Chapter Text
December 10, 2023
Olivia
“Charlie is absolutely going to hate this, you know?”
She tucks her phone into her bag on the floor, and looks over at Elliot.
“The real tree thing.”
Olivia clarifies as they turn right into the gravel parking lot. In the back of the car, Noah’s scanning the (snow covered, almost aggressively perfect) tree farm. The hills are lined with row after row of trees - evergreen and in various sizes - and even over the crunch of the gravel under their tires they can hear that sort of happy, bright canned Christmas music playing on speakers.
Elliot grits his teeth as he answers; his hand on the back of her headrest. He responds slowly, each word drawn out, as he backs them into the spot.
“Then…maybe… ”
He grunts as he guides the oversized SUV backwards into the spot.
“You…should…have…”
She bites her lip, trying to mask the twitch of her lips. She’s poking a little at him; purposefully digging in at the worst possible time. There is a crowded parking lot full of ‘fucking Connecticut drivers’ and a decent amount of snow on the ground, but she likes how his cheeks get red and flushed, and his arm flexes behind her as he does this.
He puts it in park and finishes, finally.
“Maybe you should have thought of that before we told Seamus we’d get one for our place, since Carl’s allergic.”
Olivia huffs out a laugh as she starts to push open her door. Her feet hit the gravel - loose and mixed in with snow and pine needles - and she’s glad she went with boots. She shakes her head.
“In what world are either one of us telling those kids no, Elliot?”
Boots and a new sweater for her, jeans and another warm and new sweater for Noah; and they should look, she knows, fucking picturesque. They should look adorable. There’s a photographer here that takes pictures for $50 and she has a vague plan to get a photo done and slap it on the Christmas card she won’t remember to send out.
“You’re - yeah,” he grumbles at the admission as he nods. “You’re right.
They were going to come here and get photos and drink hot cocoa and do one of the things that they’d never done before in 22 years of marriage and six months of separation. A day at the tree farm, together. But - Elliot is red faced and flustered, and Noah is the exact opposite; pale and clammy from the drive through the hills and she’d spilled coffee down the front of her jacket an hour ago.
“I know I’m right.”
She says it smugly as she opens Noah’s door. He’s too old for child locks, she knows. She’s been meaning to change them. Inside the car Noah’s gathering his stuff - his phone, a crossbody bag; a hat he’d brought instead of the one she’d asked him to wear.
Behind her, she hears the crunch of Elliot’s boots on the gravel; right before his hand lands, big and sure and warm and up the back of her sweater.
“Not right about everything, though.”
Outside the car, it’s cold and damp but all she can feel is the heat of her husband - his broad chest; his forearm now against her back - as he leans in; and murmurs close to her ear. She can hear the grin in his voice.
“Real trees are better for the environment, actually.”
She shakes her head, even as she grins into the car.
“Oh really, Stabler? I’ll just call Charlie and - ”
She can feel the hand, low and swatting her ass as she jumps. His voice is a good natured growl as he scoots himself back. When she turns around, Elliot’s smiling, and pulling his own beanie down.
“I already did, Benson.”
—
She’s not not a fan of this place. It’s a little too cutesy, yes, and they all know Maureen’s boys are going to be a little too wild for the picture perfect scene spread out before them, but it’s nice. They’ve been doing stuff like this for the last six months - since Elliot came back; since everything that fell apart was carefully glued back together; the pieces a little jagged but mostly whole once again - and their new couple’s therapist will probably be proud when they tell her about this.
“Do the corny stuff, guys,” she reminds them.
She’d told them again last week; her notebook put to the side before she’d gone on. “Do the shit that makes you want to roll your eyes when you think about it. Even if you - ”
She’d laughed (to herself, anticipating her own joke) and uncrossed her legs.
“Do it even if you just spend the time making fun of everyone else.”
They’d laughed back, Elliot’s elbow bumping hers as he’d slid his hand to her knee, and settled back into the cushions of her couch. Dr. Asher isn’t young, really, but she’s at least two decades younger than them, and her approach is a little more…their speed. She’s a little more cynical, maybe, cracks bad jokes and then apologizes when they both raise their eyebrows but she’s probably the best therapist either one of them has ever had, together or apart. She doesn’t want either one of them to call her by her first name, but she curses and she digs into the places their last therapist had breezed over.
She makes them talk about their fights, and their non-fights, and she makes them drag their shit right out to the surface.
She makes them confess it, when they try to use sex instead of talking it out. Not that she totally disapproves - Asher stresses both is good, most of the time. Both is ‘great, actually - it’s amazing to have that healthy appetite for each other, and it’s fine to work out your feelings, but - talk after, at least’ she tells them.
She loves their story, too.
“I just - I’m going to be honest, you guys. It’s kind of a marriage counselor’s wildest dream, the way you tell it.”
She’d shaken her head the first time she heard it in full. Her office was a little much - a little loud; with bright wall colors and too many plants - and Olivia had thought it would be distracting. They’d settled in, though, and their first session had been a ninety minute special, with the full recap.
The full story.
The almost death of it - of them - first. The shooting and the undercovers; the guilt and the shame and the lapse into silence. The sex they couldn’t stop having, even after. The way they’d come so close to burying it forever, and letting it die.
Then - the re-birth of their marriage - all in the front of a 2017 Jetta. The fights and the anger, right out in the open; tossed on the dashboard at seventy-five miles an hour. A broken air conditioner and a poolside pickle beer, and confessions and concessions about who they were.
How he never stopped thinking about the freckles on her shoulder; how she kept having to fight the urge to reach for his hand.
She heard about curtain bangs and a last chance beard and one bed at their final destination, and she’d listened to the whole thing almost awestruck; scribbling note after note, eyes darting from their faces down to where their hands stayed tangled, threaded together and pulled into Olivia’s lap.
“I mean - it’s like a movie. I love it,” she’d told them, when they’d finished, uncrossing her legs and grinning. She’d gone on, laughing as she eyed all her notes.
“You could literally charge money for people to watch this - it’s something.”
Dr. Asher was good for them.
She knew when and where to push them.
Like giving them homework - doing all the corny stuff that they’d really never, in twenty-two years of marriage, made enough time for. Telling them to make sure they ‘nurture’ it, in a way that they hadn’t; making sure they tended to that tight line and anchor that kept them tethered, never letting it stay underwater for too long.
They are re-tangling themselves in each other.
They’re not perfect, though, with their homework.
If it meant meeting for drinks and pretending to be strangers hadn’t quite worked, because he’d walked into the bar and he’d seen her sitting in a blue dress with a neckline that plunged - well - they couldn’t get everything right.
“We’re supposed to be - ”
She’d groaned it out when his lips had left hers; moving down the line of her jaw. Her ass had been backed up against the wall of the bathroom door, one thigh wrapped up and clutched his hand; the carefully pressed fabric of her dress already wrinkled and ruined.
“We’re supposed to be reacquainting ourselves, Elliot.”
Even as she said it, she’d tilted her head back. It bumped on the wood of the door, knocking loud enough for anyone outside to hear.
“I am - we are.”
He’d growled it against the skin of her neck as he made his way down. Down with his lips; up with his hands, the hem of her dress pushing up past her thigh as he ground himself against her. She could feel him, hard and thick through the fabric of his suit pants; hot against her.
Elliot had grazed his teeth low, right where the neckline started to plunge. The hand not on her thigh had risen up, thumb settling right at the base of her throat and she’d felt her whole body go hot. They don’t do this, not anymore. They don’t fuck in public bathrooms; not with bad hips and shaky knees but the way he’d looked at her, when he’d walked into the bar.
“I’m just - ”
He dragged his mouth all the way back up to her own, his fingers replacing his lips. He didn’t quite kiss her as he’d told her, smug and cocky and heated as he’d finished, the words a rumble in the chest he had pressed up against hers.
“I’m getting to know this part again, baby.”
It was animalistic, almost. It was animalistic when he walked into the bar; both of them under the guise of two strangers. ‘Tell the other person about the you you are now,’ Asher had told them. ‘Reacquiant yourselves.’
But - he’d walked into the bar after she’d swallowed down half a glass of red wine; jittery even though she knew it was just him. He’d walked in and he’d looked at her, and the things they were supposed to do - introduce themselves, talk for a while, challenge yourselves to say something you’d only tell a stranger - went right out the door.
Or in the door, maybe. In the door to the swanky unisex bathroom, all gleaming tile and beautiful fixtures; the door she tugged him through after he’d sat and slid his hand right up the slit in her thigh. She’d swallowed the rest of her glass and she’d stood and they hadn’t said a fucking word to each other - just eyed each other, knowing - and he’d followed her there.
There, where he rucked her skirt all the way up and she’d been the one to reach down, and free his cock from his dress pants. She’d gripped him, stroking as she grinned.
“Need you so bad, Liv.”
He’d panted against her mouth as she’d nodded.
Fuck reacquainting.
“Yeah, yeah - me, too, but - ”
She’d nudged him back with her chest and her hips, stilling the work of her hand. She’d watched his face fall for a moment, and she’d grinned and shaken her head, tilting it at the (beautiful, a copper sunk-in sink and red brown granite) vanity. She’d kept her eyes on his, and lowered her voice to the exact timbre she knew drove him insane.
Drives him insane.
Almost twenty three years later, and still.
“El, I just mean - the door isn’t that thick.”
Animalistic - that’s definitely what it was. When he practically scooped her up and half carried, half pulled her over; and deposited her right there on the counter. When he tugged her panties to the side and practically growled; a single finger sliding through her folds and finding her already slick. The height and the angle was perfect for both as he sank one, then two fingers in. He’d towered over her like that. He could watch her writhe and whimper and beg when he did it again and again, his thumb swiping and grinding down at her clit, his fingers working her hard and fast - and she could tilt her head back and watch.
She could watch him watching her. Narrowed eyes, lip between his teeth, and his low, low voice as he urged her on.
“So good - wish you could see how you look right now, baby.”
Then, right when she’d be on the cusp, his fingers crooked deep inside, he’d murmured her name. Familiar, and deep; the man she’d loved for two decades, knuckle deep inside of her, brimming with eager love and admiration.
“Jesus Christ, Olivia.”
When she shattered, she saw literal stars - actual pinpricks of light, cascading and bursting behind her eyelids - it was still that way too. Needy and fast, two people desperate for one thing; his fingers sliding out and his hands on her hips; pulling her off the counter when she was barely over the crest, and taking her lips one more time. A bruising, quick kiss before he’d turned her around, and used one hand to slide her underwear all the way down.
Then it was his big, steady arm wrapped around her waist as they both watched in the mirror. It was the hard press of his muscles; tensed and holding her tight as he slid all the way in and home, and the way neither could bear to look away.
The only sound that had broken the stillness was her quiet gasp of his name.
“Elliot - oh - ”
Six months ago he’d had to beg her to look at him when they’d fucked in the kitchen. He’d pleaded with her to open her eyes and look at him; but that night, in the bathroom - when they were supposed to be sitting on barstools, talking about their jobs and their hobbies and pretending - they’d both kept their eyes locked on each other in the reflection of the mirror.
“Love you, El.”
She’d reached down and found his hand gripped at her hip, and slid her fingers through. He’d nodded, and straightened just enough; so he could pull her all the way up and back, careful to stay buried as deep as he could. She’d turned and tilted her head back as much as she could and she’d kissed him softly, just once, as he told her; his voice hoarse and warm.
“You too, baby. So much.”
After that it had been quick, both aware of the time and the place. She’d settled herself back down, gripping the sink with one hand; the other wrapping around the forearm that anchored them both. He’d slammed into her over and over, both of them unabashedly eager until he’d toppled them both right over the edge with a swipe of his fingers.
It had been less intense that time.
If her first orgasm had been a firecracker, her second had been a warm lick of fire curling inside, but she’d been able to watch him, too, when he’d let go and pulsed deep inside her. She loved his face at that moment - his mouth falling open and the clench of his jaw and the thick, thick flex of his neck; then that low guttural groan of her name - and how this moment was always, always just for her.
They’d come out of the bathroom flushed and messy, and he’d paid for her drink in a rush.
The spark always catches, she knows. Their saving grace and their downfall.
His pants cost twenty-four dollars to dry clean.
So now - now they’re trying to do the more conventional assignments Dr. Asher had given them. Farmer’s markets in the fall; twice a week lunches in anyplace but her office. They’d gone to a pumpkin patch in October during a heat wave; all of them sweating in the bright sunlight on the hayride.
Noah had gotten stung in the lip by a bee.
But they’re doing the corny shit.
Even if they do roll their eyes.
They’re here, at the tree farm, waiting to meet her stepdaughter and the whole of Maureen’s family, mapping their way towards a little red barn before they go pick a tree.
“You ok, bud?”
She walks behind her son and her husband now. Elliott’s got a hand on his shoulder as he asks.
Noah had taken a Dramamine before they left, but then he’d ignored both of his parents when they told him sitting in the backseat of his phone wouldn’t help. He’s not pale anymore at least; the fresh air on the small walk bringing the color back to his cheeks.
“Mmmhmmm, I’m good now.”
Noah wiggles away, right out of his father’s grasp when he sees Seamus and Kieran at the door to the barn. The boys are roughhousing - wrestling and shoving each other into a snowbank while their parents try to navigate the little kiosk inside where they pay for hot cocoa and snacks. Their son jumps right in, the temporary bout of nausea from before all the way gone.
It’s nice to see him smile, she thinks.
The last few months have been harder on him. Elliot came home and she’d thought it would go smoothly but Noah seemed to be wrestling even more lately with being the odd one out in the mix, sometimes. At school, at dance, even at home.
It’s nice to see him jump right in with a grin.
Elliot holds back to wait for her.
“How ‘bout you?”
He nudges her shoulder with his, then drops his hand low. She’s got a bulky pair of hand woven mittens on that one of his kids gave her fifteen years ago. Kathleen, she thinks. Maureen would have given her something with a brand name, even back then, but these are oversized and handmade; like they’re from some stall at a farmer’s market.
“You good too? I want to stop at the wine place on the way home, but for now - you ready to do some, uh - ”
She knows the exact place that he’s talking about. They’ve stopped there before on their drive home from Maureen’s to stock up. She thinks about him and her and a glass of wine in front of their new tree tonight, even as he hooks a (freezing cold) finger right around the cuff of the mitten, pulling her hand close to his own, and asks her.
“Ready to do some corny shit with me?”
They can’t really hold hands, not like this, but it doesn't deter him. Elliot looks over at her and he grins; a flash of teeth as his lips twitch up.
She loves how the lines around his eyes crinkle now, every time that he smiles. She’d missed it, when it started to happen. All those gradual little changes that time brought on over twenty-two years - she’d just grown accustomed to them, at some point.
Now she pays attention.
“Oh - I’m ready.”
She grins back at him. They’ve got maybe one hundred feet in between them now, and the rest of their group. They should hurry, a little, and help wrangle the kids.
They just keep moving slower, though; almost at a stroll now.
“Can’t wait to watch you try to cut down a tree, and then - ”
He slides a second finger into her mitten, and lets them glide down the space of her palm. His own palm is halfway inside. His hands are freezing - cold, and still chapped from sitting outside on a stakeout last week.
“Then haul it all the way back to the car - oh - ”
He slides his hand all the way in, ice against her own. He laughs at the way she jumps, her elbow digging into his side, even as entwines his fingers through hers.
The elbow to the gut doesn’t deter him, either.
“Seriously, Elliot? We’re supposed to be rolling our eyes at all the other people, here, not - ”
She tries to hold up their joined hands, but he pulls her close, both their two hands stuck in her mitten. It’s silly and sweet and it’s not going to last more than a minute.
Even from fifty feet away, she swears she can see their son’s eyes roll. Their son, his daughter, their son-in-law - all of them standing and waiting. Staring, probably, at the least two romantic people with their hands jammed inside one mitten.
“Just let me warm up my fingers, baby.”
Christmas music blares; tacky and loud. There's at least two hundred other people who are all also a week too late to buy their trees. Carl’s probably overdosed himself on Zyrtec, knowing he’ll be the one to help Elliot take the tree to their car.
It’s cold, and there’s a coffee stain on her sweater. There’s no way it won’t show up in the pictures.
She lets him keep his hand there all the way up to the front door of the little red barn.
—
The size of the little red barn is deceiving.
It drops down, when you enter - not a real barn at all, but a commercialized stuffed full of people boutique little gift shop - and it’s full of kitschy looking snowmen and overstuffed Santa plushies and $200 mini fake trees, apparently, for the person who drove all the way to the tree farm to just change their mind.
“Oh my - ”
She shoots a look at Elliot. His nose is wrinkled; and she can tell he’s fighting off a sneeze. The smell of cinnamon is so overpowering, it makes her own eyes water. To her right, Maureen is shaking her head, and trying to grab at her boys. They’ve spotted the small little spot that sells hot chocolate and popcorn; and they’re making a beeline.
“Back outside.”
She motions at Noah. Elliot’s already got his hand on their son’s back; and she shoots an apologetic look back at Carl, who is standing with his eyebrows raised, almost frozen.
She hopes he’s not allergic to cinnamon, too.
The three of them make it outside, Olivia sliding off her mittens to rub at her eyes. There’s no fucking way she’s stepping back inside that place again, pictures or not. There’s doing corny shit, and then there’s doing shit that is literally designed to push them all over the edge; over-stimulated and literally choking on holiday scents.
“Holy sh - ”
They’re both shooting a glance at Noah, who stops himself.
“I mean, holy cow. That place was…”
Elliot coughs, and shakes his head like he’s trying to force out the last bit of allspice scented air that’s left in lungs.
“It was something, yeah.”
They keep going, all three of them, trying to distance themselves from the wide open door, like the smell and the chaos could follow them. They walk down the path that wraps around the building, closer to the tree covered hills behind them. Olivia pulls out her phone, thumbing it open to send a message to her stepdaughter.
“We can wait back here for the rest of them.”
It’s less busy out here. There’s families all decked out in similar outfits: flannel shirts and sweaters; boots that still need to be broken in. There’s a small group gathered around the back of the barn, peering over and into something big and round. There’s squealing children and leery looking parents, all crowded around
Instantly, she knows what it is.
It’s a gimmick.
These tree farms do this - breed them right in time for the season, then keep them there when the masses come to cut down their evergreens. They overprice them, knowing city parents won’t want to ruin the picture perfect day on the farm after driving all the way in.
It’s -
“Puppies!”
It takes a lot for their pre-teen to get that excited. He’s moving quick now, once again racing away from them and towards something more interesting.
“Jesus - ”
Elliot’s grumble is loud, even as he starts to move.
“Yeah, yeah - catch up with him please?”
Elliot’s making his way after him, a not quite jog as he tries to dissuade him. Noah will do what he does, they both know. Fall in love, and beg, and they are already decidedly not pet people who own one geriatric dog who hates them, and one finicky cat that hates her.
By the time she gets there, she knows it’s too late.
Her eyes move to the pen, first.
“Oh god - ”
She whispers it, even as her hand curls around Elliot’s bicep. He’s shaking his head - she can feel it - but her eyes are drawn to the puppies. Little and wiggly, dark brown with huge, sad brown eyes. There’s a group of five, maybe six wrestling and playing with each other - nipping and yapping and playing, their mother patiently laying down and letting it happen - but she sees instantly which one Noah is drawn to.
“They are - god, El, look at that one.”
It’s the runt, clearly. Off to the side and alone, it makes one lame attempt to join in the melee and is squashed, immediately. He tumbles back with a whimper to his own little spot.
Noah’s watching intently.
“They’re - yeah, they’re cute.”
She startles at his tone. Elliot’s voice is gruff; not quite angry but firm. Elliot - the one who’d laid in bed nine years ago and convinced her that it was fine; that they could be dog people, because their daughter had batted her big doe eyes right at him - is brusquely trying to move away from these dogs.
Elliot, who falls asleep with the cat on his chest.
She turns to him, and studies his face.
It’s drawn; jaw tight and mouth slammed shut. He’s looking past Noah; past the little round pen of puppies and his hand reaches out to her elbow.
“Let’s - hey, let’s head out. We can pick a tree and wait for the rest of them. It’s - ”
He starts to move away and she reaches out, hand wrapping around his wrist. He keeps talking, even as she tilts her head to the side of the pen, where Noah’s reached in and scooped up the dog.
“It’s getting colder, and it’s going to snow again and - ”
He doesn’t pull back, but he does shift away, even as he lets his wrist stay in her grasp.
“Let’s get going.”
The thing is, she knew they were fucked. The second Noah said puppies, she knew. She knew all over again when she saw him eyeing the one that he has in his arms now - small, almost sickly, shunned away from the rest of its siblings.
He’s a bleeding heart.
That dog is his.
“El - just - ”
It’s not like she wants another goddamn dog. Ross is practically senile now; and they’d just dropped two grand last month to get four more teeth taken out. She trips on him every morning, when he’s too blind to move. Elliot has to get up sometimes at two in the morning, when he’s convinced it’s time to wake up and scratches at their front door.
They don’t even like dogs.
They pay someone else to come take him out on their lunch breaks.
“C’mon.”
He is insistent, now; his wrist falling out of her grasp as he turns. Elliot starts to make his way away from the pen; two, then three steps away before he looks back. He stops, when she realizes she’s not moving. He meets her eyes with his, narrowing just slightly.
His voice is one notch too loud as he tells her.
“Liv - seriously? We’re here for a - ”
He exhales, once, and adjusts his voice. Lower, now, he goes on.
“We have a dog. We have a - ”
He shakes his head.
“We have a dog, we have a cat, we have - we have our jobs and he has dance. We’re here for a - ”
“For a tree. I get it.”
She cuts him off, hand in the air. The same hand he’d had his own hand against not even ten minutes ago, ice cold fingers threaded through her own. It’s not like they’ve had zero fights since he came home in June. They’d fought - their usual shit, their new shit, too - but this was unlike him.
She’s the bad guy, usually. Elliot is softer with Noah; a change from his first four, she knows; a departure even from Charlie.
“We can wait, Elliot.”
She’s the tough one, regularly, but their son still hasn’t set the dog down. Their son - who has been dealing with a newly found half brother and revelations about his birth parents; with middle school bullies and the back and forth of his parents’ almost divorce - something had recognized something else with this dog.
“No, I’m not - Olivia, we can’t get a dog today. I - we - can we just fucking slow down for a second - ”
The flicker of irritation inside her starts to grow.
He huffs it out as he steps in close; hand reaching out to her elbow. She’s still taken aback at how serious he is in his refusal. She pulls her elbow back before his touch lands. She dips her voice low, her words rushing out.
“If he wants a dog, Elliot - if he wants this dog, Elliot - ”
She cannot believe she’s going to bat for a puppy. One that will chew her good boots and piss on the floor, and annoy her when it tugs at her blankets to play. One that will stay in eight years, when Noah leaves them behind. One that the cat will hiss at and Ross will run away from and who will make their lives hell.
She digs her fingers into her palms. If they were at home, she’d use her finger and point; dangerous and close to his chest, but instead she digs all the way into her own skin.
The fucking nerve of him.
“If he wants this dog, he can have this dog.”
—
She drops $800 on a puppy she doesn’t actually want.
They take him right from the pen.
For a few minutes she worries that she did it for exactly the wrong reason. She worries it’s an instinct from last year; that Elliot sized irrational anger closing in on her when he’d acted like that; and that she’s needlessly complicating their lives as a reaction.
“Mom, his heart’s beating so fast.”
Beside her, Noah holds the tiny pup close, and she looks down.
“He’s so scared,” he tells his mother; as he gathers the little brown ball of fur to his chest, zipping his coat around it to keep him close.
Maybe it’s both.
Seamus and Kieran lose their cool when they see him; and the whole day becomes about the goddamn dog. Instead of her plan to watch her husband roll up his sleeves - the thing he does with his forearms that still drives her wild - and wield an ax with a grin while he cuts down a tree, she’s inside a barn that smells like a potpourri plant, filling out page after page of paperwork.
Noah names him Roger.
Then he renames him Kevin.
By the time she makes it to the car, it is snowing again. Most of the lot has cleared out; happy families with a tree strapped to the top of their cars; most without a new puppy. In their row it’s just them, and Maureen’s minivan, pulled up at an angle.
“Fucking - this fucking thing.”
Elliot’s standing halfway out of the SUV, balanced on a foot on the doorstep as he scowls, and tugs at the last of the bright orange straps he’d brought. Carl is on the other side of the car, seemingly double checking the tension on the straps through red-rimmed eyes.
“It’s - ”
Elliot glances down at his arm, bare even in the cold. She follows his gaze. He’s scratched up all over, angry red marks on the inside of his arm. He pulls his hand off the strap with a grimace and shakes his head, rubbing his hand on his shirt.
“Just - needles and sap everywhere.”
He won’t look her in the eye, she notices.
Noah’s already got himself and Kevin in the backseat; Seamus and Kieran shouting goodbyes from the back of the minivan. Through the window, she can see Home Alone playing on the small screen in the back, and it clicks into place.
Kevin.
She climbs into her own seat.
The car’s already warm.
She hands Noah a second Dramamine, and watches for a moment as he settles into the backseat, puppy in his lap and a content smile on his face. He’s already texted Charlie once, and she’d FaceTimed right there on the farm.
He looks peaceful, as he buckles himself in.
That’s all she wants for her kids.
“Everybody good?”
Elliot turns his head for a half second before he starts to back up. His eyes catch hers for a moment.
She’s not fuming anymore as she looks back at him. There’s something soft crossing his face almost instantly when their eyes meet - something she recognizes, from three thousand miles and a cross country journey.
Her lips fall open, ready to answer, but before she can he looks away quickly, darting back to the windshield.
He clears his throat once.
She’s still just confused.
She reaches for the bottle of water she’d left in the car as they inch out of the space. She takes a long sip. It's ice cold now. A few more minutes and it would have started to freeze.
“We’re fine,” she tells him.
She almost forgot.
As they get close twenty minutes later, she realizes. She almost forgot the little wine store he’d mentioned before. They’ve stopped here too many times to count on the drive home from his daughter’s; almost tradition. It doesn’t save them that much - a few dollars a bottle, at the most, but they stop, and grab three or four bottles that will last them for months.
“I’ll - uh - I’ll run in.”
He tells her quietly as he parks.
“You wait?”
He rubs his hand on the back of his neck then, his eyes leaving hers to look at the storefront. It’s still open; yellow light spilling out the front windows and she’d assumed after all that had happened they’d drive all the way home without stopping. In the back, Noah and Kevin fell fast asleep a few minutes ago.
Olivia nods.
“Yeah, that’s - that’s fine. I’ll stay out here with them.”
She watches him hesitate for a moment, his fingers still digging into the back of his neck. With the light from the store and the parking light lamps, she can see all the small angry red marks from the tree; scattered up and down the inside of his forearm.
She stares for a moment.
She’d been so ready to fight about this some more when she’d got to the car, and now she’s fighting the urge to reach over, and brush her thumb underneath the worst of his cuts. She reaches up instead, and twists the chain of the compass she wears everyday.
They’d just held hands in her mitten like two teenagers a few hours ago.
“Ok, I’ll - head in. ”
He doesn’t move though. He takes a deep breath in, and keeps his eyes on hers as his hand drops. They are still working on remembering that the stakes of every fight don’t have to be high. They used to do this with ease - fight, fight, fight, makeup - and they’re getting back there again. The skin of the wound is still thin, though; and that much easier to break open again.
“Liv, I’m…”
His hand reaches out, slowly.
They’re still working on that.
Behind them Noah or the puppy stirs, and they both look back. The little pup - Kevin, she thinks, Kevin - yawns, and blinks back at them both. It really is sweet; the small ball of fur. The tiny pink tongue that unrolls; the sleepy brown eyes that stare back for a moment before they drift shut again; his tiny nose burrowing into himself.
It takes them right out of the moment.
Olivia sighs, and turns back to the front.
“I’ll wait, Elliot. Go ahead in.”
He sighs, and grabs his jacket before he leaves. She watches as he shrugs it on as he reaches the sidewalk in front. They’ve been here too many times to count - here, in front of the little wine shop. Here, in Connecticut, on the way home from Maureen’s.
Here, trying to figure out who should apologize. Or if either one of them even should.
It’s familiar, though, the huge hulking shape of her husband disappearing into the tiny shop.
She remembers the first time they found it.
————————
————————
December 13, 2015
She remembers the first time they found it.
“He’s just so - ”
Elliot backs them out of Maureen’s drive with a practiced ease; his hand on the headrest behind her. She leans forward a little, hand on the screen to tune the radio. Charlie had asked to listen to some pop station on the way there, and she’s heard Pharrell Williams sing about being happy one too many times for the day.
She keeps her eyes straight ahead, though, letting the radio scan through the stations.
“He’s so little, you know?”
Olivia hasn’t looked away from the front of the house yet, her eyes still on the big bay window at the front of his daughter’s home. She knows he’s not there - knows Noah’s inside, giggling at his step-sister’s big belly, being chased by Charlie and the two golden retrievers that are in for the shock of their lives - but she keeps looking as they back up.
Her husband’s hand drops from the headrest down to her thigh. He squeezes right above her knee as he nods.
“Yeah, he’s little, but - ”
He puts his hand back on the wheel as they steer into traffic. The little Connecticut suburb is just big enough to warrant both hands on the wheel as they make their way to the highway. The scanner makes it to a station where Foreigner’s singing about wanting to know what love is and she stops it there.
“He’ll be good. Maureen practically raised her siblings at one point. And Charlie’s there, too.”
She sighs, and doesn’t answer. Maybe it’s the whole thing about being the mother. It’s easier, maybe for fathers; and she knows Elliot wasn’t around as much when his first four were small. There’s just guilt - guilt all the way through her; head to toe - about Noah, and his first real night away from their home.
Ever.
“But, uh - ”
His hands find hers again as he looks over. In the bright sunlight that reflects off the side of the highway snow, his eyes look so blue. They twinkle, almost, as he squeezes her fingers against his.
He clears his throat, and looks back out the windshield.
“For the record, I checked to make sure he had the pig, and the elephant and his lovey about ten times before I put their bags in the car.”
There he is.
Just like her - he’s a little too soft for his own good when it comes to their youngest. He’s a little too soft and he’s apparently almost as nervous as she is about leaving Noah behind, even for just one night.
“I gotta admit, though - ”
Next to her he takes his eyes off the road one more time. He smooths his thumb over the knuckle of hers and grins.
This smile is different.
“I am looking forward to having you all to myself.”
This smile is bold, and more than a little smug; and comes with a tilt of his head and a shrug when she raises her eyebrows. It has been a while, she knows. Most nights they end up with Noah pressed in between them and whatever stuffed animal he’s brought with him sharing their pillows.
Elliot goes on; her hand still in his.
“Even if it is a stuffy work thing.”
Olivia smirks a little. She’d been dreading leaving their son, but it will, actually, be nice to do this. It’s the first time she’s been invited to this. She’d made sergeant last year, and she’s working her way up the ranks now. With rank, comes bureaucracy; comes the dry evening at a holiday gala she has to attend.
“Stuffy, huh?”
A dry, dry evening - with him in a suit though. The one he’d splurged on when Maureen had announced she was pregnant. He’d gotten measured, even, had seen an actual tailor and waited for months. ‘I’ll need something good for the baptism, you know? Can’t wear something older than Charlie if I’m a grandfather now?’
A suit, and what she’d heard was arguably decent food; and two drink tickets a piece.
Plus - a taxi there and back.
His pinky finger flicks out, and trails back and forth down the side of her yoga pants. It shouldn’t make her heart rate go up - it’s been fifteen years for them, too, and it’s just the brush of his pinky - but that, and the way his voice drops down low; gravelly and thick and familiar but different than the way they talk to each other every day makes her breath catch.
“Stuffy, yeah. But - you and that dress in the closet?”
(Black and tight and with a neckline that wraps; then hugs every curve she has all the way down - that dress she hung up on purpose this morning, when he was ushering their son off their bed).
“You saw that, then?”
The noise he makes is somewhere between a laugh and a growl and that drives her a little bit crazy, too. The need and the want - it’s always still there. Their two year old could be in their bed every night and they’d still find a way. (The bathroom, the shower, the cabinets with him on his knees - his truck, once, but they’d both had sore necks.)
“I miss the kids but, I am not going to be thinking about the kids with you in that dress.”
He signals now, close to an exit, and she raises her eyebrows. His free hand drifts back to the steering wheel. She can see the tiny strip mall from here. There's a Chinese restaurant and a watch repair place and a little wine shop right at the end; and she has a guess.
“Let’s grab a few bottles before we get back to the city? Save a few bucks. We can - ”
He nods his head toward the end as he navigates them through the parking lot. It’s busy, suburban parents stocking up for the almost holiday weekend; city parents doing the same thing they are. It won’t save them that much, but it’ll be nice, she thinks, to stroll through a wine shop with him on a Saturday.
“We can crack one open tonight after we get home,” he finishes, smiling the whole time he parks.
—
It was nice.
It was nice to take her time with Elliot in a strip mall wine store in Connecticut. They meandered and read labels; and she’d laughed when he squinted at his phone when he’d had to google Marsanne versus Riesling.
He needs to give in to reading glasses soon, she can tell.
It was nice to drive home, after; his hand always just finding her - her hand; her thigh, the nape of her neck. It was nice to just be them, quietly, in a car; talking about her bad case last week openly; his new partner’s failing test at the gun range.
It was nice to get ready with the door open for once. She came out of the shower to him, waiting and grinning as he brushed his teeth. It was nice to just let herself have it - his hands sliding into the front of her robe; his mouth gliding down the shower damp skin of her neck - and it was nice, just good and quiet and nice, when she got ready without worrying about setting her curling iron back; when she got dressed without worrying about sticky hands on her clothes.
It was nice that Elliot was there for that part, too.
“You need some help there, Sergeant?”
He’d sat on their bed and he’d watched. She’d done it slowly, for him. She’d shimmied into a high cut black panty; had made sure she had on the matching black bra. Even though the front of the dress wrapped around, it still zipped in the back, so after she’d been all the way in, she’d stood and she’d waited, her eyes on him in the mirror.
She’d paused, and kept her eyes on him in the reflection. She’d watched watch him flush, just a little, and she’d watched his tongue dart out and run along his bottom lip once as he waited for her answer.
“I could, actually, use some help - Detective.”
Then it was him; across their small room in a flash. The fingers that she’d seen hold down grown men on the ground; curl into fists as he’d sent a bag in the gym flying were so nimble, here. Delicate and precise, as he slid the smallest zipper up, up, almost all the way up; and then he swept her hair to the side and pressed his lips into the exposed skin of her shoulder as he finished.
“Gonna be a long night, baby.”
He’d murmured it right there, quiet and slow, an open mouthed kiss to her skin when she’d finished.
“Mmmhmm.”
She’d made the low affirmation in the back of her throat and she’d nodded, swaying back, and letting him half hold her up. His hand had dropped to her hips, and she could feel him; the jut of his cock through his expensive damn suit, as they’d stood for a minute.
It was nice.
It felt good to be this version of them. There’s nothing in the world that would make her change their story, but they’d barely been together when Charlie had surprised them. Noah, somehow, was an even bigger surprise.
It felt good to take their time and just be.
They were interrupted by the loud whine of Ross. Charlie’s dog was just out of the puppy stage, but still impatient when he had to go.
“Shit, we’ve only got - ”
He’d looked at his watch.
“We have to leave in the next ten minutes.”
Nine minutes later, they were in the back of the taxi; his hand back in the same spot it had been earlier that day. She’d shivered about two minutes in, intent on having more of him on her. He’d asked the driver to turn up the heat and when he’d been (kindly, politely, in a very quiet manner) ignored, he’d started to lean forward.
“Elliot, just - ”
She’d tugged him all the way back to her instead, with a grin. He’d turned, eyebrows raised and she’d shook her head slowly. They’d never done this, really. Dated and flirted and just been. Partners, then lovers, then parents.
Always two busy cops.
She’d wanted to pretend, just tonight.
“I want you to keep me warm.”
She’d watched it dawn on him, then. She’d seen the shy, soft grin as he’d settled back in his seat; his arm draping around her as he’d pulled her as close as he could. She’d let her hand slide down his thigh and they’d sat, murmuring about the rest of the night.
As they pull up now, she thinks how nice it is, being this version of them.
——
Elliot
He can’t stop looking at her.
He is, hands down, the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole NYPD.
He’d hoped to spend most of tonight by her side - his hand on the small of her back, her wine glass in his hand, and a grin on his face - but she’d been pulled away immediately. Her Lieutenant was a decent guy; and he bears no ill will toward William Dodds for steering Olivia towards the brass.
She’s going places.
Fast.
And he’s happy to stand back and watch.
He’d felt something tighten, a band across his chest, when she’d looked over her shoulder at him as she’d walked away. ‘Sorry,’ she’d mouthed, and he’d shaken his head.
He wasn’t sorry at all.
She was perfect and watching her like this - Christ, he could do it all day. He did, a long time ago; would sit across the desk from her and swallow down every feeling he had; every thought about how gorgeous and smart and righteous she was, and he’d look away then.
Now he doesn’t have to.
Now he can watch and she can let him; and fifteen years after he’d slid that ring on her finger, he still feels so fucking lucky. She keeps her diamond in their safe now; prefers a small stack of bands instead, but she breaks it out on nights like tonight, and he likes that, too.
He likes that she likes being his.
He likes how fucking proud he is of her; of what she’s doing and where she’s going and how all of that love and belonging mixes now with just how goddamn gorgeous she is.
He watches her shake the hand of some higher up; an old guy with white hair and a thick gut. From this angle, the light from the oversized Christmas tree casts a warm, white golden light on her skin and her hair, and he settles back to admire.
Her eyes dart past the other man for just half a beat, meeting Elliot’s quickly. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling, then tucks her lip between her teeth just so as he grins back.
She’s gorgeous.
She has to know,
She has to know she’s driving him crazy a little.
“Stabler, right? Benson’s husband?”
She’s going places and if it means he gets to stand here at the bar and watch her - well he’s not going to complain. He’s got a tumbler full of (cheap) whiskey on the rocks, and her wine glass where he can see it, and company, it seems, in the form of a new detective from Olivia’s squad.
“That’s me.”
He grins at the younger blond woman. They’ve met twice. Once two years ago, when she’d first floated in, and then again at Cragen’s retirement. Liv hadn’t taken to her, really; not fully convinced special victims was the place for her; also not fully convinced she wasn’t sleeping with Olivia’s own partner, and when she’d bounced out for a while, his wife hadn’t complained.
She was back now, he knew.
“Man, I hate these things - ”
Rollins turns to the bar and signals the bartender.
“You know what I mean?”
Elliot stays like he is; his back against the wooden edge of the bartop. Across the room, Olivia catches his eye again. It’s just a half second; her eyes drifting to his one more time. Even from here, though, he can swear he can see it - the way she holds his gaze; and the long, slow blink through eyelashes that bat against her cheek.
The grin that follows as she looks away.
He feels his chest flush. Pride and want and need and just the sheer knowledge that he’s her’s. He is her’s, tonight and forever.
She knows.
He raises his glass and takes a long slow sip before he manages to finally answer.
“They’re not the worst.”
—
They make their escape a little after ten.
Neither one has managed to finish more than a half of a drink - Elliot, more intrigued by watching her work the room; her too busy to do much more than sip when he’d handed a fresh wine glass to her, the chill on her first already gone - but they’re still at the mercy of a taxi. His kids would laugh at him, he knows; all of them use Uber and Lyft but the app annoyed him the one time he tried.
So they stand outside with William Dodds and they wait. Olivia gets pulled to the side for a moment by another Sergeant - a woman he’s seen a few times; bold and aggressive, but whose name he can’t place - and Dodds takes a moment with Elliot.
“She’s - she does good at these things, you know? With all the - ”
He tilts his head back toward the hotel doors, and the other man laughs.
“With all the schmoozy bullshit.”
Elliot’s about to reply; to agree and say she always has been, somehow. She’s the one who knows how to do this; the polished stone out of their pairing. His lips fall open, ready to agree when Dodds goes on, instead.
“It’s good. I, - uh - ”
Olivia joins them again with a small shiver and tiny ‘brrr’ as she moves close to Elliot. He takes advantage of that; slinging his arm low around her waist and pulling her in as Dodds finishes.
“I told her tonight, but with your Lieutenant retiring, Stabler, I’m hoping to get closer to home. So Manhattan’s going to need…”
He can feel Olivia grin as he figures it out. He can feel it bloom across her face as his fingertips tangle with hers at her waist.
He can feel her grin and Jesus Christ. He wishes time could be still for a moment - that he could freeze everyone around them and turn to her and pull her all the way in. He wishes he could kiss her, right here; in front of her boss and the NYPD brass still milling inside. He wants to sink into her, and tell her over and over. How fucking proud he is of her - how she works so hard and how he always knew it was her.
Even back then, when they’d sat, across from each other at their desks; next to each other in the sedan - he knew. He knew when she was his, and he transferred out, and she’d sit up at night, ankles swollen and huge in his lap and case files spread over hers. While his kids slept down the hall she’d sit up all night, sometimes, trying to piece shit together.
William Dodds is looking at them both with a grin, and Elliot remembers exactly where they are.
“Yeah - yeah - ”
It comes out too thick; too settled in the base of his throat and he coughs, trying to clear it. Olivia’s fingers tighten inside his own; her thumb wrapping tight around his as he tells Dodds.
“She’s it. She’s - ”
She’s his wife and the mother to his children and she is going to be in charge, soon, of the department that she cares so much about. He shakes his head, eyes burning just enough to give him a warning, and he uses his free hand to swipe at his nose, pinching right at the end.
Next to him, he can still feel her grin.
“She’s it,” he says.
She’s it.
—
They barely make it inside their door.
The ride home had been long; his jaw literally clenched as he tried not to take it too far. They’re in their mid forties; two NYPD officers with a pre-teen and a toddler and they don’t need to end up getting kicked out of their ride because he’s trying so hard not to inch his hand any further up his wife’s thigh.
The hem of her dress made a good stopping point, though - and if he’d slowly inched it up, the back of his underneath - it was still a stopping point.
Mostly.
“So - god, Liv.”
He couldn’t help it, though, when she’d settled in close. Her hair brushing his cheek; her thigh against his. The way she smelled; lush and heady and warm, and the way she’d been so fucking happy. He couldn’t help it, and he’d dipped his head low, to the soft skin of her neck and he’d kissed there, and he’d dragged his mouth up, all the way to her chin as he told her.
“So proud of you, baby.
And then it was her, tilting her chin down so his lips could find hers, the smile on her lips that he’d covered with his own. It was her, tugging his hand closer and closer and it was her, who didn’t notice they’d pulled up to their place.
It was him that paid quickly; and it was him that opened her door and held out his hand and it was him; who pulled her impatiently to the elevator.
It was both of them at the door; her key in her hands, his hands on her waist - her waist, her ass, the soft dip of her belly - as she’d tried to unlock and it was both of them, right at the same time, when the latch caught. Her turning around, his mouth finding hers; her tumble through the door as he’d wrapped his arm around her and held her.
“El - El - ”
They’d made it through, though, and he’d kicked the door shut and now she’s everywhere. Her hands are sliding down his body; tugging and pulling and trying to find where there’s give in this unfamiliar new suit. She pulls him closer as her own ass hits the wall behind them and she gasps.
“I got you, just - I got you, baby.”
He grins, and slides his mouth back to hers; her mouth falling open, and his tongue immediately sliding against hers.
She groans, low and husky against his mouth when she feels the rough drag of his touch. His own hands are more practiced - fingertips under the skirt of her dress, palm sliding up her thigh and the side of her waist, as he finds the waistband of the high waisted lace underwear she’d put on before.
He’d had plans tonight. Get Olivia home, and pour them both a nice glass of wine. Turn the Christmas tree on, and then settle in close. Tilt her back on the couch, and kiss her all over and then keep it going. His mouth and his hands everywhere, coaxing her higher and higher until he has her right on the edge.
He’d planned to take as long as he could.
All night if he had to.
But now she’s got one hand on his shoulder; soft pants against his ear as she steps out of her underwear. She keeps it there after; looping an arm arm around his neck, her fingers splayed between his shoulder blades as she rocks her hips forward.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls it out when he feels her through the fabric of his pants. His own thigh is shoved in between hers and he can feel her now; feel the warm wet heat of her cunt and any thoughts of taking it slow are right out the fucking window, now. He rocks it against her, and fuck, when she groans. When she grinds back against him and groans; then pleads.
“Can’t wait - just please, El.”
He smirks right into the skin of her neck, nodding as he gives her a wet, sloppy kiss in the same spot. He uses one hand to free himself as much as he can, cock springing out of his dress pants.
They’ll be on the way to the dry cleaner in the morning.
He takes one moment to pause, cock in his hand, as her eyes flutter open. Brown eyes meet blue; her pupils blown and her lips swollen and open and he loves this part the most. How unabashed they can be; how openly honest with the need and the want and desire.
He breathes out, and tells her.
“I love you.”
There’s never a hint of sheepishness in this. They’re never going to be perfect, he knows. When they fight, he gets cold; and she grows quiet. Their jobs are hard and their lives are busy but the need - this need, and their need for each other everywhere else - never fades.
Elliot watches the soft smile that blooms. She tilts her head back, and pulls him close with her arm still wrapped around him. She kisses him once, tender and warm, just a brush of their lips as she nods.
“Love you too, El.”
She doesn’t linger, though. She grins against his mouth and she hitches her thigh up, knowing he’ll grasp it. When he does, instinct and knowledge of her body all coming together, she tilts herself forward; ready. Her hand sits high on his neck, stabilizing herself, and her forehead comes to rest against his as he presses the head of his cock in.
“Love you and I’m - I - ”
He groans as he slides deeper; overwhelmed by it all. Her cunt; her smell, the warmth of her breath on his lips, the low, keening moan she lets out. He finishes his thought when he sinks as deep as he can.
“I love being yours, Liv.”
I’m yours, your mine.
Her head tilts back against the wall of their home. From down the hall, he can hear the whimper of their daughter’s dog in the kennel, annoyed and angry that he’s still caged. The cat they just got and haven’t yet named is somewhere behind them, knocking papers and plastic sippy cups off their counters.
There’s a pile of clean clothes on their living room floor.
His wife is about to be the lead of her own damn department and she’s all around him, now, as he starts to move. Her hair, her hands; the press of her arm. He’s not going to last, already right at the edge, but he’s selfish enough to need just a little bit more. He thrusts forward again and again, but he moves the hand held against the wall for just one moment to land low, right at the criss cross of her dress. He pulls one side, then the other, even as he moves.
“God, Liv. You’re so - ”
He uses his thumb to yank down the cups of her bra, burying himself over and over again as he watches her spill all the way out. He can’t drop his head low like he wants, not when they’re both so close to the edge, but he can see her.
He grins as he thrusts again and watches her bounce.
“You’re perfect, baby.”
He moves faster after that. He thrusts again and again as she holds on tight. She pitches herself as forward as she can, seeking him out and meeting his movements. She moans his name when he starts to work faster; and he can feel her hand move, fingernails digging into the back of his neck as she tells him.
“Please, oh - El, fuck - ”
It’s not great for leverage, he knows, but they were both worked up already. He can’t thrust as deep as he wants; but he can use speed and the angle to push her higher and higher and he does. It’s messy, their rhythm, but it works, and he can feel it as she moans his name one more time.
“God, Liv - god.”
He’s rocking both of their bodies now, the slam of his hips utterly wild, but he has just enough wherewithal to slide the hand that’s not holding her leg in between them. It unstabilizes them both as his hand leaves the wall, but she digs her heeled foot into the ground and holds tight as he finds the swollen bud of her clit.
She tells him, lets him know she’s right there with each press of his fingers.
“Fuck, close, that’s - Elliot - ”
When she shatters, he lets himself go. Her cunt clenches around him; and he lets himself go; spilling inside of her with a loud roar of her name. He never wants to be anywhere but here, he thinks, as close to her as he can be.
She gathers him close; cradles his head to her shoulder as they both breathe in the aftermath.
Down the hall, the dog whines louder. He can feel the shake of her laugh as she drops her leg, and he slides out of her.
“That was - ”
Her voice catches, sex strained and she clears her throat. She pulls back, so she can look at him. Her hair is a mess and her dress is half off and his pants are covered in them, but god.
Elliot grins, and kisses her forehead.
“It was, yeah.”
—
After - after they change, and he walks the dog, and she feeds the cat with no name - they make their way to the couch. She’d already plugged in the tree, and he’d already poured two glasses of wine and they’re both on their phones now, looking at the photos Maureen and Charlie had sent.
“Looks like everybody had a good night.”
She nods.
“Yeah, yeah they did.”
The picture of Noah is precious, his dark hair sweaty and his cheeks rosy as he grins at the camera. There’s two more right behind it. One of Charlie and Noah snuggling in the spare bed, their daughter grinning at the phone camera; Noah’s sleepy stare back, and one of him all the way asleep.
She takes a sip of the wine he hands her. It’s something white, something he can’t remember. It’s nice enough. He knows jack shit about wine, even after all these years with her.
When he’d seen the little wine shop today, he’d just wanted to distract her from missing their kids.
“Is this from the - ”
He nods, his own mouth on the rim of his glass as she finishes.
“ — oh, it’s not bad, actually.”
He looks back at her. His wife is here, with him. His kids are safe and happy. It feels good, sometimes, to be Elliot Stabler, in a way he wasn’t sure it ever could.
It’s on her, he knows.
All of it is on her.
He reaches out, and pulls her feet in his lap.
“Not bad at all,” he tells her.
They fall asleep on the couch that night; the lights of their Christmas tree sparkling. In the morning, they find a mess from the dog and the cat - spilled cereal from the top shelf of the pantry; a chewed heel on her boot - but they’re both in such a rush to get their kids and get home that no one really minds at all.
It’s a really good life.
————————
————————
December 10, 2023
He knows he needs to apologize.
He’d been a huge fucking asshole today.
He doesn’t know how to put it in words - not quite yet. He’d had plans, and he - Christ. He’d had plans and the puppy had blown them and now he looks like an ass.
He looks like an ass because he didn’t just say it; didn’t just tell her.
The wine shop isn’t busy; not in the middle of the first hour of a snow storm. He moves through it fast, well aware that they need to get home. He hates driving in the snow, especially with any of his kids in the car.
He hates the tension he left behind in the SUV, though, and he has to fight the urge to drag his feet through the aisles.
“Fuck.”
He mutters it when warning from the television above the register warns them again of the storm rolling in. He pushes his cart faster.
He grabs four familiar bottles from the shelves.
When he pulls open the door, it catches; the wind gust from outside fighting him hard. He yanks, and tugs it back hard. When he’s all the way outside, two brown bags in hand, he sees just how bad that it’s gotten. Snow swirls; angry and quick flakes lit up by the lights in the lot. The sky is gray; the black of night lightened by the snow and the storm.
“Fuck, fuck - ”
He repeats the word. He can already feel his pulse beating too fast; his thoughts racing - unnerved by the snow, swirling around with his own guilt.
Tonight was supposed to be something. He’d asked his daughter about taking Noah, and he’d made reservations at a place they keep meaning to try. Olivia’s been working non-stop and they’ve been running like crazy and it was just something simple.
A corny little date, in a black dress he knows she’ll still fit in, and a suit he can pretend isn’t too snug.
He was going to surprise her.
He doubles his pace to the car. From back here, he can see Olivia watching. She holds a finger to her lips when their eyes meet.
A warning - Noah’s still asleep in the back.
He knows their son has been up too much lately. Up too late, moving around his room; up too early, moving around their kitchen. He’s told them both as little as possible. It’s all of it, he knows. His dad leaving, and coming home; the shitty little assholes at school who think they know him. His half brother, and the ideal life in the suburbs he has.
He needs the sleep.
He pulls open the door quietly, and slides in.
He hands Olivia the bags; careful not to jar or rattle them.
He pulls out of the lot, and onto the highway that’s just now starting to change over to white.
—
She turns the radio off.
They’d had Christmas music on - old, old oldies; Nat King Cole softly playing on Sirius when he’d gotten in - but as he starts to drive, she leans forward and turns it all the way off.
She knows him.
Normally, he’s fine with music, but when it’s like this; when the weather is shitty and scary, when it’s slick or rainy or awful, he needs it quiet. It drove Kathy crazy, back in the day. She’d roll her eyes and mutter something about walking on eggshells ‘all the fucking time around you, Elliot’ but the first time it had stormed with Olivia, she’d just known.
They’d been on their way back from New Jersey, two months into their partnership when the storm hit. Huge, huge sheets of rain battering their department issued sedan; the wind knocking it from side to side and his jaw had set as he’d gripped the wheel. His heart had been wild; erratic and fast under the cage of his ribs.
“You good?”
She’d asked quietly as she’d switched off the radio without asking, the ironic song timing on TLC and Waterfalls falling silent.
He’d nodded.
They couldn’t stop - she didn’t bother to ask. He had to be home for a school meeting with Maureen. They had barely enough time as it was. If he was late, Kathy would go cold and quiet for weeks, and Maureen would spend the next month rolling her eyes at every word he said; refusing to take him seriously.
“It’s - that guy was serious, back there.”
Olivia had been quiet about the next part, too. When she’d started murmuring about the case, and the guy that she’d just questioned at the gas station. She’d gone on, listing back the stuff that he’d told them, like they were back at their desks in the precinct.
Eventually, he’d felt his heart rate slow.
He couldn’t look over, but he’d nodded, and exhaled long and slow, as he’d answered.
“Yeah, yeah - he’s - if he’s not lying, I think we’re getting closer.”
She always knew.
Instinct.
The same way he can tell right now that her hip and her knee are aching. She shifts back and forth in the seat, wincing as she extends one, then the other leg. When it’s cold and damp both, she gets sore; deep, deep down in her marrow.
“We’re going to have to ask Jorge for help,” she says softly, her eyes on the road.
“With the tree, I mean.”
She’s right. They’ll need a cart so they don’t drag pine needles through the whole building. He’ll need someone to help him untie it, while she gets Noah and Kevin inside. She’ll need to scoot in fast, and take Ross out before he pees on the floor and bites Jorge; and she’ll need to put Chandler inside their room.
He wonders if he thinks that’s why he’s upset. If it’s because of the realities of life with a puppy and a senior dog and an overexcited kid and cat both.
“I think - maybe we can call him.”
He starts thinking of the logistics of it all, and he nods. He dares one quick look over at her. She’s bending down, and pulling her phone out of her bag. He shakes his head.
“When we’re a little bit closer, maybe.”
His eyes go back to the windshield. The snow is steady now. Fast and furiously falling but the wind is at least dying down as they inch along.
He realizes that race of his heart from before has ebbed away too.
“We’ve got a while.”
—
They talk about the upcoming holiday, mostly.
In the backseat, their son sleeps, and the small puppy in his lap doesn’t move; the tiniest elephant in the room softly snuffling as he sleeps.
“You’ll need to get to the family night for Bernie this week.”
She reminds him of the notice they got in the mail last week. The assisted living does it big - a band, a Santa, a Grinch dressed in scrubs. Bernie won’t want to go, but he’ll stop by and he’ll try to coax his mother out.
When it fails, he’ll take his mother for a drive so she can smoke.
He nods now, carefully keeping the SUV even. The lanes are all gone now; replaced by the snow. He’s following the tire tracks of a semi he’s trying to stay far enough behind.
“Yeah. And - Sunday we’ve got that thing for the dance school.”
That thing - a two hour meeting about fundraising strategies for the new year. The one they both try to get out of each year; polite emails to the director about their busy schedules possibly getting in the way. They both always end up there; grumbling in the back row, but together.
Except last year.
Last year, two weeks before she’d told him she wanted a divorce. When they hadn’t been talking - when things had gone silent and cold, and distant. He’d stayed behind and she’d gone; told him Kathleen couldn’t watch Noah and the nanny was out of town.
He’d found out she’d never asked his daughter at all.
“You want to go together to that?”
He takes his hand off the wheel for one second, and rubs underneath his eye as he asks. The glare of his lights on the snow is blinding, bright even in the dark. He blinks hard, trying to get rid of the strain.
“Yeah, we can - ”
Beside him she reaches for her water bottle as she answers.
“We should both have time, yeah.”
Then, softer.
“Unfortunately.”
And there’s just one moment; one, horrible fucking moment, when he misunderstands. When his stomach twists and his mouth goes dry and he thinks Olivia - who’d been holding his hand before they fought this afternoon, and making jokes about his ‘huge lumberjack arms’ hair this morning - is saying the worst possible thing. That it’s not great, the two of them going to this dry meeting tomorrow. That she doesn’t want to go if he’s there. His mouth falls open, and he knows his whole face falters; hurt and pain loud and she must have been looking.
“Elliot - I - that’s not - ”
He does the exact wrong thing. Or maybe the right - he’s not fucking sure.
“Jesus, Olivia, now this? I can’t go to this again?”
They’re old therapist had always tried to make them be civil, but Dr. Asher has told them to let it fly. ‘Within reason, of course,’ she’d warned them. ‘Get it out. Tell each other.’
The hurt registers and he tells her.
Quietly, without waking their son or the dog, he presses on, his words coming quicker than the speed of their car.
“This again, just because I asked you to step on the brakes with the dog for - ”
“For what? For you to - you know what?” She cuts him off, low and in a guarded tone he knows well. Twenty-three years now and he knows what it means. “First of all, Elliot. I want you to go to the fucking meeting. When I said unfortunately - ”
She exhales out a sigh, and shakes her head.
“When I said unfortunately, I meant for either one of us.”
He really is a fool sometimes, he knows. He must look like one too, he thinks - shoulders deflated; his mouth hanging open. He starts to apologize. He starts to dial it back, and wave the white flag.
“Shit, Liv - ”
The thing is, he knows, that now they’ve embraced it. They’re ‘getting it out’ and once it’s started, it’s harder to stop. She interrupts him again.
“And as far as the dog, Elliot - I just - I don’t get it.”
Outside the snow keeps coming hard; snow drifts building on the side of the road. The thump of the tires is still the loudest noise in the car, their voices quiet even as they argue. He thinks he sees the dog move in the rear view mirror, woken up with better hearing than Noah.
He needs to confess.
It seems so silly, though, in the grand scheme of them. His fucking reaction seems so silly; embarsssing because of the actual stakes. Last year at this time they were two weeks away from a separation. This year they’re fighting because he couldn’t tell his wife he’d wanted to surprise her and she’d ruined it by accident, and then he’d blown up like an asshole, the heavy weight of expectation and reality all colliding it once; over the tiny pen full of puppies.
“It, uh - ”
He breathes in. He drops his voice low.
“It wasn’t about the dog, not really. And - I’m sorry, first of all.”
He repeats it again.
“I’m sorry, Liv.”
They pass the exit to New Rochelle. The highway is busier now, and they end up two car lengths behind a snow plow. It has its shovel up, but behind it, it spits out salt. He keeps his eyes on it, trying to keep pace with its speed.
Next to him Olivia waits.
“I had a plan.”
He tells her in a murmur. He takes his hand off the wheel - the road is less slick, now; the salt doing enough of a job, and he knows he’ll be quick - and he reaches over and slides his palm on top of hers. He squeezes once.
“For you and me - for tonight.”
Underneath his touch, he can feel her actually soften. All these years and he knows every tell. The muscle of her thigh had been tense when he’d slid his hand over hers, and her body a little too straight. With his words, he feels her relax.
“A plan?”
He shrugs. He opens his mouth, ready. Ready to tell her about a corny little plan to try to recreate a night that’s seared in his memory forever. A dress he’d found in the back of her closet; a restaurant in the part of the city that means the length of the taxi ride will be almost spot on. A senior dog that’s too deaf to hear them walk in anymore. Her, and him, and the same spot on the wall.
Corny, but them.
“It was - ”
From the backseat there’s a groan, dismal sounding and rough and Olivia turns. His own eyes dart to the mirror. He can see their son lurch forward, awake and passing his mother the small bundle of fur. His other hand flies to his mouth as he begs.
“Dad, pull over now.”
—
He’d had a plan.
He’d had a good plan, too, he explains. He’d told her about the restaurant close to that old hotel; the plan for Noah to go home with Maureen. The stop at the wine store where they’d meander again, corny and silly and sweet.
A date.
“Your old black dress - ”
Elliot grins up at her from underneath the lowest branches of their tree. The fucking needles on this thing are horrific, scratching him all the way to hell and back, but he knows it’s going to look amazing when it’s all said and done.
Almost as amazing as her.
Olivia, standing in the softest sweatpants she has; hair tied back and makeup washed off. Noah had made a decent attempt at making it all the way to the side of the road, but she’d still gotten hit when she got out to help him.
“I found it. In the way, way back of your closet.”
He holds out his hand as he says it. They’d overestimated the size of the tree trunk they picked; Jorge had been kind enough to explain. He’d given them three bricks that he keeps in basement storage to stack in between the trunk and the metal stand that they’d bought.
“That dress, Elliot?”
He grins, and peeks out again. She’s staring down at him with the brick he needs in her hand, and her eyebrows raised.
Head tilted, too.
“That dress. That little - ” He grunts as she puts the brick in his hand, but he keeps grinning. “ — black thing I’ve been thinking about for eight fucking years, Liv.”
There’s two balls of tangled lights on the floor; plugged in but in no way ready to string up. They light her up from down here; enough that he swears he can see her turn pink. She doesn’t flush easy, he knows. It takes a lot to get her to that point. It’s a little bit of a thrill, if he’s telling the truth, to know the memory of that night does the same thing to her.
Olivia lets out something midway between a snort and a chuckle, and shakes her head.
“I - there’s no way that dress is wearable, El. The front of it was…”
She leans down and in, head turning quickly so it’s close to his.
“The front of it was stretched to hell and back.”
Noah is far enough away - somewhere in the kitchen, or the hall with the dog. Elliot can hear the bounce and thump of an old tennis ball he’d dug out and was throwing; far too big for the little dog’s mouth. Kevin grabs a piece of the fuzz each time, and drags it back to their son.
Olivia’s eyes are on him; playful and happy and warm again. The compass pendant dangles close, golden light glinting off the face. If they were alone, he’d probably pull her right down on the ground; kiss her underneath the godawful sap monster they brought home from the farm and see how far they could take it before someone’s hip or knee started aching.
He shrugs instead, and holds up his arm, a silent ask for help off the ground. She reaches down, and wraps one hand around his forearm.
He keeps his eyes on her, lips twitching up as he tells her.
“Blue one from that time at the bar would have worked, too.”
She snorts; and starts to tug him up.
“That one, Stabler - ”
He could get up off the ground just fine, they know. His knees will crack and he’ll groan, but he doesn’t really need her help. He wants exactly this, right now though. He wants her hand, curled softly around his forearm as he stands all the way up; trapped in between both of them.
“That one costs way too much to get dry cleaned again.”
He wants the soft press of her thumb against faded, old ink as she looks down at his arm, then back up at him. She’s such a force sometimes - a Captain and a mother and just Olivia herself - but he loves these small tender moments. He wants the slide of her fingertips on the outside of her arm as she twists it slowly, examining.
Her eyes dance over all the small red scratches, then back up to his.
“Tough guy, huh? Pine needles got you good.”
She traces her fingers down the outside of his arm; slow, slow, achingly slow and he feels his breath catch. They’re all just on the surface - he’ll wash them out, and throw on some triple antibiotic - but she holds his arm in between them, checking each one.
“Big bully of a tree, but I - ”
He murmurs it low, and she looks up again. He takes the small moment to raise his free hand up, and gently catches her chin with his thumb and his forefinger. He tilts her back just enough as he leans in.
“I think I won,” he finishes.
He sees the small smile start to play at the corners of her mouth and it would be so easy, he knows, to just stop right there. To kiss her, and move on. Eat dinner with their son and play with the new dog and push it behind them.
But -
“I’m sorry I was an asshole today. It, uh - ”
She shakes her head for a moment, and she’s so close. He’s so lucky, he knows. Seven months ago and he’d be in his own apartment across town. Now he’s standing in their own place again, their son down the hall and Olivia; close and warm and not lost anymore.
Even when he acts like he did.
He grins as he finishes.
“It will probably happen again, but - ”
He feels her shoulders shake and he makes the best of the moment to catch her off guard. He lowers his lips to hers and he kisses her swiftly; heated and too much for the moment. Elliot can feel her startle. He can feel her actual breath hitch in her chest as she tightens her grip on arm; in danger of swaying too far back.
She holds on. He digs in his heels and rocks back.
They adjust.
They adjust and then they’re kissing; his mouth moving fast against hers as he chases it. His fingers drop; move up cup her cheek for a moment, before they slide back and into her hair. Her grip on his wrist falls away as she lands her hand on his chest and kisses him back just as hard.
Their lips move, her tongue sliding out to meet his; gentle at first then more insistent in the next moment, aware it won’t last long at all.
They kiss and they kiss and they kiss; his fingers tangling in the hair that he loves, his heart beating wildly under her touch. She nips once at his lip; then soothes it softly with her tongue, and they break apart only when he steps back and into the tree, the angry dig of a branch into his back making him jolt.
They breathe for a moment as he keeps her close, hand moving to brush against the side of her cheek again as he mutters.
“Fuck - fucking tree.”
His nose brushes against hers as he says it. He can feel the smile on her face, even with his eyes half closed still.
“Seems like it’s out to get you tonight.”
She murmurs it softly as they both slow down their breathing, her own hand relaxing against his chest. There’s a loud but almost half-assed growl down the hall. It’s Ross, they know, poking his head out of the doorway of their room and eyeing Kevin. He raises his own hand to hers, and tangles his fingers through.
They stand.
They breathe, both their heart rates slowing back down.
Eventually, he wraps both arms around her, holding her flush to him. Olivia breaks the silence first. Her voice is warm; that low husky timbre he can never really get enough of.
“We should get moving.”
They should, he knows. Dinner for the three of them; and someone needs to take Noah and Kevin out for the fourth time. Ross will need to go too. (Alone).
Then: they need to untangle the lights, and string them up on the tree, and go down to the basement storage and grab the other tub full of ornaments and decorations.
He nods, finally.
“Yeah, we should,” he agrees.
Olivia pulls away slowly. She sighs, then tilts her head back. She presses one quick kiss to the stubble of his jaw, soft and easy, then tells him.
“Later, though - ”
She starts to walk away when Ross growls down the hall again, moving quickly, but she looks back over her shoulder.
“Let’s grab one of those bottles of wine.”
—
He finds her asleep in their bed after his shower.
It had taken a while for the puppy to settle. They’d dragged Ross’s old travel crate up for the night, and the little pup had howled immediately. Noah had tried - and tried and tried - to get him to settle but eventually Olivia had told their son to sleep.
She’d tried to get him all played out but he’d been persistent, whining each time and it’s clear she gave up at some point.
“Little shit,” he mutters as he stares at it now.
He’d been scrubbing dried up sap off his arms and his neck and the back of his fucking head, somehow, and Kevin had managed to make a nest out of his wife’s tits. Nose right in the middle of her breasts, his little puppy belly flat against hers, and he lets himself be jealous of the goddamn dog for the whole time it takes to slide into bed and turn off the lamp.
Then he feels her hand, slow and soft, reaching for his. He feels the band of metal on her left hand, warmed from the heat of her skin, as it presses into the space in between their fingers.
They can have wine tomorrow, he thinks.
There’s always tomorrow.
—
Elliot wakes up past two to the little dog whining.
He walks him, shivering in a hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. The snow is relentless now, huge flakes falling fast; the wind picked back up again and swirling them around. Even the streets near their apartment are quiet for a Saturday night. The only vehicle that rolls by is a slow moving salt truck, the swish and soft clatter of salt hitting the streets distracting Kevin.
Eventually, the little dog goes and this time, when he tucks him inside the crate, he circles twice and lags down with a yawn.
He’d thought he’d been quiet when he snuck back into the room, but when his knee hits the mattress, Olivia stirs.
“Thanks for taking him out.”
Her voice is sleepy; throaty and warm. Honey sliding off the spoon into a hot mug of tea; and he loves it. He nods as he slides under the covers.
“Yeah - no problem, he - uh - ”
She reaches for him; hand sliding across the small space between him.
“He woke me up, little cold nose in my face.”
She finds the hem of his shirt in the dark and slides her fingers under; and he grins as she shivers.
“Jesus - Elliot, did you bother with a coat?”
He’s cold everywhere, he knows. He shakes his head for an answer, reaching over with his own hand to find her hip. He drags her close, and slides his knee in between hers. It’s two in the morning - he’d been expecting to come back to a warm bed, and a sleeping wife, and this - her trailing fingers against his cold torso; the slow way she rolls her hips right now, so her center finds the meat of his thigh - isn’t what he’d expected.
He tells her that quietly.
“Sorry - didn’t think I’d have to worry about making you cold, but - ”
He turns the tables on her quickly, rolling himself so he hovers above her.
“Since you’re up.”
The rustle of the sheets is almost as loud as her small yelp when he dips his head low, and runs his (cold, frozen, probably) nose against the warm skin of her neck. He mouths at the spot that he loves. Right to the left, in between the rise of her breast and the base of her throat - where the soft lines of age show, now; a place he’s always loved. She’d fallen asleep with her necklace still; and the chain around her neck is almost hot.
When he tilts his head up, he catches her grin. The snow outside means their bedroom is lighter than normal; reflections from the streetlights on the fresh snow making it bright. He can see her smile, and roll her eyes when he shakes his nose back and forth, warming it one more time against her.
“Since you’re up - let me make it up to you.”
Her eyebrows raise, and he goes on.
“For today. Yesterday. Whatever, just - ”
He presses a kiss to her chin.
“Let me make it up to you.”
He’s so fucking lucky, he knows. He’s so lucky to be back here, and to have her and he’s so fucking lucky that six months, Charlie needed her goddamn car that badly. He’s lucky that a cross country journey had managed to drive them back together and not further apart.
He’s lucky he’s here, with her; the soft cotton of the leggings she’d fallen asleep in underneath the pads of his fingers, as he slides his hand down to her waistband and under her shirt. He moves quickly after, sliding down her body so that he can follow his fingers with his mouth.
“Ok?”
He double checks one more, even though he can already tell. Her belly’s gone tight underneath his lips; and she’s settled back in the mattress, her thighs falling open as she nods.
Her voice is quiet and teasing as she tells him.
“Ok, Elliot. If you insist.”
God, he loves her.
Given the hour - and the busy day tomorrow, and the dog that’s going to wake one of them up (him, he knows, some penance now and some more penance then) he should hurry. He should move along fast - kiss and touch and make her come quickly, then move along so they can both fall back asleep.
But -
She’s so soft and so warm he is so her’s - so utterly, completely, belonging to her - and he wants to enjoy that. He wants her to enjoy that. The fruits of her labor; bearing the burden of him.
So he takes his time.
He moves up first, instead of down.
He starts with the dip of her belly. He starts low, right at the waist of her leggings, thumbs and palms skimming up the sides of her body as he trails his lips up. He peppers kisses there, licks and sucks and even bites softly until he is up past her navel.
“Liv, you’re - ”
His nose right at the underside of her breast, he looks up. He’s bracing himself above her, hovering close but keeping his weight off as much as he can. Her eyes meet his for a moment.
“I love you. Just - ”
He dips his head low, even as he finishes, nudging the hem of her shirt even higher. She’d fallen asleep with no bra on, and his mouth hovers close to a nipple as he finishes.
“Just so much, baby.”
She groans out her answer when he finds her nipple with his mouth; his tongue and lips as she tells him. He sucks the pebbled bud in; working her over and over as her fingers curl into the back of his neck and she tells him.
“Me too, El - ”
They don’t talk much after that. He keeps going, his mouth eager as he uses his tongue and the slight graze of his teeth to work first one side, then the other. When she’s writhing a little, flushed and arching into his mouth; her hips doing the same against his torso, he works his way down again. He trails the same eager kisses in reverse, licking and sucking and biting so gently, until he is back at the waistband of her leggings.
They work them off together, his thumbs hooking them down; her hips up and off the bed so he can pull them and her underwear all the way off. While he’s tugging them off her calves, she sits up, and pulls her shirt off too. He takes a moment as she lays back down, his eyes drifting up to look.
“Jesus, Olivia. I - god.”
She is gorgeous - messy hair, brown hooded eyes, golden skin even in the dark - but more importantly, he sees it’s all there, too, with her. The want, the desire, the two in the morning need to make sure they finish what they started before.
He takes the moment, and he breathes, and then he lowers his head to where they both need him to be.
He’d meant to start slowly here, too, but she is eager. She breathes out a ‘please, El, please,’ at the first slow swipe of his tongue; her voice muffled, he knows, by his own pillow.
She reaches for it every time, and turns her head in.
He acquiesces.
He moves quicker. He lets himself taste her for a moment; curls his tongue inside her deep and then moves all the way up. His nose nudges against her clit, and she jolts; pants out another command that sounds something like ‘more.’
More, than.
He gives her more. He hitches her leg over his shoulder and he gives her his tongue and its relief he hears when she groans. It’s too loud, too long, too much, but she does it anyway; and she repeats it again as he laps and laps against her clit. He gives her long, hard strokes of his tongue. He moves right past the feather light ones; flattens his tongue and licks as her fingers tighten against the back of his neck and her heel digs into his back.
Fuck, he loves her.
He loves her, and he loves this, and he loves being here; surrounded by her. Her smell, her taste, the slick heat of her cunt - her thighs tight around him and her fingernails pressing half moons into the back of his neck.
“Please. Please, more - ”
He loves her voice when she’s like this. When she’s right on the edge and she only needs him. Twenty three years and he’ll admit it’s a little bit about possession, but not in the way everyone thinks.
He needs to be her’s.
She grinds herself down, the crook behind her knee almost locking him in place. His nose is pressed almost flat against her; buried deep in her thatch of damp curls, and he can feel the bump of her pubic bone each time that she moves. She’s holding him there, as close as she can to her cunt - her hands and legs keeping him in place as he licks her close to the edge.
“More, Elliot - fuck, more.”
What started out lazy and slow; an after midnight intimate moment has shifted and now she is needy and keening and demanding as she begs. He can feel the tremble of her thigh against his ear and he can taste the tang of her cunt and he thinks for a moment all he wants until the sun comes up is this.
But - she is panting and moaning and he likes the next part just as much. He grins against her cunt, and pitches his voice low enough that she’ll feel it - every rumble and vibration - as he tells her.
“I got you, baby.”
He gives her what she wants. He slides two fingers into her and sucks her clit in; tongue still moving against her. She moans, and he pulls both fingers forward, pushing them into the soft spot inside her and he feels her whole body tighten. Her hips arch up and her thighs tense and he does it again; again and again, his mouth and his fingers soaked as she bucks against him and holds herself there.
“El - ”
When she comes it’s with his name and a groan, her fingers stilling against him as his own stay pressed inside. She is slick and wet against his tongue, slippery and heated and he keeps going, slow but eager, tasting as much as he can.
He tries to stay there, tries to work her down in the aftermath. Sometimes she likes it like that - likes him to stay there until it’s almost too much, until each pass of his tongue is so overwhelming that she can’t take anymore - but she is already tugging him up with a hand on his shoulder.
He sheds his boxers and sweatpants before he goes.
Elliot starts to move up her body, fingers and mouth still covered in her. He braces himself above her, a smug grin on his face as he starts to ask.
“That good, ba - ”
She drags him down instead, hand on the back of his neck and her mouth crushed to his. It’s messy and wet, her tongue sliding to meet his, the taste of herself still all over him.
“Just - come here.”
She breaks her lips away, and leans up. With her free hand she reaches between them. She curls her hand around him, grasping him as she guides him close. He tries to still himself as best as he can; a deep breath in as he fights the urge to jerk his hips into her touch; to press forward and bury himself as deep as he can.
He needs just a moment.
Like this - arms straight and braced around her - he can look down. He can see her; hair spread on the pillows, lips pursed and her chest moving up and down with huge breath. He can see her hooded brown eyes as she blinks up at him, her hand stroking him once as she arches up. He can look between them and see the tip of his cock as she drags him down and through where she’s slick and ready.
“Fuck - I need you so much, Liv.”
His arms are already burning from before; taut and tensed but he keeps himself up the whole time. He groans - tries to swallow it down but can’t - as she opens herself up even more and guides him. He presses into her; watches his cock disappear inside and he can feel the moment he’s all the way in.
He can feel how her breathing settles.
When he looks up, finally, her eyes are on him. Watching him, with her lips fallen open and that raw, hungry, wonderous look in her eyes.
Jesus.
He can’t look away.
It drives him so fucking crazy; cleaves him all the way right down the middle every time he’s reminded she feels it too. That this, all of this; all of them goes both ways. The love, the need, the want, the connection - all of it.
It always did, and it always will.
He keeps his eyes on her as he starts to move slowly. He starts gentle; shallow and slow thrusts, their bellies still pressed tight together. She moves with him; rocks back and into each thrust and they find an easy, languid rhythm together.
It’s so quiet at this time of night. He can hear each move that they make; each exhale she breathes, each low, small whimper and moan. He can hear the small pant of his name when he dips his head low, and presses a kiss to her jaw; her chin, the corner of her mouth before he takes her mouth once again.
“El - ”
He can hear the scrape of the snow plow outside as he starts to move faster. The metal blade on the pavement; sharp and then dull as it moves further away. He starts moving faster as the sound fades, urged on by the dig of her heel; the way her nails rake all the way down his back to the swell of his ass before she digs in.
It’s good - more than enough for him; with the clutch of her cunt and the sound of her voice, the sight of her body underneath his - but he can tell she needs more. She’s almost frantic; the roll of her hips frenetic as she tries to chase him.
It’s not enough.
“Olivia - just - ”
He stills himself and slides out, cock in his fist as he moves. Elliot shifts and rolls himself off and she is right there, already straddling him. Her knees on each side of his thighs as she raises herself up, batting his own hand away from his cock.
She takes over, then. His hands fall to her hips, stabilizing her as she sinks down on him. He watches as her eyes flutter shut; the relief evident for a second time on her face. Lip caught between her teeth, head tilted back - there it is, he thinks.
There it is.
She breathes, and flattens her hands on his chest.
“Better?
He grins up at her as her eyes open again. She nods, even as her hips start to rock into his.
“Better.”
He loves it like this. He loves holding on to her and letting her take. He loves the way she rides him; chasing her bliss as everything else falls away. The ache in her hip; the burn in his thighs. He scoots himself back, back half against the headboard so he can create a place with his knees for her to rock back on. He rolls his own hips up to meet hers; thrusts steady up and back into her each time.
She sets the rhythm she needs.
“Better,” she groans out as he ducks his head low, and catches a nipple with his mouth. Her arm wraps tight and she rides him.
“Take it, baby.”
He mouths it against her breast and she groans, hips moving faster. He meets her with each change, gives her back what she wordlessly asks for and when she’s close; when he can tell she’s right there, he slides his hand in between them.
It doesn’t take much like this. A press of his thumb, messy circles on her clit and she’s there; chest pressed into his as her cunt tightens around him.
“Liv - god - ”
He’s right there behind her. His cry of her name is strangled and low; and her mouth is on his, swallowing the guttural growl she knew was coming right behind it. With her lips against his, he comes; pulsing inside her as he holds himself as deep as he can.
She slumps against him after; his hands low around her waist. They both catch their breath for a moment, her head cradled on his shoulder. He feels the press of her lips against it, then the graze of her teeth as she nips, light and easy.
“Ok, you’re - ”
She grins against the skin of his neck, and pulls back. He pushes back a damp curl from her forehead, and kisses the shell of her ear as she tells him.
“You’re forgiven.”
“Thank god. Although - ” He laughs, then, as she rolls off of him. He gets up, and pads off to their bathroom. He comes back with a towel and hands it to her, then steals one quick kiss before she hands it back.
“Although maybe I’ll try to piss you off more if we’re going to be up at 2 am walking this dog for a while.”
—
December 23, 2023
It’s almost two weeks until they enjoy the bottle of wine.
They don’t go on their corny date after all.
“One night at home and Charlie already abandoned us.”
He grumbles it as he trails Olivia into the kitchen. She turns back and rolls her eyes at him.
“You really - it’s not like she’s out on the town, Elliot.”
She’s smiling as she says it, lips twitching up and the lines around her eyes crinkling just so. She reaches behind him and squeezes the back of his neck. She lets her hand linger there as she goes on.
“She’s just at Kathleen’s. She’ll - ”
She laughs when he starts to protest.
“They’ll both be back tomorrow.”
When she drops her hand and moves away, he thinks that she’ll sit down and join him, then. Maybe she’ll pull out a barstool, and sit and stew with him. They barely see Charlie as it is, and she’d taken Noah and the new puppy over to Kathleen’s after only one night. He misses her - misses his daughter; misses sitting down, all four of them and eating dinner, even as they’re interrupted by cell phones and texts - and he’d assumed she’d be where he is, too.
Pouting.
“Just hate that she - ”
He starts to complain, then notices she’s moving away.
Not sitting down next to him.
Instead he watches as Olivia moves behind the counter. He watches as she crosses the small space, and shoos the cat off the counter. “Scram.”
“Well, I think…”
He watches as she opens the door and pulls out a bottle from the refrigerator. When she shuts the door, her eyes meet his across the small space.
“This means we all have a night, right?”