A/N: I know some people might be waiting for the next chapter of Let's Pretend. And I am working on it, I promise. But for now, here's this… thing.

I started writing it a few weeks ago, and went back and forth on whether to actually post it or not. I've never written first person perspective like this before, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, and that's ok. I just couldn't let this one shot go.

Anyway, here's what you need to know: Olivia's POV, set in the not so distant future. Follows canon EXCEPT Rollisi. Rollisi never happened in this one, because… reasons. Hope you like it :)

…

LUNCH

I guarantee, that if you work SVU long enough, a lot of things, things you might not even think of as "things", will be ruined for you.

Innocent phrases, jokes, punchlines, and so on.

"Hot for teacher"? Definitely on that list.

It's just… not funny. Not when you've worked all the cases and witnessed what people are capable of, and you start associating it with young and impressionable teenagers. And then the teacher who should know better, taking advantage.

It'll make you (or at least me) reflect back on your younger self and your relationships. The way teachers, and other authority figures for that matter, treated you. Did they give you special attention? And for what reason? Did that touch on your shoulder linger for just a little too long? Did they really mean it when they told you that you were their favorite, and did they expect anything in return?

Yeah, it's not a funny joke anymore. And the more you think about it, the more you might want a shower. Oh, and home schooling your kid suddenly sounds like a great idea.

But-

But.

Then there's this.

And, this is not that.

I keep telling myself that as I watch her move, and listen to her speak. Reminding myself that I'm a grown woman, and so is she. I'm allowed to feel what I'm feeling, and she is too.

I'm allowed to want her, to be here, and look at her. She's allowed to look back.

And I know that she knows that I'm here. Saw it in her eyes five minutes after finding a spot on a row that's not too close to the stage that she's standing on, and not so far away that I can't be spotted.

Now, I was planning to surprise her, but there's something about her knowing, something in the way she straightens her shoulders, just a little. The way she avoids looking in my direction.

I like that. It also means she knows exactly why I'm here.

Do I feel any shame at all?

Yeah. Kinda.

Or?

No, maybe not shame. Maybe just a little embarrassed? Or… surprised?

Because we're getting close to a year now, since thatnight. When everything changed.

And still, after almost a year, I'll come up with some lame excuse for taking a longer lunch, just so I can get in an Uber and catch those final ten minutes of my wife's Wednesday lecture, and, well, there's really no sophisticated way to say this; Fuck in her office.

First of all; Wow.

You'd think at my age, our age, and in our line of work, this wouldn't even be an option. It's just so… primal. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and every so often, my heart, and certain other parts of my body, just wants her.

Second; Did I mention wife?

I'm still getting used to calling her that. Or, hearing other people call her that.

Whether it's Fin, just playing around, with his "say hi to your wife from me", emphasizing the word as if he too is getting used to the fact that his boss and his former partner are now a married couple. He likes to joke about it, but I know that he's happy for us. And a little smug, too. Because apparently he "knew all along".

And then there are moments like two weeks ago, when we attended that benefit gala, and I introduced Amanda to Velasco's girlfriend.

"And this is Professor Rollins, my wife."

I had to fight the urge to smirk when I noticed the effect it had on her. She was just being too obvious, and so damn cute about it, I almost pulled her into the restrooms and consummated our marriage for the hundredth time right there and then. Almost. We're not animals.

(I say that as if she didn't go down on me like the world was ending the second after we relieved our nanny forty five minutes later.)

My wife. Our nanny.

First of all, I didn't plan it, I never expected it, and I didn't see it coming, at all. And judging by the look on her face after our first kiss, neither did she.

To be fair, I guess no one really expects to be kissed in the middle of a fight. But it's something else when the one you're kissing is your best friend, the one you've shared your life with in every way but one, for twelve years. Take my word for it, it's very confusing.

And maybe I should've seen it coming. Both her decision to leave SVU and how I would react to it.

I mean, after all, I used to be a pretty good detective. Figuring things out was kinda my job. And if we're being honest, it still is because we're chronically understaffed. Figuring things out is what I was trained to do.

In hindsight, I see now that it was probably some good old denial at play. I knew that she was struggling after the shooting. I saw the way she hesitated, and zoned out, and sometimes froze when she would've normally been the first to act. And deep down, I knew that there was a reason why I couldn't leave her side at the hospital. Why my heart shattered, piece by broken piece, when we didn't know if she would actually make it.

Yeah, maybe I should've seen it coming.

But I didn't, and there it was.

Amanda, telling me she was leaving.

Me, realizing that I can't live without her.

And not in the way that you can't live without a certain type of food if your doctor tells you you're allergic. Or when your favorite show ends, or you have to go back to work after a much needed vacation.

No, not like that.

The way you can't live without air or water, and all that sappy shit.

That's how it felt.

Boom. Surprise.

I panicked.

"Fuck that." I said when she told me she was leaving to get ice.

And when she responded with a head tilt and a confronting "what?" I followed up with an equally confronting "and fuck you."

It wasn't pretty. And I'm not proud of what happened next.

The yelling, that is. And the way my voice changed and how I just sounded so… So not like myself. And the things I, we, said… ouch.

I accused her of running from her trauma, and being selfish for leaving. She accused me right back, saying I was selfish for making her stay. I pulled the trust card next, telling her that after all this time, when I was getting things in order to promote her, she just drops everything and walks away. And she told me, "not everyone has a death wish like you, Liv."

That one really hurt.

So I yelled, about what I can't really remember. But I do remember raising my voice and that eerie feeling of losing control. I remember the look on her face, and the tears that rolled down on her cheeks.

But then, then she kissed me.

One minute we were shouting, saying things we didn't really mean. Hurtful, ugly things. Making each other cry and yell louder.

And the next? Her lips on mine, her hands in my hair, her tongue in my mouth. Her back pressed against the door. My hands cupping her face, touching her neck. Her asking "what's happening?". Me answering "I don't know".

That's not how she tells the story, by the way.

Not that we prance around telling this story to just anyone, but the few times people have asked (specifically Barba, Velasco and Phoebe), we end up having the same argument.

Obviously, we leave out what happened after the kiss, but it always comes down to who initiated what.

"Uhm, you kissed me, remember?" She will say, and I will deny it, strongly. Not because I have anything to hide or be ashamed of, but because it really isn't true.

"No-" I will protest, might even give her a pointed look under my glasses for good measure. "It was the other way around."

And so it goes.

To this day, almost one year later, we still can't agree on what actually happened, and honestly? When you're several drinks in, and you're yelling at your best friend because you just realized you're in love with her? Things tend to feel a little blurry.

So we agree to disagree, and decide that no matter who kissed who first, it was fucking awesome.

You can probably guess what happened next.

That was pretty fucking awesome too.

…

And it still is.

To the point where it's almost a problem. Emphasis on almost because it really isn't all that problematic. It just feels strange, you know? Accepting halfway through your fifties that maybe you will in fact end up alone. Having little to no sexual desire, both because of time, and energy, and priorities, but also because after doing this job for so many years… Well. You don't fall into bed with just anyone. Or maybe you do, and that's fine. But I don't.

I still don't.

Now, I just fall into bed with her. Or into the shower, or the kitchen counter after the kids have gone to bed, or the couch. Or, like today, her office.

And listen. We don't do this every week. Again, we're not animals.

But after the first time, very much unplanned and spontaneous, and when I actually was bringing her lunch, it kinda just turned into this thing. Our thing. And hey, I'm not complaining because my wife is objectively hot. Especially when she's wearing my glasses and I know for a fact, because we got ready together this morning, that she's not wearing underwear.

Knowing that, remembering that, I feel a rush of heat, crossing my legs while glancing around the darkened auditorium as if the students can suddenly see me blush. As if my arousal is outside of my body, on full display for anyone to notice.

But their eyes are very much focused on their professor, this blonde lady who moves around like she owns the stage. Like she's been doing this for years, not months.

And I can't blame them for being so captivated by her.

What was that saying again?

Right.

Hot for teacher.

Still creepy. But, eh, right now I'm feeling pretty hot for this particular teacher, too.

…

I realize now that I'm making it all sound so simple. And I guess, in some ways, it was.

It's not like we had to go through that whole awkward phase of getting to know each other. We've spent so much time together over the last twelve years that when we decided we might as well live together, it didn't come with many surprises.

I already knew that Amanda will sniffle for an hour instead of just blowing her nose like a normal person, and it annoys me just as much now as it did seven years ago when I first realized what that sound in the squad room was.

(I would never admit this, because I don't want to guilt trip her, but I'd do pretty much anything to get that sound back now that it's gone.)

Still annoying, though.

She already knew that I'm a package deal. And I'm not talking about Noah. She loves him like he's her own. As I do with the girls.

No, the package deal in question is a list of triggers. Certain topics and sounds and smells that might or might not set of a panic attack. Not necessarily full blown, I've been in enough therapy for a life time, and then some, so I know how to cope with it, mostly.

Still, sometimes I wonder if it's too much for her. If my irrational reactions to perfectly normal things are annoying her, like her occasional sniffles annoy me.

I asked her about it, (the triggers and the package thing, not the runny nose), four or five weeks into our new living arrangement.

It was a bad day, followed by a bad night, and for the first time since we slept in our bed, I didn't want her to touch me. I asked her if she was still up for this. And even though I didn't mean it, I told her I'd understand if she was having second thoughts.

You know what she said?

"Liv, I'd marry you tomorrow if I could. Hell, I'd do it tonight but I'm a little bloated and don't really feel like wearing a dress."

First, I laughed.

But when she didn't join me, I stopped, realizing that she wasn't actually joking. We had been living together for a month, and she was telling me she wanted to marry me. And this was, mind you, after I had pushed her away, literally and figuratively, because some demons just refuse to let go. Even when they're long gone, dead and buried.

"You're crazy-" I said, and then I laughed again, because if I didn't laugh, I might cry instead.

Her response then, that little fucker, was a simple shrug and a casually spoken "why?"

When I was briefly left speechless, she finally listed her arguments.

"We love each other, we've raised our kids together, we've known each other for years. And I don't know about you, but I'm not going anywhere. So why the hell not?"

Yeah.

Why the hell not?

Still the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.

…

But no, it hasn't been all easy.

I still had to watch her leave, walk out of my office for the last time, at least as detective Rollins. That part was anything but easy.

And trust me when I say that I'm so immensely proud of her, and happy for her. I am. But I can't deny that everytime I look over at her desk, my heart breaks a little. The squad room just feels so deserted without her, and I've come to realize that maybe it will always feel like that.

Neither was it easy for me to accept that I might've been repressing my own sexuality for decades. And suddenly I found myself questioning a long list of friendships and relationships, and googling things like internalized homophobia (before Amanda distracted me with a kiss, grabbing the phone from my hands, and asked if I wanted to do "something non homophobic")

Oh, and another thing. You really don't know the meaning of awkward until you tell your twelve year old son "hey, remember how you told me that you might be bi? Yeah, uhm, me too."

His response?

"I know." And a goddamn shrug. As if I hadn't just spent weeks agonizing over how and when to tell him.

I learned two things that day: He really is growing up too fast, and I think I underestimate him sometimes.

In the end, Noah didn't mind, the girls didn't mind. And even though she didn't really approve of the process of moving, Frannie eventually accepted all the changes too.

So here we are.

Married, with three kids, a dog and a new home.

Pretty mind blowing for someone who's one wish for the future, was a family. Someone who quite recently had convinced herself that it was too late and that it's not worth trying because people always leave.

Turns out, sometimes when people leave, you get them back in ways you never thought imaginable.

And speaking of-

Today's lecture is over.

At first, she manages to keep a straight face when I move towards her, but as I'm getting closer, her blank expression breaks and when we're face to face, she grins.

"Hey stranger." She says, and it does something to me, the way she lowers her voice, mindful of the students who have stayed behind, clearly waiting to ask her about something.

I lean in to kiss her on the cheek, murmuring a quiet "hi" in return.

"Give me a minute?" She asks, and I give a simple nod, watching as she turns to address the group of three standing a few feet away.

For the most part, they mumble too much for me to catch what they're talking about, but I like the way they look at her, admire her.

"We'll get back to this on Monday-" Amanda says, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that I'm listening. And we share a look then. A knowing, highly suggestive look. "Because now I'm gonna enjoy lunch with my wife."

Smooth, Professor Rollins. Real smooth.

…

Once we finally make it to her office, out of sight and door locked, we don't waste time.

"We gotta be quick today." She says while I work her shirt open, pressing a few kisses against her exposed neck. "I have a meeting-"

I get it, I do. We're both busy women, and doing this during work hours is a luxury I never thought I'd afford. I didn't even consider it an option, or something I wanted, before her. And I have meetings, too. And paperwork, and then there's that speech I'm giving next Friday. I get it. But, I also want her fully present for what's about to happen.

So, I do the thing.

It's a cheap trick, but it works. Every. Single. Time.

Her bra pulled up, and her nipple now in my mouth, I muffle a quiet "mhm", using my hand on the other side. I smile when I notice how her knees seem to buckle, just a little.

Having a gorgeous wife with very sensitive tits? Another luxury I never considered possible.

She gasps. And I love that sound so fucking much. It hits me in the stomach, between my legs, in my chest. As if every sudden inhale is another reminder that this is real. This is our life, and we can do this. Touch, and love each other like this.

"I'll just cancel the meeting." She breathes, head thrown back. "Meetings are-" She gasps again. "Stupid."

I snicker, glancing up and catching her blue eyes, hooded but somehow widened at the same time. The thought of meetings and responsibilities seemingly forgotten, clouded by lust and lust only.

Gorgeous.

"What do you need?" I ask, moving back up to kiss her, already knowing what she wants and needs, and what I want and need. But still, I value the chivalry of it all. I like to check in with her, just in case.

"Your mouth." She answers honestly, hands already busy between us, working the button, and then the zipper.

My beautiful, impatient wife.

In the same way that I wouldn't jump into bed with just anyone, neither would I get on my knees for just anyone. To be honest, I struggled with it for many years. There's just something about the power dynamic, the shift, and how it's so easy to suddenly feel helpless and small.

But she doesn't make me feel like that.

Amanda, unlike those ghosts from the past, always makes me feel like I'm the one in control, even when I'm not.

So with her, I do it eagerly and happily, craving how it feels to be close to her like this, the sensation of her hands, running through my hair, pushing me a little closer, but not forcefully so.

Maybe this is why I love our irregular lunch dates so much. This part right here.

The part where I'm down on my knees, and I look up at her, and our eyes meet and-

I can't explain it.

I guess it reminds me of our first time. How, even though the bed was literally right there, I still dropped to my knees. Her back pressed against the motel room door, one leg over my shoulder, and me, professing my love for her in every way I could. A shock to the system, both the act alone, and how much I loved it, taking in the taste, and the very essence of her.

And I could go on and on about that taste. How she feels against my tongue, my lips.

But I'm a little preoccupied.

"Oh, fuck, Liv, that, fuck, that feels-"

Imagine that.

This woman, who was just standing on stage fifteen minutes ago, talking confidently and calmly, is now rendered a rambling mess, her word salad mixed with little sharp intakes of air.

"Shh." I whisper against her, reminding her that we're not in the privacy of our own home, perfectly aware of how that reminder only adds to her arousal.

She's already close, and I want to keep her there for a little longer. Because I love the sounds she makes when she's just at the edge, but not quite ready to tumble off. There's something so raw and vulnerable in those sounds, it makes me desperate to love her even deeper, and even harder.

So that's exactly what I do, pushing into her with my fingers, but gently, because I've learned now that she'll groan, pretty loudly too, if I push too hard.

Setting the rhythm I know she likes best, I smile again when I feel her body respond, wondering for a short, mindless moment why we can't do this every single day.

"Ok-" She mumbles, as if she's bracing herself. And when I look up, I see that she literally is; One hand at the back of my head, and the other over her own mouth. It's mesmerizing. Breathtaking. Almost making me forget that I have a job to do. So I blink, move my fingers again, close my lips over the most sensitive part of her.

Then, just pure, beautiful bliss.

One of those moments where it feels like we are the only people to exist in this world. Everything else, even if it is just a few seconds, fades away, and I know that I've never felt so connected and so close to another human being.

I know, it's all very cliche. But it's true. And it's glorious.

Amazing how sugary a midday quickie can actually be, if you let it.

…

"You good?" I ask, my hands running up and down her unsteady legs a few times before I reach for the scattered pair of pants, helping her step into them so she can make herself somewhat presentable again. I grin when we're face to face, and I see how she's working to focus her eyes and center herself.

"Mm-" She nods tiredly, blinking, pausing the process of zipping her pants, relaxing against the door. "Whew-"

I laugh, reaching out to adjust her bangs, stroking her chin, leaning in for a kiss. "You hungry?"

She sighs, head lolling from side to side as she considers her answer.

"Well-" She shrugs, surprising me when she suddenly moves, making me step backwards, closer to the couch where I have no choice but to sit down before she's climbing into my lap and straddling it. "Kinda."

Turns out, she is hungry.

For my mouth, that is, and then my neck, and my collarbone. And I can't for the life of me understand why I opted for a t-shirt today instead of the regular button down that would've given her easier access. What a dumb thing to do.

But she, as always, makes it work, and I'm not complaining when her teeth close around my earlobe, as her hand closes over my breast, kneading it the way she knows will leave me breathless and aching for more.

Not that I need the foreplay right now. But I really was content with this being a one sided thing today.

"Thought we-" I start, but I'm interrupted when she shifts a little, wiggles her hand inside of my slacks, wasting no time before reaching her intended destination. I gasp, then moan, smiling into the kiss when her hand starts to move, confused about how she managed to get my pants undone without me noticing. "Thought we didn't have time."

"I'll always have time for this." She says, and it's soft, loving.

Like I said, even something like this can have a touch of romance. Especially when it's with the right person.

And I want to tell her that I love her, and that she's amazing, but she beats me to it, and suddenly the romance is sidelined, exchanged with something else.

"Spread your legs."

Fuck, I love when she does that. The way her voice will drop several octaves as she mumbles the words into my ear, coaxing me. Knowing full well that she has me wrapped around her finger.

Two fingers, actually, if we're being technical.

"Love how wet you are right now." She mumbles hotly against my neck, her hand moving slowly, enticingly, building me up, stroke by stroke. "Best lunch I ever had."

"I don't know-" I say, followed by a soft groan. "That Japanese place last week was pretty good."

"Yeah?" She says, and bends her fingers, hitting a spot, the spot. Resting her forehead against mine, she holds that position for one second, two, three- And then, without much warning, she's fucking me. "You wanna stop this and get some ramen?"

I shake my head, and I want to smile at her smugness but my body is too focused on the pleasure that she's giving me, spreading from my core to my stomach and limbs and- Oof, now I'm really just a panting mess on this couch.

It's actually quite impressive, the way she has managed to angle herself just right; Enough room to make me feel the way she thrusts her fingers, all while keeping our bodies close, pressed together, breathing the same air.

She likes that. And I don't know why, but it surprised me a little, when I first learned how much she craves intimacy. How even a quick fuck is never just a quick fuck for her. Whether it's here, in her office in the middle of the day. Or in our bed, late at night when we can take our time. She seems to seek out my body, and all its parts, tuck herself into it, as if I can shield her from anything.

I wish I could, and I do my best. But even if I can not keep her safe from all harm, at least there are moments like these, when the world disappears and no pain exists.

Well, maybe some pain.

The kind that comes from her biting my lip, not so hard that it'll leave a mark, but hard enough for me to feel it.

"Harder-" I hear myself beg, and even though I meant her hand, I'm not complaining when she bites me again.

…

I don't know when or how, but I suddenly find myself not sitting anymore, but lying down, realizing that in the heat of the moment, we've shifted on the couch. And I feel completely at her mercy, my body trembling underneath hers as she adds some muscle to her subtle but oh so effective movements.

"Amanda-" I say, with no reason other than the fact that it has become second nature for me to voice her name when we're together like this. I love how it sounds, and I love that she knows how good she's making me feel.

Then, when I'm convinced I can't take anymore, when it feels like I'm just a gentle push away from utter unravel, she delivers the final blow.

"Can you be a good girl and keep it down?"

Anyone else, I would've smacked without hesitation for calling me that.

But with her?

"Yes-" I whimper, eyes squeezed shut, repeating the word several times as the tightness low in my belly finally snaps.

"Come." She tells me, her voice deep, her tongue sliding against mine a second later. Fuck, she's a good kisser. "For me."

I do just that.

Underneath her, this unexpected love and life I never saw coming, I come. Silenced by her lips on mine, one hand grabbing her wrist, the other tangled in her hair.

I finally tell her then, a few moments later when I'm able to speak again, that I love her. And she smiles and places a kiss on my nose, letting me know that she loves me too. And that she needs to get up because her leg is starting to cramp.

…

"You working late tonight?" She asks, when we're both fully dressed again, and I'm using the camera on my phone to fix my make up.

"Not too late-" I say, making sure that I'm not leaving anything behind in her office before I move over to her desk, the one she's now seated behind, like nothing happened. "I'll be home before the kids go to bed."

I lean down to kiss her, noticing the hint of red in her cheeks, the only evidence that this lunch date didn't include any actual food.

"Don't forget to eat something." She tells me as I walk towards the door, as if she was just reading my mind.

"What do you mean?" I ask, turning around to give my wife a final, playful smile. "I just ate."