Someone Like You 11/50: Vertigo - Beecher/Stabler
Someone Like You
by Dr Squidlove
drsquidlove @@@ livejournal.com
Oz/Law & Order: SVU crossover
Tobias Beecher's trying to rebuild his family in the shadow of the man he was in prison. Elliot Stabler's struggling to continue in the wake of divorce while his job eats away at his soul. It makes for an odd friendship, but it works.
Rated R for violence and explicit references to sexual violence.
Wordcount this post: 4646
Full headers are on chapter 1.
Oz is the property of Tom Fontana and HBO. Law & Order: SVU is the property of Dick Wolf and NBC. The characters are used without permission, but with much appreciation.
Someone Like You
chapter 11: Vertigo
by Dr Squidlove
Previously, in chapter 10, Art class:
Elliot spent the week after their basketball game in classic Stabler avoidance-mode, but a plaintive text from Toby dragged him reluctantly back to Brooklyn. There he found Toby shattered by Holly's latest drawing, and the realisation that she'd seen the worst of what Hank did to Gary. Elliot was horrified as well, but he was also glad to be the one to hold Toby. He confided a little bit in Olivia, so she pulled the car over and dragged way too much out of him. Elliot's comforting arms awakened a whole new kind of roaring need in Toby.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot twisted to see the clock; another ten minutes before his alarm was due to go off. Hardly worth fighting to get back to sleep... but plenty of time to take care of his half-hard dick. He wrapped a hand around it, flipped through his mental list of fantasies and went with his old favourite of watching Kathy sleep as he inched the covers down. Exposing her old cotton nightie - not something the kids would have called sexy, but Elliot knew how soft it was against Kathy's skin, knew when he reached the bottom and worked up the hem, he'd find her naked. And she slept deeply enough that if he was slow and gentle, she wouldn't stir until he tickled her clit with his thumb, blew a hot breath through her curling hair. Even then just a sleepy wriggle, his name murmured on a breath. He stroked himself as he brought back the smell, all that soft skin. He'd loved waking her up this way, getting her hot and wet before she was fully awake. He'd managed to sneak into her dreams a couple of times, waking her up with an orgasm.
A man shouldn't be ashamed of loving to go down on his wife, Toby had said. No, Elliot wasn't ashamed of that. He'd felt damned good about how hard he could make Kathy come, back before he let everything else get in the way. Here he was, still getting off thinking about her thighs against his cheeks, those crisp curls under his lips, burying his nose to fill his lungs with her scent.
It sounded like Toby had loved going down on his wife. That dark-haired woman in the photo on his shelf. Elliot wondered if she'd sprawled back on the bed, making soft pleading sounds as Toby kissed her breasts like Kathy had pleaded for Elliot.
Elliot imagined Toby working his way down, breathing her in, letting his long fingers play in her folds before he threw her legs over his broad shoulders and buried his face in her, one hand spreading her open, one hand working his cock.
Elliot was picturing his friend going down on his wife. It seemed terribly wrong but he couldn't let go now, thrusting into his hand as he pictured Toby's long back wrapped between a woman's thighs, his ass in the air, bicep flexing as he jerked off until his balls drew up tight, stomach flexing as his cock pulsed and spilled.
Elliot let go, tipping his head back and breathing hard. He hadn't come that hard in a while. He hadn't ever jerked off to something like that, violating Toby's privacy by picturing him with his dead wife.
He'd been picturing Toby, more than his wife.
This was crazy.
Elliot sat up and grabbed a tissue to wipe himself off. You didn't suddenly start checking out guys after twenty years of solid, heterosexual marriage. Elliot had seen plenty of closet cases who played the dutiful husband then worked the clubs and tea rooms behind their wives' backs, but that was something else, men who had no business marrying in the first place.
Toby claimed he was straight before prison, but Elliot didn't buy it. What was it Toby said? Maybe prison stripped away all the assumptions about who you were? Loving Kathy wasn't an assumption. It was who Elliot was. He'd never ogled a guy in his life, and whatever was going on with Toby was just confusion and loneliness and fuck knew what else. He could accept... however it was that he described it to Olivia the other day. A connection. He was secure enough to hold his grieving friend through the night, but he didn't accept jerking off to a mental picture of Toby's ass. That wasn't who Elliot was.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Toby nibbled on a bread roll and nursed his soda, and tried to tune out the baseball arguments at the next table and the laughing gossip behind him. He didn't check his watch. Elliot had warned him he was going to be late, and he'd sounded a special kind of exhausted. Toby was pretty sure he'd recognised the sterile sounds of a hospital in the background. He'd thought Elliot was going to cancel, even told him it was okay if he did, but for some reason Elliot was willing to follow up a miserable day at work with a dose of Toby's current problems, jammed in a busy restaurant.
Obviously Elliot didn't realise Toby had been craving his touch like heroin. Waiting for Elliot to magically turn into Chris Keller and fix everything.
Elliot was making his way between crowded tables looking like he'd been trampled over. Toby stood.
"Hey. Sorry I'm late." He put a hand on Toby's back and it was electric, and for a second Toby thought Elliot was going to hug him, enfold him in all that strength, but it was just that hand lingering as Elliot asked how he was doing.
"I'm all right." Toby sat to escape, and waited for Elliot to drop into his chair. "Are you all right?"
His lips twisted, like he was biting back sarcasm. "Do you mind if I get a beer?"
"Of course not."
Elliot looked around, didn't find a waiter so he turned back to Toby, still fidgeting in his seat. "Have you talked to Holly?"
"I tried."
The waiter stopped, whipping out his pad. "Sir, can I get you a drink? Or are you ready to order?"
"What do you have on tap?"
He reeled off the list, speaking up to be heard over the clatter of forks on plates and chattering diners. It was loud and crowded in here, and Toby didn't want to shout to hash out his week, and he was pretty sure Elliot didn't either. He reached and covered his hand, any flimsy excuse for a touch. Toby knew the shape of those fingers. "I've got a better idea. Let's get take out, and go back to my place. We can pick up a bottle of whatever you want from the place on the corner."
Elliot looked at him, picked up a menu, ran his eyes halfway down and said, "Can I get a chicken parm to go?"
"You have a choice of-"
"Pasta and the mixed vegetables."
Toby nudged his own menu away. "I'll get the salmon, whipped potato and the Greek salad."
The waiter scrawled it down. "Done. I'll have it boxed for you."
They didn't bother to talk as they waited, and as soon as dinner arrived they were out of there. Elliot drove them to Toby's. Quiet all the way, Elliot seething on whatever had happened at work, Toby lost in fantasies of Elliot pulling the car over and calling him 'Tobe' and blowing him right here.
Toby waited outside while Elliot headed into the package store, and wondered how many beers it would take to turn Elliot into Chris. He came out with two - not nearly enough - and Toby led the way upstairs. "Just take the bottles with you, okay? I don't want Holly or my mother finding them and thinking I've fallen off the wagon."
"Sure."
As soon as they were through the door, Elliot started to shrug off his jacket and stopped with a muttered curse. He turned sad eyes on Toby. "I'm wearing my gun. Do you mind if I...?"
"Of course not."
So that was why Elliot usually left his jacket on. He slid it off now with a happy sigh, draping it over a chair and rolling his shoulders. He probably would have liked to have stripped his holster off, too, but that wasn't something a cop could do in a felon's house. Toby squashed the urge to apologise for that. He'd noticed the extra bulk at Elliot's ankle, too. Elliot's job was the kind that needed two guns.
Chris had carried a gun, but he'd used it to hold up a store, and murder the clerk. What did it say about Toby, that he'd been longing for Chris instead?
Elliot collapsed on the couch. "This beats the hell out of a restaurant."
Toby grabbed plates and silverware and brought it all out to the coffee table so they could eat with their feet up. He needed to get Elliot talking to keep himself focussed on which man this was, and Elliot wasn't going to talk about his day unless Toby nudged him the right way. "Were you at the hospital?"
"Medical examiner's office." He cracked his beer and started serving out food.
"You have a new case?"
"We've just lost one." Short and sharp, no interest in talking about it.
Toby sat beside him, and started dishing up his own plate.
"So you tried to talk to Holly?"
Of course Elliot would rather talk about Toby's problems. "You don't sound like you're in a mood to dredge through my week."
Elliot put down his fork, chewed and swallowed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to... You've had enough misery and horror in your life without hearing about my day."
"I could say the same of you. I'm still listening." He needed to listen, needed Elliot to be extra-Elliot-like.
Elliot's lips pressed in a straight line. "A victim committed suicide. She was due to testify next week. Now she's dead, and the bastard's going to walk. You don't need to hear the details."
Probably not. "You'd been working with her?"
"I told her it was going to be all right."
Toby almost asked if they couldn't make the case without her, then thought better of it. "How old was she?"
"Twenty-two." Elliot sat back, staring up at the ceiling. "Back when the investigation started, everyone who knew her talked about how friendly she was - bubbly, her co-workers said. And you could see it, even after what... She was a sweet kid, patient... She thanked us every time we spoke, even when we couldn't tell her a damn thing. He ripped up her life, but our case - us building the case - finished her off."
Softly, Toby asked, "Do you really think she would have been fine if it had all been dropped?"
"No." He shook his head, certain of that. "But we're supposed to be there for the victims. I should've been there for her."
Toby didn't know what to say. He doubted anything he said would help.
"Sometimes you don't even know what it is. The way they look at you, a comment that reminds you of Maureen at that age, a birthday in common, and suddenly it's personal. More personal than the rest. And you don't know how to untangle yourself even if you wanted to, and you don't want to because what kind of fucking person are you, if you listen to a woman describe how her boyfriend degraded her and you don't make it personal?" Elliot frowned, and then turned a quizzical look on Toby.
Toby waited for him to ask something, but he just kept looking thoughtful. "Elliot?"
"How d'you do that?"
Toby wondered if he'd skipped a page. "Do what?"
"Get me to say things like that."
"I don't know what I did."
There was a strange intensity in Elliot's eyes. So much like Chris, but Toby fought the comparison. If he let all this wishful thinking loose, one day he'd just reach out and curl a hand behind Elliot's neck, play pretend until Elliot blackened his eye. Elliot looked away, and barely loud enough to hear, said, "I used to talk to Kathy like that."
Toby didn't know what Elliot wanted him to say. "If I knew the secret, I could get Holly to talk."
"She won't?"
"I try to give her openings, but I don't want to push her."
"You talk about Gary?"
"Of course." He'd always tried to make Gary a part of ordinary conversation, dropping light references to toddler mischief, the memories Toby had squandered to alcohol and prison. The other day he'd pulled out an old photo album and left it on the table as a casual inroad to talking about Gary, hoping he'd figure out from there how to ease into asking Holly the dreaded questions. "I remind her I'm here for her, but I can't just... 'Honey, tell me about the time that monster sawed off your brother's hand?'" His voice went hoarse, and his eyes closed. "I can't. Ling - her therapist - kept telling me there's no right way or wrong way, but I don't know what my own daughter needs from me, if I should be pressing her to unburden herself or giving her the choice to make her own decision. I feel so fucking helpless."
Elliot was right there, his broad hand covering Toby's. Toby caught his gasp. Chris would be more inclined to grip his wrist but it was close enough, and that look was so dead on that Toby had to make himself concentrate on Elliot's words. "I know something about this stuff, okay? You're doing fine. Better than fine. I've seen grown adults who've been through things like Holly who barely function at all."
And who was to say that one slip by Toby and Holly wouldn't be just like them? Wouldn't take the easy path, just like today's victim? "I wish someone could just tell me what to do." Chris would have. He might not have been right, but he would have been sure of himself. Toby craved that.
Elliot's hand held on. "It's my job to get all the information I can as fast as I can so I can protect them, and get some kind of justice. But there's a lot to be said for letting kids talk in their own time. You're doing fine, Toby."
Acid burned in Toby's throat. "We ended up talking about school instead. When she starts middle school in the Fall, she doesn't want anyone to know her history." Holly didn't like kids she barely knew looking at her like she was weird, and she didn't like teachers giving her special treatment, or the office lady who fussed over her and called her 'poor girl'.
"What are you going to do?"
"I couldn't see a way to say anything but yes."
Elliot looked unhappy, which meant he was probably hitting on all the same worries as Toby. "A kid who's been through something like Holly has..."
"It's important for the adults in her life to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't start picking up any of my bad habits. I know." Toby had turned to alcohol with far less reason. Toby would bet Elliot could quote statistics on how often kids who survived trauma turned to self-destructive behaviour, but he didn't want to hear it. "I suggested we give it a month or two, let her find a couple of teachers she likes, and we can confide in them."
"That seems fair."
"She just wants to live like a normal kid. That shouldn't be too much to ask."
Elliot squeezed his hands before he let go, and then there was a long quiet. Toby wondered if Elliot was thinking of his suicide victim, or Holly. Or comparing Holly to the thousands of victims he'd seen in his career. How did he deal with this shit, fresh every day?
Eventually Elliot rubbed his back and then stood and cleared their plates, oblivious to how his unconscious gesture burned a wave over Toby's skin. Toby longed to crawl into those arms, to see if Elliot would hold him again like the other night, just hold him, and let Toby pretend all over again. Maybe this time Elliot could let Toby peel away a few layers until he found that tattoo.
Toby listened to the clinking of silverware and the clank of the dishwasher closing. And then he was back, settling beside Toby. Closer this time. He rested his arm along the top of the couch, until he realised he was almost touching Toby's neck, then he pulled it away. So he hadn't completely forgotten that charged moment on the basketball court.
Toby wanted to tease for the moment of hetero awkwardness, but before he could, Elliot asked, "Tell me about Genevieve? If you don't mind."
That was out of nowhere. "What did you want to know?"
Elliot shrugged. There was something more going on here. "How did you meet?"
"Mutual friends. I was doing post-grad; she was a senior at BU. I'd just broken up with another girl, and Gen was cute so I asked her out to make my ex jealous."
Elliot smiled. "That doesn't sound romantic."
"My ex didn't care at all, but it turned out Gen was funny and smart and sexier than I'd realised. We loved the same books and movies, had the same plans for the future... Somehow neither of us thought to factor in eight years of hard time." Toby heaved a sigh, and gave Elliot a long look. "Why are all our conversations a series of ugly revelations about my life, while you're Mr Squeaky Clean family man?"
That got a sheepish look. "Kathy and I had a shotgun wedding. I knocked her up with Maureen at seventeen."
"Really?" After a moment, Toby slouched. "Even your dirt is honourable." Elliot made a mistake and he made it right, built a family out of it.
Elliot shrugged. "I didn't know anything. I was crazy about her, but I would have grown up, made some money, got a place, done it right. Instead I was stupid and seventeen and facing her bear of a father." He grimaced. "You'd think we would have learned, but Kathleen was an accident, too. We were finally ready for a third - had our finances sorted, all that stuff, and we got twins."
"Genevieve and I had it all planned. Get married. Three years to settle in. Four kids, each a couple of years apart, all booked into good schools before they were born. I'd work my way up to partner, and Gen would go back to full time work when the youngest reached pre-school." He gave Elliot a rueful smile. "Planning isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Elliot smiled back.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot rubbed his eyes. He hated driving this tired. He'd put off leaving Toby's as long as he could; maybe he should have put it off longer and crashed on his couch. Nothing eased him like talking to Toby. Maybe he'd sleep easier in Toby's space. The thought gave him a weird feeling and he couldn't decide if it was nerves or want.
He'd been waiting all night for Toby to call him out on all the extra touches, on the way he kept staring, but Toby let it slide, like so much else. He didn't know what it was about Toby's face that fascinated him. He wasn't pretty like Kathy. He didn't stir the same hormones but something was there. Something made Elliot wonder what would happen if Toby knew about Elliot's turmoil, if he'd talk him down or stir him up.
Down the last few streets and Elliot found a parking spot in front of his dark, empty apartment. Elliot didn't want to get naked with Toby. This wasn't about sex. He just wanted to be close to him. He wanted to always be able to talk to him, the way he did tonight. He wanted to stay longer. It would beat going upstairs to that miserable, lonely bedroom, and the places his mind had been wandering when he was alone.
Did his company mean as much to Toby? Maybe Toby had been checking his watch tonight, wondering when Elliot was going to shove off so he could go to bed. Maybe Toby had noticed Elliot staring at him, and had quietly been laughing at the confused straight guy.
Elliot swung himself out of the car, closed the door too hard for this time of night. That was ridiculous. Toby wasn't like that.
Toby watched him sometimes. More than sometimes. He'd felt Toby's gaze. If he was honest, what Toby wanted was a lot less of a mystery than what Elliot wanted himself.
Elliot didn't understand what was happening. He could handle the urge he'd had to pull Toby into his arms. Toby deserved comfort. But the way Elliot had wanted to hold him, the picture he'd had of nuzzling his face into Toby's neck... His lips had tingled. His cock had stirred. Not a lot, but enough to scare him. Elliot turned around, leaned back against his car. He looked up at the scattering of stars between the trees. Toby hadn't seen that in eight years. Elliot wanted to call him back, ask if he'd looked up, lately. It was a ridiculously thin excuse. Any excuse seemed good. He'd caught himself watching Toby's mouth tonight more than once, wondering what would happen if he leaned in. It had felt something like vertigo.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot and Olivia were driving up the Ocean Parkway, headed back to Manhattan. She had the wheel, Elliot had the files, but he was staring out the window. He'd felt Olivia's curious looks, but she knew him well enough to leave it alone. It was Saturday. Five days had passed since he held Toby while he cried, two since they took take-out back to Toby's and talked about everything but that, and Elliot didn't feel any closer to figuring out what was going on.
Stewing wasn't getting him anything but an ulcer. He knew what he needed to do: he had to talk to Toby. Problem was, that scared the shit out of him. Toby was great at talking, and even better at making Elliot talk, and Elliot was afraid of what might come out of his mouth. He was also afraid that he'd never gather the balls to find out.
Holly was at her grandmother's this weekend. That meant Toby was home alone. The Hamilton Avenue exit was coming up. Elliot just had to find his balls. "What time did Casey want us back?"
Olivia checked her watch. "Not until three. We've got a spare twenty minutes. Did you want to grab some lunch?"
Twenty minutes. Long enough to say something. Short enough for an escape route. "Can you take Exit 1?"
Olivia raised an eyebrow and changed lanes. "What's up?"
"I need to do something." Elliot clenched his hands in his lap as they headed off the expressway. "Next right, onto Smith."
He saw her expression shift as she realised what - whose - neighbourhood this was, and followed his last couple of directions.
He didn't give a damn what she thought. He had to talk to Toby, had to tell him... He still didn't know, but he'd figure it out, stumble through it when he saw him. If he put this off he'd chicken out.
Toby hadn't given him any clues about what he thought of Elliot's not-so-secret turmoil. Maybe that was what Elliot needed: just to know where Toby stood. Or for Toby to tell him there was nothing wrong with being confused.
Elliot released his belt as they pulled up. "I'll just be a few minutes, okay?"
"Okay."
He hoped she couldn't see the nervous energy driving him across the street and up the stairs to the building. He had less than two minutes to find the words to explain something he didn't understand in the hopes that Toby would know what to do, less than that once he reached for the buzzer but then he saw Toby through the glass, coming down the stairs. He was wearing dark jeans and a cosy grey pullover with the sleeves pushed up, keys in hand.
This was a stupid mistake, Elliot should have- and then Toby saw him and smiled, eyes sparkling, and this wasn't a mistake at all.
Toby pushed open the door. "Elliot, what are you-"
Elliot tugged him close and kissed him. Just a press of lips, right on the mouth, opening him up just a little to catch the sudden exhale. Toby's lips were warm and dry, and the crackle spread right through Elliot to his toes. He held it until Toby's hands came up to his shoulders, and then one curled behind his neck. Elliot felt a stupid, shy smile creep in, breaking the kiss. This wasn't a mistake. It felt like the best thing he'd done in a long time.
Toby's lips drifted to his cheek. Elliot could feel his breath, could feel the roughness of his jaw. "That was unexpected."
"Was it?" Elliot whispered. He felt like he'd been transparent from the very start, to Toby if not to himself.
Fingers rubbed at the short hair on the back of Elliot's head, as intimate as the kiss. "I never expect to get things I want." Elliot was a thing Toby wanted. It lit a spark that Elliot had been starting to think was dead. Toby's hand drifted down Elliot's tie, and that felt more intimate than the kiss. "Maybe we should take this upstairs."
Sketch by Barbana
Yes. No... shit. "I can't. Liv's waiting." Oh, hell. Elliot looked back - she was staring, open-mouthed. Great poker face, Detective.
Toby's soft snort pulled him back and Elliot had a moment to study his face, wide-eyed, shock still softening all the familiar lines. Toby really hadn't expected this. "Guess we don't have to have a talk about whether you're coming out to your colleagues."
Coming out? All he'd been thinking about five seconds ago was Toby. What can of worms had he opened? "It's... She's my partner, it's-"
"I know. I was just teasing."
No, he was definitely not 'coming out' to the squad, but Elliot couldn't think about that stuff right now. He just kissed Toby. He wanted to do it again. He was standing on the street in Toby's arms, his own hands on Toby's waist. Solid, not like Kathy's soft curves. He liked it. He wanted to explore, find more differences. All he'd wanted to do when he came up those stairs was talk, and now he was floating. "If nothing comes up, I should be out by six tonight." He wanted to kiss Toby some more.
"I have Holly." Damn. "My mother's taking her to a show tomorrow?"
"I have Dickie and Lizzie."
Toby huffed. "Monday?"
"I'll be here." Two days. Elliot couldn't bottle this up that long.
"If you don't get called in to work."
"Don't jinx me."
Toby played with Elliot's tie; he didn't pull but Elliot took it as an invitation. He pretended Olivia wasn't ogling like a voyeur and this time he paid attention as he leaned in, closing his eyes before Toby did. This time the kiss was the two of them, lips working together as Elliot tightened his hold, ran a hand up Toby's back. Toby was solid, and his sweater was soft, and his mouth was firm. So different from Kathy.
Liv was waiting. Elliot pulled away, and backed down the stairs before he could kiss Toby again. Toby watched him go with a confused little smile - he really hadn't expected this. But he looked pleased. Elliot liked it.
Elliot took his time coming down the stairs. He didn't know what he was going to say to Olivia. Coming out to the precinct? Like he was gay? No way in hell. Maybe he should have thought this through some more before he went around kissing a man. In front of Olivia. In front of the whole street. Elliot looked around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention except Liv.
Elliot slid into the car, still half-floating, gut twisted like he was facing a fire fight.
Olivia checked the mirrors and pulled out. "I want to interview Borowitz again. She's had a couple of days - maybe she's feeling stronger."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
end chapter 11
The delicious sketch of Elliot and Toby on the stoop is by the amazing Barbana, barbanaqoc@hotmail.com. I asked her to draw it as my reward to myself for finishing this story, but I'll let you look at it too.
Dr Squidlove clutches feedback tight with all tentacles. Concrit thoroughly welcome, warm fuzzies treasured. Here or at drsquidlove @@@ livejournal.com
The complete works of Dr Squidlove can be found at http://members.iinet.net.au/~tentacles/squidfic.html
S.
by Dr Squidlove
drsquidlove @@@ livejournal.com
Oz/Law & Order: SVU crossover
Tobias Beecher's trying to rebuild his family in the shadow of the man he was in prison. Elliot Stabler's struggling to continue in the wake of divorce while his job eats away at his soul. It makes for an odd friendship, but it works.
Rated R for violence and explicit references to sexual violence.
Wordcount this post: 4646
Full headers are on chapter 1.
Oz is the property of Tom Fontana and HBO. Law & Order: SVU is the property of Dick Wolf and NBC. The characters are used without permission, but with much appreciation.
Someone Like You
chapter 11: Vertigo
by Dr Squidlove
Previously, in chapter 10, Art class:
Elliot spent the week after their basketball game in classic Stabler avoidance-mode, but a plaintive text from Toby dragged him reluctantly back to Brooklyn. There he found Toby shattered by Holly's latest drawing, and the realisation that she'd seen the worst of what Hank did to Gary. Elliot was horrified as well, but he was also glad to be the one to hold Toby. He confided a little bit in Olivia, so she pulled the car over and dragged way too much out of him. Elliot's comforting arms awakened a whole new kind of roaring need in Toby.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot twisted to see the clock; another ten minutes before his alarm was due to go off. Hardly worth fighting to get back to sleep... but plenty of time to take care of his half-hard dick. He wrapped a hand around it, flipped through his mental list of fantasies and went with his old favourite of watching Kathy sleep as he inched the covers down. Exposing her old cotton nightie - not something the kids would have called sexy, but Elliot knew how soft it was against Kathy's skin, knew when he reached the bottom and worked up the hem, he'd find her naked. And she slept deeply enough that if he was slow and gentle, she wouldn't stir until he tickled her clit with his thumb, blew a hot breath through her curling hair. Even then just a sleepy wriggle, his name murmured on a breath. He stroked himself as he brought back the smell, all that soft skin. He'd loved waking her up this way, getting her hot and wet before she was fully awake. He'd managed to sneak into her dreams a couple of times, waking her up with an orgasm.
A man shouldn't be ashamed of loving to go down on his wife, Toby had said. No, Elliot wasn't ashamed of that. He'd felt damned good about how hard he could make Kathy come, back before he let everything else get in the way. Here he was, still getting off thinking about her thighs against his cheeks, those crisp curls under his lips, burying his nose to fill his lungs with her scent.
It sounded like Toby had loved going down on his wife. That dark-haired woman in the photo on his shelf. Elliot wondered if she'd sprawled back on the bed, making soft pleading sounds as Toby kissed her breasts like Kathy had pleaded for Elliot.
Elliot imagined Toby working his way down, breathing her in, letting his long fingers play in her folds before he threw her legs over his broad shoulders and buried his face in her, one hand spreading her open, one hand working his cock.
Elliot was picturing his friend going down on his wife. It seemed terribly wrong but he couldn't let go now, thrusting into his hand as he pictured Toby's long back wrapped between a woman's thighs, his ass in the air, bicep flexing as he jerked off until his balls drew up tight, stomach flexing as his cock pulsed and spilled.
Elliot let go, tipping his head back and breathing hard. He hadn't come that hard in a while. He hadn't ever jerked off to something like that, violating Toby's privacy by picturing him with his dead wife.
He'd been picturing Toby, more than his wife.
This was crazy.
Elliot sat up and grabbed a tissue to wipe himself off. You didn't suddenly start checking out guys after twenty years of solid, heterosexual marriage. Elliot had seen plenty of closet cases who played the dutiful husband then worked the clubs and tea rooms behind their wives' backs, but that was something else, men who had no business marrying in the first place.
Toby claimed he was straight before prison, but Elliot didn't buy it. What was it Toby said? Maybe prison stripped away all the assumptions about who you were? Loving Kathy wasn't an assumption. It was who Elliot was. He'd never ogled a guy in his life, and whatever was going on with Toby was just confusion and loneliness and fuck knew what else. He could accept... however it was that he described it to Olivia the other day. A connection. He was secure enough to hold his grieving friend through the night, but he didn't accept jerking off to a mental picture of Toby's ass. That wasn't who Elliot was.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Toby nibbled on a bread roll and nursed his soda, and tried to tune out the baseball arguments at the next table and the laughing gossip behind him. He didn't check his watch. Elliot had warned him he was going to be late, and he'd sounded a special kind of exhausted. Toby was pretty sure he'd recognised the sterile sounds of a hospital in the background. He'd thought Elliot was going to cancel, even told him it was okay if he did, but for some reason Elliot was willing to follow up a miserable day at work with a dose of Toby's current problems, jammed in a busy restaurant.
Obviously Elliot didn't realise Toby had been craving his touch like heroin. Waiting for Elliot to magically turn into Chris Keller and fix everything.
Elliot was making his way between crowded tables looking like he'd been trampled over. Toby stood.
"Hey. Sorry I'm late." He put a hand on Toby's back and it was electric, and for a second Toby thought Elliot was going to hug him, enfold him in all that strength, but it was just that hand lingering as Elliot asked how he was doing.
"I'm all right." Toby sat to escape, and waited for Elliot to drop into his chair. "Are you all right?"
His lips twisted, like he was biting back sarcasm. "Do you mind if I get a beer?"
"Of course not."
Elliot looked around, didn't find a waiter so he turned back to Toby, still fidgeting in his seat. "Have you talked to Holly?"
"I tried."
The waiter stopped, whipping out his pad. "Sir, can I get you a drink? Or are you ready to order?"
"What do you have on tap?"
He reeled off the list, speaking up to be heard over the clatter of forks on plates and chattering diners. It was loud and crowded in here, and Toby didn't want to shout to hash out his week, and he was pretty sure Elliot didn't either. He reached and covered his hand, any flimsy excuse for a touch. Toby knew the shape of those fingers. "I've got a better idea. Let's get take out, and go back to my place. We can pick up a bottle of whatever you want from the place on the corner."
Elliot looked at him, picked up a menu, ran his eyes halfway down and said, "Can I get a chicken parm to go?"
"You have a choice of-"
"Pasta and the mixed vegetables."
Toby nudged his own menu away. "I'll get the salmon, whipped potato and the Greek salad."
The waiter scrawled it down. "Done. I'll have it boxed for you."
They didn't bother to talk as they waited, and as soon as dinner arrived they were out of there. Elliot drove them to Toby's. Quiet all the way, Elliot seething on whatever had happened at work, Toby lost in fantasies of Elliot pulling the car over and calling him 'Tobe' and blowing him right here.
Toby waited outside while Elliot headed into the package store, and wondered how many beers it would take to turn Elliot into Chris. He came out with two - not nearly enough - and Toby led the way upstairs. "Just take the bottles with you, okay? I don't want Holly or my mother finding them and thinking I've fallen off the wagon."
"Sure."
As soon as they were through the door, Elliot started to shrug off his jacket and stopped with a muttered curse. He turned sad eyes on Toby. "I'm wearing my gun. Do you mind if I...?"
"Of course not."
So that was why Elliot usually left his jacket on. He slid it off now with a happy sigh, draping it over a chair and rolling his shoulders. He probably would have liked to have stripped his holster off, too, but that wasn't something a cop could do in a felon's house. Toby squashed the urge to apologise for that. He'd noticed the extra bulk at Elliot's ankle, too. Elliot's job was the kind that needed two guns.
Chris had carried a gun, but he'd used it to hold up a store, and murder the clerk. What did it say about Toby, that he'd been longing for Chris instead?
Elliot collapsed on the couch. "This beats the hell out of a restaurant."
Toby grabbed plates and silverware and brought it all out to the coffee table so they could eat with their feet up. He needed to get Elliot talking to keep himself focussed on which man this was, and Elliot wasn't going to talk about his day unless Toby nudged him the right way. "Were you at the hospital?"
"Medical examiner's office." He cracked his beer and started serving out food.
"You have a new case?"
"We've just lost one." Short and sharp, no interest in talking about it.
Toby sat beside him, and started dishing up his own plate.
"So you tried to talk to Holly?"
Of course Elliot would rather talk about Toby's problems. "You don't sound like you're in a mood to dredge through my week."
Elliot put down his fork, chewed and swallowed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to... You've had enough misery and horror in your life without hearing about my day."
"I could say the same of you. I'm still listening." He needed to listen, needed Elliot to be extra-Elliot-like.
Elliot's lips pressed in a straight line. "A victim committed suicide. She was due to testify next week. Now she's dead, and the bastard's going to walk. You don't need to hear the details."
Probably not. "You'd been working with her?"
"I told her it was going to be all right."
Toby almost asked if they couldn't make the case without her, then thought better of it. "How old was she?"
"Twenty-two." Elliot sat back, staring up at the ceiling. "Back when the investigation started, everyone who knew her talked about how friendly she was - bubbly, her co-workers said. And you could see it, even after what... She was a sweet kid, patient... She thanked us every time we spoke, even when we couldn't tell her a damn thing. He ripped up her life, but our case - us building the case - finished her off."
Softly, Toby asked, "Do you really think she would have been fine if it had all been dropped?"
"No." He shook his head, certain of that. "But we're supposed to be there for the victims. I should've been there for her."
Toby didn't know what to say. He doubted anything he said would help.
"Sometimes you don't even know what it is. The way they look at you, a comment that reminds you of Maureen at that age, a birthday in common, and suddenly it's personal. More personal than the rest. And you don't know how to untangle yourself even if you wanted to, and you don't want to because what kind of fucking person are you, if you listen to a woman describe how her boyfriend degraded her and you don't make it personal?" Elliot frowned, and then turned a quizzical look on Toby.
Toby waited for him to ask something, but he just kept looking thoughtful. "Elliot?"
"How d'you do that?"
Toby wondered if he'd skipped a page. "Do what?"
"Get me to say things like that."
"I don't know what I did."
There was a strange intensity in Elliot's eyes. So much like Chris, but Toby fought the comparison. If he let all this wishful thinking loose, one day he'd just reach out and curl a hand behind Elliot's neck, play pretend until Elliot blackened his eye. Elliot looked away, and barely loud enough to hear, said, "I used to talk to Kathy like that."
Toby didn't know what Elliot wanted him to say. "If I knew the secret, I could get Holly to talk."
"She won't?"
"I try to give her openings, but I don't want to push her."
"You talk about Gary?"
"Of course." He'd always tried to make Gary a part of ordinary conversation, dropping light references to toddler mischief, the memories Toby had squandered to alcohol and prison. The other day he'd pulled out an old photo album and left it on the table as a casual inroad to talking about Gary, hoping he'd figure out from there how to ease into asking Holly the dreaded questions. "I remind her I'm here for her, but I can't just... 'Honey, tell me about the time that monster sawed off your brother's hand?'" His voice went hoarse, and his eyes closed. "I can't. Ling - her therapist - kept telling me there's no right way or wrong way, but I don't know what my own daughter needs from me, if I should be pressing her to unburden herself or giving her the choice to make her own decision. I feel so fucking helpless."
Elliot was right there, his broad hand covering Toby's. Toby caught his gasp. Chris would be more inclined to grip his wrist but it was close enough, and that look was so dead on that Toby had to make himself concentrate on Elliot's words. "I know something about this stuff, okay? You're doing fine. Better than fine. I've seen grown adults who've been through things like Holly who barely function at all."
And who was to say that one slip by Toby and Holly wouldn't be just like them? Wouldn't take the easy path, just like today's victim? "I wish someone could just tell me what to do." Chris would have. He might not have been right, but he would have been sure of himself. Toby craved that.
Elliot's hand held on. "It's my job to get all the information I can as fast as I can so I can protect them, and get some kind of justice. But there's a lot to be said for letting kids talk in their own time. You're doing fine, Toby."
Acid burned in Toby's throat. "We ended up talking about school instead. When she starts middle school in the Fall, she doesn't want anyone to know her history." Holly didn't like kids she barely knew looking at her like she was weird, and she didn't like teachers giving her special treatment, or the office lady who fussed over her and called her 'poor girl'.
"What are you going to do?"
"I couldn't see a way to say anything but yes."
Elliot looked unhappy, which meant he was probably hitting on all the same worries as Toby. "A kid who's been through something like Holly has..."
"It's important for the adults in her life to keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't start picking up any of my bad habits. I know." Toby had turned to alcohol with far less reason. Toby would bet Elliot could quote statistics on how often kids who survived trauma turned to self-destructive behaviour, but he didn't want to hear it. "I suggested we give it a month or two, let her find a couple of teachers she likes, and we can confide in them."
"That seems fair."
"She just wants to live like a normal kid. That shouldn't be too much to ask."
Elliot squeezed his hands before he let go, and then there was a long quiet. Toby wondered if Elliot was thinking of his suicide victim, or Holly. Or comparing Holly to the thousands of victims he'd seen in his career. How did he deal with this shit, fresh every day?
Eventually Elliot rubbed his back and then stood and cleared their plates, oblivious to how his unconscious gesture burned a wave over Toby's skin. Toby longed to crawl into those arms, to see if Elliot would hold him again like the other night, just hold him, and let Toby pretend all over again. Maybe this time Elliot could let Toby peel away a few layers until he found that tattoo.
Toby listened to the clinking of silverware and the clank of the dishwasher closing. And then he was back, settling beside Toby. Closer this time. He rested his arm along the top of the couch, until he realised he was almost touching Toby's neck, then he pulled it away. So he hadn't completely forgotten that charged moment on the basketball court.
Toby wanted to tease for the moment of hetero awkwardness, but before he could, Elliot asked, "Tell me about Genevieve? If you don't mind."
That was out of nowhere. "What did you want to know?"
Elliot shrugged. There was something more going on here. "How did you meet?"
"Mutual friends. I was doing post-grad; she was a senior at BU. I'd just broken up with another girl, and Gen was cute so I asked her out to make my ex jealous."
Elliot smiled. "That doesn't sound romantic."
"My ex didn't care at all, but it turned out Gen was funny and smart and sexier than I'd realised. We loved the same books and movies, had the same plans for the future... Somehow neither of us thought to factor in eight years of hard time." Toby heaved a sigh, and gave Elliot a long look. "Why are all our conversations a series of ugly revelations about my life, while you're Mr Squeaky Clean family man?"
That got a sheepish look. "Kathy and I had a shotgun wedding. I knocked her up with Maureen at seventeen."
"Really?" After a moment, Toby slouched. "Even your dirt is honourable." Elliot made a mistake and he made it right, built a family out of it.
Elliot shrugged. "I didn't know anything. I was crazy about her, but I would have grown up, made some money, got a place, done it right. Instead I was stupid and seventeen and facing her bear of a father." He grimaced. "You'd think we would have learned, but Kathleen was an accident, too. We were finally ready for a third - had our finances sorted, all that stuff, and we got twins."
"Genevieve and I had it all planned. Get married. Three years to settle in. Four kids, each a couple of years apart, all booked into good schools before they were born. I'd work my way up to partner, and Gen would go back to full time work when the youngest reached pre-school." He gave Elliot a rueful smile. "Planning isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Elliot smiled back.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot rubbed his eyes. He hated driving this tired. He'd put off leaving Toby's as long as he could; maybe he should have put it off longer and crashed on his couch. Nothing eased him like talking to Toby. Maybe he'd sleep easier in Toby's space. The thought gave him a weird feeling and he couldn't decide if it was nerves or want.
He'd been waiting all night for Toby to call him out on all the extra touches, on the way he kept staring, but Toby let it slide, like so much else. He didn't know what it was about Toby's face that fascinated him. He wasn't pretty like Kathy. He didn't stir the same hormones but something was there. Something made Elliot wonder what would happen if Toby knew about Elliot's turmoil, if he'd talk him down or stir him up.
Down the last few streets and Elliot found a parking spot in front of his dark, empty apartment. Elliot didn't want to get naked with Toby. This wasn't about sex. He just wanted to be close to him. He wanted to always be able to talk to him, the way he did tonight. He wanted to stay longer. It would beat going upstairs to that miserable, lonely bedroom, and the places his mind had been wandering when he was alone.
Did his company mean as much to Toby? Maybe Toby had been checking his watch tonight, wondering when Elliot was going to shove off so he could go to bed. Maybe Toby had noticed Elliot staring at him, and had quietly been laughing at the confused straight guy.
Elliot swung himself out of the car, closed the door too hard for this time of night. That was ridiculous. Toby wasn't like that.
Toby watched him sometimes. More than sometimes. He'd felt Toby's gaze. If he was honest, what Toby wanted was a lot less of a mystery than what Elliot wanted himself.
Elliot didn't understand what was happening. He could handle the urge he'd had to pull Toby into his arms. Toby deserved comfort. But the way Elliot had wanted to hold him, the picture he'd had of nuzzling his face into Toby's neck... His lips had tingled. His cock had stirred. Not a lot, but enough to scare him. Elliot turned around, leaned back against his car. He looked up at the scattering of stars between the trees. Toby hadn't seen that in eight years. Elliot wanted to call him back, ask if he'd looked up, lately. It was a ridiculously thin excuse. Any excuse seemed good. He'd caught himself watching Toby's mouth tonight more than once, wondering what would happen if he leaned in. It had felt something like vertigo.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot and Olivia were driving up the Ocean Parkway, headed back to Manhattan. She had the wheel, Elliot had the files, but he was staring out the window. He'd felt Olivia's curious looks, but she knew him well enough to leave it alone. It was Saturday. Five days had passed since he held Toby while he cried, two since they took take-out back to Toby's and talked about everything but that, and Elliot didn't feel any closer to figuring out what was going on.
Stewing wasn't getting him anything but an ulcer. He knew what he needed to do: he had to talk to Toby. Problem was, that scared the shit out of him. Toby was great at talking, and even better at making Elliot talk, and Elliot was afraid of what might come out of his mouth. He was also afraid that he'd never gather the balls to find out.
Holly was at her grandmother's this weekend. That meant Toby was home alone. The Hamilton Avenue exit was coming up. Elliot just had to find his balls. "What time did Casey want us back?"
Olivia checked her watch. "Not until three. We've got a spare twenty minutes. Did you want to grab some lunch?"
Twenty minutes. Long enough to say something. Short enough for an escape route. "Can you take Exit 1?"
Olivia raised an eyebrow and changed lanes. "What's up?"
"I need to do something." Elliot clenched his hands in his lap as they headed off the expressway. "Next right, onto Smith."
He saw her expression shift as she realised what - whose - neighbourhood this was, and followed his last couple of directions.
He didn't give a damn what she thought. He had to talk to Toby, had to tell him... He still didn't know, but he'd figure it out, stumble through it when he saw him. If he put this off he'd chicken out.
Toby hadn't given him any clues about what he thought of Elliot's not-so-secret turmoil. Maybe that was what Elliot needed: just to know where Toby stood. Or for Toby to tell him there was nothing wrong with being confused.
Elliot released his belt as they pulled up. "I'll just be a few minutes, okay?"
"Okay."
He hoped she couldn't see the nervous energy driving him across the street and up the stairs to the building. He had less than two minutes to find the words to explain something he didn't understand in the hopes that Toby would know what to do, less than that once he reached for the buzzer but then he saw Toby through the glass, coming down the stairs. He was wearing dark jeans and a cosy grey pullover with the sleeves pushed up, keys in hand.
This was a stupid mistake, Elliot should have- and then Toby saw him and smiled, eyes sparkling, and this wasn't a mistake at all.
Toby pushed open the door. "Elliot, what are you-"
Elliot tugged him close and kissed him. Just a press of lips, right on the mouth, opening him up just a little to catch the sudden exhale. Toby's lips were warm and dry, and the crackle spread right through Elliot to his toes. He held it until Toby's hands came up to his shoulders, and then one curled behind his neck. Elliot felt a stupid, shy smile creep in, breaking the kiss. This wasn't a mistake. It felt like the best thing he'd done in a long time.
Toby's lips drifted to his cheek. Elliot could feel his breath, could feel the roughness of his jaw. "That was unexpected."
"Was it?" Elliot whispered. He felt like he'd been transparent from the very start, to Toby if not to himself.
Fingers rubbed at the short hair on the back of Elliot's head, as intimate as the kiss. "I never expect to get things I want." Elliot was a thing Toby wanted. It lit a spark that Elliot had been starting to think was dead. Toby's hand drifted down Elliot's tie, and that felt more intimate than the kiss. "Maybe we should take this upstairs."
Sketch by Barbana
Yes. No... shit. "I can't. Liv's waiting." Oh, hell. Elliot looked back - she was staring, open-mouthed. Great poker face, Detective.
Toby's soft snort pulled him back and Elliot had a moment to study his face, wide-eyed, shock still softening all the familiar lines. Toby really hadn't expected this. "Guess we don't have to have a talk about whether you're coming out to your colleagues."
Coming out? All he'd been thinking about five seconds ago was Toby. What can of worms had he opened? "It's... She's my partner, it's-"
"I know. I was just teasing."
No, he was definitely not 'coming out' to the squad, but Elliot couldn't think about that stuff right now. He just kissed Toby. He wanted to do it again. He was standing on the street in Toby's arms, his own hands on Toby's waist. Solid, not like Kathy's soft curves. He liked it. He wanted to explore, find more differences. All he'd wanted to do when he came up those stairs was talk, and now he was floating. "If nothing comes up, I should be out by six tonight." He wanted to kiss Toby some more.
"I have Holly." Damn. "My mother's taking her to a show tomorrow?"
"I have Dickie and Lizzie."
Toby huffed. "Monday?"
"I'll be here." Two days. Elliot couldn't bottle this up that long.
"If you don't get called in to work."
"Don't jinx me."
Toby played with Elliot's tie; he didn't pull but Elliot took it as an invitation. He pretended Olivia wasn't ogling like a voyeur and this time he paid attention as he leaned in, closing his eyes before Toby did. This time the kiss was the two of them, lips working together as Elliot tightened his hold, ran a hand up Toby's back. Toby was solid, and his sweater was soft, and his mouth was firm. So different from Kathy.
Liv was waiting. Elliot pulled away, and backed down the stairs before he could kiss Toby again. Toby watched him go with a confused little smile - he really hadn't expected this. But he looked pleased. Elliot liked it.
Elliot took his time coming down the stairs. He didn't know what he was going to say to Olivia. Coming out to the precinct? Like he was gay? No way in hell. Maybe he should have thought this through some more before he went around kissing a man. In front of Olivia. In front of the whole street. Elliot looked around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention except Liv.
Elliot slid into the car, still half-floating, gut twisted like he was facing a fire fight.
Olivia checked the mirrors and pulled out. "I want to interview Borowitz again. She's had a couple of days - maybe she's feeling stronger."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
end chapter 11
The delicious sketch of Elliot and Toby on the stoop is by the amazing Barbana, barbanaqoc@hotmail.com. I asked her to draw it as my reward to myself for finishing this story, but I'll let you look at it too.
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S.