Rafael was too keyed up to sleep, but he did clean himself up and then go lie down on his couch. The sun had set sometime during their last go-round, and now Rafael stared out at the Manhattan skyline as the music soldiered on softly in the background. Despite not reaching his own release, he was surprised to find that he hadn't felt this sort of contentment in a long time. It had less to do with the sexual escapades—although those had been amazing—and more to do with the woman who was currently asleep in his bed. Who had trusted him enough to let herself be brought here, placed in his care.
Which was why it sucked all the more that after she felt better, he would never experience this level of contentment with her again. He couldn't; it wasn't fair to her to put her in a situation that stirred up awful memories of the day she was assaulted, and unfortunately, all the sex she was having with him would be inextricably tied to the attack in her mind.
Mierda, his brain was getting tired of going around and around this. He needed to do a better job of separating the temporary physical closeness from his desires to be emotionally closer.
In fact, he probably needed to back off from her emotionally after this, as well. Just to give her some space from his presence and the memories he evoked, until enough time had passed that she wouldn't flinch when she saw him. Except...would she then think that he was repulsed by her, disgusted with what they'd shared? That was the complete opposite of how he felt, so perhaps he should just keep things status-quo between them...
"Rafael?"
The soft way she said his name brought a pang to his heart. He sat up and saw her standing in the doorway, one shoulder resting on the wall. She had wrapped his robe tightly around her, but she was still the sexiest sight he'd ever seen. He couldn't believe he had wasted so much time fighting his attraction to her, and now his hopes of one day having a future together were irrevocably dashed. He schooled his features, however, so she couldn't see how morose he'd become while she'd rested.
"Are you okay? Can I get you anything?" he asked, unsure how long she'd been asleep.
"I'm alright. For now." Slowly she crept into the room and took the armchair, tucking her legs up under her as she did so. He relaxed back into the sofa, unsure if he should fill the silence or let it be. Certainly she wouldn't want to hear that having sex with her had been the absolute highlight of his life.
She seemed uncomfortable, however, so he opted for a joke. "So, I'm your best friend, hmm?"
She rolled her eyes and a small laugh escaped her, but he was pleased to see some of the tension leave her shoulders. "Stuff it."
"Your numero uno."
"It's hardly a prize," she retorted, some of her usual spunk returning.
"Says you." He shot her a grin as he stretched and tucked his hands behind his head. "In all actuality, it's probably a sad state of affairs for you, but you won't get a complaint out of me. You're my best friend, too, for what it's worth."
She smiled at that, but then her expression fell. Rafael's amusement faded too—if this incident and its repercussions caused him to lose his best friend, then he was going to have to reconsider his line of work. It had already cost him so much.
He shook his head and stood up, preparing for another round of sweet torture. "Do you need me—?"
Olivia's shoulders slumped. "Yes," she answered, standing as well. Then she pressed her lips into a line and seemed to firm her resolve. "Only, Rafael—I get the feeling that you're holding out on me, somehow." She seemed to realize how that sounded, because she quickly amended her statement. "Emotionally, that is. God knows you've outdone yourself physically—I mean, I, um, well—" She broke off and blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I know that's going to go straight to your already-inflated sense of ego. All I'm saying is that it seems like there's some kind of barrier still."
"A barrier?" he asked. He hated to think that he had hurt her, somehow, but he also needed to preserve his own sanity. If he came off a little aloof in the process, well, that was a small price to pay for the sake of their future friendship.
A tiny frown line marred her brow. "Yes. A barrier. The first time, you wouldn't even—you didn't even look at me," she ended on a whisper. She shifted restlessly and her eyes got angry. "And I'm getting to the point again where I don't care and I don't want to talk anymore, but after that's over—I'm still going to feel like you're holding back."
His guilt surged to the forefront, because she was right. And lord help him, but he'd hurt her feelings in the process of trying to protect himself. But surely she could understand? "Liv, I know that anything I say right now is probably suspect and obviously not admissible in the course of our regular lives, but I find you extremely attractive. So much so that if I were to look at you while we were being intimate, I couldn't, ah, provide you with what you need from me." There, that was relatively diplomatic.
But Olivia looked furious. "Provide me with what I need? Like some kind of mechanical stud? If that was all I needed, I would have listed anyone on those contingency plans. Hell, I would have just bought a vibrator and headed on home to provide for myself." While he tried not to let those images take over his brain, Olivia began to pace again. "I thought we agreed to be open and honest, Barba. I asked for you because I thought we had the potential for more, even if this is hardly the way I wanted to go about it. I'm not saying we need to make soul-shattering, passionate love, but you could at least look me in the eye while you fuck me!"
Her voice had risen until she practically yelled the last few words. They both flinched at the fading echo of the obscenity. He didn't know how to respond, which was rarely the case for him, but he sensed the need to tread lightly here. "You called me Barba again."
She grimaced. "It's habit to say that name when I'm angry."
He tilted his head. Point taken. "If you want more eye contact, I can certainly—"
"It's not a set of instructions!" she interrupted. Her pacing sped up. "I just want—there needs to be—can we just indulge in the emotions that come with this, too, and deal with the aftermath later?" she pleaded.
He hesitated, and she picked up on it. "What are you so afraid of, anyway?" she flung at him, stopping to place her hands on her hips.
Rafael felt his control, on a thin tether at best, finally snap. He pointed a finger at her. "You want to know what I'm scared of? Well, Lieutenant Benson, let me tell you. I'm terrified that when this is over and your mind is your own again, you will hate me for what I've done. You can say whatever you want; your papers and your plans don't really constitute consent right now, and you and I both know it. So you want to know why I'm afraid? I'm afraid that an Olivia in full control of her faculties will happen to agree. And then I'll be losing my best friend, again." He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling both vulnerable and angry, himself.
Olivia's jaw worked as she glared at him, clearly trying to decide whether she ought to rip his head off first, or start by tearing him limb from limb. In the end, it didn't take her long to decide; she stormed up to him and slapped him across the face, hard. His head snapped to the side and he took his time turning back to face her, prepared for another blow.
Instead, she grumbled, "You are the stupidest smart person I've ever known," and then threw herself at him. He had no choice but to catch her, lifting her up and pulling her in close to him. She locked her legs around his back and shoved her hands into his hair, pulling his head back and attacking the side of his neck with her teeth and tongue. He staggered backwards under the assault, falling onto the sofa with her in his lap. His hands were full of Benson and her hands were busy skating over every inch of skin that she could reach. She made short work of her robe and his tshirt, and then she sat back to reach for the ties on his flannel pants.
"Olivia," he warned her, but then she had freed his erection and he lost his train of thought entirely. His head fell back against the sofa as she gripped him. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life and Olivia wasted no time bringing him nearly to the breaking point. He circled her wrists and pulled her hands away. "Let me grab—"
"No," she growled. She shifted on his lap, positioning her knees at his sides and rising up. He barely realized what she was about to do in time.
"Olivia. Liv! We need condoms," he said, struggling to hold her hips away from him. She was stronger than she looked, though, and he was losing the battle. He could barely watch her glorious body coming closer and closer to enveloping his cock without threatening to lose control.
"No condoms," she panted, swatting at his hands.
"We can't—"
"I can't have kids," she said on a gasp as the tip of him brushed her folds. "And I don't want any more barriers," she whimpered.
Christ. How was he supposed to deny her?
He released her hips and she sank onto him, both of them groaning at the sensation. Rafael would have sat still for a moment, absorbing the feelings, but Olivia had passed the point of no return and began to circle her hips on him, occasionally rising up until he was nearly out of her and then sinking all the way back down. It was driving him mad with passion and he didn't know how much more he could take. From that point on, their only conversation involved urgent directions—his, begging her to slow down—and breathy praise—hers, telling him how good he felt.
This time, they came together, and Rafael had the strongest sense of finally being home.
A/N: I chuckle every time I think about Olivia associating feelings of anger = Barba.
