Disclaimer: If Fringe were mine, we would have seen every last bit of Olivia's lesbian/stripper scene in season one.
A/N: Written for grdnofevrythng's Porn Battle over on LJ!
In the Fringe Division, there was no such thing as a coincidence.
Case in point? Running out of staples at the exact same time that Walter began fiddling with the air filtration system in the lab for the tenth time in as many days. That might have seemed innocent enough to an outside observer, but to Astrid there were so many red flags to that little scenario. Ones that practically screamed, 'Don't do it!' as loudly as the next token, nearly naked, blonde girl in a horror film who was about to get axed.
And yet... There she was, chatting with Olivia about one of the suspects (and the mildly inappropriate obsession he had with his cat) as she rifled through shelves of dusty boxes in the supply closet. All because she'd chosen to believe that she was just being silly, overly cautious like she always was.
She should have known better.
It all happened so fast. One second she was laughing with the older agent and the next her footing had slipped, pencil grips (Walter had a fascination with them) went flying in the air and Olivia was sent stumbling into her as the heavy door suddenly slammed shut behind her.
Darkness enveloped them. Suffocating them like a wet blanket.
They were locked in.
Great.
Her elbow ached and she was pretty sure that her ankle was sprained, but nothing- nothing- could have prepared her for the moment she finally registered gentle curves pressing into her from behind and soft lips just barely grazing the side of her neck.
Her breath hitched, mind racing. Conjuring images that she'd only dared to dream about, tucked away in the safety of her own bed.
Slender fingers slithering their way in between the buttons on her dress shirt. A thigh wedging itself between her legs. Hips grinding into hers. A hand slipping into her slacks, underneath her panties. Filling, thrusting, moaning. Long, silky hair tangled in her grasp as she arched her back and shook with the force of her release...
"Astrid?"
She gasped, blinking slowly in the dark. Her fingers tightened themselves into a fist on the wall in front of her, a surge of blinding heat settling low in her belly.
"Dammit !"
She'd promised herself that she wouldn't let the (not so tiny) crush that she'd developed on Agent Dunham interfere with their work, and she'd been successful. Until now apparently.
"Are you alright?" Olivia whispered, pulling away from her.
"I- I'm fine," Astrid whimpered, the cold air that remained seeping into her body, "But my ego may be a little bruised."
Olivia chuckled, briefly reaching up to squeeze her shoulder before letting it fall back to her side, and Astrid knew without being able to see her that she was smiling. It made her heart ache and her stomach flip in all the right ways.
Yup, no coincidences here.
Getting locked in a four by five foot room, with the object of your secret, against the FBI's rules, could never happen in a million years because she's probably straight as an arrow, affection?
Definitely not a coincidence. That was just plain torture.
"So," Olivia sighed, "who's not surprised that Walter's supply closet is really a panic room?"
End.