A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I've always wanted to explore the hurdles that Elliot and Olivia would face once they've slept together. This chapter picks up the morning/afternoon after the last chapters events. There will be two more chapters after this one! Please leave me some reviews. Feel free to let me know what you liked, and tell me know how you think I'm going to end this thing! Thank you for being along for the ride!

Song: Turning Page by Sleeping At Last.

Chapter 28- Elliot

He pulled back the white sheet so he could examine her in the afternoon window-light. He'd wrapped her into the same sheet just hours before after they'd finished rounds of unleashing what they'd been ignoring for so long.

His body was already stirring at the sight of her. He felt like a teenager again at the rate he was recovering. Something had awoken deep within him, something that had been coiled like a noose around his desire for far too long. He'd never had sex like this in his life. When youth had been on his side, he had a wife who spent their honeymoon having morning sickness. When he was at his prime, he was tied to a woman that he told himself he'd always be faithful to. He was a faithful man; he wore his ring with pride. He'd always considered himself to be a one-woman man. He listened in Catholic school. He might have had plans to experiment in college, but his life goal had always been to settle down with the one. He didn't like that sex was often reduced to a commodity, consumed by the greedy. The horrors of his job taught him that nothing good came when greed intersected sex. Even when he'd been with Rebecca, and the handful of others during his separation, it had felt like he was checking a box that society expected him to. He was trying to prove he could get back out there after having his world crumble around him. His wife had left him, even after his faithfulness remained un-cracked, at least in the physical sense, so he felt a certain need to prove he could love again, have sex with women that weren't his wife. It felt like losing a piece of himself every time. He'd never viewed sex as overly recreational, mostly procreational- perhaps that was the product of a Catholic upbringing, but with Olivia it was something else entirely. He hadn't lost, he hadn't been unfaithful, he'd found, he'd claimed an insight into himself that only she had the power to unveil. He was a one-woman man, and she had been his woman for nine years. Being with her was like returning to what made him good, what made him whole.

He kneeled on the bed in front of her naked body. She was lying flat on her back, her hands resting on her ribcage, her damp hair from their warm shower, only hours before, fanned out on his pillowcase. They'd started in the bed, moved to his kitchen, and finished the early morning events in his shower. She'd spent endless minutes sucking on his cock as he lathered shampoo through her silky hair. They'd brushed their teeth, and this time her toothbrush, from all those months ago, was placed next to his, inside his medicine cabinet. Then they'd returned to his bed, her skin still a little damp as she kept her promise and fell asleep against his chest, the scent of her freshly washed hair pulling him into sleep.

He'd woken before her. She was still asleep to the world. He took pride in how he'd worn her out, placing that sleepy grin across her relaxed face. Her lips were sated, her eyelids resting like rising moons.

She looked peaceful, her marked skin standing out like brushstrokes on the white canvas of his bedsheets. He hoped she'd heal quickly, only so he could paint her again, and again.

He loved watching her sleep. She trusted him to protect her from all the pressures that would threaten to pull them apart beyond the deadbolt of his apartment door. They were existing in a bubble, a bliss they both knew could burst, but he'd do everything in his power to shield her from any fallout. He knew having her like this went against the fabrics of their lives, but she was ingrained in him now, and there would be no going back. She belonged with him, to him, and Cragen or Kathy or One PP or The Brass themselves would have to pry her from his cold, dead hands before he'd go back to pretending.

He was waging a war in his mind, to wake her or to watch her. It almost seemed cruel to pull her from her dream state, but it had been too long since he'd heard her voice. He wanted her moaning sweet nothings into his ear once more. His fingers wove around her ankle bones as he tugged her ever so slightly, just enough to slip her smooth skin down the length of his bed. His motion compelled her eyes open, the daylight caught on her stare, and it was all real once more: he hadn't imagined a single quiver or cry. It was real, she was real, they were real. The lights weren't dim to aid in forgetting, the evening wasn't young enough to desert- the sun was blazing, her carnal flesh in his bed as evidence of how he never wanted her to leave.

"Good morning, Liv," he said as he kissed her kneecaps. There wasn't an inch of her that he hadn't kissed. Even her kneecaps had the power to send him reeling, wishing, wanting for more. He didn't greet her by calling her honey or baby or sweetheart. Those were terms of endearment he'd called his wife because it was the standard thing to do. He called Olivia by her name, the nickname he'd been granted privilege to use all those years ago. She wasn't his honey or his baby or his sweetheart; she was his Liv. It was the only thing that made sense to him. Her nickname was intimate when he said it; it always had been, and perhaps that was why for so many years he'd let it fall from his lips like dripping honey.

"What are you doing?" she laughed as she watched him kissing on her shins, her soft sounds permeating the space and filling it with her presence. He'd picked the right side of the war: he always preferred her awake and talking to him. He never wanted her to stop talking to him.

"Thinking about how I'd love to tie you up," he said nonchalantly as he circled her ankles once more and pulled them apart.

"What makes you think I'd let you do that?" she asked, trying to act as if she wouldn't let him in a heartbeat.

"You ever let anyone tie you up before, Liv?" he asked as he ran his palms up the expanse of her firm thighs, simply massaging her, memorizing her.

"You wouldn't like the answer to that," she said as her eyes darkened, and he felt his blood warm with hatred towards whoever had touched her before him.

"I want them all dead," he groaned as he pressed into her thigh muscles harder. She broke into more laughter as she quickly sat up and scooched down the bed until she was sitting in front of him, her knees folding against his as her arms circled his neck.

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" she whispered into his ear, her tongue darting against his cartilage as she breathed her hot air against the side of his face.

"Brian Cassidy- wanted to kill him; that Andy prick- wanted to throw him off a building; that ADA- even dead he was bad. Don't get me started on Trevor fucking Langan. All of them, it's your fault that I have high blood pressure," he said in a tone that could only be described as a growl, as he circled her waist, pulling her lotus style into his lap.

"You have high blood pressure because you won't quit bacon," she said with an eye roll as she stretched her legs out behind him, driving her core closer to his growing erection. He couldn't help but smile at her, his fingers resting on the dimples at the base of her spine.

"You sure you can handle this, again," he asked in a low voice as he took notice of how she was slowly grinding against him. He worried her walls might be too tender to have their explorations extend into the next day. They should both be spent, but somehow, they seemed to continue renewing each other.

"You're not sick of me yet?" she murmured as she leaned against his chest, her hard nipples grazing his pecs.

He cradled her neck as he replied, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you ask."

That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen you do. Their history was always with them, reminding them in these small moments how far they'd come to be here now. She didn't reply; instead she let her hands trail his chest. She was taking him in, finally allowing herself to explore him in the same way he'd been exploring her. She smoothed her hands down his shoulders, over his ribs, her hands roaming the terrain of his body. He felt his abdominal muscles twitch under her loving touches. Saying it didn't come easy to her, but he could feel from her fate line and fingerprints that she was telling him all he needed to know.

Her hands dragged back to his shoulders, up his traps as they settled on his neck too, their embraces matching, as she leaned in and said.

"Did you ever use your cuffs in bed?" her question sent heat straight to his groin.

"I lived in the suburbs of Queens, Olivia" he replied, as if that explained everything.

"Are you suggesting that people in the suburbs don't have sex?"

"Not that kind of sex," he laughed, as he relaxed his gaze into her dark eyes.

"You wanna cuff me, El?" Her tone was innocent and playful, and he couldn't help but laugh as he cupped her cheek. Olivia had asked him to cuff her, and somehow, he was still breathing. His body was ridiculously at her will, but his mind knew that they couldn't avoid reality forever.

"Later…," he slurred and pecked her lips as he said, "I want to feed you something first: we were supposed to get breakfast...remember?" He grinned as he disentangled himself from her. He forced himself to stand and not think of visions of her cuffed and withering. He'd have time to explore all those possibilities with her; he hoped, prayed he'd have that time.

"I was kind of hoping we could stay in bed all day," she said, her eyes blinking up at him. He knew she didn't want to leave the safety of the bedroom because beyond the four walls they had infinite hurdles they'd have to cross. He hesitated for a moment as he thought of ways to ease her growing nerves. He'd had visions of them going to his favorite breakfast spot across the street and speaking about their new situation with caution over coffee, but he could tell from the way her shoulders tensed that the thought immobilized her.

"You stay right where you're at, I'll be back, there's a bakery right across the street" he said as he pulled his stare from hers and hurried to dress himself in fresh clothes. He could hear her shift in the sheets as he laced up his sneakers.

"El? Will you get me some sweats; it's cold in here," she said, and his skin shivered at the reminder that she was very much naked in his bed. He quickly reached for grey sweatpants and a t-shirt and handed them to her as he paced across the room and shoved his wallet into his jean pocket. He could hear her pulling on the sweats and part of him wished he hadn't made the decision to leave.

"I'll turn the heat on, on my way out," he said. When he turned around to ask her what she wanted from the bakery he was struck by the sight of her wearing his clothes, sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, her hair tousled and her lips pink with heat.

His heart ached. He laughed internally at all the times he'd denied being attracted to her. No wonder everyone knew he was a liar. She was flawless.

"What?" she said softly, the arches of her eyebrows following her question- her expression clueless to the fact that she had him looped and tied and seared around her finger.

"Nothing," he sighed, the reality that losing her held a whole new level of pain for him. He'd turn his transfer papers in tomorrow if it meant he could keep her cross-legged between his sheets forever. Baby steps, this is new, but he couldn't help himself, he had visions of her saying "what?" every morning, oblivious to how awestruck she made him. He swallowed as he turned to leave, his hand almost on the door handle when she said,

"El?" His name came out as a question, and he turned to her worried eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Don't go getting on a flight to Oregon," she said, her eyes falling away from him, crashing down as she spoke the low-toned plea. His hand dropped away from the doorknob like it was a hot stove burner, his feet taking several strides back to her.

"Look at me," he instructed as he gestured for her to come closer. She moved towards him, standing on her knees on the end of the bed, making her almost eye level with him. "I'm going three blocks away, I'm going to get you a breakfast bagel, maybe a croissant if you're lucky, and then I'm going to come right back. You can come with me, we can do whatever you want," he said as he circled her waist, pulling her a little closer. He watched as she swallowed, seeming to process his words. He observed and waited for her to say something. Instead she lifted her arms and wrapped them around the back of his neck, pressing her upper body against his chest as she embraced him tightly. He could feel her face in the crook of his neck, her soft lips brushing against his rapid pulse point. They were both panicking.

She squeezed him tight, the meaning of her hug not lost on him. She'd been abandoned her whole life. She was begging him not to leave her too. It dawned on him then, that she'd prevented them from crossing lines for so many years because she didn't want to be left and forgotten once the curiosity was quenched. As her fears seeped into him, he squeezed her tighter, stronger, his palm running along the expanse of her spine, trying to communicate that he'd always had her back, all these years, and he always would. Nothing had really changed.

She kept holding onto him, not letting up on the hug, and he was overcome with the realization that despite the rounds of sex they'd had the night before, this was the most intimate they'd been.

"I'm being...silly…" she rationalized into his neck, her words pulling him from the envelopment of the embrace.

"You're not," he said as he held onto the back of her neck.

"Okay, get out of here," she joked, her voice raising an octave as she pulled herself from the hug and pushed his chest away with her flat palm. Her eyes deflected him, refusing to look at him, refusing to face how much she'd said with a single hug. But he knew; he got the message loud and clear: Don't leave me.

"Olivia," he said tenderly as he caught her jawline and turned her face up to him. He finished his statement with a kiss. His kiss said as much as her hug. "I hate the west coast," he added as he broke the kiss and pinched her waist before turning to go get them midday breakfast.

1:30 p.m.

He returned to find her sitting with her legs crossed on his living room floor. She was skimming her fingers across the books on his entertainment center. He had few, but she seemed occupied with the titles, and the little knick knacks which decorated the T.V. stand.

He approached her backside, also dropping to a sitting position behind her as he placed the bag of pastries and breakfast sandwiches beside them. His hand reached around her as he presented hot tea underneath her nose.

"Spiced Chai," he said as she took the cup and leaned back against his chest. He leaned down and sucked on her neck, because he could.

"You know we have coworkers," she said blankly, while fighting off a sigh as he continued kissing below her ear.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You better be buying me some turtlenecks for Christmas," she said, trying to sound serious, but a small laugh came through as her fingers sought out his hand. He grasped her fingertips, his hand still warm from holding her tea. Her words filled him with something he knew as hope. She wanted this to extend to the holidays. She wanted him to buy her gifts and keep bringing her tea. She wasn't running. He kissed her harder.

"Mmmm," he moaned as he took mental notes. He'd buy her every turtleneck in the department store.

"Thank you for the tea, El," she added, and he grinned against her. Her 'thank you's always came once he was certain she wasn't going to extend one to him.

"I got you a chocolate croissant too," he said as he wrapped a tight arm around her belly, letting his knees fall open so he could surround her.

"Mmmm, who said men aren't good for anything," she quipped as she turned slightly in his arms so she could look at him.

"I believe that was you," he said in a laugh, as she sipped her hot tea. "What are you looking at?" he added, as his eyes trailed the shelves in front of them.

"Just all your things," she said as her fingers touched the spines of his Dan Brown books and school crafts his kids had made for him when they were little.

"Here, I want to show you something," he said as he leaned over her and reached for a picture frame he had tucked behind his dusty books. He pulled out the framed photo of him in his officer uniform. He placed it in her hands, and he watched from over her as her fingers curled around the silver edges of the frame.

"Elliot," she laughed, as her fingertip brushed over the old photo of him. "You were so young."

"Twenty-three, fresh out of the service," he said as he played with her hair, his fingers slipping through the strands, absently enjoying how he could touch her so freely in the privacy of his apartment.

"You were hot," she remarked and then added, "Imagine if officer Elliot broke up one of my college parties," she laughed, and it was infectious, pulling him into his own laughs at imagining the scenario.

"I wish we had an excuse to be in uniform more," he added. "Remember when we got promoted?"

"Yeah, detective 1st grade," she said with an eye roll as she addressed him. She grew silent as she sipped her tea and looked at his photo. After some silence she said,

"Is this strange?"

"Is what strange, Liv?" he whispered because he knew what she was approaching, and he was scared for her to begin tearing down what they were so delicately building.

"Me being here, having you kiss me and touch my hair," she sighed.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked as he removed his lips, just letting them hover above her pulse point.

"No, please, it's just that...for so long…" she began, and he kissed her again as she spoke.

"For so long we couldn't?" he said, in an attempt to fill in her blank.

"Yeah…" she sighed, the syllable defeated, and he could sense that she was pressing her eyes closed.

"But we can now," he said as he found her fingers again. She didn't hesitate to let her fingertips stroke over his knuckles, her touch trusting. She was trying with everything she had to trust him, and it filled him with an intense sense of responsibility for her.

"I'm afraid it isn't real," she whispered, and his breathing stilled; she'd spoken the word- afraid.

"What would make it real?" he asked as he grasped her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

"I'm not sure...I'm not good at…" she began, but he hushed her.

"You don't have to be good at anything, Liv, no one is good at this." he assured, as he tried to steer her, as fast as he possibly could, away from doubting what a relationship could be. It would be their undoing; her doubts would destroy them.

"I'm afraid I'll frustrate you."

"Of course you frustrate me," he laughed as he kissed below her ear.

"I'm serious...I'm not...I'm not…" she tried again, and he knew the word she was struggling to produce was Kathy.

"I'd never want you to be."

"But what if you do?" she pressed, and his heart rate quickened.

"I'm not getting into this blindly, Olivia. I've known you for nine years, it's not like you're somebody I picked up at a bar."

"Getting into what?" she asked, and he kissed the top of her head, hoping to God the action would quiet her overworking mind.

"Olivia…." he sighed, "Eat your croissant," he instructed as he attempted to distract her with the pastries.

"El…," she said as she turned out of his arms, her eyes finding him. They were brimming with all her questions- questions he wasn't certain he had the right answers to.

"Listen to me," he said as he reached for both of her hands, "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, take a breath."

"I can't," she said as she tried to retract her hands, but he gripped her wrists firmly.

"I'm not afraid of you, Olivia. I'm not afraid of this; stop assuming that I don't want you. I think I've made it pretty damn clear that's not the case."

"This is new, I'm..."

"It is," he cut her off, and she looked up at him sharply. "But you are not new to me. You're my partner Liv. We've got the best head start that anybody could ask for."

"Exactly, I'm your partner, and what if that's all I'm good for?" she said as she flicked her gaze across the room.

"Clearly we work well together, in more ways than one, so I'm not sure why you can't accept that."

"I've never worked well with anyone before," she admitted.

"Liv…" he sighed, accepting that they might have to shatter their moment and get into the trenches he'd been trying to avoid.

"You have a whole marriage on me, El. You know how to do this. I don't want to disappoint you."

"You don't disappoint me."

"Nine years...I've been your partner for nine years. How am I supposed to be something else?"

"You don't have to be! Stop putting these expectations on yourself, because I don't have any."

"That's bullshit," she countered as she pulled her hands from his grasp.

"How?"

"It's not going to bother you when I don't come home with you or I don't call you back or I cancel our plans?" He hesitated, as he considered her words.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because that's what I do, Elliot!" she said as she rose to her feet and he felt his hope sinking lower and lower.

"Why?"

"Because I'm terrible at relationships, because I know how to be alone, I'm comfortable being alone."

"That's bullshit," he shot back, her own words working beautifully against her, as he stood to get in her face. "You've been alone by circumstance and choice, and we both know that…"

"Don't say it."

"You didn't call all those guys back. You chose to stay single, because you wanted them to be me."

"You're an arrogant prick," she shot at him as she pushed past him and started pacing towards his kitchen.

"Olivia! This is ridiculous!"

"How dare you say that," she said as she shoved a pointed finger in his direction.

"Because it's true! And now I'm telling you that I want to be with you, and you're treating me like all the other pricks!"

"You didn't tell me that," she said softly, her voice dropping low from her previous anger.

"Tell you what?"

"That you want to be with me," she said. As she crossed her arms over her chest, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her in his clothes, fighting with him while standing in his kitchen, and he was once again reminded that, despite her denial on it, they'd been married for years.

He shook his head at her as he moved quickly towards her. He gripped her firm on the waist and backed her into the kitchen cabinets. He lifted her swiftly to the counter and pushed his lower half between her legs, forcing them to wrap around him. He could sense the racing of her heart, and its cadence matched his own heartbeat.

"I'm telling you now, and I swear to God, Olivia, if you fight me on it," he spat out, the anger evident in his tone as he clutched her. Her chest heaved as she said,

"I want to be with you too."