Thanks for reading, guys, and for all your lovely feedback. :)

daylight sings all that morning air brings
and i'm lost
i'm lost inside you
Matt Wertz, "Red Meets Blue"

It was the smell of coffee that woke her.

For a few seconds she was confused. Wasn't she in New York? Who the hell would be making—? Then she caught his scent on the pillow next to her and she felt a wave of warmth.

Opie.

He was here. Making coffee. And, from the smell of things, breakfast. She rolled out of bed and stuck her head over the rail. "Whatcha doin', Winston?"

He looked up from the stove and grinned. "Waitin' on you, Gable. Get down here. I'm starvin'."

"On my way, bossy pants." She ran a brush through her hair and skipped down the steps. Made a quick pitstop at the bathroom, and by the time she got to the kitchen he was pouring hot water into a mug for tea.

"Thanks," she said as he handed it to her.

"Welcome," he said.

She boosted herself up onto the island and set the tea aside to steep. "Sleep all right?" she said.

"Yup. You?"

"Mmhhmm. Maybe the best since I've been here."

"Huh. That's weird. Somethin' different?"

"I don't know," she said.

He slid an omelet onto a plate and turned toward her. Stepped between her knees and dipped his head so that his mouth hovered just above hers. Her breath caught and she felt a hot stir low in her belly that had nothing to do with tea. Their eyes met. Held. Hers were round, nearly all pupil, and his cooly took her measure even as color bloomed across his cheeks.

"You figure it out, lemma know," he said, his voice rough.

"I will," she murmured.

He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and turned away, whistling, and her mouth fell open as she stared at his back. Her lips twisted in a smirk. Well. Opie Winston.

Who would've guessed?

She picked up her plate and took a bite of omelet, and after a few moments he joined her, slumping against the island next to her and devouring his food like he hadn't eaten in a week.

"I guess you weren't kidding about being hungry," she said.

"This's my second one," he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs and cheese.

"Of course it is," she said. "How many eggs are in this?"

"Four."

She blinked at him. "You used an entire carton of eggs to make three omelets?"

He shrugged. "I don't like to do things halfway."

He finished his and cast her plate a hopeful glance. "Here," she said, and he grinned at her like an excited kid. "So what do you want to do today?" she said as he ate.

"Well…" He washed the last bite down with a long gulp of orange juice and set everything in the sink. "I was kinda hopin' you could show me the city."

"The tourist bit? The Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center?"

"I guess, if you want, but I was thinkin' more like…" He shrugged a little and leaned against the island again. "The places you like. Where do you go? Where do you eat? I wanna see all your favorite spots." He ducked his head, embarrassed, and let his shoulders rise and fall again. "That's more the stuff I'm interested in seein', I guess," he mumbled.

She took a sip of tea to cover her surprise and tried to smother a grin. Cute motherfucker. "You know this'll involve at least one art museum. And probably a library."

"Yeah. I figured. I think I can handle it."

Abruptly, as though coming to a decision she didn't want to change her mind about, she set her mug on the counter and twisted around to grab his face between her palms. His eyes went wide, but before he could say anything she kissed him, hot and quick.

"What was that?" he said with a stunned blink.

"A kiss, silly. Don't you recognize a kiss when one smacks you across the mouth?"

A hush fell. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair and their faces stilled. He grasped her hips to pull her closer. She let out a quiet breath. Their eyes met and the silence swelled between them like a living thing.

"Opie," she said, her voice soft.

He grinned. Carded both hands through her hair. Caught her mouth with his and let out a gentle sigh as they came together.

The kiss was long and languid and sweet, like the slow melt of fine chocolate, and when her mouth parted under his their tongues brushed in a velvety, heated glide that made them both moan. He nibbled her lower lip. Sucked. She brought him back for more and his palms skimmed the lines and curves of her back while her fingers curled in his t-shirt.

It became heated, a deep, aching burn, and they both knew they had to stop before they couldn't. His grip tightened in her hair and he tugged her head back to nip at the pulse pounding in her throat, and as his name fell from her lips on a hot gasp, he let go and stepped away.

She slumped forward, bracing her hands on the counter, and he turned around to lean against the fridge. He hauled in gulps of air and scrubbed both hands over his face.

"Holy shit," he said in a strained croak.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Seconded."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Hey, whoa, my lips were there too. And I started it."

She slid off the island and caught herself when her legs wobbled. Her mouth tingled and she could feel the rasp of his bear against her cheeks. She brushed at it, trying to erase the sensation, but she knew it was no use.

"I think, um—" She cleared her throat and tried again. "I think I'm gonna hit the shower. Then we'll go. If you still want to."

"Of course." He spun to face her. "Yeah, of course I do. Don't you?"

She smiled and squeezed his hand as she went by him. "It was just a kiss, Ope. A good as hell kiss, but still just a kiss."

"Huh," he said. "Is it always like that when you kiss somebody?"

She stopped halfway to the bathroom and cast him a look. "I think you know the answer to that."

"Just checkin'," he said with a smirk.

She shot him the bird, and his laugh followed her all the way to the shower.

She did take him to a couple of tourist spots: the Alice statue in the park. The Brooklyn Bridge. MOMA to see Starry Night. But mostly it was things like a tiny coffee shop in Little Italy for cups of bitter espresso and homemade cannoli. A restaurant in China Town where she didn't even bother ordering off the menu; she told Opie Brad had brought her here every day for a week until she had the order memorized before he'd allow her to go on her own.

At some point she'd grabbed his hand as they walked, and despite the height difference they fell into step alongside each other, their fingers laced together, and Opie thought maybe, except for the day he married Donna, he'd never been happier in his life.

There was a ridiculous record store in Alphabet City and a graffitied hamburger joint (with awesome milkshakes) off the lobby of a swank hotel. In the Village, a place where everything they sold was made out of condoms, and a brief stop at Tiffany's to recreate an iconic moment from one of her favorite movies. Finally they sat in the rush line for Rent tickets, and when their names weren't called they caught the train back to her loft, footsore and happy.

He hovered over her in the train car, his eyes focused on a small constellation of freckles at the back of her neck. All he wanted to do was get his hands on her. On her skin and in her hair and tracing every curve and line of her.

She must've felt the same way, because they were barely in the door before she was dragging him down for a kiss. His arms went around her waist to boost her up and she had one hand fisted in his hair and the other curled in his shirt. Her lips parted under his and they swallowed each other's moans as their tongues brushed.

"We should—" She couldn't stop kissing him long enough to get the sentence out, so for a long time he had no idea what she thought they should do. Finally, breathless and flushed and wide-eyed, she pulled back and grinned at him. "We should order pizza and make out all night."

"That's your plan?" he said, laughing a little.

He let her go so that she could slide to the floor. "I told you I don't put out on the first date. Remember?"

He grinned. "Oh yeah, that's right. And I guess today was technically a date."

"We bought each other a lot of food."

"Wait, so. Does each time we bought food count as a date, or was it just one long one?"

"Hhmm." Her head tilted as she considered. "If we just count it as one, then I'm not puttin' out. If we count each time…then I don't know. You might get lucky."

His smile faded as he studied her face, and he brought his hand up to cup her jaw. His thumb rubbed over her swollen lips. "I'm not expectin' anything, Olivia. And I think—I think maybe we should wait."

Her expression clouded. She looked away; cleared her throat and brushed her hair back from her face. "You do want me though. Right?"

He almost laughed, but she sounded so…unsure. Vulnerable and sad and— "Olivia. Ollie, look at me."

She did, finally, and he saw the fear in her eyes. He sighed and bent to press a soft kiss on her full mouth. "I want you so bad I can't see straight, babe. I told you already: I meant everything I said on the phone that night." He tugged a lock of her hair. "I think I might mean it even more now."

She took a deep breath. "But?"

"But…" The thoughtful line appeared between his brows. "But I don't think we should fall into bed so fast. Wantin' is easy, Oll. Sex is easy. You know I want more than that with you. I'm not sure I wanna go there until…"

"Until what? I make up my mind?"

He ducked his head and combed his fingers through his beard. "Not exactly. More like—until…you got a better idea of what you want. I told you you don't owe me anything and I don't expect anything from you, and I meant that."

"You think I'd be sleeping with you out of a sense of obligation?" she said, her tone wary.

"Uh." He'd somehow wandered into a minefield. Time to reset a little. He took her hand and led her to the couch before he tugged her down to sit next to him.

"You don't do anything you don't wanna do, Oll. I know that. But I also know—" He hesitated; what he had to say next was tricky, and he didn't want to hurt her.

"You sometimes think sex is, I don't know. Like…a substitute…for the other parts of a relationship. Like if you're…"

"Fucking," she supplied when he trailed off.

"Fuckin'," he said with some relief, "then the other details'll just fall in place. I don't want us to be like that. If we—I mean, if we happen—I want it to be kinda the other way around."

"Oh," she said. Her forehead crinkled and he waited her out as she thought it over. He had a point. For her things usually started with the physical and deepened (or not) from there. Things had never been like that with Opie, though; they'd always been friends first, and now, as adults, she wanted him, but she also...

Cared. Enjoyed spending time. Trusted him and looked forward to talking to him and loved his company. And all of that had come before the wanting. The wanting had sprung from it, not vice versa. She didn't want to fuck that up with...fucking. Especially if he somehow thought that was all she was here for.

Her voice was soft when she spoke again. "Do you think I'm some kind of slut?"

He'd been afraid she might think that was what he meant. "Oll, no, come on. Don't start that. I never thought anything like that."

She shook her head once, hard. "No. I know you didn't. And you're right. I do tend to do things sort of…backwards." She glanced over at him, and her skin was pale beneath her freckles. "Sex is an important part of a relationship for me, though. It's kind of how I…connect, I guess. Words lie. A touch doesn't."

"I get that," he said. His mouth twitched. "But, Oll, you know I'm not fifteen anymore."

"So you keep saying. I've noticed. You're taller, for one. Hairier."

"True," he said. He brushed her hair back and planted a soft kiss just behind her ear. "More patient, too. I've learned a few things since then, and I wanna make sure I get the chance to show you all of them." He punctuated the last few words with a kiss to her throat between each one, and by the time he was done, his low, raspy voice and teasing mouth had her trembling.

"You're not really helping the situation," she said.

"All I'm sayin', Olivia, is that when the time comes—and it will, if you want it to—I'm gonna take such good care of you. I'm gonna make you feel so damn good, and there won't be nothin' quick about it."

She bit down hard on her lower lip and leaned away so she could truly look at him, without either of them touching the other. He'd said something similar on the phone that night, but this was different. His eyes were dark and intense, his face set in serious lines, and she knew he meant it. She could see how much he wanted her, and for the moment it had very little to do with his cock. He wanted her. To touch her. To make her moan his name and lose her mind and beg him for more. It was all written there like a huge neon sign, and she wondered how she'd ever questioned his motives before.

There was a pain in her chest, rough and sweet, and as her mouth fell open his name tumbled out. He smiled, just a little, and she stared at him in confusion. Her cheeks were hot and her hands shook. She tangled them together in the hopes he wouldn't notice, but she knew he already had.

He pressed his thumb to the pulse in her throat and just held it there. "I love you," he said, and his pupils went big when he felt it jump. Then, his voice husky, "I want you."

"Not fair," she whispered. "I can't control responses from my sympathetic nervous system, and I'm not monitoring your vitals."

He grinned. How fucking Ollie. He took her hand and rested it against the center of his chest. "I love you," he said again, and his heart pounded hard beneath her palm. Softer, like a caress, "I want you," and she thought she felt it skip a beat.

She let out a breath. "I want you too," she said.

He circled his thumb against her skin and pulled her close. Their eyes met first, then their mouths, and hers were maybe the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

She hooked her fingers in his shirt and pulled her with him as she fell back on couch, and he arranged himself so that he rested between her legs. The kiss deepened; he nipped at her lips with his and she traced the outline of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. He ran his nose up the line of her throat and inhaled the familiar scent there: mint and lavender and a hint of sweat from their day running around the city.

Her skin tasted of salt and sunshine, and he sank his teeth into the spot where neck curved into shoulder. She breathed out his name and slid her palms under his shirt to massage the small of his back. He arched into her, almost involuntarily, and they both moaned at the pressure of his body so tight over hers.

"We need to stop," he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. The spot where the dimple appeared in her chin. Her throat just beneath her ear.

"Not yet," she said. "In a second. Not yet."

"Not yet," he said in fervent agreement. "Just a sec."

He dragged her legs up higher, so that her knees bracketed his ribs, and the changed angle had the bulge in his jeans pressed directly against the heat between her thighs. She rocked into him and his head fell back on a groan. She rucked the back of his shirt up to massage the muscles that danced under the big reaper, and he let his palm drift higher, to cup her breast, and she nodded encouragement at his questioning look.

He stroked the hardening nipple through shirt and bra, and his eyes widened when he felt the barbell beneath his fingers. "Ollie—?"

"Both of them," she said. "I'll show you if you want."

"I'm not sure—"

She rolled her eyes and tugged the hem of her t-shirt to her chin, and his breath came in a stuttering pant. Her bra was sheer, pale blue with a scatter of flowers, and the piercings beckoned him through the thin material.

"You really didn't know?" she said.

"I try not to stare at your tits, Olivia. It's sorta rude."

She bit her lip around a grin. "That rarely stops anyone."

He blushed, which made her laugh given the circumstances, and kissed her sternum. "Maybe I noticed, a little, but I was tryin' real hard not to think about it."

"Well now you know," she said. She flicked her tongue against the curve of his ear. "And you have my permission to think about it all you want."

"Not sure I could keep it out of my head now anyway, no matter how hard I tried." He cupped her breast in his big hand and ran his thumb over the nipple. She made a quiet noise of pleasure that made him smirk, and he bent his head to kiss her there. Just a kiss, soft and sweet, and she cursed.

"Is that what you were talking about?" she said.

"Hmm?" He was distracted, busy teasing the barbell with his fingertips, and he didn't know what she meant.

"When you said—Opie, Christ, that's so mean—when you said you'd take—mmmmm more of that, please!—your time."

"Oh." He grinned and pulled her shirt down again. "Yup. Somethin' like that."

She wrapped her legs tight around his waist and rolled them. He hit the floor with a breathless oomph and caught her before she could topple over. "You okay?" she said. "Hurt?"

"No, fuck, ow. I'm fine. Nice rug you got here. Really cushions a fall."

She rested her hands on his chest and wiggled until she was in just the right spot. "You know you're not the only one who can tease, Harry Winston."

"That so?" he said.

"Uh huh." She rolled her hips, creating delicious, tantalizing friction despite the layers of material that separated them. She caressed the reapers on either hip. Skimmed her fingertips along his belly. Dipped to kiss the tattoo over his heart.

"Badass biker man," she murmured as she traced it with her tongue. "I could have you whimpering and begging in less than thirty seconds."

He tried to keep still, but it was impossible. He grabbed her waist to hold her down as he lifted to grind against her, and they both let out breathy, hungry moans.

"I know you could, baby," he said. "Believe me. I don't doubt it for a second."

"Good." She kissed him, sucking his lip into her mouth before she slicked her tongue over it. He pressed his hands to her back and she wiggled and rocked on his erection. "Gonna stop now," she said.

"Me too," he gasped.

"We're, um—we're on the same page, right?" She had her palms braced against his middle and it gave her exactly the leverage she needed to drive them both nuts.

"Yeah," he said. "Fuck yeah, fuck!"

"Are you agreeing or just enjoying yourself?"

"Both," he said. His forehead was creased, his mouth soft and reddened from her kisses, and he couldn't stop himself from jerking up into her.

"Fuck, Opie! Don't do that! I'm—I'm gonna quit. I'm quitting now. Right—right now!"

"Please stop, for God's sake, gonna make a mess if you don't," he rasped, squeezing his eyes shut and kneading the muscles in her thighs.

"Be still," she said. She pressed harder on his stomach and he did his best to stop squirming and bucking. "Be still, baby."

She moved in slow, rolling undulations, her eyes steady on his and her lower lip caught between her teeth. She pulled her shirt off and batted his hands away when he reached for her breasts. Instead she cupped them herself, twisting and tugging at the barbells until her back arched and she breathed out a quiet moan.

Heat was a gathering wave through his whole body, and watching her was almost as erotic as feeling her. His jeans rubbed against his shorts and his shorts slid over his cock, and every time she moved he couldn't hold back his desperate little gasps. His balls were tight, aching, his cock impossibly hard, and just when he thought he couldn't take another goddamn second without fucking exploding, she went still.

He sucked in huge gulps of air until he felt like he could move again without coming in his pants, and she grinned down at him with a wicked gleam in her bright eyes. "It's customary to tip for a lap dance, isn't it?"

"I got a twenty in my wallet," he said, his voice shaky. "That might cover it."

"Ooo, generous."

He laughed. "Well fucking earned. If this art thing doesn't work out, you've got a fallback career."

She giggled and boosted herself onto the couch, and he sat up with a groan. "Ow," he said again.

"I'm sorry. Want me to rub your back for you?"

He held up a hand. "Mercy, woman, for fuck's sake. Here." He offered her the t-shirt she'd discarded, and she smirked at him as she put it back on.

"I think I need a shower," he said.

"Poor baby. Got all sweaty." She lifted a brow as she eyed him. "Might be a good idea to jerk off while you're in there. You know, take the edge off a little."

He let his head drop between his knees and tried to concentrate on breathing. "Christ, Ollie. You're gonna be the death of me one day."

"Mmm," she said, a noise that might have meant she agreed. "At least you'll die happy."

"That's the goddamn truth," he said as he hauled himself to his feet. "Okay. Shower. Order the pizza while I'm gone?"

"You work up an appetite, Winston?"

"Somethin' like that." His teeth flashed as he grinned. "And if I didn't, I definitely will in there."

"You perv."

"Hey. It was your idea."

She went up on tiptoe to plant a kiss against his cheek. "I'm kind of a perv, too."

"Yep." He patted her ass and wandered toward the bathroom. "I never doubted it."

I really meant to get this out yesterday, but some shit went down and no writing happened. But here we are again, so yay. :)