A/N: Okay, so I'm a day late and a dollar short for Christmas so sue me. I spent yesterday family hoping and cooking. I know, I fail.
Anyways, this is for my lil sunshine Fern. I shoved as many subtle EO clichés in a I could think of. Hope you enjoy and Happy (late) Birthday my dear.
I make no promises about updating other fics in the last five days of the year so if I don't, here's a Happy New Year to tide you ever.
Merry whatever you do or don't celebrate!
Hope you enjoy and please review!
Christmas in Budapest
And give me one good reason why I should never make a change
Baby if you hold me than all of this will go away
He watches her intently, catching snowflakes on the tip of her tongue like a child uninhibited by the woes of the world. Each of her gloved hands is outstretched, her mouth opened, head tilted back, and eyes nearly crossed as she stalks her crystallized prey. He can't remember the last time he's seen her like this, so unguarded, unburdened, and free to just enjoy herself. Hell, he isn't certain he's ever seen her like this (at least not without a few drinks in her). Snow crunches beneath her boots, giggles fall from her lips; she's a sight for sore eyes, even bundled up in an oversized coat, thick black sweat pants, and a floppy winter hat.
It's Christmas Eve and they've been traipsing through the upper West Side Manhattan portion of Central Park for a little over an hour now on a destination to nowhere. His kids are spending Christmas Eve with their mother and his ex-in-laws; he's spending it with his 'I-can't-call-you-my-boyfriend-we're-both-over-forty-so-don't-call-me-your-girlfriend', girlfriend.
And there's nowhere else he'd rather be, either, to be honest. She's fought him tooth and nail, incessantly insisting that he spend his night with his children. She'd even gone on call just to force his hand, but to no avail. His children weren't going anywhere and truth be told, he didn't exactly feel like spending Christmas, when no longer obligated to, with his in-laws. Besides, he's meeting with his (sometimes) angels tomorrow morning for present opening and morning mass, which he plans on inviting her to attend (which he also knows she'll bow out of gracefully in fear that she's intruding on some super top secret family event).
In front of him, Olivia continues to blindly chase snow. He smiles, chuckling to himself and wondering how they'd gotten here. Last year they'd both spent the oddly crime free Christmas Day in shared misery. He'd just signed divorce papers and was trying to find a way to cope with his daughter's illness, she'd been learning to navigate and deal with life post Harris.
Together they'd thrown back far too many rum-spiked eggnog, and fumbled their inebriated way back to her apartment. One thing had led to another and lines that'd been so thinly etched in stone were eroded; clothes shed in the need for comfort, forcibly ignored passion imploded, and their paths irrevocably changed.
For months they'd fought their mutual attraction, putting the job between what they'd both known since Gitano (him, pre Gitano): they were in love with each other.
A year later, here they are, chasing snowflakes like children.
Clumsy clunky children who can't stay upright apparently because just as Elliot prepares himself to join Olivia in her pursuit, she trips on her own two feet and goes sailing to the snow covered ground with a soft thud.
All Elliot can do is watch and laugh.
/
Sometimes, she still can't believe she's here. With him. That life has given her everything she's ever wanted when, for so long, she was its proverbial punching bag. Just a year ago she was sitting at her desk, running on three hours of sleep, waiting for the next perp to strike whilst eating stale takeout and watching her grumpy pace in frustrated circles.
Now almost exactly a year later, his bed has become her home; his body her shelter from the cold. He's everything to her, but the path to him hadn't always been an easy one. For so many years she'd denied the feelings for him. Feelings that, contrary to what she liked to tell herself, hadn't blossomed from thin air; they'd always been there, it'd just taken her a while to realize, and even longer for her to act upon.
Not that she didn't want to act on the flutter feeling in the pit of her stomach she'd always get whenever he'd smile at her from across their shared desk. It was just that, he'd never been available. He'd never just been Elliot. He'd come with a list of modifiers: husband, father, partner, and best friend. Modifiers that all equated to flashing road signs of danger, sharp turns and narrow roads ahead.
Yet somehow…
He's watching her blindly chase snowflakes like a little kid.
She doesn't even have to look up to know he is; she always knows when he is because his eyes do something to her. They bore holes into the invisible shield she slips into place to keep people from getting too close; they crack her chest open with just a flash of those baby blues, and expose her underneath their unrelenting gaze. She can't hide from him. For so long she tried, but it's useless – futile at best. There'd been a period in their partnership, when she'd just gotten back from Oregon, where his gaze, those oceans, whenever they landed on her felt as if they were going to drown her. Hate, anger, rage, accusation, relief, and above all, hurt swirled in his irises whenever he'd look at her. It'd all been too much and she'd almost gone under, snatched by the raging current brewing in the storm that'd become her partner.
Looking back now, she thinks of how, had she given in and let herself be swept out to sea, things between them would've gone nowhere. Closure with his now ex-wife at that point had only been surface, and Olivia wasn't exactly the stability he'd needed considering the mess she'd had in her own lap.
But all things happened for a reason (or rather she chooses to believe) and just three years later, she has her man. She refuses to call him her boyfriend (a fact that still upsets him because Kurt had been given the dubious title of 'boyfriend'). She tells him that she doesn't like to call him her boyfriend because she feels too old for such frivolous title when, in reality, she doesn't feel like the term sums up what exactly he is to her.
He's everything, though she knows he can't say the same about her; his children come first, which she loves about him. Which is why she'd almost refused to shuffle out of her apartment on Christmas Eve to traipse about the park with him. She'd wanted him to take the day to be with his kids, especially his younger son, but he'd refused, mumbling something about Christmas day mass.
So she'd acquiesced to his pleas of a Christmas Eve together, one that wouldn't begin with rum spiced eggnog and shared melancholy.
Besides, she's having fun chasing snowflakes under his watchful eye. She feels young again – carefree and relaxed. That is, until she spins a little too hard, the glow of the street lamp momentarily blinding her post turn. She goes down with a thud; mouth parted in confusion as her back hits a pile of fresh, untouched snow.
Snow sticks to her gloves, slips underneath her hat, and slides down her neck.
She stares at the sky in disbelief. Somehow she's chased perps city blocks, but still manages to trip over her own two feet while chasing snow; cold snow that's slowly melting its way into her clothes and subsequently ruining two hundred dollars worth of fancy lingerie. Why did she wear his Christmas present out for a late night stroll?
"Fuck…" Olivia huffs. Footsteps crunch against the snow and a shadow slips across her face, effectively blocking out the bright moonlight. Elliot. And he's laughing. Loud and uninhibited, Elliot laughs at her, his oversized frame shaking. He doubles over at his knees; a shoulder slumped forward and he extends a hand out to her.
Olivia's eyes narrow, "Something funny jackass?" she hisses, batting at his hand as she turns on her side in an attempt to get up. The melting snow slowly creeping up her back sends shivers up her spine.
"Yeah, watching you bust your ass on an invisible tripwire. Take my hand," he ushers a patronizing grin on his face as intermittent bouts of laughter shake his form.
"I hate you."
"No you don't." he responds self assuredly. "Take my hand baby."
Okay, she'll take his hand just as she has millions of times before and just as she will a million times more, but not before she wipes that grin off his face. She knows she has to be quick about it. He's old but his cop instincts and marine reflexes are very much still intact.
With a roll of the eyes, she grabs his hand, but instead of pulling herself up, she tosses a fistful of snow in his direction and sweeps his legs out from underneath him with her own. He sails to the ground next to her with a resounding yelp and she jumps on his chest.
It's her turn to laugh as she piles more snow onto his face and even slips a bit into his jacket and up his shirt. He jumps beneath her and she giggles, but keeps her weight centered, her knees helping to pin him down.
"Need a hand up baby?"
/
His ass is cold, his face is cold, and there's snow melting beneath his shirt. Silently he curses himself, knowing better than to underestimate the woman sitting on top of him.
Snow seeps into his jeans and the cold starts to settle into his bone. If he stays beneath her for much longer, he'll really know what blue balls are.
"A fistful of snow, cute." he mutters, reaching for a handful of snow to toss back at her, but she catches onto him last minute and pins his hands above his head.
"Not laughing now, are you?" she grins; her eyebrows crinkle together in the middle of her forehead. Her thighs are like a vice grip around him, her hair pools around her face, peeking out from beneath her hat, and Elliot's dick twitches.
There's nothing more he'd like to do than grab her hips and buck upwards but there's a few factors preventing him. The first being, of course, that they're in public, and two SVU officers being arrested for dry humping each other in the snow wouldn't exactly go over well with the department. The second is that he's pretty certain that his ass is frozen to the ground.
"Liv, you've gotta let me up…"
She cracks a crooked smile in his direction, her brown eyes bright against the moonlight. "Come on, Stabler. Are you getting old on me? We used to spar all the time. You tellin' me you couldn't get me up if you wanted to?"
Oh he could.
And he has. Hell, just last night he'd held her against her apartment wall with little strain – or protest from her. He has the scratches on his back to prove it.
So he does. Unceremoniously he flips them, a yelp tearing from Olivia's lips as she lands against the snow, her body making a soft thud on impact. She stares at him, bemusement dancing in her eyes as he rests between her hips.
"You sonofbitch, there's snow in my pants now!" she cries in disbelief, her hands passively splayed above her head in shock still.
"You mean my pants, and you're the one who started it. Besides, I was getting blue balls and frozen ass from you sitting on top of me."
She shoves at his chest, and he can see the smile, despite her show of bravado, tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're gonna have blue balls and a silent night if you don't get off of me."
Elliot chuckles, white puffs of warm breathe falling from his lips. He leans over and crushes her arms between them, drawing her bottom lip in between his own. He suckles it slowly, before slipping his tongue into her mouth, and drawing her into a full on searing kiss. When he pulls back, her lips are still parted and cherry red; her eyes are closed and he swears to God that she's humming beneath him.
"You sure I'll be the only one having blue balls?"
/
Sometimes, she really hates him. Right now is one of those moments. He rolls his hips into hers and she can't help the moan that slips from her lips. Even through the multi-layers of clothing she's wrapped herself in, to face the ice winter winds, she can feel him pressed against her.
"Huh, Liv?" He murmurs again, his breath hot against her cheek. "Not laughing now, are you?" he returns her words verbatim.
God she hates how cocky he is and how much her body responds to it, only serving to further inflate his already over inflated ego.
Beneath him she shifts. The clasp of her lace red stockings dig into her thighs and her butt tingles from the cold. Snow's slowly but surely seeping through the thick material of the gray sweat pants she'd stolen from the drawer of his things he keeps in her apartment.
"Fuck you, Elliot, let me up."
"Why don't you make me? Remember, we used to spar all the time. You've taken me once or twice…."
She's going to be taking him to the hospital if he doesn't move soon. Not only is he being annoyingly cocky and self-assured, but also he's ruining two hundred dollars worth of lingerie and his Christmas present in the process.
"Elliot!"
His lips crash down onto hers once again and she swears she can feel the earth spin beneath her freezing bottom. Her nose is running and the cold bites into her cheeks, but his lips keep the warmth running through her veins.
Finally he pulls away. Her eyes catch sight of the stars as he stands up and she wonders how she got her. How, on Christmas Eve of all days, she's playing in the snow with her boyfriend like two love-struck teens.
A hand wraps around her arm and Elliot hauls her to her feet. She's covered in snow and out of breath, her knees are unsteady, and her legs are like cooked noodles.
"My ass is frozen," she growls, though there's little anger in her tone. She's more annoyed at herself for deciding to wear the red lace getup underneath her sweats. She'd had a vision in her head of a nice walk through Central Park, maybe a horse drawn carriage, and then letting him unwrap her afterwards as a nightcap. Frostbite on her ass and snow in her thong hadn't exactly been in the picture.
"Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?" Elliot smirks playfully; he brushes a hand along her snow-covered backside.
"The only thing you're kissing tonight is your hand." She lies, leveling him with her hardest glare before pulling out of his hold.
"Sure about that?"
She bends down to reach for a fistful of snow to toss at him, but is met with a snowball to the chest.
"Oh you ass!" Olivia howls and the game is on.
Yelling intermingles with giggles and laughter as they toss snow at each other until they're both breathless and covered in white dust.
/
His teeth chatter from the cold as they shuffle into his apartment. Olivia files in before him and makes a beeline straight for his bedroom; the door slams shut behind her and he swears he can hear the lock turn.
He can't tell if she's mad at him for the snow fight she'd equally participated in or if she's just really fucking cold. Either way, he needs her to hurry up doing whatever because the ice is settling into his bones. Matter of fact, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and drags it over his head, ice chips fall out in chunks, clunking against the ground. He does the same with his pants, kicking them off and leaving them in the small kitchen separated from the living room by the breakfast bar his youngest loves to sit at to eat his cheerios in the morning.
The plush carpet is soft against his cold feet as he shuffles over to the thermostat. He slides behind the Christmas tree almost as tall as he is, decorated by his children in gaudy bright lights and even brighter ornaments. Elliot finds the dial and turns it to 73 before ambling down the small hall off of the living room, to his bedroom. The door's still shut so he brings his scarred knuckles across the hollow wood.
"Come on, Liv," he beckons, "you can't be mad at me. You threw snow too."
But she doesn't answer. He can hear her muffled movements through the door.
"Olivia, come on. It's Christmas Eve; you can't lock me out of my own bedroom. Besides, I know how I can apologize to you for the snow I shoved down your – my – pants."
When she still doesn't budge, Elliot rolls his eyes. Well, if she was going to be stubborn, two could play that game that was a given. He could be just as stubborn as she is.
He stalks away from the door and back to his kitchen. A set of photo booth photos of he, Olivia, and Eli from their Santa Claus visit the week prior greets his. In the photo, his two year old has his tiny arms wrapped around Olivia's neck; his bright baby blues stare lovingly at the brunette who returns the love in the child's eyes. Elliot watches them from the corner of the booth, almost out of the frame.
The second photo in the series is of both Olivia and Elliot making funny faces as Eli throws his head back in laughter, his blonde curls bright against the camera light.
The third and final photo is probably Elliot's favorite. Eli sits between them, his eyes trained straight at the camera, an almost toothless grin spread cheek-to-cheek, oblivious to the display of affection occurring behind him. Usually never one for gratuitous displays of public affection, Elliot had caught Olivia off guard by kissing her in the booth at just the right moment. In the photo her normally tanned cheeks are flushed red, her eyes closed as Elliot's mouth descends on hers.
Olivia had fought with him for a week about leaving it up for all of his kids to see, much to his amusement. He knew why she didn't want to leave it up; she didn't want to upset his children, but Elliot knew better. Aside from a small bump in the road regarding his eldest son, his children welcomed the shift in dynamics between Elliot and his partner. Hell, his eldest daughter had even gone to the jewelry story with him to pick out the dark blue jewelry box that rested in the nightstand next to his side of the bed.
Sighing and reserving himself to a less than festive Christmas Eve night, Elliot smiles once more at the photo in front of him and swings the refrigerator door open.
His fingers close around the neck of a cold beer bottle when he hears his bedroom door swings open followed by soft music; the sounds of I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas filter from his bedroom stereo.
Someone's feeling festive, he thinks, smiling as he brings the beer bottle to his mouth. He can hear her feet shuffle along the floor.
"Elliot…" she calls out, her voice soft, perfectly mixing with the soft tempo of the slow song.
At the sound of her voice, he turns around and almost drops his beer bottle.
/
"Elliot," Olivia calls out, and she's surprised by the sound of her own voice, of how light and soft it sounds, sitting just above the soft hum of the Christmas music.
She almost can't believe that she's doing this; that she's standing in the middle of his living room wearing cleverly position red lace and a green ribbon tied in a bow on her ass. Her longish hair is mussed and fluffed, her lips sheathed in a shiny gloss.
He stares at her, almost as if he's never seen her before. She can feel the goosebumps that form over her skin and whether it's from the look he's giving her or the night they'd spent playing in frozen water, she can't be sure.
His eyes travel over the cleavage barely concealed from her red lace bra, her bare stomach, the garter skirt that so perfectly matches the bra, and stockings that accentuate her long, dark legs. She watches him stop when he notices her footwear; she's slipped on a pair of black heels that make her as tall as him.
She can almost swear he's stopped breathing.
"Merry Christmas-" the words barely roll off her tongue when he stalks towards her, purpose in his gait. He looks as if he's about to catch his prey, something that belongs to him. There's lust in his eyes and a grin on his lips as he seizes her waist, backing her against the nearest wall. His mouth descends on hers in a searing kiss, before he pulls away.
He bends down, licking his tongue methodically down the center of her breasts. Her back arches off the wall, a hiss escapes her lips.
There's so much more she wants to tease him with, like the green bow on her ass that keeps the lace tied together, but the words don't escape her lips. Especially not when his tongue glides down her stomach and his hands are lifting her lifting each of her thighs over his shoulders. His mouth is soft, warm, and inviting as his plants soft kisses along her supple flesh. She slides her fingers through the short strands of his hair, pulling his mouth closer to her body. His breath hits the places left moist by his touch, and she shivers the moment he's back at her mouth, the moment he pulls away and slides back up her body.
Her knees almost buckle, but luckily enough he keeps her pinned in place, both by his hard body and intense gaze. She can feel his erection press against the scrap of lace between her legs. It hits her as she feels his stomach against hers that somehow he's lost his clothes too.
She reaches for the waistband of his boxer-briefs, but his hands close around her wrists, successfully halting her movements. He brings her hands to rest above her head and purposefully bucks into her.
Santa's naughty list, here they come.
"You just knew you were getting lucky?" Olivia pants, referring to his lack of dress, and sliding a stocking clad foot down the back of his bare thigh, her heels discarded on the floor.
"Were you wearing this while we were playing in the snow?"
She nods, leaning forward to bite at his lower lip and press her breasts gently against his chest. Her nipples peak hard and tight against the lace. "Now you see why my ass was cold…or you will if you let me turn around."
Elliot dips his tongue inside of her mouth, returning his kiss. He drops one of his hands from her and trails it to don to her ass, squeezing it. "Feels nice and warm to me now, but I'd still like to inspect it. You fell pretty hard, need to make sure there's no bruises."
Her body arches into his, her legs widening, and he pulls her hard against him so that she can feel his cock strain against the material of his briefs. She jerks her hands out of his hold and reaches for the waistband of his briefs, forcing them down around his ankles.
Olivia lifts her right leg, her heel brushing against his ass. Through the thin lace, she can feel him press himself against her clit. Her head lolls back against the drywall and she moans, a long drawn out sound that vibrates in her ears. He moves rhythmically, holding her against the wall until she can barely breathe, a flood building between her legs. She's finding it hard to stand and her body's aching.
"Take them off, my underwear…in the back…" she grates, voice hoarse as he bucks into her once more. "Please…"
"Nu-uh," he replies, his voice vibrating across her skin, his teeth meeting the base of her throat and sucking on the tender flesh until she's certain he's left a mark. "It's my Christmas present, right?"
"Come on, El…I can't, I can't do this with underwear on."
His lips trail hot kisses along her throat; his hands crawl around waist and down to her ass until she can feel him grip the bow in his calloused fingers. He hands yank on the ribbon, but it doesn't budge. Olivia's nails bite into his shoulders in frustration and want; Elliot's dick is hard against her thigh.
He fumbles with the ribbon, yanking on it harder, but still, it doesn't budge. "Sonofabitch," he growls, clearly as impatient as she is. "How the hell did you tie this thing?"
"It's just a bow, Elliot…let me—"
A ripping sound alerts her to just how impatient he is. The garter skirt falls to the floor, ripped in half.
"I swear to God, Elliot, if you just ripped 200 dollars worth of lingerie…" she doesn't get the chance to finish her sentence because he's inside her then, having pushed aside the lace thong. The words die on her tongue and her mouth falls opened. He grips the backs of her thighs and wraps her legs around his waist.
"Tell me you care more about that piece of cloth than this," he pulls out of her just enough before slamming back into her, her back hits the wall and her nails bite into his shoulder blades. "And I'll stop right now…" again he pulls out of her, this time all the way, though he remains poised at her entrance.
"Elliot…" she hisses, trying – and failing – to guide him back inside her with her hips.
"That's what I thought…"
There goes that cockiness again, one of these days she's going to kill him because of it.
"El—" again the words die on her tongue as he thrusts into her. His name tears from her throat, and her body bounces against the wall. If her ass wasn't bruised before, it will be by the time they're done.
His breath is hot against her neck and she holds onto his shoulders for dear life as he fucks into her. His movements alternate between short punishing strokes and long languid strokes that keep her head lolling back on her neck. His head dips low and he bites at the top of her still clothed breasts and thrusts into her harder and harder, over and over again until she feels herself tighten around him. She holds him like a vice; vibrating around him as his movements become increasingly erratic. The next thing she knows, he's coming too.
He drops his forehead against her lips, and she can feel his chest pressed against hers. His heartbeat flutters against her chest and she can hear him panting. One set of fingers find her bra strap and the other tangles in her hair. He smiles as their eyes meet.
"Next round, I want my present completely unwrapped."
/
She's a vision in gray as she sits at the breakfast bar, using her fingers to pick at cold Chinese food. Her long bronze legs peek out from beneath his gray NYPD t-shirt, her hair's rumpled, her lips swollen, and a litany of hickeys line her body. Most are in spots invisible to the naked eye except for one he knows she's going to kill him over later. She called them property markers and though he wouldn't admit it to her, that's exactly what he'd been doing; marking her as his. Laughable, he knows, because she belongs to no one, but you couldn't blame the man for trying. Besides, he's sure her nail marks that slice across his back are the equivalent of hickeys anyways.
After their dalliance against the wall, they'd managed to make it as far as his couch before they were screaming each other's names again. This time, as promised, Elliot had completely unwrapped his gift. Her bra, stockings, and thong now litter the floor, joining his underwear and snow-saturated clothes.
"I'm gonna eat all of this if you don't get over here…" she mumbles in between mouthfuls of Mu Shu Pork.
Elliot smiles, lazily making his way across the room, dressed solely in a pair of tattered maroon sweatpants that hang low on his hips. In his pocket rests a small jewelry box and he can feel his nerves starting to get the best of him. He'd never planned on asking her this question like this, he'd planned on doing it Christmas morning, but figures now is just as good a time as any. After three orgasms in a row, she's nice and relaxed, which he hopefully means she won't run away before the words even leave his lips.
"Eggnog and Chinese, what are we, college co-eds?" he questions playfully, sinking his chin into her right shoulder and snuggling into her from behind.
"I haven't been a co-ed in at least twenty years, but this is a lot better than the shit I ate then. Ramen with peanut butter and jelly isn't exact a combination I'd like to repeat." She shudders and
Elliot snuggles closer; his lips find their way to the side of her neck.
"If you put one more hickey on me, I swear to God I will shoot you with your own gun…" she mumbles, mouth full of rice. "I don't do property markers…."
He chuckles, his lips ghosting over her neck once more before he pulls back. "I couldn't help myself earlier," he informs her, his eyes landing on the purple bruise that rests right at the base of her neck. "You came out and I lost control…"
She rolls her eyes, "You just couldn't help yourself – bastard."
"Besides, it was my Christmas present." He grins, taking the seat next to her. One of his hands finds her bare thigh and squeezes it gently. Beneath his hand he can see small bruises marring her smooth skin in the shape of his lips and fingertips. He smiles thinking of how her thighs had clamped down around his head only moments ago.
"It's safe to say you enjoyed it, too."
"I did." Elliot confirms, grabbing the Chinese takeout carton from her. She takes a sip of the eggnog sitting on the counter in front of her and then hops down from her stool and walks over to the tree.
He watches her pluck a candy cane from one of the higher up branches and rip it open, plopping it into her mouth and sucking on it. Her movements send chills up his spine and he has to avert his gaze away from her mouth before he can't control himself, again.
Clearly his throat, he picks through the Mu Shu Pork, noting that she's left some baby corns for him when he knows they're her favorite. "Are you sure I can't talk you into mass tomorrow with me and the kids?" he asks softly, hoping that a Christmas miracle might occur and she'll concede to spending the day right where she belongs: with him.
"I told you, El; I don't want to intrude on your time with them. Besides, you know Kathleen's going away to Italy in January and Maureen's starting her job at the Columbia legal aid bureau You'll barely get to see them. They don't want me hanging around."
Her words couldn't be more wrong if she'd tried. His kids love her, but no matter how many times he tells her that, they seem to filter in one ear and out the other. "Come on, Liv. You know that's not true. Lizzie adores you, for one –"
"Yeah because she can talk to me about things that she feels like she can't talk to you and Kathy about. Things that, if Maureen and Kathleen were around more, she wouldn't need me for."
"Things like what?" Elliot asks, affronted, but is met with an infamous Olivia eye roll.
"Don't worry about it, you know if she was in trouble I'd tell you."
"Look at that, you're already keeping secrets with my kids, come on, Liv. Christmas mass isn't exciting, but it's time for families to be together and you are my family."
And it's now or never, he thinks, slipping his hand into his pocket. He slides off the stool and slowly walks towards her, afraid that she might run. When she doesn't, he closes the space between their bodies and wraps a hand around her wrist. He guides her back to the breakfast bar as she chomps down on her candy cane.
"Look, Liv, you've been apart of my life now for eleven years. The last year has been by far one of the best years of my life. Getting to know you are more than my partner, as more than a friend, has been . . . shit I'm bad at words," he pauses, sighing as he lets go of her wrist and runs his hand down his face in frustration, "look, Liv, I love you. I'm in love with you and have been for a while and that's why, I –" he gets down on bended knee, pulling out the ring box.
"Olivia Benson, will you –"
A face full of candy cane and a sputtering Olivia effectively halts his words.
/
She almost chokes on her candy cane when she sees him get down on his knees, and she almost looses consciousness when he cracks the lid of the box to reveal a ring inside.
She's going to kill him; she's going to fucking kill him. The nerve! The damn nerve he has to propose to her - to catch her off guard like this on Christmas Eve.
"Don't finish that sentence, Elliot. Don't."
"Look, Liv. I'm–"
"We've been together a year. A year. What if we don't work out, what if you wake up one day and realize you want your wife back, your life. That I'm not the one you want?" Her words come out in a stream of conscious and she doesn't realize that she's gotten up and began to pace until Elliot grabs her by the shoulders. He's got a piece of peppermint lodged in his right eyebrow and a stupid endearing grin plastered to his face.
"Olivia, I have the life I want. Right here, with you. I'm not going back to my ex-wife, that chapter of my life is closed. I may have not been able to see it a couple of years ago, but I more than see it now. You're the woman I want –"
"But what if—"
"Look," he grabs one of her hands and leads her back over to the breakfast bar. "Maybe getting down on one knee wasn't exactly the way to go about this." He pulls the box out of his pocket again. "This is, but it isn't an engagement ring. It's more of a 'I promise to propose' ring because you will be the woman I spend the rest of my life with."
Olivia's brows furrow together. When did she her ex-partner who used to punch lockers for sport suddenly become Mr. Sentimental?
"I wanted to give it to you today, though, because it was tonight a year ago that we started this – us." He takes the ring out of its box and it's not an engagement ring. It's a delicate, though elegant, gold band with interlocking hearts in the middle of it.
She can feel the tears sting her eyes and a lump rises in her throat. She thinks back to that night, a year prior, and how they'd both been in bad shape; he with his divorce and she, still reeling post Harris. She never thought they'd be here. She never thought they'd both get over their egos and stubbornness long enough to fall in love. But they had. And there is no turning back any more. She wants no one else, and is almost certain no one else will put up with her the way he does.
"I really hate you sometimes," she mutters though there's no malice to her tone. Her bottom lip trembles as she nods, leaning up to brush the peppermint from his eyebrow. She holds out her left hand and wiggles her ring finger. "Go ahead and put it where it belongs because whenever you ask, the answer will be yes."
/
Whenever you ask, the answer will be yes.
He almost has half a mind to ask now, but knows better than to push his luck. The tears are pooling in her eyes and he wonders just when his tough as nails, uncompromising partner became this weeping woman, moved to tears by a simple ring.
Elliot fumbles for a moment with the ring before managing to slide it out of the box. His fingers shake as he slides it down her finger and into place. He'd planned on sliding it onto her right hand, to sit above the ring she never takes off, the one that had been a gift from her mother, but much prefers the position it slides into now.
Once it's on her hand, she leans forward and presses her lips against his. The kiss is chaste, soft, and plays in start contrast to the heated kisses they'd exchanged earlier. She tastes like peppermint, soy sauce, and a taste that is uniquely her.
As she pulls back, a soft smile forms on her lips. "I suppose you should call me your not fiancée – fiancée now then?"
Elliot chuckles before bringing his lips back down onto hers. "Merry Christmas baby."