AN: 3,550 words. Who am I? Please enjoy this rare occurrence.
She had showered once more, adorned her last set of clean clothes making her dangerously close to the end of her clothing cycle. She dropped an array of dirty garments she'd found strewn around her bedroom into the washing machine and looks down at the mixed contents.
His pants, her shirts, his boxers, her panties.
His and hers.
She waits a few beats.
"Do you need anything else washed?" She calls out over her shoulder.
She purposefully exerts annoyance in her tone so she doesn't come off as an obliging housewife willing to do his laundry. She is only doing this because she knows if she doesn't put a load on now, both of them will be walking around naked by tomorrow.
She smirks at the thought.
She should still be mad at him - she still is really, but the idea of a clothes-less Elliot Stabler padding around the cabin somehow softens her anger. She doesn't hear an answer so she calls out again, this time louder and with even more annoyance.
Nothing.
He must be working - his face had been buried in that laptop from the moment they'd returned to the cabin. Either that or he's on a call, he's probably pacing the veranda on his phone like she'd seen earlier.
She is moments from finding out when she turns, colliding suddenly with his chest. Her heart rate ratchets up a few several notches and she holds up her hand against him, taking a step back.
"Jesus don't scare me like that."
"Sorry," he looks down at her apologetically. "I heard you calling out, did you need something?"
He is holding his phone in his hand, indicating that he's mid call. The tension from their collision in the woods had since simmered down but his current proximity reminded her just how much his frame dwarfed hers when up close.
"I was just asking if you needed anything else washed?" she tries to keep her voice steady as he crowds her in the tiny closet laundry and after a few beats he responds.
"No thanks, I'm good," he tells her with a look of appreciation, then his phone is raised to his ear and she watches him depart.
She had just finished pegging the last item of damp clothing on the clothesline when she hears the echo of a hammer coming from the cabin.
She looks over in the direction of the noise before she slowly makes her way back. When she reaches the top step she pauses at the entry way, wiping her feet on the doormat. She is just about to enter when she spots him at the end of the porch.
"What are you doing?" she calls out, watching as he nails a large rod into one of the wooden pylons.
He turns in her direction, indicating the dusty storage box sitting next to the swinging chair.
"I found a hammock in the shed," he takes a moment to wipe his brow from the fresh line of sweat that had formed. "I thought I'd put her up."
She can't help it, her lips curl into a smile. She doesn't know why she finds the image of Elliot Stabler with a hammer so humorous but she tries her best to keep her amusement contained. She steps towards him and considers making a wise crack at his handyman skills but she's not quite sure they are back to playful banter just yet.
"I never pegged you for a hammock kind of guy." She settles for a neutral comment, because it was the truth. She cannot imagine Elliot Stabler lounging around in a hammock for too long - he wouldn't sit still, he'd be bored as hell.
"I'm not." He continues to bang the rod into the pylon. "But I thought you might get some use out of it."
She is using her hand to shield the punishing sun from her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that she has full reign to take his body in as he faces away from her.
"I noticed you read a lot in your room." He steps around her, grasping one end of the hammock from the dusty box. "Might be nice to do it out here sometime."
She lifts the other side of the hammock out of the box, inspecting the light blue and white material that had somehow been preserved over what looked like years of storage.
She watches as he hooks one end in place before stepping forward and seizing the other end from her hands. It hadn't escaped her that he's playing damage control, doing something nice for her to excuse his behaviour from before but she's not quite sure she is done with her standoff just yet.
"I'm going to make a start on lunch," she tells him quietly as he hooks the other end into place.
She hesitates only briefly before she turns away and she is half way towards the front door when he calls out to her.
"Don't you want to test it out?"
She glances back at the erected hammock, the gentle wind rocking the fabric back and forth, the sight before her uncannily serene.
"Maybe later."
"No it's the other one," Elliot explains. "It should be underneath the grey one… no not that one. Are you looking in the bottom draw?"
Olivia glances up from dinner prep, overhearing his conversation with Fin.
"No not grey - yellow.. yeah that's the one… but the medicals are already filed so maybe get Warner to email you a copy."
Olivia takes a sip of her red wine, a pang of nostalgia hitting that she's no longer a part of the precinct world. She misses Fin's wise cracks and Munch's pissy moods and Elliot giving her knowing looks across the desk. What she would give for just a day surrounded by the hustle and bustle.
"Ah yeah ..she's good."
He looks up in that moment and catches her staring.
"Yeah we're good.."
She blinks back at him, her eyes desperate to pull away but she doesn't.
"Well I mean.. there isn't much to do out here."
He looks away first and she turns her attention to the boiling pot behind her, only catching the tail-ends of sentences over the exhaust fan after that.
"..yep..."
"..no..."
"..yeah no news is good news for sure."
She starts to stir through the bubbling rice and moments later she is so distracted that she doesn't hear Elliot's call ending as he approaches her from behind.
"Smells good, what's for dinner?"
She turns around to find him on the other side of the island counter top, his eyes focused on the pot she is currently stirring.
"I don't know what you're eating but I'm making fried rice," she gives him sarcastically. "One of the very few things I can cook."
"Mmmm, can I get in on that?"
She moves across to the chopping board and starts to slice the blade of her knife clean through the middle of the onion.
"You know contrary to popular belief, I'm not just here to cook and clean for you Elliot." She gives him a look.
His eyebrows lift in surprise. "Popular belief?"
"Is that what you told Fin was going on out here?" She continues to dice the onion into slivers. "I play housewife while you chat to your friends all day and put hammocks up."
"Liv," he gives her a shocked expression. "I'm working."
"Yeah I got that," she takes another sip of her wine seemingly done with the conversation.
He starts to round the island counter top until he is coming up to her side.
She tries to steady the knife in her hand as he nears and suddenly she is regretting giving him heat when he's going to get this close to her in response.
"You wanna stop picking fights with me for no reason Benson and just tell me what I can do?" His voice has dropped a few octaves and his presence is far too stifling.
"You can start by getting the clothes off the line," she tells him absently as she dices the onion into tiny pieces, trying desperately to ignore the heat of his proximity. "Before the storm hits would be good." She motions towards the grey clouds lingering in the distance.
He is staring down at her but she is keeping her cool, barely even acknowledging him.
He pauses a few beats, hovering, waiting.. until he finally responds.
"Whatever you need honey."
The grey clouds roll out in the distance as Elliot begins to de-peg the clean laundry billowing in the early evening wind. He is tugging at the shirts, dropping the pants down into the washing basket beneath, all the while trying to contain his amusement over the look on her face when he'd called her honey.
She had been purposefully giving him crap all day, that much was clear.
But he deserved it.
He just wonders how long her stand off will last.
As he moves across to the second line of clothing he realises quite quickly he is met with lace.
Black, white, lavender, baby blue, red - all the colours of the rainbow.
His gaze moves over to the matching bras pegged in a row and his mind spins. He'd already seen her in a bikini but now thoughts of her in colourful lace are thrumming through his veins. He catches his briefs and boxers a few lines down and it hits him that she would have had to have touched his too while hanging them out.
There is something about that moment that makes him stop - both of their laundry blended in a cycle, circling closer to each other than they'd ever physically been.
As Olivia's underwear dances beneath the pads of his fingers it feels fitting.
It feels right.
It feels like home.
He dumps the clothes basket on her bed, separating his items from hers.
Ordinarily if he were having a fight with Kathy, he would fold her clothes as a peace offering but as he glances over his shoulder he wonders what the right protocol was in this situation.
Would she want her clothes folded?
Or would she be pissed he touched them?
He can hear her chopping a room away, so he begins to fold the bigger, safer items - shirts, leggings, sweats and jeans setting them one on top of each other. Then he gets to her olive green bikini from the lake, sparking memories from days prior and folds it, placing it on top of the pile.
Then he stares at the pile of bras and panties.
Would it be weird to fold them?
Or would it be stranger if he left them as the only items not folded?
He glances towards the dresser and walks towards it, he knows he is overthinking this entire thing but this whole scenario feels so foreign. He pulls open the top drawer, to find it practically empty except for some stray socks, a pair of nude underwear and some g-strings.
Jesus.
He wants to know the occasions where she would wear those. He moves back to the bed, grasping the pile of clean delicates and dropping them messily into the drawer, figuring that will have to do.
Out of sight, out of mind.
He is just about to close the dresser when he spies a satchel at the end of the drawer, a black velvet pouch with a draw string. He glances over his shoulder before he seizes it curiously, pulling it open by the draw string and shaking out the contents.
At first he thinks it's a weapon but upon closer inspection he realises it's a long, sleek, purple device.
Olivia's vibrator.
Jesus.
He hears movement behind him and he turns to find her hovering at the doorway.
"You wanna stop playing with that thing and come eat?"
He clears his throat, setting it quickly back in the top draw and shutting it firmly closed.
"I wasn't snooping." He says as he approaches her.
"Yes you were." She gives him a look.
But she doesn't look angry, in fact she seems to be hiding a smile behind those eyes.
A few beats pass before she finally breaks the silence.
"Come eat Elliot," she tells him, heading towards the door. "Dinner's getting cold."
He looks at her from across the dinner table, the light pattering of rain the only sounds surrounding them.
"Liv," he breaks the silence. "I really didn't mean to snoop."
"It's fine Elliot," she dismisses his concern.
But he doesn't feel convinced.
"I was just putting the clothes away and I-"
"I said it's fine," she cuts him off. "Like you said to Fin, there isn't much to do out here."
His eyebrows lift at that and the comment surprises him.
Is she really implying she keeps that thing handy because she's bored?
That's the thing about Olivia, she can throw a fit over personal space, boundaries and bathrooms but when it comes to her sexuality she doesn't embarrass easily.
Maybe it's his catholic upbringing that separates their comfortability on the topic.
"So how are the kids?" She takes a sip of her wine, the look on her face desperate to change the subject. "I heard you on the phone to Kathleen this afternoon, is she okay?"
She's just asked him a question but he can't for the life of him concentrate, all he can think about is how he had gone over a decade without ever contemplating if she'd even owned one.
Of course she owned a vibrator.
He was happy she did, it's much better than the alternative - going home with that chump at the bar night after night. He wonders why she decided to go for the real deal that evening.
Maybe she ran out of batteries..
He is just staring at her now, unable to fathom how he had held something that had been inside her.
He wonders when the last time she used it was.
Had she used it while he had been staying here?
Will she use it tonight?
"Jesus Elliot would you stop thinking about it."
Her hand lands on the table.
"I'm not," he lies but the smile on his face is giving him away.
All he can picture now is her pleasuring herself, all alone out here in the woods.
He wonders if she's ever pictured him while using it.
She stands up shaking her head, taking her plate to the sink and rinsing it off.
He looks down at his meal, he's barely half way through it.
"You done already?"
"Yeah I'm done," she mutters, not really seeming angry or annoyed, just tired. "You can wash up if you like."
Elliot looks at his watch, noting it's still far too early for bed.
"What are you going to do?"
But when he looks back up she is nowhere to be seen, the door to her bedroom gently clicking closed.
She isn't touching herself.
She knows that's what he is probably thinking she is doing in here but she isn't.
Instead she's opened her book at the spot she left it at days ago, trying to immerse herself into another world so she doesn't have to focus on her current one.
She has read the first line of the page six times already but she is too distracted by the sound of him padding around out there to focus. She can hear him moving from the kitchen, to the couch, then back to the kitchen again, plates are clanking and faucets are going. She heard the crack of a beer earlier, the tapping of his laptop and the TV is on a low but distracting volume. The walls are incredibly thin in this cabin, if she can hear a twig snap outside her bedroom window, then she's going to hear every move that man makes.
It's a few minutes later when she hears a gentle tap on the door and she looks up from her book.
"Yeah," her voice cracks from infrequent use and the door starts to open.
She notices he is sporting clean sweats and a fresh t-shirt with a faded logo.
"Sorry," he gives her an apologetic look, motioning towards the ensuite. "Bathroom."
She nods and he moves through the threshold and closes the door behind him.
A few seconds later she can hear him pee, then the tap is going, then after that he is brushing his teeth for an obscenely long time.
Finally, much later he emerges.
She looks up from her book once more, still on that same damn line and they lock eyes.
His gaze coasts across the spare space beside her in question before he starts to walk towards the door.
He is moments from leaving when he hesitates and turns back to face her.
"Are we good Liv?"
She catches a slight look of concern in his eyes.
"We're good El," she tells him with a reassuring look.
He waits a few beats before he nods.
"Night Liv."
She can't sleep.
She's hot.
Then she's cold.
She is moving around the bed like she's running damn circles and she just can't get comfortable.
But most of all she's turned on.
She rolls over onto her side, the light beneath the door has disappeared.
She had been watching it earlier but she must have drifted off before he turned it off.
She knows he was lingering in her room earlier in question, they hadn't discussed seperate sleeping arrangements but it seemed to be implied after the days events that they'd be sleeping separately. He had taken the hint but now she was wishing he had pushed it.
She's thinking about her underwear drawer.. her vibrator.. at how easily it could take the ache away right now so she could sleep soundly.
He is presumably sleeping by this point, she could easily stifle the noise beneath the covers.
She is thinking about his hard body and how it collided with hers in the woods and how he's made a habit of touching her a lot more recently, getting up close and personal and into her space when he doesn't need to. She's not going to lie, it's not unwanted attention but walking in on him going through her underwear drawer and touching her vibrator has sent her over the edge.
She wants him. So many times she had used that on herself and pictured him and now the thought of Elliot only a room away was not helping her situation down south.
She is beyond turned on.
But she refuses to get the vibrator.
She refuses to touch herself.
The walls are paper thin Olivia.
Paper thin.
Plus, he could sleepwalk in here at any time.
About twenty minutes later by some grace of God she manages to drift off, her eyes slipping closed, her heart beat slowing as her world dissipates into darkness.
She wakes up with a start.
The first thing she feels are the plains of Elliot's chest flush up against her back, then it's his large warm hand on her hip as his light breaths expel against her nape.
For a second she thinks she might be dreaming but as her eyes slip open she can make out the open bedroom door in the darkness.
He has sleepwalked again.
She blinks against the darkness as she tries to figure out what she's going to do.
She is stiff in her current position and her elbow and hip are crushed beneath her. She tries to shift against his frame in an attempt to create distance but he's heavy on her back.
It's a humid evening and even more so with him coating her like that and when she shuffles forward his hand clutches around her hip stilling her firmly in place, stopping her from moving. He is warm and heavy and he is not letting her budge. Her mind recalls the last time she woke up like this and how it had ended with her trapped beneath him so she doesn't make any sudden moves. She lets him hold her, allowing her body to sink back into his chest, moving her arm out so it's free from beneath her.
A few beats pass as she closes her eyes, then she sinks back a little further on her own accord, the backs of her thighs connecting with his and that's when she feels it, clear as day.
Elliot's hard-on flush up against her ass.
TBC
AN: When I wrote TBC I laughed for a good minute. I have problems.