Chapter Text
10:47 PM Olivia Sex?
It’s probably overstepping.
Not probably. It is . It is overstepping. She’s had a glass or two; the idea had popped into her head and never left. Not that it just popped! That's not true. There'd of course been the quarter of a century of secret longing.
She used to feel tremendous guilt over it but now she knows the truth. It was mutual, she constantly reminds herself now. Their love and affection for each other after all had been mutual and she thinks they deserve to honor that instead of apologizing for it. The truth is, it could have happened at any point during their partnership. It’s not like she and Elliot hadn’t stood at that edge before—more than once. And still, nothing ever happened.
Several times she can pinpoint during their partnership where she would've been delighted to —
She shakes her head. That's inappropriate no matter how long it's been since Kathy's been gone.
She’s grieved his loss with him and it’s left her more confused than ever. She’s protective over him, while still being incredibly wounded by his abandonment and his reappearance and now he’s here and in her life and what the fuck? He’s Elliot and he flirts with her with his dimpled smile and his big blue eyes and grey stubble on his face and… no one knows her like he does. Before her child and even before Fin– there was just Elliot.
She loved him back then. She loved him in all the ways you could love another person and forced herself to spend year after year repressing her feelings.
And now he’s back and he wants her like she wants him and it sends a shiver up her spine and sprouts goosebumps on her arms. Arousal seeps right through her straight-faced facade, so she reaches for her glass to drain it and refill it again.
This is good for them, she thinks. This is easier than talking about feelings. If they wait for feelings, it might take another year.
At least the people in her life support this decision– maybe not the specific sex request text... but there are multiple people in her life championing for this thing to happen between them.
Fin has stopped forcing it at this point and now he tries to set them both up with different people but it’s all a ploy. She suspects he is trying to get them both jealous enough to say something to each other and so far it's worked once.
Besides Fin, there’s Rafa who swears she loves Elliot unconditionally and, well… he's not wrong.
Dr. Lindstrom has even instructed her repeatedly to explore what she and Elliot may have between them.
And Amanda? Amanda told her plainly to just fuck Elliot and get it over with.
Amanda’s always been smart.
Knowing herself and knowing that sex would probably be the easiest thing to initiate between them, but also knowing it had the potential to destroy them, she'd gone with Dr. Lindstrom's advice originally. A week prior, they’d been in a bar having awkward drinks and as it usually does when they’re alone, the conversation turned personal. Olivia remembers flirting, remembers flipping her loose, dark hair to the side, resting her chin in her hand, and peering closely at him. “So how is it being home alone? How are you... adjusting?” Olivia asked her question feigning complete innocence.
He saw right through it when she batted her lashes and smirked.
Even though she’d asked about adjustment , the undertone was clear.
He watched as she messed with her hair again, something she only does when she’s flirting or nervous, and she waited patiently for an answer to her question with her glossy lips pursed and her cheekbones high as she held back a smile.
Never the guy to indulge in games, Elliot huffed, “What are you asking me, Liv?”
And to her, it'd been sexy. Elliot, her friend, outright asking her what her intentions were without even flinching. Although attractive, it simmered her down just a little and without looking at him, while looking at everything but him, she began speaking. “Just asking about how things are... with you. Now that you’re home... and you've been home for a while... how’s your mom? Is Eli okay? Are you... seeing anybody? ”
She’d asked three questions but he chose to answer only one. “ No .”
“Not Fins sister-in-law? Ever get a chance to meet her?”
Elliot laughed dismissively. “No. No... I was invited to dinner a couple of times but... no.”
“ Oh .”
“Can I be honest?” he asked.
Her hand waved in front of them in true Olivia fashion as she fought to keep her face straight. “ Please .”
“I’m not ready for all that.”
“Not ready?” she repeated, eyes widening.
“No. I can’t see myself dating a woman, getting to know her, and even attempting to trust her. I’d rather not... I’m not in the place for anything new.”
It'd been embarrassing how relieved she'd been to hear that he wasn't looking for anything new but it'd also been an answer for her. Elliot was not ready to pursue a relationship.
A relationship? No. But maybe something else?
“So what?” she'd started, fighting the blush in her cheeks. She'd lifted her wine glass up to take a sip but kept her glass shielding her face.
“What?” he asked.
“You need something like a...” Her back straightened when she said, “A fuck buddy?” Olivia lifted an eyebrow before continuing. “Ya know... Trust, but no strings?”
“Uh, yeah. I suppose.”
“I’d offer but there are so many strings already,” Olivia joked. She grinned but kept her eyes on the table in front of her for as long as she could before finally looking up at him. He only smiled back and made butterflies hatch in her belly and it’d been too intense so she promptly switched the subject. “So... how is Bernie?”
The topic of Bernie had been safe. Safe enough that they steered easily into catching up about their kids. Soon after, he dropped her off at home, she practically ran into her building, trying to get far, far away before she said anything else too suggestive.
And now it’s a week later and tipsy Olivia is home alone and maybe she and Elliot had been onto something? Sex with someone she trusts? No strings? As she’d said then, there are strings of some sort but what if he... what if they agreed to keep it strictly sex? If he could do that, he’d be the perfect candidate for her new fuck buddy. There’s no one else on earth that she trusts like she trusts Elliot. No one at all.
He’s still grieving, she’s sure. She's also been grappling with a lot of intimate issues that predated even their partnership. That meant that neither of them are ready for anything resembling a relationship and they were on an even playing field. The 'no relationship' part is actually perfect for her.
Because sex? That’s different.
“It’s different,” she assures herself, but even saying it aloud she doesn’t believe it.
She'd had just sex with Edgar Goodwin and they're still friends. It's been a while, over a year actually since she'd last spoken to him, but she's sure they'd be able to function as if nothing ever happened. She'd also had just sex with Trevor Langan for years and they're still friends and colleagues. He takes it well when they're not seeing each other. That last time, nothing happened. They'd just gone on one too many dates and he was starting to cling again, so she slowly eased away from him. Again.
She mumbles, "I mean it worked for Rollins and Carisi..."
It's been years since Amanda looked her in her eyes and asked her straight up: Why don't you two just go get a hotel room and get it out of your system? At the time, it had felt like absurd advice. Funny, maybe. But she couldn’t imagine why she would metaphorically throw herself out a window without any real thought behind it.
Back then, she couldn’t imagine being that careless. That reckless.
And now she's gone and sent a one-word proposition over text. Glancing down at her phone, she sees it’s been a full ten minutes since she sent the text and there’s still no response.
Fuck.
Is she out of line? She is out of line. She is... oh God no. On paper, she’s his superior. This is wildly inappropriate. This is wrong.
She finally grabs her phone to fix it, to apologize, to lie and say she’d been kidding but he’s already typing back. The text bubble appears, then disappears, and then the phone rings in her hand making her gasp. Fuck.
She answers the call. Holding the phone to her ear, and all that's there is the sound of his breathing. Her eyes squeeze tight as she waits for him to speak. Fuck.
“Say something,” she mumbles finally. Her face is hot, her chest is hot. She feels the embarrassment burning its way through her body. What is wrong with her?
What the fuck is wrong with you, Benson?
And then Elliot chuckles deeply into her ear before asking, “You offering?”
“God,” she sighs, relieved. “I know that I outrank you so please, please don’t feel pressured—“
“I don’t.”
“I don’t know why I texted you that,” she rushes out, biting her lower lip.
“Because you want to have sex,” he drawls deeply in her ear, laughing softly. “ With me ,” he adds.
“It’s because of your speech last week," Olivia clarifies. "I don’t want to see anyone new either. I don’t want to even see anyone old,” she babbles, but she leaves it there because Elliot doesn’t know a thing about any of her most recent exes... and she’d like to keep it that way.
In reality, maybe it’s her dating history that has her wanting to do this with Elliot. A handful of duds has left her craving for some semblance of control, for something familiar with someone she knows.
And if she's being honest, she's really wanted to have sex with this man for over two decades.
“Liv?”
She realizes then that she has gone silent and she clears her throat. “I just feel like it would be safe between us,” Olivia confesses.
“It would be,” Elliot agrees, his voice a little rougher than before. “I’m, uh... I’m free. I could be there in twenty-five minutes.”
“Yeah?” She doesn’t mean to sound so excited.
Elliot laughs. “Yeah.”
-
The anticipation after the text she thought was crippling— this ? This is sending her to new heights of anxiety. Elliot Stabler is on his way to her home for casual sex. Sex between two old friends... sex and no relationship or anything after. Sex— and no expectations.
What do you wear for sex with a friend? She only has twenty minutes to prepare and... fuck.
She’d changed into pajamas when she got home, a cotton shirt and pants to match and though this is between friends she wants him to want her. To look at her and think she’s attractive and she’s hardly dropping any jaws in her plain everyday nightwear.
Twenty minutes.
She makes use of every single minute. Her hair is clipped on top of her head as she strips down to nothing and showers quickly but thoroughly, lifting her leg high on the bathtub to reach every crevice. She shaves and exfoliates and by the time she finishes all of that, she barely has time to reapply her makeup.
Mascara. Chapstick. Good enough.
She works lotion into her skin until it feels impossibly soft and smells expensive, until she can convince herself she looks effortless instead of someone who is very obviously preparing to make a terrible decision.
Her phone buzzes and it’s a text telling her that he’s stepping onto the elevator which leaves her slipping into a robe and shaking her hair out just in time to answer the door on his second knock.
Elliot’s wearing grey sweatpants and a cocky smirk and he doesn’t even say anything as he walks into her home. He just nods her way, smirking and already amused as he walks right through the door. He’d probably spent the entire ride over grinning to himself. He has a six-pack of beer that swings at his side as they walk to the kitchen. He drops the beer onto the counter and plucks two beers out to open them both with his keys before he’s handing her one.
“Thanks.” It comes out breathy and it broadens his smile. Maybe he likes seeing her like this. Shy. Slightly embarrassed. And completely nude under her robe.
He takes a sip, eyeing her from her red toenails, up her freckled legs to her thighs where the robe ends. Where the robe ties under her tits, at her tits.
“So how do we do this?" Elliot blurts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just jump right in?”
“No,” she laughs. “This is awkward enough. I need you to tell me you’re... cool with this. You don’t feel propositioned or coerced or—“
“Liv,” he blurts. “Believe me… that speech is unnecessary.”
She nods and takes another sip. Her eyes drop down to his sweats again and then lift back up to his eyes. “You’re not wearing any underwear are you?”
He looks down at his crotch and the bulge between his legs is very noticeable. And no, she knows for sure— he isn’t wearing underwear.
“What you got on under that?” He points at her with the stem of his beer before he sits down on a stool.
She idles at the counter, her fingers absently sliding over the cold granite before she lifts her chin to answer him. “I asked you first.”
"I was in bed," he explains, his skin turning bright red. “I don’t like underwear.”
She laughs, tension finally melting a bit. He rolls his eyes, looks away amused.
It helps to see him just as nervous as she is.
“Come over here, Liv.” He slides back from the counter, holds his hand out to her and she comes without question, slipping her smaller hand in his. She still has her beer curled into her chest as she steps in between the gap of his thighs. “Let’s get on the same page,” he says gently, his eyes locking on hers.
“I care about you but this is separate from that. Can we agree to that?” she asks.
He stares at her for a moment, like he’s thinking about it before a smile curves his lips upward. “Yeah.”
“Alright,” Olivia pulls away, but keeps her hand in his, tugging him out of the chair and pulling him to his feet. Standing, he feels like a giant to her with how broad he is, how if he got any closer she’d have to lean her head all the way back just to keep eye contact. It’s intimidating and sexy how rough he looks now. He's grown back some of the black and white scruff on his chin, and his head is baldish, with a shadow of hair slowly creeping in.
As domineering as he appears, the smile on his lips is soft and inviting and he follows her quietly to her bedroom.
—
Elliot follows her down the hall and to the left, stepping into her bedroom and the second the door is closed, his hand grabs low on her hip and turns her into him easily. Both of her hands land on his shoulders as they find their footing, their legs intertwining, their bodies slapping together. She moans before their mouths touch and as his tongue slithers against hers, she feels her vagina clench from deep inside. Actually clench, from just seconds of his lips kissing softly at hers. His hands leave her hips and one goes for her hair and the other for her ass and wow, they're getting right to it.
Olivia tries to keep up but he grabs as much ass as his hand can fit, over warm soft fabric, squeezing, jiggling slightly. She likes it — loves it actually. She wonders how long it's been since a man has fondled her this way and she’d love to explore his body, too, but it’s too much. His mouth on hers, his beard brushing her soft skin, his fingers in her hair, and the way his hand keeps bunching fabric bit by bit, higher and higher until he’s got a hand full of naked, supple flesh.
It's enough to dizzy her.
And he’s so hard, she keeps pressing her hips into him so she can feel him on her belly. So hard , she thinks, and then she says it against his lips. “You’re so hard,” she whispers, a blush blooming on her cheeks and down her neck.
It’s the most conflicted she’s felt in a while. He feels good, intoxicating even, but he’s still Elliot. The man who was off-limits, who’d been married before the moment they met, a man who’d never ever been an option. Now he has the tips of his fingers getting closer and closer to the center of her. It’s a little embarrassing how ready she is and knowing that he’ll know how attracted she is to him... ignites a rumble of laughter in her belly.
She laughs around his tongue until he pulls back, eyebrows furrowed, but smiling still. He squeezes her ass, pulling her even closer to his body, and this time her head is thrown back and actual tears form in her eyes.
His hand shifts to her jaw and he stares down at her face, smirking. “Liv, you’re not supposed to be laughing.”
“I can’t help it.”
“You can’t?” His lips slide against her throat again, his beard tickling her skin as he nuzzles her softly. She shudders under his touch and her laugh gets stuck in her throat when his fingers dip low enough to slide between her slick folds. She moans and her head falls back again, Elliot’s breath hot on her skin as he chuckles and snorts to himself. “So wet,” he whispers before he brings her mouth back to his.
Okay, we are doing this, she thinks as she kisses him back and his middle finger slips inside of her only for a second. There’s no more laughing, just trying to remain in the moment as Elliot walks her back to her bed. She falls into a sitting position, her hands resting behind her, her hair falling behind her shoulders. Her jaw drops as Elliot splits her legs open, shifting the black robe, splitting it apart too.
For the first time, he sees the meat of her inner thighs, and the wider he spreads them, the more of her he sees.
He lifts his shirt off of his body and drops it to the floor and her voice betrays her again. This time with a big intake of air she whimpers lightly. He’s sculpted so beautifully and even with the scars, he’s perfect. The tattoos and dark ink etched into red, freckled skin and bulky muscles on his arms, his abs. There’s dark hair that's dusted on his forearms, down his chest, and trails down past his belly button and his pants drop even before she’s able to digest the new skin she’s seeing for the first time in a decade. And while she’s seen his chest, she’s never seen anything below the belt. She’s never ever, ever— she can’t even look. Won’t let her eyes drift down beyond the defined lines on his groin because the shock just might choke the life out of her.
Instead of looking, Olivia shifts her eyes, down to her own body and she tugs on the satin belt, opening the robe before falling back, this time on her elbows. There’s no reason to be shy, she supposes. It’s Elliot.
The robe slips open fully and under her own gaze, her nipples harden even more, goosebumps spring visible on her skin, her small belly pouch bunches over the bare, smooth skin of her groin, and right there, wagging over her is Elliot. The prominent bulge in his gray sweatpants doesn’t disappoint. He is solid and so stiff already that she knows that at minimum she’ll be able to get herself there. Even if he’s bad at this— which she doubts— she has a hunch she will not regret this.
He’s long and thick and she resists the urge to grab him immediately to put him in her mouth because it’s too much right now to concentrate on. He leans forward and his mouth touches the top of her right thigh and then her right hip, then he has one knee on the bed as he drifts higher. Tasting her belly button and then her left nipple, licking it erotically before pulling it into his mouth, sucking. It probably isn’t ladylike but it makes her groan, makes her hips buck up as she seeks more of him. He grabs two hands full of her tits, going from one to the other, moaning at the sweet taste of her skin, like this alone could probably get him off. Just her heavy breasts and hard nipples and the sounds she’s making as he slurps and laps at them.
She lets him spend as much time there as he needs and she enjoys watching him. The way he glances up at her and the tip of his tongue swirls until he’s dragging it upward from her chest to her throat.
Is it his beard that keeps sending chills straight to her vagina or is it his tongue? His soft lips?
He makes it to her ear lobe, pulling it into his mouth and this is actually something she’s never liked. Hearing a tongue move so close, feeling the wetness and it snaps her right out of the haze. Should she tell him? Will he be offended if she is that vocal?
“El,” she mutters, shifting and turning her face to capture his lips while pulling him down on her but he falls awkwardly and traps her hair under his forearm.
She’ll suffer the tug on her hair if she can at least get him inside of her. He grinds forward once and then twice, slipping his hardened erection against her but not entering. What she will not suffer for is teasing. “Sorry you’re on my hair,” she mumbles, tapping his arm.
“Fuck. Sorry.”
Elliot does a full push-up off of her, making sure he isn’t on any of her long hair, allowing her to gather it all above her head. He smiles sheepishly down at her because he knows he’s fucking this up and any other woman would probably kick him out of her apartment but she just grins up at him.
As much as they agreed to keep their feelings out of it, there is so much history between them. They know each other, they’re friends and though she’d been drunk before, this is sobering. There really is no lying or masking any of it. They both want this, no matter how many times they fumble.
Olivia grabs him in both of her hands, spreading her legs wider as she guides him against her this time, using the tip of him, rubbing it against her clit before bracing him at her core. Their mouths gape at the same time, both gasping but not making any other sound beyond that, locking eyes as he finally sinks, slowly pushing until he’s deep inside of her.
Her body expands just enough for him to be inside of her but grips so tight he has to halt all movement and focus on not coming. A moment passes and her shoulders relax and the sweet sting of his invasion simmers and... they laugh.
It starts out as two slow smiles and then he chuckles and she laughs, too, until he’s groaning from the way that her laugh makes her clench tighter. “Stop,” he begs, covering her lips with his hand. “ Stop .”
“You laughed first.”
He looks down at their bodies, at how she’s spread around his length. “Cause this is—“
“Sick,” she mutters against his hand. It is sick. This is her best friend from a million years ago and now they’re doing this thing together and it’s… it’s insane and incredible and laughable how good it feels. She just can’t stop thinking, keeps thinking about the fact that it’s him, and another round of laughter bubbles up.
“Liv,” he growls. He pulls halfway out of her for the fear that she’ll laugh too hard, squeeze too narrow and he will actually come. Mid cackle, he thrusts forward, and finally, it silences her. Mouth still open, eyes wide, she nods her head in approval and he does it again and again until she feels all the tension in her body slipping away with each rock of his hips... and this is exactly what she wanted.
He doesn’t want to hurt her, she can tell. He's taking it easy on her, holding back because she’s already so reactive, probably. But she can take more.
She wants more.
“Harder,” she whispers. Both of his hands hook under her knees and he pushes them back as he lifts up off of her body. From this angle, he can see everything. See how wet she is every time he pulls out, how she makes him glisten. He can’t look away from the jiggle of her heavy breasts and her curvy hips and small belly and her face stretched out in ecstasy. Both her eyebrows are hitched and her eyes roll when he changes the angle, hitting a spot deep, deep inside of her.
“Harder,” she begs, but he can’t— or won’t. He keeps his pace, slowly drawing her under a wave of pleasure until she reaches for him. Her nails dig and scratch, pulling him in closer, burying her face in his neck. “Harder, Elliot,” she whispers against his face.
“Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“If you want me to come, you’re gonna have to,” she chuckles and he laughs again. “Harder. I like it when I can’t even fucking think. I shouldn’t be able to even talk—“
“You sure?”
She realizes then that he’s only done this one way and that he’s never been free to let go. She’s surprised actually that the vein in his forehead hasn’t exploded from sheer, unreleased tension. “I asked you to come over for a reason. I want you to fuck me.”
This time he thrusts and it’s with more force, more power. She yelps and her hands fly to his impressive back and when they finally find a groove, sparks fly. Actual sparks that she sees in her field of vision as they find a new, desperate rhythm. Elliot gets his hands underneath her ass and he tips her hips upward to meet his big body as he crashes down, fucking her until the top of her head touches the headboard. Her hand flies up to prevent her head from hitting the wood, raising her breasts higher so that he can easily suck her nipple into his mouth. He can't stop feeling and tasting, licking between her breasts before he gets up on his knees again to drag her body down the bed again.
When she’s close, he loops his arms under her shoulders, threads both of his hands in her hair, holding her head in his hands as he kisses her. Her hands are grabbing at the pillows above her head, squeezing them as he switches to making gentle love. Moaning, she looks up at him through her lashes, sensitive and aroused and ready for this pace now. “ Yes !”
Their fingers thread and he keeps going, keeps fucking her slowly until it's messy and the sounds they make together are squishy and wet. He pulls back again to look at her just in time. Just in time to see the amazement on her face as her body throbs and tightens around his. It’s dramatic and full of heavy panting and gasping and blunt nails ripping across the back of his hands when he finally combusts, filling her.
It takes a minute to gather themselves and when they finally do, he rolls off of her and they both just lay there. Nude and spent and sweaty.
“Are you ok? Did you….you know…? Cause I—” he shakes his head.
Olivia chuckles. “Yeah, El. I’m good.”
“So,” he draws out and when she opens her eyes, she finds his hand dangling, offering her a handshake. It takes all the coordination she can muster, but she fits her hand in his. “Fuck buddies?” he asks.
Olivia chuckles and she shakes his hand firmly. Partners, friends, and now, “Fuck buddies,” she agrees.