DISCLAIMER: This is a love story about two consenting female adults. Can't handle it, don't like it, don't read it. We're just borrowing Dick Wolf's characters for fun; we aren't making any money from it.
AUTHOR' NOTE: When two writing heads get together in a round robin...
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
It's Gotta Be Love
By Katherine Quinn & Adrienne Lee
I watch you, and I watch my mom. I watch the two of you interact.
She's looking at you with a smile on her face, sounding understanding and concerned. She tells you she cares about you, and not just for my sake. I think she's trying to show you she can be nice, and accepting and loving. Like how she was when she first found out about me, about you, about us. Honestly, Trev and I are not just tied to the apron string by fear. You can see that, right?
I'm sorry this is the first time you meet this side of my mom. It's most of what I know, really. I just hope you recognize that sincerity. You're a great cop, Liv, you can tell who's lying and who's feeding you bullshit. I hope that ability doesn't only apply to pervs.
You. Well, you're looking back at her. Judging by the expression on your face though, I know you're only doing it to be polite. You probably want her out of here. Her and everyone else. Probably including me. So you can be left alone in your misery. Or something.
I wish I knew what motivates you to drink. The job? We have the same job. Granted, I don't see the mutilated dead bodies often, but I do read about them in your reports and the coroner's reports and see the photographs, and sometimes I think the rest are worse in my imagination.
The loneliness? I suppose I can understand that. As much as a want to kill my brother, I can't imagine growing up without him. While it wasn't exactly how I wanted our first date to be, it really was wonderful having you around when I was sick.
Are there other demons I don't know about? That I can't even begin to fathom? I wish I knew.
I just wish I knew what to do with you.
I've never been in this position before. I have no idea what's the right thing to say or do. Apparently, my mom doesn't either. Does anyone really know? Anyone besides you? Do you know? Is there really such as thing as the "right thing"? Somehow I doubt it.
I just wish there were more I could do. So maybe I wouldn't feel so helpless. I don't want to start feeling sorry for myself, or for you. That would not be a good thing for either one of us.
Apparently my mom and I are on the same wavelength. I hear her telling you that there's only so much we can do to help you cure your body. We can't watch over you 24/7 and keep the bottle from you. No one can. At least no one besides you.
She tells you I obviously think you're worthwhile, and because of that, she believes you're worthwhile. She apologizes for her accusations, explaining her original reverse psychology intent, and tells you she hopes we find happiness together.
Wow. I'm so shocked, so happy, I'm shappy. I could kiss her. Hug and kiss both of you. But this is not about me. So I remain standing by the door, and listen.
I listen to her admit that she isn't equipped to help you, that ultimately, it'll be up to you to cure you. Hear her ask you if you're ready to heal your mind, if you want her to bring in the therapist a few days earlier than scheduled.
And I wait, for your answer.
122. Out of Here
I can't wait to get out of here. Out of this hospital. Out of this bed. Out of here.
I want to spend a night in my own bed. I want to take a shower and let the warm water run down my back without having a nurse knock on the door to see if I need some help. I don't want any help. I want to sit on my couch, and read a book, without the sound of beeping indicating that my heart is still beating. I want to focus on nothing but the quiet and the solitude. I want a large pizza all to myself, with extra everything, and I want to eat it at a table, sitting in a chair, and not in bed. I want to down it with a cold beer, still in the tall frosty bottle. Of course, that part isn't going to happen. Not since my forced sobriety became your number one concern.
But I refuse to be angry today; I refuse to be upset. I get to get out of this hospital and out of this bed and out of this damn room with it's white walls.
I've met with your therapist, as your mother wanted, and she says I can go. Not home, of course, because I'm supposed to be headed to rehab. My house is now a "trigger" for my drunken ways. Somewhere that's laden with booze and danger for my newly sober mind. Instead, I'll be rehabbing in your mother's guest house, with you as my full time nanny and a long series of medical professionals parading through to make sure I'm healing correctly.
The therapist your mother picked is one of those positive upbeat types. One day at a time, she tells me. Like taking them three at a time is an option. Self helpers can be so inane.
I can finally get up and move myself, albeit slowly, and with the aid of crutches to keep me off my busted ankle. Not exactly ideal, but it's better than relying on someone to help me pull myself up.
I see you come through the door with a huge smile. You're so beautiful, I wonder when the last time I told you that was. Your regal features, your blonde hair, tied back into a ponytail, and your luminescent blue eyes that make my heart skip a beat every time I see you.
You look so happy today. As happy as I feel. It radiates from your face. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. I want to go home and unwrap you as my present. "You ready to get out of here?"
"Yeah," I say, slowly pushing myself up off the bed, ready to follow after you like a puppy. You smile at me and I see the nurse behind you pushing the empty wheelchair.
"She says you have to ride." I almost start to pout, but then I remember that I'm riding in this thing the last time. The last time before I go home. I happily settle in. I'm willing to jump through any hoop I have to, I just want out of here.
123. HAPPY DAY!
You're getting out of the hospital today! I'm getting out of the hospital today!
You've been so good for the last couple of days, I'm so proud of you! I'm proud of you for not making a fuss about the therapist! I'm proud of you for agreeing to stay at my mom's! For handing your keys over so somebody can go in and clean up your apartment! I'm even proud of you for riding in the wheel chair!
I'm so happy, even my thoughts are ending in exclamation marks! And I'm beginning to annoy myself with my enthusiasm and the smile that refuses to leave my face!
I hope you don't think I've lost my mind!
I wonder if you noticed it's Trevor in the uniform and the dopey hat over his eyes! I wonder what he's done, to warrant this level of punishment! Or maybe mom's just making sure I don't kill him Hmm Oh, I'm so happy! I couldn't care less!
And Mom! I can't believe she's sitting up front! I thought for sure she'd watch over us like a hawk! Instead, we have the whole back of the car to ourselves! YAY!
Okay, maybe you're looking at me a little funny. I guess I should chill
Okay. Cabot, chill.
Okay, I'm chillin', as Fin would say. I lace my fingers with yours and stare out the tinted window, and try to focus on the scenery passing by. Chillin', yep, simply chillin'.
"Alex?" You squeeze my fingers gently.
"Yeah?" I turn to you, and the glee just bubbles up unbidden. You're smiling, too, but you're still looking at me funny. "What?"
Quietly, you reach for me. Slowly you close the distance between us.
Soon we're back to where we got interrupted by my mom. Back and beyond, as I find myself bracing against the seat, straddling your hips, with your hands under my shirt. With me pushing my moans into your mouth.
Oh god. Are you sure you're new at this?
"Girls?" Suddenly I hear the intercom. "Is everything all right back there?"
"Yes, Mom!" I call back, trying and failing to stifle my giggles. I'm sure I'm blushing as you smirk at me, and continue with what you're doing. You're wicked, I want to tell you. Instead, I just whimper against your lips.
To think, we have the entire weekend to ourselves before the regimen starts! Oh, happy day! Happy, happy day!
I take a deep breath of fresh air. My first foray into the real world, with you at my side, even if you are the one pushing me out of the front door. At this point, I'm happy just to feel the warm sunshine against my face, and to take a deep breath of even the most polluted air. At least it hasn't been recycled through a germ filter and doesn't smell like antiseptic. No matter what happens, I'm promising myself to be in a good mood.
"End of the line," you say with a smile, as you lock the chair into place. Slowly, you help me crawl inside the car, your mother standing next to you, smiling and pretending to be the world's most gracious host.
"On your first steps to recovery," she whispers in my ear. Yeah, yeah, lady. Whatever you say.
I smile at her, and I smile even bigger when I see her slide into the front seat and you scamper into the back with me. You help me move my leg, so it's sitting on the seat that's facing us. "You're supposed to keep it up" you tell me.
This has to be the biggest car that I've ever seen in my life. You've already explained that your mother rented the thing to drive us to the country, out to her home out in the Hampton's where we'd be staying for the foreseeable future. This has to be the best day of the last, I don't know, month? Even though, I'm slightly dreading the process ahead, I'm ready to go anywhere to get you alone for a few hours.
You sit next to me, shy at first, giggling as you split your attention between the window and my smile. Both of us are shy at first, our first time truly alone without the threat of a nurse popping in to check on us, or worse, your mom. You smiled at me with a wink as you lock the window between us and them from our side.
I feel you slip your hand into mine and give me a gentle squeeze.
I turn my head to look at you at the exact same moment you look at me and I catch your lips in a tiny kiss.
Before I know it you're straddling me.
So much for going slow. I guess you wanted to be alone as much as I did. Ever since your mom walked in on us, we've been chaste in our kisses. I want more than anything to rip your clothes off and dig in.
I get your nipple between my teeth, your moan fills my ears, and at that moment your mother chooses to check on us. A beep and your mother's voice asking us if we're okay. It's like the woman has a sensor. You giggle and put your fingers over my lips. "We're fine mom."
You giggle again as I take your lips back into mine.
I think I'm going to enjoy this ride.
125. HOUSE WARMING
It's been a while since I've been back to my mom's house. Last Christmas to be exact. It's always just Thanksgiving and Christmas. The rest of the time, mom comes to the city, and stays with Trevor. It's kind of strange being here now.
It's even stranger being here with you. I guess I've never imagined the day when I'd bring someone home to meet my mother. Actually, I'm even more surprised that my mom's letting me sleep in the guest house. What ever happened to the good girls do's and don't's? Does she think you're it? Or do those rules only apply to men?
Suppose I shouldn't look the gift horse in the mouth
Miriam meets us at the guest house. Guess Trevor has to give up his housekeeper, too. Oh, well, too bad for him. Although I'm not sure I want somebody with us 24/7. Is she our chaperone?
I'm relieved when Mom explains Miriam will be staying at the main house, that she's only here to make sure we're fed. Still, I don't know why my mom feels the need to broadcast to you the fact that I can't cook. Do all mothers consider it their calling to embarrass their children? What about yours?
Mom shows us where everything is. Our clothes have already been picked up, unpacked and hung up in separate closets in adjoining bedrooms. You looked a little worried and uncomfortable until I tell you only one of the beds has fresh linens on it. Then you give me this smile, one that I find myself loving more and more each day.
I notice Mom had fresh flowers put in every room, something she only does for people she wants to impress. There's also a box full of my favorite candles she must have purchased when she was in the city. Guess she's trying to make it somewhat like home.
With the promise of a tour of the main house and the surrounding areas when you feel up to it later, my mom leaves us for the rest of the afternoon.
Now, we're sitting in bed, just you and I. All alone. It's a little awkward, although I'm not sure I really know what to expect. Perhaps an instant replay of what we did in the car?
Since I'm sort of the hostess here, I turn to you and smile. "So, what do you want to do?"
"You?" You smirk at me and lick your lips. "Actually, I think I'd really like a shower, and since you don't have rails and stuff here for me to hold onto, I'm going to need help standing up."
"I think you just want me naked." I say, and reach for your lips.
"Naked and wet," you whisper against my mouth, your hands making quick work of my buttons.
I can only shudder as you stroke my tongue with your tongue, as you slide my shirt off my shoulders, and cover my breasts with your palms. God, I love the way you touch me.
Love the way you make me feel, as your fingers dance across my skin, drawing moans and whimpers from depths I didn't know I have. Moans and whimpers I feed back to you in deep, searching kisses.
Soon, our kisses become more urgent. We stop long enough to take short breaths, just enough for me to pull your tee and sweater over your head. Gently, I ease you onto your back. Slowly, I brush my tongue along your skin, roaming your softness, your curves, tracing the colorful patterns across your chest and torso, very much the same way I did before, careful that I don't cause you any pain.
Vaguely, I register your gentle hands loosening my ponytail. I feel your fingers in my hair, pulling me close to you as I hunt with my lips my teeth places that make you gasp, shiver and sigh
My body has gone beyond arousal.
I'm at full fledged horny teenager mode and I'm not going to stop.
I can't stop.
I don't care if your mom wants to come in here right now and pull up a chair, and bring in all the women in her gardening club. I'm not going to stop kissing you. I'm not going to stop.
I've wanted this.
Wanted to touch you.
Wanted to kiss you.
I feel like an escaped con right now that hasn't seen someone sexually desirable in 20 years. I can't keep my hands off you, and to be honest, I don't want to take them off of you.
The way you moan into my mouth as I kiss you makes me feel like you want me, and only me. I'm special to you, a treasure. Something that I haven't felt in forever.
You straddle my hips inadvertently holding me to the bed. I love the leverage it gives me to undress you. Your shirt slips off your shoulders so easily from this position. You look at me, your eyes full of desire as I reach up and grab your hardening flesh in my mouth.
You're so careful with me, spreading me out on the bed like I'm delicate and you'll break me. Your caring is so evident as you slowly help me out of my shirt. I smile as you juxtapose you gentleness with the way the shirt goes flying across the room, hitting the wall. So you do want me as much as I want you.
I don't want to lose the contact with your delicate skin, but I'm rewarded for my patience with the feel of your mouth on my neck.
My bruises are a much lighter shade now, and I can take slightly deeper breaths without wanting to die. The tiny stitches in my side from where they fixed my stomach barely hurt anymore, and the feel of your naked skin against them makes me forget that they ever hurt in the first place.
I think about the shower. I'd love to feel the warm water over my shoulders, making the stench of the hospital flowing off my body, but I know I'm not fooling anyone. I can't stand up, not without your help. And if your fingers keep up their explorations, there's no way you're going to be able to hold me up either.
Even if you could realistically promise to hold me up, the feeling of your hands against me, naked and warm, mixed with water and soap sounds like something that's doomed for failure. That last thing I want is to be found unconscious on the floor of your shower in some kind of horny coma.
Your fingers are sliding down my body, I think I'm going to die, but if I do, I'll certainly be happy.
Like frantic teenagers we kiss. Me crouching over you, you trying to press me down against you. What about your wounds? I want to ask, but I'm too busy kissing you, too busy wrestling with your tongue in my mouth. Don't you need to breathe?
Gathering all my strength and will, I pull away from you. My heart erratic, my breathing ragged, I ask you, "What about your shower?"
"It can wait," you mumble against my chest, your mouth closing around my nipple, my breast.
"Oh god." I smother my moans in your hair as you alternate between lips and teeth, as you press your hand against the crotch of my jeans. Involuntarily, I grind against you. God, this is worse than when I was a hormonal teenager. I'm clutching your head to me, praying that you won't stop what you're doing with your mouth, and humping your hand, and the only care I have is to not bump into your ribs.
At least that was the only care I have, until you still your hand, and move it on to my hips. "Liv!!??" I half growl half whine in frustration.
You raise yourself into a sitting position, nuzzling up my breasts, my throat, finally kissing me softly on my lips. "I want you naked; I hope we have supplies," you breathe into my ear.
Supplies? Huh? I shake the haze from my head. Oh, supplies. Right. "Yeah, they're here somewhere," I smile against your lips, reluctant to lose the contact. "I made Trev pick them up yesterday." Also part of his punishment. Where could he have put them though? I try to think. Wait.
"Wait here." I tell you.
"Don't worry," you point to your leg with the sprained ankle and grin.
I remember seeing a document carton earlier at the bottom of my closet. Didn't think much of it then since he was also supposed to have brought reading material for me. Maybe they're packed together. I hope they are. I hope, I hope, I hope, as I unwind the ties and tear into the cardboard box.
"Jesus!" I gasp after pushing the flaps back. He's so going to die a painful, horrible death, I swear.
"What's wrong, Sweetheart? Did you find them?" You ask me.
Yes, I found them. Them in mass quantities. Them along with other surprises, surprises I'm not sure I'm ready to share with you just yet. "Yes, here they are." I reach in, and grab a handful and hurry towards the bed.
Okay, you're looking at me funny again. Why are you looking at me like this?
"Why are you blushing?" you furrow your brows at me as I settle next to you.
"I am?" There I go again, answering a question with another question. I hope you haven't figured out I only do that when I'm nervous or frazzled or something. I drop the foil packets next to your head and push the box of gloves towards you. "Here."
"What's in that box?"
"Just more supplies," I mutter as I seek your lips.
128. Safety First
I want to feel you.
Naked, writhing against me.
That means. I hope you have.
You grind into my hand, which can't quite hit where I know you love to be touched. I feel your warm wet heat pressing into me through your clothes.
I suck in my breath and pull my hand away from you.
You look at me like a wounded puppy. Hey, it's your rule that there has to be a barrier between us.
"Why are you stopping?" you gasp.
"I want you naked. We, umm, need.."
You look at me, quickly, confused, but recognition slowly creeps into your features. "Oh, Trevor got it."
I almost can't believe what I hear. You sent Trevor to buy you sex supplies? Trevor? Your brother?
Yeah. I just can't wait to sit down to a big happy dinner with your family. Between your mom, who's caught me with my hands in your shirt and is convinced I'm a raving alcoholic to your brother who's bought me protection to use on you, it's going to be just fantastic.
I don't want to mention that, though. That'll break your train of thought. Get the latex, get back here, get naked.
You jump off me and run across the room.
I can hear you rummaging in the other room and you return with enough latex to supply the entire east side, with a huge blush on your face.
"What?" I ask you.
"Nothing," you mumble as you drop your handful of latex next to my head. I pull at your pants, and slide them off your body with a glove safely covering my hand, I slide against you.
Your throaty moan is music to my ears I could definitely get used to this.
In no time, I find myself straddling you again.
You're smiling up at me as your fingers work at unbuckling my belt, and unzipping my jeans. I'm aware that I'm still blushing furiously, and it's not just about the contents of the box.
It's not like I'm a virgin, it's not like we haven't seen each other naked and touched each other naked before, why am I blushing?
I'm aware that you're pushing me onto my back, aware of the slightly chilled air hitting my skin coming alive, very aware of your warm hands replacing that chill.
Part of my brain though, is still thinking about the box. I should have known Trevor would get back at me somehow. That big asshole. I should give that gigantic dildo to his little mistress so she could ram it into him. Sick bastard.
Oh, but I wonder if there are other things in there more... interesting. My mind filled itself with possibilities. I saw you secretly looking around when we were at the store last week. Last week. Has it already been a week? Not even. Somehow it seems like forever ago.
I'm brought back to the present by your breasts pushing down on mine. Your ribs? I want to ask you, but you don't look hurt.
You look like you're enjoying yourself, as you drag your body down my body, as your hands roam my skin, drawing low moans and soft sighs from my chest, as my body writhe and move against you of its own accord.
"I love you," I hold your face, and whisper by your lips, before pulling you over me.
And I can only cling onto you, trying to press your body into mine, as your mouth ravages my mouth.
I dig my nails into your back, and scream into the kiss, as you touch me, touch me in ways I didn't know I love to be touched.
As you thrust into me, over and over and over.
As I wrap myself around you, hopelessly, clinging to you, desperately, spasming against you...
God, I love you. I hope you know how much.
I'm torn between the pain in my body and the ecstasy written on your face. Part of my life is pretending that the pain isn't there; pain is temporary, glory is forever. At least that's what Nike says.
Our lips touch, as you gasp for air, my fingers slowly pull away from you, as our urgent movements slow to a stop and are replaced with the sound of your ragged breathing and my soft kisses. "I love you," I mumble, kissing a trail down your neck.
I see the blush creep into your cheeks, from the exertion or from what I said? "I love you too," you murmur as you press into my neck.
I smile at you, trying gently to move onto my back to stop the pain in my chest. It's not so bad, really. Just certain positions, certain places cause me to feel the sharp pain that reminds me of the ways I've hurt you. After all, we're only here together because I fucked up. Here only because I got suspended, because I crashed your brothers car.
You catch me, a look of concern jumps full onto your face. "Are you okay?"
I smile at you, "Yeah, I'm okay." I tell you as I slide the rest of the way onto my back.
You lean up onto your elbow, but you don't look reassured.
I try to give you another smile. I don't want you to baby me. I hate being treated like a child. I'm already relegated to being a child here with you. You're controlling everything that happens in my life, my one remaining control is my body.
You slide up next to me, looking at me with those huge blue eyes, questioning my honesty.
I lean forward and grab your lips in a kiss.
You kiss back.
Slow long kisses at first are replaced again with the more urgent, needy ones that lead us to further pleasures.
My pain is forgotten.
Out of my mind, and most certainly out of yours.
Instead, it's replaced by the feeling of your lips on my body. Gently, you crawl on top of my thighs, holding yourself up so you don't press into me.
Your kisses blaze a trail down my body.
I never want this to end. I feel so alive.
God, that was good. That was more than good, it was Wow.
I'm still trying to catch my breath, my body immediately missing your nearness as you slowly move away. Don't go, I want to ask. Then I notice the pained concentration on your face as you ease onto your back.
God, I'm so sorry. So sorry you hurt. Why didn't you say something? Or stop? Although I'm glad you didn't stop I should have been more careful, shouldn't have lost control the way I did. "Are you all right?" I ask you.
You smile at me bravely. I can see the pain in your eyes. Why do you have to be so tough all the time? Is it so bad to have someone else care for you once in a while? I sigh, and decide to let you be.
"I'm fine, Alex." You tell me. Then you lean over, trying to convince me with a kiss.
Should I stop, which is probably the most prudent thing to do? Or should I let myself be convinced? I weigh my decision as you kiss me long and slow, as I return the depth and the gentleness.
Soon, you're making small little keening noises in your throat, and arching against me. Oh well, so much for caution.
Still, I should be extra careful with you.
I pull on a pair of gloves, smiling as your eyes widen with curiosity. Then I crawl on top of you, bracing myself with my arms, as I kiss you softly, on your cheeks, your lips, easing lines of tension on your face, slowly, letting you know this is not going to be a blitz attack like the last time.
This is love. And I'm about to make love to you.
Carefully, I lean into you, letting my hair dangle onto your skin, teasing you with my breath, dusting your throat your shoulders the swell of your chest with light feathery kisses.
And lightly, with the tip of my tongue, I touch and trace your nipples. I can feel your hands clenching and unclenching in my hair. I know you'd want nothing more than to push me towards you. But you don't.
For that act of patience, I reward you. I wrap my lips around your stiffened flesh, and suck and lick you like I would a piece of candy, or an ice cream cone.
Until quite unexpectedly, I feel you flex your thighs and tense against me.
I smile, and continue sucking, licking. Not stopping. Not missing a beat. My hand sliding between our bodies, I'm careful, almost tentative with where and how I touch you.
You moan softly as you push against me, rock against me.
No. Not yet. I ease back slightly, stroking and probing gently, lightly.
I want you to want me, to love me, to willingly give yourself to me.
I remember sex before you.
I remember awkward kisses and shy goodbyes. I remember feeling fumbling fingers sliding down my body. I remember wondering what this sweaty blundering man was trying to do to my body. Nothing like this. Nothing like your soft movements against me, the feeling of your light touch against my stomach, your body pressing against mine.
I don't remember it ever feeling like this.
I'm too old for first times. I've done all this before, but why hasn't it ever been like this before?
I'm too old for this teenage lust. My pulse is racing in my chest, my whole body pounding where the blood flows to the very edge of my skin. Every place you touch lights with fire.
You lean over me, letting your hair dangle on my chest. Every single place it touches tickles, sending a sensation deep into my core. Your lips gently suck on my neck. My eyes flicker closed involuntarily, forcing me to focus purely on the sensations of you touching me.
You're teasing me, rubbing against me, you're body is so close and so warm, but at the same time, so far away. I can feel my breath catch in my throat; the force of sheer anticipation is filling my heart.
I see you smile at me devilishly, snapping a glove onto your hand, you take my hardening nipple into your mouth. I could die now, and be happy. I could never take another breath and
Oh god. It does get better from here?
You slide down my body and I take a deep breath, trying to still myself as you prepare your assault against me.
A slow tongue against my throbbing center, a probing finger and then slowly two quickly send me over the edge. I've wanted this for so long, to be with you, to not have to get up. My body tenses and relaxes but you continue.
Again I feel myself getting close to the edge; about to fall off into the maddening abyss.
Your tempo speeds to mine. My body moves against your fingers.
I crash back down to earth while your fingers stay with me.
I want you to be with me every time I come crashing back to earth.
Moderation. That's what I've got to learn. I decided, as I sit here in front of the mirror, trying to hide my blush with makeup, and it's not working.
It's a good thing it's cold enough for turtlenecks though. God, I can't remember the last time I got or gave a hickey, and we're both covered with them. Glad you're not in the hospital anymore. It would be so embarrassing otherwise.
Gee, doctor, I have no idea what happened. Bed bugs? Yeah, a horny blonde blue-eyed bed bug.
Oh, and gee doctor, I have no idea why she slipped into a coma. I could just hear me trying to explain. Although I wonder if it has happened to you before... And all this time, I thought le petit mort is just something the Victorians dreamt up!
Go Cabot, go Cabot! Yeah!
Wait, maybe it only happened because you can't breathe very well, and I should have been more mindful of that fact. Wonder if I could do it again after you've completely recovered!
Mmm. Maybe we could try that again later...
God, what's wrong with me? We have less than an hour before dinner. Dinner with my mom and Trevor. Your first official dinner with my family! God, are you ready for this?
I really need to wipe this smile, this freshly fucked look off my face!
Maybe we should cancel dinner, pleading fatigue or something from the trip. Maybe just maybe mom would understand... Yeah, right, maybe I can be Pope one day.
I'm so proud of us. We actually managed to shower without either one of us slipping and ended up in a horny coma, as you so eloquently put it.
Sometimes you're so funny. You make me smile.
Boy, do you make me smile.
God, my brain's so scattered. It's so all over the place. And it keeps going back to this morning, this afternoon, right now with you sitting behind me on the bed, watching me. Why do you watch me like that? I feel so naked when you look at me like that.
And I want nothing more than to jump onto the bed, and get naked with you again.
God. Moderation, Cabot, moderation.
And wipe that smile off your face!
So, in the last six hours, I've had more sex than I've had in the last year. Oh hell, make that two years. And it's not just quantity, it's quality. My body is exhausted, my muscles relaxed. I don't think I could move if you wanted me to, sleep feels so close, but I'm fighting to stay awake. Even if I only manage to stay awake just to smell the warm smell of apple in your hair mingled with the heady scent of sex.
I'm concentrating on breathing, small breaths in and out. You lay your head against my shoulder and trace tiny hearts against my stomach. You sigh against me, taking a deep breath. I feel your head move up, to look at my face. I know it's not good when you start to smile, and then giggle.
"You've got a hickey," you laugh, pointing at my neck.
I look down instinctively, even though I know I won't be able to see it. I rub my fingers over my skin, and look into your eyes. "Thanks a lot," I say. And then I see the one on your neck, oh, two, and that makes me laugh. "You've got them too," I say, pointing back at you.
You take this much more seriously than I do. A horrified look runs over your face, making my laugh harder. That makes my ribs hurt, so I'm caught between the hysteria of your face and the pain in my side.
You get up from the bed in an instant and run to the mirror. "Oh my God" I hear you yell.
I laugh even louder. "Come back to bed," I call after you.
There's no way I'm going to get up and limp all the way over there to reassure you. You come back sheepishly. "It's cold enough for turtlenecks," I say, hopefully.
"We have to eat dinner with mom in," you look at the clock, "an hour?" you say.
Great. Dinner with mom.
I try to smile, even though that makes me want to poke my eyes out. I spend the day naked with you, only to spend the night sitting with your mom explaining just exactly why those loud moans were coming from the guest house.
That sounds just fantastic.
"Oh," you say, sliding onto the bed next to me. "Trevor's going to be there."
God damn it.
"It's not going to be that bad," you say with a smile. "We'll eat fast and come back here."
I look at you like you're insane. There's no way this is going to be painless.
You smile at me, and help me stand up, telling me that we've got to shower. You let me lean on you while gently, you slide soap over me. It's so loving. Carefully, caring for each other, being together. I can see the concentration on your beautiful face, making sure you don't miss anything, while also figuring at the same time how well I can maintain my balance.
Together we dry off, you scolding me as I try to stand on my ankle. Even your chiding is romantic.
You sit me on the bed, throwing me a turtle neck, a sweater and some jeans. You tell me you'll be right back, and I slide into my clothes as I listen to you cheerfully humming in the bathroom.
You smile at me as you come out the door. "You ready to go?"
I sigh at you and you come over and kiss me. Gently, on the lips.
I kiss you deeper.
I hear you moan into my mouth. Oh, I'm so close to winning here. But you pull back and kiss my nose. "We'll be late," you say, with a sad smile. You help me stand up, and slowly, I follow you on my crutches.
You know you're so unfair, kissing me like that! I wish we could stay. We have each other, we could live on bread and water alone, if not forever, at least for today.
Something tells me this isn't going to be a fun dinner, even though I tried to convince you otherwise. Mom and Trevor. And Trevor and I are forbidden to talk shop at the dinner table with Mom. If we can't talk about the law, what else is there?
Which leaves Mom. And I can only imagine what she'd try to talk about. If I knew my mom, she already has an itinerary of dinner topics. I won't be surprised if this isn't some sort of test to find out how presentable you are. She did that with every single one of Trevor's little girlfriends, and found most of them lacking. I wonder if I should warn you, but I'm afraid you're going to do something outrageous just to make a point. I can so see that happening.
"Hey," you finally catch up to me.
"Are you okay?" I return your smile. If I thought you would accept a wheelchair ride, I would have gladly offered you one. Since you were already so agreeable this morning, I don't really want to press my luck.
"Yeah, fine. It's getting easier." You tell me, trying your best to look genuine. "Besides, exercise will do me good. Need to keep in shape somehow."
"Oh, I can think of ways to help you," I smirk at you, and place a soft kiss on your lips. Pulling away only when a low moan escapes from my throat. Still can't believe the effect you have on me. I hope it'll always be like this.
"Do you know what's for dinner?" you ask as we rest at the edge of the garden, near the entrance. I think we're both stalling.
"I have no idea." I tell you with a shrug. "I asked Mom not to make it too fancy. Don't know if she listened or not." What I'm not going to tell you, is the conversation we had the other day, when she grilled me on your favorite food, and somehow I ended up telling her I've only seen you eat tuna salad on lettuce, and pizza.
You look at the door with dread. "Well, shall we? Don't wanna be late for my first dinner with your family."
"Yeah." I can only agree. This is going to be a long evening
To my surprise, Trevor opens the door before I even ring the door bell. He must have been waiting. Wonder what's up with him. Good thing we didn't neck by the stairs like I wanted to though.
"Oh, Trev?" I smile demurely at my brother. "Thank you for the surprise, by the way."
"Which one?" He whispers, throwing worried glances at you.
There's more than one? Interesting "All of them. They were great. Thank you for being so thoughtful." I loop my arm around yours. "We both do." I'm sure you have no idea what I'm talking about, but you forced a bright smile. Meanwhile, I have the pleasure of seeing my brother cringe and turn green. Score one for Cabot!
Soon, my mom appears. Like always, she lead us to the dinner table.
Don't know about you, I think I'm ready to run. Oh, wait, you can't. Will you hate me if I left you here? I can't believe that thought even crossed my mind, but I'm desperate.
Candle lights, center pieces made of roses from the garden, sparkling silverware and the best china and crystals. What else? Classical music? It's amazing she skipped the hors d'oeurve! The only girlfriend she did this for was his stepmother, as his stepmother!
What am I missing?
Trevor pulls out your chair for you. You're stuck sitting next to Mom and across from him. It's to be expected; the most reasonable really. Still. Poor you. If we survived this night, you deserve some serious TLC.
My mom's attention is split between everything. I don't know she does it. She's talking your ear off about something. Since you're smiling, and I'm still too flustered to focus, I'll have to ask you later. You know? I could be standing in front of the entire Supreme Court of the United States, stark naked, and I'm sure I'd be less nervous than I am now.
136. Firing Squad
The point to this dinner is largely to grin and bear it.
You want to test my dedication?
Is that why you'd pull me out of the hospital, make love to me all afternoon, and then sit me in front of your mom and your brother?
Trevor greets us at the door, all smiles. He doesn't look at me, and that's good, because between hating the pompous jerk and knowing that I'm damn lucky he's not pressing charges against me, I don't think I could handle it if he wanted to get into a staring contest.
He let's us in, and I can see you looking back at me. Trying to judge my comfort level? I smile at you reassuringly, even though I'm pretty sure that I'm the one who needs the reassurance. These people actually like you, after all. I'm the alcoholic loser who is going to break your heart and ruin your life.
I sit down at the table, Trevor pulling out the chair for me. I wonder if he's going to pull it out from under me at the last second. I think if he knows well enough that if he does, he'll have two angry women on him almost immediately. I'm glad your mother seems to like me. At least sometimes.
Your mother sits next to me, smiling and asking demurely how my afternoon was. I wonder what she'd say if I tell her that I spend the afternoon screwing you senseless. Her questions make me feel like I'm taking the SAT's. Art, music. She wants to know what I think of theatre in NY. What was the last book I read? I think that I'm passing because at least I've read a book this year, and it wasn't an old copy of Reader's Digest.
I pray that I'm passing. You keep smiling at me, and I can feel your foot against mine under the table. I wish that we were drinking wine with dinner; of course I had to know that wasn't going to happen.
Your brother leers at me across the table. I want to ask you what you found that he left you, but by the look on his face when you said it, I'm not sure I want to know. I'm not exactly used to family dinners; mine usually ended with my mom passed out on the couch. I'm used to fending for myself.
Your mother asks me about everything in the world, except what I'm most used to talking about. My work. I almost forget sometimes that there are other things in the world. Things that don't involve the sexual predators we track on a daily basis. It's kind of nice to talk about something else, even for once. Even if it's under the firing squad and I love you enough to face it every night for the rest of my life.
I can't believe dinner's almost over. Nobody died, nobody got hurt. Well, maybe except for Trevor's little ego. I'm still smirking about how he tried to tell you gazpacho is supposed to be cold, and you telling him that you haven't had any that wasn't before. You know? I think Mom actually snickered.
Maybe the little silent grace I said before dinner helped. The thank you for the food, now please, please, please, please help you pass! If it does, and we make this through, I promise I'll be so much more sincere next time.
After I calmed down a little, I started paying more attention to your conversation with Mom. Quite frankly, I'm surprised. There IS something more to talk about than shop! And my god, you're actually holding your own. Not that I should be surprised, since I know you're well read. Don't know too many people who can pull Walt Whitman off the top of their heads, at least not around me.
Didn't even know you like theatre. Guess that's something we can do, outside of bed.
Gotta tell you, you're the first. I'm so used to sitting at the other side of the table, watching blank looks get more impossibly vacant from blonde bimbos who give the rest of us such bad names. Don't know if you caught the glances she threw at my brother, every time you passed yet another topic with flying colors. I think this is turning out to be a lesson for all of us.
She's smiling, and you're smiling.
Oh my god, she even made dessert for you! Tiny little tortes and one bite cakes and chocolate dipped fruits. God, she must have spent the afternoon doing that; the whole time we were doing each other. I feel almost guilty.
Let me tell you, Cabot women don't cook, but they can kill you with sweets if they decide you're worth baking for... And I've also seen Mom withholding the desserts she made and serving the "spare" prepared by the cook, just because by the end of dinner, she decided she didn't like the woman.
Which means my mom thinks Wow.
And she's still smiling.
And you're still smiling.
Meanwhile, Trevor is quietly dying across the table. Score another one for Cabot!
Finally, we're sitting in the study, sipping coffee. You and my mom are still talking; you look like you're enjoying yourselves. Instead of praying for this evening to end, I'm actually feeling a tinge of regret while watching the time go by.
Still, I can't wait to get back to our own little world
I also want to know how you feel about dinner and my family. It's definitely too soon to ask, but I wonder if you'd mind being a part of it.
138. The Mom Test
This isn't going so badly.
I keep looking over at you guiltily, thinking that I'm sitting with you.
I feel like I'm back in college, somehow, taking some kind of perverted culture exam. Art and Music; English and history; I hope she doesn't break out a calculator and pencils, because I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to remember my advance algebra. The rest of it, I'm pretty sure I can fake.
After the main course, your mother is actually smiling at me and Trevor looks like he's in pain. That's got to be a good sign. I look at you for reassurance, and you're beaming, staring at me dreamily. I look into your eyes and I wonder what's going on behind them. You catch me looking at you and your grin gets bigger. I can feel your foot, reassuringly running over my good foot. I relish the contact with you; it's making me feel safer. More sure of myself. It's wonderful.
I'm pulling on every part of my brain to converse with your mother; she even tried to trip me up with Monet and Manet. I'm glad I have actually gone inside some of NY's museums instead of just sitting on their steps.
At the end of question and answer period, your mother wheels out a tray of homemade desserts. "I worked on these myself," she says, with pride.
"You never do that for my friends." Trevor says with a pout.
"Your friends don't have the good sense to know the difference," your mother quips back at him.
You smile at me, and I smile back.
Now I know she likes me.
"Delicious," I say, taking a bite of a chocolate covered strawberry. She pushes a torte onto my plate, and before I know it, I think I've eaten more chocolate than I ever have in my whole life.
I look at you and wonder if you can do this kind of stuff in the kitchen. If you can, I'm going to have to get to the gym more often.
Your mother offers to allow us to "retire" into the other room, but you jump up. "I think Liv's tired, mom" you say.
I smirk at the look of desperation on your face. It honestly wasn't that bad.
"Yes, I imagine she is." Your mother says with a smile, "And I'm sure you want this charming detective all to yourself before she begins her regimen. Very well," she says. "You two have fun in the guest house. Call over if you need anything."
You look like a kid on Christmas morning. "Thanks Mom," you say, as you almost pull me out of my chair. You thrust crutches into my hands and before I know it, we're out the door.
Mom sees us to the door, and gives you a hug goodnight. You seemed a little surprised, as am I. I'm even more surprised when she gives me an extra squeeze when we exchange kisses. Somehow, I don't know how, I just know the whispered "well done" is not about how I survived the ordeal.
I wonder what she'd say when we get you sober
Trevor, poor Trevor. Green really isn't his color, and he has to shake your hand. I don't think there's a chance of you two ever liking each other after tonight. Oh, well. Maybe he'll think twice before bringing home brainless tarts.
The front door finally closes behind us. We're out of the house, and away from scrutiny.
I feel like I can breathe again. Wonder if this is how convicts feel like when they're released from jail, or paroled. Yeah, that's more applicable to us, since we're not exactly free yet.
Anyway, you did very well in there. Much better than I had dared hope for. I think you realize that too. Maybe now you'll stop looking at me with skepticism when I tell you my mom likes you for you. I certainly didn't do anything to prep you for the occasion, even though I wondered if I shouldn't have. Why bother though? If you don't care enough to behave, and if my mom can't like you for who you are, I should probably find out now
I'm so glad everything went well. More than well, in fact. So glad I don't have to choose between you. It's quite enough that one of us was forced into making choices we wouldn't otherwise make. Looking over at you, I can't help but smile.
I lean over and kiss you gently on the cheek. "I think you passed," I tell you, still smiling.
"I'm glad." you say, and kiss me back, on the lips.
I can fall into this, fall into you, so easily. If I let myself, I might even be able to forget why we're here, and enjoy the weekend like it's a little holiday. Maybe I should try.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, after we break away from our kiss.
"Stuffed." You answer with a grin. "Otherwise, pretty good."
"Yeah, I know what you mean." I groan, holding my stomach. Sometimes I think the regular dinners meetings at Trevor's are Mom's way of making sure we eat a home cooked meal. "Feel like taking a little detour? It's a beautiful night out."
You look at me uncertainly at first. Finally, you smile, "Sure. Whatever you want."
You. For the rest of my life, I'm pretty sure now. Instead of saying that, I point towards the garden. "There's a little spot over there I like to go and just sit, whenever I come up here, and watch the nothings."
"Watch the nothings?" You repeat, amused.
"You know? The peace and the quiet. No high-rises, no traffic, no order of the court I have to follow... Nothing." I try to explain. "Very idyllic."
"I see. Well, then, lead the way."
I follow a hop or two behind you, desperately trying to keep up. You're so cute, excited to show me your secret spot. I want to know everything about you and that includes where you like to spend your time reflecting. I suppose one day, I'll take you to my secret spot, the roof of my building, which is so quiet at night, especially late, when I'm awake from the nightmares that I see in my head.
There's nothing like lying on the roof, staring into the polluted night air, with a cold beer Oh. Yeah. No more of that.
I wonder how long it'll take before that's my not first thought. I doubt I'll spend the rest of my life without the booze. Just less of it. For you. It's not as big of a deal as this all seems. I've been having a bad week, or two. That's why it looks so bad to you and your mom. Once you guys just understand that it's not an everyday thing, once you get it, everything will be okay.
You sit on the grass, under a tall tree and smile up at me. Slowly, I lower myself to the ground and throw the crutches as far as I can away from us. You smile as you let me lean against you, and you happily take me into your arms. I look at the sky and see why you must love it here. It's so clear, you can see for miles.
I hear everything; bugs chirping, the small lights of fire flies lighting up against the black night. I can see the stars burning in the distance. It's cool out here, and I can feel your arms around me as we sit in silence. I can feel myself smiling, I can't help it. I love you. I really, really love you.
I don't think I've felt like this before; not even in my young years when everything was new and exciting; every boyfriend a daring new adventure. It was never this heady excitement, this deep connection that I feel here with you. I hated silence with them, and it was exhausting to attempt to fill the silence, but with you, the silence is comfortable.
You're like a drug; maybe my new first choice. I know I've already fallen hard for you. I want to be with you every second. I want to be near you. I want to be with you.
We sit here, together, and I can't help but think about how beautiful you are, and how much I want to be with you for the rest of my life.
You lean back, your arm under your head, the other holding me close to you. I can see you smile as I accidentally rub my fingers over your very hard nipple.
"Are you cold or happy to see me?" I ask.
"A little of both," you say, with a nervous giggle.
God, you're so cute. "You really impressed my mom," you say.
"I'm glad," I whisper. "I really just want to impress you."
"You do," you say. Your eyes close for a second and you take a deep breath of night air. "I'm glad you came here, I didn't think you'd agree."
"Why not?" I ask, snuggling closer to you.
"I didn't ever think you'd admit you had a problem."
"Well, umm, I still don't think it's that big of a deal." With that you sit bold upright, almost knocking me over.
"I mean, yeah, I'll do what you want," I say, trying to get you lie back down. "It's just not that big of a deal, I mean, not as much as you all are making it out to be."
"You almost died."
"Not really, I mean, yeah, I was hurt, but I'm fine."
"Would you do it again?"
"Of course not, I mean, I shouldn't have driven. And certainly won't take your brother's car anywhere again, even if I am sober."
"That's not what I mean."
"Would you drink again?"
"Not that much. I mean, everything in moderation, right?" I say with a small smile.
You jump to your feet, "I can't believe you," you scream at me. I watch helplessly as you stalk off leaving me stuck on the ground.
"Great," I mutter to myself, feeling entirely clueless as to what made you stalk off.
I lean back against the cool grass and stare into the stars, letting my eyes close as I think about all the things I'd do for a nice tall beer.
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