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firmament2010-03-14 01:08 pm
gorgeousnerd) wrote in firmament2010-03-14 01:08 pm
Entry tags:
"Let's not think about work", Fringe, PG, Peter/Olivia.
Title: Let's not think about work
Fandom: Fringe
Rating: PG for suggestive content.
Length: About 800 words.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Olivia
Spoilers: Through 2x15.
Summary: Things go the way Peter expects, but he knows Olivia's keeping something back.
Notes: I'd say it's your standard post-"Jacksonville" Bolivia fic, but it's more than that: it's a birthday fic forassassin! She's the one who really sucked me into Fringe, so it only seemed logical to gift her some fic. :D
Let's not think about work
The only way Peter could tell Olivia had drunk her own weight in tequila earlier was the way she stared down the sidewalk as he paid the cabbie. Her gaze always seemed powerful enough to break walls, but she didn't usually look at the ground as a suspect that needed to be cracked.
As the driver thanked him and pulled away, Peter turned back to her, and she looked up with a smile on her face.
"Wanna come up?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
He felt an unfamiliar tension upon entering her apartment. Yeah, it wasn't like he'd been here much, but walking through the front door felt like walking through water: not difficult, but not as easy as walking through air. Olivia, of course, had no problems and barely spared him a backward glance, and he wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, so he pretended it was nothing and pushed the door closed behind him.
Now that he was inside, the place did have a sort of glow to it. He thought of Olivia's niece and Rachel, and smiled. They'd moved out, but he could feel that inviting sense of family they'd left behind.
"Another drink?"
"You have scotch?"
"Sure."
She motored off toward the kitchen, and Peter took a seat. He took a deep breath and felt his muscles unknot.
If this was going where he suspected, it was right. It might not have been right on the suspicious sidewalk, but since they'd both given enough consent to bring them this far, it would take a lot to pull either of them back from the edge. And Peter knew he was more likely to crack than she was. Maybe that's why he liked her.
Olivia returned with two glasses: one scotch on the rocks, one clear liquid. She didn't seem the vodka type.
"Don't tell me you're holding back now," he said, accepting his glass and taking a generous sip. He'd had a couple drinks, but that didn't lessen the slow burn now.
She grinned and took the couch. "I have a rule. Drink as much as I want out there, but when I come in here, it's back to water."
He held up his glass in salute. "Good for you."
"No rules for you?"
The comment didn't sound judgmental, so he didn't take it as such. "Time for fun doesn't come enough for me to want to pin it down. I just try to make the most of it."
Olivia's smile faded to a more measuring, determined look, and Peter was glad to see it. He took another taste of the scotch.
"Besides, it's hard having standards when your dad's using all kinds of drugs just to get through the day."
She stiffened. Funny. But it went away so fast he'd almost wondered if he'd imagined it, and she laughed, running a hand through her hair. Still, if he didn't know better, he'd think he upset her.
He decided to chance a remark. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," she said. Her smile seemed a bit forced. "I just…don't want to think about work."
"You? Don't want to think about work?"
Her shoulders eased a little, and Peter exhaled a little harder than he meant to.
"It might surprise you," she said, "but yeah, even I don't want to think about work sometimes."
Peter put the glass down and adjusted his sweater. "Then let's not think about work."
The rest of the evening went as he'd originally expected.
Olivia kissed passionately, as he suspected she would: she threw herself into what she wanted, it was why she was so good at her job. She took the lead, and he was more than glad to let her. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have had had the stamina to keep up.
They were both sated as the hints of false dawn tinted the sky outside. Peter propped himself up on one arm, and inspected Olivia with his free hand. He drew his thumb across her cheek, marveling at the soft freckles that dotted her skin.
For a minute, she looked at him exactly as she had looked at the sidewalk. Peter suppressed a shiver. She wasn't drunk, not anymore.
"What is it?" he whispered.
She put a finger over his lips. "I don't want to think about it."
He'd been feeling drowsy, but something about her manner pushed it away. He nodded once, slowly, and she turned away. He wrapped his arms around her torso, and she hugged his arms, but there was a hardness in her that wouldn't leave. Was it always there?
Peter sank his head into the pillow, and willed himself to some state of unconsciousness. Even before he closed his eyes, he was willing to bet a lot of money that Olivia wasn't going to sleep a wink.
But he didn't want to think about it.
Fandom: Fringe
Rating: PG for suggestive content.
Length: About 800 words.
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Olivia
Spoilers: Through 2x15.
Summary: Things go the way Peter expects, but he knows Olivia's keeping something back.
Notes: I'd say it's your standard post-"Jacksonville" Bolivia fic, but it's more than that: it's a birthday fic for
assassin! She's the one who really sucked me into Fringe, so it only seemed logical to gift her some fic. :DThe only way Peter could tell Olivia had drunk her own weight in tequila earlier was the way she stared down the sidewalk as he paid the cabbie. Her gaze always seemed powerful enough to break walls, but she didn't usually look at the ground as a suspect that needed to be cracked.
As the driver thanked him and pulled away, Peter turned back to her, and she looked up with a smile on her face.
"Wanna come up?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
He felt an unfamiliar tension upon entering her apartment. Yeah, it wasn't like he'd been here much, but walking through the front door felt like walking through water: not difficult, but not as easy as walking through air. Olivia, of course, had no problems and barely spared him a backward glance, and he wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, so he pretended it was nothing and pushed the door closed behind him.
Now that he was inside, the place did have a sort of glow to it. He thought of Olivia's niece and Rachel, and smiled. They'd moved out, but he could feel that inviting sense of family they'd left behind.
"Another drink?"
"You have scotch?"
"Sure."
She motored off toward the kitchen, and Peter took a seat. He took a deep breath and felt his muscles unknot.
If this was going where he suspected, it was right. It might not have been right on the suspicious sidewalk, but since they'd both given enough consent to bring them this far, it would take a lot to pull either of them back from the edge. And Peter knew he was more likely to crack than she was. Maybe that's why he liked her.
Olivia returned with two glasses: one scotch on the rocks, one clear liquid. She didn't seem the vodka type.
"Don't tell me you're holding back now," he said, accepting his glass and taking a generous sip. He'd had a couple drinks, but that didn't lessen the slow burn now.
She grinned and took the couch. "I have a rule. Drink as much as I want out there, but when I come in here, it's back to water."
He held up his glass in salute. "Good for you."
"No rules for you?"
The comment didn't sound judgmental, so he didn't take it as such. "Time for fun doesn't come enough for me to want to pin it down. I just try to make the most of it."
Olivia's smile faded to a more measuring, determined look, and Peter was glad to see it. He took another taste of the scotch.
"Besides, it's hard having standards when your dad's using all kinds of drugs just to get through the day."
She stiffened. Funny. But it went away so fast he'd almost wondered if he'd imagined it, and she laughed, running a hand through her hair. Still, if he didn't know better, he'd think he upset her.
He decided to chance a remark. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," she said. Her smile seemed a bit forced. "I just…don't want to think about work."
"You? Don't want to think about work?"
Her shoulders eased a little, and Peter exhaled a little harder than he meant to.
"It might surprise you," she said, "but yeah, even I don't want to think about work sometimes."
Peter put the glass down and adjusted his sweater. "Then let's not think about work."
The rest of the evening went as he'd originally expected.
Olivia kissed passionately, as he suspected she would: she threw herself into what she wanted, it was why she was so good at her job. She took the lead, and he was more than glad to let her. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't have had had the stamina to keep up.
They were both sated as the hints of false dawn tinted the sky outside. Peter propped himself up on one arm, and inspected Olivia with his free hand. He drew his thumb across her cheek, marveling at the soft freckles that dotted her skin.
For a minute, she looked at him exactly as she had looked at the sidewalk. Peter suppressed a shiver. She wasn't drunk, not anymore.
"What is it?" he whispered.
She put a finger over his lips. "I don't want to think about it."
He'd been feeling drowsy, but something about her manner pushed it away. He nodded once, slowly, and she turned away. He wrapped his arms around her torso, and she hugged his arms, but there was a hardness in her that wouldn't leave. Was it always there?
Peter sank his head into the pillow, and willed himself to some state of unconsciousness. Even before he closed his eyes, he was willing to bet a lot of money that Olivia wasn't going to sleep a wink.
But he didn't want to think about it.