Okay, so I honestly don't know what corner of my mind this crawled out of but I just saw this episode and decided to write a fic with it. This is the first time I have ever written anything even remotely close to this but I thought I would give it a try. This will probably only be two or three chapters long but if enough people like it, I will develop it into a full story. And of course, because its me, this will eventually be E/O. Okay, enough stalling, here ya go. Fingers crossed.
He's pacing and she doesn't know what to do. Her heart is beating one-thousand times a minute and with every drop of sweat that slips from his forehead she gets more and more worried. Because he's pacing, and silent, staring at the floor, detached.
"Elliot?" She tries tentatively. She doesn't want to startle him, not when he is so on edge.
His knuckles are still bloody and he isn't sure whose blood it is. After the fight, after his old partner beat his own son, after Elliot took a swing in the boy's defense, after a swing became a punch, and a punch became more, until his ex-partner was lying on the ground with blood on his face, from Elliot's knuckles; and he's just pacing.
She didn't know what to do. He wanted to be left alone, he told her that, but she couldn't bring herself to leave him. So there they are, at her apartment, the only place where she can make sure he wont do anything stupid.
"Elliot, talk to me?" It's a question and he stares at her, unable, or unwilling, to look at the floor any longer. The tile is too shiny and he can see his reflection. He can see the blood on his face and the rage in his eyes.
So he turns to her, where he see no blood, no rage, just concern. She is sitting on the arm of her couch and he stalks over to her. He must look intimidating because he swears he just saw her flinch away. It was a small movement, without a trained eye no one could have noticed it.
But he did. He collapsed on the couch next to her and buried his head in his hands. Everyone was fucking afraid of him.
But then he felt her hand on his shoulder and relaxed a little as her palm stretched out over his back and began rubbing small circles.
He felt like a child, a fucking child that was being comforted after fucking up big time and knowing that it was only a matter of time before Daddy found out.
He grabbed her hand and stilled her movements. His eyes were dark as they stared into hers. He could see her heart breaking for him. He knew she saw the fear, the rage, and the pure carnal desperation for things to be different. He pulled at her hand and brought her to sit in hip lap.
Maybe it was because she felt sorry for him, maybe it was because she didn't know what else to do, or maybe it was because he was her best friend and she loved him and therefore was unable to deny him in his time of need.
Whatever the reason, she didn't pull back when he kissed her. Not even when the kiss turned angry and rough.
In fact, she didn't the opposite. She pulled him to her and ran her fingers through his short hair. But then she felt his hands on hers again, pulling and pinning them to her side as he wrapped his arms around her to keep her still.
He wanted, needed, to be in control. Normally, she would not have let it get to this. She liked control. She liked to say when and where and how but this was Elliot. This was the man that she could trust with her life.
So she relinquished the control. And she didn't care that he was on top of her, not even when he hastily ripped away their clothes and started roughly palming her breasts.
Even when he started thrusting and she yelped into his mouth at his size and the vigorous way he claimed her, she didn't mind.
Because she was enjoying herself.
And he didn't seem to mind at all when she started clawing at his back, being as harsh with him as he was with her.
It spurred him on, made him work faster, harder, each piercing thrust earning something between and scream and a moan from her, which he caught with his lips.
She could tell he was near his climax. Not only had his kisses turned to bites but he intensified his thrusts, burying himself so deep inside her she wondered if he would be able to find his way back out.
And then he was panting again, coming down from his high as he pulled out of her bruised body.
He collected his clothes, refusing to look at her the whole time he dressed. This made her nervous. Had she done something wrong, was he regretting this? She sat up on the couch and winced at the cramping in her legs and the painful pressure as she placed them together.
He looked at her then, as he handed her her blouse from off the floor.
She was silent, as was he, as he slowly began going over what had just happened in his head. He saw the blood on his knuckles from where he had hit Pete, he saw the blood on her neck from where he had bitten her, he saw her pathetic attempts to stand and walk over to him and her eventual failure as she collapsed back onto the couch.
He was afraid to look there too, knowing that if he looked where they had been sitting he would undoubtedly find the blood from where he had just fucked her into pieces.
And now it was his turn to be confused, because although he knew it was consensual he also felt like he had just used his best friend. Not only did he use her, but how he used her; it disgusted him and he didn't know if she could ever forgive him.
He walked into the kitchen and filled a glass with water, which he brought back to her. He could tell she was trying to say something but she seemed to be at a loss for words.
At least he wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say.
And Olivia wasn't even sure if she still possessed the capability of speech after he just fucked her like he did. Her body was still trying to recover enough to think, let alone talk. It was all she could do to sip the water and pray that she hadn't just made things worse.
Because his wife had left him, she had taken his kids, he was in trouble at work and the last thing he needed in his life was more crap to handle. She didn't want to be that to him. She didn't want to be something he had to handle.
She wanted to be his friend, his comfort zone, the one he would go to when his life was in shambles. She had been trying to comfort him. And apparently, he had been trying to pogo stick her.
At least that's how she felt, moments later, when he left her with nothing but a kiss on the top of her head and a million questions running through her mind.
So there she sat, alone in her apartment, stunned into silence, sipping a goddamned glass of water as Elliot was off to God knows where.
His hands were trembling as he knocked on her door. It was then that he realized they still had blood on them.
He couldn't believe himself, he couldn't believe how selfish he was. Not only did he use his best friend but he had disrespected her in one of the most cruel ways.
And if that wasn't the cherry on the top of his fucking day, he still had to talk to his Captain about what had happened earlier with their case. The case that he was working on with his partner, the woman who he just left, sore, confused , and probably angry, on her couch.
"Elliot", said , Dr. Hendricks, "Come in."
So, a little different, yes? I'm trying out some new genres. Let me know how I did.