10:47 PM Olivia Sex?
It’s probably overstepping.
Not probably. It is. It is overstepping. She’s had a glass or two, and the idea had popped in her head and never left. Not that it just popped! That's not true. There'd of course been the twenty-three years of secret longing. It was mutual, she always reminds herself. It's not like she and Elliot have never had moments where things could've changed between them more than once. 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.
It isn't just her though. 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's trying to set them both up with different people. She suspects he is trying to get them both jealous enough to say something to each other and so far it's worked once.
Fin isn't alone in this. Her ex-best friend Rafa swears she loves Elliot unconditionally and he's not wrong. In her last therapy session, Dr. Lindstrom had instructed her to explore what she and Elliot may have between them and again, that isn't bad advice. And Amanda? Amanda told her plainly to fuck Elliot.
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 drinks and as it usually does when they’re alone, the conversation turned personal. Olivia flipped her loose, dark hair to the side and rested her chin in her hand and after taking a sip of wine, she peered over getting closer to him. “So how is it being home? How are you... adjusting?” Olivia had asked feigning innocence, but 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.”
“Can I be honest?” he asks.
Her hand had 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 had joked. She had 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 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 and 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 slightly 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 she trusts like she trusts Elliot. No one at all.
He’d lost his wife a year ago and he’s still recovering, still grieving. She has 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... though she's no longer seeing him again. They'd gone on one too many dates and he was starting to cling again so she was slowly easing away from him. Again. It was just a thing they did. Have a really great time together and when he was getting too close, she'd just... find something else to focus on.
So maybe she wasn't good at it?
"I mean it worked for Rollins and Carisi..." she mumbles.
Why don't you two just go get a hotel room and get it out of your system? While that is just awesome advice, she can't imagine why she would metaphorically jump out of the window without any real thought behind it? Glancing down at her phone she sees that it's been a full ten minutes since she'd sent the text and still there's no response.
Fuck. What had she been thinking? Oh, that's right. She'd been thinking that the night alone wouldn’t be such a waste if she had someone to share it with. She wanted to call over a nice man for mindless, exhilarating sex and rid her body of all this stress-induced tension that has been building up for months. She wanted someone who was attractive enough, someone she trusted enough... someone who would be open to this?
If she just had someone who was single— just like she is single, who isn’t having sex— just like she isn’t, then maybe she could give them a call?
Or send a one-word proposition over text and sit back and stare at her phone fearfully as she waits for him to text back.
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, presses the phone to her ear and she listens to the sound of his breathing. Her eyes are squeezed 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 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 Burton and she’d like to keep it that way. In reality, maybe it’s Burton that has her wanting to do this with Elliot. Needing some semblance of control, someone to explore with who she knows wouldn’t hurt her.
Also, to add to that, she's really wanted to have sex with this man for over two decades.
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 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 was 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.
She uses 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 bath tub to reach every crevice. She shaves and exfoliates and by the time she finishes all that, she barely has time to reapply her makeup. She settles on mascara and chapstick, then douses her skin in a lotion that leaves her skin fragrant, shiny, and soft.
Her phone buzzes and it’s a text telling her that he’s stepping onto the elevator and it leaves her slipping into a robe and shaking her hair out just in time to answer the door on his second knock. He’s in sweat pants and wearing a smirk and he doesn’t even say anything as he walks into her home. There are two lamps lighting the entire space, so the lighting is soft and forgiving she hopes, considering she’s standing there practically naked. He has a six-pack of beer in his hand that he places on the counter. He plucks two beers out and opens them 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, 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—“
“Olivia,” 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— 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 by the couch, touching the throw, then the pillow next to it before she lifts her chin to answer him. “I asked you first.”
“I don’t like underwear.”
“Come here.” He holds his hand out to her and she comes without question, slipping her 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.”
“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 like he had while under a year ago 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. She’d love to explore his body, too, but it’s too much. His mouth on hers, his beard, his fingers in her hair, and the way his hand keeps bunching fabric bit by bit, higher until he’s got a hand full of naked, supple flesh. 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 in her cheeks, 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 from 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 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 but her laugh gets stuck when his fingers dip low enough to slide between her 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 more she 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 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 grey sweatpants doesn’t disappoint and he is hard 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 and 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. 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 it. Should she tell him? Would he be offended?
“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.
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 the feelings out of it, there is so much history between them. They know each other, they’re friends and they’re sober. There really is no lying or masking feelings. 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 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’ll 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... and this is exactly what she wanted.
She lifts her head to kiss him again, but it takes too much coordination and she can barely think, let alone get her mouth to move in sync with his.
He doesn’t want to hurt her and she’s already so reactive he’s afraid to thrust any harder until she’s begging him. “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—“
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. “You’re not going to hurt me. 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 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 giggles and she shakes his hand firmly. Partners, friends, and now, “Fuck buddies,” she agrees.