Elliot answered on the third ring. She didn't give him a chance to speak. "Come over."
A pause, a few scattered breaths. There was music in the background but no voices-he was in his dorm room alone. Finally, "Why?"
"Because I want you to," she said. "Because you want to."
"How would you know what I want?" he demanded. It was harsh and defensive. Bingo.
"Because you do."
She hung up the phone.
Ten minutes later she answered the door and found him glaring at her, eyes narrow and full of too much emotion to sift through. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with his usual blazer, snow dusting the shoulders. She had a handful of seconds to look him over before his hands were cupping her face and his mouth was slicing across hers, frantic and cold. It was overwhelming and hard and she could already taste salt-her eyes had begun to tear as soon as she took sight of him in the doorway. The heaviness of his body against hers, her arms hooked tight around his neck, the familiar smell of his pretentious cologne, it was right. It was stupid but it was so fucking right.
The door slammed shut, he must have kicked it. They didn't take time to carefully remove items of clothing and fold them on the desk: she shoved the blazer off his shoulders as she laved a kiss on his neck, feeling his pulse stutter under her tongue. He yanked off his shirt as she fumbled with his belt and the button fly of his jeans, his hands eventually knocking hers away to make quick work of the buttons himself. Shoes, he had to kick off his fucking shoes and she would have laughed as he struggled to toe them off without undoing the laces if it weren't so serious. And then he was standing there in front of her in his black Calvin Kleins, acres of tanned, toned skin she still knew as well as her own, and he had that vicious burning look in his eyes and it was all she could manage not to grab his neck and wrap herself around him. It had been too long.
He stepped forward to grab the bottom of her dress and guide it up over her head in one smooth motion. Her hands were shaking; she was trembling from the draft in the room and from the need she felt for months not believing this would happen again. It was need the likes of which she had never known, buried under careful decisions and career plans and weekly planners and pretending and pretending and pretending until it hurt that she was okay, that she didn't still want him, that she wasn't completely fucking in love with the wounded terror of a gentleman currently standing in front of her like he was ready to destroy her at any moment. For a second she was afraid. But then he was everywhere again, teeth nipping at her lower lip, arms twining around her waist and crushing her against him.
The back of her thighs hit the bed and without an attempt at gentleness he hoisted her up and sat her on its edge. She didn't want to stop kissing him, even as he unfastened her bra and dropped it on the floor, even as he wound a finger into the hem of her panties and yanked them down her legs to tangle around an ankle, even as she groped on the nightstand for the jewelry box where she kept the condoms, even as he stepped out of his boxers and his cock sprung up against his stomach. She only stopped kissing him when he looked down to put on the condom and she had a moment to study his face. Beautiful, young, temporarily free of all the stress and the madness and the barely restrained hurt of the fall. It hit her like a kick in the ribs, it was true, it was true, she loved him. She loved Elliot.
As if hearing the thought slam into existence, he looked up and stared back full of naked fear and desire and finally understood need. They both stopped breathing as he lined himself up, standing between her thighs. She reached out to touch his face, cup his cheek in her hand, thumb running under his eye and finding the fragile skin wet like her own. Her heart lurched as he turned his face into her palm, nuzzling into the caress. Then with a slow thrust he was inside of her and her eyes shuttered closed. A shudder passed between them and neither moved for a moment she would have wished would never end if she didn't so badly want him to break her as only he could. Lips closed around her thumb, sucking it gently into his mouth, his tongue tasting the salt. She opened her eyes again and found him staring at her still, and she could swear she saw love there.
But that didn't need to be said. Not now. What she needed was him, was movement, was this before her skin burst out in flames. She wove her legs around his back and dug her ankles into his ass, urging him closer. A flicker of a smile curled his lips as he obeyed the wordless command and drew out slowly before thrusting in again. The force of it sent her backward, her weight propped on her elbows, and the bedframe slammed against the wall. He looked satisfied by the noise for a moment before the expression was replaced with raw need for more, and his hands tightened at her hips as she tangled her fingers in the sheets. He dragged her forward against him and she gasped as he fucked her with the full exertion of too long without. She had not forgotten, oh no she had not forgotten this for a goddamn second, but she never thought she would feel it again. The crown of her head hit the wall and she reached an unsteady hand behind her to push herself away. Elliot grabbed her hips and dragged her forward, muttering a brief apology, but it didn't hurt-she barely noticed. And then he stilled, a sweaty hand finding her jaw and forcing her to meet his eyes, dark and wide and focused. Her throat went dry.
"Bend over the bed."
She didn't need to be told twice. He drew out of her and stepped away as she scrambled for purchase on the sheets, wobbling as her feet met the floor. His hand at her hip steadied her as she stood, leaning over the bed and pressing her cheek to the mattress. All the air seemed to have left her lungs as he guided his cock between her thighs. She let out a shaky moan when he filled her deeper than she had known was possible before she met him. Fuck, she had missed this. She had missed this.
As had he, apparently. There would be bruises on her hips tomorrow, and her shoulders, and her neck. She met the pace he set, rocking back just as he thrust forward until she was barely breathing, his hand snarled in her hair, the other firm at her shoulder. She twisted to watch him, her mouth open and sticking at the corner to the sheets. He was still looking at her in a way that rendered words unnecessary. She didn't want words from him, or promises, or confessions. She wanted him like this, hers and hers alone. His teeth were clenched tight as he held onto his self-control and she knew this was for her benefit. He wasn't going to finish until he had her in pieces and it wouldn't take much.
Elliot leaned down and flattened his body against hers, lips collecting sweat from her neck. Another hard thrust forward and a cry wrenched from her lips-fingers grasping the sheets, his tongue at her ear oh god. She wanted she couldn't she needed he was everywhere and she fucking wanted him she wanted oh fucking god. Another delicious drag out and thrust in, another scream. He was heavy, one of his hands finding hers on the bed to knit their fingers together and hold tight. This was- she was- "Are you going to cum, Ms. Slaughter?" Oh my fucking-
She clung to his hand for dear life as he drove her into the bed, his lips at her neck, at her cheek, at the corner of her mouth, relentless and tender. And then splinters, fractures, blood rushing through her ears and her heart battering her chest, her entire body tightening and splitting and collapsing under the solid weight of him. She was crying again, she could taste it. She was crying and Elliot had gone still inside of her, kissing her face. There was nothing, nothing else-quiet desperate nothing else because-oh god because-because she knew-
She was still shaking. Elliot buried his face in the hollow between her shoulder blades-he was shaking too. Her hands were shaking, they wouldn't stop shaking, and he squeezed the one he was still clinging to. She didn't want to move, she was afraid that if she moved she would shatter, this would shatter. She had it back and it would shatter. She loved him, she was in love with him.
"Hey," he murmured, watching her face crease and falter as she struggled to regain her composure. "Hey, what is it? What's wrong?"
She shook her head, groggy, overwhelmed, terrified. "Nothing," she lied, tucking her arms to her sides and lifting herself from the sheets. She needed to stop shaking but it was difficult and she wasn't finished, this wasn't finished. His breathing was erratic. She wanted him to follow her down that dark, broken path of catharsis and release.
He didn't believe her but he helped her get up, their skin coming unglued with a strange give. She climbed up onto the bed and stretched out across the scalding fabric, her limbs somewhat out of her control, and he settled on his knees between her legs, still hunting her face for insight. She reached up to pull him down, wanting him closer, and he followed obediently, kissing her soft like she might break. But that wouldn't do, that wasn't right. She wanted him as he was, merciless and undeniable.
She dug her nails into his back and he got the message. He groaned her name when he came and she knew better than to read into such things but it sounded like a confession and an apology and a plea all at once. It sounded like all of the unsaid things.