We're 30 chapters and over 100k words in at this point, so I think you guys get that I'm changin' some shit up. No further disclaimers about such will follow, because by now it feels repetitive. :)
We're finally in season 6! Yaaayy! Happy reading. :)
you're a long walk in a rain storm
you're a cut that refuses to heal
you're a dull ache that i can't shake
you're a cold that's clogging up my head
or a broke watch keeping time still
till you pull me in pull me in
and i can't fight
Better Than Ezra, "Daylight"
Juice had gone with Rat and Bobby up to Indian Hills for a few days, apparently to get Bobby moved in to a new place. He had stepped down as the club's VP and Chibs had taken the position. Happy was the new Sergeant-at-Arms, which Olivia thought was like asking an alcoholic to run a bar, but it wasn't like her opinion mattered. Tara and Clay were both in jail…but at least no one had died in the past few weeks.
Olivia's cast was off and though there was still some stiffness in her wrist and fingers, physical therapy was helping with that. Her grip wasn't what it used to be, but the doctor assured her it would come back with time.
For lack of anything better to do, she went back to work. She did simple things around the garage for now—oil changes, tune ups—things that didn't require a huge amount of strength or dexterity. It frustrated her, but she knew she had to take it slow or risk making it worse. Everyone teased her about it, called her lefty and other dumb names. She pretended that it annoyed her, but really it helped. Normalized it. Took away some of the sting and stigma. As if there should be stigma attached to the victim of a violent crime.
Victim blaming was, of course, a huge part of any abuser's MO, and TJ had been a champ at it.
You drove me to this.
Why do you make me do these things?
You know I hate to hurt you.
She'd heard them all, plus some new and inventive ones, over the course of their marriage. In the intervening years she'd fought hard to overcome that mentality, and she'd largely succeeded—but the attack had caused some backsliding. The hospital shrink had warned her it would (it was pretty obvious to anyone with access to her X-rays what her history included, and she hadn't seen the point of playing cagey), and part of the overall recovery from it was getting her mind back to normal as much as her body.
The teasing. The stupid nicknames. The pranks (there had been a couple). It all helped. It felt normal. That's what she wanted more than anything: to feel normal again. Or at least the way she had felt before, which while it wasn't perfect had at least been better than this.
There were no customers that morning, so Olivia left Wade in charge and went to the clubhouse to play a few hands. It was quiet, but Tig and Happy were there and more than willing to sit down for a game. Tig still claimed he needed to win his money back. At this point, she thought, they might be pretty close to even.
They'd been playing nearly half an hour. Tig kept looking at Happy. Happy would make a face at him and he would sit back in his chair with a troubled sigh. He was restless and distracted, and she wished he'd just say whatever was on his mind and get it over with. Finally, despite Happy's glower, he did.
"Hey, Ollie," he said, his tone casual, "I wanna ask you a question. It's totally inappropriate and possibly deeply offensive, so I thought I'd warn you first. You know, give you the option to tell me to shut the fuck up."
She cut her eyes at him and tossed down two cards. Happy swapped them out and she added the new ones to her hand. "I'm almost afraid to hear it, but…go ahead."
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. His expression was solemn and intense, and he peered at her through inquisitive blue eyes. She braced herself, and when he finally spoke again she wasn't entirely surprised. Men—especially straight men—were literally all the same.
"Do you like eating pussy?" he said, earnestly. "I mean, actually like it, not just 'oh, here it is so I guess I better do this.' You get me?"
It didn't sound like some sort of come on or an attempt to make a crude joke; he seemed genuinely curious, and that's what made the difference in her response.
She took one last look at her hand before she dropped the cards on the table. "I fold." She turned toward him and lifted a brow. "That's seriously your question?"
He held up his hands. "I'm just wonderin'. I thought it would be a requirement for d—uh, lesbians, but Hap says no, some of them don't."
She glanced at Happy and he pushed back from the table. "Don't drag me into this," he said with a glare at Tig. "I told him to drop it."
Olivia cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down her jeans. When she spoke her voice was measured and precise. "First of all, Tig, I'm not a lesbian. Secondly, just as not all men enjoy performing cunnilingus, I'm sure there are women who feel the same way."
She paused and tilted her head. "I am not one of those women, however. To answer your question, I enjoy both eating pussy and sucking cock. I have a bit of an oral fixation. I also enjoy—because I have a feeling this'll be your next question—when my partner of either gender goes down on me."
"Who's better at it, men or women?" Happy said.
She snorted. "I have more experience with women, so that's probably not a fair question."
"So chicks, then," Tig said. "Yeah, I knew it. Unfair advantage."
"I don't know," she said. Suddenly she was trying not to blush. "Some men are actually very good at it. I think if you just apply yourself, sugar, you'll do fine. Enthusiasm can take you a long way."
He stared at her, wide eyed, and she had to laugh at his stunned expression. "I'm not—I mean—I've never had any complaints. I eat pussy like a champ! I'll eat pussy all night long! I could live on a diet of pussy!"
She waved a hand to shut him up, but she was still laughing. "I'm sure that's true," she said. She sighed and shook her head. "You're lucky you're cute, Tiggy, because honestly."
"You know I didn't mean any disrespect, Ollie. I was just curious."
"I know," she said as she spun back to the table. "I imagine I'll feel better about the whole thing after I take all your money."
"You folded! Looks like I'm takin' your money this time. Three eights."
"Not so fast," Happy said as Tig reached for the pot. He dropped his cards on the table with a shit-eating grin. "Full house, Jacks over nines."
"Goddammit," Tig said.
"Maybe you should pay more attention to the game and less attention to my hypothetical sex life, huh?"
He gave a low grunt of agreement and she grinned. He grumbled as he gathered the cards to deal. Happy crowed over his victory.
"You don't play for shit, Tig. Don't know why you bother."
Olivia missed his reply, because just then the clubhouse door opened and Lyla stumbled in. Her face was cut and battered. There were burn marks on her arms and chest. She was hunched over like an old woman with an arm around her middle and her blond hair tangled and wild. Olivia stared at her and jumped up so fast her chair toppled. Happy and Tig, startled, sprang to their feet and reached for their guns before they even knew what she was looking at.
She ignored them and went straight for Lyla.
"My God, honey, what happened?" she said, her voice soft but urgent.
She said nothing, just ducked her head so that her hair fell across her face in a curtain. Her teeth dug into her lip and she leaned into Olivia's shoulder.
"It's okay," she said. "You don't have to talk about it. You're safe now. You're safe, and we're going to take care of you."
"No, Ollie, it's—" She shook her head. Her voice was muffled by tears and pain. "It's not quite what it looks like. I just need to sit down."
"Okay, love. How about some tea, maybe?"
"Tea would be nice."
Tig and Happy stood nearby, mouths agape and guns hanging awkwardly. She cast a sharp look at each of them. "Hap, go find Chibs. I might need his help with my wrist like it is. Tig, hit the kitchen and make her a cup of tea. Grab the first aid kit while you're in there. We'll be in the office."
She took a trembling, wide-eyed Lyla gently by the arm and started to lead her down the hall. Happy and Tig hadn't moved. She threw out her arm. "Go!"
They went.
At her knock Jax opened the door with a rebuke half-formed on his lips—he and Gemma had been in deep discussion about something (probably Tara), and he resented the interruption. When he saw Lyla his face fell and his eyes went wide.
"Holy shit," he said. "What the fuck happened?"
"I think she only wants to tell it once," Olivia said. "Can we come in?"
"Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, of course." He backed away and Olivia led her to the couch.
Gemma started forward with a small sound of concern, but she stopped short. She and Olivia hadn't exactly been buddies since the shit went down at Clay's the other day, and she didn't want their issues to upset Lyla. She hung back to wait, and once Olivia got Lyla settled on the couch with a blanket draped over her shoulders, Gemma sank down next to her.
Tig burst in with the first aid kit and a steaming mug. He held them out like a temple offering. Jax scraped a hand down his face and shook his head. He lowered himself onto the petrified wood table across from them and watched Olivia work.
"Darlin'," he said in his gentlest voice, "you ready to talk about it?"
Lyla cringed as Olivia applied ointment to one of the burns. "Sorry, love," she said. "I've got to clean these out." She frowned. "Cigarettes?"
She nodded and Olivia grimaced.
"Thought so. What are these?"
"Car battery," she said. "The, you know. The jumper cables."
"What the fuck?" Tig spat.
Lyla dabbed at her nose with the tissue Gemma offered and launched into her story. She told them about the girl at Diosa who had hooked her up with a job, and how the job had turned out to be nothing like she'd expected. "Torture porn," she said through tears. "It was awful. They had me tied to a bed, and they—"
She broke off and Gemma ran a soothing hand down her hair. "We can see what they did, baby. You don't have to explain."
Her eyes met Olivia's over Lyla's head, and the younger woman was pale and grim-faced. Gemma started to ask if she were okay, but a quick jerk of Olivia's head stopped her.
"Where were they?" Tig said. His fists were clenched and you could practically hear his teeth grinding from across the room.
Happy and Chibs appeared in the doorway before she could answer. Chibs let out a long stream of truly inventive and filthy curses, but a hard look from Olivia shut him up fast.
"Stockton," Lyla said. "A warehouse at the docks. I left all my stuff there, so I don't know the address. The girl who got me the job would."
"Right," said Jax. "Mom, I need you to come with me to Diosa. Nero has connections in Stockton, right?"
"Yeah, from his old gang-running days."
"Great," he said. "Chibs, Happy, Tig, you're all with me. Are Rat and Juice back from Indian Hills yet?"
"Not till later tonight," Chibs said. "I could call them, have 'em head back early."
"Nah," Jax said. "We can handle it. They need to get things square with Bobby."
His tone softened. "Stay here with Ollie, darlin'. She'll take care of you," he said to Lyla. He pinned Olivia with a look. "You gonna be okay here?"
"Yeah, of course." She flicked her fingers. "Go."
They hustled out without further ado and Olivia offered Lyla a smile. "They're awfully efficient when they want to be."
She agreed with a brief roll of her eyes. Then, concerned: "You okay?"
What a thing to ask. She smiled ruefully. "I'm pissed and worried, but yeah. Of course."
"You seem kinda shaky."
"Oh. Um. Still not back to one hundred percent. With the wrist, you know."
"Hum," Lyla said. She paused and caught Olivia's hand in hers. Her voice dropped and tears threatened again. "Did you go through six years of shit like this, Ollie? I'm serious."
"No," she said, quietly. "No, not like this. He was very careful not to mark me."
"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."
She cleared her throat and kept her eyes away from Lyla's. "He used cigarettes once," she said after a while. "On my back. I still have the scars. But mostly it was things that wouldn't leave permanent damage."
There was a long pause. Then, "It wasn't like it was every day. I mean, if it had been I probably would've gotten out a lot sooner. I had days like this." She nodded toward Lyla's injuries. "I had days that were worse, every now and then, and days that were bad but not as bad."
Her mouth quirked and she eased her fingers from Lyla's grasp. She worked at cutting out a bandage, and when she looked back her eyes were sad. "The worst part is remembering the good days. Because there were a lot of them. It's just one of those things, right? Like, um. The Patty Hearst thing. Stockholm Syndrome. He gives you just enough of the good stuff—a kind word or a soft touch or even a gift—to keep you thinking he really does love you, and that when he hurts you it really is your fault."
She waved a hand and brushed at her face. "I'm sorry. Don't worry about that now, love. It was a long time ago. Let's just concentrate on getting you cleaned up. Drink your tea. It'll help your throat."
"I guess I've been lucky," Lyla said after a moment. "This is the first time I've ever—" She stopped and squeezed the mug with both hands. "Never realized how much I'd miss the girl/girl stuff."
"Ha. Yeah. Been there." Olivia tilted her head. "I imagine if you fucked men on camera for a living you might not have a lot of use for them off camera."
"You think it works that way?"
"No. That's not how it worked for me. I knew I was bi before I even met TJ. But after, I spent about six years not getting much closer to a man than from here to that table."
"Until Juice," Lyla said with a little grin. She'd been trying to get them together for ages before it finally happened, and for all Olivia knew by now she was planning their wedding and picking out names for their (never-to-exist) kids.
"Yeah," she said with a huff. "Until Juice. Weird how things happen."
"Mmhmm," Lyla said, thinking of Opie. "When you least expect it—bam."
"Bam," Olivia agreed. "That about covers it."
Olivia glanced down at her ringing phone and smiled. "Hey," she said when she picked up, her warm voice conveying a hundred things in that small word.
"Hey," Juice replied. "We're finally back in Charming. Everything good?"
"Um…it was a weird day, kinda. I'd rather not talk about it over the phone, though."
He hesitated. Then, "Okay. I'm at TM now, but after I talk to Jax I'm out. You at home?"
"Uh huh. In the back, so just come around when you get here. I'll have the light on for you."
"See you soon. Oh—and, hey. I missed you."
She let out a soft laugh. "I missed you too." They said their goodbyes and hung up.
She stretched out on the blanket she'd spread under the water oak. The leaves above her shimmered and danced in the moonlight. It was a peaceful night, still and quiet, and she could hear an owl hooting somewhere nearby. The scent of night blooming jasmine wafted from the pot of it on the porch.
Despite all of that, she couldn't relax. She kept seeing Lyla in her mind's eye, burned and bruised and bloodied. It stirred up old memories; old fears. When she'd locked the front door that evening, the bolt going home had recalled the snick and scrape when TJ would lock her in her room at night. Being behind the barred door in her own home had freaked her out, so she'd fled to the backyard and the open air.
The locks that were supposed to make her feel safe had made her feel like a prisoner instead.
She closed her eyes and let the night sounds fill her. California nights and Georgia nights were very different, especially this time of year. She took comfort in that, and in the cool nip to the air and the musical, mournful sound of the owl.
When Juice found her half an hour later she hadn't moved. She'd almost dozed off, in fact, but the sound of his bike in the driveway roused her. She sat up as he approached and her smile was so dazzling he couldn't help but grin back. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head before he squatted beside her knees.
"Nice night," he said.
"It is now. How was the trip?"
He sighed and dropped down onto his ass. "I don't know. Fine, I guess. I'm worried about Bobby."
She tapped a finger against his boot and he took them off. "Worried how?" she said.
"I don't know. I think he might be planning to go out on his own."
"Leave the club?" She couldn't imagine such a thing. She knew from Juice that Bobby wasn't happy with Jax' decisions lately, and he'd made it clear when he stepped down from the VP role—but to leave completely?
"Nah," Juice said with a wag of his head. "I think he might go Nomad."
"Hum." She thought it over with a distracted frown. "I don't know. Doesn't seem his style. He's upset, and I get that, but I kinda feel like he'd rather fix the problems than run away from them."
"That does seem more like Bobby." He cleared his throat. Brushed his fingers over the back of her hand to get her attention. "Hey," he said when she looked at him. "Gem told me about Lyla."
Her mouth moved in an unhappy moue. "Ah," she said, a simple sound that held a complex array of emotions.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"No." She dropped his eyes and her forehead creased. She bit her lip. "I don't know. Not really."
He watched her with a worried frown. "Aren't you cold?" he said, seemingly apropos of nothing.
She glanced up with a brief flash of smile. "Yeah, a little."
He unzipped his hoodie and started to slide it off, but she shook her head. "I've got a better idea."
She grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and tugged him down to lie next to her. Her arms went around him beneath the hoodie. He ran his hands over her hair and down her back.
"I like this idea," he said. He cocooned her in the sweatshirt and they lay wrapped together for a long time. She was still against him. Their breathing gradually fell into sync. He could feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat where their chests pressed together and the scent of her was warm and familiar.
This was the type of moment that made him extraordinarily glad the branch had broken that night. Even gladder than normal. He might not want to admit it, but she was right: he was depressed, and it seemed like every decision he made and every action he took just made it worse. When he was with her some of that guilt and anger and exhausting, aching sadness melted away. It wasn't gone, just…smoothed. Like a rock in a stream.
"I'm glad you're home," she said.
He wasn't entirely sure whether she meant home, Charming; or home, here, but either way. "Me too."
She shifted to shove him back against the blanket. He let out a surprised oomph and grinned up at her. "Hey there," he said as she straddled his legs.
"Hi." She slid her hands under his shirt and tickled him a little. "I had a very strange conversation with Tig today."
"Oh yeah?" he said. He tried to grab her fingers and his voice sounded distracted.
"Yup. About my feelings toward oral sex."
"Wait." She suddenly had his full attention. "What now?"
She laughed and recapped the highlights for him. "Happy asked if men or women were better at it."
"What did you say?" he said with a frown.
She leaned forward and used her tongue to trace a line from his belt buckle to his belly button. "I told him that wasn't a fair question. But." She undid his belt. Slowly lowered the zipper on his pants. "I have to admit that at least one man of my acquaintance has quite a knack for it."
"Oh yeah?" he said again, his voice lower and breathier than before.
"Mmhhmm. And it's funny: I was perfectly fine discussing the topic in generalities, but the moment I had that thought I know I turned bright red." She stroked the bulge in his boxer briefs.
"What, um. What thought was that?"
"Just, you know. About you. With your face between my thighs." She squeezed him a little and he let out a sharp hiss.
"That's definitely a real nice image," he said. His eyes were wide and black in the half light. His mouth dropped open a bit as he panted. "I wouldn't mind re—uh—recreating that right, um. Right now."
"Hhhmm." She hooked her fingers on the waist of his underwear and tugged it down. "I do appreciate your enthusiasm, baby, but you're gonna have to wait your turn."
She dropped her head and flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock. He had gone from semi to fully erect while she'd played with him through his shorts, and now he was stiff and hot in her hand. He squirmed as she swirled her tongue around the head and brushed her lips across it.
She pulled away and her expression was stern. "Do you think you can do that?" she said. "Sharing is caring, after all."
He gasped out a laugh. "I'm really good at sharing."
She smirked. "You certainly are."
She cupped his balls with one hand and massaged and squeezed. Her tongue darted up and down his shaft, soft, teasing little brushes that made him whimper for more.
She didn't give it to him. She just continued to lick, barely skimming his heated skin from the tip of his cock down to his balls. Unlike him, she could tease for ages. Play and tempt and arouse until he was wrecked and begging. That's how she liked him best, and the whole game turned him on to the point of incoherence.
She wiggled the tip of her tongue into his slit. Kissed it and eased the head between her lips. She treated it like a lollipop or an ice cream cone: all long, easy lathes and slow, maddening sucks. She used her lips and her tongue; barely grazed him with her teeth; hollowed her cheeks as he popped in and out of her mouth. He was already dripping, and he felt her smile as she lapped up the pre-come.
"Babe," he choked out, "please. Please!"
Her head tilted and she fixed him with a curious look. She loosely fisted him in her hand and stroked. "Please what, Juicy?" His hips jerked when her fingers tightened around him. She made a tsking noise.
"Eager, aren't you?"
His head moved in a desperate nod. "Yeah. Yes. Fuck! Jesus goddamn Christ—!" He was almost painfully hard, aching and throbbing, and every one of those feather-light touches was a sort of agony of close-but-not-enough.
"Please what?" she repeated.
He let out a strangled moan. "Make me come with your mouth, baby. Please! Fuck, I need it so bad."
She smiled then, a wicked little curve. He was sprawled out on the blanket with his shirt rucked up to his chest and his pants around his knees. His breath came in pained gasps and the muscles in his abdomen danced every time she touched him. She kissed the flat planes of his stomach and nipped at his hipbones with wet, swollen lips and rough, careless teeth.
He cursed, long and low and filthy, his voice guttural and slurred, and with a quiet noise of pleasure she sucked him halfway in. He whimpered and clenched wads of blanket with both hands. She moved up and down on his cock, her lips tight and her tongue working. His head fell back and he whispered her name—Livvie, punctuated by the occasional, desperate please or fuck or yes—over and over like a mantra.
She wrapped her fingers around the base of his saliva-slicked shaft while her other hand still toyed with his balls. She went faster, sucked him deeper. Pulled away to stroke her tongue up and down and around the head before she took him in her mouth again.
She would get him right to the edge and then slow down or ease up or stop altogether to tease him with more of those soft little licks and feathery caresses. He was loosing his mind, but she didn't let up, and just as he thought he couldn't take another second, she squeezed him tight and sucked him deep.
He let out a soft, moaning cry and his hips bucked. She never slowed, and as he spasmed in her mouth again and again she gleefully lapped up every drop. When it was finally over he felt spent and shaky, and he collapsed onto the blanket with a protracted groan.
"Holy. Jesus," he managed.
She laughed and scooted up to lie beside him. "Okay, love?"
His head lolled in a sort-of nod. "I might be. Gimme a minute."
Another laugh, this one warm and low and loaded with honeyed promise. "All right. But only a minute. It's your turn, after all."
He kicked off his underwear and pants and rolled toward her. "Sharing is caring," he said with a grin that crinkled his eyes.
"You are a very quick learner, Ortiz," she murmured just before their mouths met for a long, slow kiss. "And I did miss you so, so much."
We're dealing here with two people who have varying degrees of PTSD and (at least in Juice's case; not really sure about Olivia, but I'd lean toward no) depression. In the wake of Juice betraying Clay and Olivia's attack, those issues are gonna be more in the forefront. I mean, s6 was pretty harrowing, right? So expect the next several chapters to have their heavy moments. (intermingled with some smut and a dash of humor bc we can't be dour ALL the time)