A/N: Valentine's Day approaches. Three tales of love, romance, and good ol' fashioned naughtiness.

DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and its characters. TStabler© owns the narrative, dialogue and plot of this story.

She checks her watch as she walks into the quiet apartment, and she yawns when the time makes sense to her. "Midnight," she mumbles, hanging up her jacket on the hook near the door. "Great. Wonder what cheesy shit he's gonna pull on me."

She yawns again, and she lets her eyes gaze over the room. Quiet. Empty. And then she smirks. She bites her lip as she takes the three steps that separate her from the couch, and she kicks off her shoes as quietly as she can. "Maybe I can beat him at his own game," she ponders, slipping out of her work pants. .

She keeps her eyes focused on the couch as the cotton poly-blend pools at her feet. She slips her silk panties over hips, anticipating the consequences of her actions. Her eyes fix, unblinking, as she eases herself down on the couch, onto the legs of the man who has overtaken the sofa with his sleeping form. She chuckles when he shifts and grunts, then she gets to work.

His belt slips off easily, despite the hard yank she has to give to pry it out from beneath his weight. His pants, a button-fly thank God, open without a snag or hitch, and she manages to get them down far enough in the front to put her plan into action.

She's still watching his eyes, praying he doesn't wake up just yet, as she wraps her hand around the man's semi-hard shaft to draw it out into the open. At her touch, he stirs, and she sees his mouth curl into a smirk.

His eyes remain shut, though, and she strokes him slowly, taking slow and easy breaths to keep from startling him. Her hand slides up, down, and over the thick length, and when her thumb swipes over the sensitive tip, she feels it twitch and throb.

He gasps, in his sleep, and his arms flail a bit, as if trying to locate the root-cause of the amazing things being done to him.

She is quick, though, and dodges his attempts, and then she strikes. She takes another breath, her eyes still holding his closed ones in their crosshairs, and she drops her head.

"Mother of Christ," he murmurs, his eyes flickering as he feels the wet heat of her mouth engulf him. It's a struggle to raise his lids, but he does, and he squints and swats at the light before he focuses on her. "Well, good morning to you, too," he jokes, overwhelmed by the vision of her bobbing her head.

She swirls her tongue around his tip and winks at him, then sinks down again, trying to take as much of him down her throat as she can. She hears his groan, and then a softer moan, and she knows she's got him where she wants him. She knows he's complete jelly, and she loves knowing that it's her, only her that can reduce him to such mush.

He finds the strength to move his hands, this time with direct purpose, to the back of her head. "Fuck, Liv," he spits, still in awe of the sight of her lips around him. He runs his fingers through her hair, ignoring the temptation to thrust hard into her mouth. He lets his eyes wander over her body, and he licks his lips when he releases she's pantsless as she's straddling his shins. "Sit, baby," he hisses.

"Hmm?" she hums, with him still in her mouth. She feels his hips buck in response to the sensation, and she smirks again. She closes her eyes for a moment, and the moan that escapes her lips, reverberating around him, is low and feral.

"Ah, fuck," he spits again, "Baby, I..." and he loses his words. Not trusting his voice, he twists his hands, wrapping them up in her hair, and he tugs hard.

Her mouth slips off of him as she looks up, and she slides up his body, following the orders his hair-pulling has given her. She settles her legs around his waist and looks down at him, her face less than an inch from his. "What?"

"You know what," he snaps, his eyes dark and narrow as he looks up into hers. His hands drag slowly from her hair to her ass, he palms one cheek tightly and grazes the fingertips of his other hand along the curve of her other hip until he drops his hand to his own skin. With a soft moan, he grabs his hardness.

"Oh, my God," she whimpers, feeling him running his tip up and down her wet folds, teasing her. She can't help but buck, rocking her body into him every time he swipes his flesh over her clit. She digs her nails into his chest as she shivers a bit, anticipation and excitement coursing through her veins. "El, baby," she gasps, her head dropping backward.

"Look at me," he demands, then he smiles, watching her head straighten. He lifts his head off of the couch cushion, bending his neck just enough to reach her. He kisses her, almost violently, as he gives her ass a tight squeeze and thrusts his hips, pushing into her hard.

Her cry is swallowed by their kiss, her body shudders as it adjusts to him, and her nails, still deep in his skin beneath his shirt, drag down his chest.

He moans as his fingers move again, rushing to pry open the buttons of her shirt. Through their frantic kissing, he manages to push the black button down over her shoulders, but she won't let him go to pull it off of her completely.

She nibbles on his bottom lip as she raises and lowers herself slowly, riding him. She moans when she feels his hands on her chest, each one cupping and squeezing a breast. She whimpers when he begins tweaking her nipples through the thin silk of her bra, both of them at once.

He chuckles against her lips, knowing he's only making her wetter, more ready for him to move harder and faster. He splays his palms around her body, his thumbs still circle over her hardened nipples as he moves, and he slams up into her.

She falls forward, losing control of her body a bit, and slides her hands back up his chest. She's running her fingers over his muscles in some haphazard pattern, one that makes them both moan louder as they move together faster.

Lying flat again, he grunts into her mouth as he raises his hips. He's hitting into her hard, deep, fast, and he's fast approaching his peak. His left hand flies to the back of her neck, keeping her pressed against him, kissing her with less speed and more meaning. But his right hand has clamped itself on her lower back, and he's keeping her pressed against him there, too.

With every one of his thrusts, she moans. She can't move, she's completely given in to him. She bites at his lip, at his tongue, and she claws at his chest when he speeds up, feeling him slam into her hard, slapping his flesh against hers each time.

He feels her tightening, he feels her muscles twitch beneath his hands and he groans when she pulses around him. "Hold on," he whispers as they kiss, "Not yet, baby."

She presses her forehead to his, struggles to open her eyes, when she does she looks straight down into his. "Oh, God, El," she whines, her body freezing on top of his. "Shit."

He smirks, loving the way he renders her speechless, thoughtless, motionless. It fills him with pride knowing he can bring the strongest woman he knows to that state. It gives him even more of an ego-boost to know that he brings her the most intense pleasure she has ever felt, he does things to her and for her that no other man has, or will. He owns her, in a way, and he isn't afraid or ashamed to admit that she owns him, too. He grunts with each thrust, until he feels a slow burn rise in his own body.

"El," she whimpers, her eyes widening slightly, "El, baby, I'm so close."

He nods as he kisses her, his fingers moving under the shirt that wouldn't come off. He feels her slick skin, the sheen of sweat that proves just how intensely their bodies work together. One hand slips around to her chest again, and he pinches her left nipple as he slows his thrusts.

"Oh, my God," she drags out the words on soft moans, her body starts to tremble. "Please," she pleads in a whisper, her lips moving against his.

He chuckles as he pistons into and out of her, slow and hard, and he whispers, "Cum for me."

That's all it takes. Her body goes rigid as she clenches tightly around him. Her back arches but she refuses to pull her lips away from his, knowing if she does her neighbors will hear her screams.

He holds her tight as she trembles, still thrusting, and her vice-like grip on him as he moves triggers his own release. He moans and curses under his breath, her lips catching every sound, as hot spurts shoot from him, into her. It takes him a full minute to stop moving, he always hates the moment when it's over.

Still shuddering, she whimpers and says, "Jesus Christ, Elliot."

He laughs, running his fingers through her hair, and he whispers, "You started it."

She scoffs and collapses against him, the strength to hold herself up is gone. "I didn't think you'd..."

"You wake me up out of a sound sleep the way you did," he says, shaking his head, "You knew damn well what you were in for, Benson."

She chuckles and curls her body around his, and she reaches up for the throw laying over the back of the couch.

He helps her wrap them up, then he blinks. "I gotta get out of these clothes, baby."

"Too comfortable," she mumbles. Then she yelps, feeling her entire body rise. "What the hell are you..."

With a grunt and some serious coordination, he works his pants off and tosses them to meet hers on the hardwood floor. He pulls and tugs at the cotton of her shirt, finally ripping it off of her completely, and he unhooks her bra.

She slips out of the garment as she watches him struggle to get his own shirt off, laughing at the absurdity of their situation.

"Much better," he sighs, relaxing into the couch cushions. He absentmindedly caresses her, his fingers moving lightly over her cooling skin. He feels the goose bumps rise on her arms and he smiles. He loves knowing that he gives her goose bumps, something else he knows no other man has ever done, or ever will. He kisses the crown of her head and sighs again, and then he whispers to her. One question. One word. "Why?"

She tilts her head to look at him, her hair dancing along his chest as she moves. "Happy Valentine's Day, El," she says with a smile.

He laughs and pulls her toward him for another kiss, thanking God for the woman in his arms, in his heart. "Happy Valentine's Day, Liv," he whispers, before dropping his head and succumbing to exhaustion.

She rolls her eyes and nuzzles into his chest, taking a deep breath. "I love you," she whispers, her eyes closing as she yawns.

"I love you, too, baby," he whispers, mumbled loud enough for her to hear.

Slow smiles spread across their faces as sleep takes them away, and they know that when they wake, the smiles won't fade.

A/N: Next: Someone thinks Cupid is the Devil, but can an angel change his mind?