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Chapter 1 – Late in Season 3
Olivia tossed her suit into the dry cleaning bag in her closet and the rest of her clothes in the hamper. When she re-entered the bathroom, the air was fragrant with the lemongrass bombe she'd dropped in the tub earlier. After checking the water level, she donned her robe and walked into the kitchen.
She poured two fingers of Black Bush in a rocks glass and walked back to the bathroom, swirling the amber liquid and appreciating the wafting aroma of the Irish whisky blending with the steamy, citrusy air. After placing her glass in the wire soap basket hanging over the side of her claw foot tub, she lit a few candles scattered around the bathtub, hung her robe on the back of the door, and eased into the scented water.
Soaking in a hot bath was not only physically soothing to her aching body after a long, active week; it was her only concession to her femininity, and a luxury she looked forward to after an exhausting case.
Tonight was no exception; they'd spent two weeks on their latest one, a seemingly random set of disappearances in the New England area, and the last 3 days on surveillance in a sparsely populated office park outside of Boston, culminating in a 10 pm raid when the next victim was brought in.
They couldn't determine how Vernachiaddio, the apparent leader of the operation, had secured the office park, so once in the van, they were unable to alternate surveillance duties with other agents. Even though she and Peter had taken turns sleeping and monitoring the building, Olivia was drained from the tension. By the end of the second day, Peter had renamed their suspect 'Baddio'; they were punch drunk with exhaustion, too tired to think of him as anything else.
Olivia groaned as she sank into the hot water. She inspected a particularly nasty bruise on her wrist; Baddio had grabbed her and drug her up a flight of stairs, where Peter met them and almost took Baddio's head off with a fire extinguisher he'd snagged on the way to the roof.
Three days of sitting in a cramped van had put kinks in muscles she didn't even know she had. She stretched full length in the tub, sinking into it until the water lapped her shoulders. After a few minutes, the tension between her shoulder blades had diminished and she leaned up to sip her Black Bush. Feeling the satisfying burn of the liquor, she sunk back into the fragrant water and closed her eyes. Her hands had finally stopped shaking.
ooo
When the EMTs had arrived, she managed to maintain her composure long enough for them to shine a flashlight into her eyes, ask her a few inane questions, and to wrap her in a blanket, all while Peter stood a few feet away, going through the same routine with his own set of EMTs and glaring at her. Glaring at HER for taking the same risks that he had; but she forgave him when she noticed his hands, as unsteady as hers, just before he shoved them into the pockets of his coat while the EMTs examined him.
They'd almost lost each other during the chase. They'd split up, clearing the facility one room at a time. They found room after room of comatose bodies – all the people reported as missing and a few more. Baddio had doubled back on them and grabbed Olivia passing through one of the main corridors. When she didn't answer her radio, Peter broke protocol and ran through the darkened offices, trying to spot her.
Baddio was dragging a nearly unconscious Olivia up a metal staircase leading to the roof, his hand circling her wrist like a handcuff clenched too tightly. Peter found another staircase and met them as they exited the stairwell, swinging a 50 lb fire extinguisher at Baddio's head with such force it threw the perp against the HVAC units on the roof.
Before Peter could pull Olivia to her feet, Baddio's gang rounded the corner; one yanked Peter's arms behind him, while another took a couple of swings at him to settle him down. Out of the corner of her eye, Olivia spotted another guy headed toward them with a small satchel. Judging by the confidence with which he approached them, whatever he was carrying was bound to be unpleasant.
He opened his satchel and pulled out a syringe and a vial of yellow liquid. He headed towards Olivia, still in a crumpled heap where she'd been 'playing possum', waiting for her opportunity to catch their captors off guard. She glanced at Peter, who was hanging limply between the two guys that had been beating on him just a few minutes before.
Almost as if he felt her gaze on him, he raised his head slightly and caught her eye, then winked. The man with the syringe was standing directly in front of Olivia now, nudging her with his toe. When she offered no resistance, he rolled her to her back, then turned his attention to filling the syringe.
"Now!" Olivia yelled, and did a barrel roll that knocked her guy off his feet; the syringe and vial went flying. At Olivia's shout, Peter jerked away from Thug #1 and swung Thug #2 into him. He scooped up the vial and the satchel, then grabbed Olivia's arm as she scrambled to her feet. They ran towards the stairwell Peter had used earlier, near the back of the building, and entered just as the thugs were untangling themselves. One came after them, while the other two tried to revive Baddio, still unconscious from his encounter with the fire extinguisher.
As they passed through the stairwell door, Peter kicked viciously at the locking mechanism. "Maybe that will slow them down a little," he said as they heard the thugs approaching. They ran down the staircase and re-entered the office space.
Agents were stationed in each area and EMTs were checking the victims and loading them on gurneys for transport to the hospital.Olivia radioed the SWAT unit to let them know they were off the roof, so their team could pick up Vernachiaddio and his gang. She leaned against the wall, radio still in hand, and looked at Peter, propped against the stairwell door and breathing heavily.
"Don't ever…" they both spoke in unison. Peter pulled her into an embrace and pressed his lips against the top of her head. "Are you ok?"
She winced as he examined her wrist. Even though she insisted she was "fine", Broyles instructed the EMTs to examine both of them. After their usual back-and-forth about being admitted to the hospital for observation, they were released AMA and Broyles instructed someone to take them home.
"Dr. Bishop is at the lab, with Agent Farnsworth," Broyles told them. "I'm sending over the satchel and the lab results for the victims will be forwarded from the hospital when they're available."
As they collapsed into the back seat of the SUV, Broyles leaned in. "I don't want to see either of you for a couple of days. That's a direct order, Dunham."
Peter directed the agent to drop him off at the Harvard Lab, since it was on the way to Olivia's. "I don't want Walter getting any ideas about driving home," he wisecracked.
Olivia grasped his shaking hands in hers, no steadier. "Are you sure you should be driving?"
He gently pushed up the sleeve of Olivia's FBI jacket. "Are you sure you shouldn't be having that X-rayed?" he asked softly.
She shrugged in acquiescence, and leaned against him as he wrapped his arm around her trembling frame. She nestled her head on his shoulder; at this point, she didn't care what the agent driving thought. This was as much for Peter's comfort as for hers, and they both needed the reassurance of physical contact.
He didn't release her until they pulled up outside the Kresge building. He gave her another squeeze and said quietly, "I'll be over later, 'k?". When Olivia nodded, he spoke in a louder voice so the driver could hear. "Straight home, right? You heard Broyles – do not pass go, do not pick up case files." He touched her shoulder once more and smirked at her before shutting the door.
ooo
Olivia smiled to herself, thinking of Peter's smart ass attitude even in the face of danger. She took another sip of Black Bush and sank back into the still-steamy water. Even though the hot water was beginning to ease the ache in her body, and the burn of the whisky had stopped her trembling hands, she still felt a chill as she remembered their narrow escape earlier that evening. Concern for her own safety had never been an issue, but now that Peter was a part of her life, she needed him close, close enough to feel the warmth of his body next to her, before she would truly be able to relax.
Chapter 2 – Season 1
Even with all the windows open, the lab was sweltering. Walter refused to allow them to use fans, saying it would disturb his samples and blow his test tubes around. Peter's eyes had rolled dramatically at that, but Walter was insistent… so, no fans.
Facility Services had promised to restore the cooling system by the end of the week. Unfortunately, they had a case right now. Peter was working with Walter anyway, and insisted that Astrid could do her research from any terminal, so Astrid escaped to the Federal Building and working air conditioning.
Olivia couldn't decide which was worse – shutting her office door and turning on a fan to circulate the overheated air, or leaving the door open in hopes of diverting the slight breeze that occasionally drifted in. Peter tried to talk her out of staying as well, but she refused to ask them to keep working if she wasn't willing to sweat along with them.
And sweat she did. She shed her jacket as soon as she walked in that morning. At 10, she considered removing her sheer blouse, since she had a white camisole underneath. By noon, her decision was made; she couldn't stand the rivulets of sweat trickling down her décolletage any longer.
By mid-afternoon, Walter was deep into his research. Earlier, Peter had helped him prepare slides, but now he was at loose ends. He sat on a stool across the lab table from Walter, mindlessly tapping a pencil to some internal rhythm.
"Peter! Must you do that?" Walter exclaimed. "You're driving me mad, son!"
Peter was tempted to make an impolitic comment, but decided instead to take out his boredom on the piano, shoved aside to a corner of the lab near the offices. He stood up and stretched, just as Olivia looked up from her desk.
Olivia smiled to herself as she watched Peter amble over the piano. In the year that they'd been working together, their relationship had gone from caustic encounters to an easy partnership. His cynical remarks hadn't decreased, but the sharp edges had been smoothed by his easy grin.
He sat at the piano, his back to her. He did a couple of experimental scales and chords, as if his hands needed to relearn the keyboard. As his fingers danced on the keys, the muscles in his back tensed and relaxed, exaggerated under the paper thin t -shirt he wore. Satisfied that all the keys were where he left them, he fell into a jazz riff, setting an easy rhythm with his left hand. He played around a bit with the high notes, finally settling into "Take Five", his fingers skimming over the keyboard.
The sounds brought Olivia out of her office, and she leaned against the doorway, watching Peter as he moved effortlessly into another song. As he continued to play, the t-shirt began to cling to his back, and a damp spot appeared between his shoulders. His close-cropped hair was a little longer than usual, probably due to their persistent caseload during the last month. As his playing continued, his hair formed little curls at the back of his neck, and Olivia wondered idly what those curls would feel like under her fingertips.
As Peter gained confidence, he drifted into a more complex tune and his hands wandered the length of the keyboard, his fingers fully extended to play the octave+ chords. Olivia closed her eyes and tried to imagine that the music was a cool breeze drifting over her body. Instead, her imagination conjured up images of Peter's fingers sliding over her bare arms, tangling in her hair. She could almost feel the force of his body moving against her as his back rippled under her fingers, and his hot breath on her exposed shoulders.
She blinked, realizing that the music had stopped and Peter was calling her name. He was standing in front of her, well within her personal space, with an infuriating smirk on his face. "'Livia? You ok?"
She felt her face flush, both from the image of Peter's naked back in her mind, and the shock of seeing him not a foot away from her, t-shirt clinging to his chest, and more damp ringlets framing his face. Heat seemed to radiate off his body; she felt as though her temperature had soared.
"You hiding an arctic breeze somewhere that you're not telling us about?" He murmured just loud enough for her to hear. When he saw the look of confusion on her face, he pointedly dropped his eyes to her camisole, where her hardened nipples were clearly visible through the thin layers of fabric.
He smirked again as he strolled off. "I didn't realize you enjoyed my playing so much," he tossed over his shoulder. I'll have to do that more often..."
Blushing furiously, Olivia retreated to her office and didn't leave until she'd heard the Bishops call out their goodnights that evening.
Chapter 3 - Season 2
This chapter was inspired by a great song written/recorded by Shawn Mullins...
lyrics at the end of the chapter. OConnellaboo, this one's for you!
She wasn't sure when it started, or whose idea it was, but they'd fallen into a routine. After a long case, or even just a bad day, they'd exchange a glance and a nod, a few words to confirm the time and place. Olivia didn't think it was a date, not really; it was just two people trying to keep their sanity and she'd grown tired of drinking alone a long time ago.
Sometimes, it was just a couple of beers at one of the bars close to campus, slipping away for a few minutes before Astrid went home and Peter took over 'the late shift' as he sardonically referred to minding Walter. They'd learned each other's moods – when they needed people and noise, and when they needed a quiet bar where they could find an isolated corner and the drinks were served quickly and silently.
More often than not, they ended up at the Milky Way, a little hole-in-the-wall around the corner from Olivia's apartment and still within walking distance of the Bishops. Nothing fancy, but they had a piano in one corner, and occasionally a jazz trio. Peter seemed to know everyone that worked there, but he shrugged off Olivia's curiosity, telling her "it's just another bunch of my weird connections."
Olivia was leaving the Federal Building late one evening, when she received a text from Peter. "Meet me at MW?" With nothing but more case files waiting for her at home, she responded with the message "there in 20." This time of night, it shouldn't take her long to get there.
As she drove, she pondered what might've generated this late night rendezvous. She hadn't seen either Bishop in a couple of days; they were in between cases and Olivia was using the break to catch up on paperwork in her downtown office. She missed the relaxed atmosphere of the lab, and honestly – she missed the bickering and banter between Peter and his father. If she was really honest with herself… she missed Peter. She'd grown accustomed to his wisecracks and mocking commentary on the day's events. She missed his smile when he brought her coffee, never saying a word, just flashing a grin when she said thanks.
When she found a parking spot almost in front of the door, she knew it must be a slow night. When she entered, she blinked a few times until her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. There were a few couples at the bar, but other than that, the place was empty. She glanced around for Peter, expecting to spot him on a barstool or tucked into one of the few booths lining the wall opposite the bar. She didn't see him until the faint notes of the piano drew her attention to the corner; he was at the piano, hands gliding over the keyboard while he chatted idly with the bartender. A shot and a bottle of beer, dewy with condensation, sat on the piano lid. A couple of empty shot glasses told her he'd been here longer than his text 20 minutes ago might've indicated.
Peter drifted from song to song, playing simply but with a sure touch. Olivia was sure she could add 'piano player in a dive bar' to his list of past occupations; he looked very much at home. The sleeves of his blue denim shirt were rolled up and she could see the muscles flex in his forearms as his hands stretched over the keyboard.
She stood in the shadows, enjoying this perspective on Peter Bishop that she hadn't seen before. He seemed relaxed, in his element. He laughed at something the bartender said, then downed the shot, keeping the melody going with his right hand.
The bartender looked in her direction and said something about a girlfriend. Peter replied "Olivia?" and didn't bother to correct the bartender's assumption as he craned his neck slightly to see her. Once he'd caught her eye, he motioned for her to join him, as the bartender walked over to bring two more shots and a beer for her.
As she neared the piano, Peter transitioned into "As Time Goes By" and Olivia smiled at him. They'd been talking about old movies, and Peter confessed Casablanca was one of his favorites. When she accused him of being a closet romantic, he just shrugged. "Behind every cynic…." he said with his usual sarcasm.
When the bartender returned, Peter slid one of the shots in front of Olivia, and in his best Bogart, said "Here's looking at you, kid", and knocked it back. Not to be outdone, Olivia finished hers as well.
"Thanks, Jake," he said as he snagged the beers and guided Olivia to an empty booth.
"Please don't stop on my account," she said as she slid into the booth.
"Don't want to wear out my welcome." He grinned as he sat on the other side, then took a swig of beer. He leaned his forearms on the table, worrying the label on his beer. Olivia fought the urge to stroke his arm, to see for herself if the lightly tanned skin of his wrist was as soft as it appeared to be.
"So, what's up? "she asked casually. "Have an urge for a midnight snack?"
He grimaced and took another long drag on the beer. "Just a little too much Walter for one day," he replied. "You haven't been around in a couple of days. It's been a little… intense."
Olivia studied his face. His eyes were focused on the beer between his hands, his slender fingers shredding the label. Dark circles under his eyes? Since they'd moved to chez Bishop, as they laughingly called it, Peter hadn't mentioned Walter keeping him up at night reciting theorems or the recipes for root beer.
She resisted the urge to smooth the crease from his forehead – she didn't know WHERE that impulse came from. Instead, she decided to lighten the mood. "Did you miss me?" she said with a teasing tone.
He glanced at her sharply and took one of her hands in his. "I did," he murmured quietly, running his thumb over the back of her hand.
"Peter, what's wrong?" It was out of character for Peter to drop his nonchalant persona, even since they'd been spending more time together outside of the lab.
"I don't know, 'Livia. Walter's always been all over the place, but the last few days…" he trailed off.
Olivia squeezed his hand in encouragement.
"He's either berating me for leaving Boston the first time," Peter said without looking up, "or he's asking me every 5 minutes if I'm ok." He took another swig of beer, then motioned to the bartender for another.
"My mother killed herself on the 27th of this month…" he said softly. "15 years ago this month. I think that's what's bothering Walter."
"Do you think it's harder for him this year, because you're here?"
"I'm sure he blames me for it. I know I do."
"Peter, I'm sure – "
"No, I think she was trying to hold it together for me." He looked up for the first time, and Olivia was struck by the sadness in his eyes. "When I left… there just wasn't any reason to keep pretending."
He was silent as Jake served them two more shots and beers. He let go of Olivia's hand and she missed the warmth of his touch, as if holding hands was something they always did. When he spoke again, Olivia was surprised at the vulnerability in his voice.
"She was always sad… for as long as I can remember, as if she had a secret that weighed her down." He tossed back the shot and continued in that same low voice. "I thought for the longest time that it was Walter, it was his fault for going crazy and leaving us." He shook his head. "I know now, it wasn't Walter. At least not all of it. It was me."
"Peter, you can't know that. You were a teenager. Things look so different from that perspective."
Peter took a long swallow of beer, then proceeded to mangle the label on the fresh bottle. "It's just… Walter is looking at me the same way that Mom used to… like there's some awful secret that is breaking his heart."
Olivia reached for his hand. "Peter, don't you think it's because you remind him of her? He's always said you have your mother's eyes. It's probably hard on him, now that he's, ah, he's…" Olivia was unsure how to proceed diplomatically.
"You mean, now that he has a somewhat firmer grasp on reality?"
Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. Peter's cynicism meant he was settling down a bit, letting some of the tension fade away. "I know it's been over a year, but it's still a big adjustment for both of you, Peter. I know Walter is glad you're back in his life, even if it is a little overwhelming for both of you from time to time. Right?"
Peter nodded slightly. "I'm sorry, Olivia, I didn't mean to drag you out just to listen to my sad stories."
She flashed him a quick smile and squeezed his hand again before releasing it. "Didn't you tell me that's what friends were for?"
Peter looked at her gratefully, then held his beer bottle up for a toast. "To friends," he said, with a bit of gravel in his voice.
Olivia clinked the neck of her beer to his, and replied "To friends," then took a sip. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Peter cocked his head and gave her that "Do you want another?" look they'd perfected over their last few months of drinking together.
When Olivia shook her head, Peter signaled to Jake and pulled out his money, waving away Olivia's offer to pay. "My sob story, my tab," he said in a more normal tone.
As they walked towards the door, Olivia asked "So, Bishop, I didn't see your wagon outside. Do I need to take you home?"
Peter opened the door, and the chill air of a Boston evening frosted their breath. "Ah… I thought I might be here a while, so I walked." He shrugged at her raised eyebrow. "It was a nice night for a stroll."
Olivia shook her head at his remark and studied him for a moment. "I don't mind giving you a lift."
"No, I'm fine. The walk will be good for me." He smiled ruefully. "Walter and hangovers don't mesh on the best of days."
Olivia dug her keys out of her pocket and turned towards her car, unlocking the door. Peter touched her shoulder and she turned back to face him.
"Olivia…" he began, then stopped, almost shy. "Olivia, thanks for coming out tonight. I… I needed a friend."
She wasn't sure who initiated it, but she found herself enveloped by Peter's long, peacoat-clad arms. She slid her own around his waist and leaned against his chest. She felt Peter rest his head on hers, and they stood there for a moment in the shadows of the Milky Way.
Finally, Peter hugged her, just a little bit, then dropped his arms and stepped back. "Be careful, Dunham," he said gruffly, and opened the door for her.
"You, too, Peter. Good night."
Olivia looked in her rearview mirror as she drove off. Peter was standing there, watching her drive away, hands in the pockets of his peacoat and his breath visible in the night air. She kept glancing back as she drove down the street. He stood there until she turned the corner, then he turned to walk home.
Soaking in her tub that night, Olivia thought about her evening with Peter. While they'd spent days on end together in the course of their jobs, and even quite a few hours drinking afterwards, they seldom strayed into the intimacy they'd shared tonight. She'd seen Peter's emotions run high, but they usually ranged from disdain to frustration to anger, typically directed towards Walter; he seldom revealed sadness, or grief, or even the need to talk to someone.
She leaned her head against the rim of the clawfoot tub and closed her eyes. The memory of his arms around her, the warmth of his embrace, flooded back to her. He smelled of wool, and smoky scotch, and just a hint of something else – soap, or cologne, something that was uniquely him. She found she liked it all – the embrace, the scent, the feeling of comfort, both given and received. She would worry about the implications of hugging her partner tomorrow; tonight, she was just going to enjoy it for what it was – a moment shared between friends.
Beautiful Wreck – Shawn Mullins
I lost count of the times I've given up on you
But you make such a beautiful wreck you do
There's a tavern on the corner called the Milky Way
And you look so at home there it makes me afraid
And at the dark end of this bar
What a beautiful wreck you are
When you go too far, beautiful wreck you are
Chapter 4 – Season 3 (after 6B)
After the Rosencrantz case, Olivia had that heady, giddy, walking on air feeling. She'd only felt this way a couple of times in her life; a boy she met at Northwestern, really her first serious relationship, and of course, John. Looking back, she and John never had enough of a normal relationship to move out of that stage; he was forever frozen in her mind between the clandestine afternoons at local motels and the mad chase across the Northern Avenue Bridge that marked the day her life changed forever.
Intellectually, she knew this couldn't last – their relationship would grow… or not. Or the end of the world would come crashing down around them, or Peter would get into the machine… "NO," she told herself firmly. She'd made up her mind to move forward and she was going to enjoy every minute they had, no matter how many or how few.
They'd enjoyed the brief Walter-less night, but since he'd returned from New York, they'd only had a few minutes here or there. She was packing up to leave the lab, shoving files into her bag, when Peter entered her office and shut the door. She looked up with a shy smile as he crossed the room and tugged her from behind her desk.
Before she could speak, Peter brushed his lips across her forehead, then drew her into an embrace and nuzzled her neck. "I've wanted to do this for two days," he growled in a low voice. "I miss you."
She leaned into him, enjoying the feel of the late afternoon scruff against her cheek. "Mmm."
"Come by tonight," he said as he pulled her closer. She could feel him hardening against her, and as he dipped his head to kiss the hollow where her neck joined her shoulder, she ran her fingers through his hair, remembering how it felt to do that when they were snuggled in his bed, nose to nose.
"What about Walter?"
"What about Walter? He's got to find out sooner or later… and I want you back in my bed." His left hand traced her back with their unspoken language while his right hand held her close to him, his arousal fully evident now. He was nipping her neck now, his left hand tangled in her hair. "Every time I see you," he said, his voice muffled by her hair, "Every time…. I've been walking around with a hard on for two days."
Olivia pushed his shoulder and he looked down at her, a smirk on his face. He chuckled at her faint blush, but as Olivia looked at him, his eyes darkened with desire and she felt it stirring in her as well. She loved Peter in so many ways; it shouldn't come as a surprise to her that their physical connection was as strong as their emotional one. His touch had always soothed her, but when he touched her now, she felt her body respond in a way that was anything but calm.
She ran her fingers through the curls on the back of his head "I miss you, too," she murmured, before pulling him closer for a kiss. She ran her tongue slowly over his bottom lip, until he moaned and his arms tightened around her. She wrapped her arms around him, and slid her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, keeping his body close to hers.
"Why, Agent Dunham, are you grabbing my ass?" he said with a chuckle in his voice.
"Well, Mr. Bishop, I believe I am." She squeezed, just a little, loving the feel of him against her. "Do you want to make a federal case of it?"
She didn't have to see his face; she could feel his body shake with silent amusement. "Only if we get to use the handcuffs," he said as he pushed himself against her.
Emboldened by their teasing, she laid her hand on the prominent bulge in his jeans. She felt his cock jerk at her touch, and Peter pulled her hand to his lips. "Later," he growled, "or I'll lock the door." He rubbed his stubbled cheek against her palm, and bent to kiss her again. They continued to kiss, slow and deep, until they heard Walter calling for Peter.
Before he let her go, Peter leaned his forehead against hers. "Tonight…" he said huskily.
Olivia caressed his cheek and replied softly "I'll see you tonight… late."
As she watched him walk out of the room a little awkwardly, she grimaced at the thought of meeting Walter at the front door, but judging by the anything-but-subtle glances he'd been casting their way the last few days, he wouldn't be surprised to see her.
Chapter 5 – Late in Season 3, part 2
Olivia smiled to herself, thinking of Peter's smartass attitude even in the face of danger. She took another sip of Black Bush and sank back into the still-steamy water. Even though the hot water was beginning to ease the ache in her body, and the burn of the whisky had calmed her trembling hands, she still felt a chill as she remembered their narrow escape earlier that evening. Concern for her own safety had never been an issue, but now that Peter was a part of her life, she needed him close, close enough to feel the warmth of his body next to her, before she would truly be able to relax.
Olivia added more hot water to the tub and swirled the water gently to circulate the warmth. After another sip of her whisky, she held her hands in front of her, wondering if Peter had stopped shaking yet. Despite the exhaustion brought on from the last few days, she smiled at the thought of Peter in her bed tonight; her hand slipped between her legs as she pondered the thought that she's always needed him close enough to feel his heat.
She smiled again, thinking of Peter's hands. They seemed huge compared to her own; strong, but with slender fingers that could do amazing things: repair an intricate piece of machinery; coax a melody out of an ancient piano, cup her face and tilt it up to his for a kiss. Hands that could dissolve her into boneless, quivering pleasure with just a few strokes of his fingertips.
Her cell phone buzzed and she stretched to reach it. Peter.
"Hey!"
"Hey, yourself. I'm coming in, don't shoot me." She could hear the smile in his voice.
"I'll think about it," she replied. Replacing the phone out of splashing distance, she sank back into the tub. Her hand slid back between her legs, and she imagined the way Peter would be touching her soon, so gentle with those slender fingers. Only a moment later, she heard her front door shut, then a kitchen cabinet opening. Her eyes still closed, she pictured Peter in her kitchen, filling a glass much like her own, walking through the living room. She heard him enter the bathroom and set his glass next to hers, then the soft rustle of his clothes landing in a pile.
She didn't open her eyes until she felt his lips on her cheek and his hands reaching from behind her, enveloping her breasts.
"Got room in there for me?" he whispered huskily in her ear, then traced a path down her neck.
She sat up and leaned forward as he eased behind her, his long legs on either side of hers. He groaned as he sank into the hot water. She settled back against him, resting her head against his shoulder and relaxing against him. He wrapped one arm around her waist and cupped her left breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. With his left hand, he clasped hers and brought it to his lips, kissing and sucking her fingers until she moaned softly. She felt his cock pressing against her back as he whispered "Don't let me interrupt," and guided her hand back between her legs, resting his hand lightly on top of hers.
She turned her face towards him, and he shifted slightly to kiss her. As they kissed, his fingers pressed hers gently until she was stroking herself, the weight and width of his hand an added sensation that made her moan into his kiss. As she became more aroused, he rolled her pebbling nipple between his fingers and sucked her lower lip, teasing her with his tongue.
She pushed herself against their clasped hands instinctively, craving more of his touch. She slid her hand on top of his, and pressed his fingers until they teased her opening. "More," she whispered, as she continued to stroke her clit.
He continued to tease her until she whined "Peter," then stroked her more deeply with his fingertips, feeling her silky and responsive to his touch. "More," he replied before he kissed her and plunged his fingers into her, matching the rhythm of her hand. She tightened around his fingers as he curled them, just so, and her body rocked against his hand and hers.
With his free hand, Peter stroked her cheek and tilted her face up to meet his. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her as he continued to push her body towards climax. She stroked his face, the scruff rough against her palm. She gasped, and he wrapped his arm around her again so she could completely relax against him as the waves of her orgasm flowed over her. He continued to murmur softly into her ear, and stroked her until he coaxed every pleasurable sensation from her, his gaze never leaving her eyes.
The intensity of his stare made her shy at first, until the night he begged her to look at him while they made love. "I want to see your eyes when you come," he told her later, after they'd caught their breath. "You look so… so free, so unguarded." He smiled that little smile that told her he was letting his guard down a little, too. "I always want to remember that look on your face," he told her unabashedly. "I always want to think of you that way."
And so she returned his gaze and lost herself in the deep blue of his eyes, and he held her until her body stilled. "I never pictured you as the 'soak-in-the-tub' type," he chuckled, "but I'm beginning to see the appeal."
Olivia gave him a wicked grin as she scooted away, then turned to face him, draping her legs over his hips and pulling him towards her. She put her hands on his shoulders, and Peter hummed in appreciation as her intentions became clearer. He cupped his hands under her ass and drew a sharp breath as she rubbed herself against his cock, then exhaled with a low growl as she buried him inside her and settled herself against him.
"Why, I've always enjoyed a hot bath, "she murmured as she brushed her lips against his, "especially with good company."