She wasn't entirely sure how it happened; it wasn't a conscious decision she made, wasn't a choice, examined and well thought out. It was just that one minute she was leaning to the side, kissing Elliot - kissing him, softly, warmly, the brush of his lips against hers leaving her trembling with longing - and the next she found herself perched on his lap. It was easier this way, kissing him; she was sitting astride him, and their faces were suddenly on the same level, and neither of them had to twist and bend to reach the other. Instead she wound her arms around his neck, and his hands found purchase on the bare skin of her hips, and perfect, she thought, it was perfect.
Perfect, the way he moved with her, his head tilted just a little so their noses weren't getting in the way, his hands warm where they cradled her close, his body strong and steady beneath her, his lips parted, just a little, like he wanted more but was just waiting for her permission. She gave it to him readily, let her tongue snake inside his mouth just for a second, just long enough to flick against his, and when she retreated he chased after her, and she could feel him smile against her lips, could feel him beginning to harden beneath the place where her legs were spread wide over him.
They were a mess, still, the both of them; his clothes were bloody, and there was blood dried at her temple, and she was half-naked, her hair tumbling out of the ponytail she'd drawn it back into, and her sweatpants were thin and so were his and she could feel it, could feel his cock stirring just from this, just from this kiss, just from the heat of her astride him. The knowledge that she was doing this to him, that she was the reason for his body's response made her shiver all over, and she could hear the rustling of the feathers of her wings behind her as that shiver passed through her. When was the last time she'd touched someone with her wings free like this? When had she last showed them to anyone at all? She couldn't recall, and couldn't spare a moment to even consider putting them away, not when Elliot was kissing her, not when his hands had begun to move, charting a determined path up from her hips along the slope of her sides.
Too fast, too fast, she thought. This was all happening too fast; they were safe now, even with half the ceiling caved in around them, safe from physical harm, but there was danger here of an altogether different kind, and there had been no time to think. No time to consider the consequences, and maybe that was the only way she and Elliot were ever gonna touch each other, if they didn't stop to think about it first, if they just dove right in, and let the question of what happens next linger a little while longer. She knew what would happen next, though; Elliot had no intention of coming back to SVU, and their circumstances had not changed, and there would be no future for them, no matter what he said. She could not be anything other than what she was, and nor could he, and what they were was doomed.
She could have this, though. She could have this, tonight, could just once let herself be with him. This might be the only chance she'd ever get to hold him, and it was happening too fucking fast but she wasn't about to slow it down, not for anything. The longing she felt for him was a desperate, needful thing, a desire left unfulfilled for centuries. In every life she'd lived she'd wanted him, yearned for him, and she'd never been able to have him before and she was certain she'd never be able to have him again.
If this one night was all she'd have of him, she'd take every piece of him she could get.
And so she did not stop him, when his hands slipped behind her back and toyed with the clasp of her bra, when his mouth landed hot and full of yearning at the curve of her neck.
"I want to see you," Elliot growled there, his teeth scraping against her skin, and she could not find the breath to tell him yes, and so only nodded fervently.
That was enough, for him. His mouth stayed busy at her neck but his hands worked quickly, unclasped her bra and tugged at it, and then he grunted when he realized he could not get it free from the impediment of her wings.
"Just a second," she told him, charmed by his frustration. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, and then slowly, slowly, retracted her wings, drew them into her body the way she normally wore them, and as soon as they were out of the way she stripped off her bra, tossed it to the side and reveled for a moment in the look of awe-struck wonder that crossed his face as he took in the sight of her bare body for the very first time.
"You're beautiful," he told her shyly, earnestly, smoothing his hands along the slope of her back, pulling her into him so he could kiss her again, and she opened her mouth to him eagerly, her entire body electric from the sensation of her bare, sensitive nipples scraping against the fabric of his t-shirt, from the taste of his tongue heavy in her mouth, from the intoxicating hardness of his cock beneath her, straining towards the place where she was hot and wet for him already.
His hands did not remain idle on her back; while she kissed him, while she dragged the blunt edges of her nails through his short hair his hands searched out the heavy curve of her breasts, cupped them, kneaded them, his thumbs finding the hardened points of her nipples, and that made him smile, too, and Jesus, she had always loved the sight of his smile, but she was learning to love the taste of it more.
"Can you," he tried to say between heated kisses. "Can you - would you -"
She retreated a little, just far enough to look into his eyes, to give him the breath to speak.
"I want to see your wings," he said. "You don't have to hide 'em, not from me. They're beautiful, too."
And as much as he might have wanted to see them, she found she wanted to show them to him just as badly, wanted to be honest with him, wanted the chance, if only for a few minutes in a strange bed in a half-demolished house, to stop denying the truth of herself, of her nature, of her heart.
"Ok," she answered shakily.
As slowly as she had drawn in her wings she let them out again, and it felt like relief, to expose herself to his reverent stare, to reveal herself in full, and not hide from him.
"Thank you," he said, and reached for her, leaned forward so their chests were flush together, so his hands could ghost gently, gently, over the curves of her wings, as tender with them as he had been with her breasts, and she buried her face in his neck, overcome with affection for him, overcome with the realization that he was the first person to touch her there for millenia. The realization that he was, actually, the only one who had ever had, because the only other person who had ever touched her wings was Elam, her first love, and Elam was Elliot, the same soul reborn, again and again, loving her, always, searching for her, always, and he had found her again, and a rush of tears choked her.
He still didn't know. Elliot did not know the truth of who he was, who he had been, the purpose his soul had been trying to fulfill for years beyond counting. He did not know because she had not told him, and she was not sure she ever could, and suddenly she was thinking, and that would not do, because if she stopped to think now she would be lost to her doubts and her fears and the cruel hand of fate. She had to make the thoughts stop, and so she did the only thing she could to free herself in that moment.
She caught his face in her hands and drew him to her for a fierce, devouring kiss, and as she did she ground her hips down against him, and swallowed the sound of his answering moans. His hands flew to her hips, and just like that he was guiding her, encouraging her to rock against him, to thrust her cunt down onto the hardness of him, and she was so slick with yearning for him and he was so hard with longing for her that she could feel the head of his cock straining for her entrance through the layers of their clothes, could feel him trying, despite the barriers between them, to enter her, and when his cock caught against her clit she could not help but whine.
"Yeah," he breathed into their kiss, his hips joining hers, rising up towards her while he pulled her down against him. "Come on," he grunted, encouraging her, and each word he spoke shot through her like lightning. She might come just from this, just from grinding against his lap like a pair of horny teenagers in the backseat of a car, if he kept talking to her in that voice thick and hungry with need.
"Like that?" she gasped at him, wanting to hear him speak again, wanting to hear him tell her that he was pleased with her.
"Like this," he growled, and then one of his hands drove unexpectedly beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, and she leaned back, gave him room to work as his fingers searched desperately for some way to reach the heat of her.
With her hands on his shoulders, one of his hands in her pants and the other anchored at her hip, she took a moment just to watch, to watch the way his eyes focused with laser-like intensity on her face, to watch the straining muscles of his neck while his body still rocked beneath hers, steady as a ship at sea, to watch and to see the truth of it for herself. The truth that this was Elliot, holding her, touching her, Elliot whose voice dripped with sin when his fingers trailed through the wetness at her center and he growled his appreciation. Elliot, who had always belonged to someone else, Elliot who had never been hers to claim, Elliot who could have chosen anything else but had chosen her instead, time after time. Elliot, who was Elam and everyone else he had ever been, Elliot who she loved not just for who he had been in their past but who he was in their present, Elliot, who was good and strong and angry, like she was angry, who could be reckless, the way she was reckless, who was gentle with children and tender with her when she needed him to be, Elliot who was a father and a cop and a fighter and would be her lover, if only for tonight. Elliot who did love her, whether she was willing to let him to or not.
Elliot, who was so strong, whose body made her ache, Elliot who was hellbent on fucking her now, and by God, she was gonna let him.
"Christ," he choked out as one of his fingers slid easily into her cunt, her body so wet, so open for him that he encountered no resistance at all, his eyes dark with a fervent, ravenous desire.
"More," she told him, and then she surged forward, kissed him again, hard, teeth catching against his lip, and in the next second he thrust three fingers into her, deep, as deep as they would go, hard, spreading her open, and she panted and whined into his kiss, her hips rocking down against him, seeking to draw him into herself, as far as he could go, wanton and needy on his lap and for once in her life not ashamed. Whatever she wanted, he wanted the same, and there was no time for guilt, not now. The time for guilt would come later.
With an abruptness that caught her off guard he withdrew his hand, brought his fingers, slick with the evidence of her longing, up to her lips, and smeared that wetness across her skin, and she opened her mouth to him, caught his gaze and held it, challenging him and delighting in the challenge as she sucked those fingers into her mouth, thinking about his heavy cock beneath her and wondering if she'd have the chance to taste that, too, before the night was through. Hoping that she could.
"Fuck," he swore, his voice heated and dripping with passion, and then he tangled his free hand in her hair, pulled her in close and licked the taste of her from her lips.
"Want you," he panted, his tongue brushing her lips, "Christ, I want you."
"You have me," she answered, because he did, because really he always had, and she smiled in victory when his hands reached once more for her sweatpants, this time determined to remove them. She had every intention of letting him; he wanted her, but shit, she wanted him, too, and she was tired of fighting it. She had waited too long for him, had been lonely and starving for him all the years of her long life, and she would be sated tonight.