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Her Last Time
By bank_farter


Elliot wakes up swatting frantically at her alarm clock, which won't seem to stop beeping even though she's hit the snooze button at least four times.

Of course, she thinks dimly, that might have something to do with the fact that the sound is actually coming from her phone. She reaches for the receiver and finally gets it after a few moments of fumbling.

"Hello?" She flinches at the gravelly sound of her own voice and glances over at the clock. 1:30 am.

"Stick." The voice on the other end is not at all sleepy. "Be here in ten minutes."

"Jordan," she begins, exasperated. She can't stand that Jordan does this all the time. She's tired. She has work tomorrow. "It's one-thirty in the—"

The click on the other end cuts her off, and she flops back onto the pillows with a frustrated sigh. She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. She knows this.

She gets up and throws on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before heading out the door.

During the car ride over, she stares blankly at the road in front of her and tries not to think about what Carla would say to her if she knew what she was doing. Hell, Jordan would probably say it too if she weren't benefiting so much from the situation.

"Elliot, you have to respect yourself."

"Elliot, you have to take charge."

"Elliot, you have got to stop driving to her house at two o'clock in the morning just because she tells you to."

It's good advice. It is.

But she's still not turning the car around, and she hates that. She hates that she needs this so much without even knowing why.

Jordan answers the door on the first knock and steps aside without saying anything, and Elliot finds herself following her into the bedroom.

When they get to the foot of the bed, Jordan turns and looks her over. She smirks. "Thanks for dressing up."

"Don't," Elliot says simply, and she closes the distance between them before Jordan can respond.

The kiss isn't awkward, but it has a desperate edge to it that leaves them both panting when they finally break apart. The lipstick that Jordan shouldn't have on at this hour is smeared, and her lip is swollen from where Elliot bit it, but she doesn't seem to care. She takes a step back and sits on the edge of the bed, and the lingerie she's wearing rides up around her hips as she spreads her legs.

And this is how it is. Elliot takes a step forward, drops to her knees between Jordan's thighs, and leans forward to flick her tongue against her clit. It's too hard too soon, she knows, but it doesn't really matter. Jordan's not complaining. Jordan never complains when they do this, which might be one of Elliot's favorite things about it.

There's something really sad and pathetic about that, though, so she tries not to focus on it too much. Instead, she concentrates on the way Jordan is moving underneath her, tugging at her hair, pulling her so close that she can barely breathe. It's a good distraction, which is (if she's being totally honest with herself) one of the other things she likes about being with her.

After Jordan comes, grinding against her mouth, Elliot wipes her face with the back of her hand and tells herself that she needs to get up, needs to leave, needs to stop coming back.

This is the last time, she thinks as she walks out the front door.

When she gets to her car, she realizes that she left her hoodie on the bed but doesn't bother going back for it.

She'll pick it up tomorrow night.

The End

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