A/N: Joint adventure between PaperFrames and Stabson. Takes place during Season 9, all E/O.

Thanks to Jackie. She's the J.

Somehow, Elliot's managed to convince Olivia to flip the channel of her TV to the Yankees game. He sits next to her on her couch, jacket and tie long gone, intently focused on the screen. It's the top of the eighth and the score is tied. Elliot's hardly blinked in the past twenty minutes; she knows because she's been staring at him for nearly that long. She's watched his eyebrows furrow together in irritation at missed catches; she's watched his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head at foul balls.

God, she hates baseball. If he was anyone else, she would have changed the channel to whatever else is on and called it a night. But he's not anyone else, he's Elliot, her suddenly single partner of almost ten years, who has seemed to make himself right at home in her apartment. And she doesn't mind. She didn't really want to be alone tonight, anyways. He's a much needed distraction on the eve of another failed relationship. A relationship that, if she's being honest with herself, she'd been done with since the day it'd started.

Kurt had caught her in a vulnerable moment and she'd latched on to the idea of him, of a stable somewhat relationship, a warm body to run to. In turn, he'd latched onto her as well. He'd seen something between them, something that'd led him to spending many nights at her apartment, or insisting that she spend them at his. He'd become too clingy, too needy. Too much too soon. Especially for her, independent, self reliant, and self assured. She didn't know how to depend on anyone or anything else. Well, except her partner. But Kurt had been a far cry from Elliot. Sure Kurt had tried, he really had. And she almost felt guilty for being so aloof, but the chemistry hadn't been there- a fact that became even more evident after her close call in that basement at Sealview. Nothing about Kurt's presence managed to quell her silent fears; his arms weren't the arms she needed to pull her out of her nightmares. His words were emotionless, his promises empty, and like all other men in her life, he'd eventually got tired of her standoffishness and left.

Quite frankly, she doesn't miss him. The only thing she might possibly miss is the familiarity of physical intimacy that the last six months had provided for her. There had been no more late night bar hops to pick up virtual strangers nor coquettish glances exchanged from across the room. It'd been easy and somewhat exciting. Until it wasn't. Until Lowell Harris crawled into her mind. Until his voice drowned out her lust. Hell, it's been at least two months since she's willingly let someone touch her and only weeks since she's stopped crawling out of her skin at the mere thought of being touched.

"Fuck!" Eliot curses, drawing her back into the present. She glances his way, watching as he leans forward and scrubs both hands over his face. "C'mon, hit a damn ball, will ya?"

Olivia fights the urge to roll her eyes. How can people be so interested in watching grown men hit pieces of rubber with a stick? With a sigh, she gets up and heads to the kitchen, not really hungry or thirsty, but searching for something to do with her body other than sit next to him on the couch.

She needs to go food shopping. Currently, the only items in her refrigerator are a few bottles of beer, leftover Chinese food and half a loaf of stale bread. She could have sworn she had a box of microwavable popcorn around here somewhere.

She finds it in the cabinet above the stove, stuffed behind spice bottles that she never uses. There are two packages remaining in the box. She rips open the plastic casing on the bag and pops it into the microwave.

"Want a beer?" she calls, pressing the 'popcorn' button.

"Sure," he rumbles apathetically as the microwave whirs to life. Olivia glances up. His eyes haven't even moved from the screen. Sometimes, he's such a goddamn man. An old-fashioned, red blooded, hot American man with bright blue eyes and a cocky grin that she simultaneously loves and hates.

Her eyes rake over his relaxed form, from his stocking feet crossed over her coffee table to his black dress shirt, untucked with the top two buttons popped open. His muscles jump as A-Rod swings and misses on the television screen.

Since she's returned from Oregon, she couldn't help but notice how much muscle he's packed on. He's always been one to take out his anger and frustration on a heavy bag or a weight bench, and over the past couple of years, since his first separation with Kathy, it's been happening more and more often. Olivia doesn't mind; she gets to reap the benefits.

"Yes!" Elliot pops to his feet as the crowd roars on the screen and Derek Jeter rounds the diamond.

Olivia nearly jumps out of her skin. "Jesus, shout a little louder, huh? I do have neighbors, y'know."

Elliot glances at her, a lopsided grin on his face. "Sorry."

And then he's back on the couch, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, complete attention invested on the game.

But her attention is diverted to areas far more interesting. She wonders, thankfully not aloud, what it'd be like to run her hands across those oversized pecs; what it'd be like to have him run his calloused and scarred hands down her sides until he's lifting her up by her ass and holding her flesh against him. She knows he can do it. She knows that he could pick her up and slam her down without even breaking a sweat; he's strong and probably has the stamina of a kid half his age. She's seen him on long nights hit the bag for hours. Over and over again. She wonders what else he could do over and over again when the microwave dings. For the second time tonight, she jumps. Thankfully, he's too tuned into whatever's happening on her screen to see the lascivious thoughts written all over her face. She can feel the heat in her cheeks and the warmth in her lower belly. Grumbling, she grabs the hot popcorn, tosses it into a bowl, fishes two beers from the fridge and makes the trek back to her living room.

He doesn't even look up from the TV as she hands him the beer, simply mumbles an almost inaudible 'thanks'. She throws herself down on the cushions next to him and tries to think of anything but him. Of his muscles flexing beneath her fingertips, his hips bucking upwards into hers. Of…

She quickly pulls her gaze away from him, averting her eyes to the mirror that hangs on the wall above her phone stand. She can't keep thinking about him like this. He's on his way to finalizing his divorce and he's her partner. Her partner. Well, and her friend. They've been friends almost ten years. She trusts him more than she's ever trusted anyone before. Maybe if she shared her lewd thoughts with him, he'd reciprocate? Maybe he's just as riled up almost post-divorce as she is post... all of her shit. Maybe he'll want to find a way to channel all of his anger and frustration that didn't center on more scarred flesh. It can't hurt to ask, can it?

Subconsciously, her nimble fingers pick at the peeling label on her bottle. She knows what she wants to ask him, but she can't think of the right words. Elliot, I know you haven't had sex in a while, wanna do me? If she can't even ask him the question, how will she have sex with him?

The label peels all the way off the glass and she shreds it to bits in her lap, nervous energy radiating throughout her body. If only she could just get the words out, she could put that energy to use.

Finally, her hand reaches for the remote and she presses the power button. Elliot freezes where he sits, the neck of his beer bottle resting between his oversized fingers, the beer paused at his lips. His head snaps towards hers, eyebrow twitching before understanding passes over him. His eyes soften as he smiles at her. "Sorry, I forgot, you don't like baseball, do you?"

"That's not it." She thought she'd happily ignore the game for the rest of the night and watch him instead, but watching isn't quite enough anymore. She takes a deep breath. "El, can I ask you something?"

"Kinda redundant to ask if you can ask me a question by asking me a question, but shoot." He takes a swig and then lowers the bottle from his lips, turning his body towards hers.

The words start off in her gut and bubble up her esophagus, falling from her lips before she can assess them- before she has a chance to consider whether or not this is one of her best ideas.

"Will you have sex with me?"

The beer had been poised at his lips once again, ready to take another drink, but as soon as she says those words, he's choking on nothing and leaning forward to set the bottle on the coffee table. He clears his throat, eyes locked onto hers as he rasps, "Will I what?"

God, she doesn't want to repeat her words, not with him sputtering and gaping at her with those ice blue eyes she both loves and hates. But she's already opened her mouth and laid her cards out on the table.

"I know it's out of left field, but I haven't been comfortable enough with…" she can feel her voice climbing and has to pause for a moment to keep it level. How can she tell him that she's both horny and terrified and he's the only man she trusts enough to come near her? "I just thought that since I broke up with Kurt and you know with you...and neither one of us are really ready to date anyone right now that we could just. . . have sex?"

If she could crawl under her coffee table and die from mortification, right now she would.

I just broke up with Kurt and you said that you'd be here for me.

That had been his plan… to be here for her, and if he's honest with himself, so that he wouldn't have to go home to his own dark, empty apartment. He's been living in the city for a few months… ever since he and Kathy decided to call it quits for the second time. As it turns out, baby Eli hadn't been able to fix their broken relationship. After a renewal of late night arguments and sleeping on the couch, they finally sat down together at the kitchen table and had a good talk. It ended with a mutual agreement and Elliot packed his bags the next morning before work.

"I just thought that since I broke up with Kurt and you know with you… and neither one of us are really ready to date anyone right now that we could just… sex?"

Her words roll around in his mind as he considers them. He hasn't really dated, hasn't been ready. The first time around, once he realized that he and Kathy were over seemingly for good, he'd been pissed off, hurt, angry. He'd been on edge and it had bled over into his work life, fractured his partnership. This time, he promised himself that wouldn't happen. As part of that promise, she was the very first person that he told. The next day, when they went out for their usual lunch at the deli down the street, he told her he was moving back into the city. Since then, he managed to get a decent apartment in Manhattan, closer to work and to Olivia with a couple of bedrooms for the kids to stay when they visit. He's even been on a couple of dates, but none of them have turned into anything more, and he's slowly coming to the conclusion that he'll be alone for the rest of his life.

Well, alone except for his partner that now sits next to him, who's gone from munching on popcorn to asking him if he wants to have sex. There's a red tint starting to make its way across her cheeks and her eyes flicker around the room, settling on anything except for him and it's driving him crazy because he just wants to search her irises and tell if she's really saying what he thinks she's saying.

Elliot takes a deep breath, and asks, "You mean, like... friends with benefits?"

"I guess. I mean yeah. Just no strings attached sex, to help us both get back on the proverbial horse, I s'pose "

He nods once, settling back against the cushions. It's taking every ounce of control he has to remain as calm as possible, but his mouth has gone dry and his heart is starting to hammer in his chest. He's thought about his partner naked beneath him far more than once over the past ten years; what red-blooded, heterosexual male wouldn't? She's beautiful, and after seeing how she conducts herself in the interrogation room, he can only imagine how she conducts herself in the bedroom.

I broke a rule, Elliot. A personal one.

"I thought you didn't get involved with work colleagues."

"I don't." Olivia's eyes fall from his as she brushes a strand of hair from her face before looking back up at him. "But we're more than just colleagues, you're my best friend."

He swallows hard, and finds himself giving a tiny nod. As soon as he realizes what he's doing, he clears his throat and nods in earnest. She's right. He's not ready for a relationship and to be honest, he doesn't really want to look for one right now. The idea of dating, of dressing up and going out to pay for meals and awkward conversation and maybe goodnight kisses has absolutely no appeal to him at the moment. Even if it did, he's at the precinct for more hours than he's home and if Olivia's love life and Kathy's attitude towards his job are any indication, he wouldn't make it very far, anyway. With Olivia, he knows that it'll be more than just two friends having fun, but God help him, the way she's staring at him with those warm brown eyes, like pools of hot chocolate, he can't help himself.

"Okay."

Elliot sinks back against her couch cushions and she can feel her heartbeat speed up. He's going to tell her no. She can see it in his expression and she can't quite blame him. Although he's often been a recurring fantasy of hers, she knows he isn't quite cut from the same cloth as she regarding casual sex. She's had more one night stands than fingers to count them on and she's pretty sure he's slept with the same woman for twenty plus years.

But he doesn't.

Olivia's mouth drops open ever so slightly and she doesn't know what to say next, so she repeats his statement, question in her eyes. "Okay?"

Elliot reaches for the bowl of popcorn on her lap, grabs a few pieces and pops them into his mouth as his gaze falls from her. There's thought written over his features. He's probably rethinking his statement now. He's probably realizing what he just agreed to, just like she is, and trying to figure out a graceful way to back down. But again, he sends her jaw nearly to the floor when he says, "Yeah. You're my best friend, too, Liv. If you want to… I can get behind it."

"You can get behind it, huh?" She jokes, biting her bottom lip and chortling at her own innuendo.

Elliot chuckles lightly in return and takes a moment to brush his hand over his face.

"Are you sure? Please don't feel obligated to do this." And suddenly, she's the one that's looking quite unsure. Elliot shifts in his seat, dropping his gaze as he reaches for his beer, nearly forgotten on the coffee table.

"Yeah. I mean, like you said," he pauses to take a drink, "neither one of us are ready to date anyone right now. And honestly, I, uh- I don't really want to try. So, this could work." That look in her eyes hasn't faded and it's beginning to worry him. "Unless you're gonna change your mind on me."

"No," she murmurs, resisting the urge to slide closer to him on the couch. There's one thing they have to talk about before they do this. "It's just… if we're going to do this, we've got to lay some ground rules first."

Elliot frowns. He scrutinizes her for a moment, like he's trying to find an answer for a question not vocalized, and then murmurs, "this is your idea, Liv. If you don't want to do it, we don't have to."

Oh, but she does. She really does. "No. I just want both of us to go on knowing what this is. Just sex."

The question in his irises fades into something indiscernible. Olivia watches his gaze flit from her face down into his hands has he rubs them together slowly. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand roll over the ring finger of his left hand. For nine years, she's seen him repeat that same motion to turn the golden band that took residence there, but now it's bare, and only an instant after he starts, he stops, dropping his hands back into his lap.

He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't have one night stands or casual sex, he falls in love and gets married and has children. It was a mistake for her to even ask. Stupid, stupid. She should apologize now and ask him to forget she even said anything.

"Never mind," she finds herself whispering. Then louder, "Forget it. I'm sorry I asked."

"No, no," he stops her. "This is… different for me, Liv, I'm not used to…." He chuckles as a twinge of red forms on his cheeks. Is he… embarrassed? "Y'know, you just gotta be a little patient with me. So, what are your rules?"

A rose-colored blush creeps up her neck and she ducks her head, pushing a piece of flyaway hair behind her ear. She looks back up at him, her dark eyes hooded. "You undress yourself."

"So, it's my birthday and I don't even get to unwrap my gift?"

Olivia rolls his eyes at his bad joke. "Nope. I drop my pants, you drop yours. Two: the lights stay on."

"C'mon, no mood lighting, either?"

"Elliot."

"Alright, alright. Lights on." He grins at her, those blue eyes bright and she wonders briefly if they should just skip the rules and jump straight to the sex. "Next?"

"No property markers."

Elliot's brows knit together. "Property markers?"

"We're not fifteen and I'm not spending an extra hour covering hickeys before work in the morning."

"Okay, so no visible marks, what if I, uh… leave them somewhere else?" His eyes drop down to her chest and redness blooms across his cheeks.

Olivia shifts in place; suddenly it's too warm in her apartment. "Don't push your luck, Stabler."

"Maybe I like pushing my luck, Benson." The redness that tints his skin gives way to the classic shit-eating grin that she knows so well. Yes, it's definitely too warm. She wants to strangle him and jump into his lap all at the same time.

"Any more rules?"

"Yeah," she says. "A few."