AN: Hello! Please note I have more written after this but I decided to break it up as it would have been a very long chapter if I didn't.
Plus it will prob take me months to finish the next part and I didn't want to leave you guys waiting any longer than you already have!
Thank you so much to those still following, reading and reviewing despite the slow progress, it means a lot that you're still here. X
His hands are everywhere, her neck, her face, her hair. The scent of the cream is tingling, she can feel the cool burn in places unexpected, it's numbing parts of her while the rest of her body flames with each stroke of his tongue.
She doesn't taper down from the kiss, Elliot had pushed the boundaries with her in that trailer but tonight it was Olivia who was struggling to simmer down. The combination of his mouth on hers coupled with the realisation that this was all the time they had in the world was loosening her grip on her restraint.
She nips at his lower lip, before she takes his top lip between his and he moans against her mouth. She is doing her best to keep her weight off his stomach and she can feel his large hand gripping her firmly at the waist, restricting her from shifting any closer to his wound.
His other hand roams, explores, trails, sweeps the side of her breast but it's nothing like Elliot Stabler from the trailer.
He is tentative.
He is reserved.
He is holding back.
But she is leaving tomorrow.
This is all they have.
All they'll ever have.
She draws his lower lip between hers and he moves his free hand down the column of her neck until the rough pads of his finger tips trail across the swells of her cleavage. She shivers, emitting a low sound of encouragement but it doesn't last long, because he is already pulling back with a slick pop.
They lock eyes, the muscle in his jaw jumping and she can see he is struggling with this just as much as she is. He continues to lightly run his fingers over the small raised scars on her breasts before his hand flips down and his knuckles race across lace. Her eyes slip closed, her nipples hardening from his touch.
God she wants this.
When her eyes slip back open he is giving her a look, helpless desire intermingled with grief like they'd just missed the last flight out of a town that was in ruins. She thinks how cruel the irony is – this is as intimate as they can get, making out like teenagers on heat because anything beyond that would risk both physical and emotional damage.
She ignores the warning in his eyes and instead moves forward, her lips trailing down the stubble of his jaw until she is nipping and sucking, pressing against the dips and junctures, his masculine scent teasing her lips, consuming her.
She grasps his free hand and presses his open palm firmly against the softness of her breast until he is cupping her. She hears his low groan and a few beats pass before she feels the squeeze.
She moans against his throat.
"Liv-" he warns.
"I want this," she tells him, her lips swiping his stubble as her mouth trails down the column of his throat. Then it's seconds before he is cupping her cheek, dragging her back up to his mouth and pressing his lips against hers. The kiss is hard and punctuated, desperate and demanding and when he parts her lips and his tongue drives into her depths she feels the pang between her legs. She claws at him then, her teeth clamping over his lower lip as they both struggle to inhale oxygen through their noses.
She feels him return. Elliot from the trailer, the intensity, the desire, his lack of restraint – but it's fleeting, just the briefest of seconds, because he is already pulling back, his lips slick with her saliva.
"Don't think that I don't," he is breathless against her mouth, his chest is flushed from heat and lace and her heart sinks when he slowly slips his hand off her breast.
She blinks back at him, swallowing her desire, her eyes grasping at the final remnants of intimacy before she sees the truth mirrored in his irises.
This can't happen.
They can't happen.
Her lower half is still panging with want, continuing to respond to the residual effects of his touch. She starts to move off his chest and she sinks down onto her pillow, scrubbing a hand over her face.
She knows he is right, there is far too much at stake and if she truly lets herself think about it, she'd realise that no good could come from any of this. She knows days from now she will be thankful they stopped.
She thinks..
She leaves her good arm strewn across her face in an effort to shield her unrelenting desire when really it's her nipples that are still at full attention.
Her chest rises and falls and she wonders if he is staring at her or if he has his eyes closed too. She can hear him breathing heavily beside her, and they are close enough that their shoulders are still grazing.
She finally starts to feel him move, his fingers bumping her torso, until they are slipping beneath the ridge of her back. She lifts her chest, allowing him to tug the material of his shirt out from underneath her.
He hands it to her then, the material lightly skimming her stomach.
"Here.. put this on."
Her eyes are still closed, she is still shielding her face from view, her body still processing what just happened, cataloguing it, ear marking it for later. She knows he's trying to get her to cover up so they can taper back down but she is suddenly so exhausted she can barely sit upright.
She reluctantly takes the material and begins to slip it over her head, arching her chest, doing her best to avoid her bad shoulder before she is pulling it over her breasts and down her stomach.
She expects the t-shirt to extinguish the fire down below.
It doesn't.
She lies back down still flush against his shoulder, but her eyes are open now.
She stares up at the ceiling, wishing it held all the answers that she sought.
Her mind was going at a million miles per minute.
It cannot end like this.
Her eyes slip closed once more from the exhaustion and all she can feel now is the blazing gel trail that is left burning up the side of her cheek. The cool night air whips against her skin and it starts to irritate her. She sighs knowing she will need to get up and wash it off before she goes to sleep or it will only get worse.
She pushes through the exhaustion, forcing herself into a sitting position. She doesn't look back at Elliot, she just slides down to the end of the bed before her feet hit the rough motel carpet.
She pads towards the bathroom and she can feel his eyes on her as she moves through the threshold. She leaves the door purposefully open as she heads towards the sink.
She doesn't close it because she doesn't want to sever the connection between them, she wants to wash her face and slip back into bed like she'd never left because this was their last night together.
This was it - the end.
And she refused to waste a minute out of his proximity, when after tomorrow that's all she'd be.
He watches her dip her head under the sink.
She must be thirsty but there is an open bottle of water on his bedside that she had been helping herself to so it doesn't make sense that she'd be drinking tap water.
A few moments pass before he sees her run the hand washer under the tap and drag it down her cheek and he understands now what had called her out of bed.
His fingers tingle in response, reminding him that his own hands are still burning and he slowly makes his way upright. He pads up behind her, his eyes moving from the back of her head until they catch hers in the mirrored reflection.
"I'm sorry," his voice wavers. "I probably got it in your hair too."
She turns around and he watches her step forward, taking a wrist of his in her palm and beginning to wipe off the gel from his hands. His focus drops down to what she is doing and he is surprised by the gentle way in which she is sliding the cold washer across his fingers, grasping his digits between cloth to remove the traces of cream.
Her head is bowed, a lock of hair shielding her eyes as he watches her work. He is concentrating on her light exhales and all he can think about is how much he wants to continue what they'd started in bed. She motions towards his other wrist and he holds it out to her despite it being mostly free of cream. She takes a step forward so she can reach, their bodies drawing closer as she carries out the same action. He can smell the hint of motel soap and he is focused on her lips - the ones that are still rosy and glistening from his, now parted softly beneath his gaze as she works to rid the non-existent cream.
She continues to wipe his fingers, making sure she gets between his digits and he flashes instantly back to the times he would do this for Eli, washing off sticky jelly as he cooed from his highchair. A thousand lost moments pulverise through his chest in that moment, guilt singeing it's way through his body as he tugs his hand from hers suddenly. She looks up at him in confusion, the only light is coming from behind him and he knows it would leave his features shrouded in darkness, casting disorienting shadows across his face.
"You okay?" She asks up at him but it's just a whisper.
He just blinks back at her and he aches to shake his head, he wants to be honest for once in his life.
No Liv.
He is not okay.
In any sense of the word.
No part of him has been okay since he left her.
His mouth makes motions to speak but he has come this far without telling her the truth and he only has one night to go. He has so much to say, but he knows all of it is far too late. She doesn't push him, she simply dumps the washer in the sink before she surprises him once more, stepping closer and running a hand up the side of his forearm before she squeezes and her touch feels like the most natural thing in the world.
"We should get some sleep," she tells him as her hand uncharacteristically slips down and latches onto his wrist.
He is still taking her in, a part of him is disappointed she isn't pushing him to talk but maybe she sees enough in his eyes to know it's not worth it. The newspaper article in his discarded jean pocket still burns a hole in his mind. The one he hadn't read in it's entirety but the one that had already told him too much.
Four days.
There is so much he doesn't know but selfishly thinks he cannot face right now.
He looks down at her and he knows within seconds.
He isn't okay.
But she isn't either.
She just seems to be able to hide her pain better than he can.
A few moments pass between them before she motions with her eyes towards the bed and there is something about that simple gesture that calms him.
He is surprised at how easy that was for her.
'Let's go to bed Elliot.'
That's what he wants to hear.
That's what he wants her to say.
He craves to hear those words come out of her mouth so he can commit them to memory.
But when all he hears is silence he thinks it doesn't matter because when he recalls this night in future, he will imagine she had said just that.
TBC
