A/N: I'm the writer and she's the muse. Reviews are loved and appreciated.
The space between the bullets in our firefight
Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you
The rain that falls splash in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into your room
The space between our wicked lies
Is where we hope to keep safe from pain
(The Space Between – Dave Matthews Band)
"Are you asking me how long I've wanted to fuck my partner?"
The words come out bitterly, like they taste foul on his tongue, and the therapist simply raises her brows and leans back in her chair, "Do you think that's what I'm asking you" she asks.
He hates this shit, and if it wasn't both of their jobs on the line, he probably would have told IAB to go stick this mandatory therapy where the sun don't shine. Instead he's here, and these sessions get worse every time because it's like she's sticking her nails under each tender stitch and ripping them out of his skin.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he looks away, out of the window, "The first time she walked into the one-six"
OoO
"Are you asking me how long I've been in love with my partner?"
There are tears in her eyes and she rises from the chair to stand by the window, feeling the bile rise into her throat, unable to look at the woman across the room.
"Do you think that's what I'm asking?" she questions and Olivia can feel her shoulders sag slightly at the tone.
The fight or flight in her was being tempered and like an animal backed into a corner, she was aching to gnaw off her own arm, and run. The part that was holding her back was that she knew if she did, there would be no more SVU…no more him, and that was scarier than baring her soul to a stranger.
Pivoting on her heel, she crosses her arms across her chest protectively and sighs, "When I stopped being able to see myself do the job without him"
OoO
"Do you think these feelings are merely sexual?"
I wish…he thinks it but doesn't say it. There's a part of him that wishes it could just be about fucking her because then he could ignore the way her eyes reached inside of his ribcage and tore him apart, leaving him vulnerable.
"No" he answers, jaw ticking with emotion as he does.
He watches her adjust her glasses, "Would you like to talk about that?" she asks, nicely enough.
Looking at his hands, he sighs, and stares at the ground, "First year, there was a perp, she was in danger…I tried to protect her" she says letting out a quick chuckle thinking about how pissed she'd had been, "She wasn't…she didn't take to it too kindly…but I realized then, I didn't want to do this job without her" he admits choking back the sob that lingers in his throat.
It had started out so simple, first he had just fantasized about fucking her…then he got greedy, and fell in love with her.
OoO
"Have these feelings affected your personal life"
The question makes a throaty bitter chuckle escape her throat as she looks at the woman, "He's the longest relationship I've had with a man" she admits, words long whispered before in jest, now truer than she cares to admit.
"Why do you think that is?"
There's a slew of responses she could come up with, half of them bullshit, so she goes with the one that feels the most honest, "Because, no other man can make me feel what he does" she whispers, almost too scared to admit it out loud.
Sex was easy, she could take a guy home, kick him out in the morning but, letting someone see those intricate pieces of herself, to know her beyond the façade she chooses to show…that's too daunting. Until him, and she's sure that makes her even more fucked up than she cares to admit.
OoO
"Why do you think you've never crossed that line and acted on your feelings?"
There's a part of him that wants to laugh because, he's pretty sure he's acted on his feelings, more than once. The line between them had been blurred beyond recognition and too many times he had made decisions based on the feelings he tried so hard to hide away.
Licking his lips, he wrings his hands for the fifth time in a half an hour, "I have…crossed the line…" he admits trailing off, "Just because I've never made a pass at her, doesn't mean…"
"Care to elaborate"
"No"
Richard White…Gitano…Simon…Porter…were just a short list of times that his feelings had blurred rational, had put her above everything else in his life.
He looks back up to the shrink, "Just, there were times where my feelings, they influenced my decisions"
OoO
"Why do you think you've never crossed the line and acted on your feelings?"
HE'S MARRIED, filing for divorce, but STILL MARRIED, her brain screams but her mouth flails like a gutted fish and she's speechless for a couple of moments.
That's the tip of the iceberg but there are so many reasons beyond that but the only one that seems to slip from her lips is, "I don't think he feels the same way about me" she whispers softly, "I'm his partner"
The woman looks at her, "So you believe that his interest in you is solely professional?" she asks.
No…yes…she doesn't know how to fucking answer that because she's learned to listen to her brain, and cut off all oxygen to her heart, but it stays there, beating to a whisper that she's chosen to ignore. There is no possible way he can feel the same about her, he's married, and even when he wasn't, he never…they never, there's no chance.
"I don't' know" is all that manages to come out.
OoO
"I think the only way to salvage your partnership is to be honest about your feelings"
It's the first time she's given advice beyond asking him how he was feeling and his neck snaps around to look at her like she has three heads, "Why the fuck would I do that" he asks harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing with tension.
Her eyebrows raise and she takes off her glasses, "Detective Stabler, how can you effectively work with your partner without disclosing these things? Because from where I'm sitting, it's affecting your partnership" she tells him, and he knows she's right but he snorts in response anyway.
Looking at his watch, he grins, "Times up doc" he says practically jumping from his chair.
She watches him walk out of the door and sighs, wondering which of them will crack first.
OoO
He's heading to the station, that's what he tells himself when he heads towards Manhattan instead of Queens. It's not like there's anything waiting for him in Queens, besides the half furnished apartment and a couple TV dinners in the freezer.
Which is why he's sitting outside of her apartment, the words of the goddamn shrink playing in his head as his hand bangs the steering wheel. He finally forces himself out so he doesn't look like a complete fucking douchebag and walks up the stairs like he's done a thousand times, hitting the speaker box.
"Hello?" she asks sounding confused.
"Liv it's me"
There are no more words as the buzzer sounds and he's let in the front door. She's waiting with her door open by the time he comes up the stairs, her hair thrown up, in a pair of comfy pants and a light hoodie, "What are you doing here?" she asks.
God he wants to kiss her wants to push her up against the wall and steal ever y last bit of oxygen from her lungs, but he doesn't. They haven't seen each other in 6 days, not since IAB demanded those fucking therapy sessions and a mandatory two week vacation.
"How you been?" is all he can manage to get out.
She turns to him, the tiredness on her face, and she shrugs, "Going a little stir crazy" she admits.
"Yeah"
He wants to know how she's doing, if she's going as crazy as he is…if these sessions with the therapist are as revealing for her as they are for him. He presumes not and shrugs, "I guess I should do"
"Okay"
Walking towards the door, she follows and then she's right there, her arm around his body holding the door, close enough to touch, to graze against and he turns to her, almost close enough to feel her heart beneath her shirt, "When he lunged at you, I acted on instinct" he starts, acknowledging the elephant in the room, "I wasn't going to stop…because the idea of you being hurt"
"El" she whispers and her hand comes to his arm, "You don't need…"
His hand comes to her wrist, gripping her against him, "You mean too much to me" he chokes out, "I couldn't bear if anything happened to you" and his free hand comes to her cheek.
Their eyes meet and hers are filled with pools of moisture, confused, "Please" she begs and they both don't know exactly what relief she's looking for.
His foot kicks the door closed as he pushes against her, "Do you hear what I'm saying" he murmurs, "Liv"
Her mouth is so close, that he can taste her breath, and he knows it's now or never, and he pushes his lips softly against hers, swallowing the whimper that escapes her throat. For a split second, he's afraid that she's going to push him away because that's been his biggest fear, feeling her pull away and ruining everything.
When her tongue slides against the seam of his lips, he lets himself breathe as his hands come to her hair and he's kissing her with every last ounce of strength that he's used to fight this. They kiss slow, the rhythms they shared for the last decade translating in the way they know exactly how to move…to touch.
They pull apart softly, still close, fingers and hands gripping and she whispers, "El"
He doesn't want words right now, they always get fucked up when they depend on words and he's pushing his mouth onto hers, their tongues sliding together as he pushes her back towards her room. It's all on instinct now because he knows if he starts thinking, they're going to fuck it up.
OoO
They've burst wide open like a supernova and she's trembling with fear but shaking with want, and when his mouth slides onto her neck, and his hand slides up her sweater, she's powerless to stop whatever is happening between them.
It's frenzied, neither bothering to strip, her hands sliding up his shirt, his mouth on her chest, her bra merely pulled down as his mouth finds her flesh. She's pulling her nails down his back when his hand slides down her pants, into her panties and they both gasp when he slides against her, feeling the wetness pool around his fingers.
"You're so wet" he marvels before he moves against her, teasing, rubbing, and her hips are moving up to meet him, his mouth moving from her nipples to her mouth, long hard kisses as he teases her, slow circles on her clit until she's biting his neck and shaking as she cums.
OoO
The first time, all he cares about is knowing the sound she makes when she cums. It's a thought that's kept him up at night, imagining, agonizing, losing himself in the sensation, and yet, as it happens, it's better than he ever could have imagined.
She's lying there, bruised lips, clothes askew, and he's never seen anyone look more beautiful in his entire life, and he knows that once wasn't enough, that he has to feel all of her. It's as if she's read his mind as her hands come to his shirt and yank it over his head, and there they are, pulling at each other's clothes and trying to get as close as two people can.
Her legs wrap around him, her hands roaming up and down his back as they stare at each other, before he's sliding slowly into her. When he hits the end, she lets out this gasp that makes his stomach clench in need as she pulls him even closer, their skin flush, almost every inch touching.
He kisses her softly, looking in to her eyes before he begins to move, slow, rocking strokes, so he can feel the way she clenches in him when he's that deep inside of her, watching her eyes roll back as she digs her heels into his skin.
They move together, the bed buckling softly, the headboard tapping the wall, louder as he speeds up pace, her moans getting heavier, whimpers escaping her throat, her teeth digging into his bicep as she slowly loses control.
As she clenches around him, flooding him, he speeds up, losing the last bit of control inside of her, panting as he rests his head against hers and slides his weight off slightly.
Lying together, hearts in sync, neither speak…they've done enough talking this week and somehow all they need to know is in those silent breaths of life they inhale when they're together.