A/N: Detectives have difficult jobs, and some cases? Well, they're harder than others.

Disclaimer: Still don't own them, but still like to play with them.

He walked into the house, close to three in the morning, and instantly the smell of something freshly baked hit him. He scrunched up his face. She didn't bake often, so when she did, it was because she had very good news and wanted to celebrate, or very bad news and needed to soften the blow. He was hoping for the former. After the case he'd just closed at work, he couldn't handle anymore bad news.

He tugged off his tie and threw it on the sofa, cursing under his breath. What he walked into tonight was the worst scene he'd experienced, and the people involved made it personal. A former Marine, a former friend, had killed his entire family, including his parents and three young children. As soon as he got the confession he'd called his mother, and then called home to talk to his wife and all seven of his children.

He laughed, remembering that Jack, the youngest, could only manage a few mumbled sounds and something that sounded like 'Daddy' in Hungarian.

He sighed and tossed his suit jacket onto the couch, kicked off his shoes, then walked into the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt along the way. He saw the cinnamon rolls on the counter, still warm. He poked at one, and judging by the softness and still-wet icing, he knew that his wife was still awake, somewhere in the house.

He took off his shirt as he walked toward the stairs, climbed them two at once, and made a sharp right toward his bedroom. "Babe?" he called, pushing the door open. His eyes widened when he saw her, laying on the bed, not wearing nearly enough yet somehow wearing too much. "Did I forget an anniversary?"

"Not once in fifteen years," she said, laughing and shaking her head. She smirked at him and crooked a finger, calling him to her.

He went willingly, his jaw slacked and eyes still wide. He practically threw himself onto her, burying his face in her neck and biting her hard with a growl.

"Jesus, El!" she moaned, her head falling back. She felt his hands sliding over her body, pulling at the red silk. She shifted around, helping him get her out of the strappy garment. She let her own hands wander, her fingers curling and nails scratching down his scalp and the nape of his neck.

"Fuck," he mumbled, sucking at her pulse, "Why?"

"We need a reason?" she asked, moaning.

He looked up at her as he threw bits of lace and silk over his head to the floor behind him. "I saw the rolls. You baked, now this?" He popped up a bit straighter. "You're leaving me, aren't you?"

She moved her hands to the sides of his face, cupping it. "Never," she whispered, seriously, looking into his eyes.

He kissed her softly as his body moved, his hands working to shove his pants down over his hips. "Then what..."

"I know what you had to do today," she said, kissing him again. "What you had to deal with. I wanted to take your mind off it, ease some of the..."

He stopped her with another kiss as his hands flew to her legs and pulled them around his waist. He deepened his powerful kiss and gave a hard thrust of his hips, pushing into her fast, to the hilt. They let out simultaneous cries of each other's name, their arms wrapping tighter.

She was right. Tonight, Elliot had a case that was tougher than most, one he would be thinking about all night if he had come home to a sleeping, quiet house. It wasn't often he used sex with his wife as an escape, but tonight, as she so selflessly offered, he would.

"I love you," he whispered to her, pressing his forehead to hers as he bucked and thrust, slipping out and deeply working back into her.

She moaned his name again, and a soft, "I love you, too," left her slightly parted lips between kisses.

They writhed and rocked slowly, sharing deep kisses and bare whispers, until neither could take much more. He felt her tighten around him, her muscles pulsing and tugging on him as he tried to thrust. He gave her one last kiss and a final hard thrust, and then he stilled as she clamped down.

Her back arched, making her rise off the bed, her nails digging deeper into his skin.

He tightened his grip on her, kissing her neck and chest, licking the skin around her nipples, letting her cum as hard and as long as she needed. He watched as her head popped up, and seeing the look in her eyes, the way her bottom lip had been sucked between her teeth, it was his undoing. He came, powerfully and loudly, shooting hot and fast into her. He moaned when she pulsed around him again, he heard her whisper, "Oh, God, Elliot," and knew she was giving him another, smaller release.

She smoothed her hands up and wrapped them around his neck, keeping him down to her, kissing him slowly. After a moment, she pulled back. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, his forehead brushing against hers. He nuzzled her nose and kissed her again. "With you, all better," he panted. He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him, and got them into a comfortable spot. He pulled the covers over them, kissed her again, and asked, "How did you know?"

"I'm a cop, too, remember?" she said, her head against his chest. "Couple beat cops were in the squadroom, I heard the call come in." She looked up at him. "All of the kids are safe and sound. I knew you'd come home, needing to know that," she told him. "But I also knew you'd be too late to catch them still awake, so I made your favorite cinnamon rolls and waited up for you. After the hard cases, I know what you need, so you don't break."

He kissed her softly, nuzzled her nose again, and said, "All I need is you." He gave her a sweet peck on the lips. "And the kids."

"Same here, Stabler," she told him, grinning. She let her head fall back down to his chest, and she sighed contentedly. "I love you."

"Oh, Liv," he breathed. "I love you, too."

A/N: A little quickie, begged to be written.