A big congratulations to danalewis, the winner of the #randomactsofeo comp on twitter who provided prompts for this story! This ones for you girl, I hope you like it.
Set up: Season 8. Liv returned from Oregon a few months ago in this fic to find Elliot and Kathy had divorced while she was gone (aka Eli doesn't exist).
Prompt: Liv gets called into work while she is in the middle of getting *c*e*n*s*o*r*e*d
WHAT IF
She had been out of breath.
That's what he was focused on.
She had been breathless when he'd called her on the phone.
And now she sits beside him, radio in hand, her cheeks mildly flushed, her hair slightly tussled, her disposition somewhat rattled and all he can focus on was that breathy timbre when she answered.
"Yeah El," she whispered, practically panting.
He paused. "Liv, we've been called in."
"Suspect has just entered the building." Olivia's voice cut through his recollection from earlier that evening.
He glances over at her, his eyes skimming her profile as she communicates with Fin via radio and he is looking for more telltale signs to backup his theory.
He can see her lips are slightly swollen beneath the fresh coat of lipstick and there are subtle but telling marks on her neck.
Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail and her bangs sweep across her forehead in a chaotic fashion like she'd just pulled off a hat.
She is so lost in her conversation with Fin that she doesn't notice him staring but he's gathered enough evidence now that it's settled for him.
She'd been in the midst of having sex when he called her and his chest pounds with the familiar sensation he had become well accustomed to over the years.
Jealousy.
"Want me to drop you home?" Elliot begins quietly a little while later, no longer engaging in longing stares at his freshly fucked partner.
They were officially off the clock now, the suspect had been arrested, Fin and Munch were processing him back at the station and it was bordering on very late evening.
"Liv," he repeats, this time glancing over and watching her immersed in her phone.
"Your place or…" He lets the sentence dissolve into thin air and she still doesn't look up so he sighs openly into the car.
She finally glances over to acknowledge the fact that he was speaking.
"Ah yeah sorry," she responds. "Thanks El, if it's not out of your way."
He turns the engine over, a loud rumble echoing through the interior of the car and he tries not to think about the fact that she's most likely communicating with the guy still occupying her bed.
The car ride was long and torturous.
Her face was either pointed out the window or buried in her phone but this was nothing new for them. They had been off like this since she returned from Oregon and the only exchanges they seemed to have nowadays were when they were disagreeing.
But when they were good, it was just this.
Silence.
Maybe because it was safer that way.
She had been shocked to find out he was divorced when she returned from Oregon and they hadn't spoken about it in detail, but it was as if she knew.
She'd left and his world had fallen apart and that's the reality neither of them are willing to touch.
He finally pulls up outside her stoop and switches off the ignition.
"Thanks," she gives him with a small smile, wasting no time before she is clicking off her seatbelt and moving out of the car. "I'll see you tomorrow."
The door is already closed behind her when he says it.
"Night Liv."
He watches her disappear up the stoop steps as memories of their past filter through his mind. So many nights they'd had long lengthy chats outside her apartment with the engine idle, back when things weren't complicated.
Those memories feel like a lifetime ago.
He cranes his head to peer up at the rows of apartments, his eyes moving across towards hers – hoping, praying that he was wrong about the phone call and what he'd heard.
But reality hits like a heavy weight when he sees her lights are already on.
Three Days Later
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Olivia's voice carries through the precinct.
He turns to find her close, her arms folded beneath her breasts, her eyes wild with fury and he knows she gets like this she has reached her limits with something.
Today it was him.
He furrows his brow, lowering the coffee pot back into it's console, feigning confusion over the question despite knowing exactly what she is referring to.
His mood.
The one that hasn't altered since the night he'd caught her in the throws of having sex.
"What do you mean?" He finally responds, his chest already puffing outward, bracing for a fight.
"Don't give me that," she says tersely. "You've been short with me all week.." she lowers her voice and it deepens in the process, doing unspeakable things to him. "Back there in interrogation.." she releases her arms to gesture towards the room he'd just stalked out of. "What the hell was that?"
She's referring to the biting comments he'd made during their row with a suspect and it would seem he hadn't done a good enough job playing it off as part of their playacting with the perp.
He grasps the sugar packet from the console.
"We got a confession didn't we," he bites, tearing the paper packet open.
She is glaring at him now but he ignores her, reaching for a stirrer, feigning disinterest in the topic and absently bumping her shoulder in the process.
She doesn't flinch, she just watches on as he stirs the white granules into the piping hot liquid.
He can feel her biting words sitting ripe on her tongue but Cragen's office door is wide open and they've only just recovered from last weeks public blow up.
He can feel the few turned heads already focused in their direction, all waiting to see if this will escalate into one of their classic rows and because he is a dick he does it.
His eyes return to hers and lock in challenge.
Go on Liv.
What are you waiting for?
Take it away.
He is actually goading her now - point blank and he watches the anger throb as those tantalising lips of hers start to lift upward, but it's not a pleasant smile she gives him.
"Screw you," she whispers, her timbre low and husky, a stark juxtaposition to the time she'd yelled it at him full throttle during a particularly trying case.
But this time it's only for him.
Her dark eyes move between his and he grips his coffee mug tightly because it's all he can do to stop himself from grabbing the lapel of her jacket and planting one on her right now in front of the entire precinct.
She picks up on it, his clear discomfort and when she turns towards the direction of her desk she may think she's won the battle, but he will most definitely win the war.
He had gone copious rounds on the bench as if that act alone would have the power to eradicate his thoughts. His muscles were a burning chafe but it was all he could do to work through the agonizing tension flooding through his veins.
He cannot stop thinking about his partner - horizontal, breathless, beneath some nobody that doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as her let alone share her bed.
Not that his company was any better.
She deserves far better than his piss poor behavior this week but he can't help it, every time he looks at her it's all he can picture now.
Maybe it's residual pent up Oregon hostility from when she just left without a word or maybe he is pissed they don't talk anymore – about anything substantial. Maybe he's enraged that he had to find out she's seeing someone from an ill-timed phone call.
Or maybe - just maybe he's pissed that he ended a 20 plus year marriage in the hope that something would start between them.
But it hasn't.. and the reality of that hits him daily.
If it were to happen it would have happened by now.
11 months..
He strips off his shirt - he is sweaty and practically dripping he'd gone so hard with his reps. He stands at his open locker, sorting through the contents hoping to find a clean towel in amongst the pile of rubble. He hears the locker room door come to a firm close but he doesn't look up, just continues to ferret through the contents praying that it isn't her but knowing all too well that it is.
He grasps a semi clean towel beneath a stack of shoes, closing the locker door quickly and she is there beside him, her arm practically brushing his she's standing that close.
She waits until he makes eye contact with her to say it.
"This about Kathy .."
The boldness of her question knocks him for six.
He is looking down at her, disbelief churning at the fact that she's bringing up his ex wife at a time like this. The ink had dried 11 months ago on the divorce papers and his had nothing to do with Kathy.
"No," he says sternly, clearing that assumption up with one word.
Her eyes move pointedly between his and he's blatantly conscious of her proximity now. The beads of sweat slipping down his face are practically at risk of dropping onto her shirt she's standing that close.
She waits a few purposeful beats and extends the silence as if it's some sort of intimidation act.
"Well something is going on," she juts her chin up. "Because you only act like this when your life is falling to shit."
Her comment is so brazen and harsh it throws him a little and his lips slowly turn upward.
"In case you haven't noticed Olivia, my life has fallen to shit," he slams the locker door closed, the raw honesty of that statement emanating like a beacon.
It fell to shit when you left.
"This is nothing new," he mutters.
"Well whatever it is," she sighs tiredly. "It's getting old."
And with that, she is gone.
He is being a royal jerk to her.
He knows this.
He just wasn't entirely sure how he was meant to articulate eight years of frustration, confusion, emotion and desire in one heated locker room conversation.
'I overheard you getting plowed the other night Liv and I just thought you should know, I wanted it to be me.'
So now here he was, knocking on her door, his tail metaphorically between his legs and he is begging himself not to blow it this time.
Just talk to her Stabler.
Use your words and drop the misplaced animosity.
He knocks, and it's followed up by a lengthy period of silence and it occurs to him in that moment that she may not be alone, in fact it's quite likely she could be in the middle of something – again.
Just as he is about to retreat from the doorway the door swings open, the brisk motion whipping her hair around her face.
He lets out a breath when he sees that she is fully dressed.
"Elliot what are you doing here?" She sighs, clearly in no mood to see him right now. "Did you not reach your daily quota of giving me shit today?"
He stops short, ignoring her obvious jab, his eyes instead focused on the fact that she's changed since the precinct - she's now sporting jet black jeans, a low cut cream scoop neck shirt and a brown leather jacket that does not disguise her curves.
"Are you going out?"
The question is painfully obvious.
Her face is fresh, her eyes are darker, she's sporting dangling earrings and it takes effort to keep his eyes off her ample cleavage.
"I was," she grips the doorframe like a barrier. "But there's been a change of plans."
"Oh?" Elliot's eyebrows raise and he does nothing to conceal his obvious elation.
She furrows her eyebrows. "Elliot, why are you here?"
"To apologize," he says matter-of-factly.
She does a double take at that. "Well well well," she says with a put upon smile, her tone flooding in sarcasm. "Elliot Stabler apologizing, wonders will never cease."
He takes the second quip, because he deserves it.
He deserves a tonne of them.
"I know," he concedes, scrubbing a hand across his stubble. "I was an ass today." He doesn't care that he's losing face because he is too focused on the way her newly curled hair twists and falls just above her breasts.
"You were," she agrees letting go of the doorframe, her body language starting to soften from his admission.
"So are you here to tell me what's really going on with you?" She gives him a look.
He hovers in the doorway, unsure of where to start, he's not even entirely sure he's ready to divulge a near decades worth of baggage on her doorstep.
He motions towards the empty living room behind her.
"Can I come in?"
She hesitates only briefly before she starts to walk into her apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow. He moves through the threshold, shutting the door behind him and when he turns back he watches a whole lot more skin come into view as she strips off her jacket.
"Where were you going tonight?" he asks curiously, noting her top is sleeveless and very.. very tight. He's not sure just how he's going to get through this conversation without getting increasingly distracted now.
"Just out," she brushes it off.
"With?" He questions.
"No one important."
He nods, relief filling his chest at the dismissal of her date and his eyes dart around the empty room for a few beats before they land on hers.
"Wanna go out with me?"
She stills in place and looks at him as if she must have misheard. "Excuse me?"
He blinks back at her, watching her face heat before his very eyes.
"Dinner.." he explains.
It was that time after all and that was most likely where she'd been headed tonight.
"You have to eat right.."
She lets out a breath. "Takeouts already on the way," she explains, still thrown by his choice of words.
He nods and starts to slip off his jacket, giving her the indication that he doesn't intend to leave anytime soon.
"So we'll eat together - my shout."
He drops his jacket over the back of her sofa and she gives him a look.
"I didn't order enough for two," she says pointedly.
"Then I'll steal an egg roll," he smiles.
"Why are you really here El?" She gives him a serious look, trying to gauge what he's angling at.
"I told you," he responds, stepping uncharacteristically closer to her. "To apologize.." his eyes move slowly between hers.
He can clearly see she's affected by his sudden proximity but it's no closer than she had been standing in the locker room.
"Do you want a drink?" He motions towards her fridge.
She smiles at that. "You're offering me a drink in my own home?"
He fails to hide his own smile. "Yes I am."
"Well I've only got beer," she tells him.
"Then beer it is."
She watches him rustle out a couple of Budweiser's as she takes a seat on one of the kitchen stools. Her mind is working in overtime trying to figure out just what the hell Elliot's deal is tonight. Just when she starts to relax around him he says something else that throws her through another loop.
Wanna go out with me?
He had to have known how that sounded..
That coupled with the fact that he's done a shocking job of keeping his eyes trained on her face since he'd showed up tonight.
"Bottle opener?" he asks from across the counter top.
"Top drawer, beside the stove," she motions in the general direction.
He pops both tops of the beer bottles and slides one towards her from the other side as if he were her bartender.
She moves the icy bud towards her and he watches as she lifts the bottle up to her lips.
"Can I ask you something Liv?"
Her chest pounds because he's already thrown her enough times tonight, she's not sure she's ready for another just yet.
"Sure," she keeps her eye contact steady, responding in a neutral tone as if not to appear rattled.
But she is nervous.
Olivia Benson, is nervous.
He considers her for a few beats before he continues.
"If we weren't partners…" he begins slowly. ".. and I approached you in a bar, how would you respond?"
She watches as he casually lifts his beer bottle up to his lips like he'd just asked her something as simple as what the time was.
Her mind was reeling.
"Is this you prepping for the dating world El," she attempts to keep it light. "Because I'm not sure I'm the best person to give advice."
"No," he responds, leaning down until his elbows are on her counter. "Just a general question," he tilts his head. "I approach you in a bar, I'm a complete stranger - how do you respond?"
Jesus Christ.
"I don't know," she treads carefully. "It depends."
"On what?"
"On a lot of things.." she responds.
"Like?" he prods.
She shifts awkwardly in her seat. "What you say when you approach me.. how I'm feeling that night," her words trail off.
She cannot believe he has asked her this, he's basically asking if she finds him attractive.
"Okay," he considers her response and picks himself up off the counter, rounding to her side. "So say I come up to you in a bar and take a seat next to you." He pulls out the stool closest to hers and leans down on the counter with his beer replicating a bar scene.
"I start asking you about your evening, what you're doing here.. what you do for work and so on... we start to hit it off," he takes another casual sip. "How do you respond?"
She is staring at the puddle of condensation pooling beneath her bottle when she starts to smile.
"How drunk am I?"
But he doesn't respond to her joke, his expression remains neutral and she knows in that moment that he is serious about this.
"I don't know El.. " she sighs. "Is this solely appearance based?"
"No," Elliot blinks back at her. "The whole package."
"And are you asking me if I'd sleep with you.. or date you?"
She cannot believe she is placating him, this is dangerous, dangerous territory.
"Both."
Want to go out with me?
She moves the bottle back and forth between her hands. "Like I said, it depends on what you say.. and what you do.." She takes a deep weighted breath, her chest pounding as she continues. "So what would you do Elliot.." she looks up at him pointedly.
She watches something flicker in his expression before he starts to shift in his chair.
"I'd put my hand on the back of your chair, like this," his fingers grip the metal ridge behind her, "and I'd lean in close enough to seal the space around us, but not too much that it's invasive."
"I'd make sure I'd get closer than I need to," he leans in a little further, his mouth parallel to her ear now. "And I'd pretend I can't hear you over the loud music."
"And when I can tell you're starting to get comfortable, I'd slip my hand across your shoulder like this.. and draw you ever so gently closer to me."
Her flesh is fire beneath his palm.
"Then I'd line our lips up like this," he whispers, his eyes dropping down to her mouth. "But I wouldn't lean in.." he finishes off in a whisper. "I'd leave that part up to you."
His eyes move back up to hers and she blinks back at him, the intensifying within seconds.
He is looking at her in question now.
His intention clear as day.
She swallows, she is still focused on those crystal blues, unable to comprehend how things had escalated so quickly.
She feels his thumb swipe across the back of her neck once, twice and there isn't a sound in the room except for their breathing.
She wants to lean in.
She wants to kiss him.
Dear God, she wants to.
Of course she does.
He's just given her the green light but a part inside of her feels it's still amber.
Her lips part, she can hear her own chest pounding in confliction and she has seconds to decide how she is going to respond to this.
"What do you do Liv," he whispers, his breath practically expelling on her lips now he's that close.
"Not partners… both single…no barriers-"
She moves forward within seconds, cutting him off, sealing their lips together softly, her final release on her restraint dissipating at those words.
Not partners.
Both single.
No barriers.
Her chest pounds as she clasps his lips between hers and she sinks forward, her hand moving up to cup his cheek so she doesn't risk falling into him. She opens her mouth to his and he is slow in response to her movements, her heart panging at just how gentle and tentative he is despite his prior bravado.
He reaches beneath her kitchen bar stool, sliding it slowly towards him, the scrape of metal causing her heart rate to jolt. His legs are at an open stance and the motion is so palpable, the silence between them deafening. Their noses knock as he attempts to reunite their lips and it's clumsy yet intentional the way he kisses her. It's everything she would expect from kissing her partner for the first time after eight years.
What are we doing?
The words are in her throat, but she cannot for the life of her push them out.
She doesn't want to.
She doesn't want to think about what they're doing or she will stop.
He nips her lower lip gently and it causes a rush of heat to culminate in her lower belly. She sinks a little forward and he catches her, his hands at her waist now as their bodies remain restricted by stools. She sucks on his top lip, drawing in a slow breath through her nose and she starts to think of all the reasons why they should continue this.
Surely there are many reasons.
Good reasons..
He makes a sound when she dips her tongue into his recesses, a weak moan emanating as the vibrations course through her body.
They need to be closer.
"We should," she whispers against his mouth, hoping to God he will continue the sentence for her because someone needs to put the breaks on.
We should stop.
That's what needs to be said.
Only no one is saying it.
"We should what?" he murmurs, still clutching her waist with one hand and drawing her hair to the side with another.
"We should have done this sooner?" he offers, his admission rocking her to the core because it's never been the bodies at the bars that have satisfied her, it's always been the thought of this.
Him.
"Yes," she whispers before skimming her lips across his stubble and when she moves back to face him she catches something flicker in his eyes.
Contentment.
And strangely he doesn't look as surprised as she feels.
"Eight years," he whispers, before leaning forward and sealing their lips once more.
Her eyes slip open when he kisses her this time, disbelief pulsing over that one admission.
He had waited eight years for her.
And so had she.
The End
AN: So as you can probably tell I ran it to the brink on this one so it's a little chaotic, half baked and ends abruptly but yay for posting by the group deadline lmao.
I hope it manages to satisfy. X
