The rain is drumming delicately against the roof of the car, smearing down the windscreen in rivulets and twisting the view to the outside. The windows keep steaming up as though they are engaged in sordid acts of lust, but the truth of the matter is they're simply cold and bored. The mist and dripping rain are not enough to prevent their field of vision to the apartment building across the street, and she knows from glancing at her watch that there has been no movement for one hour and 37 minutes.

It's nearly 2.30am, they've been here since 10pm, the coffee has long since worn off, a night time chill is settling into their bones and they've been growling at each other for approximately 48 hrs. The man they're watching has been turned in by his soon-to-be ex-wife, and they're not sure who to believe. The claim is that he hosts 'picture parties' at his apartment in the darkest depths of the night, men arrive with girls and don't leave for hours. But they have no complaining witness other than the ex, no evidence other than her word, no time or date for the next 'meeting' and his ten year old daughter avoids the questions and claims he's innocent.

Having watched this guy for two days, tensions had started to bristle due to lack of sleep and the frustration born of getting absolutely nowhere. Olivia had almost thrown a mug at him that morning when he had made a smartass remark about the dark shadows under her eyes and her ability to stay up for yet another night, and she is damned if she's going to let him see that she is tired now.

Instead, she's running on nervous energy born of travelling to the point so far past tiredness that her body doesn't know what to do or feel. Her legs keep jumping and her hand plays with strands of hair before pushing them behind her ear and picking at threads on the seams of her jeans.

Elliot is staring out of the window, muscles and joints almost locked with edginess and he hasn't moved except to reach out and wipe the condensation produced by their breath from the inside of the glass. Her jumpiness is flickering in the corner of his eye, irritating him no end, and it's all he can do not to snap at her as every minute toils by with excruciating listlessness.

Abruptly, Olivia sneezes, and the noise within the leaden air makes him jump, his muscles tensing even more and causing his arm to knock a forgotten take-out coffee flying from where it was perched between them, the remnants of lukewarm, bitter liquid spilling immediately onto her thigh.

"Fuck!"

"Jesus El!"

It's the first thing either of them have said for what feels like an age, and Elliot immediately grabs a discarded napkin from the dashboard and presses it to the damp, spreading stain on her leg. She pushes the cup onto the floor, and pulls tissues out of her pocket, wiping the jeans herself and pushing his hand away almost violently.

"Just leave it." Her tone stings, and he throws the napkin back on the dash.

"Shit." The muttered expletive appears under his breath but is undoubtedly loud enough to be heard by his still grousing partner and she shoots him a look of utter disdain. Abandoning her attempts to clean herself up, she sighs and shifts in her seat, glancing across the empty street at the apartment block where nothing has happened.

His exasperation is clearly fizzling under the surface but he's back to his imitation of a stone statue and she drums her fingers against the door, not even realising that her now moist leg is tapping again. She's angry and frustrated, and the car seems far too small all of a sudden, Elliot's irritation radiating towards her and sucking her in without her permission, with no escape in sight. The air surrounding them is sodden with the damp of rain and the remnants of warmth from their breath, and despite the cold it feels heavy and humid.

Suddenly, Elliot's hand lands on the darkened patch of her thigh and he looks over to her.

"Stop it." His voice is gruff but soft, and stills her movement before the words can achieve coherence in her mind. For a second she is startled and embarrassed by her body's instinctive reaction to his command but then she relaxes slightly and looks back at him, their eyes meeting. He squeezes her leg, still tense beneath his fingers, and glances down at the stain. "If you carry on jiggling like that, I might have to spill another cup over you."

Olivia smiles and lets the breath she has been holding out, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes for a second. They've been stuck in this car for too long, her muscles in her back and shoulders are seizing up and she wants to go home to bed. Her thoughts begin to wander before a realisation hits her.

Elliot's hand is still on her thigh.

Opening her eyes without moving, she looks discreetly towards him but his attention appears to be back on the surveillance. However, there is a rigidity to his jaw that belies the more relaxed appearance his body has taken on since his last comment, and she stares at him for a couple of seconds, wondering if she's dreaming.

He can feel her eyes on his face, but he doesn't dare react. Her thigh is firm and taut beneath his palm, the sodden coffee stain warming with the heat of his hand. His fingers have splayed after they contracted, and when he focuses the entirety of his senses onto them, he realises that his little finger is far too high on her thigh, centimetres away from brushing the join of her legs.

The only action he wants to take is to slide his hand upwards and press into her warmth, to feel the heat kindle under his fingers, igniting him. He feels his cock stir in response to his thoughts, and now he thinks she must be aware of the desire streaking through his blood.

It's smouldering, feeding on the tension triggered by frustration and bubbling rage. Rage that he has had eight hours sleep in four days; that he hasn't seen a life outside work since this case started; that they can't catch a break with this perp and be done already. But he cannot move, fearful of breaking the moment that allows him to touch her, to transform that bitter anger into a burgeoning lust that seems more bearable than the ongoing helplessness of their lives.

His palm is burning into her flesh, his fervent intensity transmitting through the cloth and into her skin, and she knows what this feeling is. She's had it before, an uncomfortable urge where her body doesn't know how to react any more and she is reduced to her fingers pressing hard and fast, working the trapped feelings out of the depths and letting them escape from her in her climax.

Now she wants nothing more than to be in her bed, releasing the tension quickly to allow herself to sleep, but she's not, and they have several hours of surveillance and concentration left before the day breaks. Not that they can see anything, it's still raining and Elliot hasn't moved to wipe the windows. The atmosphere is so charged she can hardly breathe, and suddenly she's sick of this, of having to diffuse their chemistry with punch bags and arguments.

Reaching down, she lies her hand over his and shifts it, widening her legs and pushing his fingers against her core. The sensation is agonising, her nerves on fire, and she presses harder. Neither of them look at the other but Elliot can feel his erection rising in response to her action, and he gladly rubs his hand between her legs, the tepid coffee against his skin nothing in comparison to the moisture he images he can feel.

Still without looking at her, he lifts his hand and traces the seam upwards towards her stomach, creeping under the hem of her top and brushing against the bare skin he finds there. She has dropped her hand away now and they rest on the seat, one either side of her legs.

Elliot risks a glance under hooded eyelids and sees her eyes are closed, her head tipped backwards and her lips ever so faintly open and slick, as though she has just licked them. He directs his stare forwards again and acts by touch alone, carefully undoing the button of her jeans and running a finger gently underneath and into the waist of her underwear. It's all he can do not to come in his pants at the feeling of her, faint traces of sweat already under his fingertips and coating her skin.

He find a path downwards, velvet merging into warm wetness as his fingers brush her clitoris and progress further, before he hears her breath hitch faintly and stops. Looking over at her, he's overwhelmed to see that she is staring at him, lust and want creating a sheen across her eyes, and he wants to drown in her.

Pressing his forefinger hard against her, he elicits a gasp from her, and does so again, a second finger joining the first. Her hands are clutching the seat now, her knuckles tight and white, but all she is aware of is the waves of fire flooding her blood and the dark, possessive desire she sees within his eyes.

He shifts his hand, creeping towards her core and allowing his middle finger to slip into her depths, a breath coming from him at the exquisite sensation of her surrounding his flesh, a feeling he has dreamed of so many times. As he entered her, her eyes half shut before opening again and remaining locked with his, and a second finger joins the first, the coarseness of her jeans and panties brushing against the back of his hand and keeping him trapped against her flesh. He begins to move, and she cannot stop her arm rising and cupping his face, bristly skin prickling against the palm of her hand.

His thumb teeters over her clitoris, hardly touching it at all, and she finds herself pressing her hand harder against his face, as if this will produce the desired result, her thumb stroking his cheek gently and her eyes burning into his.

The fingers are still moving, twisting and flicking within her as well as moving in and out, and her breath is becoming more ragged with want. But still he tortures her, skirting round and round her aching clitoris until a groan escapes.

"El....."

She's hardly aware that she has uttered his name, but it sears through him and he can feel his erection twitch at it, growing harder than he thought possible considering that she hasn't even touched him. To see her open before him, exposed and laid bare with emotion, is the stuff of fantasies, and he wants to hold this image forever but her eyes are ablaze with longing.

Finally he relents, and presses his thumb against her, biting down softly into the pad of her palm as he does so. Her hips lift from the seat to meet the pressure, her back arching and her body shaking as she comes with a low moan that vibrates up his arm and into his body, pooling in his heart and groin, pushing the breath from his body as hers escapes too.

His hand stays still when she sinks back in her seat, and their eyes are still locked, delving deep into one another and watching as the tension visibly fades from them both. He hasn't had a release and his erection is still throbbing, but there is a warm sensation of contentment radiating within him.

Her eyes have calmed and a languid serenity resides there as she smiles softly at him, her hand still on his face. Moving his head, he kisses the palm where moments before he had bitten in lust, but he resists the urge to taste her skin with his tongue.

Pulling his hand out, he doesn't bother to button her jeans but instead allows himself the luxury of touching the skin above her waistband for a second before placing his hand back on her thigh, where it started, and squeezing tenderly.

Olivia rubs her thumb across his lips before she too drops her hand, but rather than putting it back on the seat, she lies it over his, intertwining her fingers with his, the faint residue of moisture from his lips combining with that of her core.

Finally they break their gazes from each other, and Elliot reaches out to wipe the condensation from the windows. Silence subsides around them again, and the rain is still drumming faintly on the roof of the car. There are hours until morning, but the night doesn't feel so heavy any more.