Summary: Elliot feels down after leaving the courthouse and seeing angry people and a sign calling him a traitor. Olivia tries to cheer him up. A fluff and smut combo.
AN: Pretend that Elliot and Olivia are in an established relationship that started sometime after the finale.
Inspired by Elliot and Bell filming at the courthouse.
I hope you enjoyed this smutty little one-shot. Comment, favorite, and follow if you did.
As always, no beta. I try to proofread, but I will never catch all the small errors.
"I still wish you would have worn the vest," Olivia tells him softly, running her hands over the tight, white shirt covering his chest. It felt softer under her palms this evening. When she felt it this morning, buttoning his buttons, it was crisp and starched. But movement, heat, sweat, it all wore down the fabric.
"I was fine," Elliot grumbles, lacking the energy to get into this dispute with her again. It was over.
And he is fine.
He is.
Nothing happened, and he is fine.
They are standing in his room. They'd returned to his place after the hearing. It was only 4:00 in the afternoon, but the stormy clouds outside cast a dark hew over the city that matched his inner turmoil.
His angst wasn't helped by the fact that his loft was so quiet. It is almost too quiet now that Mama was with Kathleen and Eli was in school across the country. Elliot missed the soft sounds of Eli's games and music that filtered out of his room and his mother's under-the-breath rumblings while she was cooking or painting that never quite made full sense to him. I need to call Katie, check in. I'm sure they've watched the news by now, my hearing was probably on half the public access channels.
"It might not have been. You saw how angry some of those people were," she says, pulling him from his thoughts, as she runs her hands up to his shoulders, pushing his blue jacket off and down his arms.
He lets her undress him. "Yea, I know." He answers curtly. He doesn't want to think about it anymore. Seeing people holding up signs calling him a "Traitor," hurt. It hurt more than he wanted to admit to himself or to Liv. He shakes his head at the recollection, letting his chin hit his chest in shame.
His blue jacket falls quietly to the floor as she continues, pushing the conversation forward past his resistance. "I just, I couldn't stand it if someone had tried to hurt you," she admits, rubbing her hand back over his chest now, one palm resting over his heart, checking his heartbeat.
"It's not like I haven't been shot before," he tries to joke, but his smile doesn't reach the edge of his lips.
"Elliot–" she starts, but he interrupts.
"I know, I know. And I'm sorry. I know you were worried." He tilts his chin up and looks into her brown eyes, full of questions. "I just…I just don't want to talk about it. It's over."
Olivia nods softly knowing that he's right. It was just a small hearing. Any other cop and it would have flown under the radar. But after his "confession walk" coerced by Wheatley, some of the public had taken an interest in him and followed his career. Many of them responded with such vile and extreme. The outcry of support from the public and from the NYPD was strong. But the angry voices were loud and clear and unavoidable. It was downright scary sometimes.
She hates to think that there were people out there who thought, who really thought that Elliot was a bad cop, a traitor to his badge, to this city, to this country.
He was rough and gruff, for sure. He broke rules. They all had, though. She'd broken plenty herself. And yes, back in the day he got away with more aggression that should have been allowed. But he was a man, her man, that had always fought for what was right and good and pure.
He was also so soft and kind with children and victims of the most horrendous crimes imaginable. She'd seen his man go for days without sleep and food and clean clothes all if it meant saving a child.
How could they think that he was a bad cop? A traitor?
Olivia knows that seeing that sign outside the courthouse is weighing on him. He hasn't said it, of course, but she knows. She can read him, see it written across his face, the tension in his muscles.
She remembers watching his streamed walk, her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping at each admission, so afraid that Wheatley was going to harm him. But what she remembered more were the calls from his daughters in the following days begging her, pleading with her, to step in, to help Elliot see sense of it all. The events and his admissions had shaken him to his very core.
She'd tried, but his response to her efforts were short and clear: "I'm fine;" "I didn't mean anything;" "I have a job to do," and so on. But she knew that he was repressing his feelings, getting tied up in Brotherhood and the mystery of his father's legacy.
Even after they'd finally gotten together, he still didn't want to talk about it.
Elliot's hand was forced now though. He had to address his public statements and his time in the Brotherhood. He had to lay it all out and take his licks.
But not here. Not in this room. And not with her. Olivia wasn't here to scold him or shame him. No, Olivia was here because she loved him. He just needed to be reminded from time to time that she was actually here and that he was worthy of her love.
"Okay," she answers his pleas to avoid the topic. Her hands rub back up over his shoulders and down his arms. Quietly she undoes the buttons on his cuffs, her hands traverse the course back to his torso where she pulls at his tie. It lands on the floor with his jacket.
Still moving silently, she works open the buttons of his shirt, leaning forward to press chaste kisses on the skin that's revealed, taking deep breaths each time her puckered lips touch his flesh. He's musky. The scent of his anxious sweat hanging around on his skin, hints of his body wash and the detergent of the shirt trying their best to cover it. She's glad that don't. His smell is something that she'd grown used to for 12 years. She'd get whiffs of it in a car on a long stakeout or when she'd wake him up after catching 30 in the cribs. And then she missed it, wishing to smell it again, for ten years.
"Liv," he says gently, his hands on her shoulders, just feeling her movements.
"Let me Elliot. Let me take care of you for once," she whispers between small kisses across his collarbone.
He knows what she means, but she is so wrong. For once? She's been taking care of him their entire partnership. Since day one, she watched over him, calmed him from his rage, soothed his ache, saved his marriage, and protected his children. Even now, after he showed up after ghosting her for an entire decade–missing both the best and worst days of her life–she wanted to take care of him.
She pulls his shirt tails from his pants and pushes it over his shoulders and it lands atop his jacket, making a small mountain of clothes on the floor.
He grabs her wrists when her hands make their way back to his chest. She always centers herself there, her palms always flatten on his pecs and her nails scratch through his hair. He pulls her hands to his face; his lips find her wrists. He kisses them gently, then her palms.
"Olivia, you always take care of me," Elliot tells her quietly, kissing her finger tips, "You always have."
"Then let me continue," Olivia answers with a grin.
He nods, knowing that she's on a mission, and loosens his grip on her wrists.
She trails her fingers lightly down his belly. He hisses, sucking in air, as her fingertips tickle the soft smattering of hair she finds there. She likes to tease him about it, that more had grown over time and it wasn't even or symmetrical.
He takes a deep breath through his nose when her fingers start on his belt buckle. Knowing what was coming warmed his blood and started to clear his head of his worries. Just images of her fingers deftly tugging at the leather, unsnapping his buttons, pulling on his zipper, filter through his head.
How could he care what people thought of him when she was here, loving him, showing him that she didn't care what they thought.
She giggles when she whips his belt out of its loops and raises it over his head, wrapping the leather around his low back and gently pulling him towards her as she shuffles back until her legs hit the mattress. Still using the belt to hold him close, she turns them around until he is standing next to the bed.
Her smile was infectious, and he grins back, cocking his head curiously.
"There he is," she pecks his lips, "stoic boy."
"Man," he corrects before kissing her again, trying to force her lips open quickly. She fights him, keeping her lips closed.
"Liv," he grunts, frustrated by her refusal to let him in.
"Let me El," she pecks his lips again, then kisses his neck. "Just trust me."
"I do Liv," he answers her seriously, "you know I do."
"Then just calm down, you will like this." She opens her mouth and scrapes her teeth down a strong cord of his neck and bites just this side of hard at the junction of his neck.
He laughs at the slight pain, "Liv?"
Lifting her head, he sees the ornery glint in her eyes. "Yes?"
He shakes his head, "Nothing."
"Good boy," she teases as she drops his belt.
"Ma–an," he corrects again, but the word gets drawn out as he groans in surprise. She'd snuck a hand in his open pants and gripped him through his briefs.
"I know you are a man, El. Alllll, man." She whispers, licking the skin in front of his ear and squeezes him. He's only half hard in her grip, but she's not concerned. She knows he's probably still in his head, stressed and fatigued.
He groans a small laugh and rolls his head back.
Olivia pulls her hand from his pants and pushes them down over his hips, leaving him in just his briefs.
He toes out of his shoes and kicks his pants away.
Realizing that she was still fully dressed she dropped her jacket and peels her shirt over her head. His hands stopped hers as she reaches for her pants, her fingers pulling at the clasp.
"I wanna," he tells her softly. She drops her hands to her side. She knows that he likes to undress her. He loosens the clasp and pushes her pants down. She steps out of them and her shoes just like he had.
Making up her mind quickly, she kisses him and pushes his briefs down, letting them go when they start to fall down his legs freely.
He groans when she finally opens her mouth and licks his lips, her tongue creeping its way into his mouth. With her hands on his waist, she forces him to sit.
"Lay back, El. All the way up the bed, rest on the pillows."
He follows her instructions as he watches her eagerly. She walks around to the end of the bed and smiles as she reaches back and unsnaps her bra.
Olivia watches the way his chest rises and falls when her bra hits the floor. Her panties join a moment later. A low and teasing whistle passes his lips and he winks at her. His smile is broad and wide. She matches it as she crawls up the bed, settling herself on her stomach between his legs, propped up on her elbows.
He watches intently as she smiles and turns her head to the left and then the right and back again, placing small, teasing kisses along the taut muscles of his thighs.
Elliot groans as her hot breath washes over the sensitive skin and his testicles as her head passes back and forth, inching up with each pass. He's still not fully erect, but she's spurred on by the red flush rising along his chest and neck, and the heavy pants passing through his lips.
Finally, she leans in and presses a kiss to his balls, feeling them pull tight against his torso, then kissing up to the base of his cock.
"El, this okay?" she asks when she runs her hand up his length, pulling a drop of pre-cum down his frenulum with her thumb, feeling him harden further in her hand.
He huffs a laugh, "You're laying naked between my legs with your hand on my cock and you're asking if it's okay?"
She smiles at his description, and shrugs as she responds, "Well yea, I know today's been rough. I just want to make sure you are really in this."
He presses his cock into her hand, and hums. "I'm in this. I just…" he waves, "It feels great. I'm just in my head. I'll try to get out of it."
"Do you want me to stop," she asks as she leans in and licks the frenulum, letting his salty taste roll over her tongue.
"No," he shakes his head, "I don't want you to stop." He presses up again.
She chuckles at his insistence. "Okay then." She gives him a long lick, from base to tip and back again before she lifts her head and takes him into her mouth.
"Oh, fuck…" he exhales and lets his head rest against the pillow, his eyes on the ceiling. He tries to focus on the feeling of her warm mouth taking him in over and over again. With each pass, her lips and tongue grow wetter, slicker. He can feel her drip down to his base.
She moans around him, knowing he loves the sound of her enjoying this as much as he does.
Elliot gives her a matching groan, his hands gripping the headboard above his head. She looks up to meet his eyes, but his head is tossed back, his eyes closed. So, she focuses on his abs, grinning at how they flexed as he tightens his grip on the headboard.
"Goddamn Liv, fuck…"
She lets him fall from her mouth as she takes his balls in, one by one, sucking gently. Her hands rub up and down over his thighs, her thumbs pressing under his balls gently on each pass. She returns to his cock, fully hard now, having swelled over the last couple of minutes. Slowly she sinks her mouth down over him, letting his tip brush the back of her throat.
She loves this. The feeling of him thick and warm in her mouth, his skin is so soft, velvety on her tongue. His curls tickle her nose and his smell invades her nose. She can feel her own body retract. She tries to ignore it, wanting to make this about him, but she can't help it. Olivia loves that she gets him like this now, naked, red, flushed, hard, hot and everything in between.
She squeezes her legs together and a moan rattles around his cock.
He groans.
She pulls back, then repeats. She does this several times until his entire head brushes the back of her throat.
"Liv…god…you've gotta…"
She's used to this, him begging her to stop but not actually want her to. One of his large hands finds the back of her head and his fingers tangle in her hair, gently guiding her back down again and again.
Olivia knew his game. He'd do this, beg for her to stop, but hold her still as his ass would flex, pushing himself deeper. Eventually his hands would reach for her, pulling her off of him or he'd ask to finish in her mouth or on her skin, not able to hold out until he made it inside her.
"Fuck…okay…okay…okay," Elliot pants, his hands reaching, gripping her under her armpits and tugging her over his body, sliding his erection against her chest and belly as she makes her way up.
She works with him, drawing her legs up so she straddles his hips, but her chest is resting on his, her nipples scraping across the hair on his pecs.
Her lips land on his hard, hot, and wet. So wet. His hands are still working, one tugging her hair, the other reaching between them, guiding himself in.
She moans in his mouth. The stretch is always welcomed. He fills her wide and deep.
He pulls back, to beg "Move Liv, god, move."
She hears the desperation in his voice, but she wants him to calm down so this can last. She wants to try to get off before he does. She decides to take a moment for herself.
She lowers her entire body onto him, and lets her body move on its own. She grinds her hips over his, passing her clit over his pubic bone each time. The combination of that friction and the feeling of him hard and pulsing inside her was always enough to get her off.
Sometimes he'd come with her, her fluttering and clenching enough to send him over the ledge. But most of the time, he let her take what she needed, what was hers and then, when she was all loose and relaxed, he'd chase his own.
He tucks his head into her shoulder and moves his hands to her hips, pushing her down against him, grinding his hips back against hers. Helping her along, urging her along really. He wanted to come, but he wanted her to come first.
It takes way too much effort for him not to come when she does. Her hot breath on his neck, her soft whimpers in his ear, the feel of her body around him. She was so warm, tight, quivering, squeezing him so tight. He grunts and bites his lip, waiting through her shudders and muscle tensing.
"Damn El, you always feel so good," she practically purrs against his shoulder.
"You're one to talk," he chuckles, rubbing his hands up and down her back, waiting for her breath to return to normal.
"Are you good?" he asks, his hips flexing, pushing his cock deeper into her.
"Mmm hmmmm," she hums, kissing up his neck back to his mouth, opening as soon as her lips hit his. Their tongues tangle as he moves. Elliot brings his feet up flat on the bed and begins thrusting into her from below.
It feels good. It always does. But he needs more. He needs to feel strong, powerful, and virile after today. He needs to–for lack of a better term–fuck her.
"Liv? Can we," he starts, stopping on a deep thrust with a groan.
"What? Can we do what?"
"Ugh," thrust, "from behind?"
"Yea, El," she answers easily, pushing up against his chest, sitting on his lap.
He grins at her, reaching up to tug on her nipples. He thrusts into her again. She rolls her head back, enjoying his hands. With effort, he sits up, replacing his hands with his mouth, sucking and licking.
He kisses up to her lips and uses his hands on her waist to help her lift off of him and directs her to her knees at the edge of the bed.
Elliot stands behind her, massaging her ass as he looks down on her. He's quiet, only the sound of his raspy breaths pouring out. But she can feel him, the restraint in his forearms, his fingers digging into her cheeks then hips. She knows what he needs and what to expect.
Olivia looks over her shoulder, grinning, "You good?"
He meets her eyes to answer, "So good, god so good, Liv." He grips himself, lines up, and pushes in.
She exhales "Oh," as she turns back aground and wraps her fingers in his loose sheet, ready to brace her body against his onslaught.
"Hmmm," he agrees, pumping experimentally. "Good?"
"Yes, you're good El." She bites her bottom lip, inhaling through her nose, waiting for him to take what he needs today.
He picks up his pace, driving into her harder and faster, grunting with the effort. His chest is deep red and sweat rolls down his spine and his forehead, drops landing on her low back.
Olivia moans, low and deep. She loves this. They don't have sex like this too often–fucking. Most of the time, they fall into bed tired at the end of the day or after a date, their rougher antics usually hampered by houseguests. Or they will wake up and make love in the early morning sun. She loves that too. He makes her feel safe, comfortable, and desired and she's always sated.
But on nights like tonight, when he's on a mission to prove something, to himself or to her, she feels so sexy and pleasured. He's hard and thick, filling her over and over again, so quickly and deeply that it barely gives her time to catch her breath. It's overwhelming in the best way. She can feel her second orgasm bubbling, but she's not sure if she'll get there without pressure on her clit.
Elliot can feel the tingling in his low spine. He slows for a minute and pulls her cheeks apart to watch himself. He groans at the sight, her body opening for him, allowing him to slide in and out.
She gasps when she hears Elliot spit and feels it hit her skin. He watches it splash between her cheeks. He rubs his thumbs over it, pressing in slightly. He spits again, making sure there is enough to allow his thumb to push in.
"Mmmmm, El," she mewls at the sensation. This isn't the first time they'd played like this and it always heightens their pleasure.
Olivia's not a stranger to anal sex, but it was something that Elliot hadn't experienced. They'd talked about it one night after a couple drinks. She chuckled as his ears turned red and blush filled his cheeks when he'd admitted that he wanted to do it. Since then toyed with it on occasion with good results. Fingers and toys, not going any further yet.
He sinks his thumb into the first knuckle and starts pumping his hips again building back to his earlier pace. His orgasm builds quickly, like it knows that it's been thwarted a few times before and wants to rush ahead without being stopped again.
"God you feel so good," he pants, it's garbled and almost nonsensical now. "It's never enough…I can never have enough…Ah…not of you…Fuck!" he shouts as he comes, flooding her, his hand on her hip, holding her tightly to him, his hips flush against her ass.
Now that he's still, she reaches up and rubs over her clit frantically, pressing her hips back and squeezing him tightly in her. Through his post-coital fog, he realizes what she's doing. He tries to thrust into her and presses his thumb in a little deeper, stretching her.
"That's it Liv…ugh, come for me," he encourages.
The sound of his voice along with the feeling of him, them, seeping out of her and coating her thighs is enough, it provides the extra stimulation she needs. Olivia falls over the edge with a shudder, this orgasm softer than her first.
Elliot pulls out of her and helps her flip on her back as she works to catch her breath. Slowly he lays over her, lowering himself gently so as not to stop either of their heaving chests. He hums as he licks up her neck and finds her lips. Hot breath washes over their faces as they kiss, deep and sloppy, coming down from their highs.
"Thank you," he huffs when he pulls apart, flopping on his back and pulling her to his side.
"Thank you?" she asks.
"For taking care of me."
She smiles, kissing his chest, asking "Do you feel better?" when she pulls back.
"A lot," he chuckles. "But I always do after…" he waves his hand, trying to describe without being crude.
"After a delightful round of afternoon sex," she teases.
"Yea," he chuckles again, "something like that."
The storm has fully rolled in now, and the sound of rain pelting against the window fills the room. It's darker than it was before, making it feel more like 8:00 in the evening, not 5:00 in the afternoon.
"Elliot?"
"Yea?"
Olivia rolls on her side to see his face, "You know that I love you right?"
"Yea, Liv," nods and answers seriously, "I know that. And I love you."
She smiles at him, but her eyes are still serious, "You have to know that I don't think you are a traitor."
"I know that," he answers quickly. He did know that, and he didn't want her to think otherwise for even a second.
"And anyone else who knows you, knows that you are a good man and a noble cop."
His eyes drop to her chest, boring a hole in her collarbone. She tips his chin up, making him meet her eyes.
"Elliot. You are a good man and a good cop."
He inhales and nods. "Okay."
She wants to say more, but their serious moment is interrupted by Elliot's stomach, growling loudly.
She laughs and asks, "Have you eaten today?"
"Uh…" he answers, pretending to think, knowing full well that he'd been completely unable to eat all day.
"I'll take that as a 'no.' Come on," she says as she pats his belly, pecks his cheek, and sits up, "I'll order us dinner. Thai?"
He nods. "Yea, that sounds good."
"Okay, go clean up and I'll make the call."