Talisman: Interlude
What if this goes south, what if I mess you up/You say what if I break your heart in two - then what?/Well I hear you girl, I feel you girl - but not so fast./Before you make your mind up I gotta ask:/What if I was made for you and you were made for me?/What if this is it, what if it's meant to be?/What if I ain't one of them fools just playin' some game?/What if I just pulled you close, what if I leaned in,/And the stars lined up and it's our last first kiss?/What if one of these days baby I go and change your name?/What if I loved all these what ifs away? – What Ifs, Kane Brown
Though medicated, Liv was awake before the sun was finished rising. But this was no empty-bed morning where she would orgasm alone as Elliot's name died on her lips. This morning, the first after her return from the hospital, was the morning Olivia had told herself would never happen.
The morning was warm and calm – more solid than usual. Even the faint ache in her chest couldn't distract from how natural it felt to wake up with Elliot Stabler in her bed. His chest rose and fell in time with the rhythm of Liv's pulse. Liv could feel the pull in her body – it had been there since she'd known him, like the moon pulling the tides. She was just as in love with all his planes and edges as she had always been; time and age had done nothing to tamp her desire to take what she thought of as hers.
But El's face was peaceful – and he was a man who rarely slept well. Liv forced her breathing to calm, even as she acknowledged how wet she already was. How long had it been, since she'd watched a lover sleep? Decades, she decided, as she watched the minutes slip by, and the light change as it slipped over Elliot's skin.
Before long, his trademark icy blues fluttered open, his face breaking into a sleepy grin as they found her. "How're you feelin'?"
"Happy," she answered without hesitation. "What about you?"
"I feel . . ." El took a deep breath, "peaceful. Is a guy allowed to say that, after filling out divorce papers just a day ago?"
Liv stiffened, her brow creasing. "Listen, El, if you need more time -"
But he shushed her, shifting so he was laying next to her, propped on his elbow. "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Trust me, I've had six years to do nothing but think about it." He kissed her, punctuating his words. The kiss was slow, deep, and incredibly tender, carrying with it the weight of years missed, of love held in secret places.
El rolled further, and his already-eager erection pushed into Liv's leg. She moaned into his mouth and pulled him down onto her.
It was then that Liv's bedroom door creaked open, and Noah's shy, peeking face appeared. When he saw they were both awake, he bounded to the bed with a smile. "Morning, Mama!" he crowed, crawling over the foot of the bed.
"Good morning, sweet boy," Liv chuckled, as Elliot pulled the blankets up, instinctively tucking his hips to protect his groin from the jumping toddler.
"Do you wanna make breakfast?" Noah asked, looking at El with something like awe.
Olivia was ceaselessly amused, and touched, by Noah's constant want for Elliot's attention. "Sure – we can probably manage breakfast," El smiled. "Can you just give your mom and me a couple of minutes? I'll be right there."
Noah went without protest, and the two adults fell back against the pillows. "Sorry," Liv giggled.
"Just let me get him to daycare," Elliot rumbled, and kissed her again. "We'll pick up where we left off."
ii.
Olivia was, understandably, back to sleep by the time El actually returned from dropping Noah off. He let her rest, and took pleasure in domestic things that he thought he'd long ago lost the ability to – tidying toys, making Noah's bed, cleaning up the kitchen, folding clean laundry. Eventually, he made it around to brewing coffee and making Liv some breakfast.
He pushed the bedroom door open with the Peppa pig tray he'd found – the only tray, it seemed, in the entire place – and stopped short as his breath seemed to vanish from his lungs. How close had he come, to blowing every chance to see her this way?
For over a decade, this was the line they kept promising themselves they'd never cross. Looking at her like this – with no marriage, no precinct or squad rumors, no confessional booth between them, cautioning or damning them – felt illicit. Olivia was asleep on her back, with one arm thrown over her head on the pillow. A tank top and underwear – what he'd put her to bed in – were all she was wearing, with the blankets askew across her midriff.
It had been 1998 when Liv had walked into the 1-6 and changed his life. Now he was 51, and somehow, she was still setting his heart racing in a way he could never put to words. Every change in her body, every new and familiar line on her face, felt like a home they had built together. He could only hope she felt the same.
El approached the side of the bed and carefully put down the tray, getting onto the mattress next to her. "Morning, sunshine," he said gently, drawing a finger along the line of Liv's jaw.
She stirred, then turned her head and fixed him with her big brown eyes. Then she beamed at him. "Hey. Sorry. I must'a fell back to sleep."
"You can have all the rest you want," he shrugged. " But you might want to consider some breakfast first."
That got her interest, and she sat up some, letting El reach behind her to prop pillows. "You made me breakfast?"
He chuckled, and responded by bringing up a cool, pink segment of grapefruit between his two fingers. Liv reached for it, but he drew back. "Let me," he said softly, and goosebumps broke out over Liv's skin.
Olivia kept her eyes on him as she opened her mouth, taking the grapefruit, mumbling her pleasure as the flesh burst, and the juice splashed, tasting of morning and renewal. She grinned as she swallowed, licked her lips and asked, "What else ya got?"
Half a grapefruit, raisin toast, some cheese – they fed each other, blissful, laughing, as though they had never once missed a morning of doing this. Elliot kissed toast crumbs from her shining lips, fought and teased her over the last piece of fruit, and held her hand while they sipped coffee in bed. Side by side, catching up without having to say more than a few dozen words.
Then Peppa pig was banished to the floor, and Liv's head was pillowed on El's chest. Her hand danced in mischief, down to the button of the jeans he'd dressed in, in order to leave the apartment earlier. "I believe," she said slowly, "that I owe you a debt of gratitude." Smirking, she popped the button and lowered the zipper.
"For breakfast?" he deadpanned, his breathing already beginning to shallow.
"How about for saving my life?" she countered, and slid her hand into his briefs, her palm soft and teasing against his hot pelvis, the scratch of his pubic hair.
He sobered momentarily, even as his hips arched off the mattress. "Are you sure you're not tired? How's your chest?"
"Elliot."
No more protesting. She pulled him free of his underwear, stroking him almost curiously, feeling the shape, the throb, the hardening of him that she had imagined for years. She experimented with grip, with pace; she teased her fingers around the crown of him, listening to his breathing and his sounds change. When Elliot couldn't take it any longer, he pulled her hand from himself and rolled to cover her, devouring her mouth. He was starved for her, all of her, as he pulled down her tank top, spilling her breasts into the morning like his very own ocean wave to the shore.
As he dipped his head to take in a nipple, his hand slid lower, parting her thighs. She had soaked her panties already, and he chuckled – both in satisfaction, and in sheepish modesty – pushing a finger against the material. He stroked her through her underwear, his cock jumping. Olivia smirked even as she gasped, sighing at her body's trust of him.
A woman who smirked in bed, at her own arousal. Elliot had never imagined a danger so satiating.
He pushed into her clit again, his skin buzzing with excitement as she dipped her head and ran her tongue against his neck. "Jesus," he shuddered in her arms, wondering if he would even make it inside of her.
They removed clothes from the equation, coming together in the rippled pond of Liv's bedsheets: hips, breasts, groins, as two ships, adrift for years on this collision course. Impatient, Liv took the first hand of El's she could grab, pushing it low, hardly needing any help at all to slip down over his fingers. His mouth next to her ear: "Liv, you feel . . ."
Like a miracle, he wanted to finish, but lost his nerve. His fingers curled and thrust, his turn to learn her, to assess and investigate.
"I want . . ." she whined desperately, "aw, God, El, I want -"
Harder, faster, she dripped down his fingers as he sped up. He wanted whatever it was she wanted. Everything. All of it. His cock was a bar of hot iron, reaching toward his belly, refusing to be forgotten.
Olivia screamed when she came. Her fingertips pushed almost violently into his shoulders, bearing down as her ass thrust her weight onto his fingers. She came, tightening and pulsing . . . and she honest-to-God screamed. Elliot was a proud man in bed, but she was the first to ever scream, and his eyes flew open in concern and in amazement. Everything stilled momentarily. They were panting, El waiting for her eyes to open.
"Hey," he said softly. She looked at him. "I love you."
iii.
Liv's palms slid from his shoulders to his chest, her fingers curling into the sparse chest hair there. Elliot couldn't help but push into her touch – his body responded to her in a way he'd never before had to learn to control. She looked up at him through her lashes.
"You saved me," she said, her voice almost shy in the quiet bedroom.
"Haven't I always?" he grinned, pleased when she rolled her eyes.
"And now you're . . . getting a divorce."
"That isn't your fault, Liv." He opened his mouth to elaborate, but she pushed a finger against his lips.
"Noah should have a father," she said. "I'm not sure if - " Another deep breath, and a sigh. "What if you decide you don't want . . ."
His hand went around her wrist, gently pulling. "Liv, I'm not goin' anywhere. I spent 12 years fucking up and wasting time. You got me. So does Noah. There's no need to wonder any more." El caught her lips in a kiss, and rolled them, so he was laying back where they began.
Olivia didn't waste any time then, sliding down to his waist, gripping him in her hand again. She took distinct pleasure in watching him, looking at her as she took him into her mouth. He was salt, ocean, handgun metal. He bucked up into her mouth, moaning through gritted teeth, a love poem of profanity and encouragement.
After long moments of her tongue teasing the length of him, the dripping slit of the head of him, she granted him mercy. Liv straddled his hips, one hand visibly spreading herself open as her long fingers teased her clit. Her chest was thrust proudly toward him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"Jesus, Liv . . . you're so goddam gorgeous," Elliot told her, reaching between her legs to grasp his cock, holding steady so she could sink onto him.
When the silk of her entrance met the pulsing crown of his cock, they both took a sharp, deep breath. All of their stakeout daydreams and precinct shower room orgasms – combined – fell short of the tempest that was born in their coupling. Greedily, he watched her sink all the way onto his shaft, throwing his head back on a deep growl when she hit his pelvis.
He couldn't resign himself to letting her do all the work, grasping her hips each time she met his body. Elliot was white-knuckled, fingers splayed against her upper thighs, jerking her forward with every slam of her ass to bury himself every extra inch he could. Liv's hand was still jammed between her legs, manipulating her hard little clit and gasping.
"El," she bit out, "God, you feel . . . amazing." She sighed, trembling, rocking on him. "Elliot, I want you to - " she bit her lip, shy suddenly at her request, "I want you to come inside me, El. Please."
El nodded. "Yeahhhh . . ." he let out on a sigh, then growled softly as he pulled her forward onto him. He loved giving her what she wanted.
She smiled, murmuring as she felt him filling her, and the simple, raw vulgarity of her want sent her spinning into her own orgasm. Elliot couldn't look away – a goddess, arched above him, flushed all the way to her breasts as her sex clenched him with an instinctual possession he would never contradict.
At last she crumpled forward, pulling up a sheet as she nestled into the crook of his arm. "I love you too, Elliot," Liv said warmly, her eyelids heavy.
El placed a kiss on the top of her head, enjoying the low buzz in all of his muscles. The sunlight outside the bedroom window was growing warm as the afternoon loomed. He wondered if he had ever been as content . . . wondered why he had waited so long.
"Olivia . . . marry me," El whispered.
No answer came, of course - she was asleep. Again. He chuckled, unworried. He knew now there would be other mornings, other chances, to ask again.