Archive of Our Own

There is a before.

There is a before their first real kiss.

There are fingers; curled around the flex of a bicep. There is a hand, pressed tight to the small of a back and there are foreheads; pressed together in the glow of her undercounter lights. 

There is touch, before. There is accidental and on purpose and then there is a time where slowly; and resolutely, they find themselves and they find each other and there is a before their first real kiss. 

And there’s an after.

—

He is expressive about it, she finds out. 

She hadn’t counted on it. 

There are assumptions she’d made; about Elliot Stabler and a 40 year marriage and how he’d express it; his affection. She had pegged him, maybe, as more reserved and less demonstrative and he has proven her wrong again and again. 

She just hadn’t figured, before all this, that he’d be so needy about it. 

About kissing her. 

He is, though. 

Elliot loves wide open, when he loves; and he is loud about it and he is eager, she found out, to show her that. 

He kisses her when they’re happy; and when they’re sad and mad and he kisses her just because and he kisses her, sometimes, for silly reasons. He catches her off guard sometimes; finds her and drags her close in her hallway and crushes his lips to her quickly, then grins when she pulls back and raises her eyebrows.

“Just liked the way your nose scrunched, when you were on the phone before.” 

There’s one more quick kiss before they break apart and it’s him, leaning in close and murmuring close to her ear. 

“It was cute, Benson.”

He’s good at it; too. He knows, somehow, how to hold her and kiss her; and there’s a part of her that thinks about instinct and binding roots and she can’t think about that too much.

 She pushes it away; pushes that thought down and away, when it whispers things like fated in her ear.

Elliot just knows, though; and he knows when not to kiss her, too. 

He knows - when she’s too raw, sometimes, for that. When a confession has tumbled out of her lips and she can tell how he wants so much, to wrap his arms around her and bring her to him and kiss her slowly and delicately. To let his lips trace apologies against hers - I am sorry, I am here now, let me be your anchor again - over and over and over. 

He knows when to sit with just that, and wait instead. 

He knows when it needs to be her turn to lean in first. 

They are barely three weeks into it, when it happens. 

He has told her - repeated the same words he’d told her back then - ‘I wanna know, Liv,’ when she cautions him time and time again. 

She’d tried to tell him. 

“We - I - I don’t want it there right away, Elliot. Hanging over us.”

Tonight, though, they’d been on his couch; his mouth on hers and his knee between her thighs, and he’d lifted the hem of her shirt to start something. His thumb had landed there again; reverent against a patch of damaged skin and she’d watched, breath hitching in her chest as he traced it; and lowered his lips there, and it occurred to her, finally.

He thinks it’s something else.

Elliot thinks that this; this puckered skin and scar is a testament to something and he has no idea, not really, of the nightmare she’d endured. 

She’d pulled away. 

Her words had come out fast - not the whole story, but enough and now they sit and she doesn’t know what else to say about any of it. 

Your mouth took me back there, for a moment. 

“I - 

She watches, as he shifts his body. She’d created a distance, as she’d told him some of it. She’d curled up, against the broad arm of his couch almost involuntarily; away from him and she hadn’t said everything, not all of it, because it’s hers, still. It’s her trauma and her story and it’s on her terms, he’d told her again and again.

Olivia had watched him flinch, when she’d spat out an “I know, Elliot” the last time he’d said it. 

“When I left, Elliot, I…”

She holds his gaze with hers as she finishes.

“I kept looking for you.”

She can see; the way he exhales harshly. She can see the way his lips tremble, just a bit and she watches as he swallows. She can see his eyes widen for a moment; then she watches as they narrow and fight to stay open. She recognizes it, when he blinks too fast and she knows that he is trying here; to stay quiet and keep this on her terms.

“I - ”

He starts to speak and she stops him quickly. 

“I wanted you to be there.”

Olivia knows - knows that everyone knew, back then. It had been broadcast loud and clear to the entire courtroom, at one point; and she knows it made its way out of there, the tale of her desperation for the one person who wasn’t there. She knows, and she’d come to terms with it and she’d worked her way through and around that indignity, everyone knowing, and still. 

It is devastating to admit it to him; that dependence.

She tries to look away; to sink further back into the cushion that digs into her side. There is a pillow in her lap that she clutches; a pillow lined with a fringe and she wraps her finger through a long string. She tugs it close and tightens it, and she tries to look down at her hands. 

“Liv.”

His word comes out in a rasp.

She can hear him breath, here; ragged and loud and uneven and she can see his chest rise and fall and he is trying, she sees, even as she tries to look away, to control it. 

“Liv - I - I’m sorry.”

He says it; finally, and he starts to say more and she realizes then, that she can’t avoid this. She can’t look away and she can’t sink into the couch itself and she can’t sit and listen to platitudes and apologies, when it doesn’t change a thing. 

“Elliot, it’s - I know that you are. Sorry. I know that you’re sorry.”

She looks back into the blue of his eyes as she says it. 

“I just - I don’t want the reminder, sometimes, El.”

She’d thought she would - that she needed to, maybe - hold on to it for a while. The anger and the pain and she knows some of it - the hurt, and the shame, of that need - some of it will linger, still. 

Some of it will stay. 

Some of it will and maybe someday; his mouth lingering there, on the paper thin skin of a scar won’t be a reminder of the day he wasn’t there. 

Today though, he is here, and she has worked so fucking hard to be okay with that. 

Olivia looks over at him. She reaches out; resting her arm on the back of the couch. She uncurls her fingers and opens her palm and Elliot is right this time, when he waits for her. 

“Ok?

She asks him, and this time her voice is soft.

She wonders about later, when she leaves - when she goes home, in the morning; goes to pick up her son from the McCanns and he is left, alone and in his own home for hours - what he will do. If he’ll break his fists open on the heavy bag at the gym, and lift until his muscles burn; or if he’ll sit, and he’ll look and if he will piece together the things she hasn’t said. 

For now though; his eyes are on hers; and his hand slides over her palm and he waits, steady and silent as she scoots herself closer. 

“I’m sorry.”

He repeats himself one more time, his voice still raw, as she shakes her head, and uses her other hand to pull him to her. 

“Enough.”

She whispers it, as she slides a knee over his thigh, and angles her head towards his. She rests her forehead there, against Elliot’s and she waits for a moment, as he asks.

“You sure?”

He is expressive; about kissing her. Needy to tell her with his mouth and tongue and lips; and she knows that he wants now, to bring her close and show her. She knows that he wants that but that he is careful here; now. 

It had occurred to her, here. 

She can be needy too.

She can be sad and she can need it. Need the press of his lips and the weight of his body and here, tonight, in the warm glow of his living room, she can need him.

“Yes.”

His hand is in her hair and his lips are on hers in an instant. 

She kisses him roughly tonight. Her fingers curl under the collar of his shirt as she nips at his lip and soothes with her tongue and it’s her, tonight, that pulls him back against her again on the couch; lips still joined as her fingers sink into the skin under his shirt. 

Olivia kisses him; whines when he breaks away with a ragged breath, until his lips land on her neck and he sucks there, tongue and teeth against her skin. 

Normally, she pulls away. Normally, she whispers ‘no marks, Elliot’ and he relents, but tonight she needs this. Needs him and needs to see, in the morning; the evidence of his presence.

He is home now, with her. His lips are on her neck and his throat is on her chest and he is home now, with her. 

—

His favorite time to kiss her is in the morning. 

She knows Elliot had figured that out early. 

She’d grimaced, the very first time he’d reached for her and tried. 

“Morning breath,” she’d murmured and she’d tried to rock away. She’d tried to roll her head back, a little; tried to avoid his lips and let his mouth land on her neck and he’d pulled his chin back at that and stopped. 

Elliot had looked at her; eyes still slowly blinking awake, skin around them crinkled, and his first words came out a little too rushed. A little too serious and a little too needy, as he’d looked down at her. 

“You think - ”

He’d taken a deep breath, and he’d waited a moment. 

They’re still so new; just a few months in and still so fragile and sometimes the ferocity of him sends her retreating and he has learned. He knows now; how to exhale the intensity out and how to temper it, so that he doesn’t take every moment and make it too much. 

Elliot had dipped his head back down to her. He’d brushed his lips against hers and let them linger there and his voice had been low; thick and sleep filled still, but lighter.

“You think after twenty five fucking years, I care about morning breath?”

She’d laughed at that, and opened her mouth to him. 

Now; though - she knows why mornings are his favorite. 

It’s usually her up first on the weekdays; her alarm set for a god awful time. She likes it though - being up before Noah; and she likes the light in this apartment. It’s got an easterly view and the sun hits it beautifully as it rises and she likes it, this slow and quiet time to herself. 

On the weekends it’s different - they lay, with her back to his chest and his hand on the soft curve of her hip; and she likes that too. She likes the weekend mornings, with his lips pressed against her shoulder and his hand sliding down and she likes it; when the sun hits her bed and the heel of his palm is grinding against her clit, and he’s one knuckle deep inside her.

She likes it, when he slides his fingers out after she comes and he rolls her; one hand on her hip, and kisses her good morning, slowly. 

Olivia likes it too; when she can curl her fingers around his cock and lean up one elbow and god, there is something about the quiet way he gasps her name on a Sunday morning. 

“Liv.”

She likes him kissing good morning during that, too. Swallowing his groan with her mouth as he comes all over his belly and her wrist; and weekend mornings are good. 

But she loves weekday mornings too. 

Elliot knows, when he sleeps over now. He knows she likes this space, right before a busy day and she knows he usually wakes with her alarm and he lays in her bed; one leg out of the comforter, and lets her have this time.

“Morning.”

She hears him, before she sees him. Elliot is light on his feet in the mornings - pads quietly in his socks past Noah’s door and into the open area and his first stop when he comes out here is always the same. 

He bypasses the coffee; shuffles right past the mugs and the creamer she’s left out and he finds her; elbows against the kitchen island as she stands and scrolls through emails and she is his first stop. 

Every morning. 

“Morning.”

Her own voice is low as she answers, carefully pitched so Noah won’t over hear and wake up because - she likes this part of her mornings, too. 

Elliot goes about it slowly; goes about it like he’s savoring the moment and the slice of time with her and the thought of that makes her ache, a little. They’ve had thousands of mornings together; peering across their desks or the front seat of a sedan but this routine; this is new and he is unabashed, at showing her how much he cherishes this. 

“Busy day?”

He says it; as he slides one hand to her hip and sidles up behind her. He ducks his head down a little; finds the soft skin of her neck and presses a few warm kisses there while she stays turned in towards the counter. 

Elliot’s hips just brush against her - he’s light, here; with his body and his touch but she can feel him; half hard through his sweatpants against her hip, as he keeps his mouth pressed against her and waits for an answer. 

“Maybe.”

She murmurs her response, and he’s skillful at this. His thumb traces circles against her; dips into her waistband and it’s light, his touch but his mouth stays on her shoulder and his thumb stays there and his fingers curl around her hip and it doesn't take too long, before she’s not really reading the words on her screen. 

“More coffee?”

He asks her, when she shuts the lid to her laptop and now, he angles his body better. Elliot moves from where he was; half off to her side and now he’s behind her completely. 

“Mmmhmm.”

Olivia lets her head loll forward, as he inches closer. She can feel his nose against her neck; can feel his lips moving higher up and he uses one hand to sweep the loose curls there to the side, so he can press a single kiss underneath her ear. 

“You want your oat milk creamer, or you want that - ”

He grazes his teeth against her neck as he says it. He tightens his grip on her hip and breathes out the last half of his question and she knows; that he’s well aware that he’s making it hard to answer his question. 

“ - you wanna finish off that almond milk creamer, baby?”

Fuck.

He knows; as he exhales out that last word and grinds himself just a bit and he knows; he knew, exactly how this would end. 

Olivia turns then; her ass against the island and he has the gaul to grin at her; his lazy smile wide on his face. He’s halfway to a beard, again - he’s taken three days off to paint his place and he’s got enough stubble on his face and he looks happy, here, standing this close to her. They’re both well rested for once and they’re happy and she realizes that they are close here; close to the same spot between her cabinets and her refrigerator.

Close to the place she’d thought of as almost.

The place that had been an almost, for months; as they chipped away at things. 

And now; they are here. Elliot’s got two hands on her hips and he’s inches away from her and he’s asking about refilling her coffee on a Tuesday, and it’s not an almost, anymore. 

“Oat milk.”

She says it; voice breathy and light and she watches as he goes to move. His hands start to shift, away from her hips and away from her and she wants another cup of coffee, but before that she needs him, for just a moment. 

She reaches between them, and gathers the fabric of his T-shirt at his chest. Olivia tugs him back; pulls him closer than before and it’s her turn to grin at him. She loops one arm around his neck and tilts her head back and she lets her eyes flutter shut as he leans in, and lowers his lips to hers. 

It’s warm; this kiss. His sleep swollen lips and her own; heated from her first mug of coffee and he tastes like he knew; like he’d dipped into her bathroom and swished with her mouthwash. 

Wintergreen.

It doesn’t escalate, at first. His hands tighten against her hips and his lips sweep against hers and they’re cognizant, of Noah close by. 

They’re aware, and careful, until Elliot groans, low and quietly, when she slides her tongue out and traces his bottom lip and he rocks a little into and against her. He raises one hand; and palms her breast through the heavy fabric of her robe and she arches into his touch. 

It’s right on the cusp - close too a little too much and it has to stop soon. She’s got to shower and take Noah to school and he needs to leave; to go home and shower and change, but it’s nice; kissing him with a little promise for later.

They break apart when they hear the flush of a toilet; the swish of her son’s door opening soon after. 

“Oat milk?”

Elliot grins as she pulls her robe tight.

—

She wasn’t adamant about not kissing him in public.

She isn’t eager about it, though - doesn’t grab him and kiss him walking down the street; and she’d eyed him, when he leaned in at her desk one day and come close. 

Here?

He’d pulled back immediately, and rapped his knuckles twice on her desk.

Got it.

Olivia has her limits, but she isn’t unwilling to kiss him a little, in public. 

Goodbye, in the mornings - as they walk out of her building and sometimes, right out front. She knows Noah rolls his eyes, when a quick goodbye kiss turns. When she takes two steps away, Elliot’s arm snakes out and curls around her wrist and he tugs her back; to kiss her goodbye again.

She has her limits but sometimes, she likes it. 

“Another?”

He asks her tonight and it’s early. Too early, probably, for a second glass of wine before dinner. Too early, for his hand slowly spreading on her thigh; their backs against the booth in the small bar and too early; for the way he’s looking at her.

It’s still light out, for fucks sake.

“Sure.”

It’s fun though; and the days are longer and the weather is warmer and they have shifted, lately. The start of them was so rough; so hard and so fought for and it’s good; she knows that they both want this so much; that they sat in the dark together and fought their way out, but she likes this, too.

When things don’t feel so heavy. 

Elliot motions to the waitress and orders them both a second and her breath catches, a little, when he uses the opportunity to slide his hand even further up her thigh. 

He leans in then; and murmurs close to her ear.

“You - Jesus, Liv. You look amazing tonight.”

He squeezes her thigh as he says it. 

She knows she does. She’d worn jeans that hug her ass and a white bodysuit that hits just right and her hair is loose, tonight. Down and curled lightly and her makeup is perfect and she’d been excited about this. 

“Had to look amazing, right? Third date and all?”

He rolls his eyes at that. 

They’re not doing this backwards, per se; but they haven’t been great about a linear approach to together. 

They’ve been sleeping together for months; had fallen into the ease of a physical relationship fast; and he sleeps over enough now that even Noah is used to it. Elliot has very quietly taken over taking him to school on mornings when she’s called in early and it’s nice; for him and for her preteen son, to not have to rely on Martha so much. 

It’s good; and it’s real and if it means sometimes she balks a little, freezes when she realizes she’s close to needing him, she tries to work through that. 

It also means that in six months, they’ve gone on two dates, total. 

“We’re well past third date territory, aren’t we? I mean, Christ, Olivia - ”

Elliot shifts closer as he reminds her. 

“The shower this morning?”

She lifts her glass of wine to her lips as she remembers. She’d walked Noah to dance and then walked back quickly, when Elliot had texted her that he was going to shower quick before running to grab some coffees. 

She’d surprised him; breathless and tugging off her own clothes to join him and fuck, the noise he’d made, when she’d slid open the shower door and sank to her knees.

She smiles now; over the rim of the glass as she pulls away a little, and looks at him. 

“I remember.”

Olivia’s eyes lock on his, and she knows he remembers too. How she’d looked up at him when he was close; her tongue stroking against the underside of his cock, and they’d locked eyes like this, here tonight. 

She closes her eyes as she takes another sip, and Elliot’s hand is in between her thighs now; and god. That reminds her too. 

He’d pulled her up after that this morning. He’d held himself off; fisted his cock in his hand, and turned her, so her hands were braced against the far wall. Elliot had slid a hand between her thighs, just like this; and he’d run the broad side of his finger through her folds, checking and groaning deep, when he’d found her slick and ready for him. 

“You good?”

He’d asked her; made sure that she didn’t need more, and she’d nodded, as she’d peered over her shoulder. 

He’d slid into her slowly, then; and it hadn’t taken long, with his hand between her thighs; thumb circling her clit. His other hand had gripped her hip and it had been intense. The water warm on their backs and the gasps and moans echoing in the shower and she’d come quick; moaned his name and clenched around him. He’d kept going; kept his hand on the inside of her thigh, thumb still pressed against her as he’d roared his own release, pulsing inside of her as she’d come back down. 

And now; here. His hand is there; under the table and spread against her inner thigh, and his mouth is so close to her neck, and she’s a glass and a half in and her head feels light and this is fun, tonight. 

She’d worried they wouldn’t be able to do this part too. 

“Dinner after this?”

He shifts his mouth up; away from her neck and close to her ear and she can feel it; the brush of his lips against her cheek as he asks. 

“I guess.”

She turns her head in; then, towards his. 

It’s dark; in their little corner of the bar. It’s dark enough, at least, and anonymous enough; that she can give in a little, to the buzz on her lips and the thrum under her skin. She can give in, and she can turn her head here and she can lean forward and she can catch his lips with hers and she can kiss him once; lightly, like she is. 

“Italian?”

She asks, as she pulls away and she laughs a little; at Elliot. He still lingers there, his eyes still shut and a half smile on his face. 

“Mmhmm.”

His eyes open as he answers, and his hand stays there, fingers spread open as he takes the moment to lean forward, and sip on his drink. He keeps his eyes on her; pupils wide and blown and he’s slow about it, how he takes a drink and runs his eyes up and down her. 

“Could just stay here instead.”

Elliot says it as he sips from his glass. She watches, as he lets a piece of ice slide into his mouth and she watches the half grin on his face turn wider; broader, as he crunches the ice and lowers his glass to the table. 

“Could just stay here, like this.”

He leans back to her; and his hand comes up to cup her cheek. He runs his thumb against her cheekbone, and keeps his eyes level with hers and he waits, just like that, until she leans in. 

“We should just stay here and what - ”

His mouth is close to hers as she asks; and she can feel it, when his breath hitches as her hand comes forward to settle on his chest. 

“ - make out all night like kids?”

Elliot surges forward then; and catches her mouth with his. 

It’s not soft this time; not lips slowly brushing against the other. He slides his tongue against her lips; and his hand moves to cradle the back of her head, as she leans into it and kisses him back. 

His tongue sweeps against hers, ice cold and he tastes like bourbon; sweet like honey somehow, sweeter than the tang of the red wine on her own lips and it’s all so good; her tongue against his and her teeth, tugging gently at his bottom lip, when his fingers curl against the seam of her jeans. 

There’s a loud commotion, and they break apart when a group of twenty somethings walk in and they’re reminded of where they are. 

Elliot clears his throat, and lifts up his glass and she laughs again; at the flush on his chest. She eyeballs him, when he looks over with his eyebrows raised. 

“You - uh - ”

She reaches over, and curls her finger in his open collar. 

“You gotta button up there, partner. You’re giving it away.”

It’s Elliot’s turn then, to shake his head and eye her. He reaches up and over, and runs a thumb gently across her bottom lip. 

“You think me wearing half your lipstick isn’t enough of a clue?”

They both laugh then; his hand settling on her thigh again. They sit, for a moment and sip their drinks and she leans in a little; her head on his shoulder. 

Elliot’s head rests close to hers, and he pauses a story about Jamie and Reyes and a bet gone bad, to press a kiss to the crown of her hair.

“This is nice.”

His voice is low; quiet and she can hear it, the ripple of emotion behind it. 

She gets it.

She didn’t know if they could get here. She didn’t know if they’d ever be able to be light, like this.

Tomorrow, she’ll likely get called into work. She’ll ditch the jeans and light colored top and she’ll be back in a blazer and work pants and she’ll be Captain Benson, again. He’ll end up out of the city, likely, at a baseball game for his grandsons or at the beach house, getting it ready for the summer season and she loves that part of each of them. She loves that they have those pieces and they can intermix those pieces but she loves tonight, too.

She loves tonight, where it's just Olivia, and Elliot, kissing in the booth of a little bar on a side street, before the sun’s even set. 

—

She remembers the first time Ed Tucker left on a work trip. 

She remembers him telling her; one night, when they were laying in bed, about it. She remembers feeling sad - about missing him, when he’d told her it would be two weeks and she remembers laughing, when they’d stayed up way too late the night before. Noah had been little; unpredictable and had been whiny and clingy and it had taken her ages to get him to sleep. 

She’d come back to her room to find Ed awake and when she’d asked why, he’d smiled and said he’d miss her, and wanted to stay awake before he was gone, for a while. 

She remembers all that and she remembers missing him, but she doesn’t remember kissing him goodbye. 

Now it’s her turn to be missed. 

“A week?”

Elliot asks her, as she hangs up the phone with McGrath. She nods, as she zips up the last of Noah’s luggage. 

5 shirts, 5 shorts, 7 socks, 7 pairs of underwear - 

She is doing the mental count in her head, while he stands in the doorway and watches; arms crossed and she misses it at first, the plaintive note to his question.

Olivia makes a noise; a low hum of confirmation in the back of her throat and continues to organize her son’s bag. 

“You need any help?”

Elliot asks her, and she turns quickly; almost bumping into the corner of Noah’s bed.

“With packing?”

She knows her tone is off, the question harsh as it rolls off her tongue but this is all so goddamn last minute. McGrath had sprung it on her last night - he’d lent her out, given the LAPD the benefit of her expertise on a cold case without consulting her first and she’s glad to help; really. Eager to help, if she’s honest but she’d had to scramble to find a place for Noah and to convince Fin to cancel two PTO days to cover for her and Elliot's question is extremely ill timed.

“No, Elliot, I think I can pack myself and Noah just fine.”

She shoots him a look and to his credit, Elliot doesn’t react. 

“I meant - ”

He moves his body to the side, as she walks past him and out of Noah’s room and he turns then, and waits a moment before following her down the hall to her own. 

“I meant with Noah. I can drive him to the McCanns or…”

She’s moved on, now; to her own packing process - has opened up her underwear drawer and started stuffing in bras and panties - and she looks up, when his voice trails off. 

Fuck. 

She has been doing this, now; on her own for so long. It’s been her and it’s been Noah and they’ve always made do and it’s been her life. Her life and her son’s life and she thinks it’s been a good one for them both; even if there are times she’s fallen asleep, wrung out and exhausted and a little devastated, at the idea that her son hasn’t seen her in days. 

She’s been doing this on her own and Elliot’s been here, lately, slowly leaning in and giving her a hand and it’s second nature, she realizes, for him, 

It’s second nature for her, too; to try to push that away. 

Fuck.

She stops for a moment, and looks back at him over the length of her room. 

“Ok.”

Olivia says it; and she watches, as the surprise blooms across his face. She knows - he’d expected the opposite. He’d expected her to refuse the help and to double down and it’s sweet, the way his eyebrows raise quickly; then fall when he catches himself and steels his face. 

“Ok - I, uh - ok.”

He grins at her then; toothy and wide and she can only shake her head at that. 

It hits her then; that since they’ve started this, they’ve never been gone a full week without something. They’ve gone four, maybe five days at the max and seven full days - seven full days away from him, laying next to her in bed and him; adding her creamer into her coffee and listening, as she bitches about McGrath, and him. 

Elliot. 

She’s going to miss him. 

That thought hits her and immediately after, her stomach drops at the thought. 

Fuck. 

“Hey - hey.”

She’s going to miss him, and them, and she’s going to be drinking shitty hotel coffee instead of the overpriced beans she won’t ever admit are superior to anything she’s ever brewed; and she’s going to miss Elliot, in the mornings, sitting with her son and asking him about his day and he has, somehow, sewn himself in here, to the fabric of her life and she’s going to miss him. 

Elliot is close to her, now; and he wordlessly tugs her into him and they don’t talk about it, here. They don’t talk about her looking at him and panicking and he’s well aware, probably, of the thoughts that made her flinch just now. 

They don’t talk about it, though; and she lets him hold her. 

It’s three hours later, Noah in the backseat and Elliot, driving her up to departures, before she tells him that.

“I’ll miss you.”

She blurts it out, her eyes straight ahead as she gathers her bag from the floor. It’s been there; floating around and she’s wanted to say it; needed to say it but she’s held it in, until she couldn’t anymore.

He’d loaded up her car outside of her apartment. He’d gathered up her kid’s stuff and lugged an extra bag out; one he held delicately and she knows - it’s full of things she’d forgotten. Noah’s game controllers and his phone charger and probably at least two more outfits that he’d wanted to bring. All things Elliot had stood and helped Noah organize and pack while she’d finished; listening while he’d excitedly told him about some live event he wanted to watch with Connor tonight. 

She’d wanted to take a moment. She wanted to stand in the background and watch and take a moment, and tell him then, but they’d had to go, and they’d been rushing up until this very second - her on the phone to Fin, and him navigating traffic and trying to stop himself; every time he’d gotten cut off and muttered another ‘fucking idiots’ under his breath. 

So she says it now. 

She doesn’t look over as she says it. She fumbles still with her bag, pulling it up and into her lap and she turns quickly, to blow her son a goodbye kiss. 

“Text me, when you get there? I’ll be in the air, but just - ”

Olivia watches, as Noah rolls his eyes. 

“Text you. Got it.”

She’s got one hand on the door, then; ready to get out and she starts to mumble something - a quick goodbye, maybe, or a I’ll call you when I land. The words are right on the tip of her tongue when she feels his hand curl around her bicep. 

“Liv.”

She takes a breath, and stops moving.

“I’ll - Liv, look at me.” 

Her hand had been on the door, fingers curled around the handle and she hadn’t been able to look up yet. 

It feels like a confession, somehow; telling him she’ll miss him. They’re good, most of the time and they move forward most of the time and it doesn’t feel like anything but a solid and steady relationship, now - but it had felt different, here. It had felt like she’d been admitting something, when she’d realized she was going to miss him; and telling him - admitting that - felt like a vulnerability she wasn’t ready for. 

She looks at him then. Brown eyes meet blue and he’s quick, when he tells her; right before he leans over the console in the center.

“I’ll miss you too.”

Elliot kisses her then; his chest straining against the strap of his seat belt. He leans almost all the way over and kisses her; soft and sweet and then harder, when she lets go and sways into him. 

Her hand reaches over to settle against his; planted on the plastic of the console and she threads her fingers through his and she kisses him more. Her tongue finds his and their mouths move, chasing just a little. 

“Mom.”

They break apart, finally, when Noah looks up from his phone and groans at the sight in the front seat. 

“Right.”

She takes a moment then, to take a breath and Elliot is grinning at her, big and wide and she relaxes finally, about telling him the truth. 

She thinks it’s probably too much, later, when she settles into her seat on her flight and closes her eyes. Her mind is blank, up here, and her body relaxes and she thinks about that. 

She thinks about saying goodbye to Elliot; and she can still feel it. She can still feel him and the crush of his lips against hers. She can feel the rush, the heady neediness in his kiss - and she feels like a kid; when her fingers raise up to her lips and press there. 

She won’t forget it, though; that goodbye kiss. 

—

She still has nightmares. 

They’re cyclical up to a point - expected; but she knows too - to expect them around anniversaries; around triggering cases and when she is too exhausted from everything and her unconscious brain batters down her own last defense. 

“It’s fine.”

She stresses it to him, as he stands in her kitchen at 2:39 in the morning. He is; she knows, well acquainted with dreams like these and he is, she also knows, simply trying to protect her, here. 

Even when he can’t. 

“There’s nothing you can do, Elliot. They just happen.”

She is tired, here; and he is standing there, his face slack and exhausted and concerned, too. His forehead wrinkles, creased and lined with his worry and his mouth opens and closes once, as he tries to form an answer. 

She’d shot out of bed, minutes ago. It had been BX9, in her dream this time and her gun misfiring on the ground and she couldn't tell him the worst part of it. 

That he’d been there too; as her unconscious mind had warped the young man she’d shot into a familiar young woman. 

One they both still had nightmares about.

He’d come after her, when she’d slammed on the hallway light and had slumped, seconds later, against her kitchen counter. 

“Ok.”

There is a loud gurgle then, as her coffee machine starts to hiss and spit out a decaffeinated brew and it distracts them both momentarily. 

“Ok.”

He repeats the words, then takes two small steps closer to her counter. Elliot reaches up above, to the high cabinet, and pulls out two mugs. 

She watches, as he moves around her kitchen, quiet and steadfast. He pulls out her creamer and he stands, then; one hand on her countertop and the other rubbing the back of his own neck, and he waits. 

“If - uh - if I can do anything, you’d let me know?”

His back is half to her, and she can see it, the careful way he asks. Slowly, and delicately, and she is too tired to talk this through tonight with him. Her head hurts and her neck aches and she knows, she was probably tensed up during her dream and she is exhausted, but she doesn’t hate this. 

She doesn’t hate him being here. 

She doesn’t hate the quiet tap of his fingers on his counter; or the way he reaches for the same blue and brown mugs on nights like this. She doesn’t hate the space he takes up; solid and present, in his sweatpants and shirt, standing at her kitchen sink. She doesn’t hate him, here with her and she doesn’t hate the way he’d waited just the right amount of time, to follow her out here. 

She doesn’t hate it. 

“Yeah, El. I will.”

It takes her two more nights to reach for him.

It’s less vivid this time. 

It’s not faces she recognizes, in this dream. It’s voices and feelings and it’s her heart; racing and pounding even in sleep. It’s her breath coming fast and it’s a long dark hall and it is nothing; somehow. It’s empty and it’s loud and it’s so dark and black and it is her; utterly alone and it’s so deep. The inky blackness stretches and creeps and swirls around her and she can’t feel anything; can’t feel a wall or a chair or a table and she is reaching for anything, a cry on her lips and her hand; twisted into the sheets when she wakes up, panting and reaching for anyone; anything, in the dark space of her bedroom. 

“Liv?”

Her eyes fly open and her heart is still beating; fast and furious and almost painful, in her chest and it had been so dark. She opens her mouth to tell him as she reaches out, frantically grasping and feeling in the dark, but nothing comes out. 

“Liv?”

She feels him finally; the bump of his knee into her thigh and then his hand low; firm and solid on her belly and she anchors herself there. She curls her fingers around his wrist and he’s there, suddenly, as her eyes adjust. He’s above her; off to the side and he’s careful not to be over her. His eyes are open and he is close but it had been so empty in that dream. 

It had been so empty and she’d been so alone and now he is here; next to her in her bed and he is hers, to reach for and she does, then. 

She exhales once, harshly, then she lifts herself up and on to her elbows and curls one hand around his neck. 

“What do you need, Liv?”

You, you, you, you. 

She doesn’t say it. 

She surges forward; instead. She crushes her mouth to his and she is insistent, here. She needs him; needs to ground herself and she needs his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her body and she shows him, then what she needs. 

She digs her fingers in; presses them deep into the cotton of his shirt; into the sweeping muscles between his shoulder blades and she swipes her tongue roughly; harshly into his mouth. 

He grunts; as her knee knocks into him and his balance falters, but he doesn’t pull away. He lets her take it; lets her clutch and push and pull; until she breaks away and rolls them both.

“Elliot.”

She shifts them with a gasp, one hand on his chest and the other around his neck. 

Both her legs straddle his; the warm skin of her thighs against his. Elliot is down to his boxers, had been warm and kicked off his sweatpants earlier and the silk of her sleep shorts is slick. It glides across him, as she sways forward, and she takes his mouth with hers again. 

She can feel him; feel the length of him, rock hard and trapped between their bellies. 

“I got you.”

He breathes it out, as her lips leave his and move, desperate and quick across the jut of his chin. His hands move; anchor themselves to her back and her hip and he holds her, pushes back and grips as she rocks against him. 

“Elliot, please.”

She gasps the words as his own hips move; as he grinds into her and she knows this is messy, like this. Her hands keep seeking; moving and gripping and her mouth finds his again as he groans, when she reaches between them.

Olivia’s fingers curl around his cock and his mouth stays open; heavy pants and gasps as she grips him through the cotton. She moves her mouth against his; breathes close and tips her forehead into his and this, this is what she needed. 

She kisses him again, then. Crushes her chest to his and nips and tugs and he gives it back. Elliot’s teeth graze against her bottom lip and she pulls back, purposeful and gasps, at the sting.

“I got you.”

He murmurs it again; when she rocks her body back. She keeps her lips on his; slows down the intensity and tips her hips backwards, so she can cup him harder. 

Elliot jerks forward; into her touch and her kiss and groans, when she lets go. 

“Need you.”

She gasps out the words as she moves her mouth against his, and then she moves back enough, breaking the kiss so she can tug at the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

Together, they tug them down. Elliot toes them off and she is back, then; thighs on either side of his. Olivia rises up on her knees; her body tilted forward so she can meet his lips again.

Elliot grasps his own cock in hand; knowing and anticipating as she slides the satin of her shorts and the cotton of her panties to the side. She sinks down his length; one quick motion and gasps into his mouth at the burn.

“Fuck - are you - ”

Elliot breaks away, tilts his head back and meets her eyes with his. 

“You ok?”

Olivia breathes for a moment, eyes locked with his and she sees it; the concern etched clearly into the vivid blue, even in the dark. She knows - he wants to - needs to - make sure she is good, that this isn’t distress and they don’t need to slow down.

He would, she knows. He would stop and lay her down. He’d work his way down her body and love her slowly, with his mouth and his tongue and his fingers; buried deep inside her cunt. He would, and she would let him; any other time but she needs this. Needs the sharpness and the hard edges and to fuck him and be fucked, hard enough to chase the dark away. 

“Yeah.”

She rocks forward again, her hips rocking into his and his response is quick. Their mouths lock again, moving in quick passes and he thrusts up; again and again and again; thick fingers digging roughly into the skin of her hip. 

He only moves to snake his hand between them; to press small messy circles with his thumb to her clit and Elliot holds her then, while she shatters around him; lips on the corner of his as she cries out his name. 

“I got you.”

His mouth moves against hers; a soft murmur as she clenches. His own release is quiet, a soft groan and his fingers, tightening as they thread through her hair and he holds her close; spilling deep inside of her. 

They stay, their lips brushing softly, until her breathing finally slows.

—

She’d thought it would slow down, after a while. 

She thought she’d want it less; or he would, or maybe they both would settle into it, when new became normal.

They wouldn’t need that intensity. They wouldn’t crave that connection and it would lessen, somehow. 

They don’t.

Almost a year into this now, and sometimes they just kiss. Soft and sweet or intense and heavy and she knows that since they’ve started this, there hasn’t been a time he’s seen her where he hasn’t at least kissed her hello or goodbye.

Until now. 

She calls him on a Wednesday, her voice hoarse and low and she breaks the news to him. 

“It’s - god - ”

She sets the phone away from her face and coughs before she tells him.

“It’s some sort of upper respiratory infection, they said. They swabbed us both for flu and covid and it’s all negative, but - ”

Her next coughing fit goes on and on and on.

Noah had fallen first. He’d complained about a sore throat two days ago and she was diligent. She swabbed him twice for covid and as soon as the coughing started, Elliot had sat back and watched as she pulled out a humidifier, and a nebulizer and she’d told him later, in the middle of the night, as they’d laid and she’d frowned and listened to her boy cough, about his lungs. 

She was exhausted, on night two of this. 

“He’s good now, but he gets bronchitis so easy, and…”

He asks then, what he can do.

She tries not to tell him ‘nothing.’

Elliot had missed so much, she knew; and sometimes she thinks it’s too much, when he tries so goddamn hard. It’s too much, when he tries to make up for lost time, over eager to help and to prove something to her, but that night, she didn’t protest.

She’d been exhausted. 

He’d told her to sleep for a while and he’d told her he’d sit up and if need be; he’d told her, he’d wake her. If Noah’s chest started to rattle or he started to wheeze, he’d get her, he told her. 

Elliot had stayed up and the next night she’d told him - her own throat was sore and he should stay away and he had, that first night, when it was clear it wasn’t a negotiation. 

But now - she knows she sounds bad. 

She listens as Elliot steps away from his desk; his feet loud on the metal stairs at OCCB. 

“You at home?”

Her voice is harsh as she replies. 

“Of course, Elliot. I’m -”. 

She inhales quickly, and tries not to cough. 

“I’m not going to get anyone else sick.”

He’d missed ten years of this; and now they are solid and he is trying and this isn’t new. He had always doted, when she was sick but it had been ten years of him not showing up uninvited when she felt like shit; with a grin on his face and orange juice in hand. 

She’d gotten used to doing it on her own. 

“I’m coming over.”

She starts to protest and she frowns as he pushes back.

“I’m coming over, Olivia.”

She lets him in, when he shows up, with a glare and a huff. A huff that turns into a wheeze; which blossoms into a harsh cough. One that has her hand gripping the table in her hall and him with his hand around her back and a grocery sack lowered to the floor.

“Christ, Olivia - you sound like shit.”

He stands; hand still on the small of her back as she shakes her head. She pulls away after that; with one big shaky breath and moves down the hall into her bedroom. Her response is tired; drained and she can tell that he senses her irritation. 

“You think, Elliot?”

Elliot glances into Noah’s as they walk, and shoots the boy a wave. He’s sitting up; game controller in hand and Olivia rolls her eyes at that.

“Too sick for school, but just fine to play on that - fuck - ”

She barks out a cough as she rounds the corner to her room.

“PlayStation.”

Elliot follows her in, and he pushes again, then. He takes a step forward and pulls her towards him and he waits for a second, as she goes from stiff to relaxed in his arms. 

“Liv, get some rest?”

She’s too tired, she realizes, to push back anymore. 

Olivia breaks away and crawls into bed and she tells him - where the pulse oximeter is and where the thermometer is and she doesn’t eat any of the soup he brings in but she drinks the juice and she thanks him, when he tells her that Noah ate dinner and fell asleep early. 

It’s reluctant still; her depending on him and they both know it. 

“Thanks, Elliot. For being here and -”

She gestures - at the orange juice on the nightstand and the mug of tea and honey and she sighs, when he shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Liv.”

She waits a moment; then nods. 

“Ok.”

He grins at her, and moves around the room. He’s got a side now; his side. His side, with a spare phone charger and a spare set of reading glasses, and he sleeps on his side; at least four or five times a week. 

He strips down to his boxers and he turns off the lamp and then, when he slides in between her sheets, he leans over.

“I mean it. I - you don’t have to thank me, Liv.”

Elliot picks up her hand, and presses it quickly to his lips. 

“I wanna be here with you.”

Olivia doesn’t answer; and she knows that he knows - it’s too much for her, sometimes. Too much and too big and she doesn’t answer sometimes like this, when he says too much in the dark. 

“Good night, El.”

She lets her hand linger in his. 

He moves then; shifts his body over and moves to press a goodnight kiss to her lips and it’s instinct, when she recoils and pulls away. She doesn’t even think to feel bad, until she sees the hurt cross his face. 

“I - god, Elliot. I don’t want you to get this too.”

She shakes her head, when he starts to reassure her.

“Elliot.”

He relents, and they both sleep. 

Elliot stays the next three nights. 

She lets him take care of her. Not just her son; but her, too. 

He leaves during the day - runs to work and back and on Saturday morning he lingers. He makes her coffee and takes it in and she’s still tentative about this caregiving mode he’s in but she’s well enough now to heckle him a bit, when he asks her what she wants for dinner. 

“Coming back again tonight?”

She’s trying to tease him, but she sees it - when he’s unsure for a moment, about how to answer. 

This is a stretch of time here; a run of days and nights of him in her bed that has surpassed any other block of time and he can’t tell, sometimes. If she needs space or she wants him there, and so he asks. 

He can’t tell and she can’t tell him, because the answer isn’t easy. 

“I - uh - I’m gonna head to Saturday night Mass with Maureen and the kids, then I was going to head back, but if it’s too much, Liv, I can - ”

She shakes her head, and looks up at him from her bed. Olivia smiles, big and wide and watches as his face changes. She knows - she looks better now. She’s not pale and the dark circles are gone and she knows he would have kissed her, when she looked and sounded like shit, if she’d let him - she knows he would, because he doesn’t want to miss any chance to. 

She knows he would have then, but she needs him to now.

“Bring something other than soup, ok?”

He is quick, when he kisses her then. It’s been almost five days; since she’s let him get this close and she’d missed it. She’d missed curling her fingers around his neck and pressing her lips to his and she’d missed that noise he makes; content and happy and low in his throat when they break apart. 

He puts one knee on the bed and tilts his head down. Elliot slants his lips over hers; cautious and tentative and she can’t help it, when she grins as she pulls him in.

“You’re gonna get sick, El.”

She whispers it as she pulls back a little; at the corner of his lips. 

He shakes his head. 

“Don’t care.”

He murmurs his answer and then it’s soft and sweet and a little lovesick; this kiss. Their lips move just a little; and it’s awkward, him half hunched over her in bed but it’s good; and she’d missed him.

She’d missed this. 

When she pulls back, finally, she pats him on the chest.

“See you tonight?”

Elliot brushes his lips against hers one last time.

“Yeah.”

He wakes up on Sunday with a sore throat; and it’s her turn to laugh, when he tries to tell her he’s fine, and he can sleep it off at home. 

“Lay down, Elliot.”

As she leaves; dirty mugs in hand to be cleaned, she mutters under her breath. 

“Hope that kiss was worth it.”

—

Six months go by, and they kiss one last time, in his old apartment. 

“These people are getting a goddamn steal.”

He mutters it under his breath as he seals one of the last boxes in his living room. Olivia stands, amused; two hands on her hips and a line of sweat down her back as she finishes wiping down the last of the living room surfaces. 

“Fully fucking furnished and they’re still - ”

He bumps into her, his ass hitting her hip as he lifts the box and starts to walk it into the hall. 

“These assholes are still waiting to sign the check until the last minute.”

He has been grumbling now, for the better part of an hour. Grumbling about the cheap goddamn landlord, who’d kindly offered to buy all the furniture Elliot had told him he was going to sell, since he’d called and told them he wasn’t signing the next six month lease. Elliot’s been grumbling about the landlord; grumbling about how fucking glad he is, to be getting out of this place with its shitty goddamn air conditioner and drafty fucking windows and she’s been amused, still, at how grumpy he is. 

“Thought you’d be in a better mood about moving in with me, Stabler.”

He drops the box near the door with a grunt and her tone was light enough; teasing and not heavy, that when he turns back to her, she can see him asses.

Then adjust. 

He grins at her from the small hallway. 

“Oh I’m in a great fucking mood about moving in with you, Benson.”

He starts moving towards her, then. 

“I can’t wait - ”

He reaches for the tape in her hands and sets it down gently on the console table, when he reaches for her. Elliot grabs her then; jostles her close with a hand on her ass and dips his head low, so his lips land right on the spot on her neck that he knows, now. 

“I can’t wait to move in with you.”

She tilts her head back as he presses his lips there; granting him access to the long line of her neck, and urging him on with a gentle rock of her hips. 

His lips move down the column of her throat; tongue swirling over her too warm skin and they’ve got a little under three hours, she reminds him, to get his stuff out and packed in the truck. 

“Plenty of time.”

He keeps moving then and she knows she should stop him. They still have to pack the last of Eli’s old room and he hasn’t touched his espresso machine - had told her twice that it was the last thing to go, since it had to stay flat in the back of the truck, and she won’t even act surprised later, if he buckles the goddamn thing in to the back seat.

But - it’s their last time here, in his space, he reminds her. 

She tilts her neck back more, when his lips land near the collar of her shirt. 

“Mmmmmm.” 

She hums, content and happy, at the brush of his lips against her skin. 

“Will it put you in a better mood if we - ”

She gasps, as he sucks the skin of her neck in, and nips at his teeth there. 

She exhales, as he soothes it with his tongue. 

“ - if we make out a little bit, before we finish packing?”

She feels his grin against her skin, and she laughs, when he starts to back her up; her ass colliding with the wood of the console table. 

“It’ll definitely - ”

He makes his way back up; as he says it. Up the line of her neck and back to the jut of her chin where he changes his pace. He presses feather light kisses there; soft and steady and murmurs his next words out. 

“Help me forget that I’m getting less than half the amount I paid for this table.”

Elliot’s lips slant over hers then; and one hand comes up; to curl in and close to her throat. He rests his fingers there, close and light and she threads her own through his. 

It’s soft; this kiss. It’s soft and heady and light, at first. His lips trace hers and their mouths move slowly and it builds quietly, as they both settle into it. 

Elliot groans; when she sways forward a bit and moves her own hand. She curls it around his neck and she shifts, so she's leaning into him. She drives the kiss forward; knowing she shouldn’t; that his son is due in less than two hours to help load these boxes and his son, she thinks, has a key to this place but it feels good; this last kiss in his empty apartment. 

Olivia tilts her head, when he traps her top lip between his and she tugs back gently. His tongue sweeps against her and it’s changed now. It’s changed from sweet and gentle to needy; fiery and desperate and it’s two hands on her ass and him scooping her up, before she takes a breath again. 

“Jesus, El.”

She gasps, as he drops her onto the console table and this had started as a kiss; something small and sweet and now his hand is at the hem of her shirt and she helps him pull it up over her head. She unhooks her own bra and discards it and god, she wants his mouth on her. 

His mouth returns to hers; two hands on the side of her face as he kisses her and kisses her and kisses her. It’s teeth and tongue and gasps and groans, when he breaks away and moves back down the skin on her neck; down past her clavicle and right to the swell of her breast with his tongue and his lips. 

He presses wet kisses there; and he grins against her when she arches back with a groan, into his touch. 

“So - fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.”

He says it as he pulls back and takes her in. 

Olivia looks back at him. He’s all flushed skin; red and it’s too much; probably, for two broken bodies to try whatever it is they’re about to try; here in the blazing sun, with a shitty air conditioner and a table she’s not sure can support it.

But his eyes narrow at her then; his pupils blown and his lips swollen and she doesn’t think anymore, as she draws him back to her.

He’s got his mouth on the swell of a breast and it’s so warm, here; the sun beating into the windows and she’d already been sweaty before this. Now, sweat beads on them both and she can feel the harsh stubble on his face, as he runs his tongue up the flat of her sternum; gathering the beads of sweat there. 

“God, Elliot.”

She says it as she arches back, the pebbled bud of a nipple sucked between his lips and she can feel the sweat on him too; gathered at the base of his neck as she grasps him there. He uses his tongue and teeth; rolling his tongue against her and she hisses, when his teeth graze before he soothes. 

He switches sides; then works his way down and the table is loud, creaking under the weight of both of them. Elliot leans off of it, dragging her ass to the edge and his mouth travels down as his knees hit the floor. 

“Up, baby.”

He pulls at the waistband of her leggings and she hooks her fingers in; ass leaving the table for just a moment, as they tug her panties and leggings both to the ground. 

“God, Olivia.”

She swallows back a moan, as she peers down the length of her own body. Elliot Stabler, on his goddamn knees, in front of the table they’d just cleared of his family photos, his eyes on the damp thatch of curls around her cunt.

It's almost too much, and she knows he catches the weight of it in her eyes.

“Need to hear you.”

He tells her, as he lowers his mouth to her. 

He knows now; how she likes this done. He curls his tongue inside her; licks into her and coats it with her and she grabs at the back of his head; grinds herself down with a loud moan. His nose bumps against her clit; gives her just a little sensation and it’s good but she guides him up, further, where she needs him to be. 

It echoes - her loud moans and the quiet slurps as he tongues at her clit - all of it filling the room. He makes broad, sweeping passes, working her up until her thighs shake and tremble around him. Elliot doubles his pace then; licks at her faster, flattening his tongue at the end of each pass.

“Please, Elliot.”

She groans it out, voice husky and thick and he sinks two fingers into her at just the right moment. He works her then; fingers moving in and out and she can feel her body tense, close and almost there, when he crooks them forward into the soft spot inside of her. 

“El - ”

He does it again, his other hand finding the one she has clutched around the edge of the table. He threads his fingers through hers and steadies her and he repeats it, pressing into her with his fingers as he sucks her clit once, hard, through his lips. 

Olivia shatters then; cries out his name and clenches around his fingers, as her free hand scrabbles for purchase. The table is solid; sturdy and broad but it leans up against nothing and for a moment; right when she comes against his tongue, she feels like she’s falling. 

She anchors herself to him, her fingers finding and gripping a shoulder as he slowly brings her back down. He licks against her softly, shallowly, until she whimpers and pulls him up. 

Olivia catches her breath for a second, before she asks. 

“We have enough time to get your money’s worth on the couch?”

He’s quick then; scoops her up and she doesn’t have time to second guess this; doesn’t have time to scold him about his bad knee and her achy hip, and he deposits her on the couch. Elliot sheds his own pants; his old T-shirt still on and then he’s back above her, grinning, his knee in between her thighs. 

“I can be quick.”

She rolls her eyes; opens herself up so he can settle in between her thighs, and nips at his ear just once, as he leans down. 

“Just what every woman wants to hear.”

It’s good though; when he sinks himself into her, groaning her name as he rocks his hips slowly. It’s good, when he leans in and kisses her; the taste of her still heavy on his tongue and it’s good, when they still for a second, and her eyes flutter open. 

“Love you.”

He says it; as he looks down at her and it’s a lot, sometimes - it’s a lot, when Elliot says to her like this, his voice thick and low and his eyes raw and wide open and on her, but it’s good. 

“Love you too.”

She tells him and then she urges him on, the heel of her foot on his calf and her hands on his ass and he is quick about it. He builds her back up, with steady and even thrusts deep into her, until they’re both close to the edge. 

“Close, El.”

She gasps it in his ear and she snakes her own hand between them. She presses down, small and messy circles against her clit and it’s lighter now; this time. She comes slowly, a wave spreading out from her belly and she opens her eyes to watch, as he braces his arms around her and follows quickly; bucking into her and shouting her name as he pulses inside her. 

“Liv, god - ”

She grips his ass as he finishes, and they lay, his head cradled to her, while they catch their breath. He slides out of her with a groan, and when he comes back, he’s got a clean washcloth.

They both do their best, and she laughs, when he trips over the packing tape she’d left on the floor, as he tries to pull on his pants. 

“Better now?”

She asks him, when he comes back with her own bundle of clothes in his hand. 

Elliot leans over the couch to hand them to her, and dips his head down. She tilts her own back to meet him and smiles into the kiss, as he nods. 

“Much.”

—

She kisses him the day she tells him it’s time.

He’s been not asking for almost a year now. Quietly and slowly dropping hints and she knows what he wants.

She knows, when he catches her just barely crying at Dickie’s engagement party. She’s standing to the side, flipping through a photo album laid out next to a tray of abandoned mini crab cakes. She’s got her hand close to her heart and she’d been thinking, as she looked through it, about the little boy who’d gotten the snot beat out of him by his twin sister over and over and how time changes everything; fast and slow and she’d looked up for a second, and seen him. Elliot’s eyebrows raised and a half smile on his face and a shrug, when her own had lifted in a silent what. 

She knows, when he picks up her hand at Eli’s birthday dinner. He’d brought it over to his lap and he’d run his thumb across that space on her ring finger and then he’d looked around the table - at their kids; and his grandkids and Lizzie’s growing belly and he’d murmured it, soft and close next to her ear. 

“Glad you’re here.”

She knows when his lips press against hers in the dark. When he crawls into bed after a week long case and settles; the mattress dipping as he finds the middle space and reaches for her and kisses her; aching and needy and exhausted somehow too. When he whispers it; quietly, mouth against her lips, before he rocks into her. 

“Just needed to feel you.”

She wants it too, she thinks. Not today or tomorrow but she wants it someday. 

Elliot is in her life. He is in Noah’s life and he wakes up every morning in her apartment and falls asleep every night next to her. He knows when she comes home, sometimes, to step out of the way and leave her alone and he knows too, when he should follow her. When he should follow the trail of clothes and shed his own and wrap her in his arms in the shower.

He knows how she likes her garlic bread brown; a little crispier than it should be and he knows that Noah hates it like that. He knows that she remembers every one of his kid’s and grandkid’s birthdays and that she will be mad, if he tries to shop for the latter without her. 

He knows her now; like he always had but better and deeper and she knows him too. 

She knows he wants it. 

“You ready, baby?”

Elliot comes up behind her, and presses a kiss into her bare shoulder. 

“Almost. Could you get my - ”

She pulls her hair to one side and motions to him. 

He takes his time, zipping her up. He lets his fingers linger over the swell of her ass; and the curve of her spine, then he draws it up, slowly and steadily, until it reaches the top. 

He ducks his head down, and mouths at the nape of her neck and god, it is good. He is good; his lips and his tongue light against her skin and his fingers barely there, grazing against her hip. 

“Elliot.”

She breathes out the warning; a soft exhale, but she doesn’t stop him. She lets her head dip back and onto his shoulder and she lets her ass sway back; into his touch and it’s easy to forget for a minute and let him work his magic. 

Until her phone pings, loud and obnoxious and it’s Fin, again. Probably some variation of the one he’s sent to her twice already.

Don’t be late, Captain. 

She sighs, and pulls away reluctantly. 

“He thinks I don’t know, El.”

It's too early, by at least six months, for this celebration that Fin and Amanda and Muncy, she thinks too, had planned it. They think she believes them - that this is just a dinner to celebrate Phoebe’s promotion, and not what she knows it is. 

Five years since she made Captain. 

Seamus had let it slip last weekend. The twins had stayed - wanted a weekend in the city and they’d spoiled them. They’d stayed up too late playing video games with Noah and had gotten every treat they’d asked for and they’d been so happy as they were leaving. 

“See you next weekend, Olivia!”

He’d wrapped his small arms around her neck and she’d caught it, when Maureen and Elliot had locked eyes as she tried to correct his grandson. 

She’d broken him within the hour. She’d used her mouth and her hands and Elliot had given in, instantly, and told her. 

Five years - five years as a Captain. 

Five years of their Captain. 

His kids would be there; and Noah too and it was really good; this celebration. Really good that everyone wanted to do this and really good that they all cared so much, and all of it - the whole night makes her inner cynicist take a back seat. 

She feels good. 

“Proud of you, Liv.”

He murmurs it, as they head into her hallway. It’s cold out again, and he helps her shrug into her own jacket, before reaching in the closet to grab his own.

Elliot is quiet, on the drive over. His hand finds hers on the plastic console between them and when he threads his fingers through hers, he doesn’t say anything. 

“You ready?”

He asks her when they pull up and she thinks that he forgets sometimes that they’re both very good goddamn cops. That they both have been through every training and that they both have good instincts and that it is also him and she knows something is off. It’s been off since they got in the car and she has been ignoring it, but she is about to go in there in front of their family and friends and something is off. 

Shit. 

“What’s going on, Elliot?”

She asks him, as he comes around to open her door and she watches, as the shock registers, then the embarrassment and jesus.

For a split second, she wonders if he’d misread her so badly, for once in their lives, and he’d dragged her here with their family and friends and if he was going to do something. Something too big and too public and she can feel it, when he won’t meet her eyes and he looks away. She can feel the panic and her next words tumble out, too fast and jumbled as she freezes in the door of his truck. 

“Elliot…”

She looks up at him quickly and he reads her; faster and more complete than anyone else in the whole goddamn world could and she sighs with relief, when he shakes his head quickly. 

“I - ”

He holds out his hand to help her across the small patch of gray ice on the curb. 

“Just act surprised, ok?”

She does. 

She acts surprised when she walks in and she acts surprised, when Amanda turns around and mutters a quiet ‘shit, we blew it’ when no one notices, at first, and no one greets her. She acts surprised when his kids all come over to hug her and when Kieran and Seamus ask her if she was actually surprised. She acts surprised; when Muncy brings out a cake and she acts surprised when Cragen steps around a corner, to pull her in for a hug. 

She acts surprised all fucking night, until she doesn’t, suddenly, have to act anymore. 

“This was - wow - Fin. This was amazing.”

Her second in command stands next to her, sipping slowly from his drink. He nods, and she almost laughs at how humble he isn’t.

“It is.”

He takes another sip, then. 

“He did a good job, coming up with all this.”

She starts to turn to Fin, then; starts to raise her eyebrows and ask him who, and then she sees him, across the room; drink in hand and a grin on his face. His arm is around Noah - around her son - and he’s laughing loudly now, at something Carisi had told him and it all makes sense, really.

“Oh that son of a bitch.”

Fin only laughs, as he finishes his drink and rattles the ice. 

“Stabler even planned an open bar, too.”

Olivia waits a little longer; until Elliot catches her eye, finally, and walks over to her and she pulls him into the back hallway. 

“You - Elliot - ”

She shakes her head at him, and meets his eyes with hers. 

“You told me this was Fin, Elliot.”

His mouth opens and closes, and he looks down at his hands.

She watches as he tries to come up with an answer. She watches as his mind turns over and she watches, as he finally gives up and looks her in the eyes again.

He shrugs; finally, resigned. 

“I missed it. When you made Captain. Shit, Liv - I missed all of it, and - ”

He holds up a hand as she starts to protest; starts to remind him that it’s the past, Elliot.

“I missed it and I was your partner and I should have been there so, let me, I don’t know…”

He smiles at her. It’s a smile she recognizes, now. It had been new once; when he’d looked at her and asked her a question and his lips had curled up just a little - hopeful and ready, well before she was. It’s shy and unsure and it’s one she’d never seen him give anyone else. 

Ever.

“Just needed to do this. For you.”

Olivia looks back at him. The small smile is still there but it’s faltering, a little, as his mind starts to race.

She knows what it’s saying.

Is this the wrong way? 

Olivia looks past him quickly. The small room is buzzing; their family and friends crowded in. There’s loud laughs, from the kids and there’s a shout, when a plate tumbles down to the ground, knocked askew by kids chasing each other through the maze of adults. There’s a loud groan, from Carl, when he sees the mess of pasta on the floor; and she can see too, Carisi and Amanda watching and grinning, his hand laying on a bump everyone’s pretending not to notice. 

It takes her breath away for a second. 

“This is - ”

She blinks fast; and her voice wavers and she inhales fast, and holds it. 

“This is a lot, Elliot.”

His face falls and she rushes to finish; before his mind starts to race again. 

“I love it.”

He tugs her close; one hand reaching out to pull her in by the waist and with the other, he cups her face. Elliot’s voice is low; breath warm and close to her lips. 

“You deserve it, Olivia.”

When she kisses him then, she knows. 

Her lips chase his, warm and rough and needy for just a moment in this little back hall. She wraps one arm around his neck; anchors her hand there and slides her tongue against his. It’s over doing it, with their families and her friends ten feet away but she presses into him harder, when his grip tightens at her waist. 

It shifts a little, as they continue. It’s too unhurried here, and it shouldn’t be, but their lips are soft against the others and the kiss is deep and slow and long. They both sink into it, mouths moving and she isn’t thinking about anything but this. 

Olivia pulls away, finally, when her lungs start to burn; and they stand, both breathing fast and when she buries her head against his shoulder, she waits a moment, and listens to his voice. 

It’s deep, thick and low and he echoes what he’d told her before. 

“You deserve this.”

They have come impossibly far, she knows. They’ve fought for this and they still fight for this and she knows. She knows what she wants, standing here with him tonight. It’s clear, a bright and shiny future; a happy goddamn ending and for once in her entire life, she wants to chase it. She wants to chase it; what she deserves and what she has earned. 

What they both have. 

She knows, finally, and she tells him - gently, but boldly and surely - against the rough leather of his jacket. 

“Ask me.”