No Law, No Order
Author: Coleen / aposse
Rating: Hardcore M
Pairing: The Brangelina of SVU, Bensler
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Stop depressing me.
Summary: In the fan fiction world, sexual tension between these partners is considered especially popular. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who indulge our fantasies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit. These are smut stories.
Author's Note: It will be updated when my muse is particularly dirty, so subscribe if you like what you see. A string of smutty one-shots in an entire file!
Two
He doesn't remember much.
All he remembers is his hand on her ass and her hips grinding against his, and they've ended up here… wherever 'here' was. He's too busy trying to not pop out of his pants to become aware of his surroundings, the desire only skyrocketing when wet lips mesh against his. He feels the gloss on them melting, rubbing off on him, causing resistance in their lingual dance, but that's not nearly enough for him to pull away.
Take a damn crow bar and you still wouldn't be able to break this deal.
Elliot doesn't know what's gotten into him. He hasn't consumed litres of alcohol for his motor skills to become one of a drunk, nor has he suffered from a concussion for stupidity to grace his words. What he remembers doing is talking. Well, not talking, but arguing. They were arguing over a case. As usual. He remembers things being thrown, in particular a stapler which (praise the Lord) missed him. He remembers getting cut from the folder she whipped in his direction, and he also remembers her laughing at that.
It's a blur from then on, and as he presses her up against cold plastic, he finally knows where they are.
The bathroom. It does explain the buzz he hears above him, even fluorescent lighting hitting this woman the right way. There is no flaw with her, and as his hands freely explore what's beneath the thin material, the bulge in his pants feel the same way.
Her exterior may emanate toughness, but feeling it, feeling every inch of her body is a contradiction to that fact. She's hard with her words, but the moans he elicits from her are soft, gentle. Her actions are sharp, yet the hips that are hugged by her badge roll smoothly against his. And her eyes – those eyes that can melt a perp with a glare now surrender to him, glazing over with need for his touch. Olivia Benson is one hell of a – is that a belly piercing? Elliot hears himself groan at his discovery. The warm metal is flicked by his finger, and he winces at the sudden surge of pain.
Then he remembers.
The paper cut. Or folder cut. The whatever cut.
The finger that would pull a trigger for any danger coming his way was bleeding, and Elliot remembers pulling it into his own touch, squeezing hard to stop the red from escaping. It cut him deep, and the presence of air stung it even more. Then he remembers her laugh dying, and a shadow covering the light from the lamp of his desk. He remembers the same woman (who now begs for his touch) pulling his finger away from him, nearer to her… her lips.
And then, when the pain of the cut mixed with the welcoming warmth of her mouth, he remembers one word crossing his mind: fuck.
"Fuck." She mutters against his lips, feeling them tremble at his flick. His desires trample the small pain on his digits. "Not there." He hears a click behind them, the smooth hand locking the bathroom stall, eventually travelling up to move his away from the small ball.
"Is Olivia sensitive there?" He doesn't know when third person talk got hot (or if it ever was) during sex, but his partner doesn't seem to mind.
She moves his hand up higher. "I just-" she begins to pant when his hand cups her breast. "-got it pierced. It still hurts-sss" The little squeeze causes her hiss of pleasure.
"Oh, trust me." Elliot wraps his arms around her chest, pulling her forward to unhook her bra. "I'll make you hurt in other ways. Alex put you up to that?"
Olivia nods. She offers her help by peeling off the fabrics clinging to her curves, pulling them over her head. "She said it was a tattoo or this."
"And you chose the latter, why?"
"Do you honestly want a bible verse in your view when you take me from behind?"
God no. That would fuck with Elliot's morals… while he fucked his partner. "I never took you to be the religious type."
"I'm not." She bunches her skirt – this probably being the first time in history that he's seen her wear one of these to work – up to her waist, and wadda ya know?
Bare. Wet. Ready.
Figures she'd do this on the one day she wears a skirt and decides to fuck her partner of 12 years. Just figures. "Jesus Christ."
Her hands pull open his shirt. "I never took you to be the religious type." Buttons bounce off the small space, and as Elliot helps with the rough removal of his clothing, he hangs the remnants(along with Olivia's bra and shirt) on the hook behind her, not caring about the future concern; he'll just cover it with his tie. Or something. Doesn't fucking matter. He's about to fuck his partner – 2012 could be happening and he still wouldn't give two shits.
"Religious in Catholicism? No. With your body? Yes."
That's all it takes for her to push him back on the toilet and straddle him. He feels her bare skin hovering over his, and it suddenly dawns on him of the absence of pants. Between worshipping the heaven he's been going in and out of the past few weeks and pulling out a condom, Olivia must've unbuckled his belt and dropped them to his ankles.
Either that or God must've really worked miracles; they've only got 10 minutes until their break is over.
It feels odd doing it here. They've managed to do it against her bookshelf, on his desk and against her fridge, and he finds this odd? Something must be wrong with him; what more could he want from this woman than a good, thorough fuck? What could be more satisfying than hearing his name moaned against his lips or feeling the scratch of her nails on his back?
Apparently something. Then, when he feels something inside of him reach up, trying grab his attention at the question, a hand sliding down his stiffness distracts Elliot.
Olivia glides the thin layer onto him like she's done it a million times blindfolded. She's technically only done it sixteen times, and half of that was in the dark. "You don't," She stoops down, legs parting as she comes nearer, "know," Faintly glossed lips open to let in a breath, "how long," she begins to straddle him, "I've been waiting for," Hands gripped firmly on his shoulders, she hovers closer. "this."
And he's in her. She sinks down, and as her arms languidly wrap around his neck, a moan softly echoes in the bathroom.
Fuck.
The irrevocable tingles that shoot down to his toes cause him to think of the word again. It causes him to think many things as his closed eyes shut harder from the pleasure. Of her. Of being in her. Of being with her. She slowly rises up, then takes him in again as she sits back down onto his lap. Then she gets faster, and his cock throbs in painful, sporadic beats, the thumps in his head coinciding with the ones in his heart.
It feels good to have her close to him, hips now rolling forward, chest heaving for more air in a space so confined. Olivia unlocks the bend her arms are in and hangs off his neck, long hair cascading off bare shoulders and breasts bouncing in her rhythm. He's mesmerized by them – those nipples look as hard as rocks, even without his touch. Elliot takes one hand off her hip and grabs one into his mouth, trailing the other down between her legs. Olivia jerks forward when his hand swipes through her wet folds, and her strangled cry is muffled as she bites at his shoulder. When he flicks at the pink flesh he feels her hips drive into him, and when he does the combo of double-pleasure, trailing his tongue around the nipple in his mouth and rubbing at her nub, she nearly draws blood where her mouth rests, and the arm that "drapes" over him? They now have him in a death grip.
That's it. Come closer. Her touch drives him to his highs. Though they've never made actual conversation during intercourse, it never stops Elliot's mind from speaking to her body.
Disappointment tints through him as her hands break their lock around his neck, now beginning to push at the sides of the stall. She does her best to get around the flush and wraps her legs around his waist, tight.
They've never done this before.
Elliot goes a step further and gets up slightly. He takes his partner up off his lap, placing two firm hands on her ass. Then he pushes in, hard, and it causes her to scream, quickly muffling it with a kiss.
Fuck.
He thinks again. That's what he's doing to her, right? Fucking. "Fuck, Elliot." His cock throbs at her words, the whine causing him to slam into her again and again. And again, he hears her voice, moaning out incoherency, coaxed with pleasure. "Eh-" He pushes in, "Li-" He pulls out nearly all the way, "Uhhhhht." Her brows furrow when he re-enters her slowly, lips in a snarl at his excruciating pace. "Mmm." She still holds herself up with the strength of her arms, and her head is now against the stall door, lolling listlessly from side to side.
"We have five minutes left." He presses his forehead to hers, resting as he's fully inside of her. "One or two. Your choice." His lips brush against swollen ones, "Your choice."
They have this system. Whether they're in a bed or on a break, wherever they fucked their system was applicable; whoever initiated the sex had the choice of how they would come. One meant it was a hard fuck – one where you'd slam into each other and scream to the heavens from the unbearable pleasure. Two was a gentle fuck – you'd move slowly. You'd move together, as one being, and you would come together.
Regardless of who initiated the sex or who would make the choice, the desire of release was always so thick that one was always the answer. Sixteen times and counting.
Elliot hopes for another answer this time. As satisfying one could be, he always wanted to know what two would feel like, especially with her. Especially with Olivia. Her breathing is slower now, calmer. Her legs are beginning to loosen their grip on his waist, the sweat causing them to slide lower, and her arms now shake from withstanding the weight of her upper body for so long.
He pulls her closer as he crouches down to sit on the white seat. Elliot waits for an answer, and as the mouth opens, the voice that leaves it is not one he expects.
"Elliot, you in here?" Footsteps clap against the tiles, the creak of the bathroom door echoing along with the voice.
Her mouth shuts, his eyes widen, and both can feel the other's chest thump from panic. Olivia wraps her legs tight around him, hugging him tightly to prevent from letting any signs of her presence to become known.
"Elliot?" He hears the steps come closer. "Your break ended 10 minutes ago and we're back to the case. Captain's wondering why you're MIA." A knock penetrates through the stall door.
"I'm here, Fin." He tries not to sound terrified, knowing that if Fin peaked over or under the stall, the secret they'd been keeping would unravel.
Elliot pauses for a moment, trying to come up with an alternative, because truthfully, he never does the other number two in public washrooms. He hasn't since '95 when a victim – unaware of her gang rape – became the killer, convinced with the fact that she contracted HIV from sitting on her boyfriend's toilet seat. Justification already unrealistic (not to mention quite impossible), she failed to believe she was drugged and raped until months later when she found out she was pregnant. With her deceased boyfriend's brother.
Not that the case was the sole reason Elliot repelled from public washrooms. It was just… another reason why he didn't use them. It would cross off an apeshit lead if he were ever (hopefully not) in that situation. But the situation he was in now was worse, to an extent. The plastic door was the only barrier between the life he hid and the life he built, and it wasn't so thick.
Then he feels it. He feels two fingers press against his back, and eyes meet with his as the head pulls back. Two. Is that what she wanted to do? He mouths a question of reassurance, and the brown head nods. The softness her eyes melt with tells him she's sure.
"Just gimme some more time. I'm doing number two."
He hears the light laugh in the tough man's voice. "Alright, but I don't think Cap wants to know that much. Where's Liv?"
Brown eyes continue to stare into blue, and Elliot senses panic about to emerge. He stops it. "Doing the same thing."
He hears muttering on the other side, most likely more words from Fin. Like he's listening though. He hears more words but they never really register in his mind, and as the bathroom door creaks once more – signalling the third party's leave – both sigh in relief.
"Well that ruined it." Olivia tries to slide off his lap; she's unsuccessful in her attempt as he holds her in place.
"Two?" He voices his question.
He senses a shift as her posture changes. "You had to say something, and I could see your whole life flashing before your eyes."
"Would you have said that even if Fin came in?"
Silence.
"No." Elliot feels himself sink. Today was just another fuck. Another romp in his partner's pants. Another fling added to this affair. "I would've said it tonight." Her continuation brings him back onto his feet and out of his head.
"Tonight?"
She nods, softly, nuzzling her head onto his neck. "Today's been 12 years since we became partners."
"You count the days?"
"Why do you think I wore a skirt?" He grins at her reasoning, and when his hands loosen around her body for her to think she could stand, he surprises her by lifting the both of them up against the stall door.
"What are you doing?"
"Why do we have to wait until tonight? Let's just do it here. Right now." He breathes the words onto her lips that were open in question. "Please, Liv." His hardness throbs painfully inside her heat.
"No, Elliot."
Seeing his words aren't doing any good, he lets his actions take over. Elliot pulls out slowly, causing her to moan to lengthen with the re-entrance of his size. He goes slower when he feels her leg hook around him and arms drape over his shoulder.
"No." Her words are in denial, but every action she does is accepting it. "Fuck me all you want," She holds back another moan, "but I am not making love to you until tonight."
Love. From her. That's what he needs. That's what he's needed all along.
"Do you promise me?" He tries not to sound vulnerable.
"I am not going to make love in a bathroom stall."
"Do you promise me?" He repeats.
"My bed."
"Do you promise me?"
She stops her avoidance for a moment, eyes staring past his face. "Tonight." She says. "I promise you we'll do it."
Elliot feels himself collapse into relief. "Two?"
"Two." The brown head nods, and as she unhooks her leg, feeling the warmth of arms wrap around him, he feels the heavy beats in her chest in a rhythm with his.
He'll definitely remember tonight.
Fin
I hoped you all liked the first installment to this series of smutty one-shots! Of course, I had to add some love in there. Your kind reviews are greatly appreciated, and watch out for the second one coming soon!