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drsquidloveSomeone 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: 4846
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 26: Nice
by Dr Squidlove
Previously, in chapter 25, Concealed:
Elliot was off his painkillers and much less fun to be around. It was also partly guilt at keeping Toby a secret. Toby pointed out - vividly - that the alternative would do little to improve Elliot's work experience. And maybe Elliot should get over it. Elliot kind of got over it, but remained uncomfortable that Kathy was the one on Cragen's speed dial. All the family piled over to bring Elliot comfort food, and Elliot juggled his worries about being labelled a gay cop with his fear of how his kids would react. Coming out to his kids was starting to seem like a real possibility.
Elliot finally crossed paths with Toby's asshole parole officer, Stalin. Elliot behaved himself - even managed to give Toby a little protection - but Toby was humiliated. As usual, sex ensued.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot leaned against the car, waiting for Toby to pick up.
"I'm guessing you're not going to make it."
Elliot rubbed a hand through his hair, squinting up at the sun reflecting of the windows above him. "We have to find this guy. I could be chasing witnesses for hours. I'm going to have to call our date tonight a bust."
"I told you the other day, I don't mind if you get here late." Toby was using his bedroom voice, but it didn't hit Elliot the way it usually did.
"I won't want to wake you. I'll call tomorrow, okay?"
It took a beat for Toby to answer. "I'll talk to you then."
Elliot slipped his phone back in his pocket. Toby had sounded disappointed, but not surprised. It was the third time Elliot had broken a date in a week, and he was starting to feel like an asshole. This time was genuine, but the last two...
He hurried to catch up with Olivia, who was waiting outside the salon.
"Thanks for your help."
"It has been entirely my pleasure to assist an officer of the law." As they headed for the salon door, Millie boomed after them, "Ain't you gonna give me your card, sugar?"
Elliot shot a look at Olivia, but she just smiled and said, "She was asking you, sugar."
He knew that. He'd just been hoping Olivia would have his back. So much for that. He swung back and fished a card out of his jacket for the six-foot-four transvestite.
Millie swept his hair back with his long red talons and gave Elliot a flirty smile. "You wanna put your home number on the back?"
"No. I don't." He suspected his smile was more of a grimace.
He shoved the card closer, and Millie took it delicately, and slid it into his cleavage. "I'll keep it close, in case anything occurs to me."
Elliot hurried to catch up with Olivia out on the street. She was trying to get some distance before she burst out laughing.
"Do I have a sign on my face or something?"
"She was only checking you out, Elliot. They always are."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She slid her sunglasses back on. "Gay men and drag queens have always flirted with you; you just never took it personally before."
"I think I would have noticed a giant in a sparkling silver dress hitting on me."
"You used to dismiss it as part of their game. Now you think it's about you."
Elliot looked back at Millie's salon. "Is it?"
Oliva grinned, and wouldn't answer.
Elliot doubted it was all his imagination, but he was willing to buy in. It was better than believing he'd fundamentally changed, somehow. He didn't like that it bothered him. He didn't like that it bothered him that Olivia might wonder if Toby wore dresses like that for Elliot.
Mostly Elliot didn't like that he'd been avoiding Toby since the night he and Toby dragged each other through the mess Stalin had left in the bedroom, so eager to get naked on the bed they barely paid attention to what they were stepping over. It was only lying on his back afterwards, chasing his breath, that Elliot had thought to wonder why there was a satiny red dress dumped on the floor, cosmetics spilling out of the bag beside it.
Elliot headed straight for the passenger side, slipping off his jacket before he got in. Elliot remembered what Toby had said in that first interview, about wearing a dress to Franco's, but he'd never seen any signs that Toby liked dressing up. Toby had never said anything or tried anything on, thank god, never fluttered his eyelashes like Millie, and maybe Elliot had found it easier to believe Toby had just thrown out that detail to discourage them about his value as a material witness.
Toby hadn't been lying or making a joke. He'd really been in drag the night of the murder. Lipstick and god knew what else. Did he wear a Farrah Fawcett wig and drink from martini glasses? Did he have fake red nails, and call his rapist lover 'sugar'?"
"Elliot?"
"I'm sorry?"
He'd tried to wash it out of his mind, but now it was back in full colour: Toby in a red dress, on his knees in a filthy beige cubicle, wrapping his mouth around god-knew-what diseases.
"I asked if you want to go and talk to Horowitz or head back to the station?"
"You pick." He ignored her frown.
Elliot wondered - for the millionth time his week - about the woman Olivia dated. Had she been a full-time lesbian, or someone straight and confused? Had Liv been attracted to someone as stylish and sexy and feminine as she was, or was she comfortable enough to go after a woman with a buzz cut and a love of vests? Elliot wondered if he knew her.
Maybe he should have been obsessing over the hints Stalin dropped, but he already knew Toby had been mixed up in drugs, and Toby had admitted he'd tried to kill Vern. It sounded like the world might have been a better place if he'd succeeded. It was that dress, strewn across the floor, that wouldn't get out of Elliot's head. He'd overheard Stalin calling Toby a twisted bitch. Elliot wanted to pound the guy.
Elliot didn't have a problem with transvestites. He'd interviewed plenty, found justice for a few. They were just people, like everyone else, copping more than their fair share of hate crimes. But he wasn't attracted to them. The idea of Toby dolled up like that hit his gut hard with a deep, biting sense of wrong. He didn't want to see Toby in a dress. Didn't want to picture Toby in make up. Didn't want Toby to expect Elliot to get off with him playing a woman. That wasn't Toby. Apparently if Elliot was going to want a man he was going to go all the way, because he liked that Toby was muscled and hard, that he looked good in a business shirt. He didn't like the idea of Toby feminised.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Toby had been afraid to bring it up because he sensed Elliot would have a massive homophobic problem with it. But... Toby seemed happy enough with the sex. It hadn't seemed so far like Elliot wasn't gay enough or rough enough or adventurous enough. Elliot loved being with Toby - all the hard masculine angles, how he touched, how he smelled, the way he breathed when he was aroused. If he wasn't doing what Toby needed, Toby was going to have to tell him. But Elliot had been turned around on getting off with a man, and that was more than enough of a world shift, and how could Toby ask more of him than that?
It was all gone in the morning. Toby had slipped out of bed in the night without Elliot ever stirring and tidied it all away, and Elliot honestly didn't know if he'd let the subject lie because he was being sensitive to Toby, or because he dreaded it.
There had been a higher than usual rate of pervert activity, and there'd been Dickie's broken tooth, and plenty of other excuses, but if Elliot had wanted to see Toby, he would have found the time. Toby wasn't stupid. He had to know Elliot was avoiding him, probably put it down to how Stalin treated him.
Elliot was a complete asshole to let Toby believe that. And he missed Toby. And he didn't want to let this fester any longer. He didn't know if he could bring up the dress, but he had to stop avoiding him.
He waited until they reached the station, then waved Olivia ahead. He pulled out his phone and dialled.
"Change of plans?" Toby sounded cool.
"How about tomorrow?"
It was amazing how a silence could sound disbelieving. "Sure, Elliot."
"I mean it. I'll see you tomorrow."
"I really don't mind if you come late tonight," Toby said quietly.
Tonight would have been nice, but Elliot really was going to be stuck working late. "I don't want to drag you out of bed at two in the morning. I'll be there tomorrow."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Elliot had shown up after all. He'd even been on time for dinner.
Now they were stuffed full of risotto, sacked out on the couch. Someone might think Elliot would have plenty to say after such a busy week at work, but they'd barely spoken. It was small-talk through dinner: Elliot had a really good lunch with Kathleen today; Toby's mother was going to Vermont next weekend; Lizzie wanted to go to a boy band concert; wasn't the weather pleasant? And now it was just... quiet. Like the other shoe, waiting to drop.
Toby didn't realise he was rubbing his arm until Elliot took over. It lasted just a couple of minutes, and then Elliot tugged Toby around to lie back against his chest, reaching around to work his thumbs gently along Toby's aching forearm. His fingers were gentle, but Toby couldn't relax. "It bothers you sometimes."
"Sometimes."
"Was it broken in Oz?"
"Yeah." Toby waited, but Elliot seemed willing to leave it at that. Very sensitive of him.
Some days Toby was content. Elliot made him feel cared for, and worthy of it, and Toby hadn't ever really believed he could feel that way again. Other days he felt how much this paled to the roller coaster of Chris, and his fingers itched to fuck it all up, to loose the anger that simmered under Elliot's skin and see if he had half the passion that raged through Chris. Sure, Elliot would rub his aches, pick him up from the airport, talk Holly out of a funk. But would he kill a mailroom full of Aryans for him? Would he lay Toby's life to waste just because he couldn't bear to be apart? Chris would have snapped Stalin's neck, and to hell with what Toby wanted.
"Have you heard back from the parole board about Harry's birthday, yet?"
"Not yet. You know government bureaucracy." Toby didn't believe for a second that was why he hadn't heard back about his application to visit San Diego, and he was sure Elliot didn't either. Stalin was just that kind of asshole.
Toby knew he was in a mood because for a whole week he'd been stewing, waiting for Elliot to show up and ask what Stalin meant about stabbing someone, or to demand an explanation for the dress that had been left on the floor. Elliot had cancelled three times this week. Important leads, suspects to interrogate. Nothing to do with the stark reminder that Toby came from the other side of the bars.
After all the fancy words about not thinking less of him, Elliot had been avoiding him ever since he saw what a pussy bitch Toby had been for his pre-pubescent parole officer. Now he waltzed back in, pretending he wasn't bothered? Bullshit.
The only way to find out if Elliot saw the dress was to ask, and Toby was never going to talk about the dress, not with Elliot. Especially when there was a decent chance Elliot hadn't seen it at all, and Toby was being paranoid. He didn't know why he still had it. It had been stuffed back there for months, forgotten until Stalin dragged it out.
Untouched until the other night, when Toby found himself pulling it out, stroking the fabric and remembering how it felt against his skin as he squeezed through the crowd at Franco's. Long after Holly fell asleep, Toby pushed his clothes hamper against his bedroom door and stripped in front of the mirror. Prison muscle, toned by fear and boredom. A shell to hide the scrawny geek that walked into Oz nine years ago, but Stalin saw straight through.
Toby had slipped on the dress and stared into the mirror as he jerked off, dredging up memories of anonymous rough hands, pounding cocks. He'd worked and worked his cock but couldn't push himself over until Elliot snapped into the picture, growling "Get that fucking thing off," bending him over and fucking him hard.
Toby wanted to be fucked. He wanted rawness and passion and base animal need.
Elliot's hands moved up from Toby's forearm to knead his neck and shoulders. It felt nice. Just nice: soothing, but too gentle to really get the knots. Like so much with Elliot, because Elliot thought Toby was damaged.
Yes, Toby had his arms broken in Oz, but he'd climbed back. He'd been fucked and fucked over, but he didn't need pity and he didn't need kid gloves. Toby stood abruptly and turned to see Elliot's surprise. "Come on." He took his hand and pulled him to his feet, hauled him to the bedroom, stripping off both their shirts, meeting Elliot's curious smile with his own.
Surprise, Elliot. No pussy-footing around, tonight.
Toby yanked open Elliot's fly as he stepped in and kissed him hard, for once not letting Elliot turn it sweet. He shoved Elliot's jeans down and worked on his own, pressed inside Elliot's mouth, swept his tongue deep, a hand curled behind his head to keep him close, not letting up until he felt Elliot give in and take his lead. Yeah, like that. They were both smiling as they stripped, and as soon as they were naked Toby pressed Elliot back to the bed, taking a good long look at the red lips and sparking eyes and full cock. Maybe Elliot wasn't entirely averse to an appetite. Toby kneeled over him and kissed him again, probing deep, groaning as Elliot's tongue chased Toby's. He rewarded him with a hand on his cock, a slow, firm grip making sure Elliot was all the way to hard. Elliot's hands grasped Toby's hips harder but not hard enough. Toby wanted them forceful. He wanted Elliot hungry.
He spread a hand across Elliot's chest, a little weight to pin him as he reached for the drawer, searching through by feel until he got his hands on the lube. He squeezed out just enough, watched the need growing on Elliot's face with satisfaction, watched his hand work it into Elliot's big, flushed cock until Elliot's hips were reaching, those tight abs flexing, body begging for more. Sexy as hell but not there yet. Toby shifted, one knee between Elliot's thighs high enough to brush his balls, one knee by Elliot's hip, and he held Elliot's gaze as he took a little more lube - just enough - and reached back to finger his own ass.
Elliot's lips parted and his eyes widened. Surprise, Elliot.
Toby worked his fingers in, wished they were Elliot's demanding entrance, wished Elliot's lips were at his ear, telling Toby to let him inside, open up, get ready 'cos I need you, Tobe, you sexy fucker, gonna fuck your tight pretty ass so fucking hard...
"Can't wait to feel you up here, El." Toby squeezed another finger in, slitting his eyes at the stretch after all these months of chastity. "It's all I've been thinking about."
Elliot was staring at his hand, mesmerised, unmoving.
"How do you want me?" Come on, Elliot. Get in the game. "You want me on my knees, ass in the air for you?" Toby licked Elliot's mouth, wet and dirty. "You want me sprawled on my back, knees at my ears?"
Elliot licked his own lips, where Toby had just been. "What's... what's more comfortable for you?"
Toby didn't want comfortable. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted Elliot to see Toby's brand and know it didn't matter.
Elliot let Toby direct him, pull him out of the way, no idea what a luxury this big roomy bed was. Not a narrow prison cot: no upper bunk to bump your head, no prying eyes of bored cons on the other side of the glass. In Oz there were no big fluffy pillows, to pile in the centre of the bed. Elliot looked like a bundle of nerves as he sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Toby set the scene. Toby spread himself over the pillow with his legs wide, ass high. Nice and easy for a first timer.
A bundle of nerves wasn't what Toby was chasing right now, but soon enough... Toby wiggled impatiently as Elliot dawdled around, until fingers brushed his ass, gentle fingers, circling, and then one skimming down the crack.
"Come on, Elliot. Want you inside me." Toby pressed his face into the bed, smothering dirtier words, harder demands.
After a moment Elliot shifted, the bed dipping as he moved behind Toby, kneeling between his feet.
Toby lifted his head, sucking in air. "That's it, Elliot. I'm not made of glass; you can just let go. I'm ready." He breathed out in anticipation. Elliot couldn't do this gently. He'd feel how good it was and let loose.
But Elliot's hand was resting on Toby's back, and nothing was happening.
Toby arched and looked back over his shoulder; Elliot was looking down as he worked his cock, the tips of his ears turning crimson as he stared at Toby's ass. His cock was a lot less than it had been a couple of minutes ago. "I'm sorry. Just give me a minute." He was tugging himself, with the face of a man contemplating a chore rather than a lover. "I'm sorry, Toby." He gave up and put his hands on his thighs. "I can't."
"All right." It took a moment for Toby to roll onto his back, and there was his erection, suddenly incongruous in the awkward quiet.
Elliot reached for it, more obliged than eager, and Toby jerked away. He didn't want a sympathy hand job from someone who'd just taken a look at his swastika-branded ass and wilted.
Toby slid off the bed and grabbed a pair of shorts from the drawer. What did he expect? Elliot had probably spent the past week picturing Toby in that dress.
"I'm sorry, Toby."
So much for showing Elliot that taking a cock up your ass didn't make you a bitch. He couldn't see anything but a victim. Toby wanted to tell him to get out. Go home. It wasn't hard to find someone else who'd treat him like a man, even if he was wearing a little red dress.
"It isn't you," Elliot said quietly.
"No, I'm sure it's a real turn-on that I was branded by a psychopath."
"For fuck's sake, Toby, not everything's about you." The flash of temper made Toby look again. Elliot was miserable, shame hunching his shoulders as he swung his feet over the other side of the bed, turning his back on Toby.
Toby wouldn't have pushed Elliot to bend over and take it yet, but he hadn't expected fucking Toby would be all that traumatic.
"It's me, all right? I've never done that before."
"Funny," Toby snarled. "The way you sucked my cock last week, I figured you were past the hetero freak-out."
"Fuck you, Toby." Elliot snatched up his briefs and jeans, yanking them on and reaching for his shirt. He left it untucked but buttoned it high before he swung back to face him, still chewing on words. "I'm not... I'm not some blushing virgin. I could write a damned textbook on anal penetration."
"It doesn't sound like fun when you call it that."
"It isn't fun whatever you call it." Elliot scrunched his face in revulsion. "That's not how I treat people I care about."
"It disgusts you."
Elliot's jaw worked. "Yeah. It does."
Puritanical prick. Then how disgusted must he be by Toby? Toby grabbed his shirt and covered himself.
"I've been trying to be okay with the idea of it ever since this whole thing started. I kept thinking, I got used to everything else, right? It turned out I like going down on you, so I just need to give it time, and maybe I'll figure out the appeal of doing that." He gestured vaguely towards the bed, distaste curling his lip. "But it's been four months, and every time I think about... doing that, I can't get the photos out of my mind."
"What photos?"
"Rape kit photos. Autopsy photos. Warner's clinical descriptions in court. Victims dragging out all the raw details." He rubbed his hands over his face, body curling in. "It's not you, Toby. It's nothing to do with what happened to you."
Toby was frozen in place. He couldn't summon a single word.
Elliot swallowed a few times. He wasn't looking anywhere near Toby. "You have to understand, Kathy and I had been together since... I had years of healthy, you know, great, loving, sex with Kathy before I..." Before he joined SVU. "And then suddenly there were days when I couldn't see anything but... There were times I couldn't stand to touch her. When you spend your days looking at photos of pelvic exams, getting kids to describe things that turn your stomach, cosying up to rapists to get a confession, you can't wash that shit out of your head." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Everything we've done... that's stuff I've done, from one side or the other."
But this was something he'd never done with Kathy. All of his experience with anal sex was assault.
Toby softened his voice. "You know anal sex has as much to do with rape as any other kind of sex, right? I want it because it feels good."
"I know that's the theory."
Hadn't Toby been in the same boat, once? He'd been dumbfounded when Chris rolled over and begged Toby to fuck him, baffled that he would ask for the pain and humiliation Vern had wreaked on Toby. "It's not degrading when it's something you want."
Elliot finally looked back and met his gaze, eyes clear. "You gonna tell me being with anonymous men in bathrooms made you feel good about yourself? I can't do it to you, Toby."
Shame burned in Toby's throat, and he didn't like it as much as he had in the stalls at Franco's. "I don't want from you what I got from them."
Elliot let out a puff of disbelief and stared at the floor. He rubbed his neck. "This is ridiculous. You're the one who's actually survived abuse, and I'm the one who can't..."
Toby didn't know if this was what Elliot wanted to hear right now, but Toby owed him some trust. He sat on the other side of the bed, keeping some distance. "I had a conjugal with Genevieve. In my first year, before Devlin cut them. Between the look in her eyes when she saw the brand, and... knowing Vern was waiting back in my pod... Our last night together, and I couldn't get it up." He'd never told anyone that. Not even Chris. "I wasn't surprised when I got the divorce papers."
His head jerked up. "She divorced you because you were raped?"
"I was a drunk, who couldn't even be a bad husband for the next four-to-fifteen. She didn't owe me a damned thing." Except to take care of their kids, and she'd failed spectacularly at that.
Elliot stared down at his hands. "What about Chris?"
"Chris never gave a damn. The brand was nothing to him." What was a scar, after everything they did to each other? Chris had kissed him there, sometimes, and it had made Toby feel good, like Chris didn't see it as anything different to his own bullet wound. Elliot would never see it that way.
If Chris found Toby trolling clubs in that dress... Chris would have told him to stop being a bitch, and then he would have ripped it off and fucked Toby like he owned him.
Chris would have told Elliot to stop being a bitch, too. If he was here right now, and he said it, Toby would have punched him. Elliot was no bitch. "I can't imagine what you've lived through, in all your years at SVU."
"I'm not a victim."
"Because that wouldn't be manly?"
Elliot shot him a scathing glare. "Because it doesn't happen to me."
"It happens to you every day."
"You can't compare-"
"I know how it creeps into your head, Elliot. Do you think finding out my children had been kidnapped by that Nazi fuck's son was less traumatic than being raped? I spent ten days waiting for that fucker to mail me a piece of Holly. Thinking if I'd just let Vern Schillinger keep on fucking me, my children might have been safe."
Shock whipped across Elliot's face. "Hank was Vern's son?"
Damn. He hadn't realised he'd never let that slip. He didn't want this to be about him. "Forget about that. I'm not-"
Elliot's hand closed over his wrist. "Vern sent his son to kidnap your children because you fought back?"
Because he fought back, because he drove Vern's younger son to overdose, because it was what came next in their war of mutual destruction. Toby brushed him away. "I'm not fishing for sympathy. I'm talking about you. You get in the hearts and minds of those people. Don't pretend there isn't a toll."
Elliot backed off. "Of course there's a toll. That's why I'm sitting here trying to explain why I can't fucking do what you're asking!" Humiliation was pulling Elliot's shoulders high, turning his hands into fists. "I can't see any way I'll ever be able to do that to you."
"What I want..." Toby wanted sex, but not like that. Not from someone unwilling. Never like that. "I want you to feel good. I want to make you feel good. I don't want you to feel guilty because I've pushed you into something that makes you uncomfortable."
"You didn't-"
"Didn't I?"
Elliot looked down. Yeah, Toby had given him a little taste of how it felt to be bullied in bed. Just one more thing to be proud of.
"Toby..."
Elliot wanted to ask about Vern and Hank. "Not tonight, all right? Please?" Sitting around hashing this to death was just making them both miserable. "Let's go clean the kitchen before the cockroaches come and carry it all away."
"All right."
Toby really hoped that Elliot wasn't going to look at him like that all night. He pulled on his jeans as they headed out. Yes, he wanted to fuck. Even if it was just now and then, he wanted Elliot to drag him to the bed and shove his knees to his chest and sink two fingers up Toby's ass without a 'please' or an 'are you sure?', too hungry for Toby for niceties. It was the hunger Toby wanted, the possession, as much as the pure pleasure of being filled. Or the view of strong arms bracing against the bed posts, knees spread wide, Elliot growling, 'Is that all you've got, Tobe? C'mon, fuck me,' as Toby pounded him and Elliot still begged for more. Elliot was never going to give him that.
There wasn't much cleaning to do. Elliot had tidied as Toby served up, so they just finished packing the dishwasher and wiped the counter. Too much awkward silence. They could fill it with platitudes, but they both knew Toby wanted more, and they both knew Elliot wasn't going to give it. They both knew Elliot wasn't ever going to look at Toby's ass and not see his job.
Elliot caught Toby's elbow and tugged him closer. Toby went willingly, grateful for the arms that came around him. He should have been the one reaching out.
The least he could do was say it first. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you."
"I'm sorry I can't give you what you want."
Toby shook his head. "You give me all sorts of things I want." And in return, Toby treated him like a second-rate substitute. Maybe he could do something to fix that. "You know what I want?" He pulled away, pressed Elliot to stay where he was while he scooped up the new keys from the side table. He dropped them in Elliot's hand. "When you work into the middle of the night, I want you to know you don't have to worry about waking me. I made an extra set after you cancelled the other night."
A smile caught the edge of Elliot's mouth as he turned them over.
"This way, you can just crawl in." He tugged at Elliot's shirt. "And then, if you want to wake me..."
"Thank you, Toby."
"It's not a big deal. I'm just too lazy to get up to answer the door."
"It's a big deal." Elliot kissed him, looking a hell of a lot better than he had five minutes ago.
"Come on." Enough heavy talk. "Let's watch TV. I'll even let you have the remote."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
end chapter 26
Feedback provides all the nutrients a growing squid needs. 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: 4846
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 26: Nice
by Dr Squidlove
Previously, in chapter 25, Concealed:
Elliot was off his painkillers and much less fun to be around. It was also partly guilt at keeping Toby a secret. Toby pointed out - vividly - that the alternative would do little to improve Elliot's work experience. And maybe Elliot should get over it. Elliot kind of got over it, but remained uncomfortable that Kathy was the one on Cragen's speed dial. All the family piled over to bring Elliot comfort food, and Elliot juggled his worries about being labelled a gay cop with his fear of how his kids would react. Coming out to his kids was starting to seem like a real possibility.
Elliot finally crossed paths with Toby's asshole parole officer, Stalin. Elliot behaved himself - even managed to give Toby a little protection - but Toby was humiliated. As usual, sex ensued.
Elliot leaned against the car, waiting for Toby to pick up.
"I'm guessing you're not going to make it."
Elliot rubbed a hand through his hair, squinting up at the sun reflecting of the windows above him. "We have to find this guy. I could be chasing witnesses for hours. I'm going to have to call our date tonight a bust."
"I told you the other day, I don't mind if you get here late." Toby was using his bedroom voice, but it didn't hit Elliot the way it usually did.
"I won't want to wake you. I'll call tomorrow, okay?"
It took a beat for Toby to answer. "I'll talk to you then."
Elliot slipped his phone back in his pocket. Toby had sounded disappointed, but not surprised. It was the third time Elliot had broken a date in a week, and he was starting to feel like an asshole. This time was genuine, but the last two...
He hurried to catch up with Olivia, who was waiting outside the salon.
"Thanks for your help."
"It has been entirely my pleasure to assist an officer of the law." As they headed for the salon door, Millie boomed after them, "Ain't you gonna give me your card, sugar?"
Elliot shot a look at Olivia, but she just smiled and said, "She was asking you, sugar."
He knew that. He'd just been hoping Olivia would have his back. So much for that. He swung back and fished a card out of his jacket for the six-foot-four transvestite.
Millie swept his hair back with his long red talons and gave Elliot a flirty smile. "You wanna put your home number on the back?"
"No. I don't." He suspected his smile was more of a grimace.
He shoved the card closer, and Millie took it delicately, and slid it into his cleavage. "I'll keep it close, in case anything occurs to me."
Elliot hurried to catch up with Olivia out on the street. She was trying to get some distance before she burst out laughing.
"Do I have a sign on my face or something?"
"She was only checking you out, Elliot. They always are."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She slid her sunglasses back on. "Gay men and drag queens have always flirted with you; you just never took it personally before."
"I think I would have noticed a giant in a sparkling silver dress hitting on me."
"You used to dismiss it as part of their game. Now you think it's about you."
Elliot looked back at Millie's salon. "Is it?"
Oliva grinned, and wouldn't answer.
Elliot doubted it was all his imagination, but he was willing to buy in. It was better than believing he'd fundamentally changed, somehow. He didn't like that it bothered him. He didn't like that it bothered him that Olivia might wonder if Toby wore dresses like that for Elliot.
Mostly Elliot didn't like that he'd been avoiding Toby since the night he and Toby dragged each other through the mess Stalin had left in the bedroom, so eager to get naked on the bed they barely paid attention to what they were stepping over. It was only lying on his back afterwards, chasing his breath, that Elliot had thought to wonder why there was a satiny red dress dumped on the floor, cosmetics spilling out of the bag beside it.
Elliot headed straight for the passenger side, slipping off his jacket before he got in. Elliot remembered what Toby had said in that first interview, about wearing a dress to Franco's, but he'd never seen any signs that Toby liked dressing up. Toby had never said anything or tried anything on, thank god, never fluttered his eyelashes like Millie, and maybe Elliot had found it easier to believe Toby had just thrown out that detail to discourage them about his value as a material witness.
Toby hadn't been lying or making a joke. He'd really been in drag the night of the murder. Lipstick and god knew what else. Did he wear a Farrah Fawcett wig and drink from martini glasses? Did he have fake red nails, and call his rapist lover 'sugar'?"
"Elliot?"
"I'm sorry?"
He'd tried to wash it out of his mind, but now it was back in full colour: Toby in a red dress, on his knees in a filthy beige cubicle, wrapping his mouth around god-knew-what diseases.
"I asked if you want to go and talk to Horowitz or head back to the station?"
"You pick." He ignored her frown.
Elliot wondered - for the millionth time his week - about the woman Olivia dated. Had she been a full-time lesbian, or someone straight and confused? Had Liv been attracted to someone as stylish and sexy and feminine as she was, or was she comfortable enough to go after a woman with a buzz cut and a love of vests? Elliot wondered if he knew her.
Maybe he should have been obsessing over the hints Stalin dropped, but he already knew Toby had been mixed up in drugs, and Toby had admitted he'd tried to kill Vern. It sounded like the world might have been a better place if he'd succeeded. It was that dress, strewn across the floor, that wouldn't get out of Elliot's head. He'd overheard Stalin calling Toby a twisted bitch. Elliot wanted to pound the guy.
Elliot didn't have a problem with transvestites. He'd interviewed plenty, found justice for a few. They were just people, like everyone else, copping more than their fair share of hate crimes. But he wasn't attracted to them. The idea of Toby dolled up like that hit his gut hard with a deep, biting sense of wrong. He didn't want to see Toby in a dress. Didn't want to picture Toby in make up. Didn't want Toby to expect Elliot to get off with him playing a woman. That wasn't Toby. Apparently if Elliot was going to want a man he was going to go all the way, because he liked that Toby was muscled and hard, that he looked good in a business shirt. He didn't like the idea of Toby feminised.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Toby had been afraid to bring it up because he sensed Elliot would have a massive homophobic problem with it. But... Toby seemed happy enough with the sex. It hadn't seemed so far like Elliot wasn't gay enough or rough enough or adventurous enough. Elliot loved being with Toby - all the hard masculine angles, how he touched, how he smelled, the way he breathed when he was aroused. If he wasn't doing what Toby needed, Toby was going to have to tell him. But Elliot had been turned around on getting off with a man, and that was more than enough of a world shift, and how could Toby ask more of him than that?
It was all gone in the morning. Toby had slipped out of bed in the night without Elliot ever stirring and tidied it all away, and Elliot honestly didn't know if he'd let the subject lie because he was being sensitive to Toby, or because he dreaded it.
There had been a higher than usual rate of pervert activity, and there'd been Dickie's broken tooth, and plenty of other excuses, but if Elliot had wanted to see Toby, he would have found the time. Toby wasn't stupid. He had to know Elliot was avoiding him, probably put it down to how Stalin treated him.
Elliot was a complete asshole to let Toby believe that. And he missed Toby. And he didn't want to let this fester any longer. He didn't know if he could bring up the dress, but he had to stop avoiding him.
He waited until they reached the station, then waved Olivia ahead. He pulled out his phone and dialled.
"Change of plans?" Toby sounded cool.
"How about tomorrow?"
It was amazing how a silence could sound disbelieving. "Sure, Elliot."
"I mean it. I'll see you tomorrow."
"I really don't mind if you come late tonight," Toby said quietly.
Tonight would have been nice, but Elliot really was going to be stuck working late. "I don't want to drag you out of bed at two in the morning. I'll be there tomorrow."
Elliot had shown up after all. He'd even been on time for dinner.
Now they were stuffed full of risotto, sacked out on the couch. Someone might think Elliot would have plenty to say after such a busy week at work, but they'd barely spoken. It was small-talk through dinner: Elliot had a really good lunch with Kathleen today; Toby's mother was going to Vermont next weekend; Lizzie wanted to go to a boy band concert; wasn't the weather pleasant? And now it was just... quiet. Like the other shoe, waiting to drop.
Toby didn't realise he was rubbing his arm until Elliot took over. It lasted just a couple of minutes, and then Elliot tugged Toby around to lie back against his chest, reaching around to work his thumbs gently along Toby's aching forearm. His fingers were gentle, but Toby couldn't relax. "It bothers you sometimes."
"Sometimes."
"Was it broken in Oz?"
"Yeah." Toby waited, but Elliot seemed willing to leave it at that. Very sensitive of him.
Some days Toby was content. Elliot made him feel cared for, and worthy of it, and Toby hadn't ever really believed he could feel that way again. Other days he felt how much this paled to the roller coaster of Chris, and his fingers itched to fuck it all up, to loose the anger that simmered under Elliot's skin and see if he had half the passion that raged through Chris. Sure, Elliot would rub his aches, pick him up from the airport, talk Holly out of a funk. But would he kill a mailroom full of Aryans for him? Would he lay Toby's life to waste just because he couldn't bear to be apart? Chris would have snapped Stalin's neck, and to hell with what Toby wanted.
"Have you heard back from the parole board about Harry's birthday, yet?"
"Not yet. You know government bureaucracy." Toby didn't believe for a second that was why he hadn't heard back about his application to visit San Diego, and he was sure Elliot didn't either. Stalin was just that kind of asshole.
Toby knew he was in a mood because for a whole week he'd been stewing, waiting for Elliot to show up and ask what Stalin meant about stabbing someone, or to demand an explanation for the dress that had been left on the floor. Elliot had cancelled three times this week. Important leads, suspects to interrogate. Nothing to do with the stark reminder that Toby came from the other side of the bars.
After all the fancy words about not thinking less of him, Elliot had been avoiding him ever since he saw what a pussy bitch Toby had been for his pre-pubescent parole officer. Now he waltzed back in, pretending he wasn't bothered? Bullshit.
The only way to find out if Elliot saw the dress was to ask, and Toby was never going to talk about the dress, not with Elliot. Especially when there was a decent chance Elliot hadn't seen it at all, and Toby was being paranoid. He didn't know why he still had it. It had been stuffed back there for months, forgotten until Stalin dragged it out.
Untouched until the other night, when Toby found himself pulling it out, stroking the fabric and remembering how it felt against his skin as he squeezed through the crowd at Franco's. Long after Holly fell asleep, Toby pushed his clothes hamper against his bedroom door and stripped in front of the mirror. Prison muscle, toned by fear and boredom. A shell to hide the scrawny geek that walked into Oz nine years ago, but Stalin saw straight through.
Toby had slipped on the dress and stared into the mirror as he jerked off, dredging up memories of anonymous rough hands, pounding cocks. He'd worked and worked his cock but couldn't push himself over until Elliot snapped into the picture, growling "Get that fucking thing off," bending him over and fucking him hard.
Toby wanted to be fucked. He wanted rawness and passion and base animal need.
Elliot's hands moved up from Toby's forearm to knead his neck and shoulders. It felt nice. Just nice: soothing, but too gentle to really get the knots. Like so much with Elliot, because Elliot thought Toby was damaged.
Yes, Toby had his arms broken in Oz, but he'd climbed back. He'd been fucked and fucked over, but he didn't need pity and he didn't need kid gloves. Toby stood abruptly and turned to see Elliot's surprise. "Come on." He took his hand and pulled him to his feet, hauled him to the bedroom, stripping off both their shirts, meeting Elliot's curious smile with his own.
Surprise, Elliot. No pussy-footing around, tonight.
Toby yanked open Elliot's fly as he stepped in and kissed him hard, for once not letting Elliot turn it sweet. He shoved Elliot's jeans down and worked on his own, pressed inside Elliot's mouth, swept his tongue deep, a hand curled behind his head to keep him close, not letting up until he felt Elliot give in and take his lead. Yeah, like that. They were both smiling as they stripped, and as soon as they were naked Toby pressed Elliot back to the bed, taking a good long look at the red lips and sparking eyes and full cock. Maybe Elliot wasn't entirely averse to an appetite. Toby kneeled over him and kissed him again, probing deep, groaning as Elliot's tongue chased Toby's. He rewarded him with a hand on his cock, a slow, firm grip making sure Elliot was all the way to hard. Elliot's hands grasped Toby's hips harder but not hard enough. Toby wanted them forceful. He wanted Elliot hungry.
He spread a hand across Elliot's chest, a little weight to pin him as he reached for the drawer, searching through by feel until he got his hands on the lube. He squeezed out just enough, watched the need growing on Elliot's face with satisfaction, watched his hand work it into Elliot's big, flushed cock until Elliot's hips were reaching, those tight abs flexing, body begging for more. Sexy as hell but not there yet. Toby shifted, one knee between Elliot's thighs high enough to brush his balls, one knee by Elliot's hip, and he held Elliot's gaze as he took a little more lube - just enough - and reached back to finger his own ass.
Elliot's lips parted and his eyes widened. Surprise, Elliot.
Toby worked his fingers in, wished they were Elliot's demanding entrance, wished Elliot's lips were at his ear, telling Toby to let him inside, open up, get ready 'cos I need you, Tobe, you sexy fucker, gonna fuck your tight pretty ass so fucking hard...
"Can't wait to feel you up here, El." Toby squeezed another finger in, slitting his eyes at the stretch after all these months of chastity. "It's all I've been thinking about."
Elliot was staring at his hand, mesmerised, unmoving.
"How do you want me?" Come on, Elliot. Get in the game. "You want me on my knees, ass in the air for you?" Toby licked Elliot's mouth, wet and dirty. "You want me sprawled on my back, knees at my ears?"
Elliot licked his own lips, where Toby had just been. "What's... what's more comfortable for you?"
Toby didn't want comfortable. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted Elliot to see Toby's brand and know it didn't matter.
Elliot let Toby direct him, pull him out of the way, no idea what a luxury this big roomy bed was. Not a narrow prison cot: no upper bunk to bump your head, no prying eyes of bored cons on the other side of the glass. In Oz there were no big fluffy pillows, to pile in the centre of the bed. Elliot looked like a bundle of nerves as he sat on the edge of the mattress and watched Toby set the scene. Toby spread himself over the pillow with his legs wide, ass high. Nice and easy for a first timer.
A bundle of nerves wasn't what Toby was chasing right now, but soon enough... Toby wiggled impatiently as Elliot dawdled around, until fingers brushed his ass, gentle fingers, circling, and then one skimming down the crack.
"Come on, Elliot. Want you inside me." Toby pressed his face into the bed, smothering dirtier words, harder demands.
After a moment Elliot shifted, the bed dipping as he moved behind Toby, kneeling between his feet.
Toby lifted his head, sucking in air. "That's it, Elliot. I'm not made of glass; you can just let go. I'm ready." He breathed out in anticipation. Elliot couldn't do this gently. He'd feel how good it was and let loose.
But Elliot's hand was resting on Toby's back, and nothing was happening.
Toby arched and looked back over his shoulder; Elliot was looking down as he worked his cock, the tips of his ears turning crimson as he stared at Toby's ass. His cock was a lot less than it had been a couple of minutes ago. "I'm sorry. Just give me a minute." He was tugging himself, with the face of a man contemplating a chore rather than a lover. "I'm sorry, Toby." He gave up and put his hands on his thighs. "I can't."
"All right." It took a moment for Toby to roll onto his back, and there was his erection, suddenly incongruous in the awkward quiet.
Elliot reached for it, more obliged than eager, and Toby jerked away. He didn't want a sympathy hand job from someone who'd just taken a look at his swastika-branded ass and wilted.
Toby slid off the bed and grabbed a pair of shorts from the drawer. What did he expect? Elliot had probably spent the past week picturing Toby in that dress.
"I'm sorry, Toby."
So much for showing Elliot that taking a cock up your ass didn't make you a bitch. He couldn't see anything but a victim. Toby wanted to tell him to get out. Go home. It wasn't hard to find someone else who'd treat him like a man, even if he was wearing a little red dress.
"It isn't you," Elliot said quietly.
"No, I'm sure it's a real turn-on that I was branded by a psychopath."
"For fuck's sake, Toby, not everything's about you." The flash of temper made Toby look again. Elliot was miserable, shame hunching his shoulders as he swung his feet over the other side of the bed, turning his back on Toby.
Toby wouldn't have pushed Elliot to bend over and take it yet, but he hadn't expected fucking Toby would be all that traumatic.
"It's me, all right? I've never done that before."
"Funny," Toby snarled. "The way you sucked my cock last week, I figured you were past the hetero freak-out."
"Fuck you, Toby." Elliot snatched up his briefs and jeans, yanking them on and reaching for his shirt. He left it untucked but buttoned it high before he swung back to face him, still chewing on words. "I'm not... I'm not some blushing virgin. I could write a damned textbook on anal penetration."
"It doesn't sound like fun when you call it that."
"It isn't fun whatever you call it." Elliot scrunched his face in revulsion. "That's not how I treat people I care about."
"It disgusts you."
Elliot's jaw worked. "Yeah. It does."
Puritanical prick. Then how disgusted must he be by Toby? Toby grabbed his shirt and covered himself.
"I've been trying to be okay with the idea of it ever since this whole thing started. I kept thinking, I got used to everything else, right? It turned out I like going down on you, so I just need to give it time, and maybe I'll figure out the appeal of doing that." He gestured vaguely towards the bed, distaste curling his lip. "But it's been four months, and every time I think about... doing that, I can't get the photos out of my mind."
"What photos?"
"Rape kit photos. Autopsy photos. Warner's clinical descriptions in court. Victims dragging out all the raw details." He rubbed his hands over his face, body curling in. "It's not you, Toby. It's nothing to do with what happened to you."
Toby was frozen in place. He couldn't summon a single word.
Elliot swallowed a few times. He wasn't looking anywhere near Toby. "You have to understand, Kathy and I had been together since... I had years of healthy, you know, great, loving, sex with Kathy before I..." Before he joined SVU. "And then suddenly there were days when I couldn't see anything but... There were times I couldn't stand to touch her. When you spend your days looking at photos of pelvic exams, getting kids to describe things that turn your stomach, cosying up to rapists to get a confession, you can't wash that shit out of your head." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Everything we've done... that's stuff I've done, from one side or the other."
But this was something he'd never done with Kathy. All of his experience with anal sex was assault.
Toby softened his voice. "You know anal sex has as much to do with rape as any other kind of sex, right? I want it because it feels good."
"I know that's the theory."
Hadn't Toby been in the same boat, once? He'd been dumbfounded when Chris rolled over and begged Toby to fuck him, baffled that he would ask for the pain and humiliation Vern had wreaked on Toby. "It's not degrading when it's something you want."
Elliot finally looked back and met his gaze, eyes clear. "You gonna tell me being with anonymous men in bathrooms made you feel good about yourself? I can't do it to you, Toby."
Shame burned in Toby's throat, and he didn't like it as much as he had in the stalls at Franco's. "I don't want from you what I got from them."
Elliot let out a puff of disbelief and stared at the floor. He rubbed his neck. "This is ridiculous. You're the one who's actually survived abuse, and I'm the one who can't..."
Toby didn't know if this was what Elliot wanted to hear right now, but Toby owed him some trust. He sat on the other side of the bed, keeping some distance. "I had a conjugal with Genevieve. In my first year, before Devlin cut them. Between the look in her eyes when she saw the brand, and... knowing Vern was waiting back in my pod... Our last night together, and I couldn't get it up." He'd never told anyone that. Not even Chris. "I wasn't surprised when I got the divorce papers."
His head jerked up. "She divorced you because you were raped?"
"I was a drunk, who couldn't even be a bad husband for the next four-to-fifteen. She didn't owe me a damned thing." Except to take care of their kids, and she'd failed spectacularly at that.
Elliot stared down at his hands. "What about Chris?"
"Chris never gave a damn. The brand was nothing to him." What was a scar, after everything they did to each other? Chris had kissed him there, sometimes, and it had made Toby feel good, like Chris didn't see it as anything different to his own bullet wound. Elliot would never see it that way.
If Chris found Toby trolling clubs in that dress... Chris would have told him to stop being a bitch, and then he would have ripped it off and fucked Toby like he owned him.
Chris would have told Elliot to stop being a bitch, too. If he was here right now, and he said it, Toby would have punched him. Elliot was no bitch. "I can't imagine what you've lived through, in all your years at SVU."
"I'm not a victim."
"Because that wouldn't be manly?"
Elliot shot him a scathing glare. "Because it doesn't happen to me."
"It happens to you every day."
"You can't compare-"
"I know how it creeps into your head, Elliot. Do you think finding out my children had been kidnapped by that Nazi fuck's son was less traumatic than being raped? I spent ten days waiting for that fucker to mail me a piece of Holly. Thinking if I'd just let Vern Schillinger keep on fucking me, my children might have been safe."
Shock whipped across Elliot's face. "Hank was Vern's son?"
Damn. He hadn't realised he'd never let that slip. He didn't want this to be about him. "Forget about that. I'm not-"
Elliot's hand closed over his wrist. "Vern sent his son to kidnap your children because you fought back?"
Because he fought back, because he drove Vern's younger son to overdose, because it was what came next in their war of mutual destruction. Toby brushed him away. "I'm not fishing for sympathy. I'm talking about you. You get in the hearts and minds of those people. Don't pretend there isn't a toll."
Elliot backed off. "Of course there's a toll. That's why I'm sitting here trying to explain why I can't fucking do what you're asking!" Humiliation was pulling Elliot's shoulders high, turning his hands into fists. "I can't see any way I'll ever be able to do that to you."
"What I want..." Toby wanted sex, but not like that. Not from someone unwilling. Never like that. "I want you to feel good. I want to make you feel good. I don't want you to feel guilty because I've pushed you into something that makes you uncomfortable."
"You didn't-"
"Didn't I?"
Elliot looked down. Yeah, Toby had given him a little taste of how it felt to be bullied in bed. Just one more thing to be proud of.
"Toby..."
Elliot wanted to ask about Vern and Hank. "Not tonight, all right? Please?" Sitting around hashing this to death was just making them both miserable. "Let's go clean the kitchen before the cockroaches come and carry it all away."
"All right."
Toby really hoped that Elliot wasn't going to look at him like that all night. He pulled on his jeans as they headed out. Yes, he wanted to fuck. Even if it was just now and then, he wanted Elliot to drag him to the bed and shove his knees to his chest and sink two fingers up Toby's ass without a 'please' or an 'are you sure?', too hungry for Toby for niceties. It was the hunger Toby wanted, the possession, as much as the pure pleasure of being filled. Or the view of strong arms bracing against the bed posts, knees spread wide, Elliot growling, 'Is that all you've got, Tobe? C'mon, fuck me,' as Toby pounded him and Elliot still begged for more. Elliot was never going to give him that.
There wasn't much cleaning to do. Elliot had tidied as Toby served up, so they just finished packing the dishwasher and wiped the counter. Too much awkward silence. They could fill it with platitudes, but they both knew Toby wanted more, and they both knew Elliot wasn't going to give it. They both knew Elliot wasn't ever going to look at Toby's ass and not see his job.
Elliot caught Toby's elbow and tugged him closer. Toby went willingly, grateful for the arms that came around him. He should have been the one reaching out.
The least he could do was say it first. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you."
"I'm sorry I can't give you what you want."
Toby shook his head. "You give me all sorts of things I want." And in return, Toby treated him like a second-rate substitute. Maybe he could do something to fix that. "You know what I want?" He pulled away, pressed Elliot to stay where he was while he scooped up the new keys from the side table. He dropped them in Elliot's hand. "When you work into the middle of the night, I want you to know you don't have to worry about waking me. I made an extra set after you cancelled the other night."
A smile caught the edge of Elliot's mouth as he turned them over.
"This way, you can just crawl in." He tugged at Elliot's shirt. "And then, if you want to wake me..."
"Thank you, Toby."
"It's not a big deal. I'm just too lazy to get up to answer the door."
"It's a big deal." Elliot kissed him, looking a hell of a lot better than he had five minutes ago.
"Come on." Enough heavy talk. "Let's watch TV. I'll even let you have the remote."
end chapter 26
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