A/N Olivia belongs to Dick Wolf. The girl belongs to me. I made no money
off this.
MORNING AFTER
"Where am I, and whose panties are these?" Olivia gazed with scratchy, red eyes at a pair of boys' Calvin Klein underwear that lay on the floor right in front of the toilet, which, to her disgust, had not been flushed after the last several uses. Nor had it been cleaned this millennium, judging from the accumulation of rust stains along the waterline.
She flushed the toilet, and sat down on it heavily, running her hands through her short brown hair and massaging her pounding head while she peed. Bits and flashes of the previous night cut slowly through her hazy awareness as the dawn of a new hangover crept, undeniably, into the reality of the day ahead. But first, for orientation's sake, a review of the night before.
Cone-shaped party hats. Streamers, and those loud tubelike things that people blow on and shoot out and recoil over and over. It was her 40th birthday party. Shouting laughter and a cute young thing, Elliot's niece, visiting from Northhampton. Oh. That might explain her present surroundings, a dingy bathroom on the Lower East Side that featured an overflowing litterbox and balls of long red hair like tumbleweeds taking up residence on the black and white tiles. She must have gotten pretty smashed last night.
She licked her desert-dry lips and flushed the toilet. As she stood up, she felt all the booze she drank the night before turn to toxic waste in the large muscles of her legs. She was doomed.
She walked back down the hall to the bedroom she'd just emerged from in a half-stupor after her bladder woke her up. A blonde head rested in serenity on the edge of a bare pillow. The rest of the person was covered in a ratty duvet, stained with evidence of spilled food and beverages. Olivia walked around the bed to get a better look at the girl in the bed. Well, at least she wasn't hideously ugly. In fact, she was pretty cute. A tiny light flared in Olivia's head, light up flashing smiles and shots of Jaegermeister. Hysterical laughter and this girl leaning into her while Olivia laughed in that way that only the young really can, with abandon and naivety. Oh, too tawdry. She hated getting that drunk. She suddenly felt old. It didn't help that the peaceful face on the pillow looked like it belonged to an 18-year-old. Say it isn't so.
Olivia looked at the alarm clock on the stack of milk crates that served as a bookshelf for whoever this person was. Yeah yeah, she knew she was Elliot's niece, making it all the worse. But as for a name, well, for a cop, she wasn't doing so well with names right now. Marie? Elsie? Tammy? Shit. The clock's red LED numbers read 5:47, most definitely a.m. She had another hour to chill and talk herself into a work day under duress. She carefully slid back under the cozy if dirty duvet, quietly tucking herself in.
The girl responded to the small commotion by snuggling closer to Olivia, draping one arm over her body and curving her slight body along Olivia's left side. The girl nestled her face into Olivia's neck, inhaled and exhaled with a tiny snore of oblivious sleep. Olivia suddenly felt much better with this warm body pressed next to her and the sweet breath of sleep blowing gently onto her neck. Olivia's blood rushed to parts unmentioned and she closed her eyes. Breathed slowly. Her hand, without inhibition, gently stroked the girl's arm that was draped across her chest. The girl responded with a small maneuver closer along Olivia's body. Her skin was so soft. She felt the girl's mouth open on her neck while her breathing came hotter. She felt a tongue on her skin, hot and probing. The girl sat up and opened her eyes.
Olivia hadn't felt this turned on in a long time. But she hoped the girl wouldn't kiss her. A hangover mouth is nothing to be relished, after all.
She didn't. The girl pulled up Olivia's shirt to expose nipples that were hard yet soft, dry and warm, the perfect fit for her lips and tongue to relish. Olivia let out a moan as the girl began licking around her areolas. She began grinding against the girl, who responded in rhythm with her tongue that circled and recircled those sensitive spots that can take a woman just to the edge and keep her there.
The heat between them grew and both were grinding against each other, the girl on top of Olivia. Finally the girl's hand traveled to the tropical wetness that, in all its unexpectedness, reacted immediately to her touch and Olivia's head filled with the immensely soft and intense pleasure that brought her head up from the pillow and low, delicate sounds of animal release into the room.
Miraculously, her hangover was cured.
MORNING AFTER
"Where am I, and whose panties are these?" Olivia gazed with scratchy, red eyes at a pair of boys' Calvin Klein underwear that lay on the floor right in front of the toilet, which, to her disgust, had not been flushed after the last several uses. Nor had it been cleaned this millennium, judging from the accumulation of rust stains along the waterline.
She flushed the toilet, and sat down on it heavily, running her hands through her short brown hair and massaging her pounding head while she peed. Bits and flashes of the previous night cut slowly through her hazy awareness as the dawn of a new hangover crept, undeniably, into the reality of the day ahead. But first, for orientation's sake, a review of the night before.
Cone-shaped party hats. Streamers, and those loud tubelike things that people blow on and shoot out and recoil over and over. It was her 40th birthday party. Shouting laughter and a cute young thing, Elliot's niece, visiting from Northhampton. Oh. That might explain her present surroundings, a dingy bathroom on the Lower East Side that featured an overflowing litterbox and balls of long red hair like tumbleweeds taking up residence on the black and white tiles. She must have gotten pretty smashed last night.
She licked her desert-dry lips and flushed the toilet. As she stood up, she felt all the booze she drank the night before turn to toxic waste in the large muscles of her legs. She was doomed.
She walked back down the hall to the bedroom she'd just emerged from in a half-stupor after her bladder woke her up. A blonde head rested in serenity on the edge of a bare pillow. The rest of the person was covered in a ratty duvet, stained with evidence of spilled food and beverages. Olivia walked around the bed to get a better look at the girl in the bed. Well, at least she wasn't hideously ugly. In fact, she was pretty cute. A tiny light flared in Olivia's head, light up flashing smiles and shots of Jaegermeister. Hysterical laughter and this girl leaning into her while Olivia laughed in that way that only the young really can, with abandon and naivety. Oh, too tawdry. She hated getting that drunk. She suddenly felt old. It didn't help that the peaceful face on the pillow looked like it belonged to an 18-year-old. Say it isn't so.
Olivia looked at the alarm clock on the stack of milk crates that served as a bookshelf for whoever this person was. Yeah yeah, she knew she was Elliot's niece, making it all the worse. But as for a name, well, for a cop, she wasn't doing so well with names right now. Marie? Elsie? Tammy? Shit. The clock's red LED numbers read 5:47, most definitely a.m. She had another hour to chill and talk herself into a work day under duress. She carefully slid back under the cozy if dirty duvet, quietly tucking herself in.
The girl responded to the small commotion by snuggling closer to Olivia, draping one arm over her body and curving her slight body along Olivia's left side. The girl nestled her face into Olivia's neck, inhaled and exhaled with a tiny snore of oblivious sleep. Olivia suddenly felt much better with this warm body pressed next to her and the sweet breath of sleep blowing gently onto her neck. Olivia's blood rushed to parts unmentioned and she closed her eyes. Breathed slowly. Her hand, without inhibition, gently stroked the girl's arm that was draped across her chest. The girl responded with a small maneuver closer along Olivia's body. Her skin was so soft. She felt the girl's mouth open on her neck while her breathing came hotter. She felt a tongue on her skin, hot and probing. The girl sat up and opened her eyes.
Olivia hadn't felt this turned on in a long time. But she hoped the girl wouldn't kiss her. A hangover mouth is nothing to be relished, after all.
She didn't. The girl pulled up Olivia's shirt to expose nipples that were hard yet soft, dry and warm, the perfect fit for her lips and tongue to relish. Olivia let out a moan as the girl began licking around her areolas. She began grinding against the girl, who responded in rhythm with her tongue that circled and recircled those sensitive spots that can take a woman just to the edge and keep her there.
The heat between them grew and both were grinding against each other, the girl on top of Olivia. Finally the girl's hand traveled to the tropical wetness that, in all its unexpectedness, reacted immediately to her touch and Olivia's head filled with the immensely soft and intense pleasure that brought her head up from the pillow and low, delicate sounds of animal release into the room.
Miraculously, her hangover was cured.