This fic tells the story of episode 704 from Fitz's perspective, including filling in some scenes between the ones we saw (yes, I'm including the scene we wanted to see more of, but this isn't just smut). I feel that we got cheated in season 7 with four hot makeout scenes but no proper olitz love scene, so I aim to rectify that in this fanfic. Enjoy and please review.
MAY 2019 - DAY 102
"Why are you here?" she demands, slamming the door. I know this is it - I'm going to have to do what I didn't want to do - use myself as "bait", as Rowan called it. I'm going to have to lie to her.
What I tell her isn't actually a lie. Of course I'm here because she is here, of course I love her. And I really do believe that we're both better people together than we are apart.
But it feels like a lie, because, as she once said to me, it's the truth but it isn't the whole truth.
I considered telling her the whole truth. I've been thinking about it all day. But if I do that, she'll think I'm trying to save her. She'll see it as an intervention she doesn't need, and she'll push me away, and I can't help her unless she lets me in.
The second she kisses me I lose all rational thought. It's just second nature to kiss her back, pull her close, pick her up and carry her to the nearest surface I can find, which in this case is one of the columns in the arch in front of her front door. It's second nature to stroke her cheek and keep kissing her. It's second nature to press her against the wall as the kisses become more intense. It's second nature to run my hands all over her and kiss her everywhere as I strip her down, releasing my lips from hers only when it's absolutely necessary.
"Wow," I find myself saying without even realizing it as I step back and take in the beautiful sight of her naked body for the first time in over three months.
She blushes as I look her up and down for several agonizing seconds. Only after she whimpers my name do I step closer to her and kiss her again.
I let her push my jacket off my shoulders and undo the top button on my shirt, but when she goes to unbuckle my pants I stop her. "Not yet," I whisper. As much as I'm throbbing for her and as constricting as the pants feel, I need this power imbalance right now. I don't know if it's because of the reversal of power outside the bedroom or because I need reassurance that she still wants me after watching her make out with Curtis Pryce, but I need her to be vulnerable for just a couple minutes by standing in front of me wearing nothing but her heels before I get undressed.
For some reason I'm surprised when she obeys. As bossy as she is outside the bedroom, she usually (but not always) lets me take control of this part. But for some reason I expected that would change now that she's the one running the world. I expected her to disobey me, to shove me against the wall, unbuckle my pants, yank them down, and demand that I give her what she wants. For some reason I'm glad she doesn't. As hot as that would have been I guess I need reassurance that things haven't changed between us even though our roles in the world have changed
The other day, when I went on Pryce's show, he made a point of telling me after the show that she hadn't taken his calls - rather, her assistant hadn't put his calls through or booked another hotel stay for them - since I came back. At first I thought he was being classy, telling me I had nothing to worry about, but then he made a joke about running for president so he could measure up. I don't know what he intended by it, but it made me furious. Does he really think that little of her? Does he actually believe the caricature the media painted of her as an ambitious power-hungry slut after she outed us to the world? My first instinct was to protect her and set him straight, but I bit my tongue. I know Liv well enough by now to know that wouldn't be appreciated.
The truth is, Curtis' comment dredged up a nagging insecurity I've had in the back of my mind for the past few months since we said goodbye. Actually, I think I've felt it for the past eight years, but didn't recognize it. Since I got to Vermont, every time I imagined seeing her again I felt this twinge of anxiety. Anxiety about whether she would want me the same way now that she's the one with all the power. Anxiety about whether she would still look at me the same way now that I'm no longer the leader of the free world, the way she looked at me when she kissed me goodbye. Technically I was no longer president at that point, a fact that comforted me to no end. But I still looked the part, wearing a presidential suit and stepping onto Marine One for the last time. Now I'm just a regular guy, well, sort of. Will she see me the same way now that I'm wearing a polo shirt and khakis and struggling to even get my story on page six of tomorrow's Post?
Maybe it's why I've stayed away. Maybe it's why I stared at her number in my new phone so many times but never found the courage to press the green call "button", if you can even call it a button, at the bottom of the screen. Maybe it's why I was so reluctant to come back and so eager to convince myself I'd moved on.
As I kiss her now, though, I see that my fears are for naught, because she's kissing me back as hungrily as she ever has. She's moaning and whimpering every time our lips connect. Her body's twitching in a way that tells me she's aching for me as badly as I'm aching for her. She's looking at me in a way that tells me that she needs me, and maybe not just physically.
That last thought makes me hesitate for just a second, so short I don't even think she notices. Should we be doing this right now? Should I tell her about Rowan's visit to Vermont first? The last thing I want is for her to think I'm working for her father or give her any reason not to trust me.
On the other hand, I know from experience that breaking down her physical walls is the first step in breaking down her emotional walls. In the almost ten years we've known each other, we've had some of our deepest and toughest conversations late at night after having passionate sex that wears us out and breaks down our resistance. It feels slightly manipulative now, but the alternative is making her feel rejected by stopping this. If I do that, her walls will go right back up, she'll kick me out, and we won't get the chance to talk about anything.
Maybe these are just excuses. Maybe this is just my way of rationalizing because she's standing inches away from me, and she's so naked, and so beautiful, that I can't think straight. I haven't had her (or anyone else, not that anyone could compare) in over three months and my whole body is aching because I need her so badly.
I find myself moving my lips down from her mouth, grazing her neck before picking her up slightly so I can suck on her breasts while running my hand up and down the soft skin on her back.
I eventually put her down and kneel down in front of her, trailing kisses down her stomach then her legs as her moans and gasps get a little louder and more intense. I deliberately tease her, running my tongue up and down her thighs, close to her core but not quite, making her beg before I put my mouth where she wants it the most. Even after I do, I start and stop several times to tease her, knowing from experience it will make it more intense for her and because I want to hear her beg, really beg. I keep teasing her until she whimpers my name over and over, begging me not to stop.
As I pick up the pace she tries to slide down the wall into a sitting position, but I don't let her. Instead, I hold her hips firmly in place. "I've got you," I reassure her. It's a double entendre, really. On the surface, I'm telling her that I'll hold her up and won't let her fall if I make her feel so weak she can't stand in 4 inch heels. But I'm also trying to tell her that even if I am her weakness, as Rowan says, I won't let myself be a weakness that gets exploited, by Rowan or anyone else. I'm trying to send the message that if I make her weak then I'll keep her strong, keep her standing tall even when she can't stand on her own.
I can tell when she's getting close when her breathing and her grip on my hair intensify. I hold her firm as she starts to shake, throwing her head back and moaning. I ignore her pleas that she can't take any more, torturing her with my tongue until she's shaking so hard I have to lift myself up to keep her steady. She surprises me by crying out as she comes, not caring that there are Secret Service agents on the other side of the door who can hear her. Eventually I stand back up and wrap my arms around her. I still don't let her sit down, making her cling to me for support instead as her body continues to tremble. When the shaking starts to subside I kiss her gently, letting her taste herself as she comes back down to earth.
As soon as her trembles subside things heat back up again. Our kisses grow more intense as she tentatively reaches for my belt buckle. "Fitz, please," she begs.
"Please what?" I tease. She shakes her head, annoyed that I'm making her spell it out. "Tell me what you want," I say gently.
"Please...can't wait...need you," she sputters. "Need you...inside me...now...right now."
I can't help but smirk a little. It took her years to get to the point where she trusted me enough to let me hear her beg like this, enough to let me see that she wants me as badly as I want her, enough to put herself in a position where she can't stand without me holding her up. I just hope someday she'll get to that same point emotionally. I hope one day she'll stop trying to hide her dark side from me and accept that I love her no matter what. I hope she'll learn how to lean on me when she's overwhelmed by the stress and conflict and impossible decisions that come with running the world.
"What's the matter? Curtis Price hasn't been satisfying you?" I ask smugly, because I can't resist.
Liv shoves me playfully, half annoyed and half amused by my taunting. "Do you really think I'd waste my time with a man who didn't make sure I was satisfied?" she retorts.
"No, I guess not," I concede, trying desperately not to get angry at the thought of another man making her satisfied while I was gone. The truth is, it's been making me crazy since the moment I saw them together. Try as I might to hide it, she must sense how I'm feeling, because she cradles my face with both her hands and looks me square in the eye. "That doesn't mean...he's not you," she says softly. I smile, letting out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding. It doesn't explain everything, but it's enough to reassure me for now.
Still, I have to resist the urge to act on my primal instincts. She looks so sexy wearing nothing but high heels, and the alpha male in me wants to bend her against the wall and fuck her senseless, then stop when she's close and demand that she tell me nobody else makes her feel so good before I continue. I have no doubt she'd enjoy it thoroughly, but I resist the urge, because we haven't been together in over three months and I want to do this right. I hate that she let another man inside her physically, but from the way she's looking at me, I know he couldn't have made love to her the way I'm about to because she wouldn't have let him. That's what "he's not you" means. So I gently stroke her cheek, silently reassuring her that I still want her, still love her. I pick her up and carry her to her bedroom, ignoring her protests that it's too far away.
I lay her down on her bed and take another minute to just admire her beauty. I back up so my clothes are just out of her reach. She turns over onto her stomach and perches her head on her hands, trying unsuccessfully to look unphased as I slowly undress myself. Eventually, I take off all my clothes and climb into bed beside her, stroking her back as I plant gentle kisses down her breasts, neck, and stomach. Finally I let her kiss my bare chest, rub my back, and finally put her soft hands where I need them the most. She lowers her mouth onto me and I savor the warm, amazing feeling for just a minute. Then I stop her, knowing I won't last if I let her continue. I ignore her protests as I gently turn her onto her back and hover over her. I stroke her hair gently and lower my mouth onto hers, kissing and teasing her for several minutes while she squirms wanting more.
Finally, when I have her really begging, I slowly ease myself inside her. I don't start moving right away, taking in the feeling of her warmth wrapped around me. It's been over three months since I've been inside of her and it's heaven. We start out slow, looking into each other's eyes, savoring the feeling of coming together after several months apart.
A couple hours and several rounds later, we're sitting up in her bed drinking wine, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. She looks adorable in my gray polo shirt, her bare legs stretched across my lap. The more we talk, the more I realize just how much I've missed her these past few months.
We talk about the missing girls case, and as usual she has some great ideas for how to not only call attention to the cause, but get the Justice Department to make it a priority.
She surprises me by asking what I would do about Bashran. She seems surprised when it turns out my answer is similar to what Mellie wants to do. She seemed to think Mellie wasn't being objective about the situation, but my answer got her rethinking whether she was right about that.
She asks about Vermont, and she laughs as I tell her about my multiple failed efforts to cook chicken before finally getting it right. Then the conversation turns a bit more serious as I tell her about my fight with Marcus.
"In my defense, I tried calling the cable company myself when the internet wasn't working," I explain. "But the employees kept hanging up because they thought it was a prank call." Liv smiles and shakes her head.
"But that doesn't change the fact that Marcus' larger point probably had some truth to it," I admit. The events of that night have been bothering me for the past month, and it helps to talk to her about it. Talking to her always helps. "I know I didn't intend it as a racial thing...I honestly didn't process what Jim said about dismissing the help until after I had asked Marcus to get the scotch. I've gone over it many times in my head, questioning whether I would have done the same thing if it were Abby in his seat and I'm almost positive I would have. But it still makes me wonder if I've always been a prick without realizing it."
"No," Liv says firmly. "You're not a prick. A little oblivious, sometimes, but you're not a prick."
It's reassuring to hear her say that. "I guess I assumed if I were as insensitive about race as Marcus said you'd have called me out on it a long time ago. Maybe that just proves how clueless and aloof I am," I lament.
"Marcus grew up in Southeast DC. He views the world differently than I do. If it makes you feel any better, he views me as clueless and aloof too."
I can't help but laugh at that.
"What if it were Cyrus?" Liv inquires. "Would you have sent Cyrus off like the help to fetch you the scotch?"
I don't answer right away because I'm genuinely challenged by her question in a way that I really missed being challenged. "To be honest, probably not," I admit. "But it's not because he's white or male. It's because he's old enough to have been friends with my father."
Liv nods, accepting my explanation. The events of that night have been weighing on me for a while, and it feels so good to be able to talk to her about it. Well, about part of it anyway. I don't tell her what happened later that night, when her father showed up, and she doesn't tell me about B613. But as worried as I am about her, it's comforting to realize that at least right here, in this moment, she's still the same person I said goodbye to three months ago. No matter what she's done or what she's gotten herself into, the real Olivia - my Olivia - is still there. She isn't gone, not yet at least. It's that realization that would keep me going through the darkest times. It's why even after the stunt she pulled in Vermont, when it felt more hopeless than ever, I would still refuse to accept that the woman I love was gone for good.
After a minute, she grins. "You should tell Marcus that he should be glad all you asked him to do was fetch you a bottle of scotch. At least you never asked him to lay naked on the desk where they signed the treaty ending the Spanish American War and act as a replacement for a scotch glass."
I burst out laughing. "Excuse me, but I don't remember you complaining one bit," I retort. "In fact, I'm pretty sure it was your idea to go along with Mellie's demand that we make a list of every piece of furniture in the White House we'd desecrated so she could have it replaced before she took office, which is what led me to notice we had yet to leave our mark on the Treaty Table."
Liv chuckles. "Guilty as charged," she says with a grin. We laugh together for a minute, and then I snake my arms around her and kiss the side of her face. "I missed you," I tell her.
She surprises me when she says that she missed me too. That she missed me isn't so shocking, although it's good to hear, but the fact that she said it out loud surprises me.
"Mmmm...did you miss this?" I tease, trailing soft kisses down her neck.
"Mmm hmm."
"What about this?" I ask, running one of my hands up the inside of her leg and thigh.
Her soft moans as I get closer to her center give me all the answer I need. I roll on top of her and start kissing her on the lips, and things heat up again quickly after that. I honestly didn't think I had another round in me tonight, but as soon as she planted that visual in my head of her laying naked on the treaty table, my favorite scotch running down her bare back, I knew I had to have her again. Our pace quickly grows frantic, and after a couple minutes I flip her onto her stomach and finally give it to her hard like she's been begging for since round 2. I pound into her relentlessly, stopping only when she makes a noise that could signal pain or pleasure.
"Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" I ask breathlessly.
"No," she gasps. "Don't stop. So good." I quickly resume my assault. Her moans get louder and louder, and it's music to my ears after so many years of having to be quiet. I keep going until I feel her walls clench around me, then finally let go and collapse on top of her. After a moment, I roll over so I am laying on my side facing her as we both struggle to catch our breaths.
"Hi," she whispers as I gently stroke her cheek.
My face breaks out into what I'm sure she'd call a goofy grin. "Hi," I whisper back, pulling her into my chest and kissing the top of her head, forgetting for a few minutes about why I came here and relishing how good it feels to have her in my arms again.
DECEMBER 2019
Seven months later, when she's once again curled up in my arms as we lay awake in her bed late at night, she surprises me by asking the same question she asked that night in May: "why are you here?"
I hope you enjoyed this. The next chapter will pick up a few months after 718 and explain why she is once again asking "why are you here?" Please review! I love reviews.