A/N: I'm diligently working on a Scandal update right now, loves. Hopefully I'll have that posted soon. My school semester is over and i'm on vacay, so hopefully I'll get some Scandal time in then. Now, for this story:

This came to mind after listening to Beyoncé 'Drunk In Love' oh about 1,000 times. It's going to be a 3 (or 2) -shot, and the rating will change from T to M. This piece takes place somewhere around late season 11 early 12, Elliot and Kathy are divorced. This is a fluffy and fun EO with a pinch of angst, a bit different than what I'm used to writing for these two.

Please review and let me know what ya think! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing or Olivia and Alex would have slept together ages ago. Yes I'm a die hard EO shipper, but AO is my second ship and I will go down with it, just like I'm going down with EO. Okay.

A Cabernet Soaked Kiss

The liquid was a tart, yet sweet mixture of black currant, oak, and vanilla- a deep red with a minty overtone. Olivia had never quite pictured herself as a wine drinker; she'd always been a beer and shot kind of girl. In order to compete with the boys, it was a shot of Jack Daniels here and there, and then a beer to bring it all home. She prided herself on being able to slam shots with some of the best of the NYPD's testosterone fueled macho male detectives. Once, she'd drunk Munch right under the table, managing to hold her own until the subway ride to the 1-6 the next morning. Nope, wine had never been Olivia's poison of choice. Yet here she was at midnight, crimson liquid dripping from her full lips, as she sat on her living room floor, phone in one hand, bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in the other, and her mind in contemplation. Did she or didn't she? It was after midnight, and she was buzzed. She couldn't, could she?

Olivia brought the chilled bottle to her lips and sipped its contents, the fingers of her free hand gliding along her phone screen. The more she sipped, the more courage she gained. Liquid courage was fool's gold and Olivia was looking to cash in before common sense got the better of her.

She set the bottle down, and picked up her phone. Nimble fingers quickly slid across the touch screen as she navigated to her text messages, and then to her outbox. They'd only been dating for a bit was it too soon for this? A late night message and a proposition for a booty call. Especially when he'd rebuffed a lot of advances already.

Hell, you only lived once, right?

It took three tries, and a great amount of concentration (she hadn't drank that much, had she?), but Olivia managed to string together a text (most words spelled correctly), hoping to evoke illicit images in her boyfriend's head that would eventually lead to a knock at her door.

"Good evning, or morning. Whatever. This is a PSA from your girlfriend to let you know that she wants to feel your handes all over her body, especially on her ass while she's grinding against your naked body and tasting you. Come over."

Liquid courage, it was a thing of wonders. Now all she had to do was wait for a response. Hopefully he wasn't asleep. If he were, it'd be another late night with Mr. Vi Brator.

Moments later her phone buzzed, knocking against the wood grain of her apartment floor. She picked it up and a giggle escaped her wine soaked lips, along with a roll of her eyes at his response.

"How much have you had to drink?"

Almost a full bottle, but that was a null and void topic, to Olivia. She didn't want to focus on her alcohol blood level content, but the feel of his body pressed against her.

"Enough. now get your ass here. Don't make me beg." She really wouldn't beg, would she? No, she had more dignity than that, though she was really horny. Apparently all it took to unravel her filthy side was a bit of red wine.

"Begging could be interesting. Kind of hot, too." Ass.

"Don't be an ass. I'm trying to give you my body here."

"And I'd love to take the offer, but I don't think we should. You're drunk." Olivia let out a loud huff at his last response and rolled her eyes. Did he have to chose now of all times to consider her state of mind. They'd both been cops for far too long.

"I'm not drunk. I'm buzzed and horny. Come over."

Oh how she was going to pay for these messages later.

Minutes ticked by and her phone did not buzz with a reply. She picked it up to check to see that maybe perhaps she'd missed his response, but to no avail. A sigh left her lips and she found her way to her feet, noticeably dejected. He wasn't coming. Brator it'd be.

She grasped the wine bottle in hand and made her way into her bedroom, setting the cabernet down on her night stand. Shrugging out of her blouse and trousers, she went into her dresser and pulled out an oversized NYPD t-shirt, and a pair of boy short underwear, throwing them on her bed. Clad only in her bra and thong, she crossed her bedroom and headed for her bathroom. Turning on the tub she began to run a warm bath before heading back into her room, and grabbing her iPod; she hit shuffle before placing it on it's speaker docking station. The sound of Dusty Springfield singing about the son of a preacher man filled the room. Barely dressed, Olivia grabbed the neck of the wine bottle and mosied into her kitchen, her hips swinging to the music as she opened her refrigerator and reached for her leftover takeout.

Leftover Chinese, the rest of her wine, a bubble bath, some music, and a nice round with her vibrator would quell the sting of being turned down by her boyfriend, she reasoned. Her well kempt eyebrows furrowed in contemplation as she considered that word, boyfriend. He was far from a boy, although he had been her friend for as long as she could remember. But boyfriend? Could she call him that? Boyfriends were for young girls and women, not a middle-aged detective who'd only ever had one stable relationship in her entire life. Add to that notion the fact that they'd been together officially for a little over three months, and hadn't even slept together. Each time they'd come close, he'd pull away. Usually it only took her five dates to hop into bed with a man. Hell, she'd slept with Kurt in three. Maybe they were trying to force something that just wasn't meant to be.

Standing at her kitchen counter, Olivia sipped from her wine bottle and picked at her food, only one thing - or person, on her mind. Her iPod changed tune, and Prince began to coo, "I Wanna Be Your Lover."

A smirk fell across her face at the irony. She wanted to be his lover so badly; to know what his body felt like against hers, to trash the curve of his backside, memorize the muscles of his chest, taste his most sensitive flesh.

For so many years she'd kept him out of her salacious thoughts, even when it's been damn near impossible, like in Oregon, she'd still tried. He'd been married, spoken for, forbidden fruit, and Olivia was no home-wrecker. Hell, she'd put more time into saving his marriage than he had eleven of those twenty plus years he'd been married.

Taking another bite of Kung Pao chicken, and another sip of wine, Olivia pushed herself away from her countertop. She began to shimmy to the beat, shoving thoughts of her maybe boyfriend - forever best friend - wanna be lover from her head, deciding not to let the state of their relationship eat at her. She was buzzed, feeling good. Tomorrow was her day off and she wasn't going to let anything faze her. Even if she was still horny and buzzed, she'd been taking care of her own needs for years, just because they'd been an item for a couple plus months didn't mean that she couldn't handle herself any more.

Olivia let the beat took control of her body and she danced her way toward her bathroom. So caught up in the song and the sentiment, Olivia didn't notice, nor hear the unlocking of her door, or the turning of the doorknob.