A/N: Only when we give ourselves over to the pleasures life brings, do we see the erosion of melancholy and self-loathing. - Anonymous.
Clarity- Maureen: 20, Kathleen: 15, Twins: 11
DISCLAIMER: SVU and all related plot/characters originally belong to Dick Wolf. This story, words, and dialogue are mine. © TStabler
His family has rules. Never go to bed angry. Even if you're upset with someone, the last thing you say to them must be that you love them. If homework isn't done, there is no dessert. Family comes first, no matter what. And bedtime prayers are the most important ones.
She's learned all of this in the last couple of weeks, and now she's finding herself following the rules as well, as if she's become part of the family. It's a silly thing to think, but as her feet dig into the heavy sand and propel her down the shoreline, it's the only thought she has and she hates herself for it. Setting yourself up for disappointment.
Her legs work harder, it's a challenge to run on the sand, and when she heads toward the patio stairs she thinks she sees him, maybe he's been watching her, maybe she only wishes he has been. She slows and takes a deep breath, the salty morning air fills her lungs and it takes her a moment to come to a stop and turn around.
The ocean shimmers as the barest hint of sun hits it, the sound of the rolling waves hits her ears along with the screech of a seagull. The peace that comes with this place counteracts the guilt and doubt and sense that she doesn't belong. This is his mother's house, his family getaway.
With another deep sigh, she turns and runs up the wooden steps, kicks off her sandy sneakers, and slips through the sliding doors she'd left unlocked so that she wouldn't wake anyone. She flicks the latch this time, then backs away. As she contemplates finding an excuse to leave, she squints and finds her way toward the guest bathroom in the dark.
She knocks first, just in case, and when no one replies, she opens the door, closing it behind her. It's kitschy, she thinks, but chic. Pink and white stone walls, white wood cabinets and pink and grey marble countertops, white porcelain sink and tub with a chrome shower. It's the pink seashell pattern shower curtain that reminds her of her mother's bathroom, and she chuckles as she pushes it aside and turns on the water, making it just south of scalding.
She slowly rolls down her running pants and then pulls off her sports bra, tugs her hair out of the high ponytail it's been fixed into, and just before she steps over the ledge of the tub, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her reflection gives her pause, it's a face she doesn't recognize and a body that is slimmer and stronger than it ever had been.
Another sigh and she's under the hot spray, closing her eyes, letting herself get lost in the steam. Her thoughts drift to him, how insistent he'd been that she spend this weekend here with him and the kids and his mother. She thinks about his eyes, the way there's no word for the blue of them, his strong arms and the way his veins run the length of them like a road map. She thinks about his hands, and as she reaches for the bottle of body wash off of the corner shelf, she can practically feel his fingers on her skin. She gasps, and turns wide eyed.
He smirks at her as he pulls the shower curtain closed. "You didn't hear me come in?"
She shakes her head and then watches as he pulls the bottle of soap out of her hand. Head tilting, she sees him squeeze it into his left hand, set it on the ledge of the tub, and then rub his hands together to lather it up.
"Come here," he whispers, and he grins when she willingly walks toward him. He runs his soapy hands over her shoulders, down her arms, under them. He scrubs along her sides, under her breasts, over her stomach, down her back. He bends to make sure he lathers her legs and feet, noticing new scars in his quest to make sure every inch of her body gets his attention. His heart breaks, but as he rises to his feet, he looks into her eyes and suddenly he's whole again. Smoothing his hands over her shoulders again, he backs her up under the running water.
The way he kisses her makes her moan, the depth and ferocity in his kiss hits parts of her that didn't exist before him. The soap runs off her body and takes sand and doubt down the drain with it, and she loops her arms around his neck, giving in to him. She can't run from this.
His left hand slips between her legs and he gently pushes two of them through her folds, finding her entrance, diving into her. He catches her cry in his mouth and crooks and twists his fingers slowly. He knows exactly what buttons to push, which angles to thrust at, which parts of her are the most sensitive, and he's just about to bring her home when he feels her hand wrap around his wrist. "What?" he asks breathlessly.
Staring into his eyes, she brings his hand to his lips, watches as he sucks the two fingers that had been working her over, unblinking, and then still trained on his eyes, she slowly drops to her knees.
His heart starts pounding, and for a moment he thinks he's won the fucking lottery, but when he hears the door down the hall creak open and slam shut, the dream is shattered. "Shit," he hisses, "Baby, no, she's up and you know…" he moans when her tongue slides up his shaft like it's an ice pop, "Fuck, don't...she's gonna hear me, you know you make me scream when you do this."
"Well, you'd better try to be quiet then," she tells him, her open brown eyes focused on his widened blue ones. God, that beautiful fucking color. She takes him into her mouth, her throat tightens over him as she swallows and sucks around him, slowly slipping off of him and then sinking back onto him with pure desire on her face. The water rolls over her, makes her lashes flutter, but she never blinks. Not once.
His right hand flies to the back of her head, he presses his lips together and plays with her hair as he leans against the stone wall, watching the way she takes him into her mouth, feels his dick sliding down her throat. "Fuck," he grumbles, thrusting involuntarily. The way she sucks him, so tightly, deeply, drives him crazy. He balls his left hand into a fist and bites the sides of his fingers, a loud moan building in his throat, one he knows he has to quell.
The connection between them doesn't break, she still isn't blinking and he's peering down at her with flames behind his eyes. She hums softly around his cock, her left hand moves to cup and roll his balls and her right splays over his stomach. She moans when he twitches under her touch, she can feel his muscles clench and she sees in his face how desperately he's trying to stay quiet.
With a low growl, he cups her chin and pulls her up before she can protest. He wraps her in his arms and kisses her hard before he lets a quiet roar of her name fly. He turns them around, presses her against the pink and white stone, drags his mouth from her lips to her neck and loops one large hand around her right knee.
She wraps her leg around his waist at his silent command and rolls her eyes when he thrusts into her. "Elliot," she whispers, her hands curl into his shoulders, "Oh, God, El." She feels every inch of him sliding into her, she knows he's going slowly for a reason, and she rolls her neck to one side when he bites harder, telling him to do what he wants with her. I'm yours. An uncontrollable moan leaves her lips but it's caught on the wall of the shower.
"Liv," he breathes, smirking at the fresh, round hickey he's left just under her collarbone, "Be quiet." He thrusts into her slowly, deeply, nuzzles her until she looks at him, and he's brought back to the first time, the wall of the crib, the unprovoked and unexpected turn of events that led to the most incredible experience of his life. It hasn't ended, yet, and God willing it never will. He bends his knees and starts to hit upward into her, a new angle to make sure he gets what he wants from her this time, that he gives her what she needs.
Her eyes are glued to his, her fingernails cut into the muscles at his back, and she breathes his name over and over as she feels the water splashing her; it's cool now, so she knows they've been in here for too long and there's no way to fight it anymore. "Oh, Jesus, Elliot," she whimpers, one hand slipping away from his back to cling to his arm.
He feels her tighten. "Yes," he whispers, "Fuck, Liv," and he knows she's letting go, he can feel her pulse and the way he has to fight against her to thrust makes him chuckle. He kisses her lips and then whispers into her ear. "Cum for me," he breathes hotly, and when he feels her legs give out and her body tremble, he says, "Good girl."
She collapses into him, sinks her teeth into his shoulder as she cums, and she hears him growl and grunt as he slowly thrusts, signaling his own orgasm. They clutch onto each other and she can feel him throb inside of her, it makes her whole body quiver. As she tries to calm, her hands slip down his chest. She traces the shapes of his muscles and she breathes once before saying, "Oh, my God."
He kisses her forehead and turns off the water, lets himself fall out of her as he sets her down to her feet, and he whispers, "Always so fucking amazing." He kisses her lips and leads her out of the shower, lifting her over the side of the tub, and he wraps her in a towel. "I, uh, was watching you when you were running."
"I thought you were," she tells him softly, "I saw you," and she grins at the way he simply stands nude in front of her, drying her hair before even considering a towel for himself. "And?"
"And...you're fast, even on the sand," he rubs her temples for a moment. "Such a fucking turn on, you know that? You're so damn strong."
She hides her blushing as she reaches for a towel and wraps it around his waist. She can't resist, she grazes his sensitive cock with her fingers as she tucks the towel into a knot. She winks when he glares at her. "Now, uh, how do we get out of here without your mother seeing us?"
He winks back. "We use the other door," he juts his thumb to his left and gives her a nudge, leading her through and into the guest bedroom, the one they'll be sharing for the rest of the weekend at his mother's house.
When they finally emerge from the bedroom, fully dressed, they're met by the kids and Bernie Stabler, gathered around a long table in the kitchen. The spread of food is one that's more like a party than a family breakfast.
Olivia swipes a hand down the front of her pink tee-shirt, the platters of pancakes and waffles, toast and eggs, bacon and sausage, remind her more of a hotel breakfast buffet than a home-cooked meal, but she knows Elliot's mother made every scrap of it from scratch. She spies the pictures on the fridge and wonders if one day she'll get to meet the rest of Elliot's family or if their tryst is going to end before she even learns their names. With a sad exhalation, she looks up at Elliot. "This all looks incredible."
"She thinks she has to do this whenever we visit," he whispers to her as they find seats at the table. "My mother, uh, she...has...issues," he scratches his head and then takes a deep breath. If she was able to be forthcoming about her mother, the least he could do is be honest about his own. "Bipolar," he says softly, so the kids can't hear him.
Her eyes fall from him to his mother and back again. "Oh, wow," she drags her hand down his arm, her fingers feeling every bump of his veins and curve of his muscle. "I'm so sorry, I..."
"No, don't, it's under control now, but for a while there, things were pretty scary." He moves, bends his head to kiss the top of his eleven-year-old son's head, and then he turns back toward her and whispers. "The only one that knows is Maureen. I don't know how to explain it to the rest of them." He scratches his head and sniffles and then runs his eyes along the table. "Wow, Ma, you went a little overboard. How many people did you think you were feeding?"
Bernie smiles as she pours glasses of tomato juice and passes them around. "You told me your girl, there, likes to eat." She narrows her eyes. "With that figure, I am beginning to think you meant salad."
Elliot chuckles. "No, uh, I didn't lie to you, she can eat, but I don't think you needed to make three pounds of bacon for her." He reaches for the plate of sausage and puts two links on his plate. "There's an entire fucking pig on this table," he mumbles and he laughs when Olivia elbows him in the side.
"Everything looks wonderful, Missus Stabler," Olivia says politely, grabbing the platter of pancakes. "Thank you." She takes a few pancakes, then hands the dish to Elliot.
"Oh, sweetie," Bernie passes the plate of butter and pitcher of syrup to her. "Call me Bernie." She winks and then leans closer to her. "The way my son raves about you, you might as well call me Mom…"
"Ma," Elliot warns, rolling his eyes, "Come on, could you please not do this?" He pulls awkwardly at his grey shirt and runs a hand down his face. Suddenly he thinks maybe dragging Olivia to the Jersey Shore to meet his mother wasn't the best idea he's ever had. "Don't get pushy."
"All I'm saying, Dear, is that anyone who makes you as happy as she makes you should feel like part of the family." She tugs lightly on her floral dress and goes about making sure all of the kids have enough food.
Olivia smiles at him as she picks up her fork. "You told her about me?"
"Everything," Elliot nods. Then he squints at her. "You didn't tell your mother about me, yet, did you?" It's not so much a question as it is an assumption. Tell me I'm wrong.
"I told her," she says flatly, "And I took great pride in telling her she was wrong." She cuts into her pancakes and jabs them with her fork, and she can feel the question in his eyes as he's staring at her. She sighs and tells him, "She's convinced that with my job and my issues...that I'm always gonna run from any kind of real relationship, because she thinks…"
He watches her poke at her pancake as she goes silent. He nudges her with his nose, tries to smile. "What is it?"
She turns to him and exhales, and when she finds his eyes she whispers, "She thinks I'm afraid to let people in, that I'm terrified to let someone really...love me," she blows out a hard exhale through rounded lips. "She told me once that I'm impossible to love because I push people away. And that's always been true. Always." She blinks once. "Until you. I'm not gonna lie to you, I keep thinking of ways this could end, how it's all gonna blow up in my face, but you…"
He kisses her to quiet her, and he knows that now there are four pairs of eyes on them. He can hear his kids making kissing noises and whistling, he can hear his mother trying to hush them up and saying that love is a beautiful thing to witness, but he's too lost in the importance of this moment to care. When he pulls back, he brushes his nose against hers, and he whispers, "It's not. I promise." He searches her eyes almost frantically. "I swear."
"I believe you," she whispers to him, and after a deep breath, she looks toward the kids, makes goofy faces right back at them, and then finally takes a bite of her pancake. "These are amazing, um, Bernie," she offers.
Elliot's mother smiles at her and then looks toward her son. "Your kids would like to go swimming, and I think it's a wonderful day to take your father's boat out, go fishing, or diving."
"We could definitely do that," Elliot says, and he watches his kids cheer and laugh. He can't remember seeing them so happy, and he knows it's because he was always too wrapped up in his own misery to let himself enjoy his family. He knows why things are different now, but he pushes the thoughts away, her admission of fear giving him reason enough to slow things down. He leans into Olivia as he chews on a bite of sausage. "You know how to fish?" He swallows as she shakes her head. "Good, I'd love to teach you."
"You've been teaching me, uh, a lot of things," she shoots him a salacious look, one she knows hits him deeply. She smiles and takes another bite of her pancakes. "Kathy's gonna be so pissed that I'm here," she says as she chews. "She told me to stay away from your kids."
With a mouthful of bacon, Elliot chuckles, "She can't do shit about it." He winks at her and swallows, then moves his left hand over her right, gripping it. "Before, you said that you were always afraid...until me, so what does that mean? Are you saying…"
"Dad, can we take Liv to the pier?" Dicke asks, excitement in his voice. He has a spot of syrup on his pajama top and a tomato juice mustache.
Lizzie pipes up with a squeal. "Yes! We haven't been there since Mom…" she pauses, her face falls. "Since before you and Mom…"
"Yeah," Elliot nods and hopes he's stopped the mood from shifting too greatly. "We'll go tonight, for dinner, some games." His phone rings, then, and he rolls his eyes as he moves to answer it. "Not work," he assumes, because hers would be ringing, too. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and says, "Stabler." He looks around the table, then at Olivia, and says, "Yeah, man, uh...don't tell the captain, it's not...no, it's personal. Uh, yeah, that's her...well, why were you going through my stuff? Look, just keep your mouth shut, okay? No one else knows. Yeah. Bye."
"That didn't sound good," Olivia says, then she takes a sip of her tomato juice. She grimaces, it reminds her of nights when her mother would drown herself in Bloody Marys, but she swallows to be polite. "Who was that? What aren't they telling Cragen?"
He kisses her temple then slips a finger under the sleeve of her shirt and runs it over the round of her shoulder. "Munch found a couple of files in my desk, uh, the ones about…"
"My mother," she whispers, and she sees him nod. "So he knows." She bites her lip and there's a part of her that wants to call Cragen and quit, but a bigger part of her knows that she's exactly where she belongs.
Elliot nods again. "Yeah," he sighs as he runs a hand through her still-damp hair, he marvels at the way it curls around his fingers as if asking him to keep holding on. He has no intention of letting go. "He knows."
A/N: Next? Fishing, swimming, Lizzie asks Olivia a question she can't answer, and Bernie asks Elliot one that he can.