A/N: The first of a series of Taylor Swift song-inspired ficlets.
Make sure nobody sees you leave
Hood over your head
Keep your eyes down
Tell your friends you're out for a run
You'll be flushed when you return
There was no direct cause for the things they had done on this path of no return.
No perfectly constructed road maps or traumatic events. It just happened. Over and over. She knew what this meant. They were forming a habit, crossing lines neither of them had any business going near, never mind racing over it as they had.
She's dressed head to toe in black. The soft lycra of her running tights sits flat against her waist, they don't dig in like they used to. She misses the way the fabric would cling to her, and although she fights the curves she has, she still misses that feeling of constriction. Her black quarter-zip is a little baggier than she'd remembered as well.
It wasn't an illness that had caused it. She's running almost every night – in more ways than one.
The park is eerily quiet at night. The street lamps glow a little brighter these days and she tries not to think of all the reasons why. It's a vicious, dangerous game they are playing with their own lives.
He's here. He always is when she arrives, but she doesn't need to see him to know where he is. There's irony in how she feels his presence. She shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be here, doing what they're about to do. Yet her body is acutely aware he's near. Anticipation makes her heartbeat just a little faster.
Perhaps it's an addiction because the rush, the burning high she gets from this will never dull over time. It's fucked up and wrong and perfect. So utterly perfect.
"Liv," he hums in that deep, guttural tone that makes her stomach drop deep into her belly. She's under a large oak tree when she turns around, and the moonlight illuminates his large form. His expression is stony, but his eyes are roaming over her body, drinking her in unhurriedly.
It's a challenge of wills then. She backs up until her legs hit the rock wall behind her. They are completely hidden in the shadows. His grey hoodie and sweats do nothing to hide the way he's coiled and ready for her. His eyes are on her mouth and out of habit hers drop as well. She waits for the inevitable.
Olivia had learned to be patient with him. The hunt, the chase – it fed into his adrenaline, into his ego. He liked to see her crack first, other times he'd been so overwhelmed and turned on he just couldn't wait to touch her.
Tonight he surprises her. He's leaning into her neck, his nose brushing lightly over her soft skin, and her nerve endings are alight just from this. "Come with me," he says.
And with no qualms, she follows her partner from the park to the black SUV.
Her knees bounce three times before she pushes her palms into her thighs to stop it.
She's nervous.
He's breaking one of their unspoken rules.
Tonight is cold but that isn't the reason he's got her in his vehicle. He needs more privacy with her than a darkened corner in a park can provide him. The city never sleeps, they both know that better than anyone.
He wonders when they got so fucked up. There had always been the thought in the back of his mind that they could do this, ever since he met her. But he was always sure that a tragic event or something particularly grueling or violent would make them seek comfort in each other. It would be an accident, a slip-up. They were only human after all.
Olivia's nervous energy is palpable when he pulls up in a dark, abandoned lot near the Queensboro Bridge. Her eyes are out of focus and her attention is straight ahead, she's trying not to look at him as he looks at her. He understands her. She's trying to talk herself out of it, to justify their actions.
We can stop any time we want to.
We should.
It's the little lies they tell themselves and each other. Elliot cuts the engine and switches off the overhead light. With only minimal light, he works with what he's got. He'd never buckled his seat belt when they had gotten in the car, but he knows she's wearing it now as a safety blanket. He doesn't frighten her as a person. Everything that's attached to him does.
Married. Husband. Partner. Best friend.
On the exhale of a small breath, Olivia releases the seat belt. He reaches for her immediately. It's a clash of lips and tongue and teeth, and when he goes home to his wife tonight, his mouth will be bruised, his lips will be swollen. Kathy will look away instantly as she always does, her willing blindness to his trysts is all a part of their pattern now.
He doesn't think he's ever kissed his wife like this. His teeth drag over Olivia's bottom lip, earning a small whimper from the back of her throat. Her hands are wound around his neck, they scratch at the back of his head and glide over the chiseled muscles in his shoulders. He's bracing himself with one hand on the steering wheel, the other is tangled in her dark hair.
C'mon, admit it, detective. You know you want to bang your partner.
More than half of the people that step into their interrogation room have twisted, unrealistic ideas of love and sex. Many of those people have accused them of sleeping together. It was expected at this point. No one had ever put it so bluntly, and he's not sure why it bothered him so much that day.
Perhaps it was the idea that they had already been sleeping together, and they were still as transparent as ever. He's not sure if it was easier to deny his feelings before they started their affair, or after. All the lies have begun to blur together and he isn't sure which is true and which is a lie.
He tries not to think about it too much.
Olivia is in his lap now, her head bent down to meet his mouth. Her hips gently rock into his, her workout leggings do nothing to mask the warmth between her legs. His sweats are equally as bad. The outline of his hard length can probably be spotted from across the bridge.
Elliot's hands are on the maddening swell of her ass. He kneads the flesh in his fingers, pulls her body down to his. He needs more contact. He has to be inside of her, cramped SUV be damned. "Get in the back," he murmurs against her mouth.
She doesn't still her movements. Her core glides over him once, twice – and he's tightening his grip on her hips. "Olivia," he warns, annunciating every syllable of her name pointedly. Her lips coax his open again, and he's lost in the heat of her, of this. The first time he had kissed her a few months ago, he'd noticed how soft her mouth was. He was used to the hardened detective, all leather and attitude with a weapon in her hand. Against him, she was feminine, soft, unguarded.
It's the duality of Olivia during the day and the Olivia he fucks at night that leaves him breathless.
His lips press into the dip between her collarbone and her shoulder. She isn't listening to him but he'll have time later to be angry about it. He slips his fingers beneath the elastic of her leggings to the junction of her thighs, a groan tearing from him as he brushes over skin – only skin. He's not sure what's more arousing, the lack of panties on her, or the notion that she had decided against them when she got dressed to meet with him.
"Look at me," he bites.
Olivia shifts back just enough for her forehead to align with his before she meets his eyes. Her mouth drops open slightly when his fingers slide through her wetness, and she gasps as his thumb pressed firmly to her clit. His digits are deep inside of her, and the angle is wrong, but it's enough for now. He lives for the way she reacts to his touch.
Ever sleep with your partner, Detective?
She hadn't lied then. It wasn't until about six months after Richard's interrogation of Olivia that he even touched her, let alone slept with her. Not even the truth had stopped him from being nervous while his son talked with his partner. Two worlds collided – two sides of his life were colliding. He needed to keep them separate. At that moment he had never felt more out of control.
This was him taking control back. Life had handed them obstacle after obstacle and they needed relief. An escape. He found it; chasing the pleasure she gave him, pursuing the way he could make her cum, make her whisper things they'd never say to each other while fully dressed. I'm yours. Faster, baby.
When she drops the tough act and lets him see all of her, he realizes he could've died without ever experiencing this side of her. He could have died without ever hearing her groaning his name, without seeing the look of her as she cums, without the awareness of the taste of her.
"El."
He's never had her like this, on top of him in an SUV. His hand is restricted by her leggings and the lack of space, but her hips make up for it. She grinds and drops her hips to meet the thrust of his fingers. A litany of curses falls from her lips, a sign that she's nearing the edge. Moments pass and the windows are beginning to fog up from him panting in her neck, and her shuddering breaths.
As Olivia gets closer, she doesn't call for God as he had thought she would before he'd been with her the first time. It's soft swearing, it's breathless whimpers of his name and her fingernails leaving red marks on the back of his neck. Tomorrow there will be no denying that he was with someone – not with the scratches left on his skin and calmer energy.
"Should've listened to me before," he's gloating, knowing she is seeking the extra bit of pressure that his restricted movements can't provide. She lets out a shaky laugh at his remark – it's only a burst of her breath on his face. Elliot pushes his thumb against her clit hard purposely. His digits are as deep as they will go inside of her while she starts to clench around them. Her breath hitches, her legs shake. "Cum for me, Liv."
She does. It only takes a few more pumps of his fingers into her and she is pushing her mouth on his, letting him swallow the cries that come from her. Olivia's whole body trembles above him, and he thinks he could come just from bringing her over the edge.
"Get in the back now."
This time she listens.
She feels like a teenager.
Her leggings are pulled down to her shins and she's on all fours in the back of the SUV. She imagines this is what it's like to be in her teens again. Two young people with no other place to fool around, so they hide in plain sight and give in to their desires.
"Fuck," he grinds out. "Liv, fuck."
They aren't teenagers though. They're just two lonely, connected individuals who are too fucked up to see past the impossibility of their relationship. He's married – he's married for christ's sake. She doesn't know if she would even be able to handle being in an actual relationship with him if he did get a divorce. She would run from him, just as she has in the past. The possibility of losing him is too much for her to bear.
He fucks into her from behind, cramped SUV be damned. She knew from early on in their partnership that he would be big. If it wasn't the cocky attitude that did it, it was the way he carried himself. No insult about his body or his sexuality ever seemed to even remotely phase him. So when she had taken him in her hand for the first time, she wasn't surprised. Now he's inside of her – filling her, stretching her body nearly to its limits. Her hand is braced on the window, the other is ruthlessly gripping the seat beneath her.
Elliot takes the breath from her lungs with no hint of an apology.
"Harder," Olivia whispers, despite how they are in an enclosed space. He immediately obliges, the deep strokes he hits into her with sounding off as their bodies collide again. Again. His hands are always occupied when he's with her. They're on her hips, they're under her sweater squeezing and palming her, they're marking territory. When she looks at herself in the mirror after her shower tonight she'll see the grip of his fingers on her hips, on her ass.
The windows are fogging up and it's not just the one directly in front of them. All of them have a thin layer of condensation – she doesn't need to look around to see it. She knows. He'll probably drive home tonight with the windows down, trying to cool off his own body as well as the vehicle.
Olivia can hear rustling behind her. It's the sound of him stripping off his pullover sweater, the heat always affects him long before she ever feels it. His hands come back to her hips just for a moment, and then his right collides with her ass sharply. It sends a surge of arousal through her, it penetrates her in a way that has her moaning and gasping for him.
She's so desperate for him. Her hand reaches behind her to grasp at the thick muscle of his thigh, to entice him to just take. The heat is burning in her bones now and he disintegrates every inhibition she's ever had. They might fuck in parks and cars and the shower in her apartment but these moments with him represent the honesty behind their relationship. They lie to their friends, colleagues, his wife – but this is what it all comes down to.
Her body is so sensitized from her first orgasm in the front seat that she is trembling by the time the second one comes. He's grabbing her wrist from its hold on her leg and pinning it to her back, restraining her. Elliot holds her and bends over to nip at her shoulder. His breath is warm on her skin, his grunts send her body into overdrive. She throbs around his cock, her release is just barely out of reach.
"Elliot," she groans into the glass. "So close, so close," her whimpers carry on, and the vehicle is getting loud now with the sounds of their fucking. He lets her hand go so he can press the pads of his fingertips to her clit and soon enough she is rocking back against him, clinging to the connection of their bodies as she tumbles over the edge into oblivion.
Her eyes are squeezed shut but she can still see the foggy window, she can still hear his tearing groans. He spills into her as the last pulses of her orgasm cause her to contract violently around him. Her name is a growl that forms on his lips over and over while he jerks and then buries himself as far as his body will allow him to go in her.
Olivia drops her head down from the window to the seat below, ragged breaths escaping her every second. She can vaguely feel his hand sliding up her back, his touch is both comforting and too intimate.
"I'll drop you at home," he says softly between pants.
When they're fully dressed, he leaves lingering kisses on her mouth and down the column of her neck. They've made a mess of each other again, and it won't be the last time. On the way back to her apartment she thinks of how she can still feel his body on hers, how he will wear the scent of sex back into his familial home.
And you know damn well
For you I would ruin myself
A million little times