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locker room shenanigans

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Instigation

 

“Liv,” Eliot props the door open with his shoulder, tentatively peeking into the women’s locker room. They’re getting ready to go undercover, stakeout a lounge in the meatpacking district. The kind of place with $15 cocktails and high end escorts. 

“Yeah,” he hears her call. And then her head pokes around a bank of lockers, her shoulder emerging as well. One red strap bright against her olive skin. 

He drops his eyes quickly. 

“Cragen said 20. Gonna be ready?”

“Yeah…but I need some help.”

He glances up, but she’s no longer there, looking at him. 

“Um…” he hesitates at the door. Shoulder still presses into the wood, unsure what exactly is expected of him. 

“Are you coming?” She sounds mildly annoyed.

He clears his throat. “Yeah.” And steps cautiously forward, like he expects some invisible force field to fling him away for daring to step into a space he shouldn’t. 

“Is um…is anyone else here?” He can’t help but ask as he takes another slow step within.

“No. We only have 20 minutes. Are you gonna take 10 to get in here?”

He exhales and forces himself forward, rounds the bank of lockers and finds Liv, back turned, dress hanging open. The red strap on her shoulder was just the preview. He stares at the band, half sheer, wrapped around her body. Then his eyes dip along the open dress, down all the way to the edge of her lacy red panties. 

Fuck.

Is this what she wore under those damn dress slacks and button downs and all the other appropriate work attire? This is information he doesn’t need about his partner. This is the stuff of his fantasies that should stay just that. His mind has played over possibilities for more than a year now and he just really didn’t need the confirmation if he’s supposed to look her flatly in the eye and not turn as red as the lingerie she’s wearing. 

She looks back at him over her shoulder, one hand scooping up her hair and exposing the back of her neck. 

“The zipper is stuck.” 

If she notices his flailing she doesn’t pay it much mind. 

He steps forward and tries to focus on the task. Tries to zero in on the way the zip is rotated into the material, instead of how close his fingers are to that red lace, to the bare and tender skin of her exposed back. All that heat and softness and god, he wants to touch. He wants to taste. He wants to know if she’d gasp, or moan, or stutter his name if he ran his tongue up the length of her spine. 

His fingers fumble, clumsy with the thoughts in his head and the want threading through his movements. He tugs at the zipper, but his fingers are sweaty now and they slide off the metal and his hand brushes her bare skin. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

She sighs, probably annoyed by now and shifts on her feet. 

“Can you get it?” She asks unhelpfully. 

“Um”, he’s still trying to twist the tab, trying to rotate and untangle. “I…”

“Wait,” she mutters. And then she’s pulling one arm of the dress off. She twists the material forward, reaches back. And in the movement he catches a glimpse of her red lace clad breast and he has to squeeze his eyes shut so he doesn’t stare or reach. 

“Can you…?”

He forces his eyes open and aims his gaze at her face, her cheeks a little flushed, from what exactly he’s not sure he should speculate. 

She glances down at the bunched material in her hands and his eyes follow her bare arm down to where her fingers are working. The dress is hiked up, the back of her legs bare, her ass just covered. At least the front of her bra is no longer visible and he forces himself to try to breathe normally. 

“Here, hold this.” She pushes a piece of the dress into his waiting hand and spreads the edge of the zipper and then the zip tab rotates free of its snag. She sighs and he does too because the sooner she’s covered, the better. 

She turns away again, pulls her arm through the sleeve and once more he’s staring at her bare back. He reaches before she asks again, pulls the zipper up until it’s closed, nearly sighing in relief that it’s over.

But when she turns around he knows it’s not over. No, it’s only just starting. Her lips are the same red as those damn panties and he wants to smudge it, wants to pull that lower lip into his mouth and suck the lipstick right off. 

“Thanks,” she whispers. Her pupils are too wide, her skin too pink. And fuck him if she doesn’t look as turned on as he feels. He turns away, shaking his head . “No problem.” 

Outside the locker room he pauses, takes a deep breath of air that isn’t stifled with unrequited passion and tries to forget what he saw inside. 



Rumination

 

“The poster boy for rage is gonna tell me how to control my anger?”

Her voice bites over the words and there’s a dangerous glint of fury in her eyes. Elliot knows his partner; knows all her tells. Knows when she’s overcompensating, when she’s hiding what she really feels. And right now he knows this anger isn’t coming out of nowhere, isn’t something he should disregard.

But god, Olivia knows which buttons to push. Knows him as well as he knows her and strikes with precision at every raw nerve she can find. And because of that, at this moment, he can’t look past the hurtful comment to the root of the problem. Right now when she’s glaring up at him, challenging him, all he wants to do is fight back. 

“You gonna pretend you have any control right now?” He swipes back and watches her eyes narrow, her brow furrow. 

He doesn’t like when they fight. Not really. Except for the part where he can’t take his eyes off of her. Except for the fact that fighting with her turns him on in a way that sets his teeth on edge, in a way that makes his chest constrict. He hates fighting with her except for the fact that he fucking loves it. 

“Why don’t you get off your fucking high horse and get the fuck out of my way.” She’s in his face, all fire and brimstone and how the fuck is he supposed to resist this? 

Under normal circumstances, he whole-heartedly agrees with the all-gender locker rooms that NYPD has switched over to. He knows women need to have equal access to all spaces so they won’t get shut out of the important moments. The only problem he has is Olivia; their lockers next to each other. The hint of possibility, despite the separated, individual changing rooms and the fact that everyone pretty much abides by the rules of appropriate conduct. Despite all of it, every time he stands in here with her, he thinks of those lacy red panties from all those years ago. Wonders what she is wearing under her clothes at that moment and if he might get another chance to touch all that hidden skin. He isn’t trying to go there, he just can’t quite help himself. Most especially when she’s looking at him the way she is now, riled up like she might hit him. Or kiss him.

He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a word. Is just staring at her, standing too close, enjoying the thrill of the possibilities his mind is generating. And maybe his silence is why she looks even angrier. 

“Fuck. You.” The throaty sound rumbles out of her, vicious. It awakens something primal in him. Something strong enough to bear her danger, her claws. It stirs his cock too, makes him hard the way she looks, the way she sounds. 

This is it. This is when they’re finally going to have it out. Going to fuck it out. 

He’s thought of it. Often. Too many times. But this time he knows he will cross the line from thinking to doing. This time he can’t find the will to stop himself. 

His hand closes over her shoulder and he shoves her back against the lockers. His mouth crashes onto hers and he hears her surprised grunt, the terrible feel of their teeth clashing, before he bites down on her lower lip. 

Insanity. He must be losing his damn mind. But then he feels her nails digging into the flesh of his neck, holding his mouth against hers. Feels her tongue force its way into his mouth and any thought of stopping is gone. 

He grasps her hips, crushes her body between his and the cold metal lockers, grinding and rocking. And when he slides his tongue against hers, pushes it into her mouth, he’s met by her teeth, biting hard. He groans, fists his hand into her hair, forces back control. 

They’re in it now and he won’t allow himself to pause, question, second-guess. Not now when he finally has the fantasy in his hands, her heart beating a rabid staccato into his flesh. 

They’re fighting for dominance. Her hands are already under his sweatshirt, nails carving crescents into his skin. He grabs at her wrists, yanks her away so he can wrestle off her jacket, shove his hands under her sweater, the flimsy red shirt under it. Scrapes his calloused hand along soft skin, up under her underwire bra and then her tit is in his hand, the hard nipple in the center of his palm. Her eyes are wide, but it’s not shock he reads in them, it’s daring and wrath. 

“Gonna still pretend you have control?” She’s all triumph now, in her words. All sorts of fucking unearned bravado as she arches into his touch, thrusts her hips against his. 

He kneads her breast as his free hand goes for her belt. Shoves his hand under her panties and gives her an arrogant smile when he finds her wet, as she takes two of his fingers without preamble. 

“Still want me to get out of your way?” He gruffly asks, watching her closed eyes, her parted lips, hearing the whine from the back of her throat. Her hips rock, and his fingers slide deeper and fuck she’s tight. He needs her now, hard, fast. Is already anticipating the way her pussy will feel gripping his hard length and can’t wait any longer to experience it. 

She’s pliable for the moment and works with him when he spins her around, her hands bracing against the lockers so he can focus on forcing her jeans and panties over her hips and past her knees. His own belt buckle rattles loudly in the locker room as his jeans drop to his ankles. 

She’s already presenting her ass to him, her head turned over her shoulder, her dark eyes still burning with anger. “What are you waiting for.” It’s not a question. It’s a dictate. 

He can’t pretend he’s in control here, but he wants her to remember she’s gone running past the line with him, has no place to claim some sort of high ground over him. So he palms her ass, squeezing and spreading her cheeks, letting his cock press into the glorious heat of her flesh so he can savor the moment. 

“Now. Elliot.” Her voice all command, but one he’s willing to oblige. Moving his hands around her hips, pulling her ass towards him before he lines himself up and thrusts inside of her hard. 

He’s managed to surprise her, finally. Is sure by the way she half shrieks and he clamps his hand over her mouth because the last thing they need is company. Her head has dropped against the metal, eyes closed, and he forces her head back towards him with the hand that’s still gripping her mouth. He waits until her eyes open before he draws out of her slowly and slams back into her. She grunts, loud, and he does it again and again, stilling inside of her for long moments between thrusts until she finally bites his fingers and he has to pull his hand away. 

“Fuck me harder.” She demands and he braces one hand next to her head so he can pick up the pace. Her hips thrust back into his, matching the quickened pace. Her eyes are still on him, still audacious, goading. 

He won’t last long with the way her pussy clings to him, how every time he pulls out of her she tightens around him, making his throat close in desire. He won’t last from the look in her eye, the way she pushes her hips back to meet his. Won’t last, because this is Olivia and he’s wanted her for too fucking long. 

“Fuck. Me. Harder.” Her voice hoarse, punctuated by the slap of their skin on each thrust. He feels his balls tighten, grips her hip hard as the pleasure forces his eyes closed. “Fuck me, Ellio-”

He comes hard, groaning. He takes a heaving breath, hand slipping against wet tiles as he wrings every drop from his aching cock. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceramic tub, the evidence of his climax washing away. Feels the water pounding down his back, his skin hot from the exertion of his fantasy. 

Maybe that’s what he should have done, he thinks idly as the steam rises around him. Maybe he shouldn’t have softened, shouldn’t have gotten her to talk to him. Maybe just once he should have her the way he wants her. The way he’s sure she wants him too. 



Consummation

 

“It’s nicer in here than it used to be.” Elliot muses, standing in the 1-6 locker room, taking in the beige lockers, the bright lighting. 

His eyes drift back to where she sits on a polished wood bench, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Beads of sweat are winding their way down her neck, a tendril of hair slipped out of her ponytail. “Why are you here?” Liv sounds resigned, tired, maybe annoyed as she reaches for the towel next to her and swipes it over the back of her neck, still not looking up at him. 

“I felt bad you had to work, so I brought dinner. But then Rollins said you didn’t have a case. That you were in the gym. So…” He approaches slowly, straddles the bench facing her, but leaves a foot of space. 

“Right. So you caught me.” 

He waits for her to continue. Provide an explanation, but she just sits there, staring at the white towel, like she’s maybe willing him to just get up and leave.

“You gonna tell me why you’re avoiding me?”

She sighs then, long and slow. “Not avoiding.”

“Then just canceling dinner because you weren’t hungry. And lying to me about your reasons. Not sure that’s better.”

She huffs a soft breath. “I just needed some time.”

“Time away from me?” He presses.

“God, Elliot.” She stands, looks down at him as she leans back against the lockers, back stiff with tension. 

He slides closer, lifting his leg over the bench so he can face her from his seat. “Why are you pulling away from me?” 

“Why are you asking me the same damn questions?” She’s getting upset now, not trying to hide it as she glares down at him. 

“And you’re going to tell me you’re not avoiding me when you won’t answer a direct question and even cancel dinner because you’re clearly afraid I’m going to ask you again?” He throws back at her and watches her roll her eyes. The not quite fight from two days ago presents itself for further analysis. If he was concerned that he’d imagined it, falsely accused her of withholding, this evening is only proving his worry warranted.

“Just go.” She’s turning towards her locker and he grabs her wrist, stopping her movement. 

“No, Liv. Not until you tell me what’s going on. Seems like we were doing ok and now you’re suddenly running away when things get real.”

She yanks away from him, head tilting towards him, but eyes trained to the floor. “Sure. We’ll be doing just fine and then you’ll up and leave. Just like everyone does. Just like you’ve left before.”

They haven’t talked about this in a while, and maybe he should have expected the ghost of his departure to rear its ugly head now that they’re months into a capital-R Relationship. “I know. I know and I’m sorry for putting you through that. But this is different, Liv. You know this is different. And I’m not going anywhere. Ever again.” 

She smirks and shakes her head with a motion of disbelief, but the tough response is offset by the tear escaping the corner of her eye, the shaky breath she inhales. 

“Hey,” He wraps a hand around the back of her thigh, coaxing her back to face him and waits for her to look down at him directly. “I’m not leaving. No matter what. You’re stuck with me now. I love you. You already know that.”

He sees her soften, relax, her weight leaning back against the lockers again. “I know. I just…”

He nods, this is territory they’ve treaded and retreaded as he’s tried to earn back her trust. Most days he thinks they’re there, but he’ll keep doing whatever he has to in order to prove it again and again. 

She looks at him, gentler and warmer, “You brought me dinner?” And he knows she’s trying, giving him the benefit of her doubt. He loves her for it. Is grateful for it every day.

“Yeah…” He smiles as his hand slides around the circumference of her thigh, gliding over the smooth material of her leggings. He loves the fullness of her thighs, the way he can sink his fingers into her flesh and how good she looks wrapped in her tight leggings. And now that she’s looking at him with affection, his mind is wandering back into all those fantasies he would harbor about having her alone in this locker room, like they are now. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, suspiciously, even as the blush rises into her already flushed cheeks. He grins and she laughs, “Elliot!” Pushing half-heartedly at his hand even as she bites at her bottom lip. 

“No one’s here,” He mockingly whispers and she shakes her head, but doesn’t stop his hand as it drifts ever higher. “I’ve always had this fantasy…” He tests and she quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Why am I not surprised?” She replies softly, teasingly. 

His hands are at the waistband now and he pauses. But she doesn’t stop him and he drags the material down over her hips, slowly, catching her underwear beneath his fingertips as he goes. Down and down he pulls, and she steps out of the tight material, a hand braced to his shoulder. He lifts her knee, hooking it over his other shoulder and works his mouth up the inside of her thigh. 

“If we get caught…” She breathes. 

“We won’t. If you can stay quiet.” And then his tongue slides across her clit and she hums quietly. He strokes his tongue lower, swirling across her core, sliding inside for a taste of her. She rotates her hips, encouraging him as his tongue slides inside her again. He moves up, mouth closing over her clit, sucking this time as she gasps, rocks against him. 

He’ll take his time later, when they’re someplace more private. But this setting calls for something faster as his mouth works over her clit. 

He glances up in time to see her hand grab at her breast, over her tshirt and sports bra and it’s inexplicably sexy. His eyes are trained on the motion of her hand as he sucks harder, massages his tongue across the bundle of nerves. His hands squeeze at her thighs, wrap around her ass, kneading the full flesh beneath his palms. She grunts softly, presses her lips together to keep the sounds in her mouth. He watches her as her brow furrows, her jaw drops. He sucks hard and her hand slams against the lockers as her weight sinks into his grip. She gasps, a whining noise trapped at the base of her throat as she comes. 

He holds onto her until she regains her senses, takes the weight back into her standing leg. He unhooks her knee from his shoulder, still gripping at her hips as he feels her wobble slightly. Standing, he coaxes her to lean back into the lockers once more, working open his belt and jeans. He kisses her gently, nipping at her lips until she responds, swiping her tongue against the seam of his mouth. And then her hands are reaching for him, one leg lifting to wrap around his hip. He pushes her up against the lockers, hands cradling under her ass, lifting her into position. His forehead drops onto hers as he slides slowly inside of her.

“Fuck, Liv.” He grunts, voice low as he succumbs to her liquid heat. 

“C’mon, El.” She coaxes, breath warm on his cheek, hips canting against his. She’s pulling him into a rhythm and he moves with her, meets her pace. They’re moving fast and hard, the lockers rattling with their movements. But he’s so close and he feels her squeeze tightly around him, her pussy clenching him so he groans. 

He doesn’t try to hold out like he usually would, allows himself to thrust into her until he feels the lust coiled tightly in his belly, ready to burst. And then he drops his mouth against her neck, muffling the cry of her name into her skin as his hands grip hard at her ass and his knees quake. 

Her hands are smoothing over his neck, his shoulders as he calms and then he laughs happily before he kisses her gently below her ear. 

“Everything you fantasized about?” She teases.

“Better,” He answers as he kisses her fiercely. “I’ll take you home.” 

She smiles and kisses him back. “And then I’ll make tonight up to you.” She promises, flirtatiously. 

“Oh? And this wasn’t making things up to me?” He grins, handing her the discarded leggings before he resets his own clothing. 

“It’s a start.” She’s dressing, pulling her things from her locker and he stills her with his hand on her lower back. 

“I mean it Liv. I’m never leaving.”

She leans up and kisses him gently. “I know, El. Sometimes I just…need the reminder.”

“I can do that. Whenever you need it.” He swears soberly before the mischievous grin lights up his face. “And wherever you need it.”

The peal of her laughter fills the quiet locker room as she grabs his hand and drags him away.