AN: There is very AC in here. If you're easily offended or dislike sex that doesn't involve candlelit bedrooms and romance, skip this.
Unknown Day
She couldn't take it anymore.
She was no stranger to crying. For the love of who or whatever was in charge of the cosmos, Olivia had spend more than her fair share of time bawling her eyes out – for herself, for her mother, for all the victims she'd ever encountered. Not to mention that she'd spent a lot of the time she'd been prisoner in tears as well. She hated it, she hated being weak in anyway.
But the way he'd moved her arms, the way he'd lowered them without following the movement by crushing them under his considerable weight, was absolutely killing her. Because between the raised position and his weight, the circulation hadn't been allowed to return to her arms in a long, long time. She hadn't even noticed when they'd stopped hurting, when the pain of the position and the handcuffs scraping her skin had faded away to blissful nothingness.
She did, however, notice the return of blood to her strained arms and torn wrists. It started out bad, random, continuous stabs of pain starting in her elbows, working to her forearms. By the time the horrible sensation reached her wrists, she'd truly grasped why it was called pins and needles and was squirming against his hold involuntarily. The all encompassing fear of upsetting him, of making him leave her again, made her fight instinct to stay still.
Her body was at war with her mind. Her mind was in heaven to be held close and gently by Elliot's thick arms, cradled against his solid chest, surrounded by his delicious scent. Her body, however, was in hell, quickly losing the battle against writhing in pain as the blood, and feeling, crept inch by inch through her abused limbs. Her wrists were raw, skin torn, muscles bruised, joints strained by the constant weight of her arms. Her shoulders were twisted so badly that she actually preferred the twisted numbness-inducing position rather than the excruciating relocation back to their normal place.
She fought it, the urge to scream and cry and beg, longer than she'd realized she could. She amazed herself by her strength, refusing for an unfathomable stretch of time to give into instinct. She kept telling herself she could take it, she could deal with it, she could endure whatever he expected of her. Anything was better than being alone, being without Elliot in that empty, cold darkness. Squeezing her eyes closed, trying to hide the tears, trying to deny her body's need to sob to release some of the physical anguish in a scream.
But the seconds seemed to lengthen painfully into forever and she longed for the oblivion of unconsciousness, even if she'd lose the sensation of being so close to Elliot, anything to stop the pain. Anything at all.
And it was finally too much, too hard. It started as a soft, keening wail, quickly building into gut-wrenching sobs, shaking and bucking violently against Elliot's frame as he tried to hold her still.
His voice was at her ear, where it always was, promising her that she was safe, that he wouldn't hurt her, that it was all over, that he'd make it all better. His voice morphed along with hers, seeming to her that he was crying, sobbing, shaking as well, begging her to not hurt anymore.
She wanted to give in to him, to give him anything he wanted, but she was beyond her own control. She howled openly, wishing the pain would die back enough that she'd care that she was scaring him away again.
"Please, El, please! Stop! Please, god, stop, El, please!"
She screamed and begged and pleaded, wishing for death or insanity or mercy from him.
And finally it came, the pain subsiding quite suddenly, so suddenly that her shrieks died mid-word. She only had a moment of feeling a blissful, tingling warmth, starting in her brain and extending everywhere all at once.
Her last thought was that he hated her, that he couldn't stand her for giving in, that he was leaving her forever, that he'd rather kill her than be near her again.
Her hands searched the thick, foggy air for his warmth and she found nothing. But there wasn't time for the fear or the panic to set in. There was simply darkness, a quiet, soft, warm, welcoming darkness.
She didn't even feel it when her muscles failed entirely, letting her body lose the tension that kept her awake.
Day Three, cont'd
Olivia stared at the door, glaring at it so hard she half expected it would try to explain Elliot's behavior. Hell, it was better than glancing in the other direction, where the ancient, stained mirror might ask her to explain her own behavior. So Elliot was being a skirt-chasing ass. She couldn't really blame him, not after he'd spent most of his prime married to a woman who'd turned out to torture him by refusing him more often than not.
Of course that confession had been made after she'd had a few too many beers one night and while, at the time at least, she'd suspected the same could have been said of him, she was starting to wonder if maybe she wasn't simply next on his list. Maybe it was the challenge of someone who wasn't chasing him. Maybe it was the challenge of someone who wasn't going to fall for his meaningless winks and flirtatious smiles.
Not that she could count herself as one of those that resisted. Hell, he'd declared that she belonged to him in the damn elevator and rather than decking him as she would have been perfectly justified in doing, she'd simply trotted after him like all the other love-struck bimbos.
Shaking her head, she sat down on the bunk and kicked off her shoes. Fuck him. Whatever the hell was going on, she chalked it up to the frustration of having been physically attracted to someone she'd worked so closely with for so long. She turned over, curling onto her left side, pulling her knees into her chest. She'd been touched and stared at and hit and hit on by a series of creeps and she hadn't really slept in three days. Taking a deep breath, she swore she was going to rest.
Unfortunately, her body, which had so recently been set on fire by Elliot's frenzied touches, had other things in mind.
She squirmed after a few seconds, trying to will a peaceful state of mind to come her way that would let her grab a few hours. There was still hope that with a little rest, she'd be able to make sense of Elliot's odd actions and her own inexplicable desire to needle him. All she came up with was the fact that he hadn't had to leap far to guess that she was jealous, not with the way she was acting. Jealous, possessive girlfriend was not her thing and she vowed that he wouldn't ever witness that side of her again.
Flipping onto her right side, she decided that he'd had no more right to needle her than she'd had. And once she successfully got her eyes to close for more than thirty seconds, she was going to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was never to touch her, manhandle her, or press himself against her ever again.
Rolling onto her back, she groaned at the memories that washed over her. As much as she wanted to kill him for acting like a Neanderthal, he'd made her body respond in a way she'd never believed it could.
Fuck him, he'd made her hotter than any man ever had. And from only breathing on her neck and a little dry humping.
With a growl aimed half at him and half at her own stupid self, she glanced around the locker room in an entirely paranoid fashion. Her eyes slipped closed as her hand slipped under the blanket, searching for the waistband of her pants. She'd never dared at work. She'd rarely wanted to simply because of something Elliot had done. But she wanted sleep and she was never going to get any if she didn't give her body what the bastard had teased her with.
She bit her lip as her fingers brushed through her curls. She was close, unbelievably so, after their little argument. She'd never been loud, but she couldn't resist the whimper that escaped as she slipped one finger between her legs. It wasn't going to take long at all and that brought a wave of relief over her as the odds of getting caught were so much smaller.
Knowing she was close, she hurried her motion, burying a second finger in her soft skin, rubbing the bundle of nerves that she could have sworn had never felt so tender, so alive, so desperate for the touch of a certain someone. She pushed deeper, knowing she didn't have time for real enjoyment. She needed release. If she still wanted to, she could think about it later, at home, when she would be free to remember the tight grip he'd had on her arms, the delightfully intense feeling of his body pushing hers just a little harder than she would have expected, the feeling of his cock responding to her body so quickly, the way his dry thrust nearly made her come in his arms.
Letting out a shuddering breath, she thrust her fingers deep inside her, restraint slipping completely out of her grasp as she imagined Elliot's fingers in place of her own. He knew what he did to her. She'd seen it in his eyes, the same as she knew exactly how much he hadn't wanted to walk away from her. And knowing how sure of himself he'd been, how confident his smirk had been, she knew he'd know exactly how and where and when to touch her. As her fingers fell into a rhythm, a much harder, faster, more demanding one than she'd ever used before, she gave herself over to the fantasy, feeling his hand in place of her other one as it slipped up under her shirt, squeezing her nipple through her bra.
She felt her body start to tighten and she was almost disappointed that it would be over so quickly because she couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed self-service so much.
Her eyes closed tightly as her back started to arch, her lip tugged painfully between her teeth as she moaned. A moment later, she realized the moan, the likes of which she'd never uttered before, sounded a hell of a lot like his name.
In a panic that she would be caught calling his name as she fingered herself, she tried to open her eyes, but the pleasure was so intense that it took a lot more effort than she would have expected.
And in that moment, she felt a hard, vice-like grip close over her wrist, stilling her desperate movements. Surprise opened her uncooperative eyes for her, bringing her face to face with Elliot. His cheeks were red. His pupils were dilated. His fingers were brushing the apex of her thighs as he forced her hand still.
And then the bastard started to smile, knowing full well why he had to fight so hard to keep her still. She was so fucking close she thought she'd die.
She was so fucking embarrassed she was pretty sure she'd die.
And she realized, quite unexpectedly, that she was still moaning his name.
He yanked on her wrists, pulling her hand out from under her shirt, removing her sticky fingers from deep inside her, pinning them down on the bed. She had never seen him look so damn smug. "All you had to do was ask, baby."
She tried to pull away from him, whimpering and groaning and fairly certain mortification was a fatal illness. Failing to get away from him and suffering from the sudden stop, she thrashed, finally turning her head to the side. He forced her arms up over her head, holding her wrists in one of his hands. She continued to fight, more for her dignity than anything else, although the predatory look in her partner's eyes wasn't one she necessarily felt comfortable with.
His free hand pressed down on her hip, his weight leaning over her, stilling her distraught movements. He leaned forward, unbelievably gentle when his lips brushed over her forehead and cheeks, glossing across her chin and back to suckle her ear. She moaned again, desperate for release, for his touch, for anything he was willing to give.
As his mouth worked her neck, the hand on her hip let up the pressure, sliding gently over her belly, working beneath her pants, but staying outside her panties. He pressed on her center, just the slightest bit, undoubtedly feeling the moisture there, knowing it had poured out of her at the thought of him doing exactly what he was doing. He teased her with one finger, long, slow, soft strokes from her clit to her core, pressing just enough to make her grind onto him, making her consider begging.
His tongue danced along her collarbone, slowly making its way back to her ear, tracing it before pulling the lobe between his teeth. "You're close, baby."
Beyond the point of words, she whimpered, pressing her face against his, inhaling the scent of him deeply, recognizing the slightest change from normal, knowing he was so very turned on.
His finger pressed harder, pushing her panties up into her as he teased her with a tiny thrust before flicking her clit with his thumb. "I can help you out, Liv. You want me to?"
She groaned again, feeling a rush of cold as his face pulled back to look at her.
There was another rush of cold as her eyes met his, seeing that the smug, obnoxious gleam was still there.
She could have sworn her heart stopped beating as he smiled, a harsh sounding laugh pouring out of his mouth.
"Not without me, baby."
A stabbing pain shot through her, giving her the strength to jerk free of his cruel hands, letting her spring from the bed, but only allowing her to get as far as the closest wall before her knees started to shake. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
He had no trouble closing the distance, folding his arms around her waist as he pulled her body into his, letting her feel that he was damn near the same hysterical point as she was. But he wasn't giving in, not even when she let her face fall forward, seeking the comfort she'd always found in her partner's proximity, not even when her hips bucked against his erection.
His hands found their way into her hair, tugging gently until she looked up at him. "I want to hear you say it, Liv." His hips ground against hers, revealing he still had some control left. "Say it. Please, god, I just want to hear you say that you want me."
And in that moment, she thought he was revealing a vulnerable part of himself, baring his soul to her the same way hers had been laid bare moments earlier. But still, she struggled with the words because she didn't understand why they were so important, not when they were so much better at communicating on entirely different levels.
Aiming to tease him back, she smiled, rocking against him slowly. "And if I won't?"
His eyes turned cold once again as he pushed her against the wall, leaving ample space between their bodies to keep her from relieving the pressure between her legs. "Then I won't either."
Fury welled up in her like it never had before, ice cold hatred racing through her veins, chasing away any heat that had been there. "Get out!" She struggled against his hold, not quite able to believe he'd really pin her against her will. "Get the fuck away from me!"
He shook his head, seeming to derive demented pleasure out of refusing to give her any. "We'll just see how long it takes before you change your mind." Once again, he managed to grasp both of her arms in one of his hands, freeing the other to run over her chest, teasing her taunt nipples
Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed and her whole body shook with violent rage. "Get the hell away from me or I swear to god I'll tell Cragen what you're doing." She meant it. She really did. If her partner really was the sick, perverted psycho he'd suddenly turned into, she would turn him in before she'd ever be alone with him again.
But Elliot was strong and fast and much more in control. He stepped into her again, pulling one of her legs up, insinuating himself between her legs. "Really? You'll tell Don about this?" His hand moved, finding the hem of her sweater and swiping his fingers over her burning hot skin. "What about this?" He gripped her leg, using it as an anchor to thrust himself against her. "You sure you want to tell him? Maybe we can just show him." He grinned as his face came down, brushing his lips over her forehead again. "I doubt he'll be all that surprised."
Finding strength in her anger once again, she ripped her hands from his grasp, shoving him, hitting him. "I hate you!" But she didn't. And they both knew it.
Something broke in his eyes, his whole psyche seeming to deflate in front of her. His hands grabbed at her face, pulling her mouth to his like that first time in her kitchen, kissing her tenderly. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to hurt you."
She believed him. She knew when he was lying and she knew he wasn't at that moment. But she was so hurt, so frustrated, so bitter over the way he'd taunted her when she was so vulnerable. She couldn't forgive him, not yet. She shoved at him, biting down her desire to kiss him back, ignoring the way she wanted to rejoice at his words, at the sudden bursting of the damn that had been holding them back from each other.
"Don't you ever touch me again!" It was her own moral outrage, she told herself. She was still so embarrassed over what he'd seen, still wondering how much he'd watched before he'd intruded, still pissed that he couldn't have waited until she was done to throw it in her face. "Get out of my way."
And once again, his control left him as he reached for her, grabbing her waist as she tried to shove past him, turning her to face the wall, crushing her body with his weight. "You're going to tell him? Then we better make sure you have a damn good story for him."
His hands strayed to her waistband, working the button and zipper in record time. Her hands moved from the wall, initially intending to push him away, instead gripping so tightly at his forearms she knew she was leaving marks. As he pushed her pants and panties down to her mid thighs, he head lolled back against him, her breath coming in short pants, her voice seeming to moan his name without her conscious agreement.
She'd never liked rough sex. Never. With her history, with her job, it had quite frankly always scared the shit out of her. Sex was already teasing the line of control until both people were just on the other side of it; adding violence and anger into the mix had always seemed a little too risky for her tastes. But it was different with Elliot, with a man she knew so well, with a man she loved more than she loved her own life, with a man she knew could do a god damned ballet on the tightrope between controlled and not and still manage to keep his balance when he wanted. She knew how frustrated he was, having been there only moments before, so desperate for release and being denied it from the last person she'd ever thought would do so.
And she'd never been so fucking turned on in her life as she was when she heard his zipper slide open and felt his dick smack against her ass in excitement that it was finally getting to join the party. His hands found hers, tangling their fingers together for a brief, affectionate moment before stretching her arms out in front of her, wordlessly instructing her to brace herself.
She was shaking as she stared at the faux wood grain on the cheap paneling before her, blind, defenseless, wondering what and how and when. The thought barely formed before he grabbed her hips, lifting her slightly as he pushed her legs apart.
And then he was inside of her, hard and huge and pushing and pulling. His hands moved under her shirt, grabbing her breasts almost clumsily in his hands, squeezing them roughly and mercilessly as his hips slammed painfully into hers. She'd been close with her fingers and with his, but she hadn't been expecting it and she hadn't been prepared for his size or the roughness with which he claimed her.
Her mouth was opening, the soft moan disappearing into what threatened to be a deafening scream of pleasure and pain. His hands pulled out of her shirt, one clamping tight over her mouth, letting her bite down on his flesh instead. His other pressed flat against her belly, bracing her lower body as his thrusts grew faster and harder and more frenzied.
She wondered if he was going to tear her in two. She wondered if she was bleeding. She wondered if it was really possibly to die from too much pleasure.
Her muscles drew tighter, even as the tension magnified the pain she was feeling. But when she thought her body couldn't get any tighter, her muscles continued to contract, kept trying to lock him in or out or something, drawing her so tight she started to shake from the exertion.
His mouth found her neck, his lips pushing through her hair to find her ear as his lower body continued to abuse hers. His voice was barely recognizable as he groaned in her ear. "Fuck, Liv, you're so god damned tight."
The hand that had been keeping her from screaming shifted, sliding down to her chin, twisting her neck almost painfully to the side until his teeth could clamp on her bottom lip, filling her mouth with his moan and the coppery taste of her own blood.
His hand moved again, quickly, purposefully, reaching between her legs to the bundle of nerves that seemed to her to be buzzing with electricity. His fingers were as rough as the rest of him, pushing against her hard, pinching and digging into her, then pulling forward so hard and fast she would have thought he took her clit with him.
Except that she wasn't thinking. She was tasting her own juices from the hand he'd clamped over her mouth again to keep her primal scream confined to the room.
Her whole body was on fire with the indescribable pleasure, burning and melting and flaming and exploding as she seized and shook and collapsed completely, barely even feeling when her spasms ripped the same violent reaction from him.
He tried to hold her up. She wanted to laugh at his chivalry then of all moments when he'd just fucked her within an inch of her life. He kept her body folded in his arms, except that he was falling too, no more capable of standing than she was. But at least when she hit the ground, her body was cradled in his arms.
