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It isn’t like he hasn’t wanted to do this before. He has. He’s experimented enough to think it would be the penultimate sexual experience.
And he trusts her. He’s always trusted her and he thinks sometime before she ran off to Oregon he would have shared his secret if only the back of his mind wouldn’t scream things like “pervert” and “depraved” at him. She shattered that trust before he came to peace with himself.
But that’s all in the past now. They’ve moved far enough beyond the hurt and guilt and fear that it’s just a tangle of painful memories best avoided.
It was reassuring to know they could count on each other no matter what. When Dana had torn into their lives and landed him in the hospital with yet another gun shot wound, he’d seen it on Liv’s face just as clear as day; Dana wouldn’t be welcome in her life anymore.
And why is he even thinking about Dana right now? Maybe it’s because she seems pretty safe. All she’d ever done to him was get him shot a couple of times. Oh, and blown up that other time. And that’s nothing compared to the image of Olivia Benson stalking across her living room towards him, a network of complicated-looking straps fastened tight around her hips and thighs, a large plastic cock jutting out at him.
The difference between fantasy and reality is crushing, he thinks. It’s all well and good to think he’s okay with this, but it’s another matter altogether when Olivia has a shiny, lube-slicked cock coming towards him. And did it have to be so detailed? She couldn’t just go for the basic rocket that would do the job just as well while maybe leaving a shred of his dignity intact?
“You’ve got that look, Stabler,” and fuck if she doesn’t sound dangerous. They’ve talked it over and he knows all it takes is a single word from him and she’ll take it off. And he’s kept his mouth resolutely shut because he thinks he really does want to go through with this. But it’s unfuckingreasonable of her to expect him to wear a smile on his face as he’s kneeling over the back of her couch and waiting for her to fuck him.
And now she’s smiling, and he hates that she can read the shift of his features so well. Deepening a furrowed brow shouldn’t broadcast his internal dialogue and it’s just one more sign that any barrier they’d had between them eroded away a long time ago.
He can feel the slick plastic rubbing the outside of his leg as she leans over and massages his shoulders. If she really thinks that’s going to dispel any tension, maybe she doesn’t know him as well as he thought. But when she kisses the nape of his neck and trails her lips to the side of his neck, he does relax, if only a little bit. She’s learned what he likes and fine-tuned her actions so that when she takes his earlobe between her teeth and lets her jaw tighten, he growls.
Her hand is slick and uncomfortable, but at least it isn’t cold. He tries to relax for this, wills his body to just go with the feeling and stop thinking about what comes next. They’ve done this before and it’s fucking fantastic the way she can play his body like an instrument. But tonight he just can’t let go, can’t stop thinking about how different it is this time and he’s grateful she doesn’t have the place lit up like Rockefeller Plaza in December.
In the end, he’s the one who has to convince her to go through with it. His muscles tight, cock a limp piece of flesh dangling between his legs, breathing short but even and she knows he’s not ready but has to trust he’s telling her the truth when he says he’s as ready as he’ll ever be for their first time.
First time. Like there’s going to be another. His voice rasps low and her pulse trips over itself as it speeds up, and this time she’s the one who growls.
His body doesn’t fight her anywhere near as much as either of them thought it would. She’s careful and has to go slow so she she doesn’t hurt him. She’s worried that she’ll give in to this newly discovered primal instinct and just thrust inside. Her mind is racing and she can’t keep up with thoughts. She can see see this extension of herself disappearing inside of him but she can’t feel anything. She wants to bury it deep so her hips come to rest against him and she can feel the heat of their flesh burning together. She wants to tell him it’s okay, tell him she loves him, tell him he’s still a man.
But she can’t do any of those things.
He sets the pace and it irks her that even now, he has to be in control. Never mind that it makes sense in this situation since he’s the only one who can actually feel what’s happening. It’s irritating as fuck and she wants him to just hurry up and adjust so she can take that control back and how fucked up is that thought?
When she’s fully inside him, he clutches blindly at her hip to keep her from moving. He’s buried his face in the blanket thrown atop her couch and she can hear him fighting to keep his breath under control. His body radiates pain and tension and she wants to pull out, wants end this torture he’s putting himself through and use her body to show him what she can’t say instead of using it to destroy his notions of manhood and control and whatever the fuck else he’s trying to do.
When he shifts his knees, she can feel the reflexive clench of his bubble butt against her hips and she skims the nails of one hand over them lightly while leaning carefully in to plant a kiss on his back. She rests there, moving her lips softly against his skin and she wants to tell him everything is okay but he’d never let her lie to him like that.
The sweat on their skin is drying and fusing them together but she’s scared to shift, worried she’ll hurt or shock him. When he shrugs her off, she’s surprised and suddenly she doesn’t know how to read him anymore. Doesn’t he want her to do it now? Does he want her to pull out and go away? Does he want her to just not lean on him? She can’t tell and it’s moments like this that remind her what an uncommunicative bastard he can be.
“El?” Tentative, like everything else tonight.
“Yeah,” he gulps. “Do it.” So quiet she’s not sure she heard him.
Drawing back stirs something up inside of her and she wants to hurry up and get to it. She braces herself with a hand on each of his hips and looks down in wonderment as this new part of her emerges. She sees his skin shining and his muscles quivering and feels a jolt of electricity rip through her when she reverses direction and sinks back into him.
His back arches, whether from pain or surprise she doesn’t know, but the sweat is pouring down his back again and his head is thrown back so she can see the taut cords of his neck leading up to his scarlet grimace. The flush is rushing down his back and it’s all the confirmation she needs.
She fucks him with steady strokes while exploring his body with her hands. She trails a finger down his crack to rest just above where they meet and she’s a little shocked when she can’t actually feel her fingernail dragging against the cock as it plunges inside of him. She increases her pace and watches him fist the cushions, the throw blanket having long since lost the fight and plummeting to the floor.
He’s getting hard and a thrill of satisfaction goes through her when she feels his erection filling out in her hand. She palms him inexpertly, the angle new and wrong and exciting. He shifts and reaches down and now they’re fighting for possession of him as she thrusts in and out and fights to keep back the words that have come rushing out from the darkest depths of her mind.
“Liv,” he growls, and she knows. She knows, and it’s okay.
“You like that, Stabler?” This what you want?” and she’s trying to keep it generic, trying not to exert too much dominance and upset the delicate balance it’s taken them almost 14 years to find.
He whines in response and she throws caution to the wind as he fists himself and fucks back against her.
“All those times you’ve shoved your dick in me, thinking it makes you better, more in control and now what? Huh, Stabler? Who’s in control now? I can get a dick from any guy but what about you? Who else is gonna do this for you? Who else would Give You. What. You. Want?” the last punctuated with sharp thrusts that had him near screaming in an agony of guilt and lust.
Her massage wasn’t gentle now and she watched his crimson skin turn white under her nails as they glided across his powerful shoulders that were bunching and flexing as he pounded furiously at himself, his eyes screwed shut with sweat and maybe even tears streaming down his face to get lost out her sight across his chest.
“Too. Much” he ground out and she withdrew in a flash to watch him flip himself over, landing hard on the couch as his fist became a blur between his legs and his eyes flashed as he fought his lust-heavy eyelids to look at her even as the flush deepened on his skin.
She was panting uncontrollably, her thighs a sticky mess from the mix of lube, sweat, and her own arousal, but she couldn’t move to release the harness. She was transfixed as he erupted with a roar, his whole body tensing in a paroxysm of pleasure before slumping indelicately as his release pumped out of him and coated his heaving abdomen.
It was minutes before he opened his eyes. They were both frozen in separate worlds, shock the only thing they shared between them in the wake of this momentous, near-disastrous occasion.
When she let the harness drop, she felt a rush of cool air against her that served as a sharp reminder that only one of them had been fully satisfied by what they’d done. She sat on her other couch and leaned forward demurely to watch him. When his eyes met hers, she was hoping he’d say something, but he was a closed book again.
Olivia stood and walked to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and get him a washcloth to clean up with. She paused over the sink and stared into her eyes for a long moment, hoping to discern some hidden truth that could only be revealed by her eyes, but there was nothing. She grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet, ran it under some hot water, wrung it out, and headed back out into the living room.
For the first time since they’d given in and started sleeping together, Elliot seemed oblivious to her needs. He cleaned up, got dressed, gave her a kiss that only served to frustrate her further, and went home.
Olivia straightened up her living room and cleaned the dildo before tossing it into the box in her closet along with the harness. She went to bed that night with frustrated thoughts about using it on him and using it on herself and what they’d shared before tonight and wondering what would happen next. Unable to satisfy herself and feeling more awake than ever, she dressed and headed out to watch TV until it was time to go work again.