Author's Note: Takes place sometime in 1.0, though I'm not sure where to put it other than that timeline-wise. First time I've written smut in forever.

Mutual masturbation, voyeurism, and very poorly-defined lines that could be read as Elliot cheating on Kathy.

Title comes from "Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me" from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Late at night, the precinct always took on an unpredictable air, and Elliot had never quite figured out how to describe it. Some nights, it was better to be alone, lost in his spiraling thoughts, than to make the trek home and try to explain it in clipped phrases that fell on ears unable – or maybe unwilling – to listen.

He knew he wasn't entirely alone; Olivia had excused herself a while before, claiming fatigue – "I need to rest my eyes," she'd said, before stretching her arms above her head and walking to the cribs, giving him a small smile as she passed his desk. The worst part of their job, besides the criminals, was the endless stacks of paperwork, especially when a case had been as complex as their most recent.

He let out a pained groan and pinched the bridge of his nose between two of his fingers. Maybe Olivia had it right.

Maybe he needed to rest his eyes, before the forms turned into miles of cross-eyed checkerboards in his blurred line of vision.

Half an hour. That'd be all the time he'd need.

With a low, contented sigh, Olivia's hand curled along the hem of her panties, her work pants pushed down to limply pool around her ankles, and she teased her fingers across the thin, taut strip of fabric separating her from herself. A sheet lay loosely over her lower half, giving her some small form of privacy.

Occasionally allowing herself to get off at work was provocatively daring, for more reasons than the glaringly obvious; she'd heard the feverish whispered rumors about what the two detectives at Bronx SVU had been caught doing in their captain's office early one morning, and she'd never be that bold – or that reckless.

But stealing away for a solo session in the cribs, late at night, when the only other person in the entire building was likely to be her partner, toiling away at his own mountain of paperwork that matched hers?

She could justify that.

She hummed to herself as she slid one finger past the hem and grazed the swell of her hood. She knew the lay of her body intimately, better than any lover she'd ever had could, and she fondly thought of her small sky-blue vibrator that was in the top drawer of her nightstand back at home. It didn't matter, though, she could more than satisfy herself with her own two hands.

His name came unbidden to her lips, as it usually did in times like this, and she suppressed them with a murmur; instead, she chanted it inside her head, until it beat against the edges of her skull and choked out any prayer of rational thought – "Elliot, Elliot, Elliot," was her silent repetitive mantra.

"Liv?" From somewhere beyond where she lay, amidst the fog and haze of her own arousal, she heard his voice – his actual voice, not the version she had in her memories – calling out for her. "Liv? You still down here?"

Shit. "Yeah, I'm here," she said, trying to haphazardly wrestle her pants back up her legs before Elliot could see her in her current state. "Need something?"

"Looks like I interrupted you." His eyebrow raised, and she saw his Adam's apple throbbing in his throat, as if he was restraining himself from submitting to whatever urges coursed through his body. "I – you know what, I'll go. Let you finish."

"El, wait." She swung her legs over the side of the cot and looked over at him. Her pants were bunched unceremoniously around her thighs, and the bottom of her blouse had inched up her stomach to reveal a stripe of soft skin, and even pulling over the sheet that she'd had resting over her moments earlier did little to disguise the brunt of the situation. "Don't tell me I scared you off." Her tone was light and playful, but her heart wouldn't quit pounding in her ears.

His breath hitched in his chest and he stared at the woman sitting before him, her pants partway down her legs and her breathing still irregular in that erratic and stuttered way he imagined was her arousal peeking through. "You could never scare me off, Liv, but –" I can't be here. Not now. Because if I stay, all the lines between us will be obliterated forever. Kathy already thinks we have, and I know if I touch you, even one time, nothing or no one else will ever matter to me again. He propped himself against the wall and continued to look at her. Even in this poor lighting and with her dishevelment, she was stunning. "God knows I want to," and as soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back.

"Oh, so God knows, huh?" Her smile looped at the corner of her lips and she tilted her head so her hair fell in front of her, a glorious cascade of glossy chestnut, but her gaze never left his face. "I'd have thought you'd let a girl know, too."

"You're definitely not a girl," he said, between gritted teeth, inhaling short, sharp breaths and forcing himself to stay steady. Tension coiled and swirled inside him, searching for a release he was reluctant to give – not here, not now. "You're an incredibly sexy woman, and somehow I have to work next to you every day without you realizing that." He straightened up and walked over to the cot next to hers. "And I suspect you wouldn't have done all this," he motioned to her prone position, her pants still caught halfway up her thighs, "if you weren't at least okay with the idea of me accidentally walking in."

Her eyes narrowed, and she was silent, as if she was digesting the implications of what he'd said. "And what if I was? What then?"

"I wouldn't have stopped you." Seeing someone – especially his Liv, even though he had no actual right to call her his – boldly own her sensuality like that would be an incredibly erotic and tantalizing sight for anyone to behold. For him to be the lucky one to bear witness would be to see the face of all that was holy take form in front of him.

"El, you can't."

Whenever she called him El, it was different than any of the other people who'd ever used it as a nickname for him. With the others, it seemed like they were making a natural assumption. With her, it was a personal connection.

"I know." He sighed and poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and he could feel his erection straining against the fabric of his work pants, etching an outline in stark relief on the fabric. Soon, it would become glaringly obvious what his reaction was, if it wasn't already. "I know, but – but what if I looked, but didn't touch?"

If he didn't touch her, he wasn't cheating. If he didn't crash his lips against hers and taste her soft, sweet mouth under his, he wasn't cheating. If he watched her bring herself to completion, without his hands – or any other part of him – touching her, he wasn't cheating.

"Only if I could do the same with you." Her eyes were level with his, and there was no hint of joking or teasing as she spoke; her eyes were clouded with thick arousal. "Look, but don't touch?"

And, hell, if she watched him seek his own release, without touching him, there was nothing wrong with that either.

"If you say so," he said, standing only long enough to undo his belt buckle and push his pants and boxers onto the floor. He propped himself up languidly on a flat pillow that had probably been in the NYPD's possession since the Carter administration and looked at her with a small smirk, as his hand closed over his length and began to stroke. It was far from the first time he'd seen her face when he'd touched himself, but it was the first time it was anything besides a fantasy. If he leaned forward and reached out toward her, he could brush his fingers against her arm, but that wasn't the rules of the game they were playing. "Unbutton your blouse, Liv."

There was nothing in their unwritten rules that said they couldn't use their voices.

It turned out Elliot, when aroused, had a very low, seductive growl to his voice that sent thrilling sparks ricocheting around her insides, and she began fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, before allowing it to fall down her arms and drop down the side. It wasn't one of her prettier bras – if she'd known anyone besides her was going to see it, she would have chosen a different one when getting dressed that day – but it offered the necessary support and had a little sprig of lace at the center of the dip that made it look at least a little feminine.

Not that she thought he was complaining, based on the widening of his eyes, the slight drop in his jaw, and the fact he couldn't keep his focus on one spot in particular on her body. His eyes drank her in, and she'd never felt so desired in her entire life.

"If I'm going to take off my blouse for you, you're going to roll up your sleeves for me." She couldn't ask him to be all but naked for her when she was still wearing her bra and her pants were back around her ankles. Besides, the layers of fabric formed a visual barrier. This was all about them seeing each other as they were, but there was still that thin veneer of respectability – the don't touch part of the game.

She wasn't sure, if he took off his shirt and continued to look at her like he was a dying man in a desert and she was his lush oasis, that she could keep abiding by those rules.

"That good?" he said, pushing his sleeves up to the elbow and exposing his rippling forearms to her.

Her breath was a silent hiss against her teeth, as she took in his form. She knew he was fit; it was obvious, from the amount of time he spent at the precinct gym, and she'd called him once or twice for a case and interrupted a home workout. But it was one thing to know it, and another to see the tantalizing results of his hard work and dedication only precious few inches away from her.

"Oh, yeah," she said, and she was trying her best to be breezy and dismissive when she felt anything but. "That's good." She turned to face him, parting her legs and tracing lazy patterns up the inside of her thighs; if this was their one chance to have some semblance of intimacy, she wanted to take the moment and savor it.

His smirk now reached the corners of his lips as he watched her fingers dance and twist, grazing against her clit, and he lazily pumped his hand up and down his shaft, maintaining a brief staccato rhythm. Damn him. He was the only one who had the power to make her weak like this, and he was doing it without so much as a mere touch.

She saw beads of sweat prick at his brow, and she wondered if this was as stimulating and overwhelming for him as it was for her. She'd never been privy to watching a man do this to himself, and there was something so incredibly freeing to watch the flames of sheer lust flicker in those glorious blue eyes of his and know that it was intended for her and her alone.

Come to think of it, maybe the color of her vibrator wasn't entirely coincidental. It was a near-perfect match to his eyes.

Watching Olivia unravel herself along her carefully-stitched seams had made Elliot harder faster than at any point since he was a teenager discovering what his body was capable of. Her hands were skilled, clearly well-versed in the dips and swells of her body, and as one of her fingers slid inside her and began pushing in and out – he'd never been so envious of a finger in his entire life.

Their silence had always spoken more than any words could ever hope to convey. She was fixated on him, her jaw slack as she slowly worked herself over and gazed at him. And he wouldn't be able to look away from her right now for anything in the entire world. Her hair fell back away from her shoulders, and he itched to run his hands through it, tenderly twist a loose lock into a spiral around his own finger and hold on for dear life – it'd always looked impossibly soft, and smelled so good from the periodic whiffs he'd gotten, but to actually be able to feel it would be beyond that.

Whatever this was tonight, it wasn't something simple. If it had been a simple lust-fueled inferno, they would have been sated long before, and they'd be back at their desks with no one else the wiser. They'd be bickering over whether to get Chinese or pizza at this late of an hour, or whether to leave the remainder of their paperwork for tomorrow and face Cragen's potential wrath.

Instead, she'd slid a second delicate finger inside her, letting out a low gasp as she adjusted to the pressure and sensation, and it was enough to send another wave of heat scattering down his spine and searing him from the inside out. He wouldn't last much longer – it was a small miracle he'd sustained himself as long as he had, but there was only so much torment a man could endure before it was too much.

"Liv?" His voice was a strangled whisper, caught on the edges of his own arousal.

"El?" Her voice was an echo of his own. "I – I'm close."

"Don't worry, I got you," he said, and he yearned to reach out and close the distance between them, bring her over the screaming precipice with him in perfect tandem, to really get her. But he knew he couldn't. That would be breaking their rules. Look, but don't touch. It was a harsh reminder of their reality.

She nodded, and her breasts heaved slightly against the confines of her bra, threatening to spill out over the top. "I know you do," she murmured, half under her breath, and the implicit trust that underlined the confusing complexities of what they were to each other – best friend, partner, confidante, something more? – broke through in shining clarity. It was enough to both shatter him and rebuild himself completely from the pieces left behind.

Her soft cry – it sounded like she'd said his name but he didn't want to assume - pierced their taut and tense silence, and she threw her head back, exposing the elongated expanse of her throat to his hungry gaze. Her hand twitched against her before going limp, and the vision before him was enough to bring him crashing over the edge himself. "Olivia," he rasped out, as he came into his sweaty palm. The intensity of his orgasm was enough to feel as though he'd gone temporarily blind; her face, her body, her – that was all he could see.

They laid there for a moment, content to bask in whatever form of an afterglow their stolen time together had taken. A sated smile and the first fringes of a blush slipped across Olivia's face. "That was, um, unexpected," she said, laughing slightly at her blatant understatement.

"You're telling me."

She uneasily got up from the cot and crossed the room to grab a towel to clean herself with, and tossed Elliot one as well. "I'll take these home and wash them with my stuff so no one suspects a thing," she said.

"I think they'll notice when these two towels smell better than every other towel in the building."

With a shrug and a toss of her shoulders, she smiled at him as the two of them cleaned up, got dressed and prepared to leave the cribs behind, to go back to work – at least for a while - and pretend like what had just happened had never happened at all. "Doesn't matter," she said. "If Munch wants to create a massive conspiracy theory about my fabric softener usage, that's great for him."

Their shared laughter rang out through the room; he opened the door for her on the way out, and as she walked by him, she lightly brushed against him and kinetic sparks flashed between them. She would likely swear it was an accident, but he wasn't so sure.

After all, nothing between them had ever been easy to define, and the night they'd shared only proved that the complexities ran deeper than either of them realized.

And nothing would ever be quite the same between them again.

Not now that they had an idea of what lay beyond their carefully defined lines.

"And that's just one small fraction
of the main attraction"

- "Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me"

-fini-