Five-hole: The area of the opening between a goalie's leg pads

Back in the penalty box, Olivia was finding herself rather thankful that she didn't suffer from any amount of claustrophobia, as she'd never been quite as confined as she found herself at the present time. It was the ultimate representation of being trapped between a rock and a hard place. Her back was smashed up against the Plexiglas and Elliot's body blocked any ability to move past its granite solidity. His mouth devoured her own and her hands had found a place to idle, settling on his waist just above where her thighs closed around him. Her mouth, however, wasn't as quick to acquiesce and her tongue fought his for equal rights. Every time she found herself gaining ground, Elliot pressed that much harder against her.

Everywhere.

Jesus, he was hard everywhere. And getting harder from what she could tell by shifting her hips against him. He groaned into her mouth when she did that. A pulsating, reverberating grumble pushed right against her tongue. She answered with her hips again, apparently not having gotten the message he'd been sending with that growl. He sent it a different way this time, crushing his hips back into hers with a near-bruising intensity.

Message received, loud and clear.

He was in control now.

Elliot managed to dislodge his fingers from her hair despite the fact that his knuckles were being compressed between her head and the boards by complete fault of his own. As soon as his hands released, she pounced on the opportunity to raise her own arms and lock them around his neck, just as he'd hoped and predicted she would. He, in turn, then took advantage of her raised arms and ran the very tips of eight fingers as lightly as he could manage down the sides of her ribcage. Her upper body leapt toward him at the feather-like sensation, her back arching off the walls as far as the confines of her space would allow, her teeth knocking against his. He immediately slid his hands into the gap between her back and the Plexi, her reflexive motion allowing him just enough time to unhook her bra before she again fell back against the boards, his hands settling on her hips. One satin strap slipped off her shoulder of its own volition and she pulled her mouth away from his, flattening herself against the wall and casting a sly look down at him, one sleek eyebrow arched in amusement.

Elliot shrugged, offering half of a lopsided smirk in return.

Olivia rolled her eyes, bringing her hands up to their respective shoulders, pulling the straps down mid-way to her elbows before reaching across with her right hand to pull the loop of satin from her left arm. She mirrored the action with the other side, holding the garment between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand before dropping it onto the growing pile of clothing on the floor to her side.

Elliot stood transfixed for a moment, his eyes instinctually drawn to the freshly revealed skin of her breasts.

She re-situated her back upon the Plexi, squaring her shoulders, letting her arms hang loosely by her sides.

The unashamed straightening of her posture practically pushed her breasts toward him, the soft weight of them perfectly balanced before his eyes. The blatant disregard for modesty would ordinarily have made him assume she were making another run at taking control. The unabashed openness of her body language, however, with arms poised neither for offense or defense and shoulders set apart hinted at the sort of vulnerability he never thought he'd be lucky enough to lure out of her.

Of course, as he looked up at her eyes, he realized that this had nothing to do with luring, baiting, enticing or drawing. It was just about giving or taking. Giving and taking. And he was a far luckier bastard than he ever imagined he'd be because Olivia Benson had her legs locked around him and she was offering part of herself to him. Giving it.

And he'd be goddamned to the innermost circle of hell if he weren't going to take it.

He let his head drop forward, running the flat of his tongue up and over a single peaked nipple, feeling her fingers land gently on the back of his head soon thereafter. He spent a minute exploring the same breast with the entirety of his mouth, alternately kissing, sucking, licking, nipping, relishing in the way her quickening erratic breaths served only to push her closer to him. Her fingers didn't grip or scratch, they simply rested on the back of his head, asking him to stay where he was, but in no way truly keeping him there. Giving him control.

When he withdrew the heat of his mouth from her, he watched, almost fascinated, as the contact with the chilly arena air caused her already pebbled nipple to tighten even more. The sight of it apparently induced some sort of Pavlovian reaction because Elliot could swear that his salivary glands had just had their own little orgasms in the back of his throat and he knew…God, he knew he wanted the other breast to look just like that, too. He turned his ministrations on the other side, rolling his tongue in lazy circles, grazing her skin with his teeth, painting over it with his lips. Satisfied only when he'd witnessed the same transformation with the second nipple and looking up at her only when he was satisfied, he found that somewhere during the process, she'd closed her eyes. Her head rested on the Plexi, her eyelids relaxed and draped shut despite her breathing patterns, which suggested something far from relaxation. "Olivia." His voice was a grated whisper.

Her eyes opened, taking a second to focus on him in his proximity. She didn't say a word. Instead, she looked down, taking her hands from his hair and hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and panties, trying in vain to shimmy them both over her hips. With her legs still wrapped around her partner's waist, she was finding it to be a futile effort.

He read her frustration and slid his hands upward, the pits of her arms not quite resting in the vee of his thumbs and forefingers. "Let go, Liv," he murmured.

She let her legs fall from around him, allowing him to lower her to again stand atop his skates. She quickly took full advantage of being on her feet, shimmying the rest of her clothing down past her hips, letting them drop down toward her ankles. As they did, her hands jumped to the front of his jeans, fumbling and working at his belt. She barely fit in the space between Elliot and the Plexi; her hands barely fit in the space between their bodies. Olivia felt her jeans around her ankles and shook them carefully from her feet one leg at a time while her fingers frantically worked at their task. Her breaths were coming heavily and deeply now and when she shoved his jeans down over the cotton of his grey briefs, he hissed sharply, his hips jerking toward her hands. She zig-zagged the tips of her fingers up along the steely flesh of his erection underneath the cotton and he muffled a groan in the collar of her neck. The pads of her fingertips could sense the pulsing tension in his dick and it made her hands tremble. To keep them busy, she shoved her right hand down the front of his briefs, wrapping them around his hard-on, holding him. The tremors in her fingers wouldn't cease and he must have felt them because his own fingers dug into her skin.

"Jesus," he groaned, mouth still pressed to her neck.

She desperately clenched the muscles between her legs, trying hopelessly to contain the moisture she could feel flooding her inner walls in anticipation. She had to slow this down. Christ, she just had to know first. She had to know that this wasn't just Elliot taking what she'd offered. She needed to know that he'd have wanted to take it even if she hadn't offered. Take her.

Good God, take her.

A moan of frustration leaked from her throat and her hand inadvertently gripped him tighter. His hips bucked again. She turned her head to the left, her lips placed at his temple. "Elliot," she rasped.

He lifted and turned his head slightly to her, rubbing his forehead against hers.

"I've gotta know something."

She could feel his brow furrow in concern as it pressed on hers. He brought his head up, forehead never leaving hers, even as she turned straight ahead to face him. "What?" he breathed into her mouth, his nose rubbing lightly against the side of her own.

"I need to know that you're sure about this. That you want this…me." His breathing was just as ragged as hers, his shoulders pacing hers in their rapid rise and fall. She paused to consider that this might be a silly request to be making given the location of her right hand. "Disregarding the fact that my hand is down your pants."

Elliot snorted before tossing his head back and laughing.

Olivia looked up with her eyes only, watching the play of muscles in his neck as he laughed. She grinned despite herself, biting down on her lower lip when he righted and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

He kept his lips pressed there, speaking against her. "Liv, you're everything I could possibly want."

She sighed shakily, swiftly withdrawing her hand only to plant her thumbs underneath the waistband and shove his briefs down to join his jeans at his ankles.

He inched forward again, molding her body onto the Plexiglas and capturing her jaw with his hands. She'd drawn one leg up and over his hip, her shaking hands rubbing up and down his upper arms. He sucked lightly on the delicate skin of her neck, kissing his way up to her ear until he could trickle his words right into it. "I'm in love with you, Olivia." He could feel the inflation of her lungs against his chest as she drew in a sharp breath, holding it. He pressed another kiss to her temple and set his forehead to hers once more, the side of his nose next to hers. The tone of his voice took on a trace of humor, not to be hidden among the low and quiet Brooklyn murmur. "Disregarding the fact that your hand was down my pants."

It was her turn to laugh then, raising her head to flash him a smile that he nearly immediately swallowed with his own lips. Her hands flew to his cheeks as her tongue twisted around his lazily. She'd heard the phrase before, but was pretty sure that until now she'd never actually known what it was like to drink from someone else's lips. But, Jesus, kissing this man was like a life force unto itself. This kiss was agonizingly slower, but no less deep.

Murphy had made his way up to the press level and into the press box. He strode toward the panel of various buttons, dials and slides that took up a section of the desk lining the front of the box. He placed his hands on his hips and scanned the panel for a particular control. He found what he was looking for before looking down through the window.

Immediately, his right hand flew to his eyes, covering them, his left hand held out in front of him in a "stop" gesture. "Aww, I did not need to see that." Keeping his eyes covered, he sat down in one of the swiveling chairs at the desk and didn't uncover them until he'd turned the chair away from the window. He looked down at his watch then, calculating in his head how approximately how much time he ought to allow before checking again whether or not the…goal had been scored.

In the box, Elliot dropped his hands, leaving Olivia to direct their faces in the kiss, sliding the palms of them down her side until both sat in the curves where her ass met the backs of her thighs. She had captured his lower lip with her teeth and he mumbled around her lips, "C'mere, Liv." He pressed his fingertips into her skin, urging her.

She pushed off his skate with the ball of her left foot, using her right knee's grip on his hip and the support of his hands to lift her left leg and wrap it around him as well. He adjusted his hold on her and she did her best to shimmy higher on him, just a bit. The Plexiglas tugged on the skin of her back as she wriggled her way upward. One of his long fingers crept inward to the slickness of her folds, tracing a slow circle around her entrance, dipping into her only slightly.

Her mouth broke from his, her hands dropping to the sides of his arms, just below his shoulders, grasping. "Elliot…don't," she begged against the slope of the top of his right shoulder. The lone finger had pushed itself inside her up to the middle knuckle. Her muscles clamped around it and God, it felt good. Almost too good. And she must have something wrong with her because she still wanted something bigger. She wanted him. All of him. In her. And if she didn't get it soon, well…shit. "It's too…El…God…I just…I need you…please." She really had no idea if she was making any sense because words, at this point, no longer seemed to be consciously controlled.

He understood her. He always did.

His finger withdrew, his lips left a kiss on her temple, and the same hand moved between them to guide him to her. He found where he needed to be and brought that hand, his right, up to the side of her face, still buried against his shoulder. He wove his fingers through her hair, using his hand to hold her temple against his lips. He dropped a couple quick kisses there as his left hand hiked her up against him a little bit more. He pressed his lips to her again and held them in place this time as he started to push himself up into her. He had just the head of himself inside and, with the way her muscles clenched as tightly around his dick as the muscles of her thighs had clenched around his waist, he didn't know if he could push any farther without hurting her. He could feel as well as hear the moan she stifled against his shoulder. Trying in vain to not impulsively just impale her the rest of the way on him, his legs were almost quaking with the effort. He dragged his lips down from her temple to her ear, requesting of her the same thing he had earlier. "Let go, Liv," he murmured.

She hooked her chin over his shoulder, her fingers digging into his arms. She took a deep breath, still desperate to slow down and relax. As she blew the breath out through her lips, she drained the tension from her lower body, causing her to effectively sink down onto his erection. "Oh, God," she drawled out.

He groaned. "Christ, Liv." His right hand dropped back down to her ass.

Elliot was buried in her and she squeezed him again. She raised her head, shifting to level her eyes with his. They were closed and she knew he was fighting himself. Leaning in, she swept her tongue across his lips and when he instinctively returned her kiss, she carefully raised and lowered her hips, slowly rocking against him and riding his erection. It only took a few repetitions before he thrust back up at her. He moved, not too fast and not too slowly, with her, his strokes long and deep, pulling out until only his head remained with her and then pushing back until their pelvises met.

After one particularly slow stroke, she contracted tightly in protest of his withdrawal and when he forced his way back up and through the tight coil of muscles, her lips tore from his and her head fell back against the Plexiglas, rattling it. His thrusts became quicker, stronger, the friction of her back sliding up and down on the Plexi no longer burning due to the thin sheen of sweat lubricating her skin. He was kissing and nibbling on her right shoulder now and she pinned his head there with her hand, her head tilted up as much as she could manage, the forearm of her left hand bracing on his back for leverage.

God, her breathing was so ragged and every rough exhalation was right against his ear. Her mouth was so close that he could hear the traces of pleasured moans that emerged with each breath. She was ridiculously wet now…for him…and the thought and sensation of it caused him to thrust that much harder into her. Her muscles were pulling him into her and when he thought he couldn't be in any deeper…fuck…she'd pull just a little bit more. He groaned into her shoulder, nabbing a piece of the soft flesh there between his teeth. Her fingernails scraped on his scalp, leaving a tingling that shot straight down his back and, ultimately, right to his balls. He swore he could feel them tensing, almost to the point of discomfort. Elliot ran his tongue up the side of Olivia's neck until he reached her ear. "Liv…fuck…Liv, I'm gonna come…Jesus."

And then he realized that he shouldn't have told her that because, of course, she was going to have to beat him to it now. That was just how it worked. She'd been the first to take Munch's lunchtime dare that no one could eat six Saltine crackers in under a minute without drinking anything…as soon as he'd reached for a handful of crackers, she'd hastily tossed her first in her mouth. The day they ate at that wings place, a crazy number of bottles of various specialty hot sauces laid before them, they'd each grabbed a bottle of the hottest sauce they could find, the gauntlet thrown down. He'd grabbed a tortilla chip for his sauce, so she simply stuck out her tongue and shook a few drops directly onto it. That winter he'd said he thought he was getting the flu, she stayed home with it the next day. Admittedly, that one was a little freaky. She'd insisted that she would give him a kidney first. So, naturally, it made sense that she was just going to have to come first, too.

She did, her drawn-out moan a little louder, her inner walls rippling and playing around him. The muscles in her slim thighs quivered around his hips and he had a distinct moment of panic related to the last time he'd had sex. He knew his ex-wife had never been on any form of birth control and that one-night mistake he'd made had included a condom. Of that much, he'd made sure. But, of all the things he knew about Olivia Benson, her birth control methods weren't among them. Her spasms kept rolling in recurrent waves as his thrusting continued at a more frantic pace. "Liv," he grated out. "Liv…God…Liv, please."

"What?" Her voice was ecstatic and breathy with a touch of annoyance, perhaps because he was talking and she was trying to enjoy an orgasm.

"Please…tell me you're on something…please."

She grinned, her eyes closed as her back continued to slide up and down the Plexiglas. Still holding his head with her right hand, she picked her head up, and purred in his ear the only thing that seemed appropriate. "Let go, El."

He released something akin to a growl, thrusting hard into her a few final times before digging his fingers into her ass, keeping her pelvis glued to his. He rocked their hips together as he emptied himself into her, while she milked his cock with one last flood of contractions.

Olivia's fingers didn't begin to slacken from their grip on the back of his head for several seconds. Elliot had taken to kissing soft lines from the edge of her shoulder, up her neck and back down again, and that worked just fine for her. Her legs still hadn't ceased their tremors and she loosened their vice around Elliot's hips, trying to relax the muscles. She took a couple deep breaths. She figured that perhaps she should say something. After all, he'd just told her he was in love with her. Her mind was still trying to wrap itself around that admission and words, at this moment, seemed beyond her capacity.

Three overwhelmingly loud blasts of an airhorn suddenly crushed the silence (and her post-orgasmic bliss), shocking her into words, though nothing was particularly romantic about them.

"Holy fuck!" she hollered at the first blast of the horn, though she couldn't be sure who yelled it first, Elliot or her. Her legs dropped from around his hips in surprise and his hands had jumped away from her at the same instant. She shrieked as she felt herself drop suddenly, only to have Elliot's hands grab her up around her ribcage as he quickly came to his senses. The initial fear reaction was soon replaced by realization…that someone had set off the goal buzzer. That someone had quite possibly just seen her partner fucking her against the Plexiglas boards of the penalty box. That "someone" was Murphy.

Jesus H. Christ, Murphy had seen them having sex.

And then…he'd…celebrated it.

Shit.

Now she was irritated. She scrambled up and off Elliot, feeling frighteningly empty when his dick slid out of her. Right now, however, her brain was focused on one thing and that was finding Murphy. Not really caring that she was stark naked, or that a unique mixture of her and Elliot was beginning to trickle down the inside of her thigh, she whirled around to face the ice, scanning up and around.

"Christ, Olivia." Elliot had already yanked his briefs and jeans back up and now bent down and swiped the first piece of clothing his fingers touched.

Her sharp brown eyes found the windows of the press box and the outline of Aidan Murphy standing behind them. "You little fucker," she muttered before planting one hand on her hip and using the other to flip a very indignant middle finger up toward the window. Elliot, for his part, seemed more concerned about covering her up, his hands reaching around her front with his black t-shirt, trying to drape it over her, hoping she'd hold it in place.

She didn't.

Instead, when the PA system crackled and Murphy's voice drifted through the speakers with a casual "Love you, too, Sin," she raised her other hand…and other middle finger…to join the first.

Elliot gave up, walking her closer to the boards so he could be sure that the important parts of her lower half weren't visible even from above, simultaneously bringing his left arm around her, using his forearm to cover her breasts. With his right, he raised a middle finger.