The muscles in his belly contracted when Olivia stepped in behind him, slipped her arms around him, and pressed her wet body against his back.
"I thought you might share," she said, nipping playfully at his shoulder.
"Liv," he said, trying to keep his voice flat, "The Doctor said you shouldn't be doing.....this type of thing for a week. Besides, it's five in the morning."
"It's almost been a week. Six days," she said.
"Are you sure this isn't the concussion talking?" He said when she turned him quickly to face her.
"No. Are you saying we should ignore it?" She inquired, looking down to see his answer. She raised her head and met his eyes, grinning.
He dragged her with him under the pounding spray.
"You have the water too hot," she told him, turning her head as his mouth rubbed along the side of her throat.
"I needed hot."
She picked up a bottle and squirted some of the pale green liquid over his head.
"Wait! What is that?"
Amused, she reached up to lather it in his short hair. Suds slid down their bodies, slicking them.
Steam rose as they washed each other. Slippery hands over slippery skin aroused in slow beats.
Her mouth was wet and warm and her low moans mixed with the sound of drumming water.
As the air turned sultry, he turned her so that he could trace kisses over her back, so that he could cup her breasts. His thumbs scraped her nipples while her back arched in pleasure.
"Please," she turned to him. He saw the need on her face.
"Now," he whispered and slid into her, achingly slow.
And she felt herself open, and give.
She gripped his shoulders. Long strokes so that pleasure was a low, sustained beat. He focused on the need to prolong and hold the moment. Her blood pulsed, seemed to sing under her skin until she came in an endless, warm wave, and her mouth pressed to his as she rode it.
They ended up back in bed. She clicked off the bedside lamp and snuggled up next to him.
**********
They both awoke to the ringing of Elliot's cell phone. Olivia rolled over, releasing him to answer it.
"Hello? Yeah," he paused, listening, "Give me an hour," he finished.
"What was that?" Olivia asked as Elliot pulled on some clothes.
"The Captain needs me to go meet with one of my sources for this case they're working on. I'll be back by early afternoon," he said. Then he stopped, looking back at Olivia in the darkness, "Are you going to be all right? I can tell them I can't go," he offered.
"No," she said with a wave of her hand, "I'm feeling a lot better today." Elliot nodded uncertainly.
"Okay. How about I pick up a movie for tonight?"
"Sure," she said, "How about a drama? Maybe something British?" She pulled herself out of the bed and picked out a pair of blue flannel pyjamas, putting them on before getting back into bed. By the time Elliot left, she had already fallen back to sleep.
**********
She woke a couple of hours later to a loud knocking at the door.
"Damn, Elliot," she called, padding down the hall in her blue pyjamas, "Did you forget your key?" She peeked through the peephole just in case and saw a shield held up to it as whoever it was knocked again. She opened the door and saw two detectives she vaguely recognized.
"Detective Mercer, Detective MacLean," she greeted with false politeness, "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Internal Affairs?"
"Detective Benson, can we come in?" MacLean asked.
"I'm on sick leave," she said pointedly, stepping back to let them into the messy apartment.
"Yes. And we're sorry about your accident. That's partly why we're here," Detective Mercer said. "We'll give you a minute to get dressed," he added, glancing down at her attire.
"Okay," she said, "You can sit in the kitchen."
She went back into the bedroom and quickly pulled on a sleeveless turtleneck and pants. She didn't trust the IAB around her stuff. When she returned, the two detectives were rifling through the papers on the table. Mercer sat and MacLean stood in the corner as if overseeing the room. "What are you doing?" She exclaimed. She felt anger bubbling inside her, threatening to spill over.
*This is not the time.*
The detectives both acted as if there was nothing wrong. They were both large men, balding, though Mercer had a goatee as if to offset it.
"Please sit down," Detective MacLean began, gesturing to the chair opposite Detective Mercer. She obediently sat, crossing her arms defensively. "This will probably be routine," MacLean stated, "You were the primary on the case last month where Thomas Reagh abused his five-year-old daughter?"
"Yes," she said slowly.
"Why was it reopened?" Mercer asked shortly.
"It wasn't."
"Then why did you pull financials and phone records on a relative of his, Stewart Reagh, saying they pertained to the investigation?"
"I must've had a reason, but...." She trailed off. She had no memory of the event.
"Don't tell me," MacLean said sarcastically, "You forget."
"I do forget," she said, voice beginning to shake, "The concussion..."
"Well, this is your badge number on the form," Mercer said, handing her a sheet of paper on which was her information request. It was her badge number, all right, but it was Elliot's writing. She would've been able to tell that anywhere. Suddenly, it hit her.
*Stewart*
She didn't answer the detectives and finally Mercer sighed.
"All right. Try and remember and we'll stop by again tomorrow." She swallowed and Mercer stood up, practically rolling his eyes at MacLean. They let themselves out, leaving Olivia sitting at the kitchen table.
As soon as she heard the door shut, she picked up a glass that was sitting on the table and hurled it at the wall, shattering it before breaking into involuntary sobs.
**********
Elliot opened the door of the apartment.
"Liv," he called. He didn't get an answer. He found her curled up on the couch, crying softly. She couldn't stop. "What's wrong?" He asked gently, kneeling down. She sat up abruptly and dropped a crumpled paper ball at his feet, wiping her eyes roughly with her hand. He opened the paper slowly and saw the information request he had filled out. His face fell at the sight of it and his heart sank.
"How could you do this?" Olivia said, barely contained. "You could've cost us both our jobs with our IAB history."
"Liv, it was only a couple of files. No one got hurt, or anything," he said.
"Why don't you tell that to Mercer and MacLean?" She spat out.
"They were here?" She nodded. He sighed.
"Why didn't you tell me, Elliot? I would've backed you," she said softly. Elliot went to sit next to her on the couch, but she stood up so her back was to him.
"I didn't want to get you involved," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.
"But you did. That was my number on the request form."
"I'm so sorry," he said truthfully. Olivia turned around and Elliot thought he might be forgiven.
"I think you should go back to your apartment," she stated bluntly. He nodded in acceptance, grabbing an armful of clothing out of their room and not bothering to pack it before leaving. He shut the door gently behind him.
Olivia picked up the movie that he had left on the counter.
It was *The End of the Affair*
**********
Maud - Merci beaucoup. I wish I could write for the show!
Fran - Loved the worm analogy. Sorry to have to keep you in suspense.
Kirsti - Thanks a lot for your comments.