Ava Cabot
Blur
A Law and Order: SVU fic
Warning: Rating for sexual situations.
Disclaimer: If I owned SVU...well...let's just not say what I'd do with the characters.
Summary: "Sometimes fantasy can change reality from a blur of dreams, visions, and semi-conscious desires." Meant to cease writer's block.
~*~
Late nights like this one are killing me slowly for sure.
She lies beside me, tangled in a knot of dark light and coarse sheets. Her alarm clock clicks to five a.m., and I know it's all over for the night. We've finished what we started, and will go our separate ways soon.
Hours before we lay intertwined, staring at each other through fatigued eyes. My baby blues against her own soul-searching sockets, drinking in every part of the moment. Words became caught in her throat with every twist our bodies made, making soundless tears flow freely across our faces. Her clothes are mingled with mine on the floor, creating a sense of haphazardness and rushed motions.
A small sliver of the moon shines through the open window.
Enraptured by the passing sight of her warm smile, I press my lips against her face, pressing against her to memorize every single curve and contour of her body. She pushed against me, deepening the kiss and daring her lungs to explode with oxygen.
In the line of our duties, neither of us could be sure there would be another day, in this kind of moment.
Kissing her was like kissing an angel. Touching her was like touching grace and perfection in a tangible form.
The image of her beautiful face is captured in my memory, undefiled by any scars or bruises that mark victim from helper. Smooth as ivory and untouchable as porcelain, even I hesitate to touch her.
Now lying beside me, I watch her leg arch away from mine, as a held-in sigh escapes from deep within her throat. I can see moonlight captured in her eyes, which envelope all matter within them. She seems all knowing, and yet afraid of what may come.
She and I are the living the lie we were afraid to speak aloud.
I honestly can't remember the last time I slept soundly in my bed without waking up in a cold sweat. The few hours of sleep I do get are usually upstairs in the loft, on an age-old couch where detectives have slept on for decades.
Her hand, trailing across the low of my back, stops suddenly. I roll away from her, shivering slightly as I hand over the soft velvet comforter. The nights have been colder lately.
The icy breeze slips across her naked form, making her twitch with cold underneath the blanket.
She's usually at the stationhouse all night alongside with us, until dawn breaks and she trudges back to her other job. The one where she doesn't scream in her sleep, and see dead bodies protruding through the walls.
Self-consciously, I know I shouldn't follow her when she leaves the room. I should avoid temptation like a good Catholic man, and resist any tease that comes my way.
In this philosophical sense of doubt, I know that I'm only human. I couldn't be without her, even if I tried. I'm drawn to her like fire to water, star to sky, life to death.
I often wonder why what happened did. She and I weren't drunk. If anything, we were high on some adrenaline rush that pushed us over the edge, blurring the line between what was real, and what should have remained fantasy. Maybe it all started with my invitation for dinner after a rough day in court. Watching a slimy lawyer defending a habitual sodomite win his case always leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Having the feeling that you are helpless to bring closure to a victim takes away a part of both our souls.
Needless to say, we went over the edge after that. I couldn't keep my own feelings locked inside my dreams and desires. I had to let go.
For both of us, we have no life without our jobs. We don't live, sleep, or breath without thinking about what we see every day. Every time I see her alone, we can talk about this, two kindred spirits. Not that the others wouldn't understand—sometimes I needed a different opinion. A different insight on things that no one else but her could understand.
Reality is a simple thing, truly. There is a distinctive line between it and fantasy. Nowadays, I can't find the line between the two. I'm blurring my desires with my life, and God help me, I can't stop. She reminded me too much of Kathy, that I couldn't help but reach out to her caring motions and unassuming ways. She is poetry in motion, moving through each day with a grazing touch of inexplicable beauty and elegance.
I almost wonder if going back to talking would help. She's in the middle of my problems too. She understands what I go through every day—her life is just as complicated. It's been a while since we just talked, and used verbal speech. We would communicate with our bodies, silent and poetically done with almost no words, except her soft words of comfort ringing in my ears. She'd touch my arm and ask me what I was thinking. When I couldn't answer her with my voice, she could see the response in my eyes.
The first time she and I were alone together wasn't full of fireworks or passion. It was quiet and moonlit, her entire face lined with pale shadows and hints of what-might-have-been.
Days after that blurred into my memory. Living without tonight would be hard. Forgetting would be impossible. I can't remember if there have been more incidents like this, or if I was just dreaming of something was never there. I don't know if my hand trailing across her cheek is real, or the soft taste of her lips is just another wayward dream.
This dream I'm having with her has made me blur my life with fantasy even more. Her presence is my addiction of choice.
She and I aren't people who just fall in love easily. But then again, are we in love? Or were we just acting out guilty feelings that couldn't be withheld any longer? We were both probably looking for someone to fill a hole in our lives, and just grabbed who was closest.
No one will ever know the answer to that soul-searching question.
In the wake of the moment, she seems to understand my pain. Mournful eyes gaze at the ceiling as we lay side by side, our breathing short and rapid. Dawn will approach within minutes, and then everything will assumingly just fall back into place. It's the way life should be—fitting together like pieces to the puzzle.
But then again, not all the pieces fit.
She turns on her side, away from my ashen face and boring eyes. She can't bear to face me either. Guilt is eating away at both us, slowly depriving us of the strange adrenaline rush that pushed us over the edge before, and the times before that.
We remember that time can never be turned back.
It's then we both realize that nothing can go back to how it was. The lines of reality and fantasy between us aren't defined by work or life anymore. We don't even know if it was love that drove us into this one night. There can and will never be any boundaries between us. We've become one final blur of energy, raw emotion, and lust.
She understands my silence now, letting a careless strand of hair fall beside her wrist, reaching out to comfort my guilty face.
"I'm sorry, Elliot," she said softly, touching my face with the tips of pale fingers.
I close my eyes and welcome a faint ray of sunshine across my face. And I realize that we can never go back on what we've done. "No regrets, Alex."
No regrets.
Only a simple blur.
~*~
A/N: Yeah, it was Alex/Elliot, not Olivia/Elliot. But I'm guessing you smart readers already figured it out. This one-shot drabble is to jog my muse to finish the epilogue for Plunge Into Air, which coming along slightly faster than a turtle's pace. Review, but don't flame. I sic my dragon on flamers.
Love you all,
Ava
Blur
A Law and Order: SVU fic
Warning: Rating for sexual situations.
Disclaimer: If I owned SVU...well...let's just not say what I'd do with the characters.
Summary: "Sometimes fantasy can change reality from a blur of dreams, visions, and semi-conscious desires." Meant to cease writer's block.
~*~
Late nights like this one are killing me slowly for sure.
She lies beside me, tangled in a knot of dark light and coarse sheets. Her alarm clock clicks to five a.m., and I know it's all over for the night. We've finished what we started, and will go our separate ways soon.
Hours before we lay intertwined, staring at each other through fatigued eyes. My baby blues against her own soul-searching sockets, drinking in every part of the moment. Words became caught in her throat with every twist our bodies made, making soundless tears flow freely across our faces. Her clothes are mingled with mine on the floor, creating a sense of haphazardness and rushed motions.
A small sliver of the moon shines through the open window.
Enraptured by the passing sight of her warm smile, I press my lips against her face, pressing against her to memorize every single curve and contour of her body. She pushed against me, deepening the kiss and daring her lungs to explode with oxygen.
In the line of our duties, neither of us could be sure there would be another day, in this kind of moment.
Kissing her was like kissing an angel. Touching her was like touching grace and perfection in a tangible form.
The image of her beautiful face is captured in my memory, undefiled by any scars or bruises that mark victim from helper. Smooth as ivory and untouchable as porcelain, even I hesitate to touch her.
Now lying beside me, I watch her leg arch away from mine, as a held-in sigh escapes from deep within her throat. I can see moonlight captured in her eyes, which envelope all matter within them. She seems all knowing, and yet afraid of what may come.
She and I are the living the lie we were afraid to speak aloud.
I honestly can't remember the last time I slept soundly in my bed without waking up in a cold sweat. The few hours of sleep I do get are usually upstairs in the loft, on an age-old couch where detectives have slept on for decades.
Her hand, trailing across the low of my back, stops suddenly. I roll away from her, shivering slightly as I hand over the soft velvet comforter. The nights have been colder lately.
The icy breeze slips across her naked form, making her twitch with cold underneath the blanket.
She's usually at the stationhouse all night alongside with us, until dawn breaks and she trudges back to her other job. The one where she doesn't scream in her sleep, and see dead bodies protruding through the walls.
Self-consciously, I know I shouldn't follow her when she leaves the room. I should avoid temptation like a good Catholic man, and resist any tease that comes my way.
In this philosophical sense of doubt, I know that I'm only human. I couldn't be without her, even if I tried. I'm drawn to her like fire to water, star to sky, life to death.
I often wonder why what happened did. She and I weren't drunk. If anything, we were high on some adrenaline rush that pushed us over the edge, blurring the line between what was real, and what should have remained fantasy. Maybe it all started with my invitation for dinner after a rough day in court. Watching a slimy lawyer defending a habitual sodomite win his case always leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Having the feeling that you are helpless to bring closure to a victim takes away a part of both our souls.
Needless to say, we went over the edge after that. I couldn't keep my own feelings locked inside my dreams and desires. I had to let go.
For both of us, we have no life without our jobs. We don't live, sleep, or breath without thinking about what we see every day. Every time I see her alone, we can talk about this, two kindred spirits. Not that the others wouldn't understand—sometimes I needed a different opinion. A different insight on things that no one else but her could understand.
Reality is a simple thing, truly. There is a distinctive line between it and fantasy. Nowadays, I can't find the line between the two. I'm blurring my desires with my life, and God help me, I can't stop. She reminded me too much of Kathy, that I couldn't help but reach out to her caring motions and unassuming ways. She is poetry in motion, moving through each day with a grazing touch of inexplicable beauty and elegance.
I almost wonder if going back to talking would help. She's in the middle of my problems too. She understands what I go through every day—her life is just as complicated. It's been a while since we just talked, and used verbal speech. We would communicate with our bodies, silent and poetically done with almost no words, except her soft words of comfort ringing in my ears. She'd touch my arm and ask me what I was thinking. When I couldn't answer her with my voice, she could see the response in my eyes.
The first time she and I were alone together wasn't full of fireworks or passion. It was quiet and moonlit, her entire face lined with pale shadows and hints of what-might-have-been.
Days after that blurred into my memory. Living without tonight would be hard. Forgetting would be impossible. I can't remember if there have been more incidents like this, or if I was just dreaming of something was never there. I don't know if my hand trailing across her cheek is real, or the soft taste of her lips is just another wayward dream.
This dream I'm having with her has made me blur my life with fantasy even more. Her presence is my addiction of choice.
She and I aren't people who just fall in love easily. But then again, are we in love? Or were we just acting out guilty feelings that couldn't be withheld any longer? We were both probably looking for someone to fill a hole in our lives, and just grabbed who was closest.
No one will ever know the answer to that soul-searching question.
In the wake of the moment, she seems to understand my pain. Mournful eyes gaze at the ceiling as we lay side by side, our breathing short and rapid. Dawn will approach within minutes, and then everything will assumingly just fall back into place. It's the way life should be—fitting together like pieces to the puzzle.
But then again, not all the pieces fit.
She turns on her side, away from my ashen face and boring eyes. She can't bear to face me either. Guilt is eating away at both us, slowly depriving us of the strange adrenaline rush that pushed us over the edge before, and the times before that.
We remember that time can never be turned back.
It's then we both realize that nothing can go back to how it was. The lines of reality and fantasy between us aren't defined by work or life anymore. We don't even know if it was love that drove us into this one night. There can and will never be any boundaries between us. We've become one final blur of energy, raw emotion, and lust.
She understands my silence now, letting a careless strand of hair fall beside her wrist, reaching out to comfort my guilty face.
"I'm sorry, Elliot," she said softly, touching my face with the tips of pale fingers.
I close my eyes and welcome a faint ray of sunshine across my face. And I realize that we can never go back on what we've done. "No regrets, Alex."
No regrets.
Only a simple blur.
~*~
A/N: Yeah, it was Alex/Elliot, not Olivia/Elliot. But I'm guessing you smart readers already figured it out. This one-shot drabble is to jog my muse to finish the epilogue for Plunge Into Air, which coming along slightly faster than a turtle's pace. Review, but don't flame. I sic my dragon on flamers.
Love you all,
Ava