Clocks

"Fitz?"

"Yes..."

"I want your dick in my mouth."

September, five months after Episode 2

/Washington, Thursday, 11:32 PM/

Olivia studied herself in the bathroom's full length mirror. Intently she gazed at her pelvis, willing herself to see the inner workings beneath the golden umber of her flesh. The pain she recognized every month—an insipid but persistent thrum on the left side of her body—was a micro obsession in this moment. She squared her shoulders and corseted her breathing, regulating it as if its sprawling threatened the delicate ballet taking place inside her. Was it delicate? Maybe it was lumbering and jerky. Her large chestnut eyes bore into herself until she envisaged the blood-orange, gelatin-like sphere, spat out by her ovary, maneuvering down the path of her fallopian tube, toward its inevitable demise. There would be no rendezvous. No big bang that sparks creation. Nothing that would nestle itself into the walls of her womb, clinging dependently to her. Inside her. Not this month.

It was now month 13 since they had started trying. And failing. A week since he'd been gone this time. Still eight days remained until she would smell and feel the evidence of his presence again. A few days amounted to cute tropes about the heart growing fonder and all that. Two weeks meant feeling un-moored. She had only just reached the mid-point of his trip. How pathetic. A ball of contradictions, she was completely in command of work and staff, but without him, she felt emotionally rudderless.

Sometimes, when she would need him to listen to her, he'd make her lie down on her back while he lay attentively at her side. Thinking of him, Olivia began caressing the low cut tuft decorating the triangular apex of her thighs. She was hoping her touch would have the same salutary effect his always does. The heft of his hand betrayed the gentility and warmth of his touch. Always skin on skin, clothes be damned. His bulbous pads would gently massage back and forth over the expanse of her lower abdomen, until they reached the edge of her manicured mound. Without discernible pattern, his fingers would dip past the edge, delighting in stroking the silken mane there. Touching her in this way never failed to relax her. His act of listening to her, no matter how generous or few her words were, made her feel safe and treasured.

Blocking everything else out allowed her to conjure his presence. Not that he was predictable, but his compulsion to swaddle her in safety was unfailing. Thinking of him now dampened that urge toward self-pity over another missed opportunity. She chuckled to herself imagining him naked, standing behind her. He would kiss the visible vertebrae of her neck as his arms encircled her, brush the side of her face with his night time stubble. His cornflower blue eyes would peer at her reflection, making her feel luminous. He'd whisper in her ear, "Or?" It was one of his little tricks to compel her toward a more optimistic train of thought. If it's one thing that man thrives on, it's hope.

She let his spirit fully inhabit the lacuna of his absence. Instead of the crimson tide of failure soon to be flushed out from inside her, she began to imagine the glow and swell of success on her body. Entwining her hands, she placed them beneath her imaginary fecundity. Tentatively she turned toward a more hopeful view of the future.

/Osaka, Friday, 1:43 PM/

A potent vibration against Fitz's chest startled him. The unexpected jolt from his phone-in 'Do Not Disturb' mode—meant it could be only one person. After eight days, converting the 13 hour time difference between Washington and Japan had become second nature. It was 12:43 AM there. He momentarily considered her safety: Is she OK? Does she need me? The clearing of a throat—John's, his Chief of Staff—brought his attention back to his presentation.

"Gentlemen, as I was saying..."

Fitz exited the meeting, held at Osaka's Museum of History, feeling cautiously optimistic. Securing financial and intellectual commitment to housing the Kaifu Cultural Institute of Japan at Georgetown was crucial to the goals he set as president. Having the Institute at the University, instead of a generic location in Washington, meant attracting world renowned scholars, offering new courses, internship opportunities, attracting a more diverse cohort of students, and, of course, a steady stream of research funds. But majority control would be in the hands of the Japanese government, with the potential for ideological gridlock. Adamant that the Institute should not serve as a propaganda machine for revisionist history—by the US or Japan, Fitz negotiated with the delicate balance required to cross a tightrope. His charm and intelligence, his ability to listen to multiple angles and deduce the right course to plot always stood him in good stead. It was Olivia's advice on cultural observations that proved the boost to his confidence. Be firm, but not pushy; observe Japanese cultural business traditions of small talk before expertly pivoting to your business agenda, were just a few of her recommendations.

Fitz was almost hyper-focused on his goals for this trip: close the deal on the Institute and secure the $10 million dollar endowment gift. Each day in Japan was different. Missing Olivia was his constant. The thirteen hour time difference meant they played phone tag with voicemails, and swapped texts and emails more than they got to actually connect. With Congress back in session and Washington in full swing, he knew Olivia wasn't exactly twiddling her thumbs waiting for his calls. His schedule was unrelenting. To her credit, Lauren had arranged meetings and tours with great efficiency and use of time during this two week trip. It left him little time for anything other than sleeping and tending to business back home. Though he had delegated authority in his absence, it did not stop the emails; the minor emergencies that would not abide his absence; and the approval process for the unexpected hiring of a new dean for their top-ranking law school. On the bright side, replacing the now scandalized Dean Astley presented Fitz with an opportunity to address his equality agenda.

Fitz took a deep breath. His firm pectoral muscles swelled against the breast pocket housing his phone. He reached inside hoping to discover a message from Olivia. She and her team were working 'round the clock in the last week or so. She was probably just saying a quick hello. He listened to her voice, notably sweet and fatigued:

"Hi...if you see this in the next 30 minutes, call me.

I'm worn out from the longest day ever, but I just can't

fall over the edge. I just... I need to hear your voice."

Need. He loved that word when it came out of Olivia's mouth. The way she would plead it with her eyes and knitted brow, arresting. He needed her in all ways. Acknowledging this fact did not make him feel weak. It made him feel strong, like reinforced steel. Their marriage was a mathematical equation. Without her, he felt as if he'd been subtracted from; disemboweled of something vital, without which things just didn't add up.

Fitz checked the time. He cursed himself for missing his window by more than an hour. The Q&A session following his presentation had gone on entirely too long, a consequence, in part, of needing translators. He dared not call the house phone and risk waking her, if she did manage to fall asleep. She had sounded so tired. In the last four years, neither of them had slept alone for more than three nights in a row. No matter the season, Olivia would complain of feeling cold without him next to her. He knew exactly how she felt.

It was nearly 4:30 AM in Washington. In the next three hours, she would be up. His last appointment should be over in time for a brief chat before she'd arrive at OPA. Fitz fired off an email to Lauren as he listened to John's diatribe about the inferiority of Japanese desserts. Fitz flashed him a few glib eyebrow raises to acknowledge his chatter, promising himself to correct John's ethno-centrism tonight at dinner.

/Washington, Friday, 7:52 AM/

"Quinn, I'll be right there! I know Schumann. Listen... I will be there before he shows up. Trust me. You make sure you're ready."

"But, Liv, he—"

"Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"Goodbye."

Olivia tossed the phone onto the bed. She stared at her mismatched feet in the mirror, deciding on the suede taupe stilettos over the smoke grey platforms. They looked better with the black ankle length, slim cut trousers she was sporting. She was a tad grumpy from lack of sleep and, truth be told, lack of Fitz. When he hadn't called late last night, she'd done the only thing she could to fall asleep.

Olivia grabbed her taupe Prada bag and headed swiftly down the stairs. As she reached for the door, the phone sounded again. Without looking at the caller, she answered.

"What?!"

"Livvie?" Fitz said breathlessly. He'd barely registered her impatient business greeting, so eager was he to finally connect with her.

She softened. "I'm here. I can't believe it's you. It's been days now since I've actually spoken to you and not your voicemail. I..." She paused her movements briefly. "I miss you, Fitz."

"Liv, it would be an understatement to say I miss you. But I do. I can't sleep without you." He paused to avoid competing with the hive of activity on Olivia's end. The click clack of her heels echoed on the driveway, followed by rustling and then the slam of her car's door. "I thought I would have caught you slightly sooner. How are you?" he said, the epitome of earnestness.

"You've been busy, I've been busy. But none of that has made being apart any easier. Since you've been gone, it feels like we're constantly dancing around each other. I thought we'd be better at this." Recognizing her error, she revised. "Bad analogy. Our actual dancing is perfectly in sync."

"Except for salsa." He cleared his throat. " I don't wanna brag, but I'm hard to keep up with."

She rolled her eyes in jest, before pulling out her garage key pass. "I may not be there, but I'm 100% certain you are wearing that smug little smirk of yours."

"If that's how you'd like to imagine me, Ms. Pope..."

"Well, Doctor, the smirk did make an appearance in my...imaginings...of you last night."

"About that, Liv, I'm so sorry I didn't call. The translators..."

He didn't need to make excuses. She understood. "I don't need you, mister. I have a very exciting life." She impishly insisted while flipping her hair as if he could see her.

"Olivia Pope, I love you."

"I love you, too, Fitzgerald Grant the third." Wanting to prolong this sense of levity before the start of her hectic day, she decided to tease him further. "When I didn't hear from you, I tried to be Zen about relaxing—Yogic breathing, sheep, blah, blah. Until I just couldn't ignore the obvious solution anymore—taking matters into my own hands."

"I'm definitely kicking myself for missing that. Tell me what you were thinking about."

"No recaps, mister. You should have tuned in live" she mocked. Realizing the hour, she sighed. "I just pulled into my parking spot. I have to go."

"At least tell me what you're wearing right now," Fitz pleaded playfully.

"You are shameless! Goodbye." she beamed.

"Wait... Liv?" The air shifted between them as he paused. His voice dropped to its most mellifluous octave. "Tonight I'll tuck you in. That's a promise."

Rarely making a promise he couldn't keep, Olivia knew Fitz to be a man of his word. "That came out dirty." She replied, pursing her lips.

"Good. That's how I meant it."

Her nipples sharpened into tiny daggers, pushing against the soft padding of her bra. She groaned in frustration before disconnecting the call. Could it be next weekend already?, she wondered.

"Huck, you're sure these instructions are clear, and fool-proof?" Olivia interrogated.

"I could explain the technical details—"

"That would ruin it for the both of us" Olivia interjected. "I just need to ensure complete confidentiality." Olivia could hardly reconcile with herself what she was set on attempting.

"You know what I say: if you want safe, keep it analog."

Olivia stared at him blankly.

Huck took the hint. "If you're going digital and want to keep it simple, this is the way to go. Your video is less likely to be intercepted and end up in the wrong hands. Also, if the receiver takes a screen grab, you get a notification. The downside: the video has to be less than 10 seconds, and the viewer can only watch it two times—max—before it disappears forever."

"10 seconds, got it. And I can send multiple videos to the same recipient?" she said with her arms crossed, affecting an air of professionalism.

Huck looked away from his computer screen and regarded Olivia curiously before the horror of realization washed over him. His eyes sought shelter for his embarrassment. He typed a post-it note on his desktop, a reminder to install a monitoring system on his son's phone. Kids these days...

"Huck?"

"Uhh, yeah, you can send as many 10-second clips as you'd like. The same rule applies."

As if right on cue, Harrison swept Olivia away from Huck's office.

"Liv, are we still on for tonight? My treat."

"You'd better. Komi's at 7, right?"

"About that, I had it changed to 8:30. I hope that still works. Fitz isn't home, so I thought..."

Conferring her objection, Olivia's eyes slowly swept up and down Harrison's well-tailored frame before glaring at him once more. "On this occasion it works, but don't ever presume my time and attention are more available because my husband isn't home. My whole life is not about him." She noted the time on the clock behind Harrison's head. "Make sure you have Senator Shumann's statement ready for my revision by 4 PM. We're live at 6 from the Capitol." She pivoted on her heels leaving Harrison to stand there slack-jawed, twirling his phone.

It was early afternoon and Olivia sat at her desk looking through SEC filings.

"Eat." Abby placed a plastic container filled with verdant leaves in front of Olivia.

"Abby..."Olivia whined. "I don't have time. I'm doing a favor for Hollis Doyle. Seems he's in trouble with the SEC and shares of Doyle Energy are plummeting from the public perception of his company."

"Which is exactly why you need to eat" Abby insisted. "Hollis Doyle requires a lot of energy."

Note to self, Olivia thought, don't hire sassy litigators, even if they are your best friend.

"It has bacon on it." Abby sang.

Olivia looked curiously at the container, pouting in defeat. She picked up the fork, skewering a piece of apple wood smoked English bacon resting on a hill of fibre. Abby sauntered out, pleased with herself.

Olivia sat and ate while making her way through the assortment of notifications crowding her phone. She noticed a missed iMessage from Fitz that was a few days old:

"I'd like to take you here one day.—Cape Maeda, Okinawa"

Beneath the text was a photo of a lush and beautiful seascape, taken from the vantage point of what looked to be a cliff. Olivia began tapping out a cheeky one-handed reply:

"Breath-taking. But kind of a public place to *take* me, no?"

"For swimming and snorkeling, dirty girl. But I'll *take* you anywhere you want." His reply, swift and sparkling, brightened the 15 minutes she allotted herself for lunch.

"This is why I leave you notes and keep the texting to a minimum when we're not travelling."

"Because I'm so irresistible?"

"More like distractingly flirtatious"

"Ok, I'll try serious and sincere. Let's see how you like that. Tell me about your day"

She knew this man. He'd end up at square one soon enough. But for now, she'd abide Mr. 'serious and sincere'.

"Busy. I'm juggling a few clients, and Harrison and I are having dinner later. More business, I suspect. Fitz, it's almost 3AM where you are. Is everything OK?"

Why was this salad so big, Olivia wondered. Her jaw was getting a workout.

"John's proven to be a much bigger asshole than I previously thought. But other than that? Things are just swell."

"Ok, Andy Griffith"

"What would you do if you didn't have me to tease?"

"The nerve. You are the biggest tease alive. Speaking of, what time did you imagine I'd need to be *tucked in*?"

"Other than my flight to Tokyo, Lauren left my Saturday wide open. So, your wish is my command"

"Stop being so cute. I still have to deal with Schumann's resignation. Can you believe he slept with the 21 year old daughter of his wife's best friend?! Also, your Dean Astley was practically begging me to take on his underage-student sex scandal. Involving waterworks, no less! I told him it was a conflict of interest. Why would he even think he could come to me?"

"You can't blame him for trying. You're brilliant. The best, in fact."

"What did I say about being so darn cute?"

"I'm not apologizing"

"I don't want you to"

"...is something you don't say very often"

"So much for 'serious and sincere'"

"You love it, come on"

"At this time I have no comment."

Olivia thought of Abby, who frequently complained about couples on social media fawning all over each other with sickening sweetness. She said she wanted to punch them in the face. Olivia briefly considered if these quips with her husband would rouse Abby's fist.

"Livvie...I do have something serious that we need to talk about. I received the list of short-listed candidates for Dean Astley's position. There are five of them. You'll never guess who's on it."

"I'm sure I can. I'd rather not discuss this over iMessage. The committee has to wait for your return to do the interviews, right?"

"I insisted. The interviews are on the Wednesday after I get back. The new Dean has to be hired, on-board and fully up-to-speed by the end of October. Our ranking is on the line."

"I know. And I understand, but I want you in front of me when we discuss this. K?"

"Sure."

Olivia's 15 minutes were almost up. Not wanting their chat to close on that note, she turned to her plans with him later that night.

"Now, about tonight... Will you install Snapchat on your phone for me? My username is 'Dr's_Orders'"

"Love the name, but are we 12 suddenly?"

"This is for adult eyes only"

A mere two minutes passed before Fitz returned a reply. "My username's III_SUPERPOWERS_III"

"All caps, really? I hate you"

"But you love my superpowers ;) "

" -_- Bye!"

/Osaka, Saturday, 7:02 AM/

Fitz had been up for nearly an hour. Osaka's bright September light had poured into every crevice of his hotel room. In the time that he'd been here, the sky had been composed of little more than endless poufs of silver cotton. Because of this he hadn't bothered to use the blackout curtains of his high rise hotel. CNN, the only English channel available on his TV played softly in the background as Fitz, clad in his reading glasses, t-shirt and boxers, sat up against the headboard reading up on local Tokyo culture and its quirks. Especially the quirks. Tokyo has an inordinate number and variety of sex shops, clubs and bars.

Burst of light flashing across the TV's screen caught his attention. Looking up, he saw Senator Schumann, contrite as a dozen microphones ate up his every word. He would be resigning as head of the Senate, but not as Senator. Fitz was sure he was undeserving of keeping that title. He should be grateful that Olivia's resolute belief in second chances extended to the likes of him. There she was with half of her face on Fitz's TV. They tell you never to look directly at the sun. The sun is nothing more than a giant star, and star-gazing is OK. Isn't it? Fitz allowed himself the indulgence of beholding half her face, the unexpected view of which pushed the ache of missing her to the foreground. As if sensing his feeling, Olivia receded from the camera's view. The ache remained. Grabbing his workout clothes and key card, he headed for the hotel's rooftop gym. The views of Osaka Castle would be better today.

/Washington, Friday, 9:01 PM/

Olivia Pope and Associates was thriving. Olivia was now discerningly turning away business with regularity. She had goals. She had dreams. These included cultivating Olivia Pope and Associate satellite offices in every major region of the United States. North America. And every continent thereafter. With her current personal goal eluding her for the last 13 months, it left a fair amount of uncertainty about expanding her business. For right now she would cultivate the flagship office. They needed another Gladiator. She knew Harrison had invited her to dinner for just this purpose. Well, that and to try out Komi's before putting it on his list of 'date' restaurants.

Olivia was a million miles away from the food in front of her and from Harrison, sat across from her making an earnest pitch. She gave few audible responses, relying instead on meaningful eye contact, head nods, eyebrow calisthenics. The drink in her hand diverted her attention. Waves of Gamay pirouetted, Misty Copeland-like, across Olivia's tongue. A smooth and delicate lightness cultivated in few reds, she savored this first taste with closed lids as the ribbons of velvet warmed her from inside. This tiny little moment of pleasure felt like a brief oasis in what otherwise was a long, eventful-but uncharacteristically lonely-week for her. Now more aware of her mouth—to the point of distraction-Olivia's mind soon drifted to something that had been ensconced in her brain for the last hour.

Before dinner Olivia had nipped into the Secret Pleasures Boutique. It was small, discreet, but not exclusively upmarket. She was there to pick up a few delights and sundries for the adult playroom she and Fitz were using to expand the boundaries of their sexual fantasies. Amazing feats in silicone were being reached these days. They came in such an array of colors, lengths, textures, girth—some cartoonishly monstrous, others freakishly life like. Having wandered into this den of dildos, Olivia came across an uncanny sight. Arrested in place, head cocked, eyebrows knitted, her extended pause in front of one dildo in particular was enough for the shop assistant to ask if she was OK. There in front of her was a perfect silicone replica of Fitz's cock, suctioned to a wall. She felt silly and hallucinatory. He's been gone too long. That's all. Get a hold of yourself, she tried to reason. With curiosity and apprehension she reached to touch it, recoiling almost immediately in self-consciousness. Yet she could not tear her eyes away from it. It stirred something deliciously familiar inside her. A furtive smile spread across her lips as she wondered what Fitz would think of his doppelganger. Olivia had no problem putting her hands and mouth all over her husband's body. She felt a possessiveness over him that did not infringe upon his own agency. She had seen her fair share throughout most of her twenties, but Fitz: that man has a beautiful cock. The kind of perfection reminiscent of a Maplethorpe photograph. A perfection worthy of show-and-tell, were she not the jealous type. She was not shy of extolling his prowess each time he pleased her, and never let him forget how sexy he is. Showering him with indulgent paeans about his penis, that she had not done. Yet. She mused on whether it would be virtuous, or silly, to try.

A wave of Harrison's hand brought her back to the present. "Liv, are you ready for another glass already? You're looking kind of flushed. I can drive you home later, if you'd like" he offered.

"I'm fine. Really. About Mark, you were saying?" Olivia recovered.

"Marcus. Marcus Walker. He's a good kid, Liv: talented, sharp, principled and energetic. Boot-strapper who's still focused on effecting change using grassroots tactics."

"Grassroots—exactly what OPA is about," Olivia deadpanned. "Harrison, I'm not looking to train interns. You know that, right? I need warriors."

"Liv..." Harrison flashed his trademarked disarming smile. Purposely or unconsciously deployed at this moment, he frequently used it to beguile even the most accomplished women, and some men, into granting him favors. Having known this man for half her life, she was now impervious to its effects. Nevertheless, she championed it as an expert business tool. Each of her Gladiators had their own set.

"He's a strategist and amazing organizer. GW law degree. He...umm" Harrison hesitated briefly before continuing. "His approach is different from mine, or anyone else on the team, for that matter. But, trust me, you want this cat on our team. Just say you'll at least meet with him. Please."'

"I trust you Harrison. I do. My gut, however, is not convinced enough to arrange a meeting." Wanting to table the matter until she had more information, Olivia declared, "Tell you what, put together a file on Marcus Walker and his work so far. I'll review it and we'll talk again."

Knowing the formula of cunning and intuition Olivia employed to great success, Harrison reluctantly complied. "You're the boss."

Harrison, over the last few years, had ascended to sit at the right hand of Olivia's OPA throne. His loyalty was unquestioning, their friendship unfettered by lopsided coddling of unrequited love. Stephen had coiled himself so tightly around a fantasy Olivia never shared, that he was irreparably undone by Olivia's unexpected engagement to Fitzgerald Grant, III. Stephen's illusions were as delicate as glass, so easily spliced by the lasered edges of the Asscher diamond perched on Olivia's ring finger. The awkwardness grew between them. Stephen called it betrayal. He cultivated that feeling and clutched it like a cudgel. Eventually even Olivia's professional relationship with him was bludgeoned by it. Men and their egos, she thought. Still, it was a wound she partly regarded as self-inflicted. By her.

"Dessert, Liv?" Harrison intoned as he perused the menu in front of him. His question brought her back to that unwavering feeling of her weariness. She couldn't be fully present with Harrison, and she knew exactly why. She needed something only her husband's attention could assuage. She glanced at her gold Movado.

Olivia grabbed her purse and motioned to leave. "I'm going to pass. But do have that Marcus Walker file on my desk Monday morning. We'll talk then." She rested her hand on Harrison's charcoal-suited shoulder. "Thank you for dinner, but do yourself a favor: don't bring a date here. Their selection of red wines is extensive, I'll give them that. Otherwise, this place is very overrated." Harrison gave her a squeeze of the hand. With that, Olivia was out the door.

/Osaka, Saturday 1:17 PM/

The screen of Fitz's phone lit up with two new notifications from 'Dr's_Orders'. Peering closely, he realized they were from Snapchat. His eyebrows quirked in surprise seeing two new videos, 10 seconds each. He clicked on the first, and could hardly believe his eyes. There she was, a luminous amaretto vision in a sea of white linen, underneath which she writhed and stiffened and sighed. She made 'O's with her mouth and sometimes snarled as she gave generously to herself. She was on his side of the bed, her hair fanned out on his pillow. One hand was occupied beneath the covers. He wondered if her drive towards orgasm was manual or automatic. Her other hand busied itself inside her black negligee, alternately grabbing her left breast or pinching her stiffened nipple. She likes that when she's ready to come, he thought. He hadn't closed his mouth since the video began. Just as his own arousal began to stir, the video ended.

Fitz hurriedly clicked the next episode. Olivia had timed this one to begin with the onset of her orgasm. How are women able to look so beautiful when they come? He wondered in fascination. Olivia was not typically a picture of serenity when she came, not if Fitz was doing his job properly. Is this what I miss when my face is saturated and buried between her legs, soaking up the power of her orgasm? Or when my eyes are closed, as she's still pulsating around me? Watching Olivia make herself come this way was different. Immersive. Theatrical. His own personal Livvie porn. He felt crazed with need for her, the evidence pushing against his boxer-briefs.

She caught her breath and brought her hand up to wipe the sheen from her forehead before turning to the camera—on his bedside table, he guessed. With blush pink, bee-stung lips and deep amber eyes half shuttered in sated satisfaction, she beckoned him shyly, "I'm ready, doctor."

/Washington, Saturday, 12:20 AM/

Olivia slipped out of bed to discard the wet wipe she had used minutes earlier. The wipes were convenient, smelled fruity, and were made especially for cleaning silicone—her favorite material for toys. Tonight she relied on her trusted little pronged-eared friend to get her off.

Olivia stood still for a moment, thinking that she heard a noise. She did. Her iPad mini. She quickened her steps to pick up Dr. Grant's FaceTime.

"Wow."

She chuckled. "Hello to you, too."

He was all gleaming teeth and reverence looking at her glowing face—free of makeup. Like the day he first laid eyes on her. "You are such a gift."

"My pleasure," she purred.

"It sure looked like it."

"Have you met a double entendre you could resist?"

"I'm confused. I thought that's why you married me."

"No, it's because you're pretty. And smart." She regarded his face and his perfect smile then. "So pretty. So smart. That's how I like 'em." She was now laying sideways, back on her side of the bed now. Her iPad mini—in its case—was propped up on Fitz's pillow, the closest she could get to him being there with her. Reaching her finger out, she caressed the side of his slightly flushed face through the screen. "You look smooth. Did you just shave?"

"I'm not long out of the shower. I went to the gym earlier to clear my head."

"I thought things were going well there? I'm so proud of you, Fitz. The endowment, the Institute. I know you'll succeed, and get full marks for doing so."

"If it wasn't for your advice on avoiding cultural faux pas, I might have innocently ruined my chances. Liv, thank you."

"Team, right?"

"Right."

A beat passed between them.

"So, what has you stressed?"

"Not stressed. I was tense. I saw you this morning. The press conference for Schumann-I could see you in the background. Well, half of your face. And then you were all I could think about. Missing you. Being with you. Wanting to touch you. I knew you were working and had plans with Harrison. I didn't want to be needy."

She mooned over him. They both regularly worked 10-12 hour days, but were secure in the fact that they would come home to each another. With that security blanket robbed for two weeks, Olivia's nights at home seemed so long. She never thought of herself as one of these silly girls pining away for her man. When she had to travel for clients, or even when he occasionally left for a few days, it did not affect her concentration, knock her off balance. The emptiness of his extended absence, however, left her bereft, compelling her to ponder an existence without him. She wasn't afraid of being single. Olivia had lived beyond the boundaries of parental protection for so long, she had practically raised herself. Her life was filled with warm and wonderful people, but not until she met Fitzgerald Grant did she understand what it meant to need someone. And what it meant to feel secure in that realization.

"You have a right to be needy in this instance. It's what I felt the other night. And now. Did it help, your trip to the gym?"

Fitz removed his t-shirt and sat up with his back against the headboard. He held his phone in front of him so Olivia could see his sculpted chest. Dropping to his Barry White register, he said, "You tell me."

She blushed and briefly covered her eyes. "That's not what I meant! Cover your nipples, mister. I find them highly sexual. And don't speak to me with that voice. I can't be held responsible for my actions."

"You're one to talk after that...performance you sent me."

"You found that entertaining, did you?" She was baiting him now.

Fitz nodded his head on a continuous loop, his eyes slightly glazed as he thought about Olivia's one-woman play. It had been nearly four years since they were married. The little jolts of affection that stirred in his body when he thought of her; the way his cock twitched when she stared longingly at him—these feelings, he hoped, would last well into years 10, 20...50.

"I perform live, on request you know. But only for a very exclusive audience." Olivia teased.

"How about an encore?"

Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "I... have something else in mind for right now." Her innocence was a veil, sheer and barely shrouding the electricity of mischief that lay beneath.

"Fitz, I miss being next to you, curling into your body in bed. I miss your kisses. Your hands. Your smell... every bit of you, in fact. I need to feel close to you. Will you do something for me?"

"You know I will," he responded warmly.

"Plug your earphones in and get naked."

She watched him remove his pants, tout suite. Sat there, as she had instructed, naked, thighs ajar, his massive hand barely concealing the abundance of his lap. She was eager to exercise some control over missing him so completely. "Put the phone down and sit up. I want you to close your eyes, listen to me, and just focus on feeling me. There. With you," she said.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Fitz?" Olivia interjected all sugary sweet and smooth as velvet.

"Yes..."

"I want your dick in my mouth."

"Jesus, Livvie...yes." Slumbering no more, his dick began its ascent, as if trying to reach the woman who elicited those words.

"I'm gonna crawl on your bed, right up to the side of you. I'm on my knees and my ass is in the air. I hope you take advantage of the view." Olivia allowed Fitz to imagine her body perpendicular to his. That way she would get to taste him while he gropes, pinches, or slaps her bottom; fondles her folds, or reaches under to massage her clit. She wanted to imagine him touching her in all those ways.

"Now I'm brushing the ends of my hair down your chest, all the way until I get to your thighs."

"Liv..." he breathed as he started to softly tug on himself, needing to relieve the pressure being built by her words.

"Would you move my hair to the side for me, out of my face ? . I can't wait to feel you throbbing against my hand as my lips wrap around you."

The earphone's speakers picked up everything. She could hear how forceful and shallow his breathing had become. Raspy. She heard, too, when he spat into his palm to ease the friction of his grip. Picturing the swell of his cock, turgid from her words, Olivia reached for her own folds, slick once again.

"I'm reaching between your thighs to kiss and massage those presidential balls of yours. Then? I'll flatten my tongue and give you an excruciatingly slow lick from the base to the tip. Fitz..." she moaned. "You are an ice cream sundae of a man, and I'm gonna enjoy you slowly."

In a gravely voice, he said, "I don't know if I can last with you talking like this."

"You'll do what I tell you. Now where was I with this big dick of yours-"

"Oh, fuck."

She smirked, feeling heady and powerful. Even when she was on her literal knees in front of, or beside, him she was keenly aware that it was she who could catapult him into cataclysms of ecstasy.

"Let me see how much of you I can fit inside my mouth." It was then that Olivia could hear the speed of his palm vigorously buffing his length. His lips were probably curled tightly, his jaw clenched in concentration. He'd be getting sweaty, and she could almost smell him there with her.

"Fitz, I'm so wet for you right now. Touch me. Please." Fitz moaned in pleasure, and for a moment she felt like it was him who was massaging her clit with three fingers.

"Can you feel my nipples bouncing against your thigh as I rock back and forth with you in my mouth?"

A ragged release of air. Fitz was beyond words at this point, and she could tell he would not be far from the finish line.

"Ooops, my mouth has made a mess on you, hasn't it. Going up and down, and up and down." She kicked it up a notch by sticking her thumb in her mouth to imitate the suction sound. "It's just...you taste so good." Fresh from the shower as he was, she knew exactly what he would taste like. "Let me use my hand to twist up and down your shaft while I suck you from the top."

"Just wait until I get home. Start praying."

He surprised her with his words. Not the content, but the fact that he was capable of speech. She had him right where she wanted him—drunk with lust and making threats he had better keep.

"You wanna come, don't you, baby? I do, too. You first."

He was a high speed train hurtling toward the finish line. "Almost...there... tell me more."

"When I made that video, I was thinking about you. Those little rabbit ears were buzzing against my clit, and all I could think about was your tongue—how talented it is. I was thinking about how wet you make me. How when you're fucking me, you love it when I clench down on you and pull you deeper into me..."

"Oh, fuck... Liv, I'm gonna-"

"Good boy" she whispered. "Now come in my mouth."

Olivia heard a yelp that got stuck in his throat. She imagined his abs constricting as his back and head bowed over in front of him from the effort of coming. Mouth agape, his panting filled her ears causing the tiny hairs on her arms to rise. She'd bet his forehead was sweaty. Did he run a hand through his lush curls as he tried to recover? she considered.

As her Adonis revived, she pictured his mouth attached to her pert nipples as his fingers strummed her to chorus. The thought of him slowly biting down on her sensitive nipple caused her to release a keening wail as her orgasm began coursing through her.

He heard her. And then she heard him. "Let me lap that up for you."

"Fiiiiitz..."

"I could die happily in your lap."

Soon her head was filled with visions of the back of his curly head, buried in the valley between her thighs, his tongue hungrily licking at the deluge of her denouement. These images fueled the wave of aftershocks radiating through her lithe body.

The aftermath of her orgasm gave way to a familiar chill. Olivia buried herself deeper under the duvet until only her face was visible. They were face to face again, digitally connected.

Sleepily Olivia said, "Will you stay?"

Fitz glanced up at the clock in his room. His flight for Tokyo would be leaving in three hours. "Let's see..." He looked up at the ceiling for effect. "Two orgasms in short succession, of course I can stay. You'll be out for the count in no time." He smiled in that endearingly lop-sided way she loved.

She laughed knowing how true it was.

"Besides, you've had a long day."

"Did you have a good time?"

"Do you have to ask? You're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

"Ask that tongue of yours," Olivia slurred as she began to drift out to sea.

/Osaka, Saturday, 2:13 PM/

Geometric bursts of yellow dotted the perimeter of the sheet covering Fitz from the waist down. Wishing to prolong the feel of being close to her, Fitz left his boxer-briefs languishing on bamboo wood floor. He lay on his side again, propped up on his elbow, watching Olivia lose the battle with sleep. Her eyelids fluttered closed one last time. Her pouty lips parted ever so slightly, releasing a single puff of air. He kissed the part of the screen where they appeared.

"Good night, little darling."

Fitz stayed there for as long as he could, content in watching the rise and fall of her chest and listening to the rhythm of her breathing. Home. Home is where I want to go, he lamented. Cognizant of the hour, he reluctantly reached to disconnect the call with Olivia. Almost immediately, his hotel room phone rang.

"Hello?"

"We need to talk."

Fitz's eyebrows narrowed in disbelief at the voice on the other end. His mouth set in a thin line. "Not until you tell me how you got this number, Mellie."

A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long. I wanted our faves to deal with being apart in a way that made sense for their lives. Not to worry, in episode 4 Fitz will be home. I hope Olivia is prayed up because he doesn't make empty threats. Anyway, I promise an August delivery on that one. I would very much appreciate your feedback, and you can pitch me like Harrison, if you have ideas :o). If you have questions, I'm on Tumblr: (anincorrectpetunia). I will use my blog to respond to any concerns/questions left in reviews on this site. Thanks again for your support and patience.