A/N: If erosion wasn't a necessary part of evolutionary growth, it would not occur naturally. - Dr. H. M. Helliker.

DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler

"Here," Elliot yanks a dark blue ball cap down onto Olivia's head, then straightens the brim so the red Giants emblem is directly even with her brow. "Fuck," he laughs. "You look fucking adorable." She looks her age. You don't have time to play Naughty Professor. He clears his throat as he pulls a Yankees cap onto his own head and then reaches into the foyer's tall, thin closet. "Raining like hell, out there, and I don't really have a steady supply of rubber hats in the house."

She laughs, tugs on the brim of the cap he'd given her, and says, "This works, thanks." Sighing, she steps closer to him, and just as he pulls two zip-up sweatshirts and a couple of black nylon raincoats out of the closet, she wraps her arms around him. "You have time to change your mind," she whispers, but her lips find his neck and she can feel his throat move under her tongue as he swallows and moans. You're giving him a way out. But are you the one that wants to run? Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispers, "I'm not."

"I'm not either," he replies in a gravelly croak, unaware she was talking to herself and not to him. Turning fast, he holds out the sweatshirt and nods at her. He chuckles as she rolls her eyes, and he sighs in contentment. Domesticity is something he'd never really had with Kathy. Not like this. They'd always had conflicting schedules, getting ready and leaving together never happened. He gives a low, deep moan as he thinks about his life now, who he's sharing at all with, before helping Olivia on with the raincoat. He pulls on the nylon, then leans closer to her and tilts his head. "The only things I'm changing my mind about are how long we're waiting," he breathes. Slowly, his left hand smooths down the front of her body, slips between her legs, and rises up to cup her mound through her black pants. "And a few of the rules."

Moaning, she drops against his broad body, her lips part slightly and she whispers, "You son of a bitch, we have to go to work, and all I'm gonna be thinking about is…"

"The same thing I'm gonna be thinking about," he kisses her slowly, deeply, once. Thunder crashes loudly, breaking them apart, and he winks. "Not sure if you even need the raincoat, now. You're already wet." He growls as he presses his fingers upward again, then peels away from her and opens the door. "Be careful on the steps in those boots," he says, the erotic dominance giving way to sincere concern. Get in front of her. Catch her if she falls. Lust and love, for him, are more balanced now than they've ever been.

She listens for the beeps of the alarm and the click of the lock, then asks, "When were you planning on telling me Jeffries keeps calling…"

"How did you…" he interrupts, but he relents as he hops in front of her and leads her down the clay and stone stairs, over to the driveway, and unlocks the silver sedan he'd forgotten to drive back to the station. "I don't answer her calls, I don't even listen to the voicemails. How did you even know she's been calling me?"

Lightning brightens the sky as she opens her door and she says, "She called you again, this morning, when you were, um…" she can't hide the smile anymore. "You were shaving, I was waiting for you, on the bed," she licks her lips. He demands to help you get dressed now, and you let him. You love him. "And your phone rang, I thought it was Cragen again, but then I saw her name and number come up."

Letting out a heavy breath, he drops into the driver's seat, starts the car, and says, "Really?" Shit. "Well, clearly, I had more important things to do than call her back." Turn on the charm. "You really think I'd…"

"Oh, no," Olivia interrupts as she turns down her smirk. "I'm not worried. I'm pretty sure I have nothing to worry about," she shoots him a wink and licks her lips. "She, uh, really has a thing for you, though." Her eyes drop to her lap when she feels his hand hook around hers. "If she tries anything…"

"I already told her, I'm seeing someone, and it's serious," he interrupts as he shifts the car into reverse. He backs out of the driveway, steering with one hand, and he smiles. "She pulls any shit with me today, I am just gonna have to tell her that my girlfriend will kick her ass." He chuckles as he hears her say she absolutely will. He glances over the console at her, his groggy midnight question and her sleep-fueled answer echo and chime in his ears. She's yours. She promised you, all yours. "My girl," he whispers.

Squeezing his hand, she nods, and then she jumps when a loud crack of thunder causes the ground beneath the car to tremble. "Christ," she huffs, shaking her head. You can ride out the storm. You have him. Her eyes pop as she notices his fingers have pulled themselves out of her hold and his hand is creeping low into the dip between her thighs. "Elliot," she warns, knowing the scene they've been called to isn't too far away.

"Lean back," he says, his voice dark, "Close your eyes." He works his fingers into the fabric of her slacks, moaning when he feels them sticking to her wet flesh. Make her cum, right here, right now, and prove what you need to prove. He tugs on the cotton, which makes her seethe, which makes his cock twitch, and he whispers, "You're mine, and I'm all yours, so whatever crazy ideas you have about Jeffries getting what she wants…" he scoffs and presses his fingers harder against her clothed pussy. "Fucking bullshit, hear me?"

She nods as she moans, her lip pinched between her teeth, and her body betrays her by submitting to him. Her hips roll, her back arches, and she knows that when she answered his question in a twilight haze, every part of her absolutely meant it. She is his, whatever he wants or needs, she will give. He's hers, and will do the same damn thing. And when he talks to his mother and asks his kids, the proof will live on her finger. "Elliot, Jesus," she whimpers. Give him what he wants. Take what you need. Her head lolls to the side and her hips roll again, she feels his fingers moving faster, sliding the rough fabric against her clit.

He can already see flashing lights, orange cones blocking off the street, he doesn't have much time. "Olivia," he sings, working his wrist faster, "Baby, I need to hear you, come on." He scrapes his teeth over his lip and he chuckles. It's much harder concentrating on the road now than it was when the tables had been turned. It hits him then. Her pleasure is more important to you than your own; it's what feeds yours. Growling again, he rubs faster, grits his teeth, and says, "We're out of time, beautiful. Cum. Now."

Obeying, she cries his name and curls her fingers around the leather seat beneath her, and she hopes the car isn't due for any sort of department inspection any time soon. "Oh, God, Elliot," she whimpers, her trembling body curls forward, her thighs clamp together and trap his hand between them. This is what you need. He knows. Her tremors calm and her muscles retreat, and she pants heavily as his freed hand returns to the steering wheel.

He chuckles as he says, "My girl," and turns down the street toward the address Cragen had given him. "I love you," he says, before he can't anymore.

"God, I love you, too," she replies, straightening herself out and taking three much-needed deep breaths. That's how he intends to keep you. No holds barred. Act on impulse. Prove he's not too old to make you weak. She smiles at her thoughts, because she's never once assumed the opposite.

As they pull up to the scene, just before they're able to get out of their car, a man in a suit, NYPD jacket, and bucket hat runs over to Olivia's opening door. He rests one hand on the metal as he looks at her quizically. "Sex Crimes?" he asks with an air of disdain. He watches as they each hold up a badge. He gives them the once over, humming at the fact they both seem younger than him, which gets under his skin.

With her badge still flashing, Olivia kicks her door shut and nods as she spits out, "Olivia Benson."

"Elliot Stabler," Elliot wags his badge at the man, too, hoping he's shouting loud enough to be heard over the rolling thunder and whipping wind.

"Frank Bremmer," the man tugs on his collar once, trying to see through the raindrops. The woman in front of him looks too young to be wearing her badge. He grumbles something under his breath, then speaks again as he leads them over to the haphazardly parked yellow cab, the broken traffic light smashed onto its hood. "Two-Seven." Pointing to the taxi, he says, "A white male, mid-30s."

Olivia bends low and looks into the front seat, hearing Bremmer as he says, "Multiple stab wounds. Forty dollars left in the cigar box." She grimaces as she examines the body, then moves slightly to her left. She can feel Elliot behind her and she knows he's inching his way between her and the cab's door.

Bremmer rolls his eyes, noticing they're already actively searching through the man's belongings. Glaring at Elliot, he folds an arm over the hood of the taxi and pokes his head into the small space between the door frame and the body of the car. "Hack license made out to Victor Spicer. Twelve more dollars in the wallet... it was in his pants... no ID." He shrugs, letting the two detectives know that's all he's got, then gives Olivia another curious glance.

Olivia is oblivious to Bremmer's staring, she's aiming her penlight at the man's body, eyeing the stab wounds, spatter patterns, and scratches on his face, trying to remember what she'd read about arterial spray and post-mortem bruising.

Elliot, though, notices the look on Bremmer's face. He makes an animalistic noise as he screws up his nose, then moves out of the cab and steps between Bremmer and Olivia. He looks from one to the other, then puffs out his chest slightly, ignoring the fact that the rain is soaking through every layer of clothing he wears, right through his black slicker. "Okay, so it's not a robbery, but stabbings aren't necessarily sexual." He shoots Bremmer a condescending glance as he hands Olivia the bagged contents of the vic's pockets and the laminated hack license. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." Remembering where he was when the call came in, he grunts, then scoffs in frustration and wipes water off of his face. "Is there a specific reason you called us out?"

Bremmer smirks, wondering what missteps he'd made in a past life to be forced into this line of work with know-it-all detectives with no patience. "Whoever did this sliced off his 'cigar' and took it with 'em." He drops his gaze toward Olivia and narrows his eyes. "Is that specific enough?"

Olivia gives him a small pout then she and Elliot glance simultaneously at the man's body before looking at each other. Offering a playful quirk of her lips, she peers at him from under the brim of her Giants baseball cap. "Works for me," she gives him a tilt of her head.

They collect what they need, then head back to the station. The drive isn't awkward; their hands are clasped together over the gear shift for the full four-minute ride, while Olivia makes some necessary phone calls and wakes up a very irritated medical examiner. The station comes into view as Elliot turns the wheel one last time, and it stops raining just as he pulls the silver sedan into its spot in the precinct lot. "Ya know," he sighs as he turns the key, "I'm kinda bummed the weather cleared up." He turns to her. "You look good wet."

"Oh, trust me," she smirks as she opens her door. "I'm still wet." She gets out of the car, grinning, knowing he's still sitting behind the wheel and trying to stifle his straining erection. She laughs when he runs to meet her at the front door of the station, then nods as he opens it for her. They slip into an easy professionalism, equal strides and shared confidence, and as they work through the lobby and up the stairs, they're fully aware that the people around them realize they come as a set now. No one questions it. Where Stabler goes, Benson follows. If Benson moves, Stabler's on her heels. It hasn't been long, but now it's cemented in stone and the entire department understands.

Elliot stops her just before they turn the corner and head into their sqaudroom. He takes off her cap and slicker, pulls off her sweatshirt, and tugs on the hem of her black shirt once. This girl. This fucking girl. He sighs and smiles at her.

Following his lead, she pries away the wet nylon, whips off his baseball hat, and works the thick cotton hoodie off of his shoulders. This man. Your man. She slips a hand down his brown striped tie and uses her palm to iron out a wrinkle in his cream-colored shirt.

He combs her hair back, marveling at the way it has dried into natural waves, making it look and feel shorter than it is. He gathers all of the wet clothes into one hand, then swats her ass and says, "I'll make us some coffee, you tell Cragen we got so far and call the hack bureau."

Smirking, she gives him a mock salute. His dominance is showing again, and she remembers that it's only going to get more vile as the day wears on. You're at work. He's your handler until Cragen says he's not. You'll love every minute of it. Her eyes narrow and her lips curl more intently. She follows him through the squadroom doors, swinging off their hinges, and she sees him shake out and hang their coats and hoodies on hooks that are meant for other people. Rolling her eyes, she heads for Cragen's office.

Elliot smirks, staring at her ass as she knocks on the captain's door, then licks his lips as he struts for the back table. He pours two cups of coffee and fixes them identically, then lets out a huff. "What?" he asks, not looking at the woman who's been staring at him. He turns, eyes her for a moment, and when she says nothing, he shrugs and sips his coffee, then saunters over to his desk.

"You know," Jeffries speaks as she takes in his bravado, "I left you six messages. You could have at least called me back to tell me you didn't…"

"Honestly," Elliot exhales, dropping Olivia's coffee down in front of her computer, "After what happened at the bar, I wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone." He sips his coffee, swallows, then adds, "Except Liv. I had my phone on silent, so…" he wheezes. "It wasn't personal." He turns his head when Cragen's door opens, and he studies Olivia as she moves across the floor. Bringing his coffee to his lips, he watches as she sits, not in her chair but on the surface of her desk, then picks up her coffee with one hand and the desk phone with the other. Chuckling at the way she deftly multitasks, he says, "I, um," he sips his coffee again, then shifts closer to the dark-skinned woman to his left. He darts his eyes from her to Olivia and back again, once he's certain his partner isn't paying attention to him. He lowers his voice to a whisper. "I'm planning on asking my girlfriend to marry me, so…" he tilts his head when he sees shocked disappointment on Monique's face. "Stop calling me, unless it's about work, or she will hurt you."

"Serial monogomaist," she hisses at him with a squint. "What's the point? Just gonna end," she shrugs with one shoulder and hikes a group of files higher in her hold, "The way it did with Kathy. This job is a death-knell for relationships, Stabler." She grins at him. "The sooner you realize that, the more fun you can have with as many women as you can possibly handle."

With a disbelieving scoff, he shakes his head and sips his coffee again. "She's a cop, she gets it," he tells her, and then his eyes darken, his chest tightens, and the words that stack together in the back of his throat burn as they join into the phrase he's about to utter. "She's more woman than most people could handle, and I am gonna have so much fucking fun proving that I'm the only one who can, for the rest of my life." He dares Jeffries to say something else, but he chuckles when he sees that she's stunned into speechlessness. He shifts his gaze back to Olivia, who has hung up the phone and wandered over to the fax machine.

"Sorry, I'm late," Brian Cassidy calls out as he pushes both doors open wide. He stretches his arms and makes a grand entrance, then pouts when no one applauds or acknowledges him. He eyes Olivia and licks his lips, takes a step in her direction, but Cragen moves into the middle of the room, stopping him.

The captain looks around and waves his hands frantically as he speaks. "I just talked to Van Buren over at the two-seven," there's a bitterness in his voice as he mentions the woman who took his job and got him planted in the most understaffed, underfunded unit in the city. Exhaling, he steps over to Elliot and Olivia. "She wants copies of all our paperwork since they rolled on this. Where are we?" He eyes them, notices they look far too put together. Raising an eyebrow, he watches Olivia sit back down on her desk and then shoots a glare at Elliot, demanding an answer.

"Autopsy," Elliot replies, grimacing as he pulls up his soggy socks. The one thing he should invest in is a pair of rain boots, but he knows there are more important things he needs to spend his money on. He glances at Cragen. "This afternoon."

"Yeah?" Cragen questions, surprised. He was certain that he'd have to pull teeth to get answers from them, or have to hold the hands of inferior detectives as they tried to work alongside this team. It's becoming more and more obvious that he's finally given Elliot a partner that brings out the best in him, and he sighs as he realizes why, what it means. He drops his eyes to Olivia. "Who's cutting?" he asks, hoping to catch at least one of them in a trap, making sure they have filled each other in on the important details, that they're working the case together. Like equals. Like partners.

"Rodgers," she replies, as soon as she swallows a mouthful of coffee. She averts her gaze from her captain as she sets her green coffee mug down and flips through a few hand-scrawled notes.

Jeffries shoots the younger woman a harsh glare, stuck between being bitter and proud of her, but sighs as she steps over to her own desk with her files in her hands. "Doesn't sound like there's much doubt on the COD," she spits, annoyed that the case seems open-and-shut and she's still not allowed to take the lead with Stabler, just this once.

Munch folds his arms and tilts his head, tired of the constant strip of jealousy that laces everything Jeffries says lately. "Do you think your conclusional pole vaults are personality- or gender-driven?"

Jeffries folds her own arms over each other, her green sleeveless button-down bunching up as she holds the folders to her chest. "I don't know, John." Her head tilts, her eyes land on Olivia for a beat, then Elliot, and she tries to impress the clear Alpha in the room. Glaring back down at Munch, she quips, "What about 'deductively logical'?"

"Oh, really?" Munch leans forward as Monique nods at him. "I had what looked like a stabbing once, in Baltimore." He grabs the white mug off of his desk and rises, heading over to pour himself another cup of coffee. "Turns out some guy who was getting divorced drank drain cleaner, and when his soon-to-be unmarried widow discovered him dead... no alimony... she stabbed him fifteen times out of pique." He takes a sip and looks around, wondering why no one is laughing at the macabre anecdote.

Cragen shakes his head, then looks back around at Olivia and Elliot. She's still perched like a parakeet on the edge of her desk, her green mug balanced on two fingers as she flips through the records the hack bureau faxed over. "Elliot," he says, crooking his fingers, he waits until the younger detective is following him and then guides him toward his office, ignoring the curiously worried look he's getting from Olivia. "Shut the door," he says flatly.

Elliot does as he's told, then raises both hands in protest. "Okay, I've only been here for fifteen minutes, and Benson can vouch for every move I made," he shoots defensively. "If I'm in some kind of trouble here…"

"She's the one in trouble," Cragen spits harshly, leaning against his desk. He grabs for a plastic container, pulls a long strip of red licorice out of it, and wags it at Elliot, "Or am I wrong?" He bites into the flaccid candy and chews, his nostrils flaring. "You're a…"

"Level with me," Elliot interrupts, and he takes a few steps closer to his captain. "It's not my age, or how young she is, it's not the fact that we're partners, it's not even because I'm a divorced father and still can't have a civilized conversation with my ex-wife." He leans to one side and crosses his arms. "It's obviously not because you think I'm dragging her into something she can't handle, or taking away what's left of her childhood because she's more of a fucking adult than half the humps in this unit, including you." He runs a hand down his face. "I'm not on a really late rebound, I'm not trying to make Kathy jealous, I'm not trying to piss off my kids, and I'm not just getting my rocks off by fucking a hot, young piece of ass." He coughs once. "That's the furthest thing from what she is, what she means to me. You can't control who you fall in love with, and you can't just ignore the kind of chemistry I have with her, that's a once in a lifetime…"

"Are you done?" Cragen flings a chunk of cherry-flavored licorice at him. He snorts when Elliot glares at him, but then pops the last bit of his rope into his mouth. As he chews, he says, "So I was right, the whole damn time?" He exhales and twists his body to shift forward on his desk. Dropping his gaze, he speaks low, almost wistfully. "You'll take care of her?"

"Swear to God," Elliot raises one hand, places the other over his heart. "As long as you take care of her mother." He smirks. "Yeah, uh, those meetings aren't as anonymous as they should be, and Serena actually has conversations with Liv, totally sober." He scratches his chin. "I haven't told her," he swings, "But I assume, now, you see where I'm coming from? Can't be mad at me for dating a younger woman, when you're doing the same thing."

"Dating?" Cragen puffs out. "I'm dating, you two are practically…" he cringes. "Don't make me say it." He stands, shoves his hands in his pockets, and he says, "I'm gonna pretend I don't know shit, you two keep it the fuck out of work, don't talk about your personal lives in this building, we won't have a problem." He shoots his eyes toward the door, catching a glimpse of Jefferies offering to help Olivia unjam the copier. He smiles and lets his shoulders drop. "If anything ever goes wrong, and you can't work around it, you're both knocked back down to the mailroom, if you even get to keep your jobs here at all. Am I clear?"

"It won't." Elliot's voice is sharp, firm, determined. "I promised her that, a thousand times. I told my mother, her mother, my kids...she's stuck with me." He shrugs, and then he says, "And no one else knows. I had to tell you this morning, because she's got six weeks left until her rank is official, until I get to stop keeping her on a leash, until she's just as much of a permanent fixture around here as I am." He licks his lips. "Stop treating her like a child, give her the same shit you gave me when I was still wet behind the ears, or she'll walk, and take me with her. We kind of come as a set now, so…"

"I know that," Cragen interrupts. "Like I said, keep it out of the office. If you two decide to…" he furrows his brow. "No, ya know what? Maybe it's better if I don't know that either. You're entitled to have a life beyond these walls." He rubs his fingers across his forehead. "Anything serious happens, I'll hear it from Serena. You'd better pray she never tells me you broke her daughter's heart, or the next body Rodgers cuts will be yours." He juts his chin forward. "Back to work," he spits, "You know why I had to make the threat."

"And you know why I had to make mine," Elliot raises one brow, then turns his back. He smiles as he opens the door, and as he walks over to his desk, to his partner, he takes a deep breath and lets it out on a contented sigh. The last year of his life had been one tragic mistake after another, one endless lonely night, until she came along and rocked his world. Her waves of persistence and rising tides of passion and brilliance slowly polished the jagged edges of the wall he'd built around himself. For the first time in so long, he has his confidence back, his ego reformed and his swagger intensified. He doesn't pretend to be happy anymore, he truly is, and yes, he has the most incredible sex life in the world, because the wild creature in his bed has zero inhibitions where he's concerned. She is also the angel that captured his heart and saved his soul, so he never has to feel unloved and unworthy again. He knows, because she told him so during their morning romp in the shower, that he'd made her feel all of that and more, and because of him, the parts of her that she despised no longer existed. He feels his lips tighten and he realizes he's smiling, for no other reason than his own genuine happiness, and the intoxicating woman sitting on the edge of his desk is the reason for it. He mentally sends up a prayer, thanking God for giving him the strength to withstand the abrasion and dissolution of the things that would have kept her from him, and for the power to grind down and chip away the barriers she'd thrown up on her own. He'd be forever grateful for her, for the way she loved him, for the man he is now, because of her.

"What are you thinking about, Stabler?" Olivia asks, grinning wonderingly at the dazed look on his face.

He lets a soft breath escape, reaches for her, and drags his hand slowly down her arm until it flattens over her knuckles. Looking into her eyes, he shrugs slightly as he says, "Erosion."

A/N: Thank you for reading, and for the support, always.