Wow, I feel like I'm running out of things to say that haven't already been said, and I can't quite figure out how a one-shot is now on part 19...but anyway, I have to keep thanking everyone for all the love like an oscar-winning actress who keeps talking even when that music starts playing.
So this brings the little mini-arc that's been going on over the last two parts to a close. Next we'll move onto part 20 and I'm planning on trying something a little different for that one (knowing I may fall flat on my face in the process).
A/N: consensual sex, tiny references to violence. Title and all quotes from Iowa by Dar Williams.
{How I long to fall just a little bit
to dance out of the lines and stray from the light}
You've never been one of those girls who get all talkative after sex.
Snuggling you can deal with- sans conversation. The thing is, quite frankly, orgasms make you tired (the really good ones, at least). When you're done, you're done, now shut up and let me sleep.
With that in mind, it wasn't surprising when you dozed off pretty soon after...whatever the hell that was that just happened with Elliot. The next thing you you know, you're being jolted awake by the sound of water running. You're very attuned to sounds these days, even when you're asleep, so your first thought was that's not our plumbing. Your legs are bare and it's dark and Brian's gone and oh god where am I?
Not too long ago, your first reaction would've been to cry, scream, look for a place to hide, or some combination of the three. Five months of therapy later, you've graduated to jumping out of bed with the sheet that was draped over you still clenched in your fists, scanning the room with wide eyes and a racing heart.
Your first clue to the mystery of your surroundings is actually the sound of Elliot's footsteps as he comes out of the bathroom- and it's fortunate for him that you can recognize the sound, otherwise he might very well have been bashed over the head with the first makeshift weapon you could find (incidentally, this is why you have a strict no guns in the bedroom policy at home).
"Liv? Shit, hey. It's just me," Elliot says when he sees you standing with your back to the wall, voice calm like he's trying to talk you down from the ledge.
"Yeah...yeah, I know," you say, shuffling sideways until you can sit down on the edge of the bed, cheeks pink with embarrassment. "It's. I just got startled when I woke up. I'm fine."
He asks if he can turn the light on and you tell him to go ahead. "Damnit, I'm sorry, I knew I shouldn't have left you alone when you were asleep. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, really," you assure him, legs stretched out in front of you underneath the tangled up comforter. He smells like soap and he looks like you feel, mostly content with a slight chance of are we really doing this? The last of your fright over waking up in an unfamiliar place had dissipated as soon as you recognized him, but you were still blushing- although this time for an entirely different reason. Warmth pools in your stomach and it's a little insane how much you just want him all over again. "Actually...I guess it's a good thing, because I might've hit you before I knew what I was doing. And I've already done that once today."
"You knew what you were doing."
"Of course I did. You deserved it." You lean over, kissing his cheek as your hand rests on his shoulder. "But I can still make it up to you."
{once I had everything, I gave it up
for the shoulder of a driveway and the words I've never felt}
The first thing you notice when you wake up again a few hours later is that your pillow smells like Elliot.
You've got your arms crossed around it in a tight embrace, and your back is resting against his side while he's rubbing that spot at the top of your neck that he's seen you reaching for every time you feel a headache coming on.
"Hey," he says quietly when he sees you stirring, unbothered when you don't reply or even move to let him know that you've heard him. Your bad mood when you first wake up is legendary and he's fully aware that if he values his life, he should allow you to ignore him completely until you're awake enough to decide you're ready to behave. So you lie there half-asleep and let him massage the crown of your head in little circles, purring appreciatively, and when you finally roll over to face him you see that he's sitting straight up and looking pained, like he's spent all night in some sort of stress position when you couldn't extract a confession from him.
"I guess I stole this, huh?" You relinquish the pillow you've been holding onto, handing it back to its rightful owner.
"Nah, I let you have it. You were tossing and turning so I gave it to you once I figured out that's what you wanted. It's not small child-sized but I guess it did the trick." You thank him a bit guiltily, but he shrugs it off and puts the pillow back under his head so that you're lying face to face. "What's the deal with that, anyway?"
"Oh. Brian got it for me after...it just helps me sleep."
"Sorry, I'm...sorry," he says so softly that it's more like mouthing the words than speaking them.
"It's okay. You don't have to worry, okay, you'll know if you crossed a line," and that was perhaps an understatement. You could count on one hand the number of times he's asked about The Incident, so you guessed he had earned a little leeway. Still, there were times- like the whole scar conversation from the night before- where you found yourself getting frustrated with him until you remembered that he honestly didn't know this stuff. Things were far from perfect with Brian, but he's been there from the start and so you have this kind of understanding you don't have with anyone else. You have no idea what you'd do (if? when?) you and Brian split up; it's hard enough with Elliot, who already knows the basics of what happened and knows you personally as well as anyone ever has. When is it even appropriate to bring something like that up? Third date? Six weeks? What would you even say? 'Funny story, once upon a time I was kidnapped and assaulted and now I have a raging case of PTSD, so you might want to read and memorize this list of things that set off my anxiety because otherwise shit can get ugly fast. Another drink?'
You don't want to think about it. And you don't have to, you tell yourself. You smile and move closer to Elliot until your foreheads bump gently. "It's rude to stare, you know."
"Then I guess I'm rude," he says, smiling back at you. "Trying to make up for lost time."
"Oh for fuck's sake, what a liar. Do you know how many times I've caught you checking me out?"
"Could say the same for you."
"Can you blame me?" you ask, grinning flirtatiously, hands sliding beneath his shirt and skimming over his chest. He's in his boxers and you never bothered to put your pants on again last night, so there's very little separating you when you nudge him onto his back and bracket his legs with yours. His hands are on your hips and the stubble on his jawline is scratchy when you kiss him and he's so fucking hard that it makes you feel almost giddy. You toy with the waistband of his boxers and pause for one fleeting second, just long enough to be sure that yes, you want this. Because god, you really do.
He puts his hand over yours, sighing like this isn't gonna be good. "Liv. Wait."
"I wasn't going to...I just wanted," you stammer, eyes closed and remembering can we maybe just cool it for a while and here you go again, but now it's Elliot instead of Brian and you have to stop putting yourself in this place to be rejected when you know it's inevitable. You know better than to let yourself hope, to trick yourself into believing that you can have- or even deserve- the same as anyone else. Not when your life never works out that way, when things can never be that simple.
"Hey, Liv. Come back here," he says, knowing far too well when you've started running away- even if only in your mind. When you don't open your eyes, he traces the arch of your eyebrow with his thumb. "Look at me?"
You finally do, albeit reluctantly. "El..."
"You always go straight to assuming the worst."
"Brian says you and I have that in common."
"Yeah, well, dumbass says a lot of things, doesn't he?" He reaches out for your hand again, palms pressed together and fingers intertwined. "Look, I didn't mean. All I'm saying is." You've never heard him outwardly fumbling for the right words like this before and it's more than a little endearing. Most of the time the two of you let loose with the first thing that comes to mind, and the struggle only begins when you start to clean up the mess that's left in the aftermath. Better to ask forgiveness than permission and all that.
His eyes are dark and you can tell he wants you, it's not even a question. It's everything else that's uncertain, and for all the life or death situations you've been in together and somehow instinctively knew what to do, what the other was thinking...none of them had even begun to prepare you for something like this, where the solution is something you can't hunt down and shoot at or cuff and take to Rikers. Those are the kind of things you're good at. Not this.
"All I'm saying is...not now, alright? I've gotta- just let me take care of you for now, okay, the rest'll sort itself out later," and you're not exactly sure how it's going to do that, and it doesn't look like he does either, but you can understand that maybe The Line isn't the same for both of you. He has a wife and a family and a son still at home, and that's a hell of a lot more to lose than you have. It makes sense that the rules would change- that it would change everything, really.
"You're not. I mean...shit. I don't want you ending up with regrets."
"Too late for that."
"El...I'm serious," you say, because you're not about to go over the same ground you did yesterday, back to the point where you slapped him and ended up with a hole in the wall that you're still not sure how you're going to explain. "You know what I'm talking about. This." Me.
"I thought there was no this. We're friends, that's what you told me."
"Yeah. I did. I meant it."
He frowns, thinking. "You ever feel like you've spent your whole goddamn life only doing what you're supposed to do, cause that's what everyone else expects?"
"Course."
"And where the hell did that get you? Do you even know what it feels like to make a choice for yourself instead of just accepting you don't have options?"
"I...don't know." You've been a bit too busy trying to keep your head above water to get all philosophical these days. He's obviously had more time on his hands.
"Well, I do. And this is me, making a choice, and if it's good or bad I don't really fucking care, cause it's what I want and it's my choice. So what is it you want, Liv?"
Everything.
Nothing.
You.
{I fear that to fall in love with you
is to fall from a great and gruesome height}
Perhaps not surprisingly, it didn't take long for you to pick right back up from where you left off.
He's got his mouth on your neck and his arm tight around your waist and you're trying not to laugh because this is serious, if he leaves a mark you're going to have a real problem. "Stop it, you fucker, I swear to Christ I'll..."
"You're all empty threats," he scoffs, lips traveling down to your collarbone and then upward to your jawline. You can still feel him hard against you and you wonder exactly how long this vow of semi-celibacy is going to last, but then again you've already established that he's a bit of a masochist and so it'll just compliment that nicely. He groans low in his throat as his hand reaches for your ass and pulls you in closer. "God I bet you taste good."
You freeze, inhaling sharply and biting down on the inside of your cheek.
«The metal cuffs are digging into your wrists and a sharp tang assaults your senses when he forces his tongue inside your mouth. you're so pretty like this, sweetheart.»
"Liv?"
"Don't."
«His jeans are already unzipped so it doesn't take him long before his cock's out again and ohgodnonodon'tpleasedon't. you taste even better when you're bleeding.»
"I didn't mean that...shit." Elliot squeezes your hand, and you know he's trying to be reassuring but it's not working.
"I'm fine. I just don't."
«You open your mouth but no sound comes out and the room's swimming in front of your eyes like a giant blur. Everything's shutting down. Won't be much longer now.»
"If it's. I promised you, Liv, I'm not looking for a quid pro quo."
"I never even- fuck, that's not even what I was thinking." You lie flat on your stomach, head turned away from him because it's the best you can do right now, you can't even get up and walk away because you have no fucking idea where your pants are and you're not going to risk him seeing the jagged raised marks that dot your thighs. "I don't like...enough. I'm done talking about it."
You reach out for the pillow under your head, grabbing one corner in your fist and releasing it before repeating the motion. As well as scratching or slapping or pinching yourself worked as a distraction method when you felt a flashback coming on, you'd been working with your therapist on trying to find an alternative before you got into the habit of relying on pain as a coping strategy. You know you're going to be forced to relive it all multiple times in the next few months, so you need to come up with a way to survive that doesn't involve going completely catatonic or clawing at your arm like an angry cat, neither of which make you look like a particularly reliable witness in the eyes of a jury.
"Can I do something?" Your first instinct is to tell him to fuck off, but then you remember all that other shit you picked up in therapy about letting people help you, about telling them up front what you need and not getting angry when they can't read your mind. Huh. Maybe you won't win the World's Worst Patient award this year after all.
"Put your hand on my back," you instruct. "Just flat like that and keep it there. Now shut the fuck up."
You suppose that answer would earn you at least partial credit. It's a start. His palm is warm against your shoulder blade and it grounds you enough to focus on flexing your fist and silently repeating your new mantra: you're here. he's not. you're here. he's not. you're here, he's not...Elliot's breath is steady and together they lull you into a sense of relative peace. For now.
{I've never found a way to say I love you, but if the chance came by I would}
"Ugh." It's the first thing you can think of to say after taking several more minutes to calm down, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. "Motherfucking- don't say you're sorry. Tell me you're sorry and so help me god, I will slap you again."
"Right. No apologizing."
"Are you trying to be funny or something?"
"I'm never funny. I know my limits," he assures you. "But if you think this'll scare me off, you're gonna have to work harder."
"It should, though. Don't you get it? I'm...complicated."
"Okay." His voice is serious, but he still looks undaunted.
"No, no. No. Everything is complicated and I don't know that it'll change."
"And I'm saying okay. I can deal with that."
"Can you really?" you ask, tucking your legs underneath you so that you sit a little taller, bedsheet still carefully covering your lap. "Because as much as you like to accuse me of being the one that runs away- the last time everything got complicated, I didn't see you for two years."
He shakes his head, turning away from you briefly. "I fucked up. I told you that and...if you don't entirely trust me then shit, I can't blame you. I deserve it. But I swear to God you're not going to scare me away no matter what you try, so maybe you should just stop trying."
"Don't tell me what to do!"
"It was just a suggestion, fuck, don't you think I know you better than that?" He chuckles quietly. "All I'm saying is, give me a chance to prove myself. This is your golden opportunity to bust my ass, whatever it's gonna take."
"El...I don't know, okay, I don't know. There's not a magic fix and I appreciate that you're trying, but I think I just need time."
"I can do that. It's like I said, I'm not going anywhere."
You nod, staring downward at a long white line that wraps around the back of your wrist like a bracelet. It's easy enough for you to cover it with your watch, but that's just a temporary disguise for the benefit of the outside world, one that does nothing to stop you from remembering what lies beneath whenever you hear that steady ticking. You still feel it even after the pain subsided, this prickly feeling under your skin that repeats itself in dozens of different places all over your body. It won't let you forget, no matter how much makeup you pile on or how many times you smile and assure everyone that you're doing just fine, really. Appearances can be deceiving, but only on the surface.
"I want to show you something," you say, voice shaky and uncertain and filled with dread, and you can't believe you're actually doing this (and doing this sober) but you're tired of hiding. You spent so much time building a wall between you and Brian, letting it grow higher and higher until you don't know how you'd scale it even if you tried, and you're not going to fuck yourself over again by repeating the same mistakes. Might as well put it all out there from the beginning and save yourself the potential heartbreak.
Elliot looks at you like you've lost your mind- and you probably have- when you pull your top off over your head. "Liv."
You swallow and tilt your head back because you're not going to cry, you're not going to make yourself any more vulnerable than you already are when you're sitting there almost completely naked, scars of all different colors and sizes laid out on your skin like paint on a particularly gruesome canvas. "I know, I know, I dunno what the fuck I'm doing either and I'm sure I'll regret this later but right now...I just need you to let me talk before I have time to think too much about it, got it?"
"Okay. But you really don't have to-"
"Shut up," you answer quickly. "because I really do, okay. I haven't let anyone else see but...I don't know any other way to make you understand. I can't talk about it to you, to anyone, not yet. So this is the best I can come up with right now and yes, I know it's just skin and yes, I know it's vain but that's too fucking bad cause I'm not gonna apologize for saying that I hate them. Hate. They're hideous and disgusting and I still can't look at myself in a mirror. It took months before I could shower with my eyes open and even now...most of them aren't gonna get much better than this. They'll be around until the day I die and I'm always going to see them and remember..." You laugh bitterly. "Sometimes I think what I hate the most is- they look like my head feels, you know? A mess. So it's like that's just the tip of the iceberg, and inside it's so much worse and maybe that won't get any better either. This is it and...fuck, I don't know what more to tell you. This is it. Now you know what you're getting into."
His forehead creases as he frowns slightly, and you grab the first blanket you can reach and clutch it to your chest because really, that was enough. "I didn't think...shit. I wasn't expecting you to..."
"Yeah, well, neither did I. Life's full of surprises."
"And it's complicated. But I'm still not going anywhere." He reaches his hand out cautiously, and if you were a different kind of person, if this was a different kind of situation, you might start thinking that he loves you. "Can I...?"
You let him pull you closer until you can hook your chin over his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut. "You're gonna make me cry again, you son of a bitch."
"Would you feel better if I let you hit me? I guess it's the least I can do, considering..." He takes his hand off your bare back, nudging you gently. "Hey. Liv?"
"Mmm?" When you lift your head up so you can make eye contact, his mouth brushes across yours.
"This is real. Swear to God, it's for real."
You hold onto him tightly and don't let go.
{and so for you I came this far across the tracks
ten miles above the limit and with no seatbelt
and I'd do it again}
You have three hours left before you have to leave, and you are sure as hell going to make the most of them.
His hands are soft when they touch you, careful and deliberate like he's trying to memorize every inch of your skin, and you're still self conscious as fuck but he keeps murmuring things like you're gorgeous, you're so perfect and you've no doubt in your mind that he means it.
"Fuck, I've wanted to do this for so goddamn long," he says, warm breath coming out in little puffs on one of your nipples before he closes his mouth around it, swiping his tongue over the tip and then releasing it with a small pop. "You used to wear those v-neck shirts that were so fucking tight and it's like I was a kid who could barely keep it in their pants. You were killing me."
"That sounds like a personal problem," you say, highly amused, and he pinches your other nipple in response. "Jesus. Do that again."
"Oh, you like that?" he asks, and all you can do is whimper and nod as he teases it with his thumb. "Mmm. Yeah you do."
He sucks one into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers before repeating the motion on the other side, and you're so caught up in trying to hold his head in place that you don't even notice where his hand went until you feel it gently rubbing your inner thigh. "Fuck. I want...oh god. I want it."
He lets his teeth brush over your nipple and grins in satisfaction when you groan and dig your nails into his back. "So what is it you want, hmm?"
"I want- shit, I want you fucking me with your fingers. Please," you add when you see the way he's looking at you, and this is usually the point where you start having second thoughts, but right now you're so sure and so fucking turned on that all that other shit feels like background noise- mildly annoying, yeah, but able to be tuned out.
"You sure?"
"I'm positive and I'm not going to ask nicely again. I've got no problem taking care of it myself," you threaten, and that seems to be enough to motivate him.
"What did I tell you before? Bossy little bitch."
"Uh huh, and what are you gonna do about it?"
"You're just lucky I can't get enough of you," and you make your disapproval clearly known as he keeps teasing, exploring leisurely. "You ready?"
You nod again, and then he's working one finger inside of you and kissing your neck, and whatever anxiety you might have been feeling is long gone by the time he groans holy shit you're so tight, I don't wanna hurt you.
"You won't, I'm fine," you promise when he finally adds another finger, and it aches a little but it's not enough to stop you when you want, need, to be fucked this badly. "Just been a while. Keep going."
You reiterate this when he's still too slow for your liking and he stops moving his fingers altogether, thumb skimming across your clit just in case he hadn't already gotten your attention. "I think you need to watch your mouth or else I'll just leave you like this."
"I hate you so much," you snap, refusing to back down even though you're pretty sure you'd cry if he stopped now.
He gives you a wicked grin, clearly enjoying having the upper hand here, and you squirm against him in frustration. "So what's it going to be?"
"I'll be good, whatever, just fuck me before I kill you."
"Not quite the answer I was looking for," he says, but he relents anyway and you kiss him and moan harder, damnit, harder into his mouth as you lift your hips up to meet the thrusts of his fingers. "You gonna come for me?"
"Yeah I...fuck. Please, god. Please."
"Ohh, I get it. You're nice now that you want something," he says, batting your hand away when it travels downward. "No. You just don't learn, do you?"
"Fuck you, El, I really hate you," you swear, even as you won't let him stop kissing you.
"You keep saying that, but you're full of shit," and he twists his fingers just so and your back arches and he laughs like the smug bastard he is. "See? That's all you need. Now c'mon."
You scratch your nails down his back because he deserves it, and you keep holding onto him as you groan and whine and threaten because you're so fucking close, seriously, if he would just...
"I like watching you work for it," he confesses unapologetically, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth. "You're fucking incredible, Liv, know that?"
And then he finally gives in and brushes your clit once, twice, and you've never been a screamer but this is almost enough to change that. You bite down on your lip for the sake of your neighbors, fisting the blanket in your hand as he murmurs that's it, that's so good, show me how much you love being fucked. how good it's gonna feel when I'm finally inside you and god. Oh god, El. Fuck.
"I think you enjoy torturing me," you say once you've started to come down off of your high. You wince a little as his fingers slip out of you, and you're going to be feeling this all day for sure but you don't give a shit, not when he falls back onto the mattress and pulls you with him until you're straddling his lap. He's hard as hell against your stomach and okay, this is ridiculous, you've pretty much left every line imaginable far, far behind you. It's not going to make any difference if you're tugging his boxers down over his ass and wrapping your hand around his cock, and he seems to agree. Besides, it only takes a few quick strokes before he's coming, and the way he says your name when he does makes you shudder all over.
"Holy shit," he finally says once you're sprawled out on top of him, head resting on his chest, and he might not be the most eloquent guy in the world but right now, you couldn't have put it any better yourself.
{way back where I come from we never mean to bother
we don't like to make our passions other people's concern}
Nick frowns, appraising, when you sit down at your desk. "Long night?"
"Always nice to see you too." You pick up a file and start paging through it. "Anything come up this morning?"
"I dunno, you tell me."
"Nick...is there something I'm missing here?"
He leans back in his chair, doing a quick once-over of the room. "Cassidy called me this morning wondering where you were. Said you weren't answering your phone."
"And you said?" you ask sharply, knowing your face probably looks like Brian's did when he was listening to Kathy chat casually about the cervix.
"That you went out to Massapequa to interview someone." When you seem relieved, he gives you a knowing look. "Liv."
"It's none of your business."
"No, you see- when I'm put on the spot to come up with some bullshit cover story, it becomes my business. And hey, I don't think I even want to know what's going on. Probably better off that way, but next time you think I could get a heads up beforehand?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry, honestly, I didn't think he'd...anyway. I'm sorry." Nick nods slowly, trying to prompt you for more. "I'm not fucking someone on the side, if that's what you're thinking, then you're wrong."
"He is married, isn't he?"
"Who are you even talking about?"
"C'mon, Liv, don't be stupid," Nick says, drumming on the desk with a pen that you're pretty sure he stole from you.
"Yes, he is. Happily. Do you want his entire biography?"
"Then what the hell is he doing stringing you along...y'know what, nope. Don't wanna know. But if you decide you want to talk about-"
"Nick, I'm not here to gossip. Now can we actually do something productive?"
You take another folder off his desk and he throws up his hands in defeat. "I don't care who the hell he is, you can do better than being someone's little piece on the side."
"Nick!" You can deal with the nosiness and the over-protectiveness, but that stung. He doesn't get it, you tell yourself. He doesn't know anything.This is real. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you're pulling this shit out of your ass and you need to stop. Okay? Stop."
He frowns again, and it almost looks like he feels sorry for you or something.
You go back to what you're reading and ignore him. He's wrong, anyway.
{so tonight I went running through the screen doors of discretion
for I woke up from a nightmare that I could not stand to see
you were wandering out on the hills of Iowa
and you were not thinking of me}