No Rights: I don't own SVU, I don't own these characters, I don't own nothin'.

Disclaimer: Rated "M" for a reason, probably more than "M" *shrug*, S/M is presented.

Confession: Had no idea I was going to write these last two chapters, but I do love me some good ol' fashioned back story.

Part 10: The Factory

Chunks of dehydrated sod scattered like rocks around jagged misplaced concrete, barbed lines skewered through their almost impervious skin- it looked painful. Out of context, one could believe the concrete had been impaled. Forgetting it formerly wrapped around them liquid cool- it was guided and formed; patiently tended and waited upon while it became set. A tip toed crunch followed every other guarded step of the detective's plain practical pumps. The sound became empty as the ground beneath turned barren, asphalt that was crackled and dry. They hadn't cased the joint prior to Abraham's arrival; he would be skittish, unnecessary police presence would only dissuade re-entry. Going in blind was not ideal; years of experience could sometimes still dissolve into unnecessary risk. It depended upon how you looked at it- and how it played out.

Benson crossed one leg over the other, keeping her back close to the grey granite wall, watchfully walking the outside edge. Stabler signaled her over to the east side loading dock, signed expressions replacing their silenced radios. A door was heard creaking- interior, left side. It slammed shut; heavy boots stomped up metal stairs. He didn't know they were there. Guns drawn, they waited four beats; then stared squarely into the other's eyes- gauging how prepared they were, communicating the next intended line of action. That special mute form of articulation only found by those perfectly partnered. Eliot took the lead, looking left, stepped inside. Olivia followed, looking right, wide awake.

Cabot was having a hard time staying awake today. Her dinner with Foster was enjoyable. It had provided helpful connections that would increase her reach; she had another amusing anecdote about her father's youthful transgressions. Apparently Vassar College declining to merge with Yale directly correlated with some of his hi-jinks. The shaky attempt toward co-education became ruined further by a group of hooligans causing a ruckus with several squirrels. The image of a furred frenzy skittering through the faculty locker-room, screeching half nude prestigious females jumping atop benches and tables- she laughed to distraction. She absolutely must insist he tell her that one again.

She was able to keep her calm everyday composure intact all the way home, say a pleasant hello to Peter at the front desk. But once the elevator door shut a mirage of Olivia's exposed back greeted her- puffing large prideful breaths, expanding her muscles, pulling at the seams of her cuts. The front desk security camera, screen number three, had a wonderful view of Alexandra rubbing her back up and down against the wall, just once- Peter without a clue. Had a sound system been in place the small moan, caused by a revived flaring ache on her floor burned rear, may have caught his attention.

Once inside her apartment she began her bed-time routine. The methodical series generally comforted her. At the same point, if it was interrupted or skewed, she felt disheveled. Some times when this happened, especially when feeling off- she was compelled to start it again all over, from the top. Therapists and Doctors throughout her childhood and youth decided she was not quite OCD, but should continue her sessions and should continue to be monitored- which she did until her under-grad senior year. The humor of her proclivity toward order being considered not quite a disorder was not lost on her. But last night, it didn't feel funny.

Olivia had a funny feeling in her gut. The limited late afternoon sunshine indirectly illuminated the large space. It was painted with a monochromatic grey theme and in this limelight she felt out of place, a foreign character stuck within a film noir movie. Eliot, on the other hand, could easily have been a leading man. The genre seemed designed for men like him. Inside it felt more like a warehouse than a factory. Discolored geometric shapes on the floor where machines used to be.

Her losing fight to remain undistracted wasn't helping. Some old rope coiled by a large round column immediately stole her focus. Its' fibers were the same color and shape as the one hanging off her mirror- she shuddered as Alexandra launched a wet cunt down the entire length of her tensed thigh. A low croaking groan brought her back. Eliot was attempting to open the stairwell door quietly. He stopped when it declared that wasn't a possibility. They could go up the outer stairs on the opposite side of the building, wander through an unknown maze of disintegrating offices, or . . . Olivia grabbed an old can of oil and a small wooden stake.

How convenient.

Eliot smiled at the gesture then braced the door. She used her shoe's heel as a hammer against the stake and pushed up a hinge's pin. The sound was next to nil, she did the same to the other. After oiling both pins and drowning both hinges she tapped them back into place. It had taken all of a minute. Eliot opened it slowly, no creak. He comically distorted his face into one of stooge like satisfaction and offered- 'ladies first'. Olivia shook her head smiling, deciding that they both had been in this line of work too long, and then remembered that wasn't really true. She was all business as soon as she hit the first step.

Cabot hit the first step of her nightly schtick for the fourth time before throwing the towel in. With each effort she had made it a little further, but the past would eventually distract her into error. While taking her shower with silk cloth she was bound to a wooden post, blindfolded, as Janelle tickled her with an ostrich feather then cracked down with a rider's crop- it had seemed like hours. She never knew where the feather would roam; the leather tongue always hit her hip in the same reddening spot. Janelle would wait until the soft trickle caused her body to shiver, yet again, before tightly lashing- her womanhood wriggling before, yet again, snatching in a tonic spurt.

Shit.

She had used her exfoliating loofah on the right leg first, not the left. Alex turned off the water. She dried herself off, put on her robe, went to her bed, hung up the satin sleep shirt, went to her kitchen, took the tea bag out of the cup, threw it away, put the cup back in the cupboard, took the kettle off the stove, poured the almost heated water out, turned the flame off, put the kettle back on the burner- then took a deep breath and stretched her neck. She grabbed the kettle off the stove, filled it with water, put it on the burner, lit the flame, went to the cupboard, grabbed her cup . . . later, at two am, one step from completion, the word "FARGO" clamored around her mind. It caused her to forget fluffing the pillow, after opening her covers and creating a perfect right triangle- her calming sequence, yet again, dismayingly destructed. She laid down any way, unable to sleep, dreaming wide awake in random patterns.

Her morning routine had not fared any better.

This couldn't be going any better. There were three stories, the second story stair-well door was still shut; the third was still open. Considering they never heard another old rusted gripe, behind door number three was the win. They were creeping down the hall; a commotion came from the second room, right side- Abraham was still without a clue. There was a loud thump- Olivia peered over the bed to see Alexandra orgasmic'ly giggling, rubbing her thighs together; locking their eyes in a challenging stare. She looked forward, Eliot had been trying to lock their eyes, trying for a conversable stare; things could be going better. He was waiting for her to take the empty place, behind him, by the open door. She did, coming back from a place he was unaware of, by Alexandra's opening legs.

Raise cross wristed gun, click on flashlight to disorient, aim high and centered, time to turn-

"NYPD! Put your hands up!"

Abraham did, a few film tubes spilled off the table- a brief maraca like music shaking from them, until rolling around on the floor.

"Shit, man. This is a legit business, I got a permit, let me just get it, let me just-"

"Put them behind your head! Behind your head!"

He was smiling as he did, like this was some game of 'simon says'- Olivia kept her gun well aimed, Eliot walked forward.

"Legit, yeah I can see that. Nice location for your store by the way."

Eliot was at the table's side, lowering his gun to get out the cuffs; Abraham quickly slammed his fist down, popping a large powder filled bag- the fine white film spewed directly onto Eliot's face. He yelled and stepped back, Abraham jetted for the side door, was between its' frame before Olivia could get a lower shot; she shouldn't be shooting anyway- he was technically unarmed.

She quickly went to check on Eliot; he was wiping at his mime white face, blinking wide, and tussling his head-

"You okay?"

"Yeah yeah dam it's coke bastard covered me in coke go go go get him don't let him get away-"

As Olivia ran to follow she could hear Eliot calling into his radio as he got up . . .

"Back-up needed, suspect fleeing the scene, unarmed . . . "

She could see his heels turning to the hall- he was heading for the outside stairs. She was determined; he was not going to get away.

Cabot couldn't get away from her muddled thoughts. Walking in this morning she was greeted by a case in action. Olivia and Eliot had been steam rolling through the night, through the day- a sexual homicide. She had to plan for unforeseen legal consequences, had to focus and play catch up- she played catch up often with these two. It would be more maddening if they weren't so good. But it could be frustrating; their primary concern was catching the perp, getting the confession, solving the case- Alex's was insuring the case could last, the conviction could hold. At times these two worlds, courthouse and precinct; they were not conducive to one another. With the difficulty she found herself in composure wise she hoped this was not one of those times.

Olivia was not the only one left ludicrously wanting last night, the only one writhing while others slept. But it had to be done, had to be left unfinished, perseverance for the purpose of transcendence. That dinner she had after, with Foster of all people, it cracked into her fortitude. The last seventeen hours a hodgepodge of past lovers and present promises, phantom orgasms and bon a fide impassioned contractions. She had to finish filing through this abandoned mess of a mind- needed to compartmentalize her thoughts.

"FARGO!"

File: A signaled stop- their safe word. Alexandra had never needed its' use; never going beyond a requested "yellow"- slow down. It surprised them both when it was Janelle who screamed for sanctuary. Her mistress had also never needed its' use; had never strayed from her role as a well ordered dominate- the primary reason for why their liaison eventually ended.

File: Janelle started Alexandra's education. They met bi-weekly for a full year. She was the ideal pupil. She caught on fast; understood without having to be told, knew without a lecture- of course, oration was still present. From Janelle she learned what it was to be dominated, to be served so exquisitely well. She learned as a submissive you guided power; your re-actions, your response- that was what inspired. You could instigate a line of action with a well played return. She learned a new value for pain, an almost limitless pleasure- almost.

File: Everything was too pre-planned, too well-defined, too . . . just so. The props were always lined up on a table, they were always discussed, there was always a narration as she used one; always some sort of theatric between. Alex could time their play down to the minute- each session would last one hour and thirteen minutes, sometimes one hour and fifteen. Subservience wasn't the issue, Janelle's need for ordered control was.

File: She was all too familiar with control, had need for its' restrictions consistently, and her daily life already revolved around order. What she wanted, what she desired, was a moment of blissful inner chaos. For structure, propriety, decorum, civility- all to be stripped from her very self; exposing a coiled zenith, the kundalini of urge within her core. She wanted to be brought to it, subjugated to it- to have and be allowed.

File: This couldn't happen with Janelle. The first time she fought back it was not well received. She hadn't been brought to that place, the desire to lash out hadn't stemmed from need. It had been a forced feeling. After sawing through her silk binds with the coarse wood she was tied to, she tackled her turned madam- pulling her arms back high, roughly rubbing her sex on the small curve just before her plump rear. This wasn't pre-planned, wasn't on Janelle's agenda. As she pulled her head up by lush raven hair, whispering a solid "I'm going to fuck myself on your entirety", Janelle demanded to be released. Using their safe word, she wasn't playing.

File: Alexandra felt her actions had been nowhere near out of line; it was nothing compared to what was done to her by Janelle consistently-but everyone has their own boundaries. She was never really forgiven for breaking some unknown code; she felt Janelle was responding unfairly. They never discussed it, though Alex tried. They met less often, Alex busy with internships and prep for graduate study, not really caring. She would always be grateful to Janelle for getting her started and that was that. Their romance teetered off to nothing.

The last wrung of the emergency ladder teetered off to nothing. Abraham dropped down, his speed slowed; he wasn't cut out for this much running. Olivia dropped down seconds behind him; she ran more than this daily. The only thing on his side was the threat of capture; a cornered prey always fights with more veracity. Olivia had an added motivation in her corner; losing twice in twenty four hours was unlikely. He sprinted down the alley, knocking over the last trash can from a long trail of bins as he headed for the street. It didn't slow her down; the aluminum barrel had barely strayed from its' lined file.

File: Brandon ended up leaving her. She tried introducing him to this new form of bedroom play. He took some elements in stride- light bindings, playful spankings, gentle nipping; but bottled up anger was swelling as it continued building. The final straw was when she begged him to pull her hair- bit down hard into his shoulder for encouragement, rammed his member hard into her pussy. He threw her off and as he gathered his clothes screamed a litany of names and profanity- spitting on her just before leaving. It took a while for certain unsavory rumors about her to stop circulating.

File: She hoped maybe it was possible to have the picture perfect political image- married, two kids; with a husband who understood this need. She gave up the third time around. Jared enjoyed a lot of varying sensations, but hated the pain of an erection that stood firm patiently. Their relationship also didn't recover. Now conventional romance and the caustic erotic were compartmentalized separately.

File: Stephanie showed her a darker side she was careful to never again see. A beautiful fair red-head she met as a grad at Harvard Law. Stephanie had a 145 iq and adorably freckled shoulders. They shared two classes, a love of long distance running, and the aphrodisiac of passion caused bleeding. Alexandra enjoyed when it stemmed from a primeval rush, a bang or biting- Stephanie liked slicing. It was thrilling to discover she had a natural ability to dominate and please.

File: But she grew more and more uncomfortable as they met more often- consistently refusing to travel into more dangerous territories. Stephanie's mask fell eventually. The young genius wanted to be hurt, wanted to be broken beyond repair- her deep seated self hatred a form of sexual suicide. Alex stopped participating, risked serious injury as she struggled to stop her from slaughtering a thigh- the cuts deep enough to be a medical emergency. At the hospital she recommended counseling, expressed caring, tried for reasoning. She crossed a line that needed crossing. Stephanie left immediately and quit school her second year; leaving Alexandra with her concerns and with nightmares of masochistic destruction. It was a couple of years before fully healing.

File: Gregory rekindled her inner joy for aroused dueling susceptibility. He taught her the world of bondage and auto-erotica. They met at an antique book store, he struck up conversation when he saw her perusing through a book about Kimbaku Ichimai. He owned the mesmerizing establishment. From him she learned a plethora of knots, restraints, rigs, and tools. Gregory would tie her up in an amazing new way each time; each time her body would burst in a new way from the inside out. Being fully contained limited her outer re-actions, heightened every inner response- and the ache was glorious. There was no civility, no decorum, and definitely no propriety. After, he would take her through the process step by step: this is how you hog tie, do a reverse prayer position, knot the perfect crotch rope, why you do a balltie, safety precautions, the importance hydrating.

File: Her favorite was a form of mummification- it dulled every sensation, her arousal would build without knowing, and once released from her wrappings. . . every little touch was fire-works. His favorite was anything asymmetrical, the more awkward his body's positioning the longer his erection held. They did this for awhile; he was an excellent lover, an excellent teacher. Eventually the lessons stopped and instead they would just have tea. He preferred men; Alexandra now knew she preferred women. They were still friends and would frequent Chelsea galleries. His Christmas and Birthday presents were still always the best.

Knock- Knock

Hannah opened the door, Cabot's annoyed harsh expression caused her to voice to become even more mouse like.

"Cragen, he wanted to know if, if all of the reports thus far are . . . satisfactory. In case . . . in case-"

"You can tell him they're fine- thus far."

"Okay."

She left quickly, feeling a little guilty for interrupting, for interrupting . . . something.

Alex put her head in her hands-

Where was I?

She had to finish this up quickly, she didn't have all day.

I could chase you all day.

Olivia was right there, she could almost touch him. Her chest was on fire, her legs felt like rubber, Eliot's figure was starting to recede behind her, but Abraham's was right there. And the fool kept looking back, slowing himself down. They had crossed two blocks and one avenue, the sound of sirens was getting closer, back up was coming, they were almost here. The rail thin Abraham squeezed between two parked cars, hoping this damn cop would lose time running around them, ready to run across the fast trafficked street. Olivia hopped onto the sedan's hood, hell no was she gonna lose time, and in an irresponsibly acrobatic move that held no concern for the consequences- jumped.

The ringing phone caused Alexandra to jump. She was almost through, going at a pace inappropriate for even speed dating. Rachel: blonde housewife, loved whips- Ann: buff orthopedic surgeon, wrestling and general mayhem- Corie: looked like a 1950's journalist, game for anything. She probably could have stayed with Corie forever, but the thrill seeking documentarian was a big fan of anonymous club sex. The dungeons were conscientious and safety was 'assured', but it still was a place Alexandra couldn't stand. She needed back story, liked knowing the person in 'normal' settings. An individual was too three dimensional to quickly sum up after one or two encounters. Sex was like underwater cave exploration- greater depth could only be achieved by swimming deeper down into the same pool, beautiful new caverns discovered along the way, all with new possibility. Besides, she hated sharing.

"Cabot speaking . . . I'll be there."

They got this guy Abraham coming in, apparently Olivia's catch was movie worthy; she should go down and insure legality.

File: Olivia Benson . . . Olivia Benson was fast becoming too big for this mental little metal box. Thus far, perfection- only three times together and this modern day Artemis was already leaving her disheveled. She could barely recall the last time she laid awake all night floating through clouds of lust and wanting. It had been forever since so many moments in her past demanded attention all at once, an assembly line of needy memories. She had never struggled to work. On that note-there was one she needed to write, something had to be done. Olivia's retaliation for yesterday had to be timely out of necessity.

Everyone cheered when Olivia entered the precinct. Word traveled fast around here, especially if it was juicy. Back-up had witnessed her 'Hollywood jump and tumble'; Eliot couldn't stop grinning as she read the Miranda rights, giving her a hearty 'at a' boy' pat on the back once Abraham was in the car. Jefferson was telling the story to Hawkins as she walked by-

"It was amazing. She jumped off the hood- she was like six feet in the air, tackled him high, they tumbled on the ground, he was on his stomach, she got his hands behind his back, her knee was-"

It did feel good to ram her knee into the center of his spine.

"-then frickin' wonder woman over there saw the car coming-"

She was able to roll them away, out of traffic, ending once again with her kneeling on top of him. A once in a lifetime move she probably couldn't do again even if she wanted to.

"Olivia freakin' Benson. My partner folks."

Eliot addressed the room, seemed to be enjoying all the attention.

"Lay off it already."

"I'm told your exploits were rather exceptional today detective."

The precise diction, the melodic intonation- Olivia remained seated and turned to look at Alexandra. Her coquette almost missed a beat; enamored by the sparkling up-casted brown eyes, filled with a fluid flame of craving. Necessity-

"I'm pleased to know you're capable."

- stated dryly.

The geyser that had been mounting discharged instantly- Olivia, un-moving, mute, her stare riddled with gushing steam.

She spoke only as needed while everyone met in Cragen's office, daringly continued to stare at Alex directly, devouring her with greed. A small blush rose up Cabot's milky skin, failing at the stony pretense of her not caring. It was determined all was well, thus far, in the investigation- they would pick it up tomorrow. Abraham would be more forthcoming after a night in lock-up, Munch and Finn would have finished the first round of canvassing.

"Good job everybody, great job Olivia, see you tomorrow morning."

Cabot went to Cragen as soon as he finished, Olivia headed to her desk, went to grab her things. There was a folded note in her top drawer, same paper, and the same delicate handwriting.

"I was disappointed with how easily you lost yesterday evening.

Don't you want to taste my liquid honey?

Yours reminds me of the earth, woodsy with a hint of salt.

I've been told mine is like a ripe pineapple, citrusy and sweet.

But you wouldn't know would you detective?"

Pressurized passion once again ejected turbulently. Her breathing became heavy, then determinedly steady.

"You want to get a drink? Celebrate your stardom?"

Eliot couldn't tell what she was staring so intently at; he followed the gaze to Cragen's office, looked back and noticed the note.

"Some kind of fan-mail?"

He joked.

"Thanks, but no; I need to take care of something."

Olivia was miles away but she was smiling at him, she was trying.

"Okay . . . let me know if you need anything-"

He laughed low one more time-

"-wonder woman."

Still smiling as he left.

Alexandra was also turning down the offer for a drink, walking through the now opened door of Cragen's office.

". . . I can't. It was difficult getting started this morning and there are still some things I need taken care of."

She waved with seeming politeness to Olivia as she left.

"What are you still doing here? Go, go, get. Get outta here."

Cragen mockingly shooed Olivia to leave.

She stood up, she was going. There was a purchase she needed before returning. An item she had never really understood nor wanted before, but now she saw it as a necessity.

"Olivia-freakin'-Benson."

Cragen stated proudly, chuckling a little.

"Goodnight Captain."

She pushed the elevator button, all patience, all control. It opened with a ding.

That's right, she was 'Olivia-freakin'-Benson'. An impish smirk blitzed her face expectantly.

It was time to one-up that dam tease.

P.S.- turned out a little ryhme'y :P