Thanks to the ever-lovely and always-inspiring hazelmom... who's just really fantastic overall.
It burned like fire when his tongue touched hers.
And there he was, half expecting her to pull back, screech, hit him. But Olivia molded and gave and became another woman entirely as soon as his lips slid against hers. She was giving in and yet somehow still holding the reins of the power. Elliot didn't expect the night to end the way it had; then again, he hadn't expected the night to begin the way it had begun.
Drinks after work had been a routine, almost a habit on Thursdays. He'd buy a round and then she'd buy a round and if they were both still able to feel their lips after two, they'd order a third and talk about this or that-mostly this-and go home to empty beds and leftover take out in the fridge.
It was the routine that Elliot had taken comfort in, looked forward to.
Since she had taken it upon herself to sashay back into his life, they'd shared one beer together. That had been over lunch, greasy diner food served to them in a distinctly upscale setting. Each pretended not to look at each other over the rims of their mugs, each shoving food into their mouths when they thought speech might escape.
Once the drinks were gone, they stopped eating, paid and left, neither saying anything as they walked the seven blocks to the precinct.
It seemed that her departure had created a rift, a fissure, one that was cleaving deeper as the days drew from autumn into winter.
After the New Year, the first Thursday, he brushed by her desk and asked her if they were still going out, as though they had pre-established plans. She looked up from under her long bangs with an air of surprise, but nodded and shut down her computer.
They didn't bother with individual drinks, just ordered a pitcher of stout and without a word took it to the rear of the establishment, sliding into a booth. Immediately, Olivia laid her cheek on her palm and watched as he doled out the heavy liquid, sliding the glass in front of her.
Elliot raised his glass in a toast, a wordless toast to something neither of them could define and both took a long pull from their respective glasses. After a heavy swallow, he took a deep breath, "You like... tofu... now?"
And the silence was broken; Olivia smiled, Elliot laughed and she began explaining herself. The conversation evened the out, spackled in the nicks and scratches in their relationship.
He was the one to refill their glasses when they were emptied nearly spurring on the conversation, or so he chose to think. Elliot sat back and admired the way the head of the beer clung to her upper lip, admired the way her tongue maneuvered to wipe it clean. The way her fingers curled around the glass, the way her muscles worked to swallow the liquid, the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled with each sip she took.
His face heated as well, but for different reasons. His reasons had more to do with imaging himself nestled between her thighs as she urged him on with her quiet words.
Olivia glanced up at her from beneath her lids, "No… to answer your question, I don't like tofu." Either the earth shifted or their mindsets did because they found themselves staring at one another, shy smiling tempting the corners of their lips.
Just staring.
Elliot settled the tab while she slipped into her jacket, swaying as she hiked it onto her shoulders. The maneuver struck something in him; he didn't even bother to shrug it off but rather let it settle in the pit of his stomach, twist there like a sharp, sweet blade and he sighed.
Olivia chose that moment to glance over at him, nose pink, cheeks red and smile. The lump that was lodged high in his throat slid down until he could swallow, "We need to get out of here," came his gruff response, and he spun, the tails of his overcoat flaying out behind him.
It was as though she floated behind him, followed him out into the crisp bite of the January night, pausing as he did, on the edge of the curb. "I think I might have ah, been lost without you for awhile there," he said to her, his face tilted up to the buildings looming down at him.
She smiled behind him and crossed her arms over her chest, "Well, that figures," she said in jest as though the statement hadn't fazed her in the least. The wind picked up and she hugged herself tighter, wanting nothing more than to go inside somewhere and get warm, but unwilling to leave him standing there, pondering her. "You know… that's not true," Olivia said quietly.
Elliot shrugged and kicked his heel against the cement, "Yeah, I guess…"
Looking to the sky, she thought for a moment, wondered what he wasn't saying that he wanted to and then suggested, "Let's share a cab."
Neither of them said much as the small yellow vehicle sped through Midtown Manhattan. Olivia spent the ride watching slivers of yellow light slide in and out of the interior, watched as it slithered over the legs of his trousers, the reflected color akin to something like mustard. Laughing to herself, Olivia let her head fall back against faux leather and looked over at him.
He was picking at tufts of wool peeking up from the tight rows in his pants, pretending not to notice how close she was sitting. "Walk me up," she asked of him when the cabbie pressed the break at her corner.
Following her out, both turned as the taxi sped off, tires squealing.
With each step taken up the stairs, Elliot felt himself sober. Once they reached the top and she turned to offer the requisite goodbye he pressed his lips to hers and that was it. That was it.
And it burned like fire when his tongue touched hers.