It started with the dance; his arms warm and strong and wrapped around her, his hands gently exploring, his gravelly voice humming along to that old sad song. Started there, but did not end there, continued instead when they left the bar, his hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the car, holding the door open for her. His gaze heavy on her shoulders while she drove, and she reached out to him on impulse, extended her hand to him and smiled when he took it, when he threaded their fingers together and settled them on the breadth of his thigh. The short walk from the car to the building; he held out his arm to her and she took it, held on loosely to his elbow feeling foolish, feeling free, like the heroine in one of the old black and white movies she liked so much. In the elevator he leaned against the wall, but close to her, still, blue eyes smoldering at her, and she could feel it, the tension, the electricity that had been building between them from the moment they began to dance roaring towards a crescendo. That look in his eyes; she knew what it meant, now. It meant he wanted her, and she'd do anything to give him what he wanted.

At her door she fumbled for her keys and he pressed himself against her back, his hands at her hips, his warm breaths washing over the curve of her neck.

"You're not helping," she chided him as she slid the key into the lock.

"Not trying to," he answered, and though she could not see his face she knew that he was grinning. That scruffy beard of his brushed teasingly against her throat and the door swung open, and the second it did he spun her in his arms.

She only had a moment, a single heartbeat's instant in which to look at him, and what she saw, then, was love, or something like it, something close enough to make no difference. Saw it in his blue eyes, saw it in the soft way his mouth opened beneath his beard, felt it in the brush of his hands at her waist, and when he bowed his head to kiss her she met him halfway, wound her arms around his neck and gave herself over to him completely.

It wasn't always like this, him taking charge and her following along, but it was tonight, and she relished it. The way he wrapped his arms around her, pushed her back into the apartment with the insistent press of his body, kicked the door closed behind them while his tongue surged into her mouth, it was just the right kind of overwhelming. Enough to make her forget about all the melancholy thoughts that old song had put in her head, to make her forget about Liv, and everything he wanted her to be and everything she wasn't. None of that shit mattered when he was kissing her.

Apparently he had no intention of slowing things down; with his arms full of her he guided them both deeper into the apartment, towards the sofa. Someone - Elliot - had forgotten to close the curtains earlier in the day and the one little window let in the glow of the streetlights from the city beyond those walls. Down in the street she could hear the cars rolling by, the plink plink plink as the first raindrops of an oncoming storm began to fall against the window, the world alive and surging all around them.

Suddenly he released her, sat himself down on the sofa with his legs spread wide, stretched his arms out to the side and looked up at her with a lazy smile.

"You expecting a show?" she asked him. Usually they were so eager to fall into bed together that they didn't make a production of undressing; usually they did it together just to speed things along, helped one another until they were both bare and ready, and it made her a little uneasy, the idea of stripping for him while he sat there and watched. Uneasy, but excited, too. It was exciting to think he wanted her that much, that he wanted to see her, as much as she wanted to see him.

"Why? You performing tonight?" he answered.

He was a smug son of a bitch, and she shouldn't have liked that about him, but she did, just the same.

"No," she answered, sliding her blazer slowly off her shoulders. No, she wasn't gonna dance for him, or make him wait for it - or at least, she wasn't gonna make him wait too long - because she wasn't twenty any more and that kinda shit had never really come naturally to her, anyway, and whatever they did together she wanted it to be honest. She didn't want to play a part, not with him.

But he wanted to watch and she kinda wanted to let him so she kept going. Left her shirt tucked in but pulled her belt off slow, and watched his smile grow. Kicked off her boots, took her time unfastening her watch and laying it down on the coffee table. His eyes followed her every move hungrily, his hands planted on his knees like that was the only way to stop himself from reaching for her, like he wanted to touch her but wanted to watch more.

Carefully she slid out of her pants, pulled her underwear down with them. Her shirt, now hanging loose, was just long enough to keep her covered, and she saw the flicker of something in his eyes like need as his gaze burned through her, like he was willing the shirt to disappear just so he could see her. The shirt buttoned all the way down so she started at the top, worked each one open with a steady precision, and then finally let it hang open, let him catch a glimpse of her uncovered pussy, her tits sitting up high in her black bra.

"Keep going," he demanded in a low, rough voice.

"No," she answered sweetly. "Your turn."

Turnabout being fair play, and all that, she figured it was a reasonable request. She thought he'd stay sitting but he rose sharply to his feet, towered over her, looked down on her with burning eyes as he slipped his henley off over his head. The sudden revelation of his bare chest rendered her momentarily breathless; she hadn't expected it to feel so much like a challenge, him undressing for her, but it did. The balance of power seemed to swing wildly back and forth between them; he wanted her naked, but she wanted to see him, too, and he'd found the restraint not to touch her and she was gonna have to find her own, or risk admitting defeat. He didn't stop, just kept right on going until he was completely naked, watching her the whole time, and there was something like a dare in his eyes, and she gave up, and glanced down, and saw his cock already hard and straining for her.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"Not yet," she answered breathlessly. She wasn't gonna be happy until his hands were on her, but she didn't want to have to ask.

Turned out, she didn't have to.

He reached for her then, his hands sliding around her hips beneath the open halves of her shirt. His fingers pressed, kneaded her gently for a moment, and then he snapped. Suddenly, fiercely, he moved, sank his mouth over the swell of her breast, one of his hands darting around to clutch at her bare ass while the other drove between her legs, his fingertips landing unerringly on her clit.

The second he touched her she cried out, her knees buckling as her hands flew to his shoulders, clung to him for dear life while the insistent, furious rubbing of his fingers tore an orgasm from her in damn near record time. Christ, that man, that mouth, those hands; he knew her, now, knew exactly what she liked, what she needed, how to give it to her, and he was relentless, and when she stopped keening she was shaking all over, coming back to her senses with her hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.

"How's that?" he murmured, pleased with himself.

"Asshole," she answered, and then she pushed his shoulders, urged him to fall back onto the couch, and when he did she ripped the shirt from her back, threw it and her bra somewhere over her shoulder and straddled him at once.

It was better like this. Belly to belly, her ass on his thighs, her nipples brushing against his chest, his cock caught between their bodies, heated breaths mingling as she leaned in close. Close, but not all the way; she kept her lips a fraction of an inch away from his, waiting for him. Waiting for him to close the distance, waiting for him to prove that he wanted her, waiting for him to take what he wanted. Tonight she wasn't interested in taking charge; she was on top but it was up to him what happened next.

With one hand he reached for her, tangled his fingers in her hair and tilted her head back to give him access to her throat, and he kissed her there, sucked her flesh between his teeth and worried a mark into her skin, and as he did she began to rock against him on instinct, dripping folds seeking some friction, some relief from the hot, hard length of his cock. Every time he kissed her like that it made her lose her mind and now was no different; all thoughts left her head, the rational voice that warned her against letting him leave a mark went blissfully silent, and all she did was feel.

He pulled her back down for a kiss, clutched at her ass, groaned when she slid against him, and it was good, shit it was good, was better than a long slow grinding kiss had ever been, but he wasn't exactly patient, and neither was she. When he'd drunk his fill of her he reached between them, wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, guided her in, and then she was sinking, slowly, slowly, taking him into her, and they both groaned aloud as he was finally sheathed within her.

Some of the fury, the speed of their passion had abated; when this started she'd thought it would be fast and hard but there was something about this position that made her want to take her time. Something about the way they held each other, the way they touched everywhere, the intimacy of it, the feeling like they weren't two separate people, anymore, but one tangle of arms and legs, one heart beating slowly in the darkness. He kissed her, a little, but it was hard to maintain that connection while they rocked together, and mostly they just panted into one another's mouths, swallowing the chorus of their cries.

I love you, she thought, grinding down against him while he thrust gently up into her, the thick stretching heat of him overwhelming her. I love you.

She wanted to say it; she could not say it. Couldn't spare the breath to speak, for one thing, but for another she remained, even now, too terrified to admit the effect he'd had on her. How completely he had overwhelmed her, how he'd shaken up her whole life, how she didn't know how she was ever gonna live without him. Love was an invitation for grief, she knew that, and she wasn't ready to open that door, but she loved him, just the same.

"Come on," he murmured, picking up the pace just a little. "Come on, baby. Wanna feel you come for me."

She wanted that, too, and they brought her over the edge together, their bodies writhing breathlessly around one another until she shattered, crying out her pleasure while the ecstasy of her clenching, clutching sex pulled him over the edge, and he spilled himself inside her with a groan.

It meant something, that she let him have her bare, that she let him come inside her. In another life she would've liked to have had a child; she'd wanted it in this one, but the cards had been stacked against her, and now it was too late. If things had been different, if she'd met him sooner, maybe…

Did he think about it, too? She wondered. He had kids of his own; would he have been so eager to take this risk if there was any chance she'd come up pregnant? What kind of father was he, really?

It wasn't like it mattered now, she supposed. He was adamant about not looking up his kids in this world, about not wanting to upend their lives, not wanting to confuse or hurt them, and it was too damn late for her.

"I been thinking," he murmured as she burrowed deeper into his embrace, buried her head in his shoulder while his hands smoothed up and down her back.

She hummed to let him know she was listening, and tried to banish the thought of babies and everything that could have been if only life were kinder.

'Liv's kid, Noah. He may be out there somewhere, Olivia. Back home he needed someone to take him in, and maybe…maybe he needs that here, too."

Slowly she raised her head, stared at him incredulously. Was he really thinking about another woman's child minutes after they fucked? But then she saw it, the heartbreak, the yearning in his eyes. What if, she wondered, what if he'd been thinking about babies, too? They couldn't make one of their own but maybe there was a kid out there, a kid who needed a home. Maybe they could give him one.

"Maybe we can find out," she said.

It would be the second most insane thing she'd ever done in her life, going on a hunt for that kid, trying to bring him home, considering, even for a second, raising him with Elliot. But the most insane thing she'd ever done was bring Elliot into her life, and that was working out pretty good for her so far. Playing it safe had left her sad and lonely; maybe a little crazy was just what she needed to guide her on her way to happiness.