The prompt for this was "first kiss". And somehow it turned into this. I was trying to do a 30 day OTP drabble challenge, but not so much. Enjoy!
He could have her in any way he wanted her. If he asked. If she let him. He could kiss any part of her body, from head to toe, love her physically like he does in every other sense. And he can and he will and she will know from his touch and from the sensation of his mouth how much she is loved, passionately, in a way that drives her into a flurry of sensations. And he will. And he'll know she loves him too in the way that she reciprocates his actions in her touch and in her voice, in her breath that steadies. In and out.
And the feeling of her against him is as fleeting as it is perfect. He could stay there forever. And feel any and every part of his body against hers the same. But there was nothing like the way she would take his mouth in hers, feeling the warmth of her lips and a closeness that is invading every one of his sensations but yet will never feel quite close enough. He cherishes it. Sometimes he's reminded of their first kiss. That happened not so long ago-yet almost literally in another lifetime.
He'll be taken back to that room. Over There. He remembers smell of the room, flowers, something familiar yet a scent unlike something he could remember. He remembers looking at his reflection in that grand piano, and not recognizing himself. Even though, he wasn't sure if he ever really did. He remembers her in the room. The desperation in her voice, the way she begged him to come back with her.
To come home with her. To her.
"Because you belong with me," and he kissed her, and continued kissing her. The smell of the flowers being flushed out as every sense was filled with her. The taste of her lips, the soft skin of her face and felt so warm, and safe. The smell of her freshly dyed hair. It was taunting and it was sad yet it was so important as to who they were. He'd held her so many times before, but had she ever felt like this to him? He didn't think so.
Peter knew he loved her then, but he couldn't say it. Everything was so fucked up. He was sure there wasn't even a word that existed for how he felt. He loved her, and he wanted to hold her forever, and every time he kisses her now he's reminded of then. Of that first time, when they almost took it a little too far before they realized their was a larger task at hand. Would that have changed things? Would he have known sooner? Hell, would he ever have been fooled at all. Even as he slipped off the leather jacket she was wearing, gazing into her eyes that look like they could spill at any moment, framed by this unfamiliar haircut, never once did he see the other Olivia. Not once. And he had every reason to, too. The world, didn't matter which one, would disappear when he had her like this.
He slipped her jacket off and placed it on the piano, neatly, like he was aware that it didn't belong to her. His hand slipped out of his pocket but it didn't wander. He held her by the waist against the piano and kissed her, and kept kissing her. From her lips down her jaw line, he could feel her simultaneously tense yet relax against him. They so badly wanted to take it farther like that had for so long. He understood now, he understood everything she had done and why she had done it.
But they couldn't. Not there.
It was what happened after that that made him sure she would never want him to touch her again.
So when he had her, alone, in the safety of his bed in the middle of the night. When the world was quiet and there was nothing but her. He know how important it was to keep her safe, when they would both be so vulnerable. He stared at her, maybe lingering too long, or maybe she sensed what he was thinking.
"What's wrong?" She asked delicately, lacking concern and more curiosity.
He laughed, snapping out of it, "nothing, just thinking."
"No thinking in the bedroom," she joked, in a low voice, pulling his lips to hers by grabbing the back of his hair, "not now."
And he kissed her and he loved her like he did back then.