I'm excited about this fic here, because this will be my first story set before Elliot's departure. I think it will be good but I'm making NO PROMISES. I'm gonna say this takes place in season eleven after episode 21 (ya know, when Elliot's old partner, Jo Marlowe played by Sharon Stone, makes an appearance). Here goes nothing!
Do the right thing
Knock. Knock.
He wasn't going to answer it. He couldn't let himself care who it was. He was actually afraid that he would care who it was, then he'd have no choice but to open it. Then they'd see him. Like that. He looked at his texts. No new ones from Kathy. None of his kids had responded yet. "They're probably busy," he thought, "Between school and friends, they don't have room to squeeze me into their schedules." That's what he wanted to believe. Someone on the outside looking in might say that his kids hate him. They could even speculate that his wife hates him. But after all he's done for them, that can't be true. His daughter, Maureen, was thriving as a young lady, and he knew she was going to be very successful. His daughter, Kathleen, found him to be tolerable when her meds were treating her right and when she was taking them. On her off times she was very spiteful and resentful. His daughter, Lizzie, was a normal teenage girl, much like Maureen was, but her twin brother, Dickie, was still distant. It seemed like no matter what, he just couldn't reach that boy. He wanted so much for Dickie to actively acknowledge that his father loved him. He loved all his kids. He thought that all his actions and words showed it. Guess he was wrong, because it all looked so hopeless.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
And his wife, man has he put his all into that. He loved Kathy. He truly did. She was his first love. They gave themselves to each other and Elliot found happiness for the first time in his life. They were young when they decided to marry when she got pregnant, but he looked to the future with optimism. He was starting a family of his own and he couldn't wait to do it right. He just wanted to do everything right.
Then he reviewed his text conversation with his partner, Olivia Benson.
"El, up for takeout?"
"Gotta help Kathy with dinner."
"Another time, Boyardee."
In a way, she was his escape. Ironic, though, that he needed an escape from his home life. There was a time when his home life was an escape from his work. Where do you go when you can't go home? It was so easy with Olivia, even through the rough patches. He never had to be afraid that she hated him. Even when she went to Oregon or when she transferred to Computer Crimes he knew it wasn't because she hated him; it was because he was difficult to work with. She gave him that space so he could pull himself together and so she wouldn't be stuck dealing with his crap until she actually did hate him (which, by the way, she never could fathom). In a world with just Olivia everything could operate so smoothly. And he cursed himself for thinking such thoughts. He's married. He's committed. He's the man who does the right thing. And he would never cheat on his wife. He would never jeopardize his partnership and friendship with Olivia. And he would never ever dream of letting it all go to shit. "After a while," he thought, "Kathy will let me back. She'll stop making sorry excuses for why I can't see my own kids. We'll work this out. It always happens." And it did always happen like that. Really, there was nothing to worry about. They'd be back together, but it was a matter of time, and time is something he didn't like to watch pass him by. He's forty-four. He hasn't got all the time in the world and every day without being able to love and protect his children was a hell he didn't like to rot in. It was mainly his kids he ached for. His marriage had gotten to the point where divorce was actually an option. His priority had become his kids and making sure that no matter what happens to his marriage he can always be an active, outstanding father. He didn't want his children going through life without him, without knowing that he loves him and will be there for them.
A new bubble popped up beneath Olivia's last text. It barely got his attention because he put his phone on silent and was so far away in his thoughts that even though he was staring at his phone, it hardly registered to his eye.
"Come to the door."
"I know you're in there, Elliot."
He looked at the door through the dark from the cheap sofa he was sitting on across the plain, empty floor. It was her voice coming from behind the door. He trudged over there, unlocked the door, and opened it. He was not standing to the side as an invitation for her to come in, but he wasn't standing in the middle of the door frame as a nonverbal message that he didn't want her to come in.
He was embarrassed and a bit annoyed. He kept secrets because he didn't want anyone to know. That's the whole point of a secret. That's why he didn't talk about his mother. He didn't talk about his marriage. And he didn't talk to her about his father. For all things holy, he needed to keep all those things separate from their friendship. She could never know that he wasn't the man he seemed to be. He didn't want to lose value in her eyes.
"What are you doing here," he asked.
"What are you doing here?"
No answer.
"I don't mean to impose," she said as she let herself by him, "but I needed to see what was so important that my partner couldn't buy me takeout. I followed you here. I don't know, I just had a feeling that my partner has been lying to me."
She pitied him when she saw that he hadn't even bothered to furnish the small apartment. The sofa seated two people but she stood so he could have it to himself—she wanted him to be comfortable and not feel like he's having information squeezed out of him. She waited patiently for him to sit down.
"Sorry there isn't much furniture," he said, very quietly, looking straight ahead at a blank wall, "But you can sit if you want."
She calmly walked over and sat next to him, closer to the arm than to him.
"Why aren't you at home," she asked.
"Kathy and I— we're going through a rough patch right now."
Olivia sighed. She hated when their marriage wasn't perfect for two reasons: she didn't like for him to be so lonely and depressed and she didn't like how it affected his behavior at work. When Kathy leaves, she leaves the discord behind but Olivia has to pick it up every time.
"How long do you think it's gonna take this time."
"I don't know," he said, "I don't know. I just have to wait it out."
She pressed her lips together and breathed in. Elliot heard her slight inhalation and could sense that she was thinking of saying something and wasn't sure how or if she should.
"What," he asked. He was genuinely interested in her opinion and advise, but he was annoyed and angry—mostly at everything—and didn't want to hear what he thought her was about to hear. Still, it's Olivia, his partner, his best friend who has pretty much always stuck by him. Even when he didn't deserve it. Anything she had to say had a certain weight to it. She has insight, she's recognized things about him that he wished she never had. She knew his patterns. She just knew him.
"As a friend and as your partner, Elliot, I think it's time to let this go—"
"Alright," he grunted walking toward the door, opening it wide, "I think I wanna be alone."
She rose and followed him halfway, refusing to leave.
"—before it blows up in your face."
"Liv, I hear ya. That's enough," he said real low, taming his tone and volume.
"You're not listening to me," she said, closing the gap between them, "I have to deal with your crap when this happens and it's gonna keep happening, from what I can see, and I don't only care about you but I know it isn't fair to me or anybody else you come into contact with with your raging emotions you think you can keep down by pretending you can deal with it but really you're just lashing out at everybody who gives a damn and always has your back—"
"Olivia, Olivia—"
"Including me!"
"Enough!"
Her eyes had glossed over and the rage was still evident in her face. He was going to hear everything she had to say, because he owed her that much for sticking with him for through thick and thin, for better or worse for so long.
"I don't need this from you," he said, quiet again.
"And I'm not putting up with your dying marriage for another eleven years," she said, only a little louder than him. She had gotten control over her demanding tears and not one rolled over her bottom eyelid. But she could see Elliot's chest rising and falling dramatically under his NYPD t shirt. There was a shine in his eyes through the darkness. Could it be tears festering? He dropped his hand from the door and shoved both into the pockets of his sweat pants.
"Let yourself out," he whispered.
Then he turned and started toward his bedroom. He heard the door slam behind him and was relieved that that confrontation was over. Now he could be alone and maybe cry if he needed to. But just as he entered his bedroom he heard her voice saying, "For better or worse. What happened to that, huh?" She sounded hurt. She was reaching out to him, she wanted to be there for him and she was hurt that he was rejecting her. She valued their partnership and she didn't want his personal life to make him unbearable. They're stronger together than they are apart. And she couldn't imagine life without him. His turmoil threatened to steal him away from her. She fed off of his happiness. He was her connection to family and happiness. She needed him to be happy.
He sighed really loud, just so she knows he doesn't want to do this right now—ever actually. But he didn't actually object to her prying, because he needed that. She's the only other person he's got and he can't push her completely away. Then, he'd be alone and there would really be nothing to live for. He's tried working without her as his partner. He never wants to endure that again.
He sat down on the edge of his queen-sized bed and hung his head. She stood directly in front of him.
"Talk to me," she said softly.
He contorted his lips in a couple different ways to prepare his mouth to do what it never does—talk about how he feels. He begged himself to do this without breaking down. He felt so much pain. He feared that if he openly admitted to it and spoke about it he'd lose his power to control his emotions. He couldn't be a pansy.
"I thought I was doing everything right," he whispered, not giving his voice any volume so it can't break, "I was wrong." He paused to compose himself and choose his next words carefully. "And Eli's so young—I don't want my children growing up hating their father. They can't develop emotionally like that. And, believe me," his voice began to give, "they don't wanna go down that road." When he started to sob he immediately cradled his head in his hands. Olivia was moved to tears. His pain was never his alone. She didn't know what to do. They rarely ever touch. It was like forbidden. She felt uncomfortable touching him comfortingly, as crazy as it sounds. He was in such a vulnerable state and so broken.
She knew she couldn't hug him, hold him. So she placed her hand on his head. Then she let her fingers feel the softness of the short, black strands. She rubbed his head, restraining herself, careful not to squeeze because of the intensity of the emotions in the room. It felt good to him. It was the first time in a long time that a woman's touch was offered to him in response to mutual suffering and was not something he could ever find annoying. And he could hear her sniffling nose above him. She was crying, too. Then she gripped his shoulder with her free hand. And his hands found their way from his head to the backs of her thighs. She stepped in and he pressed his head against her stomach, his crying now down to sniffles. She held him there with both hands. She forced shaky words up past the knot in her throat. "I wish it hadn't come to this." He was just breathing against the smooth fabric of her shirt. He didn't want to leave from this position. He'd have been perfectly content sleeping like that. He felt so safe there. "Are you gonna be okay," she asked. He shook his head against her stomach. "No."
"I can't leave you like this," she whispered.
"I don't want you to leave me," he whispered.
His hands began to rub down then up again on the back of her legs. They were both feeling something very dangerous. Neither of them had the control now to walk away from it. When he shook his head moments ago it had adjusted her shirt. His mouth found some skin above her belt—just by chance. He kissed it. He kissed her there—just by chance. He kissed her. Her eyes filled with water again, but they rolled over this time. She bit her lip because of the ripples of sexual sensation his open mouth had sent shooting up and down her body. His kiss was warm and moist. She loved it. She sucked her whole lip in and bit down, trying to find the will to stop this but it was nowhere to be found. One of his hands was now on her waist. She hoped he couldn't feel her body trembling. When her hand should've been guiding his away from her body, it held onto it as it traveled to the middle of her stomach and underneath her shirt. She didn't want this to happen, but she did. The best she could do to back out now was call his name to get his attention. To maybe snap him out of it. To get him to think, because she couldn't. When she was weak, he was usually strong. Like when he drew a line after Gitano, she expected him to create distance to protect the both of them—not this time.
"Elliot," she whispered in a breathy, shaky, higher-pitched voice.
He just whispered her name back. "Olivia."
Him saying her name like that was powerful. It was so powerful. She threw her head back, her hair dangling underneath. Then he kissed her again, higher up this time. Slowly, sensually, open-mouthed. She whimpered.
"Olivia."
His voice was so low, lower than she'd ever heard it. It vibrated through her stomach and echoed in her body. His warm breath excited her, she got goosebumps everywhere from the hips and up.
"Stay."
Her eyes rolled back and her eyelids fell shut. It was intoxicating. It was like falling into bed after being at the station for days only taking 20-30 minute naps every twelve hours. She couldn't fight this sleep.
"Hmm?"
"Stay with me tonight?"
She didn't answer for two reasons: She didn't know what to say—she was trying to say nothing at all—and she couldn't physically talk without moaning into the room. She felt stuck. Why, how does he do this to her? He ran both hands up her stomach then to her back and to her waist again.
"Yes," he asked, pleaded.
She prayed he wouldn't kiss her again. If he kisses her again there won't be any turning back for her. He did it. An inch or so below her bra she could feel his wet mouth, his warm tongue, his soft lips loving her skin.
A tear dripped down to her ear. This was painful. Everything was on the line. Still, she said yes.
"Yes."
Elliot started on her belt buckle. They were really in this now. She raised her shirt over her head, then ran both of her hands through her hair. It was frustrating. The inability to pull away and the anticipation. She reached down over him and scrunched his shirt till she had the hem in her hands and pulled it over his head. He was sliding her pants down her legs, taking in the whole scene. He couldn't believe he was doing this, knowing what it would mean.
He reached for her anyway, and guided her on top of him. He scooted himself back on the bed, laying down, and she followed, crawling with his body beneath her. She flipped her hair so that it would hang on just the left side of her head. Then, for the first time, their lips met. Her lips were only slightly parted at first but their mouths were soon opening wider to taste more of each other. Their mouths were so foreign to each other but they quickly familiarized themselves and enjoyed how it felt. And they didn't know anything could feel so good.
He held her right cheek in his palm as they continued to enjoy each other's mouths. There was no sound but the loud air coming from both of their noses. They needed to breathe, but they didn't want to part. After eleven long years leading up to this moment, who needs to breathe? She rested her bottom half against him and was met by his erection waiting patiently beneath her body. He groaned when she unexpectedly moved against his growth. She reactively moaned and broke the kiss, because, thought it had felt like forever and a day so far, they were both clothed where they shouldn't be for this act. And she was flustered from all the touching, and kissing, and excitement. She still couldn't even believe she was feeling this way with Elliot. Despite their job, they hardly talked about sex with themselves as the topic.
She moved over to the side a bit so Elliot could remove his sweatpants. He wasn't wearing boxers. She was immediately met by his penis. Her jaw dropped down a little and her heart picked up in speed. He must've seen her reaction. He told her to come back up to him. Face to face, they looked each other in the eyes for a long, hard moment. In that moment it seemed as though they were both beginning to think, and they were waiting for a window out. That was the window out, regardless of how far they'd gone. That pause was the exit. Olivia kissed him on the cheek, though. Then she moved to his jaw. And in his ear she whispered. "I want this." Then she kissed beneath his ear. She had taken his earlobe into her mouth when he finally slipped his hands under the hem of her panties and slid them down. She worked them down the rest of the way with her legs because she did not want him to move, she wanted him right where he was. He unclasped her bra behind her and he threw it to the floor when it slid down her arms. He wanted to spend time on her breasts just by instinct but it didn't feel like the right thing at that moment. He felt like they were off limits for the time being, because it would've been objectifying and sexualizing her. Ironic, yes.
His hands wandered from her back to her shoulders down to her ass and back again. When she was ready, she pulled her face away from his. Her hands slid to his hard chest and she flipped her hair out of her face. The moment was fast approaching where they would destroy the institution of partnership.
One of his hands stayed on her hip and the other moved down to the front of her. He checked between her legs to see how ready she was. His fingers unintentionally slid over her stimulated clitoris and it sent a visible jolt through her. It turned him on so much to see such a reaction in her. He rose his torso and took her up with him, her breasts in his face. His muscles contracted and relaxed beneath the palms of her hands and it was mesmerizing. He was a powerful man. Elliot held her up over him from under her ass and she reached down to position him beneath her. She was then guided over his head where there was a very small pause. Her muscles tightened around his head as did the muscles in other parts of her body. He needed extra strength not to release himself so prematurely. She placed her hands on his shoulders and gently slid herself further down. Her breathing had become shallow as she conformed to his size. Elliot finally let a breath of air out and it came out with a grunt, because her tightness around him felt so satisfying. It was a task to make himself last for Olivia. He pressed his face into her, smelling her body, breathing her in.
Then he kissed her breast the way he'd kissed her body earlier. He used one hand to massage one breast as he gave the attention of his mouth to the other. She moved rhythmically, slowly. He was going in and out of her core. He was coated with her. Her breathing was becoming more audible and she moaned again when she felt his warm mouth engulf her nipple. Her moan, feminine and promising, made him sweat for her. He lowered himself back down and took hold of her hips. She had obviously gotten comfortable on top of him and had sped up a little, but she was not erratic or rushed. She was simply passionate and the view from below, the feel of her hands now roaming his chest, the heat radiating from her core drove his into a bliss only known to hallucinogen enthusiasts. He wouldn't let himself let go, though, because this may be his only chance to have her in this way and he needed to enjoy the entire ride. Her, on the other hand, she was nearing the edge of glory. Her shallow breaths shortened and became staggered, a precursor to her orgasm.
He caught her spent body in his arms and flipped them over, her on her back and him over her. She was hardly aware of the switch of position because her mind was spinning. But she could feel his proximity and reached for him. He moved over her and into her again and again. She felt as much of his body as she could since she wasn't on top anymore. The muscles in his arms, shoulders, chest, and ass were bulging, as was him inside her. He was hard and throbbing with pressure from all the blood that had suddenly rushed to that one location. How long had it been?
He loved her hands roaming his body. It egged him on. He had himself propped up by his arms on either side of her head and was working away at her center quite ravenously. When he was coming up on his own end he lowed himself onto her. Their bodies were slick with sweat and their connected lower halves felt even better with him directly over her. He hooked one of his arms underneath her neck and the other behind her back. He kissed her on the mouth, the nose, the cheek, the neck. He said things in her ear that made her heart throb for him. He was saying those things to her. He was making love to her. She didn't want to be the sap who cried at the climax of an emotional sexual encounter so she didn't. But she wanted to.
He slowed himself instantly and seemed to stop breathing. But that was followed by three more thrusts. Then they could both feel his release. "Oh, God," he said into her ear when it happened. It wasn't a gruffly, manly oh God but a flustered, relieved oh God. He couldn't move and she didn't really want him to. If he moved then their encounter would almost be completely over and they'd be closer to the aftermath. The sooner it ends, the sooner they have to deal with the repercussions. And she was so content like that, everything was perfect. She held one hand on the nape of his neck. The other hand rubbed his strong back. "El."
"Oh, my God."
He said it again, in part because of the waves almost done going through his body and in part because he needed forgiveness. A forgiveness only God could grant him.
"Elliot."
He realized that she was actually trying to get his attention. Her calls had been so soft and still so sexy that he thought she was just saying his name because it was sex. But she wanted to say something.
"Yes," he forced from his throat, still riding out his sex trip.
"I don't— I don't want a new partner, El."
She was fighting not to cry. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in the returned tenseness in her body. He didn't even have to leave her neck to know that she was already thinking. He didn't know what he could say to make her feel better, if there was. But he knew he had to say something to keep her from crying. Because if she started crying, he'd lose it himself.
He kissed her neck then lifted his head. A tear had already trickled down next to her eye. He wiped it away with his thumb then pushed strands of hair from her face. She regained her ability to hold herself together. Her fear was wearing off on him. He was hurting, too. They were afraid of the same thing: each other. He kissed her long and sweet. His lips were pressed against hers and he pulled back to check her eyes. She was getting strong again. He kissed her one more time, this one a peck that lingered a bit.
"Maybe it doesn't have to happen," he offered, "Maybe— we can figure this out." The bullshit was thick, they both knew it and they both went for it. "Yeah," he continued, "we can do this. We'll be okay."
He just wanted to do everything right. She needed him to be happy. He was in such a vulnerable state and so broken. "I can't leave you like this," she whispered. "I don't want you to leave me," he whispered. They were both feeling something very dangerous. Neither of them had the control now to walk away from it. He kissed her. She loved it. Like when he drew a line after Gitano, she expected him to create distance to protect the both of them—not this time. And they didn't know anything could feel so good. The moment was fast approaching where they would destroy the institution of partnership. They were afraid of the same thing: each other.
Well! That turned out better than I expected. It's like freestyling and then the junk comes out like poetry. Beautiful! Of course, there's gonna be more coming because I just really don't know how I feel about one-shots.
Happy reviewing!