Disclaimer: Fringe does not belong to me. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Just wanna take a moment to thank everybody who commented and favorited and followed. It's really nice to know that someone out there is reading this crazy stuff that comes into my head. For those of you who review as guest, thank you. I really, really appreciate it.
For a person who grew up in Boston, Peter had gotten used to the heat of the Middle East far too easily and completely unused to the unforgiving cold of his hometown even easier. He shivered as he exited the hotel lobby, letting the glass door slam shut behind him, keeping the heat inside. Cursing under his breath at the biting cold, he sat on the wooden bench outside the hotel, fished for his phone in his pocket and turned it in his hands a few times, running his thumbs through the buttons and taking a deep breath before he searched for her name in the list of recent calls. As it started calling her, he lifted the phone up to his ear and looked around to the emptiness of the dark night, his heartbeat accelerating with each unanswered ring.
"Hey, what's wrong?" her simple greeting came in a low whisper of a voice that didn't even come close to resembling that powerful tone Olivia normally used.
"Hey," he cleared his throat, "Um, nothing I was just wondering…" he paused to choose his words with care, "… if you'd like to go out for a drink… After today, I sure as hell need one. And I could use some company."
There was no answer on the other end of the line, but he could hear her breathing.
"I'd take Walter, but he can't drink alcohol for obvious reasons and I'm sure they don't sell beer at the local creamery."
"I'm sorry, Peter, but no."
The painful wave of rejection washed through him as Peter nodded, swallowing hard. But the sting wasn't strong enough, definitely not stronger than what had made him call her in the first place. "Are you sure? We don't have to talk."
"I don't think I can be in a bar right now."
"Ok." He scratched the back of his head and nodded to himself, as if trying to make his own mind understand it and let go. He remained on the line, though, his brain searching for a way to reach out to her, some sort of bridge he could use to get over that gap she so dutifully dug around herself on a daily basis.
Suddenly her voice came over the phone and his body visibly relaxed, "Do you want to meet me somewhere else? The lab, maybe?"
"I'll bring the whiskey."
Twenty minutes after he got to the lab, she still wasn't there. And as he sat on one of the tall stools by the workbenches, swiveling half circles, and hearing Gene moo her dissatisfaction with the sudden flood of light in the middle of the night, he had wondered if Olivia had changed her mind, entertaining himself by thinking of the several reasons Olivia could have come up with to not show up.
The click of the door opening made him jump in his seat. As he turned to watch her come in with her dark overcoat unbuttoned, shoulders slumped and movements slow, his heart fell in his chest. Her eyes were swollen, had been all day, and he attributed it to the same reason causing the dark bags under them, because he couldn't imagine Olivia crying.
"I have good news and bad news," he started as soon as she closed the door, "The good news is I got the last bottle of Jack from Sousa's Liquor store." He lifted the bottle for her to see, pausing briefly to study her face as soon as she got close enough to him, "The bad news is we are going to have to drink it in Walter old cracked coffee cups."
She lifted one eyebrow, "I'll cope," she said, and lowered herself onto the stool next to him with the slowness of someone who was carrying something very heavy on her back.
Peter filled their cups, the sound of the liquid pouring filling the room, the smell of alcohol stinging and comforting. They drank in silence for a while, and he kept stealing glances at her, her eyes never daring to look up to him, her fingers tapping softly the side of the cup. He wanted to say something, but his tongue wouldn't move. He was at a loss, held back by shock and fear after all that he had learned about her and his father. His hands itched to touch her, his arms longed to hold her. But he sat there immobile knowing she already had had too much to deal with in one day, and the force field she normally had around herself was probably turned up to level ten.
"It blows my mind." She suddenly said still looking at the cup.
He let out an empty chuckle slightly sprinkled with amusement because mind blowing was the understatement of the century.
"I just can't get over the fact that I can't remember anything." She looked up at him, deep line between her brows, her eyes red, "Anything."
Peter stared into her eyes as she talked, but had to look down once she was done because he had nothing back to say. He swallowed the lump in his throat and reached out, covering her hand with his, remembering the look on her face when Walter talked about the trials, the realization flooding him as she got her confirmation. He had felt paralyzed, in complete shock, his mind shutting down, probably freezing after trying to compute all that that little piece of news meant to them. He couldn't begin to imagine what it had felt like for her.
She yanked her hand away and stood up seeming to suddenly explode with energy, "He said," she paused, looking at him with her hands planted firmly on her hips, "Nick Lane… He said they meant for us to forget." She stopped and shook her head, her jaw setting and her breathing growing shallower and quick.
" It drives me crazy because I just," she moved her hands, visibly having a hard time choosing her words over her anger and making Peter's body tense slightly in apprehension, " I just… what else don't I remember?"
"I'm sorry, Olivia." He stood up and approached her carefully, "I'm so ashamed of the things my father did." He stood in front of her, compassion softening his eyes, as he watched her standing there, body tense, shaking her head firmly to herself as if trying to negate everything that had happened.
"I'd take them away if I could." He whispered.
She looked up, then, her face softening with sorrow. He reached over tentatively to cup her face.
Olivia was fairly tall and even though her body was slender and delicate under that suit, she managed to look quite powerful and fierce most of the time, scary even. So, when she looked broken like that, it was like she visibly shrunk and his hand looked so big against her body that it turned up his protective instincts to levels he hadn't known they could reach.
She leaned into his touch with closed eyes, her hand coming up to wrap softly around his wrist. And suddenly, her eyes opened and she looked up at him like she was looking at a pray. Stepping closer, she reached up to kiss him, her tongue pushing past his lips aggressively.
His body responded to her, his heartbeat accelerating as the blood rushed south, his head, though, was nowhere near that place. Still, unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arm around her waist, reaching under her coat and jacket to run his hands up her back. He hissed as her cold hands touched the skin of his stomach, and his pants grew tighter.
It was disturbing the realization that his body had missed hers that much.
He touched her with unrushed gentleness, allowing her to run the show, knowing she needed it. He could read Olivia well enough to know that she wasn't one to ask or accept comfort in traditional ways. He knew that trying to stop her and knock some sense into her right then and there was probably going to be more damaging.
But all those thoughts escaped his mind when her lips moved to his jaw as her hand reached inside his pants. He bit back a moan, hesitating slightly before tightening up his hold around her waist to lift her up and carry her towards the office, kicking the door open on his way in and putting her down near the small couch by the door. If that was what she needed, he was going to give it to her.
She broke away from him and his heart stopped as he watched, half dreading her next move. Her face looked determined, her eyes dark with lust as she removed her coat and suit reaching over with one hand behind his neck and reattaching their mouths as she worked on the buttons of her blouse with the other.
As soon as he felt her skin against his, her shirt already reaching the ground, he pulled away from her lips, moved by his deep desire to simply look. His breath became ragged, and he stared at her chest, her black bra hugging her breasts, pushing the mounds up forming two delicate curves that led into a deep valley. He hadn't had a chance to actually see her like that in a while, their escapades having been either in the dark or half clothed so far. That night, for the first time, he was actually able to do something about it, not just look from afar as Walter prepared her to get in the tank. They had been so intimate and still there was so much of her he was yet to see.
As if reading his thoughts, she reached behind her back to undo her bra, letting it fall to the side, and exposing her perfect breasts to him.
Peter closed his eyes with a groan, overwhelmed with desire, hiding his face against her neck, his hand moving up to cup one of her breasts, feeling her nipple hard against the palm of his hand contrasting with the softness of the skin of her breasts against the tip of his fingers.
At that moment, thinking became too taxing for his brain, and he was taken over by the same animal lust she was exhibiting. Together they got rid of their clothing, hands mixing as they tried to help each other. Soon his chest was bare against hers, and they were pushing one another's pants and underwear down at the same time, kicking them off to the side with shoes and socks.
They kissed roughly for a few seconds as he delighted in simply running his hand up her arm, over her shoulders, down her back to her butt, up her sides, feeling her muscles tense and undulate under his touch, goose bumps forming on her skin, soft moans leaving her mouth into his.
She was the one to push him on the couch with easiness and force that was surprising and the slightest bit scary, given their height and weight difference. She climbed onto him with determination, and he let her avoid his eyes. His lips found her left breast and he sucked on it, smiling with satisfaction as he heard her cry out in response. Her hands grasped his erection and before he could stop her she was sliding down onto him, his hips arching up in surprise.
"Olivia," he admonished, feeling her stretch tight around him, mad he didn't get a chance to make sure she was ready.
She covered his mouth with hers in response, moving his hand to her clit and rocking her hips back and forth, his cock still buried in to the hilt. He covered one of her breasts with his hand, pinching and teasing, and, soon, she was wet enough to slide up and down comfortably.
At that point, pleasure was so overwhelming that he couldn't think straight, totally filled with her as if she had somehow enveloped his whole being with her presence to a molecular level. All he could do was touch her, his hands sliding over every single piece of skin wet and warm against his palm as she moved over him and he tried his best to meet her thrusts, her hand now replacing his where their body was joined.
As the tension of pleasure built up and his inability to coordinate his movements got compromised, he pulled away from the kiss and just looked at her, in awe of her features, the delicate lines of her jaw and her nose, her full lips red and swollen. Her beauty was something that struck him the first time he saw her and, to this day, he still caught himself wondering what made her look so unique and breathtaking.
This time, the look on her face made something snap and break inside him. One of her hands were resting on his shoulder, digging fingernails with increasing force as she moved over him in an already easily set and unfaltering rhythm. Her eyes were closed tight, brows furrowed as she bit her lips, deep in concentration and he realized she needed that release. So he thrust up more forcefully into her, removing her hand from between their bodies and replacing it with his fingers. Hearing her moan from deep inside her throat, he leaned over and bit her earlobe, running the tip of his tongue around the shell of her ear.
"Come for me, please." He whispered, his voice breaking as her muscles tightened even harder around him and her hips arched up towards him, "I wanna feel you."
She let out a gasp followed by a low moan as her whole body tensed even harder, her hips bucking up again, right before she dug her nails onto his shoulders, letting out a small cry and throwing her head back as she pressed down on him, her body trembling with her release.
He let himself go with her, unable to resist the feeling of her pulsating around him. He came, pushing up against her and watching her face contract in an almost painful expression before her lips turned up into a smile and her face softened with pleasure.
Her hips bucked against his a couple more times before her body relaxed. The contented expression vanished from her face and she tucked her head in the crook of his neck breathing heavily. He closed his eyes, unable to move, one of his hands flat against her back and the other resting on her left thigh. He reveled on the feel of her aftershocks around him and the weight of her body resting against his, slick with sweat.
Not a minute later, he felt her start to move, but before she could go any further, something took over him, an immense sense of protection mixed with mild anger at her inability to be vulnerable. In a rebellious and brave impulse, he snaked his arm around her waist, in an attempt to keep her down.
"Stay." He whispered in her year, reaching up with his other hand to cup the back of her head to keep it in place resting against his shoulder. He felt her resist but he kept the hold, gentle but there, tangling his fingers in her hair to caress her head and moving his head to drop a soft and lingering kiss on her shoulder. She relaxed, and he stopped offering resistance, his hand moving from her head to run small circles on her back as he rested his cheek against hers.
He had planned to let her go after a few minutes, just wanting to get his message across, but to his surprise, her body relaxed even further, falling heavily against his as her breathing steadied.
Smiling sadly, he used his foot to reach for her coat on the floor bringing it up until he could reach it with his hand to drape it over her, wrapping his arms around her waist underneath it and allowing himself to just enjoy the moment, a strange feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment filling his heart accompanied by a touch of dread and light regret as he slowly realized he was past the point of no return where she was concerned.
A.N.: I feel so dirty writing these things. Do you think the smut is too much? Anyways, I have another question for those of you reading. Socks in smut. I always feel the need to describe them taking them off because if I don't I tend to picture them doing it in my head with socks on and the image become comic. But I realized that maybe some people don't even think about it. So socks or no socks? Any other tips, and comments are welcome. I really appreciate your feedback. It makes me a better writer.