A/N: This is a series of missing scenes from the campaign trail. They don't take place within a specific episode, some reference scenes from the show and others came solely from my brain. I broke them up by location (most of which I made up, I think the show vaguely references where they were at certain points but I couldn't be bothered to go back and figure it out, ha!).
Philadelphia, PA
He's married.
He's married.
He's married.
Olivia chants it to herself over and over again, like a mantra.
He's not yours, he can never be yours, remember that.
He's going to be the President, and Presidents cannot leave their wives.
The thing is, she knows all of this. She knows it. There isn't anyone more rational, more deliberate, more careful and calculating than she is. She's not someone who is ruled by her heart, who acts irresponsibly, recklessly, emotionally. She's never been any of those things, she's always scoffed, laughed, felt sorry for women who let feelings cloud their judgment.
So, why the hell can't she stop looking at him? Why can't she stop thinking about his mouth, and his hands? Why does she keep getting lost in his gorgeous blue eyes?
She feels completely out of control around him, and it terrifies her.
After their night together, she'd slipped from his room while he slept, hurrying back to her own room before dawn. In the three weeks since, they've had limited time alone together, and they haven't talked about it, mostly because thinking about it makes her so warm and flustered that she can barely look at him.
She dreams of him and wakes up drenched in sweat, flushed and shaking, like he's been touching her in her sleep. Her body is hungry for him, against her will, crying out for more, and the longer she denies it the worse it gets.
She's never felt anything like it before, and if the pained, desperate looks he's been giving her are any indication, he's no better off. They don't have to talk about it, really, because they both know. It's not a matter of getting each other out of their systems, it's not a question of if, it's a question of when, of how long until.
It's like something has fallen into place. They've collided, the universe has brought them together and they can't go back.
He makes her feel like someone else, like a whole new person.
Where he's concerned, she's not 'Olivia Pope' anymore, she's someone that she doesn't recognize, and she can't figure out if that's a bad thing or a good thing.
She doesn't recognize who she is when she's with him.
She doesn't recognize herself when she lets her eyes shamelessly run over him when no one's watching.
She doesn't recognize herself when she purposely sits toward the back of the campaign bus, waiting for him to come sit with her on the long drives so that they can whisper together, holding hands in the dark.
She doesn't recognize herself when she starts a mental countdown toward the next time his wife will be making separate campaign stops.
She really doesn't recognize herself when she quietly slips the extra key card to her room into an envelope, tucking it inside the folder that holds the latest round of her comments on one of his speeches.
Olivia presses the folder into his hands, in front of a room full of people, holding his gaze for an extra half second, long enough to see relief in his eyes.
When she gets out of the shower that night, she rubs her lavender body lotion over places she normally wouldn't, her stomach, her neck, her breasts. Normally, she wouldn't take the time, but again, she's not herself.
Who am I right now?
She wraps herself in the long, soft, cream cotton robe that she travels with and stares into the mirror, trying to reconcile the woman in front of her, the woman wearing nothing but a robe, waiting for a married man, with the person she knows herself to be.
It should make her feel cheap, waiting for him like this, shouldn't it?
Or dirty?
Guilty?
What they're doing is wrong. Having sex with a married man should make her feel something other than…cherished. Respected. Seen. That's how he'd made her feel their first time, it's how she feels every time he looks at her. No one's ever made her feel that way before, not like this. Somehow, nothing about this makes her feel the way she would've anticipated.
Nothing about this feels wrong. It should, but it doesn't.
The locking mechanism of her door beeps and slides open, making her heart jump into her throat. Flicking the vanity lights off, she makes it to the bathroom doorway before Fitz comes around the corner and stops, lips parting slightly when he sees the way she's dressed.
"Hi," he rasps, hesitantly, arms helplessly falling to his sides, eyes locked with hers.
And just like that, with one look, all of her uncertainty temporarily melts away, because she can see that she's not alone. He looks just as wrecked and undone as she feels, like he hasn't been able to sleep either, like he's not quite sure how to deal with this thing between them, but, like her, he knows that he doesn't have the strength to fight it.
"Hi," she whispers, taking a step toward him.
They meet in the middle, and Fitz gently grasps her forearms, bringing her hands to his waist, stepping into her space.
The moment that follows is like something she's only seen in movies.
His hands travel lightly over her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake, and he pulls her close, slowly lowering his face next to hers, breathing her in. When his mouth grazes her ear, the breath stalls in her chest and her knees go weak, and that's a thing that can actually happen?
If their desire for each other had felt all-consuming before they'd given in to it, now it's burning so hot that they both feel like they're suffocating. Now that they've had a taste of it, of what they are together, it's impossible to ignore.
She sways against him, chest heaving slightly, and his hands slide around her hips, steadying her as he dips down to press a soft kiss against her neck. He's barely touched her, and the moan that escapes might be embarrassing if she had the capacity to be embarrassed in this moment, but she doesn't. He's stolen her ability to control her own reactions, to think, to breathe.
"Liv—"
His breaths are shallow, chest constricted by how badly he needs her.
"I know," she whispers, cradling his face in her hands, closing her eyes.
Fitz kisses her and the world flips upside down and right side up at the same time, and she doesn't understand how that could possibly be, but it feels so right that she can't question it.
He feels like he's been waiting years to touch her again.
She's a current, the dangerous kind that sweeps you far out to sea if you aren't paying attention, except he wants to be swept away, he wants nothing more than for her to pull him under.
He's irrevocably in love with Olivia Pope, and he doesn't understand how that can possibly be, but he knows it's true. The second he laid eyes on her he knew it to be true, and somehow, instead of frightening him, it makes him feel a sense of calm that he can't explain.
The way she moans for him is devastating.
She's in his lap this time, their second time, rocking over him, and it's incredible how comfortable they are with each other, like the oldest of lovers. There's no inhibition in the way she moves, the sounds she makes, the way she kisses and licks at his skin, searching for the spots that make him hiss. She trusts him, lets him possess her, lets him flip her down onto the bed and run his tongue over every inch of her, coaxing out orgasms that make her tremble and convulse.
He comes inside her this time because she whimpers that she wants him to, that they're safe, and he trusts her, too. It feels so good that he has to bury his face in her neck and let her hold him, jerking and groaning against her damp skin.
The hotel they're staying in is old, historic.
After they've caught their breath, reluctantly, Fitz lets her up to pee and to open the double casement windows, letting cool night air ruffle the curtains. He'll need to go back to his room at some point, they both know it, but for now Olivia fits herself back into his arms beneath the blankets, turning to face him.
They stare at each other with drowsy eyes for the longest time, drinking each other in the way they can't when they're in public. Fitz uses his thumb to delicately stroke the curve of her cheekbone, the bridge of her petite nose, her full lips.
"Are you sure?"
Her eyes flick back up to his when he breaks the silence. His are clear, piercing blue, honest and unguarded, prepared for her to walk away from this if she chooses. As if she could.
He's giving her an out.
"It's just—this…I don't want to hurt you, ever, and I might. I might hurt you. Are you sure?"
Olivia takes a breath, raising her hand to stroke through his hair, which is messy from the way she'd been grabbing at it. He leans in to her touch, trying to keep his eyes from closing before he's gotten an answer from her.
"How do you know I won't hurt you? You barely know me."
"I know you," he murmurs, immediately.
And he does. She stares into his eyes, losing her breath again because he does know her, and she knows him. Somehow it's as if they've been lovers, partners, for years instead of weeks, and it's disarming.
"Liv."
His eyes are serious, still waiting for an answer.
She cups his neck and brings him closer, capturing his lips in a soft kiss, whispering against his mouth when they break apart. "No, I'm not sure. But I don't want to stop."
And that's good enough for now.
Fitz rolls her beneath him, easily pressing back inside her when she opens the cradle of her thighs, moaning softly into his mouth. He tries a new rhythm, something a little bit rougher, harder, and discovers that it makes her mewl and nip at his ear.
"Don't stop…don't stop…"
Chapel Hill, NC
"Did you aspire to be a campaign fixer?" he teases, looking up at her with his signature half-grin, the one that makes her stomach flip.
They've stolen away for a glorious, sweaty, afternoon quickie, and they've got about fifteen more minutes before they need to think about making themselves presentable again.
"I'm a lawyer," Olivia smirks.
"Well, so am I, but I'm not exactly practicing law either."
"Have you always wanted to be the President?"
"Ah, I asked you first."
She laughs shyly, looking away from him.
"How can you possibly be shy when I've already seen you naked?" he asks, the low timbre of his voice sending heat curling through her belly.
She turns her head back to look at him, eyeing him carefully, taking a breath. "I've always wanted to make a difference. I haven't always known how. Politics, obviously, but what realm of politics, I wasn't sure. Law school seemed like a good place to start."
The honesty in her eyes is breathtaking, and he realizes that he wants to listen to her talk all day long, he's that infatuated with her.
"I mean, that's what we all want, isn't it?" she goes on, shrugging her bare shoulders, "To make our mark. To feel like we've been heard, and seen."
"You're incredible," he murmurs, "Where did you come from?"
Blushing, she looks away again. "I could ask you the same question."
Houston, TX
"Baby…"
She's never called him 'baby' before.
But then, he's never made her come four times in one night before, either.
They're in Houston, and the ice storm going on outside is one for the record books. The entire city is shut down, and will be until early tomorrow morning, so they've been told. The city doesn't have enough de-icing equipment, it's on its way from another state, and so they're grounded for the night.
Blessedly, serendipitously, Mellie is back in California for the week, and even Cyrus is stuck across town after foolishly trying to visit their venue for the following day, leaving them with no one to work around.
A perfect storm of circumstances is how Fitz finds himself with hours of time alone with her, hours to spend learning new ways of making her come apart with his tongue.
Olivia rests a hand over her belly, moaning brokenly, trying to catch her breath as he pulls a fourth orgasm from her. Her stomach muscles are sore and tired from clenching over and over, and she rakes her fingers through his hair, arching against his mouth.
Where he learned to use his mouth like this she has no idea, but having him go down on her is as close to a religious experience as she's ever gotten.
"Baby…"
Sex with him is incredible, and in some ways, she knows it would be easier if things were just about the sex.
Things would be so much easier if he didn't look at her the way he does.
They're not 'having sex' anymore, really. It's cliché, and she's not even remotely ready to consider using the words out loud, but they're making love, there's no other phrase for it. Even when they're rough, even when they play, there's deep affection running between them, and immense trust.
Sometimes, she feels so overwhelmingly connected to him that it makes her chest hurt because the feelings are too strong, too real.
When he laces their fingers together against the pillows.
When he kisses her with his eyes open, their pull so powerful that she can't look away.
When he brings a warm washcloth from the bathroom after they've finished, smoothing it between her thighs.
The few times they've been able to talk late into the night, until they're nodding off and he absolutely has to go back to his room before he falls asleep.
There are a thousand small moments, tiny details that make her realize how hard and fast she's fallen for him.
It's terrifying, and exhilarating, and a million other feelings that she doesn't have the words for, and the timing of it all couldn't be worse.
The timing couldn't be worse, and at the same time she can't help but wonder why it's taken her so long to meet him.
Stuart, FL
They've been bickering all day long, and he's finally snapped and yelled at her.
In front of an entire room of campaign staff.
Silence falls over the room and Olivia smiles tightly, excusing herself, taking off at a brisk pace through the winding hallways of the school they're temporarily set up in.
Fitz silently berates himself, muttering an apology to everyone and slinking away. He gives her five minutes before he starts to look for her, wandering until he finds her one floor up. She's standing in an empty supply room, hands braced against a shelf laden with school supplies.
Liv looks up when he closes the door, pressing the lock.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she seethes, hurt and anger shining in her eyes, "You can't yell at me like that, like we're having some kind of lovers' quarrel, in front of the entire staff."
Fitz takes a few steps toward her, and she can see the apology written all over his face, but she's not ready to let him off so easily.
"No, stay over there," she points, "I know you're stressed, but you can't treat me like crap all day, and then expect me to just—I'm stressed too, you need to remember that, just because you're in a bad mood—"
His arms come up around her waist and she immediately pushes him away.
"Fitz, do not touch me right now—"
Silencing her with a kiss, he catches her jaw with his palm and holds her at the right angle.
She starts to half-heartedly push against him in protest, denying him simply because she's mad at him, but after a few seconds she realizes how tense he is. His shoulders, his neck, his arms, he's coiled up like a spring, and as she lets him press her into the wall she can feel that she's no better off.
Suddenly, it hits her.
They haven't been able to even touch each other, let alone have sex, in weeks. Time and circumstances just haven't allowed for it.
They're cranky because they're horny. It's torture, having to spend all day every day together without so much as a kiss on the cheek.
They're pathetic.
She realizes he's still trying to kiss her and she finally responds, opening her mouth, whimpering as their tongues tangle together.
"Livvie, I'm sorry," he gets out between kisses, already short of breath.
She shakes her head, pulling at his belt. "Shh…"
"Want you—"
"Please, let's just—"
If there are two things they excel at, political strategy is the first, and having quick, secret, sexual encounters is the second. By now, falling into each other is second nature, and they immediately start removing the necessary items of clothing.
"Wait, wait," she breathes, as he makes quick work of her carefully pressed trousers.
Fitz lets her pick them up off the floor and shake them out, smirking as she lays them over a nearby chair.
"They'll wrinkle," she mumbles, pushing his pants and boxers down, "Yours are already wrinkled, did you sleep in them or something?"
"Oh my god, I didn't have any events today," he groans, catching her when she hops into his arms, wrapping her legs around him, "Are you gonna stop talking while we do this?"
She leans down to murmur in his ear, letting her lips graze his sensitive skin. "I thought you liked it when I talk."
He pulls her underwear to the side, fingers stroking through, making sure she's ready. "I do, when you're not picking me apart."
"It's part of my job to pick you apart, I have to—oh, god—I have to do it so no one else can."
They both pause while he presses inside her, helping her shift around slightly so that the angle is good for her. He moves a little bit, watching her head tip back against the wall, feeling her hands squeeze his biceps.
"Okay?" he rasps, starting with slow, shallow thrusts.
"Mmm."
Their lips crash together, hips colliding in a quick, needy rhythm.
Olivia arches her neck to the side as he sucks kisses against her skin, running her hands through his hair, trying not to moan too loudly. When he adjusts his grip around her thighs, her eyes flutter open, landing directly on—a window.
There's a window, higher up in the door, and the way he's holding her puts her almost directly in line with it.
"Fitz, window, there's a window," she pants, pulling his hair to get his attention.
"Wha—oh, shit, hang on."
They both erupt into quiet laugher as he tightens his grip on her, swinging them around to the adjacent corner of the room, shuffling awkwardly so as not to trip over his pants. Once they're safely hidden from view, he settles her back against the wall and they still for a moment, chests heaving softly.
He's so sexy like this, eyes dark and hazy, hair in disarray; she can't help but bite her lip in a half smile, sliding her hands over his shoulders, up to cup his neck. Their eyes soften toward each other, affection overcoming their earlier frustration. Olivia leans down and kisses him slowly, thoroughly, teasing his ears with her fingers, sucking on his tongue.
She unbuttons her blouse halfway, pulling it open for him, and he growls appreciatively, nuzzling his face between her breasts, resuming his short, grinding thrusts.
"Fuck, you feel so good, missed you."
Olivia threads her hands back into his hair, whimpering quietly as his mouth attacks the sensitive skin above the cups of her bra. She's dizzy, flushed, already close.
"Close, baby…just a little, oh—"
When she starts to come, Fitz quickly captures her mouth in a kiss, trying to muffle the sounds of relief she's making. He jerks against her once, twice, and buries his face in her chest again as he falls over the edge with her.
They finally relax, breathing heavily, holding on to each other.
"One more minute," she breathes, and he nods humming against her lips.
They indulge in a short round of kisses, luxuriating in the simple, affectionate contact.
"Miss touching you," Fitz murmurs, "Can't not touch you, makes me crazy."
"Shh, minute's not over yet, kiss me."
His tongue moves in long strokes over hers and she sighs, squeezing her thighs around him.
Eventually, he bends to put her down, pulling out of her and ripping open a box of tissues for them.
"We're horrible people, stealing tissues from elementary schoolers," she groans, slipping her wet underwear off.
"Well, we can pick up another box at the—what are you doing?" he asks suddenly, looking alarmed as she tosses a handful of tissues into the trash and reaches for her pants.
"What?"
He nods to her balled-up underwear, raising his eyebrows.
"Well I can't wear them now, you ruined them," she explains slowly, as if its obvious.
He groans, pulling his pants up. "You're killing me, Liv."
She gives him an amused look. "Take them off next time, if you can't handle the consequences."
After they're dressed, he catches her arm, pulling her back to him.
"Are we okay?"
"We're fine," she answers shortly, trying to turn away from him.
"Nuh-uh, c'mere."
"Fitz—"
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Put your wall up, I hate that. I don't want it to be like this, I don't want to be fucking you in supply closets and then not talking afterward. That's not us."
"I don't—"
"Please look at me. Look at me."
Reluctantly, she makes eye contact with him, and she can see how sorry he is, how much he cares about her. Almost instantly she starts to soften toward him, taking a step forward into his arms.
"I forget, sometimes. I forget."
"This is my job, Fitz. I know we're—this is my job."
"I know that."
"We can't—this," she says, gesturing between them, "We have to do a better job of separating this from what happens out there."
He sighs, pulling her close. Olivia lets him hug her, laying her head against his chest, and she knows it's not all on him. They're both frustrated, they're both at fault today.
"I hate this."
"Me too," Olivia whispers.
Las Vegas, NV
"Fitz, we can't."
"We can, and we are."
"It's so irresponsible, someone could see!"
"Livvie, we're alone and we have the entire executive suite at the Four Seasons all to ourselves, including a private, indoor pool—"
"—an indoor pool surrounded by glass."
"We're on the top floor! Do you honestly think someone with a long lens is on the roof of the Bellagio waiting for me to take a dip?"
"First of all, the Bellagio is behind us, not in front of us—"
"—you are begging for me to push you in that pool right now."
It's the most irresponsible thing they've ever done, swimming in their underwear with only glass and the night sky to cover them.
But it's completely worth it.
After he dives down to pull her underwater for the third time, she forgets about the slight possibility that they could be caught and focuses her attention on revenge.
"This isn't fair," she whines, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind, trying and failing to dunk him while he easily drags her around the pool, "You have roughly a hundred pounds on me."
Fitz laughs heartily, spinning around to catch her in his arms. "That's what makes it so fun."
"You're very mean," she mumbles against his mouth, although the smile in her eyes betrays her.
When he kisses her he tastes like chlorine and scotch, and the buoyancy of the water makes it easy to wrap her legs around his hips. He's not hard but he's not soft either, and Olivia sneaks a hand between them, lightly rubbing him with her palm.
"Mmm. Have you ever—"
Fitz ends his sentence with a splutter as she splashes his face, darting away through the water to the larger, deeper end of the pool. Shocked, he wipes his face and turns to look at her, watching as she takes her bra off beneath the surface, eyes glinting mischievously.
"You'd better watch it, looking at me like that," he warns, lowly, smiling at her.
Liv smirks, leaning back against the edge, careful to keep her breasts beneath the water. "You'll never catch me, I don't need to watch anything."
"Is that a challenge?"
He starts off toward her slowly, giving her a head start, and she keeps the distance between them easily.
The laughter that follows is something neither of them have experienced in far too long. For a little while, the stress of their situation and the campaign melts away. They're able to just be, to play, circling the pool, occasionally getting close enough to splash, giggling and teasing.
Eventually, he realizes that he really can't catch her.
"What the—"
Lunging toward her, he nearly gets whiplash as she sinks under and quickly slips away from him again, smoothly coming up on the other side of the pool.
"Were you an Olympian or something?" he asks incredulously, raising his eyebrows.
She bursts into laughter at his expression, quickly ducking under to smooth her curls. "Close! I was on the swim team in junior high and high school."
Fitz sighs, and it's his turn to pout. "Well are you ever going to come back over here? Or are you just gonna torture me all night?"
Taking pity on him, she glides smoothly through the water, colliding with him gently in the shallow end. "Does this mean I win?"
He lifts her to sit on the second to last step, watching her nipples harden when they come in contact with the air.
Olivia lifts his chin with her index finger, pulling him in close enough to whisper against his lips. "Say it."
"You win," he murmurs, kissing her, dropping down to suck her left nipple into his mouth.
Lincoln, NE
"I'm proud of you."
It's a cool, almost cold night, crickets chirping over the hum of the hotel's heating system. They're sitting in the alley behind the hotel, somehow having been able to grab an extra bottle of champagne and sneak away unnoticed, although for once, what they're doing is fairly innocuous.
Fitz turns to her, watching as she takes another swig of champagne straight from the bottle, holding it out to him.
"What you did tonight, in the debate, I'm proud of you," she repeats, sliding a hand over his knee as he tips the bottle against his lips.
He takes a breath, clearing his throat as the bubbles pop all the way down. "I'm proud of myself, to be honest. I didn't really know I was going to do that until I got out there."
"You should be proud. You're—I saw you, out there tonight, and so did those people. They trusted you, I saw it in their faces, Fitz. You were incredible."
His eyes are soft, and he looks so grateful for the encouragement, like it's the thing he needs to hear more than anything else in the entire world. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she smiles, nudging her shoulder against his, "Cyrus cried."
Fitz chuckles, taking another sip of champagne. "He's always been a softie. A little birdie told me someone else cried too."
"You know," she sighs, smiling, "It's really dusty here, my allergies have been acting up since we landed."
It's his turn to nudge her, grinning widely. "Uh-huh, sure."
"Really, though," Olivia starts, softly, "If you keep doing what you did tonight? If you keep letting them see what I see? They're going to fall in love with you."
Their gaze turns meaningful, a blush rising to her cheeks when she realizes what she's just implied.
It's their worst kept secret. They both feel it, but neither have said it out loud for fear of what it means, and what it can't mean.
What happens to two people who are desperately in love, but can't be together?
They let it go for now, and he squeezes her hand, passing her the bottle.
"I feel good about it. My father definitely doesn't agree, but—"
"Oh, fuck him."
His eyebrows shoot up at her foul language, but she seems oblivious to his surprise, taking another gulp of champagne. He's still staring at her when she finally glances over at him.
"Seriously, fuck him. You were right, you're not like him, and you don't need to be."
"What happened to him being a 'national treasure'?"
"That was before I met him. He's an arrogant, sexist jerk, if he calls me 'honey' one more time—and the way he talks to you is disgusting. I'm glad you're not like him, I wouldn't want anything to do with you if you were."
After a beat, she realizes what she's just said and glances at him nervously, only to find him grinning incredulously.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"
"Don't you dare take any of that back. That's the most refreshing take on my father I've heard in years."
"I've had too much champagne, I think," Olivia sighs, "I'm not filtering the way I usually do."
He moves to nuzzle her hair out of the way, murmuring against her ear. "You don't need to censor yourself around me. In fact, I need to get you champagne-drunk more often if it means you'll curse."
Olivia giggles, in spite of herself, ducking away from him. "Fitz, we're—"
"—we're in public, I know," he sighs, leaning back out of her space.
Santa Barbara, CA
The first night that they sleep together, actually sleep together, is the night of his father's funeral.
Olivia holds him against her chest for long moments after he stops crying, until she can hear people in the distance and she knows they're in danger of being caught. It's almost painful to let him go, to ease his arms from around her when she knows he's not ready, that he still needs her.
"Tonight, okay?" she whispers, cupping his jaw in her hands.
His bloodshot eyes lock with hers and he nods, smoothing his hands over her hips one last time.
They're all exhausted, and there's something comforting about being in the Governor's Mansion, staying in a house instead of a hotel for a change, so they turn in early, around nine.
She waits for him, tucked into bed in one of at least a dozen guest rooms, and the irony of the moment isn't lost on her. Three months ago, waiting for him in the dark like this made her question everything. She'd constantly wondered why she did or didn't have one feeling or another, silently berating herself.
Tonight, she still doesn't feel guilty, or cheap, or any of the words that could be associated with an affair, but it's nothing new.
Tonight, she feels warm, and tender toward him, overwhelmed with the need to give him comfort and support in any way she can. When he comes into her bedroom, quietly closing and locking the door behind him, she's not thinking about the fact that he's married, because when they're together, he isn't.
When they're together, they're just Fitz and Liv.
And maybe she is in a bit of denial. Maybe they're both in denial that this beautiful mess they've created will always be just a mess, just a dream, just a misalignment of the planets, two people colliding in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They don't care. They can't.
Fitz climbs under the covers with her, breathing out on a sigh of relief as he pulls her close. She tilts her face up to kiss him a couple of times, long presses that don't build to anything, kisses just for the sake of kissing.
"C'mere," she murmurs, guiding his head back to her chest, picking up where they'd left off.
He lets her settle him and breathes deeply, taking a long, slow inhale of lavender and vanilla. Her scent is so much more powerful at night, after she's showered and freshly applied whatever creams and lotions she uses. He wishes he knew what the bottles looked like, that he could get away in time to shower with her and rub them into her skin himself. He wishes her toiletries were mixed in with his, taking up too much space and giving him a reason to tease her.
It makes his chest ache, the things they don't get to do, the parts of her that he still doesn't know.
He almost doesn't want to sleep, he doesn't want to waste any time with her, but he can feel it pulling at him. She's warm and soft, her fingers are stroking through his hair in the most soothing way, and he can barely keep his eyes open.
"I set an alarm for four-thirty," she whispers, yawning, "Sleep, Fitz."
At four-thirty, he'll step back out into the real world. He'll leave her and sneak back into bed with a woman he doesn't love.
But for now, they drift off together, living in the moment.
A/N: As always, thank you for reading and let me know what you thought!