Rating: M, sexual situations

Disclaimer: Characters are property of Dick Wolf etc

Spoilers: Everything's up for grabs

Pairing: Elliot/Olivia

Summary: Olivia stumbles across Elliot whose abrupt disappearance is finally explained. This chapter contains mini post-eps for "Rescue" and "Pursuit".

A/N: Merry Xmas to all EO shippers, my gift to you is this eternally sexually frustrated couple making out in three different time periods. Enjoy! :)

2010

The second time they slipped up was shortly after Calvin Arliss was wrenched from Olivia's arms. Elliot had been watching her since that awful night, looking for signs, waiting for her to crack. Six days later, she did.

She was the instigator that time. It was her mouth that found his, her hands that drew him close, that rid his body of his clothes. He'd tried to resist – he'd prayed to God for the strength to resist. But he never was much good at refusing a woman he loved. Particularly not one he loved as much as Olivia. So Elliot found himself back in her bed, breath and limbs entwined with hers. The décor of the room had changed. As had her body, over the years. Her curves had increased, growing rounder and softer as his partner just grew harder and tougher. Her hair was longer and darker and her eyes were now bordered by delicate, fine lines. But nothing else had changed. The chemistry was still there, the heat as intense as it ever was, if not more so. There was a desperation to that encounter though – like Olivia was trying to prove something or outrun something, while he was just trying to keep up. To do whatever he could to console her, to please her, to be who she needed him to be for at least that moment.

Usually, Olivia had sex with her eyes wide open – both figuratively and literally. She was bold in bed, reaching for what she craved, unafraid to tell her partner her needs or to fall apart when she had them met. Usually, her eyes on his were the most potent aspect of their love-making. But, in this instance, that was absent. She was absent, or part of her was. Later, he'd wonder if it was guilt that drove her to look away, to close her eyes on him, to ask him to fuck her from behind, her gaze on the rumpled sheets and his hands on her straining hips. Later, he'd feel like he'd failed two women at once. Elliot never stopped to ponder though why he didn't feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. The guilt was undoubtedly there – but it was muted. Like something in him had always assumed that the love affair between him and his partner was not and perhaps never would be entirely finished.

-x-

2005

He was grinning uncontrollably when he stepped into the shower and joined her under the spray. "So what happened to that policy on keeping your sex life out of the workplace?"

"Hey." His saturated partner stabbed his chest with one finger. "This doesn't enter the squadroom, okay? Cos if it does, I'll—"

"You'll what?" He ignored the resolute finger pressed to his chest, leaning in to kiss the downward turn of her mouth. "Ditch me? Request another partner?"

Olivia turned her back on him, letting the water run over her head. "Don't think I won't."

Elliot reached around her, taking the soap from the shower caddy and scrubbing it over his chest. He was much more intent on her though than on any effort at cleanliness. Putting the soap back, he pressed his lathered chest to her turned back, hoping to claim her attention as well as some of the shower spray. "Does that mean this wasn't a one-time only thing?"

She turned, short hair slicked to her head and water dripping off her eye lashes. Olivia stepped on his toes as she moved in close, a suggestive smile curving her lips and her arms encircling his neck. "What do you think?"

Elliot swooped in and kissed her, hard and fast, his hands spinning her and pinning her to the slippery white tile. Olivia gave an oomph as her body landed. But she didn't break the kiss, utterly unfazed by the force of his passion. Her hands wove over and around his head, neck and face while his descended to stroke her back, butt and legs. He drew one thigh up round his hip, pressing himself into her wet, welcoming warmth. Deepening the kiss, he let his tongue and teeth graze her lips as the water continued cascading down his back. He eventually withdrew but not very far, mere millimeters between his face and hers as he muttered:

"Do you know how fucking long I've wanted to do that?"

The knee he held nudged his hip and two capable hands shoved his chest. In a single second, Olivia had reversed their position, planting his back against the tile before slithering her dripping body up his.

"Yeah," she murmured, hands gripping his biceps. "I do."

Elliot grinned wider. And let her kiss him again.

-x-

2011

The last time they slipped up and slept together was after Sonya Paxton's funeral. Her horrific death had affected both of them deeply – Olivia because of Sonya's similarity to her mother and Elliot because it could have been her. It could have been his partner whose throat was slashed, just as it nearly was years before in that train station with Victor Gitano. Only this time, he wasn't there to protect her, to assure himself that she was still alive and breathing. He'd failed her and his punishment for such abject failure was her rushing right into his arms with tears on her cheeks and her wounded soul bared. He supposed that such an enormous expression of trust and vulnerability from a woman whose trust was not easily earned or whose vulnerability was not often exposed was probably more a reward for all the times that he was there. All the times that he persisted in the face of her censorship and concealment. All the times he did prove worthy of such hard-won faith, such precious reliance.

They stood elbow to elbow at the funeral, dressed in their well-worn blacks with wet grass sticking to their shoes. Like all the other mourners, they were huddled under a black umbrella, trying to evade the slanting rain, trying to ignore the chill in their bones. All around them, tears flowed freely for a life cut short but none afflicted their eyes. Their faces were like stone through the bible verses and prayers for peace, through the praising of the dead and dropping of earth on the casket. Afterwards, they shook hands with colleagues, family members and an impressive array of victims who had come to pay their respects. Both of them tried not to imagine various victims murmuring sombre tributes at their gravesites sometime in the not too distant future. Instead, they made their way through the throng, steadily but swiftly, with polite nods and firm handshakes. Walking up a slippery knoll, they silently agreed to skip the wake.

The loss of a life was a decent excuse for the reaffirming act of love. Though in truth, they didn't need an excuse. And neither could be wholly blamed as the instigator this time. Both of them initiated it, wanted it, needed it. Perhaps the funeral affected them more than they thought because there was something undeniably savoring about their coming together. Both seemed to want to prolong the encounter, putting off its pinnacle for as long as humanly possible. They made love in every way they knew how and a few they'd never discovered. Elliot stood with his black shirt open and his black pants dropped, the grass still wet on his shoes, as Olivia sat on the bed and took him into her mouth. She drew him out, made him hard, teased and taunted him without giving him release. He returned the favor by kissing down her body as he urged her back on the bed, as he pushed her black dress up her body. She sat back against the headboard, her legs spread as he lay on his stomach with his face and tongue buried in her familiar, salty heat.

After he made her wet, made her come once, he pulled her down the bed by her ankles and entered her in missionary position. That's not where they stayed though. Once they'd taken all the pleasure they could in how that position allowed their bodies to press against each other, to drag over each other's skin and muscles and curves and angles, Elliot pulled back. He flipped her onto her side, folding one leg over the other before entering her again. After that, Olivia moved onto her stomach, one hand reaching behind her to pull him down on top of her. It curled around his head, keeping his face anchored in the crook of her shoulder. She came in that position, her inner walls clenching around him as her own fingers massaged her clitoris. Elliot held back on his orgasm, not yet ready for them to finish. From there, he pulled her up onto her hands and knees. After a while in that position, when Olivia had regained her strength and awareness, she drew back, rising onto her haunches and sitting down on him, over and over and over again as he thrust up and pulled back beneath her. One hand held onto her hip and another stole around to cup her breasts, to pinch her nipples, to circle her clit. She came again, this time much harder. And as much as he wanted to prolong the act, Elliot couldn't help but come along with her.

A period of drowsy recovery time followed, untainted by regret or guilt or worry. But then Olivia uttered the phrase she always uttered after each of their slips into sex. Something in her would almost instantly shut down, insisting on pushing him away. She'd tell him what they'd done was a mistake, that it could never happen again, that it wouldn't ever happen again. Then she'd ask him to leave. In a quiet, firm voice. Go, she'd say, every single time. Please, she'd say. Just go.

-x-

2014

His hand runs up her arm, pensively slow and infinitely gentle, his thumb stopping to circle each round, puckered scar. His voice is quiet in the darkened bedroom. "How'd you survive?"

Olivia pulls in a breath, eyes drifting briefly shut. "Sometimes I'm not sure I did."

The hand continues moving up her arm, inventorying the wounds Lewis inflicted on her as well as revisiting some she incurred long before her recent terrorisation. His fingertips trace the ridge of her shoulder, sending a shiver down her naked spine. Then his thumb nudges her chin up, exposing the now invisible slash Gitano left in her neck. The injury threatened to take her from him – and did, in a much more roundabout way than that particular psychopath intended. Because that was the case that broke them, that exposed the extent of their attachment. That was the case in which their private entanglement collided with their professional commitment, sending Olivia into perpetual retreat.

"I prayed for you," he murmurs, thumb tracing the healed spot on her neck.

Her brows twitch. "You did?"

His head nods on the pillow. "On my knees. Morning, noon and night. For…a month? I didn't know…I—" Elliot's eyes drop to the scars on her chest and his hand follows his gaze, gliding with rueful tenderness down to her sternum. "I couldn't— …it was the only thing I could think to do."

Olivia breathes again, her chest filling and releasing under his flattened palm. "Looks like it worked."

His eyes flick up to hers. "Did it?"

There's anger and blame in his eyes but it's not directed at her. It's not even directed at the dead man who brutalized her. It's directed at the God he's tried so sincerely to serve. He's not sure he can ever see the scars she now sports as blessings bestowed on her by a higher power. He prayed for more than simple survival, he wanted more for her than that. He still does.

"I did anything I could," she says, haltingly answering his earlier question. "I…begged him, pleaded for my life." Her hands lift to grasp the one at her breast. "I…tried to seduce him, goaded him into raping me."

Elliot's body braces, his eyes taper and lips part.

"He didn't," she assures him pre-emptively. "I swear to you." She looks down at the hand she holds then admits, "And…I thought of you."

His eyes close over. "Don't say that."

Her thumb stokes the back of his hand. "It's true. It helped." She places his hand back on her body, presses it to her heart. "You helped me. Without even knowing it."

His eyes open again, to look up at her. Not at her scars but at her. Her silhouette in the dark. Her straight spine. Her full breasts. Her healed neck. Her dark eyes. Her. Then all of a sudden, he rises from his prone position, arms weaving about her. "Never again," he whispers, lightly kissing her face. "Never, ever, ever again…"

He adjusts himself beneath her, feels himself re-harden inside her. Olivia liquefies, releasing a moan of sweet frustration. Her arms snake around him and her hips want to move. He can't deny her body anything – not after all it's been through – and he certainly doesn't want to deny her this. His hands slide down to cup her ass as he begins moving again beneath her. Her head falls back in relief, in pleasure and her hips re-start their rocking motion, spurring him on. Their pace increases steeply, their breaths beginning to pant in perfect unison. Elliot leans in, kissing the invisible scar on her neck and the visible scars on her breasts. He bends to run his tongue up her breast, over her nipple. He nips it with his teeth, gives a tug in that way she used to love and apparently still does. Her orgasm comes in strong, slow waves that spread and extend, racking and arching her beautiful body. In the end, she slumps forward, still moving faintly, either to draw out her own orgasm or in order to seek his. Her mouth is open on his shoulder, her teeth biting into his flesh. The bite of her teeth and of her nails on his skin, the tightness of her tunnel and the closeness of her soft, sweaty body is all it takes, all he ever needed. Elliot pushes into her a few more times then comes with a euphoric cry of release.

He doesn't expect what happens after. But then he never did. He's still half asleep, eyes just cracking open when Olivia appears in the doorway of the adjacent bathroom. She's dressed in a floor-length robe, a toothbrush stuck in her mouth as she scrubs her teeth with a quick, efficient air.

"That shouldn't have happened," she tells him through the foam.

Elliot rises onto one elbow. "…Liv."

She retreats into the bathroom, coming back when she has rinsed her mouth. "You should go."

He scoots to the edge of the bed, plants his feet on the floor. "Olivia."

"Please." She heads for the door when she hears a perfectly timed snuffle from Noah's room. "Just go."

End of Part Four

To Be Continued in Part Five...