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A/N: A little post-ep for the premiere. Takes place after the SVU hour with the evacuation scene. Established EO. 

She’s been bringing him home with her more and more, lately, now that his apartment is empty.


Now that they’re…this.


He likes being with them, her and Noah, and they like having him there. It’s all been so surprisingly simple for the most part, so simple it takes her breath away. They still have hard nights, nights when they talk, after Noah goes to sleep; but, mostly, it’s easy, and comfortable, and right.


It’s late when they finally leave the precinct, and make their way to her apartment. They don’t need to talk, but he reaches for her hand as they get into the elevator, and she steps in to lean her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes for a few merciful seconds. It’s one of those moments where she instantly flashes back; they’ve had so many moments like this one, and she’s wanted him, wanted his warmth against her cheek, propping her up.


Too quickly, the moment’s over and they trudge down the hallway together. He waits while she opens the door, and then they both step inside quietly; he closes the front door when she’s two steps inside, and her breath catches because it’s dark. She knows that Lucy’s sleeping on the pull-out in the living room, that she’s just forgotten to leave the light above the stove on; but when she’s been keyed up like this, walking into a dark apartment is too much, it makes her heart skip, and her breath short—


Smoothly, without fuss, Elliot steps forward and takes her hand again, tucking her behind him while he feels along the wall for the light switch.


He knows; they’ve talked, and he knows everything.


He understands, and intuits, and he feels her in a way that no one else can.


Her nose brushes against his back and she closes her eyes, breathing in the peppery scent of dust and sweat, mixed with the very last traces of his aftershave. He finds the switch and the hallway is bathed in amber light; she blinks against it, and then toes off her shoes, nudging them in beside his.




Lucy’s sleepy voice comes to her, mumbled from the dark living room.


“Yeah,” she murmurs, coming into the room with Elliot right at her back, “It’s me, and Elliot. Go back to sleep, Luce. Thanks for staying.”


Olivia can just make her out, a tangle of dark hair tucked beneath the blankets.


“Mmm-kay,” Lucy sighs, turning over, going still and content again.


Blindly, she reaches back and gets his hand, pulling him along toward Noah’s room.


“Just want to check,” she whispers, glancing back at him.


He nods, smiles gently. “Me too.”


Slowly, she opens her son’s door; he still uses a salt lamp at night, so she can see his perfect face, bathed in the soft, pink light. He’s asleep, breaths slow and rhythmic, and it settles her, finally. She stares at him for a few moments, until the achy panic she always feels after being away from him for so long eases a little, and starts to shut his door—




She’d swear he senses her there, sometimes, so she tries not to stare too long. If she does, he stirs, every time.


“Yeah, baby,” she whispers, walking quietly into his room, “Shhh, I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”


“Mom,” he sighs, reaching for her.


Her heart thuds in her chest, and she leans down so they can wrap their arms around each other. He buries his face in her neck, hands flexing against her shoulders.


“Hi,” she soothes, cradling his head, rubbing his back, “I missed you.”


Noah mumbles against her skin. “Missed you. Are you done working?”


She crouches by his bed, and encourages him to lay his head back down on the pillow, wrapping her arm around to keep her palm against his back. “Not quite yet. Probably another long day tomorrow.”


“We were watching Masked Singer,” he says softly, brows furrowing, “And the news came on instead. With that explosion. I got scared.”


She smooths the back of her hand across his cheek. “But then I texted you back right away, right? You’re the first person to know I’m okay, always.”


He doesn’t know what cases she’s working, or where she is, and he gets worried sometimes when big things happen. But he knows she’ll drop everything to tell him she’s alright, whenever he needs to know.


“Yeah,” he whispers, staring into her eyes, “Was Elliot with you? Is he okay?”


She smiles, nodding towards the doorway. “He’s okay. He’s right there.”


Noah looks over, smiling sleepily. “Hi, Elliot.”


“Hey, bud,” Elliot rasps softly, leaning against the door frame, “Get some sleep, okay?”


“Yeah,” Noah sighs, staring at her again in between heavy blinks, “Will you be here before school?”


She starts to rub his back, soothing him down into sleep. “I won’t leave without seeing you. Promise.”


He hums, drifting off easily, not completely awake to begin with.


She leans in and presses her lips to his forehead, holding there for a second. “I love you.”


He’s already asleep again, and she sighs contentedly, grimacing as she stands up and her knees crack.


Olivia groans quietly, shuffling toward him until she can lean into his chest. “I want a shower.”


“Okay,” he murmurs, wrapping her up to steer her down the hallway, “Let’s do that.”



He undresses her, and she wants to weep.


The relief of him, makes her ache.


They stand under the hot water, and he brings her forehead to his chest, tells her to close her eyes as he works shampoo into her scalp, washing away dust and grit from the explosion. He likes doing this, washing her hair; she’s never asked him why, but whenever they find time to shower together, he does it for her. He’s surprisingly gentle, she suspects from trying to avoid whining and tears when the girls were little, and she sighs when his fingers press in harder, massaging.


“Good?” he murmurs, nudging her head back into the spray, rinsing.


She hums, feeling leaps and bounds better already, running her palms over his back.


“’kay, c’mere.”


He wants to hold her, and she lets him, sinks into him again while he combs conditioner through the bottom three quarters of her hair with his fingers. He’s careful not to catch on the knots, letting the slip of the product ease through, until her hair is smooth and silky against her back. And then he’s turning her, and easing her back against the tile, one warm palm sliding up to cup her breast.


“Can I touch you?” he murmurs, drawing a circle around her nipple with his thumb, “I know you’re tired—just wanna touch you. That okay?”


Her breath hitches, and she is tired, but god she wants that, too.   


“Yeah,” she whispers, tipping her face up to nuzzle her cheek against his, speaking into his ear, “It’s okay.”


Her lips drag along his cheek, her hands land on his biceps, and they fall into a kiss, exhaling with soft moans. They press, and suck, and delve, tongues stroking. They’re slow, lazy about it, heavy with exhaustion and the heat of the shower, and it makes her pulse thrum hard. They’ve got the bathroom door closed and the shower’s filled with steam, blocking out everything else, everything except him, everything except his fingers against her nipples, and his thigh between her legs, and his tongue in her mouth.


She whimpers against his mouth, arching into his chest, grinding down against his thigh.


Shhh. Breathe,” he soothes, slipping his hand down between them.


She feels it, then, how tightly she’s wound, how badly she needs the release. He’d been able to feel it, even before her; he’d anticipated the way everything would’ve hit her all at once, as soon as she’d laid down in bed.


She buries her face in his neck with a soft, shaky moan, trying to stay quiet as his thumb finds her clit. It all converges right there, and she swallows hard, sliding her hand around the back of his neck to hold him close. His thumb moves against her, rubbing and rubbing, back and forth, and then circles, sending little pops and sparks of pleasure through her hips. She can’t breathe, all of a sudden, chest heaving, nails digging into his skin.


“I know,” he murmurs, close and soft, right against her ear now, “I know. Hang on.”


He nudges her leg, the one with the bad ankle, up onto the lip of the tub, tests and presses with his fingers until two of them slip inside her. They curl, and her knee buckles; he catches her, steadies her, works her in slow, deep circles. He presses hard, and her breath stutters, hips rocking into the pressure, moving with him. She drags her teeth against his throat, feels it when he growls a little, but he refuses to speed up, keeping the cadence of his movements slow and steady.


She comes in stages, goes tight all over with it at first, holding her breath, pressing her forehead hard against his shoulder; and then it rushes through her, and everything starts to throb and tingle and pulse, and the pleasure is so intense that she can barely breathe. It blooms through her hips and down her thighs, hot and liquid, consuming and overwhelming.


The exhaustion comes last, as he gentles his hand and eventually pulls it away from her, nudges her arms around his neck and hauls her body up against his. She hums, takes a step and lets him walk her back under the water to rinse her hair again, sighing at the warm spray against her sensitized skin. Absently, she reaches down to wrap her hand around him; he’s half hard against her thigh, but he gently pushes her away, cradling her face to press a kiss against her mouth.


“Later. Tomorrow,” he murmurs, kissing her in soft presses, “M’tired. Just wanna sleep next to you right now.”


She sighs, nods, and lays her head on his shoulder.


It still astonishes her, that they have tomorrows, again.



A/N: Thank you for reading!!