A/N: So I have to apologise for the month in-between, but I've been working 60hr weeks, which leaves me drained and annoyed. Y'all can actually thank hookedonconnix on twitter for this. My prima got me going yesterday and I typed this all out today.

Look for something longer when I'm not dying and can find ten minutes to myself (same applies to a Sleep On the Floor update).

I hope you enjoy.

-M

Two ice cream cones and a traipse through Malcolm X park later to hear the drummers prepare for the Sunday drum circle, Olivia finds herself sandwiched against Fitz and a pole, in a packed subway car on the green line. Their night is coming to a close; Fitz is responsible for eight a.m. mass it it's bordering on ten p.m. so like Cinderella, it's time to go.

Olivia keeps her back pressed against the pole, a takeout bowl of Ben's chili dangling in a bag that hangs from her fingers, as Fitz stands directly in front of her, his hand gripping the metal just above her head. Her eyes flit down to his lips every few seconds and she wonders what it'd be like to kiss him. Would their lips touching taint the halo perched atop his head? He's a priest, a fact that she keeps reminding herself of as she finds herself being inexplicably draw to him. He's a flame and she's a moth. Or is it the other way around? She isn't the one who's pledged her life to God, he is. She's keenly aware that her presence in his life could pluck the angel wings from his shoulder blades, yet she doesn't want to stay away from him. He'd asked her a couple of nights back what she wanted and the answer is increasingly becoming him. One date in and she's concluded that Fitzgerald Grant is perfect; thoughtful, sincere, and handsome. He is a man.

"Now who's staring?"

The base in his voice permeates through the hubbub of the train and she jumps, startled. A soft "what?" slips from her lips.

"You're staring at me. Have been the whole ride. See something you like?" he throws her own words back at her just as suave as can be. A crooked smile dances on his face.

She wants to swoon, amazed by the sudden bravado he's taken on, the confidence that seems to carry his shoulders, but stops herself. "Maybe."

'More like definitely,' she thinks to herself wondering what he has tucked beneath those stuffy black button ups and stiff white collars. The white polo he wears expertly shows off his muscled arms and she has the sudden wish for the train to jerk to a halt so their bodies are knocked together.

He's still a priest, Olivia. Stop.

Internally she chides herself for the licentious thoughts she's having and shakes her head, homing in on the man – not the muscle – in front of her. "I had a nice time tonight."

The smile that breaks across Fitz's face melts Olivia's heart. It stretches upward, causing lines to crease beneath his eyes, his cheeks to widen. Is he literally swelling with pride?

"I'm glad. It's been…the last date I was on was in the nineties." he confesses and it amazes her how the unwitting seducer from mere moments ago gives way to the almost sheepish man in front of her. He ducks his head and she smiles. Is he embarrassed?

"Really? The nineties? Could've fooled me. Your dating etiquette leaves me wondering why I haven't tried a little priest before."

Fitz chuckles and Olivia smirks.

"You traded in all of your plans to accommodate my walk down memory lane. I'm pretty sure Ben's and Malcolm X for impromptu double-dutch and drums weren't on your list of things to do today?" she asks curiously.

"They weren't, but the smile on your face was worth every moment of it." He confesses.

The train skids to a halt and they're jostled forward, Fitz stops himself before they can collide.

A braid slips from the clip used to pull it back and falls against Olivia's forehead and Fitz pushes it behind her left ear, his touch causing her skin to tingle. The overhead speaker buzzes to life announcing that they've reached L'Enfant Plaza where line transfers can be made. People pile out of the car leaving empty seats all around, but Olivia doesn't move to take a seat. Instead, she stares again. Fitz doesn't comment on her blatant gawking this time, instead he returns her gaze, his body leaning forward – almost as if he's encouraging her to close the gap between them. But she doesn't get the chance to, the train jolts to life and a passerby asking if anyone has any spare change breaks their minute-long gaze. A gaze that leaves Olivia almost gasping for air; the atmosphere between the pair charged with promise.

She needs to kiss him.

/

Olivia Pope is driving him crazy and he doesn't know if she realizes it yet. Choosing to stand with her on the metro instead of sit – preferably on opposite sides so the thoughts in his head can't be heard – had been a mistake. He can't help but wonder if she knows just how in awe he is of her? He needs to know if she feels it, too. The electricity between them or if he's a desperate man growing delusional in his old age.

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, here right now as the train screeches to a halt and signals they've reached their stop. Seize those plump lips and never let go. How can one woman so small in stature, but so grand in aura not be cognizant of the effect she has on people. One moment he feels himself grow with pride in her presence, the devil-may-care, mischievous youth he once was, roaring its head for the first time in ages; the next he finds himself going green beneath her gaze – sheepish and self-conscious – desperate for her approval.

She's going to drive him crazy.

"This is me." She whispers as the train doors ding open.

Regrettably Fitz takes a few steps backwards and Olivia pushes away from the pole. Her story from earlier, about the men attacking her, suddenly barrels into his thoughts, and he finds himself standing in a step ahead of her, on guard, hand out for her to take. She does without hesitation and they exit the train together.

Fitz is somewhat shocked to find Huck, arms folded, standing on the platform.

"I didn't know if he's walk you to the door or not." Huck informs them and Fitz wants to protest, to raise objects about the kind of man Huck things him to be, but doesn't. He refrains, grateful that the man looks out for Olivia as he does.

"I brought you chili, extra cheese." Olivia holds out the bag for Huck to take and he does, his bushy brows and beard reminding Fitz of Yosemite Sam.

People filter past them and Olivia turns on her heels to stand directly in Fitz's path. "You can head back home, if you'd like." She tells him, though she makes no move to separate their hands.

"No, it's okay. I want to walk you to your door. Plus, I don't fancy saying good-night on a subway platform."

"Huck –" Olivia starts, but the man is already exiting the escalator.

Fitz and Olivia follow behind him, their fingers still linked.

The walk back to her apartment is short, the area busy with signs of Saturday night life, much like Olivia's building. Huck holds the door for the pair as they separate hands to make the trek up to the third floor. Children's laughter and loud music greet them as they move up the stairs.

Fitz finds it hard to stop his eyes from trailing her body. The supple flesh of her bare legs, the curve of her backside, and the sway of her hips as they climb all call to him. She's mesmerizing. And he's respectful.

His eyes snap down to the wood of the stairs, listening as they creak beneath their feet. It isn't until they reach the hall that leads to her door do they realize they have a shadow; Huck.

"Huck." Olivia shoots, tilting her head as she places a hand on her hip challengingly.

Fitz watches as Huck fidgets for a moment, uneasy on his feet. From what Fitz can see of Huck's face, the man looks apprehensive.

"I'll be fine." She assures, shooing him away.

There's much reluctance in Huck's movements, but he walks away nonetheless, the stairs creak, signaling his disappearance.

Olivia leads the way down to her apartment, keys jingling in hand. Her pace slows as they reach her door and she turns around, back falling against the wood.

Instinctually, Fitz's hands slide into his pockets and he rocks back on his heels. The warm light of the hall causes Olivia's bright brown eyes to sparkle, the gloss on her lips to shimmer, and Fitz wants to kiss her.

"So, you're really not saving face, you had a good time tonight?" He asks, a tinge of anxiousness in his tone and his eyes drop to the wood floor.

"I did. I haven't had a such a carefree night in forever." Her keys dangle from her fingers and Fitz thinks of that movie that came out the year prior. What was it called? The one with Will Smith as a date doctor? Hitch, perhaps?

He remembers how the Fresh Prince's character told his students that a woman fiddling with her keys is a sign she wants a good night kiss, but Fitz isn't sure if that's crossing a line. She still seems skittish about his chosen profession and kissing her might make her even more so. He drags his eyes up from the floor and makes the mistake of glimpsing her naturally pouty lips.

"I'm glad, I am. We should…maybe we can try Busboys and Poets again?" he asks, the eagerness unwilling to be pushed from his voice.

"I'd like that. A lot."

"Okay, so, I'll call you then?"

Olivia nods, her keys switching between her hands. "I'll see you Monday?"

"Monday." He agrees, a content smile on his lips before he takes a step back. His eyes almost miss the way Olivia's smile falters, but catch it last minute, just as she turns and slides the key into its lock.

Fuck it.

"Olivia."

"Yeah?" she asks, turning back around and Fitz makes his move.

Before he can over analyze what he's doing, his lips are on hers; adrenaline spurs him forward, and courses through his body like a runaway freight train. He's curling his hand around her neck, fingers threading through braids, and his other hand reaching for her waist. There's a long moment of his mouth on hers. She breathes in like a sigh and opens her mouth and he takes it as an invitation to slide his tongue along hers.

Their mouths mesh in perfect synchronicity and together they taste like ebbing sadness, new beginnings, hope, and relief.

One of them, he can't tell who, is shaking. Maybe it's him, maybe it's her, he doesn't know. All he knows is that she's melding into him, eagerly return his kiss and for the first time in a long time, he's breathing.

For the first time since he lost everything, he feels alive.

/

Electricity course through her entire body as the hunger for him grows. He tastes like a fresh bottle of red wine, perfectly chilled; a piece of the most decadent chocolate cake; her favorite memory of childhood freedom; the smell of warm sheets fresh from the drawer; the sight of glorious sunlight breaking across a clouded sky on a rainy day; he tastes like all her favorite things rolled into one and she can't get enough.

He doesn't kiss like a man who hasn't known physical contact in over a decade; he kisses like a well skilled lover and Olivia fights to keep her knees locked; she fights to match his intensity, to not let him overwhelm her in the most delicious of ways. This is far beyond what a first kiss should be. It's intense, passionate, and all consuming. Her lips burn and her body hums. She's out of breath, dangerously close to suffocating in him.

Only a curt, "ahem" from the direction of the stairwell seems to jog Olivia's memory of where they are.

They break apart, Fitz's forehead falling against her. His breath is hot against her face, and she fights to catch her breath. It takes her a moment to realize she's wrapped her arms around his waist and he in turn is just as wrapped around her. They're like magnets.

Shit.

They're in trouble.

"Ahem…" comes from the direction of the stairs again and Olivia turns her head to see her neighbor, Ms. Hubbard, who occupies the apartment two doors down eyeing them suspiciously.

"I got a granddaughter in here, Miss Olivia, who already got a world trying to grow her up too fast. She don't need a live show to help her along."

Olivia's cheeks begin to burn and she sees Alicia, her thirteen-year-old neighbor, peeking her head out from behind her grandmother grinning.

"Get back in this house." Ms. Hubbard snaps, turning around and the door slams behind the two. Olivia looks up to see Fitz as red as red as a vine ripe red tomato at the end of harvest.

"I have nosey neighbors." She jokes, but makes no move to wiggle out of his embrace. His arms feel like home.

"You do, but it's okay. I should get going…"

"You should."

"I have Mass in the morning."

"Eight a.m. sharp."

Again, neither makes a move to extract themselves from the other's hold. They just smile and stare, their eyes sharing secrets of admiration and wonder.

Finally, Fitz steps back. "Bye, Livvie."

"Night."

She watches as he goes, the floor boards and eventually the stairs alerting her that he's leaving. Once she's certain he's gone, she rushes into her apartment and over to the window that looks out onto the street. She can't help but to swoon as he goes, noticing a slight gait to his walk that hadn't been there before.

Fitzgerald Grant just may be the end of her.