Holy coolness I'm glad you're all liking my Sin vacation – thanks so much for all the words! This is just a little escape from the bigger picture and despite the AC content it's actually a lot lighter than my other fics, to the point where I'll even admit it boarders a little on the OOC side. Also somewhere along the way it seems to have taken a slight comedic detour hmmm but don't worry you can trust me – the hotness will prevail.
His eyes were closed.
He was lying on his back with his hands clasped before him trying desperately to summon sleep. He was concentrating on the gentle rise and fall of his breathing in the hope that it may ease him into a deep slumber. He had had tried his stomach, his side, his back, and now he was debating if he'd try his stomach again.
Damn it.
He'd have to be up soon. Another day would begin and he would have to ply himself full of caffeine just to get through it. This hadn't been the first restless night he'd endured recently, it had been all week really. He didn't know exactly what to attribute the sleep deprivation to but it had to stop.
The bed was different, that didn't help. It was too firm, to the point where he might as well be sleeping on a plank of wood. Three months in a new bed and it still felt as firm as the day he'd bought it. He wondered how many months, or years would have to pass until it softened up.
It wasn't the cases that were keeping him up, over the years he'd learned to successfully block them out long enough to fall into a shallow sleep. Of course there were those rare occasions where a case would hit too close to home and he'd have no hope of shutting it off, but tonight that wasn't it.
It wasn't his family that was keeping him up, despite the overwhelming feeling that it should be. He'd moved out three months ago and each time he had called or visited the house they all seemed to be getting on fine without him, even Kathy.
Particularly Kathy.
It should bother him more.
He knew exactly what was keeping him up, only he'd barely admit it to himself let alone anyone else. He'd gone at her today, cut her down mid conversation and effectively told her that her opinion wasn't warranted. As soon as he had said the words, he knew he'd crossed a line.
Your viewpoint will always be partial Olivia.
Fuck. Why did he have to say always as if he were implying that she would never get married? Then instead of correcting himself or backtracking he simply stared her down as if it were some sort of challenge.
He'd seen the fire in her eyes as she glared back at him and the worst part was, he'd enjoyed it. It was her undivided anger directed solely at him and although it was negative, it was emotion; feeling radiating from those chocolate brown eyes that had practically turned black.
He was a sick son of a bitch.
He owed her an apology, but then again the amount he'd owed her over the years had accumulated to a point where he'd stop counting. He would make up for it in other ways he figured, without the words. A takeaway coffee, or the offer to drive her home this week. That's about as far as his stubbornness would stretch without openly having to admit fault.
He rolled over onto his stomach as if he could trick his body into thinking he hadn't tried this position yet. As he lay there concentrating on slowing his breathing he tried to deter his thoughts away from his partner. If he could just get her out of his head for five minutes maybe he'd have a chance at this.
As his heart began to slow and his breathing tapered he could feel his body slowly succumbing to it's dire need of sleep. It was moments later that his phone lit up beside his bed and all thoughts of sleep had been officially obliterated to hell.
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Fuck a fucking-fuck.
What the hell was she going to do? Michael or Mitchell or whoever the hell he was had left over 30 minutes ago and she was still lying there racking her brain for a plan of attack.
She tried to think logistics. Elliot would be coming from Queens, which was over 40 minutes away on a good run, but at this hour there would be little to no traffic. Meaning chances are he would be here any minute. Damn it. That is if this guy called him straight away, maybe he wanted to drag it out just to make her suffer. Who would know.
She'd considered heaving the bed across the room to the dresser but the position he had her cuffed meant she would barely be able to reach the phone with her feet. Besides, even if she got to the phone what then? Who is she going to call? Elliot? And tell him everything is fine, that there is no need to come over.
He'd still come over.
She thought about breaking the wooden rung in her headboard. It was wood, not metal but she'd still need to give it a hefty beating and even then it wasn't guaranteed. Elliot would still get the phone call regardless and he'd be more likely to find her in a sweaty exhausted heap than broken free. So she had cut her losses, decided she'd just lie here - impatiently and wait for the shit storm to hit.
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Your partner is in deep shit Stabler. You better grab a shovel.
He'd read the text about 9 times before it actually registered. Even then he had no idea what the hell it meant. He was panicking that's for sure, his heart rate was plummeting as his mind automatically flashed to the worse case scenario. Instead of replying to the text or calling the number, he exited the text message and searched frantically for her name.
Benson.
It rang, once – twice – three times and he was begging her in his mind. Please just pick up so I know you're fine. Tell me this is just some loon that's stolen my business card and is fucking with me. It was about the eleventh ring when it flicked onto her voicemail and he hung up.
Fuck.
At least her phone was on he figured, it wasn't dead, or turned off while she road bound in the back of some nut jobs trunk. It was on, it was ringing but he knew that was just as alarming because despite the late hour - Olivia always picked up.
He flung off his sheets and flicked on the light. He slid a grey t-shirt over his head and rustled around for a pair of jeans that lay crumpled in a heap. As he shoved his feet into the first pair of shoes he could find he frantically dialed the number from the text.
As predicted, it rang repetitively and once it reached the 15th mark he knew hitting a voicemail account would be too good to be true. He silenced the call, shoved his phone into his pocket, and grabbed his leather jacket.
His hands were shaking as he scooped up his keys and his weapon and he was out the door within moments.
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The phone had rung once.
It had vibrated fiercely against the wood of her dresser and she had jolted at the sound. It had scared the hell out of her to the point where her heart rate refused to taper back down now. She knew the fear was the result of knowing it was Elliot and due to her lack of response, he would now be on his way.
Five or so minutes later she'd heard it ring again - and again - and again - until the phone vibrated so far it fell off her dresser and onto the carpet. Now she could just hear a low mechanical hum beneath her bed that wasn't easing her anxiety any less.
She closed her eyes. He was going to be here any minute. She needed to think, get her story straight before she was faced with an onslaught of questions.
Less is more she figured, she didn't have to deluge every single detail that resulted in her getting here. She could give him the abridged version, focus on what actually mattered, the crux of it; that their case was fucked. She didn't need to tell him how she knew Mike-Matt-Mitch. She didn't need to explain that she'd only just met him tonight and willingly let him cuff her to the bed. Maybe he was an intruder, someone who followed her home – or maybe –
If you can't trust your partner it's time to get a new one.
Fuck. Of course she couldn't lie so blatantly, she knew it would only come back and bite her in the ass. She was pulling at straws, scraping the bottom of the barrel and it was absurd. She would just have to be honest and upfront with Elliot – something that seemed far more daunting than staring down the barrel of that gun.
What she needed to be focusing on was calling Cragen, she had to inform him that their case was now compromised and troubleshooting was imperative. She wondered if it could wait until the morning – what could they really do in these early hours of the morning that couldn't wait? She was going to loose her job for this, wasn't she? Maybe if she worded it the right way she'd have a chance at salvaging something, 6 months on desk duty maybe - a year. Anything.
What killed her was she didn't do this, she didn't let strange men into her house and willingly tie her to her bed. It was one night, a temporary loss of her senses and incredibly poor judgment. What the hell had she been thinking? She was pissed at Elliot, it was irrational but she couldn't help but think he'd started this. He'd lit the fuse on her mood today and it resulted in her throwing back a multitude of rum cocktails and searching for a release.
She closed her eyes, what the hell was she saying? Blaming him was a complete cop out. Maybe if she'd just retaliated at the precinct she could have moved on instead of bottling it up to the point of explosion. She had no one to blame for this but herself and as each second ticked over the humiliation and disappointment in herself continued to amplify.
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He had just run a third red light.
He thought about calling Cragen but he didn't want the distraction or even the prospect of having to slow down right now.
He just needed to get to her apartment, ascertain that she was fine, warn her and then he could leave. She's probably just asleep he figured, in a slumber so deep she hadn't heard the phone calls.
All 13 of them.
He'll knock on her door, she'll answer all pissy and irate, he'll show her the text and she'll mumble how ridiculous it is. She'll accuse him of being over protective and gullible and slam the door in his face. He'll go home, back to his bed so firm he's practically planking and not sleep a wink before sunrise.
Yes. If he had his way that's exactly how he would like to see this panning out because considering any other possibility right now was too much to bare. Maybe he'll even get to memory bank a semi conscious Olivia visual to store away for later. Messy bed hair, a sleepy scowl, pajamas pants – or better yet pajama shorts and if he's lucky… a fitted tank.
Fuck, this was no time to drop his mind into the gutter, for all he knew she was in some serious trouble and here he was imagining her sleep attire. He knew what he was doing, he was keeping it light because right now it was his only hope at not running off the road.
He ran the fourth red light before he turned into her street.
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A noise rattled her from her daze and her body stilled.
Was that him? Had she heard someone at her door? She could have sworn she'd heard something. Moments ticked by as she lay there silently, waiting for a second noise to back up the first.
Nothing.
She let out the breath she was holding. Where was he? It was bordering on an hour now; an hour trapped here with her frazzled thoughts and pounding heart rate. If she had actually been in immediate danger she'd hate to think how this could have ended. The phone calls had stopped 15 minutes ago so she knew he couldn't be far off. She just wanted this to be over, she wanted to rip off the band-aid so she could move on and start fixing this.
She adjusted herself against the cuffs trying to establish a slightly more comfortable position. As she shifted the chill of the night air kissed her exposed skin. Shivers spread across her body, goose bumps erupting over her flesh and she felt her nipples harden against the sheer satin of her bra.
Fuck.
Her bodies reaction had been triggered by the declining temperature but she couldn't ignore the slickness between her legs. How could she still be turned on at a moment like this? Perhaps it was the comfort that wasn't in immediate danger or maybe it was the fact that in moments her partners eyes would be roaming her body, his hands reaching for her.
She squeezed her legs together.
No, no she was still turned on because she was left frustrated and unsatisfied from her earlier encounter. The guy had been a prick but she'd like to think she was a sharp enough judge of character to know it hadn't been malicious. It had to be his job, his obligation, his corrupt line of duty that forced him to do what he did. Maybe it was just pure denial and defiance but she refused to believe that she'd let a complete scumbag take her so willingly. Her mind flicked instantly to Porter then and she sighed deflated. Porter; another scumbag who took more than she should have ever offered him. She sure knew how to pick them - this guy was probably a fed too.
She considered turning over, if she rolled onto her stomach her arms would be twisted but at least breasts would be hidden from view. Then again the underwear she was wearing rode high up her cheeks which would leave her partner with a very provocative view. She would just stay where she is. Elliot had seen her scantily clad before; getting changed quickly for a bust, the undercover op with Bushido. This wasn't any different...
She bit into her lip, who was she kidding? This was completely different! Her position, the complete absence of clothes, her dark nipples poking against the white satin refusing to settle down. Her body was practically on fire and if she had any hope of maintaining some dignity she needed to calm the hell down.
As she started to run her feet across the material of the comforter, she wished she had the forethought to pull it down. At least then she could have used her legs to drag as much cover up as possible. The dress that was piled on the floor at the end of her bed was also too far away to salvage. So instead, she had no choice but to lie here with her breasts at full attention and an unrelenting burning between her legs.
She let out the breath she was holding and as she arched her chest intent on alleviating the stiffness in her back she froze mid position when she heard it.
A sharp knock on her front door.
TBC
