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It’s been simmering underneath the surface for years.
Decades, really.
Sometimes it was loud; assertive and obvious. His sneers at Dean Porter; so long ago. It’s the way he’d asked, gently and softly about her life - but couldn’t stop or contain himself, when he’d needed to know.
It had always been just on the edge of out of line, back then, when he’d had no right to be, and even before now; before this and before they had actually started - there had been that “about how many?” spilling from his lips; with that fucking smirk.
Other times, it’s less upfront. A brand of passive-aggressiveness unique to them. It’s the way he could roll his eyes at Cassidy’s advances; or laugh softly as they sat in the front seats of the sedan and he overheard another man try and fail again to entice her over the phone.
It’s the way she let him.
It was a cockiness he had, masked in a semi-lie - that it was merely protectiveness, these reactions. That it was only him being a good friend; a good partner, and that’s why it was perfectly acceptable for him to act this way, while she could never return the emotion.
She could never show envy for Kathy; or for the life he’d shared with her.
Since they’ve become an us, though, it’s changed. He’s changed - changed his response, and his reaction. He guards it, now, tamps it down for her sake and their sake and there’s a part of her that leans into it, whenever she can, despite it all.
There is something about a jealous Elliot Stabler.
And maybe there’s something about a jealous Olivia, too.
—
Olivia
“People talk, Elliot.”
They’d - well, he, anyways - been basking moments ago. Both; still a little tipsy after the fundraiser they’d gone to, light on food and heavy on drinks.
The one with William Dodds.
The one where it had been very obvious that there was a past there; a small little something. Dodd’s eyes had shifted back and forth between them, his smile tight at the sight of Elliot Stabler, in a suit, on the arm of Olivia.
Elliot had called her on it after Dodds had stopped to talk to them; and she’d had enough glasses of champagne at that point to laugh, she’d chided him and asked if she was supposed to just wait.
“Nah - no.”
He’d tipped his drink back, a smile on his face; then leaned in and nuzzled his chin against her shoulder.
“Just know that look, is all.”
She’d leaned back and slightly away, her eyebrows raised, hair swinging against her shoulders as she’d waited for him to continue.
“Probably told himself he could keep it casual; and fell for you somewhere along the way.”
Olivia had shaken her head and raised her glass of champagne again; then laughed when Elliot had shrugged his shoulders and glanced one more time at Dodds.
It had been entertaining - Elliot a little jealous, and territorial - his hand never leaving her back, as they bullshitted and made the rounds.
It drifted to her elbow after her second drink and she’d shivered, when he’d trailed it down the inside of her arm, and danced his fingers near her wrist.
It landed on her leg, when they sat down. He left it there - on the inside of her thigh at the table; fingers dancing further in and further in as the speakers talked and she’d had to bite her lip more than once.
It may have been the drinks settling in, she’d realized, when she hadn’t stopped him. The drinks, and the thrill of acting on it, for once. The thrill in showing up to something like this with Kathy Stabler’s husband on her arm; openly, now, and then flaunting another man in front of him.
The thrill of Elliot needing her to be his so badly that his fingers were half an inch away from her cunt under the table; while his eyes had drifted back to Dodds.
Jesus.
They’d left fast when the last speech was done.
He’d gotten her off once in her hallway with his fingers; pinned her up against the wall and there’d been a thrill there, knowing where his mind was. There was a thrill, being fully aware and admitting it - what Elliot was thinking about, as he’d sucked the skin of her neck through his teeth and left a mark. How he’d all but growled out mine; fingers knuckle deep in her cunt.
And now; they lay, lazy kisses - his whispers of ‘wanna take my time with you, we’ve got all night’ in her bed and she’s not quite over it.
The thrill of it all.
She’d wanted more.
She’d wanted him to keep going, to slide his fingers out of her and yank down his pants and prove it again, how wild it made him to think about her with someone else.
There’s a sordidness to her; buried somewhere deep. Somewhere so deep she might not even tell Lindstrom, who knows almost all her secrets.
Her last relationships had been good, before Elliot; but they’d never had that layer underneath. The one that leaves her breathless, a little; flustered and angry and sad when she watched their eyes follow another woman through a room. She’d never looked at Ed Tucker and felt territorial; and any jealousy she had with Brian Cassidy was short-lived.
And - when push came to shove, neither would fire back at her; if she’d tried. Like everyone else - those men had put her on this pedestal, and made her into the myth they needed her to be.
She wants this, though, sometimes too. Olivia wants to let herself feel a little pride at the way he can’t seem to shake this knee jerk reaction. He’s good at masking it; but she knows him like no one else. She sees the way his jaw tightens; and how his eyes narrow. She sees the way he lengthens his spine and how he puffs out his chest, when he sees the confirmation in front of his face.
And maybe - she wants her chance to act on those fucking instincts too, once in awhile. Her chance to come off that pedestal, for the first time in her life, when it comes to him.
Maybe she wants her chance tonight.
Here, in her bedroom.
Maybe she wants her chance to push it.
“Fell for me, huh?”
She brings it up now, laying in the warm covers of her bed. She’s got one leg draped over his, two glasses of water on the nightstand for later.
He eyes her; and grins and it’s something, being allowed to be here now, and talk about this.
“Yeah. Happens, with you. Saw it happen a million times.”
Olivia laughs; and runs her toes up the length of his shin as she shakes her head.
“Maybe.”
She waits a second, eyes on the way their legs tangle, then turns her head a bit to look over and up at him.
Push.
“Not like you didn’t leave some broken hearted women along the way?”
Elliot’s response is a quiet pffft, a shake of his own head then as he reaches between their bodies to find her hand.
“Nothing like you. C’mon - ”
The brush off is coming, she knows. The reassurance, and the steady tone he’ll use, when he tries to move them past this.
He doesn’t like to dwell on his bad behavior. He isn’t a fan, she knows, of facing it. He squeezes her hand once, as he remarks.
“To this day, you can’t even smile at someone without them falling, Liv.”
He’s cute, like this. Complementary and sweet but he is also absolutely deflecting, now. She’d had her moment, her awkward moment facing two jealous men she’d slept with in the same room, and now, he won’t even admit that Elliot Stabler, with his deep blue eyes and his big soft heart and his body now, hard and muscular, had left some women disappointed at having missed out.
Push. Push.
She clears her throat, and asks him.
“Not even Tia?”
It’s always been Olivia, until now. Answering these questions. Since they’ve started a them, she’s sat and answered, when he’d asked. She’d clarified some names and times and she’d let him sit with the knowledge and then, when he’d had time to process it, his responses were always - right.
“I’m happy you were happy.”
“I’m glad he was there.”
And she’d made some assumptions - about who he was before and after Kathy and they hadn’t talked about any of them, really.
Until now.
She wants to.
Now.
“How - um -?”
He’s not embarrassed as he turns to her; rolls over on his side and meets her eyes. He’s not embarrassed, but he is bashful, somehow.
Shy.
“People talk, Elliot.”
People talk, and the NYPD is a gossip machine; and Jet and Velasco are somehow - somehow - friendly enough that he’d heard she was considering a move last fall. A move to Italy - with Elliot Stabler’s ex partner - and she’d been curious.
There’s a database Interpol keeps and it’s not out of the realm of possibility that she had looked her up. It’s possible that Olivia sat in her office and perused the small amount of information they kept in them; and that she’d abused her clearance and gasped a little, at the way the other woman stared back at her from the screen.
And she’d known, then - that Tia was in town when he was single; and she’d let her mind race and her heart ache for a few minutes before’d she buried it.
Before she’d buried her; Tia - next to Dani Beck, and Angela Wheatley; an Albanian sex trafficker and some days, Jo Marlowe lived there too.
Never Kathy Stabler, though.
She didn’t allow herself the jealousy there.
She’d assumed about Tia Leonetti, though, and she had let it hurt her for a bit. Even though - she told herself, anyways - she had no claim on him and what he did and who he did it with, then.
None.
Progress.
And now - now this is new. This is new and he is trying his best. He is nervous; as nervous as she is somedays - about protecting this. They’re nervous about protecting them; and this fledgling thing between them. This thing that feels warm and safe and comfortable, and - they have not been great everyday about honest reactions.
The words ‘Ed Tucker’ should have made him flinch.
They don’t, though, and she can tell it’s because he is trying so hard. And - maybe, some of it is true - he has grown and he has changed and life has shifted them.
But she misses it, sometimes.
Playing with fire.
So she pushes. Here, tonight.
She pushes.
“Your ex partner.”
He stiffens a bit; at that. Stiffens; like they shouldn’t acknowledge that ten years had gone by and other people had walked in and out of their lives. Like they shouldn’t talk about those other people; the ones that had protected them and held space where they’d only had room for each other, before.
“My ex partner.”
He repeats it back to her, and he drops his eyes away. He creates enough distance to let her know he’s uncomfortable; with this.
“She was in town, right? Before Thanksgiving?”
Elliot is still not letting himself react, not really. He’s not rolling away and shutting down, but he’s looking past her; and she wonders, for a moment, if he’s confused.
She’s never pushed it this far, with him. About another woman.
She was never allowed to.
“She was, yeah.”
Olivia runs a hand up his side. She finds the hard mass of his bicep and dances her fingers up it; then curls them in.
Lightly, at first.
“How long were you partners?”
She’d realized, somewhere in all of this; that maybe that was the part that drove her crazy. The part that tugged at her; made her want to turn and sneer and cut the other woman down (she won’t).
Tia had the part of him that only Olivia had been allowed, in her mind.
Partner. Best friend.
It drove her crazy, knowing that.
That; and the thought of him fucking her.
She digs her fingers harder into his arm when she thinks about that.
“Eh - it was different. In Italy. We were partners sometimes; sometimes not.”
He exhales quickly as he finishes.
“We worked together for a few years, though.”
He doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he says it; his eyes focusing first on the wall behind her back, then on a thread in her duvet.
“And - she - ?”
She was gorgeous. She was funny. She was loud and nice to your wife and she was Italian and she could talk about soccer with Eli and -
“We, I don’t know, Liv. We got along and - what?”
He sees her roll her eyes when he says they got along and he pulls away a bit, finally. Elliot draws back his arm and scoots, so there’s a space between them, now.
She says her next words slowly. Deliberately, even; her voice stretching each word out.
“You always get along with your female partners -”
She grinds out her last words.
Push. Push. Push.
“Don’t you?”
This is that very basic part of her, she knows. It’s the same part that reacted, when she’d seen his hands on Dani Beck. The same part that bristled, when Angela Wheatley sat in a courtroom and said she kissed him; and the part made her stomach twist at the thought of Flutura’s hands on his body.
The part of her that had never been allowed to even feel this, before.
“What the fuck does that mean, Olivia?”
She sits up then, and it’s childish, she knows. He is in her bed, in her apartment. He’d been in her mouth last night, and his fingers still fucking tasted like her, but there’d been this piece of her that had wanted more of a reaction, tonight, when Elliot had realized that she’d slept with William Dodds.
She’d wanted it to last longer; wanted him to feel more.
She wanted to know he felt like this.
She’d only got a piece of it, before - because he is behaving - and now she’s pushing it herself.
“You know what it means, Elliot.”
Olivia reaches for her water; takes a long drink and sets it down before she continues.
“The NYPD likes to gossip, you know? You showing up at her hotel room - ”
She curls her fingers into the sheets, and looks at his knees.
“Then asking her to stay?”
She looks right at him; when she shrugs this time.
“That’s what it means.”
He’s irritated now. She can see it in the knit of his eyebrows; and the flush on his chest. She can see the way his breathing changes - the exaggerated sigh; the way one hand reaches around to rub his neck - right at its thickest point. She can see his fingers; digging into the muscle, now suddenly taut and long and god, she has seen this look before.
He’s directed at needy men; back then. The ones that never could be enough.
She’d missed this look.
“Tell me what you think you know, then.”
Elliot’s still turned towards her, but he’s backed himself away. He’s sitting up and she’s sitting up and his voice is low.
Angry, almost.
Olivia opens her mouth; and tells him.
—
Elliot
Elliot Stabler’s been fighting his inner demons for two and half decades.
He’s been fighting his inner demons over his feelings for Olivia Benson for twenty five goddamn years.
He knows it’s wrong - knew it was wrong back then; when he’d scoffed at her dates. He’d rolled his eyes at her stories about bad dates or ones that hadn’t been bad, even. He’d mouthed “newspaper boy?” with a smirk when she’d answered her phone and he’d all but told her that fucking Brian Cassidy was a horrible idea.
She’d always let him.
He’d dug his nails into his own palm hard enough to leave marks, watching her with Porter; and he still tries not to remember Kathy’s breathy voice after he’d come home from watching Dean in Olivia’s apartment.
He’d laid his wife down and he’d slammed his eyes shut.
“Jesus, Elliot - that was - “ Kathy had grinned at him over breakfast the next morning; like it was their little secret.
He’d stopped at confession on the way home the next night.
It’s more than a little bit primal; a little horrible, he knows; and he’s trying right now. He’s trying right now because they’re new to this, and he doesn’t want to wreck it. He’s trying to be grateful; and steady and not so much -
Himself.
Seeing Dodds tonight, and seeing the man’s reaction to him, though had done something. It had fired the same synapses that had been there; waiting for something. The ones he’d tried to pretend were latent.
Dormant.
They were only waiting, he knew.
Waiting, maybe, since the day she’d told him.
“Ed - Ed Tucker?”
He’d known about Cassidy; and known too, that he had no right. He had no right to open his mouth or say a fucking thing. He wasn’t lying, when he said he was glad he was there; and that she’d had him.
He was glad, because ultimately she deserved a kind man; a good man, a man that loved her the way he’d known Brian Cassidy could, even back then, when he was young and green and couldn’t keep his eyes off his partner.
But Tucker.
He’d had to sit with that.
He had; and he’d fought back at the voice - the one he’s sure is half the reason he’s been going to confession for the last twenty five years.
The voice that whispers in his ear; over and over again.
He touched her there; held her here. Kissed her in Paris and rocked her son to sleep. Watched her face when she came and she’d called out his name and he knew how she rolls her hips when you put your mouth right there.
“Ed Tucker.”
She’d confirmed it and he’d thought a thousand things all at once. But - they were healing, he’d remembered.
Healing.
“Elliot?”
She’d asked him and there was a look on her face; her eyebrows raised and her lips pursed and he’d seen it then; that flash of doubt.
Doubt about him.
So he’d pushed everything down and what he’d said, then, wasn’t untrue.
She deserved and still does; a better man than him. A man that makes her happy; and one who doesn’t act like him.
A man who isn’t foolish and jealous and irrational; upset over a dead man’s actions.
“I’m happy you were happy. With Tucker.”
He wasn’t going to fight a ghost.
But - William Dodds - William Dodds is not a ghost; and she’d he’d seen it, tonight. She’d told him, tonight.
“Relax, Elliot - it was casual. More of a two lonely friends thing.”
The man had watched them, from across the room, and then he’d sauntered over and swept Olivia up into his arms, and away from him. Dodds had leaned in, and whispered in her ear, just loud enough for him to hear.
“Been awhile Captain - guess I know why, now.”
And he’d felt it then; again. He’d felt that burn in his chest; and the itching under his skin. The one that wanted to tug Olivia back from the other man; pull her away and back inside his space. The one that had wanted to grip her hips and sweep that lock of hair, curled and shiny; away from her throat and look at William Dodds while he sucked his mark into her neck.
He’d felt the ridiculous feeling he’d lived with for too long.
Be better be better.
He hadn’t though; because he can’t and won’t do any of that to her. Elliot had stood patiently by her side and then he’d chatted with the other man. They’d rattled the ice in their drinks and they’d talked shop and they’d made her flush; a little, when they’d both talked about the wonder that was Olivia Benson. Coded - of course - Captain this and Captain that and she’d worked her way back to him. She’d leaned into him; into his hand on the small of her back, and he’d smirked a little.
Mine.
When Dodds had walked away, she’d given him a half smile; and when he’d raised his eyebrows; she’d told him about their past.
“What - was I just supposed to wait around for ten years, El?
Elliot had waited a moment before he answered. He’d taken a long drink and he’d set his glass back down and fuck, she’d been right.
He’d been tipsy then; and his thoughts had been dangerous.
He’d known what he wanted to do, to answer her. He’d wanted to pull her into a dark corner. He’d wanted to tug her hips against his and nip at her ear and he’d wanted to tell her the truth. That it didn’t matter, any of it; that there’s still a very basic, horrible part of him that looks at her every single day and says ‘mine, mine, mine.’
That he’s jealous of this man too.
He’s jealous of all of them.
Be better be better be better.
He’d leaned in and he’d ran his cheek against her shoulder then; and made sure she felt the stubble she likes him to have and he’d replied in a loud whisper.
“Nah - no. Just know that look, is all.”
And that part was the fucking truth. He knows that look - he is that look; he’s seen that look, he’s glared back at that look.
Olivia had pulled back, a question in her eyes.
He’d gone on.
“Probably told himself he could keep it casual; and fell for you somewhere along the way.”
Like every one - man, woman; every fucking person in her orbit does.
She is his, now; though, and he’d made sure Dodds knew. He hadn’t taken it too far, but he’d kept his hand on her, stupid and possessive and she’d known.
She’d known and she’d let him.
He’d been soft about it at first. A hand to the small of her back and he’d danced his fingers down; brushed them against the swell of her ass and he’d had to hide his grin in front of some bureaucrat when she’d swayed back and into his touch.
He’d kept a hand on her elbow when they’d moved across the room - Elliot had curled his fingers around the bend in her arm and he’d let her guide him; a dog on a leash, and he’d been happy about it. He liked it; her showing him off and he liked that they could be there, in public and that she’d been proud, even, to be with him.
If she’s half as proud to be seen with him as he is to be seen with her; he’d be thrilled.
When they’d sat, finally, he’d sat to her left on purpose. He’d eaten his meal - the entire fucking thing - with his hand on her thigh and he’d watched her out of the corner of his eye after dessert. When the speeches droned on and his fingers moved up and in, he saw it; when she curled her lip between her teeth and squirmed a little at that.
She’d elbowed him gently.
“Time to go?”
He’d asked her, after she’d motioned at the door with her head as the applause died down on the last speech. They’d hit the coat check fast; and the taxi faster and god, he’d been glad he wasn’t driving. He could keep his hands on her; could slide his finger in the dip of her dress and run a thumb against her. He could spread his legs; here, thigh to thigh and adjust himself so she could see.
He could lean over and kiss her, sloppy and hard. It had been his turn to squirm, then, when she’d cupped him through his dress pants, a quiet “Jesus, Liv,” hissed between his teeth.
There’s something; he knows - something in him that’s broken and wrong. Something in him that reacts like this, still; when they share a bed almost every night. She’d let him, though - act like that - and they’d down the hall and in her door before he’d burst.
“Please, El.”
He’d turned, when the lock had clicked and he’d let it pour out of him then. He’d kissed her; hard and needy and backed her up against the wall and she’d responded. She’d responded fast; thrown her arms around his neck and nipped at his lip and groaned; when he’d slid his hand back into the warmth of her dress.
He’d wanted to be down on his knees at first; licking and sucking because god; he loves it - the taste of her. He loves the way her thighs tighten around him when his tongue is in her cunt and his nose is on her clit; and how all he can see and hear and smell is her, when they’re like that.
But tonight, he’d wanted to show her a little; wanted to keep his mouth on her neck so she could hear him when he pushed her over the edge; and hear what it did to him.
He’d made her come; two fingers hooked deep inside her; the hem of her dress draped over his forearm. He’d had his mouth on her neck; had growled out ‘that’s my girl’ when she’d clenched around him; tongue and teeth on the tendon there as she’d gasped.
“Fuck - fuck, Elliot.”
It had been enough; somehow - enough of a release for him, even without the actual release. His name in her mouth when she’d shattered; thick on her tongue and heavy on her lips. It had been enough of a reminder that he was hers.
Mine.
It was enough to quiet the beast inside for a while.
Enough - until she’d started again.
She’d done it purposefully; he realizes. She’d baited and baited and baited and now - now they’re here; and she’s turned the fucking tables right around.
And - he’s not taken aback, really. She’s got him backed against the wall (or the headboard, really) and she’s leaning in on Tia.
Tia.
Tia, who in the end, took his lovesick confession and held it close and who he didn’t do a damn thing with.
He watches; as Olivia tells him what she knows about Tia.
“The NYPD likes to gossip, you know? You showing up at her hotel room - ”
It’s like an itch, he knows; the jealousy. An itch that drives you crazy; there, and persistent and just out of reach. An itch you can’t fucking scratch ever.
“Then asking her to stay?”
He knows what she’s trying to do, here tonight, in the soft light of her room. She’s felt it, probably; since she heard gossip about him and about Tia and it’s been an itch. It’s been an itch she can’t scratch, or - shit, he realizes, an itch she probably couldn’t acknowledge until now.
She digs in, then; her voice a hoarse whisper as she finally; finally, gives in. Her words and her voice - nails, raking down skin for relief.
“That’s what it means.”
He can give her this.
He looks over to her.
“Tell me what you think you know, then.”
—
Olivia
“Tell me what you think you know, then.”
Olivia turns to him; and the smile she shoots him is one he should know. One he’s seen, before, when they’ve narrowed their eyes and aimed them at each other; their bodies leaned in and fingers pointed.
It didn’t matter then; that they were in the middle of a squad room.
When she meets his eyes now, she sees the recognition there. She sees the way he knows, now, where this is headed.
She tells him.
“I think - Elliot - I think you get overfamiliar, sometimes. With the women in your life.”
She takes a small breath in; and she shakes her head before she continues. Olivia keeps looking at him as she does.
“I think with Kathy gone, you didn’t know what to do with it and - you take that over familiarity and you - ”
She shakes her head, then.
“I mean there was Angela - ”
She waves away his protest, and continues. She knows he hadn’t, that it had stopped, but he got close to almost.
“Then Flutara, and Tia, and with Kathy gone, you didn’t have a reason not to.”
She ends it with the final blow. “So you slept with her.”
He won’t look at her now. He’s shifted his gaze away, and he’s got his eyes half closed; focused on the bedspread again. She still looks at him, though, has been watching and waiting; and she can see it, the second it changes for him.
The second the wheel turns in his fucking brain and he figures out exactly what they’re doing here.
He inhales slowly; nostrils flaring slightly as he does. He shifts his eyes back to hers as he leans in and reaches for her wrist. He runs his thumb over the bone there, and uses his forefinger on the other side. He presses in on both sides and it’s fuck - it’s more than a little possessive, somehow.
Him holding her wrist, delicately, in bed.
Elliot draws out his next words; utters them quietly but firmly, his voice low and gravelly.
“Would it bother you, if I did? Fuck her, I mean.”
He says the next word slowly; almost a growl.
“Tia.”
Finally.
It’s a challenge, here - a dare. A truth or a dare or - and that makes the most goddamn sense, given who they are and what they’ve been.
It’s a challenge she’s been waiting on; all night.
She takes it.
He’s still got her wrist, and she leans into it; into him, a little bit. Olivia shifts her body. She moves quickly; drops her hand out of his grasp and reaches back - so that it’s her hand on his now. She holds his the same way he’d held hers, and she takes his dare; silent but still there.
She doesn’t drop his eyes as she shuffles her body over his. She has one leg over him in an instant; straddling him; the soft skin of her thighs against the thick muscles of his.
His wrist is pinned now. She holds it between them, and then she responds, finally.
Olivia grins as she asks him, then.
“Does it bother you?”
Game.
“Dodds, tonight does it - ”
Elliot glances, for a moment, at his arm in between them. She follows his gaze; and god, this shouldn’t do this to her - shouldn’t do this to either one of them. None of this should - it’s toxic and sordid and his thick wrist; spanned by her own grip, pinned between the thick muscles of his chest and the soft valley between her tits is just the physical manifestation of it all.
It shouldn’t be this good; to feel like this. To say it out loud. To goad him; to be goaded by him, but she can feel exactly what all of this is doing to herself. She can feel the fire; low and burning and she can feel his cock; thick and hard against her belly and they are - they’re a mess, sometimes.
Or - maybe it’s just that they were always a mess; and now they can clean it up.
Finally.
“Well - Elliot?”
She rocks her hips against him; and she knows - knows he can feel her, slick and wet against his thigh. She knows he can sense her - how fast she’s breathing against his chest and how it’s only Elliot that can tell, from the tone in her voice, what she wants.
What she’d always wanted.
It only took twenty five years for them to finally get here.
—
Elliot
She’s giving him an out, here.
He realizes it; somewhere between Tia and Dodds - a name he’d never wanted, really, to hear in bed with her.
She’s giving him the out, because she wants it to.
She’s giving him the out to act this way. She’s giving him the chance, finally to be petty and jealous and possessive - all the things he’s trying not to be. All the things he’s spent the last months of this trying to push back; down and away.
It worked - most of the time; it worked. It worked to picture her; smiling and happy and held up, lifted by the relationships she’d had while he was gone. When it didn’t; he swallowed it down - swallowed it into the sludge in his gut; already filled with guilt and acid and regrets.
Tonight; though.
Tonight is different.
Tonight, they’re inviting this.
“Well - Elliot?”
Her hand is still around his wrist; crushed between them, and her eyes haven’t left his. She’s cocky; almost, teasing, and when she slides her cunt against him; slick and wet and warm, he groans out loud.
“Fuck, Liv.”
She grips his wrist harder; fingers curling tight and he moves, finally. He steadies himself with a hand on her hip; and he watches her as he does.
Her eyes are narrowed; close to his and there is a moment that passes, just the two of them looking like that at each other. Speaking just like this; no words or movement or anything, save the look in their eyes.
Do it.
She rolls her hips again; and fuck.
He lets the pictures flood his mind. Elliot gives himself one brief moment to think of Dodds and her and Cassidy and her and Tucker and her, and their lips on hers; her fingers curled into their hair and then -
Mine.
His breath comes out in a growl.
He’s like lightning, two hands on her ass and he’s bucking his hips up; scooting them both towards the edge of her bed at once. Her grip on his wrist breaks finally, when she wraps her arms around his neck to keep herself from tilting back.
He asks her; then.
“Tell me, Olivia.”
He’s got both feet on the floor now, and he’s going to have to ice his left knee, tomorrow. He’s going to need Icy Hot and Advil and an ice pack the size of his truck, in the morning, but for now; all he can think about is making her forget.
Making her forget about all of them.
He lowers his lips to her neck and sucks; hard, then grinds his cock against her.
“How, Olivia?”
He growls it against her neck this time; and he can hear her breathing; hard little pants as she tilts her neck back, giving him access.
“Wanna watch.”
She breathes the words out on an exhale and Elliot grins; licks at a spot on her neck and nips again, then shifts his ass to the edge of the bed. He stands before she can move; her legs wrapping around his waist and god; the noise she makes when she realizes that he’s moving them like this.
It’s soft and breathy; and there’s this gasp as she’s suspended, held by just him.
He likes that fucking gasp.
There’s maybe five feet between the edge of the bed and the door to her bathroom and Elliot moves them there fast. He’s got her on the edge of the sink, ass on the granite and her arms still encircling his neck as they catch their breath for a moment.
She kisses him first; hard and intense. It’s all tongue and teeth; mouths dragging and tongues sweeping against the other and god; twenty minutes ago all he could think about was taking it slow with her. He’d been stuck on exploring her; kissing her everywhere and drawing it out; his lips on her golden skin all night. Now; it’s all he can do to hold back, to not slam himself into her; as her teeth tug on his lip and her hand cups his face - hard; possessive and -
“Need you.”
She whispers it against his lips; then reaches her hand between them. Olivia curls her fingers around his cock, and starts to shift herself forward. She opens herself up, rocks forward and starts to tilt her hips up; and fuck. She’s so close, like this; and it’d be so easy, but she’d told him what she wanted.
He stops her then. Elliot strains; locks his hips and pulls back and she still has him, rock hard and in hand but he shakes his head as he tells her.
“Olivia.”
He ducks his head down, his cheek to hers and his lips to her ears and he reminds her.
“You said you wanted to watch.”
He slides back even more then; groaning as his cock slides out of her grip. Elliot pulls her forward with two hands on her hips and it’s there, again.
That gasp. That gasp, followed by his name, as he her feet hit the ground.
“Elliot.”
He catches her; eases her fall and drags her close.
“Olivia.”
He keeps his hands on her hips as he spins her; turns her so she faces the mirror and he knows he’s manhandling her a little; moving her around but when he catches her eyes in the mirror, there’s a look in her eyes and Christ.
There’s a smirk on her face.
This is exactly what she wanted.
He’s behind her; cock trapped against the swell of her ass and he knows she can feel it, can feel what this whole night has done to him. He rocks against her once; and then backs up so he can see all of her better.
Their eyes meet in the mirror and she’s still got that look on her face. The one he feels; somehow, knows and feels and recognizes because fuck.
It’s the same for him.
The thought of someone else, here, with her - it drives him fucking insane, and it aches inside of him deep and now he’s seeing it, echoed back in the soft glow of this bathroom mirror. Her expression is the same as his; gloating and cocky and needy, and he knows exactly what she’s thinking, with him against her back.
Mine.
She whimpers, when he bends down to press a hard kiss into her shoulder, and grazes his teeth against the flesh there.
He murmurs the next words against her skin.
“Just me and you, baby.”
—
Olivia
Their sex life is great - fucking excellent, really. It runs on instinct and longing and trust and there’s something to be said, about finally getting to work out years of frustration and longing.
They’re not shy about it; either, and all the things she’d thought about Elliot Stabler and sex - all the things she’d thought she knew, went out the window.
He’s an adventure, most days.
Their sex life is great but they haven’t done this yet; haven’t fucked out decades of jealousy over a bathroom sink while looking each other in the goddamn eyes; and when he whispers those words to her, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, she feels it deep in the pit of her stomach.
“Just me and you, baby.”
And god, she realizes - he knew.
He knew - maybe the whole time - what tonight was about after all.
She doesn’t want to forget about it, for once. She doesn’t want to push away the jealousy; or bury it down. She wants to remember and she wants to use it; all those little moments. She wants to fuck Tia Leonetti out of his life forever and she wants it to fuel him; the thought of Dodds or Cassidy and her and she wants them to let themselves, for once.
Olivia wiggles her hips then; and drops her knees a little, so they’re against the cabinets. The angle won’t be great - their height is a little too close to make this perfect, but she can lower her center of gravity enough.
Elliot’s there immediately; fist wrapped around his cock as he slides the tip through her wet folds. She watches him; watches his face shift and move in the mirror. She can see it - the way he swallows, thick and hard; and the way his eyes shut for a moment, when he feels the slick heat of her.
“God, Liv.”
He groans it out and he’s still moving so slow; so achingly slow now, dragging the head of his cock through her folds. He’s teasing her a little, dragging it out and god, she loves that most nights, but it’s not what she needs tonight.
She needs him; filling her; fully inside of her, and she grinds her ass back against him, and meets his eyes in the mirror.
She tells him that.
“Need you now.”
Her voice is low; husky and scratchy and she can feel him react to that, too. He’s got his gaze on hers in the mirror as he lines himself up; his eyes only flitting down to make sure they’re good; and she groans, when she feels the tip of him slide in.
She needs more; now.
“Please.”
She’s pleading now; begging, but she aches for him; physically needs this and only this and he’s in her then; one swift buck of his hips; and he’s filling her, deep and thick and fuck.
She can hear herself gasp at how intense the relief of it is.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
It’s Elliot’s turn now; his turn to be overwhelmed and he growls out the three fucks, right in a row, one hand moving up to grasp at her shoulder, steadying himself.
“That’s the idea, baby.”
She throws the nickname back at him; and rocks herself back against him. She needs more; now, has adjusted and now she needs him and his hands and his cock moving.
He shifts his body a bit; leans over her and she gasps at the way he moves inside of her; how it makes his cock deep enough that he’s almost in her belly.
“This good? This ok?”
His voice softens for a moment here, as he makes sure that she’s okay with this; that it’s not too much, too fast for her. It’s a delicate dance; this - she wants to push their boundaries, but he’s got her back, even now; his cock buried so impossibly deep in her. It shouldn’t turn her on more, when what she wants is to be a little wrecked at his hands, but it does.
Complex, she thinks. They’re too fucking complex.
She leans back into him, and digs her fingers into the skin of his ass. She clenches around him purposefully; flexes the muscles of her cunt so she can watch it play out in his face in the reflection.
Her voice is raspy as she answers.
“It’s good.”
His face goes slack then; the muscles of her cunt squeezing him. It lasts just a moment, the bliss on his face, before he moves. He licks his lips, and he palms her breast; rough and needy, before he drops his hand back down. He pulls out then, almost all the way; the head of his cock still inside her; and grips at her hip.
Then he rocks back into her; the rough pads of his fingers digging into the skin as he does. He holds her like that, and keeps thrusting; over and over again. He drags himself almost all the way out of her each time; then bottoms out and fuck, it’s lighting her on fire, the way she’s almost void of him, momentarily, then completely filled.
“God, Liv, you - .”
He moans out the words, and she finds his eyes in the mirror. She watches as he looks down at where they’re joined, and moves. She watches the way his eyes are locked there, entranced at the sight; him slipping in and out of her, drenched; his cock coated with her. She watches as he finds her in the mirror, and slides a hand up her chest. He rests it there, his oversized thumb against her clavicle, fingers wrapping around her throat just so, tilting her back. It’s delicate - a light pressure from the weight of his hand, and no more - but its presence is enough.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Olivia.”
He rasps it against her ear, teeth nipping quickly.
She trusts him to know the limit, with this.
She sways back into him a bit, lowering her hips. It feels good like this; great, but the pace is too slow. He adjusts to the new position, the change in angle; and starts rocking into her faster, more shallow.
They’re loud, here in the bathroom. Gasps and moans and pants fill the air; along with the slap of skin, and it’s all so much. His body is around her; even from behind, hulking and big; and with each rock of his hips forward; she uses the edge of the sink to push back.
“Harder.”
Olivia moans out the command, and he slams into her. It’s good, but still.
She needs more.
“Harder.”
She says it again; forceful, and her hand moves from him as she braces herself against the counter.
Elliot listens; starts pistoning his hips into her faster; deeper, and she looks into the mirror again. She looks at the fucking sight of them; the way his body is tense; muscles taut and long; and the way her breasts jiggle with each stroke he makes into her. She looks at the way her hair curls, wild and messy, around her face, trailing down to thread through the hand that lingers against her throat. She looks at the hand, digging into her hip as he fucks her; finally.
It starts to bloom then; low and deep in belly, as she takes it all in.
No one else.
He looks up at her then; meets her eyes in the mirror and she realizes she’s said it out loud; had groaned those words out, and she flushes, looking at him.
He slows his movements.
Elliot slides out; then moves back into her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers in the reflection.
His words come out thick; heavy and gravelly as he tells her.
“This is yours, Olivia. Me. This.”
He rocks into her again; and his fingers tighten on her skin.
“You get it?”
They’re both panting, heavy breaths and hot, slick skin against each other, as he keeps rocking into her. She can feel him and hear him, and she can see the way he’s looking at her, too, eyes still locked on hers in the mirror.
He’s raw; split wide open.
On display for her.
She nods; and reaches behind herself; her body flush against his as she turns her face. Her lips meet his and she holds him there for a moment; her hand pressed against his cheek.
He tells her again.
“Yours.”
Elliot punctuates the word with a thrust. He keeps moving, slower again, as they find a different rhythm. Olivia adjusts again; braces one hand on the sink and uses the other to reach around the front of her.
It doesn’t take long, her fingers stroking against her clit. His hips are fast and fluid and sharp against her and when his movements become erratic, stuttered and fast she knows he’s close, too.
“El, please.”
He knows; somehow - knows what she wants and needs and he growls it out this time; leaning in close to her ear as he pounds into her.
“Yours, Olivia.”
Fuck.
“Mine.”
The word tumbles out when he slams into her again; when she feels him bottom out deep inside her and it’s a rush, then. She comes hard; belly tightening against his forearm; cunt clenching around his cock, and she can feel him close behind.
He grunts on each downstroke; gripping her hard, right before.
Elliot roars out her name; and she looks then; watches in the mirror as he pulses inside her and spills himself deep.
Mine.
—
Elliot
They take their time, after. He warms up the water to the shower, and they wash each other; hot soapy water cleaning them both; and after, she kisses him softly underneath the heated spray.
He wraps her robe around her shoulders, and holds her in the steam of the bathroom a little longer.
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
He murmurs it; later, against her hair. She’s curled up to him, but she’s scooted down low, her head resting between his shoulder and his chin and he kisses her once after he says it.
He can feel her react to that, her head raising a little and he’d laugh, if he wasn’t just about to put his whole heart out there for her to see once again.
“She came over and uh - she wanted to, but…”
Elliot laughs then; chuckles into her hair, and feels her exhale as he does, her breath warm on his neck.
“I guess I got drunk - really drunk and I guess…”
He closes his eyes and he’d lied, a little bit, in his reaction to Tia. He does remember it, remembers bits and pieces and he remembers, for sure, the moment Tia had her fingers curled around the collar of his white shirt. He remembers the moment she’d leaned, and he’d panicked; and with his eyes closed now, he remembers, and he tells her.
“I told her I was in love with you. So I couldn’t.”
A moment passes; then another. He hears the rustle of sheets, as she drops a kiss against his neck, and whispers.
“I love you too, Elliot.”
Then her fingers are brushing against the back of his neck and he can feel it, when she relaxes; finally, and falls asleep.
He is happy - that she was happy, all those years. He’s happy that she felt good and loved and that she’d had that devotion she deserved. He’ll battle his demons again, when they claw their way back out, and he’ll picture her happy.
When they wake; they kiss good morning softly again.