Disclaimer: sarcasm Dick Wolfe and I are co-conspirators. I shuffle the deck and he deals the cards. We brainstorm new ideas for the show every Thursday night over whiskey, cigars and re-runs of the A-team. sarcasm off Seriously – I don't own them.
Rating is for sex between consenting adults. And I can't write anything E/O related without some sort of angst. If you don't like smutty angst, please do not read.
Reviews: Please. I need the incentive to write more!
A/N: This is a one-shot E/O fic. My other fic, "Bullets & Fairytales" is lengthy and purposely slow-going with the E/O action. This one is short and to the point.
The bottle sat half empty on the maple coffee table, condensation darkening the grain of the wood underneath the glass container. It had been a long time since she had purchased a fifth after shift; it was even further back in her memory that she had recalled actually ingesting over half of the vodka in one night. The specifics of the last incident had long since left her, along with the burn of the alcohol on her throat and the recollections of her mother's red-rimmed eyes pleading with her, asking a child to take it all away. Numb those wretched memories and the birth of her only child.
Olivia's long fingers toyed with the shot glass, an ironic NYPD shield emblazoned on one side. Was it an epithet to police work? That the profession was so horrendous, so gut wrenching, that only the balm of alcohol could remove the constant pain? Is that why so many cops gave into the demon, lived their days in the revulsion of the job, and then dulled their memories with the drink?
Considering everything in her past, in her life, she believed herself stronger than the norm. But then something would throw her off, cut deeper than the flesh, expose the rich marrow of her darkest memories. And then the little girl came back, that same girl with the bloodied fingernails chewed to the quick, her bruises faded but still tender, her brown eyes lit with unshed tears as she helped her drunken mother dance with that damned demon again and again.
Today's memories were like a fresh cut; numb at the time of incident, but now stinging, fresh and raw. A fourteen year old girl, raped continuously for a decade by her foster father, had finally killed him in a fit of rage. The murder brought in the detectives of the Special Victims Unit. Further investigation showed the father foster had inflicted such abuse upon six other girls in his care over a 17 year span. If that wasn't enough, the fourteen year old child, Jalina, had discovered today she was pregnant by the bastard. Pregnant. Olivia had held the sobbing girl in the hospital as the child took in the news; under Olivia's strong arms, Jalina's hands moved from her crushing embrace of Olivia to caress the slight swell of her belly.
"This is mine, Detective. I'm keeping him. This baby is mine."
Those words had chilled her, the content along with the youth of the voice which spoke them. It was a catalyst to the memories of her own childhood – how had her mother felt, with that evil inside of her? Spawn of hate, growing deep within her belly…
The shot glass rolled from her fingertips, twirling in a lazy half-circle across the coffee table and landing soundlessly on the carpet. Olivia sighed, watching its decent, not bothering to retrieve it. She had drunk enough that she felt the warmth in every cell of her body, the numbness invade every sense except the well-worn tapestry of her memories. Those would remain no matter how hard she tried to eradicate them.
The ring of her phone pierced the air again, the cellular balancing precariously on the armrest of the couch where she had tossed it hours ago. Olivia knew it was Elliot. She had answered the phone twice when she had come home only to be greeted by intense questioning – where was she, what was she doing, was she all right? Then she had been sober, and she had forced a cordial laugh, asking him why he wasn't drinking a beer with one of the women he had been dating recently. Her response was meant to send him away; God forbid she needed Elliot to talk with her about this case right now. Really, she wanted him to be happy. Even if it meant driving him even further away from her.
She closed her eyes, resting her head back into the couch cushions as the ringing cut off abruptly. How she wanted to talk to him. More than anything, she needed a friend, her best friend, to work her through this. If only to discuss the intricacies of the case, to bounce ideas back and forth, to dissect the behaviors of both the perp and his victims to help the detectives in the next case, for there would always be a "next case".
Olivia's eyelids fluttered back open. Her brown gaze sliced across her sparse living room, taking in the dark television, the beige curtains, and the stacked bookshelves. Outside of the job, this was her world. Quiet and books in the solitude of her apartment; and for tonight, vodka and memories of her mother and the demon. That fucking demon.
The harsh knocking at her front door was unexpected. Without thinking, Olivia's long fingers had curled around her Glock with the intensity of a lover's caress. The nine millimeter was out of its holster before she was even standing. Ironic, that her grip on the gun was steadier than she was on her feet.
Olivia stumbled more than walked towards the front door, looking out the peep hole. She flinched at the site of her partner; Elliot was standing on the other side of the door, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his pants, a scowl on his face. Her free hand flicked the dead bolt and she pulled the door open.
His ice blue eyes took her in; the disarray of her brown hair with its honey streaks, her dark glazed eyes, plain white tank top exposing more skin than she usually did, gun holster, black slacks and bare feet. His gaze caught back on her gun, his eyebrows quirking up.
"Expecting someone, Liv?"
She holstered the Glock, her scowl matching his. "What are you doing here?"
"You've been drinking." It wasn't a question. His voice was hard as he continued, "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Don't start with me, Elliot. I'm not in the fucking mood." She stayed where she was, her brown eyes daring him to push her, to engage in some sort of argument about her current state. She didn't move away from the door frame.
His hand reached out unexpectedly, the roughness of his palm sliding against her cheek, and then her jaw, as he moved her face upwards to force her to look at him. "Olivia…"
She pulled away then, turning to walk back into the apartment. Olivia heard the door to the apartment slam shut, and closed her eyes, expecting the silence.
Elliot stood motionless, his back against the coolness of the metal door as he surveyed her living room. His blue eyes accessed the area in a detached manner, finally ending up on the half empty vodka bottle. He sighed, and he watched as the small sound caused the back of his partner to tense. Clad as she was only in slacks, the simple tank top and shoulder holster, he could see clearly as her body responded to him.
Several short strides brought him in close proximity to her and he pulled sharply at her shoulders, whipping her around to face him. Before he could react, the flat of her hand made sharp contact with his left cheek. The action stung him, both emotionally and physically.
Olivia was breathing heavily, her brown eyes wide as she stared up at her partner. He was looking at her in a mixture of anger and disbelief. She couldn't believe what she had done. This was Elliot, and she had hit him…
"What the hell was that for?" His voice was low, his blue eyes cold. His face tingled from her sharp touch, and his mind was reeling. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her lips parted as her breath came out in sharp gasps.
"Elliot…I'm sorry…," she whispered. Olivia reached a tentative hand back to his cheek, her heart aching when he involuntarily flinched at the movement. Her palm slid softly against the rough flesh of his five o'clock shadow, her thumb brushing against his thin lower lip. He drew in a sharp breath, grabbing her wrist.
"Don't," he told roughly, his blue eyes darkening. "Olivia…"
"Elliot, I need…" Her voice trailed off in a whisper. Her tongue darted out, moistening her lips, drawing his attention to her mouth. "Please."
He tried to control his breathing, his hand covering hers over his cheek. "You've been drinking, Liv. You need to get some rest. Tomorrow…tomorrow we'll discuss this. This case…"
Her eyes closed and she laughed, a small humorless sound. "Yes, this case. I don't want to talk anymore, Elliot, I just want to forget…"
Her brown eyes opened again as her hand slid from his cheek, her thumb grazing his earlobe as her fingers curled around the back of his neck. She arched her face upwards as she pulled him down to her.
The shock of her soft lips against his mouth made a mockery of the intensity he felt from the slap. He groaned, his body tightening like taut cord; for nearly a decade, he had imagined the taste of his partner's mouth, the feel of her supple body. Mostly it had been a curse, in bed with his then wife, feeling the touch of Kathy's fingers, her mouth, but desiring that of Olivia's.
He was not disappointed. Her mouth was open against his, her tongue teasing his, taunting him into entrance. She tasted like heat, a burn that he knew was from the vodka. But underneath that was sweet, a honey-like flavor that was all her; his tongue danced with hers, nipping her lower lip as he wondered if she tasted the same way everywhere…
Elliot's mouth left hers, trailing a moist path from her jaw to her neck, his movements tightening her body, heat gathering in her belly.
She arched against him, her hips jerking against his growing erection. The hand at her lower back dipped down to the curve of her ass, repeating her involuntary movement. The feel of her so intimately pressed against him nearly caused him to lose it, right there in her foyer.
Her fingers were against his dress shirt, fumbling the buttons open. He groaned at her touch; the feel of her warm hands against his bare chest forced him to breathe. Elliot came back to the surface like a swimmer deprived of oxygen.
"Christ, what are we doing?" Elliot's voice was husky with desire. One of his hands was over Olivia's on his broad chest; his other hand remained on her hip. She looked up at him, her brown eyes glazed.
Without speaking, she took the hand on his chest and moved it to her left breast, covered by the thin tank top. He shivered as she arched into his touch, her hard nipple nudging insistently into his moist palm.
"Jesus…," he ground out. His mouth slammed against hers again, his hands shaking with the release of years of pent up desire. His thumb circled her taut nipple as his hand pressed gently up against her generous breast. His other hand was against the strap of her leather shoulder holster, forcing away the last restraint of her cop persona.
Through the alcohol, she felt the overwhelming swell of years of need finally laid bare in front of the man she loved most. She knew the demon was still there. He sat like the patriarch she never knew, in the corner of her living room, watching as her partner fondled her breast. The demon knew as did she, that this was no ordinary lover. This wasn't some one night stand brought home from a cop bar after a particularly gruesome case. Oh no. This was Elliot. Her perfect man. Her enigma. Hers, if only in her dreams.
But he was here now, in reality, his mouth mating with hers, his hands places she had only dreamed of as she had touched herself on one too many a lonely night.
"Elliot, please," her voice was a whimper now, her fingertips brushing down his bare chest to the waistband of his slacks. His stomach clenched at the touch, his mouth stilling on her jaw.
"Fuck me, oh God, Elliot, please just fuck me…."
The heat nearly burned him, her words like fire, his body throbbing painfully in response to her plea. His tongue tangled with hers, deep inside her mouth. He pulled at her thighs, easing her hips squarely against his, her legs circling his waist.
They made it down the darkened hallway like that, his mouth never leaving hers. He made it into her room, both of them tumbling down to the mattress of her queen size bed.
She lied prone on the edge of the bed, only half of her face made visible by the moonlight streaming through the one window into her dark room. He pushed up so he was standing, dressed only in slacks, breathing heavily in front of her.
"Olivia." He was torn. His body was on fire; he wanted to bury himself inside her, hear her cry out his name, climax to the sound of that honeyed voice. But fear of this tugged at him, battling his desire. "Tell me to go." It almost came out as a husky plea. "Tell me to go, and I will."
She moved up from her elbows to a sitting position. She leaned forward, her fingertips working on his belt. He closed his eyes, hearing the clink of his belt, and the metal sound of his zipper.
Olivia pushed down the slacks over his narrow hips, her hands grazing against his ass and the back of his thighs. No underwear, but she wasn't surprised. For some reason, she figured he probably went without it most days. What did shock her was the size of him. Erect, he was thick and hard and almost intimidating. She stole a quick look up to see her partner's face; Elliot's eyes were closed, his lips parted.
Olivia focused back on his body; without giving it another thought, she leaned into him, entertaining a desire she had held for years. She took him into her mouth.
He jerked, his eyes flashing open. The feel of her warm mouth suckling him nearly caused him to orgasm right then. His hands bit painfully into her bare shoulders, pushing her back.
"No, Detective," he hissed, his voice so rough it was almost foreign. "My turn."
She looked up at him, her eyes shining in the half light, her wet mouth curving slightly. Olivia pulled at the edge of her tank top, removing the garment off over her head. She watched Elliot's face as she reached behind her, her fingertips working the clasps of her bra.
"Let me see."
Both of them were breathing heavily. She paused, slowing, making each movement deliberate. Hooks unclasped, she slid down one strap, then the other…
He moved between her legs onto the bed, his mouth crashing into hers again. His tongue thrust into her mouth in slow strokes and she moaned, arching against him.
In a haze, she felt his mouth suckle and then lap at one nipple, his hands making a memory of her pants. His naked hips were between her legs, his fingers sliding against the lace edge of her underwear.
She was moaning, almost completely lost in the moment, her neck arched as he nuzzled her throat.
"Olivia, look at me."
Brown eyes met blue in the semi-darkness. It only seemed to increase the intensity, the vulnerability she felt being nearly naked underneath him.
"Don't look away," he told her, his voice thick and rough as his fingers slipped under the cloth barrier. He slid through the moist folds and pushed into her with one finger than two. She gasped, eyes closing as she bucked against him.
"Please…oh, God," she moaned, her thighs squeezing against his hips, pulling him closer.
"Look at me," he forced out. "Olivia…"
"Liv, are you sober?"
Her eyelids fluttered at the question. She arched again, trying to push his fingertips deeper inside her. "El…"
"I can't do this if…I have to know that you know what you're doing, Liv."
Somewhere in the back of her mind she was smirking. Forever he would be the honorable man. It was only one of the many reasons she loved him.
One of her hands left his shoulders and reached down to grab his wrist, her body shuddering as his fingers slid out of her. She moved his hand up to her face, taking those same fingers into her mouth.
He lost all coherent thought. She felt as he ripped the lace underwear free from her body. He pulled his fingers from her mouth, replacing them with his tongue as his hands pushed her thighs further apart.
She felt him just at the entrance and jerked her hips upward. He slid into her in one hard movement, knocking the breath from her. She was panting against his mouth, her fingernails digging hard into his back.
"I know who you are, El. I know what I want. I want you, I want this," she said in a half gasp, half moan. His fingertips bit into her hips. He moved out of her half way, and then shoved back into her, causing her to scream his name. He was big, she was wet, and it was too damn good.
"Need you, Liv," he groaned as he thrust slowly. His fingers were toying with her at the same time he pushed inside of her, causing her body to coil in utter delight. "For years. God, I love you…"
She broke at his words, the tightness that had been building breaking into a million mirrored pieces. Every nerve was split raw, her body shaking uncontrollably as the orgasm throbbed inside her. She felt Elliot still moving inside her, his own body vibrating with mutual pleasure. Then he arched up suddenly, stiffening momentarily, and she felt the warmth of it belly deep.
Both of them were breathless and sweaty. He was still on top of her, in her. After a moment, he pushed up on his elbows, staring down at her.
She closed her eyes. The demon was still there. She felt him as sure as she still remembered who she was, who her parents were.
"Yes?" Her eyes flicked open. His face only half lit, it was hard to gauge his expression. She watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed.
"I meant it." One of his hands moved into her hair, brushing the sweaty strands back from her forehead. "I love you."
She looked up at him, her partner, her Elliot. Maybe things could change. Maybe demons weren't permanent.
Olivia smiled, pulling him down to her for another kiss.