A/N: There are many definitions of the word dirty.
DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf owns SVU and the characters; TStabler© owns the story you're about to read.
As she runs past the station house, her legs throb. They're still sore from the intense workout she's just pushed herself through only moments before. Her lower body feels numb as her feet hit the pavement. Her heart rate hasn't slowed, her breathing is still heavy and even. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
She's doesn't know why she feels compelled to amp up her workouts nowadays. It could be the subconscious knowledge that she's getting older and needs to put in more effort, and the hidden desire to outrun, outlast, and outshine the younger women at work. Maybe it's the deep-set need for a promotion, or at least some sort of much-deserved recognition. Or maybe, just maybe, it's pride.
For the first time in years, she is proud of her body. She's proud of what it's been through, what it's capable of, and Goddamnit, she's proud that one man has taken thoughts of her naked body to bed on lonely nights for over a decade. She takes immense pride in knowing that one man has always thought of her body as the physical epitome of perfection.
Now, she realizes that when they're together it's not just sex. It was never, and never will be "just sex." He worships her, her name falls from his lips like a prayer, and though she doesn't believe in God, she returns the sentiment, worshipping him in return with every glance, every touch. Praying with him.
She's in love.
For the first time, ever, she is head over heels in love and there's no doubt in her mind, no fear that she got it wrong. For the first time, everything feels right. It has since their first real night together, the first night they spent with each other where he didn't have to leave at three-in-the-morning, when he was well and truly all hers.
As she runs around the final corner, she stops. Her breath hitches. Her building seems different all of a sudden. It's home, now, she thinks with a smile. Not just a place to sleep at night, not just a storage unit. It's really home. Because he's there.
She starts to slowly walk, checking her watch as she draws closer to the steps. It's far too early for him to be awake, an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning. She hums to herself as she reaches the door and swipes her security card through the slot. She walks through the door and nods to her sleepy-eyed doorman, then wraps her earbuds around her MP3 player. She takes the stairs two at a time, wincing as her muscles stretch again, not yet getting the cool down they desperately crave.
She reaches her landing and grins, laughing to herself. She can just picture him, one leg flopping lazily over the side of the bed, his arms wound around his pillow, his mouth open and his tongue nearly hanging out, his mind racing with dreams of her naked on the hood of a Porsche. She shakes her head and sighs as she unlocks the door, pushing through it as quietly as she can.
She toes off her worn out sneakers, pulls off her zip-up hoodie, and heads for the bathroom, breezing by the bedroom with only a single impure thought. She grabs a towel out of the linen closet, that single thought growing into a full fantasy, and she moans softly as she turns toward the bathroom door.
"Jesus!" she gasps, clutching her chest and closing her eyes. She hears him chuckle and swats at his bare chest with the towel. "Fuck," she hisses, catching her breath. She shakes off the shock and looks at him. "I didn't mean to wake..."
"I wasn't asleep," he interrupts.
She freezes. The way he's looking at her makes her already weak knees shake a bit. The intensity in his eyes, the playfully wicked smirk on his lips, and the heat radiating from his body make her heart pound again. "Can you..."
"Shh," he hushes, one finger flying up to her lips, pressing into them. He moves closer, pressing into her, pushing her up against the closet. "I missed you."
She grabs his wrist gently and pulls his hand away from her face. "I was only gone for..."
"Too long," he interjects, and he moves fast, kissing her before she can back away. Not like she ever would. His hands slip down her body and he feels her twitch under his touch.
"God," she moans, her head dropping back against the closet door behind her. "I need to take a shower, baby, I..."
"I like you dirty," he murmurs, one hand tugging at the waistband of her yoga pants. He watches her eyes as he slides his hand down, over her skin. His fingers get caught between the cotton of her panties and her hot flesh, and he moans at the same time she does.
She groans, kissing him again, and drops the towel. Her hands fly to the back of his head. Her legs are jelly but she finds the strength to lift one up and perch it on his hip.
He growls as she spreads wider for him, one finger curling into her. He grunts as he picks her up completely, supporting her with one arm as his other hand twists inside of her. He walks blindly backward toward the bedroom, fumbling through the door.
She feels herself fall, being thrust onto the bed. She takes a sharp breath as she opens her eyes and catches him grinning at her as he shoves his sweatpants down and kicks them away.
He hears the appreciative, lustful noise she makes and he bends, crawling over her like a hungry panther with an equally hungry look in his eyes. He even licks his lips, which earns another moan from her. He's grateful she's just come from the gym and he doesn't have to fight with buttons or zippers. Her clothes peel away with ease.
He tosses her tank top and sports bra over his shoulder as he stares down at her. He drops his head and kisses his way up her toned stomach, across her chest, around her neck, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling her. His fingertips graze her sides, just barely, as he teases her.
She rolls up into him, moaning again. She can feel how hard and ready he is, and while any other man would be in a rush to slide home, he is taking his time rounding the bases. He's taking her in, making it last, making it all mean something.
She slides her hands up and down his back, scratching lightly, and the noise he makes is long and low. She knows that once he thrusts into her, it won't be slow and gentle anymore. He's not in that kind of mood.
He kisses back down her neck, to her chest, trailing his lips to her right nipple. She moans his name softly as her nails dig into his skin and she arches her back.
"Fuck," he mumbles, her nipple caught between his teeth. He can feel how wet she is, how she slides over him when she rocks up against him. She's coating him, and it makes it hard to wait. He bites down on her nipple, tugs a bit, suckles, and he listens to her whimpers and tries to keep control.
She lifts her head, sucks in a breath, and catches his eyes. "El," she whispers.
He sucks a bit longer on her nipple and then it falls out of his mouth with a light pop. He kisses up her neck, her chin, then seals her mouth with his as he moves just slightly downward and to the left, and he thrusts into her.
Her scream is caught by his kiss, his tongue swirling with hers as she shudders and shivers. She meets every one of his deep thrusts with her hips, doing everything she can to let him know she wants him as much as he wants her.
He grabs at her thighs, pulling her legs up and looping them around his back. He feels her lock her ankles together and he hikes her up more, getting even deeper from the angle with each sway of his hips. He hasn't stopped kissing her. He can't and he won't.
She rakes her nails down his back, harder than before, and she searches out his hands. She mumbles something against his lips as she grabs his wrists, working her fingers between his.
He almost growls as their hands link, and he feels her thighs clench, trying to pull him closer, deeper. "Liv," he pants as he catches a quick breath. He gets out another "God, Liv," and he crashes his mouth into hers again, moving faster, harder, squeezing her hands tight in his.
Her head falls, her energy almost completely spent, her body giving into his. She moans his name as his lips and teeth claim her neck. "Elliot, oh my God," she barely breathes.
He feels her tighten, clench. He can feel her entire body go rigid beneath him and he snaps his head up. "Look at me," he says, a request and demand. "Baby," he prods, slamming into her and rolling his hips, grinding against her clit.
Her eyes flutter open as she rolls her head and looks at him, hazy and lazy eyes half-lidded and her lip gnashed between her teeth. Her eyes widen and darken, they start to flicker, but she keeps them open, on him, and tries to hold on, waiting for him.
He stares into her eyes as he slams into her, against her, his knuckles turning white as they grip her hands. "Holy..." and then it's a grunt and he feels her clamp down around him, a velvet vice, and he's unable to move.
She presses her lips together to muffle the cries, the electric burn rips through her. Her body rolls in waves and arches off the bed, staying connected to his.
He buries his head in her neck as he lets go, trying to thrust as much as he can with her pulsing around him. She milks him and he stops moving, letting it take over, letting it happen.
Suddenly, there's stillness. It's quiet, except for their synchronized breathing and loud, thumping heartbeats.
She pries one hand away from him, the other now limp in his left palm. She smoothes his hair back and grazes his neck as she whispers, "I love you."
"I love you," he returns, peppering the skin nearest his mouth with kisses. He remains where he is for as long as he can. He, in this moment, is content. Content to be in her bed, in her. Content to be home. He takes a deep breath and sighs with a sad groan, then slips out of her, slips away.
Her legs fall from his back and she whines, "Why?"
He snickers at her. "It's Sunday, baby," he tells her, kissing her forehead. "We have to get the kids up, have breakfast, go to Church," he lists. "And before all of that we need to shower." He narrows his eyes. "We're both a little dirty."