A/N: Your life is a reflection of how effectively you balance potential and kinetic energy.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the show or the characters, but, oh, how I wish I did.
March 28th 9:00 PM
After cooking with Elliot, Olivia had sat down at the rustic wooden table and had dinner with the family she had somehow become a part of, feeling more at home than ever. Conversations about school and work had filled the space between chewing, and when it was over the kids cleaned off the table, then they all settled around the TV. Surprisingly, they'd all agreed on a movie to watch, and they'd all shared a large bowl of popcorn as Elliot and his son had bickered about where they recognized the actors from and Olivia had braided Kathleen's hair. When the credits finally rolled, the kids had scattered and plodded off to do their homework, study, or play video games, leaving Elliot to pack away leftovers while Olivia did the dishes.
Smiling and humming to herself, Olivia ran a soapy sponge along the rim of a plate. It had all been wonderful, and until now, she had been relaxed. Happy. As she rinsed off the plate and set it in the drainer, her thoughts drifted from their evening to what might have happened if they'd been shot in that elevator two weeks ago, or if Harris had gotten what he'd wanted a month ago, and then she fell deeper into the tunnel.
Any closer and you're gonna be wearing his brains on your coat!
The dish and sponge dropped into the sink; her hands gripped the side of the counter, suds slowly slipping down the marble. Shutting her eyes, she swallowed hard and tried to take a deep breath, but she could feel the room start to tremble beneath her feet, a buzzing start to swirl in her ears. Gitano's voice was crystal clear, so vivid she could hear the smack of his tongue as he finished his sentence. Elliot's face came into view behind her closed lids, pale, trembling, glassy-eyed, but firm in his conviction as he spoke.
Olivia, there is no reason to keep this piece of crap alive. Pull the trigger right now. Olivia, pull it. Shoot him!
"Shit," she hissed, and then pressed her lips together tightly. Her white knuckles cracked as she curled her fingers around the ledge of the counter, before one shaking hand moved fast to clasp around the gold medallion hanging around her neck. Her stomach churned as she rocked back and forth slightly, trying to find balance. Air filled her panicking lungs as suddenly, Elliot's face faded into nothingness, Gitano slowly dissolved into Lowell Harris, his gun morphed into a nightstick.
You must like it rough. Yeah, you oughta watch me now.
"Please, don't," she whispered, unaware it had been out loud, oblivious to Elliot stepping slowly to her side.
I'm gonna take my time with you.
In her mind, now, Harris moved too fast, too forcefully, but before her waking nightmare played out, she felt hands on her arms. Her eyes shot open and she gasped, blinking in time with her jackhammering heart. "El," she exhaled, realizing instantly that it was him. Her shoulders rose and fell a bit slower as she let herself drop into his hold. Soggy hands moved toward his tee-shirt, fisting the cotton and twisting until it pulled him closer. His scent calmed her, his soft kisses landed on the top of her head and soothed her stricken nerves. Holding him, she said, "I'm sor-"
"Apologize and I will kick your ass," he cut her off completely, his chin nestled on her crown and moving as he spoke, his arms clutching her to his chest. "Wanna talk about it?"
She shook her head as the negation left her lips. "No, I'm...I'm okay…" she let out a relieved laugh and leaned her head back to peer up at him. "Guess it's gonna take more than just a couple of pills, huh?"
"I'll give you whatever you need," he promised, swaying slowly with her as he held her tightly. "I know you can't help it, but you gotta stop reliving it, honey."
"I know," she whined, loosening her grip on his shirt. "I'm not thinking about it on purpose, it just...happens. Today, tomorrow...Sunday." Rolling her eyes, she whimpered. "God, Sunday's the Thirtieth. That's the day...the warehouse…I almost…"
"Stop, baby," he whispered, and he looped his arms around her waist. "What happened with Gitano...yeah, that was a shitty couple of days, and we're never gonna forget it, but we got past it, didn't we? I know what you're going through, and I know it's causing every horrible memory you have to take the prime-time slot in your head, but it's my job to make them all fuck off. Especially that one." He pressed his lips to his forehead. "I, uh...shit, what happened made us confront a lot of things we weren't ready for, that we just...ran from, but it was a long time ago, and we are here, now, safe and sound, together."
"Yeah, we are," she whispered, her eyes clouding over. Something in his voice snapped her broken pieces back together, and as she tilted her head, she chided herself for giving in to the anxiety because it was easier than letting herself get comfortable with Elliot. It was far easier to let panic win out than relax into something settled and plan a future with the only man she was afraid of losing; the root of her fear was having to watch him walk away the moment she trusted him to stay, because she believed the possibility was still very real. "Damn," she breathed, shaking her head. George had been right after all.
Nodding, she moved with him as he started swaying her again, dancing to the music of the sirens and car-horns filtering in through the open kitchen window. It didn't make sense to her, any of it. She wasn't the type to panic, she was never on edge so constantly or this close to falling apart, and she certainly never needed anyone else to keep her together. Inhaling again, she moaned. He filled her lungs, his cologne and Ivory soap, and it brought countless memories and emotions with it, innumerable moments that bound her to him. Sinking deeper into his hold, she knew she was scaring him, that he was worried about her, and contrition started to replace her panic. With a soft sigh, she buried her head into his chest, deciding then and there to fight both feelings with everything she had. "When, uh, when are you gonna start making this the best day ever, exactly? You're running out of time," she teased, slipping one hand up the back of his faded tee-shirt.
"Hey, now," he chuckled. "I thought cooking together and spending time with the kids was pretty fucking awesome, so we're halfway there." Dropping his gaze, he looked into her eyes. Like brandy, he drank her in, intoxicated by her, addicted to her. "I love you," he said without thinking, a reflex that seemed to kick in more often now. One hand swept through her hair as the other trailed down her back. "And, uh, not all of our March Twenty-Eighths have been bad, right?" he spoke, dissolving her thoughts. Pulling her along, he leaned back against the short, brown counter, fingering the fabric of her soft blue joggers. "Do you remember, uh, a few years ago, Michael Gardner?" After she nodded, he ushered his left hand between the elastic of her pants and her skin, smoothed over her lower back, then cupped one cheek of her bare ass. "Those, uh, bruises his lawyer was bitching about?"
"Fin said he fell," Olivia recalled, running her teeth over her lips.
"Bull," he said, parroting what the defense attorney had said. "He punched you, so I punched him." He smirked. "Son of a bitch was too embarrassed and too scared to tell anyone." He kissed her as he laughed. "I beat the shit out of him because he hurt you, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. That, uh, that was March Twenty-Eighth," he said with a small grin.
Narrowing her eyes, she gave him a flat-lipped smile. "What does that have to do with…" one brow rose as he pressed the index finger of his right hand over her lips, silencing her.
"The, uh, the next year...the Spevak case...Huang told us what to do, and he was right, but fuck, I hated it." His heart throbbed harder when she kissed his finger, and he dropped his hand to caress the side of her face. "Even though it was all just an act, saying it all...treating you like that…" he rubbed his lips together and shook his head, his right hand joining his left in her pants, squeezing her ass. "So I took you to dinner that night, to, uh, apologize…" his smirk widened. "That was…"
"March Twenty-Eighth," she said with a small grin. "You, uh, you had way too much to drink that night," she laughed, then moved her face closer to his. "We both did." It was a moment they never spoke of, a memory they ignored and pretended never happened. Looking back, it was a broken barrier, a torn-down wall that left the opening for everything that was to come, and she honestly didn't remember drinking much at all. She ran her lips over his teasingly. "Or was that just an excuse?"
"Kissed you, stone-cold sober," he confessed, and he gave her ass another rough squeeze. "I knew what I was doing. I wanted to kiss you, so I did. Gonna do it again, right now." Slanting his lips over hers, he moaned her name and hiked her body up, settling her legs around his waist. His tongue encircles hers, eliciting a moan that rivaled his. Knuckles fought against the cotton pants as his bold fingers crept toward her slit.
She gasped into his mouth as he pushed a finger into her suddenly, then moaned and nodded, answering his unasked question.
Knowing his kids were in their rooms and wouldn't see them like this, he chuckled victoriously against their kiss and pushed another finger into her. He flicked and twisted his wrist as he carried her around the bend, down the hall, and through their bedroom door. With a soft grunt, he kicked the door shut and flopped onto the bed, keeping her where she was, still whisking their tongues together and catching her soft sounds, still working his fingers inside of her.
Unconsciously, she moved with him, helping him peel away layers of clothes and shifting when he needed her to, murmuring his name over and over again. His lips drew abstract patterns on her skin as he undressed her, and her fingers followed trails of scars and tattoos as she tore his apparel away.
In the briefest moment of respite, as he tossed the rumpled clothes to the floor and caught his breath, she remembered the text message she'd received. Three words from Kathy she once believed she'd never hear.
He's all yours.
"Mine," she whispered and closed her eyes, her nails dragging up and down his spine as he moved over her again.
"Damn right I am," he mumbled back, his lips finding spots on her body that demanded his attention as he crawled up her form. Kisses landed on scars and freckles and birthmarks, grazed curves and navigated her hills and valleys. "Look at me," he softly commanded, settling his thick thighs over her hips.
Feeling his tip nudging, begging, she opened her eyes and held his gaze. She could sense every one of his muscles tighten, his restraint reaching its breaking point, and she reached her hands up to cup his face. Everything she'd ever wanted him to tell her, every single dream of him she'd ever had, was clear in his beautiful blue eyes.
"I'm here," he told her, "The way I should have been…" he swallowed, the regret and guilt threatening to overpower the moment. "No one is gonna get that close again, I swear to you," he breathed, his lips trembling as he spoke. He bent his head again and his mouth latched onto the small raised scar on the side of her neck. Anchoring there, he suckled and moaned, then started to thrust forward, the head of his hardness stretching her open. Lifting away from her throat, he chuckled at the purpling mark he'd left behind and then looked at her softly. His mouth edged up at the corners and he felt his eyes burn with the need to close his eyes, though he couldn't. "Let it all go, focus on us, what's here, now." Prodding her nose with his, he smiled as he pushed another inch into her. "I'm right here, I got you," he said, and then he kissed her deeply, sliding the rest of the way into her.
Her back arched and her toes curled as his tongue seemed to sweep away the root cause of her panic and doubt. Eagerly, she submitted as his kiss consumed her. The way his hands felt on her body made her shiver, his fingers licking at her like flames, his touch driving home every promise he'd ever made to her and sealing them onto her soul like tattoos. "Elliot," she breathed, her throat burning as his name flew from its depths.
Growling softly, he rocked his hips in a deliberate and powerful rhythm, each thrust working deeper into her. "Right here," he moaned back to her, then kissed her again, swallowing every sweet word she attempted to say. "Always." Hooking his arms under her, he lifted her up and withdrew halfway, only to shift further into the middle of the bed. He flattened her down again and hit into her, his lips still dueling with hers as their tongues danced and their bodies melded.
"El," she whimpered. Nails dug into his shoulder blades, her back and neck craned as she let the tension build and crescendo, rotating her hips and meeting his driving bucks. "El, oh, God," her eyes popped open as she gasped and she fell into his impassioned stare as he thrust even harder, fighting her clenching.
Refusing to blink, he watched her pupils dilate, her brows lift, her irises darken. "Yes, baby," he gruffed, "So fucking beautiful." He kissed her again, muffling her cry as she moved more wildly under him as he speared into her. "Oh, fuck, baby," he growled, hearing her sweet noises. He kissed her again, catching the scream of his name she let loose as she came, and he only slowed his pistoning long enough for her to ride it out. Picking up speed again, he deepened his kiss and pressed his knees down into the mattress, the soles of his feet found stability against the frame of the bed. "Love you," he panted, fisting her hair and tugging lightly, "So fucking much."
"God," her eyes fluttered and her palms roamed over the expanse of his back. "I love you." As her head fell back, she moaned and languished in the way his kisses trailed along her neck until his mouth found one of her nipples. "Oh, God, Elliot," she cried, and her quivering legs swept up his body, wrapped around his back, and pulled him deeper into her. Trembling fingers stumbled over the pulsing muscles of his back until they gripped his ass, curling her whole body around his.
"Fuck," he spat, letting her nipple fall out of his mouth. He drew his mouth back up to hers and slammed down, kissing her feverishly as he felt tightening in his balls and the tingling started at the base of his back. "Liv," he mumbled, "God, Olivia." Another grunt, one low growl, and he whispered, "Let go."
He meant it in so many ways.
She obeyed, rocking upward and piercing his skin with her nails again as she came for a second time, clamping and pulsing around his pumping cock, letting herself feel everything at once. Her toes curled, her entire body vibrated, she lost vision and couldn't hear anything except the thunderous pounding of her own heart.
"God damn, baby," he grunted as her body locked him inside of hers, her tense thighs keeping him pressed tightly against her. He gritted his teeth and pounded home twice more as he shot hot blasts into her. Shuddering violently, he groaned her name and whispered a prayer in Latin he didn't realize he remembered. Before he was fully spent, he grabbed her hard and flipped over onto his back. His hands slapped down onto her ass as he roared in pure satisfaction and gave one final upward thrust, a final blast shooting into her. He convulsed as she quaked, and then he closed his eyes. He sunk into the mattress and felt her collapse fully onto him.
Silence, except for their quick and heavy breaths, filled the room. Their slick bodies stilled and curled together, arms flew to grab bits of still-twitching flesh, and as their limbs tangled together, they let out simultaneous joyous laughs. He kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through her hair; she traced the blank ink lines of Jesus on his arm. She found peace in their entwined connection, solace in his arms, and after a slowly inhaled breath, she did what he'd asked of her. She let go.
His hands swept through her damp curls, soft moans left him involuntarily, and he throbbed inside of her because he was never truly sated, never had enough of her. "I love you," he whispered, knowing he'd already said it far too much, but believing there was no such thing.
"I love you," she returned on a hum. Her finger dallied across the geometric arm of Christ again as she let out a breathy sigh. "You never told me what tattoo you're getting."
"You'll find out tomorrow," he huffed, still trying to calm himself down. He kissed the crown of her head again. "You give any more thought to going under the gun with me?" He smirked as she angled her eyes toward his. "Doesn't hurt. Not compared to being shot, stabbed, or…"
"I thought about it," she overlapped his words, then took a deep breath and let it out as she rolled her hips again. She grinned when he seethed, knowing how sensitive they both were, discovering it didn't matter. She rocked her body, watching his eyes roll back, then nipped at his lips. "Maybe." She brushed her lips over his. "Something small, if anything. Simple."
"You should get a phoenix," he suggested. Catching her tantalizing lips with his, he kissed her slowly, then said, "Might give you closure, ya know? Reaffirm your strength, give you the push you need to let the past die, so you can start living again." He blinked once and shrugged. "With me, Liv." Without realizing it, his hands had moved lower, one on her back, the other running in circles over her side, his thumb caressing her stomach. "Really...living."
At that moment, she realized what the prayer he'd sent heavenward had meant, what he'd been asking God to give them. Kissing him again, she nodded, and she went on a short but wild ride as he rocked and rolled in an attempt to pull the covers over them. Once they settled, she wrapped herself around him tighter. Raising her head to look into his sleepy blue eyes, she whispered, "Okay."
His lips pressed to her forehead and he held her close, kissing her until sleep took them away.
A/N: A morning at work, a fight between friends, and a new tattoo...or two. Next?