A/N: This was inspired by last week's episode - Velasco's face when he describes the video as "graphic", and Olivia's face when she sees it. Just a little bit of fun, not to be taken too seriously.
When she arrived the bickering had already begun.
They're like teenagers, she thought, a little fond, a little frustrated, watching her three junior detectives wrangling with one another while Fin and Curry kept their own counsel on the sidelines. Really, Curry was the senior officer and should've been maintaining order while Olivia was meeting with the brass, but Curry appeared to be in no particular hurry to intervene in the heated argument taking place right in front of her. Judging by the look on her face, she might actually have been enjoying it.
"I'll go," Bruno was saying, "I got a rapport with the vic -"
"A rapport," Velasco repeated cuttingly. "Just 'cause she remembers your name you think you got a rapport-"
"I'll go, because you two meatheads are gonna scare the shit out of her, she needs to speak to a woman -"
Olivia could feel a headache forming behind her eyes; listening to those three talking over one another had quickly lost its appeal.
"You gonna do something here, Sergeant?" she murmured to Fin as she approached.
"They gotta learn to work together," Fin deadpanned in response.
She'd have expected nothing less from him.
"Ok!" she said sharply, stepping between Bruno and Silva, holding up her hands in a silent demand for quiet. "What's the problem here?"
"The problem is there's over a hundred hours worth of footage," Bruno said, pointing to the laptop on the desk beside him. The laptop with the giant EVIDENCE sticker on the back of it. The laptop they'd confiscated from their dead guy's apartment. The laptop where the dead guy stored all of his homemade sex tapes. The sex tapes that might or might not include footage of their vic, the living, breathing girl who claimed the deceased had raped her before the guy turned up dead under mysterious circumstances.
This just keeps getting better and better.
"Ok, so break it down," Olivia said. "We just need to know if she's on any of the tapes, ask her -"
"We don't have a time frame and the footage isn't labeled," Velasco said.
"Ok, so get a couple unis on it -"
"Chief is cutting down on overtime and everybody's spoken for today," Bruno supplied helpfully.
"Ok, so you guys take it in teams -"
"Me and Bruno are both due in court today and someone has to go interview the vic." It was Fin's turn to throw up a roadblock, and Olivia resented him for it, just a little.
"And really there should be two of us on that call -" Curry was right about that, too, and that left them with very few options.
"So, that just leaves one of you," Olivia sighed.
"Yeah. And we don't have a hundred hours, Cap."
A hundred hours of videos was more than 4 solid days, and the clock was ticking. The vic was making noises about going home to Canada and if she did she'd take the case with her when she left.
But they didn't have to watch all of the footage, right?
"You can fast forward, we're just looking for one face -"
"Still, though."
Bruno was right. Even on fast forward they couldn't afford to go too fast; they needed to mark every face that appeared on those tapes. Needed to know if their vic was among them, needed to know if any of the other witnesses and friends of the deceased they'd interviewed were in there, too. Someone had killed this guy, and every person who had unwittingly played a role in his homemade porn was a potential victim, and a potential suspect.
Olivia had to make a choice.
"Ok," she said. "Curry, you take Silva, do the interview. Me and Velasco will make a start on the tapes."
Velasco didn't look too happy about that - he always got a little gun shy when it came to things like this, to footage and photographs of people in…compromising positions - but he was gonna have to get over his discomfort. It was all part of the job.
She sent Velasco home around 9:00. He was looking a little green around the gills, and she figured he'd endured enough torture for one day.
The tapes were shockingly good quality. When she thought about home movies like this, it was always grainy black and white footage or VHS tapes she remembered from the '90s, odd angles and bad lighting, but apparently their Casanova had been something of an aficionado. There were multiple cameras set up in his bedroom, all recording in high definition, and he edited some of them himself. Set them to music and everything. She'd muted the videos and was running them as fast as she dared, but still. She could see everything, and at first that had been a little…not titillating, not arousing, but distressing, almost. The scenes unfolding on the laptop in front of her were meant to be private; it looked like most of their guy's playmates hadn't even known they were being filmed - they weren't playing to the cameras or anything - looked like they'd never consented to strangers watching them in their most vulnerable moments, and yet there Olivia sat, watching. Taking fucking notes.
Around 10:00 pm someone knocked on the door of her office, and she looked up from her work to find Elliot leaning in the doorway, two takeaway coffees in his hands and a gentle smile on his face.
It still caught her off guard, sometimes, the fact that he was here. That he was alive, and well, and right here in the city, that he could come by to see her any time he wanted. That he wanted to see her. She hadn't expected to see him, but the surprise was welcome. It was nice to be reminded that she wasn't alone, anymore.
"Hey," she said warmly, pausing the tape so she could focus on the welcome sight of his face.
"Hey," he answered. "You said you were working late tonight and I was in the neighborhood."
They texted sometimes, now. Talked about their days or their kids. Caught up, here and there, between cases and crises. Earlier in the night he'd sent her a message, asked did you have a good day, and she'd told him the truth, told him she was chained to her desk and would be for the foreseeable future. That was just something they did, now. They talked.
She liked it.
"Your office is in Brooklyn and you live in Long Island City but you were in the neighborhood," she teased him, leaning back in her chair and watching him fondly as he stepped deeper into her office.
"I was!" he insisted, grinning because they both knew he wasn't; his presence here was no happy accident. He'd done it on purpose.
She liked that, too.
"That's a lot of neighborhood, my friend," she said, remembering a morning a lifetime ago, his heavy bulk comfortable in her space, a glass of orange juice that touched both their lips, the closest they'd ever come to a kiss.
The closest they'd come so far.
"I brought you coffee," he said, joining her behind the desk and passing a cup off to her.
"Whatcha doing?" he added, eyeing the laptop suspiciously. The laptop with the fullscreen video paused at the precise moment her dead guy, naked and fully aroused, stood beside the bed with his lover crawling towards him intent on reaching his cock.
"What's it look like?" she answered dryly. "Combing through a hundred hours of homemade porn looking for a needle in a haystack."
"I'd say that's a little bit more than a needle," Elliot said, shooting her a teasing glance.
That was something they did now, too. They sat together in her office and teased one another. Like old times, she thought; it was like the old times, the laughter, the smiles, their easy back-and-forth, but it was nothing like the old times, really, because now when Elliot sat beside her like this, his thigh brushing her forearm, his blue eyes twinkling down at her, she could enjoy the closeness of him without an ounce of guilt. She could want him now; there was no reason not to.
And he was right, with his sly comments about the guy's dick; the bastard was a creep, a perv, a rapist, probably, and he was fucking hung.
"You know we busted this cosmetic surgeon a few weeks back," Olivia told him, leaning back in her chair with both her hands wrapped around the coffee he'd brought her. "Apparently the big thing now is procedures to enlarge…the male organ."
"Penis enhancements," Elliot said. He always got straight to the point.
"Yeah." For the low low price of $30,000.00 a cosmetic surgeon could pump god only knew what into a guy's dick to make it bigger. What a world.
"They make it longer, or…" He actually sounded curious about it. Was it just idle curiosity, she wondered, or would he pump up his own dick, given the chance? How big was it, anyway?
Stop it, she told herself firmly. They were texting now, talking now, and Elliot could drop by with a coffee whenever he wanted, but their relationship wasn't there yet. Might not ever be. Just the thought of Elliot naked made her hands start to shake. Now was not the time to let herself get distracted; she forced her mind back to the topic at hand.
"They can, or they can…increase the girth. Anyway, this guy, this surgeon, he was taking it too far. Pushing beyond the acceptable limits. I guess he wanted to see how far he could go and he didn't really care if his patients consented or not."
And the squad had a hell of a time deciding what to charge him with.
"How far did he get?"
"Farther than that," Olivia said darkly. It wasn't something she was gonna forget anytime soon; the entire squad room had been plastered with photos of Frankenstein dicks for days. Bruno still hadn't recovered.
"Yikes," Elliot said, wincing in solidarity. He looked away, maybe racking his brain in search of a safer topic of conversation, but his eyes landed once more on the laptop.
"Do you think it's real?" he asked, cocking his head to the side as he studied the image in front of them.
"I mean, who knows anymore, you know? People have fake lips, fake butts -"
"Fake penises."
"Yeah," she agreed. "But that? I think that's real."
It wasn't like she could actually tell. During the doctor dick case she'd looked at hundreds of photos of modified penises, and the truth was they looked exactly the same as the natural ones. When the procedure was done well, there was no difference at all. Still, though, something in her gut told her what she was looking at was a bonafide monster dick. If nothing else, the guy didn't exactly have thirty grand in cash lying around according to his bank statements.
Elliot hummed in a way that let her know he didn't believe her.
"Why, you jealous?" she asked, grinning.
"You asking for a side by side comparison?" he fired back without hesitation, and just like that the easy camaraderie between them vanished, replaced by a sudden, unbearable tension. It came crashing in on her all at once; they were alone, late at night, behind a closed door, and all she had to do was stretch out her arm, and she'd be able to touch his dick herself. They were that close, and there was an unfamiliar heat in his gaze, and she could hardly breathe, looking at him.
It wouldn't take much. If he leaned forward, brushed the hair back from her face; if he pulled her to her feet, drew her in between his knees; if he reached for her now, she might let him. If he tried to kiss her, would this be the night she said yes? She'd been saying no for so long now, not because she didn't want him, but because she feared she wanted him too much. In her heart she knew they could not, would not stop at just one kiss; if she finally felt the warmth of his mouth after decades of denial and doubt, she would not be able to stop until she had all of him, until he was inside her, and she didn't think he'd stop, either.
One kiss now, in this fragile, heated moment, and she might know exactly how big his dick was before the night was through.
"Sorry," she said, retreating further into her chair. "Was that awkward?"
His face fell, just a little, something like disappointment coloring his expression. Was he enjoying it, she wondered, their endless tantalizing dance right on the brink of ruin; did he want to push her buttons, force them both from the ledge? Was he tired of waiting?
"No," he said."It's fine." And then he added, "I mean it's not like this is the first time we've watched porn together."
No, not it was not.
"You realize how bizarre that statement would sound to anyone else," she said wryly. It had been decades since she'd dated anyone who wasn't a cop or a lawyer; it always seemed like more trouble than it was worth, explaining the realities of her job to a civilian.
She wouldn't have to explain anything to Elliot. He knew it all already.
"There's a lot of shit we've seen that would sound bizarre to someone else," he said. "So what are you looking for?"
She told him, told him about the dead guy and the battered girl, and the endless hours of tapes.
"You want some help?" he offered when her tale was through.
It wasn't like she needed it. The tapes were clear, Elliot wasn't going to see anything she wouldn't have seen herself. He was off the clock, and SVU wasn't his squad anymore. But she wanted him to stay. She wanted him to sit beside her. She wanted him to tease her a little more. She didn't want to be alone.
She wanted to be with him.
"Yeah," she said. "That'd be good."
"You think this guy was getting tested?" he asked as they watched the newest woman join the parade.
Olivia had lost track of how many girls she'd seen today. She'd taken notes on all of them, appearance, distinguishing marks, that sort of thing, had done it knowing she couldn't trust her memory after so many hours of this, but she'd have to read the notes back over to come up with a number. Too many, that's how many women this guy had brought into his home studio. Too fucking many.
"Maybe," she said, "but I doubt it. He's…cocky."
Maybe not the word she should've used to describe the guy; her eyes shot over to Elliot on reflex, wondering.
"The ME ran a panel and he didn't come up positive for anything. Maybe he's just lucky. The worst ones always are."
"I can't believe none of these girls made him wear a condom."
"We see it all the time," she said sadly. "Some of these guys, it's almost like a fetish. Some of the girls, too. But it's the guys, mostly. Every time they talk a girl into letting them go bare they feel like they've won something. The risk is a bonus, for them."
And Olivia hadn't had sex without a condom in years, not since Ed. Really she hadn't had sex in years, period - there was one night with Trevor what, two, three years ago? But nothing since then - and the reminder of the long period of her abstinence made her shift uncomfortably in her seat. It wasn't intentional, really, wasn't like she'd made a conscious decision to stop dating, it had just sort of happened. She was hesitant, after Ed, hesitant to make another big commitment, hesitant to find herself tangled up with another man who had forever on his mind, but if she was being honest it wasn't her own fears that kept her going to bed alone every night.
She wasn't dating; she was waiting.
It was Elliot. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Elliot came home, and she stopped going out. In the years since his return she'd gone to bed with Trevor once, and had not so much as shared a drink with another man. It wasn't like she and Elliot were dating, or anywhere close to dating, wasn't even that she really thought they might be any time soon; it was just that in many ways she felt as if the world had stopped turning the day Elliot came home.
That relationship, whatever it was, didn't leave room for anything else.
It was true twenty years ago, and true now. Even during the long months they went without speaking, even when she was pissed at him, even when he was undercover and she had no way to reach him, Elliot had once more slipped between the cracks of her heart, and filled up every inch of it with himself. Any interest she might have had in anyone else vanished, not because she was sitting around daydreaming about him, not anything so tangible and easy to explain as that, but because the possibility of him remained more tantalizing than the reality of any other man.
And now he was sitting beside her, their knees knocking together while they talked about condoms and watched a pretty girl on the screen crying out in apparent ecstasy while the well-endowed dead guy plowed into her from behind.
It wasn't particularly romantic, but Olivia had always been fond of that position herself. She liked it, liked feeling the power in her partner's body as he moved so deep inside her, liked fisting her hands in the bedsheets and arching her back for him, liked the passion and the primal nature of it.
Elliot was probably more of a missionary guy. She knew him well enough to know that he'd want to look into his partner's eyes while he fucked her.
That he'd want to look into her eyes.
And she wouldn't make him wear a condom.
"I always hated the damn things," Elliot mused, shifting a little in his seat.
"Yeah, we know, mister I've-got-five-kids-at-home."
He shot her a consternated look.
"I was married," he said, and she really, really wished he hadn't, because they'd been having such a nice time, and he'd just gone and reminded her of Kathy, reminded her of all the reasons why she'd never touched him before, all the reasons why she was maybe never gonna.
"I know," she said softly. He'd been married, had trusted his wife, loved his wife, had faith that any children God saw fit to grant them would be a blessing. Even the child he and his wife had never really wanted, he saw that boy as a blessing. He was probably right about that. He'd told her once that he and Kathy were happy in Rome; Eli brought his parents back together, and they'd been happy, so long as they were thousands of miles away from Olivia.
On the screen the guy finished inside his partner, his hips stuttering against her ass while he threw his head back, groaning, probably, from sheer relief, though Olivia had kept the sound off and spared them both having to listen to it.
"I just wish these girls were more careful," Elliot said, his gaze reproachful as he stared at the post-coital lovers. "I can't believe she let him do that."
"Maybe she likes the way it feels," Olivia mused.
Olivia liked it. Olivia missed it, having a partner she trusted that much, a partner she could share that intimacy with. It had just been so long, and there in the darkness she ached for it, for the warmth of another body beside her, for strong arms to hold her, for trust and faith and love. It had just been so long since she'd been loved.
Elliot watched her speculatively, but did not say a word; he remained still and silent while Olivia started up the next video, the weight of his gaze heavy on her shoulders.
I'm getting too old for this shit, he thought as he came marching through the doors at OCCB the next morning. He and Liv had been up until after 2:00, watching those damn tapes, for all the good it did them. She'd seen no sign of her girl, and she hadn't let him drive her home after.
It had been fun, though. Fun in a weird way that he was pretty sure he'd never be able to explain to anyone else. Those quiet hours, stolen in the middle of the night, just the two of them alone, laughing and talking and drinking cold coffee, had been fun, because for once the weight of the world didn't seem to rest on their shoulders. Liv wanted to solve her case but no one was in immediate danger, and she'd smiled at him, joked with him, relaxed with him in a way she'd only really started to do in the last few months. Things between them were comfortable, easy, and a few hours spent in her company were worth the missed sleep.
The team was in the middle of a lively discussion when he joined them on the floor; Bobby's eyes lit up when he caught sight of Elliot.
"Finally," he said. "We need your opinion on something."
"Can I take my jacket off first?" Elliot grumbled.
"It's fine, Bobby's just being a prude," Jet said.
Nothing new there, Elliot thought. Honestly, it still surprised him that Bobby had cheated on his wife; he'd never really thought the guy had it in him.
"Jet's just being weird," Bobby fired back.
Of course she is, Elliot thought. She's Jet.
"Stabler, do you think it's weird for friends to watch porn together?" Bobby asked.
Christ. There wasn't enough coffee in the world to prepare him for that conversation.
"Can I get a little context, please?" he asked plaintively.
"I can't believe we have to keep watching that shit today," Velasco was saying as Olivia made her way into the bullpen. "I've already seen too much."
"It's just gross," Silva agreed, wrinkling her nose. "Like how long can you watch two strangers going at it before you just snap, right?"
"Rule number two, Detective Silva," Olivia butted into their conversation smoothly. "Leave your disgust at the door."
Rule number one was, and always had been, you don't get to pick the vic, and rule number two went hand-in-hand with it. Disgust had no place in the halls of SVU; it wasn't up to the detectives to judge the people who'd come to them for help.
"You don't think it's disgusting, Cap?" Silva asked. She was a hard case, that one, tough and closed off. She still talked more like Homicide than SVU. She was gonna have to learn.
"I think it's disgusting that some of those women might have been filmed without their consent," Olivia allowed, "but it's not up to me to judge what they were doing when they thought they were alone. Sex means different things to different people and your personal definition doesn't matter here. We meet people where they are, and we don't judge."
Most of the time. It wasn't like Olivia was perfect, or anything; she'd done plenty of judging, over the years. But time and experience had tempered her reactions, and she liked to think she was more open, more compassionate, more understanding now than she had been when she was Silva's age. She'll get there, Olivia thought.
"You ever do anything like that, Cap?"
"What?" she spun around, horrified at the very suggestion, and found Bruno grinning at her, light-hearted and teasing.
"Make a little movie," he said.
You trying to get yourself shipped off to a sexual harassment seminar?"
He held his hands up in defeat and she looked away. No, she'd never taped herself; never wanted to, or always been afraid to, or really a little of both. What difference did it make now, though? It wasn't like she planned to film herself doing that. At her age, after all the things she'd seen, knowing how easily footage like that could be leaked, manipulated. She'd have to really, really trust the man she was with. Trust him more than anybody.
"How much footage is left, Cap?" Velasco asked.
"There were still about twenty hours to go when we left last night," she said, already turning away, but Fin had been listening all the while, and he'd just heard something that interested him, very much.
"Thought you sent Velasco home at 9, Liv," Fin called to her, and she paused, looked back at him in confusion.
"I did," she said slowly, not entirely understanding the point of his not-quite question.
"You said we, though. When we left. If you stayed here alone after Velsco left…"
He left it hanging, the unspoken question hovering in the air. Everyone was staring at her, Velsco, Bruno, Silva, Curry, Fin, and to her horror she felt a blush rising up her neck.
There was no point in lying. Fin had access to the security cams; if he got really curious he'd just pull the tapes. Hell, any one of 'em could ask the unis or the night desk sergeant. It was impossible to keep a secret in a place like this, and besides, it wasn't like she'd done anything wrong last night. It was just two old friends, catching up, working a case, just like the old days.
"Stabler helped me go through some of the videos," she confessed.
A sound that was almost a laugh bubbled up out of Fin's mouth before he could stop it, and Curry's eyes went wide in confusion. Bruno grinned, and Velasco just stared at her like he hadn't understood a single word she'd said.
"Who's Stabler?" Silva asked, looking at the faces of the squad around here in various stages of smugness and disbelief.
"Don't ask," Fin and Velasco said together.
"In what possible context is it not weird to watch porn with a friend?" Bobby asked.
And Elliot was just tired enough, just distracted enough, just charmed enough, still, by the hours he'd spent with Olivia last night, that he told the truth.
"Well, me and Liv watched about eight hours worth of homemade porn last night for a case," he said. They'd been running through it double time, just trying to clock the faces, speaking to one another softly, both of them desperately trying not to react to the visuals on the laptop's tiny screen, for hours, and it was the most fun he'd had in months.
"See?" Jet crowed, triumphant, but Bobby just shook his head.
"You kinda just proved my point, man," he said.
"What point?" Ayanna chose that moment to appear, with Vargas in tow.
"That it's weird to watch porn with a friend," Bobby explained.
"This is the shit you talk about when I'm not here?" she said, raising an eyebrow at Elliot. "I thought you were professionals."
"It's just for fun," Jet said brightly. "We just wanted to see who Stabler agreed with."
"Who did Stabler agree with?" Ayanna might've wanted to keep things professional, but she was only human, after all, and among friends.
"Bobby thinks it's weird to watch porn with a friend. And Stabler says it's not, because he was watching porn with Captain Benson last night," Jet explained, and Elliot groaned. She couldn't have made that sound more salacious if she tried.
"You were what -"
"It was for a case, Ayanna. It's not like it's the first time -"
"Ooooh," Bobby and Jet chorused together.
"Yeah, I don't think that counts," Ayanna mused. "It wasn't like a fun time between friends, you were helping Captain Benson for work."
"And she's my friend -"
"Ha!" the peanut gallery sounded once more, and Elliot shot the pair of them a baleful look.
"Who's Captain Benson?" Vargas asked.
"Shut up, Vargas," Ayanna and Elliot said at precisely the same time.
"So, you and Detective Stabler were here watching homemade sex tapes all night," Curry said, fighting hard not to let her smile overtake her entire face.
"Not all night," Olivia protested with as much stern authority as she could muster, which in truth was very little. "Detective Stabler is a decorated officer and a former member of this unit. He's a professional, and he was helping me in a professional capacity." The more she talked the less believable her excuses sounded, even to her own ears. "Besides, it's not like it's the first time -"
"Oh? How many times have you had to watch porn at work, Cap?"
"You like your job, Bruno? You wanna keep it?"
That shut him up, but it didn't wipe the grin off his face.
"I still feel a little guilty, Cap," Velasco confessed. "Nobody was supposed to see that footage."
"The point is," Olivia said firmly, trying to get the squad back on track, "we're doing this for work. This is our job. Watching those tapes is not about…arousal -"
"Oh my god," Velasco groaned softly, but Olivia carried on resolutely.
"It's work. And we're all grownups, and we all have a job to do, so let's just…do our jobs, ok?"
"Yes, Captain," Bruno said, offering a mock salute. The smug little prick.
She turned her back on all of them and marched into her office as quickly as she could, though not quickly enough to miss Silva quietly asking once more who's Stabler?
"Liv is my friend," Elliot insisted, "and there's nothing weird about -"
"She's not really your friend, though," Bobby said quietly.
"Of course she is." What the hell was Bobby talking about? Olivia was Elliot's oldest friend, his best friend, still and always. There was no one better, no one he trusted more -
"All right, come on, leave Stabler alone -" God bless Ayanna, Elliot thought, for trying to help.
The kids weren't done teasing him yet, though.
"We were talking about watching porn with a friend," Bobby said. "Not with somebody you…"
His voice trailed off as he gave Elliot a meaningful look. It wasn't hard to fill in the blanks, and Elliot couldn't help feeling offended by the implication. Just because he loved Olivia, just because he wanted to hold her hand, just because he wanted to kiss her, very much, that meant she wasn't his friend? What was wrong with these kids?
"Oh, does Stabler have a crush?" Vargas asked, undaunted by the communal lashing he'd so recently received.
"That's putting it mildly," Jet murmured.
"Captain Benson is a friend to this entire unit and I don't think we should be talking about her this way. Come on, everybody, back to work."
That put an end to the public embarrassment for now, but Elliot's thoughts continued to churn as he plopped himself down at his desk and sank into a brooding silence.
The thing was, the kids were kinda right. It was different last night, with Liv. They'd done it all before, seen it all before; he shouldn't have felt anything but professional concern while he watched those tapes with her, and yet. Something had stirred in him, sitting next to her, so close their knees were brushing, so close he caught a whiff of her perfume everytime she turned his way. Watching those people in a dizzying array of increasingly acrobatic positions, naked bodies writhing together, the expressions of ecstasy on their faces, the debauchery of the acts somehow heightened by the silence, with her, left him with a racing heart and a half-hard cock. He just kept wondering about Liv. About what she was thinking, about how she was reacting to the scenes playing out in front of them.
Did it turn her on? Any of it; was any of it the kind of sex she liked to have? Did she like it on her back, on her belly, on her knees; did she like it when a man pulled her hair, slapped her ass, called her baby? Would she like it if he did it, and was he ever gonna know? He'd slunk back home hoping for a few stolen hours' sleep but all he'd managed to do was toss and turn in his bed, thinking of the soft weight of Olivia beside him, the warmth of her cheek when she nuzzled against him in her kitchen. I want to, she'd said, I want to. She wanted him to kiss her, to hold her, to love her, but he didn't know how. Didn't know how she wanted him to love her, and didn't know how he was ever gonna find out, so long as she kept him at this maddening distance.
It was going to be an unbearable day.
There was no other way to put it; she'd been wet all damn day. Slick and hot between her thighs, distracted by the insistent pull of her body, reminding her that she was not a machine, that she was only human, flesh and blood, and capable of want. There was something - someone - she wanted, and she was pretty sure she could have it. Pretty sure all she'd have to do was ask. Pretty sure it would take no coaxing at all, really; she was pretty sure if she called him right now he'd come to her in the middle of the work day.
But it wouldn't be just sex, with him. It was never about sex - never just about sex - never just about physical need and lightning bolt attraction. Not with him, not with her. If it was just sex she'd have fucked him years ago and got it out of her system, but the ties that bound the pair of them together were far more delicate, and far more complex.
Sex changed things. In her experience, sex changed things, even when she didn't want it to. That wasn't always a problem; things with Trevor changed, after the first time they had sex, but what changed was they both softened towards one another - just a little - and he became someone she could call when she needed help, when a vic needed help. He smiled at her more, and hadn't defended a scumbag rapist in over a decade. Things with Brian changed, too, and that was a problem, at least in the beginning. He wanted more and she wanted less and they couldn't work together anymore. It was easier, the second time around; the first time, sex had endangered both their jobs. She spent months trying to pretend she wasn't half in love with David Haden and after the first time they slept together she was head over heels for him.
Something always changed. The question was, what would it be this time?
If she had sex with Elliot, what would change? She couldn't imagine sleeping with him once and regretting it the morning after, the way she'd done with Brian. She couldn't imagine sleeping with him once and not speaking to him for two years afterward, the way she'd done with Trevor. No, she was pretty sure one taste of him would not be enough; she was pretty sure if she fucked him once she was gonna want to do it again.
But what if it wasn't any good? What if they were too nervous, what if they'd spent too long being friends to feel fully comfortable lying naked next to one another? His hands had been stained with her blood, and hers with his, but what would happen when those hands touched bare skin unmarred by violence? What if they weren't compatible, really; what if her good Catholic boy disappointed her?
She didn't really think he would. Those heavy muscles, those piercing blue eyes, the way he growled her name; no, she didn't think he'd be a disappointment.
But what if she disappointed him? She wasn't as young as she once had been, wasn't the girl he remembered from so many years ago. What if he finally got her naked, only to discover he didn't like what he saw? What if the things she wanted disgusted him? What if didn't work?
He'd sat beside her last night, though, saw her tired and unglamourous at the end of a long and trying day, and he'd looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.
Looked at her like he wanted to bend her over her desk.
The desk she was currently trapped behind, still watching endless hours of homemade porn.
It was going to be an unbearable day.
Did you have a good day?
The text came in around 9:00, while Olivia was lying up to her chin in a lavender scented bubble bath. She dried her hand on a towel and hovered her thumb over the keys, contemplating her response.
Had it been a good day? There was really no way to answer that question. No one had died, and though she'd spent several more hours watching the tapes she'd seen no sign of their victim. The girl was likely to leave, and Olivia saw no reason to make her stay. After another long day of hitting the pavement the squad was fairly confident their victim wasn't their killer, and thanks to the tapes they had a dozen different avenues to pursue. The work of identifying each woman on the tapes was going to take some time, though, and there was no guarantee they'd ever find what they were looking for. It felt like such a waste of time, the whole fucking operation - to tell the truth, Olivia wasn't sure she really did want to find the guy's killer; privately she thought he might have gotten exactly what he deserved - but then again it didn't, because this case had provided her the opportunity to spend a little more time with Elliot, had given her reason to think, long and hard, about what she was doing, and what she wanted.
It was fine, she texted back slowly. Finished the tapes. No joy.
That's too bad, he answered almost at once.
That was all he said, though, just that's too bad, and Olivia sat for a moment with her thumb hovering the screen, trying to decide how to answer him.
Come over, that's what she wanted to say. Noah was fast asleep and she was warm and clean in the bath, and she wanted, very much, to sit with Elliot again. No videos to watch this time, no work to color their interactions, just the two of them, together, in the dark. She wanted him with her. Always.
You want a drink? Elliot texted her back before she'd had a chance to come up with anything even remotely acceptable to say, and she breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that he'd spared her the embarrassment of asking the question herself.
Yes, she answered. But can you come over here? Noah's already in bed.
I'll bring the beer.
She smiled, and rose slowly out of the bath. Maybe this day wouldn't be such a waste, after all.
Remember the plan, that's what he kept telling himself. He'd come to Olivia's tonight with a six pack and a plan, and he did not want to let his residual doubts get in the way of what could be one of the most important nights of his entire life.
The thing about a detente like theirs was that someone had to break first. If they continued down this path, carried on exactly as they had been for the last three years, nothing was ever going to change. Someone had to blink; someone had to move. It would be nice if they moved together, but he knew that Liv was nervous, apprehensive about the whole thing, knew that she was uncertain, and so he knew that he would have to be the one. He would have to be the one to reach for her, to move them both forward. If he kept waiting for her he might be waiting for the rest of his life.
And that would've been ok with him; he'd have waited for her forever, if that was what she needed, but he didn't think it was, not really. When he'd asked her for a drink tonight she'd asked him to come over without hesitation; the last time they were alone in her apartment she'd told him I want to. Last night, with her, in the dark, the way she looked at him, leaned into him, seemed to him to be an invitation. She didn't want to wait forever, he thought; she just needed a little encouragement. A reason to believe him, a reason to trust that they could be together.
He was gonna give it to her.
The plan was simple; he had a six pack under his arm and a belly full of want, and he was going to give them both to her. Was gonna be bold, and confident. Would touch her, just a little; a hand on her arm, the small of her back, the simplest, most chaste of connections reminding her how electric it felt every time they were together. He'd open his arms to her and let her know that she was safe with him, and when they were through with their beers and she sent him home he was gonna kiss her. This time, he was gonna kiss her. He wasn't gonna lose his nerve; he was gonna do it. A kiss to the cheek, that's all he wanted; all he wanted was to make a start. It would be enough, he thought. Enough to let her know that he did want her, that his heart was open and waiting for her. Enough, maybe, for her to let go of her restraint, and fall. Even if it went no further than that one kiss tonight, it would be enough. It would be a beginning.
But then she opened the door, and all thoughts of careful wooing flew out the goddamn window.
She was just so fucking pretty.
No makeup, skin dewy and soft, smelling faintly of lavender as if she'd just stepped from the bath, her hair falling loose and soft in heavy waves around her perfect face. She smiled when she saw him, soft wrinkles crinkling up at the corners of her dark eyes, her warm mouth, all the places where he longed to kiss her. Her clothes were casual and unremarkable; an oversized sweater, black leggings, bare feet, but what she hid beneath them was remarkable. The weight of her breast, the curve of her hip, the smooth expanse of her collarbone bared to his hungry gaze; she was a vision, truly, beautiful, the most beautiful.
He was probably a little biased.
"Hey," she said, holding the door open for him.
"Hey," he answered, stepping inside.
When she closed the door behind him she drew up close to him, and his head turned towards her on instinct, chasing the sight of her, the gentle scent of her, desperate to be close to her.
"I brought beer," he said.
Christ, that was lame.
"Good," she answered, smiling. "Let's open it up."
"They didn't," she breathed in something akin to horror, though her eyes were sparkling with mischief.
"They did," he confirmed, grinning. "Ambushed me the second I walked in the door."
The pair of them were arranged comfortably on her sofa, each of them leaning against their respective arm rests, their bodies angled toward one another but too much space between them for his liking. If his plan was gonna work, he'd need to get closer to her. Shit, he wanted to be closer to her. Wanted to spread her thighs and settle himself between them right there on the sofa. Wanted to -
"What did you say?"
"I said it depends on context," he answered. "And I told them you and I were watching porn just last night."
"Oh my god," she said incredulously. "You didn't."
"I did," he said. "I was too tired to lie."
"They're gonna think we're deviants -"
"Nah, I told 'em it was for work."
"Oh."
Why did she sound disappointed by that?
"But anyway, Reyes said it didn't count. Me and you, I mean."
"What does that mean, it didn't count?"
And just like that he found it, the perfect opening, the opportunity he'd been waiting for. One single, golden moment when he could lay his heart bare, and invite her inside.
"He said we're not really friends," Elliot explained. "Or, not just friends."
"Aren't we?" Olivia asked, eyes big and wide and just a little bit scared. "Friends, I mean."
"We are," Elliot agreed. "We are friends. But, Liv…we're not just friends."
There. He'd said it. Tossed the hand grenade out into the open, and now all he could do was wait to see what happened when it exploded.
"What are we, then?"
"You tell me, partner."
Partners, that's what they were. Friends, too, certainly, but partners first and foremost. Lovers, maybe; lovers who'd never fucked but who loved, still. Loved deep, loved true, loved, always.
For a second she was quiet, staring moodily at her beer, resolutely refusing to meet his gaze, and though he longed to break that silence, to shout out the truth he carried within his heart, to urge her forward, he held his tongue, and waited. Gave her the space to decide for herself what she wanted to happen next, to decide how much leeway to give him, to decide what would become of them. He had pushed her to this point, urged her to make a choice, but whatever that choice he was he meant to abide by it. It had to be her choice; he knew already what he wanted, but he would not move until he knew she wanted the same.
"I don't think we're anything," she said finally, slowly, and his heart clenched in fear, though she soothed him at once as she added, "not yet."
"What do you wanna be, Liv?"
"Us," she said. "I wanna be us. You and me. But…"
This time his patience would not hold; this time when she fell silent he pushed for more.
"But?" he repeated.
"I wanna be more than this."
Thank God, he thought. Thank God.
"That's good," he said.
She was still so far away, though. Still on the other end of the couch, beyond the reach of his arm. Still sitting there, watching him, frozen in the before when what they both wanted most was to get to the after.
Someone's gonna have to move, he thought.
Might as well be me.
So he did; he moved. He set his beer down on the coffee table - careful to use one of her coasters - and then he rose carefully to his feet. Walked slowly towards her while she stared at him with eyes huge and dark and terrified. Took her beer from her, and set it down on the side table, and then reached for her hand, and pulled her slowly up to stand in front of him.
For a second he paused, savored the closeness of her, the anticipation of the moment. She was just there, and looking at him, willing him to move, and he was gonna, and this was it, this was it, the last second before everything changed.
He reached out and gently brushed her hair back from her face, and she gasped, just a little, when his fingertips brushed her skin, and that soft sound of want from her lips told him everything he needed to know. His hand cradled the back of her head so, so gently, and then he pulled her in, and finally, finally kissed her.
Standing, on an even footing with one another, with clear intentions and of sound mind, he kissed Olivia Benson for the first time in her living room.
It would not be the last.
A soft brush of lips, tentative and breathless, led to another, and another. He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her in close, and felt her smile against his mouth. Smile, like she was happy, not scared for once, but happy, and the thought that he could make her happy filled him with a righteous surge of pride.
I will, he swore to her in the silent vaults of his mind. I will make you happy, always.
He started to pull back from her, thinking about looking into her eyes, thinking about making some grand declaration of love and devotion, but she did not let him; instead she caught his head in her hands and pulled him back in, opened her mouth against his and invited him in, and Christ, that was all he wanted. To be with her, to be in her, to taste her exploding on his tongue. He chased the warmth of her with determination, and she bowed back, just a little, pulling him with her, their hips slotting into place, and more, he thought, she wanted more. That was good, because he wanted everything.
One kiss became two became ten, hands roving, growing more confident by the second, breaths harsh and gasping. Right there in the middle of her living room Elliot Stabler grabbed two handfuls of her ass and rocked her into him and she whimpered when he did it, caught his bottom lip between her teeth and held him close to her while she prayed for more more more.
To think she'd worried they wouldn't work; with his kisses, with his hands burning above her clothing alone he'd set her on fire with need of him. It more than worked; it was good, so good it made her legs tremble in anticipation, the low grade need that had left her slick and wanting throughout the day compounded now by the immediacy of his touch, her sex so wet she could feel it every time she shifted her thighs, and she had been right, right about one thing; one kiss was not enough.
Much as she might have wanted to she could not fuck him in her living room, did not dare take the risk with her son asleep just down the hall, and so she took Elliot by the hand, led him back into her bedroom and closed the door as quickly as she could manage, her heart pounding in her chest, half from nerves and half from sheer relief. Anxious but eager, she was both at the same time, and in her bedroom his hands found her once more, and with the sure and steady strength of his body and his love for her he won her over, completely.
Kissed her, fervent and true, and undressed her himself, hands trailing lightly, reverently over each newly exposed inch of skin until she was completely bare, and him still fully dressed. He wanted it, though, wanted to see her, and his want gave her the confidence to stand before him in the truth of herself, the hunger in his gaze a boon to her weary heart.
"You are so beautiful," he told her, stepping up close, smoothing his hands down the slope of her back while his eyes drank her in, full of wonder, full of need.
He'd never said that to her, before. Never commented on her appearance, apart from the occasional dry nice dress when she came straight from a date to a crime scene. Had never been able to say it before, and when he said it to her now he said it with all the devotion of a man who'd spent a lifetime trying not to say it. How long had he thought she was beautiful; when did he first notice? How different might things have been, if he'd only told her sooner?
It didn't matter, she decided. The long and winding road they'd walked had led them to this moment, and he could say it now, and mean it, and she decided to enjoy it.
"Elliot?" she said breathlessly.
"Yeah?" he answered, eyes glued to her naked tits.
"Kiss me again."
He complied readily.
He fell upon her like a wave, one hand warm and comforting at her breast, the other dropping down to knead at her ass, his tongue heavy in her mouth; he overwhelmed her, and she let him. Wrapped herself around him, and drowned him, no thought in her mind, only the sensations of her body carrying her own.
It grew to be too much, standing, his shirt scratching against the tender skin of her belly, and so she pulled away from him, somewhat regretfully, and laid down on the bed herself, waiting. His eyes were dark in an unfamiliar may that made her heart race; he'd never looked at her like this before, with such naked desire, had not ever let her see it, and this is what it looks like, she thought. This was what it looked like, when Elliot let his desire take him over, when he was on the verge of fucking someone - fucking her - ready and determined to hold her, to have her, and it was the sexiest goddamn thing she'd ever seen.
Or she thought it was, until he began to slowly unbutton his shirt, his eyes locked on her all the while, and that, she decided, was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen, Elliot Stabler slowly stripping himself bare for her.
If he wanted a show, she could give him one, too; his hands had yet to dip between her legs and her body was aching for attention.
While he wrenched the shirt from his back she spread her thighs, and let him stare straight into the center of her while she reached down and trailed her fingers through her own wetness, the breath leaving her lungs on a shaky sigh.
"Do that again," he growled, hands dropping to his belt.
She looked at him, at the broad expanse of his chest, the firm lines of his heavy muscles, the soft trail of hair running down the center of his belly, and circled her clit with her fingertips, gasping. Christ, she hadn't been this wet since she'd turned fifty.
He ripped his belt free and threw it to the side, toed out of his shoes and started unfastening his pants.
"Lemme see," he demanded. "Lemme see what it looks like when you touch yourself."
Who knew, she thought faintly. Who would've ever guessed that he'd be so fucking chatty in bed? That he'd be commanding, sure, but that her erstwhile partner, so well known for his devotion to his faith and to his family, would - or even could - talk to her so bluntly, tell her so plainly what he wanted, was an unexpected but welcome surprise.
She did as he asked, and let him see. Let him watch as she dipped two fingers slowly into her own wet heat, as her hips canted up to meet the press of her hand and her thumb rubbed circles around her clit. It had been too long since she'd had a partner to join her, too many nights of sating her need herself, and she was well practiced in it, her body responding at once to the familiar touch of her own hand, responding, too, to the way he groaned and hurried to shed the rest of his clothes, eager to touch her himself.
For one single instant she caught a glimpse of him, of his cock hard and straining for her - no, she thought, he had no need of the penis enhancements they'd laughed about last night - and then he fell upon her. His mouth seared over her breast while his hand tore her away from her cunt, replaced her fingers with his own in the space of a heartbeat, and she forgot herself, forgot where she was and who she was meant to be, and cried out for him as he surged inside her.
"Quiet," he growled, nipping at her breast. "Don't wanna wake him."
No, she really, really didn't want to wake her son, didn't want to have to explain this to him in the morning, didn't want to risk any interruption now that she and Elliot were finally tangled up together in her bed, so she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and held her breath while her hips bucked desperately into Elliot's touch.
"This all for me?" Elliot whispered, delighted, while he drove his fingers inside her.
She wanted to say something clever in reply, wanted to point out that as wet as she was she could feel him hard as marble against her thigh, but she didn't trust herself to speak; if she opened her mouth now all she'd do was cry out for him, beg for more of him. But he was right, damn him; it was all for him. All her wet, all her want, was all for him. Just him.
A soft sound of affirmation bubbled up out of the back of her throat and Elliot sucked her nipple between his teeth in reply, flicked it with his tongue in a way that left her arching into his mouth, desperate for more, while still his fingers played over her sex, thrusting and sliding, the slickness of her painting his palm.
"Next time," he told her breathlessly, searing his promises into the swell of her breast, "I'm gonna take my time. But right now -"
"God, yes," she gasped at him. It would've been good, if he slid down her body, buried his face between her thighs. Would've been amazing if he spent the next hour with his fingers inside her, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until she was breathless and shaking. Right now, though, she didn't want any of that; right now all she wanted was him, hard and fast and deep. All she wanted was him, inside her.
Finally.
It was nice to know they were still, after all these years, so in sync.
"Condom?" he asked, his hand sliding out of her, painting her thigh with her own wetness as he clutched at her, slid slowly up until his face was hovering just over hers.
They'd talked about it last night. About what a risk it was, about what compelled people to take that risk, about how Elliot had never used a condom with his wife, to whom he was so wholly devoted. She'd thought about it last night, about how long it had been since she'd let a man have her bare, about the trust required to make her take such a risk. Thought about how much she missed the intimacy of it. Thought about how much she wanted it.
"No," she told him.
A grin split across his face in response; maybe he knew what it meant, that she trusted him with this. Maybe he liked the way it felt, her trust, her asking for him. Maybe he just wanted it, too, wanted to feel her, every piece of her, with no barrier between them, wanted to fill her up and leave a trace of himself behind, the same way she wanted him to. Maybe he'd have been grateful no matter her answer, grateful just for the chance to hold her. Whatever the reason, he smiled, and she reached up and touched that smile with the pads of her fingers. He opened his mouth, drew her fingers deep inside, his tongue curling around them while he caught hold of his own cock, lined it up with her entrance and stroked the head of him through her wetness teasingly.
"You're everything," he told her as she drew her hand away, ran it soothingly over the expanse of his back. "You gotta know, Liv. You're everything, to me."
"I know," she said. "I know."
She did know, and she knew because he was everything to her. Everything.
"Please," she said, opening herself up for him, her toes dancing along the back of his leg. She'd been right, she realized, about Elliot and missionary. Given the chance he wanted her just like this, on her back and open for him, watching him, and she found she wanted it, too. Wanted to watch the play of desire across his face as he finally, finally sank inside her.
They groaned together, mindful of the need for quiet but unable to silence themselves completely. It just felt too good; he felt too good, the hard length of him driving into her deeper and deeper until their bodies were flush together and she was shaking against him, her arms wrapped loosely around his back and cradling him to her while he panted fiercely into the crook of her neck.
"So good," he praised her softly, half words half kiss. "Jesus, Liv, you feel so good."
So good, she thought, so good, but he had stolen the breath from her lungs and she couldn't get the words out, could only turn her nails into the tender skin of his back and clench around him, the weight of his cock inside her lighting up her nervous system like a goddamn Christmas tree. He was so big, thick and hard, and she was so wet, and it had been so long; so long since anybody had touched her like this. Then again, no one had ever really touched her like this; Elliot, above her, around her, inside her, was like no other feeling she'd ever known.
"I gotta," he panted at her, "Liv, I gotta -"
"Move," she gasped in reply, "please, move -"
And he did, then, and she had to turn her head, press her mouth hard to the line of his forearm to muffle the sound of her crying out for him. He drew his hips back and snapped them suddenly forward, driving deep, deep inside her, and then he did it again, and again, the heat and the friction and the hardness of him almost more than she could bear. His hands were planted just above her shoulders, her head caught between the cages of his arms as he held himself suspended over her, as his hips surged forward again, and again, and her eyes slammed closed beneath the delirious onslaught of sensation. His hips ground against her clit on every forward thrust and the length of him reached deep into the very heart of her, every vein and ridge of his cock dragging against her desperate walls in a way that made it impossible to breathe.
"You should see," he gasped at her, his head hung low between his shoulders, watching it, his cock sliding out of her, wet with her, and sinking into her once more. "You should see how fucking good you look."
"Show me," she moaned, half-delirious and hardly knowing what she was asking for.
Above her the movement of Elliot's body stuttered to a halt.
"Yeah?" he asked her. "You wanna see?"
She blinked at him, confused for a second until she realized exactly what he was thinking.
Her hand shot out, fumbled around on the bedside table and came up clutching her phone. She unlocked it as she handed it to him, and he found the camera app without a moment's pause.
She'd never done this before. Never filmed herself before, never wanted to, had never found someone she wanted to do that with when she was young, and as she grew she learned just how easily those private moments could become public. It was such a great risk and it never seemed worth the reward.
Until now, with him. Until this moment when all the doubts had fallen away, when she was finally in the arms of the one man she loved more than any other, when she could finally touch the deepest desire of her heart. Yes, she wanted to see it, wanted to know what it looked like, him and her together, wanted to sear this moment on her mind forever, wanted to see it again in the future and know that this was no dream, but real.
Besides, it was her phone. She could just delete it when the fog of desire cleared and her rational mind reasserted itself. If she wanted to.
Elliot lifted himself up onto his knees, one strong arm still holding him suspended above her, her thighs rising up to grip at his hips.
"I want you to see," he said. "Want you to know how fucking good you look."
"Just, please -"
He didn't need her desperate pleading; he sank back into her once more, this time holding the phone in his free hand, its camera focused on the place where they were joined. Focused on her, naked and glistening beneath a fine sheen of sweat, lost in her pleasure. Focused on her body, on the way her tits bounced with every forceful thrust of his hips, the way her sex, dripping with need of him, welcomed him in each time and grasped at him as he withdrew, desperate to hold him inside her. For thirty seconds, maybe a full minute, he filmed it, himself, fucking into her, her, holding him, whimpering for him, trying so hard not to make too much noise, desperate to make the moment last, but then he threw the phone to the side. His arms drove beneath her, curled up over her shoulders, clutched her to him while his hips pounded into her relentlessly, and all she could do was keen her pleasure into the taut line of his neck. She rocked with him, bounced back into him with every forceful thrust, felt her body tightening around him, drawing closer and closer to the brink and Christ, when was the last time she come just from this, just from the endless drive of her lover's cock inside her? Not for years.
If she ever told him that he'd be unbearably smug; she might just keep it to herself.
"Please, Elliot," she panted, "please-"
"You gonna come for me?" he demanded, his voice tight with the strain of holding off his own release.
"You first," she told him, and then she squeezed her muscles around him, did it just to hear the appreciative way he groaned at the sensation, did it just feel his body's fierce, immediate response. And still he moved, on and on, frenzied, almost, so hard the headboard began to bounce off the wall and we have to stop, she thought, we have to be quiet, but she did not dare ask him to stop, not now when they were both so close.
Two more thrusts and he was coming, groaning, spilling himself inside her, grinding his hips down against her as he did, and the friction and the heat and the knowledge of what they had just done sent her tumbling from the edge, her body contracting around him, heightening the sensation for both of them as they fell apart in one another's arms.
Holy shit, she thought, stars exploding behind her eyelids as she struggled to regain her breath.
To think she'd been worried that they'd be no good together. They were better than good; they were everything.
Elliot rolled himself off of her, but he didn't go far; he picked up her phone, which was still recording, and filmed her one last time, the camera sweeping over her body and down between her legs where his cum was slowly seeping out of her. He paused there for a moment, watching her, fire in his eyes, still, as his cock slowly softened, and then he stopped the video, and handed the phone back to her.
"Do me a favor," he said as she took it.
"What?"
"Play that back," he said, sliding back between her thighs, settling himself on his belly, eye to eye with her dripping cunt.
"You really want me to watch that?" she asked. "Right now?"
"Yeah," he said. "I really do."
Oh.
Yeah, she could do that.
She lay on her back, her legs flung over Elliot's shoulders, and held the phone in front of her face with both hands. She started the video, and as the soft sounds of their coupling began to play he lowered his head, and dragged his tongue through her wetness, gathering up his cum and hers to and slowly, slowly tonguing it back into her while she watched him fuck her on the video.
If it was possible to die from arousal alone she would've died right there, overwhelmed and overcome, watching herself, watching the way her body took him in, the way she moved for him, with him, the way his thick, heavy cock stretched her open, and all the while his tongue between her legs, pushing her closer and closer to a second release, and him undaunted by the taste of himself, enjoying it even, maybe, if the hungry way his mouth seared over her flesh was anything to go by. She moaned and trembled for him, struggled to keep her eyes open, to keep watching the video; after a minute the screen went dark but she could still hear it, the wet, furious smacking sounds of their coupling, the creaking of the bed, their desperate muffled cries, and she could feel him, everywhere, strong hands at her hips holding her in place as his mouth sucked mercilessly at the bud of her clit, and the way her body responded to him was like nothing she'd ever known, every inch of her drawing tighter, tighter, tighter until she burst with a muffled cry, a rush of desire and relief so potent she soaked his face with it, and he stayed right where he was all the while, drinking her in.
When she came back to herself she found the warm wet of tears staining her cheeks, and wiped them furiously away as she tossed the phone aside.
"Come here," she gasped, "please."
She needed help, needed him to ground her, to comfort her, to calm her unsteady heart, and he came to her at once, wiped his chin on the bedsheet and then settled himself beside her, drawing her tight against him. They slotted into place so easily, his arms around her, both her legs wrapped around one of his, her face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, the lingering scent of his cologne and the musk of his sweat soothing her. For a long, long time he just held her, and there in his arms she found what she had spent her whole life searching for; there in his arms, she found peace.
After a while he kissed her forehead, and then urged her to look up at him with his hand gentle beneath her chin.
"You ok?" he asked her quietly, carefully.
"I don't think I'm gonna be able to walk any time soon," she confessed ruefully. Her legs were still trembling, unsteady as fucking Jell-O, and her core ached in a delicious sort of way from the heavy, desperate pounding of his hips.
"But yeah, I'm ok. Better than ok, I think."
"Good," he answered, relieved, his smile sweet and shy. It didn't seem possible that he could be shy, after what they'd just done together, but he was, and she loved him for it.
"I've never…uh…done that, before," he said.
"Film yourself?"
"Yeah. Was that…was it ok?"
She thought about the video, thought about watching it again, whenever she wanted, thought about carrying that reminder of this night with her everywhere she went, and shivered all over.
"It was definitely ok," she said.
Really, she should delete it. Probably she would, in the morning. It was for the best.
"And I think you should watch it," she said.
"I don't think I have another round in me right now," he admitted.
"I don't either," she said. "Maybe in the morning."
"Am I gonna be here in the morning?" he asked her seriously.
If he were anyone else, she would've said no. One fuck was not enough for her to risk introducing a new man to her son, not enough for her to invite him to stay the night in her bed. But he wasn't a new man; he was Elliot, and she knew him already, knew him inside and out, and trusted him as she trusted no other. And Noah knew him already, and liked him well enough, and now that she found herself in Elliot's arms she realized that her fears had already come to pass, in part; she'd had sex with Elliot, and that sex had changed things. Only it had changed things for the better; it had changed her. She was no longer worried that the love between them would not carry them through, no longer worried that he would grow tired of her, or her of him. One taste of him and she knew already that they were both of them precisely where they were meant to be.
They were meant to be together.
"I want you to be," she said.
"Then I will be," he promised. "If you want me here, then I'm here, Liv."
The forever remained unspoken, but she heard it just the same, and nestled herself that much deeper into his embrace.
Everything's going to be all right, she thought, and for once she believed it.