Author's note: Suspension of disbelief is, as always, required. And a certain forgiveability factor should be in play for out of characterness.
Disclaimer: These are the intellectual property of Dick Wolf, the tango was partly inspired by Mr. and Mrs. Smith, and a special shout-out to Starbucks for the Venti Double Chip Frappuccino that got me wired enough to write most of this in one sitting.
"A dance club, Cap'n?" Elliot exclaimed. "Aren't we a little old to go clubbing?"
Olivia walked behind her partner's chair and slapped him upside the head.
"Okay, I'm too old for clubbing," he corrected himself, rubbing the back of his skull and scowling at his partner's retreating form.
"It's not that kind of dance club," Cragen interjected, hiding his amused smirk. "It's ballroom."
Elliot paused, absorbing what Cragen had just said, then answered, "Okay, I'd fit in better at a rave."
"Elliot, you don't actually have to dance. You're there to observe a suspect," Cragen replied in a tone that implied he'd already formed a rebuttal to any argument Elliot could come up with.
Elliot tried anyway. "But I'd have to wear a tux!"
"Which we'll provide you with."
"What if someone asks me to dance?"
"Be a gentleman and oblige."
"I can't just leave Olivia to watch a suspect by herself."
"Then dance with her so nobody asks you."
Elliot mouthed wordlessly, trying to come up with more convincing arguments. He glanced helplessly at Olivia.
"Don't look at me," she said. "I'm all for it."
His shoulders slumped and he lowered his head in defeat as his last chance to get out of this assignment was walking away.
"You're coming by an hour early!" Liv said over her shoulder.
"What? Why?" he called out.
"You're gonna learn to dance."
Elliot and Olivia walked arm-in-arm up to the maître d'. As they followed him to their table, Elliot said to Olivia, "I still think this is ridiculous."
"Quit complaining."
"You don't have to wear a tie."
"You don't have to wear a thong."
There was a long pause, and finally Elliot said, "You win."
They were seated at a small, raised table for two with a perfect view of the dance floor and the rest of the room.
"Subject spotted, three o'clock," Elliot muttered across the table.
She glanced around casually, pretending to take in the room, and finally caught sight of their target sitting in a booth with two women and another man.
"Think that's the guy he works with?" Olivia asked softly, leaning towards Elliot.
He smiled lazily and rested his hand on her knee. "I'd be willing to bet money on it."
Anyone passing by would have thought them a normal married couple, with a shimmering engagement ring and gleaming wedding band to match fitting perfectly on her well-manicured fingers. His own thumb gently stroked the top of her hand as they leaned forward intimately, discussing, for all anyone knew, how they would decorate their future child's room.
She laughed lightly as though he had just told her a joke. "Well, I hope so, otherwise the brass might make us stand down."
"Yeah," he said, his nose centimeters from hers, "and you'll have worn heels for nothing."
She moved the inch and a half to make contact with his lips, a short, intimate but not sensual, kiss, pulling back after a few seconds' contact. "Well…not for nothing," she said, taking his hands and pulling him off his stool toward the open hardwood floor.
A digital marquee above the band stand displayed the current and upcoming songs to be played.
"The Assassins' Tango, Liv?" Elliot asked skeptically, eyeballing the marquee.
"Just remember the basic steps I taught you; I'll do the rest," she said, taking his left hand in her right and resting his right hand on her waist, moving her left hand around to splay across his right shoulder blade.
There were four other couples on the dance floor, one of them their suspect and his female companion.
The music started, and Elliot began to lead Olivia into a few of the easy steps she'd shown him.
Too soon for him, however, she started pushing him into more complex steps and some tricky footwork. He concentrated hard on not stepping on her toes as their legs wove intricate patterns with each other so that it was difficult to follow who was dominating the dance.
"Eyes," Olivia murmered gently. Elliot, who'd been watching their feet, immediately snapped his gaze up to meet hers.
He felt as though they moved in slow motion as he responded to the music and to her movements. She pulled herself forward, wrapping her leg around him and pressing her body against his, all the while maintaining eye contact.
He lifted her and spun them both, then he stopped and she slid slowly down his body and his leg, ending in a dancer's lunge. He pulled her up and she twirled outwards.
She circled him as a predator does its prey, then spun in, planting her left leg between his feet, which were shoulder-width apart, her face inches from his own. She turned around and brought her left foot up, barely—agonizingly—caressing the most sensitive area of his body in the vee of his slacks. It would have driven a lesser man insane merely to watch.
She twirled outward again, and he tugged her hand for her to turn back in towards him, her back pressed against the front of his body.
He trailed his right hand slowly down her cheek, then her neck. He continued on down between her breasts and finally splayed across her stomach, where her own fingers tangled with his. His eyes closed languidly as he was enthralled by the scent of her perfume mingling with a scent that was uniquely her.
She raised her left arm straight out to the side. He slid his left hand leisurely down her outstretched arm, and they stepped in time in the direction of their extended arms.
When the music called for a pause in their strides, she snaked her outspread arm around to stroke the back of his neck. His matched hand likewise traced the soft skin of her arm. The fingers of his right hand exerted a light pressure on her stomach in rhythm with the music.
From this position, he lifted her again. One of her legs wrapped around him, and as the music climaxed, she arched her back and gripped his hand on her stomach as he twirled them again. As the music wound down, he stopped spinning and he dipped her forward so that she could almost kiss the floor, then brought her back up. She spun once more around his body before alighting on the floor.
When the final note played, they were standing face-to-face, each with their feet shoulder width apart, and not an inch of their bodies touching.
There was applause from the people seated. They both had been holding their breath during the final moments of the song, and they now let it out in a whoosh. He reached out his hand, and a warm tingle went up his arm as she readily gripped it, her fingers laced through his.
He pulled her chair out for her back at the table, and then took his own seat when she was settled. During the dance, someone had placed a note on his plate, and he now picked it up and read it.
She looked on curiously but silently. He put the paper down and his eyes met hers. A slow smile crept onto his face as he grasped her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing her fingers with one sweeping, feather-light kiss.
She leaned forward, nodding knowingly. "We didn't get him, did we?"
Elliot shook his head, then picked up his glass of wine and held it out. She picked up her own glass and clinked it against his before taking a sip.
"Well, like you said," he began, setting the glass down and checking out the dance floor again. "Not for nothing."
She grinned and allowed him to pull her off the stool this time, leading them both to the dance floor once again.
End
Reviews make me happy, and when I'm happy, I write more, and when I write more, the readers are happy. Basically, everyone's happiness depends on your reviews, so no pressure!