A/N: This is me still trying to find my way back home. Here's another piece of randomness. If you squint, you might be able to find a bit of plot. Other than that, it's mostly EO (slightly rough) sex. Shout out to Nikki for the tumblr post on Elliot's sexual habits that got me here, too.

Also, please tell me if the formatting is off, I'm doing this from my iPad.

Disclaimer: I own nothing because if I did...

Climb on board,

We'll go slow and high tempo

Light and dark

Hold me hard and mellow

-Zayn Malik 'Pillow Talk'

Munch hadn't been lying to you when he said you'd only leave your cabin for food. You two had barely been in public for an hour and you'd found it difficult to keep your hands off him. He looked so damn good, so damn smug sitting across from you at the breakfast table, chumming it up with the resorts other occupants. Meanwhile you'd shifted uncontrollably in your seat, sipping on your orange juice, attempting to find someway to relieve the discomfort between your legs.

Now, as you two damn near run back to your cabin, his fingers locked inside yours as you hurried him along the corridor, you know the veracity to Munch's words (even if you didn't want to think about Munch like this). It didn't matter what time of day, morning, noon, or night. It didn't matter that you both are precariously close to the age of fifty - well, at least you are; he's already passed that milestone. All that matter is, is that you get his pants off and your legs wrapped around you as fast as you can.

Your barely through the door to your cabin when he slams you against the wall. His mouth descends on your breasts through the light, white cotton of your sun dress. He bites you, teeth grazing your nipple as the door slams shut behind you. You moan, hands immediately seizing the back of his head as you hold him in place. The lace fabric of your bra is rough against your breasts and he pulls back to look at you. His eyes are dark and you know how he's gonna play this. He's in charge. And you're not contesting one bit. First he drags your dress down, tossing it onto the floor like a cheap rag. You reach for the hem of his shirt, but he slaps your hands away. You grin and settle against the door, watching as he slips out of his shorts, and then his shirt slides off his taut chest.

This man is a God.

Your eyes rake over his almost barren form, and then you laugh as you catch sight of his boxers. They're bright green and right above where his dick rests, they read 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish.' You'd bought them as a gag gift on St. Patrick's Day and you'd never seen him wear them until now. He wasn't really a boxers man, more like boxer briefs.

Giggles shake your body as he descends on you, his hot mouth running down your neck, the tops of your breasts, and the sharp edges of your shoulders.

"Fuck, I need you." you grate, your jaw clenching as you reach for the waist of his boxers. He grabs your roaming fingers in one hand, and with his other hand, he grabs your neck. His thick fingers wrap around your throat, his thumb grazing your pulse point and you shiver.

Instinctively, you wrap a hand around his wrist. The absolute power in this man's grip could crush your windpipe in seconds; the tension in his thick fingers permanently silencing you, but he doesn't. Instead, he guides your mouth to his, his tongue separating your lips without the slightest hint of decorum. He's a mixture of rough and gentle, nipping at your bottom lip with his sharp teeth and soothing the sting with his tongue. You can feel your lips swelling and you know you'll have his hand handprint burnt into your flesh tomorrow (time to drag out the turtlenecks you abandoned with the 90s), but it doesn't matter. You're too far gone to care.

He drops your wrist, and with his now free hand seizes your right thigh and he hooks it over his hip, grinding his hard-on directly against your regrettably lace covered clit. (Clothing, especially underwear, really is redundant to you at the moment.) You let out a long drawn out moan, his teeth grip your bottom lip as you knock your head back against the wall.

Fuck you're going to look like you've been to war and back tomorrow.

He rolls his hips into yours once more and your response is visceral, primitive. You drag your nails down his arms and it's his turn to hiss, his grip on your throat tightening. He's not getting out of this unscathed, either. Both of you will have to explain why you look like you'd been ten rounds with Oscar de la Hoya.

"Shit, Liv," he moans into your mouth and you can't tell if he's in pain or if he's expressing his pleasure, but you can feel his blood pool beneath your fingertips.

Oops.

You grin into his kiss, and you can feel him grinning back. He drops your thigh and pulls you flush against him, his free hand seizing your hip and he spins you to the bed, throwing you down so you land on your palms, facing the headboard. You've yet to rediscover your balance when he seizes you from behind. An arm wraps around your waist and you can feel his erect dick brush against the lace that covers your ass. He trails his other hand up your side and back to your throat. Roughly, he tilts your head to the side, baring your neck to him. His mouth is hot, his teeth harsh and your knees weak.

"Jesus," He's not even in you yet and you're already taking the Lord's name in vain.

"Blasphemy," Elliot grates against the skin of your neck just as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder.

Fuck. Just like that, you fall forward, his body is gone and you're left in a daze. Your knees give out from underneath you and you barely catch the bed, crawling onto it for stability. His shadow falls across the bed and you turn over. Elliot looms above you, grinning like Lucifer before his fall from Grace. He's going to tear you in two, and you damn near come at that thought alone.

You've never been one to enjoy being manhandled. Actually, you hate the term altogether because of the violence it implies, but there's something about the way Elliot takes you; about the power he exudes over you that oddly enough makes you feel safe. You know that if you told him to stop, he would without hesitation. He might be in control of your body, bending it to his will, but you both know that you're truly the one with authority here.

You raise up onto your elbows, heart damn near thumping out of your chest as he stalks towards you. He really needs to lose those stupid boxers and just take you all damn already. But you know him. He's in it for the thrill, the tease, and the chase. And you don't mind at all. You have a lifetime of this ahead of you, after all.

He drops to his knees, gripping your knees that hangover the age of the bed and throws them over his shoulders. Wet, soft kisses pepper the inside of your things until you're coated in his saliva. You look down just in time to see him sink his teeth into your still clothed clit. Not hard enough to hurt you, but with enough force to cause your hips to buck up off the bed. He does it again and your hands wrap around his head. Your nails dig into his scalp. His fingers grip your thighs until he's pulling you to the edge of the bed and he's using his nose to push the lace away so he can taste his prize, cloth free.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Sonofabitch," you moan, the warmth blooming in your lower belly. He continues to nip and nuzzle you, his warm tongue slipping between your folds before his lips latch onto your clit. He sucks you into his mouth, teasing you with his tongue until you're dizzy and your thighs are trembling with your approaching orgasm.

Then he stops. Unceremoniously your heels hit the ground and his oversized digits are skimming up your quivering thighs. He grabs the waistband of your undies and yanks them down your legs, damn near knocking you out of bed in the process. Your legs are weak, your balance gone, and he has yet to even fuck you. Well, at least this morning.

Once your underwear is gone, you try to gain enough sense in order to slip your bra off, but Elliot stops you. He seizes each of your wrists in his hands and pins them to the bed, above your head, and comes to a rest between your legs. The stretch in your thighs begins to burn as he settles himself in the cradle of your hips. He rolls his pelvis into your already sensitive core and you can feel how hard he is, straining against his boxers. His lower belly presses into yours and you gasp.

God, you love it when he's rough with you.

"Remember the rules we set last night? I undress you," he grunts into the nape of your neck, voice gruff, teeth grazing against your skin.

You remember, but you like it better when he reminds you. Defiantly, you attempt to pull your wrists from his grasp, but he only tightens his hold.

"Nuh uh…" he growls, simultaneously pulling away from you and you up from the bed. He spins you on the spot and you land face down in the already rumpled covers. He snaps the band of your bra and it's thrown to the floor with you underwear.

He's gentle as he slips into you from behind, the heat of his slick skin pressed against your bare ass, but that's where the pleasantries end. He fucks into you relentlessly. One hand grips your ass, his short nails biting into your sensitive flesh while his other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back. The harder he pulls, the wetter you become and you groan when he accidentally slips out. But it isn't long before he's buried to the hilt inside you once again. This time he grabs both your hips, gripping them in his large hands and proceeds to pound into you mercilessly. Beneath your combined weight the bed squeaks manically. Elliot grunts and pants, his thrusts slamming into you with all of his weight, while occasionally smacking your ass. "My filthy girl."

Beneath him you're putty. Too caught up in the pleasure, mixed with the slight bit of pain, that courses through your veins. You hold onto the sheet underneath you for dear life, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. He leans over you, pressing a warm kiss to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

This is how you're going to die tonight. Elliot Stabler is going to fuck you into an early grave.

He collapses onto your back, his hard dick still inside you. Slow, lazy thrust allow you to regain some semblance of coherency and you push up on your elbows, but your brief reprieve is short-lived. He pulls out of you harshly and grabs your legs, turning you onto your back. He spreads your legs wide, his palms pressing into the flesh of your inner thighs.

You tremble, partly from anticipation and partly from fear. Not fear of him, but fear of how deep in with him you are.

Fuck you're going to die tonight.

His dark blue, lust clouded eyes make contact with your brown ones and he slams into you. Hard. You cry out, hips bucking off the bed as you reach for him, for something to hold onto. He snakes an arm underneath your torso until his hand is cradling the back of your head. His strokes are jagged, short, and punishing. Over and over again he slams into you until you feel your eyes slamming shut at the sensations. His chin digs into your shoulder and his breath is hot against your neck, his lips trailing across your skin every so often. He grunts, you moan. Long drawn out moans that make you thankful you're locked in some hotel suite in the Catskills instead of back home in your apartment with your nosey next-door neighbors listening in. Usually you weren't one for the theatrics when it came to sex, but there's something about the way that Elliot takes you that leaves you writhing and keening, voice dripping with lust, beneath him.

You can feel your orgasm build. The sensation starts in your stomach. Tiny pinpricks against your already over sensitive flesh. Your toes are curling as your heels press into his thighs, his muscles flexing beneath you. You feel feel your body starting to tighten around him, and so can he.

Elliot pulls back from you, unwinding the hand you have wound around his neck until he's gripping it tightly in his. He kisses your fingertips, linking them between his over sized ones and drawing them up to his heart.

"Look at me, Liv," he coaxes, his hips rolling painfully slow into your. His pelvic bone knocks lightly against your clit and you whimper. "Come on, baby, let me see those beautiful brown eyes."

Somehow, you find the strength to abide to his commands. Your eyes open and you find him gazing at you. Those bright blues of his are a dark, lust filled sea, and the the waves are crashing around you. He leans forward, his strokes long and languid as his lips meet your, eyes still locked on yours.

"I love you," he whispers against your mouth, pulling out of you all the way until you're gasping at the loss of contact, and then he eases back into you; his dick brushing against you at just the right angle. Your orgasm drags you beneath the current like a riptide washing you out to sea. You shake uncontrollably, your legs locking around his waist, desperately in need of something to hang onto in the storm. Every inch of you is vibrating and you swear to Mary that you black out because when you come to, Elliot's full body weight is on top of you. You can feel a mix of fluids, both yours and his, slipping down your thighs, and he's kissing your hair line.

"So beautiful, so beautiful." he whispers against your skin until he slips out of you. You both groan at the loss until, with the last strength in his body, he pulls you onto his chest, piling the disheveled sheets around you. You sprawl out across him, your chin finding purchase in the nape of his neck, your breasts smashed against the hard planes of his chest. With what little energy you have left, you kiss his pulse point; he tastes like salt and something uniquely Elliot. He threads his fingers in your hair, and you lazily run a couple of fingers along the greying whiskers on his chin.

Never before have you felt so at peace, so calm before. Somehow, you find your voice, "I love you, El...I love you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him smile. Finally your eyes flutter shut, the last sight you see is his hand seizing yours. His fingers play with the simple silver band resting on your ring finger.

"Rest, Mrs. Benson-Stabler."