Author's Note: This is a smutty interlude between the end of So, Tonight, I'll Ask the Stars Above and the as-of-yet untitled third part/conclusion to this little trilogy. It's not necessary to have read So, Tonight, I'll Ask the Stars Above or its prequel, All My Instincts, They Return to read this, but I'd still go ahead and read them anyway to give a little more context on the events here. And plus, more EO is always a good thing.

If, by chance, you're reading this separate from the rest of the series, I'd skip the last small section that's like three sentences long. It's the only part that really affects the overall plot of the series.

Minor background Rollins/Carisi. I don't speak fluent Italian by any means, but I did spend part of the COVID lockdown taking the Duolingo Italian course, and I tried to check the accuracy against multiple sites before posting. So any errors in the Italian are mine and mine alone.

Title comes from "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?" originally by The Shirelles, but the Amy Winehouse version was the one that I listened to while writing this.

Young couples tipsy off the thrill of cheap wine coolers and the invulnerability of youth and young love were one of the cornerstones of a business like his. He'd take it as an inevitability every spring – when the flowers blossomed and the last vestiges of a harsh New York winter had melted away – that his little hotel tucked away on the banks of the Hudson River, his pride and joy he'd worked hard for since he'd moved here from Syria so long before, would see itself inundated with young lovers seeking a night of privacy away from inquisitive parents.

He'd prided himself on knowing the general schedule for any major occasions nearby. It wasn't prom weekend for any of the local high schools, and it was a little early for graduations to be starting. But when two impeccably-dressed couples asked him for two rooms – one for each couple, the older of the two men had clearly stated - he couldn't help but want to oblige, despite not knowing their reasons for being there. Maybe it wasn't his place to know.

There was something about how the four carried themselves, even in suits and ties for the men and fancy dresses for the ladies, that exuded confidence. Like that each of them independently could own the room with a single glance walking in, and when that was multiplied by four, it meant he was incredibly intimidated – although they were all very friendly to him, almost disarmingly so, which only served to further amplify the uneasiness.

He couldn't shake the feeling though, and he watched with curiosity as they bundled off toward the staircase; the older man's arm wrapped around the brunette's waist, while she looked up at him, while the younger man and the blonde held each other's hands. Something told him that as long as they were there, there wouldn't be any problems.

Those were the kind of customers he liked.

Their rooms were at the end of the upstairs hallway, right across the corridor from each other. "It's been a great night," Olivia said, looking over at the other couple, "but I think this one here is itching for a little time alone with me."

Elliot's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Hey, she said it, I didn't."

"I'd accept that as testimony," Carisi said. Now that the two couples were alone, only the four of them – no colleagues, Uber drivers or hotel employees anywhere in sight – he held Rollins close to him, his fingers evenly stroking the fabric at the corner of her waist. "And I think 'Manda here would agree with you, so, good night."

"Good night, y'all," Rollins said, winking at Olivia. "See you in the morning, but not too early?"

"Sounds good. Good night," Olivia said, returning the wink – the two women would have a lot to talk about the next time they could open a bottle of wine and talk freely.

At last, Elliot got the finicky key card to work in the electronic lock, and opened the door, ushering Olivia into the room. It was small, cozy, but much nicer than the motel they'd stayed in the night the phone breach was discovered. And most notably, there was only one bed in the room, positioned squarely in the middle, with a rich mahogany headboard and a brushed burgundy bedspread. "Guess I forgot to ask for a two-bed room."

"I don't know if that's really necessary tonight," Olivia said, with a sly smirk, as she shrugged his jacket off, put it on the desk chair, and pulled Elliot close to her again. "Being apart from you while the others were around was pure torture, I don't know if I could do it all night," she whispered, as she closed her mouth over his and sighed contentedly into the kiss.

His tongue danced along the edge of her lower lip and slid inside her mouth – the kiss was long and tender, as if they were silently communicating everything with their mouths that their voices had never found the words to say. Finally. The dam between them had been broken and now their real feelings – not the mocked-up versions that had sufficed for far too many years – could spill forth.

He dragged himself down and began coaxing soft whimpers from her throat as he caressed her neck with the edge of his lips. She'd never had anyone who spent so long on the foreplay – most guys would have wanted her out of the dress by now and they'd be halfway to an orgasm – but Elliot seemed content to take his time with showing her how he felt.

Fitting, considering how many years she'd thought about some version of this very moment taking place.

His jaw brushed along the neckline of her dress, and he tilted his head to look up at her inquisitively. "Liv –"

The unspoken question hung between them in the air, and once it was answered, there would be no going back to just "partners" or "friends." A kiss – or two, or however many they were at by now – could be forgiven as a momentary breach, but to go beyond would be irrevocably changing the definition of what they were to each other.

"The zipper is in the back," she murmured.

Before she could finish her sentence, he began to tug the zipper down, reveling in the newly-exposed expanses of her skin that were warm and receptive to his touch. His gaze was fixated on her form, not moving even for a moment, not as the fabric dropped from her and she stood before him in a black silk bra and matching panties, with her dress pooled at her ankles.

She'd never felt so exposed in front of another person before, even though she wasn't fully naked; the difference was that there was never going to be judgment from Elliot, and it was freeing to know she could be wholly and unequivocally herself with him. The evident desire in his eyes was enough to steal her breath and overwhelm her, but she held herself steady in her stead.

El wants me.

There weren't enough Hail Marys and Our Fathers he could ever recite on his rosary to make up for the sinful thoughts surging through his mind as he looked at her. Father O'Leary would blush to hear his confession. And if his lustful thoughts were bad, then his actions would surely be enough to condemn him for all eternity, but, oh, what a way to go.

His hands wanted to be in a thousand places at once, but the first thing he did was hold her closely to him and twirl her around in his arms, leaving the dress behind as a luxurious puddle, and it was no longer a factor. Now, there was one less barrier between him and the woman of his dreams. "You're so beautiful," he said, smoothing his hands along the flourish of her hips as he pressed sloppy kisses to the juncture between her neck and her collarbone. "So, so beautiful."

"You're – just – saying that," she managed to grit out between labored breaths, and he could tell his actions were having a very immediate effect on the woman in front of him.

"Always thought it, now I can say it and you won't slap me," he whispered, as his lips grazed the tender curve of her breast, the silk hem brushing against his chin.

"I still might," her eyes narrowed into tiny slits as she spoke, "if you stop – oh – doing – uh – that, yeah." Her expressive moans filled the air around them and spurred him onward.

He smirked against her skin and continued exactly as he had been. "Wasn't planning on it."

"Good." Her breath came in tantalizingly short pants and bursts, as she began to fumble with the tiny row of buttons on his shirt and cursed under her breath when the fabric quarreled with the task she was so determined to accomplish. He realized with sharp, crystal clarity – she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and the raw jolt of emotion resounded inside him.

Liv wants me.

His hands were large against her; they'd always looked so rough, and she'd seen the kind of damage they could inflict, but right now, they were impossibly soft as he used them to caress any part of her skin he could reach, as if she'd disintegrate into nothing if he didn't touch her first. She still might, if he kept up his loving touches, but it'd be a blissful sort of nothing. As long as he was there with her, and, oh, if he didn't stop.

Each button was infuriating on its own, but when she finally managed to force the last button open, she pushed the shirt off his arms in one fluid motion. After years of admiring him from a distance, every dip and crevice of finely-tuned muscle rippled under her fingertips, for her touch only. He was built of stone, solid as anything; she knew he worked hard to maintain this body, and wondered how much of it had privately been for her benefit.

"Like what you see?" he murmured, as he laved kisses into the dip between her breasts.

Her only response was to gasp slightly as she traced her trembling fingertips down his abdomen and toyed with his belt buckle. The cool sting of the metal was a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth that emanated from their proximity to each other.

She kicked her heels off – they'd been digging into her feet for far too much of the night, and while she knew they made her legs look amazing, she also knew she'd be a lot more comfortable with them off. Plus, Elliot probably wouldn't care if she wore Crocs, so long as she was the one wearing them.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she pulled him down onto the bed, her mouth finding his in the scramble, and they shared a heated kiss as their bodies rocked against each other on the bed. From their new angle, she latched her leg around his thigh and drew him into her, so the only thing separating them from being joined were a few annoying layers of fabric. First things first, that belt had to go, and once that was taken care of, he was more than eager to find an easy solution to the pants problem.

And then they were laying there on top of the covers, holding each other close, with him in his boxer-briefs and her in her bra and panties, and this was the closest they'd ever been to each other. They weren't undercover in a seedy sting operation; there was no unsavory perp there to leer at either of them in increasingly suggestive ways. It was her, and him, and every bit of their history echoing in resonant harmony – simple as that.

"I don't want to do anything you don't want to," Elliot said, breaking the peaceful serenity of the moment as he threaded his fingers through her cascade of chestnut waves. "I'm okay like this, if this is all you want tonight."

She rolled her eyes, but she was secretly touched that he was so concerned for her. "If I didn't want this, I wouldn't have had us take Carisi up on his offer of an Uber."

"I hope that's the only time you say another man's name when I'm nearly naked beside you."

A mischievous glint sparkled in her eye, and she nearly started naming every guy they had in mutual acquaintance, just to get a rise out of him, before she smirked at him. Her hand slid beneath his waistband and grasped his erection, squeezing lightly – she'd already gotten the rise she wanted, in a manner of speaking. She gently ran one delicate red fingernail along its ridge, as if to say there's no other guys, not for me. Only you.

"Liv," he said, with a strangled gasp, "if you do that, I'm not going to last, promise."

"Where's the rush?" she said, batting her eyelashes at him, thankful that the waterproof mascara seemed to be holding out. "We have all night, and I'm not going anywhere." They'd done enough running – from their feelings, from each other, from anything resembling true intimacy – to last her several lifetimes, and now that she had him here in her arms, really and truly, she didn't want anything to change.

Hunger flashed across his face, and she heard the clasp of her bra faintly snap open and the silk cups fell away from her skin, only to be replaced with his hands cupping her gently. His touch was feather-light, and his face was caught in a look as though he couldn't believe the marvel that was in front of him. "It's only me," she said, and even as she said it, she knew that it was more than that.

It was the fact that it was her.

She didn't know how she'd ever gotten through her life without this man worshiping her body with a reverence usually saved for Sunday morning church. Even as his fingers and lips grazed the faint, angry pucker and ripple of old scars whose origins she'd rather forget, she knew that he was accepting her wholly and without question.

She'd never needed to be perfect and unblemished, despite the obscene amounts of scar-reducing creams she'd used the last several years.

Being entirely herself had always been more than sufficient for him.

He looked up at her, the faint scruff of his five o'clock shadow scraping along her navel, and gave her a grin. "It's only me," he said, echoing the words she'd just said to him, and she could feel the goofy smile on her face, and how fitting was it that after all these years, they'd be making love with smiles on their faces?

She inhaled a deep breath, and guided Elliot's hand with her own to the side of her panties, as if he needed a hands-on demonstration on what she needed him to do. In a low whisper meant only for his ears, she said, "Somehow, El, it's always been you."

He loved the sound of her voice, especially when it was soft and low, only loud enough for him to hear – especially when it was her expressing her innermost thoughts and desires. "Fuck, Liv," he murmured, as he hooked his fingers through the tiny scrap of black fabric and pulled them down her legs with a start, before flinging it to some corner of the room. Away. That was the important part, and his own underwear followed as quickly as hers had. No prompting necessary; he didn't want anything between them. Not anymore.

"You're beautiful," he said, running his palm over all the precious expanses of skin that had previously been unknown to him, tantalizingly covered by her clothes. She hadn't allowed him to directly compliment her at the wedding, when she was fully clothed, so now that she was laying there at his mercy, he'd make sure she heard it. "I wanted to tell you earlier."

She looked at him through hooded eyelids and smiled. "Huh, he compliments me after I let him take off my clothes," she said, a mischievous glint flickering in her warm brown eyes, as she traced the outline of his Semper Fi tattoo on his forearm with her ring finger. "I thought that usually worked the other way around."

He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and dragged her into a fierce kiss; his teeth nipped at her lower lip, and he felt her hands grip his back tightly, as if she was holding on for everything that she was worth – which to him, was everything. There'd probably be small crescent-shaped marks on his back tomorrow, but it was such a small sacrifice for such a delectable feeling that he would never complain.

"I got you, Liv," he said, as he eased her thighs apart and settled between them. She nodded, and refused to break her gaze as he slid into her tight warmth with a startled gasp. This was right.

He was still for a moment, allowing her to adjust and for him to bask in their effervescence. And then she rocked and wiggled her hips insistently against him, a silent plea, as if to say, "I've waited long enough, don't make me wait any longer." He would have loved to buried his head between her legs and not surfaced for air, and he had a feeling Olivia had a few wicked ideas brewing in that beautiful mind of hers for what she'd want to do to him, but neither of them could have held out any longer. Not tonight.

Denying her now would be torture for them both.

And he could never deny her anything, not now.

He showered sloppy, open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could reach, from the top of her ear, to both of her impossibly perfect breasts – when he'd held them for the first time earlier, he'd realized they were the perfect size for him to hold. "So perfect, cara mia," he whispered against her skin, as he held her tightly against him and pushed in, again and again, establishing a pulsing rhythm between the two of them.

"Speak to me in Italian again," she whispered back, as she latched her legs around his waist, changing the angle of his thrusts and bringing him that much closer to her – they were entwined together, body and soul, in a pile of sweaty limbs and quiet words. "Per favore, El, tesoro mio."

Oh, shit, he'd forgotten she knew Italian, and it might just be the hottest thing he'd ever heard in his entire life. "Solo tua, Liv, per sempre tua." And he meant every word of it – even though tonight was their first night physically together, in some ways, they'd been a part of each other much longer. He could feel her ecstasy beginning to unfold underneath him, and he dropped his hand low to massage at her clit and spur her forward.

Her eyes fluttered on the delicate precipice between closed and wide open, fighting a valiant battle to look at him – he loved the wild, lust-filled glaze he saw reflected in her gorgeous brown eyes, and he thought he could get addicted to that look.

She came, her face buried in the crook of his shoulder as she shuddered out her orgasm with a soft cry, and he continued to hold her – this precious woman, his Liv, was in his arms and all was right with the world in that perfect, blissful moment. And as he felt his own orgasm surge, he swore there was nothing nor anyone else in the world but them.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to move in the morning," she said, as they cuddled under the blankets a short time later. "I think my legs are Jello." Her hand was nestled against his thigh, and his hands were threaded through her hair; intimacy was normally a terrifying prospect for her, but this felt right.

"I can arrange for us to stay another day if we need to," he said. He faintly remembered her telling him that Rollins and Tamin were the officers on call for the next day, and Noah was in the best possible care that wasn't his own home. He knew Maureen would have no problem watching him longer, if needed.

"You just want me all to yourself a little while longer."

"Well, that too," and he sealed any further discussion off with closing his mouth over hers and reminding her of what they'd only just finished.

They were tucked away in their blissful cocoon of blankets and love, far away from the rest of the world. Morning was still hours away, and they weren't going to rush its arrival.

And meanwhile, in the room across the hall, a phone beeped twice into the silence of the night. Neither of the room's occupants stirred or acknowledged the interruption in any way; instead, they curled further into each other's embrace.

"Upload complete," the screen showed, for a split second before disappearing into the electronic ether.

-fini-

Translations
Cara mia - my dear, my darling
Per favore - please
Tesoro mio - my sweetheart, my treasure
Solo tua - only yours
Per sempre tua - forever yours