A/N: A pair of outtakes, of sorts, from Risk. It's how the meeting at the bar would have gone...if we'd had our way, and a glimpse into what really happened in that house. (The rest of the episode doesn't matter) Happy Birthday, IzzyBoo!

DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler

"This place is…" she shakes her head and tugs on the stings of her hooded zip-up sweatshirt. "Huge."

"We're supposed to be a well-off society couple," he tells her, "They gave us an op-house that fit the part." He watches her as she moves, and he squints. "Baby, what are you doing?"

She runs a hand up and down the slick polished banister, an unreadable expression in her eyes. "The NYPD is sitting on how many houses like this," she scoffs. "Million dollar estates, they have to pay how many mortgages, and I'm in a one-bedroom apartment where the couch is practically in the kitchen, living on a salary that makes dogwalkers laugh."

He chuckles and moves up behind her. His arms loop around her waist and he kisses the back of her head. "I can fix that, ya know. I've asked you, three times. You keep ignoring me." He grows bolder and lets two of his fingers grip the pull of her sweatshirt's zipper. "You can see us in a place like this, can't you? Kids filling the rooms, parties on Saturdays, everyone cooking family dinner together on Sundays…" He pulls her zipper down and flattens the palm of his other hand on her stomach. "Dana, baby, you're so tense." He bites at her pulse. "You need to relax."

She leans back with a laugh, the way he says her alias almost the same way he says her real name makes her shiver. "Greg," she teases, "You know we don't have enough time for this." She rolls her eyes when his palms slip up her shirt, she feels his fingers pinch at her nipples through her bra. "Shit," she gasps. He knows exactly how to touch her to make her wet and so damned needy for him. "You bastard."

"I am," he says into her ear, then he sucks her lobe into his mouth. He feels her shiver in his arms. "And we have plenty of time." He twists her nipples again as he backs her into the spacious living room, and he laughs as he pushes her away from him and onto the lush chaise lounger. He pulls the top of his jogging suit off, tosses it over the back of the couch, and shuffles out of his pants. "You," he wags a finger at her, "Are a dangerous woman."

"Am I?" she quips, and she yelps when he leaps onto her and shoves his hands into her pants. "How so?"

"Twice in two days you've got me fucking blowing an undercover op," he nips at her lips. "Because you are too fucking irresistible for your own damn good." He kisses a trail from her lips to her ear. "And you're horribly overdressed," he grumbles, suckling on her neck as he works to get her track pants over her hips. "Tell me, Dana Elliot," he pins her down, his strong thighs straddling hers. He sits back on his knees and starts stroking for her, tilting his head slyly when he sees that she's watching him. "You ever sorry you married me?"

She sucks her lip between her teeth as she shakes her head, then pulls her white tee shirt off. She throws it and hopes it lands within reach. "Not for a single second, Greg," she says, feeding his fantasy.

This house is theirs for the next hour at least, they may as well enjoy it.

She crooks her finger at him, her lip still gnashed between her teeth, and she moans when he drops and thrusts, filling her and kissing her at the same time. "Oh, Greg," she whimpers, her hands fall to his bare ass. She grips harder, asking him to move faster, deeper.

"Fuck," he grits out. "Liv," he whispers, dropping the act. As he moves, he wonders when someone at work will realize what's been happening under their noses for five and a half years. He wonders when Cragen will figure out why they always make such a fucking convincing couple. Why they never complain when they have to play house. He wonders when someone will ask why they haven't seen Kathy or why there's a strip of pale skin where a ring once lived, or why Olivia hasn't brought a new boyfriend around in a long fucking time. He knows they're not trying to hide it, he knows they've done nothing to pretend they're not together, they're just waiting for the world to notice.

"El," she breathes, rising to meet his thrusts, and she sees it in his eyes. She knows what he's thinking. What he wants. She drags her hands up his back and digs her nails under the sharp discs of his shoulder blades. "Ask me again."

"Right now?" he growls through gritted teeth, his thrusting hips moving faster, hitting against her harder. "Fucking, really?" he pants.

"Oh, God," she moans, her legs starting to shake. He's bringing her to the edge a lot faster than she anticipated. "Right now, baby," she cries. "Ask me."

He hunches over her roundly, the slapping of their skin fills the expansive living room, bounces off the paintings on the walls. "Move in with me, baby?" he chokes out dryly, his fingers digging into her hips. "Oh, fuck, Liv," he grunts.

"Yes," she whimpers, it's an answer and a moan of pure bliss. "Oh, God, yes, Elliot," she cries, and her eyes close as she leaps over the cliff. Sparks behind her eyelids ignite a fire in her stomach and she clenches and claws at him again.

"Fuck," he spits, and he fights through her tightness to bring himself to Heaven with her. When he cums, he roars her name and slants his mouth over hers. He stills as he struggles to breathe and he runs his hands through her hair as he whispers her name over and over again. His phone rings and he rolls his eyes.

She exhales once as he pulls away from her, and she reaches for her tossed clothes while he finds his phone in the mess they've made. She grins at the way he moves, and when he turns to look at her, he blows her a kiss. She blows one back and then she chuckles and shakes her head.

They redress as Elliot gets directions and orders from Cragen. He hangs up and moves over to her. "Showtime," he says, and he kisses her forehead. "You, uh...you look like you just got good and fucked."

"Wow," she chuckles. "So do you." She gives him a push toward the door. "Wonder why," she rolls her eyes and laughs. She watches him shove his feet into a pair of running shoes as she pulls her blue zip-up back on. She slips on a pair of sneakers and waits just inside the doorway, peeking out, ready for her signal.

"I love you," he says with a wink, and then he snaps into the role of Greg Elliot, drug lord, and pulls out his phone to make a necessary call.

She watches, worried, as he calls Kendall and runs down the stone steps to meet Fin and the mountain of evidence they hope will be enough of a trap for the bastard. Knowing the ball is rolling on the last leg of this op, she sighs and looks around the house, eyes flitting up the staircase. "I really could see us in a place like this," she whispers to herself.

Her imagination runs wild. She can see it so clearly. His kids playing video games on the couch, doing homework at the large oak table, maybe a baby in a crib in a nursery in one of the rooms not yet spoken for. She realizes she wants it all. She wants it with him. She folds her arms and laughs at herself, and then she's jolted from one fantasy into another by the slamming of car doors. She wraps her hand around the knob and pulls. "Honey?" she calls to Elliot. It comes so naturally, so fucking easily. "Are those the tiles?"

A/N: So. Was this worth the risk?