Disclaimer: Original SVU Characters belong to Dick Wolf & NBC everyone else and the story is of my own crazy imagination. Enjoy and please review.
There's a small period of time between sleeping and waking where awareness kicks in. You have yet to open your eyes because you're…assessing. You're mind is running a million things through it between the seconds amid consciousness and the time when you actually adjust your eyes to a new stimulus. Where are you? Are you lying on a bed, on a sofa, atop someone else? What is your state of dress or undress? For her, the last question is answered swiftly and obviously.
She feels the breeziness of an air conditioned room whisper over the fine hairs of her lower back. The coolness of Egyptian cotton sheets rubs against her breasts as she shifts, alerting her to the fact that she is indeed…naked. Her hands are folded beneath her head as she opens her eyes to unfamiliar surroundings.
The room is decorated in earth tones with lavish wall and window coverings, a Tiffany style lamp on the bedside table and what feels like 1000 thread count sheets on a bed, that-up until two seconds before she opened her eyes had been very comfortable. There's a mahogany dresser with a 40 inch flat screen sitting on top of it. The marble floor matches the room's fire place and the French patio doors are closed against the morning sunlight.
Her heart rate quickens. She doesn't remember any details from last night as her feet swing over the mattress putting her into a sitting position facing the patio. Her painted toes rest on the carpeting that surrounds the bed.
Manicured fingers comb through her matted hair as she tries to piece together what happened.
"Be calm," she mutters to herself, trying not to panic. At her voice there is movement behind her on the bed as someone stirs.
She jumps up gathering the sheets around her body to cover herself, having forgotten the person has no doubt already seen her literally…in the flesh.
Standing before the bed she sees a wide strong back, a firm bare ass and hairy but well defined legs.
It's not that she no doubt had too much to drink that bothers her.
It's not that she doesn't remember how she got to wherever she is that bothers her.
What does freak her out immediately is what she notices on the upper left arm of the guy she spent the night with. He has a tattoo. Not just any tattoo but a very distinguishable one she has seen multiple times.
"Elliot," she seethes but doesn't yell because she doesn't know what kind of mess they're in. She picks up a pillow from the bed and hits him with it, effectively rousing him from sleep.
He turns over moaning from an apparent headache simultaneously exposing his morning erection to his former partner. Olivia's face colors and she immediately turns away.
Elliot blinks hard a couple times before he focuses on her and realizes his state of undress. He immediately grabs his discarded slacks from the floor.
"What the hell is going on Elliot," she fumes with her back still turned to him.
"You can turn around now," he tells her and she complies. "I wish I knew, I can't remember anything."
They go to the task of looking around the beautiful but foreign room for clues as to how they got wherever they are and why they're there in the first place. Their credentials and weapons are not there and neither is anything else useful.
Olivia gathers her bra and panties, a dress she doesn't remember buying and shoes she doesn't remember wearing off the floor and enters a bathroom the size of her apartment to put them on. She's shocked when she catches her appearance in the mirror. Elliot's seen her many times with faded make-up and messy hair so that's not what disturbs her. Hickeys trail down her neck, her breasts, over her stomach and her inner thighs. A gasp is caught in her throat as she raises a hand to her lips, still kiss swollen.
She takes a moment sitting on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub instantly noticing the soreness between her legs.
"Shit," she whispers massaging her temples from the instant headache she's gotten.
Outside in the bedroom Elliot is pulling together his own clothing, following a trail of shoes and socks. He is gathering his tie when he catches his reflection in a standalone mirror. His neck has hickeys, his shoulders have a few bite marks and as he continues his examination he notices the scratches on his back.
"What the hell," he grumbles.
Just then Olivia exits the bathroom and she notices them too. She can't stand to look him in the eye with the evidence of what she's done so obvious. Her own marks coupled with the ache between her thighs tells her she wasn't the only enthusiastic one. Both of them look anywhere but one another as they try to figure out how they hell they got into their current predicament.
Olivia walks over to the balcony to try and judge where they may be. Elliot checks the bedroom door to only find it locked.
"I can't tell anything about where we are," she begins. "All I see is a nice large green lawn with beautiful landscaping."
He joins her outside and takes a look for himself seeing the spacious grounds with gray statues, ponds and a multicolored cobble stoned driveway leading to the mansion they're in.
"The door is locked from the outside," he informs her. "So we're stuck until whoever's out there decides to let us go."
Olivia blanches at the news sitting on a nearby chaise lounge and notices the clutch hand bag. Inside she finds lipstick, some cash and driver's license in her alias of Rachel Martin. She doesn't voice this to Elliot but gets up to show him the I.D. in case the room is bugged.
He nods at the realization that she is undercover and may be being watched or listened to. Elliot locates his sport coat and checks the pockets for a wallet. Inside he finds car keys and a bill fold with a driver's license in the name of Elliot O'Leary. Half the mystery is solved. They only need to figure out where they are and whose house they're in.
Just then there's a knock on the door and they both hear a key being maneuvered into the tumbler.
A man the size of a linebacker for the New York Giants enters the room wearing a black suit that is likely Armani, matching shoes, dark sunglasses and a gun he doesn't bother trying to hide. He reminds Olivia of Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson.
"O'Leary the boss requests you and you're new friends' presence for breakfast," he grates. With the man's tone of voice and the hardware he's wearing it comes out more of an order than a request. Elliott is racking his brain trying to figure out why he and this thick necked man have the same "boss". But at the man's obvious impatience they both follow him out of the room.
The hallway is just as elaborate as their room. The mahogany trim continues along the banister, the wallpaper appears to have gold foil woven through it and detailed sconces are outside of each bedroom they pass.
They descend a wide winding staircase and enter a foyer where a crystal chandelier decorates the ceiling surrounded by accent lighting. White marble makes up the floor. Olivia and Elliot follow the man in black to an expansive dining area laid out with a meal fit for a king and his court.
A long table of aromatic and scrumptious looking breakfast foods along with various coffees, teas and juices await them. There is but one lone figure sitting at the end, no doubt the "boss".
The man is tanned, possibly Latino with a full head of salt and pepper hair and matching beard. He is impeccably groomed with a suit even more expensive looking than that of his hired help. He sits calmly with his hands steepled in front of him before motioning for them to join him.
"That is all Max," he tells the man in black. "Thank you," he says before the man leaves them alone.
"Please sit my friends," he begins in a Spanish accent. "I didn't know what you'd be hungry for so I've had my cook prepare a bit of everything."
He emphasizes the word hungry, taking in Olivia's appearance and the fact that she looks as if Elliot has already begun breakfast. She's instantly self conscious about the markings on her body. She tries to remain cool and calm despite her trepidation. Most of Elliot's marks were luckily covered up by his shirt and tie.
"I trust you found the room…enjoyable," asks the stranger.
"Yes it was thanks," Elliot begins. "Were we too drunk to drive home?"
"Well I'm afraid that was a bit less of the fault of alcohol and more of the party favors you inadvertently ingested," he advises them.
Olivia trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice but failing miserably chimes in, "You drugged us," she states.
"I'm sorry but yes," he states simply. "You two seemed to have taken an instant disliking to one another when introduced," he informs them. "It's just a little game I like to play at my parties."
"And what game is that," Elliot asks.
"Un momento a sal y otra momento es dulce," he advises him in his foreign tongue. "Roughly translated, salty to sweet. I like to take two people who seem to hate one another, give them a little something and see how they react. Unfortunately, there is some associated memory loss accompanying the game."
As the two men discuss "the game" Olivia begins to remember the operation and the reason she's there.
Christian De La Costa is a respected real estate mogul on paper, but in reality the largest producer of Ecstasy in New York. His particular recipe gained popularity because after you come down, the nausea, paranoia, depression or other possible effects don't hit you. But during the high other things like inhibition, aggression, sensitivity to pain and sexual arousal are effected. De La Costa's version has led to an elevated level of sexual assaults fueled by the drug. The latest included the rape and murder of a young woman dumped into an alley. Olivia's job is to trace the drugs back to the seemingly untouchable businessman.
Last she checked though, her former partner was freaking retired. Needless to say she was a little surprised and a lot pissed to find him in the employ of the man whose table she now shares.
"Mr. De La Costa," Olivia begins surprising Elliot at her remembrance of their captor's name. "Do you treat all of your friends this way," she continues, "drugging us then keeping us locked in until morning?"
"Trust me Ms. Martin," he begins, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "You put up absolutely no resistance to Mr. O'Leary here. By the time the drug took effect you were practically groping each other on the dance floor," he informs a stunned Olivia. "I only provided a place to…let nature takes its course without interruption."
As the conversation with Olivia goes on, Elliot regains a bit of his memory as well. "It's also a good way to show potential clients just how good your product is," Elliot says with a smile.
"Exactly," agrees De La Costa. "Now let's eat and then you can see Ms. Martin home."
Knowing that refusing the man could be dangerous, they try to eat hoping that nothing extra is in the food. As memories come back for both of them, they know they'll have to discuss what happened the previous evening. Of all the things they never want to talk about, last night's escapades top the list.
After breakfast De La Costa walks Elliot and Olivia to the door with his bodyguard in tow.
"Elliot we'll see you home properly Ms. Martin," he informs Olivia pulling a cell phone from his pocket. "I found this in the library. I'll contact you about our business via text within 24 hours. Keep this with you," he concludes before kissing her hand and closing the door behind them.
Alone with her former partner in the courtyard, Olivia first wipes away the kiss of De La Costa. The two can't meet one another's eyes and stand there awkwardly for a second before Elliot starts walking towards the car.
"Elliot," she says in a voice that has always stopped him in his tracks. He knows she's about to tell him something he doesn't want to hear or ask him something he doesn't want to answer.
"How paranoid is your boss," she asks to his back.
"Why," he asks not liking where the conversation was heading.
"Because I need to know the chances of," she really doesn't want to finish the thought let alone the sentence but she has to. "I want to know the likelihood of having to explain a sex tape with you to Cragen."