T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

T Minus 1 Day, cont'd

He knew he was dreaming. He had to be. Because he knew Olivia pretty damn well and he was almost certain that she would never wear what she was wearing, unless, of course, he was dreaming.

Standing there, in the doorway of his bedroom, backlit by a soft glow coming from a lamp he knew he didn't own, was Olivia Benson. He saw her feet first, for some odd reason recognizing her in the shiny red peep-toe pumps he'd never seen. With a hard swallow and a personal assurance he didn't have a foot fetish, he forced his eyes up, slowly tracing the long line of her legs behind the sheer black hose. He almost choked when the beautiful sight of her thighs ended, interrupted by the rounded edge of a man's white dress shirt. Somehow, perhaps because he was well aware that he was dreaming, he knew it was his and he had to take a minute to keep himself from coming right then. A few inches later, his eyes found the pointed end of a red necktie, matching the shoes exactly.

His mouth fell open and he hoped his dream Olivia was particularly turned on by drool. One of her hands was at her waist, the loose shirt bunching up under her hand. His eyes continued their journey, seeing the loosened knot and the half unbuttoned shirt, just the way he usually threw them when he was tired. It was an incredible turn on to think that she'd just put on what he'd been wearing.

But as his eyes drifted further, a lacy red bra peeked through the unbuttoned shirt, teasing him with the idea of what might be underneath. He shook his head, forcing himself to keep looking, almost whimpering at the sight that was her face, her normally light make up was gone, replaced by heavy black eyeliner and ruby red lips.

Those beautiful lips curved into a smile. "Welcome home, El."

He tried to smile, only to find that he was thoroughly distracted by her right leg moving out for the shirt to cross over her left. The movement revealed what had barely been hidden by the hem of the shirt, the swirling lace pattern at the top of her stockings. And then he really did whimper, taking in the sight of her olive skin peeking over the top, around the clips of her garter.

His head flopped down on the pillow as he tried to remember how to breathe. He'd joked with his daughter about the burgers and clogged arteries, but now that he seemed to be having one, a heart attack didn't seem nearly so funny.

A minute later, he felt the bed shift as she climbed in. Her hand was cool as it snuck under the edge of his t-shirt, sliding up to lay against his chest. A lighthearted giggle filled the air between them.

"Getting a bit of a workout there, detective?"

He licked his lips, trying to bring some moisture to his dry mouth. "I think I might need CPR soon."

She grinned as she leaned over him, the fingers of her other hand trailing gently over his face. "Please tell me you need mouth-to-mouth, Elliot."

He reached up and grabbed her tie, pulling her close. "Definitely."

Their mouths met halfway between them, the pull between them seeming magnetic. His hands automatically wrapped around her, finding her frame familiar and comfortable in his arms. He seemed to know the way she felt against him, recognizing the way she pulled him up to a sitting position as she kept kissing him.

Although he'd been the one to initiate it, she quickly took control, her tongue tracing his lips, dipping between them, sliding against his. When she withdrew, he didn't have a chance to reciprocate. Her teeth nipped at his lip, pulling the swollen tissue into her mouth, sucking on it, licking at it. She kept pulling back, breaking the kiss only enough to change tactics, kissing him, biting him, teasing him. Every time he tried to get control, she'd pull away, giggling at his frustration.

He gave in, let her control the kiss, as his hands started to roam over her, tracing the length of her legs, daring to touch the soft, uncovered skin at the top of her thighs. She wiggled, revealing a bit of her own desire, and he laughed, enjoying the moment of power.

But then she asserted herself again, pulling back from the kiss and pouting. Her arms folded across her chest, pushing her breasts together, toward the open front of the shirt. "Someone's being a bad boy."

Baby talk was the last thing he expected, and he started to laugh.

Only until he saw her hand disappear under her shirt. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack when the hand reemerged, dangling a pair of shiny silver handcuffs. He swallowed, finding it impossible to speak.

"You know what happens to bad boys, don't you?"

He couldn't do anything but stare as she leaned forward, her mussed lipstick and wet lips teasing him as she brushed by him, twisting his willing arms back behind him. The click of the cuffs seemed to echo in his ears.

The sound was chased away by her husky voice, breathing against his ear. "Is that too tight?"

Unable to speak, he shook his head. He had no freaking clue if the cuffs were too tight. The feeling in his hands was the last of his worries as his body bucked up against her, suddenly desperate for her touch.

She wiggled back, pushing herself up to her knees so her weight was off him. "Scoot back."

He did as she instructed, shifting backwards until his shoulders hit the headboard.

"Good boy." She winked at him. Then her hands slowly moved over her shirt, cupping her breasts, moving in to pull her tie free. His eyes were glued to her chest, waiting for another tantalizing glimpse of her bare skin. "Like what you see?" She laughed at his eager nod. Her hands started working the buttons, slowly opening the front of her shirt, letting him see a thin strip of skin down her front.

With a grin, her hands moved up, working the white cotton down her narrow shoulders, showing the red straps of her bra, revealing the rest of her torso in a teasingly slow fashion. She paused when her shirt fell against his legs, leaning back on her palms, stretching her legs out on either side of him, letting him enjoy the sight of her in his lap, dressed only in a skimpy red lace bra and thong set, matching red garter belt, black stockings, and red stilettos.

"Holy fucking god." His head fell back, slamming painfully into the wall.

She laughed at him, her fingers dancing up his thighs, brushing lightly over his erection, continuing to slide up. She pushed his shirt up, lifting it over his head, sliding it down to bunch at his restrained wrists. Her nails scraped gently across his skin, pausing to circle his nipples.

"I hope you don't mind that I went shopping." Her eyes darted to the small pink bag sitting on the floor against his wall. "With your card."

He chuckled and shook his head. "By all means, sweetheart, I'd sell a kidney to keep you buying those." He nodded at her lingerie.

"I thought you were saving that kidney for me."

His laughter mingled with hers and he caught her eyes. "I love you, Olivia."

She grinned. "I think you love my body."

He shrugged. "That too."

Leaning forward, her lips covered his again. "Conveniently, I love your body too." Her soft hands trailed over his chest, curved over his shoulders, and slipped down his arms. "You're so damn strong." Her voice sounded like a purr as her mouth slide past his ear, her lips rubbing across his chin. "You make me feel safe."

Never in his life had he heard something more welcome. He'd spent his life trying to protect people and even on the rare occasion when he didn't fuck it up, they always wound up hating or resenting him for it. He loved that Olivia was the first one to really get it, to understand that his desire to protect wasn't meant to say she couldn't take care of herself.

He turned his head, capturing her lips easily, deepening the kiss when she offered no resistance. He pulled back a little, loving the whine of protest she offered. "I do love you."

"I know." She grinned, shifting back, stretching her arms behind her. "But do you trust me?"

He wasn't sure what to make of her question or her playful tone, not when his hands were trapped behind him and he'd already consented to giving her complete control. But he nodded anyway. "Of course I do."

Giggling, she brought her arms forward again, the red tie dangling from her fingers. "Good boy." There was a gleam in her eyes, the likes of which he'd never seen before, as she leaned forward.

And then there was nothing but blackness. For a moment, he almost panicked, but the rest of his senses quickly made up for the lack of sight. Olivia's warm, pleasant weight was still settled across his lap. Her arms were around his neck, her chest pressing into his. Her hands were behind his head and he hated that he was going to have to interrupt the wonderful night they were having by mentioning that he'd gone blind. That was when he finally put it together and realized she'd blindfolded him.

Her voice was back by his ear. "Relax. It's just me."

And he wanted to. It wasn't fear or nerves. It was that his other senses were heightened, making her smell seem stronger, her voice seem more intimate, her touch almost painful in its intensity.

She pressed a series of kisses along his neck, her fingers trailing behind as her mouth moved down over his chest. Without being able to see or touch her, he gave up the attempt to participate and let his head loll back against the wall. He let her hands explore his body, loving the way her mouth felt as she licked and sucked and kissed his chest and stomach.

He felt her ass shift backwards, her hands skimming the sides of his waist and hips as her mouth kept working lower. Her fingers found the top of his boxers, brushing under the elastic, causing him to jump.

He knew what she was intending and he couldn't do it. He wouldn't. Not again. As much as he wanted to give himself over to the dream, as much as he already had fallen for it, he refused to let it happen. But even with the conscious knowledge that he was dreaming, that his Olivia was at someone else's mercy, the dream didn't lose its control over him.

He jerked under her, trying to get her attention. "No, Liv, stop."

Her weight shifted suddenly and just as suddenly, he could see. Her eyes were wide, startled, moist. "What? What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

He shook his head, feeling his own eyes prick with tears to match hers. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, baby." He saw her head tip down, averting her eyes, reaching for the shirt she'd cast aside. "Liv, don't. I just-" She looked up again, her eyes locking on his, not even trying to hide her hurt. "Can I just hold you tonight?"

She looked confused, but nodded anyway. Standing up, she reached behind him, pulling his hands free of the binding. "I'll just go change."

He caught her hand, pulling her back onto the bed. "No, you're perfect."

Her face looked apprehensive, as though she was mortified her set up hadn't worked and wanted to hide any evidence of it. But she settled in beside him, tucking her shoulder under his and wrapping her arm across his stomach. "I'm sorry you didn't like it."

He leaned down, kissing the top of her head. "When you come home, we can do anything you want." He smoothed her hair and snuggled closer to her. "Anything, baby." He pulled the blanket over them, wondering why his dream Olivia hadn't commented on his reference to her being gone. "I just want to be close to you tonight."

Her voice was soft, filled with sleep, when she answered, but her words echoed like she'd shouted them in his ear. "I love you, Elliot."

He smiled at the ceiling, quite content for his lot in life, and turned to leave one last kiss on her hair before she drifted to sleep. But when he looked, he found a pillow in place of her body in his arms. He'd known it was a dream all along and yet it hurt to no longer have that part of her in his arms. He choked on the sob, remembering that Maureen was in the living room and probably would be none too comforted by the idea that her father was crying.

Reaching for his watch on the nightstand, he nearly cried again. It was a few minutes before five and with the way Cragen had thrown him out only a few hours before, Elliot was certain the front desk sergeant wouldn't let him anywhere near the squad. Knowing he wasn't going to sleep anymore, he got up and took a shower. He missed the scent of her soap and the softness of her towels and even the presence of a simple green mat on the cold tile floor.

After he pulled on some clean clothes, ones that he hadn't shrunk due to Olivia's ridiculously hot dryer, he headed for the kitchen. He was just trying to waste time, so he put a pot of coffee on. He didn't even want it, but he found something comforting in the inanity, in the normalcy. Getting up, taking a shower, making coffee. They were things he always did. Things that were usually followed by him leaving for work, maybe stopping off for a bagel if he'd been particularly rotten to Olivia the day before and needed a peace offering. And then, the culmination of his day – seeing Olivia at her desk, most of the time with a smile aimed at him.

And so, staring at the freshly brewed coffee, he felt a tremendous, crushing letdown, the same one he'd grown painfully familiar with, weighing him down. No longer able to even fake himself out, he abandoned the kitchen. He really didn't have much furniture, so he wound up collapsing on the armchair in the living room. Maureen was sound asleep, her precious lion and the pillow long since flung to the floor, her thin frame curled into a tight ball under the blanket.

He leaned forward, gently brushing her hair out of her face. She was his baby. His firstborn. The one who got all the attention, all the new clothes and toys and energy. He'd been so young when she was born, still hopeful that the world would be a wonderful place for her. But rather than the babbling toddler that drove him up the walls or the boisterous pre-teen who thought defiance and stubbornness were the qualities of her father she should emulate, his eyes saw a young woman, an adult.

Her hair was cut short in a chin length bob, making her appear a few years older. Instead of worn jeans and a stained t-shirt, she wore pressed khakis and an oxford. Her beat-up black leather boots had been replaced by low heeled brown loafers.

He couldn't figure out exactly when that had happened, when his baby had grown up.

Kathleen had grown up much the same way, albeit with far more growing pains than her low-maintenance sister. Even his twins were nearly old enough to drive. He'd missed so much, given up so much for his job. He loved his job. He was good at his job. But the last six days had shown him something important.

It wasn't really about the job. It wasn't the job that he loved.

It was about Olivia. It was her that he loved.

Maureen shifted, stretching her arms out and twisting her neck. For a second, her eyes flashed open, her lips smiling at him, and then she dropped back to sleep. His baby was old enough to have a baby. He had another chance, another baby, another person whose life hadn't been darkened by a missing-in-action father, a father who was too busy saving other people to raise his kids. Kathy had done a hell of a job raising the first four and someday he knew he'd have to thank her for it.

Walking back to the kitchen, he remembered Cragen's stern words about things changing when Olivia returned. For the first time, Elliot agreed with the idea. He was just shy of his pension. He could transfer out of Special Victims, spend his last eighteen months in an easier unit, retire early, maybe pick up a part-time job, maybe stay home and take care of Eli.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, sipping at it while he thought about his plan. It would enable him to have everything – everything he wanted. He'd have a predictable schedule, plenty of time for Eli. He'd have a squad that didn't think he was a co-dependent fuck-up who mooned after his partner.

And, most importantly, he'd have Olivia.

Because she was what it was all about after all.