One Of Those Nights
folder
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
6,994
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
G through L › Law & Order
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
6,994
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Law & Order, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
One Of Those Nights
Title: One Of Those Nights.
Author: DZ_Crasher
Category: Angst.
Pairing: Olivia/Elliot
Rating: R
Archive - Ask me.
Summary: Sometimes the hardest thing is to let go, sometimes the hardest thing is help someone else let it go.
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me and I'm not into the fandom enough to actually figure out the proper disclaimer so... yeah. No money was made from this work.
Beta Thanks: To Emma... cause she rocks.
Author’s Notes: This was wonderful to write (rolls eyes) especially at work where I kept being interupted by people who actually expected me to do my job!
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She knew it was going to be one of those nights. A child was raped and left to die of exposure in the back of an alley in a box behind a dumpster. The body was found a week later because the stench was attracting dogs. There were no clues. No way to identify the body. No way to get justice. She knew it was going to be one of those nights, even before she saw his car in her rearview mirror.
She obeyed the speed limit religiously, and even made a few unnecessary detours, but he was serious tonight and she wouldn't be able to shake him off. Every moment she delayed just aggravated him further, but she dreaded parking her car, getting out, hearing him get out.
He was her partner, she shouldn't be afraid of him, and she wasn't . . . usually. Nights like these however, nights when he stood at the edge of the abyss, nights when he knew he couldn't go home without scaring his wife and children, nights when he came to her, then he scared her. Then he terrified her.
They rarely made it to the bed - that was his fault. He didn't like using her bed, it reminded him exactly what he was doing. Usually it was on the living-room carpet, or the wall. He liked the wall, he liked the front door even better, even though she would wince as the doorknob dug into her hip.
When she could no longer avoid it she made her way home, parked her car, got out, locked it. She heard him do the same. They met in front of the door to her apartment building, but only because she fumbled and dropped her keys. He stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Silent though, and she knew from experience he would be silent throughout, or try to be. He would never cry out her name, because this wasn't about romance.
The hallway was completely quiet other than their footsteps and his breathing. Her breathing was slow and even, almost meditating, gathering her reserves for the task ahead. They reached her apartment, the door closed, and he was on her. Against the door, hard, painful. She thought distractedly that some of the varnish must be rubbing off.
He pulled her shirt from her pants and she winced at the friction between her naked skin and the door.
She put her hands on his shoulders. She knew any attempt by her to speed this along would be met with a light slap on her hand. She didn't exist right now, not really. She looked over his shoulder at her living room, at her blank television set. She tried to remember what was on tonight, whether or not it was worth staying up for. It was a moot point really, she could never sleep after these sessions. She saw the newspaper she had left on her coffee table, thought of an article she had read that morning. Anything to forget about what was happening now and the man who could only love her when he was mad with anger and she didn't exist.
He pawed at her breasts like a beast but seemed careful not to break the skin.
Even in this state, she thought to herself, he knew where to draw the line.
Next to be attacked were her pants. His hand fumbled with her belt, but she knew better than to try and help. Her pants went down around her knees along with her underwear in one forceful tug. His nails grazed her thighs. She hissed in pain.
“Sorry.” His voice was a whisper, out of breath, urgent, distracted. The word was said automatically, without thought, but she clung to it because it proved she was still there, that she did exist.
He grabbed at his own belt and undid it too, much more smoothly than hers. He didn't drop his pants, just moved them down enough to be able to maneuver. He positioned himself and thrust into her, not all at once, but insistently and quickly, until he was as far as he could go. She had been ready for him, but wasn't sure if he would have stopped even if she wasn't.
He grunted as he moved in her, making the act even more animalistic. His head was turned away, his eyes shut tight. The picture of desperation - she almost felt sorry for him. Then she bumped into the doorknob.
Hearing him panting in her ear, feeling his breath on her shoulder, his weight pinning her down, she wondered if this was how her mother felt, but down that road lay only nausea, so she quickly thought about something else.
He sped up and moved against her harder. She would be sore in the morning, maybe even bruised. She felt a small thrill that centered in between her legs, and ruthlessly suppressed it. It was worse if she had an orgasm. Then it would really be like cheating.
He came with a grunt, teeth clenched, body jerking, slamming her against the door. After a few moments he let her down, and when she moved out of the way he left, making himself presentable as he went.
Olivia stumbled into the bathroom and into the shower without turning on the lights. In the darkness the water felt like sin on her skin, washing away evidence. She moved her hand between her legs, felt the place where he had been. She did what he couldn't - wouldn't - do, and when she climaxed she cried out, but not his name. When she finished scrubbing him off her skin she wandered into the living room and fell onto the couch.
Turning on the TV she wondered if all this was worth it. Seeing the man replace the monster in his eyes.
Author: DZ_Crasher
Category: Angst.
Pairing: Olivia/Elliot
Rating: R
Archive - Ask me.
Summary: Sometimes the hardest thing is to let go, sometimes the hardest thing is help someone else let it go.
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me and I'm not into the fandom enough to actually figure out the proper disclaimer so... yeah. No money was made from this work.
Beta Thanks: To Emma... cause she rocks.
Author’s Notes: This was wonderful to write (rolls eyes) especially at work where I kept being interupted by people who actually expected me to do my job!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
She knew it was going to be one of those nights. A child was raped and left to die of exposure in the back of an alley in a box behind a dumpster. The body was found a week later because the stench was attracting dogs. There were no clues. No way to identify the body. No way to get justice. She knew it was going to be one of those nights, even before she saw his car in her rearview mirror.
She obeyed the speed limit religiously, and even made a few unnecessary detours, but he was serious tonight and she wouldn't be able to shake him off. Every moment she delayed just aggravated him further, but she dreaded parking her car, getting out, hearing him get out.
He was her partner, she shouldn't be afraid of him, and she wasn't . . . usually. Nights like these however, nights when he stood at the edge of the abyss, nights when he knew he couldn't go home without scaring his wife and children, nights when he came to her, then he scared her. Then he terrified her.
They rarely made it to the bed - that was his fault. He didn't like using her bed, it reminded him exactly what he was doing. Usually it was on the living-room carpet, or the wall. He liked the wall, he liked the front door even better, even though she would wince as the doorknob dug into her hip.
When she could no longer avoid it she made her way home, parked her car, got out, locked it. She heard him do the same. They met in front of the door to her apartment building, but only because she fumbled and dropped her keys. He stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Silent though, and she knew from experience he would be silent throughout, or try to be. He would never cry out her name, because this wasn't about romance.
The hallway was completely quiet other than their footsteps and his breathing. Her breathing was slow and even, almost meditating, gathering her reserves for the task ahead. They reached her apartment, the door closed, and he was on her. Against the door, hard, painful. She thought distractedly that some of the varnish must be rubbing off.
He pulled her shirt from her pants and she winced at the friction between her naked skin and the door.
She put her hands on his shoulders. She knew any attempt by her to speed this along would be met with a light slap on her hand. She didn't exist right now, not really. She looked over his shoulder at her living room, at her blank television set. She tried to remember what was on tonight, whether or not it was worth staying up for. It was a moot point really, she could never sleep after these sessions. She saw the newspaper she had left on her coffee table, thought of an article she had read that morning. Anything to forget about what was happening now and the man who could only love her when he was mad with anger and she didn't exist.
He pawed at her breasts like a beast but seemed careful not to break the skin.
Even in this state, she thought to herself, he knew where to draw the line.
Next to be attacked were her pants. His hand fumbled with her belt, but she knew better than to try and help. Her pants went down around her knees along with her underwear in one forceful tug. His nails grazed her thighs. She hissed in pain.
“Sorry.” His voice was a whisper, out of breath, urgent, distracted. The word was said automatically, without thought, but she clung to it because it proved she was still there, that she did exist.
He grabbed at his own belt and undid it too, much more smoothly than hers. He didn't drop his pants, just moved them down enough to be able to maneuver. He positioned himself and thrust into her, not all at once, but insistently and quickly, until he was as far as he could go. She had been ready for him, but wasn't sure if he would have stopped even if she wasn't.
He grunted as he moved in her, making the act even more animalistic. His head was turned away, his eyes shut tight. The picture of desperation - she almost felt sorry for him. Then she bumped into the doorknob.
Hearing him panting in her ear, feeling his breath on her shoulder, his weight pinning her down, she wondered if this was how her mother felt, but down that road lay only nausea, so she quickly thought about something else.
He sped up and moved against her harder. She would be sore in the morning, maybe even bruised. She felt a small thrill that centered in between her legs, and ruthlessly suppressed it. It was worse if she had an orgasm. Then it would really be like cheating.
He came with a grunt, teeth clenched, body jerking, slamming her against the door. After a few moments he let her down, and when she moved out of the way he left, making himself presentable as he went.
Olivia stumbled into the bathroom and into the shower without turning on the lights. In the darkness the water felt like sin on her skin, washing away evidence. She moved her hand between her legs, felt the place where he had been. She did what he couldn't - wouldn't - do, and when she climaxed she cried out, but not his name. When she finished scrubbing him off her skin she wandered into the living room and fell onto the couch.
Turning on the TV she wondered if all this was worth it. Seeing the man replace the monster in his eyes.