A/N: Hopefully this was a quick-ish update for everyone. Would've been up sooner but I had two consecutive family emergencies so I can't apologize for that.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy. This one's for Jackie, plus there's a tiny detail in there too for LucySpencer. Whether she picks up on it or not we'll see.
Update: Lucy didn't pick up on it. I'm ashamed.
Enjoy.
Sleep doesn't come for Elliot.
His anger carries over into the night, causing him to toss and turn. Sleep evading him. He can't believe her. He can't. He hadn't been the one to kiss her. She'd kissed him. And truthfully, he hadn't thought anything of finishing where they'd left off when he'd asked her to stay. He'd only thought of her safety, of the unpredictability of her mother and the war zone she'd walk into. Especially if Serena was sober(ing). Mercurial on a vodka free day, with alcohol in her system, she's the devil incarnate.
He huffs, kicking the blankets off of his feet and turns to sit up. His blue eyes glance out his bedroom window, and he studies the night sky. Unlike Manhattan, where all of the bright lights of Broadway and its surrounding burrows outshine the stars, he can see a few twinkles in the night sky here in Queens. Briefly he wonders if Olivia's staring at the same sky from her bedroom window. His anger from earlier outweighs his curiosity and he shoves all thoughts of her from his mind.
Sleep. He's got to focus on getting some sleep. He's got a math test tomorrow and he hasn't studied for it at all, but that doesn't mean he can fall asleep mid-test, either. His eyes flutter closed, but a tap-tap sound shakes him awake. His eyes pop open just in time to see an object - perhaps a pencil - smack into his closed window. Sleep deprived, he stares at the glass in confusion - convinced he's seeing something things. When another foreign object smacks into his window with a hollow tap sound, he rushes to his feet and towards the window, opening it.
A pen whacks him in his shoulder, causing a welt to rise on his bare shoulder. "Ow, fuck, really?" he seethes, sticking his head out into the night.
He squints to make out the figure in the dark, his garage light too dim to recognise the facial features, but he already knows whom it is. Her silhouette is forever burned into his memory.
Olivia.
"Can I come up?" she half shouts, half whispers, and Elliot's at his wits end with her today.
He'd skipped class with her, aided in the theft of her mother's car, and had even trespassed with her only to have her insult him as a friend in the end. He can't do this. Not tonight. Not after she'd cut him to the bone. No.
"I think you should go home, Liv." He moves to shut his window, his hands on the lock, ready to push it shut when he hears her voice; soft, melodic, and familiar - home.
"El, please." Olivia pleads and something in her voice causes his heart to crack. He doesn't even have to see her to know that, in the hour and a half they've been apart, something's happened with her mother. He knows this because Olivia doesn't plead. She doesn't beg. "Please . . ."
He Scrubs his hands down his face in frustration. The last thing he wants to do right now is talk to her. But he won't let her walk the streets alone at night or call up her sleaze of an ex-boyfriend.
"Fuck, alright, fine. I'm coming."
Careful not to wake his already sleeping mother and younger brother, Elliot trots out of his room, down the back stairs, and to the backdoor.
Quietly Olivia files in. She's wearing his stolen sweatshirt and a pair of black shorts; her hair is damp - he can tell by how it curls. Without saying anything, they make their way back to his room.
/
The door clicks shut behind them and Olivia sits down on the edge of his bed, her body angled away from where he stands. His fist is still clenched around the door handle, and he can feel his temper building. In an attempt to stave off his building emotion, he sighs heavily, breath hot. He shuffles over to the desk jammed into the corner of his room, flips on the lamp, and then shuffles back over to the bed. Gracelessly he plops down onto the twin-sized bed that he's outgrown. Like her, his eyes flit about the room, landing everywhere but on her. They glaze over the dirty laundry pile on his floor, the stack of books on his desk, and the Phoebe Cates poster on the wall right above Olivia's head. He almost smirks as he studies the poster - the poster he'd bought because of the actress's resemblance to the girl right in front of him.
The girl right in front of him.
The one who isn't speaking and whose gaze is now directed at her hands that are folded in her lap. Her dark hair clouds her face; she sits stoically still save for the slight swaying of her legs.
Elliot's jaw tightens; he bites his bottom lip, attempting to draw in the anger. Through clenched teeth, he speaks, "Liv, it's 12:38 in the morning. Either start speaking, or go home because I'm done with you today."
Silence save for her soft breathing is all he's gifted.
His temper flares. In harsh tones, semi whispers he snaps. "Liv, what the hell do you want? To accuse me of being a dick that just wants into your pants again? Huh? To throw your -"
"No…" soft, almost inaudible, Olivia whispers. She shakes her head and brushes her hair out of her face and lifts her chin to look at him. In the light he can see her face clearly. A bruise is forming right above her left cheekbone that runs parallel to a few open scratch marks - it's a handprint. Serena's handprint. He watches as her bottom lip trembles, and a few tears slip silently down her cheek.
His anger dissipates; his chest deflates. "Liv…"
"She's hitting me again…"
Again.
In an instant, he wraps her in his arms, her chin hooking over his shoulder. He rubs her back soothingly, rocking her gently as she sobs, her voice muffled as she curls into his chest.
/
Elliot Stabler first realized he was in love with Olivia Benson at the tender age of ten. That when the opposite sex was less of a mystery and more of an endless source of unrelenting annoyance. They'd been lumped together in Mrs. Kennedy's fourth grade class. Olivia mainly stayed to herself, occasionally sitting with the other girls; Elliot stayed with the boys.
One day during a rained out recess, disinterested in anything other than his new X-Men comic book, Elliot kept to himself while the other boys in the class sought fit to tease the girls, Olivia included.
Harmless teasing quickly turned to shoving and hair pulling when Timmy Haber and the rest of the boys realized that it took more than cootie accusations to rile Olivia. They'd pinched and shoved her; yanked her around by the long dark ponytail little Elliot had often found himself watching until she'd wailed aloud.
Her cries caught Elliot's attention and he'd immediately ditched his comic book and blazed into battle. What had been three on one quickly became two against three. He'd kicked and hit, even bit, until
Olivia was safe and sound. His recompense came in the form of a bloody lip and trip down to the principal's office where he, along with the other three boys, were suspended for fighting. He took his suspension with his head held high and returned to class to fetch his things. There he found a red faced Olivia, arms covered in scratches, hair falling out of her ponytail, waiting for him. He'd expected a hug or maybe even a thank you, but instead she'd balled up her fist and socked him right in the stomach. She yelled at him, seething about how she could have handled the situation; about how she could take care of herself.
When he'd gotten home later that day his father, Joe Stabler, rewarded his heroism with a belt to the backside. Elliot had tried to contend that he'd been helping a girl and that Joe had been the one who taught him to do so (ironic considering how Joe treated Elliot's mother), but to no such luck.
He was promptly grounded then and his comic books taken away. The next day, when his father was at work and his mother sleeping, he'd gone outside to check the mail. Shoved into his mailbox was a sloppily written note that read 'Hope it didn't hurt when I hit you - Liv' attached to the new X-Men.
He knew then that that was her way of saying thank you and of saying sorry. That she'd never come right out and say it because to her that was like admitting defeat - admitting that she was weak. Even at ten years old, she didn't want anyone to see her as incapable - something Elliot never saw her as. To him, she wasn't helpless or in need of rescuing. Hell, he hadn't marched to her aid because he'd wanted to be her Knight in shining armor. He'd marched into battle because she was Olivia, because it was his unofficial job to watch her back and to protect her. But most of all, it was because he loved her.
Even if love did hurt (as was evident from the bruise on his ribs).
Six years later the love he has for her only seems to grow stronger, fiercer, and more protective.
He wonders if she knows. If she can sense his feelings. If she's always known how his heart beats faster, harder, stronger whenever she's around. Like now.
His fingers gently pull through her dark tresses as she rests on her side, back to him. He can hear her crying, her soft sobs evident by the way her shoulders shake. She's not going to turn around; she's not going to look at him until she's pulled herself together. They both know this. He can count on one hand how many times she's completely broken; cracked and split apart right in front of him.
Twice. Once when they were thirteen and her mother had finally revealed whom -or rather what - her father was and twice when her grandmother died. Serena's cruelty never seemed to faze Olivia; she always seemed to accept it as commonplace.
"Liv…" he whispers, his fingers pausing. No answer. "Liv…."
He listens as she sighs heavily, watches as she turns over onto her left side - jostling their bodies together on the twin bed. She curls into his side; rests her head against his chest, and hooks her right legs over both his. Elliot's breathe hitches and he feels his body responding to her closeness. The smell of her strawberry and vanilla shampoo floods his nostrils. Her bare legs are soft and silky against his. The leg that's draped across his knees is precariously close to brushing up against dick. A fact he's acutely aware of. A fact that keeps him reciting baseball stats in his head as she unknowingly finds purchase in his form.
"She almost quit drinking. Almost." Olivia sighs, her arm falling against his chest. "She hadn't had a drink in seven months and twenty-three days. Things were going so well. It was like I finally had a mom - my mom. We were doing things together, as a family. Going to the MET; she took me to see West Side Story - which she hates - and we even drove out to Long Beach..."
Elliot's fingers find shelter in her hair once more. He can feel her chest rise and fall against his, the rhythm of her breathing music to his ears.
"But last week was my grandmother's birthday -it's been a year now since she passed- and I guess the sadness got to be too much for my mom. She cracked open the vodka and hasn't stopped since."
She's crying again, he can feel her warm tears seep into the thin cotton of his tank top.
"The bruise on my shoulder... she threw an empty vodka bottle at me and called me stupid - can't even remember why now. She threw her keys at me too." A soft laugh. "Tonight I got home and she was drunk again. She kept calling me a slut, saying I was just like him."
They both know the 'him' she's referring to is her father - if that's even what he could be called.
"She told that I was disgusting and she'd been hearing from the other parents about my reputation... She wanted to know which boy I opened my legs for today..."
A twinge of guilt pierces Elliot's gut. He'd have been that boy had that security guard not shown up.
"I told her no one, and she told me to stop lying. I ignored her best I could. I went to take a shower and when I got out she was holding my purse. She'd found my birth control pills, the ones I got from the Queens Women's Center ages ago, but I was too afraid to take after hearing from Joanie Simms that they made her almost bleed to death. She starts screaming at me. Cussing. She grabbed me by my wrist when I tried to walk past her and jerked me against the wall. The only thing I had on was a towel and I was trying to hold it in place when she just started hitting me in the face. Over and over again. Finally I managed to shove her away and ran into my room. She kept banging on the door, kicking it and screaming at me to open it up. I got dressed and climbed out my window. I think I ripped the drainpipe off the wall, but I couldn't stay there. Not tonight."
Untangling his fingers from her hair, he pulls her close against his chest, rubbing circles along her shoulder with his thumb.
"You shouldn't have been there at all, Liv. Not tonight, not ever. I've got you."
And never again if he had anything to say about it.
/
Together they drift in and out of consciousness, Olivia snuggled tightly against Elliot's chest.
He finds himself awake more than not. His mind too concerned with her well-being to sleep.
He's determined to find a way to get Olivia away from her mother before Serena kills her. It's going to be a difficult task, he know, considering how they're both sixteen, but it doesn't matter. He knows she's worth fighting for - worth going to battle over because he's done it in the past. And never once has he regretted it.
"I can hear you over thinking, El." Olivia murmurs into his chest.
"Huh?"
"You're trying to figure out how to fix this for me; stop. I can handle it. I've been handling it. Go to sleep. Don't you have a test in the morning?" She lifts her head, chin resting on his chest.
The bruise beneath her eye is darkening; Serena's handprint reddening; her cheek swelling.
"Liv...you shouldn't-"
She cuts him off, silencing him with a hand over his mouth.
"Look, about what I said earlier-"
"Youdonthavetoappologize" he mutters unintelligibly, her fingers holding his lips shut.
"Shh, I'm talking and I need to say it," she lets go of his mouth. "I'm sorry. I said those things to you and...and I shouldn't have. I know you, El. I know your heart, and I know you're not interested in the supposed school slut. I threw myself at you and-"
Wrong. Even if she tried, she couldn't be more wrong.
"Do you ever give yourself a fucking break?" he returns her interruption with one of his own. "Do you? You think you deserve Serena's bullshit. You don't think you deserve anyone caring about you. But you do."
Humorless laughter waifs from her lips.
"But I don't. Maybe Serena's right, maybe I am useless."
His anger reaches a fever pitch.
"Fuck Serena!" He shouts louder than intended. Once again Olivia's hand clamps down over his mouth.
"Ssh! El, you know your dad doesn't like me. I'd rather not be left to sleep on my back porch."
He doesn't care about Joe Stabler, though the she was right, the Stabler family patriarch made his disdain for the brunette sleeping in his son's bed no secret.
"He's probably not even home yet, and he could go to hell if he was. I'm sick of you insulting me tonight. You're not useless, you didn't throw yourself at me, and you deserve so fucking much, Liv."
"Insulting you? Earlier yet I did, and I've apologized for that, but what the hell did I just say that -"
"I don't love useless people. And I'm getting really damn sick of being in love with a girl who doesn't think she deserves the world."
"What?" she pauses; her hand ghosts over his lips.
Frustration and anger sends his head spinning, his hands yearning to grab her shoulders and shake her until she listens. His guard's down when it happens.
The words slip out before he can stop them.
They start off in his gut, bubbling and fizzing up his esophagus until they're falling out mouth and pushing past his lips in clumps.
"I said I love you and you're basically throwing it back in my face!"
I said I love you
I love you
Love you
You.
Shit.
His twelve-year-old secret is out in seconds. He moves to sit up, his arms passively falling to his side. Silence sits between them, his verbal vomit still hanging mid-air.
Against the dim, yellowish light of his lamp, Olivia's eyes twinkle. He can hear her move, the rustling of his covers and the shifting of his bed springs filling the air, before he sees her. She straddles him, her hands on his chest forcing him back against his pillows.
"Say it again," she demands, eyes fiery. "Please." She adds meekly.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Stuttering, Elliot attempts to speak. His nerves get the best of him and he's on sensory overload.
Olivia's on top of him.
She's on top of him and he could have sworn her shorts were longer than the mid-thigh when she'd first shown up on his doorstep. Yet he knows he can't deny her anything.
"I – I – love you."
"You love me?" she repeats with a coy smile, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. She presses her palms into his shoulder, pressing down gently.
If she doesn't stop asking that question…
He isn't afford time to do much else but nod meekly because her lips are crashing down on his. There's nothing meek or timid in her kiss and if her goal is to leave Elliot breathless, she's successful. He can't think straight, dizzy from the taste of mouth. Twice today or tomorrow or whenever it is she's caught him off guard like this.
Her hands are warm as she cups his jaw, drawing him forward - her lips, soft.
The taste of the Neosporin he'd used to clean her cut mixes with the taste that is uniquely Olivia, but he doesn't mind. He knows the antibiotic ointment isn't supposed to be orally ingested, but figures that, if he dies by accidentally kissing it off of her lips, death will have been sweet.
Her hands drop from his face and trail down to the hem of his tank top. They dip underneath and brush, feather light, over his stomach. The gesture causes Elliot to laugh, chuckle into her kiss, and that must spurn Olivia on. Before Elliot can gain his bearings, before he can assess the situation, Olivia pushes his top up his torso. Her mouth has broken away from his and she's trailing kisses along his jaw, across his neck.
She sucks on his pulse point, teeth grazing his neck, and he shudders. Somewhere in the back of his mind he briefly remembers a conversation they'd had ages ago about hickeys. He remembers how she'd been adamantly against them; had called them property markers, yet here she is. Those thoughts are fleeting, however, because she's pulled her mouth from him. Behind her she leaves a trail of wet kisses in the shape of her mouth. She sits up, rocking her hips against his, and try as he might, Elliot is unable to stifle the low groan that tears from his lips. His hands fly to her waist, gripping the shiny fabric of his shorts, and his own hips buck upward. It's Olivia's turn to groan and she lets her head fall back against her shoulders. Elliot's eyes are immediately drawn to her neck and he wants to drags his lips across her skin.
Olivia has other plans, though. Her head lolls back into place and she looks at him, eyes full of mischief as she grabs the hem of her (well his) sweatshirt and yanks it over her head.
She wears nothing underneath it.
Something akin to a moan/groan/gurgling sigh of lust slips past Elliot's lips and in seconds his hands are caressing the soft skin just below both her breasts. His touch is timid, hesitant, and uncertain. He draws a thumb across her nipple and it instantly hardens; her stomach quivers and her breath hitches. Elliot's fingers recoil; he moves to drop his hands, but Olivia stops him. She grips his wrists, guiding them to her chest until he's palming her breasts, one in each hand.
"Touch me, El." she encourages, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth. She shifts in his lap and squeezes his wrists. "Go on…"
Slowly he does as he's told; his movements still uncertain as he swipes his rough fingers across her breasts, his inexperience still gnawing at him as he does. Olivia moans, her hips finding a rhythm and she slides against his pelvis.
Elliot let's his eyes slip closed at her movements and his head goes hazy. He's lost in her, in the sensations she's stirring within him, when another one is added to the mix. Suddenly her hand is dipping below his boxers, the cool metal of the gold band she never talks off playing in stark contrast to the warmth of her hand. She dips her hand lower and lower until her hand brush across his erection. His hips jerk forward and instantly Elliot sits up. He grabs her shoulders, putting much needed distance between their bodies, and Olivia's hands fall from his shorts. A look of confusion paints her face. Her lips are slightly parted and her clouded dark eyes search his.
"Did I...did I do something?" she asks, bemusement heavy in her tone.
Yes. No. I don't know.
"Liv…" he doesn't know where to start or what he's trying to fully communicate. He wants this; desperately, but there's a part of him that feels like they shouldn't. Not only because her words from earlier - her accusations - are still gnawing at him albeit now as they had been - but also because he doesn't know how much more change their relationship can take at the moment. The fact that she never responded to his accidental declaration of love; his accidental exposure of feelings verbally, but had instead straddled his lap doesn't go unnoticed either. He lets his hands drop from her shoulders, his gaze falling to the checkered bedspread.
"You don't want me?" he can hear her soft voice question, and he has to fight a groan as she extracts herself from his lap. She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and turns her back to him. "It's my face, isn't it? I probably look like that Chewy thing from Star Wars, don't I?"
He can't stop his gaze from following her; his eyes rake up her bare back and he can't stop his fingers from reaching out and touching the smooth skin of her shoulder. Her olive skin shines in the warm glow of his bedroom lamp and he balks at her deduction of his actions.
"Chewbacca, Liv, and no, you don't. I - it's just...I've never done this. And today's just been the day from hell for you. I don't, I don't want you to feel like you have to do this. You don't. I don't want it from you -"
Olivia rounds on him.
Open mouth, insert foot.
"No - didn't mean that! I do want you. I've always wanted you. I mean I don't want you to feel like it's the only thing I want from you because it's not. I meant what I said earlier. I do - I love...I love you. And I don't want you to regret this because I wouldn't be able -"
She silences him with a kiss, catching him off guard for the third time in the span of twenty-four hours.
"I could never regret you," she whispers when their lips break apart. Elliot's drops his forehead against hers and nods. "Trust me when I say this, El. I want you - I want this."
I want you. I want this.
"Me too."
Olivia's hands slide beneath his rumpled tank top. She lifts it over his head and presses a kiss against the base of his throat. Elliot shivers, chills reverberating up his spine.
"Don't worry, I'll go slow." Her breath is hot against his neck and she kisses her way up his jaw. Her lips find his and she slips her tongue into his mouth.
It's a slow whirring of tongues and gentle nips as they lay on their sides, Olivia's chest pressed tight against Elliot's. His hands lazily draw circles along her sides and he comes to the conclusion that he's died and gone to heaven. She is heaven. This is heaven; the way the weight of her leg, the one she has tossed over his right hip, rests atop him; how she rests one palm flatly against his shoulder as if she's going to push him away, but the hand on his neck keeps his mouth firmly pressed to hers, is all heaven.
"Do you have a condom?"
He has to blink twice in order to understand what she's saying.
"Huh?"
"Condom, Elliot. You know to put on your -"
"Oh, yeah, uhm...shit. I've never done this before…"
"I know, you've told me." She laughs, her lips brushing against his. "So?"
The bed dip beneath their weight as he shuffles around her, crawling out of bed. His eyes skate around his room before they land on his bedroom door. He grabs the chair shoved beneath his desk and jams it beneath his doorknob, throwing Olivia a sheepish smile as he does so. He's got a twelve-year-old brother who doesn't knock and there's no way in hell he's letting this moment be ruined.
He crosses the few steps to his closet and begins to sort through it. The sounds of rustling paper, opening drawers, and bare feet fill the air as Elliot searches for the box of condoms he'd pilfered from his uncle's apartment ages ago. Finally he locates them, hidden in an old shoe-box filled with old baseball cards in the top shelf of closet. His nerves get the better of him, fingers shaking as he opens the box, removing one of the silver foil packages. It hits him then as he stares at the package.
They're doing this. They're actually going to do this. Sure it'd been a possibility in the pool earlier that day, but they would have never gone through with it. Or at least he thinks they wouldn't have. But now, now it's going to happen.
This is it.
Quickly he shoves the box back in place and turns around. She steals his breath. In the few minutes it'd taken him to paddle about his room, she's abandoned the rest of her clothes. She now sits on the corner of his bed, palms flat against the duvet, and her legs crossed at the knee. There's a coy smile perched on her lips and even though she has a hand-print-sized bruise spread across her face and her bottom lip is slightly swollen, he's never seen a more divine creature in his entire life. From the bright red of the paint that sits on her toenails, to the way her hair limply frames her face - she's the embodiment of beauty.
"You're beautiful…" He can feel his breath catch in his throat.
Olivia ducks her head and he can tell she's smiling by how the apples of her cheek swell. She lifts her head, rolling her eyes playfully before sliding to the edge of the bed. "Got it?" she asks him and he simply nods. "Then come here…."
And he does. She meets him halfway. Her fingers snatching the wrapper from his hand and she drops to her knees in front of him.
He doesn't know what to do so he stands there, eyes downcast as he watches her in rapt fascination. Olivia seizes the top of his waistband and in one fail swoop sends his boxers cascading to his ankles.
"You're pretty beautiful yourself," she tells him. A redness creeps up his neck and he blushes. His eyes fall closed and then spring open when he feels her hand wrap around him. He looks down just in time to see her tongue run across his length. The sensation along nearly brings him to the brink.
His knees buckle and he loses his balance, stumbling backwards. His arms flail out and he has to fight to stay upright, his boxers almost tripping him. She's going to be the death of him today.
Across the room, Olivia sits on her knees, mouth parted still, but this time in laughter.
"Fuck."
Well, there goes his dignity.
"Are you okay?" she manages to ask through fits of giggles.
No.
"Warn me next time!" He grates, still attempting to gain his bearings. God he's embarrassing himself.
"Warn you? Okay, hey, El - I'm going to suck your-"
"Don't finish that sentence." He straightens up, heart ready to thump out of his chest. "Wow…"
"Wow's right…" the giggles in Olivia's voice disappear. She rises to her feet and closes the gaps between them once more. Her left hand, the one not holding the condom wrapper, grips his right hip and she presses her body against his. "I'm sorry. No more surprises...promise."
He doesn't believe her. Not in the slightest, but it doesn't matter, either.
She lets his hip go and grabs his hand, leading him back over to the bed. She guides him down, onto his back and straddles him once more. With no clothes to serve as a barrier, he revels in the feel of her skin against his. She brushes against him; he shudders, a moan ripping from his throat that she silences with her lips. They kiss a few moments more, her tongue making him dizzy, before she finally slides off of him. She grabs the foil package from its spot on the bed next to them, and rips it open.
They're a blur of limbs, rustling bed covers, and shifting springs as Olivia sinks down on top of him. She barely moves and Elliot finds himself on the brink of coming just from the feel of her alone. He's never felt anything like this - like her. She's warm and tight, a tightness that holds him place, creating tiny fissures of pleasure that crack open from low in his belly. He can't focus. He can barely breathe. His eyes go cross and his hands grip her hips.
Olivia hisses, and his eyes fly open, uncrossing at the sound. He looks up to see that she's closed her eyes too. Her nails are digging into his chest, and she almost looks as if she's in pain. "Liv..." he calls in a straggling sigh, fighting to find his words. "You - you okay?"
She jerks her hips forward and Elliot's head falls back. "Fuuuuuck."
"That's what we're doing."
Those are the last words Elliot's able to compute because before he knows it, his hips are working at a rhythm she creates. The room fills with the sounds of soft sighs, low moans, and wet kisses. Olivia lays almost flat against him, his arms wrapped around her waist to hold her in place. Elliot knows he won't last much longer, he can feel his release building to a fever pitch, and he just hopes that she finds some pleasure in him.
She jerks her hips, their rhythm faltering as he feels her clench around him. The new sensation leaves him groaning into her hair, his grip around her waist almost violent as he lets go. A sense of euphoria fills him and pinpricks of color flash across his eyelids. Somewhere in his haze, he feels Olivia shudder against him. Her teeth graze across his earlobe before her head drops down to the crook of his neck.
"You okay, El?" her voice sends shivers against his skin as she speaks, her voice slightly muffled by his throat.
"I'm good, Liv. I'm more than good."
They drift in and out of consciousness for the second time that night before fully succumbing to sleep.
/
The next morning when Elliot wakes to the sound of his alarm clock blaring, he wakes alone. The chair that had been shoved underneath his bedroom doorknob is pushed into its spot underneath the desk, the spot on the bed next to him is cold.
Olivia's gone.
