Rating: M
Spoilers: None
Trigger warnings: sexual themes, smoking, alcohol, hangover
Sacred Vices
Several hours after falling asleep, Olivia woke to find the room desperately hot. She threw off the covers, her skin clammy with perspiration, pyjamas sticking. Swinging her feet to the floor, she padded across the carpet and turned down the thermostat from the blazing temperature she had earlier set.
When she turned back to the bed, she caught her breath and stood still. Amanda had extracted herself from Liv's embrace when she'd gotten overheated. Since then, she had kicked the blankets down and off, and rolled to her back. The towel that she had been wrapped in had pulled free, and she was splayed on her side of the bed completely naked.
Olivia's hands clenched into fists as her heart began to thud painfully in her chest. Christ, she was gorgeous. Liv felt nauseous at the knowledge that she had come so close to having her, before pushing her away. Her cheeks were pinked with the heat in the room, and her wavy blonde hair was mussed over the pillow as she breathed, quietly and even. The lines of Rollins body were somehow sharp and full all at once – the expanse of her throat exposed, the soft peaks of her breasts and sweet, small pink nipples.
Step by awed step, Olivia made her way back to her side of the bed and laid atop the sheets, damp with her sweat. She reached out a hand, letting it hover maybe three inches above where Amanda's body actually was, and let the hand travel in ghostly silence, over the rise of her breasts, then the silky soft skin of her belly. Her hips were tilted slightly away from Liv's body, and there was a neat, short thatch of dark blonde hair at her mons. Still hovering, the hand cut the air above the sharp hip bone, on down over the muscle of the blonde's upper thigh.
The breath she inhaled was hot and shuddering, her own sex throbbing in petulant want, to wake up her bed partner with a push between her thighs, driven mad with the need to know what she tasted like. What would her tongue taste, sliding up the pearlescent slickness of her centre, parting her labia and mouthing over her clit until saliva trickled from shimmering strands at the tip of her tongue? Would Amanda scream her name? Would she tangle her slender fingers in her dark hair and push Liv's face into her wetness, demanding her tongue?
Cut the shit, the brunette told herself. You ruin everything, so get over it.
She pulled her hand back from midair, still trying to get control of her heartrate and sighed tersely. The pillow was cool beneath her cheek when she stretched out and pulled it into her arms, stomach pushed to the mattress. Inside her pyjama shorts, she was wet and full with her impotent desire. She closed her eyes to Amanda's peaceful, slumbering face and waited for sleep to return.
.
.
The next time Olivia's eyes snapped open, the room was much more tepid, and she was alone in the bed. She leaned up on her elbows to see that the bathroom door was open, and knew without calling out that Amanda was gone. After a scalding hot shower, Liv was dressed and on the way out to her car when she noticed a smoke shop in the corner of the hotel lobby. She diverged from her brusque walk to the exit and stopped in front of the shop's counter.
"Marlboro Menthols," she said from muscle memory, then added sheepishly, "lights."
"King size alright?" the clerk asked.
Embarrassed, she nodded, and grabbed a pack of hotel insignia matches from the bowl on the counter. She was tearing the cellophane from the box even as she pushed out the front entrance. Stopping at her rental, she pulled a match, struck it and cupped her hands around the smoke between her lips to light it.
She coughed out the majority of the first draw, her eyes watering and her lungs burning in protest. It was just as gross as it had ever been, but Olivia didn't care – it was the rebelliousness of it that mattered, the control of the choice.
When she had smoked about half of it, she tamped it out in the snow next to the car and tossed it in the nearest trash can before getting in the car and continuing on to the Adrian PD to finish the case.
.
.
Seated around a conference table were Adrian PD's top-tier cops, the DA, and four New York City transplants who were very obviously out of place. It had taken most of the day to iron out where things were, and they had all consumed enough coffee to fuel a battalion.
The families of the three women who had been murdered were all filing wrongful death suits against Vincent Messervey's estate. A forensics team and an excavator had been requested to recover any remains on the cabin property, and Vincent's rental business had been seized to be liquidated into the estate's value.
Olivia had taken on the task of cross-referencing the files for all the living victims; she would be in contact to follow up and ensure the women were aware of Vincent's death, that they had access to proper counseling and support systems. She had assigned Fin the task of checking states other than Michigan and New York for any similar reports or unsolved rapes. To Liv's distinct displeasure, Rollins had assigned herself to the task of informing Rhoda's sisters of her passing.
"At this point, folks, what we've got is headaches and a mountain of paperwork," the Captain sighed. "We're fully prepared to keep Manhattan SVU in the loop on our end. I only wish that things had played out differently."
"Well, I'm sure everyone here is on the same page with that thought, Captain," Olivia assured him. "And if there is anything further that we need, or can do to help manage the fallout, don't hesitate to contact us. We continue to be at your disposal."
When they stepped outside the police department the sun had already mostly set, leaving thin streaks of deep purples and light oranges in the sky.
"Join us for some dinner, Liv?" Fin asked.
"I appreciate the offer," Liv smiled politely, "but all I really want is a hot bath and a full night's sleep."
"Sure thing. " He nodded, and Liv watched the three of them pile into Fin's car.
Her response had been a sin of omission rather than an outright lie: she did run a hot bath as soon as she got back to her hotel room. She poured in an obscene amount of bubble bath and soaked for a long time, purposefully ignoring her body's need to get off – a self-punishment she most often prescribed when she felt it was deserved for her own bad judgement.
Afterward, she ordered dinner with another bottle of wine from room service, and ate on the bed in the robe, decadently, using only her fingers and drinking the wine right from the bottle. For pyjamas she threw on an oversized t-shirt that hung low enough to not require bottoms, then pulled the pack of Marlboros from her bag. Liv shrugged on her jacket and a pair of slippers, then stepped out onto the tiny, freezing veranda that came with her courtyard view.
This time, she didn't cough as much. The stars twinkled down in their comforting impartiality, and she attempted to count as many as she could until the cigarette made her too dizzy to go on. Somehow, the room seemed that much lonelier when she returned inside. Amanda's room had been utterly silent all evening, and Olivia imagined that she was still out with the guys, challenging Fin to shots at the bar and pretending to be oblivious to Carisi's lovesick gaze.
"Like you've got the room to talk," she scoffed, scolding herself and swigging from the wine bottle.
Haphazardly, she began to pack up her things for the return to New York while she became drunker and drunker. The undertaking ended with her crawling into the bed next to the empty bottle on the nightstand and sleeping aslant, snoring softly into the pillow.
.
.
Thunderous knocking pelted Liv's hotel room door, causing her to advance from the mess of blankets like a startled hare.
"Mother of God," she hissed, as blood rushed to her temples, setting off a thumping that forced her eyes closed.
It took monumental force to extricate herself from the bed and make it to the offending door. On the other side of it stood Carisi – or, at least, what looked like Carisi through squinted eyes.
"Lieu?"
"Whattayouwant Carisi?" she mumbled.
"Uh - you're . . . I mean we're . . . running late," he replied cautiously. "Are you okay?"
Olivia made an effort to open her eyes a bit wider. "What do you mean, late?"
"Oh, uh – Rollins didn't tell you?" he frowned.
Annoyance was creeping into her tone. "Tell me what?"
"She and, uh, Fin left late last night to drive to Detroit and fly back to New York. You and I are supposed to be on our way, today."
If he only could've known how much that was to unpack in such a short time in the doorway. Hungover and reeling, Liv asked, "What time is it?"
"Almost noon," he said, trying to sound appropriately sympathetic.
"Give me ten minutes," she told him, and shut the door without waiting for another reply.
Hungover at 46 was definitely not comparable to hungover at eighteen. Her efforts to dress and make sure hadn't forgotten to pack anything were performed as if wading through wet cement. By the time she had put on her coat and grabbed her room card, she half expected Carisi to start knocking again. Instead, he was hovering in the dim hallway with his hands shoved in his pockets.
He took her suitcase without asking, and trailed along behind her to the front desk, then to her rental in the parking lot where he loaded the case into her trunk before climbing into the passenger seat.
"There's a nice bagel place on our way out to the highway, if you don't mind stopping," he said lightly, "my treat, if you're hungry."
"Just coffee," Liv muttered. "The biggest one they've got."
Carisi handed her an extra large, hot coffee with milk when he returned to the car from the local deli. In his hand he clutched a bagel virtually exploding with cream cheese, wrapped in white tissue paper stained with grease. Immediately the car smelled like garlic and fresh sourdough. Olivia sighed and cracked the window, trying to settle her stomach.
Carisi buckled up, noticing the pack of cigarettes and the matches that Liv had tossed into the center console. "You sure you're alright, Lieu?" he tried again.
Liv swallowed a gulp of coffee with the ibuprofen that she'd pulled from her bag. "Carisi?" she said vacantly, her temples pulsing maniacally.
"Yeah?"
"Why don't you put on a podcast or something?" she told him, making it clear that it wasn't exactly a suggestion.
He turned his attention back to his bagel and adjusted his seat for his gangly legs, deciding the safest option was to keep his mouth shut until they were in sight of Manhattan.
TBC