A/N: No, I have not abandoned my other stories (unless otherwise stated). I'm just having a really hard time writing anything right now, so I go where my creativity takes me.
{{We built sandcastles
That washed away}}
If your mother were still alive, she would've smacked your hands and berated you for un-lady-like conduct by now.
For the fourth time in ten minutes, you tug at the scratchy blush pink lace draped across your chest and yearn to itch at the lace that creates a somewhat deep V shape on your back. Had you known just how uncomfortable this dress was, you'd have reconsidered Alex's plea to fill in last minute for her sick cousin. Lucky for her, you two were roughly the same size. Unlucky for you, the dress consisted of charmeuse, lace, and just enough tulle to tick you off. Also, Alyssa, Alex's cousin, had been at least four inches taller than you (leave to Alex to have a family full of tall blonde Amazons). An already long dress lengthened to accompany two inch heels on a 6'2 woman meant you spending your night tripping on just enough fabric to send you stumbling into the odd wedding guest. Which also meant making your way to an open bar as soon as 'I-Dos' were exchanged to fight your embarrassment. God you'd give anything to slip out of this dress and into a pair of yoga pants on your couch. For now, you suppose, you'll settle for a glass of something stronger than Champagne. Not too much stronger, though, your flight leaves at 6am.
Saddling up to the bar, you stumble slightly as your stiletto (again; what was Alex thinking) comes down on bunched up tulle. You reach out to balance yourself against the countertop when a hand lands against the bare skin of your lower back. Chills slip down your spine at the unexpected though familiar palm pressed just above the dip in your back.
Ten years and you still remember the curves of his fingers, the splay of his hand, the texture (now more weathered) of his touch.
Elliot.
"You good there, 'Livia?"
'Livia.
The smile that stretches across your lips is instantaneous.
"I'm good." you assure him softly and you drag your eyes up to meet his. Unlike the last time you saw him, the blue of his irises is tempered, calm. They're the color of the sea on a warm summer's day; inviting and comforting at the same time. You recount many of nights of your youth, snuggled against his chest, your fingers tracing the then soft and now hard lines around his mouth with your index finger. He'd grin at your touch and you'd immediately notice how his eyes would sparkle like the ocean beneath the sun.
"You look good." he compliments, fingers lingering a bit longer before he lets you go. His hands drop to his sides and he takes a small step back. He doesn't give you a chance to return his sentiments, his attention hones in on the bartender. "I'll take a Rum-n-Coke and for her…" he pauses, tilting his head in your direction.
"A glass of wine, Red." you supply.
The bartender nods and within seconds, a glass of wine, a bit more than half full, sits in front of you. Your fingers wrap around the stem of the glass and you bring it to your lips, downing most of it before Elliot's drink is even in hand.
He chuckles and your heart flutters at the sound, a sound you once lived to hear.
"This is a wedding, Liv; not a frat party. I'm sure Alex would frown on you getting wine wasted and reliving your senior year of college."
Images of drunken keg stands, loud music, and bad food combinations flash through your head and you outwardly cringe. Your embarrassment only serves to fuel Elliot's laughter.
"Remember that time you thought you were going to swim with dolphins?"
"Oh God, let's not go there." you insist knowing full well he's thinking of the night he'd come home to find you, dressed in a bra and his gym shorts, wearing a diving mask equipped with a snorkeler, insistent that he take you to the Hudson to go swimming with dolphins. Never mind the fact that it was thirty four degrees outside or that the Hudson wasn't exactly sanitary. The only thing that had managed to calm you down after he'd told you no was a big bowl of shrimp flavoured ramen with enough hot sauce on top to set a small village on fire.
"I wanted to kill Alex for letting you get that drunk," he continues, pivoting on his heels so that his back is against the bar top.
"I did that all on my own. No one ever let me do anything," you state defiantly.
Elliot scratches the stubble on his chin, "I think I know that better than anyone."
The tinge of melancholy in his tone doesn't go unnoticed, nor does the way his face falls, and your heart sinks slightly. You know what he's thinking about because you're thinking about it too. You think about it more than you'd like to admit. Time is supposed to heal everything, but this is one wound that will never heal.
You don't get to tell me what to do with my body, Elliot. No matter how many rings you put on my finger.
Olivia, please tell me you didn't chase a suspect into a dark alley without backup. Please tell me you didn't lose...Liv.
Elliot, I'm so sorry.
He clears his throat and you motion for the bartender to top off your glass, silently thankful that Alex's parents sprung for an open bar on this joyous occasion. If you are gonna be shoved into tulle and charmeuse, surrounded by nameless faces and an ex-husband, the drinks might as well flow. Eight a.m. flight be damned.
A pregnant silence slips between you two, and you fidget in place. Ten years' worth of unspoken words and almost twenty years of history hang between the two of you yet you have no idea what to say to him. Do you talk about the weather? Ask about his mother who no doubt hates you now? Maybe apologize or deflect; I'm sorry I broke your heart, but you broke mine first? God you wish divorce came with a 'How To Talk to Your Ex-Husband At Your Best Friend's Wedding' guide.
You smile at him, tight-lipped. A stray piece of hair slips from the side braid it's wrapped in and falls into your line of sight, and you duck your head.
Casual conversation, keep the topic light, memory lane minefield.
Lucky enough, you're saved by the proverbial bell. The new Mr. & Mrs. Cabot-Allen enter the banquet hall. Raucous applause, loud whistles and whoops ring through the air and you find yourself abandoning your wine glass and making a beeline for the bathroom to splash some cold water on your face.
/
Ten minutes later you re-emerge from the bathroom surprised to see Elliot, two champagne glasses in hand, waiting for you. You'd expected that he would've taken your disappearance as a relief, a reason to mingle with people he probably knows far better than he now knows you; people who don't remind him of shattered glass and broken promises.
Yet...
"You missed the toasts," he informs you, sipping from one of the champagne flutes while holding out the other towards you.
"Shame…." sarcasm rolling off your tongue as you wrap your fingers around the flute. You two find an empty-ish table off in the back. You glance up at the table where you're supposed to be seated, wondering if anyone knows you're gone. Aside from Alex's sister and mother, you suspect most of the wedding party only knows you as the backup bridesmaid; a friend of Alex's from college who ran away to Chicago years ago.
"Anyone ever tell you you're a shit bridesmaid?"
The champagne sliding down your throat threatens to bubble back up your esophagus as you laugh. For the second time that night, his hand lands on your lower back. This time he's leaning forward, patting you ever so slightly and telling you to breath.
He's right; you are a shit bridesmaid. In the twenty-nine hours since you've stepped into Alyssa's place, you've made several bad divorce jokes, off-put a few with your failsafe sense of crude humor, and severely shattered Alex's pristine image with more than a few of her family members. You suck at this.
As air finally returns to your lungs, you notice once again the feel of Elliot's fingers resting on the bare skin of your back. Gooseflesh pimples along your forearms and you take a deep breath to steady your heart beat. He casts a sideways glance at you, that cocky shit-eating grin tugging at his lips and you almost go weak at the knees.
He's aged; the lines of his face of more defined, his jaw more angled, there's less hair on his head than you last remember, but he hasn't lost one bit of his attractiveness. His boyish charm managed to easily slip into adult male swagger.
His fingers lingering a little longer before finally disappearing. "You remember the night after you graduated college?"
You nod. How could you forget? It'd ended with a ring on your finger and you screaming the lyrics to Paradise City out the passenger side of Elliot's patrol car until he locked the windows.
"Remember how Alex declared her independence by mooning my boss?" he asks and you're slightly disappointed that he isn't thinking of his marriage proposal thrice interrupted by randomness on his police scanner, or you literally throwing yourself into his arms.
"Yeah, I remember." Oh yes you do. You were certain that Elliot was going to have to arrest her for indecent exposure at that point.
"Well, that…" he points to a balding man in the corner dressed in a navy suit and nursing what appears to be a glass of soda. He's looks familiar, as if you've met him before. Perhaps he'd been your boss once a lifetime ago? You nod, Elliot continues. "Is him; they're now co-workers; as of six months ago, Alex is my ADA."
Hm, Alex never told you that. Not that you two made the habit of discussing your ex whenever either of you were able to carve out enough time to call the other.
You can't stop the laughter that falls from your lips, though, as you think about Alex's luck. "They remember?"
"Well, I never asked Cragen if he did or not, but Alex blushes around him at least twice a day, so I'm going to say she remembers. Think good ol' Jim up there knows?"
"I'm going to go with no since her mom didn't know about her sleeping with her Stats professor until I accidentally brought it up this morning."
Now it's Elliot's turn to laugh; he chuckles, hard, and you sip the last bit of your champagne. "How do you accidentally bring something like that up?" he questions and you shrug.
"I'm talented in deflection."
And just like that, conversation between you two starts to flow easily. He tells you a little about his job and you tell him a little about yours. You mainly exchange embarrassing stories of lost youth, though, finishing each other's memories. Move in dates and frat parties. Making out in empty lecture halls.. Sneaking into dorms and through bedroom windows. Him teaching you to spar and you accidentally blacking his eye. Oh the escapades (often drunken) of uninhibited youth that didn't know just how hard the world would roll you over.
Loud cheering breaks you two out of your memory induced haze and you turn in the direction of the sound. It looks as if the band is preparing to start up and the party is really about to kick off, which means, if you know the man standing next to you...
"I'm gonna find a place to sit so I don't embarrass myself out there," Elliot tells you and he's not getting away that easily. If you have to pretend to be a happy wedding guest, so does he.
"Oh no, Stabler, let's go get some liquid courage and get out there."
/
You don't usually dance, and you for damn sure don't listen to today's top 40, but four glasses of wine and one champagne flute later, you're dancing. And so is Elliot; stiff as ever.
You remember your own wedding; if you could even call it that. It'd consisted of you in a white sundress and Elliot in his uniform, down at Manhattan's City Hall on a hot July day. Your mother had called you stupid and foolish after finding out, giving your marriage a six month time table; she'd been off by almost four years.
But much like that July day almost fifteen years ago, after cajoling Elliot into letting loose on the dance floor, you almost regret it. It's almost cringe worthy to watch him miss the beat repeatedly, but you find it endearing. He thinks he's smooth.
You laugh as he grabs your hand and swings you around, almost sending you into a few other wedding guests. You vaguely think you know the song playing. God, when did you get old?
"Now I remember why I never asked you to dance," you tell mouth to him, though you don't know if he hears or understands you; he's too busy doing something with his feet that leave you quirking an eyebrow. "Can you dance like a human being and not a two legged cat with bad sight?" you ask and he shrugs his shoulder, spinning you again. You laugh, rolling your eyes while trying to shuffle to the beat. Over your shoulder, you spot Alex, and her new husband, holding onto each other despite the fast music.
The DJ must spot them, too, because the lights of the dance floor dim and the music slows significantly. All around you and Elliot, couples pair off. You sigh, throwing Elliot a cautious look. A look that signals your willingness to flee the dance floor with him. Flailing on the floor to the newest Shakira song differs greatly from the intimacy of a slow dance. You begin to retreat, easing backwards, somewhat more steady on your feet, when you hear it. Elliot must hear it too because his eyes almost immediately meet yours. The violins, that voice.
Etta James.
At last
My love has come along,
My lonely days are over,
And life is like a song…
You'd stolen the record from your mother as a little girl and listened to it over and over again until the needle on your record player broke. Somehow, years ago, you'd convinced Elliot to dance to it with you as your first dance as husband and wife.
Oh yeah,
At last,
The skies above are blue
My heart was wrapped up in clover
The night I looked at you.
"We should…" you start, but Elliot's hand wraps around your waist and he draws you against his body; he locks your left hand in his right, and pulls you close. Part of you is unnerved by the way you ease into his touch, as if there isn't ten years between the two of you. The other part of you, the part egged on by the red wine that slips through your veins, simply hooks your chin over his shoulder, presses your cheek against his, and breathes.
Elliot's lips touch your cheek, his breath is hot against your skin as he whispers in your ear, "I found a thrill to press my check to."
For the fourth time that night, his open palm comes into contact with the bare skin of your back. Flashes of your honeymoon spent beneath the stars in upstate New York with nothing but a blanket and a pillow in an old truck bed flash through your mind.
In a haze of cruel happiness, you're dangerously close to forgetting that even lovers drown.
/
When the song stops, you politely excuse yourself and make your way off the dance floor. Your head is a bit hazy from the wine, and your heart won't stop pounding inside your chest. You didn't expect this. The way Elliot is acting with you. You'd expected derision, anger, and dismissal. That was if he'd even acknowledged your presence at all. You hadn't exactly expected you two to fall into step again, as if the last time you'd seen each other hadn't been on opposite sides of the same time as you signed divorce papers; irreconcilable differences; two words used to sum up a pain so intense that it tore you two apart.
Before you know what you're doing, you're gathering your things from your assigned seating and hightailing it, the best you can, out of the banquet hall, thankful that your room is only a hallway down and an elevator ride up. An elevator ride you'll apparently be sharing with none other than Elliot Stabler. He's perched in front of the double doors lift, leaning against the wall. He pushes off of it as soon as you come into his view.
"Calling it a night?" he asks nonchalantly.
You nod, hitting the up arrow. "Yeah, it's getting late. I've gotta get up early; head back to Chicago."
"Yeah, I should get going too." he tells you, glancing down at his watch. The elevator dings, signaling that the elevator's arrived. His eyes glance around the hallway and the elevator doors slide open. He gets on, arm extended to hold the doors open. "Come on."
"I thought you were going?" confused, you ask him.
"Yeah, but I'm making sure you get up to your room safely, first."
The eye roll is instantaneous. "I'm a grown woman, El-Elliot. I know my way back to my room. I don't need anyone to hold my hand."
"I never said you did; I'm just providing you with some entertainment on the way up."
"Elliot," the pique in you growing at his display of thinly veiled chivalry. You fold your arms over your chest, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. "Really?"
But there's something in his expression, something that crosses his face as he meets your eyes. It's a haunted look, a look of wary, that's only mirrored by his next words. "I know you can take care of yourself, Liv. You've been doing so your whole life, but I've seen too much shit to let you stumble out of here on your own close to midnight…"
You soften, suddenly, arms dropping to your sides as you remember what unit he works in, what type of detective he is, and your own chosen profession. His grand gesture of accompaniment isn't some chauvinistic display, but rather one of a man who's seen enough horrors for several lifetimes. Without a word, you get onto the elevator, punching the button for the fifth floor.
/
The elevator ride up is silent, so is the subsequent walk down to your room. In one hand you hold your wristlet, in the other your key card dangles from your fingers. Elliot walks beside you and every so often you cast sideways glances in his direction. He peers straight ahead, his chest rising and falling as you two somehow walk in perfect harmony. Your strides match his, even with the extra fabric draped over your legs.
Once you reach your door, room 523, you move to slide the key card into its slot when you step down on the tulle of your skirt. The sound of fabric ripping hits your ears and you grimace, remembering that the dress didn't exactly belong to you. Well, there's nothing you can do about it now. Sighing, you slide the key into its slot and watch as the light turns from red to green. The door falls open and you file in, flinging on the light. You glance down at the damage done to the skirt and roll your eyes. You need out of this dress, now.
Turning, you find Elliot leaning up against the doorjamb. The golden light of the hallway cast shadows beneath his bright blue eyes and there's a tightlipped smile on his face.
"Everything good inside? Everything how you left it?" he asks you, and you can't help but roll your eyes as he slips into concerned cop mode. Glancing around the room, you see your open suitcase, your discarded pajamas, and hotel robe strewn across a lounge chair.
"Pretty much." you tell him as you move to lean against the wall opposite the oversized bed. You set your purse and key card down and then immediately go to work on the cream colored heels that have been hidden from view all night. Once your bare feet hit the carpeted floor, you let out a long drawn out sigh of relief.
Elliot chuckles and you duck your head, the arrant hair that refused to stay tucked into the goddess braid that hung down your back all night falls into your eye line. Once again you push it back.
"I guess this is goodbye then…" Elliot says, pushing off the door frame. There's a slight hint of disappointment in his voice. "Unless you're staying in town for a while?"
"I'm not; my flight leaves at eight."
"Oh. 'm kay, Liv. I'll see you...when I see you, then. Take care of yourself."
You watch as his hand wraps around the door handle and he turns to leave. The door is just about closed when you find yourself calling out his name. For some reason, you're not ready to see him go just yet.
"El," the door creaks back open and he's staring at you with those bright blues. You can feel your knees weaken, your heart beat quicken. He's always been a gorgeous man. "Can you help me real quick?" you ask, an excuse for him to linger a little longer popping into your head.
"Uh...yeah, what is it?"
"The button, on this dress," you start, turning your back to him. You move your braid so he can see what you're talking about; a little blush pink button that holds the high collar of the dress together. It'd taken you forever to button right before the wedding, just one of the many reasons you'd wanted to strangle Alex with the dress. It wasn't that you didn't like her choice in bridesmaids dress just that...well, the style wasn't exactly your thing. The long tulle skirt, the lace of the high short sleeve bodice, the diamond cut out in the back...the pink color. "I can't...can you undo it for me?"
You hear the door shut and for a moment you think Elliot's left, then you hear his footsteps, you feel his fingertips brush against your skin before they settle on the button.
For the fifth time that night, his touch sets your skin on fire.
All at once, the day's events, the memories, and the nostalgia blur together and ignite a fire inside you. Sirens sound in your head. Olivia, what are you doing? Olivia don't! Think of everything you have to lose. Once the button is undone, you let the fabric slip limply from your shoulders so that it sags away from your body, and you turn in place best you can. Your eyes meet his as you let the dress slip down, further and further until you feel the conditioned air against your naked navel and bare thighs. Your stomach quivers as you stand in front of him, half naked save for some cleverly positioned pasties, a thong, and the dress pooled at your feet.
You feel him on you in seconds. His eyes searching your face as he wraps an arm around your waist and carries you away from the discarded garment. His mouth is hot, demanding, and skilled. He nips at your bottom lip, slides his tongue between your lips and you whimper into his mouth. You pull at the buttons of his vest, and the back of your knees come into contact with the bed. Surprised, you yelp as you lose your balance and fall backwards. Elliot falls with you, his oversized body landing on yours and you moan as you feel his hardness come into contact with your thigh.
Stop, Olivia. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop! Your mind beckons, but your body betrays you. Every inch of your skin screams touch me.
And he does; lord, does he.
His hands brush against your breasts, pushing aside the flesh covered latex, his thumbs toy with your nipples, his hips settle between yours, and his lips nip at your collarbone. Were his hands always this adept? You throw your head back in ecstasy, grabbing at any part of him you can come into contact with, and frown when you grasp far too much fabric.
"I'm naked, and you're fully dressed," you murmur against his mouth as it crashes back down against yours. He chuckles into the kiss, the vibrations of his laughter tickling your skin.
His thick fingers travel down the length of your body and he grasps at the thin string of your thong. "Not completely…"
You laugh, reaching for the material best you can with him sandwiched against you, but Elliot stops you. He catches your hands pushes them against your chest.
"I'll get it." he tells you as he climbs to his feet. You take the loss of his weight as an opportunity to crawl back further on the bed until your feet are no longer dangling over the side, but rather digging into the duvet.
Your chest rises and falls, your nipples painfully hard against the cool night air, and with baited breath you watch him. He's teasing you as he undoes his cufflinks first and slips off his jacket. It hits the floor with a soft thud. Next he reaches for bow tie around his neck and you laugh when you see it's a snap on. He never could get his tie on his own.
The restlessness in you peeks and you move to climb to your knees to help him undress faster when he gently pushes you back down.
"I've got it." he reassures you and you flop back onto the bed, leaning on your elbows as you whisper a sensual invitation for him to slide into you. He grins. "In due time."
You almost rolls your eyes but instead you extend one of your long legs out and run it up his thigh, across the visible bulge in his pants. His eyes nearly pop out of his head and he seizes your foot.
"Patience…"
But you've never been good with taking your time. Especially when it came to feeling his body inside of yours.
Elliot lets go of your foot and you fall back onto your back, eyes glued to his hands as they undo the buttons of his dress shirt. Painstakingly slow he pulls at the buttons and untucks the tails only to reveal a tank top underneath.
"Really?" you growl and he laughs again, yanking off his shirt.
Just at the sight of his bare chest alone, you moan.
In ten years time, every inch of him has grown. His arms are bigger, his shoulders broader, and his muscles more defined. The path of hair that trails from his breast bone down to his pelvis is dark, and you really just want to run your mouth across his chest.
Finally, he starts in on his belt buckle and a fleeting thought of this is wrong, we shouldn't; think of all you have to lose, slips through your mind. But just as quickly as it came, it goes. Elliot slips out of his briefs (you wonder when he switched from boxers) and the weight of the bed dips as descends onto your waiting form. Immediately, you angle your hips towards his and once again, he stops you. He rises to his knees above you and hooks a finger through each side of yours underwear, and drags them down your legs. Unceremoniously, he tosses them to the floor and sandwiches himself in between your thighs.
Instantly, you remember his weight on you, the way his body pressed you into the bed and the stretch it took to accompany him. You need him inside you, you need him now. But he doesn't oblige; is he trying to kill you tonight? Instead, he slithers down your body placing open mouth kisses on each inch of exposed flesh as he goes. You're whimpering, head flitting from side to side as you feel him tongue close around your center. He teases you with his teeth first and then gently nips and pulls. Your hips buck off the bed and woah - this is a pleasant surprise. This is a definite improvement from the past. He takes you into his mouth and leaves you thrashing about, right on the verge of release when he lets you go. Just as quickly as he'd slithered down your body, he makes his way up. He positions himself at your entrance, but stops right before he enters you.
"Fucking tease." You mutter, eyes opening as you feel his hands wrap around each of your thighs.
"I, I don't have a condom. I didn't, I didn't really think about doing this…"
You shake your head, heart thumping, body aching, and need vibrating. "I don't either, but I'm on the pill and I'm clean if you are?"
He grins, nodding. "I am."
He says no more as he slides into you, your body immediately stretching to accommodate him. You let out a long drawn out sigh as his pelvis knocks against yours. Your nails finds the nape of his neck and one of his arms wraps around your waist while the other hands onto your thigh so tight, you figure you'll have a bruise tomorrow. He a small moment, he doesn't move, he just rests inside you, his hot breathe on your neck.
"Tell me what you need." Elliot whispers against your skin and a blush creeps up your throat. You're grateful he can't see it. It's been a long time since a man asked what you needed from him.
So you tell him & he gives. The short, hard strokes that leave the covers inching away from the corner of the bed and you raking your nails down his back. The long languid strokes that bring your hips off the bed and your heels digging into the backs of his thighs.
He takes you higher and higher until you feel him start to shake. The arm of his slung around your waist suddenly finds it's way between you two and he touches you, playing a pattern against your core that you'd have thought he'd have long forgotten. Next thing you know, you let go. Your orgasm rockets throughout your body and yours must trigger his because he grunts against you. His hips slam into your almost painfully hard and the nails of the hand holding up your thigh dig into your skin.
"Shit," you curse as he comes down on top of you, chest sweaty and heartbeat erratic. Your legs feel like jelly and you can't comprehend much but the feel of your combined fluids between your legs and the lazy, sex induced haze that fills your head.
For a woman that should have all of the regrets in the world right now, you have none. Not even when he pulls out of you, helps you slide underneath the disheveled blankets, slides in next to you, curls onto his side and wraps an arm around you waist, pulling you close. Not even when you relax into his embrace and your heavy eyes glimpse the long forgotten gold wedding band - your wedding band - resting on the nightstand.