Author's note: I guess you could class this as a song-fic? Kind of? It definitely came to me while listening to Fleetwood Mac on repeat. Anyway, I just wanted to write something warm and cute, and I guess that meets that objective. I'm so, so ready to see these two just enjoy being in love - you know what I mean? Rated M mainly because of the suggestive themes.

(Apologies for any typos - insomnia is no fun)


Noah's away at dance camp for a week, and he knows what it's like, when children are gone or grown and the house is too silent.

It's why he's not surprised to hear Fleetwood Mac resonating down the hallway when he lets himself into her apartment just short of midnight. It's not Stevie Nicks' dreamy timbre that lures him closer; her voice is half-drowned out by deeper, off-key crooning that has him covering his mouth and shaking with laughter as he pads softly down the corridor.

'Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Would you ever win?'

'Liv?'

He catches the edge of the bedroom door with his pinkie. Peers through the crack.

'She is like a cat in the dark and then she is to darkness…'

She's sprawled on her stomach on the bed, bare-faced, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of her nose as she flicks through case files. A pillow is wedged between her thighs and she has her lower legs raised and crossed at the ankles, flexing to the beat of Rhiannon as she undulates her hips ever so slightly. The whole scene is just hopelessly suggestive and has him gripping the doorframe tightly because he knows it's completely innocent, but it's killing him, really. She's always some sort of resplendent but she remains completely oblivious to it and that just makes him want to prove it to her all the fucking time.

'Olivia?'

Her head whips round in soft surprise, lovely brown eyes crinkling as a megawatt smile spreads across her face. 'Hey, you.'

'What'cha doin'?'

'Just…' she gestures at the spread of papers, '…getting my head 'round a few points before court tomorrow.'

'What did we say about case files on the bed?'

'Yeah, yeah,' she flaps her hand at him. 'Gimme a break. Between you and me…I'm too old to be sitting on the living room floor for hours at a time. Would like to avoid sciatica for another decade, if possible.'

'You ever thought to give the kitchen table a try?'

She smirks. 'Where's the fun in that?'

A pause. He's staring at the pillow again, nestled where he'd rather be. He's nearing sixty and jealous of a sack of feathers. A laugh bubbles up and he shakes his head at the absurdity of the situation. Jesus Christ.

'El?'

'Why you sittin' like that?' he waggles his eyebrows.

'Like what?'

'Like…' he makes his way to the bed and perches on the end, gripping the pillow with one hand and trying to wriggle it from her grip, '..this.'

'Because it's comfortable. And feels kinda good, I guess,' she's got that look, dark eyes trained on him shamelessly and that little knowing smile that makes him move to paw at her ass playfully. She giggles and shakes her hips comically, making them both laugh as he stretches out besides her, files be damned, and leans in to peck her on the lips. 'Hi.'

'Hi,' he breathes into her hair as she adjusts so she's flush against him. He allows himself a minute to take her in, every freckle, every beautiful line time has etched into features more familiar to him than his own. There's still moments - fragments of self-doubt that mingle with grief - where he can't quite believe he is allowed to hold her. To love her. Can barely comprehend that their story is no longer one of longing, of aching - as it had been for so many years.

Her hand finds his cheek and she kisses him softly, guiding him away from the pull of these thoughts. He deepens the kiss, relishing the feel of her smiling into his mouth as he reaches down between them to discard the offending pillow; deliberately pausing to brush his fingers against the apex of her thighs and making her shiver.

'So, feels good, huh?'

'Hmmm.'

He strokes her lightly over her leggings again, registering her contented little sigh and the canting of her hips against his hand.

'Pretty sure that's my job.'

'Is it? You gonna submit a formal application or something?'

He chuckles against her cheek. 'If that's what it takes.'

'Well, as much as I can't wait for you to get started on that, I'm gonna need you to hold off a few minutes while I put all this away. In some sort of order,' she dangles a sheet between thumb and forefinger to prove her point.

'This is exactly why case files in the bedroom are a bad idea.'

'You know what's a good idea?' she winks at him over her shoulder. 'Drawing us a bath.'

'Don't need to tell me twice.' Barely able to contain his glee, he all but jumps up from the bed, grabbing her by the hips to steer her out of his way. 'Forgot to tell you something,' he calls out to her as turns on the water.

'Hmm?' she pokes her head round the door.

'Stevie Nicks called. Said she wants you to stop butchering her tunes.'

'Oh fuck off.'


As always, super keen to hear your thoughts!