The lights were out in the bedroom, but there was enough streetlight to illuminate the sweaty bodies in the room. The bedsheets were crumpled at the foot of the bed, the bedcover had fallen to the ground without anyone noticing and the warm blanket was forgotten halfway between bed and the floor.

He moved above her, his muscular body covering hers fully, her hands holding onto him, her nails digging into his skin and his nose buried against her neck with his lips lazily kissing her skin – possibly leaving behind a mark. The bedframe moved along with every thrust he made, the bedpost creaking like backing vocals to the moans escaping her lips.

His arm slipped between them to grab her left breast and squeeze, quite possibly leaving purple bruises for her to find in the morning as she is putting on her bra and covering the marks with a dark button-down shirt. These won't surely be the only marks for her to find though.

He has already written his name all over her body, there is an "E" hidden on the left side of her neck, "L" is engraved onto both of her breasts, "I" is on her abdomen just below her naval where her bulging belly pooch is, "O" lies just between her thighs where he is giving her another o with his incredible skills and "T" stands clearly at her lower back, where his palm is resting ever so often, when they are moving in the room together. There is writing almost like a tattoo with "Stabler" on her thigh just above where their skin makes slapping sounds as they meet. He'd written it there with his tongue so many times that she's lost count.

He is all sweaty and strong as muscular and moving so deliciously above her. Her hand slipped higher to run through his short brown hair. It felt like heaven. Maybe it is a sin, but how could it be bad, if it feels so good? How could something so heavenly be bad?

She feels the throbbing. She knows well enough what it means. Her thighs go around his waist and her ankles lock at his lower back. He breathes deeply into her neck, then moves his head to drop a sloppy kiss against her lips, and then another one. And then one just on her upper lip, he sucks that into his mouth and then releases it, he soothes her by kissing her lazily and running his tongue over her lips.

He groans loudly at the same time she moans at the feel of impending orgasm, his fingers are still playing with her left boob, molding it, shaping it enough that she'd be surprised if it wouldn't take the shape of his palm with each of his large digits permanently marking valleys into her skin.

And then it hit her. Her inner walls contracted around him and she screamed his name loud enough for her neighbors to hear, but she didn't care. He collapsed on top of her panting. Olivia felt like she could die right there and then, and it would be the best way to go.

But she didn't die. She kept on breathing.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. The room was quiet other than her labored breathing and a quiet buzz coming from under the blanket. He'd never been there. It was her hand on her left breast leaving her bruises and fingernail marks. It wasn't Elliot pushing her over the edge – he was, but only in her mind – it was the buzzing of her vibrator and her loyal dildo allowing her fantasies ride high.

Olivia took a deep breath and exhaled. She turned off the vibrator and placed her toys under the spare pillow in the bed. And just like that the room was quiet. Just like nothing had happened.

Some nights she wondered if he knew. If he was lying next to his pretty wife and feel a jolt in his body, when Olivia would scream his name into the empty bedroom while pleasure ran through her veins. She wondered if he'd ever thought about her while using his hand in the shower or when having sex with the perfect blonde wife. She could wonder, but she'd probably never find out.

**SVU**

"Liv, you okay?"

She snapped out from her thoughts. She met the same deep blue eyes looking at her with concern that she saw the night before. Shit. She had dreamt about last night again. Or the night before that. Or a night sometime a week or a month ago, she couldn't keep track. He had been there in her mind so many times, when she longed for a release.

"Liv?"

Olivia nodded quickly and offered him a smile.

If he only knew…

"You sure? You've been off all day."

Damn him for being so attentive.

"Sorry, it's just… It's nothing. I'll try to focus," she stammered. Focusing on work would be a lot easier if he wasn't sitting on his desk with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his muscled forearms on full display, she didn't need to see those blue eyes looking at her, the lips asking if she is alright, when the same lips had been kissing her, the arms holding her, the eyes savoring her. She couldn't stop imagining those things. She kept longing for their next escapade, their tryst.

"You can talk to me you know," Elliot offered.

No, I can't.

"Thanks," she said politely with a quick smile, knowing Elliot would never hear about those thoughts.

Olivia shifted on her chair, trying to remember what she had been doing before her mind drifted to all the things she and Elliot hadn't done last night in her apartment.

She brought the medical report on her screen and tried to focus on work.

This time it was the familiar guilt settling in her belly and making a home for itself on the left side of her ribcage, right next to her beating heart. It's not like she'd done anything wrong – not really. Nothing had ever happened between them. She's never touched him, he's never touched her. The engravings of his name exist only in her mind.

Every now and again there was a creeping thought in her head wondering if her name was perhaps engraved into his skin as well. If there is an "O" on his ribcage above his heart, "L" on his bicep next to his tattoo, "I" traced on the lines of his sixpack, "V" at his hips, where his abs ducked into his boxer briefs, another "I" at his pelvis, where his penis stood up high and "A" at his upper back where her nails would dig into his skin.

She wondered if he thought about her the same way she thought about him.

Suppose she'll never find out as long as he remains sitting at a desk opposite to her with the golden band on his fourth finger.

Yet she felt guilty. She'd heard the rumors surrounding them since their first year of partnership. It's been a decade since. They call her adulterer behind her back. Some send her looks, when she strides down the parking lot with him. Others roll their eyes, when he places a cup of coffee on her desk, which he got from a place he found close to her place during one 5am call for work, and he's been visiting it ever since to bring her the best, even if it means a detour and leaving the house 20 minutes earlier. People were talking. Let them talk. There was no truth to any of it. She hadn't done anything wrong. She wasn't the woman to destroy her partner's marriage. No matter how badly she wished she could have him.

And maybe in another world she was a sinner. Perhaps in the world Margaret Atwood or George Orwell created, perhaps in the world of handmaids or in the world of Big Brother she would be arrested for a thought crime or for falling in love. But despite Munch trying to convince everyone Big Brother was real, he wasn't quite as real – maybe in some respects, but not the way Orwell wrote. Yet, this wasn't the world of authoritarian dictatorship, this wasn't Gilead or 1984, and Olivia only had to answer to her God. Luckily her God was quite forgiving and the thoughtcrimes were not worth a punishment.

Her eyes snapped back to the screen. Their victim had a hickey below her ear. Elliot had given her a hickey at the same spot, of course it wasn't for everybody to see since it was imaginary, but she still felt it.

Elliot sighed loudly. Olivia popped her head to the side to look at him. She was starting to feel uncomfortable at the sight of him, and not knowing how being with him would feel like. She was suddenly very grateful her body didn't give her away.

"Yeah?" she prompted.

Elliot shook his head. He closed his eyes.

"You are not alone in this," he whispered, while looking around to see if Fin or Munch were paying any attention, but Fin was busy typing and Munch was nowhere to be found.

Olivia furrowed her brows. What was he talking about? Could he know…?

"I can't… I need… I need…" he said uncomfortably and pointed his chin at the direction where the locker room was.

He got up from his desk and walked away with purpose. Olivia resisted, until she couldn't resist anymore and looked back at him to catch a glimpse of his perfect ass. It just happened that he turned his head back and caught her red-handed. She was so busted.

Elliot smirked.

Of all the things he could've done – he smirked. And to make matters worse he pointed towards the dressing room and showers with his head, added extra swing to his steps and then he disappeared around the corner.

Was that an invitation to follow him? Did he know?

What should she do?

She wanted to run after him. She wanted to run into him and finally touch his skin in the way she did in her imagination. She wanted to feel everything. She wanted to cry. She wanted to have that illicit affair. She wanted to run in the opposite direction.

Olivia glanced back at the direction he had gone.

Who was she fooling… She'd choose him. She'd always choose him.

Would choosing him mean following Elliot and committing the sins she had been dreaming of for real or would that mean not giving in to the temptation and choosing his marriage? That only if Elliot was really inviting her. If he was having the same sinful thoughts.

"Olivia!"

She looked up to see her captain standing in the doorway to his office.

"The hospital called, your vic is awake."

Oh well, guess this settles it.

"Yes, Cap."

She stood up, grabbed her gear and went to look for him.

They had work to do.

She'd choose him and her. She'd choose Benson and Stabler. She'd choose Olivia and Elliot. She'd always choose them over everything. She'd choose them even if they were no longer working together. Even if they were no longer in each other's lives. She'd always choose them. Religiously.