The first time he overheard her was 1999.
He'd found his way to her apartment after a long day that had his mind racing with no desire to return to his chaotic home.
His knuckles were mere centimeters from the wood of her door when he heard it.
"Fuck… Brian, yes…"
Her voice was higher than he'd ever heard it before; pleasure emanating from it and drilling through the door and straight to his cock.
He froze, an internal battle waging within himself-
Walk away or stay...
The next cry of pleasure answered his question for him.
"Ohhhhh, fuck, Brian I'm…"
"Cum for me, Liv. I wanna fucking taste you.
The male voice was low but audible, and was followed by a cry and chorus of yes's that ended with a plea.
"Fuuuuuck me, Bri!"
He was rushing away then, down the hall and to the elevator; out the door and to his car; to his house and up the steps and into his bedroom where his wife lay sleeping.
"El?" She whispered softly, sitting up when she heard his intrusion; taking in his flushed and panting demeanor.
He was on her in an instant; all tongue and lips; large hands and even larger cock.
She was familiar and it was easy...
But all he could hear was her.
The second time he overheard her, she'd just been let out of prison on bogus charges.
She was pissed and he was pissed.
His wife was pissed.
"You remortgaged our home? Are you insane?"
Shaking his head free from his wife's face, he raised his fist to knock, only to be interrupted.
"Oh… oh… fuck me, baby don't tease…"
Her voice was softer than it was the first time, and instead of a deep baritone answering her, a low buzz did.
"So fucking good baby… so big and ah… right there, El… right there, baby yes!"
His head fell against the door with a soft thud that went unnoticed, ear pressing flush as his hand dropped unceremoniously to his bulge, kneading and listening to her cries and moans of his name.
She was close, he could tell.
Her breathing was short and her cries were louder and growing more incoherent; the buzz of the toy grew faster, and just as they were about to cum together the beep of the elevators opening on her floor interrupted him.
Flying away from her door, he rushed forward towards the staircase at the end of the hall and sprinted down to his car.
That night he came in his driver's seat with her name on his lips.
The third time, he swore the universe had something against him.
It was by chance that he saw her- in Paris while on a work assignment.
She was holding a little boy's hand; his hair was brown and his eyes were blue, and on the other side of him was a gray-haired ghost from his past.
"You're joking," he muttered to himself, but followed them anyways.
Under the cover of night, he parked himself outside of their hotel, debating his next move until they emerged without the boy.
He slipped into the shadows; pressed against the building and though she glanced behind her, he knew she was none the wiser.
He listened to the low conversation they were having as they waited for a cab to take them, judging by their outfits, somewhere much nicer than he could ever afford on his detective's salary.
"You look incredible tonight, Olivia."
"You don't clean up so badly, yourself, Captain."
Her voice dropped with seduction and he watched his arch enemy snake his hand around her waist and press a kiss to the shell of her ear.
"The things I want to do to you."
"What are you waiting for?"
His chuckle was deep. "Well, we have a dinner reservation and a two-year-old in our hotel room."
"We also have our own bedroom in our hotel suite," she corrected.
"And a private balcony," he added, his voice and face now full of excitement and wonder.
"What are you suggesting?" She whispered, turning to face him.
"I'm suggesting… that we cancel the babysitter, eat takeout with our boy, and then you let me take care of you out on that balcony."
"Captain… coercing the Lieutenant of sex crimes into a such a public display?"
"Private," he smirked, nudging a knee between her legs, the flowing fabric of her dress bunching forward and allowing it to connect with her core.
"I'm convinced," she smiled, pecking his lips before spinning and dragging him back into the building.
Elliot returned to his own hotel room that night, smashed a lamp, and then came to the image of her from that earlier in a red dress and the memories of the way she sounded so many years before.
He'd been home for a year when it happened again.
He shouldn't have knocked.
He'd heard her; Olivia Benson wasn't exactly quiet, especially in the bedroom as he'd learned accidentally so many times.
It was the first name she called that flushed him with anger and jealousy and made him stop in his tracks.
"Trevor!"
It was the second that forced the knock.
"Langan… yes, fuck…"
His eyes went wide.
"You know I like it better when you call me Trevor while you're riding me, baby."
Trevor Langan's response made him knock harder, louder, and call for her.
"'Livia!! You in there?"
A chorus of groans interrupted his banging, and a mere seconds later the door swung open wide.
"What, Elliot?!"
Her face was flushed and her eyes were wide.
She was wearing a dress, still, that had been clumsily fixed by the seething man sitting on her couch with his dress pants still open, though he'd hastily tucked himself away.
"What?!" She questioned again.
"You didn't…"
"I didn't what? Answer your text? Your call?"
He was flustered, and chewed his lip nervously.
"I…"
"So you came here because you've got no sense of personal space and heard me getting fucked? And needed to interrupt me?!"
From the couch, Trevor Langan was now snickering with amusement, his hands that covered his bulge moving slowly.
"Baby, shut the door so we can finish. It's still early and I've got more plans for you."
With a small groan, she looked back to her lover and then again to Elliot.
"Is there an emergency?" She snapped.
"N-no…"
"Great. Do me a favor and don't listen to this one?" She said, shutting the door only to be stopped by his hand.
"W-what's that supposed to mean?!"
"It means, Elliot, that I'm a detective and you're far easier to read than you think."
The door slammed, then, and he stood frozen as laughter and a small vent session ended in a clear thud of her body against the door.
"You think he's still out there?" Trevor hissed, loud enough for him to hear.
"I hope… I really do," she whined breathlessly.
"Let's show him what a real man can do for you, baby."
Whatever response she said was cut off by his thrusting into her and a loud cry of pleasure.
"Does he know how kinky you are, Liv? Does he know about how you like to be bent over… how you like your hair pulled and your ass slapped and those fucking tits worshipped?"
"N-no," she gasped through moans.
"He know about all the late nights we've fucked in your office? How you love to be spread across your captain's desk while I taste that sweet cunt?"
She didn't reply, just moaned in ecstasy as skin slapped and the door rattled.
"Has he ever tasted that sweet cunt? Put his fingers or cock inside of you?"
"Only in his fucking dreams," she finally mewled out after the praises and screams of her orgasm died down.
"Didn't think so," he said loudly before spilling himself into her with a loud grunt and three hard thrusts that made her toes curl and triggered another small explosion deep within her.
Elliot was red with anger and embarrassment, and on fire with arousal.
"Will he ever?" Langan goaded once his breathing evened.
He was under no illusion that she was his, but they had chemistry and enjoyed their friends with benefits relationship. Most importantly, though, he hated Stabler as much as she currently did, and had no problem fueling her fire.
"Not if he doesn't get his shit together."
That night, after several glasses of whiskey in his empty apartment, a slew of tipsy apology texts and a phone call that lasted and hour, all of which he didn't speak during, he stood in the shower and let the water rush over him as he fucked his hands to her voice that had been ingrained in his head for 23 years.
When he overheard her nowadays, it was because she wanted him to.
It was because her son was out at a sleepover and she wanted to play into her seductress side; or because they'd both been swamped at work and hadn't seen one another in a few days.
It was when the sight of him shaving while she showered in her glass enclosed shower was too much for her and the handheld sprayer was too close within her reach.
It was because she liked to keep him guessing; keep things interesting and it was because she knew he loved it.
It was because they'd been official for a year, and she wanted him to make love to her, but her post-menopausal body needed a little warm up before he could.
Or because it was the morning, and she was soft and warm and he was hard and they had no where to be.
When he overheard her nowadays, it was because she wanted him to.
Because it turned her on just as much as it did in 1999.