A/N: To make up for the last one, here's a funny one…though I feel ashamed for having been pressured into write this. Obviously written long before 'Welcome to Westfield' and its blue opening scene ever grazed our screens with all its S-rated-ness
BAD SEX
This was without a doubt the most underwhelming sex Olivia had ever had.
Granted, she hadn't had that many lovers in her life to compare him with, and her last one before tonight had been John Scott–so it was hard to do any better in the first place, and of course, first times were always sloppy, Peter had said it himself.
But really, there was sloppy and sloppy.
She was actually quite intrigued by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself alright over there, judging by the sounds and funny faces he kept on making, while she was just getting bored. But after all, her mom had once told her on her dying bed that she would always be able to keep a man happy as long as she lay on her back once or twice a month. May she rest in peace, that wise woman.
Olivia had really tried to get into it at first, thinking that it would get better if she persisted –and Olivia Dunham was one persistent woman, but Peter had managed the impossible: he had made her give up, after only 15 minutes of missing out on all her erogenous spots.
All of them.
He kept kissing her chin instead of her lips, for some reasons. Maybe Walter had drugged him with something. She hoped Walter had drugged him with something.
Walter…at this point, she was pretty sure Walter was a better lover than his son.
Lucky for her, it was Tuesday tomorrow.
A/N: I know.
I have a short fluffy P/O story about their Friday nights routine lost somewhere on my tumblr. I'll dig it up and post it tomorrow if you want it xD