Interrogate Me, Please

I don't own SVU, Dick Wolf is a lucky, lucky man

Interrogate Him, Please

Donald Cragen has always found working with Elliot and Olivia increasingly difficult. The detectives are some of the people he spends the most time with. They're in his thoughts at work, tangled in along with the details of the latest case. Recently, however, they've begun to come home with him. Not physically of course, but in the form of disturbingly erotic dreams and not-quite pornographic fantasies.

He's watched hundreds of interrogations in his career, possibly thousands. But his favorites are when Elliot and Olivia are inside the small, cement room with the suspect. He likes to watch Olivia sweet talk the perp, lull him into a false sense of security while Elliot fumes quietly with jealousy across the room. He likes to watch Elliot frighten the criminal so badly that Olivia coaxes a confession out of the man with a sympathetic smile and an olive hand on his shoulder. He enjoys watching them work, but he wants nothing more in the world then to see Elliot on one side of the table, in the suspect's chair, his wrists bound by shiny metal cuffs.

His not-quite-guilty fantasy begins like any standard interrogation, so typical that the first time it occurred he thought he was awake and at work. What informs him he isn't conscious is when the perp lifts his head up off the table and he's Elliot. Olivia enters the room then, confidently, shoulder's back, her hair and make up done to perfection. Olivia says something quietly to Elliot, so softly that Don has to lean forward until his forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the two-way mirror. He swallows hard and strains to see through the white fog that hazes the mirror each time he exhales onto the glass.

Olivia slams the file in her hand on the table suddenly, the loud smacking sound echoes through the small, cold room. Elliot's eyes widen visibly for the briefest second and the tiny transfer of control from Elliot to Olivia is delightful. He wants to see one of his best, and occasionally in need of anger management detectives squirm, fidget and sweat at the wrath and charms and persuasion of the prettiest damn detective to ever grace the NYPD with her presence.

Benson leans forward until her palms are flat against the table top and says almost seductively, in a voice so sugary sweet he thinks it gives him diabetes, that everything would be "so much easier" if he just confesses right there. She attempts to bribe Elliot with a deal, a lesser sentence, but he isn't entirely sure of what words she uses because her ass is hugged tightly in her jeans and is pointed in his direction and it takes all his will power(because he's old enough to be her father) to keep his eyes fixed firmly on Elliot's face. He follows a bead of sweat from Elliot's temple to his neck with his gaze and knows Olivia's going to break the seemingly unbreakable man with nothing more then her womanly assets and her police skills. Olivia's sweetness dissipates rapidly and then she's in cop mode and she tells Elliot just how guilty he is and how she's going to enjoy watching him rot in jail. Elliot's breathing speeds up and Don is certain he's going to see what everyone knows Elliot and Olivia are dying to do.

"Confess you little bitch." Olivia slaps Elliot hard across the face in a fit of rage and that breaks whatever string of resistance Elliot has left.

"I did it, I did it." Elliot breathes, his blue eyes darting from Olivia's cleavage to her mouth.

"Good boy." Olivia grabs a fistful of Elliot's shirt and pulls him forwards until…..

Don thinks that maybe he's been working with the detectives for a bit too long.

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