well, aren't we a lucky bunch of buzzards? yes, because you, my fine fore-feathered fans of fiction, get to read something that you probably have not sampled from my work before. you, my ready readers, get a "kate sex scene."

rules for writing a "kate sex scene":

1.) metaphors. always metaphors.

2.) no anatomical referencing. we don't want that kind of shit in our house. (oh god, I am referring to myself in the plural. can it possibly get much worse at this point? no, our sanity is finally doomed. we are going to end up very scary somewhere in our near future…)

3.) no specific verbage. so no indicating what was inserted where, thank you very much.

4.) protection? who needs protection?

(any comments concerning the above statement, especially aimed at the fact the author is allergic to latex and is probably just trying to make her unfortunate situation a little better are distasteful and really not funny.)

(anyone who didn't get the above statement needs to understand that I am allergic to latex. I break out into painful rashes. and boils. so…if that, uh…if you have an adequate knowledge of what they're making…things…out of lately…you know, uh…well…you know it's not really going to be fun for me when I'm…active…)

enough personal information. y'all know way too much right now. WAY too much…

withhold your orgies until they are absolutely necessary. I mean, the sex isn't for a bit…Lizzie POV first off. but I'm not saying don't let out spastic cries of pleasure while reading your daily dosage of OEness.

cheers, dahlings.

…

Elizabeth Stabler was officially a teenager, 13 for four months now, and despite the fact that any time before noon was a ridiculous hour for her to be stirring on the weekend, she was finding herself sitting wide awake in bed at five-thirty in the morning. Maybe it was the alarm clock that was now blaring the Sex Pistols in her ear, or maybe it was the memory of the Krispy Kremes she knew were still downstairs on the kitchen counter, but at any rate, she was getting out of bed.

Once her feet hit the floor, she was feeling a lot less alert than when she had just been propped up on a pillow. Coffee. I need coffee…right now. Her mom never let her have coffee (stunting my growth- right mom…) but her dad always had some on hand. And even if they were out of coffee, she knew there was an eternal supply of Nesquik for a jumbo glass of chocolate milk that was guaranteed to perk up her morning.

Almost everything about this was a normal morning. Almost.

She knew Kathleen and Maureen hadn't been home for a few years. Once the girls went to college, she and Dickie had been the only kids in the house, and she hadn't minded it that much. But once Mom and Dad had started to finalize their separation, she'd wished the older girls had been there, at least to make something in her life feel the same.

At first she'd been so angry- why was this happening to them? Why were her parents suddenly talking to each other like this, screaming and slamming the door even when they knew the twins were watching? They'd argued before, but it had been behind a closed door, or down in the cellar where no one could hear them except for the curious child who was brave enough to crouch down beside the heating shaft. And Lizzie had sat there many a time, cheek pressed to the cold metal of the grate, listening to the heated conversation she was forbidden to hear. Suddenly the fights were going on before their shocked eyes, and the children could not help but lend a weary ear.

Eventually she'd forgotten to listen, or forced herself to turn away. All mom wanted to do was fight, and dad didn't do anything about it. Mom was being a bully, and Dad was being a coward, and Lizzie didn't want anything to do with them. It had been Dickie who had told her it wasn't their fault.

"Maybe it's us." He'd said one day while they were raking. "They were arguing because of my conference yesterday, about my grades. Dad says it's not my fault, and Mom says he doesn't care anymore. They wouldn't have even argued if I hadn't gotten the C in English Lit." Mom had left that morning in a huff, taking some clothes with her. She spent the next few nights in a motel. Dad had spent the next few nights on the phone, but they did not know with whom, though he often hung up in tears.

Lizzie didn't know whose fault it was anymore. The only thing she knew was that her parents were divorced, and they weren't getting back together any time soon. Last night had been a fluke- they hated seeing each other. If they were still living together, it would be a complete mess. So maybe all this crap about living arrangements is for the better.

Lizzie shuffled down the hallway, yawning again as she passed the guest room. It had actually been kind of nice to have Olivia here, sitting at the table with them, talking on the couch afterwards. Lizzie hadn't talked to a 'normal' adult in weeks- Dad was always distracted, Mom was always pissed. Yeah, that always made for great conversation. She couldn't tell Dad anything, and she could never tell Mom enough. That was how it always turned out when her parents were mad- her Mom became a control freak, and her Dad sunk away into his shell.

She glanced into her sister's old room, wondering if Olivia was awake yet. But the bed was unoccupied, the covers looking as though they'd hardly seen any use the night before.

Must be she's already up. She knew that Olivia and her Dad probably had to get to work early, as Dad always did when they stayed with him. Much as he tried to get days off, it was fairly impossible with his work schedule. But he's probably sleeping late, and Olivia's probably downstairs…

Unless…

No. No fricking way. There was absolutely NO way they were…just no way…how could they? They were partners (regardless of how they looked at each other) and besides, Lizzie and Dickie were in the same house with them. Right down the hall. They weren't going to…right there.

No. Absolutely not.

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

But she couldn't help it. Her feet led her past the staircase, her hand reaching almost mechanically for her father's doorknob.

Don't do it, Lizzie! DON'T DO IT!

And for a moment she drew back. They can't be…

And even if they were…

I might see them like…THAT.

But even so, there is just NO WAY they are. NO WAY.

Her hand curled around the doorknob. She twisted.

Pulled.

Held her breath.

At first, she could only see the hardwood floor. She felt her heart beating faster in her chest, fluttering like the wings of a caged bird, throwing itself against its bars as though willing itself to die. She couldn't will herself to look up into the bed, yet she couldn't take her eyes from the ground. They trailed slowly up the floor. Her father's shirt was on the ground. Typical. He was messy as ever.

His pants. Socks.

And then…

The breath left her, escaping in a passionless gasp.

The shirt he'd lent her last night. The sweatpants. And that bra did not belong to her father…

Oh…

Oh…my…

Oh…my…freaking…GOD.

THEY DID IT. THEY ACTUALLY DID IT.

She felt her legs growing weaker by the second. She turned to close the door behind her, but her eyes had already drifted upward. Before she could turn away, her body let out an involuntary shudder, and she was staring at the figures in her father's bed, wrapped in a sea of sheets that had once held her mother and father, but in which two figures now lay, clothing discarded on the floor. Granted she could see nothing…personal…but she knew by the items on the ground and the state of the shoulders that there was nothing on their beings.

Her father was sleeping soundly, his mouth opened as he snored. And wrapped in his arms, one hand slung over his back and one tucked under her head, Olivia slept, lips slightly parted, breathing slowly and methodically.

Lizzie shut the door faster than she had thought humanly possible. She froze when she had finally slumped against it, unsure of what to do. Without warning, she made a dash for her brother's room, practically tearing down his door as she ran to his bedside.

"Dickie…" She grabbed his shoulder, shaking as hard as she was able. "Dickie!"

He groaned, opening one eye to glare angrily up at her.

"Geroff!" He moaned, shoving her hands away. But she continued to shake, forcing him upright.

"Dickie, please! You have to get up!"

"What time is it?" He groaned, opening one eye again.

"Five-thirty, I think." She said quickly, jumping in place. She had to tell him…and she'd seen them.. and they'd been…and it was all so horribly…jumbled…and complicated…and-

He moaned again, covering his face with a weary palm. "I went to sleep two hours ago, Liz."

"Two hours ago? What were you doing?" She hissed, still shaking him.

"Having a magic show." He rolled his eyes, shoving her hands away once more. "Downloading music, what the frick else?"

"Please Dickie, you have to get up! You have to wake up right now!"

"Unless you have murdered someone or are being murdered, there is absolutely nothing that qualifies for needing my presence right now."

"Dickie, you have to-" But she stopped. She stared at her brother, his eyes squeezed shut in protest of the hands still resting on his shoulder and back.

Could she really tell him?

She'd just seen her father in bed with someone she'd looked up to her whole life. What did she think about that really? Yes, her initial reaction was shock, but who wouldn't be? People get engaged, and their first reaction is shock, but it's not like they didn't feel a whole lot better in a few seconds. She'd just gone into shock and reached for the first piece of comfort she knew, her brother, and now she realized that she hadn't even decided how she felt about this.

Was she okay with all this?

Was she, Elizabeth Stabler, actually okay with Olivia sleeping with her dad?

She had no idea.

For one thing, it certainly was an earth-shattering concept. Olivia had always been the family friend, the dependable-extra-relative-who-was-not-in-fact-related. Maybe it was how not so long ago Mom and Dad had been close enough to put the idea of Dad with anyone else completely out of Lizzie's head that had made her so shocked by the whole ordeal. Yet Dad was divorced. He didn't have to hold to the obligations of marriage. Who said he couldn't sleep with Olivia? Who said the family friend couldn't become the family friend with benefits?

But what about the obligations to his children? Wasn't she, his daughter Lizzie, perfectly entitled to protesting this relationship? What if she realized this wasn't okay, and Olivia should not be like this at this moment in time? Maybe she's warm up to the relationship, but maybe she'd figure out this wasn't her best thing at the time for Lizzie's life.

God, is this even up to me?

And how the heck to I really feel about it?

"Lizzie, do you have a reason for this cruel and unnecessary torture or not?" Dickie groaned and gave his sister the evil eye. "Because if you don't, I'm perfectly fine with you leaving and not speaking to me for a few more hours."

"I…I…" Lizzie stared into her brother's glowing eyes, blinking twice. "I'm sorry. I'm fine."

She turned away, closing the door behind her, not even sending back a retort when she heard her brother mutter "Girls." before rolling back over to sleep.

…

The alarm above her shattered her perfect dream with the harsh squeal of reality, and she felt it falling like crushed glass onto her pillow as she opened her eyes, staring curiously at a bedside table she did not remember owning.

Whoa. How wasted did I get, anyway?

Something shifted beside her with a familiar groan, and she turned slowly, almost stiffly, to find the sleeping face of her partner beside her, scratching his bare chest with a lazy hand. She let out a squeak of surprise, sitting up immediately and jumping to her right, only to find her own front bare as well.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.

I did it with Elliot. I did it with Elliot.

I JUST FUCKED ELLIOT STABLER.

But then he opened his eyes. And the sight of those blue diamonds, glistening like the sharp waves of the sea shaped by godly tempests, recalled much more than drunken night.

She hadn't been drunk at all. With a completely conscious mind (though perhaps slightly influenced by insomnia) she had made love to this beautiful man before her.

His eyes widened with momentary surprise, but then a hand went to her cheek, and memory seemed to meet his brilliant eyes as well.

"Good morning," She whispered as fingers drifted down her collarbone, resting gently on the soft swell of a breast, coaxing her back beneath the sheets.

"Itis a good morning, isn't it?" His voice was so calm and rewarding, and she drank it in like a warm glass of wine, feeling it run down her throat with a satisfaction like no other.

He'd let her with one strong hand, up the stairs, into a room she'd had only seen once before on a clear morning, when Kathy had still shared it. Yet in the dark all other memories of this place were erased, and she'd given no protest to the hands running over her face, her arms, fingers that gently pulled on clothes they knew well, familiar to the touch, yet satisfying to the soul to be shed.

Her only belongings, things that had smelled so much of him that to wear them was to be drunk with his presence, were falling to the ground like great grey feathers, and she felt like the swan that shed its winter down with the brilliance of the sun on it skin, glowing from within at the touch of this brilliant being.

And if she was the swan, walking anew in the light of spring, he was the world around her, shedding the cold raiment of snow and ice with her simple touches, emerging warm and radiant with all the gleam of the waxen twilight and the shimmer of the dew-glazed sunrise.

She recalled a time when they were both strong, when the world was at once wild and fair, when her life still glowed brilliantly with the faint luster of youth.

The wild sprigs of spring at once embraced the fair swan, still stepping unsure across the dais, and she let him take her there, pushing her down deep into the warm sea of linen, sinking like two stones in this river of snowy down. He captured her body so gently, and she surrendered so softly, and all at once her whispers were becoming desperate cries for more.

He was above her, his figure always forefront in her mind, lord over her immediate world. It was as though he had spread a pair of great wings to shield their act from the rest of the world, and she let him take her there as an angel of mercy, as the noble being must someday subdue to the winged creatures' flights.

Truly it was flight. Her back arched, her fingers holding tight to his shoulders and neck as they rode a silver wind, her body curving against a current of emotion that seemed to carry them farther than any draft. And he brought his great neck down over her, lips as sweet as a cherubim's breath searching their way across the supple contours of her skin. She shuddered as though caught in the frozen gusts of winter, when it was only the heat of her body escaping through his mouth as his lips grazed her bosom, her belly, blessing the parts of her body she'd once thought of as unsacred, barren.

All at once, in a great sweep of primal passion, she longed for such a blessing, wishing for his manhood to lay sanction on this, her woman's body, the hips she'd never admired, the breasts she'd never flaunted, the womb in which no child had ever been warmed. All at once she had become a goddess with naught but the touch of his skin, and she let out a cry when she felt her body becoming fully divine, felt her spirit soar when they were united. Perfectly complementary. Brilliantly whole.

For hours it seemed he could not stay away from her body. Olivia laid still and silent in the soft womb of the bed, stroking his head as it rested on her lower belly, rising and falling with her steady breath. He kissed her skin again, sending a tingle of heat from where his lips had met her down her groin, and her smile widened, her finger curling around his ear, feeling the sweat on his forehead from the warmth of their passion. She had never felt more feminine, more blessed, more beautiful, than having him lying here upon her, knowing his seed was still stirring within her.

She'd drifted into sleep eventually, and woken with his head on the pillow beside her. But it had been the most amazing sex in her lifetime. It had been more than sex. It had been some sort of…well, she didn't know what. But she knew now why she had thought of him so many times before, when another man had shared her bed, when someone else had gone through the motions. Now they were all just moments of simple sex- unbridling, unmoving, weary actions of weary people just trying to move on.

And today she didn't want to move on. Today she wanted to lay in his arms forever. Today she wanted to remember what it was like to feel him inside her, and smile at the faint whisper of his touches.

Today she was Olivia.

Today he was Elliot.

Today they were lovers, and there was nothing in this world that could take that away from them.

Now it's complete. We've tapped the ecstasy, and we've become closer because of it.

"Do you remember it all?" She whispered, touching his forehead with a fingertip.

"Every moment." His palm traced a lazy circle around her breast, slowly kneading it with gentle fingers. She let out a small gasp, wrapping sudden arms around his neck, taking his lips into her own mouth before the wave of passion had crashed against the sharp shores of their bodies.

The alarm was still on, but she hardly noticed. He reached up and pressed the snooze button, releasing his lips for a second and smiling at her.

"Don't want to be late."

"Certainly not."

"We should leave soon."

"Of course." She grinned as well, still captivated by his eyes. "And the twins?"

"They won't be awake for hours."

"No ideas?"

"They're not stirring for at least four more hours."

"And you'll leave a note? They're alright with staying alone?"

"I promise."

She smiled at his response, kissing him again.

"I'm a very lucky woman, aren't I?"

"Not nearly as lucky as I am."

She winked at him, taking his head in her hands, unable to resist pressing her lips to his skin again.

"You'd be surprised, Elliot Stabler." Her mouth clamped down on his ear. Why did she love his ears so much? "You'd be very surprised."