Authors Note - Thanks as ever for the feedback! I love it, appreciate it, and need as much as I can get! :D

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He realised his mistake the minute that she began to kiss him back.

He'd kissed her to shock her. To make her see that they had a real problem. To make her see how hellish she was making things for him.

It achieved none of those things though. Because instead of pulling away looking stunned she did kiss him back, hungrily, passionately.

He'd forgotten that such kisses even existed. He and Kathy just didn't have that connection anymore. He loved his wife but since they'd had kids, and he'd started working at the SVU they just didn't have the same type of relationship. It was loving, comfortable and companionable but it lacked fireworks.

The same could not be said of Olivia's kiss. It was fiery, intoxicating. Which was why, even though he knew he ought to be putting a stop to it for so many reasons, he didn't. Couldn't.

"Elliot…"

He'd heard her use his name so many times, but never like that. She was breathless, desperate… oh who was he kidding, what was the point in skirting around the truth… aroused. He felt her hands move to the buttons on his shirt and start to undo them. He groaned, "Olivia…"

It was the crunch point, he knew that. He was wrestling with whether it was going to be "Olivia, yes." or "Olivia, no.". He knew what it ought to be, and not just because he was a married man, but also because of every they'd discussed that evening. Because of everything she'd been through, because of how vulnerable she was. Because she needed someone to love her so badly.

He couldn't love her. Not like she needed. He could make love to her this once, that much would be easy; she wasn't the only one who was seriously aroused, but afterwards it would have to stop. A line would have to be drawn. And that… that could kill her…

"Olivia… no." He had to force himself to say it, no mean feat given the way she was planting kisses down his neck, onto his now bare chest. It was pretty obvious where she was headed.

He needed haven't bothered though, she completely ignored him. Carried on leaving her pretty little trail of kisses all down his body.

"Olivia." He was firmer the third time, grabbing her by the shoulders and yanking her upwards so he could talk to her face to face. She gave a shocked little yelp, startled by the sudden turn of events. He reached out, stroked her cheek, "I'm sorry Liv. We can't."

"Can't?" She pulled away from him, clearly pissed off with him, not for the first time that evening, "You kiss me like that and then you tell me we can't." She stalked over to the coffee table and picked up her wine glass, knocking back the contents. "I seem to recall you implying that I was tease earlier, but hells teeth Elliot, I've got nothing on you."

He sighed, hating the fact he was hurting her, when that was the last thing he wanted to do. "Liv," he said softly, "I'm married."

She sat down on the sofa and to his horror her eyes filled with tears.

"You were married when you kissed me."

He went and sat beside her, although keeping a distance between them, thinking that it was better to be err on the side of caution given the way he'd just screwed up so badly. He followed her lead, picking up his own glass again, although he could have done with something a lot stronger. "I know, and I was wrong to do so. Which is why I can't take it any further."

She glanced at him, but not his face, lower down, "I can't help noticing that your body isn't agreeing with you Elliot. There doesn't seem to be a lot of 'can't' going on in your pants."

In spite of the hell they were in, and the bitterness in her voice, he couldn't help laughing, although as much out of embarrassment as amusement, "Well observed Detective Benson." He smiled weakly at her, "What can I say? You got me pretty overheated."

She refilled her glass, and then shrugged, "Not overheated enough I guess."

"It came pretty close." He said gently. The wrong thing to say possibly, since he didn't want her thinking he could still be convinced, but he didn't want her feeling out and out rejected, not given how low she was feeling. He reached out, putting his hand on her knee, "You're really special to me Liv. But circumstances being what they are…"

She snorted, "Ok Elliot, I get it. I get that you're married. But I don't get why you kissed me."

His turn to shrug, "Big clever plan gone wrong. You weren't meant to like it." Even as he said it he knew how lame it sounded. How lame it felt. He could argue that he'd been trying to shock her but that didn't make it ring true. Deep down he knew why he'd kissed her, and it had nothing to do with making her stop coming on to him.

"You were angry." He blurted out, realising she deserved to know the truth. "And I find you angry, very very sexy." It was true. That was why butting heads with her on a case was always so incredibly rewarding. There was nothing sexier than Olivia Benson fired up and pissy. He'd always thought so. "I guess it just got too much. I stopped resisting. I'm sorry."

"It's a bit late for sorry." She snapped, the tears in her eyes finally falling, "Do you have any idea how good that felt to me? How badly I want it now?"

He didn't know for sure, but based on his own feelings he had a pretty good idea, even more so now she was in tears. The temptation was there to comfort her, to kiss the tears from her cheeks, to love her just for one night, but just as he'd known that would have been wrong while they were in the midst of the heat, he also knew it now. Even a simple comforting hug would have been out of order.

He'd shot himself well and truly in the foot. There was nothing left he could do to help her. He sighed, "I should probably go."

"I think that might be a good idea."

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She cried as he left. Cried even more so because he just did up his shirt and walked away, he didn't even look back. It made her feel weak and pathetic, but she couldn't stop it. She was just hurting too much.

When he was gone, she got to her feet. Headed to the kitchen and located a bottle of single malt the boys had bought her for her birthday. She rarely drank spirits when she was alone, had always viewed it as a slippery slope to walking in her mothers footsteps but tonight - just for tonight - she was prepared to make an exception.

She took the bottle and a tumbler back to the living room, throwing herself down on the sofa miserably. She felt like crap. Not to mention like she could explode at any minute with any one of a number of conflicting emotions. She was hurt, miserable, angry, confused, and frustrated. Yeah, definitely frustrated - in more ways than one.

It pained her to do so but she couldn't help reliving those amazing moments, the kiss, his roaming hands, their bodies tightly against one another. She couldn't remember ever being so turned on, so aroused, and she was paying the price now. Even after their row, even taking into account the way he'd walked away, her body was still crying out for him, so much so that she was tempted to go to the bedroom, lose the sweats and give herself the release she needed. The one he'd denied her.

But what was the point? How could her fingers ever compare to him? She'd cum, there was no doubt about that - she suspected it would take seconds, she was so turned on - but that was just a physical thing. Emotionally, mentally, it would just remind her of everything she was now lacking.

So. No. Masturbation not option, Malt Whisky was in fact the way forward. She'd drink herself to oblivion and get him out of her head that way.

It was the only way.

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She regretted it the next morning when she awoke on her living room floor, her head wedged, most uncomfortably under the coffee table and her back stiff from sleeping all night without a mattress.

Then there was the hangover. No soon had she struggled up into a sitting position she got the resounding urge to vomit. Hardly surprising given the empty whisky bottle that lay near by, taunting her with its very emptiness.

She got to her feet, heading to the bathroom and crumpling down by the toilet bowl as the contents of her stomach emptied herself into it. That, and a vast amount of mouthwash helped some but it didn't do anything to sate her banging head or the fact that the room felt like it was spinning.

She opened her bathroom cabinet, looking for paracetemol, ibruprofen, anything that might assist with the head situation. To her surprise, she found neither, in spite of being sure she'd had some previously. At first she assumed she'd just used them all up and forgotten, but then, when it occurred to her that her disposable razors were missing from the cup she kept them in, the pieces fell into place.

Elliot.

He must have taken a detour via the bathroom before he left, obviously having reached the conclusion that his rejection might have pushed her over the edge, egotistical bastard that he was.

She was almost pleased actually. It gave her even more reasons to be angry with him. She'd decided the night before, that being angry with him was far superior to any other emotion. Anger kept her warm. Everything else just let her cold.

Amusement added itself to her anger once she'd showered and went into her bedroom to dress, finding her gun still laying on her bedside table where she'd left it when she'd arrived home the night before. So Elliot was paranoid, but not that paranoid apparently. Idiot.

She dried her hair and then threw on some clothes. The quicker she got ready, the quicker she could get to the drugstore, the quicker she could get rid of her headache. Of course after the drugstore came work, and with work came Elliot which wasn't exactly something she was relishing, but short of requesting a transfer, there wasn't a lot she could do about it. She'd just have to swallow it.

She left her apartment, stepping over the pizza takeaway that she and Elliot had never got round to eating, that lay, congealing in the doorway. She'd not even bothered to answer the door to the delivery boy, scared it was Elliot coming back to ram his tongue down her throat again or do something else to completely confuse the issue just a little bit further.

Still, that was obviously wishful thinking on her part.

Elliot clearly didn't give a shit.

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He dreamt of her the entire night. Tossing and turning. Tortured by images of her. Her breasts, her butt, those legs. Of her on her knees, taking him in her mouth. Of her on top of him, underneath him. Moaning his name, clinging to him as she came.

It was hell.

He awoke early, a little after 5.30. He was hard, and horny, and he wanted her, but instead, settled for second best, shaking Kathy awake and taking her before she had chance to argue.

The arguing came later, as he emerged from the bathroom to find her slamming kitchen cupboards, and clattering plates and bowls to show her displeasure as she prepared breakfast. He tried to ignore her, making himself a coffee and flicking through the paper, but she wasn't prepared to give him an easy ride.

"You come in late." She blurted out suddenly, "Very late. You wake up Lizzie with your crashing around and don't bother to offer to settle her. You don't - even though you've woken me up - so much as give me a kiss or say hello, and then at 5.30am you wake me all over again because you fancy a fuck? Thanks Elliot, thanks a lot."

He groaned inwardly, seeing the justification for her anger now he'd had it all spelt out for him. And she didn't know the half of it. She'd didn't know the reason that he was so late home revolved around Olivia, or that the evening had finished with him kissing her and her attempting to rip his clothes off.

He was just doomed to have all the women in his life hate him.

Maureen was the next one, just after 7.45, when she flounced into the kitchen, wearing more eyeliner than he felt appropriate for a school girl and a skirt that left nothing to the imagination. Her pop tart wasn't on the table as she expected because Kathy had left Elliot doing while she dealt with Lizzie who was tearful and whiney having been woken up in the early hours of the morning, and he'd managed to burn the first one, nearly setting light to the kitchen in the process.

She looked at him, a look of disbelief and disgust on her face, "Where's my breakfast? Mom always has it ready by now."

He thought about Olivia. The cute little kid in the sailor dress. All the breakfasts, packed lunches and dinners she'd had to make when she was a fraction of Maureen's age. The cute little kid who grew into the attractive but emotionally broken woman he'd hurt so badly the night before.

He had to make it right. And quickly.

He turned to his daughter, "Stop being a spoilt little bitch and make your own breakfast Maureen. I'm going to work."

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She was overjoyed to see that he looked as miserable as she felt when he arrived at work. Well, maybe not overjoyed, but slightly comforted. She clocked him, but busied herself with paperwork, not wanting him to try and engage her in any kind of conversation. Especially not in the squad room.

She was out of luck. He came over to her desk, leant against it and just stood there, as if waiting for her to say something.

She didn't. Just carried on working. Pretended she'd not noticed his presence.

Eventually he cleared his throat to get her attention. She looked up questioningly, but still didn't speak to him. Let him do the running - she'd done enough of her own the night before.

He smiled at her nervously, "How are you?"

She leaned back on her chair, pretending to think about it, although she'd been planning her answer to that exact question since the second she'd arrived at work, "Well," she said, feigning pleasantness, "I have a headache and hairy legs but otherwise I'm doing good."

He sighed, looking pained, "Oh come on Liv, don't be mad."

"Why not?" She'd planned her response to that one too, "I thought you liked me mad. I thought you found it," she glanced over to Munch's desk where he was sat reading the paper, and lowered her voice, "very very sexy." She didn't give him chance to respond before ploughing on, "You owe me a box of paracetemol and a packet of razors. You're also a prick. You left my gun behind, I thought about chewing on it but decided you weren't worth it."

"I'm not worth it Liv." He reached out to touch her arm but she jerked it away, unable to bear the thought of his skin against hers. Unwilling to remember what that felt like, how good it was.

"Good, glad we agree on something." She picked up her the witness statement in front of her, turning her attention back to it, "Excuse me won't you, I have work to do."

She waited for him to leave, but he didn't. Just stood there, looking like a man clutching at straws and apparently eventually finding one. "I've got a possible witness on the Masterson case. Wanna come with me to talk to her?"

She shook her head, "Can't. Cragen's got me on desk duty in case you forgot, and after last night," she added, knowing she was about to hurt him but needing to, wanting him to feel a fraction of the hurt and rejection she was feeling, "I can't help thinking that that's a good thing."

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