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Every time he sees her again, it's been too long. There's no amount of seeing her that could possibly make up for the ten years he missed, but certainly not the sporadic, almost always work-based interactions they've had since he came back. Maybe that's why the sight of her -- free of makeup, her hair back in a messy ponytail, already in her pajamas -- takes his breath away.
"Elliot," she says, a brief look of surprise flickering across her face. She doesn't open the door more than a crack, though. "What are you--"
"I'm sober," he interrupts her.
"Okay," she says slowly.
"Can I come in?" She closes her eyes, dropping her chin just a bit and he knows she's on the verge of refusing him, and he knows she has every right and maybe should for both of their sakes. But he still asks, "Please?"
She nods, pulling the door with her as she steps back to allow him in. She closes it quietly behind him as he lingers between the front entryway and the living room. "Noah's asleep, so…"
Now it's his turn to nod, years of mastering his own reactions the only thing preventing him from shuffling his feet like a guilty child. He had grandiose plans before coming over; he knew exactly what he was going to say and how he hoped she would react, and they could resolve the...whatever this is once and for all.
"What are you doing here?" she finally breaks the silence.
"I want to come home," he blurts out. She blinks, that look of surprise in her eyes that he's tired of putting there with his ill-thought out exclamations. "I'm ready to, and I --" He looks down at the Duane Reade sack in his hand and back up to her and lifts it slightly. "I'd like your help, Liv."
She glances at the bag, eyebrows knitting together. He holds it out for her to take, which she does. When she peeks in it, her mouth slowly tilts into a smile; he feels the answering one on his own. "Is the sink at your place broken?"
He steps closer to her. "I want you to do it."
"El..." She shakes her head. "No. I've never--"
It's not I don't want to, so he steps closer again, his voice dropping even lower. "And I've never let someone." He's close enough she has to tilt her chin up just so to keep their eyes locked. "I trust you. I want you to trust me." He takes a risk, a giant one it feels like, and wraps a hand around one of her wrists.
She lets out a shuddering breath. "Okay."
He expects relief, but instead the tension in his stomach coils even tighter as she steps around him to lead him further into her apartment. He's only seen the front room, a living room and open kitchen, with the small dining area to the side. He expects her to stop at the door just past there, the one that's illuminated enough by a nightlight to confirm his suspicions that it's a bathroom, the one guests and Noah must use, but she doesn't, instead leading him around the corner and down a surprisingly long hallway.
It doesn't really hit him until she flicks on the overhead that she's led him to her bedroom, but then it hits him like a runaway train. He feels -- it's almost the sharp edge of panic as he takes in his surroundings. He can't seem to stop staring at her bed and bedside table, a picture of her and Noah next to a lamp and a pair of reading glasses. It's the place where Liv sleeps, where she curls under blankets, warm and cozy and where--
"El?
He sucks in a surprised breath through his nose, focusing once more on her. She has an eyebrow lifted, standing in the doorway of her bathroom. He breathes out slowly and moves toward her as she steps through the doorway, turning on the water in her sink. He watches her as she carefully gathers a bath towel and hand towel from the cabinet above her toilet, setting them near to hand.
He doesn't know what to say now that he's here, in something that feels like a sanctuary for her. The entire room smells like Liv, but dialed up ten times. Her soap and shampoo and probably countless other things he never knew the purpose of, but that Kathy and his girls seemed to have in bottle after bottle in the bathroom.
"You might want to --" Liv gestures at his chest. "I'm assuming this isn't something you normally do once you're dressed for the day."
"Not normally, no." He smirks, reaching behind his head to pull the henley off. "Normally I do it in the shower."
He doesn't miss the way her eyes linger on his chest, his stomach, or the way she swallows heavily before looking away from him to fiddle nervously with the shaving cream, her hands fumbling slightly with the new razor package. When she finally has everything lined up the way she seems to want it, she runs a hand under the water to check its temperature before soaking the hand towel.
She has to step closer to him to hold it to his face, and the smell fills his senses, not just the perfumes of various soaps, but that layered over Olivia, the warm scent of her at the end of the day that he knows, that he never forgot. She's not meeting his eyes, keeping hers pinned on the towel, her hands, the hot water softening the coarse hair over his mouth and chin.
Elliot has to grip the counter to keep from reaching from her. He knows that there are a million ways to ruin this moment, and surely the weight of his hands on her waist, her hips, and every other place he's imagined them is a surefire way to do so.
It seems like it takes years before she pulls the towel away and picks up the shaving cream. He watches the heavy rise and fall of her breasts as she squirts some in the palm of her hand, rubbing her hands together to create the lather. When she's done she does meet his eyes, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. He feels himself start to harden and God but he wants her. It shouldn't be possible for one person to want so much and be denied everything.
Her eyes drop to his mouth again, and that does nothing to help the state of his pants. She reaches to the side to rinse her hands, grabs the razor, and takes one more steadying breath before asking, "Where should I start?" Instead of answering with words, afraid of what would come out of his mouth at this point, Elliot tilts his chin up to expose the line of hair that trails along his jaw. He gulps when she braces her free hand against one side of his face, and he does his best not to flinch at all when he feels the razor press against the thin skin of his throat. He can't prevent the brief noise that escapes him as it glides up and over flesh and bone. She shifts ever nearer and if she gets any closer, she'll be able to feel him pressed against her belly.
She might slit his throat for all he knows. He didn't come here to…
He's not an idiot, he could guess that this would be more intimate than they're used to, but he didn't plan on being hard and desperate the way he is when she's barely begun the painstaking process. He manages to restrain himself from touching her or making any more noises as she methodically, painstakingly, removes the hair from his face, the pad of her thumb trailing behind the razor to feel for missed hairs. His pulse thumps hard enough, he knows she must be able to see it throbbing away as she works.
As nerve wracking as it is when she finally reaches the delicate work of shaving around his lips, he doesn't want this to end. He wants her hands on him, and her body close to his, and the care and quiet tenderness of this moment. He wants to feel like this belongs to him, like this is what his life is instead only a brief interlude in the darkness and pain. When she finishes, she sets the razor aside and grabs the towel. It's cool against his heated skin as she clears away the remnants of shaving cream, her hands slowing as she wipes around his mouth, her gaze holding there. He can't stop himself, he reaches for her then, placing his hand at her waist. She jerks as if startled, dropping the cloth to fall on the floor between them, her eyes darting away from his mouth to meet his heated gaze.
"Liv," he murmurs. It's almost a question, but one he doesn't give her a chance to answer before he leans forward, closing the minuscule space between them and kissing her. It's nothing more than a soft pressing of their lips at first, but then she makes this noise in the back of her throat, a caught whimper and he jerks her to him, begging for entrance with his tongue.
She allows it, opening to him, meeting his tongue with her own and curving into his body, her hands going to his upper arms and gripping tightly when he presses his dick to the soft flesh of her belly. She's filled out in the years of his absence, age and a desk duty doing wonders for her shape. There's so much more of her to hold onto, to discover, to feel against his own body, contouring to him. God, he wants to learn every inch of her with touch and teeth and tongue, map every hill and valley of her until he knows the topography of her like the back of his own hand, until he couldn't forget the look and feel of her if he tried. He glides a hand up her side, his thumb barely brushing the underside of one breast, feeling the curve of it, wanting the weight of it heavy in his palm, when she gasps and pulls away from him.
"We can't," she says breathlessly, stepping back and shaking her head. He lets out a breath, his stomach turning. He's gonna be sick. He's barely paying attention when she says, "Not yet." His head darts up to watch her, cheeks flushed and lips red from their embrace. "Noah's here and… we can't rush this. I can't -- this can't -- we have to be smart about this, El. I need to be careful."
"Yeah, yeah," he agrees quickly, bracing himself once more against her vanity. "Of course. I didn't mean--"
"Yeah, ya did," she interrupts him, one side of her mouth tilting up in a half-smile. "It's okay. I'm just not ready to -- you just came out from under. Give it time. Give me time."
He nods and they stand in awkward silence before he finally breaks and says, "I should go."
She bends over and grabs his shirt from the floor, holding it out for him. He doesn't miss the way her eyes dart quickly away from his chest when he pulls the shirt down, and he'll hold that crack in her armor as close to his heart as he does the feel of her against him.
She leads the way to her door, leaning heavily on the jamb as he lingers just over the threshold, unsure of how to leave now.
"Welcome home, El," she says softly, a happy gleam in her eye, and a soft smile gracing her lips.
"Happy to be back." He leans in and presses a quick kiss against her cheek before turning and walking away, glancing back and throwing up a quick wave as she slowly closes the door. But at least this time he knows she's opened a window for him, for them, and that's enough for now.