Archive of Our Own

Elliot’s been going down on Olivia for a solid five minutes, and he is absolutely certain that her head is somewhere else.

He’d be offended if he didn’t know she’d spent the evening grouchy and preoccupied. It had been late when he got to her place—he hadn’t been sure he was going to make it at all after the Silas casino unveiling earlier tonight, but he’d been able to tell from her texts the last few days (what few there’d been, anyway) that this subway rape case was causing her more than the usual amount of stress and he’d wanted to be there for her. So he’d left the unveiling as early as was politely possible, made sure Ayanna got headed home alright and had called an Uber for himself.

But when he’d arrived here, she’d said she didn’t want to talk about it, that she’d only end up bitching and that’s not how she wanted to spend their night together. That she didn’t want to get all worked up again this late at night.

She’d already been in her pajamas, had already downed the better part of a bottle of wine, but he could still see the irritation hovering around her like a cloud. It had been him who’d suggested the sex—a distraction, something to help her settle down and relax enough to get a good night’s sleep.

She’d licked her lips and told him that sounded good—not the most enthusiastic agreement, but he’ll work with what he can get.

But whatever’s got her so keyed up, it’s not being solved by oral.

She’s restless. Shifting under his attention—but not in the good, squirmy, pleasured way she usually is when he does this. Tonight, she’s just unsettled. Listless. Letting loose faint sighs of frustration, pressing up into his mouth with a quiet grunt. He’s been covering her clit with the soft, sucking licks she sometimes likes to start off with, the ones that ease her into her arousal nice and easy, that usually make her relax into her pleasure and grow warm and slick and eager for more.

Tonight, they are not working.

Her mind is wherever it is, and her body is not getting the message. She’s wetter than she was when they started (which was not at all, really), but he’s not sure how much of that is actually her and how much is just his own spit. He drags his tongue back and forth across her clit, but it hasn’t responded the way it usually does, hasn’t gone all sensitive and swollen for him.

When she sighs again, deeper this time and no less frustrated, he glances up and finds her staring at the ceiling, one hand combed into the hair at her crown.

Yeah, this isn’t working. All he’s gonna get outta this is a neck cramp.

Elliot turns his head, presses a kiss to one thigh, then the other, a last one in the curls above her clit. Then he rests his chin there and asks earnestly, “You wanna stop, Liv?”

She looks down at him, frowning, asks, “What?”

“You’re not into this.”

“I am,” she insists, forcing a smile and dropping a hand to rest against the back of his skull. “I love when you do this.”

Elliot’s mouth curves into a wry half-smile. “I know what it feels like when you love this. You’re not lovin’ it tonight.”

That forced smile falls away, her ribs sagging with another deep exhale. “I’m sorry,” she admits, “I’m just…”

“Distracted,” he finishes for her, letting his head tilt to the side and rest against her inner thigh.

Olivia nods, and starts to apologize again, but he won’t let her. “Don’t do that,” he insists. “Don’t apologize. We all have off days—and from where I’m sitting the one who’s suffering the most is you. I’m perfectly happy down here; would stay here all night, if I thought you wanted me to.”

“I do want you to,” she tells him again. “I just have a lot on my mind; I’m having a hard time… focusing.”

He wants to make a crack about how if she has to focus he’s probably not doing his job right, but they’ve been doing this for the better part of a year now and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows what she likes, what works. This one, he knows, is not on him.

“Might feel better if you spilled your guts,” he suggests gently, turning his head to give her thigh another smooch.

Olivia’s sighs through a roll of her eyes, and then tells him, “Alright, get up here. Cliff’s Notes version, though. I’m trying to get less tense, not more.”

Elliot smiles at her, promising he won’t let her get too riled up as he shifts up the mattress, reaching for the blankets and yanking them up to cover her waist. She’s still wearing her pajama top—he’d pushed it up to suck at her nipples as he made his way down earlier, but hadn’t actually bothered to pull it off. She tugs the hem down now, covering herself to the waist, and then rolls on her face to face him as he settles beside her.

“Lay it on me,” Elliot urges, slipping one knee between hers and hooking their ankles together.

“McGrath is driving me up a goddamn wall again,” she grouses—like she has at least a dozen times in the last eight months. “We’re working this case as a joint task force with the gang unit from the Bronx—the rapists were BX9. And this Captain Duarte is a pain in my ass. He made some big bust—”

“The 19th Street gang,” Elliot interrupts. He’s heard of Duarte—heard plenty, a lot of it mixed, and suddenly Olivia’s irritation these last few days makes a lot more sense.

“Right,” she says slowly, continuing, “So McGrath wants me to play nice with the guy, and he’s, y’know… fine, I guess, but he’s gangs, not SVU. He sees this whole case as a way to bring down the head of BX9; he doesn’t care about getting justice for this family. These guys raped a fourteen year old girl, carved up her father with a machete—and now they might walk because Duarte thinks they can flip one of them to get access to Oscar Papa’s driver. This girl’s had her whole life upended, and Duarte’s got McGrath convinced we should see about throwing justice under the bus for a surveillance deal.”

He’s failing on that promise not to let her get too riled up—she’s tense in his hold, her fingers twisting and untwisting in the top hem of the sheets, her mouth drawn into a deep scowl, frustration darkening her features. Elliot can’t blame her; it sounds like a shitshow.

Even before she adds, “And that’s after he maybe threw one of the suspects off a roof.”

“He what?”

She huffs out a breath, shaking her head and telling him, “He… he probably didn’t. I don’t know; we were rounding up two more of the suspects at a destroyer house, one was shot and killed, the other fled out the window. Duarte gave chase, Fin and I were just arriving on scene, we were headed around the back of the building when the guy practically lands at our feet. Duarte insists he didn’t have anything to do with it, but apparently they have some personal history, and I…”

She exhales hard, shakes her head. Sucks in another breath, and adds, “And on top of all that, he’s trying to poach Velasco. I’m understaffed as it is, and, you know, Fin and I aren’t getting any younger. Amanda’s… She just got back, and she isn’t dealing with what happened to her. Not really. It scared the hell out of her, and she’s worried about her girls, and the last officer I had who took a bullet to the gut used it as an opportunity to re-evaluate her life and left the force entirely.”

“Amanda’s not quitting,” he assures her, giving her hip a squeeze.

Liv gives him a look. “You don’t know that. She wants to be back, I know she does, it’s just… I need a team, one with some longevity, detectives who want to invest in SVU, people I can trust if I ever—”

She stops, swallows down the word retire before it ever escapes her lips, but he knows that’s where she was headed and it surprises him. She’s talked before about how tired she is, about how everything is wearing on her, how it all seems harder these days than it used to. But she’s never talked about laying it all down, and he wonders now how much she’s thought about it, or if she’s just catastrophizing the long game here after a particularly crappy day.

Her voice is soft, laced with frustration and the far-off possibility of tears as she admits, “It feels like I’m always swimming upstream. I don’t have support above me; I can’t lose the team under me, too. I need something to work out, El.”

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, because there’s not much else he can tell her at the moment. He lifts his hand from her hip to her hair, tucking it behind her ear and then cupping the back of her head, drawing her in until he can press a kiss there. “Your team’s not going anywhere,” he tells her, with more confidence than he can guarantee. “The way Fin tells it, they’d follow you into hell.”

Olivia makes a noise, noncommittal. Her voice is slightly muffled between them when she tells him, “Maxwell’s talking this proposed deal over with McCoy tonight; she said I’d be the first to know what they decide about dropping the rape charges. I was hoping she’d call tonight, but she said wants us all there first thing in the morning.”

“Mm,” he hums, pressing another kiss just below her hairline. “No wonder your brain won’t shut up.”

Her shoulders shake in a single, dry chuckle, and she nods against his lips. Then she tips her head up, her nose bumping against his on the way, their faces so close he goes a little cross-eyed looking at her. “I really was enjoying what you were doing before. It felt nice.”

His brows shift, doubtful. Well, not doubtful. He knows, objectively, that she enjoys what he was doing, but, “Wasn’t getting much of a reaction down there.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, tells him again, “Too much going on up here. It felt good, I just couldn’t relax.” One of her hands coasts up his ribs, around to his spine and down. “I’m sorry if you felt… unappreciated.”

“I didn’t,” he assures her, bumping their noses again, intentionally this time. “I could tell you were frustrated.”

She nods, telling him, “I don’t want to be thinking about this anymore; I've been stewing on it all night. I want to shut my brain off long enough to get some sleep.”

“I could rub your back for a while,” he suggests. “Maybe help you relax.”

Olivia surprises him by shaking her head no, her expression just a little hesitant as she asks, “Do you think we could try again? Maybe now that I’ve…”

She trails off, squinting slightly at him and Elliot smirks. “Maybe now that you’ve told me what’s bothering you it won't bother you quite so much?” he fills in for her, the I-told-you-so clear as day in his tone.

“Yeah,” she says dryly. “That.”

“You know I’m not gonna say no to that,” he murmurs, dipping his head in to steal a kiss from her as their legs slide and shift beneath the covers, one of his hands dipping down to join them in the warmth of their shared body heat, fingers skimming low on her belly. “Want me to go down on you again, or something else?”

He watches her face as she considers the offer, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, eyes narrowing just slightly. This close he can see every freckle on her nose, every fine line around her eyes. Every fleck and variation of color in her dark irises. She’s so goddamned pretty; sometimes he still can’t believe he gets to look at her like this. Intimately and up close, while her thigh rests heavily against his, and his fingertips swirl lazily through the coarse hair between her legs.

“Can we…” she starts, trailing off and then trying again. “I might need some… help…” her gaze flicks in the direction of her nightstand for just a second, “if we have any hope of shutting my brain off.”

Elliot gets the hint, a little streak of excitement flashing through him at the prospect. The vibrator is a recent addition to their sex life, and they’ve only used it together once—that night after Amanda was shot, when Liv needed a little extra oomph to push her tired body over the edge.

Her brain and body hadn’t been cooperating that night either, but the added stimulation from the vibrator had been enough to push her into not one but two blissful, clenching orgasms. He’s man enough that he’s not threatened by sex toys, so he leans in just a little further, his hand moving to her lower back, his lips pressing gently along the side of her neck, raising goosebumps as he asks, “A little battery-operated help?”

She huffs a quiet laugh, then shivers as he drops another feather-light kiss on her skin.

“They’re rechargeable, but yes, that is the idea,” she snarks, tilting her head to give him better access to her neck.

He rewards her by dropping a slow, tongue-filled kiss right over the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, listening to the way it makes her breath catch before he pulls back and murmurs, “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

When she rolls to dig around in the nightstand, Elliot takes the opportunity to shuck out of his boxer-briefs and sleep pants, his hands finding the hem of her t-shirt and pushing it up and off as she rolls back toward him, prize in hand. She’s grabbed the lube, too, and she drops it next to her hip, loosening the neck of the small black satin bag in her other hand until the sex toy tumbles from it. It’s… not what he was expecting.

Last time they did this, she’d pulled out a pretty standard vibrator, a shaft of deep purple silicone with an ergonomic curve and a thankfully non-threatening girth. It had been easy to slip between their bodies, easy to press against her clit while he rocked in and out of her slowly, building her up, pushing her over. In the few minutes between her suggestion and just now, he’d already started imagining what it would look like when he took it in his own hand and let it sink into her, how she’d sigh and moan while he controlled the angle and the depth of penetration.

This, he’s never seen before. It’s about the size of a hockey puck, round and flat like one, too, the core of it sleek gold but the outside the same silicone her other vibrator had been (blue, this time). One side of the silicone tapers into an opening about the size of one of his fingertips.

He must have been staring at it, because he hears her chuckle quietly and she tips it in his direction so he can get a better view. There’s a sort of lip around the opening and Elliot brings his finger to it, runs it around in a circle. The silicone is soft and gives a little under his touch.

“This is different,” he says, and Olivia snorts softly.

“That goes over my clit.”

“The hole? That seems… counterproductive.” At the very least, it seems… oblique. Like it would vibrate everywhere but where you really wanted it.

It turns out that assumption is entirely wrong.

“It sort of… pulses,” she tells him, and when he frowns, she presses a button on the side of it, bringing the thing to buzzing life. Then she turns it and presses the opening against the pad of his thumb. At first it just seems to buzz against his skin but then she shifts it just right so that his thumb is covering the hole entirely, and suddenly the sensation shifts to a weird sort of sucking, pulsing vibration.

“Whoa…”

Elliot pulls his thumb away and then presses it back, does it again as she tells him, “It’s… intense. Usually works pretty quickly, and if it’s situated just right, it sort of… goes on and on…”

“Yeah, that’ll shut your brain up,” he murmurs, fascinated by the pulsing vibrations.

“Exactly,” she chuckles. “It’s quick and efficient; good for a busy single mom.”

“Mm,” he hums, slipping it from her hand entirely and experimenting with the buttons on the side, punching the intensity up and discovering he’d only felt it on the lowest setting. The middle button takes it from a steady hum to a buzz-buzz-buzz to a rolling wave, with a few varying speeds of each. He punches the intensity up again and mutters, “Jesus. Do I need to be worried about this thing?”

So much for being man enough to not be intimidated by sex toys.

“No,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. “Don’t think of it as competition; think of it as… a coworker.”

He snorts a laugh. “A coworker?”

“Mmhmm.” She reaches for the toy, nips it from his fingers and presses a button until it shuts off entirely. Her voice is soft, not much more than a whisper, when she tells him, “I want to use it with you inside me.”

Elliot lets out a little groan of appreciation at her confession, his hand settling on her navel and then drifting down, down, until he’s cupping her sex. “You do, huh? Not to get you ready for me?”

“Both,” she tells him, pressing her hips up against his fingers. He gives her a couple of slow, broad rubs, feels the warmth and softness of her, and then he draws his hand away, reaching for the toy again.

“What are we waiting for, then?”

She doesn’t hand it over, though. Instead she drops the toy next to the lube and reaches for his hand, drawing it back down between her thighs. “It can be too intense if I start cold,” Olivia confesses, pressing his fingertips against her clit, rocking up into the touch. “Need to, ah… warm things up a little first.”

“I can do that,” Elliot agrees with a smile, pulling his hand away long enough to rearrange them a bit. He scoots them down the mattress just enough so that he can slip an arm beneath her neck and scoop his knees under her thighs, cradling her side against his torso. She lets her legs drop open, one knee hooked over his upper thigh, the other resting on the mattress. Olivia, he has learned, likes to be held sometimes. Likes to feel him all around her while he’s touching her, while he’s making her come. Likes that it means he can nuzzle against her cheek and whisper naughty things in her ear.

Likes it especially when she’s stressed out, or exhausted, or feeling vulnerable.

When he brings his fingers back to her clit, she sighs contentedly, relaxing into the warmth and solid strength of his body, her eyes dropping shut. He keeps his touches light at first, noses into her hair and presses kisses along her cheekbone as three fingertips coast up and down over her clit, stroke down to her opening, back up. Unhurried, lazy passes to open her up slowly.

He hears her sigh, softly, feels her weight sink just a little bit more against him. She nods, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips, eyes still closed.

“So soft right here,” he murmurs, because she is, because he likes the feel of her. The delicate skin underneath his fingertips, warm and still a little damp from before, increasingly slippery when he dips down toward her opening. He spreads his fingers, dragging them up her lips, skirting around her clit, then stroking directly over it on the way back down, enjoying the way her breath catches at the change. “Does this feel good?” he asks her, his voice soft, barely more than a whisper.

Olivia nods, turning her face toward his, seeking out his mouth with her own. They kiss languidly, tongues brushing, lips pressing. She mumbles something between kisses that sounds like, “More,” so Elliot focuses his touch right over her clit, speeds up just a little bit, uses a little bit more pressure. Olivia sighs into his mouth, a quiet moan breaking free.

They stay just like that for a few minutes, her body responding slowly but surely this time. Before long, her hips are rocking in a gentle counterpoint to his fingers, her breath catching every time he passes directly over her clit. Elliot trails his kisses from her mouth, along her jaw, toward her neck, and she turns her head to accommodate, gasping softly when he sucks a firm kiss right below her ear.

Her hand finds his beneath the covers, her fingers guiding his own down, down, urging his middle finger to sink inside of her. She’s wet and warm for him—not soaking, not tight and hot and aroused the way she sometimes gets, but better than before. Her hand falls away from his, but he stays behind, easing a second finger into her and pressing up toward her belly, lifting his head so he can watch her face as he fingers her. It doesn’t take him long to find that sweet spot inside of her, her lashes fluttering, lips parting on a gasp before she breathes, “Right there.”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, pressing against it in slow, firm circles, “I’ve got you.”

He watches her bite her lip, listens to her moan quietly, and then she’s blinking her eyes open, reaching for the toy and then bottle of lube by her hip. Elliot’s cock twitches, anticipation percolating in his gut. He’s a little wary of the thing, a little worried it’s gonna make him feel obsolete, but he still wants to see what it can do. Wants to watch her come apart for him—and she’d asked for him, he reminds himself. She wants this, the toy and his hand working in tandem to get her off.

Coworkers, she’d said, as goofy as that was.

She squeezes a tiny drop of lube onto the lip of the opening, swirling it around with her fingertip until the silicone is slippery, and then she turns it on to the lowest setting, fiddling with that middle button until it’s set to a slow rolling wave pattern. She glances over at him, a little anxious, he thinks—and he gets it, he does. It’s one thing to fuck someone, it’s another to show them how you fuck yourself, and she’d told him it was intense.

Elliot leans in, presses a kiss to her cheekbone and murmurs against her skin, “Show me.”

Olivia blows out a breath and reaches both hands between her thighs, Elliot shifting his wrist to make room for her, his fingers slipping halfway out. He knows the exact moment she nestles the toy around her clit, because it’s like she’s touched a live wire. Her pussy clenches around his fingers and she sucks air in sharply through her nose, the muscles in her belly jumping the way they do right before she comes.

He murmurs a quiet, “Fuck…” the sudden intensity of the reaction more than he’d been expecting. But then she seems to adjust, relaxing back against him, one hand sliding back up to rest on her belly, the other holding the toy in place between her thighs. He lets his fingers sink deep into her again, but keeps them still, and he can feel the way her body reacts to the rhythm of the pulsing stimulation, her muscles squeezing every time it amps up, loosening every time it ebbs off.

“That feel good, baby?” he asks her, even though he doesn’t need to. He can see it in her face, the way her jaw has gone slack and her brows have pinched, the way her chest keeps rising and falling on deep breaths, her back arching ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” she sighs, adding, “So good…” and then “Why aren’t you moving?”

Elliot chuckles, drawing his fingers out slowly, then pressing them deep. She groans, deep and guttural, and he feels a lick of satisfaction at knowing that little rush of pleasure was caused by him and not the toy.

“Seemed like you might need a second to settle in.”

Olivia nods, her breath catching as the wave crests, her muscles squeezing around him again. Then she gasps, “I’m settled. Please—keep going,” and so he does, fucking her slowly with his fingers. It’s not what she wants though, almost immediately, she asking for, “Faster, and… a little—oh, fuck, El—a little harder… please…”

He finds her g-spot again, aims for it with every pump of his fingers, working her in short, sharp thrusts, and Olivia blooms for him. Suddenly, she’s wet, slippery around his fingers, her thighs parting even wider, her back arching, high, tight moans sounding in her throat as her cheeks flush pink.

Jesus, she’s close already and it’s been maybe a minute. Quick and efficient was an understatement.

Her free hand gropes at his hip, nails scraping, and he shifts the arm under her neck, curling it in until he can grasp high on her arm and hold her against him. “Let go, baby,” he urges her. “I’ve got you. So close for me, hmm?”

“Yeah!” she squeaks, her body tense, tight, right on the edge.

“So pretty right before you come for me,” he praises, and she whines, her brows pinching tight, she’s so close. He gives her one more little push, working his fingers faster against her g-spot and urging, “Come on my fingers, baby, come right now,” and as the next wave crests, she does exactly that.

She comes hard, her muscles tensing like she’s been shocked, a sharp “Aah!” spilling from her lips as she clamps tight around his fingers. She twitches and gasps, cries out again; Elliot urges her face into his neck to muffle her moans and her mouth latches onto him there, wet tongue and sharp teeth and the unsteady whooshes of her breath against his skin. She lets out another high-pitched sound of intense pleasure, and then her shoulders slacken just a little, her belly unclenches. Her breaths go quick, but deep, her belly expanding and contracting again and again, and the tight clench of her muscles around his fingers eases into a steady rhythmic squeezing.

Christ, he thinks she might still be coming.

She’s gone quiet, though, her breath washing against his neck, but no moans, no squeaks, no cries. Elliot nudges her head out from his neck so he can see her face, and finds her blissed out. Her eyes are shut but the furrow between her brows has smoothed away, her lips are parted but slack. Her muscles ripple around his fingers again and her brow twitches, but the intensity seems to have ebbed. He remembers her telling him it goes on and on and he thinks this must be what she meant, because the sharp peak of her orgasm has subsided, but she’s not coming down. She’s settled into some high plateau of pleasure and is hovering there, flushed all the way down from her cheeks to her chest, her silence giving way to low-pitched, breathy moans.

For a second he wonders why she ever bothers fucking him, when she can get herself here in under five minutes, but then he reminds himself, she’d wanted both, and that she’s been falling into his bed or hers together pretty much weekly for the last eight months and change. The toy might be able to shut her brain off entirely for a few minutes, but it can’t touch her, hold her, kiss her, love her, and he can.

So he does, leaning in to kiss her cheek, her nose, her parted lips. She reacts just a second too late to the last one, her mouth chasing his as he pulls away, so he delves in for another, a whimpering moan vibrating against his tongue.

He presses their brows together, breathes her air, and murmurs, “Beautiful…”

Olivia Mmms softly, and then gasps, “Fingers—El—don’t stop—”

He had stopped. She’d clamped so tight when she’d come that he could barely move in her, and he’s just been letting her squeeze and squirm on him ever since, but he starts moving again now, dragging his fingers over her g-spot again and again, then pushing his fingers in deep as she clenches. Olivia’s head grinds back against his bicep, a grateful moan tumbling from her lip.

“That what you needed?” he asks, and she nods, and moans again, her lashes fluttering. Her breaths start to quicken, and her back starts to arch, and, Jesus, “You gonna come again, baby?”

Her only answer is a moan, low and throaty; she shakes her head back and forth, and then nods, her hips rolling into his touch, the toy, her torso starting to squirm and wriggle.

“Yeah, you are,” he praises, switching to long, deep, quick strokes of his fingers and watching her back arch even deeper. “Come on, baby, one more, then I gotta be inside you.”

He’s rock hard and aching, erection pressed against her writhing hips, but Christ, watching her come like this, ride this wave of pleasure, is intoxicating. He wants to be inside her—she’s so wet now that he can hear the sound of his fingers moving in and out of her, even around the low buzz of the toy, and so tight he’s almost not sure he’ll fit. Just the thought of sinking his cock into her right now makes his head swim, but she’s climbing that edge again and he wants her to come one more time before he fucks her.

It doesn’t take long, and it doesn’t take much, just a few more whispered words of adoration and encouragement, and a half dozen or so well-placed thrusts of his fingers, and she seizes up again with a shout, her orgasm slamming into her like a freight train. He muffles her in his neck again, lets her squeeze his fingers like a vise and holds her tight as she quakes her way up and over the summit.

This time, she yanks the toy away after, her breath heaving, her hands a little shaky as she jams the button to turn the vibration off. Elliot slips his fingers from her. They’re soaked, tip to knuckle and a little bit more pooling at the top of his palm. Elliot gives himself a stroke, coating his cock in her and thinking they’re definitely not going to need the lube after that.

“Holy shit, Liv,” he marvels; she lets out a breathless chuckle and just says, Yeah…, shooting him a guilty little glance. And he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want her to feel guilty about something that made her feel so good. So he tells her, “I could watch you come like that all day,” guiding one of those shaky hands down to wrap around his cock so she can feel just how much he’s been enjoying the show.

“I think that’d kill me,” she chuckles breathlessly, giving him a couple of strokes. And then suddenly she’s moving, her limbs a little clumsy as she shifts onto her side, her back toward him, arching her hips to press her ass in his direction. “Wanna feel you,” she urges, and, Jesus, she doesn’t have to tell him twice.

Elliot moans eagerly, shimmying a little closer, shifting until he’s spooned all along her back, her head pillowed on his bicep, one hand reaching between them and dragging the head of his cock through her soaked folds.

God, she feels good.

He lines up and sinks into her, and she’s still so fucking tight that he has to ease in inch by inch, opening her slowly, pressing in, then pulling back slightly, pressing in a little deeper, over and over until he’s buried to the hilt in her, his hips pressed snugly against her ass.

“Jesus, Liv, you feel…” She’s never been this slippery without assistance, and she’s never been quite this snug, her body still tense from the two earth-shaking orgasms they’d just given her. When she reaches for the toy, he almost laughs. This is going to be over fast.

Elliot runs his palm down her hip, over her thigh, lifting it and helping her tuck her ankle behind his knee. She fiddles with the control again, adjusting the rhythm from the wave to the steady buzz, and Elliot takes the time to kiss her shoulder, to cup her breast in his palm and stroke his thumb back and forth over her nipple. When she moves the toy between her legs, he holds his breath, and when it settles against her this time the squeeze of her muscles around his cock nearly makes him cross-eyed.

Fuck.

He moans into her neck, presses his face against her, then starts to move his hips. Her head snaps back at the combined pleasure of his cock and the toy, a blissful moan tumbling from her.

“Shh, baby,” he urges, right against her ear, moving his hips faster even as he tells her, “Gotta keep it down.”

It’s a pipe dream; there’s no way. No way to tamp down the moans that pop up and out every time he pulls back and plunges into her, his cock pressing up against her g-spot. He’s got his arm spread out beneath her head and she gropes for it, grasping his fingers with hers and gripping hard as she moans and moans. Elliot squeezes back, every thrust into her wet heat making pleasure flood through him, but Jesus, they can’t be this loud. He curls their joined arms up until she can press her face into them and muffle her cries there, Elliot burying his own grunting groans in the side of her neck and the tangle of her hair.

She comes quickly, and hard, Elliot grinding to a halt inside of her as she squeezes so tight his breath catches. Thankfully, this orgasm seems to have sucked all the breath out of her, too. She doesn’t scream or moan this time, just shakes, pressing her face into their arms as her hips lurch. He has to wrap an arm around her middle to keep her from bucking right off of him, pressing his cock deep into her again and murmuring in her ear, “That’s it, baby, come on me, I’ve got you, feels sofuckinggood, Christ…”

He groans at the feel of her, stays buried deep but gives her short, shallow thrusts when he can’t stand to be still anymore, his own desire itching at his spine, scratching low in his gut.

By the time she relaxes, yanking the vibrator from between her thighs and tossing it a few inches away, Elliot is eager and aching. But she’s shaky and panting, and she’s just had three hard orgasms; he doesn't want to hurt her.

“Liv, I gotta…” he murmurs, drawing back halfway and then pressing back in. She moans, deep and throaty, nodding. “S’okay?”

“Yeah,” she rasps, groping back, grabbing for his ass and urging, “Fuck me” as she gives him a little tug into her.

God, what a change from an hour ago when she couldn’t seem to get into this at all. Everything that had been on her mind has been fucked right out of it, and she is here with him, present, nothing else mattering but the heights of pleasure he can drive her to.

But he’s been patient, he’s put all the focus on her, on getting her out of her head, and now he needs to be a little selfish. But only a little—he still wants her to enjoy this, and it probably won’t take him long to finish now, anyway. It doesn’t take much effort to roll her onto her belly, resituating so he’s kneeling behind her, and Olivia moans a desperate, “Oh God,” before he even presses back into her. Elliot grins; she loves it like this, and they both know it.

She gropes for a pillow, dragging it down and burying her face in it as Elliot buries himself in her, holding tight to her hips and pressing deep. He gives her two slow thrusts, just to make sure she’s still soaked and open for him, and then he fucks her, just like she asked. He takes her quick and hard, holding her hips, plunging his cock into her, and that pillow is doing a lot of heavy lifting to tamp down the cries of pleasure she’s letting loose. Elliot’s not faring much better, grunting every time he bottoms out in her, moaning as she starts to tighten around him again.

This is for him, to finish him off; he’s pretty sure neither of them expected to wring another orgasm out of her. But just as he starts to feel his own pleasure coil tight, ready to spring open, she starts to arch her hips back the way she does when he takes her this way, the noises of pleasure muffled into the pillow becoming positively obscene.

She’s riding the edge of orgasm number four, and this time it’s all because of him, and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna finish before that. He tries to think of something else, the score of the last Mets game and the one before that, anything to back him away from that edge, to hold on just a little bit longer as she fists the pillow and moans for him and angles her hips just so. Just when he thinks he’s not going to be able to hold on a minute longer, it slams through her like a wave, her sex tightening around him and then—Jesus, oh Jesus, fuck—she’s gushing, the smack of their hips going wet and sloppy, and he’s a goner, he can’t hold back another second when she’s coming like that all around him. Elliot drives in deep, and spills every last drop inside of her, holding her hips tight to his.

He loses himself for a second, the bliss of coming inside her shorting his brain out temporarily. When the fog clears, he realizes she’s still shaking, little aftershocks of pleasure rippling through her as she lays curled in a boneless heap on the mattress. Her breath is coming in deep, panting whooshes; Elliot presses a tender kiss to her shoulder just as she exhales a stunned, “Wow…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, peppering more kisses over her scapula. Then he shifts, slipping out of her completely, the soft sound of pleasure and full-body shiver she lets loose in response making him feel ridiculously smug. The tops of his thighs are wet from where she’d gushed as she came, and there’s a darkening damp spot on the lavender cotton beneath her hip. Jesus, she really had come. He runs his hand over her hip, palms her ass affectionately, and teases, “Think we’re gonna have to change the sheets.”

The laugh she lets out in response is a little bit delirious, rising breathlessly and then petering out. “Yeah,” she scoffs, her breath finally starting to slow. “Wow.”

She seems pretty content not to move—pretty content to never move again from the looks of it, and considering how she’d started out this evening, he counts that as quite an achievement. He wants to see her face, though, so he heaves himself to the other side of her, flopping down onto the mattress and curling his arm under his head. They’re all askew, splayed diagonally across the middle of the bed, but he doesn’t mind. They’ll get themselves sorted out eventually.

Her eyes have been closed, a beatific smile curving her gorgeous lips, her cheeks freckley and flushed from her orgasm. But when he settles in front of her, she cracks her eyes open, her lips curving further as she murmurs, “Hey, there.”

“Hey,” he answers, weaving his fingers through hers, and squeezing before he murmurs, “I didn’t know that was, ah… a thing you could do,”

Her brows lift, question or confusion, he’s not sure. He glances down pointedly between her legs, her flushed sex currently hidden between her closed knees. She ohs softly, and then tells him, “It’s only happened a couple of times. And usually I was alone.”

Elliot frowns and fishes the vibrator from the sheets, holding it up between them and declaring, “I’m not sure I like this thing.”

Olivia snorts, reaching for it and snatching it back, curling it against her chest as she threatens, “Anything happens to it, you’re meeting the same fate. It helps me sleep.”

“It helps you sleep?” he questions, incredulous, because there is no way her primary defense of the thing that just rocked her world is its use as a sleep aid. But then again, she is still blissed out on top of her sheets, thoroughly relaxed and blinking sleepily, the rush of endorphins from her back-to-back orgasms clearly mellowing her out. And he’s pretty certain there was a long stretch there without a single thought in her big, busy brain.

Sure enough, she tells him, “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, an orgasm helps. Relaxes me, clears my head. This is the quickest, most efficient way to get off when I’m already tired.” She leaves it tucked between her breast and the mattress, but slides her hand across the sheets, her fingers weaving with his again as she admits, “This was the first time I’ve used it with a partner. It was…” Her eyes widen comically. “...something else.”

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he teases, and she snorts in disbelief and declares it an understatement.

“With you inside me, and that—” Her eyes drop shut for a moment, like she’s savoring the memory, feeling the echoes of the pleasure. “It was like every cell in my body was exploding. I could feel it in my hair.”

Elliot snorts, squeezing her fingers with his and bringing them to his lips before deciding, “Alright. It can stay.”

She mutters something that sounds like, “Damn right,” and then she’s quiet, another contented sigh slipping from her.

He can’t let her nod off yet, as much as he likes seeing her like this, settled and sleepy, without a worry in the world. At the very least, they need to rearrange themselves on the bed, but he knows she’ll want to go get cleaned up, and that she doesn’t like to sleep naked if he’s staying all night and there’s any chance of them being walked in on in the morning.

He wiggles their hands, urges, “Hey, don’t fade on me yet.” She cracks one eye open at him and frowns. “If I let you fall asleep now, you’ll gripe at me about UTIs in the morning. Even though you haven’t had one the whole time we’ve been together.”

“You know why?” she asks, finally uncurling, stretching her legs out with a grunt.

“Because you always get up?”

“Because I always get up,” she confirms, pushing up until she’s sitting and then scowling and glancing down between her thighs.

“I’ll change them while you’re in the bathroom,” he assures her, smirking as she curses softly at the combined mess they made of her. She scoots toward the edge of the bed, slipping off the mattress and standing—or trying to anyway, but she wobbles and plops right back onto her butt.

Elliot grins, smug and satisfied. “I’m taking credit for that.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, pushing herself to her feet again, her knees cooperating this time.

She grabs a robe and the sex toy, disappearing into the bathroom and Elliot takes the time she spends cleaning herself up to strip the sheets, balling them up and shoving them in her hamper. By the time she finishes, he’s remade the bed, set out a pair of pajamas for her, and put a fresh cup of water on each side of the bed.

He has the lights down low and the covers turned down when she returns from the bathroom, slipping into the pajamas and crawling into bed beside him. She takes a few gulps of water, then turns out the light, following eagerly when Elliot reaches to pull her in against his side. Her knee slips between his, her head pillowing against his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs into his chest, pressing a kiss against his bare skin.

“For the sex?” he teases, giving her a little jostling squeeze. “You never have to thank me for that.”

“No, not for that,” she chuckles. “For being here tonight, even though you had to work late. For coming back. Loving me.”

She says the last part quietly; if it wasn’t for the late night silence, he might have missed it.

Elliot presses his lips to her forehead, his heart clenching with both guilt as affection as he murmurs into her hair, “Should have come back sooner; never should’ve left like that. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she tells him, running her hand up his belly, over his chest. Soothing him, he thinks, and that doesn’t seem fair, considering. “I didn’t mean to bring up… I’m just glad we have this, now.”

“Me too.” He drops more kisses into her hair, feels her body relax against his, the weight of her comforting and familiar now. He rubs his thumb up and down her bicep, his voice pitched low as he murmurs, “Always gonna love you, Liv. Always have.”

She hums, a soft, sleepy sound, then tells him, “Me too.”

He stays awake until he feels her breath deepen and her muscles slacken, and then he finally closes his eyes and lets himself follow her.