The first thing Rafael registered as he pried his eyes open was the obvious fact that he was not in his bed. The surface beneath him was too hard, too lumpy, and that was not his ceiling.

"What the...?"

The second thing Rafael registered was his headache.

"Fuck."

"Tell me about it."

By the time his sluggish mind caught up with his body, Rafael was sat up ramrod straight, wincing, and staring over his shoulder at a very relaxed Olivia standing behind her kitchen counter. She was smirking.

"Good morning," she drawled, lifting a mug of something steaming towards him in greeting.

The connection between his brain and his mouth was completely severed. "Shut up, Benson."

Surprisingly, she grinned, "I knew you weren't a morning person!"

He scowled and crossed his arms only for his eyes to widen and his arms to drop. He was not wearing a shirt.

He stared down at his naked chest. "I—Shit."

"Headache?" she asked innocently causing him to look back over to her just as she gravitated around the kitchen counter, "I'm surprised I didn't get one."

He opened his mouth to respond only for his mind to short-circuit as she stepped out from behind the counter in a baggy NYPD t-shirt, a worn cotton robe, and shorts. Olivia Benson had legs. Fuck.

He was gaping now. "I—What?"

She grinned. "I'll take that as a yes. Coffee?" she offered, making her way towards him.

The sight shook him out of his stupor and his eyes widened. His sweatpants—no, fuck, her sweatpants—could only hide so much. He quickly cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, I'm not awake, I'd just spill it."

Olivia thankfully froze and frowned, hugging the warm mug to her chest possessively, "You are not spilling coffee on my couch, Rafael Barba."

"Correct," he snarked, taking the opportunity to grab the blanket bunched up at the other end of the couch. He covertly draped it across his lap. "I'm not spilling anything because you are going to give me the opportunity to wake up and put on a shirt!"

Olivia's lips twitched. "If you have to. Asprin is in the cabinet to the left of the fridge."

"Thank you," he replied stiffly.

Her smile widened, "I think I'm gonna shower."

He swallowed heavily. "You do that."

She quirked an eyebrow at him and turned around to leave only to look over her shoulder at him with a smirk, "I will."

Maybe it was the lingering fog of sleep or maybe it was the powerful rush of blood leaving his brain, but even the threat of her catching him couldn't keep his eyes off her ass.

Olivia glanced back at her friend as she made her way to her bathroom and smirked to herself again. He looked frazzled as all hell and it was kinda funny. Seeing the normally put-together lawyer with his hair sticking up on one side and his eyes bleary with sleep made him look years younger and... And kinda cute.

He was surprisingly fit.

The thought startled her and Olivia shook her head, frowning at herself as she closed the bathroom door behind her. Rafael was her best friend and she'd clearly made him uncomfortable; it had been written all over his face. She should apologize. She locked the door and hung up her robe as she replayed his pained expression with a guilty squirm in her stomach. Yeah, she should definitely apologize. But not now.

Olivia's shorts dropped to the floor before she pulled her shirt over her head, all the while trying to figure out exactly why she'd decided to tease him. It wasn't too unusual for them to tease each other but not... Not that type of teasing. Telling him she was going to shower after she'd watched his face flush as he realized he was shirtless? Well, that was just explicitly more sexual than anything they'd done before. Maybe it was how surprisingly fit he was. Or maybe, maybe she just hadn't expected the smattering of dark curls across his chest. Maybe it just threw her off. Yeah... Yeah, that was it. In one swift move, her underwear joined the rest of her clothes.

Is he thinking about me right now? He's right outside...

Stop that.

These were dangerous thoughts.

Before she could drift any farther into these dangerous thoughts, Olivia stepped into the shower, squeezed her eyes shut, and turned on the spray, letting the bracingly cold water wash every last one of them away.

Olivia was driving him crazy.

How, how, was he supposed to get a handle on his situation when he could hear her humming over the sound of her showering? Somehow the fact she couldn't carry a tune actually made it worse.

I wonder if she's loud.

Treacherous thoughts. Lecherous thoughts.

I bet she is. I bet she curses when she c—Stop that.

Why did she do that? Smile at him like that and tell him she's going to shower?

She's showering right now. Naked. Touching herself.

God, he wanted to touch himself. He wanted her to want him to touch himself. His hand twitched.

No. Stop that.

He didn't. His hand closed around his cock and Rafael hissed out a ragged sigh through his teeth as his eyes fluttered shut. His head fell back at the feeling, the image of Olivia's hair growing wet invading his thoughts until—

His phone buzzed and his eyes popped open. He let go of himself as if burned as reality set in and shame further colored his already flushed cheeks.

He had one thought as he went to splash cold water on his face.

God, he was an ass.

"I'm sorry I was an ass."

"What?" A fully dressed Rafael pulled his head out of her fridge to look at her, confused.

She had no idea how he would take this. "For earlier. I knew you were uncomfortable," she confessed, making her way over to the kitchen to join him as she prayed he wouldn't ask her Uncomfortable about what?

He didn't. "Olivia..." he rolled his eyes, "You're fine. So you were ogling at me—"

Her mouth dropped open. "I was not ogling at you!" Oh god, I was ogling at him...

"You were and it's okay!" he grinned, adopting a falsely understanding tone, "I know how hard it is wanting all of this—" he gestured at himself, "—and being unable to anything about it."

This was the teasing she was used to. Olivia scowled at him to hide her relief, "You're so annoying, Barba."

"I'm wounded," he shot back, "And here I thought I was so nice."

"You are when you want to be," she countered, enjoying this as she crossed her arms, "When you don't, however..."

"True," he admitted with a shrug, "Lucky for you, I'm in the mood to be nice this morning, ogling or not. Now where the hell is your food?"

"Hey! I already said I wasn't ogling you!"

"Sure," he drawled before repeating himself. "Where is your food?"

Olivia eyed him strangely at the abrupt change in topic, "I don't know about you Rafa, but I usually put food in the fridge," she mocked.

"Rafa's new."

What? She did a double-take, "What are you talking about?"

"You called me Rafa," he explained, looking a little pleased, "That's new."

Olivia stifled her surprise as words fell from her lips "I saw you half-naked, I can give you a nickname." She swallowed a grimace as she rushed to ask, "Now, why are you asking about my food?"

"You let my drunk ass sleep over here, the least I can do is make you breakfast," he said his voice as shy as she'd ever heard it.

Her first thought was What the hell? Rafael Barba doesn't do shy.

Her second was He wants to make me breakfast.

Olivia smiled, "See? You are nice."

He waved her away, "Whatever. It's not like I can do it though, Liv, your fridge is empty."

She pushed past him to open the door. "Huh. That it is." She turned to him."Well?"

"'Well' what?"

"What's your plan counselor? You don't have to be here and you certainly don't have to make me breakfast. I'm sure you're busy." She hoped he wasn't.

"Is this your way of kicking me out?" he asked.

"No," she said honestly, "I don't mind having you here but you're wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday and I can't feed you."

I should've gone shopping yesterday.

"You make some valid points," he said, "But you've forgotten to consider the fact that I enjoy spending time with you."

Her eyebrows shot up, "Oh."

Now he was embarrassed. "I can go, though, if you're sick of me."

"Surprisingly," she mused, "I'm not."

Her stomach squirmed pleasantly as he gave her a little half-smile. "That's good."

The quiet that settled over them felt charged and hot and Olivia couldn't maintain eye contact anymore.

"Liv?" he murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Do you like bagels?"

"I can't believe you actually came back. You didn't have to do this," Olivia said happily about an hour later as she took a huge bite of her bagel with cream cheese.

"And yet I did," Rafael said, now wearing a fresh change of clothes. "Don't worry about it, it was on the way and I owed you for last night."

She shot him a look, mouth too full to respond. When she finally swallowed, she pointed at him, "Stop that. You don't need reasons anymore."

"Reasons?"

"You know," she said awkwardly, "To do things together. I'm glad you came back."

"Oh. Okay."

"No more reasons," she emphasized. When he said nothing, she looked at him questioningly, "Yeah?"

He finally smiled, "Yeah. No more reasons."

So he started showing up at her door. Sometimes with food, sometimes without. Sometimes to talk about work, sometimes just to share a drink and talk (though they never did drink as much as they had that night). And while he never again stayed the night, he still got to see her with her hair damp sometimes and on a rare occasion—he always had to leave early when it happened—she'd wear those fucking shorts. But he never saw both at the same time. Olivia after that shower, hair wet, legs still exposed... That was a memory he had tucked away, a memory he couldn't shake no matter how guilty it made him feel. Not that the memory itself made him feel guilty; he'd behaved himself after that little slip listening to her shower, so it wasn't that that made him feel guilty. No, it was the thoughts it brought with it, the thoughts that drove him to cold showers, the thoughts that filled him with shame because that was his coworker, that was his friend he was envisioning with her legs spread for him, his friend he imagined telling him in a voice rough and hot, to get on his knees for her, Olivia's thighs he desperately wanted wrapped—Stop it. Shower. Repeat.

So maybe he liked Olivia.

And it wasn't purely physical either. God no. He'd always thought she was attractive and these thoughts were new. No, it was more than her body. It was the way she called him out when no one else would, how she'd get up in his face and tell him that he better have a warrant by the end of the day or so help me... (Oh, Olivia, please help me.), it was how she interrogated perps, how she rattled them, it was how she argued.

Olivia Benson was passion incarnate in a world wrought with apathy. And he loved it.

But what really got him, what absolutely killed him, was her capacity for compassion. He couldn't understand it, not after everything she'd seen. But he saw it. He saw it in the way she'd talk to victims, how she'd listen to them, help them to trust her. Sometimes—fuck—Sometimes he saw it when she looked at him.

He was fucking falling and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

And quite honestly... He didn't want to do anything about it.

So he didn't.