Law and Order: SVU is the intellectual property of Dick Wolf. The use of the characters, settings, and plotlines is not malicious. This is a work of fiction.
It had been a long night. A rough one. After her paramour had slipped out of bed and into the dark night, she's stayed up and, for the first time, let the full weight of the situation fall on her.
She had always been stronger than anyone ever gave her credit for, both physically and mentally. She could bring down men three times her size, lift and bench with the big boys at the gym, and the fact that she survived her child was a testament to the power of her emotional tenacity. But when it came to him, she was weak. So fucking weak.
She gave into his every need, every time. She became putty in his hands and allowed him to mold, shape, manipulate, control. Usually, if someone told her what to do, she'd throw a punch or two and tell them to fuck off, but she acquiesced and obeyed when it came to him.
Knowing the risks, the wrongness, the morally and legally depravity of it evoked, she caved. The first time she gave in seemed like a lifetime ago. It had become a last resort, either let their desires win, or lose each other, lose themselves, lose everything.
It was supposed to be one night, one moment where nothing else mattered and they satisfied a long-had craving. It was supposed to be a way to give each other what they needed, an act of mutual comfort and the means to keep each other from falling off the edge. It was supposed to be a release of frustration and pent-up aggression. It's seemed laughable to her now, because they should have known once would never have been enough, that one time would show them what they'd been missing and what they needed now to be whole and complete. Maybe they did know. Because without conversation, without question or pause, "once" became "as-often-as-possible."
The most confounding thing, she realizes, is her willingness and, yes, desire to bend to his will. No one who knew her would ever use the word "submissive" to describe her. Hell, no one would use any word that had the slightestly similar definition. But for him, she was.
She smirked, then, and let the cotton sheets fall a little farther off of her body. She could be dominate for him, too, and, fuck, she loved the nights where it was her, bringing him to his knees and making him the pliable one. But her smile faded as she caught sight of the glowing red numbers on the clock beside the bed. There would be no point in trying to sleep, now, she confirmed to herself, inching closer to the edge of the bed.
Her mind shot back to him, though, when the movement across the mattress sent his scent wafting upward, and it hit her with another gross realization.
It had been years. Years. And though they were monogamous in the ways that really mattered, he made no effort to make anything more of what they had than...what it was. It was another secret they had to keep, for each other, for the sake of their jobs and his family. Another night where he had to pry himself away from her before sunrise, though he professed how much it killed him and how badly he wanted to stay, with tears in his eyes as he pulled on his clothes and left her alone again.
They had a few days, rare occasions when they spent the night completely, where they woke together and he made breakfast and they cuddled and for a little while it felt real. She groaned, snapping out of her daze, and rolled her eyes at herself. She was so fucking weak, she thought as she finally got out of the bed. She sighed as she headed over to her closet.
Grabbing a black and purple striped crew-necked shirt, she bit her lip. As she reached for a pair of black pants, she scraped her teeth along her lip and let out another harsh breath. She tossed the clothes onto the bed, making mental notes of which set of underwear to choose today.
Chuckling, she recalled their first time together, and the look of amazed lust on his face when he pulled off her clothes. She hadn't been planning on anyone seeing her bra or panties that night, let alone him, but when he ran his fingers over the delicate silk, he had told her how he'd always known she was the type to go for feminine matching sets, that beneath her hardened shell she was all woman. Since then, she'd chosen specific pairs in hopes of him seeing her in them, in effort to garner specific reactions. "Red," she said to herself, smirking. She loved how he reacted to the red ones. She grabbed two rings and a necklace, a silver chain with a small, round pendant on it, off of her dresser and set them on top of the pants with a small smile. She took another breath, gave another sigh, chastising herself for showing her weakness for him again, and then padded barefoot and naked into the bathroom.
She pushed aside the plastic shower curtain, turned the water knobs until the perfect temperature flowed from the faucet, and then pushed the small lever, switching on the shower head.
She was about to climb over the edge of the tub, let the water wash away the guilt and the grime and the remains of him that enveloped her, when she heard a key in the door. She stilled, froze, and listened. She heard the knob turn, the door creak open and slam shut, and his heavy footsteps along the hardwood.
She heard something drop, a flopping sound on the carpet of her bedroom just beyond the bathroom door. She bit her lip, knowing it was him, but she closed her eyes and figured he would make himself comfortable. She stepped underneath the hot stream of water, letting it pour over her, trying to relax. She closed her eyes, let her head fall forward, and reached up to grab her body wash off of the shelf.
As her fingers curled around it, she heard the bathroom door open, and again she stopped moving. She turned her head in time to see the curtain slide, and she watched his body of pure muscle come into view as he stepped into the shower. Transfixed, she stared, her eyes dancing over every inch of him making her throat and mouth go dry and other parts of her get wetter. She blinked.
"What are you doing back here?" she asked, hoping she sounded less like a dying frog to him than she did to herself.
He chuckled as he moved toward her, his fingers trailing up her body. He reached higher, trickling his fingertips along her arm, and grabbed the bottle out of her hand. "What do you think?"
She narrowed her eyes as he squirted some of the fresh-scented soap into his open palm. "Something wrong with your shower?" She held back a moan when his hands hit her skin.
He rubbed her shoulders and back, the soap forming a lather on her body. He didn't bother stifling his own moans as he lavished her with attention, washing her. "Yeah," he said, "You're not in it."
She raised a brow.
He took one of her hands in his, squirted some of the body wash onto it, and then let the plastic bottle fall as he brought her hands to his chest. He closed his eyes when she began to massage him. "I walked into that house and I realized, it's not home. It hasn't been in years." He let out a groan and wrapped his hands around her wrists, dragging her hands lower on his body before he settled his own palms on her hips and began kneading at her flesh. "I'm home now," he whispered, and then bent his head and claimed her lips in a heated kiss.
She didn't ask him what he meant, but she lost herself in him. Kissing him back with fervor, her hands moved of their own volition now, between his legs, the slick and soapy lather making it easy to stroke him. "Elliot," she gasped in a whisper, feeling two of his thick fingers invade her fast and start thrusting hard.
"Liv," he ground out against her lips. "Baby, I'm home," he repeated. And when he moved his hand and swatted hers away, he looked into her eyes. He hooked one arm around her left leg and lifted, impaling her in one thrust, pulling her under the water. He moved slowly, deeply, consuming her as the hot spray fell over them and rinsed away the suds, the dirt and grit.
It was almost ironic, that at this moment they were literally and figuratively cleansed. Any and every trace of filth. collected debris from what they'd been doing was being washed away now that it was no longer intensely wrong, now that the choice had been made.
"Home," she whispered, her head falling backward as he hit a sweet spot inside of her.
It was unplanned, it was unintentional, but it was necessary and it was more real than anything ever was, or ever could be, for either of them.
He kissed her neck and pushed the back of her head up again, looking into her eyes, and she pressed her forehead into his. "Really?" she asked, afraid to sound desperate but needing an answer.
He slammed into her hard, staying there, his body as deeply connected to hers as was possible. He kissed her softly, his tongue running along hers slowly, and when he pulled away he nodded at her with new tears in his eyes. "You're mine," he breathed. "I'm yours. This is it. Really."
Without even enough time for a breath, their mouths crashed and he began bucking hard and fast, taking her, giving himself to her, bringing them both to a fiery hot climax before the water cooled.
Panting, still inside of her, he leaned them against the cold shower tiles and held her close, kissing her slowly. They could hear the alarm buzzing from the bedroom and knew it was time.
For everything.
But more was heading their way than they were ready for, and it was all completely unplanned.
Peace and love,
Jo