6With Noah being whisked away by his Uncle Nick and his kids for a Saturday afternoon of fun in the sun at the nearest beach, Olivia has decided to enjoy her solo time. She's working on a strawberry pecan salad with feta cheese, grilled chicken, grapes and mandarin oranges along with her favorite Sauvignon Blanc. And since it's too damn hot to be in the streets, she's decided to enjoy the A/C and streaming services she pays for. Halfway through her food and an Ozark marathon, her cell rings and she prays it's not work-related.
"Captain Benson."
"Hi, Captain Benson," he greets. "This is Harry from security."
"Oh, hi. What can I do for you, Harry?"
"There's a Detective Elliot Stabler here to see you," he informs her. "Just wanted to get your permission to let him up," he adds. "His ID checks out."
Olivia's dumbfounded. Elliot didn't call or text her. He's been back nearly two years and the only time he's ever popped up unannounced was when he was drugged out of his mind.
"Uh, sure Harry. That's fine."
"I'll send him right up."
She rushes to her bedroom and takes a quick look in the floor-length mirror. Her glasses are atop her "bed head", and there's a strawberry vinaigrette drip stain on the front of the old Mets t-shirts she wears plus a hole at the knee of threadbare yoga pants.
Olivia has about three minutes to make herself presentable.
It didn't use to be this way. She's been around Elliot in clothes she'd worn for two days, ruined makeup, and stale coffee breath. They've seen one another at their worst.
But today?
Today she runs to the bathroom to brush her teeth, wash her face, shake her hair out and run a brush through it. Olivia puts on the barest of makeup for the natural look, strips out of Brian's old shirt, and trades it for a white, thigh-length linen blouse. She does the river dance out of her old yoga capris and pulls on some dark wash jeans just in time to hear his signature knocks on the door.
Olivia takes some deep breaths and tries to remind herself she's known this man for over twenty years so the butterflies in her stomach are bullshit. After one last exhale she pulls the door open. He's wearing a faded black t-shirt from The Cure's 1989 tour, well-worn light-washed jeans, and casual sneakers. Every thread of cotton kisses and hugs his body as if it never wants to part from him. The azure blue of his eyes is deep and every line and wrinkle he's collected over the years only adds character to his handsome face. Olivia knows he's always had a great body. But this?
The shit's not fair.
"Hey, Liv," Elliot says with a smile. "I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced but…I wanted to see if we could talk?"
"Uh, yeah sure."
She steps back to allow him in and the wholly masculine scent of him wafts up her nose mixed with whatever cologne he's chosen. Again, Olivia has to remind herself that her former partner is not a new acquaintance. She's known him nearly half the amount of time she's been alive.
There's absolutely no reason for him to have this effect on her.
"That doesn't exactly look like family-friendly viewing," Elliot notices, slipping off his shoes near the coat rack. "Where's Noah?"
Olivia smiles at his observation.
"He's hanging out with my other old partner and his kids today," she answers. "Nick took them all to the beach."
"Didn't feel like breaking out your bikini?" He asks, taking a seat on her sofa.
"Bikini?" She repeats with a laugh. "Uh, no. I just didn't feel like fighting traffic, tourists, and ninety-degree weather today," she adds, grabbing her glass and entering the kitchen.
"Good choice."
"I have water, green tea, and a summer ale unless…you'd prefer a glass of white wine?"
"A cold beer sounds great."
Olivia tops off her Sauvignon Blanc, grabs a bottle of Shock Top out of the fridge, and joins him on the sofa. She picks up the remote, shuts off the TV, and turns to him.
"So, what's on your mind?"
Elliot takes his own sip and then a deep breath. Not a great indication of where the conversation may be heading.
"You," he answers, surprising her.
"Me?" She asks. "If this is about using Barba for—
"—No, Liv," he interrupts. "This isn't about him. I have no idea what you're talking about and that's probably for the best."
"Then, what?"
"I've noticed that when we work together it's…effortless, easy, just like old times," Elliot says. "But any time I suggest doing anything outside of SVU or OC? You have an excuse."
She's going to need more wine.
"It's not that I don't want to El, but the timing…between the Albanians, the aftermath of the Wheatley trial, and now the Brotherhood," she explains. "It hasn't exactly been safe to be around you."
It's a good thing Olivia doesn't know about the hitwoman the Marcy Killers sent after him and the resulting need to remodel his condo. Now that was unsafe.
"What about now?"
The unexpected question has her flustered.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you could catch me up on this show it looks like you're binge-watching," Elliot begins. "I'll order some food unless you have more of that salad and I'll leave before Noah comes back."
He ends the proposal with a grin and a show of his dimples and instantly, Olivia knows it's a terrible idea. She and him? Alone? No five-foot, curly-haired buffer? With a bare ring finger? And him looking like the subject of a damn "Fit at Fifty Plus" Muscle & Fitness magazine cover?
Hell no. Run for the hills, Olivia Benson! Get rid of him! Make an excuse! Any excuse will do!
"Okay," she says, grabbing the remote. "But I wanna table any heavy talk for another time," she adds. "I'm taking advantage of being child-free today."
Weak is what she is. Weak like the bladder of an octogenarian on a roller coaster. Just weak.
"Whatever you want, Liv."
Hours later Elliot's eyes are glued to the TV and the intriguing plotline and Olivia's are focused on him. He sits wide-legged on one corner of the sofa as Olivia's legs are curled beneath her in the other. She's seen the episode they're watching so he's definitely a more interesting subject. The muscles of his thighs, apparent through his jeans. His sinewy forearms and biceps. The blue eyes staring at her. His voice.
Calling her name…
"Liv?"
"Yeah – uh, sorry," she stumbles. "What were you saying?"
Elliot grins as he starts gathering the trash from his takeout and her salad bowl. She follows him into the kitchen with her glass and his empty bottle. Olivia shows him where her bins are and grabs him another Shock Top.
When she closes the door of the fridge, he's right there. With both in bare feet, he's got at least four inches of height on her. Olivia hadn't noticed he's taken the beer from her hand and set it aside. He's casually leaning his left shoulder against the fridge, staring down at her.
"When you said, friends for now," he begins. "How long is…for now?"
His voice drops a few octaves with the question and it's really not Olivia's fault when she slips her lower lip in her mouth, focusing his attention there. Her body is in full betrayal mode. She's not trying to flirt. It seems to be second nature, an instinct she no longer has to suppress where he's concerned.
"Until we agree we're both ready for what's next," she answers, stuffing both hands in her pockets.
Elliot moves away from the fridge to lessen the distance between them.
"And if I could assure you that I'm ready," he begins in that same voice. "Then what?"
Olivia thinks her A/C must be on the fritz because she's suddenly very warm.
"I don't have all the answers," she admits. "That's something else we should figure out...together."
"Are you ready?"
She has zero clues about what he's asking if she's ready for and that raspy whisper he's doing is hypnotic. But she must want to find out because she's nodding the affirmative without giving it a second thought. Elliot places his palms against her face, using a thumb to caress the soft skin of her right cheek. He leans down slowly, making his intention clear.
"Can I—
"—Yes."
Olivia had willpower for twelve whole years. But since he propositioned her with "just come" after that fiasco with the youngest Stabler, it took a gigantic ass leap off the Empire State building.
Now? Now she's weaker than Superman wearing a kryptonite necklace.
Elliot smiles before finally, blissfully touching his lips to hers. It's tentative at first, both testing the waters. But when he grazes on her lower lip, Olivia instantly opens her mouth for him. He takes advantage, sliding his tongue alongside hers, weaving his hands through her hair and tilting her head so he can devour her completely.
For her part, Olivia places her hands on his taut stomach before sliding them higher to feel his strong chest. Elliot's heart is beating just as fast as hers and she smiles into the kiss thinking he's just as nervous and excited as she is. And judging by what she feels against her thigh, she's leaning towards the latter. Their kiss lasts for long intense moments until his warm palm finds its way beneath her blouse on her lower back. Elliot's touch elicits an immediate gasp from her and a moan from him.
Neither of them noticed moving to the wall near the hallway or how tightly they'd been pressed against one another.
"I should go," Elliot says, nearly out of breath. "Noah's probably gonna be back soon."
Olivia knows he's right but pulling away from him feels damn near painful. Between the three glasses of wine and the heat of his body against hers, she was about two seconds away from going for the button of his jeans.
And all they did was kiss. They should both get Nobel Peace Prizes for self-restraint.
"Uh, yeah," she manages, trailing him out of the kitchen. "I hadn't noticed the time."
It'll be getting colder near the water and Nick should be packing up the kids now. It's more than an hour's drive but Noah will be bounding through the door soon enough. And catching his mother making out with a man he's met once isn't a good look.
But one thing they cemented this afternoon is that the ridiculous "My Friend Elliot" and "My Friend Olivia" starts to conversations have been exhausted.
He's tying his laces when she approaches him.
"Hey, my—Elliot?"
"Yes, my Olivia," he answers with a smirk.
"I'm free Friday night if you want to get dinner."
"You asking me out, Benson?" He asks, walking to her foyer.
"No," Olivia tells him, smirking. "I'm informing you of an opening in my schedule," she continues once they reach her front door.
Elliot intertwines their fingers, pulls her close then moves to rest both hands on her lower back as hers slide up his chest. Apparently, they're comfortable with touching one another like this now.
"Olivia, will you have dinner with me next Friday at 7 pm?"
"Barring work emergencies for either of us, I think I can do that."
This time when he kisses her, there's nothing tentative about it. It's deep and passionate, firmly pushing any idea of a platonic relationship from her mind. The wall he's moved her against says that Elliot's in agreement. She has to push him away to catch her breath and bring them both to their senses.
"You can't keep kissing me like that," Olivia tells him as he backs away. "Kicking you out is already hard enough."
He gets a wide predatory grin on his face, taking a leisurely look over her body before meeting her eyes again. It causes a deepening flush to her already warm skin.
"And don't look at me like that either."
Honestly, Elliot's given her the look before but that was when he had a ring on his finger.
"Not my fault you taste so good."
"God," she says, laughing. "And absolutely don't say shit like that to me," she adds. "Not now that we've—
"—Had our first kiss?"
"Yeah," she agrees. "And I feel like we could easily get…carried away."
His eyes darken as he looks her over again but restrains himself. Elliot gives her a chaste but lingering kiss on her cheek releases her and opens the door.
"Night, Liv."
"Goodnight."
Olivia watches as he steps onto the elevator, then closes up behind him. As she leans against the cool surface, she thinks that self-care Saturdays are about to get a lot more exciting.