AN: I ship your reviews.


He has ripped her dress half way up her thigh and he isn't stopping. Her hands launch down grasping his forearms. Her throat closing up, her heart hammering.

"Wait," she whispers urgently, breathing into the space between them. Hoping he will feel her panic, her need for just a secondto compose herself, to get her head around what is happening before there is no dress left. She feels his hands release the material then and when she doesn't let go of his forearms he moves her further into the counter. Her mouth parting against the motion, a small noise leaving her throat as his body crowds her space.

She lets go of him then, as if that will create some distance but he is moving his free hands downward now, grasping her hips and lifting her upward until her ass has no choice but to take a seat. His whole body moves between her legs then, his wide hips moving her legs apart, their foreheads knocking softly, her breath hitching. She doesn't know what he is doing, what to expect, she hasn't had time to digest a single thing, he is just acting brashly, roughly – out of control.

"Wait-wait-wait," she whispers in a rush, each word tripping over the last and bouncing off the hollow of his neck as he crowds her. But he's not waiting, his hands are moving to the strap of her dress, seizing it with both hands and attempting to rip it apart. Her hands grasp his forearms urgently this time, suddenly in a better position to create the resistance she needs. Her head is screaming at her to launch her body at him, she has the perfect opportunity to knock him backwards in this position but her mind ticks over. She knows it will only be temporary, it will only add fuel to the fire and because his strength will inevitably out do hers, it hits her then; there is another way.

"El please," she whispers suddenly, her voice catching, a rush of softness filling her chest, the urgency falling from her lips and expelling against his. "Please stop." Her voice sounds small, open, fragile - she knows it's a risk going there, letting this sudden vulnerability flood out of her in the hope that it will appeal to whatever moral decency still exists in his heart but she feels it immediately.

She just resurrected his past with two letters.

El.

She feels the shift in the room as it draws achingly still. He breathes into the space between them, still holding her firmly, her hands still wrapped around his wrists but everything around them is silent. She pictures a plethora of their history slamming into his chest like it had moments ago for her.

A few solid beats of waiting is all it takes before he releases her strap entirely and alleviates his hold on her upper body. She sees his eyes search hers in the darkness, his hands leaving her body, one scrubbing over his face, the other dropping down and knocking the side of her thigh.

He still hasn't moved out from between her legs but she feels a wealth of personal space around her upper body now. "Damn it Olivia," he expels through the darkness. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

She breathes through the silence, her heart thudding in her chest. She wades it out, hoping to God her attempt to 'fight fire with water' is going to work.

"I'm not," she whispers gently, her words expelling softly between them. "Just give me a second okay," she tells him uneasily, allowing the shakiness in her voice to reverberate purposefully. Her heart thrums at the shift in herself, it boarders on unrecognisable. She doesn't know what part of this is real and what is imagined. She knows she can't sound too forced, too ingenuine - he knows her 'tells', he knows when she's bullshitting perps like the back of his hand. So she needs authenticity, vulnerability – an openness with him now, she needs to let her guard down. But as her eyes search his with a desperate need for reprieve from all this, the thought sinks in; that this turnaround in her is heartbreakingly real.

"I'm not going to fight you Elliot," she whispers softly, her voice strained from the constricted pressure she feels within her chest, the sentiment of that sentence alone making her head spin. "But you need to take it down a notch okay," she whispers in a breath. "You're scaring me." The statement she never thought she would deliver leaves her lips, the truth of the admission singeing her sides.

He doesn't respond, uncertainty flooding into her now as to how he is taking this new response. She knows he's not going to recognise this wounded, open shell of his ex-partner, with fears, needs and history. There is an air of confusion from him now – a distant apology on his lips, a tinge of regret perhaps. He is looking at her strangely and she wonders if he is no longer seeing her the way she no longer sees him.

He doesn't respond verbally but she feels the intensity between them drop considerably, then it's a few beats of hesitation before his hands are making their way back up to her again. He is less frantic this time, less urgent as his fingers curl around the strap of her dress. "I'm going to cut this off," he tells her quietly, as his other hand reaches for something in his back-pocket and when he pulls out a silver pocket knife she swallows.

He waits a few beats before he flicks the blade outward and raises it to her shoulder. As he begins to slowly hack at the strap of her dress she lets her line of sight move to the column of his neck before the material finally releases. She feels her dress fall down to one side, exposing the top of her black bra and he is returning the knife back to his pocket before his eye-line moves cautiously across to hers.

Everything seems far less heated, far more subdued - yet strangely even more unsettling. She swallows as they lock eyes once more, still on edge as to how to take the man before her. His hands are back on her then and his fingers cupping her neck and she jumps a little in surprise as he slides them higher until they are splaying into her curls. "I'm gonna rough up your hair," he tells her quietly, his eye-line focused on her forehead. His hands are tugging lightly on her hair then, dragging the curls out, making it look messy, roughed up – yanked, pulled. She swallows, her mouth parting as confusion fills her chest at how tender he is suddenly being with her.

As his fingers dig into her scalp her body starts to slowly break into tiny goosebumps as he firmly, yet gently tussles her hair. She holds her breath as he moves her body forward and back with a light tugging motion, deliberately careful not to hurt her.

"Now I'm gonna mark your neck," he tells her softly, unable to return her eye contact when he says it. Her heartbeat is a thrum in her chest, her mind can't quite comprehend what exactly he means by that but her fingers are curling over the counter beneath her in preparation.

He's no longer restraining her. Just the firm intrusion of his hips between her legs remain. He moves forward then, his hands drawing her curls to one slide, her heart a violent thrum as she feels his warm breath expel against the column of her neck, shattering her whole body into a plethora of goosebumps.

His lips achingly descend into the juncture of her neck. She makes a noise. Her eyes still not opening as his mouth presses firmly into her neck. Then she is deathly quiet, perfectly still as he marks her intimately, gently nipping and sucking. She feels his mouth sliding down her collarbone, over the rise of her cleavage where he'd just cut her strap away. He is gentle with her but she can tell the way he is marking her is purposeful, meticulous - nipping firmly enough to leave marks, sucking the flesh where he knows it will swell.

His large hands move down then, grasping her hips, drawing her suddenly forward so he can gain further access to her neck. Her mouth parts, a second noise escaping because his touch, his mouth, his hands, his hips are all so densely prominent against her body. Her mouth opens, her nipples hardening on their own accord as his pelvis presses against hers, a name from her past getting trapped in her throat.

She's concentrating on the sounds. The slick kisses, the nips, the sucking, the way he is holding her head firmly in place as he marks her neck. She doesn't know if his lower half is pressing into her purposefully or if it's just the angle but she can feel her legs widening with each motion, her dress sliding higher up her thighs - his hips pushing them open as he reaches further, his mouth leaving no recess of her neck untouched.

She can't breathe. Her lungs are completely closed up and something finally snaps within her.

"Elliot," she warns, but her throat catches part way through and it comes out a whisper. He pulls back slowly, lining up their faces, her heart starting to thud in her open chest when she feels him exhale against her lips. Her mouth parts expectantly, the light breeze of his breath tickling her untouched lips.

"Liv," he whispers against her mouth, her name again, that sentiment, their entire history summed up in three letters. Then with one hand grasping a fist full of her curls, the other framing her cheek he leans in, their foreheads knocking when he says it.

"I gotta kiss you okay," he whispers in a rush, the demand expelling against her lips. Her mind can't quite comprehend what he has just said to her. For a moment she forgets they're undercover, for a second in time it's just Elliot voicing the confession she'd seen across his desk far too many times to count. Her mind swarms. He doesn't needto kiss her does he? Bite marks on her neck, her torn dress, dishevelled hair – surely that's enough.

"Your lipstick.." he explains. "I need it on my mouth." He answers the question that had been circling her mind as if he could feel the wild panic emanating from her at just the prospect. She mills through the silence and she can tell he is waiting for her to respond, for her to tell him it's ok to press his mouth up against hers, to suck, to grasp to mark them completely clean.

Her eyes blink back at him in the darkness before they begin to trace his features, moving over his irises, down the ridge of his nose until they finally settle on the outline of his mouth. Her heart thrums in bewilderment; unsure of what in Gods name she can say to herself - let alone him, to make this seem right. He had grabbed her ass, her breasts, ripped her dress to shreds and marked her neck but thishe waits for permission.

She swallows, she has nothing - there are no words to permit this so instead she lets the flicker of compliance in her eyes seal her death warrant for her. He leans in a lot quicker than she expects, her throat catching as his mouth knocks hers. "Just," she whispers against his mouth, his lips hovering mere millimetres from hers. "Make it quick okay," she tells him in a rush as if that will make this any easier. She closes her eyes then, as if she is bracing herself for something as painful as a blow to the face. She expects intensity, she expects him to comply - to make this fast and goal orientated, direct. She expects him to get this over and done with because like he said – 'we don't have much time.'

Instead he loiters, hesitates, lets his forehead bump hers while a whisper of uncertainty starts to radiate in his breath. She can feel his perplexity now, suddenly not wanting to 'take' this from her when it appears he has already taken so much. A barrage of unspoken apologies start to infiltrate her ears then and it feels like hours, days - lifetimes go by before he finally relents, moving forward and irreversibly capturing her bottom lip.

Her chest pounds as his mouth holds hers against his. She feels softness, firmness and rawness all at once, she feels the strength in his hands and the hard ridges of his hips. She feels them exist, just like this, for minutes it seems before he slowly opens his mouth to hers, a breath escaping before he is parting her mouth wider. He draws her bottom lip between his, coating it slowly in juices, before gently releasing it.

He pulls back a little as if he's still finding his bearings with her and she doesn't open her eyes. Her heart is hammering at his tentative nature. She waits through the darkness, concentrating on the fact that his mouth may have left hers but his hands and hips are still holding her firmly against him. When she parts her lips for a breath his mouth is suddenly back on hers, this time drawing her top lip between his with more intensity. She lets him take the lead while matching his pace, allowing herself to somehow keep up with his movements. He tilts his head, pressing his mouth further into hers, opening her lips wider, exhaling into the kiss as his fingers sink into her bare thigh. He tilts his head once more, deepening the kiss, moving her body further into the counter until her head gently knocks a cabinet behind her head.

Her mouth opens and she makes a sound in surprise but it comes out as a low moan and he is exhaling against her, accompanying her reaction with a deep groan. She feels the shift then, the heat escalating as his mouth seeks her out with more urgency, he tugs her body closer to his, his hands snaking through the back of her hair as his teeth clamp down on her lower lip gently nipping, sucking, tugging.

She feels it between her legs, her body instantly betraying her. She wants to cry. Their mouths are slick with saliva and when he parts her lips once more she loses control, driving her tongue into his recesses. He groans unexpectedly, the noise echoing in her mouth, his fingers sinking into her hips in response. His teeth clamp down on her lower lip, dragging her lower half flush up against his.

"Ugh," she whimpers and she is practically panting now, noises of her frustration getting swallowed by the force of his mouth.

He brakes the kiss suddenly, his jagged breath heating her face. She aches to get back there, to recapture his lips once more but she feels him holding her at length as the situation registers on his face. She knew this moment would have a shelf life and it seems the panic-stricken reality of it all is finally setting in. He is still holding the back of her neck, unable to let her go it seems, the heat from his mouth continuing to warm her lips. He breathes out the intensity as his hand moves around to cup her cheek.

"We've gotta," he whispers against her lips, stopping mid-sentence as if he expects her to finish it. When all she does is stare back, her eyes wide with desire, her lips swollen and still parted, she feels him start to move back. The pressure of his wide hips is suddenly leaving her body and he is stepping a few paces away from her before he is turning around completely.

Her eyes run down the plains of his back until they land on his denim covered backside and she swallows, unable to look away, but it doesn't matter because he is already turning around again, this time stepping forward with sudden intent. He grabs her arm, dragging her off the counter until her bare feet return to the ground. Her heart rate jolts, her knees are jelly when she lands, her body still in recovery from his mouth and his hands. He strips off his shirt then, right in front of her - black material coming up and over his head until it's tossed messily to the floor. Her eyes fall instantly down to his exposed chest and her heart thrums in response. There are dips in his abs she hasn't seen before - firm, intentional bulges of muscle that make her throat constrict and a deep set scar that runs from his ribcage to the top of his jeans.

She steps forward unable to refrain from letting her fingers smooth over the scar, touching it tentatively with concern. "What happened?" He grasps her wrist suddenly cutting her off and he is pulling her closer, eliminating the space between them and she feels the heat from his body immediately. "Scratch me," he whispers and he doesn't give her time to process this, just moves both hands up so they're encircling his neck. She swallows as he draws her lower back forward with his palm so they're practically hugging. Her breast press into his bare chest as she grips the tops of his shoulders for stability. Her body still reeling from his mouth, this hands, his hips – she is not prepared for the bareness of his chest this close in proximity.

"Defensive wounds Olivia," he rasps through the darkness. "Make 'em deep."

Her chest is pounding, her body suddenly freezing up and he can feel it.

"Don't think ok, just do."

She digs her nails into the back of his neck, trying to ignore the way his bare chest scrapes against her lace covered breasts with every breath. She slowly begins to drag them down the length of his neck and she feels him exhale heavily into her space, his fingers sinking into the dip in her lower back in response. He makes a sound, his teeth digging into his lower lip before he releases it.

"Harder." His voice has dropped a full octave, the demand thrumming in her lower belly. Her body reacts to it all. His hands, his tone - his hard demand. His chest flush up against hers, his hip pressing against her crotch. She can't do this - any of it.

"Olivia," he hisses as if he can sense her resistance. "That venom you were spouting at me before.. when you king hit me point blank," he reminds her with force. "Channel that."

She resets her fingers once more, this time taking a deep breath before she drags them firmly downward a second time. He releases a noise in response, she knows she's made an impact but she can tell it wasn't enough.

"Deeper," he grates and she closes her eyes. Harder. Deeper. She can't with this. Not when her lower half is thrumming with needs she can't comprehend. She needs space - just for a second. She tries to move backwards but he grabs her between the shoulder blades and rams their chests firmly back together for effect.

"I know you're angry at me," he rasps, his voice taking on a darker tone. "I know there are feelings Olivia," he whispers, taking the open dig. "You've got words for me," he bates her loudly. "Three goddamn years of them," he rasps heatedly. "So just do - it."

That does it, the fire within her is ignited and she sinks her nails firmly in, slicing them downward without restraint. He calls out, their legs locking accidently, his body falling into hers as they crash against the counter. She doesn't suffer impact but she hears the groan emanate from the base of his throat from the open wound she had just caused. She does her best to steady their bodies against the counter, his heavy breath warming her neck as he pants out in the aftermath.

She can feel dampness under her fingernails, traces of blood.

"Jesus," he whispers and suddenly he is moving her arms downward, his face drawing ever so closer to hers. She thinks he is going to lash out at that point, give her heat over the pain she'd just caused, instead he just captures her eye contact for one deliberate second. "Okay good," he whispers. "Now bite marks," he tells her slowly and her eyes dip unconsciously down to his lips. They're rosy, swollen and laced with hints of her crimson. He grasps her wrists suddenly as if to indicate he is holding her capture and her eye-line flicks back up to his.

"I've got you like this," he whispers, moving her up against the counter, squeezing her wrists for effect. "Where do you bite?"

She swallows, the feeling of his hard body up against hers making her lower-half thrum into gear once more, her eyes flicking immediately to the juncture of his neck. That's where she bites. Hard, firm and unrelenting on the most sensitive part of his throat until he has no choice but to let go - only she can't escape the feeling that she doesn't want him to. She leans in, her lips making contact with his neck, her heart thudding wildly as her mouth brushes the rough exterior of his throat. She pauses, the uncertainty of the situation slamming into her chest, the idea of clamping her teeth firmly enough to leave a deep-seated mark is making her chest pound.

"Elliot," she starts with concern, the makings of her protest falling against his neck.

"Do it Liv," he exhales into the darkness. "Like a band-aid," he tells her, his hand sliding up her back in encouragement until he holds her between the shoulder blades giving her nowhere to go but up against his body.

Her open mouth skims across the juncture of his neck once more, her lips parting but she is frozen. He is holding her firmly in waiting, her hardened nipples grating across the bareness of his chest with each breath, his large hands are gripping her and there is still a deep, languid thrum in her lower belly where his thigh rests between her legs. His mouth drops down to her ear and she can feel the shift in his body language, his voice low as his lips scrape the shell of her ear.

"Olivia," he warns throatily. "Do I have to grab your ass again?" he whispers.

Her chest pounds at his threat, a pang throbbing between her legs as her breath gets lodged in her chest once more. She knows what he's doing. He is bating her, attempting to piss her off, rile her up so she literally 'bites' back, but he's done the complete opposite. Her body is spiralling uncontrollably with want and she is no longer able to focus on anything other than his hands that are inches away from her backside.

"Do it," he whispers, and her chest pounds because her lips ache to say that same to him.

She clamps her teeth over the skin then, nipping lightly at first before pressing her lips against his throat and sucking firmly. She grasps the back of his neck and she hears him make a noise as her lips firmly increase their pressure, sucking on the ridge of his throat. A hand drives up into her curls and he tugs her back suddenly, her lips releasing his neck with a slick pop. His mouth drops downward, his breath suddenly expelling against her wet lips and for a moment they just breathe into each others parted slick mouths until he finally says it.

"Bite marks Olivia," he rasps. "Not hickeys."

Her chest pounds against his and she sucks in a breath, when she feels him let go she moves forward once more until her lips are latching onto the damp patch she left, her teeth firmly digging in this time. He makes a noise, swallowing against her bite. He breathes out as his fingers sink into her waist in response. She tastes salt, sweat and sweetness all at once and all she can feel is the hard edges of his body pressing into the soft curves of hers.

"Harder," he rasps, urging her to increase the pressure.

But she can't - she just can't. She releases his neck and sucks in a heavy breath.

He groans in frustration before lining her face up with his once more. "You wanna start taking this seriously," he whispers, his deep blue eyes probing hers. "Or do you wanna get us killed?" He is pressing her back up against the counter again and a noise escapes her from the sudden pressure against her lower back. There is heat in her cheeks, a flame of want spreading across her chest. She can't control it, she can't focus on a damn thing, not when the full length of his body is flush up against hers. Her eyes dip down to his lips as his lower half presses into hers. She wants to moan but she manages just a breath to escape before she says it.

"I'm sorry I find it so hard inflicting pain on you," she whispers, making it a point to sound pissed off. "Something you seem to have no problem doing." A wealth of accusation fires out in her words but there is no mistaking the underlining want beneath. It's clouding her judgment, her body, her breath, her cheeks and as his blue eyes flick between hers, she knows he can see it. He is like a dog with a bone then, something shifts within his irises and there is no going back.

He drags her face forward until his mouth crashes over hers. A moan escapes her suddenly, her stomach dropping ten floors when she feels him draw her top lip between his, the fullness of his wet lips taking her openly. He tugs on her top lip, his hip pressing her into the counter as his hands slide upward and through her curls. He opens her mouth to his then and it's instant - he is sliding his tongue between her lips immediately, a pang throbbing in her lower belly, a moan getting trapped in the recesses of his mouth. He groans in response and he is nipping her now, digging his teeth softly into her lower lip making her heart rate soar in response.

She feels the difference undoubtedly, this is no longer under the guise of lipstick, his hand instead is roaming unabashedly, skimming the plains of her torso, his other grasping the underside of her thigh, raising it upward until he is pressing himself between her legs. She moans, breaking the kiss as she feels his hardness press intimately against her core. Her head falls backward, his hand sliding across her shoulder blade until it curls behind her neck tugging her mouth back to his. His lips fall onto hers once more, his tongue plunging into her slick recesses, the tip of his tongue darting out and swiping across hers, their heavy pants getting trapped in each others breaths before she rocks her lower half purposefully into his erection, a deep groan emanating from the base of his throat in response.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, their jagged panting intertwining with each breath. "Fuck-k," he whispers against her lips, his mouth still nipping hers, still holding her firmly up against the counter. And yes. Fuck-k. Is correct. Fuck-k is the only accurate description of their current predicament right now. There are imminent dangers looming but she is choosing to block it all out for the taste of his mouth. He sucks on her lower lip for one, drawn out moment before he finally releases it. "Three years," he whispers against her mouth. "I've thought about this," he tells her. "Thought about us." He leans in nipping her lower lip once more, her heartbeat thrumming in response as her fingers sink into the back of his neck in waiting.

"But not.." he rushes heatedly, his voice torn between his excruciating want and his unyielding restraint. "Not like this."

The words slice into her. And she knows. Of course she knows. She shouldn't be here, up against a counter, in a trailer - in the middle of nowhere while her ex-partner presses his hard-on between her legs and traps her every breath within his throat. She wants to care about her surroundings. She does. She wants to register the horrors that await her. But she is completely closed off against the reality of the situation, solely focused on keeping the heat between their bodies contained for as long as possible.

"I'm sorry that you're here Liv," he whispers painfully against her mouth, his voice breaking when he says her name. Then it's his forehead resting against hers that causes her eyes to finally slip back open. "But I'm also not sorry," he tells her softly.

The admission rocks her on the feet, his words, his hands, his warmth - all achingly welcome, all still robbing her body of much-needed oxygen and it hits her in that second - that if these are her last moments here on this earth.

She's not sorry either.

TBC