Rating: M, sexual situations
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine
Spoilers: Everything's up for grabs
Pairing: Elliot/Olivia
Summary: Please see previous chapters
A/N: This section includes a short post-ep for "Hammered" and a pre-ep of sorts for "Underbelly". My point here is to imply that in kissing Dani Beck in that scene that is the bane of all EO shippers, Elliot was in fact attempting to re-capture a moment he had with his absent partner. At the same time, the reason it is so easy for him to kiss Dani is because she is not Olivia.
N/B: This story has now been moved to the M section.
Part Four
2014
His hands slide from her spread thighs up to her undulating hips, never losing contact with her body. "Don't move..."
She frowns down at him, hair damp against her temples and neck. "What is it?"
"Just for a second," he murmurs, eyes closing over then opening back onto her. "Just…stay."
Olivia halts the rhythm of her hips and sits still on him. "Something wrong?"
Elliot smiles in the dark quiet of her bedroom. "Nothing." Absolutely nothing is wrong. Everything's the opposite of wrong. He glides his palms up her sides, grazing the sides of her breasts, then returns them to her hips. "I just want to be here for a moment. Right…" he flexes his hips, feeling himself embedded within her as deeply as he's ever been, "here…"
-x-
2005
They had to be drunk that first time. Elliot had only been separated a matter of weeks. And though their partnership had continued on relatively unaffected, beneath it, each of them was waiting. Waiting for the other, for the right moment, for the requisite courage it was going to take to cross that line after so many years of careful restraint. In the end, it was Dutch courage that edged them over that formidable line and into a whole new relationship.
They'd been flirting all night, using the alcohol as an excuse, as a cue. A signal to the other that now was not the time for professionalism or moderation. Now was the time for their more reckless selves to rise to the surface. It was in that spirit that Elliot offered her a ride home. After all, he was a free man, a single man for the first time in too many years for his sloshed brain to calculate. He definitely didn't have anywhere he needed to be. And his partner had been matching him drink for drink, which, considering her smaller frame and empty stomach, had left her considerably worse off than he was. She stumbled slightly when she slid down from her stool, her eyes unfocused and her lips emitting a lilting giggle. Elliot caught her wrist then continued their dangerously flirtatious discussion.
"You never told me you had a tattoo."
She shrugged, heading for the rear exit. "You never asked."
Elliot trailed her down the red-lit hallway, feet clumsy on the ends of his legs. "You gonna show it to me?"
"Eh, it's small, it's nothing..." She waved a hand and swerved out of the way of a wilting indoor palm.
He caught her elbow, halting her under the low-hanging red light and amid the pathetic potted plants. "I showed you mine," he pointed out, voice low and rumbly.
Olivia gave a lax snort then bent to remove her shoe. "Hang on…." She hopped once then put a hand on his shoulder, balancing herself as she peeled down her sock to show him the ink on the dint below her ankle joint.
Elliot bent to get a closer look, squinting at the small crowned heart flanked by two hands. The tattoo was simple, probably cheap and slightly faded from the rubbing of her shoes. But something about it fascinated him. He looked up at her face, framed by short blonde waves that fell forward against her cheekbones. "It's like a Claddagh ring. The hands mean…?"
"Friendship," she filled in when he faltered and frowned, "The crown means—"
"Loyalty," he nodded in remembrance. "And the heart means…"
He knew exactly what it meant but he didn't say it. He wanted to hear her say it. Olivia didn't avert her eyes when she all but whispered:
"Love."
The finally voiced word hung for a moment in the red light and cigarette smoke, in the heated atmosphere about their bent bodies and too-close faces. The only reason the moment broke was that she wobbled in place, losing her balance.
Smiling as he straightened, her hand still using him as a base, Elliot watched her pull up her sock and slip on her shoe. "And what's that mean to you?" he mused with a humorous little inflection.
She tossed her hair back then continued on to the exit. "Absolutely nothing."
Elliot followed, both of them leaning an elbow against the door. "No?"
She met his gaze as they shoved it open, her eyes shining with laughter. "No."
Out in the parking lot, the air was cooler, cleaner, the smoke and noise of the bar a mere memory. The crisp air sobered them slightly, the wind hitting their faces and making their jackets fly. The gravel underfoot crunched as they strolled, for once in no hurry to get where they were going.
"So why get it?" Elliot asked, his voice lower in the riverside still.
Olivia glanced up at the night sky. "Ah…I was young, drunk and in love."
"A dangerous combination."
"You're telling me."
Reaching the car, he turned to face her, hands shoved in pockets. "So the guy…was he Irish or something?"
She shook her head, facing him with a bemused, amused expression. "Like, Italian-American, I think."
He nodded. Then took one hand from his pocket and placed it on the car. The move boxed her in slightly, testing whether the proximity of his body was welcome. "I'm Irish," he murmured, leaning infinitesimally closer. "Well, my name, my, ah…"
Olivia swallowed, gaze dipping to his lips. "I know…"
She eased back against the car, silently giving him permission to advance. So Elliot lifted his other hand, slowly placing it on the sedan, boxing her in with both arms. He shuffled closer, faced her fully. Olivia tipped up her chin, one hand reaching out to loosely grasp his jacket. The wind picked up, blowing her hair back from her face and making her eyes glisten. Something about her face made him stop though. Its familiarity was daunting to him, the idea of the change he was instigating. And its beauty was daunting, its maturity. The last woman he'd made any sort of move on was Kathy and she was just a girl. An inexperienced, infatuated teen. Olivia was a woman – a mature, experienced, world-wise woman. One who he suspected was deeply sensual, boldly sexual in her private life. It made him want to kiss her with every atom of his being. And it also made him hesitate, terrified to kiss her. He inched in, eyes on her lips. But in the end, he couldn't do it. He couldn't close that final distance, he couldn't make that final move. It felt like a farce, a cruel joke – after all those years of wanting to be in this exact situation, aching for the freedom he now had – to be unable to follow through.
His head dipped down to hers, eyes screwing desperately shut. "Wanna kiss you," he muttered in a barely audible rush of breath.
"So kiss me," she whispered back and then her mouth was on his, warm and wet and open.
Her face was angled upwards, her lower lip nudging between his as both her hands tugged him closer by his clothes. Elliot's hesitation instantly evaporated. His body fell against hers, pressing her back into cool stability of the car. The arms that boxed her in began to shake, trembling with want, only satisfied by dropping to find her hips, her waist, hands slipping inside her jacket to find her warmth. It was immediate and intense, the heat that rose between them, stoked by so many years of affection and danger and conflict and understanding and proximity and withholding. Once freed from its cage, it came out so unreservedly, so desperately, as furiously desiring in her as it was in him. They progressed so swiftly from kissing to panting against each other's mouths that it shocked him. They went from grabbing at each other's clothes to loosening them, slipping inside them. From making out like teenagers without homes to go to, they moved on to practically humping against the car. His arousal was intense, his hardness pressing into the warm juncture of her legs. It was probably that part of his anatomy that prompted him to fumblingly open the back door of the car and usher her in. Olivia pulled him forward by his shirt, causing him to bump his forehead on the roof. She muttered an apology, laughed breathily then backed onto the seat, drawing him down on top of her. Her legs immediately parted, inviting him in and Elliot found himself thrusting against her as he kissed her face, her neck, what he could get to of her breasts. His feet dangled outside the car door, not allowing him much traction but the bliss of feeling her body under him, of drinking in her sounds and smells, of kissing her wherever he damn well wanted made him not care about such logistics or such indignity.
Olivia clearly did. Her hands were inside his jacket, clawing at his lower back, coaxing him into the cradle of her hips. Her head was tipped back against the seat, her chest rising and falling heavily when she gasped three words that stopped his heart.
"We should stop."
He pulled back and looked at her, feeling tangled and exposed and idiotic.
She gave a small smile, stroked his spine with one hand. "I mean, we should stop and take this…somewhere else."
Elliot began breathing again, the air leaving his lungs in a relieved puff. He smiled down at her then rumbled, "Your place or mine?"
"Whichever's closest," she said, her smile brightening, widening.
He wagged his head, adjusted himself on top of her. "God, when you smile…"
Olivia said nothing. She just pushed him off her, scrambled out of the car and asked if he was alright to drive. His head seemed to have miraculously cleared itself of the effects of alcohol. Although a whole slew of new sensations now assaulted his abruptly awakened body. Luckily, none of them would impede his ability to drive them to the closest possible bed.
-x-
2009
They might have slipped up once or twice – or more than once or twice – during their last few years of partnership. It happened three times, to be exact. Three separate, unplanned instances in which they couldn't resist revisiting the year-long affair they'd engaged in during Elliot's separation.
The first time, he'd found her at her mother's gravesite after a case which saw an alcoholic killer walk free due to the drunken conduct of their ADA. After Sonya Paxton's teary apology, Olivia left the squadroom without a word. Elliot knew where she was going and hesitated only a moment before following. She hadn't allowed him to come to her mother's funeral or the reception that followed it. Two years into their partnership, Olivia had barely talked about her mother's death. But in the years that followed, often when it was just the two of them, she'd drop telling comments or mention her mother with sadness in her eyes. That's when Elliot understood that the loneliness she insisted on maintaining was more of a habit than a choice.
He'd never seen a lonelier sight than that of his partner standing at her mother's grave, laying a solitary bouquet of roses on the headstone. Elliot was determined that, this time, company would be waiting on the other side of her grief. Watching her approach, he straightened against the car door, unfolded his arms, took off and pocketed his sunglasses. He knew she would feel vulnerable, perhaps angry at his intrusion into her private pain. That was the reaction he expected and was bracing himself to meet. He wasn't expecting her to walk right up to him, straight into his arms, accepting everything he wanted to give. But Olivia did. He wrapped her up, sheltered her from the wind, kissed her windswept hair and told her he'd drive her home.
They didn't drink, not after the disastrous effect they had just seen it have on Dalton Rindell and Sonya Paxton. So he was stone-cold sober when he kissed her on her couch. And she was stone-cold sober when she kissed him back. It meant they had nothing to blame their indiscretion on. It also meant that everything was as clear as crystal and in razor-sharp focus. Every sensation was utterly unadulterated and doubly potent after three years of denying themselves such contact, such comfort, such closeness. They didn't move into the bedroom. They just shed their clothes in the living room and stretched out on the couch. They made love achingly slow, limbs wrapped round each other, bodies pressed tightly together and eyes never once disconnecting. When Olivia began to cry out, muffled, panting, anticipatory cries that bathed his face in her breath, Elliot slowed their pace even more, delaying her climax until he could follow her over the edge, both of them coming with such intensity that for several seconds neither could manage to pull in a breath.
-x-
2005
"Is this a good idea?" he asked as their bodies made themselves more comfortable on the couch.
Olivia shook her head and pulled off his shirt. "Probably not."
"D'you wanna stop?" he panted, shaking the sleeve off one trapped wrist.
She lifted her head off the cushion and kissed him. "Definitely not."
They didn't end up making it to the bed that first time. But at least they made it back to her apartment. And her couch was much more comfortable than the back of a police-issue sedan they'd spent way too many hours in. They made it to the bed for their second round. The third took place in the kitchen, amidst the empty containers that had provided them with a restoring midnight snack. The fourth time, they were so spent, so sleepy that they were barely conscious. It was leisurely and tender and blissful, neither of them straining towards orgasm as he moved inside her.
They fell asleep joined, their climax postponed until morning.
To Be Continued...