A/N: Happy Fringe Friday! I don't have the ability to bring our show back, but I have the ability to bring you...smutty things? How does that sound? :p
Here we go then, 6th and final part of this story. I held nothing back, and this is most definitely M rated. I am going to go and sob in a corner now because I won't be able to work on this story anymore, but please, enjoy the ride ;)
SHIVERED BONES
VI.
Olivia is trembling against him.
Peter has been aware of it the moment he first reached for her face, feeling the small tremors that shook her body, like ripples beneath the surface of her skin.
He's deliberately slow in every move he makes, in every caress and kiss she allows him to give her. He's not only insuring that her body knows he's not a threat, he's also answering his selfish need to care for her, to be the one helping her mend these wounds that were inflicted on her. From the way she progressively softens under his fingers and lips, the tension slowly leaving her muscles as she sinks against him, he knows how much she needs this.
He's aware of his own desire, of his longing for her, but he easily pushes it aside, irrelevant at the moment. Because Olivia trembles in his arms, and even though some of these shivers are caused by him and what he's doing, there is more to it.
I just feel…cold, all the time.
His longing is unimportant compared to that ache in his chest. He didn't lie when he said he did not pity her; he could never pity her. But he hurts for her. He's been hurting for her ever since they first met, and he watched as she risked her life and sanity for the man she loved. Even in the aftermath, beaten down and broken up by that same man, she stood right back up, stubborn and fierce, pushing through her sorrow.
The fact alone that she's in his arms, with her hand now buried deep in his hair as his face remains nestled against her neck, is proof of her incredible force of character, of her compassion and ability to forgive. Less than an hour ago, he thought he would never get to touch her again, yet there she is, her body as close to his as physically possible at the moment, one of her legs still trapped between his. He feels the rise and fall of her chest against his, heaving a little now, the smell of her skin and growing desire clouding his mind. She's clinging to him, but he clings to her with equal force.
Because he's been feeling as empty as she feels cold, and for the first time in weeks, he's beginning to feel whole again.
Given the slow pace of Peter's ministrations, and what they are doing to both her body and mind, it takes Olivia a moment to realize he isn't moving anymore; his breath, although a bit too shallow, is steady against her neck.
His arms have come around her, and she becomes aware of the way he's tightening his hold, fully embracing her, holding her closely to him. When earlier, this same move might have caused her to tense and push him away, it only makes her whole body slump even more into his, responding in kind, one of her arms around his shoulders, her other hand buried in his drying hair. When she moves her fingers through it, soothingly, his breathing hitches against her skin.
She has no doubt now that he's been hurting, maybe not for the same reasons, but probably as deeply. She almost feels remorseful, for not acknowledging his pain, or not properly, but there really is no point to it, not anymore. Everything is out in the open, and the way they cling to each other speaks louder than any word.
They're castaways, the two of them. Thrown overboard, left to drown in a sea of deceptions and manipulations. Somehow, they managed to find each other through the storm.
Eventually, Olivia shifts again, pulling away to look at him, bringing both her hands to his face, cupping his jaw. His stubble prickles her palms, just like his gaze prickles her soul, and it's a soft roughness that fits him well, this man she loves; the boy she crossed over to save.
As they look into each other's eyes, she's reminded of the night she found him Over There, when she saw him again for the first time in weeks.
One fundamental difference tonight is that craving inside of her, one that was only starting to blossom back then. She had felt pulled to him, but not in such a carnal way. She needs to feel, now, needs to touch, and to be touched. Only moments ago, he was breathing warmth back into her, and she aches for more.
He hasn't made a move, and yet, he's once again pulling her to him through his gaze alone. She leans forward until her nose is pressed against his, her parted lips hovering only an inch from his, tingling in anticipation. There's no more room for anxiety or fear; there's only room for his warm breath, for the feel of his arms, somehow managing to tighten around her.
She knows he won't initiate a kiss, letting her lead. And so she leads, leaning in again until her lips graze his, being intentionally slow. She barely puts any pressure into the kiss, in an attempt to draw him out. He remains still at first, almost docile, until her lips part again, and she breathes out against his mouth, letting out a rush of hot, quivering air. She feels the shudder that courses through him, and it's as if he's been jolted awake, pushing himself forward as one of his hands moves to the back of her head, entangling his fingers in her hair, pulling her close.
She responds with equal fervor, her fingers digging in his face, their mouths meeting at different angles with increasing hunger. When he eventually captures her lower lip between his teeth, nibbling the plumb flesh just hard enough to send a surge of heat right through her, electrifying her entire body, what little self-control she'd retained simply vanishes.
She lets go of his face, swiftly wrapping her arms around his shoulders and neck to bring their bodies closer. She manages to suck in another breath, before pressing her mouth to his again, open and hot, now, needing to taste him. He opposes no resistance to the feel of her tongue gliding over his lip, letting her in, anything but passive as he comes to meet her, soon creating an enticing friction that will be enough to wreck her nerves.
With his fingers still twisted in her hair, his other hand is on the move, then, leaving her back to briefly rest on her leg, still entrapped between his. She registers the feel of his fingers slipping under her dress, of his palm pressing into her thigh. It starts moving upward, sensually massaging her flesh just like his tongue massages hers, his thumb trailing the sensitive skin on the inner side of it.
The warmth spreads, gathering somewhere deep within her, pulsing more strongly now, causing her to sway into him, seeking a closeness they cannot yet achieve. When his nails graze the fabric of her underwear, the mere thought of these fingers of his slipping in, touching her where she's aching to be touched, is enough to induce a full body flush. Dizzied by this sudden head rush, she's forced to break off their kiss to breathe.
Olivia is intoxicating, and just as intoxicated, moving against him in ways that are making every cell in his body swell and quiver.
Under his palm, the skin of her thigh is a perfect combination of smoothness and warmth, and he swears he feels each of the shivers that travel up her leg as his hand moves. The shift of her hips is almost subtle at first, but as his thumb disappears further between her legs over delicate skin, she's not so subtle anymore. When she lets go of his mouth to breathe, his own lungs in need of air, he reopens his eyes to look at her. He's more than appreciative of the way her face has turned to a shade of pink he has rarely seen on her.
When she opens her eyes and meets his gaze, the gleam and haze he sees in hers match her flushed skin. All things considered, he should be used to seeing desire in her gaze, but he's never been more aware of how truly different this is. Because these eyes, these damn, haunted eyes of hers, they were missing all along.
Somehow, the other her always managed to look in control, even in the midst of what he considered to be their most passionate embrace. Back then, he thought that of course, Olivia Dunham would be in control no matter what. It had been nothing but a deviously orchestrated act.
Because he has seen this Olivia abandoning all semblance of control when particularly driven by whatever she's feeling at the time. The nature of said feeling does not matter; anger, grief, or fear, she will cave to them all, in the end.
More and more often, he'd watched as Olivia let her walls fall in his presence, her trust in him being such that she allowed herself to be emotionally bare in front of him, agonizingly human.
It's too late. I failed.
No control. Absolute vulnerability.
That is what Peter sees now, as she lets her lust prevail over everything else, her lust for him. Seeing these small yet unmistakable signs of arousal on her, knowing he's responsible for them, causes his blood to feel several degrees warmer in his veins. It also fills him with this aching, relentless need to love her, to make her feel without a shadow of a doubt that she's most definitely alive, to yank that part of her still stuck in that prison of hers, and bring her back here with him, where she belongs.
Driven by this thought, their dynamic changes. While she had mostly been leading, with him gladly following, Peter now takes charge. Capturing her lips with his again, his hand moves further up under her dress until he's grabbing her hip, his other hand leaving her hair to circle her waist, getting a steady hold on her. He opens up his legs to release hers, before pulling her up, closing his legs.
She instinctively straddles him again, more fully now, as he expected, and he shifts their bodies, pressing his back more firmly to the wall. With his arm still around her waist, she brings herself closer to him, their hips now aligned. She seems to approve of their increased proximity, soon rolling the entire length of her body into his, pressing against the hard evidence of his desire, and she lets out a low groan against his mouth, as he swallows back one of his own.
He cannot let himself get sidetracked by how good she feels, determined on keeping the focus on her. Using his hold on her, he then pulls her off his chest so that she's nearer to his knees, just enough to ease his reach; it's not much, but the movement causes her to let go of his lips, straightening up, hands on his shoulders.
He sees the slight confusion on her face, and something close to a disgruntled scowl, before he moves his hand, the one still under her dress. He doesn't hesitate, slipping inside her panties, sliding his fingers through her wet warmth, his palm pressing. Any hint of annoyance dissolves at once, as her lips part and her face constricts, followed by a loud sound near his head, where she's just slammed her hand.
He watches, transfixed, as her cheeks turn several shades darker within seconds, seconds during which she doesn't breathe at all. When she finally does, her intake of breath is sharp, inhaling loudly through her nose as she leans forward again, resting her forehead against his. Although mostly trapped against her heat, his hand doesn't remain still very long, his fingers slick and aiming to please, applying a moving pressure upon the collection of nerves. She bucks in his hand, and the moan that soon reverberates around them seems to have come from the base of her throat.
Olivia is burning up.
What started out as a low warmth has morphed into a growing wildfire, her body so unused to the feeling anymore that the probability of her auto-combusting right here in that elevator is becoming quite high, and she cannot care less.
Her brain has been hijacked, short-circuited by the waves of pleasure that are originating from between her legs, where Peter's hand is now entrapped. Having lost the ability to think properly, her body is more than gladly taking over, her hips rising and descending, once more completely leaning against him, a hand still splayed upon the wall. With her other arm tightly wrapped around his neck, fingers digging into the jacket over his shoulder, she's oddly aware of his water-soaked clothes, their coolness contrasting vibrantly with her burning skin.
He's moved his face again, brought it back to her neck; within moments, he finds a particularly sensitive spot on the underside of her jaw, sucking at her pulsing point. Given the way she's now pressing herself into him and the angle of his hand, he's not even trying to do more than stroke her, but it is more than enough and already too much, following the rise and fall of her hips, applying just the right pressure, at just the right pace. When he starts using his tongue instead of his lips against her neck, languid and hot, she begins to see stars, moaning his name near his ear.
Understandably enough, none of them registers the changes at first.
Part of her becomes vaguely aware of the way the floor is now vibrating beneath them. Thirty minutes ago, that sensation might have been enough to cause her to panic again, thinking herself pulled back to the other side, but that thought barely crosses her mind. She's too entangled in Peter, too dazed with pleasure and warmth to worry about it, safe in his arms.
A sound makes it through her daze; something is ringing. The elevator seems to be working again, and judging by Peter's sudden stillness, he's come to the same conclusion.
The moment isn't awkward as much as it is confused, having to interrupt what they were doing in order to deal with what is happening. Olivia feels groggy, not exactly sure how she's gone from straddling him to sitting on the floor again, Peter now obviously in the process of getting back on his feet. She does feel his hand on her cheek, which he briefly cups, his thumb tracing her flushed cheekbone, almost as an apology, before he stands back up.
As he steps to the panel, Olivia tries to clear her mind, forcing herself to breathe more steadily. She's shaking again, she realizes, but the reaction could not have felt more different. She feels like she's become aware of every nerve in her body, stuck in an odd sticky mist, aroused and unsatisfied. Her hazy gaze finds her discarded shoes and purse on the floor, and she grabs at them just as Peter answers the call.
"Kevin," he greets, his voice lower than usual, slightly hoarse; she swears it travels all the way to her, through her, feeding that throbbing ache in her gut. She takes another deep breath, deciding she should try and stand up now, in an attempt to distract herself. The elevator actually stops at their floor, then, the doors finally sliding open, and Peter casually sticks an arm out to prevent them from closing again.
"Mr. Bishop," Kevin says. "You probably noticed it, but, uh, the elevators are back online. Should only be a couple minutes before their security cameras start working again, too."
With perfect synchronicity, they both look up at the ceiling, looking for the small lens. Sure enough, there's the camera. They briefly meet each other's eyes, confirming that they'd both forgotten about that.
"Thanks for the head's up," Peter says. "You have a good night now."
"You too, Mr. Bish-" but once again, Peter has released the button before he was done talking.
Olivia has managed to get back on her feet, feeling more than a little wobbly, especially when she meets Peter's eyes again, and she's never been more attracted to someone in her life.
His hair is almost completely dry now, and given the way she was tugging at it, a mere five minutes ago, it's definitely disheveled. His bow tie is coming undone, two of his shirt buttons having somehow popped open. If it weren't for that security camera about to come back online, she'd just push him right back down to the floor and resume what they'd been doing. From the darkening look in his eyes, she has no doubt he's thinking the same thing.
But the doors are open, his arm still blocking the way, and her desire for open space overtakes her desire for him.
Momentarily, at least.
When Olivia looks out the elevator, Peter cannot blame her for the way she then makes a beeline for the loft. He did not quite expect for her to extend a hand and grab his shirt as she passes him, but he gladly lets himself be pulled out. By the time the doors are closing again behind him, she's dropped her shoes and purse to the ground and wrapped both her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her and capturing his lips with unmistakable impatience, spinning them on the spot.
She keeps on pulling, and he keeps on pushing, both his hands buried in her hair. There is another thump as her back hits the metallic doors, but she doesn't seem to mind at all, especially when he keeps on pushing, pinning his body more firmly into hers. He still very much wants to make this about her, but she's a lot less complaisant now that they're not trapped anymore, rippling against him, purposefully pressing herself into the hard bulge in his pants while sucking on his tongue.
As he groans, the sound muffled against her mouth, her hands are already slipping inside his jacket to push it off his shoulders, forcing his hands off her in the process, until it falls at their feet. She starts raking her nail over his shirt, inducing strong shivers as she goes, and it's his turn to break the kiss to breathe.
When he brings his hands back up to cup her cheeks again, he does it more gently this time, tilting her face up and locking his gaze with hers. The only light in the room comes from that fake fireplace somewhere behind them, and from the lights of the city through the window on his right. He doesn't need more, his eyes having already adjusted.
He cannot quite believe this is happening, unable to understand how she can truly be here with him, having overtaken all of his senses. He doesn't need to say a word for her to follow his train of thoughts, one of her hands coming up to the back of his head, her thumb ruffling his hair. He sees that certainty in her eyes again, letting him know this is exactly where she wants to be. When she uses her grip on his nape to pull him down, he doesn't resist, leaning in. Their next kiss might be slower, it certainly doesn't lack in passion, his hips pressed into hers, as if he's trying to fuse her to the doors.
When Peter's phone begins to ring, forcing his mouth off hers, Olivia swallows back a frustrated groan, tired of the interruptions. Judging by his scowl, deepening the crease between his eyes, he's not happy about it either. Still, one of his hands leaves her skin to get the phone out of his pants' pocket, sighing as he reads the screen.
"Walter?" She asks, the first time she really speaks in a while, and her voice barely sounds like her own, low and husky.
"Who else would have such a perfect timing?" He replies with just the right amount of sarcasm, and she finds herself smiling. "I should take it though."
She simply nods, understanding. Even as he accepts the call, bringing the phone to his ear, his other hand remains on her face a moment longer, his eyes boring into hers as he runs his thumb over her lower lip.
"Walter," he greets, cheerfully enough. Then, he's frowning again, his eyes leaving hers, focusing on his father. "You what?"
He asks Walter to put Astrid on the phone, before reluctantly moving away from Olivia. She stays against the doors for a few moments, focused on her breathing, still a bit lightheaded from the diverse sensations that have taken over her body. She tries to listen to Peter's words, something about the kitchen and the microwave, but her gaze has already drifted to the window. Just like she had the first time she came up here, she finds herself drawn to it.
As she comes to stand in front of the glass, hugging herself, feeling chilly again without Peter's warmth, she begins to understand why this scenery feels so familiar, especially at this hour. Even through the rain, the view of New York has transformed, the buildings' lights brightening the night.
A few weeks ago, she had looked for the Twin Towers, not simply because her double's memories still overlapped with hers on occasions. Unconsciously, she had been reminded of the last time she had seen such a view of New York's skyline, of how her gaze had stopped on the towers' shapes, distant, but there, visible from Peter's apartment.
Over There.
Olivia had been checking on Charlie, still unconscious on the floor, while Peter quickly gathered every piece of information on the Machine his biological father had given him. There were in a hurry, by then, less than thirty minutes left until she was supposed to meet up with Walter and Bell. Yet, as she crouched near Charlie's body, a movement caught her attention from the corner of her eyes; another one of these blimps moving across the window. Soon, she was standing in front of it, taking it all in. It had felt so surreal, all of it, the knowledge that she truly was in an alternate universe, a universe in which the Twin Towers still stood.
She had felt Peter's hand on her elbow, then, gentle but insistent. He barely glanced at the view, his eyes fixed on her face, with that same bewildered intensity he seemed to be struck with ever since her admission, minutes ago.
"Let's go home," he'd said.
Let's go home.
These had been his words, even after he'd admitted feeling like he didn't have a place in either universe, even though the world they were still in was his. He truly had a choice, then, the choice to stay, to try and make it work here, to give himself a chance to adapt and learn to blend in, something he was naturally good at. He hadn't felt like he belonged, but given enough time, he could have found his place again in this universe he was born in, one in which his mother was still alive.
Yet, Peter gave it all up. He gave up his mother and his world with barely one last glance, because Olivia had asked him to.
I came back for you.
She had known that for weeks, but in the aftermath of the Switch, she never fully understood what it meant.
"Olivia?"
She's startled out of her contemplation, eyes still lost in the city, once again confused for a second, unsure if she's here or there. She looks over her shoulder, finding Peter standing a few feet away, bringing her back to the present. Back to him. She becomes aware of the way her heart is racing again, shortening her breathing, shaken by her sudden epiphany.
When Peter had hung up the phone and turned back to find Olivia standing in front of the window, only inches from the glass, all thoughts of Walter and his latest disastrous experiment in the kitchen had escaped his mind.
She was elsewhere again, and the last thing he wanted was to alarm her by surprising her. She only flinches a little when he calls out her name, but when she turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, the way she stares at him causes his insides to ache.
"Are you okay?" He asks softly, still not moving.
She offers him a small smile, tilting her head, before shaking it a little, and in the buildings' lights streaming through the window, her eyes look too bright.
"You came back…" she says, almost in a whisper, before turning away, back to the view, briefly pressing her fingers to her lips.
Peter is confused for a moment, thinking she's referring to him walking away to answer that phone call. He's a genius, but he's always a bit too slow in times like these.
The true meaning of her words finally sinks in, causing the ache to grow. Because he had come back for her.
She's the sole reason for his presence in this universe, the reason why he stayed, even when he thought he'd lost her for good. He thought she had realized that a long time ago, but judging by the way she seems to be fighting with her emotions again, she hadn't.
Peter walks to her, then, until he's standing behind her, slowly wrapping her in his arms. She sinks into him, offering no resistance, not a trace of fear, resting her hands over his. It will take time for her to heal from everything that happened to her, but she's safe with him, and maybe that's enough for now.
He doesn't say anything; there's no need. Already, she's brought a hand up, reaching for the back of his head, her fingers sinking in his hair again. She lets him know what she does need from him, pinning herself more firmly into him, briefly pressing her face to his neck. He has to close his eyes when he feels her breathing in, breathing him in, tightening his embrace.
Her fingers are moving in his hair, her grip just firm enough to create shivers that shoot from his scalp, all the way down his spine, adding to the warmth pooling low. When she moves her head away from his neck, exposing her own, he answers to her quiet call. Bending down, he presses his mouth to her skin, sucking it between his lips as his hands begin to move, slowly traveling over her dress in opposite directions.
He reaches her breast first, her fingers still covering his as he squeezes through the fabric of her clothes, keeping his lips to her neck, intent on leaving his mark this time. He's only slightly distracted by the way this double assault causes her to arch against him, into him, a reaction that ultimately drives him on. The hand traveling south is gathering her dress up, pulling at it to access her skin, going for assault number three.
When he reaches further down, though, his fingers encounter roughness on her thigh. It only takes him a second to understand he's found her holster again. He had felt the presence of her gun earlier when she was straddling him, impossible to miss, but he had been too focused on her to pay much attention to it.
He's paying attention, now, the feel of her holster sending a surge of heat through him. In all these months spent by her side, he's often joked about how she's the one with the gun, a weak attempt to conceal how alluring it's always been to him.
Having mostly been raised by a woman, he never had any illusion about a so-called 'male superiority', and therefore never felt threatened by women in position of authority, or by the sight of this woman holding her gun, actually admiring her and respecting her for it.
Because no matter what, Olivia always carries this power within her, this untamable force; her gun is a mere projection of it. Right now, in the form of that holster hidden beneath her dress, that notion collides with his awareness of how raw and vulnerable she is against him.
His desire for her peaks, causing his body to take charge, pushing her forward until she's pressed against the window, her free arm now pinned to the glass, her other hand still in his hair.
The glass panel is icy cold against Olivia's skin, once again burning up, a contrast that overwhelms her senses. One of his hands is still on her breast, massaging, his warm mouth on her neck, and she's acutely aware of the way his hard arousal presses into her lower back. The air is momentarily blocked in her throat, swept by a wave of aching lust and fast growing pleasure, her eyes lost in the skyline.
She feels as if she's suspended in the air, high over the city, free falling…until his other hand resumes its movement, leaving her holster alone and swiftly finding its way back between her legs. When his fingers slide between her folds again, knowing exactly where and how to press, her forehead drops upon the window, and the city becomes a blur as the air finally rushes out of her, his name fogging the glass.
With her next intake of breath, she forces herself to let go of his hair, needing both her hands to push herself off the window. She has no doubt he could successfully make her come right there, against that glass panel, quite hard and fast, judging by the mounting pressure in her gut, but she would rather have his body against hers than a cold window.
Her yearning for him has become so intense, she's almost frantic as she turns in his arms. He offers no resistance, easing the process by briefly relinquishing his various holds on her. When he brings both his hands back to her face, pulling her up into a hungry kiss, she circles his waist, pressing their bodies together, her head fogged with need and desire. All ten of her fingers grab for his damp shirt, then, pulling not so gently, clutching fistful of it and freeing it from his pants.
Peter lets go of her mouth to help her pull it over his head, something she's only able to do because it's slightly too big on him. She swiftly brings her arms back around him, pressing her face to his neck; his skin is so warm, and he feels and smells so good. As she opens her mouth, her turn to taste him, she feels his hands in her hair, twisting deliciously, feels the vibrations that travel through his chest and throat before she even hears him groan, her blood rushing in her veins, pulsing down below.
She tightens her grip on him, then, pushing both forward and downward, causing him to stumble a few steps backward, until he catches up with what she's trying to do and starts lowering himself. Soon, he's sitting on the carpet, his hands still entangled in her hair as she straddles him again.
Peter doesn't question her, doesn't bother mentioning the various bedrooms, or even that couch right there. Her eyes are dark and slightly hazy, her pupils having once more swallowed up most of the green, her skin flushed, even starting to glisten a little. She wraps her arms around his neck again, her mouth finding his, open, eager, and hot; when he lets go of her hair to grab her buttocks, pulling her firmly to him and matching the rolling of her hips, she bites down on his bottom lip with a muffled moan; it barely stings, his brain and blood flooded with endorphin.
Judging by her loud, heaving breathing and the look on her face, she's even farther gone than him, if not almost there. She's grabbing his face now, leaning her forehead against his. "God Peter please…" she breathes, and he's quick, shifting them again, his hand going back between them, but she shakes her head against him. "You," she exhales, her voice low, raspy. "I want you."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He grabs the helm of her dress, pulling it up over her head, discarding it on the floor. He has to focus his attention on her holster, then, trying to unfasten it as swiftly as possible, but his brain is not at its most efficient, and he's not exactly sure how that works. Soon, she's shoving his hands away, and he watches as her fingers dexterously tug, unwrap and pull, until she's unceremoniously throwing holster and gun to the side. Giving her a pointed look meant to prove he's not completely inept, he reaches behind her, then, expertly unclasping her bra with one hand.
She actually purses her lips and rolls her eyes with a small shake of her head as she gets rid of that, too, a look he's often received from her. Intent on making it disappear, he bends down, pressing his palms upon her lower back to pin her to him and make her arch. His tongue gets to work, circling her nipple, before sucking it between his lips, just hard enough. Judging by the way the curve of her body increases, followed by another throaty moan, he's quite positive her brief annoyance is gone, both her hands instinctively back in his hair.
But already, Olivia is using that grip to try and get him to release her breast. "Peter…" she pleads, that thumping pressure swelling, having sunk deeper in the hot mist.
Once again, he obliges, his face coming back to her level as she straightens up. Threading his fingers through her hair, he gently pulls her face to his, pressing a kiss to her cheek. The gesture is oddly tender in such a moment, considering she's fighting the urge to tear the rest of his clothes off him. She might have rolled her eyes again, if he hadn't flipped their position over, then, until she's lying beneath him, and they quickly get rid of what's left of their clothes.
When he rolls back over her, positioning himself between her thighs, she slips an arm under his, her hand grabbing his shoulder, while the other sinks in his hair to pull him down to her, initiating a long, languid kiss meant to make the romantic boy in him blush. She locks her legs around his hips to try and bring the rest of him down; he's attempting to preserve some distance between their bare bodies, and she's not making it easy on him, pulling, pressing, undulating. Since he's supporting most of his weight on his forearms, she feels the tension in the shuddering muscles of his back.
"Olivia," he manages to utter against her mouth. "I don't have any-"
"It's fine," she hushes him. "It's okay. We're good."
Peter doesn't need to know more. His muscles relax, all the while tensing up in different ways, fully lowering himself and significantly increasing the contact between their humming skins. As he cups one of her breasts with a massaging hand, his mouth goes back to her throat. He nibbles at the reddened mark he left earlier, creating a succession of shivers that run beneath her skin. With her head thrown back, he swears he feels her pounding heartbeat as the blood pulses through her tensed neck, every inch of her covered in goosebumps.
He begins tracing a wet path down to her second breast, releasing the first one, his hand disappearing between them, back between her legs. He's more daring this time, curling his fingers inside of her as he sucks at her taut nipple, followed by a few quick flicks of his tongue, soon entrapping it in his warm mouth again. She arches up against him, her grip on him tightening as she clenches around his fingers, hot, slick and ready.
"Peter please," the words rush out of her, pulling at him, shaking against him, and he knows she's more than ready, on the verge of breaking.
He slithers back up, his fingers leaving her warmth, moving to grab the underside of her thigh. He rests his forehead against hers, not making another move for a few moments, slowing things down to give her the opportunity to breathe. She shifts and repositions herself around him, both her arms slipping under his to grab at his shoulder blades, until he feels her nod against him.
As he begins to enter her, he does it slowly, mindful of her body, the bite of her fingers sinking into his tensed muscles letting him know when she needs time to adjust. Soon, he's passed the initial tightness, and his entire being seems to be bathing in warmth. Her breath, too, is scorching hot against his skin as she pants, their faces still pressed together. The sting of her nails on his back begins to fade as she relaxes, feeling the heaving rise and fall of her chest beneath his.
He raises his head to look at her. Her eyes remain tightly closed, her lips parted, her skin flushed, almost vibrant in the flickering light of the fire, so close to reaching that peak. She's never looked more beautiful, and in that moment, he only wants to make sure he does this one thing right. He lets go of her thigh, then, gently grabbing the top of her knee instead.
"Straighten up your legs," he tells her softly. His voice, just like the rest of him, is wondrously warm; pressed together as they are, it reverberates through her.
She's nothing but raw nerves, now, barely able to breathe. She doesn't question him, too far gone to be able to think about anything but the feel of him and her need for release. She relaxes her legs, letting him unwrap one of them until it's on the floor between his, instinctively doing the same with the other. He shifts over her, then, supporting his weight on both his arms again as he moves his whole body upward, aligning their pelvic bones, and she gasps at the sudden added pressure upon the most aching part of her.
This time, he doesn't give her the opportunity to adjust to the sensation, apparently more intent on accentuating it. He begins to move again, creating a slow rolling motion with his hips, pushing against her more than into her, and each of these rolls results in an increasing friction. She's completely helpless, unable to do anything but cling to him, merely reacting to his movements, bending her legs between his, causing him to push harder against her as she digs her toes into his calves.
With each of his slow rolling thrusts, the heat gathers exponentially where his body meets hers, creating a blaze that roars within her; it expands and deepens, soon drawing long, guttural notes out of her. Before long, the fire is morphing into a flood of pleasure so intense and powerful, she has no other choice but to shatter from it, over and over again, as Peter keeps on swaying upon her. It overtakes her entire body and soul, her mind going absolutely blank as it spreads in every single one of her cells, infusing them with warmth.
Her descent back to earth is slow; it takes her mind a while to truly reconnect with reality. She cannot remember ever being this aware of her own body, every inch of her tingling. She feels everything, from that ridiculously fluffy carpet beneath her, to Peter's fingers, now on her face.
He's still deep inside of her, and she definitely feels that, too. He's lowered himself again, her legs tangled around his, her arms limp over his back, sweaty skin upon sweaty skin. When she finally opens her eyes, he's right there, above her, looking at her with slight concern.
"You okay?" he asks, and his voice is soft, caring. His fingers are moving, now, the back of his nails brushing her flushed skin, just like they had, Over There.
Above everything else, it is that small, gentle touch that causes her to break again.
She doesn't dissolve into tears, doesn't break into sobs, although a couple of salty drops do roll down her temples as her face constricts. Some breakdowns aren't physical at all, and not all of them are destructive.
Sometimes, a broken limb needs to be broken again, in order for it to heal.
Peter's concern grows, obvious in his eyes and in that deepening crease. Olivia wishes she could explain this feeling to him, but there is no point in even trying, not fully understanding it herself. She doesn't want him to worry, though, moving one of her arms to bring a hand to his face, before weaving her fingers through his hair.
"I'm fine," she whispers, and she means it this time.
He doesn't insist, choosing to believe her. Soon, he's leaning down, nuzzling her face, kissing away the few tears that have escaped her eyes as her arms and legs move. Resting his nose upon her cheekbone, eyes closed, he feels the way she's wrapping her entire body around him, holding him to her.
Until now, he has made it a point to focus solely on her and her pleasure, but it's becoming incredibly difficult to ignore the sensations she's giving him, his heart pounding in his chest. He's still buried inside of her, and even still as they are at the moment, the feel of her is enough to make his whole body quiver, hard.
Something in him is refusing to yield, though, to let himself go, all of his muscles tensing. Because it has dawned on him, how familiar and at ease he is with her, physically. He's too at ease, his knowledge of her body inconsistent with the sloppy clumsiness that usually greets first time lovers.
How is he supposed to fully make amends, when even now, he wills himself to forget, yet remembers everything?
Without a word, without a look, Olivia seems to sense his conflict, and just as quietly, she understands it, understands him. Both her hands are roaming, now, moving over his back, tracing patterns that are too deliberate to merely be soothing.
Yet, her touch is soft, loving.
She's shifting beneath him, then, moving her hips; when her hot core tightens around him at the clench of her muscles, he's helpless, his own hips rolling into hers, letting out a strangled moan, before stilling again, shaking noticeably, now.
"Peter…" she sighs his name, her breath once again warm against the skin of is his face, his nose still pressed to her cheekbone.
Her fingers travel to the back of his head, sinking into his hair. She pulls gently, until he raises his head to look at her. The sight of her eyes, with their infinite depth full of shadows and love, is enough to quiet some of his woes.
"Move with me…" Olivia whispers.
With me...
In the end, those two little words are all it takes for him to give in to her; they always are.
Peter chooses to chase all unwanted thoughts from his mind for the time being, focusing on the feel of her instead, on the feel of them, on how different this is despite the similarities, focusing most of all on that aching intimacy. He does move, then, resting his forehead upon hers, finally letting his needs take over, retreating almost fully, only to push himself more deeply into her a moment later, and she begins to move with him.
The feel of her is too much, all-consuming, forcing his eyes shut again, but that's alright. She's brought her second hand to his face, pulling him down to kiss him as their bodies become that stormy sea they're lost into. They swell and crash like waves, carried away by the winds of their desire and love.
After the way she had so completely shattered beneath him a short while ago, and given how it seems to have drained most of her remaining energy, Olivia doesn't expect much more from their embrace. She's perfectly content, letting that low, low warmth he's still creating in her carry her forth until he can find his own release.
He never once takes his face away from hers, fingers twisted in her hair, and she meets each of his thrusts, breathing the same air, her hands wandering over his back, softly raking her nails upon his clammy skin, inducing shivers upon shivers.
As they move together, though, his pace progressively quickening now that his body is taking over his burdened mind, she feels the unmistakable return of that growing pressure.
Somehow, it cannot be more different from the crushing pleasure she'd experienced earlier when her body found its long needed release. The pleasure she feels now has less to do with her, and everything to do with him, with them, with how aware she is of the way they're entangled in one another, bodies and souls.
There's an added momentum to their rocking bodies, now, as she pursues this sensation and lets this unexpected warmth take over. Her impending bliss is so tightly linked with his, it's as if she's developed the ability to feel what he feels; given her pre-existing set of abilities and that bond they've always seemed to share, it wouldn't be such a stretch.
With one of her legs firmly locked against his hip, the other presses upon the back of his thigh, her toes once more digging into his calf, pushing him harder into her with each thrust. She's brought both her hands back to his face, clinging to him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. When he begins to say her name over and over again, in supplication and love, she crosses the point of no return with him, the feel of him coming against her, within her, enough to unravel her completely.
They remain still for a suspended moment, in the aftermath, sluggish seconds turning into lazy minutes, mingled limbs and breaths.
Eventually, Peter moves, untangling himself from her, enough so that he's not crushing her anymore. He still ends up lying on her for the most part, just as reluctant to move his face away from hers. Olivia doesn't mind; there is something wonderfully comforting in the weight of him, tethering her firmly to the earth.
The next time he moves, it is to gently bump her nose with his, before he begins pressing soft, tender kisses upon her face, the way he had earlier tonight in that elevator. Olivia smiles, keeping her eyes closed.
Beneath every cynic, there is a frustrated romantic.
She uses her fingers still buried in his damp hair to respond to his caress with her own, filled with nothing but deep affection for this sweet, sarcastic man. Because he's all hers, baggage and all.
All hers, all hers, all hers…
He keeps his kisses light and chaste as he moves further down, until his face is pressed to the side of her neck. He nestles himself there, lulled by the feel of her fingers, still drawing soothing circles in his hair.
Within moments, Peter is sound asleep, his breathing deep and slow against her skin. Absolved.
Despite her own exhaustion, Olivia doesn't join him in his slumber, not right away, simply relishing in the feel of him, unable to tell where her body ends and his begins. There is something beautiful in such quantum entanglement.
When her gaze is eventually drawn to that fake fireplace, a few feet away from where they lie, her eyes get lost in the flames. She's appeased by their gentle dance and soft crackling sounds, melding with the pitter-patter of the rain, and with Peter's long and profound exhales in the crook of her neck.
With the warmth of his breath fueling the fire in her heart, Olivia falls asleep, the shivers in her bones gone at last.
FIN (oops not anymore xD)
(A/N: So, I've been "joking around" on my tumblr, saying this is my "goodbye fic", that once I finish some of the WIPs I still want to finish, I probably won't write for Fringe anymore...Realistically, I can't be a 100% sure I won't write anything for this paring again after I'm done with my WIPs (unless I suddenly lose part of my soul), but realistically, the show has also been over for 2 years, and I haven't exactly produced much since then.
No matter what, I still treated this baby of mine as a "last fic" of sort, an homage to P/O if you may, an homage to their beautiful love, and to what this beautiful love brought to me over these past 4 years. It not only gave me the motivation to learn to write (a lot) better in a language that isn't my own, it made me a better writer in general. It also gave me a place in the fantastic community that is the Fringe fandom. You guys were always so generous and loving toward me and my stories, you have spoiled me for life.)
I don't know if it showed, but I honestly poured everything I had in this story. Hearing from you and what you thought of the last part would mean so much to me, so don't hesitate to leave a review *smooches*
A/N (3 weeks later): I actually wrote more of this story. Because whenever I say I'm done writing things, my muse laughs at me then makes me cry. Two more parts, if not 3 hahahaha!