So this is my first story on FF. I actually love Elliot and Kathy, but for some reason I had to write this. The title is from a Jack's Mannequin song that doesn't have anything to do with anything. If anyone actually reads this, tell me if it's any good.
It isn't love. Just bodies using bodies.
He uses me to get away from her. I use him to get away from me. The two of us, we're almost numb. With everything we see, it's hard to go through the motions of normalcy. But we finally figured out a way to feel alive.
He loves his wife. That's fine with me. If he didn't, he would want to be a perfect gentleman. He would treat me like a princess. Which would destroy the entire purpose of our liaison. The first time, when he decided to act on the attraction that had been between us since we met, I know he thought of her. He thought of the guilt. Well, I think I made him forget the guilt until for a while. Now I wonder if he thinks of me when he's making love to his wife - which is exactly what it is for them; he loves her, but he can only get what he really wants from me.
I know she knows. When she comes into the precinct to talk to Elliot, and she sees me, I can tell that she knows. But she acts like she doesn't, because admitting she knows makes it real. I know she must wonder what I have that she doesn't. Whether if it's because of the job or the sex or just the pure desire for someone younger. The hurt in her eyes makes part of me want to end it, but the part that always wins reasons with my conscience. If he loves her so much, he should stop. He's the one who's married. He's the one who swore vows to her. I don't owe her anything, as cold as that sounds. Besides, we both know that we each need what the other can give.
Aren't we just perfect Catholics? Adultery. Lust. Lies. We've managed some deadly sins. I know he goes to confession after he leaves me. Like that matters when we both know that next chance he gets he'll be back, pinning me down on the bed, making me scream his name. But sometimes sin is so worth it. I am his one vice to overshadow all of his virtues. I used to think he was such a saint. Now I've realized he's just another sinner like the rest of us.
Somewhere, between the sweat and the tangled sheets and our racing hearts, are the consequences. But like everything else in this arrangement, if it all goes up in smoke, Elliot will lose more. A point that requires a moment of thought from him. But no more than a thought. We're like a drug to each other. We know how to turn each other on and we know exactly what the other wants and how to give it, exactly how the make the other cry out in pure pleasure.
At work, no one could see what's going on. We act like we always have: friendly but professional. Who we are at SVU is completely different from who we are in the darkness of my apartment. The almost complete darkness when we're together is just one more denial by Elliot Stabler. But just because he can't see it doesn't mean it isn't happening. The only person who can see what's going on is Olivia. But that's only because she's always been a bit in love with Elliot. She acts cordially towards me, but I can tell it's all an act. She thinks I'm a whore, sleeping with a married man, a man with a family, but she's also more jealous than she could ever admit to herself. Because now she knows that it isn't his wife stopping him, just her. Just the fact that he chose me and not her.
I wonder if the victims' crusader would be so keen on her partner if she knew what he really wants in bed. I'll admit even I was quite surprised that he likes it as rough as he does, considering the job. How much he needs to be in complete control. And I know it scares the crap out of him. He's afraid that he's slowly drifting closer to the monsters he chases. Which is probably the real reason why he comes to me instead of his wife. I can give him what she can't. He could never be anything but gentle to his wife. But me, he doesn't mind. Or at least, he tries not to mind. The sweet things he whispers in my ear before he throws me up against the wall or shoves me down to the bed or floor are just his way of justifying that he thinks he's becoming the things he despises. He shouldn't be worried. He could never become a rapist. He's still Saint Elliot.
Being with Elliot is always so worth it. The bruises all over my body are just the physical reminders of the ecstasy of pleasure and pain that always comes with our encounters. The only rule is that he can't leave any marks anywhere visible. Because if anybody sees bruises or bites, I probably lose all respect in my job, the thing I do love. I wonder if his wife noticed the deep scratches that I left on his back last night. I wonder if she even bothered to ask about them. I doubt it. It's been a few months since Elliot's nights had been getting later, since he had become even more distracted at home, if he's actually there, since his marriage had taken yet another hit. But when you're as desperate to hold on to your husband as Kathy Stabler, you ignore the way your husband looks at me. The illusion and denial are better to her than tearing her family apart. Elliot and I have no illusions about our relationship. We both acknowledge that we use each other simply for the purpose of escape. Just bodies using bodies.
