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Elliot didn’t have to make room for the grief of losing his mother. It settled on top of his existing sorrow and seeped into the spaces where he’d started to feel lighter. Unburdened.
The pain was both different and the same as before. There were no flashing lights. He didn’t smell charred metal and burnt rubber. He was less angry, because Bernadette Stabler had lived into her nineties. Long enough to meet her great-grandchildren. She died quietly, of natural causes. There was still guilt, though, because of the years apart. The years Elliot had let people think his mother was already dead. Gone. And gone was a house on the shore that smelled like chamomile and ginger and the sunroom was a studio where she could paint.
He sat on the side of his bed, hands braced on his thighs. He drew air in through his nose and expelled it out through pursed lips, over and over, slowly. He focused on the sound of his breath instead of the way overlapping voices - most of the kids were there and so was Randall - rattled the walls. He heard the doorbell and gnashed his teeth, annoyed by the intrusion until the familiar, welcome tone of Olivia’s voice stood out amongst the chatter.
He hoped one of his kids had let her in, but Elliot could tell it had been Randall as he walked out and found his brother introducing himself, both of his big, meaty hands clasped around one of Olivia’s.
Her eyes found him over Randall’s shoulder. She greeted him with a soft, pained smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
Elliot watched her detach from his brother and wrap her arms around each of his children. He met her in the middle and their embrace was quick and more awkward than it would have been without an audience; it seemed like they didn’t know what to do with their arms. “I’m sorry, El,” she said, her hand lingering on his bicep. “I was going to call, but- I hope it’s okay I came over?”
He nodded and mouthed of course and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Talk outside?”
Olivia followed him onto the terrace. It was a balmy evening, and the air was perfumed by the marigolds and pansies that had started to bloom from the soil. The flowers Bernie had planted and tended to last spring. He would have to water them. He would have to learn when and how much to water them, accounting for any rain, and he would-
“Elliot?”
He lifted his gaze to her face. “Wh- I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked how you’re doing. That’s a lot,” she said, nodding her head toward the windows, to the scene on the other side of the glass. “Is there anything I can do?”
He studied her for a moment. She was wearing more color than he was used to seeing; a cobalt blue shirt clung to her curves under a simple black blazer, and the compass shone above the scooped neckline. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her wearing it, but it was almost more meaningful to see it on her more than once. To realize Olivia wore it all the time, and probably not only when she knew she'd be seeing him. Heat pooled in his belly and down his back. A smile tugged at the corners of his sullen mouth. “This,” Elliot answered her, reaching for her hand, closing his fingers around her soft skin. “Thanks for being here.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been so…” Olivia sighed. “It’s been hectic.”
They’d met for coffee once and he’d brought Wo Hop to the precinct for lunch. There were missed calls and canceled plans, too, but he understood. “A kid is missing. I know what that does to you.”
He told her about his mother’s final days. Final hours. How small Mama’s hand was in his. Small and frail, blue veins protruding from under translucent skin, and how she’d asked him to pray with her. For her. She didn’t know the words at all anymore, but her lips had moved as he reverently whispered, “Our father, who art in heaven.”
“I got to tell her how sorry I was for those years apart,” Elliot said. “She couldn’t say anything back, but-”
Olivia’s phone rang soon after they settled into a comfortable back-and-forth. She muttered an apology, and he could tell it was Noah from the way her voice softened, and her eyes gleamed with a brightness that only her kid could bring out. It was a quick conversation, and she told him, “I have to go.”
“You should go through the gate,” he said, “so my brother can’t accost you again.”
Olivia smiled. Her body bowed toward him and then she leaned back, changing her mind. “You're going to the funeral home tomorrow?”
“First thing.”
“Call me when you can. Or text. Whatever is-”
“I will.”
Olivia looked at the windows, catching Kathleen’s eyes. She waved goodbye and closed her hand into a fist, briefly pressing her knuckles to her chest. She squeezed Elliot’s arm as she circled around him toward the gate, and he turned his body with her, toward her, catching her hand before she got too far away.
He could see himself pulling her close and winding his other arm around her. Burying his face in the crook of her neck and the cushion of her sleek hair. Taking the solace he craved from her and clinging for as long as she’d let him. But he let go of her hand and said, “Thanks for coming by.”
She responded with an apologetic shrug and a look on her face that said she wished she could do more, and so did he.
The rain stopped at the cemetery. The group that gathered at Elliot’s after the services could, to his relief, spill out onto the patio. The little kids ran around and tracked mud onto the hardwood floors. His brothers were stoic until they each got a beer in their hands. He was surprised to see Olivia there, and he felt unbalanced when she removed her long, open-front sweater and he realized her black dress was sleeveless.
Kathleen had cobbled together as many photographs of Bernie as she could and taped them to a piece of foam board. It was propped up on the kitchen counter, and he sidled up next to Olivia as her eyes moved from left to right, regarding a condensed, visual biography of the woman they’d laid to rest. There should have been more pictures, Elliot thought, but so much of his mother’s belongings were at the beach house. And he was missing years and years of snapshots from holidays and birthday parties.
“This has to be you,” she said, drawing a circle in the air around a four-by-six of a little boy’s arms wrapped around Bernie’s leg.
Elliot nodded. The picture was folded down the middle; he’d kept it tucked away in his sock drawer for a long time.
He watched Olivia flit around the apartment, collecting discarded cups and plates and refilling bowls when someone finished the chips and Seamus spilled the pretzels on the floor. She sipped wine and talked with his kids and engaged with Randall and Joe and the few friends of Bernie’s who had been able to join them.
He shook his brother’s hands as they departed. Hugged his kids goodbye. Even Eli left; said he was going to Becky’s. “If that’s okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. Leave me alone,” Elliot teased, and his son looked pointedly into the kitchen, drawing his father’s attention to the beautiful woman standing at the sink.
The door sealed shut and he rotated slowly to find that Olivia had started wiping the island. “You don’t have to do that,” he told her, but she kept moving a wet rag in circles and the compass tapped her chest as she labored.
His eyes wandered to the spare collage of photographs. “It’s strange how everyone had all these wonderful stories to share about Mama and,” he paused, loosening the knot of his tie, “I spent all those years ignoring her and blaming her for everything that had gone wrong in my life. No one talked about that.” Elliot’s eyes darted to where Olivia had occupied the space next to him, leaning her hip against the counter. He flashed a wry smile before looking back to the collage. “In the end none of that mattered. And it shouldn't've mattered before.” His voice wavered and he choked on a sob, trying to turn it into a sardonic laugh. “She was sick.”
Olivia’s fingers swiped along his arm. She clasped his wrist and then let her hand drop lower to hold his.
“I mean, I could never be mad at her for not remembering names and faces. She was sick. She was sick then, too, Liv. When she put me in the car during a blizzard and drove into the city? When she woke all of us up at three A.M. because something was hovering above the house? She was sick. Staying with my dad? What else could she do? She knew if… it was all her illness, Liv, and I-”
“You were a kid then. You-”
“I haven’t been a kid for a long time.” He turned his head to look at her. “We lost so much. I ran and I… I pretended like I was better off without her.” Elliot caught the way Olivia’s throat flexed; she swallowed, hard, as the words resonated between them. He pivoted to face her fully. He closed his eyes, releasing the tear that had blurred his vision. He felt the soft warmth of her thumb swiping across his cheek, absorbing the drop, and then both of her hands were clasped around his face. He tipped forward, trusting that she’d break his fall, and his forehead came to gently rest against hers. He lifted his hands to her hips and the fabric of her dress rasped under his touch as he wound his hands together at the small of her back.
The distance between their bodies gradually diminished until Elliot felt the soft flesh of her breasts yield to the hard wall of his chest and her arms circled his neck, surrounding him. He bent his head to her shoulder, turned his face into the hollow of her neck, and shed his tears there.
Olivia was a soothing presence. Warm and sweet. Sturdy enough to carry the weight of his hulking frame bent by regret and grief. He whispered, “I’m sorry,” into her skin. Over and over, until they slowly peeled apart. She poured scotch and he drank it too fast; the liquid seared a path down his throat and pooled in his chest. She fixed him a plate of food before putting the last of it away.
“I told Noah I’d be home by-” She glanced at the time on the microwave. “-now. I should…”
He nodded and plucked her sweater off the back of a chair, following her to the door. She put her back to him and he helped her arms into the cashmere sleeves. He folded his hands over her shoulders, kneading lightly, his thumbs digging into the sharp jut of her shoulder blades. “Thank you,” he said.
Olivia turned to him. “Of course.”
His eyes studied her face as she tipped her head back, looking up at him. The dark kohl painted around her eyelids was smudged. Her lipstick had been worn down to a plum-colored stain. Elliot wanted to kiss her, but he was cognizant of the bad timing - again - and he didn’t want to keep her from getting home to Noah. He bent to kiss her cheek as he lifted one hand to clutch the back of her head. His lips lingered and they were both still. Not breathing until he managed to force himself back a step, securing his hands together behind his back. “Goodnight, Liv.”
Ayanna forced a week of bereavement time on him. He spent the first two days sleeping, mostly, and he shaved and jogged, and he prayed. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
He had forgiven his mother, for what she’d done and for the things he’d perceived as her fault. Elliot welcomed his brothers and opened himself to making amends. But he still felt the heavy burden of trespasses. He wondered what it would take to forgive all of his ghosts, and he was relieved when the phone rang, pulling him out of the discomfort.
Olivia asked how he was, and he mentioned packing a bag and making a trip to the shore. “I need to go through Mama’s things. Start thinking about putting the house on the market.”
“Any of the kids going with you?” she asked.
“No. Just me.”
There was a beat of silence before she said, “I could go with you, El.”
He smiled and a flush of warmth spread across his chest even as he told her, “No, you don’t have to. I don’t want to take you away fr-”
“You’re not. You wouldn’t be. I have the time, and Noah is with his brother this weekend.”
“Okay,” he said, and they worked out the details, and Elliot was grateful to be more focused on snacks and music for the drive than two hours of being alone with his restless mind and his prayers.
She was waiting at the curb with her overnight bag. He exited the car to load it into the back and Olivia rubbed her chin, saying, “You shaved.”
“You sound… disappointed.”
Olivia blushed, smiling. “No. I missed your face, El.”
He pulled up in front of the house and Olivia said, “I could run to the store?”
Elliot supposed she wanted to give him time alone, to settle, to breathe among the artifacts of his childhood that inhabited the shelves and closets and the pervasive presence of his mother everywhere. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed, and they both exited the car. He left the driver’s side door open for her to take his seat and when he placed the key in her open palm, she briefly closed her fingers around his hand.
He carried both their bags in and watched her pull away before he closed the door and turned to face the musty living room.
By the time Olivia returned with coffee, fresh fruit, the ingredients to make chicken piccata, and other essentials, he’d opened all the windows and filled a trash bag partly with expired items from the kitchen. Seeing her walk into the house with her arms hugging two brown paper bags to her hips did something to him. His cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely, but the sun pouring in through the windows brought out the caramel highlights in her hair and the golden glow of her complexion.
He noticed she put a box of pasta away in a cabinet, as if they were settling in for more than one night, so he did the same with the jar of capers. His muscles tensed when she placed her hand at the center of his back as she crossed behind him to the fridge, and her gentle, “How’re you doing,” made him feel dizzy.
Olivia oriented herself with the layout of the house while Elliot retreated to Bernie’s bedroom and stared into the open closet. There were gaps in between blouses and cardigans, space where the clothes she had taken with her once hung. He pushed all of the hangers closer together and removed all of the remaining garments in groups of two, carefully setting the piles on the bed. He dragged boxes from the floor of the closet out onto the carpet, and when he saw Olivia peering in from the hallway he said, “I guess I’ll just donate all of this.”
She walked into the room and looked at the random collection of shoes, belts, and other accessories in one of the boxes.
“Right?” he asked.
“I think you’re safe to give these away,” she told him. “But not this.” She stooped to reach into the next box and removed a clutch purse. “One of the girls would probably like this.”
And that set the rhythm for the afternoon. He emptied drawers and made piles - keep, donate, trash - while Olivia inspected his decisions before adding the items to a plastic container, box, or bag. Elliot teared up when he found a pair of baby shoes under folded sweaters and again when he found a stack of unopened letters bound together by a blue ribbon. The envelopes were all different shapes and sizes, and he recognized Mama’s handwriting on the front. Some were addressed to him and others to his siblings, and a few even had stamps on the upper right corner. He left the room to set the stack inside his duffel bag for when he felt brave enough to take a closer look.
“El, you’ll want this,” Olivia said as he reentered the space.
He leaned against the doorframe and looked at the book she held. He smiled, recognizing the prayer book.
“You wrote your name inside,” she added, showing him the uneven scrawl of Elliot James Stabler on the inside cover.
He smiled, but he was focused on her face, not the relic from his past. She stood in front of the window, framed by the wash of pale sunlight. Her beauty had never been lost on him, but Elliot had expended so much energy on pretending not to notice that it was a relief to openly stare. To enjoy her sharp jawline and the depths of her brown eyes and her soft, pink lips. He had to look away when he felt heat crawl from his chest to his neck, exposing his lust and admiration and the impact she had on him.
“It’s warm,” he noted. He swore he’d opened the window before.
“Wait. Don’t,” Olivia stopped him with urgency.
He looked at her and recognized the flare of panic in her eyes. “Okay.” He held his hands up, walking away, leaving the window closed.
A moment later she broke the strained silence when she said, “It’s the salt. In the air.”
Elliot winced. His lips parted and shut and parted until he found the words, “I’m sorry. I should ha-”
“It’s okay. You wouldn’t-”
Know , he thought. She was going to say you wouldn’t know , because he hadn’t been there when a madman held her captive along the shore of Yaphank, where she was surrounded by the stench of sweat and charred flesh and whiffs of saltwater when the breeze carried it through cracks between the glass and its frame. He only knew because of what she’d told him and what he read, and even though he’d expressed his regret before he wanted to apologize again.
She spoke before he could, saying, “It’s not all the time. I mean, I can go outside here. The memory is…”
“Unpredictable?” he guessed.
Olivia nodded and they returned to the task at hand until all of the drawers and the closet were empty, and everything was sorted.
He wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-slicked forehead.
“Let’s take a break,” she suggested. “I can start dinner.”
He agreed and followed her to the kitchen where she put a cold beer from the fridge into his hand. When he tried to help, filling a pot with water, she scolded him to sit down.
“ I’m making dinner.”
Elliot pulled a face, earning a playful smack from her.
“Noah says I’m a good cook.”
He lowered himself onto a seat at the table, facing the stove. “I need to see for myself.”
They chatted as she boiled pasta and browned the chicken, and when Olivia suggested they eat outside he asked, “You sure?”
“It’s so nice.”
Elliot took a rag onto the patio and wiped the furniture. He helped carry their plates out and found himself lost in thought, staring at the bed of angel hair pasta cradling a chicken breast doused in sauce.
“I promise it’s edible,” Olivia said.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not… It looks delicious.” He lifted his gaze across the table to her. “I was thinking about how Mama still prayed before every meal. I stopped doing that. I don’t know when.”
“Should we say a prayer now?”
Elliot smirked, detecting the discomfort she tried to conceal. “I got it.” He bowed his head. “Dear Lord, thank you for the food we are about to eat, and for whatever part you played in helping Olivia Benson learn her way around the kitchen.”
She glared at him, shaking her head.
He took one bite and then another. The fresh lemon complemented the brine of the capers, and the chicken was tender. “This is really good,” he told her.
“I told you.”
Elliot savored each bite and her company, but his mind kept wandering. “Mama never forgot the Lord’s Prayer. Not until the end. Sometimes she needed help getting it started or she’d stop to ask what something meant. I wish I knew what she…”
“El?”
He sighed and changed the subject, and they both turned to watch the tide rush further onto the shore. The whisper of the waves lapping over the sand, undulating back and then forward again, lulled them into a sated calm. His eyes flitted to her once in a while, checking in, hoping no vile memories flooded her thoughts while they were so comfortably quiet.
The sun dropped lower in the horizon, painting the sky with smears of electric pink and orange. “Should we go in?” he asked when he noticed Olivia folded her arms across her chest and shivered.
They washed the dishes together. He passed a clean dish or utensil to her to dry. Her elbow bumped his arm now and then. Elliot could see their reflection in the window above the sink and a smile nudged at the corners of his mouth. This is new , he thought. He’d never washed dishes with Olivia. He’d carried her, bleeding, out of a diner, and they’d had guns pointed at their heads thinking one or both of them might die, but they’d never done something as simple as washing dishes.
“What’s next?” she asked, passing him a towel to dry his hands.
“Uh,” he stammered, looking at the time. “Guest room?”
Olivia excused herself before they got back to work and Elliot found his overnight bag, digging for his toothbrush. He noticed she’d placed the prayer book on top of the duffel. He picked it up, the tome dwarfed by his large hand, and sat on the couch. He flipped through the pages and stopped when he saw pen marks on one. It was the Lord’s Prayer, and he wondered what had compelled his eight-year-old self to underline forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us .
It weighed on him as they removed the contents of the closet in the spare bedroom. What had been his greatest transgression then? What could he take from it at that moment, as a man who had his fair share of sin but had also made every effort not to be led into temptation? He glanced at Olivia where she sat on the floor, legs sprawled, sorting through loose papers for anything of importance, and he couldn’t begin to count the number of times he had coveted her through the years. The occasions he came perilously close to dishonoring his vows for one taste of her lips. Hell, he moved to the other side of the world to resist temptation.
A puzzle piece clicked into place.
Elliot drew a breath in and held it, his lungs burning. He remembered saying if I heard your voice I wouldn’t have been able to leave , and there was the letter and parallel universes where it was always him and her. She’d told him about William Lewis and the story of Noah’s adoption, and he’d beat himself up plenty for not saving her from the worst and supporting her during the best. But he’d never explicitly apologized. He’d sought absolution on her couch, under the influence, grabbing at her for leverage. “Liv.”
She looked up at him.
He swallowed thickly. He moved slowly toward her and lowered himself to his knees across from her. Sat back on his haunches.
“El?”
He blinked, his vision blurred by the tears that stung his eyes. “I want to- I need to say I’m sorry.”
A muscle in her cheek jumped. She seemed to know where he was going. “Elliot. We don’t need… there’s nothing more you need to say.”
He shook his head. He watched her dig her fists into the carpet and hoist herself up. “There is,” he countered, bounding up after her.
Olivia’s posture was stiff. Her lips were sealed into a straight line.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left the way I did and-”
“You don’t need to apologize, Elliot. I know you’re sorry. I do ,” she insisted, approaching him, her hands darting toward him before she drew them back to her sides. “We don’t have to keep dredging it up.”
“I’m not trying to make you relive anything. I just… I need to forgive myself, Liv. I can’t- I can’t do that. I need…”
“What?” she asked, her voice deepened by tenderness.
Elliot sucked in a ragged breath. “Do you forgive me?”
Her eyes shined with tears. “El.” She closed in on him, raising her hands to his shoulders and letting her palms drop to rest flat against the planes of his chest. “Yes. Of course. I’m not holding onto that pain. I don’t want to. You shouldn’t either.”
He covered her hands with his own, holding her there. “I guess I- I need to hear it.”
Olivia graced him with a slight smile. A nod of understanding. “I forgive you, Elliot.”
He bit the inside of his cheek as he felt his face contort with emotion. He slid his thumbs underneath her fingers, holding onto her. She felt delicate in his grip but it was her touch that anchored him. “Thank you,” he said, the words snagging in his throat. “And thank you for being here.”
She nodded her head and drew closer to him, the toes of her sneakers knocking against his boots. “Do you want to stop for the night?”
“Yeah.” He knew her breath was labored; her chest brushed his with each inhale. He felt his pulse at his temples and his heart thrummed under the weight of her palm. He bent his head forward as she tilted hers, and his lips whispered across her mouth. He chased her lips as she ducked her head. He let go of her left hand to drive his fingers through her thick hair and clutch the back of her head. Olivia’s eyes locked on his and he asked, “Can I kiss y-”
She surged closer, muffling his words with the warm, sultry weight of her lips against his.
The shock was a quick jolt down his spine, and then he responded, opening his mouth to the soft stroke of her tongue. She tasted inexplicably sweet. The contact between them was wild and needy, but they both smiled against the other’s mouth, too; there was elation and lust and a sense of relief.
Olivia slipped her hand out from his hold to wind her arm around his neck, her heels lifting up from the floor. He was emboldened to grasp her hip and slide his hand lower, tracing the slope of her backside as she fisted the collar of his shirt. They both moaned and rolled their hips, rocking against each other.
The heated embrace gradually softened to a lighter press of their lips and gentle licks into her mouth. The grip they had on each other loosened and they parted enough to look at one another with hooded eyes. She smiled and he sighed and wrapped his arms around her. He held her close, one hand tangled in her hair and the other drawing up and down her back.
“We should…” Olivia said.
He eased away from her, in agreement. “It’s late,” Elliot added.
“I’ll clear this off the couch.” She gestured to the random assortment of old board games, a shoebox of batteries, and winter coats from the closet they’d crowded onto the cushions.
“No, I got it. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Okay.” She backed away, colliding with the coffee table. She huffed a nervous laugh and shifted to the side, taking another step back toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Goodnight, El.”
“Night, Liv.” He remained standing until he heard the soft click of a door sealing shut. He exhaled a loud breath, clapping a hand over his hammering heart.
It hadn’t been all that late when they broke their kiss before it escalated, and before Elliot even cleared the sofa, he found himself in the sunroom. He worked by moonlight, sorting through piles of magazines and books for anything worth saving. He gathered all of the paint brushes and palettes and set them aside. He picked up a canvas that was tilted against the wall, the front facing away, and positioned it on the nearest easel.
“She tried her hand at abstract,” Olivia noted from behind him.
Elliot startled at her voice. He looked over his shoulder and away quickly; her state of dress made him feel like he wasn’t supposed to see her. She was reflected in the windows, though, and he confirmed her legs were bare. She wore a baggy, button-down pajama top, its hem swaying above her knees as she walked closer. He focused on the canvas in question - a moody scene of gray and purple brushstrokes that could have been a forest against a backdrop of a twilight sky. “She signed it,” he said, touching the initials Bernie had painted on the lower right corner with a fine-tipped brush.
“I would hang that in my bedroom.”
He rotated toward her. “Was I too loud?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t even try.”
Olivia reached for his hand, hooking her index finger around his thumb. “That couch doesn’t look very comfortable.” She tugged as she took a step backward. “You should come to bed with me.”
The floor seemed to fall away, leaving him suspended in the air. He blinked as though he may have fallen asleep and into a dream. A dream he’d had countless nights through the years.
She let go only to fully grasp his hand, turning away to walk in the direction of the bedroom.
Elliot followed her. Partway to the guest room he took one wide step and pitched his free arm around her waist, halting her movement and pulling her against the front of his body as he drew in a stilted breath, nervous but daring. She seemed startled, but he quickly heard a sigh and felt her sink against him. He rubbed his cheek against the velvet cushion of her hair, the strands sticking to his lips as she turned around in the tight circle of his arm.
He walked Olivia up against the wall, one hand cradling the back of her head, and his breath stuttered when she gasped with unmistakable pleasure as he pinned her there. As he slotted one thigh between both of hers. His blood soared through his veins, to his cock, and he could feel the damp heat of her arousal where she grinded against him. If he closed his eyes, they could easily be twenty years younger, alone in the cribs, giving into the heat that had always pulsed between them. The heat and the deeply rooted, immediate connection he never had a name for. But Elliot kept his eyes open, studying the stray threads of silver showing in her hair and the faint lines around her eyes. He’d made penance for the years he made room for her in his heart and his dreams, and Kathy had forgiven him in so many words - you really didn’t talk for ten years? He wanted to be embedded in the present, with Olivia, where they’d made peace with themselves and each other and the past they did and didn’t have.
“I love you,” Elliot said, his free hand cupping her chin, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip.
“I love you, too, Elliot.”
He bent his head to kiss her, his tongue stroking hers, pulling a low, satisfied hum from deep in her chest. She seemed to sag between him and the wall, boneless and breathless. He bent his knees and splayed his hand against her backside, hauling her up. Olivia’s legs latched around his hips, and he whispered, “I’ve got you,” as he carried her the short distance to the guest room where the blankets were strewn at the foot of the bed.
He bent to seat her gently on the mattress. He peeled his shirt up and over his head as he leaned away. He grinned as her eyes swept the breadth of his chest and muscled abdomen and the bulge under his pants. When she caught him staring, noticing, a pretty pink flush warmed her cheeks, and his quiet laugh was both shy and teasing.
Elliot was rendered speechless and soundless, though, when she tilted forward and pressed her lips to his stomach, kissing her way along the dusting of dark hair that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. He gulped as she stood, hooking her fingers around the denim and kissing his chest with a light touch.
Olivia undid the button of his jeans before turning her attention to her own pajama top. She fiddled with the collar and tugged on the lapel, opening the first two buttons. She trailed a finger along the gold chain and over the compass.
He took her by surprise, gently pushing her arms to her sides. Elliot drove one hand under the lapel of the shirt and sucked a hiss of breath through his teeth at the feel of her full breast and the pebbled flesh at the tip. “God,” he sighed, his thumb strumming her nipple. He felt a rush of heat along his spine and suddenly gripped both sides of her top and pulled until every button snapped open and he could shove the material over her shoulders, baring her chest to his hungry eyes. “God.”
His hand trembled as he closed it around her breast. He bit back a grin, feeling at once uncertain and a little amused, like he couldn’t quite believe he finally knew the weight of Oliivia Benson’s perfect tits in his hands. Elliot noted the way her teeth pinched her lip, suppressing her own smile, but there was nothing funny about the way she covered his hand with her own, urging him to knead her pliant flesh as she pushed into his palm.
“Fuck,” he grunted, diving for her lips, his tongue spearing into her mouth. He pushed her shirt all the way down her arms and clutched her backside, sliding his fingers under the edges of her cotton underwear.
She trembled as his hand stroked along the cleft of her ass.
He pulled the scant garment down as his lips kissed a path from her mouth to her chest. He sank to his knees and dragged her panties down. She lifted one foot out and left them tangled around her other ankle as he gazed up at the slope of her breasts. At her stunning face and her voluminous hair spilling over her shoulders.
“I want…” he choked.
Olivia’s hands framed his face. “What, El? Tell me what you want,” she encouraged him with a husky tone, her thumbs a soothing pressure on his cheeks, brushing back and forth.
“To taste you.”
She lowered one thumb to trace across and then push between his lips before she guided his head lower and pushed her pelvis closer.
Elliot breathed in the sharp scent of her arousal. He licked a tentative line along the seam of her cunt before tilting back to look up and meet her eyes. She nodded and the second pass of his tongue was slower and heavier. He grasped her hips and guided her to fall back onto the bed, and he clasped his fingers around her ankles, lifting her feet to the edge of the mattress. Opening her to him with no resistance.
He felt surer of himself as he buried his head between her legs, humming his own pleasure at the way she tasted and felt and how she responded with breathy sighs and guttural moans. Elliot smiled, proud, when his tongue lashed across her clit and Olivia’s hips canted up from the bed and her hands grabbed for his head. He couldn’t help thinking of all the ways he’d hurt her, and even though she’d forgiven him, his ongoing penance would always be to make her feel loved and wanted. To make her feel good.
She cried out, writhing beneath him, as he alternated quick, light flicks of his tongue over her clit with the heavier, slower drag of his flattened tongue. He took hold of her hands, twining their fingers together, and pinned them to the mattress to hold her in place. To give her something to hold onto as he closed his lips around the bundle of nerves, suckling, and he could feel her slick flesh swelling and contracting as he eased her into untamed bliss. Her thighs clamped around his ears, dimming the sounds of her pleasure. He wished he could see her face as she trembled and came apart, but he didn’t want to tear himself away from her cunt until she relaxed and her limbs were loose, her legs hanging over the side of the bed.
Elliot leaned back, licking the shine of her arousal from around his mouth. He stood and she propped herself up on her elbows, her chest heaving, her dusky pink nipples begging for the suction of his lips. But he was straining painfully under his jeans and felt relief when she sat upright, reaching for the fly. “I, uh, don’t have condoms,” he said.
“I haven’t… in a while. I’m not worried if-”
He smiled. “Me either.”
She plucked the button open and tugged the zipper down. He pushed his pants and boxer briefs over his hips, watching Olivia’s face as his cock sprang toward her. The way her brows arched and she bit her lip made him square his shoulders and puff out his chest, and he grunted, his entire body seizing, at the way her long fingers closed around him. He didn’t recognize the sound he made - aching, so full of need - as her thumb glided across the sensitive head.
“O-liv.” He choked on her name, a warning of sorts, backing away from her to shove the rest of his clothes all the way down his legs. He kicked them aside and she scooted back and rearranged herself to recline across the middle of the bed. Her beauty was stunning under the spotlight of the moon’s glow pouring through the windows.
Elliot moved to the foot of the bed, lifting one knee onto the mattress and then the other, crawling closer to her. He bent to kiss a path from her knee along her thigh as he stretched out on his stomach. He inched up further, his tongue circling her belly button, until he could finally latch his lips around the tip of her breast. He moaned around her flesh and flicked his tongue across the pink bud. He brought his hand up to cup the side of her other tit, and with his head pillowed on one, he pulled the other into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking, and lifted his gaze to her face. He held her eyes with his own as she squirmed, and her lids fluttered. He smiled as he released her, digging his fists into the mattress at her sides, rising up to position himself on top of her.
She grasped his biceps as he teased her, dragging the underside of his shaft through her folds and over her throbbing clit. “Please,” she keened.
He moved one hand to grasp the base of his cock. He pushed the tip in, gasping at the hot clench of her flesh, thinking he wouldn’t survive if he filled her completely. But she lifted her hips, and he sank inside her and collapsed onto his forearms. There was a pinch of pain for her, Elliot could tell, but before he could check-in with her, she started moving beneath him. Rising up, in sync with his gentle thrusts. He sought her lips, and she opened her mouth to him.
Being inside her was blissful. Heavenly. It was home. There were no barriers between them - no rings, no secrets, no grudges. No ghosts.
“Fuck, I’m- c-close,” he grunted.
Olivia pushed the heel of her hand against his chest. “Wait. Move.”
He forced himself to pull away, stroking himself, feeling empty without her surrounding him.
“On your back,” she told him.
Elliot obliged and she swung one leg over his thighs, settling on top of him. Rising up and sinking down, slowly sheathing him in the grip of her cunt. She was still, mostly, and he ceased all control to her. To the occasional roll of her hips and the sway of her breasts and her nails scraping over the rigid muscles of his abdomen. He clenched his teeth as she started to move faster, up and down, and he saw stars when Olivia’s hands squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples as she coaxed herself closer to release.
His hands grasped her hips, driving her up and down. He shouldn’t have doubted they would be as perfectly synchronized in bed as they were in life. At work. In their partnership. The moment he felt his balls tighten and draw closer to his body, Olivia’s back arched, and they both cried out with brutal relief. He twitched inside her, spilling himself, quivering through his release. His arms folded around her after she collapsed on his chest, her face buried in the crook of his sweat-slicked neck. His hips stuttered beneath her as he gradually came down. He moaned as he softened and slipped out, and he moved one hand over the curve of her ass and lower, between her legs, to feel his cum sticky on her skin.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered, and the words were beats of her breath drying the sweat on his neck.
Elliot couldn’t vocalize his thoughts, but he nodded to agree with the sentiment. He was overwhelmed by the press of her breasts and where their bellies touched, and her thighs surrounded him. The moment was a long time in the making, but never inevitable. Never promised. There was a time he didn’t know if he’d ever see Olivia again, and as he felt her heart drum against his chest the emotion crested, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes to his temples. He tried to strangle a sob, but his shoulders twitched, alerting her to his state.
“El,” she sighed his name, shifting to settle at his side, partially draped across his body. Her palm moved soothingly over his chest and came to rest on the hectic beat of his heart.
“I’m okay.”
She kissed his collarbone, holding her lips there.
He lifted one hand to brush his fingers through her hair. “I’m better than okay.”
Elliot fell asleep first and was the first to wake as dawn painted the sky with broad strokes of pink. His arm was numb, happily trapped beneath Olivia. He needed to use the bathroom, but he hated to disturb her, and he didn’t want her to wake alone.
She stirred on her own, stretching and burrowing even closer to him. Burying her face in the wall of his chest before lifting her head to greet him with a sleepy smile and a raspy, “Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Olivia slowly peeled away and sat up, letting the sheet fall away.
He gazed at her full, pert breasts and dusky nipples, but it was her trust in him and her confidence in baring herself in the light of day that made his cock jump where it rested against his thigh.
“I’m gonna…” She pointed to the hallway, presumably the bathroom, and bent to kiss him.
Elliot took hold of her arm, his grip sliding down to her wrist as she shifted to the edge of the bed, and then to her palm and finally her fingers. He groaned at the loss of her and she grinned, treating him to a view of her backside as she circled around the bed and into the hallway. He could hear water running and got himself up, searching the floor for his clothes and stepping into his jeans. He pulled the zipper up but left the button undone.
He was in the kitchen, brewing coffee, when Olivia appeared in her robe. Her fingers swiped his back as she passed him.
“How cold is it?” she asked, opening the back door to answer her own question. “It’s nice.”
He filled two mugs and added creamer to hers, carrying them onto the patio where she stood looking at the waves gently lapping at the sand. He stood behind her, looping one arm around her waist to pass a mug into her hand. Once she took it, he pressed his palm to her stomach, hooking his thumb around the sash holding the robe closed. Elliot sipped his coffee and said, “I see why Mama liked it here. It’s… peaceful.”
“It’s heavenly,” Olivia said.
That word again. It came to his mind the previous night when he was buried deep inside her. He did feel some of the same contentment, and the beach was bright and spacious, with birdsong and the ocean as its soundtrack. “Maybe…”
She turned around and set her mug on the table. Her hands rested against his bare chest. “Maybe what, El? Maybe you shouldn’t sell it?”
He looked from the sea to her eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
They were ready to drive back to the city an hour before dusk. Elliot made several trips from the house to the car with items he was taking home - things he wanted to keep close, or he thought the kids would like to have. “Ready?” he asked Olivia.
She noticed something leaning against the wall. “Does this stay?” She reached for the canvas, turning it around to see the painting she’d admired the night before.
“That’s for you,” Elliot told her. “You can hang it in your bedroom.”
Olivia hugged it to her torso and lifted onto the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
He reached for her hand, holding onto her as they walked out, and he locked the door. He let her go to the car ahead of him, though, and Elliot stood in the middle of the driveway admiring the modest cottage. He could feel his mother’s presence. Her spirit.
Elliot’s grief had settled on top of his existing sorrow, but it felt far less heavy than it had when he’d first said goodbye and laid flowers on her grave. It was easier to carry, and he could see through it. He could see to the other side, and Olivia was there with him.