Undercover Days
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them.
Warning: Rated M, mildly sexually explicit.
A/N: Those of you that are following this story can thank Kinseyjo, she has been diligent in gently prodding me to continue. Now I have a little subplot coming so stay tuned…as always, thanks for reading and comments are always appreciated.
Chapter 7
"What is it about you that closes and opens…
only I understand the voice of your eyes…
deeper than all roses." e.e. cummings
Olivia is sitting at the kitchen table sorting through a massive stack of mail. There are several piles of bills and letters lined up neatly above her work area. She's holding a small knife in her hand and it glints in the sun as she flicks her wrist to open the next envelope, after quickly scanning it she lets it flutter into the trash. She has one knee bent and resting against the edge of the table, her foot perches on the seat, toes curling over the edge. She pauses to sip her coffee before lifting and examining the next envelope, shaking her head slightly to move her bangs from her eyes.
She's been working for an hour or so when she suddenly has an intense desire to hear his voice. She knows he's sleeping just down the hall but the feeling that something is wrong grips her so completely she freezes for a moment. The panic blossoms in her chest and she fights to get a handle on it as it tightens and sinks its claws into her. For a fleeting second she wonders if she's having a heart attack but dismisses the thought almost as soon as it forms. Her fingers press into the table and she squeezes her eyes closed until white spots appear behind her lids. She feels a film of sweat rise from the heat of her skin and she has to concentrate on forcing air into her lungs. It seems like a long time before the feeling wanes and she can breathe again. She still wants to hear his voice but the urge has become a whisper instead of the visceral scream of moments ago. She gets up to splash some cool water on her face at the sink and makes a fresh pot of coffee to distract herself while she pushes through the confusion and tries to understand what's happening.
There is no flash of understanding, no proverbial light bulb beaming with an answer. Even after contemplation she has no idea what the fuck just happened.
Pretty much everything between her navel and her knees aches with a soft throb as she moves. She walks to the bedroom with a cup of coffee and watches him sleep. She wants to wake him but she doesn't want to give in to the irrational need dancing around inside her head. She likes standing there watching his chest rise, it makes her feel strangely calmer and it's at that moment she gets an idea.
Elliot opens his eyes and immediately snaps them closed again. In those few seconds he recognizes two things. The first is that he's at Olivia's and second is that it must be late in the morning because the room is entirely too bright. He inhales deeply knowing that's he's in her bed and the scent of her fills him, drawing a contented smile across his face. It's the other scent that causes him to force his eyes open. Stretching out his arm he finds the bed is empty and the sharp rich smell of fresh strong coffee fills the air. He turns his head, squinting into the sun drenched window which has the shade open and the curtain drawn back. There on the nightstand is a steaming cup of coffee. He chuckles softly and drags himself into a sitting position. His body hurts, his thighs are sore and his joints are popping and groaning in protest. He feels like he's a hundred years old and still he's smiling. He lifts the coffee cup and pauses to study the dark green color etched with pine trees before taking a sip. He flexes his other hand and examines the scabbed and purple knuckles. He wonders where the coffee cup came from and what the story was behind her owning it. The cup he uses at home says World's Greatest Dad on it with floating hearts. It was a gift from Katie when she was about six years old. He scrubs his palm over his face to rub out the sleep and lets his optimism rise to the surface. He pulls on his shorts, takes his coffee and heads into the bathroom.
When he reaches the kitchen she's sitting at the table going through an intimidating pile of mail. He moves his gaze over her, dragging along the tan expanse of her thigh to the edge of her shorts. He walks stiffly up to her and bends to kiss her as she turns her face toward him.
"Good morning." His eyes are twinkling and she thinks of how the sun sparkles on the water as his lips cover hers.
"Good afternoon, it's not morning anymore." She's smiling and he wants to wake up and see that expression on her face everyday. Knowing how that admission would paralyze her, he keeps it to himself.
"It's good either way but I actually did notice it was getting late. Opening the blinds was very subtle although I do appreciate the coffee." She has a mischievous grin tugging at her mouth and she turns, letting her warm brown eyes settle on him fully. The sarcasm in his voice as he referenced the blinds was obvious and she should have expected the cop in him to notice immediately.
"I didn't want to wake you but I wanted you to get up so I thought I'd encourage you." There is something lying still behind her words and it strikes him that she wanted him to get up.
He moves around the back of her chair ducking as he goes and whispers against her ear. "Did you miss me?" A chill rolls over her shoulders and down her spine causing a small shiver as his words echo her return from Oregon. She lifts her coffee to warm her hands and watches him fold his large frame into the seat.
"Yes." The confession seeps from between her lips before she can stop it. She can feel him watching her, weighing her response. She knows it's true but she didn't expect to tell him so she reins herself back in by flipping the conversation. "Don't' let it go to your head. You don't look like you're walking too well today." His laugh startles her, seeps into her and brings her smile.
"It was worth it and I'd do it again if I could." He looks down and pulls open the front of his shorts as though checking on the state of his sore penis and she bursts out laughing. The sound of it fills him up and sends a rush of warmth over his skin. "I have to go to my apartment and the laundry mat, get some clean clothes and…if I'm going to stay there I'll have to buy some groceries. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me or if you wanted some quiet time." He's barely breathing when he finishes because he's been dreading this conversation since last night when he knew it was going to take place.
He can't keep up with the myriad of emotions that wash across her face as she ponders his question. "Why are you going to the laundry mat, I thought your building had a laundry room?" He knows she's buying time and he's grateful that she didn't just tell him to go.
"While you were gone there was a flood in the basement of my building that shorted out the laundry room and blew the motors on the machines so now I have to go out to do my clothes. My storage space got wet and the superintendent didn't notify me so most of the clothes I had down there were moldy and I threw them all out. Its part of the reason my look at work has become so relaxed, most of my suits were down there. The building didn't have flood insurance and I didn't have renters insurance so the owner and I are working on a settlement. Have you ever been to a laundry mat? There are some freaks that hang out in there. I keep looking for people trying to wash blood out of their clothes." She's chuckling but there's a hint of sadness.
"I haven't been to a laundry mat in years but they're notorious for having interesting patrons. In some of them I'd be afraid of what I might catch while I'm there." His finger tips are tracing over the fingers of her hand where it rests on the table.
"What's wrong Liv?" His voice has dropped to that soothing sound she wishes she could wrap around herself.
"How long do you think we will be beginning conversations with the phrase when you were gone?" He knows what she's asking. How long will it be before this thing is not still sitting between them? Even now when they both want to put it behind them and move on with their lives.
"Just until we're caught up on everything that we each did during that time, then before we know it, it will just be part of our colorful pasts. If you'd like we can sit up late one night with Chinese food and I'll tell you everything I can remember from that time period so you're current on the life and times of Elliot Stabler." She loves this part of him that has learned to make everything simple and she wonders where this new calmer version of him came from or if it was here all along and she just never got to see it. Maybe sex melts all his rough edges. She almost laughs out loud when she thinks it.
Her eyes are suddenly sparkling with amusement and he sighs with relief at having her fully back from the world of shadows she has been moving in since he joined her at the table. She lifts her fingers and slides them between his until there is no space. It's reminiscent of having him pressed between her thighs and the thought puts her desire on slow simmer.
"You know we could go by your apartment and get your clothes and you could wash them here. I do have a washer and dryer. Then we could go to the grocery store and get some things for dinner." She pauses and looks at him; her eyes hold a hint of fear. "I don't feel the need to kick you out yet and I know there are still some things we should probably discuss." He's grinning like a fool. Something happened to her in Oregon, something that has made her more accessible, less defensive. He squeezes her hand and nods in agreement.
"Now what would you like for breakfast?" He finishes his coffee and gets up slowly, taking both cups to be refilled.
"A Coney dog with onions and chili from the vendor two blocks down, he has all beef dogs." He's laughing and has to stop pouring for a moment.
"Really Liv, for breakfast? How many times have we talked about this? It can't be good for you."
"It's really lunch time and besides, my stomach doesn't know what time it is so don't look at me that way, over a million New Yorkers can't be wrong. Anyway, who are you trying to kid? You always complain but when we get there, you'll end up eating two of them." She nods toward the mail, "Let's jump in the shower, I'll finish this when we get back. All this talk of dogs has me hungry." She takes her coffee from him and heads toward the bathroom.
It doesn't escape her that this will be the second time in the last twenty four hours that she will be climbing naked into the shower with Elliot. As she turns on the water she realizes that she will never use this bathroom again without picturing them in that frenzied state of lust pounding into one another over the sink. The thought makes her stand bolt upright. Years ago she stopped bringing men to her apartment; she always made sure she went to their place. This is her sanctuary so she keeps it free from her sexual encounters. Is that what she thinks of Elliot? A sexual encounter? Of course not, she's invited him over in the past as one of her friends. Her place is filled with warm memories of her friends. Now what? When she needs some space from him she'll be here at home and everywhere she looks there will be an image of them. Her mind is racing when she feels his fingertips drag lazily along the back of her shoulders, sliding her hair to the side. His lips press against the nape of her neck and his tongue swirls hotly over the fine hairs, moistening her skin and stealing her breath away. He begins to suck, drawing the flesh into his mouth, scalding her. A moan rolls from her lips and her nipples tighten rapidly with a twinge of tenderness. Her fears disintegrate as he touches her and her demons descend into silence until there is nothing in her head but the feel of his lips.
She lifts her arms and lets him pull her tank top over her head, the steam from the running shower clinging to her skin. The heat presses against her as he peels off her shorts kissing a line down her thigh as he moves. She feels herself let go of her thoughts about her house being a sanctuary as she steps into the tub. He's her sanctuary now. Her body relaxes under the pounding water and she tips her head back, letting everything wash away except feel of his hands sliding down her sides.
He picks up the soap and lathers her torso and arms, smoothing the slippery foam over her skin with an almost reverent touch. His knee pops as he squats down, working his way down her body and she closes her eyes and stays perfectly still. He stands, tips up her chin and runs his fingers into her hair as he adds shampoo and begins massaging his fingers firmly against her scalp. She isn't fighting him; she isn't telling him how capable she is of doing it herself. She just lets him touch her as though he owns every inch of her, which at this point she's pretty sure he does. The voice within her, ranting about her independence has been drowned out and now sounds like someone calling to her from so far away that she can't make out what's being said. When his hand slides between her legs her thigh muscle jumps and she hears the rumble of his deep laughter.
Her stomach growls loudly and he presses his ear to her abdomen as though listening. "Yep, that's definitely a request for Coney dogs." She can't keep from smiling now.
"I'm starving; I may eat two of them today." She opens her eyes and he's right in front of her, with his eyes bright and a look of such genuine happiness on his face that it catches her off guard.
"You can eat as many of them as you like, I'm even buying so don't hold back." She smacks his arm, feigning offence and he tries to look wounded.
"There's that hand again and I didn't even do anything except offer to buy your breakfast!" He tries to look exasperated but his smile renders it ineffective.
"You know it's funny how loudly you protest that weak slap when this is a much more painful injury and I don't recall you complaining at all." Her fingers tap lightly against the bruises circling the bite mark on his shoulder. She leans in and nips the skin next to it before moving down and doing it again. Her mouth opens. Her tongue dancing over the skin before her teeth catch him once again, causing a moan to echo in the small space.
"Now you're just not playing fair." She nips a little harder and then looks up at him.
"Fair is just another four letter f word Stabler." His laughter is deep and rich within the heat, a lather of its own sort sliding down over her skin. They trade places in the water, turning as if this is a dance they've done a thousand times. She now smoothes her hands over the flat planes of his chest, running her palm back and forth over his nipple. Just as he's about to comment she moves on, lingering just long enough to feel his breathing become shallow. Her hand slides down his abdomen and strokes over his cock. She laughs softly when he tips his bead back and squeezes his eyes shut. Her fingers cup and massage the soap over and around his balls and he can't breathe at all.
In his head there is a voice which simply says to him, Olivia is soaping your balls. He feels himself growing harder as she touches him and her soft seductive laughter floats around him. Her hands move to his thighs and as she is bent to her task he opens his eyes in time to watch her fingers curve around his calf. The soap bubbles rise between her fingers, highlighting her dark skin. She moves up, her hands begin kneading his ass and work up his back. Her body is pressing against him now, her nipples brushing his chest while her hands smooth over the long muscles of his back. Her arms tighten around him and she nuzzles her face into his neck.
He pulls her close and for a moment they just stand there holding each other under the water. In that moment the sexual feelings between them expand and become something else, something bigger than she can contain and it scares her. She trembles a little in his arms and he tightens his hold on her. Instinctually she is torn by a dual desire to both push him away and to cling to him. She wants to trust him, to allow this feeling to flow unheeded through her but it feels so powerful, powerful enough to sweep her away in its depths. She breaths hard, licking the water from her lips and blinking slowly, not answering either urge.
He just stays still and holds her because he felt the swell of emotion between them and now she's shaking. He knows she isn't cold and he's sure if he were to tip her head back so he could see her face her eyes would be wide with that frightened deer caught in the headlights look. The panic in her rises in the small caverns between their bodies so he does the only thing he can think of to do, he holds her closer. His shoulders and back are stinging their way to numb from the water steadily drumming on him but everything in him tells him not to move until she does. He feels her press against him as her chest expands with a deep breath and then the slightest tilt of her shoulders. By the third breath she is starting to actually relax into him, her body molding into his instead of just pressing against him. Mercifully her stomach growls and she feels the rumble of his body as he laughs in response.
His lips near her ear and his tongue slips out and chases a drop of water around the edge. "I hear a complaint being registered; maybe we should get out so we can go take care of your stomach."
She lifts her head, smiling, "your stomach needs attention too. I want you to get your energy level back up; you're going to need it." She kisses him softly and steps away from him to climb out when she notices his dick is still mostly hard, bobbing slightly. She looks at him with a questioning glance and he waves his hand over it.
"Don't worry; it's just an empty threat. Let's go eat first." He's grinning and she thinks he's blushing a little so she steps out and grabs a towel. She opens the door to allow the heat to billow out of the room and strolls into the bedroom. He watches her dress and thinks about all the things he knows about her and yet there is a whole world of things that are new. She steps into a pair of underwear and wanders to her closet to find a shirt before pulling jeans from her dresser.
"Elliot, are you going to just stand there and watch me or are you actually going to get dressed too?" She doesn't look at him as she speaks; she's pulling her jeans up over her hips, her breasts swaying gently with the motion. He wants to walk over to her and peel them back down her legs and press his face to the smooth flesh of her abdomen while stilling her breasts in his hands. He looks up at her face when he realizes that she has stopped moving and is just staring at him.
"I've never watched you get dressed before. I like it." His eyes are shining with the first glint of desire and she can't help but smile at him.
"What is it with you? Most men like to watch women take their clothes off, not put them on." Her small smile is seductive and he is overwhelmed by this Olivia, this sexual side of her.
"That's because they aren't watching you. You could be doing almost anything and make it look sexy as hell." She laughs then, shaking her head in disbelief of the image he has of her. She pulls her belt through the loops, her arms dipping behind her as she weaves it through the back. He has to turn away or touch her.
"You only say that because you haven't seen me clean the toilet." She hears him chuckle as he begins dressing himself.
"I'm certain in a little French maid's uniform with a scrub brush in your hand…" She can't see him but knows he's grinning now.
"Yeah, that's what I put on to clean my apartment El. You should see the little police uniform that I wear when no one's around." He knows she's teasing him but the images are too much for him and his dick continues to harden as she speaks.
"If you don't really own one, I'd be happy to buy one for you." He looks up at her briefly, "although I have to tell you, the undone jeans and topless look is doing it for me." His eyes have darkened and she can feel the heat of them on her. The chill rolls down her body with his gaze and she decides it's time to finish dressing or they're never going to get out of the apartment.
"I'm starting to think just about anything does it for you." She slips into her bra with mindless efficiency and grabs her chosen t-shirt.
"Not anything Liv, just anything that makes me think of you." He tucks his t-shirt into his jeans and then pulls it back out, either way his bulge is obvious. He sits on the edge of the bed and is shaking out his socks, wishing he didn't have to put them back on his clean feet.
"Here, I have socks you can wear. Those can go right in the hamper by the door." She tosses him the socks and he shakes them out, looking closely at them.
"Are they girls' socks?"
"No Elliot, they're just socks, sport socks, now put them on and lets go." She walks over and takes his dirty socks from the edge of the bed and drops them in her hamper. They land on her t-shirt and underwear. The shirt she wore home. The simple sight of his socks in her hamper makes her feel odd, a squirming feeling deep in her belly. It's so domestic, so ordinary and so far from whom they have always been that she doesn't know what to do with it. She drops the lid, trapping the clothes in there as though they're going to escape. When she turns he's ready to go.
She gathers the rest of her things and puts on her coat. He's holding his hoodie sweatshirt, the neckline bunched in his fist as though he's strangled someone.
"El, are you going to put that on, it's pretty cold out today."
He doesn't want to tell her that he wants the blast of cold air to settle him down. "I can take it."
"Those are tough words from a guy wearing girls' socks." She's laughing as she speaks and he thinks about just how much he missed her.
"I might as well tell you, I'm wearing your underwear too." His deadpan delivery hits her hard and her laughter erupts loudly through the hallway. He never wants it to end. Knowing he can't hold the moment he instead reaches for her hand and leads her laughing into the bright New York afternoon.