Happy Birthday to me.

:::::

It's just sleep.

That's all he keeps reciting in his head because it's the only justifiable reason for moving towards her door right now.

His heart is still thumping wildly because it still feels wrong; forbidden almost. He'd spent a lifetime training himself, creating boundaries – separating his feelings for his partner, segregating them, smothering them. To the point of complete an utter denial. And then denying that denial so deeply that Egyption waters flooded through his veins on a daily basis.

But he's kidding himself if he thinks this is the pinnacle, because the dam wall broke the moment those brown eyes looked up at him and he found something beyond friendship buried within them. Something far more intimate. Something far more confronting. And the moment he dropped his mouth onto hers, the wood chipped, the waters buckled and years of pent up frustration cascaded wildly down the brooks.

His hand comes out then, hesitating only briefly before he pushes gently against the grain of the wood. It opens slowly, granting him more inches she didn't provide, more inches he didn't deserve. The slight creek of the hinge accelerates his heartbeat, only amplifying his uncertainty. As if the noise were a warning, a scream, a cry that if he crossed to the other side, it was his own doing.

And there would be no going back.

Her bedroom is cast in dark shadows, the only light filtering through from the dim lamp in the living room. As he steps into the darkness he doesn't know whether to close the door behind him or leave it ajar but he's misjudged the distance and the door is clicking shut before he has a chance to stop it.

The finality of the noise rattles him.

He blinks against black, enveloped in complete darkness. He has no idea if she's in bed, standing, or in the connecting ensuite. His fingers are practically tingling with unease. He just needs to hear her voice, sense her presence, something.

He wants to call out, clear the congestion in his throat, tell her it's ok he'll sleep on the couch - that it's for the best. But his voice is lodged somewhere in the depths of his chest and he can't comprehend why there mere thought of Olivia being in this room, let alone in her bed, terrifies him more than the horrors he deals with on a daily basis.

He closes his eyes. Jesus Christ. He just needs to get a grip. Like she said. It's just sleep. Plain and simple. If he just takes off his jacket, jeans and shoes and slips under the covers they won't even have to touch her bed is so big.

But the problem that's circling his mind is that although he's made his way towards the left side of her bed, what if that's her side? It's always been his side. His body had automatically walked to the left but what if she's lying there? Beneath the sheets. Inches from his knees. What if he tries to get into her bed through this darkness and she's right there?

He lets out the breath he's holding, the flow of oxygen resuming once more and it's enough to settle his senses. He toes off his shoes before slipping his jacket down his arms. The leather ripples through the darkness and he swallows, the sound doing little to calm his nerves.

He can feel eyes then. Her fixed gaze on his chest, his body, his crotch and he can't understand how because it's practically jet black in here.

As his fingers move to his belt and he draws the leather slowly through the loops his fingers still. Maybe he should keep his pants on. Maybe when she realizes he's about to climb into her bed in his just briefs and a t-shirt she will flip out. Maybe she hadn't meant for him to even come in here. Perhaps the door left ajar wasn't actually for him. What if she's asleep already and wakes up to find him making himself right at home, his dick flush up against her ass sporting that morning erection he knows he won't be able to conceal. Fuck.

But just as he goes to fasten his belt again he hears it, the slightest rustle beneath the sheets followed by a breathy exhale.

He thinks about the look in her eyes then, as he hovered above her on the bed. Unmistakable, unbridled desire, to the point of no return. He thinks about her groaning, grinding, panting. He thinks about all the lines they've already crossed in this bed and that in the grand scheme of things sleeping next to her, should be the least of his concerns.

With that thought alone, he pulls the leather open, unbuttons his jeans and unzips his fly. He thinks about the wooden bar, the broken rung, the gap that will exist between them tonight. He thinks about her bronze drenched body, her ample breasts, those dark protruding nipples, her pouty lips mouthing those two earth-shattering words.

Fuck me.

Jesus Christ.

As he drags the denim over his hips the friction knocks his semi and kicks himself for going there. Why did he have to conjure up those images moments before he's about to get into bed with her? Christ. He was just trying to make this right, remind himself that they'd already crossed over - in essence, to the other side.

He turns ninety degrees, enough so that if she were staring at him through the darkness that she wouldn't see his new, budding erection peaking through his white cotton briefs.

He's done hesitating now, he just needs to get into bed under the covers and cover up so he doesn't feel so blatantly on display. His hand goes for the bed, connecting first with the edge of the mattress until he moves further, feeling, reaching and then he pulls back instantly as if he's been scalded.

Skin.

Fuck.

He just touched her body. Her arm he thinks. No clothing, no sheet - just skin. She's right there, she's been right fucking there the whole time and Jesus Christ she better be clothed or so help him God.

"Other side," she murmurs throatily through the darkness and of course he thinks. Of course she sleeps on the same side as he does and for a brief moment the thought occurs to him that soon one of them might have to give up their side indefinitely.

She could have made it easier on him he thinks. She could have moved - scooted over, made room for him so he wouldn't have had to touch her. But it's her side he thinks, it's her territory. So he walks then, as quietly as he can manage slowly rounding the bed, doing his best to keep his erection from view.

When he makes it to the other side he reaches out tentatively, almost nervous he's going to find her over this side now but when his hand only makes contact with an empty mattress he lets out a sigh of relief.

His fingers curl under the sheet and he slides it down, careful not to disrupt the other side in the process. The mattress bows accommodating his weight and it's one quick motion as he drags the cotton up his body.

He sinks back into the pillow exhaling heavily, letting the aching muscles of his back soften against the mattress. As his eyes drift closed he desperately tries to ignore the fact that he's in bed with his partner.

All he can hear is a dull ringing in his ear. No sounds from the street, no creeks, or movement. Not even her regulated breathing anymore.

The silence is unsettling. He wants to hear rustling. He wants that breathy exhale back. He wants confirmation that she is finding this just as uncomfortable as he is. He doesn't want her to just fall asleep leaving him in this awkward, uncomfortable limbo. How on earth is he expected to just sleep now with the heavy thud of his heartbeat, not to mention the pressure between his legs is beyond him.

He tries to conjure up some mundane thoughts. Caseloads, paperwork, housework, Munch's crazy conspiracies. Anything. But he knows it's redundant. It will be hours before he has any hope in drifting off to sleep, and it's the stillness that's overtaken the woman beside him that causes the stark realization.

He's on his own until dawn.

:::

He feels movement.

Just as his heart-rate had been succumbing to a moderate level, it's now recharged and into overdrive.

He doesn't know how much time has passed - 30 minutes maybe, but he's spent the better part of it staring at her ceiling, making out the intricate patters through the darkness. As his eyes had traced the circular spheres he'd wondered if this was what she had been doing hours earlier when she had no choice but to look up.

But it's now the movement beside him that's captured his attention and he holds his breath while he takes it in. Shifting. Limbs moving beneath the sheets. Arms, legs, twisting perhaps. All he has to go by is sounds and the small movements rippling through the mattress.

Good god. Maybe if he closes his eyes she will stop her torturous movement. If only he had the same control over his ears. That's when he hears it, the dullest of sounds, but unmistakable at that.

A moan.

He thinks. Or at the very least an audible sleep induced noise. It strikes him as odd that even the timbre, even the faintest of noises coming from her larynx and he could pick her in a second.

He wants to bathe in the sound.

He feels the sheet then, starting to slide and it's position under his waist drags slowly down his hip until the material smoothes over his erection. He lets the sheet go, his heart a heavy thud but he doesn't see or feel her. Just the sheet. He assumes she's twisting, moving, kicking her own side of the sheet off perhaps.

His hand moves down, to see if he can grasp it, his fingertips seeking the only thing that will conceal his arousal. When he feels nothing but the under sheet he bites the bullet, sitting up with a strained sigh he reaches down and yanks it back up the bed. He doesn't dare look, his eyes have adjusted to the darkness now and he can make out large objects, but there is no way he's looking over there. So with his eyes focused straight ahead he just moves backward, settling back down onto the mattress and pressing his eyes shut.

Then he feels it.

Her body. Her goddamn body. Up against his. She must have rolled, scooted or moved in the process when he was up searching for the sheet because he feels her arm. The entire bare expanse of it, flush against his. No space in between. She's under the sheet he just pulled up too, which means if she scoots any closer, her thigh will also be making it's self right at home, up against his.

But it's just her arm he tries to reason with himself, not her thigh or her breasts or her mouth against his skin so he just needs to calm the hell down.

He hears the soft breaths now that she's close. The back of her hand is up against his and they're just lying there, flat on their backs, side by side, like fucking gingerbread cut outs. He feels out the space on his other side realizing the area he has to work with his practically non-existent. He is flush up against his side of the bed and yet here she is with almost three quarters of the bed to herself.

He lets out a quiet, pained sigh because he has no room, no movement and he's trapped by the stifling heat of her body. He considers getting up and moving around the bed and to the other side. To his side. He considers the possibility of even climbing over her, to get there. Anything but this stifling little pocket of room he's been given.

But then it's more movement he feels. And thank God for that, maybe she's sensed his annoyance, maybe she's woken up and realized she isn't on her side anymore.

Maybe she's –

But it's her hand that cuts him off, arching backwards, sliding over his chest, the back of her palm brushing across his t-shirt until it knocks him lightly against the cheek like she's doing a damn cat stretch. Or backstroke. She's practically on him then, her ass perched against his hip, her back sinking into the side of his torso, loose strands of curls tickling his neck.

His eyes move the small distance across to take her in, because fuck, if she's going to make herself right at home here, he thinks a few glimpses of her is a fair trade off at this point.

But he realizes his mistake immediately because from this angle, all he sees is breasts, the white tank clinging to the full, pert, braless mounds. And not only can he see down her tank from this angle but she's also given him full access to the peaked nipples that are far too erect for her to be sleeping.

Son of a bitch.

This spurs him into action then, his hand moving up, lightly grasping the wrist lying limp against his cheek. His fingers encircle it gently, as if he's testing the waters, still unsure as to whether she's conscious or not.

When she doesn't react, he closes his eyes because he doesn't want to let go. He doesn't want to remove his hand, so instead he slowly moves it lower, lightly trailing his fingertips down the column of her wrist, over her elbow, down the inside of her upper arm, knowing that if she wasn't asleep this would surely cause her to flinch, buck, tickle.

Something.

But she doesn't move. When his fingers reach the juncture under her arm, he retreats once more, slowly, achingly running his finger tips up the sensitive skin of her arm until they reach her wrist.

He swallows, nothing, just regulated breathing.

He tells himself he's still unsure, but fuck, he knows it's his inability to get his hands off her that's driving this so he moves further down, his thumb swiping her elbow, under arm, and that's when he sees it, her nipples hardening, budding, swollen, painfully erect now through the white tank.

The sight makes his mouth dry and he hesitates when he reaches her torso because he's so close now. So fucking close, he could slide his palm across her breast right now if he wanted to.

But he stops, because she's still breathing methodically, still limp against his body and although he's caused her nipples to pebble, he isn't sure of her state of mind. He wants her to make that noise again, that dull moan, the one that made the blood pool between his legs, because he's so turned on right now and trying not to feel like a creep for getting off on his partners sleeping form.

He just needs a sign, some movement, a sigh, a stretch, anything.

His fingers are still resting on her torso when he smoothes it down the side, he tries to palm it off unintentional when his fingers swipe the side of her breast on his descent before it continues down her waist, until it reaches her hip. He feels it then. Skin. The warm expanse where her pajama pants begin and her tank has been hiked up slightly.

He closes his eyes before he takes it, because fuck, although she's potentially unconscious, she came to him. Not the other way around and he needs this. Just this. Just her stomach. He flattens his palm against the softness of her stomach and it's heat and warmth mirrored in the depth of his own belly.

His fingers maneuver until they're under the tank and they splay against her belly, his thumb stretching further beneath the tank, his pinky swiping dangerously close to her pajama bottoms. Still nothing, nothing but the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his back.

He turns then, his mouth skimming the side of her ear, desperate to say something, to nudge her awake but at the same time he doesn't want to deal with those eyes, questioning, accusing. It's just sleep. Fuck what the hell is he doing? But he can't stop, he just needs to feel her beneath the palm of his hand. That's all. His erection is in no way at risk of coming in contact with her body. Not if she stays this way.

With that thought in mind, he moves his hand higher and Jesus Christ he's going further beneath the tank and he's going straight to hell. She'd kill him. She'd rip him a new one if she woke up right now.

But even that possibility doesn't stop him, because his hand right now has a mind of it's own and it's moving, higher, his thumb swiping her ribcage, splaying wide, covering every inch of the expanse beneath his palm. Then his hand slips up the side of her torso and suddenly the tank is pulled up in the process. He closes his eyes, because fuck, he just wanted to touch, not to yank her clothes up her body. But it's done now, on one side at least, and he can feel the small pin pricks of goosebumps that are lining her skin from the cool night air.

He opens his eyes again and her nipples. Fuck. Dear lord in heaven, they're practically scraping against the cotton, desperate for air. And he wants to pull the material up further, her arm is already up in the position, it wouldn't take much. Just a firm yank. But he just looks, takes her in, his hand unknowingly getting higher, until his thumb is swiping the swell. The curve. The fucking curve of her breast, and he swallows because it's want that's pulsating through his fingers right now.

Pure – fucking - want.

And he has no right, but it's no longer within his control. He needs to touch, to feel, so his hand moves higher until he's cupping the underside of her breast. White cotton is bunched against the back of his hand, keeping him there, obstructing him from retreating now, even if he wanted to.

His heart-beat is a solid thud against her back then because he knows he's going to do it. And it's then that his whole hand slides up, over the ridge of her breast, his fingers skimming her firm nipple. He holds his breath as he marvels in the way her bare breast feels so achingly warm against his palm. She fills the expanse, and then some. His thumb moves then and he was sure that would have gotten a response, so that's why he continues, not because his dick is throbbing in his briefs but because he wants her awake. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he lets the rough pad of his thumb swipe purposefully and achingly over her nipple.

She jolts, her ass unmistakably jutting into his hip in response and he freezes as if he's been caught in the act and he's just waiting for her to back up the action with a response. But it doesn't come. He doesn't feel her tense or stir or move – and she's either one hell of an actress or she's still unconscious.

He swipes again, this time firmer, for longer, repetitively because he needs her to say something - anything.

"Ugh," she whispers, her hips rolling backwards, his dick twitching in response.

He exhales heavily into her ear, because it's concrete proof now that she's conscious, awake and she's not pushing him off. Instead she's arching backwards, her ass pushing firmly into his hip.

He circles her nipple then, taking it between his thumb and forefinger and softly rolling, pulling.

"Mmhmm," she moans and her voice isn't as horse as he'd expect it to be if she'd just roused and he wonders now just how long she's been awake.

She feels her hand then, coming off his body and reaching for his and it's the breaks he thinks. Fuck. She's finally realized just what the hell he's doing and she's putting a stop to it.

Her fingers encircle his wrist and she's pulling his hand out from under her tank and his heart thumps against her back. He feels like a grade A creep then, Jesus Christ of course she doesn't want his advances right now. After everything they'd been through tonight, after all the shit – he couldn't read that now wasn't the time.

It's just sleep.

Just as he is about to apologize, he notices she's still holding his wrist, despite it being out from under her tank, only she's not giving it back. Instead she's moving it further, lower, over her abdomen until his throat catches and his eyes close because she's moving it between her legs.

His mouth knocks into her cheek when he realizes what's happening and his fingers hit the material of her pajama pants. As his hands skim between her legs he exhales heavily into her neck and cups her through her pajamas.

Jesus Liv.

His mind is spinning with the need to process what is happening and he thinks this must be a dream because it's the only logical explanation for it.

He's seen her in jeans, in slacks, in those tight fitting pants that make a grown man want to cry and damn it he's thought about it – he's a warm blooded male. He's pictured her up against a locker, his hand unbuttoning, sliding down her pants, moving between her legs. But this - this intimate invitation she's just granted him with nothing but cotton and satin separating them was unlike anything he could have imagined.

"Olivia," he muses into her ear and his mouth is parted, his lips pressing up against the warm skin of her temple. It's permission, that's what he's asking, the tone of his voice is almost a plea because although he started this, she just upped the ante ten fold.

She knows what he's asking and she's already one step ahead of him, moving his hand back up across her stomach before she starts to slide it back down again, the pressure on his hand enough so it slides easily beneath the seam of her pajamas pants and he bites into his lower lip she slides his hand lower because he knows what's coming. As his fingers brush across satin his breathing heightens and it's far more intimate and incites an ever-growing need to get closer.

He runs his fingers across her softly and she moves her neck back until his lips press against her. The angle is strange, he's on his back and she's partially on his side and it's his left hand. It's an awkward reach, but God himself couldn't pry his hand from it's position.

Her legs are still sidled together, so the access he has is scarce but the warmth between her legs is unmistakable. Slowly, he nudges the thigh she's perched upon between her legs. His upper thigh rising up between hers, causing her legs to part either side. Then it's two fingers that slide down her satin covered core and her head lolls back. She moans, the sound so close to his ear that he closes his eyes just to process it. Olivia, moaning from the direct result of his hands between her legs.

He moves his fingers down, smoothing, rubbing until he starts to feel it, dampness, liquid heat, seeping into satin - her chest is rising and falling at a heightened pace. His thigh rises higher, parting her legs a little wider and he can't help himself, as he slides two fingers back down again, he pushes a little deeper at her entrance.

"N-ugh," she calls out, and he feels it against his thigh, she's rocking herself now, moving her hips in a slow and steady movements so that he has no choice but to rub his fingers in unison. He swallows, and thanks the lord that she isn't completely on top of him right now, or his dick would have a hard time keeping with the motion.

He can tell she's wet and there is no way she was asleep before when there is all this molten lava below. He wants more, he wants beneath the satin and Jesus the way she's moving against his hand, it would appear she's more desperate than him. His lips have made there way into her hair, which he accounts for all the thrashing about she seems to be doing.

He wants her pants off now, but he's stuck in this position with no way of discarding the items without moving her physically off him.

She's still rocking her hips and his thumb is grasping for the seam of her panties, desperate to latch on so he can tug them down. But she's moving too much, her ass rocking into his hip, her whole body slowly encroaching onto his lap, inches away from reaching his cock.

He can't. He can't deal with her ass near his erection right now. He's barely keeping up with her movements. He isn't at an angle where he can grasp the top of her panties so he moves lower. Desperately seeking until finally he seizes a corner, the seam nestled at her thigh and he slips under.

His fingers are coated with juices immediately and he groans into her neck because she's fucking dripping. The tips of his fingers brush against the dampness, moving down her core.

"Fu-ugh," she whimpers and she can tell she's digging her teeth into her lip. He slides his fingers beneath the folds, running them up and down, until his thumb locates her clit. He rubs the rough pad of his thumb across the swollen bundle of nerves and she groans openly, her head coming back and colliding with his forehead.

He snaps then, he's done with this awkward angle, he's done with the restriction of her clothing. He pulls his hand from her underwear and moves his body into hers until she falls heavily onto her stomach. She slides up onto her elbows in an effort to rise up but he's already mounted her from behind. His chest is pressing against her back but he's careful to keep his erection away from her ass.

He moves down then, grasping the waistband of her pajama pants and underwear and drags them down her body. As the material slides past her knees she falls into the mattress and he wastes no time scooping the tank up the sides of her torso, pulling the material up, moving her hands above her head as he slips the material off. He barely has the tank off before he drops his weight completely onto her and she groans as his cotton covered erection pushes against her bare ass.

His mouth falls to the ridge of her shoulder coated with cascading vanilla curls, that intoxicating fresh scent that screams Olivia whenever she so much as passes by him. He swallows at the thought that within seconds he had her bare-naked beneath him.

His hand grasps her hip and his fingers bite into her and he moans into her neck because he needs to touch more, feel more, all he's had is surfaced based, he needs to be deeper.

His erection is swelling by the minute and he can hear her heated, restricted breaths coming out in bursts and that's when he loses the battle within. His thigh slides between her legs, parting them from behind, and then his hand moves slowly between her legs. He closes his eyes as his fingers touch the liquid heat.

She muffles a cry as they slide down her core from behind until they reach her clit. He then repeats the action once more, and she's back to rubbing herself against his hand, against his fingers, his knuckles practically scraping against mattress.

"Fu-" she moans, cutting herself off, her fingers curling around the pillow beneath her and his heart is thumping wildly at the intensity between them, that is far too palpable to take slowly, traditionally.

Her ass is inches from his cock and all her moving, grinding, rocking is making him weaken. Then it's her hand she feels reaching backwards, latching onto the seam of his briefs and yanking them downward, the elastic teasing his cock as he groans into her ear. Christ she is tugging him against her now, his cock knocking against her ass and he grabs her wrist and they struggle for seizure of his briefs.

Elliot wins, yanking her hand off him and she's pissed, he can feel it, but he is grasping her hips and turning her over before she knows it. She rises up onto her elbows but he's already lifting a thigh, hooking it over his shoulder dragging her down the bed, before his face sinks down between her legs.

His mouth meets her centre she groans at the unexpected contact. He moves his wide shoulders between her legs before his tongue drags across her moist centre. She moans openly arching beneath him but he doesn't give her time to adjust, his tongue is already flicking over her clit once – twice – causing her heavy breaths to catapult into strained pants. Her fingers curl around the bed sheet as he continues his firm, torturous, torment against the swollen bundle of nerves and when his mouth closes over her centre, her heels dig into his back and she's practically panting.

"Ugh." Her hands release the sheet and drive through his hair. His five o'clock shadow is scraping her inner thighs, teasing them - marking them, making his cock throb in response. His hand slips between them and he runs his thumb across her centre before he meets with her clit.

She groans, as he starts to thumb her, twisting beneath him, practically fighting his hands. As two fingers trail her opening, testing the waters, she clamps down on her lower lip and he groans in anticipation because he is desperate feel the heat, the depth, the vice. As he slips them into the juices her hands fall off his head as she sinks back into the mattress.

She moans, arching as he starts to slip inside her, the vice around his fingers makes his chest constrict and his cock throb with a need to mirror the path. He pushes further inside her before he leans forward, his tongue smothering her clit and her feet knock him firmly as she groans with want.

"Elliot - fuckk…" her words trail off in a whisper and as he looks up in the darkness the sight of her grasping her breasts causes an unexpected pang to rock his lower belly. He had all intentions of having her come against his mouth, around his fingers but the tables have turned and he is crawling up her body now, his hands grasping her wrists, tugging them from her breasts and planting them shoulder height as he growls with desire. He pushes his hips between her legs, his covered erection hitting her square between the legs and they groan in unison.

He feels her heat, the moisture seeping into his underwear. He has her hands captive but it doesn't stop her wrapping her legs around his hips and grinding herself against his erection.

"Uggh-" he rasps against her cheek.

With her wrists still under wraps he moves his mouth down, capturing a nipple between his lips. He dampens the nub before he flicks his tongue and she bucks beneath him, her toes curling into his calf muscle in response. As he continues to flick his tongue across her nipple she groans, tugging on her wrists with urgency, twisting against his unrelenting mouth.

As a hand escapes his capture it's between their bodies before he knows it and she is beneath his briefs. As her fingers encircle his cock, he exhales sharply as they slide down his length. He hisses into her neck, knowing that if she so much as repeats that action he will lose it.

Her hips move into him then, pushing him firmly until he falls onto his side before she has him flat on his back. She slides a knee across his hip and suddenly she's straddling him. Her damp centre sitting squarely on his hardness as her palms press into his pecks.

"Ugh," he groans from her weight as she rocks against his hips, he grasps his briefs and yanks them downward because he needs to feel her, unhindered, raw, naked, dripping. He needs to be inside. Enough of this torturous foreplay. She lets him slide his underwear down until they bunch at his upper thighs. He grasps her hips then, attempting to guide her onto his cock but she's too focused on removing his underwear completely.

She slips out of his hold entirely then dragging his briefs down his legs and off his feet. Once they're removed, he tries to grasp a limb, a wrist, anything and drag her back up his body but she has seized him in her hands, grasping the base, her hands sliding up the length of him once, twice, before he feels Olivia's damp mouth close around him in the darkness.

Christ Almighty.

He groans, loudly. His chest void of any oxygen as she sinks down his cock. Her lips pressing firmly down the length of him. He fills her throat. She takes him wholeheartedly and he practically loses consciousness. Stop. He wants to scream but it's ecstasy. Her mouth, her lips, her hands, her tempo, her pace, her tongue darting out teasing the tip before she slides back down again. Her hands moving in rhythm with her mouth, rubbing, the slickness making his throat constrict. God, he hadn't expected this. Olivia's mouth. Those lips. That tongue. Fuck. If he thought he was close before he's now officially hit the danger zone. As her lips slip down his length and back up she pauses to tongue his tip relentlessly.

He bucks against her mouth, reaching out and grasping her wrist then because he's not waiting for this to end in her mouth. He yanks her but she doesn't budge. He tries again, this time more firmly, his knee pressing into her hip until he slips out of her mouth.

He drags her up his body and flips her onto her back. She fights it momentarily, rising up to her elbows but the weight of his body wins out. He grasps a thigh, hooking it over his right shoulder and she bends beneath his weight but then it's resistance he feels as the palm of her foot slaps him hard in the collarbone until she pushes him firmly until he's falling backwards.

The bed disappears underneath him then and he lands with a thud on the carpet.

The room stills.

"Shit," he hears her whisper breathlessly from the bed above.

He takes a few moments to process just what happened before his lips can't help but curl upward. He's up then, scrambling into a kneeling position and crawling back onto the bed until he locates an ankle and he pulls her down the bed. She yelps in surprise but he can tell she's smiling as he climbs up the length of her body. Her hands come out, smoothing apologetically over his biceps.

"I'm sorr-" but he smothers her apology with his mouth because he realized that damn it, he hasn't even kissed her yet. He'd just ripped her from her sleep and gone at her like a bull at a gate. She was right to stop him in his tracks, to take it down a notch. To remind him that this warm-blooded women beneath him was in fact his partner of 12 years and not some kind of sex toy.

He tugs on her lips, tasting the familiarity before he drags his mouth off hers and lets a ragged breath expel against her forehead.

"Christ Olivia," he begins and he doesn't even know where he's going with it but he needs to say something. He finds a hand through the darkness and intertwines their fingers into a fist because damn it, he needs something to hold onto when he says it.

"You've gotta know Liv, tell me you know," he whispers, each word tripping over the next, his throat catching part way as the stubble on his cheek grates across hers. He feels her grip tighten around his fingers and her free hand skims the side of his torso. He breathes out as her hand moves into the back of his hair, her fingers splaying through the cropped fibers before she brings his mouth back down to hers.

She kisses him deeply at first before she takes a breath and softens the kiss, letting her tongue trail sensually between his lips and he moans achingly before he feels her legs slip around his hips, moving her legs apart so she can wrap them around his hips. She raises her hips until his cock presses intimately at her entrance. He exhales into her mouth then, groaning with want but overcome with the need for assurance first.

"Tell me," he rasps against her mouth. Because he can't do this. He can't move forward until she says it.

"I know El," she breathes out, squeezing his hand confidently. "I've known for a while," she whispers before grasping his lips in a lingering kiss.

His stomach spirals at her words. Recognition. Acceptance. Acknowledgement. And it's all he needs. He shifts his hips, parting her legs, settling himself against her centre and moving his hand downward to line himself up with her.

He feels her grip around his other hand tighten in anticipation and it's seconds before he's slipping beneath her folds, slowly at first before his hips intimately connect with her inner thighs.

He expels a groan of satisfaction into her neck and he waits, allowing time for the tightness of her walls to adjust. She's silent beneath him as his lips run over the arch of her eyebrow and his thumb strokes the ridge of her palm.

"You ok?" he whispers through the darkness because all he can feel is the thud of his own heartbeat and the vice that's intently gripping his cock.

She squeezes his hand in response before a breath escapes her but he's caught the emotion thick within her inhale as she gasps for air.

Christ she's not ok.

He drops his face down to her cheek and that's when he feels it. Moisture. Salty residue against his lips, trailing down her cheek.

"Liv," he panics, raising up on his elbows in an effort to pull out. "I'm hurting you."

"You're not." Her thighs clamp firmly around his hips preventing him from moving and she sniffs back the emotion, letting her free hand slide down his chest causing goosebumps to break out across his flesh.

"I promise," she reiterates, squeezing their intertwined hands for assurance and the comfort in her words is all he needs.

He lowers his full weight back onto her, letting out the breath he was holding as her fingers lazily trail down the side of his torso. Then it's moments before he feels her heels dig into his calf muscles causing her inner walls to contract around him. A groan rips from this throat and he's unable to control his hips from rolling forward, pressing her intimately into the mattress.

Fuck.

His mouth falls clumsily against the column of her neck and his heart thuds against her chest. His teeth dig in, nicking her, causing her fingernails to sink into his biceps in response. He knows he needs to be gentle with her but even while he's biding time for her body to accommodate he struggles to retain a sense of decorum.

"I need.." he grumbles against her neck, his words trailing off as his mouth continues to nip and suck at her neck. His free hand slides across her cheek then, holding her mouth steady as he plunges his tongue between her lips. He's rough on her mouth because he can't be down south and it's not long before she drags her lips away from his.

"Do it," she whispers breathless against his mouth, refusing to let him seize her lips again.

He doesn't wait then. Her word is enough. He drags himself half way out before plunging back in.

"Uh," she squeezes his hand in response as their hips collide and he watches carefully as her eyebrows etch together as she takes him. He knows there's a slight amount of discomfort so he waits, counts the beats, giving her time to adjust before driving forward once more.

She groans, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she arches against the friction.

"I'm hurting you," he tells her through gritted teeth, trying to reconcile the flood of pleasure he's experiencing against the discomfort she'd be feeling as a result.

He watches her release her lower lip and trail her free hand over her face until she finds his mouth through the darkness. He swallows as she runs her thumb across his swollen lower lip before she says it.

"I want you to fuck me Elliot." Her voice is practically gravel and the pang hits in his lower belly. It had just been a whisper but the timbre, the words, her intent stir all kinds of intensity through his lower half.

Olivia Benson. His no nonsense, straight-laced, by the book partner has just asked him in no uncertain terms to fuck her. It hadn't been the first time and it sure as hell won't be the last.

Just as her thumb dips between his lips and teases the tip of his tongue, he groans, snatching her wrist and planting her hand shoulder height on the bed. He still has her other hand in a fist so it's one movement as his hips slam into her.

"Ugh," she calls out and he doesn't give her time to recover before he's moving forward again, inducing another uninhibited, guttural moan from her throat.

He continues thrusting between her folds, the heat of her vice causing the pressure between his legs to steadily build. It's no longer resistance he feels it's complete an utter submission beneath him and his mouth runs dry at the intense power she's given him.

He rises up just slightly, a slither of cool air invading the space between their bodies causing her nipples to pebble as they achingly scrape across his chest with each thrust.

He thinks about the white stain from this evening, her hands bound and cuffed to the wooden bar as he hovered over her. The look in her eyes and the heat between her legs. He thinks about their position now, not too dissimilar. He thinks about their fight from earlier. Your viewpoint will always be partial Olivia. He thinks about her only being out tonight because of him. Because of his asshole comment. He thinks about how easily this could have been someone else and how he's spent 12 years pushing her into the arms of other men. He swallows at the chances he's blown and the pain caused but declares that it all ends here.

Tonight.

Indefinitely.

As his hips drive firmly forward once more he releases her wrist and drags his hand down towards her breast grasping her, squeezing firmly before his thumb flicks across her nipple.

"Next time I.." his muffled words rasp against her cheek, "..piss you off," he tells her slowly thumbing her nipple until she bucks in response, her hips knocking into him as she twists under his hold.

"You take it out on me," he hisses into her neck before tugging her nipple a little too firmly.

"Ugh," she calls out, grasping his hand with her free wrist attempting to yank it off her but he's shifted his attention to her mouth smothering it with his as he holds her in a forceful, lingering kiss. She groans into his mouth, letting him slide his tongue deep within her depths, sinking into it before she finally manages to tear her mouth away from his.

"Maybe you should quit.. pissing me off," she rasps between breaths in the small cocoon of space he's left between them, the slightest hint of a smile in her words.

His lips curl upward. Touche Benson.

His teeth find the softness of her neck and clamp firmly against her skin and her fingernails dig immediately into his hip in warning. He isn't going to hurt her but the way her body has just tensed beneath him he can tell she's just braced herself for the possibility. He surprises her by releasing his teeth and instead trailing his tongue over the irritated patch.

His hand is back on her nipple but he's much softer this time, far more delicate in his manipulation and he starts to languidly rock his lower-half into her again, matching the sensual pressure he's applying with his thumb.

"Ugh," she moans in response and he feels her legs spread a little wider as his hips continue to rock forward. There is still an intense pressure around his cock but she's relaxing into it now, rocking her own hips in response, starting to slowly meet him half way and in a matter of seconds they've gone from 'fuck me now' to lazy Sunday afternoon sex.

She feels incredible. He doesn't want this to end. Ever.

He is going to take his time with it. Draw this out until sunrise.

Deny her from coming for as long as poss-

"Harder El," she demands, ripping him from his thoughts and of course he thinks. Of course she's demanding the exact opposite that he's willing to give her.

And it hits him in that moment, just how chaotic, unbridled and unpredictable their relationship is going to be from this point onward. Long nights. Irritated desk stares. Case discrepancies. Differences in opinion. Fights over toilet seats. Toothpaste caps. Sides of the bed. Paperwork. Anniversaries. Holidays. Housework.

He can't wait.

"No." He smiles against her neck when he says it and he knows he's asking for it when purposefully slows down the pace between her legs.

"Fuck y-"

"-you?" He finishes for her because in some ways she can be very predictable. "I am 'fucking you' Liv," he mumbles against her lips, gloating openly as he rocks his cock between her legs at a torturously slow rate.

"Asshole," she moans against his mouth, still indulging in the limited amount of pleasure his lower half allows her. She kisses him back, dipping her tongue between his lips before he feels her body clench purposefully around him.

He groans into her mouth, the effects of her walls clamping around his cock almost too much to bear. Fuck. He's done he thinks. She wins. His free hand sinks into the ridge of her hip and he grips her firmly as he pulls himself partially out before slamming back into her.

"Agh," she calls out in surprise, her breasts bobbing from the motion and he closes his eyes as he repeats the action. It suddenly hits him that he needs this release just as urgently as she does and he's done playing around.

He continues to thrust forward harder and more urgent, each motion building towards their imminent release. Their moans are now blisfully in sync and all he can feel is her slickness continually coating his penis as he drives between her folds.

As her grip on their intertwined fingers tightens he knows she's getting close and when her heels dig into his ass again he grasps her breast firmly in an effort to brace himself. The slap of skin-on-skin echos through the room.

She is grinding into his thrusts now and he's got seconds before he's going to come. The waves of pleasure steadily build towards his climax until his pelvis finally and achingly bucks forward. It's then that he feels her own orgasm contract around him as he fails to silence the groan as he spills inside her.

His breath is ragged and he swallows the lump in his throat and it's not until she slowly eases up on her grip that he allows himself to drop completely on top her.

The perspiration is ripe between their bodies. There is an intense heat flooding through his veins as he closes his eyes against her neck. He knows he should move off her because his weight alone would be stifling her ability to breathe let alone move right now but he just can't. Not yet. He is completely and utterly spent and he isn't going to move until it's imperative. Not until she demands he does and even then he'll probably fight it.

So until then he just exists. On top his partner. As the contents of his long overdue need for her pools between her legs. He listens to the way their intermingled breaths fight each other for air and it's a fitting reminder of the conflicting, chaotic relationship that's about to ensue.

He knows there will be difficult decisions and honest conversations to be had but until then he lets the sated, peaceful smile slip sleepily across his face as his body sinks further into the woman he loves.

End.

:::

Thank you everyone for joining me on this ridiculous ride.

**Flees to Mexico**

:::::

P.S Plot Hole Answers: Olivia did not sleep with Marshall (he was just stirring the pot). Elliot did not kill Marshall (they just talked it out). I died 19,000 times while writing this.