A/N: As some of you who know me may or may not know, I lost my mom at the end of September to her struggle with end stage renal failure. These last couple of months have been the hardest of my life and I have no idea how I've gotten this far without her. But I'm here and i'm pushing forward. I even managed to submit a grad school app and I have one left to submit.
Anyways, here's my Christmas fic for the Tumblr prompt. It's set in canon, which is something I never do because screw SR, but I tried to give myself the extra challenge. This is "Did you really think I was going to let you spend Christmas alone?" And it's also somewhat unedited so I hope there aren't too many glaring mistakes.
I hope you enjoy and I look forward to updating one of my other stories soon.
Thanks,
M.
Out of almost twelve hundred appointments, they had seven left to make and Olivia was determined not to leave until those seven were filled. It was two days before Christmas and less than a month until Fitz's inauguration. While everyone else winded down for the holidays, Olivia amped up her pursuit. Stacks of CVs on politicians, policy analysts, and political advisors sat in front of her. Some dog eared, others with lists of big red X's through them. Her eyes burned and she sighed, exhaustion etched deep into bones as she held up the CV of one Elizabeth Ross. On paper the woman was clearly capable education wise, but her real world experience lacked in all the ways that mattered. Olivia set her photo in the discarded pile, but seconds later it was snatched out by a roaming hand.
"Nuh uh," Cyrus cooed, slipping it into the 'yes' stack. "She's the daughter of Geoffrey Ross, the big pharm lobbyist. He donated nearly a half of a million to this campaign, let's keep him happy, Liv."
"Really, Cy? She's not qualified."
"Yes, but she's a woman and has deep pockets. We're already running for re-election."
"We're not even in the White House yet," she retorted, though the truth in his words were evident.
They had to not only come out of the gate swinging on January 20th, but set up for a reelection campaign three years in the making; this time Fitz's win would be all on merit, too.
"Semantics." He shoved off her words and climbed up onto the edge of the desk, pushing back the stacks with an elbow. "Why are you still here, kid?"
"What?" She asked, incredulity laced her tone.
"He asked why you were here, Livvie." A familiar baritone voice repeated. Olivia turned her head to find Fitz, dressed in an emerald green sweater that caused the golden highlights in his hair to pop against the warm light of the campaign headquarters, and dark jeans. Her heart fluttered and suddenly it was hard to breathe.
He looked damn good and Olivia wanted nothing more than to meld into his embrace, curl up against him next to an open fire and sleep the night away.
"President-elect Grant, I could ask the same of you. Shouldn't you and the First Lad be boarding a plane bound for California with your kids?" A fact that had left her feeling empty and hollow since he'd mentioned it to her the month prior as they'd laid together in bed, discussing when and how they'd see each other as what little time they could spend together seemed harder and harder to come by.
"Apparently mother nature has other plans for me. There's a storm passing over the Midwest that's grounding flights here; including private flights. Which is fine, Santa Barbara was always a tradition my father set and he's gone. Mellie's parents are up from North Carolina so we're good," Fitz explained. "What about you? Back to my original question; why are you here?"
Olivia's stomach tightened with each mention of the woman she was currently turning into a stereotype to justify her own actions. "Your inauguration is less than a month away. We still have appointments to make, people to vet, artists to confirm and —"
"And nothing. It's Christmas, Olivia." Cyrus chimed in, unusually cheerful. He must've had a date with James on the horizon.
Olivia shrugged. What was Christmas to her, but another day to remind her of how lonely she was.
"I know what time of the year is, Cy. Now, if you'll both excuse me…" She turned back to her stack as a few other aides, most locals or students, breezed in and out to grab last minute things that would lay abandoned until January 2nd.
They all spoke of their holiday plans and adventures, the buzz of their excitement was like a knife to Olivia's chest. She'd never been a fan of holidays; and up until Edison two years prior, had made it a habit to be boozed up on a beach with the rest of the lonely hearts club. The holidays reminded her of all the loss she'd leveled her entire life: her mother, her father, her childhood and inevitably her fiancé. Now she'd found someone she wanted to spend the holidays with again and it was impossible. Was it too late to catch a flight to Mexico?
/
Two days had come and gone in a blink of an eye. Christmas day had given way to Christmas night, and Olivia sat on her couch, watching as gossamer flakes of snow began to blanket DC. She'd spent yesterday afternoon with Huck, Abby, and Harrison sharing a bottle of vodka that she was paying for today. Rarely ever did she drink anything other than red wine and now she remembered why; hard liquor left behind a bitch of a headache.
She picked at a bowl of popcorn she'd dropped some green and red M&Ms in, in a show of festiveness. The melted chocolate stuck to the tips of her fingers soliciting a sigh of annoyance. The Preacher's Wife played somewhat forgotten on the TV and in front of her sat the same stacks she'd been sifting through for days now.
Every now and then, she'd think of Fitz, of how he was probably sitting by the fire, drinking scotch and watch as his children opened their gifts. He'd be the perfect dotting husband and attentive father, especially with Karen. He didn't say it often, but his little girl was the true love of Fitz's life; he talked about her enough. The guilt Olivia felt as Fitz spoke of his children was often too much to bear, but listening to him speak of Karen was always different. It made her yearn for her own father she'd long since parted ways with.
Olivia shook her head, turning her attention back to the film. The Preacher's Wife was one of only a handful of Christmas themed films she could stomach. Any opportunity to hear Whitney Houston sing, live or recorded, was always a blessing. Besides, the film in itself made her smile and she'd had a crush on Denzel Washington for as long as she could remember. She licked at her fingertips before abandoning the bowl of popcorn on the table and curling into a ball.
Before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
/
Whoever was knocking on her door was going to die. That was the only conclusion Olivia drew as the knocking grew sharper, louder. It was so rare for her to fall asleep and stay asleep on her own and the fact that someone had dared to disturb her was unforgiveable.
At first she contemplated ignoring whomever it was and rolling back over in pursuit of her slumber, but quickly decided against it. Only a handful of people knew where she lived and of that handful, Huck was one. Like her, Huck and the holidays didn't mix. While she'd offered him the other half of her couch for the night, he'd insisted he'd be fine; he had other things to do.
Groggily she climbed to her feet, her oversized 'Grant for the People' t-shirt dwarfing her small frame as she padded over to her door. Her natural curls were stuck to the side of her face and her silk pants clung to her thighs. She didn't bother to check the peephole, instead she undid the top lock and pulled the door open.
Fitz.
Shock rocketed up her spine and she blinked hard. Were her eyes deceiving her? Was he actually here? No, impossible; she was dreaming.
"Hi," Fitz whispered. He was flanked by two agents and carried an oversized red gift bag.
"Hi…what are you? Fitz, it's Christmas. Your kids…"
"Technically speaking, Livvie, it's the day after Christmas. It's 12:03am, December 26th. And both Karen and Jerry are eggnog-ed out."
"Mell—"
"Isn't your concern, but she's asleep, too. I just have to be back before the sun breaks. Are you going to let me in or turn me away?" He smiled and Olivia could feel her knees jitter, yearning to give.
Somehow she managed to step aside, disbelief still holding her close.
"No decorations, no eggnog, no open fire?" He asked as Olivia shut the door behind him, leaving the agents to guard the hall. "I expected something from you." He plopped himself down on couch, abandoning the bag on the table in front of him.
"I don't like the holidays," she explained, finding her voice. "I . . . Mr. President Elect, what are you doing here?"
"Did you really think I'd let you spend Christmas alone, Liv?" Incredulity laced his tone. "I know our situation isn't ideal, and it was impossible for me to be here sooner, but outside of my children, this is where I want to be the most. Now," he paused, tipping the bag forward and rummaging through it. He pulled out a carton of eggnog, two glasses, and sprig of mistletoe.
This man was ridiculous, impractical, and simply insane. Olivia didn't know whether she wanted to kiss or kick him. So much emotion she couldn't define or place swirled around inside of her as she watched him. Guilt was one emotion – the fact that he was here instead of with his family almost overwhelming – but there was something else there, too. Something she couldn't put words to and that scared her. The way she seemed to need him, to yearn for his presence, his affection and his….
"Mr. Pres—"
"Olivia, if you call me Mr. President Elect one more time; give me an excuse about why I should leave or question why I'm here, I'm going to put you on my naughty list."
A smile tugged at Olivia's cheeks and bit down on her bottom lip coyly. "You're the president, not Santa. Besides, he's gone for the year."
"My punishments are far more enjoyable," he crooned suggestively, his crooked smile shining brightly.
Any fight Olivia had in her deflated. Her feet carried her over to the couch and she crawled into his lap. She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away, her fingers threading through his hair. His smile was infectious and Olivia's heart fluttered.
"Hi," she tried again, nearly out of breath. Fitz could do that to her, even with something as soft as a simple kiss.
"Hi," he repeated, one hand resting on her thigh while the other reached up to finger a curl. He tugged on it, grinning as it bounced back into place. "I love when you wear your hair like this."
"If I had known you were coming…." She fiddled with the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging on them slightly.
"I wouldn't have gotten to see you like this." He dropped his fingers from her curls and slid his hand down to the hem of her shirt. Warm fingertips brushed along the soft flesh of her stomach, sending shivers up her spine. Their eyes met and Fitz's fingers climbed higher, over her ribcage and up to her breasts. The pad of his thumb brushed across her left nipple and Olivia's lips parted, her heart thumping against her chest.
"Fitz…."
"It is a Merry Christmas; no bra," he growled, his lips moving to meet hers, but Olivia turned her head at the last second.
Laughter escaped her lips and her forehead fell into the crook of his neck. "God, you're such a horny old man sometimes," she teased.
"Who are you calling old?" he demanded, pinching her nipple roughly and soliciting a hiss from Olivia who then retaliated by shoving at his shoulder.
"Ow!"
"You know you enjoyed that."
He was right, she did. The fact that Fitz had never been afraid to get a little rough with her – the fact he knew without her saying it – drew her to him all the more. Most men she'd been with took in her size and made the decision to be painfully vanilla with her; Fitz on the other hand had been the opposite.
"Shut up, pervert," she hissed, pushing his hand out from beneath her top and moving just the right way in his lap to cause him to groan. "Really, what are you doing here?"
"I told you, I wasn't letting you spend Christmas – or post-Christmas – alone. You're too important to me, Olivia. The thought of you holed up somewhere without someone today broke me. I just couldn't," Fitz explained, toying once more with her arrant curls.
"And what if I hadn't been alone?" She deflected, his words too heavy to hold onto. Desperately she wanted to refute them, to deny their veracity and assert she wasn't alone and she had many offers to spend Christmas with others, but didn't see the point. When it boiled down to it, Fitz was right. Even if she'd taken Abby up on her offer to spend time with her and her parents, or Cyrus and James's offer to knock back a few drinks, she would've still be alone.
"I would've been the first president arrested for assault – I think," he deadpanned, but there was no humor to his words.
Fitz was possessive. Olivia had seen it enough on the trail when Billy Chambers insisted on sitting too close or brushing up against her too much. She'd usually been good at shutting Billy down before Fitz had, had the opportunity to catch him. There'd been several times, however, Fitz's eyes caught Olivia's to let her know he'd seen Billy or any of the other men on the trail, flirt with her. Of course it always ended in a fight, Olivia reminding Fitz that he was the one who wore a ring and not her, but she understood his anger. Watching him dote on Mellie for the cameras was always nauseating.
"For assault? Yes." She shifted in his lap again, moving to straddle him, a thigh on other side of his. She could feel his budding erection straining against his jeans as she settled into place. "There isn't anyone else, either. Only you."
"I love you, Olivia," he said as his hands found her waist and then roamed down to her ass, squeezing it tightly.
Olivia didn't respond – couldn't. Saying those words meant peeling back another layer of her already vulnerable heart. Was she in love with him? Did she love him? Without a doubt, but she couldn't say it – not yet. Not when so much uncertainty lay before them. Soon he'd been running the free world and she…. She'd be in the shadows watching it all unfold.
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Fitz squeezed her bum again before biting at her bottom lip. "It's okay, baby. You don't….you don't have to say it. Not right now," he whispered before moving to capture her full lips with his.
She returned his kiss with vigor, tugging and pulling at his bottom lip with her teeth, soothing the sting with her tongue.
His hands slipped inside her pajama pants and he palmed her ass, pulling her closer.
Urgency began to bud in the pit of Olivia's stomach and she could feel the desire for him build between her legs. Her body began to move of its own accord and she grinded against his erection.
"Fitz…" she moaned, breaking away from his mouth just enough to see the damage she'd done to his hair. The golden curls shot up in every which direction and she smirked. He looked ridiculous, but then again, so did she. She cleared her throat, her tone going somber. "We shouldn't."
"We shouldn't do a lot of things, Livvie, but we do."
That was all she needed to hear. Desire propelled her forward and she moved to make quick work of his sweater. She tugged it over his head, lavishing the hard planes of his chest with open mouthed kisses, her fingers finding their way back to his hair. It took everything inside of Olivia to not leave a mark on his neck, to save her lip prints for his places only they knew.
"You're so damn beautiful it drives me insane," Fitz groaned, his hands tugging on her t-shirt. She paused her lips, pulling away from his chest long enough to let her t-shirt hit the floor. "It's the kind of beautiful that words fail to impart."
Would he ever know what those words meant coming from his mouth? They rattled her, set her off balance. Men had said things to that effect before, but she'd ignored them. Maybe she hadn't cared. Maybe she'd thought their compliments were just to get them to a moment like this. But now, entwined with Fitz, it suddenly mattered. She wanted desperately to memorize the look on his face, this feeling inside of her when he saw her as more than a pair of legs to part, a distraction.
Olivia couldn't take her eyes off of him, every emotion in her body was ruled by the overwhelming look of adoration etched into the lines of his face. He took her stilled movements as his cue, seizing her lithe frame, he lifted her against his chest and climbed to his feet. His mouth immediately found her neck, his lips trailing down to her clavicle as he lapped at her skin.
She felt lightheaded, overwhelmed and submerged inside the tidal wave of emotion that seemed to flood her senses whenever they were together. Any practical and pragmatic pieces of her were destroyed by one press of his lips to her skin. She clawed at his curls, held his head to her chest as his lips moved, and her feet dangled off the ground. She didn't care where he was taking her, all that mattered was wherever they were going, she'd be with him.
/
"Fitz, Fitz, Fitz," Olivia panted, one hand wrapped tightly in his curls, the other twisting in the silk sheets beneath her body.
Both of her thighs legs were thrown over his shoulders, one of his hands splayed across her stomach, keeping her in place, while the other pushed at her left thigh, holding her open to him. Her thighs wanted nothing more than to snap shut, to ride out another in a series of endless orgasms he'd coaxed from her since he'd arrived. She didn't know how much more she could take, nor what was left in her. Every inch of her was a live wire, every centimeter of exposed flesh was ablaze.
"GOD!" she cried, throwing her head back, spasms crashing over her body in waves. Her eyes fluttered shut and everything went dark.
Seconds later she came to, Fitz crawled up to the spot next to her, his warm lips pressed against the slick skin of her bare shoulder.
"God? That's new…" he whispered, nudging her onto her side so they could spoon. He slipped a muscular thigh between her weak legs, and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her close. His other arms snaked between them and underneath her, his hand moving until it closed around breast, fondling the already sensitive bud between his fingers.
Olivia had yet to catch her breath, too dizzy to do much other than let out a few labored laughs and shaky words. "You're trying to fucking kill me…" she huffed, one of her hands sliding over his hand that rest on her stomach.
"Who's the old man now?" He growled against her cheek. The hand splayed against her belly moved south, slipping between her legs. He began to stoke the hyper sensitive flesh, his fingers expertly combing through her curls.
Olivia clenched her teeth and closed her eyes. She didn't know if she was talking or yelling or screaming, but there were uncontrollable sounds coming from her mouth as his fingers danced along her clit. Her flesh was already so sensitive that it wouldn't take more than a few strokes before she was lost at sea – again.
"Huh, who's the old man?" He pushed at the bud of nerves and Olivia gasped, straggled moans falling from her mouth.
He was going to kill her.
Without warning, he thrust inside her, his movements jagged and rough as she fought to hold on. She clawed at his arm and pulled at his hair, trying to find something to hold onto. And then just like that his movements became painfully slow. He kissed the side of her cheek, her shoulder, let go of her clit and grabbed the hand that yanked on his hair, to intertwine their fingers. His strokes became soft and measured; long and languid, leaving them both panting. The grip he had on her breast tightened and he sank his teeth into her shoulder. They were both near and it wouldn't be much longer now. His pace quickened, his teeth broke flesh, and Olivia felt her entire body buckle.
Together they fell over the edge, Fitz spilling inside of her with a low moan before he collapsed against her. Olivia followed suit, her body suddenly lead.
/
"Am I still an old man?" Fitz asked, a smug grin tugging his cheeks as he walked out of her bathroom, hair slick from the shower, and over to her bed.
Olivia rolled her eyes, pulling on a fresh pair of underwear and silk nightgown. She wouldn't say it – he didn't need another ego boost that night – but she was having a hard time walking. The soreness between her legs was a delicious type of pain and she reveled in the feeling. But he didn't need to know that. He was already too full of himself tonight after handing her nearly six orgasms before she had to tap out and remind him he was on a time limit.
"You'll always be older than me." She stuck her tongue out at him, pulling back her wet curls and tying them into place with an elastic ribbon.
"Don't start something you can't finish, Livvie…" He stood up, the towel wrapped around his waist hitting the floor.
"Oh my god, you are such a pervert, Fitzgerald. Get your clothes on."
"You don't want to help me?" he asked, licking his lips as he stalked towards her. For a man edging fifty, he was clearly insatiable.
Olivia squirmed out of his reached and headed for her bedroom door, knocking over a stack of apartment pamphlets on her dresser as she went. She'd been toying on moving closer to the White House for (somewhat) practical purposes since the election had been called the previous month.
"I'll be in the living room. Come find me when you're dressed," she told Fitz as she piled the pamphlets back on her dresser and exited the room.
/
She nestled into his embrace as they sat on her couch, idly watching as The Preacher's Wife played, again. One thing that could always be counted on, on Christmas, back to back film repeats. Fitz's fingers toyed with Olivia's curls and she could feel herself begin to fall asleep. Exhausted couldn't adequately sum up the way she felt right now. Her body was heavy, her mind blank, and for the moment her soul content. The sun was set to rise at 7 am, the clock above her TV read 5:37am. In less than an hour, she'd be left on her own again.
"Hey, Liv…Livvie, I haven't give you your gift yet. Don't fall asleep without me giving it to you."
"You gave it to me six times, Fitz."
He chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter causing his chest to shake. Olivia snuggled in tighter to his side.
"Now who's the pervert?" Fitz asked, shaking her awake and sitting them up. "Come on, I really got you a gift."
Olivia sat up, eyeing him with suspicion as he reached the bright red bag he'd set down on the table hours ago.
"Close your eyes."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Olivia Pope, close your damn eyes."
She huffed angrily, eyes shutting as she heard him rustling in the bag.
"At the beginning of the campaign, when we were looking for a song, you told me that your favorite album ever was Marvin Gaye's What's Going On album…" Fitz spoke as the rustling stopped. "Open your eyes."
Olivia did as she was told, amazed that he'd remembered such an inconsequential detail. He hadn't asked, it'd just been an off-handed fact about herself she'd offered. The album was one of the last things she'd shared with her mother before her mother's passing. It'd been a lifelong favorite.
Tears pooled in Olivia's eyes as she saw what Fitz was holding in hand. Not only did he have a vinyl copy of What's Going On in hand, but it was signed.
"Fitz! Where did you get this?" She screeched, her eyes wide as she reached for the album, her fingers running over the signature of a man who'd died decades before. "This must've cost you a fortune. Oh my god. Fitz!" She shoved his arm roughly. "Where did you even find this?"
"I know a guy," he replied with a smirk, throwing the line she'd given him what seemed ages ago back at her. "It took me a while to hunt it down, but I got it and I knew it'd have a perfect home here…or wherever you move." He reached for the album, setting it down on her coffee table. "You like it?"
"I love it," she tried to hold back the sob, her mother suddenly flashing through her memory. "Fitz…it's perfect." For the second time that night, she crawled into his lap, kissing him sweetly on the lips. "I didn't get you – didn't think to get you…" Olivia admitted sheepishly.
"It's okay, Liv. You are my gift."