A/N: Survive, one motive, no hope,'Cause every sidewalk I walk is like a tightrope (Rage Against the Machine)
DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler
He makes sure that she's strapped in, his eyes flit up to the rivets and he pulls on the straps hard to make sure the swing is secure and he won't be tearing down the ceiling when he gets rough. And he will be getting rough. His head turns and his eyes instantly darken and narrow. "Damn, baby."
The way she's presented to him makes his cock twitch. Her legs are spread wide, thighs and feet bound in nylon and leather. She's leaning back, her entire body in perfect view. He sees how hard her nipples are, he can't wait to wrap his lips around them. The red skin of her chest and neck tells him that she's more than ready for what's coming.
He watches her slip her arms around the side straps, her hands clutch the nylon. When he moves, he licks his lips, and he runs his palms over her thighs. "You okay?" he asks, his fingers crawling toward her glistening center.
It's the third time he's asked her the question, the third time she's giving him the same answer. "Perfect," she says, one brow arched, and she sways in the swing to prove how comfortable she is, how at ease she feels. She whimpers a bit when her still-stinging skin rubs against the fabric, evidence of the intense foreplay that's proven they really fucking don't need safewords. "Absolutely perfect."
One of his hands bends, his knuckles graze her slit feather lightly, and the other arm reaches up for the side strap of the swing. He clutches it, pulls it, bringing her body closer to his, and he wags his eyebrows at her as he lets the motion of the swing propel her body forward, onto his.
The mutual moan fills the small space, the close walls make their relieved cries echo and reverberate. It's a different angle; she feels so much tighter this way and he hits parts of her he's never reached before, which makes this experience a first for many reasons. He pulls harder on the straps of the swing, bends his elbows which lowers the straps and lifts her body higher, and he grinds his heels into the carpet to brace himself. "Stop me," he whispers to her, "If you have to."
She reaches for him, scratches her nails down his chest hard, smirking at the way the skin reddens and rises in her path. "I won't have to," she whispers, looking up at him.
He presses his lips together and starts to rock the swing, letting it move while he stays stationary, firm, stonelike. His head falls back and he lets out a long grunt. The nylon twists, shifting her body slightly with every swing. She slides off of his dick all the way each time, he's pushed all the way in with each pass. "Shit," he huffs, lowering his chin to look at her.
"Oh, God," she sighs, and it falls from her lips twice more as she rocks back onto him. When he starts to move his arms faster, her eyes roll. "Fuck," she hisses, feeling the tip of his cock press against a newly discovered spot inside of her. Her eyes widen as suddenly her whole body tilts at a new angle. She realizes he's pulling at the back straps from much higher, she's thrust downward onward to him as she swings. "Jesus, Elliot," her voice cracks, her hands tighten around her arm holds, her eyes shut.
"So fucking good," he grumbles, each word punctuated by his skin hitting against hers. He won't last long like this, he needs to make sure she cums before him. He lowers his left arm, it angles the leather wraps, and the new position her body is in makes him crazy. His face contorts, his brow furrows and his lips form a small, tight O as he's sucked into tightness he hasn't felt before, and he moans her name.
She's forced into silence by the way her body contracts and releases, her face construed into an expression of twisted pleasure, her eyes rolling back so far her lashes flutter. She can't obey his rules tonight, she can't move her lips to tell him she's cumming, but she knows he can tell. There's no way to deny it.
As he moves the swing, he feels her rush of wetness splashing against his skin, it makes him moan again and he chuckles darkly. "Fuck, yes, baby," he grits out. It goads him, spurs him to yank harder on the straps, move the swing faster, get as much from her as possible. "Fucking love you," he growls. "Fucking love feeling you cum for me."
Her eyes are still screwed shut, her body goes rigid and her muscles tighten as her stomach flexes and her torso stretches, every part of her is on fire, trembling with tension. Her hands grab for him as her eyes pop open, but they're bound too tightly in the straps to reach him.
He pulls hard on the swing, sheathing himself inside of her as she convulses. He curls over her and kisses her madly, teeth biting her lips, tongue invading her mouth. He fires like a cannon, grunting into her mouth. He feels her hands pull at the thick muscles of his arms, her touch feels like fire and ice. He growls as he uses all of his energy to pull out and thrust into her one last time, giving him the burn he craves and the last stroke she needs to cum again.
They're wrapped together now, tangled in each other and the leather and nylon. Their slick skin sticks together, but neither minds at all, it's home. They spend glorious silence kissing slowly and catching their breath, and then he speaks on a hard laugh as he rubs his forehead. "Impulse buy of the fucking century," he quips, and he wraps one strong arm around her back as he starts to unhook her straps.
She moans as she flops limply over him, relying on his body for support. "Christ, El," she whispers, then she swipes her tongue over the curve of his right pec, feels it jerk as she licks away beads of sweat.
He presses her head further into his chest as he lifts her out of the swing, and he kisses her softly as he carries her out of the small space and over to the bed. He lays her down, trailing his fingertips lightly along the edges of her, slowly and deeply kissing her, and he whispers the words she still isn't used to hearing, the words he knows usually send her running for her life.
Her hands climb up his back and wrap around his neck, and she says them back with as much conviction as she has in the courtroom. "You'd better pray," she starts, there's a lilt to her voice, "That no one ever sees the marks you leave on me." She drags her nails down his nape, hears him moan again, "Or the ones I leave on you."
"Especially these," he says gruffly, his hands slip over her ass, knowing that under his light touch live the fresh red lines of a switch, fading pink splotches in the shapes of his palms, and he cradles her against him as his voice rumbles, "You fucking asked for it, don't play innocent."
"I did," she nods, her expression wonton and coy. "As soon as I can feel my legs, I'm asking for it again," she teases.
He kisses her as he hikes her body up higher on his. "Maybe I won't be in the mood to give it to you," he quips, but he winks. He kisses her again and starts moving to work them under the covers and sheets.
She settles against him once they still, she curls up and presses her lips to the bend of his neck, kissing him softly. "I told Cragen," she whispers against his skin.
He pulls back from her a bit and peers down at her through lidded eyes. "What?" he exhales, panic building. "You told him what?"
She cups his face and nuzzles against his cheek. "I told him if you…" she closes her eyes. "If they suspend you again or force you out...I'd transfer. I said I'd go to McNulty myself, if I had to, and tell him exactly how many cases would have gone cold if it hadn't been for your, um, motivational interrogation skills." She smirks, but then sobers. "I'm serious. You go, I go. I decided that a long time ago, and…" she swallows. "It means exactly what you think it means. Not just the unit, El."
He drops his head to hers again, and he runs his thumb over her lips. "I'm not going anywhere, ever," he says quietly. "Did you...tell him about us?" He looks into her eyes and waits, and whatever she says will be a relief.
"I didn't have to," she shrugs slightly. "I think he figured it out from the way I was fucking yelling at him. I think...I think I cried," she chuckles. She gasps when his fingers graze her nipples, hardening them more, sending shockwaves through her system. "We should get some sleep," she whispers weakly, her back arching with his ministrations.
He moans softly as he wraps himself around her and struggles with the comforter to bundle them up in it. "How long do you think we have?"
"Not long," she assumes, and she wraps herself around him, letting sleep wash over her, finding safety in his arms.
She was right.
It's not long at all before both phones ring, shooting them awake and out of the bed like a pair of rockets. They grab at the noisy devices, tap in annoyance before switching phones and answering the right call. "Benson," she spits, and she looks around, trying to remember where she was when she took her clothes off. "Wait, what? That...that doesn't make any sense, are you sure?" She looks over at Elliot.
His face is red, his arms are pulsing. His free hand is balled so tightly into a fist that his nails break the skin of his palm, he feels the blood running down from the small slits. "I didn't...I didn't even touch the son of a bitch," he sneers into the phone, and he storms out of the bedroom, knowing she's following him. He snaps up his pants and shoves his legs into them as he says, "Don't turn this around on me, Cap! He was escalating, to begin with, and he…" he's cut off by something Cragen says. "Oh, great, I'm sure Tucker's gonna love this."
Olivia bends to pick up her pants, but she shrinks back when he snatches them out of her hands. He's hung up the phone and is now redressing her, as has become his custom, and he kisses the end of her nose when he straightens. "What did he say?"
"Tried to blame me," Elliot scoffs, and he helps her on with her bra, clasping it gently at her back. He shakes his head and adds, "He knows this isn't entirely my fault. At all." His arm jerks when she touches him, but he takes a breath and relaxes into her caress as they shove their shoes on. "I'm so...so fucking sorry. I swore that I would never be the reason you were in any kind of danger, and now…"
"You're not," she says quietly, running her fingers along the lines of his popping veins. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."
"Really?" he barks. He turns away from her sharply as he pulls on his black button-down, his large fingers working the buttons as fast as they can. He ignores the tie and jacket, grabs his coat off of the black leather bench, and he looks at her. "Tell me that again, because as far as Cragen's concerned, I pushed that prick over the edge when I pulled him away from you! Now, Cragen's trying to smooth things over with the chief and Tucker's on my ass when he should be fucking out there looking for that dipshit Falsone!"
"Hey!" she yells at him, slipping her arms into the sleeves of her blazer. "Calm down, you heard Cragen last night, he knew you were just protecting me!" She reaches for him and cringes when he rebukes her. Her fears rise, her doubts resurface, and she is suddenly thankful that she didn't break her lease on the apartment. She takes a stunted breath and walks out with him, making sure her cuffs and badge are clipped to her belt and her gun is where it belongs.
They aren't more than a foot away from the door when he turns, his fist hurling at the drywall, his already broken knuckles snapping yet again as he drives a crater into the side of the hallway. "I thought this was over!" he yells, and he turns, flops back against the plaster, and slides down the wall.
She watches him, her heart in her throat, as he crumples to his knees and drops his head into his hands. She flies to his side and he falls into her like a demolishing tower. She has no words, none. She holds his head as he turns and wraps himself around her.
"I thought I had it under control," he sniffles. "I fucking pissed off the wrong dirtbag, this time, another fucking dirty cop," he says, his eyes narrow, his voice low. "Now he's coming after you."
She swallows, scared, he's the strongest person she knows, the most resilient, and he's breaking in her arms. "He's not…"
"Yes, he is!" Elliot yells, and he pushes away from her and rises to his feet. He sniffles again, but his tears stop running as his eyes turn dark, his brows angle inward, and he rests his hand on his gun. "Unless I get to him first." He ignores her protesting voice as he stalks down the hall and kicks the door to the stairs open and runs down them. He hears her calling him, knows those are her footsteps behind him, but he's riding on fury and he doesn't want to take it out on one of the only people in his life that doesn't deserve it.
"Elliot, God damn it," she fumes, keeping right on his heels. She grabs his shoulder once they get to the final landing and he turns without warning, presses her into the wall beside him, fists her hair and pulls tight. His nostrils flare as his chest heaves into hers, he's huffing like an infuriated bull. "I will not…ever..." he seethes, his face so close to hers his lips move against her skin as he speaks, "Be the reason you're hurt." He smirks. "Unless you fucking ask for it."
She quirks a brow, it's the only move she makes.
He tugs harder on her hair, brushes her nose with his, and he says, "Fuck, if we didn't have to go, right now...I would make you ask for it." His lips trail down her neck until he sees her pulse flitting under her skin. "Beg for it," he whispers, then he licks the undulating spot of skin. "Tell me how much you fucking love it," he grinds out, and then his teeth sink into her shoulder, he suckles on her pulse hard, hearing her moan so carnally, and his dick starts to throb in time with her heartbeat on his tongue. "But no, we got called in because that asshole doesn't understand that you…" he bites down again, suckles some more, lets go with a pop. "Are mine." He smirks at the indention his teeth made in her skin, he kisses the sore spot softly as he covers it with her shirt.
She moans again as he pulls her hair tighter, her dry throat cracks out his name, she finds the resolve to push him away from her and she whimpers when she moves her arm and grazes the tender, bruising skin. "Rein it in," she whispers, her hands slipping up to the sides of his face. "I know you're pissed, it goes one of two ways, we don't have time to go back upstairs and God, I would love to fuck the rage out of you…" she scrapes her teeth over her lip and moans softly. "And I'm not letting you attack Falsone, even if he's the perp! All Munch said was the bastard told the girl to give me a message, that I was next. Maybe it's not him, it could be a thousand humps we couldn't hold. Some schmuck with a grudge. You jumped to Falsone because he's already under your skin, Cragen only thinks it's him because he needs to believe it's a guy we can get with our hands tied behind our backs."
He exhales, his shoulders roll back, and he knows she's right. "I don't care who it is," he blinks once, squeezes the bridge of his nose for a moment as he regulates his breathing. He looks at her, then, his eyes still dark. "The threat was made, it's my fucking job to keep you safe, and I am really not in the mood to…" his phone rings, he rolls his eyes and pulls it out of his pocket, hoping it's not Cragen again. He lifts the phone to his ear, his eyes widen for a split second, then narrow. "Where are you, you son of a bitch?"
Before Olivia can ask who it is, he's through the apartment's front door and half way down the steps, with his free hand resting on the back of his gun. She knows the mood he's in, she knows what he's capable of, and she knows what'll happen if she doesn't run after him. She realizes it as soon as she springs into action. "Oh, my God."
A/N: Next: Someone lets the rage win. Is it Elliot? Olivia? Someone else? It may be the last of this story. Review? Meep?