A/N: Small warning that the later part of this chapter is rated M, if you aren't a fan then maybe skip from where they enter Fitz's room to Olivia asking about Fitz's name. For those of you who like a bit of smut (just a tad for now), enjoy!
He was flushed when he entered he ballroom again. He'd waited, pacing back and forth before hand, letting the cool night air take away any evidence of their moment. But from the second he'd walked back to the party, his eyes had sought her out instantly. She was far less effected than him, it seemed. She stood chatting and laughing with several girls swarming around her, no doubt quizzing her on American life. He knew she wouldn't properly give him anything more of herself until later, when they could be alone. But then perhaps if he asked, she might dance and he had promised Kick.
These thoughts swirled in his head as did the memory of her warm flesh under his lips and the scent of her perfume as he grabbed a champagne glass swiftly in order to take off the edge. He began gulping the stuff down only to be shot a warning glance by Kick from the dance floor where she was being swayed by a gentlemen with less coordination than himself, and that was saying something. He rolled his eyes in response and she tossed her head away from him, as if giving up and leaving him to his own devices. He downed the rest of the glass and stalked off towards what had become a small circle of all the season's best ladies.
She was nodding slowly, simultaneously showing her patient understanding and all the meanwhile enduring a conversation she was only partly present for, he could tell even from a short distance that she was at least mentally absent from the party. He hoped her mind had wandered back to the garden or dare he hope it had wandered to the later hours of the evening and into his room? He cleared his throat awkwardly and bowed his head as she turned, her smile radiating across the room and pulling him in somehow naturally.
"Miss Pope, may I have this dance?" The ladies seemed to stop their discussions as all eyes present combed over them as if looking for signs of indiscretion. He coughed slightly and added, "It's only polite, you are the guest of honour and I do believe it's in the best interest of both our nations to show you some British hospitality. That is, if you would do me the honour?" He offered his arm and she shook her head, still grinning as she playfully, simply, and perfectly grasped his hand and laced their fingers together before drawing him along by her side as they made their way towards the centre of the marble floor. In their wake they left gossiping and endless stories being spun and fashioned like clothing to be bought and traded for days long after this one gone but neither noticed. He was bewitched by her and she was swept up in the grandeur of everything, the marvellous old portraits hanging from elegant frames around the room and the gold leaf interwoven within the staircase railings. The English often accused their friends across the pond of being indulgent and flamboyant in their spending of Western dollars but she'd never seen anything as lavish as the sights of England's finest houses.
He placed his hand at her waist and she brushed her fingers over his shoulder as their hands, still intertwined, raised and they began to sway softly to the band's gentle crooning. He longed to burry his head and his lips in her hair, the scent of lavender again intoxicating him as she turned her lips to his ear, noting that his head had began to droop toward her shoulder.
"Not now." She whispered in hushed tones, but even then he could sense her own passion within the simple words. He pulled back slightly to see her cheeks were tinted with the slightest fading of red, as if a rose had been brushed over them and left only the smallest of marks. He nodded and straightened slightly, noticing for the first time how her dress felt like water in his hands, soft and flowing against his fingers.
"Everyone's staring at us." She remarked, her eyes still not leaving his face, studying his reaction closely.
"That tends to be the case when I dance." He said, only slightly kidding. It was something he'd gotten used to, the gawking and endless pervasive stares, it was only expected.
"You're doing fine." Something about her tone and the way she seemed to softly stroke her fingers over his shoulder, contented him and he felt himself slip back into the moment with far more ease that he would have with any other girl in the room. "At least, you haven't damaged international relations. Not yet." She put on a mockingly important tone and he laughed like a giddy child as she did much the same.
"I'd say the relationship is growing quiet well." He hinted the idea almost as a question, but had phrased it as a remark only she would understand. He saw her eyes dance like fire as she responded.
"I think you might be right." She leaned in further, sliding her arm up around the back of his neck just as the song began to come to a close and the attention of the room was turned toward the band as the guests clapped and fussed over the music, her lips grazed his ear as she whispered only for him, "I can't wait to get to know England a little better, after all, things often look so different in the dark."
With that she bobbed her head in a curtsey as he stood still, again breathless and blinking, having to retreat to scotch this time in order to pull himself away from the edge of desire, a cliff that he seemed to titter on with every encounter of her, unable to grab her and throw themselves over together. Even as he gulped down the scotch he knew it would take a whole distillery to combat the effect of Olivia Pope.
XxXxXxXx
The evening seemed to move at the pace of a slug trailing along the leaf of a plant in the garden, grindingly slow and pointlessly endless. He watched as it seemed Olivia smiled and laughed with every gentleman in the room, often taking their arms (but never their hands, as she'd done with him) and being swayed and swept across the floor. The sight left a bitter taste in his mouth, like lead, thick and heavy to swallow. He was thankful when his mother declared the evening was officially finished and those who continued on would do so at their own leisure, thus leading most of the party to clump and crowd together in search of their rooms. He glanced at Olivia to find her having taken the arm of one of the local residents, Miss Abigail Whalen. He was shocked his mother had even invited the girl, the family were Scottish and having rented Northwood House for the next six months it was now evident they were desperate to be accepted into society, The Duchess no doubt being seen as their leg up. He saw how they grinned at one another, smiling openly as Abigail nodded when Olivia whispered in her ear. Just as Fitz began to wonder what on earth she'd done to gain her invite, he saw James cock his head to the side after meeting her gaze. She nodded and politely excused herself from Olivia, no doubt ensuring they catch up soon before striding over to him unashamedly and following after him down the corridor. He stopped himself from passing too much judgement as he supposed he was no better, but he knew that unlike his brother, the girl that he'd meet tonight under the cover of dark would be something different, something lasting. He caught Olivia's eye and she placed a finger to her lips before kissing the tip of it in a gesture only he would see, just as she began to break away from the crowd. He couldn't help himself as he followed, although he was unsure at this point and perhaps uncaring as to whether or not this was part of her plan.
She traced her fingers along the dark wooden corridor that seemed lonely and large without people propelling about as they had done in the ballroom. There was only the dimmest of lights but she could still make out the stoney portraits of women and men sitting still and cold against dull and bland backgrounds. She couldn't see their faces without the light but she was certain they would no doubt disapprove at her behaviour with their relation (however distant). No doubt if pictures could talk they would say she was corrupting him but the idea flitted through her head without her adopting it. This was a tribute to the old world of manners and convention, the world before the war. Now it seemed everything was urgent and colourful, bleeding and overflowing with passion and excitement. She felt the thrill sweep through her in a shiver as she suddenly felt his arms wind around her waist, his back and other parts of him pressed against her as she moulded herself to him. He buried kisses in her hair as she gasped and titled her head, their mouths clashing and meeting at once as they battled for control, for the loss of themselves within the other. She turned in his arms as his hands sloped up her back, feeling the bare skin under his nails as he softly trailed them up her spine, sending her shuddering into him. In contrast and response her nails scraped his back, pulling and clawing at him like an animal, she trailed her kisses from his mouth, licking along his jaw and rolling his earlobe between her teeth as he groaned in longing. He pulled her closer against him, his hands catching her bottom as her legs wrapped around his waist. She began moving and grinding her hips against his in utter ecstasy, feeling him all the time against her, stiff and ready and full of everything she'd done to him. She sighed at this feeling, both of them in heaven together but she knew it wasn't right. He felt everything shift as he pulled back and they both smiled like children, laughing slightly as they gave small chaste kisses between them, his hand grabbing hers this time. He'd kissed her ear before whispering all the promises of everything he would give her, everything that was to come, so unlike him but emboldened by the feelings and the sacredness of the dark. Anything could happen when the eyes were absent and one relied only on the senses, on thoughts and feelings and instinct laid bare.
"Yes." She given him the words over and over again as though they were prayers that slipped from her lips like breath. They were her promises in return, of everything she wanted, them, together, now was enough but it wasn't and they knew. Things would perhaps be different in the morning, the world would be harsher and clearer, but for now they belonged to the dark where they would be hidden from worldly things and worries, instead they were emboldened by the currents and the tides of passion that pulled them together and pushed them, still giggling and giddy, towards his room.
He snuck her in and had her up against the wall all too soon, as she grasped his hair and whispered to him that he should never stop, that there was no beginning and ending between the two, only them. He pulled away and waited as she turned and he began weaving his fingers over the buttons of her dress, fumbling through the small loops before she finally slipped the silk from her shoulders and the garment pooled in a heap on the floor, leaving her in a plain white bra and lacy underpants than made his mouth drop. She unbuckled his belt and skimmed her hands down his shirt as she relieved him of his shirt and pulled and prodded at his bowtie before throwing it across the room without a care. They stood before each other in nothing but their underwear and their eyes ran and traced over their bodies like they were writing their own inscriptions on each other. Slowly she reached around and unlatched the hooks of her bra, sliding it off her shoulders and letting it fall at her feet. He looked at her as if to ask permission and she nodded, surpassing his knowledge of her for the first time in appearing shy and timid. He bent, kneeling down fully as he kissed the skin of her stomach, perhaps blessing the hope that this would be the first of many in his ways of mapping her body. He followed the curve of her, trailing his lips down until he reached her barrier of cloth, glancing up at her once more to find her adoringly gazing down at him, stroking his face in final consent as he pulled down the silk draws and began kissing down the narrow path to her centre. She gasped when he kissed her folds, feeling for the first time a relief and a sense of building as he began to lick and suck further, his tough tracing the crevices and paths she offered him as she began to moan and stiffen at the feel of him grazing her clit. He lapped at her and she began to tighten, everything in her spiralling and contracting, her hands gripping his head as she began to whisper again and again, "Yes, yes! Yes, my darling! Yes!"
And then she was crashing downwards, falling over the edge and sighing as she went, whimpering slightly as her legs turned wobbly and unsteady. She was thankful when he scooped her up in his arms and laid her on the bed, taking a moment to connect with her after their experience together. She looked at him lovingly and began twisting locks of his hair between her fingers as she came back to earth. He was proud of the magnitude of him, of them together, how the sheer force of them could send her spinning and then for them to come together like this moments later. It was perfect and intimate and everything he'd ever wanted.
"Does everyone call you Fitzgerald? It's such a long name." She teased, sitting up slightly as he pulled away to take his own underwear off before opening the covers to her. She moved off the bed and unravelled the pins and construct that was her hair, leaving the untamed curls to fall perfectly over her back before she slipped beneath the sheets. "Didn't your parents ever think of your lovers calling out 'Fitzgerald!' in the throws?"
He grimaced as he joined her, their faces mere inches from one another, both fully naked and very aware of the other beneath the covers. "I rather hope my parents haven't thought of me in the throws too often. But for future reference, my friends call me Fitz."
She considered this for a moment, "And what do your lovers call you?" She asked frankly, with a tone of mere curiosity.
He raised his eyebrow, "You really think me such a playboy?"
She shrugged, "In America, a man likes to brake in his brides."
He cringed at her crassness and she laughed, "Have I offended you? I'm sorry. I don't know how things work here, I'm feel so far from home."
He played with a strand of her own hair, wrapping in around his finger, "So you've much experience in this area then?"
She turned away and buried her head in her pillow, muffling her speech, "Oh God, you think I'm a tart!"
"Never." He traced circles on her upper back and shoulders as he felt her visibly relax at the feel of his touch, "It was a distasteful question, I'm sorry I asked."
She looked up slowly and resumed her original position, facing him, only this time a barrier of hair fell over her face like a mop, obscuring her eyes.
"Livvie," He said softly, pulling her hair gently over her shoulder until he could see her clearly, "I could never think such a thing."
"Even if I'd bedded all the men in Manhattan?"
"Even then." He said solemnly and she could tell that every word was the truth.
"Hold me?" She smiled shyly and he nodded, as they slid closer to one another, his arms once again encircling her waist as he placed sleepy kisses over her eyelids. They drooped closed and she sighed, contented. It seemed everything was waiting for them, and the dawn would bring all sorts of new challenges, but with her softly snoring against him, it felt as if there nothing was unconquerable.
XxXxXxXx
A/N: I'm going to leave it there just for now and I know this is much shorter than the last chapter but I just felt like it was a good place to end on. I just wanted to say how utterly blown away I am at the amazing response to this story. It's honestly been so incredibly inspiring to read all your beautiful comments and it's had me up for like the last 3 hours straight just writing non-stop because I'm so utterly in love with these two and their journey. I really also wanted you guys to see this asap as a thank you for all the incredible and amazing support you've all given me as your words inspire and encourage me to no end. Again, I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter, also the corridor make-out scene was somewhat inspired by a scene from The Hour (it's a BBC series from a few years ago). Let me know what you think, where things are going form here… also what are your thoughts on Liv and Fitz's sexual history? We'll get more into that (as well as some more smut as rightly promised) in the next chapter! Until then, seriously thanks again so so much and I love you all heaps and heaps, if you could drop me comment I'd really love to hear your thoughts! xx Sam