Peter Bishop groaned in frustration, staring at the wall. He was sitting upright on the couch, shirtless, only in his light blue briefs. He was unable to close his eyes. He could hear Walter's steady breathing from the room next door. His father was obviously blissfully asleep, travelling through his la-la land and dreaming of cotton candies, Peter thought, smirking in the darkness. Just a few minutes ago he sang him a lullaby in order to calm him down, which has somewhat become their routine lately, and it actually worked like a charm. Peter was wondering when his father turned into his son, and how he ended up as his babysitter in the first place.
He was free to do what he liked. He had a thing going on in Iraq. He could've fixed his life and paid off all of his debts, damn it. And then she barges into his life and all of a sudden he doesn't even know who he is anymore… "Of all the gin joints in all towns in all the world, she walks into mine", he thought sardonically, quoting a hero from his favorite movie out loud… It fit perfectly and unmistakably to his current situation.
He recalled the moment in which their eyes met for the first time. Hers were a deep shade of dark green, serious and decisive. She seemed strong, stable, moral, solid and resolute. He remembered how he couldn't stop gazing at her back then. She looked like a sweet delicate doe, with that alluring curves, slim body and long, perfect legs; her heart-shaped face, pale, soft, lightly freckled skin and those huge, sad, pleading and haunting eyes. While she was speaking, his gaze lowered to her full soft pink, slightly pouty lips and he vividly remembered that she licked them nervously there and then… His stare seemed to unnerve her for some reason.
And his eyes, ever shifting, ever changing, like a sea, sometimes calm and blue, and other times resembling green and disturbed troubled waters… Those were the eyes of Jack of All Trades, the eyes of a person who couldn't be trusted. A gambler, a risk taker, a high school dropout and a con. What kind of help did she hope she could possibly get from him? She should've just left him be, he growled inwardly, tossing and turning on a small couch, looking aimlessly at the ceiling, waiting for dawn.
God, she sounded so desperate that day. Desperate for the life of a man she loved. He felt a pang of jealousy deep inside, wanting her to feel for him what she felt for that lucky bastard John Scott. He did what he did best. He ran away. He rejected her, shielding himself from the entangled emotions and lust that was just starting to bud, from that palpable tension that arose between them practically since the moment they shook hands and made their first eye contact.
And then the impossible and the inexplicable happened-she actually managed to get him on the plane, she played him as a fool. He was forced to accompany her, coerced firstly into going to see his father, and then into actually becoming his legal guardian. A babysitter for a delusional mad scientist, who cooked naked on Tuesdays, danced around the house with nothing but his bath robe and his woolen socks on, sometimes pissed in his pants, spoke gibberish and every now and then longed for licorice and a root beer. An unnecessary complication, a mere obstacle on his life path, an unwanted obligation. And yet here he was, unable to move for so much as an inch. Unable to leave them both.
He smiled to himself remembering how they got off on the wrong foot from the very beginning… She was stern, harsh, and demanding… He was playful, cynical and incredulous. They clashed continuously, and the air around them seemed to be filled with sparks each time they looked at each other. Walter's presence didn't help either, since she was blindly following his advice, advice of a lunatic, even though he, Peter, had tried to convince her otherwise. They constantly bickered. What annoyed him most was that he cared for her. He had just met her, for God's sake, and he already cared so much for her, he was worried seeing the creases on her forehead, seeing the moist forming in her eyes, her desperation… She would do anything for the man she loved; for the man who was about to die and that was exactly what frightened him most. She was actually willing to die for him, if the need be. Peter admired her. He admired her composure and her decisiveness. And he envied John Scott. No woman has ever loved him so devotedly, except his own deceased mother…
Peter had a way with women, that couldn't be denied. He himself was quite handsome (or at least that's what they told him) gentle, kind, charming, and he had a good sense of humor. Women also apparently loved that troublesome bad boy aura he seemed to possess. Above all, he treated them well, and with respect; and they liked it. All those women who passed through his life up till now, however, haven't left a mark on his heart, they were all just temporary adventures he sought mostly in order to satisfy his corporal urges.
And it was indeed very strange and puzzling how these urges seemed to exponentially increase in the presence of a beautiful bossy blonde FBI agent. He scolded himself mentally for being so mesmerized with her. He tried to play it cool so many times when she was in the room. He tried to be sarcastic, to provoke her while verbally sparring… But under all that façade there was only one truth. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that it hurt. And because of that perverse, impossible desire, he couldn't sleep at night.
Peter recalled exactly how it had all begun. With the tank…
She actually accepted Walter's idea. To be stripped to her underwear, heavily drugged and placed in a tank full of water. It was incredible to what length she was capable to go to accomplish her objective. He loathed the thought of her being harmed. He was afraid and so he coped with his fear in only way he could, for years. With irony. Only his concerned eyes were dead giveaway of the horror he felt just before she entered in there. He was angry because she made him feel protective of her and that was the last thing he wanted back then. To feel protective of someone. He just wanted to get the hell outta there.
She strolled into the lab nonchalantly, wearing a white bathrobe. Her lips were a tight line. Her gaze was firm, provoking, daring him to oppose her. Peter then vividly remembered him rolling his eyes at her behavior, and turning away. However, when he turned again to look at her, after having gathered all that they needed… He had the hardest erection of his life. Tiny white lights danced for a moment in front of his eyes and he felt as if his brain was going to explode. She stood there in nothing but her black panties, and her small black bra, practically naked and he shamelessly ogled her for a second without being able to stop himself. Her soft blonde hair was lightly touching her small round shoulders. Peter's gaze then travelled to her beautiful, full and round breasts, her flat, tight stomach and her perfect long legs… Her skin seemed so pale, milky, almost transparent… His eyes were on fire. He went red in face and looked down as fast as he could, feeling like a boy. Olivia truly resembled a goddess.
His aroused manhood was throbbing painfully in his jeans. He couldn't stop himself from imagining her soft breasts in his hands, her hardened nipples in his mouth… Her serious and stern expression wiped away from her face, and replaced with an expression of desire… He wanted her legs to wrap around his waist and pull him deep inside of her soft flesh, he wanted her to moan his name in his ear while she was orgasming, again, and again…
Peter remembered how he shook his head and focused on the task at hand. He couldn't believe what just happened to him. The last daily fantasy he had happened when he was sixteen… He was imagining Monica Belucci in his bedroom back then. But pretty soon he started having sex regularly and although his sex drive was high, his lovers managed to sate it pretty quickly and quite well. Up till now. He didn't understand what was going on. Hell, he'd just had sex with an attractive tourist in Iraq only two days ago. He met that girl during the day, charmed her by speaking Arabic, and taking her to different places, practically as a local, and then they were at it in the evening, in her hotel room. But this that has just transpired frightened him. He thanked God he was wearing one of his wider jeans so his cock wasn't really all that visible. Averting his look from her alluring body best as he could, he helped her to get into the tank and quickly excused himself. He barely made it to the bathroom, unbuttoned his jeans and quickly relieved himself, stroking and gripping his throbbing member mercilessly until the bliss overwhelmed him. Only seconds after that, he felt so ashamed and he rushed back into the lab and stood right next to Walter and Astrid, scanning the screen with his worried eyes, wondering what was happening in her sub consciousness in that tank…Wondering if she was ever gonna make it outta there alive.
Even now, in the dark, his cheeks were burning as he was remembering it. When she came out of that tank, her pupils dilated, her breathing ragged, gasping for air… He held her in his arms, cradling her safely, burying his nose in her hair, and she was clinging to him, shivering, trembling. Her skin was so slick and wet…