AN: This is an idea I've had since last Friday's episode. After this was wrestling with sleep for dominance, this finally won. So, I'm up at 3 a.m. writing this. Below you will find a fluffy piece of smut that will be completely AU by next Friday, but it picks up right after episode 4 this season. Rated M for obvious reasons. Again, this is just a piece of smutty fluff, with minimal angst and consequentially thinking. Probably not my best, but I try. I mean this to be a one-shot, but may continue it, if you guys like it. So, hit that button. Reviews are love.

-Ari

No first of spring, no song to sing. In fact, here's just another ordinary day...

Olivia rolled her eyes at Stevie crooning on her earphones. She hadn't had an ordinary day in... Ever.

Her ass had been glued to her office chair for the past seven hours. Her fingers crackled with an impatient anxiety, her foot bounced with fevered expectation.

After spending most of her day sitting in on interrogations and briefings with Broyles about new information about these new shapeshifters, v. 2, she walked back to her desk as quickly as possible without actually running. It had been an hour before she realized that everyone had gone for the day, filing out around her as her eyes stayed adhered to the screen. But she couldn't leave, her excruciating curiosity was keeping her planted at her desk. She had dug some headphones buried in a desk drawer and jammed them into her ears. Then, she set her internet radio to a light mix station, unobtrusive and inoffensive, to help her ignore the fact that she was alone in the office on a Friday night. Every light was killed except her lone desk lamp.

She started running through every file, every case, every Google search that might give her a clue how the man claiming to be Walter's son could possibly exist. She had been studying DNA anomalies alone for the past two hours, from human "chimaeras" to cases of two unrelated people having similar DNA sequences. But nothing fit. Besides the 99.7 percent genetic probability that the man was, in fact, Walter's son, this man, Peter, knew way too much about her and the Fringe team. And the way he looked at her disturbed her. It both perplexed her and inspired feelings of inadequacy all at the same time. Why was he so disappointed in her? And why did she care?

I just called to say I love you...

She yanked the buds out of her ears with an exasperated scoff. Her eyes were burning, her back ached. And "love" was the last subject she wanted to think about. The feelings that welled up in her eyes and clogged her throat when hearing him speak had to have another explanation. Pity, fear, severe empathy for being an outcast. Anything else had to explain this gut-wrenching impasse.

Despite her current and very real anxieties, a part of her that had been screaming in deprivation at seeing this man in her dreams somehow seemed quieted after whatever force spit him into existence in this universe. Almost every part of her was weary of the man, maybe even frightened about the possibilities that he dragged here with him. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt infinitesimally calmer. Pacified, at seeing his face, whole and real in front of her. Her own state of mind was at odds. It was like her left brain was fighting a painfully pointless battle with the right. It was a war that dug to a molecular level. Every one of her cells felt like it was being burned alive.

She slammed the laptop shut and cradled her face in her hands, frustration still pulsing through every inch of her body. She needed to go home, to sleep. Even that didn't seem tempting, despite the fact that midnight was approaching unapologetically. Even simple things didn't satisfy her lately. She always wanted or needed more of something. She felt wholly unfulfilled, relentlessly so.

She remembered Peter crammed up in one of the department's interrogation rooms, with nothing but a cot, a table, and his genius IQ to pacify himself. The thought of Peter being alone in the same building as Olivia made her skin crawl with anticipation and apprehension.

She shoved her laptop into its leather house and crammed her suit jacket onto the crook of her elbow before setting off down the hallway, her heeled footfalls echoing loudly in the empty corridor.

She stopped in front of the interrogation room, fingering the key card impatiently in her hand. Peter was probably sleeping on the other side of the door. Although if she knew him, he was as wide awake and frustrated as she was.

But you don't know him, she reminded herself. It was this dichotomous familiarity that made her swipe her card and push the door open. Not completely surprised, she found him sitting on the corner of the makeshift bed they had set up in the corner of his improvised holding cell. Elbows on his knees, hands dangling carelessly between his legs. Maybe he heard her footsteps. Nevermind that the door was soundproof.

He lifted his head slowly when he heard the door clang open. She tossed her bag onto the table and stood before him, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"You still here?" he asked.

Her eyebrows abandoned their angry pretense as they retreated towards her hairline. She felt tired and vulnerable. She didn't even have the strength to deny to herself the eruption of satisfaction somewhere below her stomach she felt when hearing his tired, husky voice.

"Why am I not surprised?" He said with a sad, crooked smile.

"Why aren't you?" she asked, almost pleading. Peter raised his eyebrows, not expecting anything from this Olivia but a hard exterior and the business end of a gun. They stared at each other, his face passive, hers almost painfully expectant.

"I'm not sure I have a simple answer to that," he said finally.

"I already know what you claim. You were a part of our team in some alternate timeline, that the machine ejected you from our existence, and you don't know why you're still here."

"Something like that," he said, again, with a sad smile.

"I'm asking what you... what you claim to be... what were you to me?" Olivia felt breathless as she finally asked what had been eating at her since hearing about Peter's expulsion from nowhere into Reiden Lake. Peter looked up at her. Olivia had tightened her folded arms around her, almost hugging herself. She was looking for answers about herself from a stranger. She felt naked, almost like she was faltering when he smiled.

"We were together. First, as partners and friends. Then, as something more," he said. "I loved you."

They were staring at each other again. Something seemed to be working behind Olivia's eyes. Peter found himself watching with a morose fascination.

"I like to tell myself that you loved me, too," he said with a insincere chuckle.

"If that's true, then why do you always seem disappointed when I'm in the room?"

"You're different. You seem distracted and glum. You're all business when you're in front of me. And it's hard seeing nothing but a tough shell of a person you once shared intimate moments with. We talked about everything, 'Livia," he said. Olivia was startled when he said her name. A part of her, a huge part, wanted to beg him to say it again. She looked at him, wide-eyed and deprived.

"That's another thing..." he said as he stood, still firmly holding her gaze, testing how open this new hole in her armor would prove to be. He approached her slowly until his body was within inches of her own.

She looked up at him, silent but resolute. She was embarrassingly aware at how his eyes combed her body, but she couldn't find it in herself to push him away.

"I've never seen you wear your hair down at work," he said, tucking loose strands behind her ear. He was so close, it was painful. With the same hand, he slid his fingers behind her neck and pulled her face close to his. He pulled her into a gently intense kiss, his tongue sliding in as she opened her mouth for him. She felt weak-kneed, a spark traveling through her veins, as his tongue slid around hers as his hand wound its way into her hair.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed until they broke apart.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a half-hearted protest. He looked at her incredulously.

"Liv, I've got nothing to lose," he said, one hand still in her hair, the other squeezing her hip.

The gap closed again, the kiss more urgent. Fisting his shirt, Olivia felt a sudden and raging erection press into her belly as he pulled her impossibly close.

"Oh my god," she moaned, as Peter's lips left hers and she felt his tongue trail down her neck. Her abdomen lurched in pleasure. "Peter..."

He moaned at the sound of his name, grabbing her cheeks and pressing his hips into hers.

"Let me show you," he said desperately.

"Peter, please," she breathed into his ear.

With that, he grabbed her hair and craned her neck as he obsessively sucked and licked her skin. With his other hand, he grabbed the collar of her white button-down and yanked hard until he heard several buttons clatter to the floor and tossed the useless garment aside. He heard her gasp and felt a savage satisfaction as he brought her mouth to his again and kissed her fervently, almost desperately. He was going to fuck her like she'd never been fucked before. If possible, his erection throbbed even more painfully through two layers of clothing as he thought about bending her over the table and ramming her until he couldn't feel anything anymore. He wanted feel his dick sliding in and out of her tight, wet folds until she exploded around him. He wanted her to orgasm four times before he spilled inside of her. He'd needed this, needed her so bad after dropping back into existence.

After she pulled his shirt over his head, he caught her chin in his hand and looked at her with a hard and hungry stare.

"Tell me you want me," he said.

"I want you," she breathed, eyes wide and reckless.

"Tell me how much," he said, squeezing her chin and moving his mouth closer to hers. "I need to hear it."

"I've been dreaming about it," she said. "If you fuck me for three whole days, I'll still want more."

He closed his lips around hers again, her tongue setting a maddening pace that he was dying to match with their hips. He slid a hand under her pants and felt her lust-soaked underwear. He groaned as he pushed them aside and stroked her bare clit. He felt no hair as he massaged her; he pictured her shaving in anticipation of their intimate encounter.

"Fuck, 'Livia," he said. With skilled fingers, she had his jeans undone and around his ankles. He slid his hand out and unhooked her dress pants, shoving them down impatiently. Feeling the skin of her legs on his way, he grabbed her ass under her lacy hipsters and pushed his relentless hard-on into her wet panties. With one hand, he unhooked her matching bra and slid it down her arms before tossing it aside. He stroked her nipple with his thumb and squeezed her breast as she moaned under his kiss.

"Fuck me," she moaned again. "Please."

He pushed her against the concrete wall as he stooped to gather her nipple in his mouth. He softly closed his teeth around it as he flicked his tongue over the tip. She almost screamed, the sound of her penetrated his skin and agitated his need. As she slid his boxers down his thighs, he tore the remainder of her underwear from her hips.

As he wrapped his hands around her thighs, she put her arms on his shoulders as he lifted her and pinned her against the wall. She could feel his tip poised at her entrance as she wrapped her legs around his lower back. As he penetrated her, he felt her stretch around him to accommodate his size. He buried himself to the hilt as she sighed his name loudly. He slowly pulled out, then filled her again, her moisture sliding across his skin digging deep. His pace was slow and measured and she whimpered for more.

"You're torturing me," she groaned.

With a surge of lust, he slammed into her, making her scream. His stone-hard member slid in easily each time as she glided across his skin. He quickened his pace, pleasure building in both of them with each thrust.

"Oh my god... oh my god..." Olivia mumbled as the beginnings of an orgasm pooled in her belly.

"Peter!" she screamed as she began to spasm around his member.

"Come for me again," he grunted into her ear, his pace frenzied and hard. He could practically feel it mounting again as he drove harder and harder into her. She yelped as another wave of pleasure blinded her.

He pulled her off the wall and laid her on the table, still inside her and completely disregarding the bed another five feet away. She opened her eyes, pupils dilated to the point that her irises was almost invisible. He began to piston into her, building his pace again until it was at a fever pitch. He could feel his surge threatening to explode into oblivion as he hungrily watched her breasts bouncing and heard her fractured moans and heavy breathing.

He flattened himself against her, kissing her obscenely. She moaned as his hips continued to roll waves of pleasure into her, another orgasm building as he slammed into her wildly.

"Peter, I'm so close..." she whispered against his lips.

He gripped her tightly as he thrusted with an increased fury and need. He could hear and feel her climax approaching. She moaned loudly as he swallowed her orgasm. He groaned against her as he matched her, spilling his hot seed inside of her, riding that last wave with her.

After regaining his breath, his slid off of her and onto his side. After grabbing her hip, he pulled her over until she was facing him.

"I know this makes no sense to you," he said, tucking her sex-mussed hair behind her ear. "But I missed you."

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight embrace, hugging her to his chest, touching her everywhere he could. Olivia smiled into his shoulder, and let him hold her for hours.

She thought vaguely, as she left him sad-faced and naked in the interrogation room to go home to shower and change, the beginnings of a new kind of anxiety replace her old frustrations.