A/N: A .44 full of bullets. Face full of pale. Eyes full of empty.A stare full of nails. (Rage Against the Machine) For the sake of this story, the timelines of some cases and details have been altered.
DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler
He's trying like hell to focus on his breathing. In through his nose as he lowers the bar and the weights, out through his mouth as he pushes up. He's trying like hell to keep his mind off of everything Cragen had said to him, the truth about his father, how things were never as they'd seemed. He's trying like fucking hell to pretend his entire world hasn't shifted its axis, that the one thing he's been holding onto, the one thing he's always defended his father for, has been ripped away from him.
"Son of a bitch," he spits as he pushes the heavy barbell away from his chest. The one thing he'd used to pretend his father wasn't a complete asshole no longer matters. The standard to which he'd always held himself no longer exists. He grunts as he hooks the bar back on the rods, and he's mumbling something to himself as he rises off the bench. He grabs more round weights and lets the anger fester. He screws the iron rounds onto the ends of the bar, one at a time, each turn of the knut around the bolt sparks another reason he's pissed off at a man who's been dead for half of his adult life, who was a monster for his entire childhood. "Fucking son of a fucking bitch," he spits out again, and with a fierce rumbling sigh, he lays back down on the bench.
She tries not to breathe too loudly, hoping she's hidden well enough by the line of treadmills. Her eyes darken as she watches his hands curl around the rod, finding their grip. A weakness in her knees hits her suddenly while she takes in the way the muscles in his arms bulge when he lifts the weights, the long, dark, throbbing veins pop as he lowers the bar to his chest and lets out guttural groans as he raises it again. She stifles a moan because when he benches, he grunts the same way he does when he fucks, and it amazes her that it's not something she has to fantasize about anymore. She knows. She fucking knows.
The way his body moves while lifting the weights, she realizes, is the same way it moves when he's thrusting into her, just as sure of himself, just as powerful, just as punishing. There's a different intensity in his eyes, though. A darker fire than usual. She holds her breath as she winds around the row of machines, making sure her feet fall silently. The last thing she wants to do is stop him, and she knows that once he sees her, he'll stop. She wants to watch this.
Every single muscle in his upper body is not only visible, but glistening. The sheen of sweat coating his skin sparkles like diamond dust in the industrial lighting of the room. She gasps when she hears him grunt again, it instantly sparks a deeper need for him. It freezes her in her tracks and her hands fly out toward the elliptical at her side, stabilizing her. She lets her eyes travel the length of him, his powerful thighs are straining against his thin grey sweatpants, the white drawstrings are tied in a bow right over his thick, prominent bulge. It makes her smirk, the way it's presenting itself to her like a gift. She licks her lips and moves forward, watching the way his strong legs tense and release to give the rest of his body the leverage he needs to raise and lower the weights. His grunts are getting louder as she gets closer, her heart pounds faster with every step, her pussy clenches every time he lifts his weights. She takes another step and quietly lets her grey blazer fall off of her shoulders, she hangs it over the handles of a stationary bike.
He slams the bar back down on its hooked stand, drops his hands to his face, and rubs his eyes. "Shit," he hisses, but his eyes pop open when he feels something tugging at his pants. "What the fucking…" he stops, he smirks. "Well, hello," he almost whispers, his narrow eyes gazing over at the gorgeous creature in front of him.
She says nothing as she continues to unwrap her present, pulling the strings, undoing the tie, and she rolls down the waistband of his sweatpants just enough to spring his cock free. She stares at him, unblinking, as she works her way between his spread legs and cranes up just enough to slide her mouth down over his hot, eager dick.
"Oh, mother of God," he moans, rolling his eyes backward. One hand shoots to the back of her head and grips her hair, the other wraps around the cushioned bench beneath him. "What the fuck, Liv," he groans, pulling on her hair a bit harder.
She hums as she sinks lower, takes all of him in, then slips away slowly. She grins, proud at herself for remembering to lock the door behind, assuming things would have taken this turn one way or another.
He yanks on her hair again, twisting it more firmly around his hand. Her moan vibrates and it sends burning electricity through his entire body. "Holy fucking shit," he seethes, and he moans when he slides down her throat again. "That fucking mouth, baby," he bucks his hips and smirks at the small gag it causes. "Ah, fuck," he breathes.
She raises one eyebrow at him when he pops his head up to look at her, and holding his gaze, she loops her tongue around the head of his cock, then licks downward. The tip of her tongue swipes the top rounds of his balls and then she drags it back up as if she's licking a slow-melting popsicle.
"Enough," he growls, and he sits up fast, shoves both of his hands under her arms, and flips her over onto the workout bench. He presses one strong hand against her stomach, holder her down, while the other yanks at her pants. He doesn't give a shit if the buckle on them snaps, if he breaks the zipper, or if the buttons fly off, at all. "You always fucking know," he spits out, and he curls over, wraps his hands around her hips, and thrusts forward with a grunt that rivals all of the other ones that left his lips during his workout.
Her hands clutch the bench at her sides. She closes her eyes for a moment, relishing in the feeling of him inside of her. Blinking her eyes open, she moans, and when their eyes lock, her heart stops. In his eyes, she sees everything; lust, desire, need, rage, confusion, sadness, and over it all in a thick layer right at the forefront is love. They glint with every thrust, and she feels the way his fingers dig into her skin. "Elliot," she whispers, letting him pull her body toward him, lift her higher, slam into her harder, deeper. One of her hands slides up his body, she loves the way his powerful arms twitch and flex under her touch. Her fingers curl around his shoulder and she bites her lip as the burn begins to rise.
He sees it written on her face and he shakes his head. "Don't you fucking dare," he hisses, and he hikes her legs up higher around his waist. "You wanna cum, baby, you fucking ask for it, because I'm not fucking ready yet," he lets out a dark chuckle and reaches one hand under her back. He drags her forward, pulls her up, holds her against his chest as he drives into her. "Wait for me," he whispers.
"El," she whines, the two sides of his sexual beast baring their fangs at once. "El, please, baby, please…" Her nails scrape along the skin of his shoulder blades; she hears a hiss of pain and a moan of pleasure. "Elliot," she barely breathes.
He shakes his head and moans from somewhere low and hidden, he knows her nails just broke his skin, and nothing makes him happier. In his line of work, his scars are reminders of close calls and dodged bullets, so he welcomes the ones she leaves on him, marring him with souvenirs of primal need and love like he's never known. Until now. Until her.
Her body starts to shake almost violently, and she's struggling to hold on, fighting like hell because he told her to wait. She claws at his back, her nails sink into him like fishhooks. "Please," she cries meekly, "I'm gonna cum, El."
"No, you're not," he counters, "Not yet." He turns fast and falls back, flattens out on the bench. He moves her now the way he'd moved his weights, pushing her up and bringing her down with forceful slams as his hips rise and thrust, his ass clenches and his balls tighten and he presses his lips together tightly for a moment. "Fuck," he runs his tongue over his mouth, looks up at her, and he smirks as he says, "Gimme your hand."
She's biting her lips sealed as she moves one of her hands across his chest and lays it in his open palm. Her other hand grips his chest for leverage as she lifts and slams over and over again, losing more and more control.
With her fingers tangled in his, he brings his hand toward her red, hot, working pussy. He grins wickedly as he uses their hooked together thumbs to swipe over her clit and he whispers, "Ask for it."
She clamps around him so suddenly that she doesn't have a choice. "Fuck, may I cum?" Her head falls back and her body sinks onto him again, he's deeper inside of her than he's ever been, their pelvises kiss. She rocks against him faster, working him harder, needing to feel him fill her when she lets go.
"Fuck," he growls. "Cum, baby. Cum for me." He rubs her clit harder, faster, watching her neck turn red under the olive green tank, he grimaces as he grunts and cums with a roar of her name.
She shakes for a moment but then her body seizes, clamps around him so tightly neither of them can move. She rolls forward and lets her hair fall over his face as she rides out her intense release. Her eyes are sealed shut, bright bursts of neon flash behind her lids while she quakes and pulses, feeling him twitch and throb as she encases him. Her toes curl in her shoes, she realizes her pants are still around her ankles and her shirt is damp, clinging to her skin the way his scent does.
"Look at me," he says softly, his body sliding backward along the slick, sweaty bench. He lets out a harsh, gravelly breath and a rumble of her name as he sits up and wraps his arms around her. "Look at me, damn it," he repeats, more severity in his tone.
She lifts her head slightly and flutters her eyes open, a light gasp escapes when she sees the way he's gazing at her. She's never seen blue like that before; an unnamed color between sky and sea that shifts and swirls on its own, like a brewing hurricane. "What?" she asks, but it comes out like a prayer, her voice not her own, whisper-quiet, and on a breath that lands on his lips.
His hands run up and down her back, under her shirt. "What the hell has gotten into you?" he smirks, and he rocks up into her to satisfy his craving for more. "You know how much trouble…"
"The look in your eyes," she tells him, her fingers spread against his thick, reddened neck. "You weren't just blowing off steam, you...you looked…" she blinks once. "I had to get your mind off of whatever you were thinking about." She tilts her head as she tries to raise her limp legs off of him. "You wanna talk about it?"
He kisses her as he lifts her up, and he sets her down in front of him. One hand strokes his slick, sensitive cock as he bends over to pull up her pants with the other. He chuckles at the bent buckle but is relieved to see the buttons and zipper are intact. Still stroking, he straightens them out then hooks one finger through her belt loop. "Just found out something...about my dad," he shakes his head and finally lets go of his dick to stand and pull up his own pants. He reaches behind him for the towel draped over the bar of the weights.
She watches him wipe his face, neck, chest, knowing that he worked up more of a sweat fucking her than he did working out. "If you don't want to talk to me, I get it, I'll just go up…"
He grabs her hand before she completes her turn, and he pulls her toward him as he says, "Of course, I wanna talk to you." He rakes the thick fingers of his other hand through her hair, brushing it back and out of her eyes, and he kisses her forehead. "You know how you're always telling me how you feel like half of you is missing, since you don't know who your father is?" His teeth grind over the rim of his bottom lip once. "Baby, sometimes I envy that. Maybe I'd be better off...not knowing."
The crack of her neck as she cranes it to look at him fully echos off the gym's walls. "What the hell did Cragen say to you?"
"You were right," he blows out a heavy breath and tosses the towel over his he grips her hand tighter, and starts pulling her toward the door. He smirks as he grabs her suit jacket off of the bike she'd hung it on and hands it to her with a soft, "Here."
"I was right? About what," she walks with him, he unlocks the door and pulls her through it, but once they're in the locker room, she steps in front of him and shakes her head, confused. "Stop moving, what happened?"
His brows knit and he chokes on a halted breath. "You were right when you told me that…" He drops her hand and plods over to the wall of lockers, wincing at the dented one, a reminder of how different his life was little more than a week ago. Letting his fingertips trace the crater left by his fist, he speaks. "You said that I'm a better man, a better father, and a better cop than my father ever was."
"Or ever could be," she waits until he looks at her and then nods with a conviction she feels in the pit of her soul. She works her arms into her blazer and tugs on it. A physical exclamation point. "I know I was right. I usually am." She hears him chuckle and lets herself smile.
He smiles back at her, knowing that she absolutely believes it. "I defended him to you, to...to everyone, and he…" both of his eyebrows wave and wiggle as the thoughts work their way across his forehead. With a clearing of his throat, he pulls open his locker and grabs his baby blue oxford, the one she chose for him because it brings out his eyes. As he pulls off his damp tee, he takes in a hard breath. "I was wrong. So fucking wrong."
She moves to him and swats his hands away, and while she buttons him up, she says, "I'm listening."
His head lolls a bit; she takes his pants and dress shoes out of his locker and gives him a silent order. As he kicks his sneakers off and nonchalantly drops his sweats, he tells her, "I looked up to him, Liv. I fucking idolized the man I thought he was behind the badge. I wanted to be him because when he was at work, he was a fucking hero, people in this city worshipped him, and he saved...so many lives." He doesn't realize there's a single tear dangling off the edge of his right eye. "He cared about them more than his own family, for years," he sniffles and his lips curl just enough to be considered a smile when she rolls up his pants, zips them, and stands before him. "I wanted to make him proud. Follow in his footsteps, become half the cop I thought he was, fucking be something or somebody that would finally make him see that I wasn't a waste and maybe he'd see that I finally got something right." He feels it then, the tear, as it rolls down his cheek.
She catches it with puckered lips, a soft kiss, and she whispers, "Breathe."
"He was losing his job anyway because he was just as much of a dick at work as he was at home," he finally says, and he looks down at himself, dressed by his lover. He only moves his eyes, the shift in his gaze hits her dark, worried features. "So he wasn't more concerned about anyone, other than himself, and I became a cop for fucking nothing. He wasn't proud of me, at all, he was...fuck, I knew he was jealous because I rose to the top a lot faster than he did, but he never once said he was proud of me, and now I know why."
She folds her arms, jerks her neck to force her hair out of her face, and she looks at him with nothing but love in her eyes. "You became a cop for the same reasons you thought your father did. You wanted to be a hero, save people, and that's exactly what you're doing. You prove, every day, that you can play Superman and still be the best fucking father in the Goddamned world. People in the whole fucking state know who you are and they do worship you, Elliot. You've got the commendations and newspaper clippings to back that up." She lets her right brow rise in an authoritative challenge.
He stares in stunned silence, fumbling to tie his navy blue tie.
She rolls her eyes and as she wraps the knot for him, she continues. "Your father knows exactly what you've become, and I swear, he's looking down on you regretting every moment he lost, everything he took for granted, and yeah, he's still jealous of you...because you are a better man, a much better father, and a better fucking cop than he was. He may never have told you he was proud of you, and I'm sorry about that...but I'm proud of you." She pats the finished Windsor, looks up at him, and chews on the inside of her cheek for a beat. "Your children are proud of their daddy."
Suddenly he doesn't remember why he was upset. He leans in to kiss her but she moves away and he feels the sting in every muscle and nerve he has. "What, you say shit like that and then you…"
"We've already crossed the line at work, too many times," she says softly, "And that door's not locked." She sees the hurt in his eyes, but she's just remembered why she came to find him in the first place, and the thought makes her sick to her stomach. "We should...get back upstairs, actually do some work sometime today." She takes a breath and squeezes his arm. Moving away from him, she now regrets promising to stay in the house with him, regrets agreeing, in Latin no less, to co-sign a lease on a new place when he finds one. It's a promise she now believes she won't have to keep.
"You don't get to fucking do this," he snaps, and he rushes to her. "You started it this time, so what...this was one last fuck before you…"
"God, no, fuck," she moans, her eyes close in resignation. "I got a phone call from…" she waits. "Um, your lawyer."
His angry eyes suddenly widen in understanding. "Jesus, why didn't you tell me?" He drops one hand to the small of her back and pushes the door open as he asks, "What the fuck did he want?" He scoffs. "Wish he would have told me before he called you, but...what did he say?"
"He needs a full disclosure statement," she rubs her fingers across her forehead as she steps into the hallway and says, "You know, a character reference, personal accounts of your whereabouts, if you were always working when you said you were. It was a formal request, and he needs it by five o'clock." She checks her watch. "Shit, on top of our workload today, I guess...um...I'll write it on my lunch."
"You said...wait, no, my lawyer wouldn't need any of that unless..." he sees the guilt flash in her eyes. "My lawyer didn't call you." He grits his teeth and as they start to round the corner, he almost growls in her ear. "Who wants your statement?"
She blinks once, takes a breath, and then she tells him. "Kathy."
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