Chapter Text
Having a drink with Elliot wasn’t exactly on her repertoire this weekend, but here Olivia is, sitting on his couch with her legs drawn underneath her, sipping on a glass of wine that she knows he must have bought for her because Elliot Stabler, like sushi, doesn’t do wine.
Not really.
“You gonna stop pacing and come sit down?” Olivia asks in a semi-joking tone. He’s been in the kitchen fidgeting with whatever for the past fifteen minutes. It wasn’t until ten minutes into the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing that Olivia realized he actually wasn’t doing anything. Maybe avoiding her, but she doesn’t want to come out and ask him that.
“Yeah, just a minute.” Elliot calls from behind her. “I’m just …”
Olivia turns around to face him, her elbow hanging off the back of the couch.
“ El. ” Olivia says softly, which is enough to get him to stop sifting through the cabinet he’s currently raiding for absolutely nothing. “Come sit down.” She adds with a giggle and a knowing smile on her lips.
Elliot gives a cheek-creased smile back, timid and far more bashful than what Olivia is used to from him. She has an inkling as to why he’s so nervous. But of course, she won’t come out and ask him . That might make things … awkward.
This is their first time being actually alone in an environment like this, in well, forever. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. There are notes in the air of what could happen tonight, though neither has made the implication.
Elliot saunters back over to the living area, grabbing his glass of bourbon off the kitchen counter on his way. He walks past her, his leg brushing against her knee. He plops down next to her, careful not to spill either of their drinks by bracing his hand on the back of his couch. His blue eyes anxiously begin flickering around the apartment. It’s lit warmly. Dim, and perhaps, a little suggestive for two friends. For two old partners.
Olivia raises her wine glass to her lips, releasing her tongue-in-cheek when taking a sip. Dark eyes wander back around to him. Their gaze meets.
“So how are you holding up?” Olivia asks.
“Hm?” He asks, realizing in that instant how close they’re sitting to one another. Olivia extends one of her arms along the back of the couch. She balances her wine glass on her knee while loosely holding onto it.
“Eli … how are you holding up with him being … not here ?” Olivia asks.
“Ah, well. You know. It’s different. Not really used to living alone.” Elliot’s eyes cast down, watching the golden liquid float around in his beveled glass. “But I’m adjusting.” He adds with a slight nod and a less-than-reassuring smile.
“I’m sure he’s having the time of his life.” Olivia grins. “But I’m sure he misses you just as much as you miss him.”
“Please. He’s probably saying Dad who ?” Elliot lets out a hearty laugh.
“Oh stop. That’s not true.” She raises her wine glass to her lips, cracking a smirk. “Most of the time anyway.”
“ Yeah. See.” Elliot chuckles. He brings his glass to his mouth and takes a drink.
“The place looks nice though. Looks like a real bachelor’s pad. Right down to the uh,” — Olivia points her wine glass towards the terrace — “ Dying plants . Why are you torturing them? Give them a drink, Elliot.” She teases with a laugh, bowing her head.
“I’m not much of a gardener. That’s all Mama and …” Elliot stops himself. He lowers his head and puckers his lips in dismay.
Olivia doesn’t respond at first. Instead, she leans into him a little. “I didn’t know Kathy gardened.” She says quietly.
“Neither did I until I noticed her digging a rose bush up in the backyard when we moved.” Elliot states, raising his glass. He doesn’t sip from it, but rather holds it mid-air as he contemplates what to say next. “She couldn’t bring it with us so she gave it to her mother.”
“Hm.” Olivia nods along.
“Sorry.” Elliot clears his throat.
“About what?” Olivia asks, taking another sip of wine. The silence takes over, but rather than urge him to continue, she gives him the patience to think about what he wants to say. When nothing comes, Olivia takes that as her cue to say what she knows needs to be said. “It’s okay to talk about her, you know. You can talk about her, Elliot.” She states.
Elliot slowly turns his head to look at her.
“If any other woman can’t accept that, then —” Olivia begins, but Elliot immediately interjects.
“There are no other women.”
His words are firm enough to cause her eyes to widen slightly.
“Okay …” Olivia’s voice becomes quiet. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mean it like that. Not like you think. I just mean …” – Elliot pauses – “I just mean that …” A deep breath. “I haven’t invited anyone over. Any other women. But you. You’re the only woman I want here.”
Olivia stares at him, wordless.
“Was it okay for me to say that?” Elliot asks, nervously. “I don’t want to push. I know what you said, about being friends. About taking things slow, I don’t want to come across like I’m being –”
“You’re not. It’s … it’s fine. It’s okay for you to say that.” Olivia nods. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m —”
“ You’re not. ” Elliot interrupts, breathlessly. A quick shake of his head tells her his response is genuine. “Trust me you’ve been …” He pauses, hesitant to finish.
“What?” Olivia asks, brown eyes widened and somewhat glassy under the warm light of the living room.
“You’ve been my rock through all of this.” Elliot’s voice drops low. “You’ve always been my rock, Liv.” He adds, his own icy blue eyes becoming tearful.
Olivia wasn’t expecting this kind of conversation, but here they were. He had a way of surprising her. Sometimes in not the best of ways, but this certainly was a good way. To hear how he felt about her made something in her chest stir in a way that it hasn’t for any other man. A feeling that for a long time, lay dormant.
“ Hm …” Olivia purses her lips together, looking away from him as she fights back the emotion threatening to drip down her cheeks. She raises her wine glass and releases a shaking breath into it as she takes a sip.
The room becomes quiet. So quiet, in fact, that they can both hear each other breathing. Getting emotional. Elliot clears his throat and turns his attention not to her, but to one of the windows, which are blurred with thick glass.
Olivia’s arm, which is still draped across the back of the couch, remains in place. She begins fumbling with her fingers anxiously. Her fingertips brush against the back of his white t-shirt, between his shoulder blades. He doesn’t move. She notices he doesn’t move.
She decides in the heat of the moment, to move her hand gently up toward the back of his neck. Goosebumps rise underneath the pads of her fingers. Stubble from his last buzz.
Elliot exhales deeply.
Olivia curves her index finger, tantalizingly sliding it along the collar of his t-shirt. She drags her hand around to the side of Elliot’s neck, where she meets his jawline, all the while, not looking at him.
But he’s not looking at her either.
If he were to look at her, he would see nothing but an exposed, sharp jawline because her head is turned away from him.
If she were to look at him, she would see his tongue drifting along his bourbon-covered bottom lip.
In sync, she pulls her hand away from him suddenly when he stands up.
“Do you want to listen to music?” Elliot asks, his voice deep. Raspy.
“Sure.” Olivia says, following up with a soft ahem to clear her throat. An exaggerated breath follows. “I didn’t really take you for a vinyl man.”
“Ah, well …” Elliot makes his way over to his record player and vinyl collection. “Nothin’ beats the real thing.”
“I think you just don’t want to learn how to use streaming services. That’s what I think.” Olivia grins slyly, taking another sip from the approaching empty red wine glass.
“It’s the crackle. I like it.” Elliot answers, his fingers dancing through the albums in a spidering motion. “What do you want to listen to?”
“Not to whatever you were playing when I came in.” Olivia snickers.
“Leave my Blues alone.” Elliot chuckles, pulling an album from the wooden crate. He turns it over to show her the album. Sam Cooke. She shrugs in response. That’s fine.
Elliot carefully pulls the vinyl from its sleeve, positioning his fingers so they don’t run along the grooves.
“Look at you. Such an audiophile.” Olivia teases. Another sip of wine.
“A what?” Elliot asks, another laugh following.
“Nevermind.” She says, swirling her glass. The belly of it is almost empty. “I’m gonna need a refill.”
Elliot spins the record in between his two middle fingers in a suave manner, before sitting it down on the platter. He brings the tonearm down onto the record. The soft pop of the needle comes through the two large floor speakers that sit on either side of it.
“I could’ve played Prince’s entire discography by now.” Olivia jabs, dark eyes cornered up at him.
“It’s worth the wait.” Elliot smirks, blue eyes fixed on her.
“Is it?” Olivia asks, tilting her head. She’s still swirling her glass. It’s clear to him that the topic is shifting once again. Perhaps into more sensual territory.
They’re both quiet, staring at one another intensely as music fills the space. Nothing Can Change This Love by Sam Cooke plays, achingly hot in the air.
A love song.
A love song.
“I think it is.” Elliot says, raising his voice just enough so she can hear him over the song. Olivia, with her eyes still locked on him, empties her wine glass. She holds it out to him. Refill please.
Elliot takes the wine glass from her hand, his fingers gliding against hers. He picks up his own from the coffee table, nearly empty as well, and walks around the couch and back into the kitchen. He sets both glasses down on the counter. He refills them both, with their respective, preferred drinks.
Olivia lays her head across the back of the couch so she can see him. Upside down, but she can see him regardless.
“It sounds nice.” Olivia smiles faintly. Her words cause him to turn around. There’s something about the way she looks, with her chin extended and honey-toned hair falling along the back of the couch that makes him weak.
The urge, the strongest he’s had all evening, to kiss her envelopes him. Unconsciously, he picks up his bourbon glass, now full. Elliot leaves her wine behind on the counter as he walks to her. Not around the couch, but behind it, where he stares directly down at her.
Elliot snails his glass to his lips, where he takes a sip. Eyes. On. Her.
Eyes on him.
Yep. They’re screwed.
“Where’s mine, Detective?” Olivia asks wryly, her voice pure gravel. Before he can answer, however, she’s reaching for his drink. Olivia takes the glass of bourbon from him, effortlessly. He lets her have it. She can have whatever she wants.
Olivia brings her head from the back of the couch long enough to take a drink from his glass. She smacks her lips together and exhales with such precision that it makes Elliot shiver. He’s frozen in place, afraid to move as if it would break the moment altogether.
“You gonna come sit down?” Olivia asks again , staring into the glass of bourbon.
Nothing.
Silence.
Then:
“No.” Elliot says from behind her.
Olivia nods. Okay. She leans forward and sits the glass down on the coffee table with a soft thud. She sits back all the way and lays her head down once again, staring up at him.
“You like the music?” Elliot asks, his voice soft, yet deep to some degree. He brings both hands from his pocket and leans down, bracing himself on either side of her head. The veins in his arms pop as he holds himself above her. Their faces are mere inches from one another.
Her breathing quickens.
“Mhm.” Olivia answers, eyes drifting over his face.
“I told you it was worth the wait.” Elliot whispers.
“Yeah you did.” Olivia huffs. He’s killing her. She could reach out right now and grab him around the neck, pull him down to her, and kiss him, but she doesn’t. She waits. He has to be the one to make the move.
She’s losing it. Her chest is rising and falling above normality, and all she wants is for him to kiss her, touch her, something.
With one hand, Elliot brings his hand to the side of her face, where he runs his knuckles along the soft skin there. She closes her eyes to his touch, momentarily.
“Liv …” His expression changes. It’s an expression of permission, of want, of need.
“I want you to.” Olivia whispers from beneath him, a soft nod following.
He doesn’t wait any longer. He leans into her, likely from the most interesting position he’s ever kissed any woman (that being upside down), and presses his mouth to hers. Finally.
Olivia whimpers against his lips, allowing both hands to come up and cup the sides of his face. She feels the brush of his nose against her chin. The stubble on his chin grazes her cupid’s bow. The taste of wine and bourbon lies heavily on their breath.
Olivia moves her hand to Elliot’s, the one that had previously stroked her cheek, and brings it to the front of her neck. Touch me.
He obliges, without hesitancy. His large fingers web across the warm, red flesh there. He begins stretching his arm, running his hand down the front of her neck and towards her chest.
Elliot pulls his warm lips from hers, just an inch away to speak.
“Was it worth it?” Elliot asks.
Olivia releases a breathy little laugh.
“It’s not over yet.” She says, her mouth opening and capturing his lips in one go. She wants him, and if she has to, she’ll pull him over this goddamn couch. But judging by the fact that his thick digits have just moved past the lacy material of her bra, he wants what she wants.
Welcome home, ‘cause honey nothing, nothing, nothing can ever change this love I have for you