March 24, 2007

"Here," he said softly, and she smiled at him across the pillows, a soft, sleepy, Saturday morning just-been-fucked smile that made his heart skip a beat. Slowly, careful not to jostle either of them too much, he reached for her, passed her his coffee cup with one hand and took the chunk of bread from her with the other. The bacon and eggs had grown cold while they'd lost themselves inside one another, tangled up in her bedsheets, but he'd made a fresh pot of coffee and torn off part of a baguette he'd found abandoned in her kitchen, and they were making do, now.

"Thanks," she said, and he watched her dark eyes flutter closed as she took a long sip of coffee. Satisfied that she was satisfied, he took a bite of bread, and smiled.

"I thought you weren't drinking coffee any more," he said, his mouth still full. There was no need to stand on some pretense of manners, not with Liv. She'd seen him eat, seen him puke, stood with her back to the urinal and talked to him while he took a piss, seen him bleed, seen him cry. Some people did try to hide the base mechanics of owning a body in the early stages of a relationship, he knew, thought that an untidy bedroom or a burp might reveal some deeper inadequacy and quash all sense of romance, but the clothes strewn across Liv's floor didn't make him want her any less, and he knew it would take a lot more than a burp to offend her. There was no reason to worry, or try to put on some facade with her, no need to try to present himself in his best light. She'd seen all of him, good and bad, strong and broken, righteous and wrong, and she was with him anyway.

"Not all the time," she said. "Just trying to cut back on the caffeine. And I like tea."

She passed the cup back to him, sighed, and rolled over onto her belly, crossed her arms under head and looked at him, and Christ she was so gorgeous just the sight of her brought a lump to the back of his throat. All that dark hair, flung out across the pillows, and those dark eyes, all that soft skin and smooth curves. She's nothing like Kathy, the thought floated across his mind, but he pushed it away, not wanting to examine it too closely. Liv looked nothing like Kathy, but that didn't make either of them less beautiful. It wasn't a game of comparisons, and never could be. Not with the two of them.

"You want me to make you some?"

He'd been bringing her coffee and making sure she had something to eat for years now; it wasn't just the sex that made him want to take care of her. That want had always been there, and always would be, he was sure of it.

"No," she said, in that low, sleepy voice he was coming to love. "I want you to stay here with me."

That much he could do, and gladly. He took another bite of bread, washed it down with some coffee, and then set them both on her side table, intent on far more delectable pursuits.

She didn't flinch when he slid closer to her, when his lips landed on the curve of her shoulder, when his hand traced slowly down the slope of her bare back. It felt decadent, somehow, lying there naked with her, having breakfast in bed while the sun flooded through the curtains and they remained at rest, with nowhere to go, nothing to be but here, together. It felt decadent to touch her like this, to soak up the warmth of her, to look at her as much as he wanted and not worry about whether someone would catch him staring. If felt like an indulgence to witness her like this, a dark grey sheet slung seductively over the rise of her ass, her eyes closed, a soft sigh escaping her full lips as he kissed her. He wasn't a young man anymore, and it would be a little while before he was ready to take her again, but that meant he could touch her just for the sake of it, could feel her beneath his hands just because he wanted to, not because he was racing hellbent towards pleasure. Her long legs wrapped around his hips drove him mad with need, but now, in this moment, he could be slow. He could indulge.

Maybe it had felt this way before, and he just didn't remember. He'd been so young when he met Kathy, and neither of them knew what the hell they were doing, and everything had been fresh and exciting and dangerous, stealing moments for themselves wherever they could, hiding from their parents, breaking every rule in the book and then some. It had been thrilling then, but he wasn't sure it had ever been reverent. Maybe it had been later, when sliding into Kathy felt more like coming home, when it was familiar and right and holy in its own way, because it was all he'd ever known. Because it had only ever been Kathy, and it was only ever supposed to be Kathy, and then -

Stop it, he told himself. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was lying in bed next to a gorgeous woman, a gorgeous woman who knew him inside and out, a gorgeous woman he wanted so badly that he ached with it, a gorgeous woman who felt more like an extension of himself than a separate person. So what was he doing, thinking about Kathy? He didn't want to go home, didn't want to tell Olivia no and walk back into the same old fractured, miserable relationship that he and Kathy had both decided was long over. He wanted to be right where he was, and he knew it. He just hadn't anticipated feeling conflicted about it.

"Elliot," Liv sighed, and he wondered, not for the first time, if she could read his mind.

Carefully he eased himself over her, propped himself up with his hands by her shoulders. Gently he brushed her hair aside with his nose, and then pressed his lips against the nape of her neck, just above the glittering chain of the necklace she always wore these days. He let his hips settle against her ass and felt her body arching underneath him, seeking the brush of skin-on-skin and as much warmth as she could find.

"You are so beautiful," he told her. It had always been a bit of a sore spot with him that he'd gone to night school and Liv had gone to college, that all these young bucks had fancy degrees and prestigious educations and looked at him like he was just some jarhead who thought with his fists. She didn't think of him that way but plenty of people did, and he knew it. He didn't have the words, hadn't read the books, and most of the time he could pretend like it didn't bother him, like it didn't matter, but it mattered to him now because beautiful was not nearly articulate enough to describe everything she was. She was like the sunlight after rain, that moment when everything looked bright and new and miraculous somehow, when he'd look at the sharp blue of the sky and the shimmering green of the trees and remember how his old priest used to say there was a little bit of God in every creation. But she was heavier than sunlight, and harder, too; she was shadows, and fear, and rage. But her belly was soft and the way her body moved made his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and Christ, he just wished he had the words.

"The most beautiful," he said, feeling like a fool. He shifted his weight to the side, freed his right hand so it could run along the length of her body, following the lines of her in wonder, disappearing beneath the sheet and feeling her, and how, he asked himself, how is this real? How am I really here, now, touching her?

"It feels weird to hear you say that," she confessed.

At this point Elliot was fairly certain she wasn't deliberately trying to sabotage their newfound understanding, and he tried to take a deep breath, and not immediately take offense to her words. He tried to think it through, tried to hear what exactly it was she was telling him, tried to reward her trust by listening, and not just reacting. Being Liv was always going to be an exercise in patience. He just hoped he had enough to hold them both together.

"You think I didn't know you were beautiful until I saw you naked?" He tried to smile as he said it so she could hear that he wasn't angry, or hurt, because he wasn't. A little confused, maybe. No one had ever confused him like she did.

"We spent so long refusing to see each other as anything other than friends," she said. "It's just...it's an adjustment."

In a way he could understand that; some people were in the do not ever think about them naked box and some people weren't, and moving them from one to the other was dangerous. Yeah, if Munch suddenly started telling her how hot her ass is she'd probably freak, he thought grimly. He hoped to God he and Munch were in different boxes in her mind.

"I always saw you," he told her. "Even when I wasn't supposed to."

"I'm not sure that makes me feel better."

Maybe she was trying to sabotage them. For the second time that morning Elliot felt the beginnings of frustration rising at the back of his throat; every time he thought they were both happy, every time he thought they had both settled on what they wanted, she'd throw him a curve ball and send him right back to the beginning, trying to convince her all over again that this was a risk worth taking. How many times would they tread over the same ground? What was it going to take to convince her?

"Are you telling me you didn't compartmentalize it? You telling me you weren't attracted to me when we were just friends?"

It had been barely two days since they'd gone from just friends to something more; maybe it was too soon to think about it in terms of then and now. And they were still friends. Everything was all tangled up, and every time he thought he knew where they stood she just yanked the rug out from underneath him. Whatever else it was, or would be, he was certain that being with Liv was never going to be boring. But as he thought about it he realized that while he had called her beautiful several times she'd never remarked on his appearance, not even once. Maybe that was to be expected - he didn't exactly think she should be calling him beautiful - and he knew that she was attracted to him - she wouldn't have touched him the way she did if she wasn't - but still, he had to wonder. As far as he was concerned Olivia's body was a goddamned work of art, but he had no idea what she thought of him.

"Of course I was," she said, and he grinned, relieved. "God, El, have you seen yourself?"

"I was too busy looking at you."

Beneath him she laughed, and then she was moving. Though every inch of her was soft, and warm, and smooth, he knew exactly how strong she was and he watched the easy way she shifted beneath his weight, her body rippling as she turned onto her back and settled beneath him. Those dark eyes looked up at him through thick eyelashes, the little golden pendants glittering at the base of her throat, her hands wrapping softly around the muscles of his forearms, and he let his eyes wander down, and down, over the generous swell of her breasts, her dark brown nipples, her soft belly. She was like a painting, perfect and stunning but real, breathing slowly beneath him, pressing against him with every tiny movement of their bodies.

Make a believer out of me, she'd whispered to him. God knew she'd made a believer out of him; she was a miracle, lying in that bed with him. Like something sacred, something holy, something his hands might ruin if he touched her too much, but she wanted him to touch her, was letting him.

"I've never…" his voice trailed off; he couldn't find the fucking words. He didn't know how to say it, how to tell her that she'd rocked him to his core, that being with her made him feel alive, and whole, made him feel less like a failure and more like a fucking god, just because she'd chosen him. He'd laugh at the dramatic turn of his thoughts later; he'd never had thoughts like that before, and he didn't know where they'd come from, or how to explain them to her.

"I've never…" never what? Never seen anyone so beautiful? Never wanted anyone this much? Never dreamed that he could touch her and not shred himself to pieces?

"Don't," she said, very softly, and something sad flickered in her eyes, something heavy he couldn't quite understand.

"What?" he asked her, wondering what the fuck could have gotten under her skin now, when he was touching her and telling her how beautiful she was. "I was just trying to say-"

"I know you, Elliot," she said. "I know your story. I know where you've been. And every time you say you've never...felt something, you're just reminding us both what you've felt before. With Kathy."

"Fuck me," he grumbled under his breath, and rolled to the side then, flopped on his back and ran his hand wearily over his face. He'd been trying so hard not to think about Kathy and then Liv had gone and spoken her name out loud. This thing with Liv, being with her, talking about feelings and all the nebulous questions about their future and what they wanted from each other and what they might be together, he'd thought it would be easier because they knew each other so well. But a new woman, one who didn't know his story, one who hadn't washed dishes at the kitchen sink shoulder to shoulder with Kathy, one who'd never picked his kids up from school, one who didn't know, would never have said her name lying in bed next to him.

"I just...I keep feeling like I've taken something away from her. Or like...like she's where you belong, and one day you're going to figure it out, and you're going to-"

"I'm not going back, Liv," he ground out from behind clenched teeth. He'd thought he'd made that perfectly clear on Thursday night, but he should have known better. Olivia was too used to being alone; she didn't know what to do when somebody stayed. No one had ever stayed, before. Not with her.

"That doesn't mean you won't want to, someday. You're going to wake up and realize I'm not her and -"

"Of course you're not her! That's why I divorced her and I'm with you. Because you're you, Liv. I want you."

He turned his head on the pillow, and found her with her eyes closed, her fingers picking absently at the sheet where it rested low on her belly. She looked...small, somehow, in a way she never looked with a gun on her hip. Vulnerable, like he could take her in his hands and break her. Like maybe he already had. He couldn't accept that, could let her just lie there, hurting, asking herself questions she'd never speak out loud. Slowly, carefully, he reached for her, smoothed his hand over her hair and watched her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks.

"What's it going to take for you to see that you're enough, Olivia?"

A tear slipped out from her tightly closed eyelids, and he reached out, brushed it away with his thumb. She didn't answer him, but he didn't really expect her to. Maybe it was enough, for now. Maybe they'd made a start. Maybe one day he could make her believe.