A/N: Well, hey there. I don't know what this is or why this is, but it just kind of came out of me like word vomit and I actually kind of sort of maybe like it. It's post-Burned, and everybody who writes E/O clearly has to write post-Burned.

This is going to be a multi-chapter affair, hang in for the ride if you like. Not ridiculously long, maybe a few chapters. It depends on where my muse takes me. I have much of Chapter Two written already.

For those Revival fans out there, no I haven't abandoned. I'm just going through a block right now.

"I could go for a bite, who's buying?"

Olivia is instantly relieved. Coming over here, she wasn't at all sure what to expect- anger, maybe. Or him to ignore her text and leave her sitting on the stoop, or text her back with a message to go the hell back home. Hell, for all she knew, he could have been sleeping. It is closing in on five o'clock in the morning, and just because she's suffering from this damn insomnia, doesn't mean her partner is sharing the misery.

But, of course, he is. Just like he'd been right all along about this fucked up case. Valerie was never raped. Whether it was his intuition like he tries to claim or his bias thanks to his home life (which she'd so gracefully threw in his face a couple of days ago), he'd been right.

"Well, you are going through a divorce and you do have four children, so I guess you are," she finds herself saying with a grin.

He chuckles. "That's what I thought."

But neither of them move off of the stoop. Maybe they're both too tired to move or maybe they'd rather sit in this companionable silence that they've developed in these last few moments (Lord knows it's been a while since they've been sync with anything), but he keeps sipping on his coffee and she sips at her tea. It's a more than welcome change from the way things have been for months. How did their relationship get so complicated, she asks herself wistfully. It used to be as easy as breathing. She used to know what he was thinking, what he was planning, how he was going to react and why. Now, one case and they're at each other's throats. She's lucky if she even gets a clue what's going through that hard head of his.

She wants to blame all of it on the divorce- not just his behavior during this case, but the entire state of their partnership. He's going through a stressful time, his trigger finger is even quicker than it used to be, and the line he walks is precarious. But it's not true. He's been dealing with this for going on two years and they've never been more out of sync, more strained than they have been lately.

"Left my wallet upstairs," Elliot says, drawing her from her thoughts. "Why don't you come up?"

He doesn't wait for her answer. He's already standing and digging his hand into the pocket of his gray hoodie for his keys. They jingle in the quiet of the early morning and he slides them into the lock.

Olivia banishes her thoughts to the back of her mind as they climb the four flights of stairs up to his apartment. Whatever has been going on lately, tonight is different. She's going to enjoy the rare moment she has to simply be his friend. She's missed that.

Inside his apartment, all the lights are off save for the lamp on the end table in the corner of the room. Olivia's eyes roam from the couch to the wall furthest from the door, which still has boxes, some opened and some still taped shut tight, stacked against it.

"I see you're really embracing the move," she calls out as Elliot slips through the bedroom door. It's dark, and she briefly wonders if she'd woke him with her message.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

"With our hours, you tell me when you'd have time to empty twenty boxes," Elliot fires back. Olivia crosses the room and leans against the frame of the bedroom door, watching him pluck his frayed wallet up off of the meticulously organized dresser. There are frames holding photos of his children leaning against the wall, bills and coins stacked neatly next to an NYPD coffee mug he'd received years ago and his badge and police ID sit in the same neat little tin as the pins he occasionally wears on the lapels of his suits- two from the Marine Corps, two American flags and another from the NYPD that she rarely sees him wear.

She knows why he hasn't unpacked anything but a few favorite photographs and the things he wears or uses nearly every day. It's the same reason he hasn't taken off the gold band around his ring finger yet even though she knows she signed the divorce papers.

"Ready to go?" he asks quietly.

No. Suddenly, standing up here, she's far more inclined to stretch out on his couch in the dimly lit living room than walk down those four flights of stairs and pay for food she's sure both of them will merely pick at. So she shakes her head.

Elliot accepts her answer without a word and drops his wallet back down on top of the bureau, toes off the boots he wears, unzips his sweatshirt and hangs it on the hook on the back of the door.

"What are you doing?" she asks, afraid for a moment that he'll crawl back into bed and tell her to get lost. Truth is, she's not ready to leave. They've finally reached a state of peace and she's not willing to give that up quite yet.

"I can't sleep. You can't sleep. C'mon, Dickie brought over a set of movies last weekend and forget them. Maybe we can find a good one."

She should feel guilty for wanting to do exactly what he's suggesting, it's their day off and he probably has plans with his kids later on, but she doesn't. Neither of them can sleep, so what's the harm in remaining in each other's company? His presence is finally seeming to soothe her after all these months of tension. Maybe it's because of the early morning, maybe it's because he's just too tired to push her away, but he's open to her and she's not willing to part with that just yet.

She follows him out to the living room and watches him plop down onto the couch. "Unless you want to go home," he says, looking up at her.

Of course she doesn't. So she finds herself stretching out next to him, her thigh dangerously close to brushing against his and her head resting inches from his shoulder. She's too tired to care. He's warm and she's not moving from her spot.

Elliot turns on the television set, finds a movie and it plays softly through the speakers. His body is lax next to hers, and she thinks that he's probably just as tired as she is.

The room is dark. The couch is comfortable, his presence next to her is comforting. Suddenly, laying in bed staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep seems like a far way off because her eyelids are steadily growing heavier and heavier. Elliot's even breathing next to her isn't helping, either. Her eyelids finally surrender and slide shut. In and out… in and out… in and out… he breathes. Is he asleep next to her? In and out… in… and out… in…

—-

Olivia vaguely aware that her body is moving. Her legs, which had once been curled lightly under her, are stretched out on the cushions beneath her- where is she again? Her eyes crack open and Elliot's face immediately greets her. He's laying her flat gently on his couch, setting a pillow behind her head.

"El?" she mumbles.

"Shh." He takes the light blanket from the back of the couch and spreads it over her body before leaning close. "Go back to sleep," he whispers against her skin. His breath tickles her skin and she nearly shudders… he's so close. And he's not moving back.

Her arm slips around his neck, holding him in place. Well, either holding him in place or pulling him closer, because suddenly he's moving forward slowly. Her heart's pounding in her chest, but she can't bring herself to pull away. The centimeters turn into millimeters. Millimeters turn into a single sliver of nearly undefinable space as their lips nearly brush together- but he's not closing that tiny gap. He's holding his position, still as a statue and she knows exactly what he wants, the bastard. He wants her to be the one to close the remaining distance. And before she can convince herself that it's not a good idea, not a good idea at all, she presses her lips against his.

It's gentle at first, almost tentative as they explore each other, but before she knows it, she's sitting up with her legs spread wide open as he kneels in between them, working her mouth like a piece of candy. His hand is pressed firmly on her lower back, holding her body against his as he nips at her bottom lip. Her legs wrap around his waist as she becomes a more active participant in the kiss, slipping her tongue along his dry, chapped lip. He groans into her mouth and it sends a pang right to her core. She has absolutely no idea how they went from sleeping against each other to making out like teenagers in less than five minutes, nor does she care at the moment because his body is hot and hard against hers and it's sending pangs of arousal straight through her.

The kiss is exactly like the man she shares it with- loud, passionate and intense. Three of the qualities that make him infuriating to work with, but in this case, the three qualities that make her want to yank his waist closer to her with her legs and deepen the kiss. She doesn't have to, though, because the moment he shifts his body, there's hardness pressing against the sensitive spot between her legs. Olivia barely recognizes the tiny moan that escapes from her mouth and into his.

Even through their kiss, she feels the smirk on his face. She'll show him. Both of Olivia's hands land on his ass, pulling him as close as she can and rolling her hips against his, slowly and seductively. His smirk quickly fades as he tears his mouth away from hers.

"You don' know what you're doin'," he mumbles, the accent she almost never hears from him sinking deeply into his words along with his arousal.

She's turning him on just as much as he's turned her on, that's what she's doing. Her lips trail from the tip of his chin up his jawline. She sucks the lobe of his ear into her mouth and scrapes her teeth along it, and his hips immediately buck into hers as he draws in a harsh breath. A smirk forms on her face. Looks like she found a sensitive spot.

The second time she scrapes her teeth along it, his arms yank her against him and he hauls her up against his chest. Her legs tighten around his waist as he carries her blindly in the direction of the bedroom. She doesn't make it easy for him. Her lips leave his ear and she kisses him again, hard.

Her back bumps lightly against the wall next to the door. He gets distracted, pressing her up against the wall and lets his hands roam from her waist down to her ass, then over her jean-clad thighs. She needs his hands on her bare skin; this teasing is too much. She needs to get him horizontal and between her legs before she can get the chance to think this through and change her mind, because she knows that if they wait too long that's exactly what's going to happen. She's feeling reckless. Doesn't care about the tension anymore, doesn't care about the work relationship, she just needs to feel his dick sliding up into her because the fantasy just isn't enough anymore.

"Elliot," she mumbles hotly against his lips. "Bedroom."

"Mm," he answers, hands making their way back up her legs and under her sweatshirt. He peels her tank top from her hot skin and splays his fingers out on her sides, slowly exploring the skin that is now accessible to him. Bastard, she thinks, but she can't focus anymore because his hands on her just feels too damn good.

Finally, with his hands locked on the skin of the small of her back, he pulls her back from the wall and nearly trips over the threshold into his bedroom. The darkness instantly envelops them. Elliot drops her onto the bed, and she pulls him along with her. He lands on top of her with a grunt. She's already pulling at the bottom of his shirt.

In mere seconds, they're both completely naked. Their bodies scrape up against each other, sending goosebumps over her skin and she's aching so bad to get him inside of her that there's nearly tears in her eyes. Her swipes up and down his hard-on as her legs pull him against her, but he grabs both of her wrists and holds them onto the mattress as he lines himself up with her.

"You sure?" he mumbles against her lips, holding himself rigid above her as he waits for that one last confirmation.

"Elliot," she says, bucking her hips against him, getting so close to him that his tip brushes along her sensitive entrance. "Just fuck me."

So he does. He's gentle as he enters her, an inch at a time, slowly letting her body adjust around his length, but as soon as his hips connect with hers, he leans down close, wraps his arm around the small of her back to get a better angle as he pulls almost all the way out, and drives back in. Their skin slapping together is almost as loud as the moan that is ripped from her lips, fuck that feels so good. And he slams into her over and over, holding her body tight to his as her heels dig into the backs of his thighs, encouraging him to keep going, harder, oh God, harder. Her nails dig into his shoulder blades as she meets him thrust for vigorous thrust, and she doesn't care about anything except that moment when the very tip of him drives into the deepest part of her. He's fast, he's hard, sweat pools on his forehead and the small of his back as his muscles strain over her body.

At one point, she leans up to suck on a piece of his neck that's been teasing her, smooth from his shave and slick with his sweat, and as he does, he comes down on her, holding her body to him like a vice. Her nipples scrape agonizingly over his chest and he's not and slick against her as his thrusts become even more intense, if that's even possible.

"Olivia," he moans breathlessly against her skin. He's close. She's never experienced this before, she's never known him like this, but the way his body is shaking, the sounds that are now emanating from his throat, she just knows. And she's close- so fucking close. Every time he buries himself completely inside of her, a jolt of heat fires through her body and she's sure that if he keeps going like this for just another moment she's going to explode. Her toes curl against his thighs and she's grunting and moaning now, too, fingernails digging so far into his skin that they draw blood. "Fuck," he draws out the word as he buries his face into her neck, every muscle in body bulging as he holds her impossibly tight against him. She's gonna come. Fuck, fuck, she's going to come, she-

It hits her like a freight train. Just as he's about to pull almost all the way back out, her hips slam forward, burying him back inside her, sending a shockwave through her body as she cracks apart at the seams.

And he comes right after her. As she's coming slowly back down, he's moaning unintelligibly into her neck, still gripping her as tightly as he can. As soon as his body stops spasming over her, he collapses between her legs, dick still twitching inside of her as he breathes hard against her neck.

Every bone in her body is completely exhausted. Her arms are lax around his waist, legs collapsed onto the mattress. For a long moment, they don't move, the only sounds their breathing, slowly falling into sync.

Finally, he slowly slips from her body and falls to his side next to her. She doesn't move; not when he wipes himself off with a rumpled, damp towel that's just barely in reach as it hangs out of his hamper, not when he does the same to her slick thighs and not when he pulls the blanket over both of them. She's asleep in seconds, the last thing registering in her mind his deep and even breathing.

A/N: As always, thanks for reading. Hope you liked, and if you did, please leave a lil comment in the box with your thoughts :)

This is where I plug for my other two most recents, Revival and Balance. Check them out! I have some of a Chapter 2 for Balance written already so that may be updated as well.

And of course, have a great morning/afternoon/evening!

-Stabson