n. Latin phrase meaning "for one's self." Used to denote a person representing oneself.
"This is the plot of a poorly written fanfic." Olivia lingered in the doorway, eyes narrowed. The room was nice enough she supposed. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the dazzling lights of the Strip. A large bed dominated the center of the room and a tub she reluctantly admitted to wanting to give a try lay just through the en suite.
"If that was the case, this would have been the only bed available." Fitz stood by one of the windows, his forearm resting on the glass and his back to her as he took in the views below.
"As far as Cyrus is concerned, this is the only bed available to us." Olivia curled her lip in distaste, finally allowing the door to close behind her as she fully entered the room.
"We're madly in love and getting married in four months. It would look just a bit suspicious if we had separate rooms."
"Well I think it's suspicious that we're taking a vacation in the middle of an election season." She crossed her arms, sitting primly on the edge of the bed and ignoring the urge to fall backwards and luxuriate in the softness of the large mattress.
"Not as suspicious as you not having met my family." He finally turned, leaning his back against the window as he watched her.
"Can you…not do that? Despite what I may have previously indicated, I would feel bad if you fell through that glass."
Chuckling, Fitz stood from his leaning position to perch on the arm of what looked to be a considerably comfortable sofa. Olivia tried to block the images of the two of them using said sofa in the evenings, with the blinds down to provide the projection screen of course, throughout the course of the week. She happened to be a sucker for romantic comedies.
"Look at Cyrus's master plan already in action. Now I know you don't like heights."
"That's a secret that stays in this room," Olivia quipped, schooling a serious look across her features. "How are going to get through this week?"
"I'll sleep on the sofa." Fitz shrugged, crossing his legs at the ankle and resting more of his weight on the sofa's arm.
"And blame me for the resulting backaches?" Olivia raised a brow.
"I'll survive."
"We'll take turns." Olivia decided, standing and looking for her suitcase. Finding the black suitcase near the bed, she knelt on the floor to rummage for her nightclothes.
"I'm fine on the sofa," Fitz continued to argue once she had closed her suitcase, standing with her pajamas in her arms.
"Is this some chivalry thing?" Olivia rolled her eyes, hugging her clothes to her chest as she took steps toward the en suite.
"It's an I'm trying to be a decent human thing."
"We'll revisit it in the morning," Olivia decided, already half in the bathroom. "You'll be much less likely to argue while in excruciating pain."
In the morning, despite the constant twinge in his lower back, Fitz absolutely refused to concede to Olivia's numerous attempts to trip him into admitting that he would do nearly anything to avoid that hateful sofa. Olivia, eagle-eyed as ever, hadn't missed a single moment of his grimacing whilst rubbing at his lower back - or the ridiculously lengthy shower he had taken upon first waking that had left the mirror fogged over for such a time that she had had to leave for breakfast without makeup.
"Good morning!"
Olivia snorted, hand flying to her lips to prevent any unfortunate spray as she'd only just taken a sip of her coffee, at the near murderous look Fitz gave Cyrus. Reaching for a napkin, she dabbed at her mouth as Cyrus sat at their small table.
"I take your good mood is in relation to your room having the proper amount of beds for its occupants," Fitz snarked.
"Just the one bed - the large, comfortable bed."
"I hate it here," Fitz grumbled, wincing as he stood and began a slow trek toward the trash bin.
"What is that?" Cyrus questioned.
"He slept on the sofa. He definitely has a backache, but he's too stubborn to admit it because it'll hurt his fragile masculinity for me to sleep there tonight." Olivia shrugged, turning her attention away from the governor and to her mentor. "Dirty little trick with the room, Cy."
"Not dirty at all," Cyrus disagreed, snagging a piece of her muffin, "Imagine if I had booked the two of you a separate room. The press would have had a field day."
"There are connecting suites," Olivia pointed out, pushing her half-eaten muffin to his side of the table.
"Now where would the fun be in that?" Cyrus asked with a twinkle in his eyes and not a hint of regret.
"Another night on that sofa and he might actually murder you." Olivia watched as Fitz limped toward the restroom in the back of the small coffee shop.
"Ah, but you might be thanking me."
Cough. Cough. Cough. Olivia brought her hand to her chest, pounding, palm open, a couple times as she choked on her coffee - surprised by Cyrus's words. Bringing her napkin back to her mouth, wiping at what little had escaped during her coughing fit, she glared at Cyrus, cheeks flaming.
"You're not getting any thanks from me for messing up the room arrangements."
"Oh but I will once the two of you have gotten over all the showboating and done the deed."
"My parents' home. Er…vacation home," Fitz clarified as their rental pulled into the rounded drive.
Olivia peered out the window - taking in the ornate, Pueblo-Revival home that sat at the center of the drive. Tall, leafy palm trees flanked the steps leading up to the door and beds of tropical plants lined the perimeter. As their car rolled to a stop, Olivia noted the door opening and an older man, every bit an aged version of the governor, stepped out with a pretty redhead.
"Not my mom," Fitz announced, shutting the ignition off. "Some poor girl he's tricked into his bed. Probably younger than you."
"Your mom?" Olivia frowned, watching as the redhead practically hung from Jerry's arm, bouncing from foot to foot as she spoke.
"Won't be here until Friday. Some things going on with my granny –" Olivia bit her lip to keep from smiling too wide at his pet name for his grandma. It was sweet. "She's aware of my father's…dalliances."
"Dalliance? Okay, Mr. Darcy." Olivia raised a brow, smirking as Fitz chuckled.
"Thank you," he whispered, hand going to the door handle.
"Whatever for?" Olivia shrugged, winking. She wouldn't admit that she had cracked that joke at his expense to garner a laugh and ease the tension that had become damn near palpable the minute Fitz had seen his father step out with the girl Olivia was quickly beginning to refer to as 'Barbie' - at least in her own thoughts.
The meeting with Fitz's father and, though Olivia still stubbornly clung to 'Barbie', Jessica, had been short and sweet - if not a bit frosty. Jerry had jumped at nearly every opportunity that presented itself to question their engagement. He clearly was not a fan - no matter what tactics Olivia had learned and attempted to employ to satisfy Jerry's concerns. At the end of the day, she knew that Jerry thought she was a golddigger. It was nearly comical that the man was right about their engagement being a sham, but completely wrong as to the reason.
Despite the borderline hostility that had been radiating from Jerry, Fitz had been warm as ever. Warmer, even, than the night of the charity ball. He had smiled at all her jokes - even the bad ones. And the feel of his arm, sometimes heavy, but always comforting, still echoed on her skin hours later as they lazed about their hotel room. Echoes of the heat that had formed between her thighs the minute Fitz had, in no certain terms, asked his father to cease with the comments toward his fiance, still lingered as well.
And so, while Fitz lounged on the ever-hated sofa watching the local news station, Olivia had locked herself away in the bathroom. Her heart raced in her chest and a lovely shade of pink was blooming across her cheeks and down her neck as she turned the water on. She quickly shed her clothes as the water warmed before twisting her hair into a topknot. She double checked that she had locked the door - the fear of Fitz catching her at what she was about to do was ever present.
One last look at the door and she was settling into the large bathtub, wincing as her back hit the cold bottom. Water lapped at the back of her thighs as she scooted forward, allowing her legs to rest against the tiled wall. It took her a minute to fall into a position that was comfortable and, at first, the pressure of the water was too much - ripping a shriek from her and forcing her thighs shut.
More comfortable after adjusting the water pressure, she allowed her legs to fall apart again and slid her hands up her stomach, settling just under her breasts before she had the nerve to move further north and cup the soft mounds. A breathy gasp slid past her lips as her thumb brushed across her nipple, the angle and pressure of the water hitting her clit just right as she rolled her hips.
"Liv - are you almost done? I need to pee."
Fitz's voice, muffled only slightly by the door, made it all the easier for her to imagine that it was his hands, his mouth, on her - bringing her all the pleasure she was bringing herself. That thought, alongside the sensual aid of hearing his voice, hurtled her over her peak and she had to bite her lip, likely drawing blood, to stifle any wayward moans.
"Liv?" Fitz called again as she continued to lay in the shallow puddle of cooling water, chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths and legs tossed to the side so the steady stream of running water was hitting the back of her thighs rather than her now oversensitive clit.
"I'll be out in a minute," she breathed, tossing an arm over her eyes.
How the fuck was she supposed to make it in a hotel room with him for another three days?