A/N: For all my reviewers, and all my readers - you are the BEST. You inspire me every day. THANK YOU.

There's a section in the middle of this, about 'their things', which I think is my favorite. Fitz is the greatest romantic, and I adore him. I hope you like it too!


Chapter 6 - Where The Hell Have You Been?

They're tipsy: a giggling mess of wandering hands and freshly creased clothes; of kiss-stained lips and Champagne tongues and love bites that will be bruises in the morning. After a spectacular dinner in the hotel's Michelin-starred restaurant they're now tucked away in a booth in the dimly-lit bar, their second bottle of Veuve sitting empty in its ice bucket on the table in front of them. Fitz can't fathom how she gets sexier with every minute they spend together, but her low-cut black top and the way she laughs with her nose pressed to his cheek are doing extraordinary things to him. He wonders what the record length of time is for maintaining an erection, and thinks he's probably beaten it this evening.

Olivia begins to nibble on his neck, her fingers roaming dangerously low on his abdomen. Her right knee slides over his leg so she's half straddling him, and the way she is subtly grinding her whole body against his is sweet, sweet torture.

"I'm so wet Fitzy," she whispers, because that's the place they're at right now. Dinner was flirty with a constant, simmering undertone of inevitability. But now, high on alcohol and each other, they're so full of lust it's just spilling over.

"I can't wait to taste you again," he growls in response, and the hand that's already buried beneath her skirt finds its way from her ass to the apex of her thighs. Her panties are soaked; her heat an inferno. Fitz slips his fingers beneath the lace and she instantly begins to rub herself against him, moaning into his ear.

"Why are we still here?" she whimpers and he doesn't have a single answer for her: Because this is fucking hot. Because you're so sexy I can't think straight. Because I don't think I can walk.

"Take me to bed," Olivia continues, running her tongue around his ear. It's so arousing he's starting to lose what little control he has left. "Take me now or I'm gonna come right here."

Fitz looks at her; sees the desire all over her face, the blazing fire in her dark eyes. He's never been with a woman who is so open: so unafraid to show everything she's feeling; so unashamed to ask for exactly what she wants. He wouldn't have expected it, given their age gap and her previous bad relationship, but he thinks it's a combination of their incredible connection and her natural confidence radiating through. Whatever the cause, watching the signs of pleasure bloom all over her body in response to him is one of the most erotic sights in the world, and he knows it's something he won't ever tire of.

He stands suddenly, grabbing her hand, curling his damp fingers around hers. There's something about being sticky, messy, together; something raw and intimate and downright dirty. Tonight he wants to taste the sweat on her throat, to follow its path down between her breasts with his tongue. He wants to lick and nibble and suck at her pussy until her arousal is all over his face. And afterwards, when they're sprawled out naked, unable to breathe, he wants to smell like her - like the best sex they've ever had.

There's an empty elevator waiting for them in the lobby and he kisses her before the doors have even shut, pinning her between his hard body and the mirrored wall. Somehow he manages to hit the button for the second floor, because he took the condoms to his room that morning and because it's nearer and they don't have much time. Then he resumes his exploration of her mouth, welcoming her eager tongue into his. The sounds she's making are almost animalistic and he captures every one, unwilling to let even a single breath escape into the air around them. When the elevator stops he picks her up, arms firmly beneath her thighs, and carries her across the hallway to his bedroom.

"Oh god," Olivia moans as he pushes her into the wall beside his door, holding her there with his hips as he searches for his room card. She's still moving against him, drawing her pleasure from his rock solid erection, and it's making him lightheaded. "I'm so close," she whimpers, dragging her nails up his back and into his hair like she doesn't quite know what to do with herself. Funnily enough, he knows exactly how she feels.

They almost fall into the room once he's managed to get the door open. It slams behind them, leaving them in total darkness and instantly, the heat between them reaches fever pitch. Fitz presses her against the wall again as they kiss ferociously, all tongues and teeth. He palms her breasts; she squeezes his ass and rotates her hips, and he's certain he can feel her wetness soaking through her underwear and his pants.

"You're fucking amazing," he breathes between kisses, his voice and their sounds amplified in the dark. He slips his hands beneath the hem of her top, pushing it all the way up until it's over her head and off completely. Next to go is her bra and when he finds her right nipple and drags it into his mouth she gasps, her whole body tensing in his arms.

"I need to come, baby," she groans, and she's still trying her best to get herself off on his cock, her movements rhythmic and increasingly desperate. "Please."

Fitz doesn't think he's ever been in a hotter situation than this: a gorgeous, half-naked girl in his arms, grinding her way to orgasm on his body, in the darkness where all their other senses are heightened. Her smell, her taste, the softness of her skin - they're all a hundred times more intoxicating now.

He lowers her feet to the floor then pulls down her skirt and panties and tells her to step out of them. He hears her kick off her shoes so she's totally bare; he's still fully clothed but that doesn't matter when he kneels down in front of her. "I like hearing you beg," he tells her. He leans forward, putting his mouth on her; he lands on her inner thigh where he bites down and she cries out. His hands cover her hips, holding her still. "What do you want, Livvie?"

He trails his lips upwards as she reflexively opens herself to him. When he licks a line along the crease of her leg, so close to where she needs him, her feels her shudder from head to toe as she moans from deep in her chest. "I want-"

Her words become incoherent as he repeats the action on her other side, this time letting his tongue linger on the soft skin just adjacent to her thin strip of hair. Then he begins to kiss her, to explore her; his lips wandering all around but never getting near enough to relieve any of her frustration. She has to tell him, first. He wants to hear the dirty words come from her pretty mouth.

"Fitz, please!"

"Please what?"

She's so unbelievably wet: he can smell it, feel it on her damp skin. He's desperate to taste her, to have the softest parts of her in his mouth. She's an addiction he's never going to be able to quit - he already knows that - so why fight it?

"Make me come. Eat me out." Her voice is strained, breathless, but direct; her words lack any hint of embarrassment. "Fuck me with your t- ahh!"

Fitz doesn't need telling twice. He sucks her clit into his mouth, quickly moving down to lap at her with his tongue, delving into her depths and then returning back to the beginning again. Her fingers go to his hair as she lets out a string of the most beautiful, nonsensical sounds. She's salty-sweet, dripping wet and driving him absolutely crazy with want. His dick is throbbing, confined in his too-tight pants, and the temptation to grab hold of himself and provide some much-needed friction is almost too much.

Instead he uses his hands to push her thighs further apart; feels her body sag a little as her knees start to bend. He lifts her left leg off the ground with his right arm, flexing her hip and exposing her even more, holding her as firmly against the wall as he can. He imagines how she must look right now and it makes him growl deep in his throat and attack her even more feverishly, swirling his tongue over her in a frenzied rhythm, grazing her clit with his teeth every so often. He particularly likes doing this because it makes her cry out his name and pull on his hair, which in turn fuels the fire burning in his veins.

"I'm… almost there," Olivia gasps, and Fitz stops what he's doing and gently blows cool air onto her. Her orgasm makes her body arch so violently that she almost knocks him over; her moan is the most guttural he's ever heard. He recognizes her legs aren't going to support her anymore and wraps his arms around her waist, holding her against him as he lowers her down to the floor. Then he bends over her, finding her lips and kissing her, letting her taste herself all over his tongue. He doesn't linger too long though, because he could drown in her kisses and he wants her to come again, this time in his mouth. If he stays here, the urge to pull down his pants and fuck her will become impossible to ignore.

He trails his lips lower, easily finding her right nipple and dragging it between his teeth.

"Oh fuck," Olivia breathes. "That was… This is… so hot, baby, in the dark."

"I know." He toys with her other nipple for a moment as his fingers delve between her legs, stroking her wet folds, gently teasing her sensitive clit. She writhes beneath him. "I think you're ready for more," he murmurs, kissing his way downwards.

"Yes. God, yes."

"I want to hear you." He bites down on the soft skin of her abdomen and she cries out. "I want to hear everything you feel when I make you come again, even harder this time." And then he claims her once again, devouring her like he's a starving man. His tongue is everywhere, licking and tasting every glorious part of her within reach, and the noises coming out of her don't disappoint. God, he could do this forever. She's just heaven.

"Say my name," he commands, his lips barely leaving her to get the words out. He slips his index finger inside of her and she hisses it:

"Fitz!"

His hips jerk helplessly, trying in vain to find some relief against the floor as he fucks her with two fingers now, curling them to brush against her G spot. He draws her clit into his mouth for the final time, sucking on her, circling with his tongue until she's caught in a loop of: "Fuck, Fitz, oh my god, fuck, oh my-"

When she shatters, it happens in stages. She suddenly stills and goes silent for just a moment - the moment she falls off the precipice. Then she screams: a sound from deep inside her, pure and heartfelt and uncontrolled. Seconds later her hips are moving again, pushing her pussy into his face, urging him to take her further which he does with pleasure. Her scream becomes one long, continuous moan as she rides his tongue along with her orgasm, her whole body trembling from head to toe. And then, quite a while later when she's finally, finally spent, she quietens and pushes him away, clamping her legs together.

But Fitz is far from satiated. He stands and strips off his clothes, using his phone light to find his way across the room. He switches on the bedside lamp and retrieves a condom from the drawer, rolling it on. When he turns back to Olivia, he's once again awestruck by just how beautiful she is: lying on the carpet by the door, naked and glowing, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. Her legs have relaxed, knees apart and feet together which leaves her completely exposed to his hungry gaze. When he finally meets her eyes they're a heady combination of dazed and lustful as they roam over his body: she's satisfied but she wants more - wants him. Does she have any idea what she does to him, without even trying?

He's crawling on top of her in an instant, kissing her hard, thrusting into her without warning. She's so hot, so tight, so ready, and the way she gasps into his mouth and arches her back to accommodate even more of him brings him ever closer to the edge. Fitz lifts her legs around his waist and then slides his arms beneath her shoulders, so that when he kneels up she comes with him. He continues moving until he's on his back with Olivia straddling him, still buried deep inside of her.

She braces her palms on his chest and gazes down at him in the dim light, her hair falling around her face, her lips curving into a radiant smile. "Hi," she whispers and it's a moment of stillness, of intimacy - the perfect calm at the eye of the storm.

"Hi," he replies, matching her smile, doing his best to ignore the insistent pulse of desire in his groin which is urging him to move. Instead he runs his hands up her thighs, ghosting his thumb over her clit; she clenches him so deliciously that he groans. "Fuck, Livvie. Ride me baby."

His hips twitch but she stills him. She leans down and now she's smirking as she deliberately squeezes him again and again with her pelvic floor muscles. "Patience, Fitzy. It's my turn to play."

She bites on his bottom lip, pulling it with her teeth, still looking into his eyes. Then her mouth begins a path along his jaw and down to his chest, her tongue swirling over him every so often. He can feel her nipples brushing against his skin, her small hands touching him all over. She keeps her lower body still but continues to grip him rhythmically, and it's fucking hot. Everything about her is fucking hot and he's not sure how much longer he can stand it.

"Liv… I need- "

He stops speaking - he has to - when she suddenly lifts her hips and sinks down onto him again. Hard.

She grins. "What, babe?"

Her fingers curl around his and she repeats the movement. He wants to shut his eyes, to focus on how incredible she feels, but he can't look away from her stunning form; can't tear his gaze from the sight of his cock disappearing into her body.

"Keep going," he manages to say.

"Aren't you going to say please?"

How is she smiling right now? He feels like he's falling apart. "Please."

"Hmm." She begins to move, taking him in over and over, doing something with her hips that's absolutely fucking heavenly. He doesn't think he's ever been deeper inside a woman. "I like hearing you beg," she says, echoing his earlier words. And they're his undoing.

His hands leave hers and he grips her waist, planting his feet firmly on the floor. "I don't beg," he growls, and it's a warning: a second later, he's thrusting up into her, faster and harder than he's ever fucked her before. Her eyes close immediately and she moans and throws her head back, allowing him free reign over her body yet again.

Fitz is already approaching the end when Olivia regains enough of her wits to start moving again. She takes over the pace, a little slower than his but just as incredible, and he stills, allowing her - wanting her - to make him come. Their eyes meet and he can see so much: pleasure, pride, affection, desire. She leans forward to kiss him but they're both so busy concentrating that it's more of a grazing of lips and an excuse to be closer, to share the same air. His fingers dig into her skin and it's not long at all before he's balancing right on the edge and just one, two more thrusts of her hips and… he's there. His orgasm is explosive; he can't help but buck up into her as he rides the wave, wrapping his arms tightly around her and burying his face in her hair.

"Fuck," he breathes against her neck, pressing his lips to her glistening skin as the electricity shooting through his limbs gradually begins to fizzle out. "You're just…"

"Amazing, I know." She pushes herself up so she can look at him, and she's smirking again. "I take it you enjoyed that?"

He kisses her instead of answering, his lips caressing hers with all the softness they'd set aside for the last half hour. He rolls them so she's on her back, pulling out of her in the process but continuing to shower her mouth and cheeks with kisses. "You are amazing," he tells her solemnly (and for the second time) as he takes hold of her hand. His wedding ring glints in the lamplight and he has a very strong urge to take it off - the first such urge he's ever had. But this doesn't feel like the right time, not with Olivia right there, her body still pressed against his and glowing from their lovemaking. Removing his ring is something for him; a moment for reflection which he needs to do alone. It marks the end of a huge part of his life and, while he's more than ready to take that step, it's still going to stir up emotions he doesn't feel able to share with her.

Not yet, anyway.

He sits up instead, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, and Liv follows him. If she's sensed his sudden distance she doesn't let on; now she's giggling as she looks around the room. "We barely made it through the door," she says in response to his inquiring look, and it's true - they're in the entrance, a rectangle of carpet about three feet wide with the wardrobe built into one wall and the bathroom door just by his elbow.

"Well someone was pretty desperate," he counters, helping her to her feet. "'I need to come, Fitz. I'm so close baby.'"

His impression of her makes her laugh - her loud and smoky laugh, the one he's already so fond of. "I didn't say I was complaining. I've always wanted to have sex in a doorway."

And now he's laughing too, drawing her close and pressing his lips to hers. "Olivia Pope, you are ridiculous."

And I'm falling in love with you.


They spend the night together, curled around each other in his bed, telling stories until they can no longer keep their eyes open. Fitz sleeps like a baby and with no alarm to rouse them, he finally wakes on Monday morning to find it's ten thirty AM. He gets up to use the bathroom then climbs back into bed and pulls Olivia into his arms. He gently kisses her awake, brushing his lips all over her face, trailing the tip of his nose along her throat and just breathing her in. She smells like herself and his bed and him, and it stirs powerful emotions within him. He's so far gone it's unbelievable. Did they really only meet two nights ago? He feels like he's known her, slept beside her, woken up with her every day for years.

Eventually she wriggles down the bed until they're facing each other, her brown eyes sparkling in the bright morning light seeping through the curtains. She is breathtakingly beautiful.

"Hi," she says, and he thinks it's starting to become their thing.

"Hi," he replies, because he wants everything to become their thing. Morning showers together with the radio on - she'll sing constantly and he'll tease her when she misses the high notes, but he won't ever join in unless she's feeling particularly persuasive. Brunches outside New York cafes, where she'll get food envy every time and he'll let her eat everything off his plate because she's adorable when she's grumpy, and her smile is always worth its price. Afternoons spent wandering, shopping, sight-seeing; holding hands, kissing on street corners, rushing home to rip each other's clothes off. Visiting the theater, Broadway, live music venues - all the places he hasn't been in so many years, all the culture he used to love but until now has had no one to share it with. Long, hot nights of lovemaking - falling to the kitchen floor when they can't make it to bed; breaking furniture and bruising flesh and desperate orgasms against the living room wall; loving her with the bedroom windows open to let in the breeze and not caring who can hear the way he makes her moan.

And when they're apart, because of work, there'll be constant text messages with all the little things that remind them of each other: he's drinking coffee from her favorite stand and yes, it's as good as ever, although there's a new barista with a bit of an attitude; she read the in-flight magazine and there was an article on Venice where they've both always wanted to go, and should they book something for next spring, or is that ridiculous with their hectic schedules? (He'll surprise her with plane tickets a week later, having cleared it with her assistant.) He'll write or say I miss you a hundred times a day, and it'll be true every time. The same for I love you. And she'll say it back - maybe not as often because that's not her, but she'll mean it just as much.

They'll be living the life he's always dreamed of, as partners and lovers and best friends. And he's obviously fantasizing right now but he felt it the moment they met: possibility. The chance that they might be the greatest love story ever told. He's always been a hopeless romantic but she makes him feel anything but hopeless. For the first time in too many years he is full of hope: it's overflowing from him; he can't contain it. And there are things he needs to do - now, today - to move forwards, away from the misery of his old life and towards whatever future he might be able to have with Olivia Pope.

She's kissing his neck now, her soft hands travelling downwards, and his body is responding to her before he's even fully aware of it. But he's suddenly too energized, too focused on the day ahead to stay in bed - even when she's so tempting.

"Livvie, I need to get up."

She looks at him, clearly confused. "Why?"

And now her fingers are wrapped around his cock and he's struggling to remember what he was talking about. She continues to gaze at him as she rolls him onto his back; when she begins to stroke him up and down, the last of his resolve evaporates and she smiles. "That's better," she murmurs, leaning forwards to kiss his lips before scooting down the bed and lavishing her attention on his lower abs.

Fitz groans and closes his eyes. The emails and phone calls can wait a little longer.


Olivia goes back to her room just before midday to start getting ready for her interview with the journalist from Time magazine. She has plans to see Stephen for dinner and extends the invitation to Fitz, but he offers to meet them later for a drink instead. He doesn't want to crash her catch up with her friend; nor does he want to bear Stephen's speculative gaze for an entire evening.

He showers, dresses and then heads down to the hotel's restaurant for an early lunch, taking his laptop with him. He spends the next hour doing research and then writing an email to David Rosen, his company's corporate lawyer. Finally, when he can think of no more reasons to delay it, he takes out his phone and makes a call. The international dialing tone buzzes in his ear, and then she's answering in that sickly-sweet business voice of hers which makes his skin crawl.

"Mel, it's me. We need to talk. Is this a good time?"

"Well hello to you too, honey." He can picture the sarcastic look on her face. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Does it matter?"

"You walk out on me, with no word for over a month, and then you ask me if it matters? Of course it matters Fitzgerald!"

He resists the urge to shout back at her, to draw on the irrational anger she always stirs within him. That's the reason he's come to the restaurant instead of speaking to her in his room, where he might let his emotions get the better of him.

"Look, Mellie," he says impatiently, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm in London. I know we shouldn't be doing this over the phone, but I need to tell you something. Do you have ten minutes?"

She sighs, and he can tell she realizes what's coming. They do know one another, after all this time. "Hold my calls, Frances," she says to her secretary, and then she's back on the line. "What?"

But she's not snapping at him - she just sounds really tired all of a sudden.

The words come to him easily: "I want a divorce."

"Fitz…"

He soldiers on before she can come up with any arguments. "I'm not happy, Mel. And neither are you. We haven't been happy together for years."

There's a long pause. He can hear her even breathing and wonders what she's thinking. He debates telling her the next part or just leaving it at that, but something pushes him forwards. If he's going to start a new life, he needs to do it clean.

"I slept with someone else," he admits, his voice clear and honest. He won't pretend that he regrets it; won't apologize, although perhaps he should.

"When?" Mellie asks, and is it the lawyer in her that keeps her tone equally devoid of emotion? Or does she just not care?

"Saturday night. And last night." And this morning he almost says, but stops himself just in time.

He waits for her reaction - will she shout at him? Does she feel betrayed, heartbroken, relieved? Even though they've known each other for twelve years, sometimes she is incredibly unpredictable.

And what she says next surprises him more than anything she's ever said before.


Fitz waits impatiently for Olivia to finish her interview, pacing around his bedroom in the hope she'll call and he can tell her what's going on. He needs to tell someone - he's going mad by himself. In the end he gives up and decides to head to the gym, to burn off some of this energy which is gnawing at him.

His phone rings while he's on the treadmill and he pauses it to answer. "Hi."

"Hey. I'm all done. You said you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah." He's more breathless than he realized, pushing himself harder than usual, lost in his thoughts. "Sorry, I'm in the gym. I'll shower and come find you."

"Okay. The interview went well, Louise was lovely. I think it's going to be a great piece."

He smiles genuinely. "I'm glad. I can't wait to read it."

"Me neither." He can hear the pride in her voice and it makes his heart swell.

"See you soon."

She lets him into her suite half an hour later and he kisses her harder than necessary, squeezing her tightly against him. "Everything okay?" she asks afterwards, trying to catch her breath.

"Yes… I think so." She frowns as he passes her, taking a seat on one of the sofas. "I spoke to my wife on the phone. I told her I want a divorce, and that I'd slept with someone else."

Olivia sits down beside him. She seems like she wants to reach out and touch him but refrains, and he can't decide if he's grateful for that or not. "And?" she asks gently.

Fitz looks at her directly as he speaks. "She said she'd slept with someone else too… on Saturday night."

Hearing the words out loud, it suddenly hits him how bizarre the whole situation is. "It was someone from work, apparently. She said she was just as unhappy as I was, for just as long. And then she agreed to a divorce," he goes on, hardly able to believe it. "I've already emailed my company's lawyer, asking him to recommend me a divorce attorney. And Mel has a colleague she's going to speak to later today."

Olivia looks as shocked as he feels. "What does it mean, that you both cheated on the same night?"

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. This is it - this is the end of his marriage. And it feels good.

He pulls Olivia onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. "It means a quick, fault divorce and a nullified pre-nup. I have a copy of it on my computer and I read it over lunch. It clearly states that if there are wrongdoings from both parties, the entire agreement is void. Not that she needs my money; she's successful in her own right. It's just one less obstacle."

They gaze at one another for a long time. "I'm happy for you," she says at last, but there's a hint of something unsettling in her tone - and it doesn't take him long to figure it out.

"Liv, this divorce isn't because of you," he tells her firmly, cupping her face and brushing his thumb over her cheek. "Meeting you just made me realize it's what needed to happen. And I'm not expecting anything, now that I'm going to be single again. I don't want to pressure you into a relationship."

Her eyes have softened and he kisses her tenderly, letting his lips linger over hers. "I'm just so grateful to have met you," he says quietly, "And I want to keep getting to know you for as long as you'll let me. I think we could be great together, Olivia."

She shakes her head ever so slightly, and when she speaks her voice is almost admonishing. "I think we are great together, Fitz."

Then she smiles and the world makes perfect sense again. "I think I want to kiss you now and never stop," he grins, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"I think I want to let you," she sighs, turning her face and capturing his mouth with hers in a sweet, sensual kiss - the kind of kiss which could very well last forever.


When Fitz finally goes back to his own room a few hours later, leaving Olivia to get ready for dinner with Stephen, he realizes that he's still wearing his wedding ring. He looks down at his left hand, at the gold band which has sat there for over ten years, tying him to a person he no longer even knows. He'd thought this moment would be somehow ceremonious; bittersweet, even. But, sitting in a small hotel room on the other side of the Atlantic, with another woman's scent and taste and kisses all over his body, he feels nothing but relief.

It's difficult to get off, to slide over his knuckle, but eventually he succeeds. The ring glints in his palm, catching the light for the final time before he tucks it into the side pocket of his suitcase and fastens the zipper. He won't see it again until he takes it out to sell to a New York jeweler, weeks later. And then it'll be gone forever: another part of his old life; another stepping stone into his new one.