"Are you sure you're okay with doing this Olivia?" Cragen asked from the driver's seat of the cab.
"Yeah I'm sure – it's the only way I can get a confession out of the girls and get close to Kozlov" Olivia replied, steeling herself to walk into the club.
"And it's not Olivia" she corrected the older man wryly as she got into character…"Svetlana, only my close friends call me Olivia".
A square jawed bouncer came over to the cab door. Cold grey eyes flicked over her body appraisingly and Olivia resisted the urge to hit the man.
"Very nice" he said in a thick Russian accent. "Come - Sergei is waiting for you. You don't want to keep a man like Sergei waiting".
Olivia passed Cragen a twenty dollar bill and stepped out of the cab, extremely conscious of just how short her skirt was.
Not quite believing what she was about to do, Olivia walked into the club with her bouncer escort. Four girls in the last month had been found murdered in various parts of the city.
The last victim they'd pulled out of the river only several hours ago, after the undercover sting had been planned.
What the murdered women had in common was the fact that they were all young, no older than mid-twenties and they had been doused with vodka and then shot in the back of the head, execution style before their bodies were disposed of by setting them on fire.
Forensic evidence showed that each girl had been born in different districts of Russia, and that their bodies showed signs of extreme sexual activity.
So it was no surprise when their investigation had brought them straight to the Russian mob's doorstep, or rather – to the doorstep of the burlesque strip club owned and used by the mob as a kind of epicentre and meeting place.
Fin, Elliot and Munch were already inside the club, sitting fairly spread out. Munch was at the bar; using what Russian he could to dispel any suspicion over his unfamiliar presence in the club.
Fin was right near the front stage, appearing to be captivated by a busty blonde dancer in an ice blue sequined costume.
Elliot was closer to the middle group of tables, near where she presumed the suspected mob leaders were seated judging by the amount of vodka, cigars and bodyguards surrounding them.
She was taken into a back room and told to get ready – she would called onstage in twenty minutes. Olivia felt her heart sink as she looked around the room. She knew she was good undercover, but she wasn't this good.
Sitting down at the corner of one vanity, she pulled her hair out of its ponytail and tried to work it into something a little more alluring.
"You are new at this yes?" one of the striking blondes raised her perfectly penciled eyebrow archly, a look of amusement crossing her delicate features.
"Yes" Olivia agreed sighing; she didn't need to act for this part.
"I should think so, what man vould want an old woman" the girl turned away, whispering cattily to her friends.
"I don't think any of the clothes vould fit her anyvay – she's much too full chested and her hips are like a cows".
"That's enough Olga" another blonde stood up, or stood out was perhaps a better way of phrasing it. Not only was she wearing one of the revealing burlesque costumes, but she was also sporting a very pregnant belly.
The first blonde tossed her hair back haughtily, "Votever, both of dem will be gone soon enough – Sergei vill never keep ugly girls the men von't want".
"Then I guess you must be performing some very special services for him to keep you around" Olivia shot back, unable to help herself.
Evidently, this Olga wasn't very popular amongst the dancers and aside from the seven or so snotty dancers flocking around Olga, the rest of them burst into laughter at Olivia's comeback.
"Come on honey, let's get you fixed up. You're going to need a whole lot more mascara – this ain't exactly the Ritz".
The other girls took Olivia under their wing and began curling her hair and sorting through racks of costumes, happily chattering – everyone having a hand in her transformation.
And transformation it was – Olivia barely recognized herself after the girls were done with her. Although maybe that was a good thing; she couldn't imagine the real Olivia Benson going out and gyrating on a stage.
Val – the pregnant girl who had first stood up for Olivia had showed her a simple beginning routine before she had to rush out for her curtain call. And after Olivia had practiced a few times backstage she thought she could at least manage to not fall flat on her face as soon as she walked out on the stage.
When Val returned, she sat down on the couch across from Olivia grimacing – a fist pressed into her back.
She caught Olivia staring and smiled ruefully, lacing her hands over her belly. "I know…crazy huh? But some guys are into it so Serg has let me keep working…God knows I need the money for when this little guy or girl comes along.
She rubbed the large swell, her tired face lighting up as she spoke about her unborn child.
Olivia blushed at being caught "I just don't know how you do it – you must be close to term. When are you due?"
"8 weeks to go I think"
"You think? You're not sure?" Olivia winced hearing her last remark. Lord, it must sound as if she was judging this poor girl. Besides, it wasn't any of her business who the father was or when he was in the picture.
"I'm sorry Val, I didn't mean it like that" Olivia apologized reaching for the other girls hand, but pausing when she heard Val start to laugh.
"No, no, no" she giggled again. "The father is my boyfriend Pavel…it's just, we're all Serge's girls here…he doesn't like us going to the doctor or going out other than shopping or work".
"So you haven't seen a doctor?" Olivia asked, alarmed for the young girl.
"Nope, but I can feel him kicking up a storm so I know he's okay".
"But what if it wasn't? What if something happens or goes wrong during labour?" Olivia couldn't help from asking.
The other girl shrugged helplessly; "everyone helps each other out at the house, although I'm the only one who's not Russian. I'm from Texas. But I'll have lots of help during the birth. Now come on, enough about me – you're on in 5 – shoo!"
Waiting just behind the stage curtains, Olivia could hear the crowd as the dancer onstage finished her act. Practicing the series of steps in her head, she took a last deep breath – not to mention a shot of vodka to calm her nerves – and stepped out.
The deep voice of the announcer boomed out; "and now, everyone welcome to the stage for the first time here at the Matryoshka Club – Whistlin' Dixie. This little mama likes nothing better than a bubble bath for two and, oh hey looky here: says she likes a man who knows how to handle his gun. Give it up for Dixie everybody!"
Olivia snorted quietly to herself, she had tried to write her 'introduction' as her character – but knowing Munch, Cragen & Fin were in the audience she couldn't help adding in that last bit about the gun. And from the muffled laughter she could discern above the yells of the crowd, she knew that little slip of humour wasn't lost on them.
The red velvet curtains parted slowly, the golden fringe sweeping the floor. But all he saw was darkness.
And then a single spotlight hit the stage, illuminating a lone figure in the centre whose head was bowed – partially hidden by the sweeping feathers of her headdress.
Olivia felt the spotlight sear into her shoulders, making them prickle with heat and heard the beginning bars of music.
This was humiliating, her friends and co-workers seeing her exposed like that – prancing around on a stage, selling her body; or at least the image of it to the dozens of horny men calling out and whooping when she took her first step out.
Elliot's mouth went dry, every cell in his body turning uncomfortably hot and heavy as Olivia started to dance and mouth along to the lyrics – and hard as he might try to convince himself, and others otherwise – it wasn't the vodka making him feel this way.
Her hair was loose, glossy chestnut curls tumbling to just above the gently glistening skin of her bare shoulders. One side was pulled back with an array of dark rhinestones that glittered wickedly and attached to a deep purple feather – so purple it was almost black.
The deep brown eyes he knew how to read so well were framed by thick black lashes that would have made her look doll eyed of it wasn't for the thick swipe of cat-eye eye liner swept across her eyelids.
Her lips shone with a berry coloured gloss – looking lusciously sweet & sticky.
As his eyes moved down her body he was glad for the alcohol present that he hoped would temper his obvious, not to mention immediate hard and ready arousal.
She was wearing a corset that left little to the imagination; although compared to what Elliot had seen thrust out on the stage earlier in the night he was sure this was the tamest outfit she could find.
It was made out of rich, inky purple velvet, not unlike the feather in her hair. And dotted and covered with various sizes and shapes of black rhinestones.
The demi cups that barely contained the half swells of her breasts were completely covered in the black angular stones, but your eyes moved down, they thinned out in concentration until there were only a few scattered here and there, deliberately designed to draw the viewer's eye down to the cleft of her thighs; the velvet providing the perfect sensual backdrop of moist heat and texture.
Elliot felt his own kind of moist heat rise as she slid her black gloved hands down her body torturously slowly as she straddled a chair and leaned back in a deep arch – pale creamy breasts thrust to the ceiling like perfect halves of a moon.
Now Olivia Benson had killed before, but never was there such a massacre as she slayed every breathing man in the audience as she danced. No, it was more the phrase 'killer curves' that came to mind as he watched her generous hips sway in time and her hair flick over her shoulder as she winked back at the audience in an open mouthed saucy grin.
Olivia started to breathe a little easier now that she was almost done her routine – although her full to bursting corset didn't do much to help that fact.
It seemed Olga was wrong, because unless she was mistaken she was a hit with the men at the club. At least if they're tortured faces and hands twitching close to the suddenly too tight flies of their pants were any indication.
Nope, guess she wasn't past her prime. And damn if it didn't feel just a little good to know that – to feel the power she exuded over the men as much as she detested the exploitation of women and their bodies.
"Dis is the new one?" Elliot heard a deep gravelly voice behind him speak in a thick Russian accent to one of his bodyguards flanking him on either side of the table.
"Bring her over here".
Elliot's grip tightened on his glass as a blonde bodyguard walked to the front of the stage, gesturing for Olivia to follow him as she finished her short act.
Oh…this was it. Olivia thought as she wended her way through the tables – doing her best to avoid the barrage of hands that came close to grabbing her as she went past.
Her willed her fists to unclench as she came to a stop in front of the man everyone called Sergei Kozlov. The man who Olivia was out to prove was responsible for the deaths of the four young women as well as money laundering and prostitution.
"My name is Svetlana Pljevlja (A/N: pronounced Pul-YAY-vee-lya)… some of my friends call me Olivia because it sounds like my last name".
"And you are Russian? Yet you have no accent".
"My father was Russian, my mother Hungarian. But I was born in America although I speak the language a little" – she used a heavier accent now as well as throwing in a few choice words in Russian to assure him.
"But votever gets the men going – is vat I vill do" her voice turned husky and suggestive – although inside Olivia was cringing and resisting the impulse to cross her arms over her chest to stop the group of men from ogling her like they were with vodka soaked eyes and senses.
"Good – I think you vill fit in here. Have de girls explained the rules of being a matryoshka?"
Olivia inclined her head; "a little…but I can learn".
"You'll need to learn quickly…I do not tolerate any disobedience for my girls. But for all that you will be taken care of – you understand da? Yes?"
Sergei asked if she understood in Russian before quickly translating to English and Olivia nodded.
"Good – now zis man here has not spent money on any of the girls, see if you can tempt him, no?" Sergei nodded towards Elliot who was listening closely at a nearby table.
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but the cold steely eyes of her new boss and captor told her this was a test – one she needed to pass.
What she didn't know was whether she should be thankful he'd pointed out Elliot instead of a random stranger, or terrified out of her skin because it WAS Elliot he chose.
"Hey" Sergei called out to Elliot "on the house".
Elliot smiled, "no thanks, not tonight".
"She is beautiful, no?"
"Yes" Elliot agreed, wishing his voice didn't sound so husky.
"Well there you go" Sergei waved his hand dismissingly and Olivia came over to stand in front of Elliot, trying to hide how desperately nervous and awkward she felt.
She closed her eyes a moment longer than necessary as she blinked, trying to calm her nerves. But before she could open them she felt strong hands take her by the waist; strong…but gentle -and oh so heartbreakingly familiar.
She placed her hands unsteadily on Elliot's shoulders as she placed one knee on the couch on either side of him so she was straddling him on the low slung chair.
Her hair fell in a sleek curtain over his face and Elliot shuddered with the tension of trying not to come then and there; thinking how mortifying that would be to explode like an inexperienced schoolboy.
His hands moved up her hips to span her waist, and as she teased his earlobe with her tongue he rubbed his thumbs in slow circles until they just brushed the undersides of her breasts as he held her close.
Olivia let out a short sharp breath as she felt her nipples tighten almost painfully with pleasure as Elliot's hands moved in an intoxicating titillating rhythm over her body.
The mindful attention of his hands clawed her through with desire until she was writhing against him in helpless rhythm, so aware and cognizant of the hot wet ache that throbbed between her legs.
But then his hands slid downward; palms brushing over the velvet covered tips of her breasts until they came down her body again and he cupped her against him. Filling his hands with the full ripe curve of her bottom, his hands coming around her so that he could pull her legs apart a little further and slide her closer into him.
God, he was good. Olivia might almost believe he was aroused – she was hazy with desire. Only as her hands brushed below his belt buckle as she ground against him that she felt the truth of him as he sucked in a sharp breath. He was as aroused as she was.
This was wrong…this was bad – really, really bad. But God help her at the moment she didn't care as she rubbed herself up and down Elliot – forgetting everybody and anybody else was in the room as she let her head fall back with pleasure as Elliot sucked on her neck, drawing his teeth across her shoulder until she shivered with the feel of each and every one of her sense and nerves awakened. Even the ones she had thought long gone.
Suddenly, the loud cheers erupting from all around the room broke the two out of their heady reverie.
"Oh my God" Olivia whispered, her eyes growing large and round and frightened before she snapped back into character as 'Dixie'.
Elliot's reaction was the same as Olivia slid down his body and twirled around in a mocking bow to the answering cheers of the room.
What the hell was that?