A/N: There's something exciting about ending up on Santa's naughty list. ;)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, I just own this story about them. Don't sue me. K?

"Goodnight, sweetie," Olivia said with a smile, flicking down the light switch and slowly closing the door to Dickie's room. He was Elliot's only son, and he bore such a strong resemblance to his father, in features and personality. Olivia had a soft spot for him, which often led to her trying to defend him or get him out of trouble. Tonight, she did just that, and it was all because of Santa Claus.

The One-Six had its annual "Secret Santa" party for the department families, and of course, Elliot had brought all four of his kids. The night had been wonderful until it was time for the kids to take pictures with Santa. Dickie had been last in line, tired and cranky, and at the age where he doubted that Santa could be in two places at once, "And he's already at Macy's, so who's this guy?"

He'd finally sat on Santa's lap, and just as the pointy-eared elf had raised the camera, Dickie had grabbed the man's fluffy white beard and yanked, hard. Gasps had echoed through the room as Captain Cragen had tried to reattach the cotton and thread to his chin. Dickie had pouted and mumbled, "I knew it," as he'd slid off Santa's lap and skulked away while other children, some much younger than him, had cried and screamed and listened to their parents explain that Santa had shaved for the summer and his beard hadn't grown back yet, so he'd improvised.

Elliot had been mortified, and though he did try to understand where his young son was coming from, he was still angry. There was yelling, grounding, and the promise of a week's worth of extra chores. Elliot had been blabbering about Dickie being on Santa's naughty list when Olivia had stepped in, looked Elliot right in the eyes, and said, "You can't fault him for needing proof, for needing validity. He is your son, he's got detective in him! Besides, he was hoping to prove himself wrong! He didn't mean to cause such a mess."

The yelling had stopped, the grounding had been ignored, the extra chores had been whittled down to two extra days of table and dish duty, and Dickie had gone to bed calm and happy, after hearing Olivia's "completely true" story of Santa's phone call to the station, personal assurance that no one in the Stabler house was on this year's naughty list, and his promise to be there in person next year.

Olivia sighed, the memory caught up to her reality, as she took the last step off the landing and turned into the living room. "He said he was…"

"I know," Elliot whispered, stopping her words, and he stepped in front of her, framing her body with his larger, stronger one. His eyes stared into hers while his chilled hands smoothed up the sides of her neck. She shivered at his touch, making him smirk a bit, and cupped her cheeks. Swiping his thumbs softly under her eyes, he sighed. "Did I tell you how beautiful you looked, today?"

She licked her lips and nodded. "Twice," she told him.

"Not nearly enough," he muttered, and he pulled her toward him, his lips finding hers fast and catching the soft moan she let escape.

She moaned again, this time sinking into him, and wrapped her arms around him, her palms spreading at his lower back. She felt herself being moved backward, chuckling at Elliot's blind eagerness as he tripped over something on the floor. She let out a soft huff when her body hit the back of the couch, and her eyes opened when he stopped kissing her.

He grinned smugly at her puppy-eyed pout, lifting one finger to press against her lips as his other hand worked his tee shirt out of his jeans. "You know," he said, running the pad of his finger along the seam of her mouth, "You lied to him." His breath hitched when she kissed his finger, the gesture hitting spots inside of him he'd only just found out existed. Taking a breath, he pulled his hand away from her face to work his belt loose. "There is someone in this house on the naughty list."

"You?" she guessed, her eyes dropping when she heard the heavy denim hit the floor. She licked her lips anticipating his next move, letting her gaze rise back to his smokey stare. She watched him nod slowly, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and she felt her pulse quicken. He had an incredible effect on her, since the moment they met, but as their relationship changed and progressed, it grew stronger. She reached out a hand and twisted the fabric of his tee with her fingers, pulled hard, and crashed her lips against his.

It was his turn to moan, doing so lowly and gravelly, as his hands worked her black leggings down over her hips roughly. He mumbled something she could barely understand as they kissed, and he caught her gasp in his open mouth. With another dark laugh, he swiped two of his fingers through her rapidly wettening folds, making her moan louder and breathe faster. "Shh," he teased, "We got sleeping kids upstairs."

She slapped his ass at that, earning herself more of a reason to moan as it goaded him into pushing his fingers into her. Feeling him twist made her body tighten, she dug her nails into his back and hooked her ankles, her legs wrapped around him. "Jesus," she whimpered, feeling him add another finger to the mix.

He moved his kissing lips lower, finding her throbbing pulse at her neck, and began to suckle at it while his hand worked faster, deeper, harder. He nipped lightly at her neck, his teeth grazing the undulating vein beneath her skin. "Baby," he cooed, "Cum for me. Don't fucking fight it." He twisted his wrist, curled his fingers, and rubbed the pad of his thumb against her clit, over and over. "Cum for me, damn it," he whispered, right into her ear.

It was her undoing. His vulgarity always turned her on, it followed him from the iterrogartion to the bedroom, and his dominance always came out to play when she needed it the most. He always just seemed to know, instict and pure love guiding him. She heard him demand it from her, yet again, and she let go, her body on fire as it bucked and arched in his arms, crescent shaped marks growing red and angry on the skin of his back.

Victoriously, he chuckled again, pulling his fingers out and away and bringing them to his lips. Silently, he stared into her eyes, making sure she was watching as he sucked everything she'd given him off of each finger, slowly. He pressed his lips together and nodded once, telling her that she had a job to do, now.

Eagerly, she gripped him and stroked, agonizingly slow, her eyes glued to his face as it contorted into masks of pleasure, frustration, weakness, and adoration. She used his body to gain leverage, lifting her hips and guiding him into her. "Elliot," she whispered, biting the corner of her lip coyly.

Again, he looked into her eyes, this time with smokey warmth and something undefined. He thrust his hips in slow motion, inching his way into her, making sure she could feel every moment on its own. He shivered, his muscles giving way to his emotions, and he trembled when he felt her stretching around him. "Fuck," he breathed, and he shut his eyes, allowing himself to fully feel her, the way she pulsed around him, the way he fit tightly but perfectly.

"God, please…" she whimpered, drapingher arms over his shoulders again, "Baby, please…" she arhed her back a bit, urging him in deeper, trying to make him move.

He lifted his head, catching her eyes, and he smiled at her as he leaned over. He kissed her, one hand hooking the back of her neck, the other resting at the small of her back to keep her in place on the back of the sofa. He thrust, then, causing them both to cry out each other's name.

He picked up the pace, his hips moving faster and hitting hard into her. Their kisses grew deep, frantic, almost desperate, and the words spoken on the heels of quick breaths were caught on heated tongues. "Shit," he mumbled, hearing clomping above his head, one of the kids out of bed. He listened arefully, satisfied that whichever child it was wasn't heading downstairs, and he worked even harder, even faster. "Forgot," he spat.

"What?" she moaned, dropping her head back and feeling her toes curl, her legs tighten.

He kissed her exposed neck and then licked a long trail to the spot just behind her ear. "We aren't at your place," he breathed, and then sucked her earlobe into his mouth. He nibbled for a moment and then let it go with a small pop. He slammed into her twice, slow and hard, before he felt her start to break. "Baby," he moaned, losing his resolve and his patience. "So fucking good. So close."

All she could do was hum, agreeing with him, and with another of his powerful thrusts, her body dropped backward. "God, Elliot," she cried, and she felt him pull her upright.

"Look at me," he demanded, knowing he wasn't going to be able to last much longer, needing her to cum first. "Baby, eyes open, look at me." He watched her lashes flutter, her lids slowly open, and when she looked at him, a drugged and hazy expression in her eyes, he slammed his lips over hers, pried her mouth open with his tongue, and made sure to bury himself fully with each hard hit of his hips.

Her cry was swallowed by his kiss as her body lost the battle. Trembling against him, she felt her entire body burn as she came, whimpering into his mouth and her hands clutching whatever flesh of his they could.

"Fuck," he hissed, her tightness locking him in, her pulsing bringing him that last bit over the edge. He jerked and spasmed as he shot off, firing into her, whte fire behind his closed eyes. He tried to move again, sliding out of her and back in as they were both still in the midst of release, making their voices break and seethe. Finally he gave one last thrust and stayed, holding her damp and vibrating body against his. Her legs shook as they remained locked around him, her chest beat strongly against his.

And then, stillness.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

Soft kisses.

And then he pulled her off of the couch and carried her around, dropping onto the cushions. He laid back and yanked the blanket down and around their sweaty, sticky bodies, and kissed her one more time. He let his head drop limply to the side, still trying to catch his breath and slow his pounding heart. "Hey," he whispered. He tried to look at her, her head resting on his chest, her lips curled into a lazy smile. "It's after midnight, it's officially Christmas Eve. I'm out of time."

"For what?" she asked softly, finding his senstive cock with her fingers. She smirked wickedly as she lightly ran her fingertips up and down his thick length, making him moan and twitch.

"God," he groaned, "Can't get back on Santa's nice list, now." He dragged his nails up and downher back, teasing her the way she was him, wondering who'd crack first.

She lifted her head and scooted up, kissed him once, and said, "Oh, you've definitely been a naughty boy, Stabler," she winked at him, "But I think...Santa knows that if anyone deserves a present, it's you, even when you're not on his 'nice' list. There's always next year."

He kissed her again, a bit deeper, a bit longer. "Nah. Not getting on the 'nice' list next year, either," he said to her, "And I have a feeling, you're not either." He wagged his eyebrows and felt her hand move again, and he laughed.

They were definitely being put on the 'naughty' list.

A/N: Next one involves a little Christmas magic, from an unexpected source.