Chapter Text
She can’t help it, she whines into his kiss almost right away, and the sound of it vibrating against his lips is the hiss of pressure being released from a too-tight valve. Her mind is telling her to stop him, to stop herself, but she’s already made a sound, made it real, and she can’t think of anything that would hurt more in this moment than pulling away from him. She is bowed towards him where his hand is around her waist, and she leans into the gravity of it, her whole torso against his whole torso, and he takes his hand away, but before she can lament the loss, its back, under her shirt this time, cold fingertips on the warm skin of her back, and oh, she wants him, she wants to sink into him, to be swallowed by him, to give him her body, the only thing he doesn’t already have, to surrender and watch and feel as he takes her. She opens her mouth against his and their tongues meet, the sensation sending jolts of electricity through her, her belly and her legs and her whole being coming alive for him, and it’s sad, almost, because no one has ever made her feel this way just by kissing her. It’s sad, but it’s right, in an ironic, ionic sort of way, because it would only ever be him, wouldn’t it? The only one who could make her feel like this, the only one who could open her up and release all that goddamned feeling she’s kept under lock and key for so many years. All that treacherous emotion; because of him, set free by him.
She cannot ask him to come upstairs, and he won’t ask, either, and they can’t just stand here on the sidewalk making out, and something has got to give. She cannot ask him for anything, and he cannot ask her. They will just have to touch, to pull from each other, to take, because they know, they know all that they’re willing and waiting to give. Anything you say can and will be used against you. If they don’t speak, if they just let this primal want consume them, then they can keep pretending that what they’re doing isn’t horribly wrong. Because it’s not. It’s not wrong. It’s the only thing that’s ever been right, and Olivia will feel guilty about that for the rest of her life, she knows, but she can’t really bring herself to care about that now. If they don’t speak, then this ring he’s put on her finger can mean something, can keep meaning what they both know it signifies.
She’s his. She’ll always be his, and maybe, just this once, he can be hers, too.
With great effort, Olivia pulls her mouth away from his, and they separate with a wet noise. She moves back just far enough to look into his eyes, and she sees want in them, first and foremost, but he’s frowning and the angle of his eyebrows has him looking thwarted, like he thinks she’s going to pull away for good. She laces her fingers together around the back of his neck to show him how wrong he is.
“I don’t want to stop,” she confesses, basically panting into his open mouth.
He exhales, too, a sound of desperation as much as relief. “Me neither.”
Okay, then.
She kisses him again, keeping her mouth closed this time, and then she’s catching his hand and pulling him towards the door of her building. They make it inside without much effort, but the stairs are the next battle, as he stops her on the landing to kiss down the hollow of her throat, nipping lightly at the side of her neck until she moans his name.
“Elliot, we have—oh—five more steps.”
“Just five more?” he says into her collarbone.
“Uh, maybe six?” She’s losing focus fast, and it doesn’t help when he presses himself impossibly closer to her and she can feel exactly how hard he is against her belly.
His hands are on her ass, then, and he’s lifting her, hauling her up against him. She wraps her legs around him, grasping his shoulders to steady herself, and then he’s turning them away from the wall, carrying her up the stairs.
“Seven steps, Liv,” he says in her ear once they’re outside her door, but his cock is now pressing against the seam of her jeans so she can’t really think about anything else, like her keys.
Luckily, Elliot has his own. He fumbles around his hips for a moment, but it’s a little crowded. “In my jacket pocket,” he urges her.
She kisses him again. “You know, this would be easier if you put me down for two seconds.”
“No chance,” he answers, and rocks her against him to prove his point. The ridge of his cock rubs against her center in just the right way, sending a jolt of delicious heat through her belly, down her legs. Point taken.
She pulls her own keys out of her own jacket, then, and hands them to him. Somehow, with a fair amount of fumbling (and fondling), the door behind her moves into open space and they’re surging into her apartment, Elliot pausing to let her kick the door shut behind them, swiping at it a few times with her foot to nudge the lock into place. The jostling of her leg is grinding their bodies together, and when their lips meet this time, it’s to stifle his groan and her giggle.
“Bedroom,” she instructs, because she knows him, and she knows he’s going to want to drop them onto the couch as soon as it’s in spitting distance, and she wants more space for this, wants to have him without being impeded by unruly cushions or sudden drops.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and carries her blindly down the hall with ease, like he’s done it a hundred times before.
He deposits her on the edge of the bed when they’re close enough, and she gives him no time before she’s tugging him down towards her, pulling at his jacket, his belt. It’s frantic and uncoordinated and it’s not getting them anywhere, so she pivots, taking her own clothes off instead. Her jacket comes off, and then her shirt, and Elliot’s jaw goes slack when she reaches around to unclasp her bra, getting rid of that, too. They’re both naked from the waist up, now, and she takes a second to breathe, to take it all in. She’s seen Elliot shirtless before, that’s not new, but the way he’s towering over her, dark, raw desire in his eyes… That’s new. That’s new and it’s enough to make her clit throb.
She pops the button on her pants, reaching for the zipper, when Elliot stops her. “I wanna do it,” he says, and she smiles and leans back and lets her partner take off her pants, lifting her hips to help him.
He pulls her pants and underwear down to her ankles and off in one smooth motion, and just as she’s breathing through the realization that she’s completely naked, with Elliot, another, more important realization hits her. He followed her pants down to the floor and is now kneeling at the foot of her bed, fitting his strong hands around the back of her knees to pull her closer— to the edge of the mattress, to him, and she yelps both at the movement and in anticipation. She thinks he’s going to start eating her out right away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he’s running his palms up the smooth length of her calves, her shins, her thighs, pressing his face into the inside of her leg, not at all close to where she’s aching for him.
He seems to be enjoying himself, though. “Your legs drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he groans into her thigh, and then he’s moving higher, higher, so close to where she wants him, and the biting kisses he’s working into the sensitive skin there are making her legs shake.
She reaches for him, cradling his face in her hands. “Please stop teasing me,” she whines, and he looks up at her and grins, and then his mouth is right where it needs to be, and she’s arching her back, trying to thrust her hips up against his face but there’s nowhere for them to go, because he’s got her thighs over his shoulders with his hands wrapped securely around them, keeping her still, driving her insane.
His tongue switches from long, firm licks from her entrance to her clit to acute suction right there, and she’s not entirely sure what sounds she’s making, but then he takes one of his hands off of her leg and uses his fingers on her and whatever her reaction sounded like, she knows it was loud and throaty and probably a bit embarrassing. She can feel—and hear— how wet she is, and she thinks about kissing him in a few minutes, because that’s all it’s gonna take, just a few minutes, and then she can have his tongue in her mouth again but she’ll be able to taste herself on his lips and it’s going to be the most erotic thing she’s ever experienced, probably, tasting her release on Elliot’s mouth.
Right now, though, he’s got two fingers inside of her, curling them up, stroking her just the way she needs it, and he has no fucking right, she thinks, to know her body this well, to bring her right to the edge this quickly on his first fucking try. But she is, she’s on the edge, and with two more sucks against her clit and one more thrust of his fingers, she’s breaking apart with a cry, one hand grasping the short strands of his hair and the other squeezing tight against her bedding. He doesn’t let up, still licking and sucking at her until she can’t take it anymore, pushing his head away and trying to sit up. She’s flushed and light headed from her orgasm but she grasps at him until he’s surging up, until she can get her mouth on his and her hands on his ass, and she does, they are, but she realizes he’s still wearing his jeans, somehow, and she tugs at his belt until it joins the rest of their clothes on the floor.
She pulls back, then, because she wants to watch this part, and when he finally presses into her she wants it to be when he’s all the way on top of her, not halfway bent over with their legs hanging off the bed.
She scoots back until she’s in the middle of the bed, braces herself up on her elbows, and tells him, “Take your pants off.”
He does. Elliot sighs gutturally when he pushes his jeans and underwear down over his cock, hissing when it meets the open air, and Olivia licks her lips reflexively at the sight of it. Before she can even ask, he’s back on the bed, crawling towards her, and she’s eager to bracket her legs around him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him again.
She grinds up against him, both of them moaning when the head of his cock slides through her folds, bumps against her clit. He rocks against her a few more times, kissing her jaw, her neck, grabbing her breast with his hand and giving her nipple a twist. She’s ready for him, soaking wet and clenching around nothing, and she needs him inside her five minutes ago.
“El. Fuck me. Now.”
“Do I need a condom?”
“Only if you really want one.”
“I don’t,” he says, and lines himself up.
“Good. Wanna feel you.”
Elliot nods, and then he’s thrusting into her, inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt, and the way she feels when he’s all the way inside her is far beyond anything she ever imagined. She’s more than ready for him, was even before her orgasm, but it’s been a while—longer than she wants to admit—and there’s a tight stretch as her body gets used to it, to the feel of him so deep. He pulls back a little bit and thrusts back in, and the way he fills every last modicum of space she has steals the breath from her lungs on a reedy moan. She’s hot and wet and clenching around him and aching for more; more friction, more pressure, more speed, and she claws at his shoulders to tell him so.
“Elliot,” she whimpers, and it sounds obscene to her own ears, so she can only imagine what it does to him, hearing her voice that wrecked around the sound of his name.
“I need a second. Fuck, just gimme a second,” he groans into her neck, and she realizes why he’s not moving yet, why he stopped after that second deep thrust.
“You done already?” she breathes, pressing her smug smirk to his cheekbone.
“Like hell,” he says, and then he’s moving, finally, setting a punishing pace that grinds his pubic bone down against her clit, his cock hitting all the right places inside her.
It feels so good, her hips meeting his every thrust, trading desperate moans and gasps into each other’s open mouths, and she doesn’t want it to end, she realizes. She wants to stay here, in this moment, intertwined, forever. A shame, really, because with the way he’s grinding into her, kissing her neck, and playing with her breasts, she’s close again. She can tell he is, too, when his hips start stuttering unevenly.
“El. El, come in me—Oh, fuck— I want you to come inside me.”
“You first,” he grunts, and then he’s working one of his hands down between their sweat-slicked bodies to rub furious circles at her clit. The stimulation there coupled with the quick, snapping thrusts of his hips ratchets her up to the edge again in no time at all, and then she’s muffling her cries into the meat of his shoulder, hips bucking up into his, cunt clenching around him as she comes.
He fucks her through it, muttering things about how fucking gorgeous she looks like this, how good she feels, coaxing more shuddering gasps out of her, and then he presses in deep, right up against that spot that drives her crazy, and spills inside her with an erratic moan into her hair. She feels the added warmth, the added wetness, and the added weight, too, when he collapses on top of her. He makes to roll off to the side, but she’s faster, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and crossing her legs at the ankles, holding him there, keeping him in the clutch of her body because she’s not ready to let go, not yet. He must sense this, this anxious reluctance to let him slip away, the need she has to feel the full, unrestricted press of him on top of her, because he settles. Kisses her neck and her collarbone while she catches her breath underneath him until his cock is soft and sliding out of her. She lets out a small sound when he shifts, but he doesn't go far, and he keeps his hands on her the whole time.
“I like the ring,” he says, breaking the fragile silence they’ve let settle over them in the aftermath. She’s in his arms, on her back, him curled around her side. He’s got his arm slung heavily over her abdomen, rubbing circles on her hip bone, and she’s got her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Slow, gentle touches that just feel nice, and Olivia is distracted by her attempts to sink into this quiet, peaceful place to make out what he said.
“Mm?”
He moves his arm, catching her hand with his. “The ring. I like it. Better than any I coulda picked out myself.”
“You don’t want me to take it back?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Do you like it?”
That was a loaded question. Does she like the ring, does she feel good and happy about owning this ring and how that came to be, is she content with everything it can and cannot mean, and also the heavy yearning that firmly lodges itself in her chest every time she slides it on? She would need to see a shrink to unpack all of that.
But it is a pretty ring.
“Yeah, I like it,” she admits softly, reluctantly.
“Then keep it.”
She doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, and she can feel how tightly her eyebrows are drawn together. He puts his thumb there, smoothing out her scowl.
“I never would’ve known, you know. About the necklace. I took the jewelry store purchase at face value. Maureen was the one who thought to question how nice it was.”
“So my plan would’ve worked? If it weren’t for those meddling kids,” she pouts, twisting the ring, and he laughs.
“Yeah, it woulda worked.”
She rolls onto her side, facing him, and ghosts her fingertips on his face, over the light stubble on his jaw that’s just left an oddly pleasant burn on her inner thighs. “You probably think I’m pathetic.”
“No. Not even close. We’re both fucked, but… I don’t think it’s pathetic. And I don’t think it’s new, either. I mean, I’ve known for years, and you’ve got that ring, so I think you know, too.”
“That we were fucked long before we ever fucked,” she says lightly, not without mirth, but as she puts it into words it feels profoundly like acceptance. He hums in agreement, in amusement, and kisses her gently on the lips. She wants to ask him questions about that last thing he said, about how he’s known for years, about when and where and how exactly he’d known, if it was the same moment she’d known, if it had informed his every day the way it had for her, but his kiss is just too easy to sink into. It’s not heated, it’s not leading to anything, and it feels terribly close to a promise.
She’s trying so hard to fight off the melancholy, the dread that’s threatening to bleed into this moment. She wants to hold onto this, and she doesn’t want to hold onto it because of guilt. This—all of it —had felt so good, finally, two puzzle pieces clicking into place, correctly guessing the last number on a combination lock, finally coming home after a long, long time away, and she just wants to keep them there, keep them good, keep them away from the burden of context for a little while longer.
She’ll feel bad about this tomorrow. She’ll feel dirty and morally reprehensible and she might feel like she’s gone and ruined the best thing in her life. And she’ll wash the sheets, because they’re both sweaty and she can feel his release seeping out of her, slick against her thighs and creating a damp spot if she stays still any longer. She’ll have to change the sheets. Tomorrow. Right now, she doesn’t have to do any of that. She doesn’t want to. What she wants, more than anything, is to ask him to stay.
She can’t do that, though, at least not verbally. They’ve stolen enough time tonight, hidden from all the truths that are in the room with them now.
One: there’s no way she can move on, now that she knows how it feels to have him on top of her, inside her. Two: They can’t be partners anymore, not after this. Three: He’s the love of her life; she’d thought so before, but she’s sure now. It doesn’t matter, though, because Four: Elliot will never leave his wife. Even if he tried to, now, after tonight? Olivia wouldn’t let him. This can’t be the reason. She can’t be the reason.
She can’t be the reason he forsakes his vows and everything he believes in, so she’ll be the nail in her own damn coffin instead. She kisses him slowly, deeply, for what she knows must be the last time, and with this kiss she tries her hardest to tell him everything she wishes she could say out loud.
Wordlessly, she curls up beside him, her hand skating up and down the side of his torso, her head pillowed on his chest as she pulls a rumpled blanket up and over their waists. She’s listening to his heartbeat intently, committing it to memory, the rhythm and the way it thumps and the way he breathes, too, so that later, when she’s in different beds, with different lovers, she’ll still remember his, still be able to distinguish it from all the rest, still be able to know, innately, even if all her senses were stripped away, the way his heart beats next to hers.
Elliot’s rubbing a hand over the curve of her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and she wants to cry. I’ll be okay when this is over, she tells herself. When I wake up, and he’s gone, it will not break me. I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. She repeats this like a mantra, trying like hell to believe it as she falls swiftly into a dreamless sleep.
And I get to keep the ring. Elliot said so.