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Olivia’s fantasies are simpler these days, but her mind occasionally drifts back to the many erotic dreams she’s had of Elliot over the years.
After a difficult interrogation, dealing with some slimeball scum-of-the-earth putrid excuse for a human, the need to shower and scrub away the grime and grit and disgust of the day enveloping their weary souls. They enter the cribs together, stopping at their tandem lockers to gather fresh clothes, then wordlessly head to the stalls. There is no element of surprise as one follows the other inside, no hesitance or resistance, no talks of all the reasons why not. Elliot takes her (or, in many of those early fantasies, she takes him), right there, in a wide open stall with nothing but the flimsy shower curtain amplifying every moan, gasp, and smack of skin. It’s risky, reckless, dangerously seductive, the thrill of getting caught edging her imagination repeatedly, chasing her release.
Before a court appearance, one has to take the stand, or both are anxiously awaiting a verdict. They find a moment to channel that anticipation into something satiating and settling, quelling the nervous thrum in their veins. It’s quick, ducking into a bathroom, back when there weren’t so many cameras canvassing every hallway, the thrill of potential voyeurism meeting the calm that bringing each other to orgasm provides. They enter the courtroom together afterward, the other spectators none the wiser.
After a screaming match over a suspect’s guilt, neither seeing eye-to-eye, Cragen yells at them to go cool off in neutral corners. That would be the cribs for Elliot, the roof for her, both storming off in a seething huff. Eventually, one seeks out the other to fight or make up. What starts as an admonishment or apology ends in a searing kiss, all gnashing teeth and crushing lips, tongues dueling for control as hands grip and rip and possess.
Before her mother’s funeral. Elliot was so careful with her after Serena died, so attentive and kind. The wake left her angry and exhausted, and when she got home that night, she imagined him in her bed. An escape from the loneliness and emptiness, preparing to bury her fractured relationship by burying him inside of her over and over again.
After Gitano, when she allowed herself to finally acknowledge that she was hopelessly, heartbreakingly in love with him. This is the one where she can never find the right words, those three ones, even in her dreams, so she invents scenes that come straight from movies or long-shipped television shows. They give each other that look from across the room, the kind that says everything they aren’t permitted to admit, then march towards each other and let the storm overtake them, walking into a tornado and never looking back. The orgasms are fiercely drawn from her, and the I love yous ping pong inside of her like a mantra as she reaches bliss.
Before she left him, when that love was too much and she was willingly whisked away to the other side of the country, she imagined saying a proper goodbye (or never leaving at all). She always surprises him in this scenario, his confused glances turning to lustful growls as she sheds her clothing and pounces, taking what’s finally hers.
After Dani. She had nowhere to put her jealousy then, seeing Elliot so comfortable with a new partner. She knew something happened between them, and the ‘ what about me?’ this time died in her throat, even though she wanted to shake him and scream. So she conjures up fast, angry scenarios ending with her warm mouth wrapped around his cock or his talented tongue roughly dancing along her clit. Powerful fantasies that simmered within as they moved past and moved forward.
Before he fell back into bed with Kathy. She’s brave enough for both of them in this fantasy, one of the many she will overanalyze and regret not acting upon. They are on his stoop talking about Valerie Sennet and flowers in her cup, then she follows him inside when he grabs his wallet for breakfast. The diner waits.
After a dangerous undercover assignment, memories of an animal smuggling ring or a swingers’ bar turn lustful and erotic. Where uncovered skin meets an unspoken need, giving into temptation after one too many years of restraint, after one too many near-death experiences. The rush of adrenaline blends with the closeness of naked flesh, revealing more, more, more. Never enough, chasing a release too many years in the making.
Before he left her for ten years. That one has always been a tricky one for her to muster up, but she finds a way nonetheless. In each iteration, whatever they do makes him stay. Right reasons, wrong reasons, everything in between, this fantasy is crafted out of hurt and sorrow, her heart filled with unanswered questions. She fucks herself wantonly in his absence and always comes with tears in her eyes.
After Lewis. This fantasy isn’t a sexual one, at first. It comes from a place of fear, of devastation, of want. She needs him in a way she’s never felt before, a visceral, vulnerable, clawing sensation. A blend of knowing he’d tear Lewis to pieces and knowing she’d feel the safety and protection from him that no one can replicate. It starts slowly, a handhold or a hug, as she learns to let go of the terror and trust again. Gradually, it shifts into everything she knows he would carefully give to her and everything he’d allow her to take.
Before his return, countless times for countless reasons, imagining him instead of Brian, David, or Ed. Internally screaming his name during a mindless one-night stand. Moaning for him when her vibrator got her off, and many times that added measure being the only way she could.
After his return, three years of guilty fantasies in the wake of Kathy’s death. All of those past selves amplified within Elliot’s parallel universe, the confirmation that he acknowledges that they were something more, wondering if he spent just as much time fantasizing about her as she did about him. His declarations of love, family, apology, and protection overtake her conscious thoughts, and she dreams of him caretaking, comforting, bringing her to ecstasy over and over again. In these moments, she’s ready .
(She still fantasizes about all of these things, all of those befores, afters, and in-betweens, thinks about psych evals, kidneys, mortgaging his house for her, an urgent care in Ohio. However, now she prefers the simpler, cozier versions: the ones not birthed from trauma or the perils of the job. The ones that mean more, the ones that matter, and the ones she doesn’t have to imagine because they are tangible and real.)
Yes, nowadays, her fantasies are quieter, wholesome.
Tonight, she’s in soft clothes, a sweater and leggings, wearing the fuzziest slippers she’s ever owned, a past gift from Noah that he insisted she wears to celebrate the first autumn snowflakes that descended upon the city. As per tradition, the hot chocolate station is set up on the center kitchen island, the fireplace is lit and casting its dutiful warmth throughout their living room, and Noah is happily scrolling the streaming apps to select their first Christmas movie to watch of the season. There’s chatter of trees and lights and presents, and while they haven’t even trick-or-treated yet, there’s something about that first snowfall that conjures the holiday magic, regardless of the date on the calendar.
There is one notable addition to their yearly snowflake celebration: Elliot is taking up generous space on her couch, just as he has in her mind over the past 25 years. He patiently answers her son’s many questions and seems as content as can be to spend another normal night with the Bensons.
This diorama makes her heart flutter in ways that no dream has mustered, and makes her body betray all rational thought. Of all the fantasies, this is the one that she could never quite imagine, and now that it’s real, she finds herself often overwhelmed by the sheer force of her emotions and his proximity. They’ve been exploring the idea of them since the summer, finally taking active steps towards happiness. It didn’t take long after that for everything to naturally fall into place, naturally fall into each other’s beds, and naturally begin blending their families.
She says those three elusive words often now and lets him say them back.
He quietly teased her about the slippers when they had a moment alone, calling them an ultimate turn-on, and asked her why she’s never worn them in the bedroom before. Now, all she can think about is wiping that flirtatious, comical smirk off of his face by taking him in her mouth with nothing on but those slippers.
Maybe her newfound fantasies aren’t so wholesome after all.