Threshold
by misscam
Summary: When he kisses her again, it is not so much presumptuous as simply assertive. Not all thresholds are worth crossing. But this one is. [Olivia/Peter, Walter]
Rating: Teen. Implied adult activities.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Warnings: None.
Author's Note: Set after 3x14. Right. I think this confirms I am officially digging Fringe.
II
After she's led him by the hand all the way up the stairs and into his room, Olivia pauses just across the threshold, lowering her gaze to their linked hands. His fingers move lightly as she watches, almost a caress across her skin.
Peter, she thinks. Peter and her and the threshold in more than one way.
When she lifts her gaze to meet his eyes, they seem darker, at least until he smiles and some of the shadows seem to lift.
"Olivia," he says, not impatiently, and she smiles as she tilts her face up to meet his kiss. Tentative for a breath, then his hands are at her back and pressing her against him. For a fleeting moment, she wonders how she, that other one, kissed him, but she shoves the thought forcefully to the back of her mind. It can keep good company there, with all the other things she doesn't want to dwell on.
(Childhood. All those she couldn't save. All those she should have saved better. The fate of the world. Peter in the machine. All the anger she can't afford to listen to.)
She does dwell on his lower lip, tugging lightly at it, darting her tongue across, and then her lips are the ones parted and his tongue is brushing hers and his kiss does hint at impatience in him after all. She smiles at that, and he smiles at her smile, and she thinks this might be what happiness could be.
He kisses her neck as she unfastens her coat, and he slides it off her shoulders, the scarf coming with it. She steps forward, and he spins her around, backing her towards what is really a far too small bed for two. If she is to spend more time here, she really should encourage him to get a larger one.
Not if, she corrects herself. Since.
"Up," she says, and for a moment he just looks confused at her, until she lifts his arms for him, and then he makes something that might be a grin. Hard to tell, as she pulls the sweater and the t-shirt under over his head and they hides his expression, but he's certainly smiling when he comes back into view. It certainly doesn't go away as she pulls her own top off.
"Down," he says, and she tries to cock her eyebrow at him (and thinks she succeeds, judging by his expression). His fingers are already unfastening her pants, and she sits down on the bed as he slides them off, almost in one smooth motion. (Nothing is ever quite smooth with them, she thinks idly.)
She leans in and kisses his chest as he steps out of his own pants, causing him to almost stumble before he sits down next to her.
"This might be presumptuous of me," he says (and she has to smile at the echoing of her own words), as his fingers linger on her hip, just at the lining of her underwear.
"No," she says simply.
When he kisses her again, it is not so much presumptuous as simply assertive.
II
Olivia.
This is Olivia. Has to be, can't be anything but Peter still has to reassure himself, keeping his eyes on her face as she arches against him, her breasts pressing against his chest. So far, he can't see anything there that is not her. Determined, brave (more so than anyone, because she does feel fear, she merely does what she must nevertheless), passionate but guarded Olivia.
Olivia does close her eyes sometimes, like now, when he cups a breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm as he lowers his head to it. She makes a noise at the back of her throat too, as he lifts her to adjust the angle slightly, her right leg brushing against his side.
His Olivia. A possessive thought, but one he harbours anyway, because it is an anchor. (He doesn't want to come adrift, especially since there seems to be a fateful current just waiting for him.) Because it is true too, as is the fact that he is her Peter. He isn't sure when it became like that, as if they've gained possession of each other so gradually it feels seamless.
He does know what it is now. Peter and Olivia, and as she moves, he can't think anything more coherent than her name.
II
"Olivia," Peter says, his voice catching slightly as she moves again. She isn't sure if it's a caress or a plea, but she is sure she will very soon be exclaiming his name if he keeps touching her just like that.
He does.
II
She mouths his name as her body tenses, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes are bright, so very bright as he looks at her, leaning his forehead against hers while her body shudders.
He could find a whole universe in those eyes, he thinks. He has to.
II
It is still rude to walk in on people having sex, Walter is pretty sure. (Even if it isn't all that discreet to begin with.)
So he walks in on them after they're done.
II
In the morning, Walter makes them frittatas and Olivia does stay to eat them, listening to Peter talk about respecting privacy and Walter talking about erogenous zones. ("I hope he found them all, dear?")
It is a little awkward and weird. It's just also a whole lot more of everything else, and she kisses Peter across the table even as she knows Walter is looking on from the kitchen.
She does put her foot down when Walter then offers to invent them the perfect bed for "carnal pleasures and lower back support", though.
(Not all thresholds are worth crossing, after all. Just some.)
FIN