sheepishly, "can you say that again?"
She grins, all teeth. "Are you going to come out?" she asks, raising her eyebrow like it's a challenge. "Or are you going to flirt with me from a distance?"
And so you wade out until the waves are splashing you in the side of your head because you've always been a sucker for a pretty girl.
"I'm Alex," she says, laughing as a particularly powerful wave crashes over you.
"Olivia," you yell, the wave pushing you under the water. When you resurface, she is still smiling so you splash some water at her and she splashes you back and then it's a war.
When the last splashes have been splashed and the laughter has subsided, you look up and she's standing so close, looking at you with those blue eyes.
And then she is kissing you and her lips are soft and warm against yours and her hands are everywhere, leaving trails of heat all over your body.
When she pulls back, she is blushing. "I don't live too far from here," she says. "Do you want to…?"
"Yes," you say, and she is grinning as she pulls you out of the water.
.
.
She's not keeping her eyes on the road at all. (It's not like you're helping, though, by continuously creeping your hand up her thigh.) And honestly you're both lucky you live long enough to make it to her apartment.
You're barely in the door before she's pressing you against the wall and trailing her lips down your jaw and your neck, and as soon as she unbuttons your jeans and pushes them off your hips, you're putty in her hands.
She's neither rough nor gentle, but, rather, she occupies a place somewhere in the middle, and when you fall apart, it's in waves.
You open your eyes and she's grinning like she's so proud of herself and you kiss her hard just to stop her from looking so smug.
Your hands make quick work of her shorts and bikini bottoms, and she's already so close that it doesn't take much to just push her over the edge. She falls apart with her nail digging crescent-shaped marks into your back.
.
.
Dawn comes early. You find her standing on the balcony, looking over the ocean.
And it's like this: You're nineteen, standing on a balcony overlooking the ocean, and the sun is rising in a colorful mess of reds and purples and oranges, and she's standing there, your white button-up draped over her shoulders, and you're still half-asleep, but you don't think you've ever been this happy.
End