Undercover Days-Chapter 9
Sexually explicit, adult only, under 18 please exit now.
Olivia is looking at the yogurt flavors, well staring at them anyway. She hasn't been in a grocery store for months because in Oregon they shopped at open markets and convenience stores. Now she's standing in a grocery store picking out yogurt and deciding what Elliot should make her for dinner. Elliot will be making her dinner at her apartment while doing laundry. The same apartment in which they have been having marathon sex since she returned, with the exception of that incident on his kitchen table just an hour ago. That's why she's staring at the yogurt, because her mind doesn't have one single cell that isn't currently working so she is unable to make a decision. Peach cobbler, key lime pie and apple turnover, she wonders when yogurts became dessert. She leans forward as though looking at them more closely is going to help her somehow.
"Liv, is there a flavor that you're looking for?" She seems almost relieved that he has rescued her from this task that is all at once both meaningless and overwhelming.
"Yeah, strawberry or strawberry banana or vanilla. I know it's only been a few months since I was in an actual grocery store but I don't remember there being so many choices." He's standing behind her and slightly to the side when his long arm brushes her shoulder and grabs two containers off the shelf. He loads two more before leaning near her ear.
"How many do you want?" It's almost a whisper and despite the chilly air of the cooler, heat spreads down her neck and chest.
"Six." She's smiling now while he grabs two more and drops them unceremoniously into the cart. He leans on the cart and begins to move it down the aisle while she strolls behind him watching his ass and listening to the one squeaky wheel. He pauses to put in milk, cheese and two cans of whipped cream and turns to her.
"What do you want for dinner?" He's grinning as he asks because the whipped cream has caused his mind to wander and visions of naked Olivia are floating around in his head.
"Surprise me and I promise I'll like it." Her eyes travel up to his face and he's grinning at her. She blushes, suddenly feeling like her words have a double meaning.
"I have a surprise I know you'll like." He wiggles his eyebrows and she can't contain the laughter.
"You're such an asshole." He doesn't care what she calls him as long as she keeps laughing as she does it. He thinks he may be addicted to the sound of it.
She adds orange juice to the basket as he watches her and then stands at the handle and begins to push. He steps next to her and leads her to the meat department where he throws several packages in the cart. She's watching him again. Trying to absorb this part of him she doesn't know, to integrate it with the man she knows better than she knows herself. He's carefully choosing ingredients, now in the produce department. She sees him smell the tomatoes as he picks each one and something in the way he is gently handling them makes her feel warm. When he lifts the cantaloupe into his large hand and squeezes it he turns toward her, picking up a second one in his other hand he holds them suggestively in front of his chest.
"Melons?" She rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head in disbelief. She takes one from him and sets it in the cart.
"Did Dickie teach you that? It seems like something a twelve year old would do." He laughs out loud and pops a grape into his mouth. "Eating that grape is theft, I could arrest you." Her eyes spark with mischief as she speaks.
"You gonna cuff me or strip search me first because I'm in either way." She can't believe that this is how they talk to each other now, flirting and teasing without mercy.
It arouses her in the quickening of her pulse and the warmth curling inside her.
"That doesn't surprise me." He holds a grape up for her and she takes it, sucking it between her lips for a second before biting into it. In an instant he isn't laughing anymore, just watching her mouth intently. He wants to kiss her, to taste the juice of that grape on her tongue but he knows here in the store she would stiffen against him. "El, you have to stop looking at me like that." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper.
"Like what?" His eyes never leave her lips; even after he answers her but his voice betrays him.
She reaches out and gently tips his chin up slightly so he looks her in the eyes. "Like you're about to have me for your last meal." His laughter is loud and quick and fills the space around them. He doesn't want her to be uncomfortable so he turns back to shopping. He picks up two onions and snaps the top of a plastic bag before opening it to drop them inside.
"You know I don't eat raw onion." She almost runs into him with the cart when he comes to an abrupt stop.
"Liv, I've eaten with you for eight years. You only eat cooked onions, you hate when your salad has big chunks of lettuce in it, you only eat meat well done, you don't like cherry tomatoes because they're hard to cut, you put ketchup on your eggs, you hate olives, you love orange juice but like it with very little pulp, your favorite bagel…" He's going a million miles an hour when she cuts him off.
"OKAY, okay, I get your point. I didn't realize you were paying such close attention all these years." He's still standing in front of the cart with his arms crossed and she moves it forward, bumping him lightly. He relents and steps aside, going back to perusing the fresh fruits and vegetables. He adds strawberries and raspberries to the cart along with spinach.
It's not until they're in the car that he turns to her. "What's going on with you? You're staring at me like you're watching a perp." She's surprised at first but even as he says it she knows it's true. Her head drops back against the seat and she closes her eyes for a moment. When she turns to him her eyes are dark and glassy and her cheeks are flushed.
"I don't know this side of you El. A few days ago I was sitting in a bus station on the other side of the country trying to recall every detail of your face. Then I came home and there has been all of this between us and it's just been a lot to process. I know part of you so well and then there is this whole other side I don't know at all. I thought about the sex before, I knew it would probably happen but I never thought about the rest of it." She's looking out the window now.
He knows she's blushing and he wants to address the situation but his brain stopped all function when she told him she has had thoughts about them having sex. The word fantasize keeps coming into his mind and the images that come with it make his dick feel like it's made of concrete. There is no imagining now, he doesn't have to guess how she'll look naked, he already knows. The scene in his head of her on the bed with her hand between her legs and her breasts arching up into the darkness is a full Technicolor image with plenty of detail. Closing his eyes makes it worse, or better depending on how he thinks about it. He knows he should be saying something to her and he hopes he looks somewhat contemplative instead of just dumbstruck by desire.
"I know what you mean, I do. You were gone for so long and now, well now there's all this and I feel like I need to keep touching you to make sure it's real. To see if you're going to haul off and punch me or not. This morning when you were talking to the hotdog vendor I felt like you do now. I wanted to know who else you knew by name on the street, what other habits had been part of your everyday life that I know nothing about. At the same time you're the Liv I have known all along. I just think it'll take a little time for it all to blend together." She's looking at him now, taking in his words and accepting that even this sharing is something new between them. Not just something new, but something more too. They sit comfortably in the silence for a minute, adjusting to each other until he can't wait anymore.
"So, did I hear you say you used to think about us having sex?" He's grinning again and the smile tugs at something familiar inside her.
She rolls her eyes at his incorrigible thoughts. "Yes Elliot, I thought about us having sex."
"When?" His voice has dropped and she swears she can feel the heat radiating off him.
"Do you want the day and time?" She knows what he's asking but she wants him to work for it, earn it.
"No, not exactly. I want to know when you would think about it, what you were doing. Did it pop into your head while we were sitting across from each other doing paper work? While you were napping in the crib? Outside the interrogation room? While we were eating lunch?" His voice descends with each question, deeper into the idea of her fantasizing about him. He lifts his brow in question as he looks at her and the light in his eyes flickers with heat. He wraps his hands around the steering wheel, needing to feel something solid.
She's wet just from listening to him as though her body is now voice activated and set to Elliot. She can feel the want burn between her legs and her nipples tender where they are now pressed tightly inside her bra. She knows what he wants from her but she isn't used to this, she has never been this with him. She takes a moment to gather her courage, reaching into the depths of the desire to find some strength.
"All of the above El, some days more than others especially after your marriage ended. Sometimes while we were sitting at our desks and you would be chewing on those damn pens or sipping your coffee I would think about what it would be like to have your mouth on me. If we were in interrogation with a suspect and you were working on him I would think about what it would be like to smooth my hands over your skin while all that strength and anger rippled beneath my touch." Her fingers flutter against her leg with the memory and he waits for her to continue. "Sometime when I would go nap in the crib I was too full of adrenaline and caffeine to sleep so I would turn on my side and slip my hand into my pants and think of you taking me there against the wall until I came. I could usually sleep then. At home it was different; this week is not the first time your name has been moaned from my bed." He groans deeply from his seat and when he speaks his voice is the lowest sound from the belly of some shiny instrument.
"Jesus Liv, we have to go…." He's already starting the car.
"Back to the apartment Elliot, I know, now. Go now." He's pulling out and she's trying to breathe but she can see his hard on pressing to be released and she knows that in their minds they're already fucking and their bodies are in desperate need of catching up. She curls her hands over her thighs and clenches, aware that if she gives in and touches him right now they're going to have sex in the car. She would really like the bed, or the sofa, or the kitchen table or the wall or the floor, hell bent over the kitchen counter would work at the moment but they need to get home.
Traffic is heavy and so the blaze within her has time to settle to a quiet simmer as they move slowly down the streets. She is staring out the window at the dirt clinging in uneven lines on the back of the bright yellow taxi in front of them. She's trying to think about something other than the heat licking up her thighs. She should have more control of herself but since the moment he touched her some wild thing inside her feels unleashed. It terrifies her. It excites her.
He reaches over and takes her hand from her thigh, holding it on the seat between them. His thumb is brushing over her wrist where the quick tempo of her pulse races just beneath her skin. She wants him to keep touching her. Her head snaps up when she realizes this may be the first time in her life that it has actually mattered to her who it is that's touching her. She lifts their hands and brushes her lips over his knuckles, kisses each finger. When they stop at the light she slips the tip of his index finger between her lips and sucks. He gasps loudly as he watches her lips wrap around his finger and sink down. He feels her teeth graze over his skin and he presses his hips into his seat to try and calm the throbbing in his dick.
The blasting of a horn from behind them causes him to jump and she releases his finger from her mouth and drops their hands to her thigh. He pulls his hand from hers and squeezes her leg before sliding his hand up and cupping her. He can feel the heat seeping through her jeans, pressing into his palm. He hears her sigh and desperately wants to turn and look at the expression he knows is on her face but he has to keep his eyes on the road. He moves his hand up and pops the button on her jeans and has the zipper down before she can think. He feels her stiffen and is gripped with fear for a moment when he thinks she's going to push him away. Instead she tips up her hips, sliding down a little and spreading her legs wider as she scoots over on the seat. He's almost thankful for the next light. He works his hand into her pants and presses his fingers against her folds until they separate and he sinks into the hot wet heat of her.
She's angled on the seat with her head resting on his shoulder, as his fingers circle her clit she moans and pushes herself up into his hand. His fingers are immediately soaked in her wetness. A voice in her head tells her she should stop this, sit up and collect herself but instead her hips arch in rhythm to his hand. He stops suddenly and pulls his hand away, grasping the wheel to make a turn that is careening a bit too wide. She pulls herself up in the seat, still sitting near him and tries to steady her breathing.
"Sorry, that was a little too close. We're almost there." He swings the car into a parking space and they both get out, she struggling to do up her pants. They pile the groceries and laundry into their arms as though it isn't lust driving their movements. When they get inside he sets his bundles down and immediately disappears to make a second trip. She knows he's rushing through what they have to get done so he can get to what he wants to do. She's unloading groceries into her fridge that she didn't even see him buy. She's sliding the yogurts onto the shelf when she feels him behind her. He tugs her from the hips, letting the door swing closed before turning her around and sliding his lips over hers. She's hungry for him, for the pure heat of him and she tilts her head and deepens the kiss to reach that place of warmth.
She breaks from him and smiles, content to take her time now that they're back behind closed doors. He squeezes her against him before loosening his grip and whispering in her ear.
"I want to see you Liv. I want you to masturbate for me like you would when I wasn't here." Goose bumps run across her skin in waves and he feels the warm breath of her chuckle deeply against his neck.
"You want a show Stabler?" She purrs the words into his ear and he pulls her tightly against him again.
"Maybe you could pick your favorite toy from that magic drawer next to your bed and show me what you used to do." He feels her breath quicken against him and her hips rock into his erection.
"Are we back to the vibrators?" She's still laughing softly. "Why is it so important to you to know which one is my favorite?"
"Because I want to see how I measure up to your fantasy." She laughs out loud now and even though she can't see his face she knows the expression he's wearing.
"Which one?" She whispers it before sucking his ear lobe between her lips and all his humor evaporates.
"How many are there?" His voice is low and rasping out with his breath as her tongue works it's way down his neck. She hums a sound against his skin and he feels the vibration of it in his fingertips on her back. He flattens his hand and pulls her tighter against his hips, against the solid length of his hard on.
She answers him in a small gasp, "a lot." He growls as he drops his head to her neck but she's pulling away from him and it takes him a second to realize her phone is ringing. She steps away and pulls it from her coat pocket. By way of an explanation she glances over her shoulder at him, "only a handful of people even know I'm home."
"Benson." As he hears her say her name his world tilts a little, shifts under his feet and causes him to put his hand out to the counter to steady himself. He's heard her answer the phone like that a million times, half of them from the other end. He wonders if he'll ever be her partner again and something inside him tightens painfully.
He can tell from the conversation that it's Cragen and that she's going to meet him on Monday at one. He doesn't mean to listen but she doesn't walk away either. He wants to tell her it's too soon, too soon for them to have to sort through the tangled mess they've made of their lives. He wants to tell her that if he could have his way they would never leave this apartment. He wants to tell her that he loves her, that it has grown within him for so long it's just part of him now. When she turns back to him her eyes are wide from that brief glimpse of the real world. She walks back to him and drops her head against his chest, sliding her arms around his waist and holding on. He squeezes her hard against him and wonders why it feels like they're saying good bye. They stand for a long time, the mood completely different than just moments ago. He feels her stomach grumble against him and he smiles.
"We should get these groceries put away so I can start laundry and dinner. It sounds like you're starving." The domestic content of his words comes too easily and feels surreal. It's as though they have stepped into their own world and she thinks of those holiday snow globes with the small houses inside. Her hands fall away from him before she steps back and busies herself with the bags of food. He's still standing there when she turns back to him.
"Move it Stabler, I'm hungry. Let's get this show in the road." He seems to snap out of it and takes his basket of clothes, disappearing into the laundry room. She has put away most of the groceries by the time he reappears but left the chicken on the counter for him. He opens it and is rummaging through her utensil drawer when she comes and stands next to him to watch what he's doing.
"Do you have a meat tenderizer, one of those hammers with a spiky side?" She reaches under the sink and hands him a rock about the size of his fist with one lumpy side.
He looks at her with his eyebrow raised and she smiles. "Hey, it's what my mother used. It's a good rock and it works better than those hammers. Try it before you laugh." She watches him rinse the rock and lay out the chicken breasts before starting to pound them. These are things she has never seen his hands do before and watching them fascinates her. His knuckles are still shaded purple but there is some yellow mixed in now and she knows they're getting better. In a matter of moments he has the chicken beaten into large thin sheets of meat. He moves around her kitchen with ease, grabbing a bowl and mixing ricotta cheese, mozzarella, spinach and spices. She jumps up on the counter and sits watching as he performs for her.
"You actually look like you know what you're doing." He tosses the ingredients into the air and catches them in the bowl, smiling at her.
"Hey, I watch the food network, I know all about cooking, or at least how to look like I'm cooking." He throws a pinch of salt over his shoulder and calls out that it's for luck. She laughs and tries to remember the last time someone cooked for her in this kitchen. She thinks it was Casey when she was so sick with the flu a few months before she left when Elliot was in his brooding hostile phase. He sprays a cookie sheet and cuts the chicken into long strips. He wishes he had something good to feed her while she's sitting watching him but raw chicken just won't work. He smears the filling down the strips and then rolls them up and puts them on the pan.
"Where did you learn to make this? I can see you watching the food network but not writing down a recipe." He grins broadly because she is so right.
"I learned how to look like I could cook from watching but I learned to actually make a few meals from a dvd that Maureen bought me one year for fathers day. This was one of the recipes on it." She can tell from looking at him that there's more.
"What was the dvd? Julia Childs?" The name rolls from her and she continues to smile at him but images of her mother, drunk and trying to recreate a Julia Childs meal rush into her head. Her stomach turns slowly as memories both good and bad tumble through her. She feels haunted by her past at moments like this when it rises inside her like a ghost she can't banish. She turns her attention back to Elliot in time to see him bend to put the pan in the oven. She kicks her foot softly and meets the firm flesh of his ass.
"Hey, hey." He turns and grabs her ankle, releasing his grip and running his hand up her leg, stopping at the top of her thigh.
"You didn't answer me." She looks at him defiantly and he strokes her leg, dipping his hand to her inner thigh. "Distracting me won't help." He kisses her and she lets him, leaning into him and slanting her mouth against his. His palm brushes over her breast and she moans. When he breaks the kiss she lifts her brow and looks at him.
"Okay, it was Cooking for Dummies." Her laughter rings out around him. He fails miserably at looking hurt so he moves away from her and goes to change the laundry. Her laughter follows him and he wishes he could bottle it and take it with him. He wants to ask her what happened to her in Oregon that brought down some of her walls, left her somehow softer. All he knows is that as hard as it was when she left it was necessary for her to come back to him like this. When he returns to the kitchen a few moments later she's standing at the counter with salad items, cutting them and dropping them into a large bowl.
"I thought I'd help so I'm making the salad." She's kicked off her shoes and as she stands there in her bright kitchen he soaks in this beautiful image of her. He can't recall ever seeing her so relaxed.
"Well since you're making the salad, I'll start on desert.' His hand slides into the silky strands of her hair and moves them to the side so his lips can settle on the back of her neck. She arches back into him and as his tongue moves down the top of her spine and back up to her neck she stops chopping. She makes a small sound at the back of her throat and he lifts his head.
"You stopped making the salad." His mouth drops back down as soon as he finishes speaking.
"You're having desert before dinner." Her voice trembles a little as a shiver passes through her.
"It isn't really desert without the whipped cream." He whispers against her ear, kissing down the edge of it. She tilts her head and pushes her hips back and rubs her ass against his protruding cock.
"How long do we have before dinners ready?" His Fingers tighten in her hair before his mouth opens more and moves hotly into the dip of her shoulder. His other hand moves beneath her shirt lightly stroking her side. He hears her stomach rumble in answer to the scent of the chicken and cheese filling the room.
He releases her, breathing heavily as he drops his forehead to her shoulder. "Not long enough I'm afraid and it sounds like your body's priority is food right now." She picks the knife back up and begins to slowly cut into a cucumber.
"It may be my stomach's priority but the rest of me has other ideas." He chuckles deeply behind her and she almost sets down the knife and turns in his arms to take what she needs to make the aching stop. She tells herself they do need to eat but she knows he wants to talk after dinner and that's the part she doesn't want to get to. She isn't ready to try to and give him answers she doesn't have yet herself. If she starts to think about it all now she's afraid it will be like pulling a thread on a tapestry and watching it all unravel. He checks on the chicken and puts green beans on the stove while she concentrates on her task. He's cleaning berries in the sink the next time she looks and she continues working within the comfortable silence. She wants to believe that these peaceful moments are glimpses into a future they could have but it feels like this is all an illusion.
She finishes the salad and covers it. While putting things in the fridge she puts her hand on his back.
"Do you want anything to drink? I'm making tea." He laughs softly.
"No, I'll have milk with dinner and I'm okay for now." She reaches around him and fills her mug with water, he nudges her with his hip and she beams at him for a second before going to the microwave. She takes her steaming mug to the table and picks a small dry bundle from a box, carefully dropping the dark brittle ball into the water. She watches as the leaves soften and begin to drift in the water. Within a moment the bud opens and there's a vibrant bloom sending an amazing scent up with the heat. She wraps her hands around the cup feeling the last few days very much like the flower, forced by heat to open up and expand within her world. She lifts her eyes to watch the cause fussing in the kitchen.
She grows warm just watching him move, his muscular frame flexing as he takes the chicken out of the oven and puts the berries back into the fridge. She clears the mail off the table to distract herself from watching him wondering when it became such a past time for her. She doesn't remember studying him before she left but somewhere in the last eight years she has learned the language of every shift in his stance. Maybe it was just being near him all those years, some sort of osmosis that allowed her to just absorb the knowledge of his every mood. He's setting things on the table and she gets the plates and silverware marveling at the dance they do in this small space without being in each others way. It seems they have always occupied the same space without bumping into each other. She feels the rhythm between them even now; a rhythm she thought belonged only to their partnership. She knows this is important but her chest tightens as her brain swirls and tries to solidify exactly what it means.
"Dinner is served." He pauses by her chair and leans down to kiss her and for a second she wishes they were back in bed where her body could talk and her brain could rest.
"It look great El, I'm actually impressed." He colors slightly and goes to get his milk.
"Well let's hope it tastes as good as it looks." He swings his leg over the chair and sits down and she smiles at how comfortable and relaxed he seems with her. She wants to know why he's so calm now. What did he do with all his anger? What really happened to him while she was gone?
He watches her take the first bite and a look of pleasure spreads across her face. "Wow, it's amazing. I mean, I guess I shouldn't be so shocked but it's really good." She takes another bite and he's grinning from ear to ear.
"I'm glad you like it. It's not the only dish I can cook." He pauses for a second, feeling like a kid on a first date. It's so strange to him because this is Olivia and still for some reason he can't figure out, he's nervous. "What's the best dish you make?" It should be a simple question. The images of her mother return and she tenses for a second but as she really thinks about it the jolt of anxiety leaves her. When she was young, maybe seven or eight, she used to help her mother in the kitchen. She would kneel on a stool near the counter and stir or mix whatever her mother gave her. Her mother was usually in a good mood then, not far enough into the bottle to be dangerous and she would talk about the dish; explain everything to Olivia as if she was running one of her classes. Olivia had thrived on the attention, absorbing the time with her mother as much as she could. She already knew there was a point in the evening when her mother would change and the fun would abruptly end. She had already learned to watch her mother closely, looking for the signs so she could disappear and not be caught in her wrath.
"Liv? Are you still with me?" Elliot's voice brings her back and she turns her focus on him. His innocent questions asked in a desire to get to know her keep stirring up old painful memories. This is where she would shut other men down. This is one of those moments she would throw up a false smile and hand them a fairytale that would appease them and simultaneously eliminate them from her life. They never even knew what they did wrong. They never saw it coming. Her eyes move up to his and she makes a conscious effort not to hide. Her body tightens as she forces herself to hold to the truth.
"I make a killer lasagna and a quite a few good French and Italian dishes. I just…" He's smart enough to recognize that she's struggling with something and he knows she has to get where ever she's going on her own steam. He keeps eating and waits for her to find her way. "I just learned certain things because my mother would get drunk while she was cooking so we didn't often make it to the end of the recipe. If we did it usually burned in the oven because she would pass out while it was cooking. She only got up early on work days so I didn't do breakfast, still don't. I fed myself cereal or poptarts most of the time." He's watching her closely, trying to fill in the spaces between her words. "When we would start cooking she already had only one or two drinks and she would be fun, pulling everything out and covering the counters with ingredients. She would open the recipe book and smooth back the pages to some complicated gourmet meal. She would hoist me up onto a stool to help her and start teaching me all about what we were going to make. It always started out so wonderful." She stops and takes a bite and sips her tea, gathering the images from her past to hand to him. "Then she would cross that point and things would turn sloppy and ugly. She would mess up the ingredients, things would start getting knocked over and she would become careless and angry. I was always anxious then because I was afraid if I left she would cut herself trying to chop something or she would catch the kitchen on fire. If I stayed I was directly in the path of her crashing mood and the only one within arms reach of her rage. It was always like that with her, a cross between Norman Rockwell and Salvador Dali." Her small smile is more sad than anything else and he pushes down the pain and anger her description has caused in his chest. This isn't about him.
"It must have been hard as a kid to try to figure out that environment. As messed up as it sounds though it probably gave you your remarkable ability to read people. If you think about it from the time you were a child you must have learned to watch her and determine her mood just from her stance and expression. As you got older you learned to read her body language well enough to know what she was going to do next even when she seemed unpredictable. Those are some of the things that make you so good at your job. I am sorry that your childhood was so painful though, you deserved better." He's speaking slowly, thinking as he goes and the entire time she's staring at him. In his head he sees clearly the scene she has painted for him and he wants to walk into that kitchen and lift Olivia into his arms and take her to a different life. The problem is, then she wouldn't be who she is now. A different life would have taken her in a different direction, possibly not even the police force. That would mean their paths would never have crossed and as selfish as it is he won't consider that as an option. He continues eating and she continues staring until he begins to worry that he has done something terribly wrong.
He waits a few more minutes before continuing, "I like knowing about the things that made you into my Olivia whether they're good memories or bad ones. It seems to me the memories of your mother are a big mixture of both."
She loves him at that moment for seeing the whole picture, for understanding that there were moments her mother loved her and she was happy and there were moments that were hell. It wasn't all just one thing. It wasn't all alcohol and neglect or abuse and it wasn't all sunshine and happiness. When people hear her mention an alcoholic mother they just pity her and assume that it means her whole life was awful. She hates that but she doesn't see pity in Elliot. She sees understanding. She sees a man that just called her my Olivia.
Her hand slides slowly across the corner of the table and wraps around his, she squeezes. "Thank you for understanding." It's all she can manage to say but he sees the other emotions swimming in her dark eyes and he nods his head. He knows she doesn't talk about her life and that each thing she dredges up from her past is hard for her.
His smile widens, "so, Italian is a bonus because as you know, I love Italian food. How is it you have kept that secret all these years?" The mood lightens and she's grateful.
"Because I had to know you wanted to be with me because of the sex and not just because I can cook Italian." He bursts out laughing and stabs another chicken roll with his fork. "I don't cook on work nights, I'm too tired and we always grabbed dinner after work. I do most of my cooking on my days off and you had standing plans with your family." She says it casually and he waits for the awkwardness that doesn't come with the mention of his family. It's another topic for later.
"Well, I want to taste some of this cooking so I think you should offer to make me dinner." He lifts his eyebrows and looks expectantly in her direction.
"If I start cooking for you it will ruin your man-slave image but maybe I can think of a way for you to earn it." As if on cue to her man-slave comment the buzzer on the dryer goes off, calling him to his duties. His thighs tighten as he thinks of the many ways in which he could earn dinner from her. He takes his last bite of food and stands.
"If you can't think of a way I have a few hundred suggestions." She's laughing again he just stands there watching her and enjoying it. "You work on an idea. Right now I have to go take off your girly socks and change the laundry. Do you have anything you need thrown in?"
"No, I haven't even been home long enough to have a full load of laundry to do." She remembers his socks in her hamper but doesn't say anything to him because she likes the idea of them staying in there. She clears the table and starts doing dishes while he's gone. From the hallway she hears him singing as he folds the clothes and the scent from the dryer floats toward her. She can't hear the words over the spin cycle of the washer but the rise and fall of his voice is oddly comforting. It occurs to her this may be the first time she has heard him sing outside the occasional happy birthday at work.
As she finishes the dishes she decides on a bottle of red wine. Nerves flutter in her stomach and she takes a healthy swallow of her wine before topping it off and pouring his. Comfortable on the sofa she turns on the food network and starts watching. It's remarkably an Italian show with a woman that Olivia feels has a head far too big for her body. The image of a cooking bobble head comes to her and she's laughing to herself as Elliot sits down. He sets a basket of clothes on the floor near him that still need to be folded.
"Oh brushing up on your Italian cooking. That's a good idea." He picks up his wine and sits next to her, stretching his arm out behind her and his legs out in front of him. He feels long and solid next to her.
She chuckles softly and relaxes into him. His hand strokes through her hair. He waits while she sips her wine and the silence grows between them.
"We should talk Liv."
"I thought we were El."
"Funny. You know what I mean. As much as I don't want to we should talk about this, about all of it." She can fell his breathing increase and she knows part of him is scared and it makes her feel better that they're in sync on this too. She decides to go with honesty.
"I don't want to. Not yet. I just don't know what to say." He's become so still she has to concentrate to feel him breathing.
"Even if we don't figure it all out tonight, lets at least see where we are now." He can feel the tension lock her shoulders and the rise in them as she takes a deep breath.
"You go first." Her voice is so low he barely hears it above the filling ingredients being spouted on the television. His hand tightens in her hair and he tips her face to his.
"I know I want this, I know I want to give it a shot with you. I feel like you've been inside me for a long time. The problem is I also want you as my partner. I want to be the one that has your back. The other problem is even if we stop this now I don't think I can stop how I feel. Not now."
She waits for a moment and he can feel her mind racing. "You haven't even gotten to how your kids are going to feel, or Kathy. Then there's Cragen and if this becomes public everyone will think it's been going on all along. There have always been rumors about us. It could call into question our past cases. Certainly Gitano would be in question. What happens then? Can we even stay at the same precinct? I don't know how I would feel about doing the job and not seeing you every day."
He can see the panic in her eyes and he doesn't want this to blow apart before it has a chance. "Wait, let's slow down. First things first. You haven't said it Olivia." She doesn't need an explanation to know what he wants. She closes her eyes and leans her head back against his arm. There is so much at stake it terrifies her. She knows how to be his partner but she doesn't know how to do this with him or anyone else for that matter. Still, she wants this and she knows it's always been him. Other than being on the force she has never wanted something so much just for herself but she can't accept that this one thing in life could cost her everything else. She's about to tell him about this internal debate when she opens her eyes and he's looking at her with that smoldering intensity that makes her pause.
"I want this El, I do, too much." There really isn't any other truthful answer. They've been everything else to each other. In her mind every step they ever took together was leading them to this and now that they've come this far she can't imagine it any other way. There's just no road back. He leans in and kisses her, his tongue sliding into her mouth and stroking hers in a calming rhythm. He's the only person she has ever known that can sooth her just by touching her, that can hear her when she doesn't speak.
He wants to tell her that there's no such thing as wanting something too much but he knows in his heart that it isn't true. He can feel her fear in the tremor of her lips and the fluttering of her heart. He asks God to make this easy for them, to give her this one thing in her life that she can hold on to. He thinks it may be a sin to pray for something that will make her happy when it would make him happy too but he does it anyway. When she tilts her head and cradles his with her hand to deepen the kiss he stops thinking about God. She breaks the kiss and he offers her a small smile, pressing his forehead against hers.
"We know all we need to know for tonight Liv. We'll figure out a little more tomorrow and then the next day until we have it all sorted out." She believes him because he's all she really knows when it comes to having faith. She reaches for her wine and takes a drink, letting the warmth blossom in her chest. She's relieved that they aren't going to discuss it anymore and now wants just to push it all out of her head. He's folding clothes next to her and as she watches him shake out one of his button down shirts she decides to do something for him. She leaves the room for a moment and when she comes back she's holding a pillow from her bed which she tosses on the end of the sofa. Elliot has a look of utter confusion as she reaches over and takes one of his shirts from his hands.
"It's alright Liv, you don't have to help." She finishes off the wine in her glass and looks at him.
"I'm not." There is something about the way she's looking at him that draws his undivided attention and he sits back, squinting slightly as he tries to read her. Her eyes are dark and he notices that she turned off the kitchen light as she came back out. She's standing just in front of him with his shirt clutched in her fist. She sets it down and then pulls her shirt slowly over her head.
"You asked me for something earlier." She reaches behind her and undoes her bra, sliding it down her arms with a nudge of her shoulder and dropping it behind her. He freezes, holding himself so still she has to watch him blink to see any movement at all.
"And I'm going to give it to you." His eyes widen slightly in surprise and then desire washes over his face as he realizes where this is going. "Put your hands behind your head El, you're not allowed to touch me. It's as though you aren't here, remember?" He nods his head slowly one time and then folds his arms behind his head and sits back. The bulge in his jeans is already apparent. She undoes her belt and jeans and slides them down her hips and steps out of them. Standing before him in just her underwear, he is once again struck by her beauty. He locks his hands tighter to keep from reaching for her. She pulls his shirt over her shoulders but doesn't close it. She takes her time folding back the cuffs so he can get his fill of looking for a moment. She lies down on the sofa on her back with her head on the pillow and her knees bent so her feet are braced against his thigh. She takes a deep breath and his eyes linger on her breasts as she sinks back and tries to relax. She closes her eyes and licks her lips. He's already so hard he could come and she hasn't even started yet. He brings down his arms so he can turn his head and watch comfortably.
She lays one hand on her abdomen and trails the other down between her breasts and around to the outside. Her fingers are just grazing the skin, dusting over the fine hair against her golden flesh. Elliot has to remind himself to breathe. He watches her gasp when she stokes the spot on the side of her breast that his mouth found just last night. The hand on her abdomen is tracing along the top of her underwear and the muscles there clench and dance beneath her skin. She knows her body and he's noting every move as her breaths shorten and her fingers grasp her nipple. A rumbling begins in her chest, a low moan swimming but not surfacing.
As she pulls her nipple between her fingers Olivia thinks of Elliot only it isn't the fantasy anymore, it's actually him. She thinks about that first moment he kissed her, the way his mouth tasted and his scent filled her. She remembers the smooth and impossibly hard plains of his chest, the chiseled dips between each muscle and how his heart beat tapped against her palm. Her brain flips through the sensations, the ridge along his hip, the hard dip and swell of his ass…she's moaning now. Her hand moves into her underwear, her fingers slipping past her slick lips into the heat.
As her fingers start rubbing, he desperately wants her to slow down, to take her time like he would but he can't ask her. His dick actually hurts and he's trying to figure out how to undo his pants to relieve the pressure without moving when she helps him. Her feet suddenly lift and in the seconds it takes her to pull her underwear down her long slender legs he pops the button and drops the zipper. He tries not to sigh out loud but as he turns to look back at her everything else in his head just stops.
Her feet press into his thigh as her hips rise to accept the fingers she has pushed slowly inside herself. In that moment he realizes he greatly underestimated how hard it would be to keep his hand to himself. He watches the line of her thighs, the wetness glistening as her fingers plunge in rhythm and her thumb pushes against her clit. He glances up to her other hand tugging at her nipple, the hard tip squeezed and then massaged by her fingertips. Her face is flushed, her lips parted, moistened repeatedly by her tongue. The sounds she's making are like purring and sex and moaning all twisted together. He can't watch it all at once and his eyes flit from place to place trying not to miss anything.
Olivia is only vaguely aware that it's his thigh under her feet. She sheds her underwear, lost in the thought of him. She thinks about that first time he entered her, rolling them so he was on top and coming up on his arms. He was a wall of muscle over her, his thick cock sliding at her entrance. She slides her fingers inside herself as she remembers the slow tight fit of him, the way he pushed past her narrow walls and sank into the deepest part of her. Her fingers were pressed into his ass, feeling the power of him as he started to move and she was unable to speak but she wanted all of it. She wanted the hard hammering strength of him to drive into her, to burn her up with the heat of it. He was plunging into her and now she slams her fingers rapidly into herself remembering all of it as she tips over the edge. His large rough hands moving over her, his hot mouth branding her and his body driving into her, pounding, arching, coming, crying out…all of it blends and flashes behind her eyes as she seizes and lifts off the sofa.
Her toes dig into his thigh, curling and holding on, the strength of her legs pushing him over on the cushion. Her hips rise up, her spine bows and his name rips from her lips as she crashes and careens in a hard choppy rhythm. He grabs his dick and squeezes hard, the pain choking off the orgasm that threatens to rupture from him. He watches her stroke through the waves, clenching and rocking. Her hand is wet; moisture coats and runs high on her inner thighs. She's soaking and throbbing and he can't take any more. She opens her eyes and the desire between them is palpable, the scent of her is everywhere and he licks his lips, tasting the air. He peels his shirt off and stands up, shoving his jeans down his legs and stomping out of them. She stands, thinking they're going to the bedroom but he turns and she weaves on wobbly legs. He grabs her ass and lifts her, walking as she wraps her legs around him to hold on. He stops at the nearest wall by the door and rams into her as far as he can go. She cries out, pushing her shoulders back into the wall and her hips into him. Her thighs snap tightly against his sides but he rocks back and plunges into her again. His fingers are printing deep in her cheeks as he lunges again and again and again, lost in the fiery wet feel of her. He can't stop, can't slow down the urge to just be inside her. Her hands clutch his shoulders and the muscles move and bunch as he rockets past her clenching walls. Her hand curls around his neck, she's calling out his name, her body aching and burning with need. He pulls her forward, bending his knees and getting that little bit more under her, gaining just enough leverage to keep going. He slapping against her, hard and fast and she can't catch her breath. He's not holding anything back, he's fucking her, pleading and praying and unraveling all at once. His leg is trembling and he feels her tighten just before she slams against him, her body fisting around him so hard he has to hold her hips to his to keep from being squeezed out of her. He's growling out her name as his own orgasm breaks in searing white flashes and bursting heat. He thrusts up into her, the warmth of him filling her as he finally begins to slow.
He presses her into the wall, their bodies are damp and slick with sweat, trembling and twitching but he can't put her down quite yet. He has a flash of guilt, he didn't talk to her, didn't kiss or caress her, he just took her. His own lack of control scares him. He buries his face in the side of her neck, his head hitting the wall. He sucks the salty dampness from her skin and waits for their bodies to calm down enough for him to be able to coordinate setting her down. They're both still panting, his back is stinging from her nails but he figures he deserves it. She taps his shoulder and he slowly lifts his head. She places the gentlest kiss on his lips and smiles around the short gasps.
"Set me down El." Her thighs are screaming and her pelvic bone and hips feel bruised, not to mention her ass. She thinks there will be bruises of his hands on her tomorrow and she laughs easily. He carefully sets her on her feet and she stays leaning against the wall for support. The dryer beeps in the distance but he doesn't move. He watches her test her legs and wince slightly as she stretches them.
"Liv, I didn't mean to hurt you." She looks up at him, eyes flashing.
"Elliot if that's your idea of hurting me, then hurt me some more but first I do need a few minutes to recoup and a shower, definitely a shower." In the back of her brain a voice just keeps chanting wow and ohmygod, being with him sexually and emotionally is already more than she ever thought she'd find in life She kisses his chest and presses her ear to his heart. She listens to it slamming around and hugs him around the waist. He hugs her back and kisses the top of her head, completely amazed by her.
"For the record that was the hottest, sexiest, most erotic thing I have ever seen. Thank you."
"I'm quite sure you already did." She feels the chuckle roll out of him and knows that whatever dark fear of hurting her had threatened to cover him, it's passed. "I'm going to go get in the shower. Do you want to join me?"
"I have to change the laundry but I'll get in after I'm done."
"Speaking of laundry, here, I think this need to be washed again." She takes his shirt off her shoulders and hands it to him, then walks naked down the hall. He watches her until she disappears and then gathers up their clothes and heads into the laundry room. He smiles as he realizes they still have to get to desert.