A/N: As some of you who follow my other stories or my Twitter already know, I recently lost my mom to her struggle with ESRF. These last three months have been the hardest of my life and most days I don't know how to put one foot in front of the other. But I'm still here. For whatever that's worth. So I just wanted you to know that in case you were thinking I disappeared or abandoned my in progress stories.
I hope you enjoy this update and don't let the somberness of my a/n take away from this chapter. This ends a bit on a cliffhanger and I don't know when I'll be able to update again so don't kill me. Hopefully soon, though.
Also, I love to toy with the fact that KW can sing in RL in my fics.
Happy holidays.
-M
"Come on old man!" Olivia shouts.
The volleyball sails past Fitz, hitting the sand with a dull thud. He grunts in frustration, blue eyes sparkling against the hot July sun. Sweat builds at his brow and his eyes Olivia with anything but a priestly glance. If she wasn't so damn cute across the net in her white bathing suit, he'd have a few choice words for her right now.
"You calling me old?" he hollers back, tugging on the collar of his t-shirt. He's covered in sweat and really should just take it off, but he's afraid of what someone around him might say. Priests are supposed to be known for their modesty after all, right?
"I am. How else could that awful t-shirt be explained on the beach other than your old man senses? You're dressed for a walk in the park…"
"Hush!" he howls, setting up the ball to serve back to her. He tries to spike it, but for being so tiny, Olivia's a force of nature. She easily hits the ground, covering her glistening dark skin in sand as she sends the ball back over the net.
For fucks sake, how'd she do that?
Fitz sighs as the ball plops down onto the ground next to him. Across the net, Olivia smiles. Her eyes twinkle and she tosses her head back, laughing.
The summer has proven to good to be true for the odd couple. They've spent just about every day since the final bell of St. Gabriel's had rung to signal the end of the school year, with one another. Ice cream dates, talking on the phone, random night walks. Fitz is having the time of his life. Even when she insists on shoving his aging bones in his face.
He picks up the ball and spins it between his palms. "You know, if we were playing basketball or something, I'd have you," he informs her, tossing the ball back over the night.
Again, she sends it right back; it's like she's not even trying.
"No you wouldn't. You might have height on me, but that's about it. I could outrun you for a layup easily," she touts, a frizzy curl swaying in the listless wind. "You're slow."
"You're ruthless," Fitz grunts as he moves to shoot the ball back over again.
"Ambitious, competitive, determined, zealous," Olivia offers as the ball bounces off her fingertips and flutters across the net.
Fitz takes such a light hit as his own signal to muster of the amount of force she's shown and he runs towards the net. He moves to power the ball back across, but a bead of sweat rolls down into his eye. Suddenly he's falling forward, tripping over air. The net folds and his body collides with Olivia's. They land against the warm sand with a harsh 'thunk,'the net the only barrier between their bodies.
"Shit," Fitz moans, watching as the ball plops down next them.
"You could say that again, potty mouth." Olivia whispers from beneath him and he realizes he must be crushing her. Not only is he almost a foot taller than her, but he has to have at least fifty pounds on her, as well.
"Sorry, I didn't — " he moves to shift off of her, but catches sight of her plump lips, her rising breasts pushing against the cups of her bathing suit, and hears her ragged breaths. She brings a thigh up and he falls in between her parted legs.
His body responds accordingly. He's hard in an instant and that sends him scrambling off of Olivia, his cheeks burning red in embarrassment; surely she felt him.
Olivia crawls out from underneath the net. "I'm going to get this sand off me."
/
She refuses to look back at him as she practically runs down to the water. Every inch of her body bubbles with heat; her skin is flush with desire. She'd brought her leg up as a way to leverage her weight and help him up, not to position him between her hips. Her actions while chaste in intent had caused unseemly - yet delicious - consequences.
He wants her just as much as she wants him.
It'd taken everything in Olivia to not attack his mouth right there on sand, to remind herself that he's a priest and still has vows to uphold.
She doesn't even flinch when she hits the freezing water, diving in head first to quench the burn. She pushes her body, swimming out to the buoys before her lungs force her to come up for air. The water's freezing, her teeth are chattering, but she's still unbelievably hot.
Fuck; she wants him. She wants him so bad that the fire between her legs can't even be quenched by ice water.
Her eyes drift back to shore as she floats, out of breath. She easily finds Fitz standing at the water's edge. His shirt is off and he's moving swiftly into the water. He stops as it reaches his waist and Olivia's heart stills. Her mouth dries and unconsciously she licks her lips, dragging her bottom lip into her mouth to suppress a moan.
This man is a god; a real life greek statue wading in waist deep water. His chest is chiseled, his abs defined (if she were closer, she'd count them, preferably with her tongue), and his arms toned. Why's he a priest again? Built like that, he should be on display at the MET. He looks as if he could trap her against any surface she suggests with the rigged contours of his body; demand she wrap her supple thighs around his taut core and —
The beach ball bounces off her forehead, knocking her out of her salacious thoughts and back into the present. Her eyes go wide as she regains some semblance of conscious and she turns to see two teens eyeing her with apologetic glances.
"Sorry! Can we have our ball back?"
She takes in a deep breath, hot air expelling from her lungs as she tosses the ball over to the kids and immediately sinks herself beneath the water's surface.
/
It's getting harder and harder to check his libido around Olivia Pope. Whether it's the ten, almost eleven, years in between his last sexual encounter or the simple fact that she's the most tantalizing creature he's ever come into contact with, Olivia is causing him to continue my question his vows of celibacy.
The beach incident had left him in agony, wading in waist deep ice water in hopes of cooling down. Driving back into DC had been nearly impossible with her next to him, skin slick and sparkling.
She's going to kill him. And the worst part about it all is that he doesn't even think she knows just how powerful of an effect she has on him.
Even now as they wade through the thickening crowd of people, in pursuit of a table, he has to force his hands to his side. He wants nothing more than to touch the sliver of brown skin that peeks out from where her tank top parts from her skirt. She's teasing and enticing him and she doesn't even know it. How could she? Her intentions in getting dressed after he'd dropped her at her apartment and fled to the safety of his own more than likely hadn't been to set herself on display for him. The white halter she wore and floor length black maxi skirt that covered her legs weren't begging to be slid down her shoulders and bunched up around her waist while he fucked her against the nearest hard surface and she cried out of his name. No, it was simply a way to fend off the ever stifling heat.
"How about here, Fitz?"
He looks up to see Olivia smiling at him, her curly hair perfectly framing her heart shaped face.
God, he could kiss her right now. Draw her top lip into his mouth and bite down, run his tongue along it to soothe the sting.
"Fitz?"
"Huh?" He asks, shaking his head to clear his un-priestly thoughts. His hormones are running like a fourteen year old boy's and he needs to find a way to get it in check.
"Are you okay tonight?" Olivia questions, pushing a rogue curl out of her eye.
Fitz chuckles awkwardly, ducking his head as a tinge of red coats his cheeks. "I'm fine. I just haven't had this much excitement in one day in a while."
And he isn't lying. They'd been together all summer, but today has pushed him into familiar, yet new territory. He hasn't thought about a woman in this way since Mellie. Sure he's had impure thoughts about Olivia before, but earlier his body had responded in such a visceral way that it almost scared him.
Her raised eyebrow tells Fitz that she isn't quite buying his excuse, but thankfully she doesn't push; instead, she motions to the table they've stopped at not too far from the dance floor, but nearly in front of the stage. A band's setting up and a waitress walks by asking if he wants anything to drink. Fitz declines her offer, opting for a water, but Olivia asks for a Gin Fizz, prompting the waitress to ask for her I.D. Olivia hands over her license without pause, and Fitz is subtly reminded of just how young his date is and how out of his element he might be.
Bike riding, movie watching, and restaurant hopping were a far cry from clubbing. His lust is replaced by insecurity as she gleefully sits. He fumbles into his own, nearly colliding with a passerby on the way to the stage.
"Sorry…" he mumbles as the waitress returns with his water and Olivia's drink.
"Are you really sure you're okay?" Olivia asks, leaning forward on her elbows. The warm light of the club bounces off her bare shoulders and Fitz wonders what it'd be like to press a kiss to her collarbone, hold her hands above her head and —
"Fitz?"
He's all over the map tonight and he has to shake his head to pop back into the moment. He hones in on her face, refusing to pay attention to just how loose, yet snug her top fits and the lack of bra straps underneath. "I'm fine, Liv. So, this is clubbing, huh?"
She laughs at his question and Fitz's brows furrow. "What'd I say?"
"Nothing, you're just cute; but this isn't clubbing. This is more of a lounge with live music than a club type of thing." She sips on her drink and glances over her shoulder. "Want to show me those dance moves from school out on the floor?"
His eyes flit about the crowd and he doesn't need glasses to know that he's probably the oldest and whitest person here. She can't be serious.
"I don't know the song," he tells her. "Or this type of dance." His eyes fall on the couple wrapped around each other.
"Fi—"
"Liv!"
Their conversation is interrupted by a guy Fitz doesn't recognise, a guy that Olivia clearly knows because as recognition dawns across her face, she stands and hugs him. Fitz nostrils flare, his fingers flex, and heat rises up his chest as he watches the two embrace. The man's hands land on Olivia's waist as they pull back to stare at one another and Fitz clears his throat to get their attention.
"Oh, Marcus! This is my date, Fitz. Fitz this is Marcus."
Marcus holds out his hand and Fitz shakes it.
"Good to meet you, man," Marcus tells him, "any friend of Liv's is a friend of mine."
"Likewise," Fitz says, but he can't help the jealousy that causes him to squeeze Marcus's hand a little too hard before letting go. Marcus slips his hands into his pockets and then turns back to Olivia.
"Came to see the show tonight?"
"I did! I heard you were playing and thought I'd drop-in. Plus, Fitz promised me a dance ages ago so I'm cashing in tonight."
Marcus's eyes land on Fitz and Fitz can see the skepticism in the other man's eyes. He feels it in his bones, too. Him, on that dance floor with her? Ha! But if this is what Marcus is thinking, he keeps his words to himself, and simply nods.
"Hey, look, we're gonna be hitting the stage in about ten. What would it take to get you up there with me?"
What? Fitz's brows quirk upwards and he looks at Olivia. She grins and ducks her head low, shaking her curls no before speaking. "I can't."
"You can and you have before. What's stopping you tonight?" Marcus asks and Fitz's curiosity is too strong to cap.
He knows Olivia is woman of many talents, and he's heard her hum a melody or two before, but he is curious to hear her belt out a full song now. Fitz leans forward on his elbows, a grin on his face. "Yeah, Livvie, what's stopping you tonight?"
Marcus smirks and winks at Fitz, clicking his tongue. "See, even your man agrees. Come on."
Olivia tilts her head, narrowing her eyes at Fitz. "I don't think so. I'm merely a spectator tonight. Okay. I'm going to sit down, listen to you sing, and sip my drink. Maybe me and my man can take a twirl or two on the dance floor. Thanks, but no thanks, Marcus," she declines, slipping back into her seat. Marcus holds his hands up in surrender before walking off.
But Fitz isn't so easily deterred. He's eager to pull back yet another layer of the woman in front of him. Besides, it'll give him something else to do besides be overwrought with a strange mixture of insecurity and lust.
"So you sing?" he asks, taking a long drink from his glass. "I'd like to hear you one of these days."
"And I'd like for Marcus to learn to be quiet, but here we are." She shoots back, fiddling with the straw in her glass.
He chuckles, finding the venom she's spitting endearing rather than poisonous. Plus, he can tell by the swell of her cheeks, she's simply joking.
"Do you sing often? How do you know Marcus?"
"We dated."
The jealousy blooms in his stomach and he sucks his teeth, trying not to show he's visibly annoyed by the fact. "Oh?"
"Down boy." Olivia smirks. "It was for a summer ages ago; we went to the same college. We did Acapella together."
"Who broke it off?" Fitz pushes, the words coming out of his mouth before he can stop them. It's none of his business, truly. She's young and beautiful. Of course she has past lovers.
"It was mutual, nosey. We realised we're too much alike. Plus, he snores." She shrugs.
Fitz's eyes slide towards the stage and he catches Marcus setting up a microphone. Marcus is good looking, clearly the same age as Olivia, probably someone she could easily walk around with without being stared at. They obviously have the same interests.
"What about you? I know you were married and now you've got the whole married to God thing going on, but was there ever anyone else?"
"No," he answers immediately, a pang of guilt reverberating in his belly. He's playing with different types of fire here. He's liable to get burned, liable to burn her, yet he can't walk away. "No. Not before and there hasn't been anyone else I've wanted until...you." He's honest with her and he can tell she's taken back slightly. Her bottom lip pops open and her doe eyes widen.
Whatever she's about to say, if she's about to say anything, though, is left unspoken. Marcus's band begins to play. The music is smooth, soft and simple; melodious as it fills the air and Marcus begins to sing. Olivia breaks their gaze and turns her attention towards the stage.
/
Must he always be so intense?
She simultaneously hates and loves it when he looks at her this way. Her eyes might be on the stage, but her attention is on him. As is his on her. She's been trying - and failing - to calm down all day, to quell the part of her that wants to pounce him and has since they hit the beach.
When they'd parted ways at her apartment to prepare for their night, she'd stood under an ice cold spray hoping that'd stop her deviant thoughts. And when that didn't work, she'd pulled out her vibrator.
But she has neither of those things right now as she sits across from him, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
He's still staring at her and she just wants him to stop, right now before she reaches over the table and kisses him silly.
On stage Marcus croons into the microphone, singing a gender bent cover of Alicia Key's 'You Don't Know My Name.' Olivia tries to hone in on the words, listen to Marcus's voice; he always was one of the best in the acapella group. But it doesn't last long. Her eyes slide back towards Fitz and he's still looking at her, the Superman curl perfectly coiffed against his forehead.
"Dance with me? Olivia asks, needing a reason for him to hold her close, to be in his arms.
"Out there?" He raises both of his eyebrows and Olivia nods.
"Where else?"
"I don't know…"
"You said you would."
"Yeah a month ago…"
Unwilling to take no for an answer, Olivia rises to her feet and gravitates to the dance floor, a little extra sway in her hips as she goes. Only a few seconds pass before she's approached by a tall-ish guy, slim. He asks if she wants to dance, but before she has a chance to decline, Fitz declines for her. He spins her in place and wraps an arm around her waist.
Olivia's heart flutters in her chest and she relaxes into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her top rides up and his thumbs find the newly exposed skin. She shivers, chills going up her spine and together they lazily sway to the beat.
"So that's all it takes, huh? Make you jealous then you come running like Fred Astaire?"
"What do you know about Fred Astaire?" Fitz asks, his breath warm against her cheek. She feels his right hand slide up to rest on the small of her back, and he pulls her closer so that she's flush against his chest. Her breasts strain against the thin cotton blend of her top, brushing against his chest.
"A lot actually. My mom loved old Hollywood. Plus, they taught me one of life's great lessons."
"Mhmm, and what would that be?" he asked, his smiling nearly making her sink to the floor. It was perfectly imperfect, crooked and boyish.
"That women will have to spend their lives doing everything men do, usually backwards while in high heels and still not get an ounce of the respect."
"You're right," Fitz agreed.
Olivia quirked an eyebrow, thoroughly impressed. She sighed contently, locking eyes with Fitz.
The soft hum of the music lulled their bodies to and fro and they relaxed into each other. Wanting to test her boundaries, Olivia licked her lips, pressing a somewhat chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Fitz chuckled breathily, tilting his head and brushing his lips against hers. God, he's killing her. Does he even know how intoxicating he is? She just wants to fall into him and never find a way out.
She closes her eyes, her lips taking on a mind of her own as she chases his. She pulls his bottom lip into her mouth, her fingers finding and tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck. He moans and she feels his arms tighten around her, pulling her close, bunching up the material of her top and they're both so far gone that it takes them both a long minute to realise that Marcus is calling her name over the microphone.
"Olivia, Olivia Pope, I know you're still here. Get up here…"
They break apart and Olivia's head tilts towards the stage. Marcus is looking out at the crowd.
"Come on, Liv; get up here. You really thought I was going to let you say no that easily?" he asks and Olivia narrows her eyes.
"Olivia...there she, oh, goes…" There's a light on them and a few people clap.
Sheepishly Olivia unwraps herself from around Fitz as he scrambles to do the same.
"There she is. A little too cozy. Hate to break up your little love-fest out there, but I told you to get up here. See," Marcus talks to the crowd, "Liv here has one of the best voices I've heard...outside of mine that is. Y'all help me get her out here for a duet."
More whistles and claps follow Marcus's words and Olivia shakes her head.
"I couldn't. I can't...nope," she yells back at Marcus.
A flush faced Fitz nudges her shoulder with his elbow, though. Redness creeps up his neck and he looks embarrassed, though he's pushing through it.
"For me, Liv?" he asks.
Again he gives her that stupid smile and Olivia sighs. She shakes her head and dramatically tosses her hands in air. "Fine. For you."
/
Another layer of Olivia Pope is revealed to Fitz as she takes the stage. She shoves Marcus playfully as a stagehand brings out another microphone. He sets it up for Olivia and she steps up to the mic.
"I hate Marcus, just so you all know," she tells the room soliciting laughter from the crowd.
She's magic up there, taking to the spotlight easily. Fitz makes his way back to his seat and watches in rapt fascination, thankful to have distance between them. Moments ago he'd been so close to crossing the line, right there on the dance floor.
He has to pull himself together.
The slow strum of a guitar starts, Olivia and Marcus snap their fingers and a beat passes before she starts to sing.
Now the skies could fall
Not even if my boss should call
The world is seems so very small
Cause nothing even matters, at all
See nothing even matters
See nothing even matters at all
Nothing even matters at all…
He hears angels sing.
Her voice is velvet, warm cotton straight from the dryer, a breezy summer day, and another facet of her he can - and desperately wants to - get lost in. He doesn't even realize it's a duet - all that matters is Olivia. She might as well be up there alone, singing softly into the mic. Her eyes are closed and she looks at peace.
These buildings could drift out to sea
Some natural catastrophe
Still there's no place I'd rather be
'Cause nothing even matters to me
He might just be falling in love with Olivia Pope.
/
"You were amazing up there," Fitz tells her as they reach her apartment door. He's still in awe, her voice is on an endless loop in his head. "Did you and Marcus write that song?"
Olivia laughs. "No, it's a Lauryn Hill song. A duet with D'Angelo and you probably have no idea who I'm talking about."
"Lauryn Hill? She was in that movie with Whoopi Goldberg and does that song with the Fijis."
Again, Olivia laughs. "Fugees, but that'd be her."
"See, I'm cool. I pay attention to the kids," he jokes as she slips her key into the top lock and then the bottom, popping her door open. "You really were amazing up there tonight."
This is where they bid farewell and make plans and promises for tomorrow and the next day. He moves to kiss her goodnight, but she dodges the kiss. His lips fall against her cheek and he pulls back, confused.
Olivia holds onto the door handle, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth and her doe eyes sparkling against the hall light. "Don't do that," she whispers, tucking a curl behind her ear. "If you do that, I'm going to ask you to come inside and stay the night. And we both know why we can't."
The air around them is charged, thick and heavy, just in need of a simple spark to ignite the passion that lingers between them. Fitz works a hand over his face. One by one her words hit him.
Come inside.
Stay the night.
We can't.
Stay the night.
Come inside. Stay the night. We both know why we can't. Come inside...
He can't...he's made vows. He's a man of God. He's…
He's a man and the flesh is weak.
His mouth is on hers in an instant. Their kiss is frenzied and frantic, the tension between them imploding. Together they fumble through the door, kicking it closed behind them.