Mermaid
"You're the president."
"You're the only woman who has ever told me no." His blue eyes twinkled, hand tucked away inside the blue pants of his suit and other resting on his thigh. One lock of curly brown hair hung over his eye, giving him just the hint of the disheveled playboy the media liked to paint him as. His white shirt, tucked into his pants, was unbuttoned enough to show just the tiniest bit of his dark chest hair. If at all possible, he looked even better this way than he had when she had first met him. The jeans and flannel were nice, but didn't do near the justice this suit was doing. Fighting the urge to squeeze her thighs together, who would have thought that after six years of celibacy, one week without sex would have her in such a wanton state, she licked her ruby red lips.
"I didn't tell you no a week ago," her low, seductive voice echoed throughout the room. She noted, with satisfaction, the growing bulge in his pants. Chest heaving and breathing becoming erratic, she crossed her legs in front of herself, digging the heels of her Louboutins into the carpeted floor. Her words had affected her almost as much as him. The feel of her cotton dress rubbing against her breasts through her white, lace lingerie had her almost panting as she imagined his hands and mouth replacing the fabric. She pulled at the Beijing printed bows on her sleeves, anything to distract her from the desire slowly pooling in her stomach and coating her thighs.
His deep chuckle emanated from his chest as his eyes travelled her body, noting the way she tried to discreetly rub her thighs together under the pleated, printed skirt she wore. Treading slowly across the carpeted room, like a predator stalking his prey, he stopped in front of her, invading her personal space. She breathed in the scent of his cologne - the scent that was so distinctly him and tilted her head back, dark eyes searching his bright baby blues. Crow lines formed around his eyes, he laughed a lot she was sure. Had been sure since their one evening and night together a week ago. Placing a hand on her upper arm, he stroked her skin through the fabric of her white sleeves, bending his head to hers, lips hovering just above hers as he asked, "Are you here to accept my offer. Or was I right about those stalker tendencies?"
She giggled, shuddering when his hand moved to her hip, bunching her colourful skirt as he gripped her, pulling her closer still to him. They were close enough that she could feel his ever growing erection, rubbing against his length. He fought the urge to allow his eyes to flutter shut at the feelings of pleasure he was getting from her actions. Olivia moved her well-manicured hands to the waistband of his trousers, fingers gripping his belt loops.
"I thought about accepting your offer. You made a very convincing speech today." Slowly releasing his belt loop, she moved her hand around to the front of his pants. Boldness was new on her. Sure she could command a room just as well as any man, but to be so open in her touch? Her feelings? That just wasn't the Olivia Pope she used to be. But she was sick of ruined relationships and looking at a very real future of being left alone. This time, she would take what was hers at all costs.
"I had a friend outline all her ideas for me to steal," he chuckled, eyes clouding as her hand made contact with the bulge in his pants, gripping his straining dick. She began moving her hand over the fabric of his pants, dark eyes clouded with desire as he grew in her hand.
"I knew you were trying to steal my ideas."
His hands moved to the collar of her dress, nimble fingers slowly pushing the pearl button through the tiny hole at the base of her throat. She inhaled sharply while his hands inched slowly down the front of her dress, undoing the small, off-white buttons as he went, leaving her standing before him with the front of her dress open. The tiniest hint of white lace showed through her open dress before he moved his hands to her shoulders, pushing at the material until it was sliding down her arms, over her hands, and falling at her waist. Never did she think she would be standing in the Oval Office, in front of the president she loathed, wearing a thin, white lace bra that showed the smallest bit of her straining, hardened nipples. Or that she would be so turned on in this moment.
"You could work for me, you know. Then I wouldn't have to steal your ideas."
She hissed sharply when he moved his head to her breasts, running his tongue around her taut nipple, eyes focused on her flushed cheeks and pouty red lips, hands moving to the smooth, exposed skin of her waist when her knees began to buckle. Slowly and with purpose, he moved his mouth to her nipple, taking the sensitive flesh inside his mouth and biting gently, tugging through the lacy material. Stroking her waist, he slowly trailed one hand up her silky skin and to her other breast, stroking the skin just above her bra-line. Biting down on her nipple, he slipped his finger inside the lace of her bra, pulling on the fabric until it came down and tucking it underneath her exposed breast. His fingers fluttered across her now exposed skin, flicking her nipple before grasping it between his thumb and forefinger, pinching slightly.
"You'd still be stealing my ideas," she winked, panting hard as he kept his mouth over her breast, using his tongue to swirl around her nipple - flicking the hardened nub when she least expected it. With each move of his tongue, the starch lace rubbed enticingly against her nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure to the pit of her stomach. She had long since given up on hiding what she was doing beneath her skirt and now rubbed her thighs together shamelessly as the tension in her stomach continued to build. Tightening his grip on her waist, fingers digging into her skin, he eased a leg between hers, groaning around her breast when she began rubbing against his leg. Moving her mouth to his shoulder, she bit down on the fabric of his white dress shirt, muffling her screams as she came hard, soaking her underwear.
Chest heaving as she came down from her high, she sighed when he removed his mouth and hand from her breasts. Hands gripping him for support, she allowed him to guide her backwards toward one of the white, striped sofas. She humphed when he backed her onto the sofa, gripping the back of the sofa as he fell over her and keeping the brunt of his weight off her petite frame. Using her arms to shove herself into a sitting position for a moment, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra, tossing the material to the floor. Never did she imagine having sex in the Oval Office. She almost laughed, rolling her eyes, at the sarcastic thought that her father would be proud. It almost made her want to pay Eli a visit...Shaking her head, her attention returned to the man hovering above her, yanking at her dress until it came freely down her legs.
"What do you say Olivia, do I get to steal your ideas?" he smirked, hooking two fingers inside her thong and pulling it down her legs, tossing it over his shoulder. Using his hands to spread her legs, he placed them on his shoulders, kneeling on the floor and settling between her legs. Moving a hand between her legs, he used one finger to trace her lips, leaving her to arch her back and cry out for more. With a glint in his eyes, he easily slid two fingers inside her soaking core and began pumping, placing his thumb on her clit, rubbing circles. Turning her head, she bit into the soft skin of her upper arm, muffling her screams and moans as he quickly brought her to another earth-shattering orgasm.
Easing her legs off his shoulders, he stood from between her legs. A pout graced her full lips when he shook his head no as she moved her hands to his leather belt. Running a hand through his brown curls, he stated, "I don't have a condom on me."
"I'm on the pill." She didn't know what had made her say it. It was true, but she still had never let any other man enter her without a protective barrier. Condoms weren't just about birth control and she knew that. But after the evening she had spent with Fitz, she felt like she knew him better than any other man she had been with and if he had some disease that he could pass to her, she knew he would speak up.
Conflicting looks passed across his face as he wrestled with his inner desire. The most beautiful woman he had ever met lay before him, her perfect body undressed and waiting. Yet he was battling voices in his head. Shaking his head from side to side, he moved his hands to his silver belt buckle. Pulling the black leather through the buckle, he slid the belt from his pants, tossing it to the floor. Unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, he shoved them, along with his boxers, to the floor. Her eyes widened as his dick, finally free, sprang forward. Biting her lip, she began to wonder just how he had managed to fit the first time 'round.
"You sure?" He gave her time to reconsider, only moving forward and rubbing the tip of his dick against her wet folds when she nodded her head, not trusting her voice. Hissing sharply, her hands flew to his back, scratching his skin through the fabric of his shirt as he began sliding into her, inch by inch. Balls deep inside her, he gave her a moment to adjust before setting a quick, steady rhythm for the two. He slowed only once, giving her time to ride the waves of her orgasm, before wrapping his well-muscled arms around her and flipping them. Resting his back against the sofa, he moved his hands to her hips and helped her lift herself, slamming her pelvis back against his. When she stopped, placing her hands on his chest and swirling her hips, squeezing her vagina around his dick, he came - causing another orgasm to ripple through her body as he shot stream after steady stream of his hot seed.
"Ow," she groaned, leaning forward and resting her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes tight. Stars danced behind her eyelids as an indescribable pain filled her skull. She was just vaguely aware of him slipping out of her as he softened and his hand in her hair, stroking her locks.
"Shhh," he whispered as she continued to tighten her eyes, rolling her head around his shoulder in an attempt to rid herself of the sudden pain reverberating around her skull.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I've never gotten a headache during sex before." She turned her head, still resting against his shoulder, and opened her dark eyes. Twisting his head, he locked gazes with her, finger twisting a dark lock.
"We've gotten good at being each other's firsts," he winked.
She giggled, rubbing her smooth leg against his hairy one, melding her body against his. Bringing a hand to his chest, she played with the dark curls there. They hadn't taken the time to enjoy one another in the afterglow the first time. Both were too exhausted and had fallen asleep shortly after. Then, when she had woken in the morning, he had been gone.
"No."
"No?"
"I can't work for you."
"Why not?"
Laying her hand flat against his chest, she pushed herself up, leaning over his body. Hair fell into her eyes, framing her face and providing a barrier between the two of them and the rest of the room. "Because we can't do this if I'm working for you. I would gladly be a consultant, though, President Grant."
"That's so much sexier than I thought it would sound," he smirked, moving his hands to grip her hips, "I would have thought you would have recognised me at the bar, Ms. Pope."
"You look different when you aren't on tv," she stated, giggling when he flipped onto his back, using his strength to lift her body over his, holding her aloft as she moved her legs to straddle him. Rubbing against his growing arousal, she continued, "and when you aren't wearing suits. Or surrounded by your advisors or Secret Service. It's hard to recognise someone when they're trying not to be recognised."
And that was the end of that conversation.
/
A flush covered Olivia's face as she sat in her office, reminiscing on how she had re-entered Fitz's life nearly three months ago. The familiar throbbing was returning, her eternal cause of unease when she was in her office in the White House. As much as she loved her new founded position of power, being this close to Fitz was driving her insane. The two were like newlyweds - christening every area of the infamous symbol of American democracy that they could. Gripping the leather arms of her chair, she rolled toward the end of her mahogany desk, placing her fingers on her keyboard.
Fitz had given her the airy office, adjacent to his Chief of Staff, after she had agreed to become a consultant. It had taken a whole month for her to move into the office - she took the decorative details of her offices very serious. The summer sky blue walls, accented with wine red, were completely bare. She didn't hang pictures or portraits. She needed a clean, clear workspace for her ideas to flow. The lexington blue wood tile that covered the floor complimented the colours of the wall, brightening the room without much need from the white light pouring down from the ceiling. The L-shaped mahogany desk was the one point of darkness in the room. She had designed it that way. It was where she conducted business and it immediately drew attention. The champagne wax warmer in the corner filled the room with a warm, homey vanilla scent.
Typing in her password at the prompt on the computer screen, she moved a hand to the wireless mouse beside her keyboard, and began scrolling through her email. She didn't have many messages, but there were a couple from Cyrus flagged as important. Tapping on the first message from her old mentor, she chuckled at the subject line.
Cyrus Beene | Olivia Pope
This message was sent with High importance.
Are you there Liv? It's me, Cyrus.
Liv,
If you're in the office today, would you mind grabbing a coffee with me around noon? Fitz wants me to start talks with some senators and congressmen about the Teachers With Guns bill and I could use your insight.
Also, we need to talk about...Well you know what we need to talk about. I won't write it in an email.
Let me know,
Cy
Rolling her eyes, she tapped out a quick reply, accepting Cyrus's invitation and promising to meet him in his office later. Moving the cursor down on the screen, she opened Cyrus's other email.
Cyrus Beene | Fitzgerald Grant | Olivia Pope | Abigail Wheelan
This message was sent with High importance.
Meeting in Oval
Fitz wants all of us to meet in the Oval around 16:00. Abby, we're going to work on another press release for the Teachers With Guns bill. Liv, we could really use your help on this one. Fitz wants to look into some options for shining the spotlight on the ones this bill would affect, too. So, if any of you could come up with some ideas before the meeting that would be awesome. And if for whatever reason you can't attend, just let me know.
See you then,
Cyrus Beene
White House Chief of Staff
Scrolling through the rest of her emails, she quickly dismissed them for what they were - idle office gossip. The only one she didn't delete was an email about an upcoming retirement party for Sydney - Fitz's longtime personal secretary. Grabbing a black, ballpoint pen, Olivia wheeled her leather chair to the opposite side of the desk, reaching for the thick, brown-leather planner. Wrapping her hand around the supple leather, she opened the planner, flipping through the pages until she came to June. She jotted down the time of the retirement party on the tenth before closing the book and capping her pen. Digging her nails into the wood of the desk, she used her grip to propel her chair into motion, rolling back toward her computer. Laying a hand on the black receiver of her phone, she pulled it from its cradle and placed it against her ear, wincing as the receiver pushed her earring against her skin, the silver, metal post digging into the soft skin behind her ear. Dialing a 9, she was quick to enter the phone number for OPA.
"Thank you for calling OPA. How may I direct your call?"
Olivia chuckled at Quinn's tone. She could imagine the brunette sitting behind the receptionist desk, bored out of her mind. Quinn hated answering calls, but she was almost always the first to offer to cover Denise's break. Olivia had hired the young girl almost a year ago. OPA was getting too big to continue to operate without a receptionist.
"You sound lively."
"Do you know how many stupid calls I get a day? Yeah, you would be devising plans of torture, too."
"Stabbing people isn't good for business," Olivia sung in a high falsetto, "Is Huck around?"
"I think he's playing some game in his office. We've been dead today. I'll transfer you."
Olivia thrummed her sky-blue fingernails against the desk, humming along with the on-hold music that played as she waited for Huck. The soft click, interrupting the music for a second, let her know that Huck had acknowledged the call, but placed her on hold. Rolling her shoulders, the cracking and tightness fighting the motion, she began to sing along softly:
"Listen baby, ain't no mountain high
Ain't no valley low
Ain't no river wide enough baby."
"Were you singing?" Huck's surprised voice came across the line. Olivia snorted, her cheeks growing hot. Leaning back in her chair, crossing her legs and pulling at a piece of white lint that stuck out like a sore thumb against her red trousers, she countered:
"Were you playing video games?"
"You needed something?"
"We're trying to table this new bill in Congress. Anything you can dig up on the Senators most likely to vote for it, would be appreciated."
"I'll see what I can do. Your OPA email?"
"My OPA email."
"I'm on it, boss."
The line went dead. Olivia placed the receiver back in its cradle, placing her heeled foot on the floor and leaning forward in her seat to look at the time. 11:59. Standing from her chair, she wobbled a bit on her heels. Twisting her mouth into a grimace, she shook her foot as a tingling sensation crept across it, feeling as if she were being pricked with thousands of tiny needles and dug her hands into the side of her desk to steady herself.
"Whoa," she breathed, kicking her foot a few times, the uncomfortable sensation finally fading. Straightening her white blazer, she decided to forgo any accessories and clicked across the floor to her office door. Hand on the brass knob, she twisted, bringing her wrist up to glance at the time on her Apple watch. She was going to be a few minutes late. Exiting the office, shutting the door behind her, she took the few steps across the hall to Cyrus's office. Standing outside the white door, she knocked loudly and waited.
Jumping at the sound of the door creaking open, Olivia took a step to the left and allowed a frowning aide exited the office. The young girl's heels thumped across the carpet as she walked heavily off in the opposite direction, her shoulders squared. Placing a hand on the wall, Olivia tilted her head back, watching the girl disappear around the corner. Crossing her arms under her chest, wincing at the tenderness of her breasts (Fitz was ever the rough lover), she raised her hand to the now open door, knocking against the wood as she stepped into the office.
Cyrus stood behind his oak desk, buttoning his grey suit jacket. His grey-white hair stood on end and his pudgy face was ruddy, forehead vein bulging. The wrinkles of his face seemed to have been etched deeper, as if some sculptor had angirly jabbed their riffler into the puddy of his face, going farther than necessary. Olivia frowned. Her friend didn't appear to be in the best of health.
"You okay with Starbucks?" Cyrus asked, the top drawer screeching as he opened it, retrieving his black, leather wallet and slipping it into his back pocket. His blue eyes softened as he looked at Olivia, worry lines fading just a silver. "I need some fresh air."
"Sure. Let me grab my purse."
"Don't worry about it. My treat." He rounded the corner of his desk, crossing the room in a few, great strides, and held his arm aloft at a 90 degree angle. Snorting, Olivia laid her hand on his elbow, allowing him to lead her from the room. He pulled the door too behind them, the lock clicking into place. Olivia's right hand made its way into the front pocket of her high-waisted trousers. The flared bottoms swayed back and forth as she and Cyrus strode down the halls.
"Rees, can you keep an eye on my office and Ms. Freeland while I'm out?"
The Secret Service agent nodded, holding the heavy front door of the White House open for Cyrus and Olivia. Outside, Olivia inhaled deeply, taking in the fragrant, sweet scent of the crabapple and magnolia blossoms that was carried toward them on a gentle breeze. The late spring sun hung bright in the sky, warming the grounds and air. Olivia brought a hand to her forehead, holding it horizontally over her eyes. The sound of hundreds of voices floated on the soft breeze, drawing Olivia's attention across the well-kept lawn and to the front gates. Tourists leaned against the black, wrought-iron gates - pointing and taking photos.
"We'll use the side gate."
"You don't want to meet your adoring fans?" Olivia teased, turning her body and taking the short detour with Cyrus that would lead them to the side exit.
"Something tells me they aren't all fans," Cyrus shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the fading front gates. Tall, dark green shrubbery blocked their view within moments, creating a cool, shadowed walking path that allowed Olivia to finally drop her hand.
"Something tells me few of them know who you are." She was ever the realist. There weren't a lot of people who knew the ones working behind the scenes. The ones who made the decisions. She preferred it that way. It was easy to sneak out when she wanted.
"Mr. Beene. Ms. Pope." The stainless steel booth door swung open and a tall woman in a dark black suit, gun on her hip, leaned against it. Olivia and Cyrus both slowed to a stop.
"How's it going Erika?" Olivia asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, pulling it free of her earring.
"It's boring. No one ever uses this entrance."
"Who'd you piss off to get stationed here?"
"I think Cyrus is jealous that I'm prettier than him." She made a show of tossing her head about, her short, blonde hair swaying.
"That's what I'm jealous of," Cyrus rolled his eyes, "You never called my sister back."
"She was a bitch."
"Fair enough," Cyrus chuckled, gesturing toward the gate, "You going to let us out? We have to be back to the big house by four."
"Oh alright, but only because keeping you hostage would be unethical." She entered the security booth, slamming the door behind her. They watched through the clear, bulletproof glass as she sat behind a computer, typing a command. Seconds later, the gate clicked, swinging open.
The two continued their trek down the sidewalk, out of the fenced property of the White House. Olivia was the first to reach for the badge hanging by a clip on the breast pocket of her blazer. Unclipping the black, metal piece, she pocketed her badge. Cyrus followed after, unclipping his badge from the belt loop of his pants and stuffing it into his deep pockets. No one needed to know who they were or where they worked.
The sun beat hot against their necks as they made the short, five-minute walk northwest down Pennsylvania Avenue. The inside of the Starbucks was cool, the air-conditioning buzzing in the background, but crowded. Writers sat scattered throughout the tiny coffee shop, typing furiously on their computers. Here and there were a few who appeared to prefer the old-school technique, their pens scratching against the paper in their notepads. Standing the back of the line, Olivia crossed her arms and began tapping her foot. Patience was a virtue. A virtue she did not have.
"Are you trying to write a new tune over there?" Cyrus chuckled, his eyes focused on the menu hanging above the baristas head.
"You're just going to order yours black anyway," Olivia shrugged, her foot slowing to a stop.
"And you're going to get some sugar-infused diabetic concoction."
"Awe. You know me so well." Olivia brought a hand to her heart, holding her chest as she pretended to be teary eyed. They attracted the attention of a few bystanders, but what did they care? This was their homecourt and they spent enough of their day being stuffy professionals. As the line inched forward, Cyrus leaned against the faux-wooden countertop, ordering his traditional black coffee and jabbing his thumb in Olivia's direction:
"And she'll have whatever has the most sugar."
"Ha-ha-ha. Can I get an iced vanilla coffee? Thank you."
Cyrus inserted his debit card in the card reader, cursing the new chip technology under his breath. He turned a deer-in-the-headlights look to Olivia when the barista asked for their names. Winking, Olivia raised her gaze to the purple-haired teen:
"Leia. That's Luke."
Giggling, the teen wrote in large, sloppy letters across the cups with her sharpie before passing them along to the other teen working with them. As they edged down the line to stop at the other end, the teen called to them:
"May the force be with you."
"We have everything we need," Olivia winked, turning her attention to the teenage boy handing her the cool, plastic cup of coffee. Condensation was already forming along the cup, wetting her hand. Rounding the counter, she sat the cup on the small lip before the straws, napkins, and additives. Reaching for a straw, she tapped it against the counter a few times before it began to peek its green head through the white paper covering.
"You are awesome," the teenage girl called down the line, a grin covering her face.
Olivia chuckled, pulling her straw free of the paper, tossing it into the small trash can, and jabbing the green plastic through the tiny hole of her cup. Closing her eyes, she hummed at the first sweet sip of her coffee, vanilla exploding against her taste buds. This was why she and Cyrus went to this particular branch. The others didn't make their coffee the same way.
"Inside or out?" Cyrus gestured with his cup, ever expressive with his hands.
"Out. It's too beautiful a day. And we have to be stuck in an office with Fitz later." She did her best to look annoyed, pressing her lips together and half-rolling her eyes. It was a short-lived moment. One she knew Cyrus would never fall for.
"Are you annoyed because Abby and I are going to be there, too?" Cyrus teased, blue eyes sparkling as his hand connected with the metal bar of the door.
"Why would I -?"
"He tells me everything, Liv. Everything," Cyrus's falsetto carried out the door as he shoved it open, stepping into the hazy outdoor air. Olivia was quick to follow, shouldering the door open and stomping across the sidewalk in her heels to catch up to her mentor.
"He didn't."
"No, he didn't, but seeing your reaction…" Cyrus shook his head, sipping his coffee and making a face at the bitterness. Still, he refused to use any kind of creamer or sugar. "Please tell me: what parts of the Oval should I refrain from touching?"
"Cyrus Beene!" Olivia's wide smile showed her straight, white teeth. For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with the man. Her cheeks hurt from the wide smile that refused to go away - smiling when she shouldn't was how she always dealt with her embarrassment. And right now, there was plenty of that.
A police siren drew their attention. The new, Dodge Charger sped past in a blur of white, blue, and red, sirens wailing. Olivia and Cyrus followed the car with their eyes as it turned a corner, disappearing from view. Other pedestrians who had stopped to watch the scene unfold began moving, shouldering their way past the two frozen White House workers.
"I'd stay off the sofas. And away from the desk."
She had a way of owning her embarrassment once she got over the initial shock. Now, it was her turn to be amused at Cyrus's expense. He frowned at his cup of coffee, curling his lip and closing his eyes. Running his tongue over his teeth, he opened his eyes to spare a glance her way, nose crinkled.
"Have you two never heard of a bedroom?"
"Sorry we just happen to be a little kinkier than you, Cy." Olivia patted Cyrus's shoulder, creases appearing around her eyes as she struggled to maintain her poker face throughout the condolent pat. Biting her lip, she spun on her heels, tapping down the sidewalk in direction of the White House. With a shudder, Cyrus caught up to her:
"I did not need that image in my head."
The pair shared a friendly laugh, Olivia tucking her hair behind her ear. It wouldn't stay for long - not with the wind blowing the way it was. Tilting her head to look at the sky, squinting at the bright sun, she watched dark clouds roll overhead, causing her to quicken her pace.
"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Cyrus was still leisurely following behind his friend, hand stuffed in his pocket and coffee gripped tight in the other hand. He followed Olivia's finger, pointing skyward.
"I don't want to get wet."
"I didn't think it was supposed to rain today."
"Me either."
Nearing the side entrance, Olivia and Cyrus pulled their badges from their pockets, clipping them back into place on their clothing. Erika poked her head out of the steel booth once they passed through the iron gate:
"You guys got back just in time. Nasty storm's getting ready to blow through."
"Are you going to be okay in there?" Olivia called, hair whipping around her face as the wind began to pick up. The sky darkened by the minute, deep rumbles of thunder shaking the ground from not too far away.
"I'll be fine. You two should probably hurry back to the big house, though." She waved them off, slamming her door behind her and returning to the computer monitor tucked into the corner.
Lightning flashed across the sky and rain began to fall in large, heavy sheets as the two friends crossed the threshold into the White House. Turning in the hall, they peered through the door, unable to see much further than the large, white pillars at the entranceway. Rees slammed the door as a northern wind began pushing the rain into the foyer.
"Looks like no one's going anywhere for a while," Reese whistled, edging to the window on the left and peering out.
"Keep an eye on the weather. Radio me if it gets worse." Cyrus placed a hand on Olivia's back, guiding her down the hall. Inside his office, Cyrus sat heavily in his leather desk chair, Olivia taking a seat across from him in a soft, grey leather chair.
"You've been refreshingly unjudging of Fitz and me." Olivia leaned forward in her seat, her hand cocked back, eyes judging the distance from her seat to the trash can behind Cyrus's desk. Pulling her arm back further, she slung it forward, releasing the cup and watching as it flew into the silver, metal can. Cyrus was quick to duck, following the cup's trajectory with untrusting eyes until it landed.
"He's suddenly dedicated to his job again. That's all I care about."
"Is it?" Olivia tilted her head, twisting her lips into a half-smile. Curling her hands around the arms of the chair, digging her nails into the soft leather covering, she levelled him with a challenging stare.
Leaning his head against the back of his leather chair, eyes raised toward the white ceiling, his lips curled downward in a frown and he crossed his arms:
"Two of my closest friends are happy. What would I possibly have to complain about?"
/
"Hello, hello." Cyrus was the last to enter the Oval Office at precisely four pm. Thudding across the carpet, he stopped in front of the striped sofa Abby was reclining on across from Olivia and Fitz. Shaking his head, he eyed the abandoned desk chair behind Fitz's desk. Laying his heavy, black leather planner on the wooden table, beside the crystal decanter and glass set, Cyrus walked heavily to the rolling desk chair.
"Are you afraid to sit beside Abby?" Fitz called, tilting his head as Cyrus rolled the chair toward the group. Stopping in between the two sofas, Cyrus flopped into the leather chair, cursing as it bounced back and forth with the momentum from his fall.
"Olivia and I had an eye-opening conversation over coffee where I learned it's best to avoid certain furniture in this room." Cyrus reached for the button of his suit jacket, slipping it through the tiny hole and tossing both flaps to the side.
"She's opened my eyes a few times as well," Fitz winked, resting his ankle against his knee and tapping his finger on his leg.
"Am I missing something?" Abby tilted her head, her red hair brushing against the blue of her suit jacket. Her green eyes flashed, hands clasped onto the planner balanced on her lap. When Olivia shook her head, her eyes falling to the blue carpet, Abby narrowed her eyes and raised a perfectly sculpted red brow. Olivia was hiding something.
"About this press conference…" Cyrus nodded in Olivia's direction at her mouthed 'thank you'. Red was on the verge of performing a full Spanish Inquisition on her friend and, for the sake of the current work environment, Cyrus was not going to let that happen.
"Another ironclad denunciation from the President. No support is coming from the White House and Congress will do good to remember that." Abby ruffled through the papers in her planner, producing a white sheet with the White House's seal on the top. Passing the paper to Fitz, she chewed on her short nails as he scanned the text on the page.
"Go ahead and release it." He leaned forward, stretching his arm across the narrow space between the sofas toward Abby. The redhead grasped the paper, shoving it back into her planner.
"I have a few options for you. One option is to meet with teachers who are opposed to the bill. We can televise the event. The other option…"
Fitz twisted in his seat, attention now focused entirely on Olivia who began to squirm under his ocean blue gaze. She was never hesitant to present to him. That meant she didn't like what she had to say. Lifting a finger to his face, he rested his thick index finger against his chin, listening intently to what she had to say.
"We can do an interview with intercity kids. It won't be private. We'll have reporters everywhere exposing these kids to some tough questions."
"Let's see how talking to the teachers works in our favour first." His decision was quick, effective. Everything he had a reputation for being since first occupying the White House. He knew why she was hesitant to suggest this now - only a monster would put kids in front of a camera or television monitor in a bid to get their way. Even if this was going to affect this kids, it wouldn't be right to force them to be open to the ridicule and cruel things people could (and would, to be honest) say.
"I'll work with your detail to iron out all the wrinkles. We should be ready to go by the end of the week." Cyrus opened the planner on his lap, using a ballpoint pen to make a few marks.
"Anything else?" Fitz clapped his hands, placing his foot on the floor and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
"The state dinner next week."
"I thought we had all the kinks worked out."
"We do," Cyrus adjusted his tie, throwing a half-smile toward Olivia, "I was wondering if you would be bringing a date."
"I'm working on that."
Olivia could feel a blush forming as the two men bantered about her love life. The continous stare from Abby wasn't helping her state as she tried desperately to bury her head in her planner.
"Is this really an appropriate conversation, Mr. President?"
"You tell me Miss Pope."
Damn that man and the way he was looking at her, blue eyes travelling the length of her body slowly undressing her. His hand, to the outsider appearing to rest comfortably between the two on the sofa, was gently stroking her outer thigh with its pinky. Everything about him exuded sex. Even the way he had said her name - sultry and with the promise of something more.
With a deep, shaky breath, she attempted to turn the tables once more, "I thought we were discussing this bill that you promised would not pass."
"And I can't go making false promises, now can I?" His wink was everything but innocent, his hand inching ever so closer to her thigh. She was grateful she had decided on a pantsuit. Skirts and dresses were becoming dangerous around the president. Not that he wasn't capable of talking her out of her pants just as well as he did her dresses…
The long meeting seemed to drag on for hours. All four were talkers, especially when they had the opportunity to show off. Abby especially had suddenly shown the gift of gab with Olivia's addition to the team. Where she had been quiet at first, afraid to contradict the president and his often at odds point of view, she had taken a cue from Olivia and now spoke, in a respectful way, of her differing opinion. Learning that Fitz had changed his mind on the latest congressional bill had put a new amount of hope in her mind. Maybe there was hope for him after all.
By the time the two ladies were walking out of the office, it had grown dark outside. Outside the Oval, Abby linked arms with Olivia, her planner tucked underneath her free arm. It had been quite some time since she and her friend had had any sort of girls' night. She was looking to change that.
"You have plans for tonight?"
Olivia bit her lip, thinking of Fitz. She didn't spend much time at her apartment anymore. There was always an excuse to spend the night in Fitz's bed and, as good as the sex was, she didn't mind missing her apartment. Cyrus had stayed behind, though, and as much as she wanted to, she wasn't going to barge into the Oval. She also wasn't going to lurk around her office like some love-stricken teenager waiting on Fitz to finish whatever he and Cyrus were doing.
"None. Girls' night?"
"You read my mind," Abby's pink lips curled into a smile, "I'll grab my purse, lock up my office, and meet you at my car? You didn't drive did you?"
"No. My apartment?"
"Sure thing."
The two parted ways at the dividing hallways to their offices. Abby went right and Olivia went left. It didn't take Olivia long to grab her purse, log off her computer, and lock her planner in the bottom right drawer of her desk. She locked the office door on her way out, saying goodnight to the Secret Service agents she passed on her way to the parking garage. Abby was already behind the steering wheel of her blue Prius, hands tapping against the steering wheel to the beat of whatever song she had playing. Abby was a music junkie. She listened to anything and everything she could get her hands on. Unfortunately, she also thought she was a singer much to Olivia's chagrin. The woman couldn't carry a tune in the proverbial bucket if her life depended on it.
Opening the door, frowning at the squeaking sound that reverberated throughout the garage, Olivia slid into the warm vehicle. She propped her bag at her heeled feet, reaching for the seatbelt by the door and pulling it over her body. Abby waited for the click of the seatbelt before she put the car in drive.
Inside Olivia's apartment, the women kicked their shoes off by the wooden door. Abby was first to jump into the soft, white cushions of Olivia's sofa, propping her feet on the metallic coffee table. Remote in hand, she channel surfed as she waited for Olivia to return from the kitchen. Settling on a tv show, she wasn't home long enough to watch tv most of the time and the title at least sounded interesting on this one, Abby turned her head to the right when Olivia entered the spacious living room. Placing a clear, glass bowl full to the brim with popcorn and a bottle of red on the table, Olivia fell into the sofa beside Abby.
"Can we not watch this?"
"What's wrong with it? I haven't seen any of it."
"Me either, but that guy looks like Jake." Olivia shuddered, reaching for the remote that was on Abby's lap. She frowned at the title. Whiskey Cavalier? Really? Scrolling through the channels, she stopped at Grey's Anatomy - her go to comfort show.
"When were you going to tell me you have a crush on the president?" Abby's mouth was full of popcorn, her hand dangling in the bowl that she had moved to her lap. Olivia tilted her head, eyeing her friend.
"Huh?"
"You were so giving him the I want to fuck you look during that meeting."
"I was not."
"You were and don't worry - he was giving you that look, too. You could definitely get some if you wanted to."
Olivia shook her head, turning her attention to the flatscreen. They were starting at the beginning. Meredith was in the middle of what looked to be a very heated discussion with Bailey. Unable to focus on the show (who was she kidding? She couldn't lie to her best friend), Olivia turned in her seat, propping one leg on the sofa as she faced Abby.
"I'm kind of already getting some."
"What?" Abby nearly sent the popcorn flying off her lap as she squealed, green eyes opened wide. Moving the bowl to the table, she scooted closer to Olivia, hands on her knees:
"Tell me everything."
"Abby…"
"Seriously! What's he like in bed?"
"If I answer that you have to promise to never mention this," Olivia groaned, leaning her elbow against the back cushions, holding her head in her hand.
"Promise."
"I can legitimately say I never craved dick before him. I feel like we fuck all the time and it's not enough."
"Oh damn," Abby wolf-whistled, "So is he…?"
Olivia giggled at Abby's question. Her friend had taken to waving her hand, palm down, as a wand before her pelvis.
"He's certainly not small. I honestly didn't think he would fit at first."
"Well, I'm jealous."
Olivia scrunched her nose, dark eyes widening as she looked at her friend. "You aren't…?"
"No. I don't have a crush on Fitz. But I'm not getting any. David wants to wait."
"He wants to wait?"
"And that was my reaction," Abby shrugged at Olivia's gasp, her hand gently smacking her forehead, a loud skin-against-skin sound echoing in the room. "More wine?"
/
"You're happy," Cyrus observed, twirling the amber coloured liquid in his class, ice cubes clinking against one another.
"Olivia's given me a new perspective on things." Fitz sipped at his liquor, leaning against the glass of the Oval Office, staring out at the spattering of stars in the sky.
"She's make a good First Lady. Better than Mellie."
"I don't want to talk about Mellie."
Cyrus nodded. Mellie was a sore topic with both of them. She had been so promising at the beginning - the perfect wife to help lead Fitz to victory in the Republican Party. Someone who could play her part and promote Fitz as a loving, caring family man. She had the wit, the beauty, the social charm. In the end, though, she didn't have the guile. Her affair with Fitz's then security had been caught by a whole host of reporters. Some magazines had even attempted to blackmail the White House. A cheating First Lady was all they needed to dominate the news industry. So, Fitz let them dominate on Cyrus's advice. Even the Republican Party had called for divorce after Mellie's affair went public and Fitz hadn't lost any points with the public. It was a win-win for the president.
"Just don't hurt her," Cyrus mumbled, staring into his glass. He wasn't one to speak up in such a manner, but Olivia was like a daughter.
"I have no intentions of doing so." Fitz turned around to face the older man, leaning his back against the windows. "I want to take her on a date, Cyrus."
"That's almost impossible, sir."
"I know that. Any ideas?"
"You might be able to plan something for the grounds. I can't guarantee the public or media won't somehow catch wind."
Fitz sighed, his shoulders heaving, and downed the rest of his drink. "I haven't talked to her about going public, yet."
"If I know Olivia, which I do, I would suggest that you mention it to her soon. She doesn't like to be blindsided."
Fitz nodded, walking heavily across the room to the table at the edge of the sofa. Uncapping the decanter, he poured himself some more scotch. Popping the crystal stopper back into place, he raised the glass to his lips and drank heavily. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he called out to Cyrus as the man was edging toward the door, his still full glass already sitting on the table by the sofa:
"Is she still here?"
"I can check."
"Don't worry about it. If she is, she'll find me."
Watching the president turn toward the windows, staring out into the dark abyss, Cyrus took a deep breath. The presidency was weighing heavily on this man. He loved it - that much he had confessed and his recent attitude showed a willingness to throw himself into the job, but sometimes it made his life more complicated than he would like. Taking pity on Fitz, Cyrus called as he was leaving the office:
"I'll think of something for you. You'll get to take her on that date eventually."
A/N - I am extremely nervous about posting this. Your reviews have made me both smile and cry and I have continuously doubted myself while creating an outline for this story and writing this chapter. Thank you for the kind words. - Gabi.