A/N: What? A new chapter? From me? A true miracle.
This was supposed to be a strictly kinky honeymoon thing, and unless I end up with another three month writer's block, that chapter will hopefully appear in the not so distant future. But apparently I was in the mood for some hurt/comfort thing instead, so here's this; A little bit of hurt, a lot of comfort, and of course some smut for the people. I know I suck at updates these days and I feel terrible but hopefully this is better than nothing?
(This is Liv's POV btw)
I don't know if it needs a TW, but it mentions Lewis.
…
When she enters the bathroom, I must already be half asleep in the tub because I only notice her presence when she kneels next to me, grabbing my hand to press a kiss against my knuckles.
I keep my eyes closed, but a faint smile lets her know that despite looking more or less passed out, I'm awake now. And aware.
"Kids are sleeping." She tells me, gently, and I smile again, humming a sound of gratefulness before mumbling a barely audible "thanks".
She moves to get comfortable on the floor, and I instinctively know what comes next; The debrief. Forcing me to ignore and push aside that secret need to watch her undress and have her join me in the warm water that smells all sweet and almondy.
I know she has a plan, and I know I have no choice but to accept it.
"How are you feeling?"
And there it is.
Not "how are you?" Or a simple and maybe slightly suggestive "you ok?"
Feeling. She wants me to use words, and I'm not sure if I have any.
…
Honestly, it wasn't a big deal. Or, it shouldn't have been a big deal. It was just… the reminder of him, out of nowhere. Not being prepared. And that's just it. I should've seen this coming.
And listen, I know Elliot didn't mean to upset me. I know that he genuinely thought he was asking a harmless question.
To him, it was purely case related and the most rational question to ask. Innocent, casual, and yet professional. His tone neutral, his face relaxed. To him, it was nothing.
To me, it was a punch in the face. Decade old wounds being ripped open. Or, that very distinct feeling of lit cigarettes against my skin.
"Who is William Lewis?"
I could've told him so many things; The truth. A lie. Something in between. I could've just said "an old case" and left it at that (even though I know him and I know he would've kept on pushing). I could've opened up to him. I mean, all things considered, we're doing ok. I'm starting to trust him again.
But none of that happened.
"Get out." I told him, cursing myself for letting my chin tremble, for letting my skin break into a sweat, for acting so irrational in my own office where I'm usually the one in control and on top of everything.
He looked at me then, clearly puzzled, clearly trying to put some invisible pieces together, and failing.
"Liv-" He said, softly, too softly, because that meant that he was on to something. After all, he knows me too.
But I, shit, I interrupted him, pointing at the door, and told him once again to get out, and never mention that name ever again.
Two, three years ago, being a single parent and too independent for my own good, I would've made it home eventually, put on a brave face for Noah while counting the minutes until it was time for bed. Then, most likely, I would've popped open a bottle of red and gone to sleep only when my brain and body was numb enough to shut it all out.
I would've woken up the next day, feeling like absolute shit, in a bad mood and desperate to just stay under the covers and pretend that the world outside didn't exist. But, because that's not how life works, I would've made it out of bed, probably lashing out at my son for something stupid while trying to get us to school and work in one piece. And then, after some bad coffee, I would've drowned myself in a case until someone else's trauma replaced my own.
Well, I'm not a single parent anymore. In fact, I'm married to someone who sees right through me, whether I want her to or not.
So when I did make it home, and found her setting the table with the help of a very enthusiastic but oh so terribly uncoordinated Billie, it took about ninety seconds for her to look up, meet my eyes and say "we'll talk after dinner, ok?"
Just like that. She didn't know, but she knew.
And so we did. The kids seated and distracted with their electronic devices (don't judge us), we snuck into the bedroom, where she could finally ask "what happened?"
Telling her was surprisingly easy. Hearing her response was simply surprising.
"I think you should tell him."
Of course she added the mandatory "only if you're ok with it" but I didn't really notice that part because… Well, it should be obvious.
"Why?" I asked, using one single word to convey a whole list of questions. Why does he deserve to know? What good would come from it? Why would you want him to know? How do I tell him?
Turns out, my wife is pretty damn smart.
"Look-" She started, shifting at the edge of the bed, grabbing my hands. "You two are finally in a good place. And he's important to you. He cares about you, deeply. You don't have to tell him everything, if you don't want to. But-"
Here she hesitated, and I could see that she was worried about overstepping, but I genuinely wanted her to finish the sentence.
"But?" I said, moving an inch closer to let her know that I wasn't upset.
"But, I think that not telling him, now that his name is on the table, will only create more tension between the two of you. And I don't think that's what you want."
I had tears in my eyes at this point, and clearly she noticed because a moment later I found myself wrapped in her arms. Held by my wife, as she reminded me how unfair this is, and how sorry she is that after all this time, I'm still forced to deal with it. She told me how much she loves me, and that no matter what I decided, it was my choice and my story to tell, or not tell.
But again, my wife is smart. And that's how I ended up on the phone ten minutes later, now alone in the bedroom, but with the safety of knowing that Amanda was right down the hall if I needed her.
I didn't tell him everything, but it'll have to do for now. And it was the right thing to do.
It was also fucking excruciating.
Hence Amanda doing all the work with getting three kids to bed. Hence me in the bathtub.
And now, the debrief.
…
"I feel-" But then I pause, realizing that my eyes are still closed and I know that she's more likely to drop this if I can actually look at her and convince her that I'm being honest. So I open them, and for a split second I just feel like crying because there she is. My wife. My beautiful, concerned wife. Her expression warm and inviting, patiently waiting for me to let her in.
There you are.
"I feel annoyed." I say finally, suddenly very aware of how the water has cleared up and I'm literally laid out naked in front of her. I mean, at this point she has seen my naked body in nearly every position imaginable (with some obvious exceptions, being close to sixty and all). So it's not that I'm shy or uncomfortable, but after today?
After today, it feels like my scars are fresh and so painfully visible, out in the open for anyone and everyone to see, even fully clothed.
"Annoyed?" She asks, intertwining our fingers, tilting her head like she does sometimes when she listens intently, when she wants me to know that right now, no one and nothing else exists. Nothing else matters, she tells me.
"With myself." I continue, and I don't like how weak I sound when I say that. Meekly. Kind of like I'm begging for my life again.
"Why?" She asks. Not accusingly, not for the sake of mocking or judging. She just genuinely wants to have this conversation.
And I… I honestly just want her body close to mine. I want her body to replace his. I want her voice instead of his.
But that's weird, right? A little twisted? My mind flooded with flashbacks while my body floods with lust?
If not weird, it sure is confusing as fuck.
"Because it's been more than ten years-" I say, shrugging. "And I can't seem to shake him. I just want to be over it, but-"
"But you're not." She responds, knowingly. After all, I'm not the only traumatized person in this room. She knows a thing or two about PTSD and how complicated it is. She knows.
And maybe that's it. Maybe that's why I'm mentally begging her to join me right now. That primal need to be close to someone who gets it. Someone who knows and understands. Someone who loves me regardless.
"What do you need?" She asks after a brief moment of silence.
"You." I say, without hesitation. "Just you."
She smiles then, and my eyes stay on her as she lifts herself up from the floor before pulling the t-shirt over her head. As expected, she's not wearing a bra and that does it. That part of me, trying to convince myself that I'm confusing lust with something else, it dwindles quickly when she reveals herself.
Maybe it's ok, I think, to be a little broken and turned on at the same time.
Now I don't know the exact definition of a strip tease, but I'm pretty sure that's what's happening here, and I'm not complaining because holy shit, my wife is perfect.
"See something you like?" She asks, clearly aware of my gaze and how it moves from her face to her chest, down her stomach, until my eyes rest on where she currently has her fingers hooked, a little teasingly, at the waistband of her sweatpants.
I clear my throat, and no other response is needed. She knows damn well how I feel about her. And if she's not sure, I'm more than happy to demonstrate it, over and over again.
…
"Your heart is beating so fast." She mumbles behind me, kissing my temple while resting a hand on my chest.
To that, I hum knowingly.
Because even now, post conversation with Elliot, post getting through the day, and finally being wrapped up by my wife's body, I can't relax. I keep telling myself to breathe, to do the things I've practiced for so many years, so I won't spiral. And yet, it's not working. At least not as well as I'd hoped when I first closed the door to the bathroom and sank down in the water that was supposed to sooth me; Mind, body and soul.
It helps though, it helps a lot, having her here, behind me.
"Tell me what's going on." She says, using her free hand to tap the spot she just kissed.
"It's not so much about what's in my head-" I respond, glancing down to where her hand has started to move, tracing circles over my breasts, to the point where my nipples give it away before I can even finish the sentence. It shouldn't, but my bodily response makes me blush, and I forget what I was supposed to say.
For a minute or two, neither of us say anything else. Instead, I breathe with her, or she breathes with me. It's a little hard to tell when we're this close.
…
"After I was shot-" Amanda starts, breaking the silence, "a few weeks after I went back to work, there was an incident."
Abruptly, I turn my head to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in worry, immediately on edge and expecting her to tell me something I should've known, something she's kept from me.
"Nothing like that." She says, shaking her head, giving me a reassuring smile before I settle back against her. "I was picking Jess up from a birthday party and while I was waiting for her to get her things, a balloon popped. And there I was, in the doorway, on a regular Sunday afternoon, on the verge of a full blown panic attack."
It breaks my heart, the way I can so easily picture her; The uneasiness in her eyes, her flickering gaze, her body tense from flashbacks. I remember those days, back when I found myself constantly thinking about her, how she was doing, what was going through her mind. I mean, I knew she was struggling, and still, it stings. Knowing how much she was not telling me, for the sake of not being the burden she could never be.
"You never told me this." I mumble, hoping I sound more concerned than accusing.
She hums in response, shrugs, and intertwines our fingers where our hands are now resting under my breasts, as if she's hugging both me and herself in the process.
"The thing is, in my head-" She continues. "I knew it was just a stupid balloon. I told myself that, reminded myself that I was safe. But my body? My body was on the ground, bleeding out, wondering if I told my girls that I love them that morning. And, if I would ever see you again."
Again, heart broken.
I want to comfort her and say the right things, but I sense that there's something more coming, so I stay silent. I get it. She knows I get it.
"And it… It lingered, you know?" She says. "Hours later, my heart was still racing."
"What did you do?" I ask, and she, to my surprise, snickers.
"Ended up texting the nanny, lied about being called in to work, and spent nearly three hours kicking and hitting a punching bag."
Here, I laugh too. Yeah, that sounds like her. That sounds like my wife. But now she has kinda lost me.
"Listen, if you're about to drag me to the gym-"
"I'm not." She interrupts, and I can hear the grin in her voice. "I'm just saying, you're still reacting to what happened to you, and it creates this energy, you know? You need to place that energy somewhere, somewhere that's not yourself because being annoyed or angry at yourself is unhealthy, and the last thing you deserve."
At this, I turn my head again, eyeing her for a moment, my face surely filled with wonder.
"Hey-" She laughs again. "Don't look so surprised. I'm a professor now. I know things."
I kiss her then, smiling into it. "You sure do."
As our lips meet, and the kiss deepens, our conversation seems forgotten for a moment. In fact, this whole day seems to dissolve, and all that matters is my body against hers, my lips against hers, my mouth opening, and inviting her tongue.
This might sound strange, and maybe it is, but damn, we're really good at this. Even with my head turned and my neck aching, and this water that's now turning cold. No one has ever kissed me like this. I have never kissed anyone like this.
So when I end it, I do it begrudgingly, clearing my throat, and keeping my eyes on her lips as I speak.
"So, all this energy-" I mumble, humming quietly when her fingertips move in unison over my chest, my breasts, my nipples. "Do you have any suggestions?"
"I might." She answers, and I kiss her again, moving my hand to hers, guiding her further down before I remember that we have a perfectly comfortable, and more importantly warm bed just next door. And tonight, I definitely need a bed.
"Let's get out of here."
…
Turns out, while we're very much at that stage in our relationship where a quickie in Amanda's office is still a thing, we're also at that stage in our lives where nightly routines have become essential to the quality of our sleep. So while there's certainly a part of me that really just wants to stumble out of this bathroom, butt naked and dripping wet (literally), we don't do that. And by the time we actually make it to the bedroom, all brushed and flossed and dried up (not quite as literal), I've had time to question a thing or two.
Is this normal?
Shouldn't this be one of those days where I don't want anyone to touch me?
Is this just a deflection? Or another unhealthy way of dealing with something that I still don't know how to process?
And worse, is Amanda just offering herself up as a punching bag because she thinks that's what I need, or want?
Am I just as messed up now, as I felt all those years ago?
Is this-
"Hey-" Amanda says then, softly, and only when she steps forward to grab my hands and close the small distance between us, do I realize that I've frozen in the middle of the room, feeling strangely vulnerable despite the silk robe I covered myself with before checking that all three kids are in fact sleeping.
"You ok?" She asks, and I blink, bringing her back into focus.
"Yeah-" I respond, before knowing if it's actually true.
"You zoned out on me." She says, cupping my face. "Talk to me."
And it hits me, in that moment, that I truly am done talking. Not for the sake of hiding or downplaying anything, or keeping my wife in the dark.
I know what happened to me. I know what was taken from me. I know why and how it hurts and what scares me. I know that it might always hurt, a little. I know that there will always be triggers and reminders and reasons for having absolutely shit days and feeling exhausted seemingly from nothing but a name.
That's what he is now. Just a name. His power is gone, dead and buried. His hands are gone. And they've been replaced by a set of hands that would never, ever hurt me. These hands, now gently touching the face he once bruised, would never take away my freedom or dignity.
These hands are right here and right now. And there's nowhere else I would rather be.
"I love you." I say, just because I can. And because I love how her expression changes, ever so slightly, every time I say it.
"I love you." She says, moving only to carefully drag her fingers through my damp hair, pulling me in for a kiss. And this time, we don't stop.
Not until I'm sitting on the edge of the bed and she's straddling me, robes and clothes left on the floor.
"We don't have to-" She mumbles, making no actual effort to slow things down. But I know that she means it. I know that she would be absolutely content with calling it a night and go to bed without finishing what we just started.
Except, now that I have her like this, there's nothing I want more than to feel her body close to mine, feel everything that is so monumentally different from my past. Because this is what I need.
And this, I realize, is healing.
So I shake my head, pulling her close toward me, kissing her exposed and beautiful neck.
"No-" I say, kissing her again. "I want to feel you."
She sighs, spreads her legs wider, and grabs my hand. "Then feel me."
Why we never did this years ago, I will never understand. I will never understand why I waited so long, not when it feels so right and so fucking amazing every time I slide inside of her. Sure, there's a part of me, realistic enough to know that maybe it couldn't happen at an earlier point in our friendship. Maybe it had to play out exactly like this. But goddamnit, we could've had this for so long.
Now that we finally do, I'm not planning to hold back.
She moans a hushed "fuck" when I add a finger. And then again when she rolls her hips, one arm thrown around my shoulders for support, and the other gripping my knee for balance. Did I mention that she's perfect?
There's just something about having her like this; No inhibitions, no shame, that makes me want to stop, freeze the moment. I want us to be like this forever.
But, and again, I'm only human, I also want to make her come. And judging by the sounds she's now making, I might not have to wait that long.
With her mouth close to my ear, she moans my name, but just as I'm preparing for her to unravel on top of me, she slows down. Hips still rocking, her inner walls fluttering around my fingers, but without chasing her release that seemed so imminent just a second ago.
"Something wrong?" I ask, kissing her neck first, and then her jawline.
"No-" She shakes her head. "I want you to fuck me."
Confused, I look down between us where my hand is still wedged. "Kinda thought I was already doing that-"
"No, Liv-" And here, our eyes meet again. "I want you to fuck me."
Oh. That. She wants me to fuck her like that. She's asking for more than my natural body can give her.
"You sure?" I ask, because it's usually the other way around, and suddenly I'm all self aware and worried about disappointing her. Or worse, hurting her. But then, I realize, she's not just asking for herself. And I get it now. The energy and all that. Find somewhere to place it.
…
Now, I know that this is all in my head. I'm not having some superstitious moment where I'm hallucinating. But I swear, when she's positioned underneath me, and I angle the dildo, and finally sink into her, I feel it. Like, physically, actually, feel it. Maybe it's just because I've been inside of her enough times to know exactly what it's like, but fuck, this can't just be my imagination.
"You ok?" I ask, focused on her expression, searching her face for any signs of discomfort, careful to keep my weight off her when she squeezes her eyes shut.
"Mm-" She nods, relaxing into the mattress, spreading her legs before hooking them around my thighs. "More-"
More. That pretty much sums up what happens next.
Just, more, of everything; The sound of skin meeting skin, muscles flexing and relaxing, the sound of her arousal, muffled moans and cries of pleasure, her nails digging into my back. My breaths, and her leg over my shoulder (the one time I allow myself to pause to check that she's comfortable, and when the only response I get is "shut up", I take that as a yes).
While I can feel my own release start to build, she is miles ahead of me, and honestly, I don't think I've heard or seen her like this before. So utterly lost in the moment, giving herself over to every single sensation, every single push of my hips. So open and willing. I could probably cry right now if my entire body wasn't on fire, focused solely on taking her exactly where she wants.
"Liv-" She suddenly moans, hands gripping my backside, pulling me impossibly close, her forehead pressed against my shoulder before she moves to bite it. "I'm-" She gasps. "I'm gonna come so fucking hard-".
Not sure how, but I manage to wiggle my arm enough so I can cover her mouth, knowing that she probably won't be able to hold back, knowing that neither of us wants to risk waking up kids (or the entire building for that matter).
"Come-" I tell her, panting the word out before pushing into her again, feeling dizzy and a little disoriented from how she's trembling, breathing fast and hotly against my hand.
One thrust, two, and then, a hoarse cry that crescendos from low in her stomach, building and building until I quickly replace my hand with my mouth, silencing her to the best of my ability as she falls apart, as beautiful as ever.
"Shit-" She murmurs, the tremors in her legs and belly a clear sign that the tail end of her orgasm is still working its way through her system. "Jesus-"
"You can just call me Liv." I joke, leaning down to kiss her forehead, her nose, and finally her mouth.
The joke is more or less lost on her, and the only response I get is a barely audible snort as she keeps her eyes closed, looking like she's stuck somewhere between this world and the deepest sleep. If I wasn't worried about crushing her, I'd fall asleep too, just like this; Still inside of her, so close that I'm not quite sure where her body ends and my begin.
But my wife, now suddenly very much conscious, has other plans.
"Up-" She demands, one hand tapping my chest, surprisingly eager and impatient after looking so sated just two seconds ago. "On your back."
Having briefly forgotten about my own need to finish, it comes back full force now that I realize what her plan actually is, and so I wiggle my way out of the strap hastily, not really thinking when I throw it to the side. My eyes on her only as she shifts, quick to spread my legs, somehow managing that fine line between rough and gentle all at once. Whatever category this falls into, I fucking love it.
She usually likes the teasing, the lingering kisses up and down my legs, the inside of my thighs, but there's no time and no need so when her mouth finds me, I gasp, my entire system momentarily rattled by how sensitive I am.
The sensation makes me pull away, but it's involuntary, so when she glances up with worried eyes, I simply shake my head, give her a smile of reassurance and apologize. "It's ok."
I'm ok.
She smiles back, and continues.
Whatever journey my mind has taken me on today, there's no room for flashbacks or even a regular thought when she locks her mouth to my core. Everything blank and wet and delicious when she moves her tongue, creating friction and pleasure just where I need it.
I'm pretty sure I'm mumbling her name, because my lips are moving and I'm definitely trying to say something, but there's a constant beat in my ears, the rush of blood, stopping me from noticing anything that's not her mouth. And then, thank god, two fingers.
I know this might sound sad, but I just didn't know it could feel like this, until her. I'm not saying everything before her was terrible, but this? It's unreal, otherworldly. As if she, from the very start, just instinctively knew all the wheres and hows.
Like this, when she slows it down, knowing that I'm moments away from climax. Knowing that what she's doing right now; tongue gliding thoroughly and leisurely from the base of her fingers and up to my clit, is only adding the best fuel to the very best fire.
"Close-" I breathe, reaching for the back of her head, daring to push her closer, trusting that she'll let me know if it's too much.
But it's not too much, and she moans, letting me know that there's nothing she wants more than to feel me unravel against her. So I push her even closer, mind completely lost when I grab a fistful of her hair, a few curses escaping my lips as hers clamp down on the most sensitive part of me.
"Like that-" I say, or rather cry, hips moving to the rhythm of her mouth, the pressure low in my belly dangerously close to snapping. And honestly, at this point, we could wake up the entire Upper East Side and neither of us would be able to care.
And maybe that's exactly what just happened, but I wouldn't know because I'm floating somewhere far away. Some place that doesn't have a name, sacred only to me and her and that sweet sensation that first quickly and then gradually spreads from my core and down to my toes, before it moves up my spine and behind my ears, making blood rush to my face and my heaving chest.
"Fuh-" I say, in a poor attempt to say something else, my mouth momentarily out of service as I blink and watch the ceiling spin above me.
"Did you come?" She jokes, resting her cheek on my thigh, grinning sheepishly.
"Little bit." I say, laughing tiredly while reaching for her, urging her to move. "Come up here."
She protests at first, saying something about sleeping down there between my legs, something about being too tired to move even a single muscle, but eventually she does, placing herself next to me, our bodies now pressed snuggly together under the covers.
"I love you." She says, holding my gaze before kissing me, sighing when she rests her head on my chest.
"I know." I smile, eyes closed.
And that's the thing, isn't it. I always knew, with her. It's the whole reason why we're here. And why a day like today, can end like this.
I've doubted so many things in my life. Love included.
Except with her.
Never with her.
…
