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.
She walked into the apartment first, switching on the light and kicking off her boots. She took off her brown leather jacket, hung it on the hook, and tugged down her shirt a bit, knowing that it had ridden up as she climbed the stairs.
She froze, then, and held her breath until she heard the click of the door, and the second, louder one telling her he'd locked it. She turned, finally exhaling, and looked around with half-open arms. "Home sweet home," she said to him, shrugging.
He, too, let his eyes wander about the place, and he nodded approvingly. "Nice digs," he told her, taking off his own leather jacket. He hung it next to hers, slipped out of his shoes as she had done, and let his eyes roam around the apartment again. "Hey," he said, and then he narrowed his eyes, his focus now intent on something in the corner of the room. "Hold on," he murmured. "Liv, is that..." he ran, then, stopping mid-sentence, toward the object that had stolen his attention.
She watched, grinning, as he smoothed the fingertips of his right hand down the curved neck and body of the instrument. Something in the way he touched it send chills down her spine and heat to other parts of her body.
His eyes, still wide open, brightened as he gently lifted it out of its stand. "A '57 Gibson Les Paul," he almost whispered. "This is the Mona Lisa of guitars."
"Yeah," she said, biting her lip. "It is." She took a soft-footed step closer to him. "You play?"
"Used to," he told her, "In high school. I, uh, did a lot of things in high school that I, um, haven't done since." He licked his lips and looked at her. "Can I...?" He tilted the guitar. "I mean, it would be better plugged-in, but...can I?"
The look on his face was one she could not refuse. She sat on the arm of her sofa and said, "Go for it."
With a delicate touch, he slipped the blue-marbled pick out from between the strings, slid one hand down the body and wrapped the other around the neck, looked at Olivia with a smile that could stop wars, and played the opening chords of Eric Clapton's Layla. He strummed the melody and hummed for a moment, before breaking into a full-on vocal performance of the tune. He made it through one verse and the chorus before stopping, turning his head, and staring at Olivia.
"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"This guitar," he said, shaking his head as he very carefully pushed the pick into place and set it down in its cradle, "It's in mint condition. That's, what, a quarter-of-a-million dollars?"
She smirked as she stood up, moving toward her kitchen. She looked over her shoulder at him as she opened the refrigerator. "I won it in a poker game, El," she told him with a soft laugh.
"Wait, you're telling me...that beautiful work of art just sits there? You don't play it?" he asked, stunned. He reached out a hand to take one of the beer bottles from her, when she was close enough.
"Oh, I play it," she said. She took a sip of cold beer, swallowed, and wiped the corners of her lips. "I'm just a hell-of-a-lot better at plying poker." She took another sip. "I didn't know you could sing." She eyed him for a moment. "There's a lot I don't know about you, isn't there?"
He smirked at her wickedly and nodded as he took a gulp of his beer. "Plenty of time to find out," he told her. He looked her up and down, his mouth going dry, and he knocked back another long wash of beer. "There's obviously a lot I don't know about you, too, Benson."
She chuckled and moved, walking around the side of the sofa and plopping into it. "Only been partners for two months," she said. She looked directly into his eyes as she brought her bottle to her lips. She didn't know much about him, yet, but she knew enough. She knew he was Catholic, but there were certain things he didn't exactly consider sins. She knew he was trapped in a loveless marriage, and that he had already set its expiration date. She also knew the real reason he was with her tonight, and not with his as-good-as-ex-wife.
He sat beside her, taking one last long swig of beer before setting the bottle down on a coaster on the coffee table. He kicked up his left leg, resting his ankle on his right knee, and twisted to the side a bit to fully face Olivia. "Any other hidden talents I should know about?"
"I can break a cinder block in half with my bare hands," she said, and she grinned slyly as her next words formed on her tongue, knowing the reaction they would pull from him. "And I can tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue."
He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, and his right hand moved from his knee to his lap as his left unbuttoned and removed his crisp white shirt. "You can do that?" he asked, pulling at the collar of his white tee shirt.
She looked away, nodding and laughing proudly to herself. "What about you?" She gave him a sideways glance, knowing that she was fanning dangerously hot flames. If anyone asked if she gave a shit, she'd say no.
He pressed his lips together, scooted closer to her, and lowered his voice a bit. He gave her a flirtatious grin as he said, "I've got a couple. You'll find out, soon enough."
"Will I?" she questioned, trying to look into his eyes as he moved closer to her, but her sight settled on his lips. That's when she knew exactly what he was doing. She felt his body cover hers and heard his evil chuckle, and then she let her head rest on the arm of the couch and looked up at him. "What are we doing?" she asked, her eyes dropping to his chest for a moment. She ran her fingers along the collar of his tee shirt and then looked back up at him.
He sighed as he peered down into her eyes. He brushed her hair back with the same tenderness he'd used on her guitar. "Getting into a lot of fucking trouble." He shook his head. "This isn't just..." he paused. "I don't want you think I have a habit of doing this. You're the first woman since..." again, he stopped, trying to find words that didn't sound dumb, refusing to bring his failing marriage into this.
"I know," she said, saving him and his dignity. "You don't think I see it? In your eyes, in the way you move, in the things you say to me," she bit her lip and slid her hands lower, curling them under his shirt.
He moaned and closed his eyes; her hands on his bare back felt like Heaven. He dropped his forehead to hers and whispered, "I wouldn't do this if I didn't..." His words stopped. There was no way he could be falling in love with her; he hadn't known her nearly long enough, but there were intense feelings between them, a chemistry that could not and would not be ignored. He gave up trying to explain himself, figuring he had already condemned himself and shoved his marriage down a rabbit-hole.
She reacted to his kiss with a shiver and a soft gasp, her nails digging into the flesh of his shoulder blades as she struggled to get closer to him.
He moved his legs, letting himself fall to her, no longer worried about how she would handle under his weight. He knew. God, how he knew. He let his tongue tango with hers as he fiddled with the buttons of her shirt. He split the fabric, pushed its wings aside, and grazed the skin of her stomach and chest with his palms before cupping her bra-shielded breasts.
"Elliot," she moaned, scratching down his spine hard.
He seethed, but did not back away from their kiss. He curled his body a bit, working one arm under her body, and within seconds, he had her bra unclasped and on the rug below him.
She chuckled, but it was caught by his opened mouth. She remembered how clumsily he handled that particular garment, the first night they fooled around, seven days ago, after a lot of encouragement from Johnny Walker and Jack Daniels. He blamed inexperience, but he'd spent the last week improving his technique, practicing on her, only her.
He knew what she was laughing at; her punishment was a hard nip to her lower lip. He growled as he moved his gnashing teeth to her neck, finding a sweet spot that made her sing. He shoved one hand downward, into her black pants, groaning with her skin in his mouth when he found out she wasn't wearing underwear, and that it was a good thing. They'd be utterly useless by now. "So wet," he whispered, his biting turned to kissing.
Her nails were still dragging along his back, up and down, harder and slower. "Elliot," she breathed again, her hip rising to meet his teasing hand.
He chuckled, his hot breath hit her ear and made her moan again, and he whispered, "God, damn it, Olivia, you're dripping for me." He slid his hand away from her hot,wet pussy, just long enough to unzip her slacks. He gave her a swat as he pulled back from her, telling her to arch her back. He yanked her pants down, making appreciative noises as she bent her legs and kicked them away. He grabbed her right ankle, straightening out her leg and kissing her shin as he pulled off her thin, black sock. He did the same to her left leg, and then bent his head to kiss his way up her toned stomach and perfect chest.
She let soft utterances of his name fly off her tongue as she pulled off his shirt and threw it over her head, not caring where it landed. She helped him get out of his black pants, but he didn't give her a chance to help with anything else. He flattened over her again, reattached his lips to her neck, and used one hand to tug off his socks as the other returned to its home between Olivia's thighs.
She moaned his name, gripping at his sides, trying to get him to give her what she so desperately wanted. "El," she whimpered, feeling two of his fingers work their way into her. "Elliot, please, don't tease me."
His heart thudded and his stomach tightened as he pulled his hand from her and sucked his fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled, a look of ecstasy took over his face, and he moved his body just a bit lower to lineup perfectly with hers. He looked down at her, smiling, and as soon as his lips touched hers, he gave a hard thrust of his hips and buried himself inside of her. He caught her cry in his mouth, swallowing her yelp and a moan of his name. He began to move slowly, inching out and back in at a pace that made his thighs burn and his hips quake.
She kissed him back just as deeply, her body bending to his will and obeying his every command. She wound one leg around his waist, pulling, attempting to get him closer, deeper.
He increased speed and power, the sounds of slapping skin and wet flesh hitting his ears, and it made him shiver as he whispered her name against her lips. He felt his muscles begin to tighten and twitch, and he had to use every ounce of control he had to keep from cumming too soon, before he got her where he wanted and needed her.
"Oh, fuck, Elliot," she panted. "So close. Don't stop."
He shook his head and latched his mouth onto hers again. He had no intention of stopping, which was a blessing and a curse. He moved a bit faster, harder still, his breaths now coming in short grunts. "Yes, fuck, baby," he said with a clenched jaw, feeling her clamp around him. "Oh, God, fuck," he spat in a harsh whisper.
Her eyes rolled back, her neck bent sharply, her hips rose and her back arched in an impossibly perfect curve as she cried his name again, tightening around him so tensely he could no longer pull out, stilling him.
"Fuck," he hissed, feeling her pulsate and throb around his cock. He shivered as he lost his final bit of resolve and her name fell off of his lips on a long, slow moan as he gave one last hard inward thrust, just to get that final length deeper. He cursed as he came, firing into her like a fiery rocket, his fingers pressing into her hips so hard they were leaving angry white imprints.
She collapsed down into the cushions, trembling as her second wave rolled over and through her, but his powerful arms held her tight to him. She could feel him sputtering and jerking, and she loved every blessed moment of it.
They were quiet, then, just breathing each other in, staying connected to wait out any residual contractions or release that might sneak up on them, because they always did. When he was sure they were finished, that the calm had covered them, he kissed her softly, sweetly, and whispered something he knew he had no right to say to her, but that he couldn't help firmly believing.
Her tired eyes fluttered open, gazing up into his. "What about..."
"Don't," he said, stopping her from bringing up any of the obstacles they had to face now. "We'll deal with it. All of it. I swear to you," he whispered, and then he kissed her with such emotion and conviction that it had to prove to her how serious he was.
From some long-forgotten part of the room, buried under a pile of once-offensive clothes, she heard a phone ring. She moaned in annoyance, shaking her head as she kissed him. "Not now," she complained.
He sighed, unhappily pulling away from her. "We knew it would ring eventually," he said.
"Usually, by the time it does, I've gotten some of the feeling in my legs back." She laughed, but she was only half-kidding. She smiled at him, kissed him again, and wheezed as he pulled out of her and rolled away, getting up to find which of their phones was ringing.
"Me," he said to her, holding up his phone. Naked, and not bothered at all, he put a hand on his hip and answered the call. "Stabler," he said, staring down at Olivia. He took in the sight of her, splayed nude on the couch, glistening with sweat, her neck and chest a rosy pink and her parted thighs red and begging for him to come home. "Yeah," he said, suppressing a moan. "Okay, we'll be right there." He hung up, and only then he noticed he'd been stroking himself back to full-staff.
She licked her lips as she sat up. "Save it for later," she said with a wink.
He chuckled as he bent to pick up their clothes. He tossed hers to her as he said, "Is that a promise?"
"Unfortunately," she all but whispered. "I was serious, before, El," she said, shimmying back into her work pants, the sticky state of her skin making it difficult. "What are we doing?"
He walked over to her, his pants on but not yet fully fastened, and he held her face in both of his hands. He gave her a sweet, deep kiss, one that reached her very soul, and he looked into her brown eyes as he said, "Getting it right, this time." He pulled away and buckled his belt, and then pulled his tee shirt over his head.
She caught her bra as he tossed it to her, and she got herself into it while she let his words resonate. "El?" she called to him.
He turned to look at her as he buttoned up his white shirt. "Yeah?"
She smiled at him as she buttoned up her own shirt. "What you said to me," she began, her lip caught between her teeth, "I, uh, I feel that way, too." She watched as his whole body seemed to relax, and the relieved laugh that hit her ears made her heart swell.
It wouldn't be easy, and it would come at a cost, but there was no turning back now.
They were walking right into the fire, and they were not the least bit concerned about getting burned.
Peace and Love
Jo