Five days.
It has been five damn days since that night in the hotel, and Fitz hasn't stopped thinking about it for a second. He still can't wrap his head around the fact that Olivia Pope had been pleasuring herself while thinking about him. He can't believe she'd wanted it too, all this time.
He should be focusing on the campaign, and he knows that.
And yet, whenever he sees her helping someone with their work, going through logistics and mind-blowingly well-thought-out tactics with the confidence of someone with a decade more experience, his thoughts turn dark. Downright sinful, actually. All he can picture is bending her over the nearest desk and doing exactly what he'd promised her.
Next time, I want you to be fully dressed.
That's what he'd said, and that's what he still craved. He wanted – no, needed – another night with her. And even then, he didn't think he'd ever be satiated, because now he knew what it felt like to have Olivia's naked form writhing underneath him as he pinned her to the bed. He knew the sound of her moaning his name, of her begging him not to stop, and he didn't ever want to forget it.
"Olivia," he hisses, his hand moving quicker as he pleasures himself. It's a good job Mellie is still out in New Hampshire, because he isn't exactly being quiet. All he can picture is her hand wrapping around him, then her mouth–fuck, if she ever got on her knees and wrapped those pretty lips around his cock, he would combust on the spot.
His hips jerk off the bed at the thought.
"Fuck." He's making himself late. He was supposed to be meeting the team downstairs before heading to the veteran breakfast, or at least practising his speech. He definitely wasn't meant to be jerking off like a horny teenager while fantasising about his campaign manager.
He closes his eyes and pictures her face as she rode his fingers five nights ago, the way she'd screamed his name – one of the first times she'd actually called him Fitz rather than Governor Grant – and suddenly he's coming, much harder and for much longer than he'd expected to. He falls back against the pillows with a heavy breath. The first thought that pops into his head once the haze of the orgasm has subsided is Fuck, I need a cold shower.
He makes it downstairs with less than two minutes to spare, and notices the disapproving look Cyrus gives him the second he walks through the door.
"Was going through my speech," he lies. He'd picked out a good suit, and the tie which Liv had once said was her favourite. His eyes instantly scan the room, looking for her, but she's nowhere to be seen. That was weird, considering they were due to leave any minute. "Where's Olivia?"
"She went upstairs to look for you about twenty minutes ago," Cyrus frowns, confused. "I thought you'd seen her."
"No, I didn't see her…" Fitz trails off. It was about twenty minutes ago that he'd called out her name whilst naked in bed. Goddamnit. He wonders if somehow she'd heard him. Maybe he was louder than he'd thought. "I'll try and find her."
Cyrus nods distractedly. "We need to leave. Make it quick."
Immediately he leaves, heading back upstairs in search of her. The elevator is occupied and taking far too long to reach him, so he opts for the stairs, and only gets halfway up before he turns a corner and runs straight into somebody.
"Shit–" He blindly reaches out and grabs the other person's arms, holding them both steady.
When he opens his eyes, he's pleasantly surprised to see that the chest currently pressed against his own belongs to Olivia Pope.
He lets out a relieved breath. "Livvie…"
She meets his gaze and instantly blushes, her cheeks turning bright red.
Ah, he thinks. She definitely heard me.
"Liv," he says again, carefully. "Cy told me to find you, we need to leave now."
"Yeah, I know," she mumbles, quickly averting her eyes. "Sorry. I'll come down now."
She starts walking down the stairs, and he hurries to keep up with her. "Not like you to be late."
"I… Just needed to take a call."
He glances at her, but she isn't looking back at him. She's being vague. Deliberately vague, because it was a lie. The last thing he's ever wanted to do is make her uncomfortable, and it's obvious that that's exactly what she is right now.
"Talk to me, Liv," he murmurs, his shoulder gently pressing into hers as they descend the staircase. "Did I do something? You're acting different."
"No," she says.
"Olivia."
"Fine." She stops dead, and he stays on the step below her, his gaze pleading. "I came up to find you earlier, and– I heard some things." She swallows, hard. "I just needed some time to myself. To… recover."
Lie, she thinks to herself. She'd needed some time to compose herself before she could face him downstairs, because hearing him pleasure himself had made her unbelievably wet.
His stare is still burning into her, his eyes dark. "I'm sorry. I never meant for you to hear anything."
"Imagine it wasn't me that heard," she whispers. "What if it was Cyrus? Or… Mellie? It's so risky, Fitz…"
"It wasn't Cyrus or Mellie," he murmurs, his voice lowering to the silky baritone that made her toes curl. "It was you. And I'm sorry you heard, and I'm even more sorry if it made you uncomfortable–"
She lets out a little laugh, and it's so unexpected that he stops talking.
"It didn't make me uncomfortable," she explains quietly after a few seconds, lifting her hands so she can thread her fingers through his hair. "It had quite the opposite effect, actually."
Fitz's heart stutters in his chest.
He swallows hard, watching as she bites her lip in thought. He wonders what she's thinking about. Whether she's considering forgetting about Cyrus' five-minute deadline and pulling him into the nearest cleaner's closet instead, because that's exactly what he was thinking about.
She sighs softly. "Come on. Cyrus will kill us if we're late."
It takes everything inside of him to not ignore her, scoop her into his arms and carry her back upstairs to his room, but he nods and lets her lead him down to the reception.
Just as they round the corner to where Cyrus has been waiting impatiently, Fitz lowers his lips to her ear and murmurs, "Just wait 'til we get to the next hotel, beautiful."
He feels her shiver, and it sends a thrill of satisfaction through him. God, he wanted nothing more than her in his bed at the next campaign stop. He doesn't know how he's going to survive the next fourteen hours in her company, unable to touch her.
Cyrus turns and grabs the handle of his suitcase. "Finally. Let's go."
It had been a long and exhausting day, for everyone. They'd spent three hours on the road, made a pitstop at a college for Fitz to rally the support of younger people, then another stop for a two-hour shift at a soup kitchen which helped provide food to homeless citizens… and now, finally, they'd reached their home for the night.
Cyrus offered to buy a round at the bar, which was extremely rare and meant he was obviously tired and/or stressed, so the three of them ended up sipping drinks in a booth.
"The three musketeers," Cyrus says, lifting his glass into the air.
"Damn right," Fitz murmurs into his glass before drinking most of it in one go.
Liv can't help but stare at the way his throat works as he drinks, the way his jaw clenches slightly at the burning sensation of the alcohol. This was fucking torture. Her gaze slides up to his eyes, and finds him already staring darkly back at her.
She coughs.
Cyrus glances over at her in concern, and Fitz simply smirks.
"How's Mellie?" Cyrus asked.
Fitz gives a barely audible grunt.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He looks up from his drink. "Means I don't know. I have no idea. As far as I know, she's fine."
"Have you two not been talking?"
"Oh, come on, Cy." He shoots a wary glance in Liv's direction. She's shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Do we have to have this conversation here? Do we really need to go through the ins and outs of how and why my marriage is crumbling?"
Cyrus blinks. "I didn't know it had reached that point."
"It reached that point a long time ago."
"She's good for the press, you know."
"Yes, I know." Fitz sounds like he wants to bang his head against the nearest wall. "You don't need to worry about me publicly slating her or anything like that, Cyrus."
"I'm not worrying about that. I'm worrying about the other way around."
"What, her slating me?" Fitz pauses. "She has no reason to."
Cyrus shrugs. "As long as you two are civil. Can't have America thinking their next presidential couple will be divorcing the second they step foot in the White House."
Both Fitz and Olivia dutifully chuckle, but it's humourless.
"Ah, well. Anyway–" Cyrus checks his watch. "I might call it a night after this one. Another early start tomorrow."
"Seven a.m. breakfast at a local church," Liv sighs.
"Can't think of a better way to spend the morning," Cyrus grimaces, before standing up with his empty glass in hand. "I need to go and take a shower, but you two don't rush yourselves. See you in the morning. On time." He shoots a pointed look at Fitz, who ignores it.
With a tired wave, Cyrus disappears in the direction of the bedrooms.
It takes half a minute for Fitz to break the silence, still cradling his glass in one hand as though he's pondering whether or not to drink the rest. "And then there were two," he murmurs.
She offers a small smile. Whether she likes to admit it or not, something shifts whenever they are alone, and it's intoxicating. The second Cyrus left, the air thickened, and her pulse shot up. It was like…now she could admire him without worrying that her ex-professor-turned-coworker would catch her.
"What're you thinking about?"
She lets her eyes drift to meet his, just in time to catch the all-knowing lift of his brow as he downs the rest of his whiskey. "Oh, you know. The campaign." Her voice is weak. She's weak, because she's analysing the way he's smirking and the way his thigh is suddenly pressed against hers beneath the table.
"Tell me more." He shifts closer again, barely noticeable to anyone but her. "New tactics?"
"I always have new tactics." She turns to him. Now she can smell his cologne, that woodsy scent that she can't seem to get enough of these days. Cologne mixed with spicy notes of whiskey. An odd combination, but one that works on him.
"Tell me what you're thinking about, Olivia."
He's daring her. She can see it in the dark flash of his eyes.
Her hand slips from the table to land on his upper thigh, and a muscle in his jaw jumps.
She swallows. "Like I said. Tactics."
She slowly moves her hand upwards, watching his expression shift from surprise to unadulterated need. Then his own hand is gripping hers, stopping her from moving any further.
"You're killing me," he whispers, his voice strained.
"That was the idea."
"Olivia."
"Yes, Fitz."
He groans under his breath, and she has to press her own thighs together against the rush of heat it sends to her core. That sound throws her right back to the morning, when she'd overheard him – he'd been loud. But fuck, was it hot.
"I never want to hear you call me Governor Grant again."
She smirks. "I can't call you Fitz in front of other people."
"Sure you can." His fingers are idly tracing patterns over her hand now, and she is hyper-aware of every touch. "We're close. It's none of anybody's business."
"I'd rather not open that can of worms."
"I'd be fine with you calling me Mr President when we win the election." He grins, and she can't help but laugh.
"I haven't got many other options, mister." She tilts her head and tests moving again, her hand now closer to his belt. "If not Fitz, nor Governor, then what? Sir?"
He swallows thickly, again taking hold of her arm. His pupils are blown wide, his irises a stormy grey rather than their usual light blue.
Oh, she thinks to herself. Did that turn him on?
"I swear to god, Olivia– I can't stay here any longer." He pointedly glances down at his growing erection. "This is getting embarrassing."
She bites her lip, only remembering the feel of him deep inside of her.
"My room or yours?"
He stares at her. "You're… you don't have to, I mean… you've had a long day–"
"So have you," she whispers, her lips brushing over the shell of his ear. "And what better way to de-stress?"
She doesn't have to tell him twice. He stands up immediately, adjusts his pants, and quickly follows her out of the bar.
They end up in his room, only because it's the first door they came to on the corridor – and thankfully the one furthest away from Cyrus.
He barely has a chance to recover from the tricks she'd been playing at the bar before she is on her knees, desperately tugging at his belt buckle.
"Oh, fuck." Fitz pushes the hair back off his forehead as he watches her, jaw slack. "Baby, you don't have to."
She stares up at him. "I want to." Then she goes right back to unbuckling his pants, and he has to stifle a groan.
"Fuck, Olivia, you're going to kill me."
She pushes his trousers and boxers to the floor, smirking at how hard he already is. "With all due respect, sir–"
His hips fly forward at that, and she smiles devilishly, wrapping her hand around his length.
"Why does that sound so dirty coming from your mouth," he huffs. "It doesn't affect me when other people say it, I swear."
She begins slowly jerking him off, watching carefully as his muscles visibly tighten underneath his shirt. "Mhm."
His breathing is shallow, and it's taking all his strength to not just let his head fall back and shut his eyes. The only reason he's fighting to keep them eyes open is that he doesn't want to miss seeing the first time she takes him in her mouth.
Her fingers run up his quads, digging into the muscle there, and he grunts. Her other hand is still on his cock, and right as he's about to lose his mind from the anticipation, she suddenly leans in and slides her tongue over the length of his erection, paying an extra second of attention to the tip. His entire body tightens in response.
"Fuck, Liv–"
Without warning, she takes as much of him as she could into her mouth, staring up at him with an expression which is the perfect mixture of sinful and submissive. A low groan is ripped from his throat, and he feels her briefly smirk around him before taking him even deeper. She starts to bob her head, letting her hand do the rest of the work on the length that she can't fit into her mouth.
He's watching her, and his brain feels foggy. He knows they talked about him undressing her, about him fucking her against a wall – but right now he really wants to see her, all of her, naked on her knees.
"Top off," he manages to grate out weakly.
She sits back to oblige, and he nearly passes out at the sight of the saliva still connecting her lower lip to his cock. She unbuttons her blouse and shrugs it off, then re-adjusts herself between his legs again. "Better?"
His hand runs gently over her jawline for a second, his fingers lingering on her throat. "Mm. Much."
Her lips are back on him within a second, and he can see her tits so perfectly from this angle that he has no idea where to look. Her nipples are already hard, straining against the lace material of the bra, and his eyes darkly trace a path down the rest of her body until he realises she has her free hand between her own legs, rocking her core against her own palm.
The sight of it turns him on to a point that he can't think straight. His fingers find their way to her hair, tangling in the curls at the nape of her neck, and when she doesn't stop him, he begins to pull her closer, allowing her to take more of him.
"You're so fucking good, Livvie."
She moans around his cock, the vibration of it making his eyes roll back. She's enjoying this, he realises. He's right – fuck, it's turning her on just as much as him.
He pulls her back for a moment of respite, allowing her to breathe freely. She's equal parts grateful and annoyed for the sudden space between them, and she's reaching for him as soon as he's pulling back.
"Liv, calm down," he grates out, letting his thumb caress her cheeks to dry the tear tracks. "There's no rush."
There's no rush. That thought sends a spark of elation right through her – because really, he's right. They have a hotel room. This isn't a quick, dirty fuck in a hidden closet in the middle of the day. They have all evening. All night.
Even so, she wants to make him cum with her mouth, and that's not going to change.
She moans as his fingers tangle back into her hair, giving it a light tug. "Mh–Fitz, would you just let me make you come?"
He blinks. Did I just hear her right?
She doesn't wait for a verbal answer. She takes him back into her mouth, carefully going deeper than she'd dared to before, allowing the tip of his cock to graze the back of her throat. He groans, a deep, guttural sound that makes her just want to do more for him. His hand, still buried in her hair, starts to pull her a little more roughly.
"Fuck."
He's staring at her with worried eyes, and when she gives him a nod, he lets himself go again, using his hand to take control of her movements. It's a turn-on for both of them, her on her knees watching him as he completely loses himself to pleasure. Every now and then he pulls back, scared that he's hurting her or that maybe he's pushing her too hard, but she's the one to lean back in every time.
"Olivia…"
She moans around his cock, and he's so close that he can't think straight.
"Livvie–oh, fuck, baby–where do you want me to..?"
She sucks him in deeper, if that's even possible, and he takes that as the answer. His breaths are ragged and flyaway curls of hair are sticking to his forehead, and within seconds his legs are shaking and he's coming, bracing his forearm against the wall beside him.
"Fuck, Liv…"
She swallows one, two times, slowly dragging her mouth over his cock before letting him go with a triumphant smirk.
He laughs weakly, still leaning against the wall for support. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"You know what." He bends down and picks her up, flinging her over his right shoulder. She screams as he carries her Superman-style to the bedroom, depositing her onto the mattress before crawling over her with the familiar predatory glint in his eye.
Then he's kissing her, open-mouthed and dirty, their tongues duelling as she claws at his back. He can taste himself on her, and it's filthy but equally addictive. The deeper they kiss, the more she whimpers and writhes underneath him, her hips bucking up into him to seek the friction she's craving.
"Such a good girl for me," he groans, sucking kisses along her neck. "Let me return the favour, baby."
"Fitz, what are you…"
She's cut off by him sliding down her body, quickly unbuttoning and throwing her trousers to the side of the bed before pulling the waistband of her lace panties down with his bare teeth. Once the panties are halfway down her thighs, he lets go, looking up at her with a smirk.
"I promised you I was going to undress you this time."
She doesn't have time to respond before his lips are back on her skin, sucking and biting her inner thighs, running his tongue soothingly over the bruises he's creating. She's embarrassed at how soaked her panties were – they had been since she started sucking him off – and now, when he finally reaches her core, he's stunned at how wet she is.
"Fuck, baby, you're–"
"I know."
They make eye contact, and the sight of her leaning up on her elbows, face flushed and her looking slightly sheepish – it sends him spiralling. He strings one arm over her lower stomach, practically pinning her to the bed, and she keens the second his tongue makes contact with her pulsating clit.
"Don't you dare get self conscious on me, Liv," he groans, digging his fingers into her hip. "I need you to keep looking at me. See what you do to me."
With that, he starts eating her out like a man starved, licking and sucking and groaning in all the right places, making her hips buck wildly off the mattress. He chuckles, his arm holding her even tighter as his tongue reaches her in places she didn't even know existed.
"Fitz–fuuck, right there–"
He loves getting to know her body. He likes to think that now, even on their second night together, he knows certain things that drive her crazy. He knows her body, as though he's explored it countless times before even though it has really only been once. He somehow knows what pressure to use when he sucks her clit into his mouth, and when he does, she moans louder than she has all night.
"Let go, baby. I love hearing you."
He discovers exactly what makes her go crazy. What pace, what angles… He finds that she loves him groaning against her, so he does it every now and then just to draw whatever noises he can from her. And when he finally slides a finger into her, his mouth still paying careful attention to her clit, she has to reach for his hair and pull hard.
"Fitz–oh–"
Her legs are locked over his shoulders, and they're trembling. He can feel her walls clench and tighten around his finger, telltale signs that she's about to come, and he doesn't let up until she's practically screaming and he feels a rush of wetness on his mouth and hand. It's sweet and it's her, and he continues to kiss and lick her through the orgasm until she lets go of his hair and falls back against the pillows.
"Jesus." She's exhausted.
He crawls back over her, offering her his two fingers which are still coated in her essence. Immediately she takes them in her mouth and sucks, tasting herself until his fingers are clean. He watches her with a dazed look; half incredibly turned-on, half in disbelief of what's really happening.
"Mhm." She pulls his fingers out of her mouth and laces their hands together. "You did return the favour."
He smirks. "Don't tell me you're tired out, Livvie."
How is it that straight after an intense orgasm, he already has her wet and ready to go again?
She pulls him down for another kiss, feeling him string her leg back over his hip as he lines up with her entrance.
"Fitz."
He pauses, and looks up at her.
"Don't go slow."
His throat turns completely dry. "Okay."
He pushes into her, carefully at first, allowing her body to adapt to his size. It doesn't take as long as the first time, but she's still tight and feels incredible and it's almost too much all at once.
"Move," she whispers, her fingers already grasping at his shoulders for purchase. "Fuck me, please, fuck me–"
He groans, pulling out almost to the tip before thrusting in harder than he ever has with her before. She whimpers out a Yes, so he does it again, harder, setting a brutal rhythm which has them both gasping for air.
"More, more," she's groaning, one hand fisting the sheets and the other scratching at his back, and he's caging her in with his body as he pounds into her over and over.
"Hold onto the headboard," he grinds out, and she obliges, gripping the edge as he drives into her even harder. "You feel so fucking good, baby."
Her mouth is open in a silent scream, her eyes half-closed as her muscles clench around him, and they groan in sync with each other.
"Oh, god–"
She does it again, her inner walls spasming, and he's dangerously close to coming again.
"Olivia." His mouth is everywhere all of a sudden, sucking bruises over her chest and laving kisses over the thin fabric covering her nipples, and she's whimpering his name like no other word exists.
"F-Fitz–"
She's there too, right on the precipice with him, and the combination of his deep thrusts, his mouth and his low voice in her ear whispering what a good girl she is and how well she's taking him and how he could spend all day making her come makes her fall apart.
He feels her muscles tighten and the way her fingers dig harder into the muscle of his shoulders, and he follows her over the edge, his face buried in her neck and her hands tangled in his hair as he comes inside her, his thrusts becoming longer and slower.
"You're so good to me," he murmurs against her skin, his kisses now softer and more unhurried.
When she has the strength, she detangles her legs from around his waist and opens her eyes to look at him.
God really took his time with this man. "Don't tell me you're tired," she teases, reiterating his words from earlier.
He smiles, dropping a tame kiss to her lips. "I admit defeat. For now."
She waits as he pulls out and rolls over onto the mattress next to her, quickly pecking her bare shoulder as he does so.
"You do realise that at this church breakfast, all I'm going to think about is you on your knees?" He lets out a weak laugh, and she can't help but chuckle too. "I'm supposed to be focused, not thinking unholy thoughts in the house of God."
She runs a fingertip over his cheek, where there is a scar she hasn't gotten around to asking him about yet. Another time. "That's your problem, Mister, not mine."
"I wish there was a freak storm, or something," he grumbles. "Then we'd be moored in this hotel for a couple of days."
"You'd get sick of me," she smiles.
"Never."
He pulls her back over him, locking her in place with his hands on her hips, and they kiss again and again like they have all the time in the world.