A/N: I've wanted to write this fic for a while, and it turns out being stuck inside for weeks was the perfect inspiration. Especially since I also wanted to write a little something about how Rolivia handled a quarantine-like experience... without actually writing about the coronavirus. There are a few nods here and there to the current situation, but no worries, corona will not be mentioned except here in the notes. This is probably the most PWP (as in plot, what plot?) thing I've written for the Devilishverse, so expect fluff and nonsense. And yes, some smut. :) It's a two-parter. And it takes place after the in-progress third installment, to which there will be a couple vague references. Enjoy.

Part 1: Going Up

. . .

"Don't. You. Dare. Amanda Jo Rollins, if you push that button, so help me . . . "

Amanda pushed the button.

The elevator lurched to a halt, with a grinding of gears and cables that set Olivia's teeth on edge and catapulted her heart into her throat. She half expected the dinosaur of a car, essentially just a big box suspended on a frayed shoestring, to go plunging to the ground floor, the doors juddering open on a cloud of smoke and her and Amanda's corpses tumbling out, bloodied and bug-eyed.

Obviously she had seen one too many movies with over-the-top death scenes, but she also knew that emergency stop buttons had been discontinued in most elevators by the 1980s, because they posed a greater hazard than cars without them and caused more wear and tear on the equipment. But try telling that to the little blue-eyed blonde sidling up to her now, wearing a lazy smirk, thumbs tucked in pockets. Amanda had barely been alive in 1980.

"So help you, what?" Amanda teased, taking a step forward each time Olivia took one back. She pursued Olivia that way until they reached the far corner, ensnaring her there between the railings, a hand on either side. Locking both arms at the elbow, Amanda suspended herself above the ground, swinging slightly back and forth, like she was on a set of parallel bars. It gave her the height advantage, but how long she could sustain it was the real question. "So help you, you'll finish what you started this mornin'?"

Olivia knew better than to start a makeout session in bed with Amanda when they didn't have time to finish before work, otherwise she ended up in positions like this—stuck between floors in a rickety old death trap made of dented sheet metal, five stories up in the cruddiest apartment building she had seen for at least a month, an amorous detective trying to seduce her with bedroom eyes and gymnastic moves.

"So help you," Amanda drawled, head tilted thoughtfully against one scrunched up shoulder, "you'll pull my pants down, turn me over your knee, and warm my britches?"

"Well, now you're just being inconsistent. If I pull down your pants first, I can't very well 'warm your britches.'" Olivia cocked her eyebrow, keeping a relatively straight face in spite of the smile that wanted to break through. Amanda was awfully cute, and she looked so disappointed that Olivia had no intentions of spanking her in an elevator while they were both on duty. "Now can I?"

"You could." Amanda thrust her bottom lip forward, the childish pout even more endearing when she widened those baby blues and batted her dune-colored lashes. She was pulling out all the stops. "If you really wanted to, you'd find a way. Or . . . "

"Or . . . ?"

"Or you could just gimme one itty bitty kiss to tide me over," Amanda murmured, her lips drawing nearer by the minute. She was close enough to rub noses with Olivia, the smell of the powdered donuts she'd had for breakfast still detectable on her breath. (Truth be told, Olivia had snuck in a few extra kisses, just so she could lick off some of the powdered sugar. Yum.) "It would really help boost morale while we canvass."

"Does that mean I have to kiss Fin and Kat, too?" Olivia eased back almost imperceptibly, luring Amanda forward a little at a time. If the detective wanted it that badly, she was going to have to work for it. "Because I think that constitutes sexual harassment and is probably frowned upon behavior for the commanding officer of SVU."

Amanda was indeed frowning at the mention of Olivia's affection being directed at someone else.

She only just tolerated sharing it with the kids and the dogs. "You better not go kissin' anybody but me. That beanpole with hair comes anywhere near you with them lips of hers, I'm ripping 'em clean off."

Chuckling at the blonde's ferocity, Olivia gave her a light swat on the rear. Detective Rollins seemed to be under the impression that Olivia was her captain—and hers alone. That was fine in the bedroom, where it was one hundred percent true, but it made for some tense moments in the squad room. Occasionally Olivia felt like she ran the juvenile division of SVU: Fin was her class clown; Kat, her overachiever; and then there was Amanda the troublemaker, but also her absolute favorite. What was a captain to do? "Tough talk for such a small frhmmn."

You try pronouncing "fry" with a blonde stuck to your lips and see how well it goes. Olivia permitted the kiss for several moments longer than she typically would have while on the clock, mainly because they had already hit every apartment in the building and it was time to return to the precinct. That, and given the advanced age of the elevator and its lack of modern amenities, such as properly labeled buttons (floor numbers were scrawled in black marker on the tarnished brass panel), she doubted there were any security cameras present. She did, however, draw the line when Amanda's hands began to roam inside the flaps of her open trench coat.

"Okay, tiger," she said, cuffing Amanda a bit more soundly on the rump and nudging her off until she had no choice but to drop back onto solid ground. "That's enough . . . morale boosting for now. If you behave the rest of the day, I'll give you an extra big boost at home."

Shoulders slumped, Amanda gave a mournful little huff. "Ugh, fine. So much for 'Love in an Elevator.'"

"You really want to do it someplace that smells like a men's locker room and has some extremely inaccurate and troubling genitalia graffitied on the walls?" Olivia gestured at the five-foot penis, surrounded by a cluster of smaller baby penises performing various sex acts and other more menial tasks—one looked to be mopping up its own ejaculate—on the opposite wall. Bringing her hand down quickly, she delivered another playful swat to Amanda's retreating backside, the only work of art in which she was currently interested.

"Don't tempt me, darlin'." Amanda tossed a flirtatious wink over her shoulder, thumbing the emergency stop button ("Emerg Butt" it read, next to the clouded red plastic dot) at the same time. "You know I ain't picky."

"I'm not so sure I consider that a compliment," Olivia said dryly, arms crossed at her middle. "Either you're calling me picky or you're saying you'll just go for any old scrap of meat that falls—"

"Uh-oh."

Olivia cast a wary glance at the button Amanda was repeatedly jabbing with her thumb. "What, uh-oh?" she asked, maintaining a level tone, though her stomach did a sudden somersault when she noted that the car hadn't budged.

"Um, don't be mad." Amanda gradually turned, features fixed in a sheepish, wincing smile. She looked like Frannie when the dog got caught drinking from the toilet bowl. The only thing missing was the slobber. "I think we might be stuck? Button idn't working."

"Ha ha, very funny." Olivia stepped up to the filthy control panel—she made a mental note to wash her hands the full twenty seconds once she got out of this godforsaken building—shooed Amanda aside, and pressed the Emerg Butt.

She pressed it twice; she pressed it thrice.

No dice.

"Shit," she muttered, and began punching buttons at random with her middle finger, including Cls Dr, Opn Dr, and Bsmint. (BS mint just about summed it up, yeah.) When she reached the call button, designated by a crudely drawn handset to which someone—likely the same Monet of dick art over there—had added a pair of testicles, she held her breath and pushed hard. And:

Nothing. No ringing phone, no disembodied voice asking what was the problem, not even the distant sound of an alarm bell, alerting someone, anyone, that the elevator's occupants were in distress.

Olivia exhaled forcefully through her teeth and jammed the button rapidly, the way her college boyfriends had hammered at the buttons on arcade machines and Nintendo controllers during intense imaginary battles and outlandish obstacle courses. She hated video games. And she really hated being trapped in confined spaces. Like elevators or the trunk of a car . . .

Her pulse leapt at the comparison, and she released the useless call button with a disgusted sigh. With that, she began pacing to and fro in front of the sealed doors, suppressing the urge to pound on them and yell for help. She was a New Yorker through and through; she'd been stuck in malfunctioning elevators before. Once, she had spent the better part of an evening watching a man feed strands of his own hair to a sock puppet, while she sat at the opposite corner of the stalled lift, pretending to file her nails and subliminally showing him she had a weapon. Her fellow captive was much less worrisome this time, and as she focused on her breathing (in 4 counts, hold 7 counts, out 8 counts), she realized Amanda was already on the phone with Fin, apprising him of their situation.

"—stop laughin', I'm serious." Amanda eyed Olivia with concern, reaching out to offer a comforting pat on the shoulder. "Y'all need to contact the super or whoever and get us the hell outta here. Yeah. Uh-huh. Okay, but like, soon? This thing is a cesspool. I think I got diphtheria just standing in here. Okay. Thanks, Fin."

Ending the call, Amanda tucked the phone into her coat pocket and gently gathered Olivia to her, for a light, nonrestrictive hug. "I'm sorry, Liv. That was dumb as hell of me. I didn't really think it'd work, to tell the truth. Not this well, anyway."

"It's okay, love. I'm okay." Olivia took another deep breath and exhaled slowly, her cheek resting against Amanda's soft, sunny hair. She kept hoping that all the button pushing would magically kick in, the car surging back to life, but the longer she wished for it, the more apparent it became they were actually stuck. "I just want to get out of here."

Amanda eased back at arm's length to look Olivia in the eye. She jerked a little nod up at the ceiling. "You sure? 'Cause if you give me a boost, bet I can shinny on out that hatch and see what I find . . . "

"How about you just settle down there, Mission: Impossible?" Olivia brought her palms down heavily on top of Amanda's shoulders, keeping her grounded. The last thing she needed was the detective to come crashing through the ceiling and break a leg, or to throw her own back out trying to lift one hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight (cute or not). And those weren't even the dangerous scenarios. "Help is on the way, right? Let's give it a chance to show up. If we're not out by tomorrow morning, I promise I'll let you Tom Cruise us to safety."

"Oh, you'll let me, huh?" Amanda's tone and expression conveyed a saucy swagger, though she hadn't moved a muscle. She pursed her lips to hide a smile, but the dimple gave her away. "You think you're in charge or somethin'?"

Olivia rolled her eyes, even as she slid her hands down for a squeeze at Amanda's pert behind. "Honey, I don't think. I know I'm in charge."

. . .

One hour later.

Olivia wasn't in charge of shit, she decided, dropping her head back against the sheet metal paneling with a thunk. She had given up trying not to touch the walls about fifteen minutes ago when Fin texted an update: superintendent notified, asst. arriving shortly. Sit tight, don't kill each other. Breathe.

She'd added that last part, her attempts to stave off panic becoming less and less effective as the minutes passed by. She had already read all the latest news articles, or at least skimmed the headlines; contacted Lucy, in case the confinement truly did last beyond her regular shift; scrolled through Facebook and Twitter, alternately pressing the like and mute buttons with reckless abandon; and winnowed her photo album of the blurry shots, which were many, thanks to a certain trio of youngsters who loved to play with Mommy's phone—and thanks to Mommy herself, whose photography skills were only slightly better than her drawing.

Now her cell battery was at 48% and draining fast. She wanted to conserve some of it for receiving calls and texts, should Fin try to contact her again, so she switched off the screen and dropped hand and phone against her thigh, sighing dramatically. Amanda, who was propped against the opposite wall, ankles crossed in front of her, looked up from her colorful, mooing phone screen. She was playing a preschooler's barnyard game she'd downloaded weeks ago for Jesse and Matilda.

"I know," she said sympathetically, and mirrored Olivia's defeated posture, including conking her head on the wall behind her. "I really screwed the pooch this time. Have I mentioned I'm sorry?"

"Only a few hundred times." Olivia offered up a vague smile to show she was kidding. (Mostly.) Then, without warning, she opened her mouth in a massive, jaw-cracking yawn that made her eyes water profusely. "Wow, 'scuse me," she said around it, the words unintelligible. She wiped the tears away with her knuckle, thankful she'd found a bottle of hand sanitizer in the bottom of her purse after touching the control panel earlier. She didn't need to take pinkeye home to her children. If she ever got back there.

"Sleepy?" Amanda asked in amusement, but suddenly stifled a reciprocal yawn. She sniffed loudly when it was over and stretched her arms wide, hands behind her head, chest puffed out, an extravagant moan on her lips. It was very distracting.

"Yeah, I haven't had my mid-morning coffees yet." Catching herself speaking to Amanda's breasts, Olivia pried her eyes away and focused on the pretty face above, ignoring the knowing grin it flashed at her. "If I don't get some more caffeine in me soon, things might get ugly. FYI."

Amanda raised a single, pale eyebrow, looking more intrigued than deterred by the warning. She pushed off the wall with her shoulder and sidled over to Olivia's side of the elevator, hands in her coat pockets. Innocent as you please. "I know something that'll wake you up."

"I am not having sex with you in this pit of depravity and squalor, you little freak."

"That's not what I meant," Amanda said with a snicker. She reached up to twitch Olivia's unfolded lapel back into place, though it didn't really need it. "I was talking about playing a game."

Eyes narrowed to darkly mascaraed slits, Olivia regarded her detective with mild but good-natured suspicion. She turned towards Amanda, only a few inches of space remaining between them. "What kind of a game? And it better not have 'strip' in the title."

"Hm, well. I was thinking more along the lines of something verbal. Like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon or Never Have I Ever, but I see where your mind is."

Olivia wrinkled her nose at the suggestions. She had never played the Six Degrees game because she would undoubtedly lose. Her gift for remembering names and faces did not extend to current celebrities, for whom she had very little interest. There were a select few whose work she enjoyed and talent she admired—Lin-Manuel Miranda, Meryl Streep, Julie Andrews, Tom Hanks—but for the most part, their world was so far removed from hers, they might as well be on different planets. "All I know Kevin Bacon from is Footloose. And isn't Never Have I Ever a drinking game?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Amanda's features, and she held out a hand, wiggling her fingers. "Gimme your Tic Tacs."

"Uh, okay . . . " Olivia rummaged blindly through the large black bag on her shoulder (it was killing her, but she'd be damned if she would set it on the filth-encrusted floor below) until she came upon something that felt like a large plastic Easter egg. She withdrew the container and rattled the two hundred count freshmints at Amanda. "Is this your subtle way of telling me I have bad breath?"

"Only that one time when you ate the garlic pasta thing." Amanda intercepted the candy, flipped open the dispenser with her thumb, and shook a lone white Tic Tac into her palm. She displayed it like a magician showing the audience an important card, then popped it into her mouth. "Drink," she said, the tiny capsule pinched between her teeth. "Your turn."

Ohh.

Standing up straight, Olivia squared her shoulders and shook out her long, dark hair behind her. Normally she hated these types of games, which were just a poorly disguised means of sticking your nose into other people's business. But Amanda was her business, and vice versa. If nothing else, it would pass the time. She cleared her throat. "Okay, hit me."

In an eerily spot-on imitation of their friend Daphne Tyler, Amanda gave a gleeful bounce that shook the entire car. Oh, Lord. "Never have I ever," she said with a little too much gusto, as if she'd been preparing for this moment for quite a while, "surfed porn at work. Recreationally."

"Wow. We're jumping right in, huh?" Olivia blinked hard a few times, trying to process the question. She hadn't counted on pornography showing up so early in the conversation—or at all, really. She declined the Tic Tacs when Amanda held them out expectantly.

"Aw, not even once?" The detective's shoulders sagged a bit. She looked like a kid who had just been told she couldn't go to the park to play with her friends.

"Nope. You know how I feel about porn. It's exploitative and degrading to women, and it's not even sexy. It gives men and boys totally unrealistic expectations, distorts girls' body images, promotes dangerous sex practices, and leads to infidelity." Olivia ticked off each offense on her fingers, then jutted out her thumb. "Plus, there's no plot."

Amanda gazed at her in utter chagrin. Based on that look, Olivia might as well have said she hated puppies and wished Betty White a slow and painful death. "Yeah, but . . . not even, like, a sneak peek at a Playboy or something?"

"Sorry, no. I—"

Wait. Olivia's mouth closed with an audible plop, and she tilted her head to one side, momentarily lost in thought. The heat, beginning at the base of her neck, slowly filtered up to her cheeks and out to the tips of both ears. In her eagerness to decry the adult entertainment industry, she had forgotten a very small, youthful indiscretion from so long ago it hardly seemed relevant or even real. "Well, okay, there was this one thing . . . "

"Yeah?" Amanda leaned forward, blue eyes alight with anticipation and suppressed mirth. She was always terribly amused by the stories of Olivia's so-called "bad girl" behavior—at least the ones not rooted in trauma. "Lay it on me, Cap'n."

"I worked in the campus library for a while in college, and I used to sneak off behind the stacks to read all the dirty parts in the erotica section." Olivia ducked her head a bit shyly, peering up through her eyelashes to see the detective's reaction. It was a fairly tame confession and she wasn't really that embarrassed by it, but pretending could be fun. Especially when it made Amanda grin like a five-foot-seven-inch Cheshire cat. "Does that count?"

Amanda made a show of deliberating, scrunching up one eye, the other aimed at the ceiling as she hemmed and hawed. Finally she relented, tapping a Tic Tac into Olivia's outstretched palm. "I'll give you that one, since it happened before the invention of the Internet."

"You don't have to say it like you mean 'before the wheel' or 'before fire,' you know," Olivia commented, pinching the tablet and placing it delicately on her tongue. She had an avid audience as she pursed her lips, sucking on the minty candy. She preferred the orange-flavored—which were nowhere to be found in the larger packs—but she hummed over this one as if it were a spoonful of ice cream and decadent hot fudge and trailed her tongue around the outer rim of her mouth. If porn was what Amanda wanted . . .

A soft "huh" escaped the blonde's gently parted lips, and she covered them quickly, faking an unconvincing cough. Olivia reached around to pat Amanda on the back, trying to muffle a laugh of her own as she inquired, "You okay, sweetie?"

"Uh-huh. It's, uh, it's your turn."

Olivia would have liked to torture the younger woman some more, but it appeared they were going to be stuck in place awhile longer. There was plenty of time to get her detective hot and bothered; she might as well draw out the process a little. Better a slow burn than a raging inferno in such tight quarters.

"Hmm, let's see." Olivia tapped her chin and gazed around the elevator, searching for inspiration. The litter in the corner and a totally unrelated rumbling in her belly were just the right combination. "Never have I ever taken something out of the trash and eaten it," she said, and fixed a dubious look on the container of Tic Tacs, hoping it wouldn't be upended. She had seen Amanda dig scraps from the wastebasket and feed them to the dogs—that was bad enough.

"Sheesh. Good to know you think I'm so classy." Amanda tried to sound offended, but she happily accepted the peck on the cheek that Olivia offered as an apology when the mints went untouched.

"I have seen you eat a pancake that landed flat on the floor . . . "

"Five second rule."

"And pick brown schmutz out of Frannie's fur and taste it because you couldn't tell if it was poop or chocolate."

"That was one time," Amanda countered, arms folded defensively. She gave an affected little sniff, her nose in the air. "And the joke's on you, 'cause it was chocolate."

Propping her elbow against the wall, Olivia rested head in hand and scrutinized Amanda with bemusement and deep affection. "Well, don't I feel like a complete jackass," she said wryly, and crossed one foot over the other, balancing the toe of her boot on the floor. Three inch heels were one thing when she was on the move, but standing in them for an hour straight was starting to take its toll. "Next time you want to eat off our dogs, you go right ahead, my love."

"Hush your mouth," Amanda said, grinning all the while and stretching out the toe of her almost identical boot to nudge the foot Olivia still had planted on the ground. "My turn. Never have I ever masturbated in public."

Olivia snorted outright at that one. "Seriously? What kind of pervert do you take me for, with these questions?" She splayed her hand open against her chest, head shaking in mild dismay. She rolled her eyes when Amanda nevertheless held out the Tic Tacs hopefully.

"Aw, come on. Not even behind the stacks in the library when you snuck off to read trashy novels?" Amanda rattled the breath mint container like a maraca, twitching one of her slender shoulders to the beat. She added a seductive little wiggle of the hips, barely visible beneath her long coat—but Olivia could picture it clearly. She'd seen those tiny hips at work, and under a lot less covering, plenty of times.

"No, not even—" Olivia stopped short, her lips formed into a small, astonished "O" as yet another memory came flooding back to her. Damn. She flushed in earnest now and set her boot down firmly beside the other, studying the tops of both as if fascinated by the shiny black leather.

"Oh my Lord, you have," Amanda crowed. She crouched down to peer under Olivia's mantle of dark hair and into her warm, glowing face. "I didn't really expect that one to be true. I's just bullshitting you. But now I gotta know. Tell me everything."

"It's not that big of a deal."

"Ev-ree-thing."

Heaving a deep sigh, Olivia let the story tumble out in one long breath: "In the crib of the old precinct, about five hundred years ago, and there was hardly anybody around, so it wasn't even 'in public' per se, and it was after the longest stakeout ever, and I just needed the release. What, stop looking at me like that."

"In the precinct? That's like doing it in your house of worship. Olivia Margaret Benson, I am shocked." Amanda bit her bottom lip, stifling the laughter that bounced the shoulders of her trench coat. "Remind me to knock next time your office door is closed."

"Shut up." Olivia poked at Amanda's ribs and pouted when she got no reaction. Sometimes it was really unfair that her detective didn't have a ticklish bone anywhere in that cute, compact body of hers. Meanwhile, Olivia practically shuddered at a light breeze.

"Did you at least wash your hands after?"

Speaking of hands. Amanda inched closer and slipped hers inside of Olivia's coat, stroking idly at her sides. Sure enough, Olivia shivered at the light, meandering touch, goosebumps pricking up on her arms and scalp. "Of course," she said, and tsked her tongue at the question. She was doing her best not to acknowledge Amanda's wandering hands and the nuzzling. It was so hard to ignore the nuzzling. "I'm not a complete—" Her breath caught softly when Amanda's lips grazed her just beneath the jaw, pressing a tender kiss there. "H-heathen."

"Nah, but you are naughtier than I thought," Amanda murmured, trailing a few extra kisses along the same path as the first. She didn't linger too long in one place, didn't nibble or suck at the skin she was worshiping. It saddened Olivia that the detective was still a bit tentative with her at times, but she supposed she understood why. They would both be recovering from last Christmas for a while.

Olivia looped her arms under Amanda's, pulling her into a snug embrace and kissing her pallid, unblemished forehead. A hint of citrus-scented shampoo, bright and lemony, clung to the fair strands that tickled Olivia's nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled the fragrance, forgetting for a second the predicament they were in. The blonde had that effect on her. "Are you disappointed in me?" she asked, and though she was still teasing, she found herself quietly awaiting the answer.

"No, ma'am." Amanda tilted back for a mischievous smile, without breaking from their spontaneous hug. Maybe being trapped in an elevator for going on two hours wasn't so bad after all. They never got to be this close at work, unless they were leaning over each other's desks; although, now they kept more of a professional distance than they ever had before they were dating. "I could never be disappointed in you, darlin'. And I like your naughty side, in case you hadn't noticed."

Timing it just right, she slid her hands down to squeeze Olivia's ass at the same moment she mentioned her "naughty side." Olivia clenched reflexively and gave a throaty chuckle, caught off guard by the firm grip to such a sensitive area. Her detective was chock full of surprises, not the least of which was an ability to find Olivia's weak spots and use them to drive her crazy, most often sexually.

"I can see that," she said, sweeping a lock of long blonde hair behind Amanda's shoulder. It exposed a tantalizing slope of neck that reminded Olivia of a white calla lily, in its delicate and pristine grace. A blank canvas just waiting for an artist's hand . . . or lips. She dipped down for a warm, sumptuous kiss to the tender skin, her fingers gliding up the other side.

She couldn't help smiling—Amanda did shiver this time. And when she drew back, her detective wore a dreamy, half-drunk expression that made her giggle. They spent the next half hour trading Never Have I Evers and abandoned the Tic Tacs in favor of making out whenever one of them had performed the suggested action.

("You've come to work commando? When? Under me?"

"Baby, I'm commando as we speak. And I'll be under you anytime, just say the word . . .")

("Which ADA did you kiss? Come on, don't make me tickle it out of you. I will make you piss your pants in the middle of this elevator. At least tell me if it was a man or a woman. Oh shit, it wasn't Carisi, was it?"

"Aman— Amanda! Seriously, stop. I'm n-not— s-stop! I'm not telling. But Carisi? Really? He's eight. He could be my child."

"I bet it was Cabot, wasn't it? Barba? Please tell me it wasn't that walking penis Stone . . .")

. . .