A/N: Again, thank you for all your reviews, messages and follows. It means the world to me.
She can feel him, even now. He's all over her, like the lingering scent of rain; an invisible embrace, claiming her as his.
Property of Fitzgerald Grant.
And all she can think is: why has it taken us so long?
Her lips are still tingling with the memory of their last kiss, and the one before that, and the countless others before those. How he commands her mouth as if he has all the authority in the world; as if it's his God-given right to make everything inside of her just melt, like she's made of nothing but wax and he's the hottest flame, licking at her until she's completely dissolved. He kisses her in a way she's never been kissed before: helplessly. And she kisses him back just as desperately, because she can't get enough of the way he tastes and how soft his lips are and the moments between and after when they're both gasping for breath, noses touching, sharing the same sweet air.
She can feel his hands on her body, ghosting over her sensitive skin; the impression of his fingertips on her hips. His warmth pressed up against her: sweaty and clinging to her as they fall off the edge together; enveloping her as they sleep. She remembers the heat of his mouth on her breasts; how he lavishes attention on her nipples, sending a constant stream of the sweetest, more torturous pleasure straight to her center. And then, as her daydreaming continues, comes the memory of him lying between her legs - so tangible, as if he's really there: his teeth grazing her inner thigh; his hot, wet tongue licking her from bottom to top, tasting every inch of her, circling in on her clit…
"Liv? Olivia?"
She's dazed, disorientated; squeezing her thighs together to try and get some relief from the thundering in her core. It's difficult to leave her fantasy, to come back to reality when the alternative is so tempting, so close. But then the music returns to her ears, the sounds of chatter and cutlery clinking and finally, after several long seconds, the restaurant and another man's face materialize in front of her.
"Sorry. I'm in another world."
Stephen is smiling but it's hiding curiosity, and concern. She can tell - they know each other very well. "Everything okay?"
She tries to smile back, reaching for her wine glass. "Yeah. Everything's good. I'm just… tired."
"Ah. Something been keeping you awake? Or should I say someone?"
And now he's grinning while she tries not to betray herself by blushing or looking away. She's still flustered, aware of the heat between her legs, of her thirst to see Fitz again; to kiss him until their clothes are on the floor and he can so expertly resolve all of her frustration.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she murmurs and Stephen actually laughs, leaning back in his chair. She's always loved his laugh - so easy, so smooth. It comes readily, and with that charming smile of his she's never had trouble understanding why so many women fall for him. But now she's had the pleasure of hearing Fitz's laugh - deeper, richer; younger somehow, even though Stephen is his junior by several years - it seems to have lost some of its magic.
Just one more thing that pales into comparison next to Fitzgerald Grant.
"Really, Liv?" Stephen teases as the waiter clears their starters. "You forget that I know what it looks like when a girl is thinking about a man. Usually about me, of course… but I know."
Olivia meets his eyes, once so familiar; now seen only occasionally on Facetime, and even more rarely in person. She's never been able to hide anything from him - he can always see right through her. She thinks he's probably known her better than anyone else in her life, including Abby and her father.
That is, until Fitz. Seven years of friendship immediately swept aside by the insane connection between them. She would tell Fitz anything; give him everything inside of her. And she will, she's already sure of it, because he was right: there's no choice here. She can't choose to turn around and walk away any more than she chose to fall for him the very moment they met. They are fated, inevitable; meant to be.
"Okay," she sighs. "You win. I was thinking about... someone. I can't seem to stop myself."
"And this someone is Fitz Grant, right? The man who couldn't keep his eyes off you; who was looking at you like the rest of the world just didn't exist?" Stephen leans forward, covering her hand with his on the table. "The same man who was wearing a wedding ring?"
Olivia doesn't back away from his gaze this time, even though his description of Fitz's behavior has conjured butterflies in her stomach. "The same one," she confirms, and she can't stop a smile from curving her lips. "He's separated from his wife. They're getting a divorce."
"I see." Stephen squeezes her hand before letting go, and she can tell his protective instincts are satisfied with her response - for now. "So how long have you known each other?"
Forever.
"Not long. We met on Saturday night, about four hours before we came to your bar."
Olivia can count on one hand the times she's managed to shock Stephen Finch - and this is the most stunned he's ever looked.
"Are you serious?" he exclaims, and she nods smugly. "Bloody hell, Liv. What did you do to him? The man I met was head-over-heels for you. I was actually annoyed with you because you hadn't told me you were dating someone. But you'd literally just met?"
Head-over-heels. That's how she feels about Fitz too - like she's falling faster than she can make sense of. And when she's alone, when she lets herself dwell on it for just a second, it's scary; terrifying even. Are they being ridiculous? Does this actually happen to real people, outside of books and movies? Is it all going to fall apart when they go back home? Will it become just a memory - 'that reckless, lust-fueled week in London' which she'll reminisce about when she's eventually settled down with someone her own age, someone who makes her happy enough but doesn't set her on fire?
Even as she thinks this, she knows she can't ever be with anyone again who isn't Fitzgerald Grant. He's absolutely electrifying: the most beautiful, thoughtful and honest man she's ever met. When she's in his presence, he makes the whole world seem brighter - more full of life, of hope, of possibility than ever before. Every time he looks at her with those eyes - the most intense, brilliant blue; the very first thing she noticed about him - she feels like she matters, like he'll always be interested in whatever she has to say. And then there's the other side of him, the side which turns her on beyond belief: older, confident, powerful, with his curls and his gorgeous smile and the body of a Greek god…
He is devastatingly sexy.
And she cannot get enough.
She'll never get over the way his gaze darkens as he lets it roam unashamedly over every inch of her, licking his lips as if he wants to devour her. And then when he does touch her, when he puts his wicked mouth on all the places that have been starved of attention for far too long, he just feasts on her, like he's never tasted anything so good. He pleasures her easily, effortlessly, selflessly. He gives and gives and when it's his turn to take pleasure in return, he still manages to make it all about her - how good she feels, how hot she is, how she makes him come harder than ever before.
She's never had so many orgasms in such a short space of time before - not even close - and yet she feels utterly insatiable around him. She wants him over and over again: she wants to slide her fingers into his silky hair and wrap her legs around his hips and watch as the lines between their contrasting skin begin to blur, to disappear; as he fills her so completely and hits all her spots and takes her out of herself and into the realms of pure ecstasy.
And afterwards, as they lie together and he draws patterns on her arms and makes her giggle with some silly comment, she wonders if this is how she might get to spend the rest of her life: completely content and sated; thoroughly and infinitely loved. Because he's falling just as hard - she can tell. It's not just the things he says - 'Why didn't I meet you sooner? Why did I marry her, and not wait for you to show up?' - but the way he looks at her when he thinks she doesn't notice; the sweet little kisses because he just can't resist.
"Liv? Hello?"
She's lost again, swept away by thoughts of him, and it's even more difficult to refocus this time.
"He can't be that good, can he?" Stephen asks, his voice slowly filtering through, and she's nodding before she can even think about it, a grin on her lips.
"He's… fucking amazing."
Her friend whistles. "Wow. Olivia Pope using the F word."
"I know. I'm a mess, Stevie," she sighs, squeezing her eyes shut and running her hands over her face in an effort to clear her head. "I want him all the time. Whenever he looks at me I just want to take off my clothes and tell him to do whatever the fuck he wants with me. He's just… he's incredible." She picks up her wine glass and stares at the red liquid inside, thinking over her words. "Am I crazy? Can this be real?"
When she meets Stephen's gaze he looks almost sympathetic. "You're asking the wrong person, Liv. I get the sex part, the insatiable desire for someone, but the look on your face just now? You're in much deeper than I've ever been… than I'd ever want to be."
She contemplates him for a long moment. Is it really that obvious? Has the Olivia Pope that he's always known, that she's always been - guarded, pragmatic, ever the realist - become a carelessly romantic, hopelessly smitten mess after just forty-eight hours?
And if she has - does she care?
It seems like too much to think about right now. She shakes her head and then downs the last of her wine in two swallows, setting her glass back on the table. "You're so helpful," she quips, although her frustration is with herself, not with him.
Stephen just grins again. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
Their waiter returns with their main courses, topping up their glasses on his way back to the kitchen. The food smells delicious and Olivia is taking her first bite when Stephen speaks again: "Can I say something honestly?"
She frowns, confused as to why he would ask. "Of course."
"When you were with Edison, before he… well, you know." She nods quickly, although the memory stings a little less every time. "Even when you were doing well together, you never spoke about him the way you've just spoken about Fitz. You seemed happy, sure, but never… excited. And we both know why, in the end. But when I saw you with Fitz on Saturday night… he lit you up, Liv. You've been so sad for such a long time, even though you always pretend you're fine. So if you've met a great guy who really makes you feel as beautiful and as precious as you are, then I think you'd be crazy not to carry on falling for him. Because you deserve someone who will love you exactly as you are."
The tears that started gathering on her eyelashes at the beginning of his speech are now spilling unceremoniously onto her cheeks. Of course Stephen knows: he thinks he can't give relationship advice because he's never been in a serious one, but he knows her. He knows her deepest fears; he knows about her father and all the ways in which Edison ruined her. And his words, so genuine and heartfelt, combined with all the things she's been feeling for Fitz, finally settle something inside of her.
This is going to be her fresh start. What's happened in her past is no longer going to define who she becomes. And if ever there was a reason to move forward, to let go of the bitterness and betrayal she's been holding onto for far too long, it's the chance that she might get to make a huge life with Fitz.
Because something tells her they're worth that. Something tells her this is the start of a great story.
Something tells her this where the rest of her life begins.
They spend the rest of their meal catching up on Stephen's news, on the successes and struggles of his business, on the various ladies he's been involved with lately (or not as involved as they'd like him to be, which is the root of all his problems). By the time they've perused the dessert menu and decided they're too full to eat any more, it's nine o'clock and Olivia is acutely aware of the fact that at any minute, Fitz is going to walk through the door and all the composure she's managed to regain is going to be shot to hell.
It happens less than a minute later. Suddenly Stephen stands, extending his hand to someone approaching from her left, and her heart begins to race when she catches the scent of his cologne, when she hears his impossibly smooth voice: "Hey, Stephen. Great to see you again."
"Likewise. Let me get you a chair."
They're momentarily alone and Olivia takes a deep breath before finally risking a glance up at him. She immediately wishes she hadn't: he looks ridiculously handsome in a navy blue suit and white shirt, his eyes dark and full of desire as he shamelessly appraises her. She feels her body flood with heat and watches as a smirk forms on his gorgeous lips. He can read her far too easily - she would feel embarrassed if there was room in her head for anything other than her overwhelming lust for him.
"Hello, beautiful."
He leans down to kiss her, deliberately aiming for the corner of her mouth, and having him so close - his smooth skin brushing hers, his breath ghosting across her lips - instantly makes her soak right through her underwear. She wants to throw her arms around his neck and pull him into a proper kiss but he's already standing upright again, still smirking as he takes her hand and squeezes it.
"Here you go." Stephen reappears, setting down a chair for Fitz which he takes gracefully. He lets go of her hand and moves his below the table, sliding his fingers beneath her skirt to rest just above her knee. His touch makes her ache for him.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he says as Stephen gestures to a passing waiter.
"No, of course not. Can we order some more drinks please?"
"Certainly Sir. What can I get you?"
Olivia is barely listening, mesmerized by Fitz's profile in the low light of the restaurant: the curl falling onto his forehead, the length of his nose, his strong jawline; the way his mouth moves as he and Stephen discuss whiskey with the waiter. His fingers intermittently flex on her leg, his thumb stroking her skin, letting her know she still has his attention.
Good, because he's had all of hers from the moment they met.
"Do you want another glass of wine, Liv?" Stephen asks, and yet again she has to try hard to formulate an answer.
"Um… No, I'm okay thanks. Could I please get an Amaretto liqueur?"
"Of course."
The waiter disappears and she can sense Fitz's gaze on her as he absorbs this new piece of information. That's one of the things which makes him so intense: he wants to know everything about her; she seems to fascinate him. Is it any wonder she's fallen for him so hard?
"So, Liv tells me you two only met this weekend. I find that very hard to believe."
Stephen is looking between the two of them with amusement, clearly aware of the charge in the air. She glances at Fitz and he smiles, both proud and reassuring.
"It's true," he says, not taking his eyes off her. "Olivia is… something else."
There are so many emotions in his voice: amazement, affection, longing. She holds his gaze for a moment but it's making her hot all over so she has to look away.
"She is pretty great," Stephen agrees, and now they're both staring at her as her blush deepens.
"Stop it you two," she murmurs, running a hand through her hair. "I'm far from perfect."
"Well, of course you have flaws," her friend says with a grin. "You're a bad driver and a terrible cook."
"Hey!" But he's right, and she can't help but laugh. Fitz withdraws his hand from her leg and looks at her with a serious expression.
"If you can't cook, Livvie, I don't think we should carry on seeing each other. I need a woman who can prepare my meals, clean my kitchen-"
He stops talking when she punches his arm, laughing at her indignant expression. "I cannot believe you just said that!"
"Hey, I was kidding," he chuckles, holding out both hands in self-defense. "Kind of."
"Not funny, mister."
But he is, with his adorable grin which lights up his eyes, and she's smiling despite herself.
"When you try her cooking," Stephen adds, "You won't want her in the kitchen, believe me. Do you remember the meatloaf?"
"Oh my god, can we not go there?"
It's too late. Once he's on a roll there's no stopping him, and she's forced to listen to one mortifying story after another as Stephen lays out all her flaws on the table. She doesn't really mind though, and neither does Fitz - he still looks at her every other minute with unconditional acceptance, with ever-growing desire. At some point his right hand finds its way back to her thigh and this time, it stays there.
It's quite a while later when they finally finish their drinks and the conversation winds down. They've covered a lot of ground: the origins of her and Stephen's relationship, right from their very first class together at Yale; her recent work for the UN, and the backstage gossip from several events she attended over the summer; Fitz's projects, his ambitions, his hobbies. It warms her heart that the two men have gotten along so well: it's unspoken, but they all realize that Fitz is going to become a big part of their lives.
"Right," Stephen says at last, "I need to get to the bar, see how they're coping without me."
"It's a Monday," Olivia frowns after he asks the waiter for their check. "Surely it's not busy?"
"Ah, this is London. It's always busy. What time is your flight tomorrow?"
She looks at Fitz who smirks back as if to say, You're on your own.
"I've decided to stay a little longer, to… see the sights."
Stephen gazes between the two of them and she can tell he instantly knows she's lying. "I see," he says, obviously amused. The waiter returns to take Stephen's payment - he insists, as she's a visitor in his city - and with his attention elsewhere, hers focuses in solely on Fitz. He's already looking at her, something which has happened more times than she can count in the short time they've known one another. He seems captivated by her, like he can't not look at her, and it's insanely arousing.
She can't wait much longer to get him alone. His eyes tell her he feels exactly the same.
"It was so good to see you, Olivia," Stephen says as they all stand, and she rounds the table to hug him.
"You too. I've missed you."
She begins to let go but he holds onto her. "He's the one, isn't he?" he murmurs against her ear, and it's so unexpected and suddenly so real that she gasps.
"Yes," she whispers, her heart pounding. She glances at the man in question to see that he has politely retreated but, as ever, his gaze remains fixed on her. "I think he is."
"Good, because you're made for each other." Stephen draws back so her can look at her; when he speaks again, it's at normal volume. "Stay happy, gorgeous. It really suits you."
He kisses her cheek and then finally lets her go with a beaming smile. "I hope we meet again soon," he says to Fitz, holding out his hand. "Make sure you look after my favorite girl."
"I will," Fitz smiles. He puts his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him, pressing his lips to her temple. Olivia feels her cheeks getting hot, unused to displaying affection in front of her friends, but she still slips her hand beneath his jacket and rests it on his lower back as they make their way outside. It's a cool night but she barely notices, absorbing Fitz's warmth.
"Make sure you two have a great time… seeing the sights," Stephen winks before he turns and walks away, finally leaving them alone.
Olivia watches him go even as Fitz turns her towards him, trying to prepare herself for what's about to come. His big hands cover her hips and he leans down, nuzzling his face against her neck, instantly raising goosebumps all over her skin. His body is so hot, his scent overwhelming. She wants him - desperately. Her eyes fall closed and her breath catches in her chest as she gives in to him, right there on the street.
"Hi, Livvie."
His teeth graze along her throat, biting gently. When he reaches her ear, she wraps her arms around him, her body rising into his. "Hi," she says, breathless. She draws back and their eyes meet for the briefest second before she's kissing him, or he's kissing her - it doesn't really matter, not when his tongue is parting her lips and she's tasting the whiskey flavor of his mouth; not when he's pulling her closer, when she can feel all the muscles of his torso, his rapidly rising erection. He sets her on fire, makes her burn for him. They're fully clothed, standing on the sidewalk, and she's almost ready to come for him already.
"Baby," he groans, clutching her face in his palms as eventually they break apart, gazing down at her with nothing but hunger in his eyes. "I've been wanting to do that all night. You are so sexy."
She covers his hands with her own and links their fingers together, trying to steady herself. It's difficult when she's still completely enveloped by him, when their chests are still rising and falling together.
"You taste like the first time we kissed," she says, her voice unsurprisingly husky. She doubts she'll ever be able to try whiskey again, or smoke a cigarette, and not be reminded of that night: of the intensity of their desire for one another; of its culmination on the rooftop, and everything that followed.
Her arousal doubles just thinking about it.
"You taste like Amaretto," Fitz replies with a smile. "I hate Amaretto. But I love it on you."
She doesn't get chance to respond before he's kissing her again - deeply, as if to prove his point. When they next draw apart for air his hands are under her skirt, high on the backs of her thighs, and hers have slipped beneath the waistband of his pants.
"Hotel?" she suggests, and it doesn't even need to be a question because she already knows what his answer will be.
"Yes. Definitely."
She kisses him one last time before they separate, straightening their clothing. Fitz takes hold of her hand and she grins up at him as they begin to walk the short distance back to their hotel. It feels so normal, so right, to stroll along beside him; to show the whole world that they're together.
After a few moments of contented silence, she can't help but say it: "I can't believe you don't like Amaretto. I'm not sure we can be friends anymore."
He laughs, looking down at her with humor sparkling in his blue eyes. "That's okay - I have no interest in being your friend."
And now she's laughing as well, and it obviously triggers something inside him because suddenly he's holding her against a lamppost, kissing her neck, her jaw, her eager mouth. "Sorry," he murmurs - unnecessarily - a minute later. "I couldn't resist. I can't resist you, Olivia."
There he goes again: stunning her with his words. He's so open, so earnest, and she vows in that moment to always try her best to be the same in return. It won't be easy - she's always kept her thoughts, her emotions closely guarded - but it's the very least he deserves.
"You don't have to resist me," she tells him, tracing his lips with her thumb. "You just have to get me back to the hotel."
He grins, then gently bites on her thumb. It's inexplicably erotic.
"You are one smart cookie, Miss Pope," he says as he takes her hand again, leading them onwards.
"I know. But I bet you have no interest in my brain either, right?"
"Not really."
"So what are you interested in? Apart from whether or not I can cook."
He looks at her, his expression playful and incredibly flirtatious. "I can't possibly say out here, in public. You'll have wait and see. In fact," he continues, his voice becoming lower with every word, "I might even show you… if you're lucky."
Olivia feels a shudder run through her body, intensifying the heat which has been smoldering inside her all evening. "How fast can you run?" she asks, only half joking.
"Not fast enough," he replies, very seriously.
They quicken their pace.
It's only when they're in his bedroom, when they're stripping off each other's clothes between scorching kisses, that she finally notices what's missing.
"You took off your ring," she breathes, holding up his left hand in the light of the bedside lamp.
Fitz kisses her again, entangling their tongues, making her lose her train of thought completely. "I want you," he says, gazing deep into her eyes. His hands slip beneath the hem of her top, sliding up her body, pausing over her breasts so he can watch the way he makes her moan. She raises her arms, desperate to be naked with him, to have him fill her up and set every nerve ending alight. When he's removed her top and bra he holds both her wrists in one hand, keeping her arms above her head as he backs her into the wall.
The way he's looking at her combined with the hardness of his beautiful body as he invades her personal space is too much. "I'm yours, if you want me," he murmurs, and she knows then that he's the most incredible gift she'll ever receive.
She kisses him, maintaining eye contact even as her back arches, pushing her aching nipples against his bare chest. "I want you," she says against his lips, her voice strong and sure. She presses several smaller kisses to his mouth, his chin. It's so intimate, staring into his eyes as they kiss, as they let their bodies react to each other. She feels his free hand tug down her panties, shortly followed by the sound of his belt and the rest of his clothes hitting the floor.
He lets her arms come to rest around his neck and lifts her, pinning her into the wall and entering her with one slow, deliberate thrust. She wasn't expecting it: a gasp leaves her throat as she adjusts to his size, so long and thick inside of her. Wetness floods her, covering him in her fluid. His eyes darken even further; she wants to close hers, to savor the feeling of being connected to him like this, but she can't look away.
He doesn't move for what feels like an eternity. They're so close that their lips brush every now and again; so close that when she inhales on his exhale, she can taste the whiskey on his breath. His heart is racing just as fast as hers, beating against her ribs. She's taken off her clothes for three other men before him but she realizes that she's never actually been naked with anyone until this moment, right now.
And that makes it difficult to breathe.
He carries her to the bed, eventually; lays her down and kisses his way over her entire body, from her forehead to her toes. It's so quiet in the room, the only sounds his lips intermittently leaving her skin and the soft moans she can't help but make. The whole thing feels like a dream except for the fire deep inside of her: its slow and steady growth; its inherent pulsation as the heat builds, stronger every time. She could probably come at any moment but she doesn't want to - this place she's in right now can only be described as heaven, and she never wants to leave.
Fitz withdraws from her some time later, when every cell of her body is burning for him. She's panting, her skin glowing, even though she hasn't moved a muscle. He returns moments later, rolling on a condom before seating himself in the middle of the bed and gesturing for her to join him. She climbs into his lap without hesitation, sinking down onto his erection as she wraps her heavy limbs around him. Their shared groan is the most noise they've made for a long time.
Olivia doesn't move but she kisses him properly now, unleashing all the passion he's been so patiently kindling. She feels him grow inside of her, his hips twitching, his hands gripping her ass and pulling her down even further onto him. She's never been so full: pleasure radiates outwards like fireworks bursting to life. If she focuses on the sensation, and on the way his tongue is moving against hers and all the points at which their skin is touching, her climax is right there, just waiting for her surrender.
She withdraws from him slightly, wanting to know if he's close too. His blue eyes are almost entirely black now and there's sweat on his brow which has nothing to do with exertion. She's never seen a man look so far gone. He lets his gaze roam over her face and she thinks he almost smiles, but it disappears before she decides if it's real or not. Then his lips are on hers and he's still looking into her eyes as he whispers the one word she needs:
"Come."
She lets go.
And the floodgates open.
Fitz begins to move now, pounding up into her as her orgasm crashes over her, as she loses reality because these tidal waves of ecstasy cannot be contained inside her fragile human body. And they don't stop: he's still moving, still taking her further. She clings to him, her back arched, her cries aimed at the stars. It feels like forever and not long enough before he comes too, shouting out helplessly, gripping onto her until she thinks he might break her.
She'd let him, after that. She'd let him do anything he wants, for the rest of their lives.
They finally collapse: he falls back and she moves to lie beside him, making herself lightheaded in the process. It's hard to get enough oxygen to her brain, although her heart and lungs are trying their best. She feels his hand take hers, intertwining their fingers, and turns to face him. His expression is indescribable; all she knows is the way it makes her feel, which is surprisingly simple to interpret.
She's falling in love with him.
It's happening right now, with every second that passes. And it's not just because of the phenomenal sex, although she hasn't even begun to process exactly what that was; exactly how he spoke so fluently to her body, her soul, and shook her entire world.
It's because he's the other half of her: he makes her whole.
It's because when she pictures her future, he's in every shot.
It's because he's falling in love with her too, and that… that is everything.
