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by fate

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A/N: timeline is a little funky, but svu never is right anyways — figured this takes place after elliot’s voicemail (which goes through in this) and before they work the case together (“come home” face touch), so just pretend the date with trevor was way earlier lol









He stands out of the light, keeping his distance, eyes stuck on her smile. 

It’s dangerous for her to be here, in this bar, with him so close. 

‘Eddie Ashes’ is working security for a small event that Flutura is hosting, but Olivia is not ‘Captain Benson’ here. No, instead she’s smiling, wine in hand, joined by none other than that sonofabitch Trevor Langan himself. Her fingers graze his forearm, then his chest—she’s gotten far touchier over the years in his absence. All he can think about is how he craves for that hand to rest on him, her eyes consuming him, leaving her devine lips forbidden. 

He’s meant to be watching the door, making sure nobody comes in while the deal is being made, and truthfully, he’s grateful Jet has the bug set up so he doesn’t have to pay too much attention to anything but the woman across the room. 

“Hey Liv, it’s me.”

Those words he’d left on her voicemail, thinking that his last moments were right around the corner, worried he was following his late wife; destined for a world where he would never be able to say the right words to her face, never be able to look her in the eyes and piece together exactly what she means to him, exactly what was right to say. 

There is so much they need to work on, so much they need to talk about, but he is not himself right now, not the man that he wants to be for her. But his eyes land on her and a part of him is so mystified that she’s here, that he can see her, that his eyes can trace the perfect slope of her side profile, can take in her smile and the sparkle in her eyes. The one that he begs his God to be able to give her one day, wishing it was his suit-clad body that her eyes were on under the low light of this bar. 

Instead, he’s a nobody—just one of the servicemen for the Albanian guests behind him—and she is far too close for his comfort. 

And even though her nearness should worry him, all he can focus on is the old defense attorney, who quickly becomes public enemy number one as he kisses her hand with a gratefulness that nearly makes him sick. Elliot grimaces in response, wondering if one day she will let him kiss her as gingerly as this man does now. 

However, he is still sporting this beard, still hiding from reality, and his hand curls into a fist at the realization that they’re far from that—from her in a dress, him in a suit, smiling, touching, flirting

“Any movement?”

“Hmm?” Elliot shakes his head, noticing Reggie at his right. “Oh, nah man. Closest thing was a drunk woman thinking this was the restroom.” 

“Good, good.” The other man eyes him up, furrowing his brows, smacking his shoulder to grab his attention, “Who’s the lady?”


He feigns innocence. “Who?”

“The one you were staring at,” he clarifies and Reggie points right at Olivia, just as Trevor’s hand gently rests on the small of her back.

It takes everything for him to not react, but he manages to conceal his truth with a shrug. “No clue. Just eye candy, I suppose,” he teases, topping it off with a douchy grin, one that hopefully keeps his cover. 

Reggie’s chuckle confirms he’s safe for now and he lets him know, “Well, we should be done soon enough. Then you can have any one of these women, if they’re interested in a bald old man.”

“Ay,” Elliot punches his shoulder, “ladies love me.”

“Yeah, yeah, maybe you’re right. Looks like ya caught the eye candy’s attention,” Reggie teases as he heads back inside.

And dammit, Elliot did. 

It’s like the day they reunited: time is frozen, all that exists in the second their eyes meet is each other.

Olivia is staring right at him, suddenly alone as Trevor heads towards the men’s room, and she tosses him a small grin—friendly, as if acknowledging a stranger—and he provides a tight-lipped expression in return. 

To an outsider, there is nothing to even pick up on, but he can tell. He can see beyond her kind eyes that it’s a shock to see him here, and even though Reggie is out of his sight, he’s not risking a single wrong movement. Under no circumstances will he let Olivia into this world, especially after Wheatley and the car crash. 

He will stand here, merely a human pillar, guarding this door and the woman ahead as if his fucking life depends on it.

Her own eyes trail back to her glass but now that she knows he’s here, knows he can see her every move, that smile nearly fully fades away and breaks his heart in the process. Elliot has managed to ruin another thing for her, this time with no intention, just by mere circumstance. Sent on a job here where she has a lovely date with a man who returns to her side, immediately putting his hands on her waist from behind, leaning in to whisper in her ear and making her laugh.

But her laugh is shorter, smile tighter, cheeks flushed. 

And her eyes flick over towards Elliot a few times—so briefly, if he wasn’t magnetized to her, he would’ve missed it. But it’s Olivia, practically the other half of him. Even the universe couldn’t keep them apart forever. 

Now that she knows he can see her, her every move is calculated for the rest of the evening, aware that she’s practically on display. Brushing her hair behind her ear, she listens to whatever Langan is telling her, his hand still on her hip, the other holding his glass of whiskey, lifting it occasionally to his lips. She has nearly finished her own glass, which by his count would be her second; Elliot wonders if she needs a third. 

She looks so fucking beautiful and he can’t help but feel his whole body tense when Trevor leans in again. 

If he has to watch him kiss

He does. 

It’s suddenly a decade earlier and he’s tied to a metal chair, watching her lips attached to another’s, and her eyes do the same thing they did all those years ago. Mouth on Trevor’s, gaze on Elliot. Brown eyes drown his blue and he swallows down the lump in his throat, adjusting his stiffened posture as her eyes drift closed and she falls into the man’s embrace.

Trevor’s hands move carefully, respecting the fact that they are in public, but clearly wanting more—wanting more of his Olivia. And when they pull away from each other, Elliot is relieved until she leans back in for another and another


He deserves this. Deserves to feel a little discomfort after everything he has put her through. He’ll stand here and suffer the consequences of his actions, watch her lips tenderly move in tandem with Trevor’s, his other hand abandoning his whiskey to cup her cheek. 


Flutura’s voice cuts through the white noise of his punishment, hand sliding over his shoulder and Elliot—Eddie—warmly chuckles, sliding back into the role of the mobster. 

“Hey, you.”

She smirks, leaning in, kissing his cheek. Her lips are nothing like Olivia’s. 

“Thank you,” she hums. “You’re free to go…party or whatever it is you boys do on your downtime.”

Eddie laughs, “And what might you be up to?”

“Hm,” she playfully cocks a brow. “I’m going home to my husband.” 

Elliot’s own jealousy seeps out through Eddie, forcing a tight smile across his face before he nods, “Got it.”

“See you later,” she teases, nails dragging down his chest, turning to strut toward the front door where she passes by Olivia who is finally free from Trevor’s grasp.

The brunette tosses a quick glance over at Elliot (it’s barely a nanosecond) before nodding to her date, excusing herself to walk towards the restrooms. 

Now’s his chance.

He follows immediately, avoiding eyes (especially green ones) and makes his way to the small hallways hidden from view, frantic to see her up close, to hold her, to hear her speak, to let her see his very much alive body.

And when he slips past a young couple making out, he turns the corner and she’s there.

It’s even more like their first reunion all over again—their eyes wide and amazed at the sight of the other, wondering if this is somehow real life.

She’s at the end, back against the wall, stare locked on him and he can’t help but smile. 

“…coincidence?” she asks.

He raises his hands up, “On my life.”

She releases a nervous laugh, “Of course.”

God, she’s somehow even more beautiful up close.

He deflects, “Didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” she mumbles, but shakes her head, clarifying, “—it’s just a first date.”

“First?” Elliot keeps moving, stepping closer and closer to her, meeting her at the end of the hall—being good though, keeping his hands to himself. “Seemed pretty intimate for a first date.”

She tenses, “How’s work?”

And he rolls his eyes playfully, “Nice one.”

A smile wipes across her face, loosening her back up slightly, “I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Elliot wants so desperately to touch her, to reach out somehow; he settles for brushing her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her hand lands on his chest and she stares directly at it, the thoughts racing in her head. 

“You okay?” he prods.

“You scared me.”

Oh, so she listened to it.

He rests his hand on top of hers, intertwining their fingers, needing her to not only hear him, but feel his heart beat under her hand. “I’m sorry.”

But Olivia is still just locked on her hand—their hands now—and she breathlessly whispers, “I can’t believe you’re here. Of all the places you could be—”

“Crazy how the universe works out that way,” he smiles, letting it falter as he realizes she remains awestruck, her fingers flattening against his chest, and he changes his gameplan. Tightening his hold on her hand, he raises it to his lips, not quite kissing her knuckles, but letting his lips linger against the soft skin. 

The simple action catches her attention and her gaze returns to his, prompting a cheesy little grin from him. Trying to ease the moment, he teases, “What’s he got that I don’t?”

But there’s something behind those eyes; Olivia is looking at him deeper than ever before and she shakes her head. “Nothing,” she whispers so quietly, like she’s trying to keep it to herself.


“You’re here ,” she repeats. 

“Yeah, yeah I am,” he nervously chuckles. 

And nothing could’ve prepared him for her lips to meet his. It happens so quick, no thinking, and the sweet taste of wine hints to why she was ready for this, ready to kiss him in the hallway of the restrooms. Her lips are soft, so perfect—it’s Olivia Benson and he finally knows what she feels like against him, how effortless they blend together, how safe it feels with her, with her lips pressed to his.

She pulls back quickly, flustered, head shaking, “I’m sorry—I don’t know—”

“Shh,” he grabs her biceps, trying to steady her, “—don’t. Don’t apologize for that.”

“I’m on a date, Elliot. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“He’ll get over it.” Olivia shakes her head, concealing a small smile and he brushes her recently frizzled hair behind her ear once more. “Besides, I really want to kiss you again.”

Her eyes stay wide, focused on him. It’s just them in this hallway—thank god—but it nearly feels like they’re the only people in the goddamn world right now. He knows she wants him to come home, he wants to. She practically told him that nothing would happen while he still wore another man’s name, while he lived every day as another. 

But she’s right. Fate brought them together tonight. 

For how big Manhattan is, for all of the days of the week, hours in the day, to have them both be here, one on a date, one working, that can’t be a coincidence.

He sees her holding her breath, knows those gears are turning, and he feels a slight pang of guilt for wanting her despite how much she has said she isn't ready. But her lips kissed his, she has been in control and will always be. 

“I mean, Liv, we don’t—” 

And before he can tell her it’s okay, she has his shirt fisted in her grip, the other hand on the door to the single stall and she’s pulling him inside, letting his body slam against the door, his fingers instinctively locking them in, their lips meeting as fiery as before.

She kisses like she works, passionately, with purpose, but there’s a neediness to it, a soft moan in the back of her throat that’s speaking more eloquently than any Shakespearean text. He can taste the deep red of her wine more significantly now, sweet and elegant, her fingers still gripping him like he would run away. 

Not now, not ever again. 

She’s here on a date with someone else and yet they found each other again, even though they know they should wait, that neither of them are ready to dive into them , but she is so soft and so eager. 

“Liv…” he groans while she pulls back, eyes still shut. She looks so goddamn beautiful. He brushes his thumbs across her swollen lips, hands cupping her cheeks, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Which she is.

Her eyes remain closed as if she is scared to open them, scared his face will be gone and she will see her date on the other side, the pit in her stomach weighing her down with the sick realization she can never move forward with anyone else. 

“Look at me,” he begs.

She doesn’t.

He needs her to.

The soft music and rumble of the crowd in the back is nearly silent, all he can hear is her breath and his. He leans in, giving her a smooch on her cheek, moving his fingers into her hair, holding her head back, opening up her neck to him. With a swiftness, his lips trail down the newly exposed skin, wet sucks, tongue swirling, and he grunts, “Mine,” before her eyes finally open.

She’s pulling him back, pushing him against the door and he’s worried he messed up—that he might’ve gone too far. But instead she just shakes her head, fingers tugging at the edge of his shirt, so close to his belt buckle. “No marks.” 

And that’s all he needs to hear. 

His hands find her ass immediately, groping as he grunts once more, lifting her up and walking her back so she hits the counter, perching up with her bunched-up dress. His mouth craves to assault her skin with passionate kisses, wanting to place his lips on every inch of her body, desperate to know what it tastes like—if its honeyed glow is as sweet as it seems—but she said no marks, so he listens.

Hands traveling up, he finds the zipper of her dress and looks up at her, chin nearly resting on her tits, her own tucked down to keep their eyes locked. This is their communication, their way of keeping in check as together they navigate a territory they have yet to traverse. She nods but he can see the uneasiness, and he seals the deal with a gentle kiss, letting his fingers continue their mission, unzipping her dress slowly, keeping tabs on the rise and fall of her chest against his. 

Featherlight touches down her spine cause her breath to hitch and when his hand reaches the small of her back, he stands, pulling the fabric off her shoulders, tugging it forward to slowly reveal her breasts tightly covered in black lace. 

Fuck,” he groans and his mouth instantaneously attaches to them, tongue sliding across the slopes, hands fondling them together and kneading them in his firm grasp. Her dress can cover this up, so there’s no need for him to be gentle. 

Her head rolls back, a relieved, “Please,” escaping her perfect fucking mouth as he ravishes her deliciously. Elliot could stay here all day, face in her tits, but they don’t have the time. Her date is outside those doors, probably cradling that glass of whiskey, unaware that Olivia’s breasts are being cradled by another man’s hands—her man’s hands.

There is no more jealousy to be had, not when his mouth is the one sucking at her skin, not when his fingers unclasp her bra, not when his thumbs graze her nipples and prepare them for his lips. 


“I got you,” he hums.

“No,” she shakes her head, “I need—need—” Her hands land on his belt buckle, fumbling with it as she tries to tug the strap through, but he can’t have that. Instead, his hands grasp her wrists, pulling them away to place them on the counter.

“Uh uh,” he refuses, dropping to his knees before her, hands tenderly tracing up her calves, lips attaching to them as his hands hold them open and in place. She’s looking down at him, dress and bra fallen, her long waves behind her shoulders and she truly deserves much more than this public restroom, but he’ll take what they can get. 

A week ago he thought he would die, had called her, had wished he could have done this then so the last thought before the trigger was pulled could have been her legs atop of his shoulders, face buried in her, hands woven with hers. 

This is much better. This is a promise—this is marking her as his own, selfishly not letting her pretend there was another, that anyone besides them could ever work out. It would always be Benson and Stabler, always—all ways

Once he has given enough time to her calves, he moves on to her thighs. Running his tongue from her knee up and up, he bunches her dress up to gain more access, allowing himself to savor her—stopping just in front of her panties, the scent of her right there, consuming his every thought. 

Her hips jerk slightly and he glances up to check in with her, catching a slight smile across her face. 

“You good?”

Yes, just—ticklish.”

The beard.

“Oh?” He raises a brow and tucks two fingers under the lace covering her wet pussy, begging for him to soothe her aching. 

She nods, “El, please—”

He gives it a second though, fingers in her panties, feeling her heat but not exploring yet. He feels cocky, willing to take the risk, wanting to get her out of her head for a second and see her smile again. “Who’s better?”

Excuse me?”

“Well, I gotta know now, I mean you’ve kissed both of us.”

Elliot Stabler—”

“So, me?”

And it works. She rolls her eyes, hiding a light laugh and warm smile, “I swear to God—”

He chuckles, pulling the fabric to the side to let his index and middle finger slide through her folds, coating them with her arousal. He can’t even handle how perfect she is, how all-encompassing every inch of her is. Unable to stop himself, he brings them between his lips and cleans them off, all while she watches. She’s as delectable as he could imagine, a taste he will crave until the end of time, and he wants to have more of her but there’s a firm knock at the door and it stops him in his tracks. 

Olivia tightly grips the back of his shirt, probably unsure if he would actually stop, and shouts, “Occupied!”

Elliot grins, mocking her in a low whisper, “Occupied?” 

“Shh,” she smacks his shoulder.

There’s no more knocking and Elliot is about to resume his intended moves, wanting nothing more than to make her come all over his face, make his beard drip with her, making her pant from pure esctasy. But she’s starting to slide off the counter and he begins to protest, stopping when her feet land on the floor and she tugs him forward for a deep, loving kiss.

“Another day—when we have more time,” she tells him, reaching for his belt again, finishing her first task, yanking his pants open all while Elliot watches. He’s wrecked, completely wrecked, and his mouth parts when her fingers wrap around his cock, rasping slightly.

“Need you in me.” Olivia leans in, exhaling against his neck, head hanging down, stroking him a few more times. “Need to feel you, please, need to know you’re here—”

“I‘m here.”

He wraps an arm around her waist, eyeing her down, walking her away from the counter and towards the door again. Her body gently slams against the wood, the same way his did earlier, but he can’t even kiss her right now—can’t do anything but lean in and order her to turn around. 

Her brows raise when the words come out, and yet she follows his command, body, breasts, cheek, pressed against the door, and he’s quick to get to work. Lifting her dress, his hands grope at her ass, fingers making their way back to her panties to tuck them to the side, sliding his cock through her slick arousal, eliciting a beautiful tight-lipped moan from her as the head of his cock brushes against her clit.

Keeping close to her, his hot breath tickles her ear, hips still moving to tease her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, pressing his lips to her exposed back, “—never again.”

He lines himself up, carefully entering her, watching every single possible movement of her face to ensure she’s okay, feeling how impossibly tight she is. It doesn’t take much for her to stretch around him, unbelievably needy for him still, but she grabs at one of the hands on her waist to bring it in front of her, dropping it to her clit, begging for him to touch her. He obeys, overwhelming her with circling fingers and the gentle movement of his hips and she keeps her eyes and lips shut tightly, trying to swallow down the blissful moans that threaten to escape. 

“Think that knock was him?” He huffs in her ear, “Think he saw me here, saw how long you’ve been gone? Think he knows we’re in here together?”

He’s being smug, voice low as his thrusts continue, dropping kisses to her shoulder here and there. 

“Think he’s still out there? Ear against the door, wondering?”

Olivia whimpers and it sends Elliot over the edge, picking up the speed, needing to hear her do that again and again and again—

“You’re mine,” he growls.


He lifts her hips slightly, changing the angle and she can’t hold back the moan that comes out of her. 

“There she is,” he sighs. 

She clutches at his forearms, nails digging in to hold him to her, to feel his body there, to know that Elliot is very much alive—to feel him thrust inside her and know that Eddie Ashes will go away soon and bring Elliot back to her. Or at least that’s what he’s telling her, tightening his grasp on her and squeezing her close to him as his reckless rhythm continues, feeling her walls begin to flutter, their skin heating up to ungodly degrees.


“Right here,” he reassures.

Come—come home,” she pants. 

He keeps fucking her, but they embrace, knowing this was much less of a quickie to ease their ache and more a desperate need to feel each other alive and well, to become one and give them both something to remember when they are apart. 

His body tenses, she can feel herself begin to break, and she weaves her fingers between his, still at her waist, keeping her tight to his chest. She leans into him, head falling against his shoulder, rasping, “Mine.”

And the declaration pushes them both over the edge—he spills into her, she shakes from the relief of a climax, and they’re both a sweaty mess of guilt and shame and love. 

Taking a moment to steady themselves, he does not want to let her go, but she pulls away and begins to clean herself up, leaving him there with a thousand and one words to say, but no ear to listen. She’s nearly reset, hair a little frazzled and cheeks a little flushed still, with only her dress still opened. 

“Zip me up?”

He snaps out of his trance, nodding, and walks over to her, fingers delicate at her back, tugging the zipper up, wishing he could give her just one more kiss.

Once it’s done, Olivia turns to face him and he really has to stay strong to not reach for her again. 

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it, Elliot. I thought you died.”

He begins to apologize, but he knows it’s not what she wants. “Nothing will stop me from wanting to do this again.”

She wants to be mad—he can tell—but her eyes soften and she leans in to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Good, you owe me.”

“Owe you?”

And she grabs her phone, “For ruining my date.”

He chuckles, “Trevor did that all by himself, coulda tried to be more interesting to keep your attention.” 

“That so?”

Elliot shakes his head, “Nah, it’ll always be me.”

Olivia sighs, “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

There’s another knock at the door and they both look ahead, hearing a soft, “Olivia?”

“One second! On the phone with work!”

She comes close to Elliot, backing him into the corner most out of sight of the door and holds a finger to his lips. “Me first, then get out of here.”

“Copy, Cap,” he whispers.

Olivia smiles again, pressing her phone to her ear before opening the bathroom door to face Trevor, mumbling, “Thank you, Fin. I’ll try to be there when I can.”

Elliot smiles at himself, managing to sneak out the door and out the back of the restaurant without a trace, finally knowing there’s something on the other side for him. Something to live for, someone who is his, who he belongs to too, and it’s her.

It’s always been her.