A/N: Okay, I've pretty much lost my writing mojo, especially for SVU since the whole Tuckson crap broke, and this is my way of trying to get it back; AU EO post season 9.
Hope you enjoy, I wrote it all in pretty much a day.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
One month, two weeks, and four days. That's how long it's been since they had sex. That's how long it's been since he's had Olivia beneath him, her long body stretched by his; her nails digging into his flesh, her cries of pleasure reverberating off their bedroom walls. One month, two weeks, and three days since he's touched his fiancée in the most intimate of ways. And he fucking misses her.
When they'd moved in together, he thought he'd get to see her every minute of every day. Now he hardly saw her at all. Except for her occasional day off or in his mind, where he saw her all kinds of place; sitting on counter-tops, kissing him over coffee, falling asleep on the balcony, arguing on the sofa about what to watch until they decided to have sex instead; her mouth pressed up against his arm so his son wouldn't hear her moan the night's he stays with them.
Like everybody, they had their problems; ex-wives, adult children, dead fathers, long lost brothers, all fine. But he'd still never thought that he'd be home alone on a Sunday afternoon, counting backwards to the last time they'd made love. Part of him wondered if she, too, is concerned by this turn of events in their relationship or if, unlike him, she was just fine.
He doesn't get much time to ponder these thoughts much longer, however. A knock on his door jolts his from his daydreams. He checks his watch; 5:04pm on the dot. Getting to his feet, he drags his way to the door. When he opens it, he finds his neighbor - Mary? Melanie? Melissa? - awaiting him. She's dressed in a pair of low rise jean cut offs and an oversized sweater that clings to and simultaneously hangs off of her in all the right places. Her light brown skin glistens in the hall light and she smiles at him. She has to be the same age roughly, as Maureen.
"Hi, I'm Maria, I live a couple of apartments down. I seem to, uh, have a tiny problem I was wondering if you could help me with?" Her dark lashes flutter and a pink tint rises in her cheeks. She ducks her head low in embarrassment.
Elliot nods warily. "Depends, what's the problem?"
"Well, my bathroom sink is making this glug, glug sound, and this black sludge gunk is coming out of my sink. A 24 hour plumber is like half the cost of my tuition and I'm kinda broke...think you might know how to help me out? My dad's in Jersey and can't make into the city until tomorrow…"
She immediately reminds him of Maureen and he finds himself falling prey to her big brown eyes, and sighing, "I'm not a plumber, but let's see what I can do. Just let me get some shoes."
/
She's fucking exhausted. Every inch of her body is screaming and she's cursing herself for opting to take the stairs instead of the elevator. Why in the hell she'd agreed to this Quantico training, she'll never know. A month plus of back forth trips between DC and New York City have worn her down. Fatigued her to the point of no return.
Three more stairs.
Three more stairs and she finally makes it to the apartment she shares with her fiancé. She stands outside the door, fumbling with her keys, when she hears voices and music coming from inside the apartment. One very clearly belongs to Elliot, the other not so familiar. It sounds young, light, and feminine. Perhaps it's one of his daughter's friends.
The door opens, and Olivia's shuffles in, her purse almost slipping from her shoulder. She just wants a hot bath, a cold beer, and to cuddle with Elliot. Maybe she'd even find a way to let the surmounting tension out of her body. After all, it'd been too long since she and Elliot had been acquainted in the biblical sense.
But those thoughts go quickly out the door when her eyes set sight on the scene in front of her.
Elliot's dancing and laughing with some girl she doesn't recognize. A young, beautiful girl who's grabbing his bicep, laughing along with him at some inside joke that Olivia isn't privy to. She can't recall the last time that he laughed at something she'd said or done, let alone the last time they danced, yet here he is. Happy as a clam with some twenty-something kid on his arm dancing to Shakira or Beyoncé or whatever current top forty hit is blaring from her radio.
The jealousy starts in the pit of Olivia's stomach and it burns through her body. Her face is hot and the more she watches the pair, too caught up in whatever they're doing, to pay attention to her. Her anger filters through her body and she kicks the apartment door closed with her booted foot. The door closes with a harsh thud and the pair break apart, finally realizing that there's a third occupant in the room.
"Don't mind me," Olivia huffs, acid in her tone, "I just live here."
With that, she takes off to her bedroom and the door slams shut behind her.
/
Well, shit. Olivia's pissed. Elliot would know that tone in her voice anywhere. There'd been flames in her eyes as she'd stormed to their bedroom.
Oh, tonight was going to be fun.
Sighing, Elliot works a hand over his face and sucks his teeth. He looks at Maria, who seems to be in her own world, still bouncing along to the beat of the song. With some reluctance, he grabs the stereo remote and turns it off. He glances at his watch and sees that it's edging on a quarter past seven. He hadn't planned on an impromptu dance session with little Maria. After unclogging her bathroom sink, Elliot had trekked back to his apartment, and only moments later, Maria had returned. She brought with her hot brownies, endless thanks from both her Jersey locked father and herself. They'd made small talk about inconsequential things; weather, sports, and then Elliot's the conversation had morphed into music and the next thing Elliot had known he was dancing - badly with a kid young enough to be his daughter. It'd felt good to let loose for a moment, to laugh as this young girl tried to - in her words - make him stop moving like an old man.
Yet his happiness was short lived because now he's certain Olivia may kill him.
"Hey, Maria, I'd hate to cut this little adventure short, but…"
"I know Mr. S, your babe looks pretty mad. She's smoking, by the way. If you two don't work out, tell her I'm right down the hall. Anyways, thanks again. You saved me some money and my dad a high blood pressure." Maria smiles and shuffles to the door. It closes behind her with a click.
.
He opens his bedroom door to find Olivia pacing around the room. She's dressed in a pair of faded black track shorts that sit high up on her long legs, and a white, ribbed tank top. He can tell she's not wearing a bra, and he nearly comes in his pants at that realization alone; her mahogany tresses have been swept into a messy ponytail.
Olivia's eyes darken as she sees him. She immediately stops pacing and crosses the rooms, over to her night stand. Papers crinkle together and objects slam around as she searches the drawer until she finds what she's looking for; a pack of cigarettes that are rather worse for wear. Roughly, she tears one from the pack and stomps her way over to the window that leads to the fire escape. She rips open the window and sits down, her muscular thigh hanging out the window. Her shorts ride up, and Elliot can feel his dick twitch. He thinks of running his hands up her long legs, teasing the smooth skin of her taut thighs with his fingertips. He thinks of pulling her out of that windowsill and pressing her up against the wall, and fucking her until she can't stand straight.
The sound of a lighter flicking draws him from his thoughts. Olivia comes back into view and he sees her, cigarette hanging from her lips, eyes narrowed on him.
"Where's your girlfriend? Have to get home before the streetlights come on?" She spits and a light-bulb goes off in Elliot's head. Olivia's anger is jealousy.
"It's an apartment building, Liv; there are no streetlights."
If looks could kill, he'd be dead.
/
God, she wants to kill him. He's so damn infuriating, standing there in his sweats that hug his ass just right and his NYPD t-shirt, the one that clings to the hard planes of his granite body. No wonder why brown Barbie had had her hands all over him just moments ago. The man's body alone was something akin to a Greek god.
But she hates him.
"Fuck off, Elliot." She growls, taking a long drag on the cigarette. Smoke floods her system and she fights the urge to cough. She doesn't know how old these cigarettes are, but she's almost certain Bill Clinton was still president when she bought them. It's not like she made it a habit to smoke, only when she was beyond the point of no return.
"Jealousy is not a good look for you, Liv." He teases and she wants to beat him with his own arms.
She was not jealous. At least not that much. It's not like she had a reason to be jealous. It's not like twenty something year old was his ex-wife or something. No, she was just some random little girl...with perky tits and long brown legs; big brown eyes and a cute smile. She probably looked like a billion dollars in a bikini without even trying.
"I'm not jealous!" Olivia snaps, and she wonders what it'd be like to toss herself out the window just to stop this conversation. "Does she spend much time here when I'm gone?"
"Yeah, we go back, especially since you're never here anymore ever since you started that Quantico training."
Anger rises inside her and she fights the urge to shove him out of the bedroom and even the apartment. Images of he and his twenty-something in positions Olivia couldn't possibly get into in her forty plus years of age dance across her eyes and she has to fight the urge to throw something at Elliot.
He's being a bastard.
Okay, so maybe she's jealous and she has been gone, a lot, lately. Between Quantico and keeping up with her regular caseload, or at least trying to, she's pretty much been a ghost. They'd been living together now for six months (engaged for four) and for almost two of those six, she'd been living in FBI barracks. Her jealousy and anger morphs into regret and sadness, her face falling. A few errant tears slip down her cheeks. She brings the knee hanging out the window up to her chest and rests her chin on it, turning away from him so he can't see her cry.
When they'd started this - them - and he'd left SVU for homicide, she'd thought that they'd always be together. Now she saw barely saw him. The BAU (Behavior Analysis Unit) at Quantico took up the majority of her time, and she's sick of it.
"What is she, like twenty-two?" Her voice squeaks and she takes a drag on her cigarette, and then hangs her hand out the window. A part of her knows she's being irrational. Twenty-two and perky tits or not, Elliot wouldn't cheat on her. He wouldn't. But that doesn't stop her from feeling this way. What if he decides, one day, that he's sick of waiting for her, and wants the twenty two year old? Or even worse, his wife back.
"I really don't know, but I know that she's young enough to be my daughter…" Elliot's voice draws her from her thoughts. "Olivia…"
She turns her head to find him kneeling in front of her. He reaches a hand out and takes the cigarette that hangs forgotten from her fingers. Leaning out the window, he butts it against the building and then let's it fall the four stories to the ground. She watches as he grabs the crinkled pack of forgotten cigarettes and slips it into his sweatpants pocket.
"First, these cigarettes look older than Eli. No more smoking." He grips her free knee with his right hand, and uses it to nudge her towards him. Olivia relents, letting her leg drop to the ground until got her bare feet are resting on the floor. Elliot kneels between her legs, a hand rest on each thigh. Her tank top rides up, and the evening sun beats down on her back.
"Second," he continues, "Maria is more interested in you than me. Matter of fact, if we don't work out, she wants your number. You're, and I quote, a fucking fox."
Olivia chortles, ducking her head low. Salty tears slip down her cheeks and seep into his lips. She's so tired and so wound up. It's been the day from hell and all she wants is to relax in Elliot's arms, instead, she'd become a green eyed monster puffing on a pack of cigarettes she'd bought only God knows how long ago. "You're just saying that to pacify me. I saw the way she looked at you."
Its Elliot's turn to laugh as puffs of his warm breath hit her collarbone. He's so close that Olivia's body starts to respond to his proximity. She can feel her nipples harden against the almost threadbare tank top she'd thrown on in haste. They haven't had sex in forever.
"Tyra Banks could be covered in chocolate sauce, dressed in nothing but a thong and knee high boots, standing in our living room, waiting for me, and I'd still be in here with you." He tells her, his thick fingers skimming up her thighs and coming to rest on her waist. "What's the matter, Liv?"
"I'm sorry. I lost it. I'm just so tired."
/
Elliot nods knowingly. She looks tired. Hell, she looks worn down and out; she's been stretching herself far too thin lately, and he isn't helping the situation with backhanded comments. After all, he'd been the one to encourage her to take the courses offered at the BAU, and now here he was; becoming gruff with her because she'd had to spend time away from him.
Gently, he slips a strong arm around her waist and pulls her off the window's ledge until she's on the floor with him, a thigh on either side of his hips. Her big brown eyes stare back at him, and he can feel her hard nipples barely brush against his chest. He just wants her to rest, but perhaps pulling Olivia into his lap hadn't been his greatest idea; he can feel himself hardening.
"'S okay, Liv. I know you are. You've been doing a lot lately, but I want you to know that you're the only woman for me for the rest of my life. That's why I put that ring on your finger, and why I put this one on mine."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just got mad. She was making you laugh and smile. I never see you laugh or smile anymore. We're always missing each other because I'm going here or there. I miss you, El." Her voice is tiny and soft; he knows that she's trying to hold back more exhaustion fueled tears.
"Hey, baby, I'm here. Me and you. Look, you're even home when the sun's still up. Why don't you go take a nice warm shower, get all of the day's crud off of you, and we'll lay on the couch and watch Bad Boys. Let me be the jealous one this time as you drool over Will Smith's abs?"
Olivia sniffles, her hands that rest on his shoulders slip down his chest and she shakes her head, signaling her disagreement. Elliot's brows furrow together in confusion until he feels her hands seize his. Thin fingers wrap around his right wrist and she guides his hand into her shorts. His thick digits slide along her slick folds. Her mouth falls open ever so slightly and her head tilts back, exposing the long column of her neck to him.
"One month, two weeks, and three days since we last had sex." She nearly purrs. His fingers move of their own accord and he slips two inside of her easily. Her grip on his wrist tightens and she rocks against his hand. "I'm not that tired."
Elliot grins, his lips trail up her neck and find hers. Their mouths mesh together with the fury of almost two months of absence. He slips his tongue into her mouth, his fingers work her through; he revels in how sweet she tastes and how wet she is, solely for him. He enjoys the melodic moans that fall from her lips and his dick strains against his sweats. In due time, he knows, he'll have his turn. He'll slither up her body and slip her thighs over his hips as he fucks into her nice and slow.
But for now, he thinks, this is exactly what she needs from him. And he's more than happy to oblige.
So come here. Let me love those bruises out of you.
We'll love like children with a box of bandages- we won't ask where it hurts.
We'll just kiss all of it.
-Ashe Vernon, "Robin's egg (heartbreak)