Author's Note: Hey, everyone. It's time for another D.D. and it's brand spanking new. I hope you enjoy it. Have a good one!

CMW2/Trumpetnista: Draftbook Drabble #9-(Fitz, Olivia, Abby, Bodyguard/Charge AU, Olitz, Olitz HEA guaranteed, slightly OOC but nothing extreme, NSFW)

Words from the Gladiator in a Hoodie: Well, it took a while but I finally corralled my Muses enough to decide to do the Bodyguard prompt and it's all thanks to the 'Cell Block Tango'. I've heard of Chicago (my momma was a music major, I was in band from 4th grade- 12th grade (hence the root of my URL) and I was AP English class besties with a guy during my latter years of high school who could recognize pieces from musicals from the first note and do a scene by scene breakdown of everything from the lighting to if someone was off pitch) but I've never sat down and watched it, movie or on stage (bucket list for the stage; next Netflix binge for the movie, if it's on there.) so I looked up the soundtrack out of curiosity and fell hard for the 'Cell Block Tango'. I've watched the scene about 10 times in the last couple of days and I had an idea that broke through my indecisiveness. What if Liv was in the musical? What if she had picked up an 'admirer' and needed protection and if so, who better than our favorite (surviving) Grant man to do it?

Let there be fanfic.

Enjoy the latest. Mad Love, Jam, and Power Drills, ~*Trump*~

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

...why did you throw out my flowers, Olivia? They were your favorites: tiger lilies and black orchids. I can understand why you threw away the chocolates. You're on stage strutting and dancing around like a common whore, singing and showing everything that belongs to me for money so that means you have to be nice and trim in the middle. I saw you perform last night and I must say that you bring so much life to Mona during your Big Showstopping Number. The way you told her story about her unfaithful painter, the way you wrapped yourself around the steroid popping prick that portrayed him…if I were a lesser man, I would've ran to the stage and grabbed you. I would've taken you over my knee for letting yet another man touch you and then given you what your sweet little body is obviously aching for. You need a man's touch, Olivia. Your hands and that insipid little toy you had hidden in your nightstand can't replace the warmth of a good cock, no matter how much you want it to.

I just wish that you would stop teasing me, denying our connection. I wouldn't have been so harsh with your belongings if you would just quit playing games. We're too old for such things and you're better than sort of bullshit. But, you can keep having your fun if you wish. Go ahead. Do whatever and whoever you want…

It'll make your punishment all the sweeter for me.

Until next time… – 20

"So, what made you become a bodyguard? A person hears the last name Grant and they immediately think…"

"Politics. It's the family business but after I came back from flying combat support overseas, I made a decision not to go into it myself. In response, my Father In Name Only cut me off and tried to legally disown me. Unfortunately for him, he's a Republican and family values matter to Republicans. Plus, Great-Grandfather Fitzpatrick set up a Clause that the only way any Grant could be disowned and disinherited would be if they were charged and convicted of a federal offense."

"Didn't your FINO get caught up in that Suckin' and Snortin' New Year's Eve Party Sunset Boulevard Scandal back in '99?"

"He did but thanks to a Cochrane-esque lawyer, bribes, and some manufactured problems with the Jury, he was never convicted of the charges. Anyway, once his scotch soaked memory was refreshed about the Clause, he stopped trying to dissolve my trust funds and wanted to play nice. But by then, I was used to taking care of myself so the funds have been sitting in the bank collecting interest and Big Jerry and I don't have anything to talk about. I forgive people pretty easily but I don't forget and it wasn't the first time the old man had tried to fuck me over. I wasn't going to give him another opportunity. I send him a Christmas card and call him on his birthday but that's it."

"Smart move. I did the same thing with Eli after I got my court reporting credentials and I don't regret it for a second."

"Eli?"

"My own Father In Name Only. He wanted me to go into law or behind the scenes politics. He wanted me to be a Chief of Staff, Director of Communications, or something in PR and Crisis Management. As you've figured out by now, I like to be in the background of the action, an REMF instead of a Big Damned Hero but I don't want anything to do with those circles."

"But, you have court reporting credentials?"

"I do and I make sure that I keep up with the requirements. As much as I love what I do, I can't be on the stage forever. One bad bout of laryngitis or a blown out knee during a middle split could have me out of commission for good. I needed a fall back plan with solid earning potential and I'm really good at typing and listening. My friend Abby told me about the court reporting classes and we both went for it. I finished a couple of years ago. She's still doing them. She had to take a break to recover what happened to her with Charles Putney. Jackass broke her spirit and damned near broke her neck because thought he was the Cinderella Man and she was a punching bag. So, yeah…none of that politics nonsense for me, either. That field of work busted up my family and had my mother dead at the bottom of the Atlantic in a private plane crash a couple of days after my 14th birthday."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago and she's at peace now. Or if she isn't, at least she's away from Eli. Continue my bedtime story, Sir Fitzgerald. Don't leave me in suspense."

"Yes, Princess Olivia…during my last tour of duty, I was shot down and captured by the enemy for 26 days and 14 hours. The resulting escape and injuries got me a couple of medals and an honorable discharge. After a year of PT and 2 years with a shrink, I needed to do something productive within my skill set so it was either become a cop, a mechanic, a fireman, a martial arts instructor or a professional chef."

"A chef? You don't have a professional chef vibe about you."

"Appearances and vibes can be deceiving. If I've got the right ingredients, a couple of good pans, and a heat source, I'm a damned good cook. My mother taught me as much she could about the trade before she passed away. The martial arts studio had the best offer and the least amount of hoops to jump through to get started. I was there for 10 years and during that time, I made contacts within the private security world and in law enforcement, including Captain Beene."

"6 years in the Air Force, 3 years of recovery, 10 years of teaching people how to defend themselves, 5 years of body guarding…how old are you, anyway? Cyrus mentioned it at the 1-9 but it went in one ear and out the other."

"I'll be 45 on May 20th. What?"

"…do you drink virgin unicorn blood or something? Other than the crow's feet, I'd swear on the Bible that you were 30, 35 at the most."

"No, I just have good genes and I take care of myself."

"I'll say. Y'know, I heard you singing along to Mr. Cellophane with the crew during rehearsal. If you ever get sick of potentially getting shot dead for spoiled little shits like me, you should come over to the theater for a job. Harrison's always on the hunt for a good reliable baritone and with your baby blues and the gentle sexy giant kick you've got going on, you'd be a hell of an addition to the troupe. Are you sure you're 45?"

"If you want, I'll show you my driver's license later. Now, speaking of the theater, you have to meet the cast members at the gym at 0745 sharp tomorrow so now, you have to go to sleep."

"What about your sleep, Batman?"

"Once I check in with Captain Beene, I will turn in for the night next door. Any more questions?"

"After a bedtime story, you're supposed to tuck the person in and kiss them goodnight."

"That's not a question and you're 29 years old, Olivia. You can tuck yourself in. Forget it."

"… pretty please?"

"…if you stop quivering your lower lip and giving me the fucking Bambi eyes, then yes."

Against his will, Fitz Grant III smiled at her little dance and clap of triumph before moving the bedding she just kicked away upwards again. Olivia Pope was his latest Charge and was proving to be a pleasant charge. He hadn't expected her to be. She was young and brash, fiercely independent with an unrepentantly smart mouth to go with her mind. She had come into the 1-9 Precinct bull pen with a 4 inch sparkling ruby stiletto aided strut, a box full of mementos and photographs from her "admirer" tucked underneath her arm, and popping a large wad of Bubblelicious in her plum painted mouth. When she took off her long taupe trench coat, she had revealed a black knee length slinky halter dress that dipped all the way to the small of her back and showcased her petite but lushly curved body. She had slammed the box down on the nearest desk and then barely spared him a glance as Captain Beene informed her of the progress in her case, what little they had, other than the 19 letters she had given them. This "admirer" was good.

Fortunately for Olivia, Fitz was the best in the business for a reason.

They had polite interactions and she would follow his instructions to the letter, obedience seasoned with snark. It was better than no obedience at all because with each passing day, with each new "gift" and letter, it became clear that the unsub was starting to unravel fast. In his cracked mind, Olivia and he had a relationship that she was being unfaithful to him in. At first, the letters had been asking what he had done wrong, what could be done to put them right again but as time passed and she involved the authorities, the letters had taken a dark tone. She was being a spiteful bitch and he wanted revenge against her before they could be happy again. She needed to be punished severely and then reminded of just who it was that loved her the most…

It was no longer a question of if he'd approach Olivia in person but when and how.

Whoever he was used pawns to purchase the offerings and used cash only to pay for them. None of the pawns had seen the man's face and he disguised his voice. Every letter was typed and sent from dummy return addresses that led to vacant lots or abandoned properties. Each was signed with a number, 20 being the latest, and he had been in her apartment more than once. There had been detailed shots of the interior and even one of her asleep taken from her fire escape. The unsub had taken clothing, small things like hair barrettes, and most recently, her vibrator. The various boxes of condoms she kept in the drawer had been opened and punctured with may have been a combat knife or dagger.

A large teddy bear had been left hanging from the ceiling fan via pantyhose, the latest letter pinned to its ripped open chest. The fan had been rotating slowly and it had rattled him to the core, surprising him. After everything he had seen and experienced, Fitz thought he had lost the ability to feel truly afraid, truly off guard.

To Olivia's credit, she had simply called the police and he had sat with her outside of the apartment door to wait. Her tears were brief and silent. He had looked away respectfully as they fell and then handed her a cloth handkerchief, one of many that he had collected over the years.

She had looked at him with achingly soft eyes and a genuine smile, one that he had easily returned.

Fitz thought that he had lost that ability, too.

After the cops left, Olivia had finally agreed to go to a safe house with him. It was just across the River and in a quiet neighborhood of senior living facilities. It was actually his home. She had figured it out almost immediately and had been quietly excited to be in his space. After he had given her a rundown of the security measures and showed her to the guest room, Olivia had spent the rest of the time before rehearsal exploring his possessions. She explored his books, a few photographs, his DVD collection, and without touching any of the weapons, his arsenal.

He had ordered Chinese food for them after returning home. Then, he had brewed them both some chamomile tea as she got showered and changed for bed. Although, he usually slept nude, he had put on one of the pairs of black pants he used to teach in, as well as a dark gray t-shirt for the sake of her comfort. She wore tiny red sleep shorts with the Hello Kitty logo outlined in black, gray knee socks, and one of her numerous white tank tops. Her hair was loose and hit her shoulders in long obsidian coils…

The plush purple and white bedding was pulled up to her chest and he fluffed the pillow underneath her head, meeting her sleepy and worried eyes.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"I'm just doing my job, Olivia."

"I…I'm scared, Fitz. He's been in my place. He took my stuff. He's got a big knife that he knows how to use and… what if he really hurts me? What if he k-kills me? I'm not even 30 yet. There's still so much that I haven't gotten to do, people that I haven't gotten to be. I don't wanna die. Not yet…"

"I won't let that happen, Olivia." he pledged bluntly.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes dismissively at the statement, as if he had just told her about the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus being real.

"Stalking cases either turn out with the person stalked getting hurt or dying or the stalker dying or going to prison. No one ever escapes unscathed. I looked it up. I saw all of the statistics. The police barely have any leads and he's going to make me a statistic. I don't want to be a statistic…"

"I will not let that happen, Olivia!"

She blinked, taken aback at the ferocity of his tone and the fact that he had gotten right in her face. Olivia being Olivia didn't shy away from him and Fitz looked away for her, fighting against the stinging in his eyes. Through years of growing up with Big Jerry and his time in the military, Fitz had conditioned himself not to cry. His eyes would well up and redden, his breathing would become harsh, but tears would not fall. He would not let them. Tears meant that They had won: whoever They were at the time. They had varied all of his life. They had been Big Jerry, the older boys at boarding school, the upperclassmen at college, the hazing officers at Bootcamp, his captors… tears were unacceptable. Tears were visible, tangible proof of weakness. Yet, the very idea of some sick nasty fuck scaring this woman, hurting this woman, snuffing out her fire just to "keep her"…it made him ill. It made him want to…

"Oh…oh, fuck…Fitz, don't cry…I didn't mean to upset you. I know that you can protect me. You've done great so far, honest. It's just that I'm too cynical for my own good sometimes and…c'mere…"

He hesitated briefly but got under the blankets with her, still refusing to look at her as she turned on her side to face his back.

"Look at me."

"No."

"You turn over and you look at me, Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III. Now."

Her last word was emphasized to a swift kick to his behind.

Fitz did so and saw no pity in her gaze, just concern and understanding. A gentle hand wiped his silent tears away and he looked away from her amber sienna eyes again, looked at her right tricep fixedly. What the fuck? What was this? He was supposed to be guarding her, taking care of her, not the other way around, dammit! Why was he breaking down in front of her, in front of a Charge? Why was this happening? Olivia Carolyn Pope was just another Charge to protect…

She is not just another Charge to you, anymore. She's a friend. You remember what friends are, don't you? Friends are good. Friends are nice. Friends make life less lonely, less cold. She's a friend. She busts your balls to smithereens sometimes but she's your friend and more. Well, to be accurate, you want her to be more. She means something to you. You just opened up to her as easily as you load a gun. You play with her. She actually got you to crack a smile on duty and to sing. She clicked into your life on 4 inch stilettos and made herself comfortable, brought challenge and color to your world again. She's not just another Charge, anymore…

You want her to stay.

"I don't want you to die, either. I never want any of my Charges to die but you mean…you've gotten…I don't…you…I've only known you for 3 weeks but…I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want you to die. I don't want this sick fuck to take you away. It would be…"he trailed off, searching for an appropriate adjective.

"…devastating?" she guessed sadly.

"Yes. Yes, that's the word…I don't know why but that's the word." Fitz breathed as they shifted closer to each other's warmth.

Why they were whispering, he didn't know but it fit the situation.

"…I've got issues, Fitz. I've got some deep and painful issues inside me that are always out to get me. They mess up my head and they mess up the relationships I form with men. I'm cute and I'm damned fun for a fling but I'm no walk in the park to deal with on the regular. I get jealous. I blow hot and cold and I'm a runner, even in the 7 inch hooker boots Abby gave me for Christmas last year. I don't think…you may be better off forgetting all about me once this is all over."

Slowly, he pulled her into a full embrace and she squeezed him, resting her head on his chest.

"I can't forget about you. I don't want to forget about you."

"Then we've got a problem because I don't want to forget about you, either."

"…I'm too old for you."

"I'm too black for you. It'll make it ten times harder."

"I'm willing to work through it, if you are."

"…you're not too old for me."

"16 years, Olivia! When I was going to the Prom, you were teething!" he protested at his regular volume.

"So fucking what?! Like you said earlier, I'm 29. I've been good and grown for a long time now! I know what I want and what I don't want. I want you. Do you want me?" she replied hotly, refusing to back down from what she wanted.

From what they both wanted.

Did he want her?

Yes.

Badly.

More than anything in the World but…

"It's unethical. You're my Charge. I can't get into a romantic relationship with a Charge."

She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, then. You're fired. I'm no longer your Charge so there are no more ethical dilemmas or excuses. Do you want me? It's a yes or no question."

"Olivia…"

"Do. You. Want. Me?"

"…yes."

"Then stop being an overly noble idiot and fucking kiss me. You tucked me in. Now, I want my goodnight kiss. Kiss me like you mean it."

His right hand cupped her left thigh and drew her flush against him. Her left fingers clenched in the curls at the nape of his neck and as soon as their lips met, Fitz was home. Her mouth was warm and silky plush, her flavor enchanting. Olivia let a hot honeyed moan of delight and deepened the kiss, coaxing and demanding his tongue to play with hers. His whole body felt flushed and feverish, heat racing up and down his spine before coiling in his lower belly, his hips, his…

"Mmmm…"

Fitz ground harder against the soft plane of her belly and her back arched as he kissed her on the neck, making her generous hips swivel. Every time her hips moved on stage, every time she walked in front of him or away from him, he couldn't help but watch. His hands spanned those hips and slid to grab a double handful of her behind. He had always been an ass man and Olivia's was perfect in his eyes…

Every single inch of her was perfect in his eyes.

Only when the need for oxygen became painful did he break the kiss and she rolled onto her back with a low whimper. Fitz quickly got out of the bed and adjusted his trousers in a vain attempt to contain what she did to him. She sat up and licked her lips, looking every bit the part of a Siren.

"Come back to bed. Stay with me, baby…"

"I have to go, Livvie. You need to sleep."

"I figured you'd say that…how the actual fuck am I supposed to sleep after that?"

"I'm sure that you'll figure out a way."

"…any regrets?"

"Only one."

"What?"

"I should've kissed you sooner."

And before she could tempt him further, he closed the door behind him firmly.

She would be the death of him.

He would die happy.

/

"You are fierce today, Liv-Liv. It's like you've got your swagger back. Did they catch the Creeper?"

"No, not yet, Gingersnap but they're thinking that he'll make his Big Move after the last show tomorrow night. His fixation started with the show so hopefully, it'll end with it."

"And hopefully you won't be dead in the alley afterwards."

"Right? I've got too much shit that I haven't gotten to do yet before I go up to the Spirit in the Sky and I want…there's a new reason for me to stick around."

"Your hunky Bodyguard?"

"Uh-huh. We talked last night and turns out, he likes me too. A lot. A really whole lot."

"Isn't that breaking a core Bodyguarding rule, though?"

"Yeah, so I fired him and let the cops know the deal so they wouldn't have to pay him anymore. They don't really like it but as long as they get the Creeper, they don't care if we're coupled up. He's still gonna stick around to make sure I'm okay until they get the Creeper but he's not my Bodyguard anymore. He's my…he's my Fitz, now. I'm his Livvie, now."

"Awe-some…so, is he good in bed or not? He looks like he is but looks can be deceiving…trust me, I'm an expert!"

"I don't know. We haven't done it yet but I swear to God that if he fucks even half as good as he kisses, then I'm in trouble. And he's big. Really, really big…"

"Everything's in proportion?"

"Perfect proportion."

"Fuck you, bitch. I hate your slimy guts."

"No, you don't. You're just jealous…"

"Damned straight. I haven't gotten laid in ages. I need to get some action but my prospects are dim and dull…"

"What about that David Rosen guy that was talking to Harrison a couple of days ago? He was smart, he was nice, he was bitterly sarcastic, and he kept looking at you like he wanted to lick you like a DQ cone while we practiced the splits."

"Really?"

"Really, really…you should totally get his number…"

Having heard enough, he moved away from the dressing area and pushed a cart full of set parts across the stage slowly. Looking out into the dimly lit facility, he saw the Bodyguard standing in the orchestra pit, talking to Huck the Lighting Guy. So, he was the new one? He was the latest one she had lured into her bed, their bed…bitch. How could she betray him like this? How could she betray their connection?

As soon as he saw her, he felt it. She had smiled at him and told him her name, told him that she was going to be one of the Six Merry Murderesses of the Cook County Jail. She was ablaze with excitement and when their hands touched, it was like everything made sense. At that moment, he knew that he had found his Soulmate, the One for him. She made everything make sense again and he wanted to keep that clarity, that joy…

But, now…now, things weren't making sense at all. Things were wrong and skewed. She had shared her body with others and he knew that she could be forgiven for it. It would take a rightful amount of recompense but forgiveness would come. Yet, when she let this Bodyguard, this Fitzgerald (who the fuck names their child something so antiquated and ridiculous?) worm his way into her heart and her cunt…she had crossed a line.

It wasn't that he didn't love her anymore. No. No, no, no…he did, really he did but he was not the sort of man to share. His very few exes had called him clingy, crazy, possessive, demented, jealous…he wasn't! He had seen what happened to relationships when women were allowed to do as they pleased with no sense of structure, no limits. He didn't want that happening between himself and Olivia but she just wasn't cooperating!

She was so willful, so stubborn, so crass, so fucking slutty…

How could she let that geriatric Bodyguard touch her?!

For fuck's sake, the man was practically old enough to be her father!

It would take many years of patient correction to steer her onto the right path, the path his mother never followed…

He had watched his father drink himself to death as his mother went out with her paramours, as she flaunted the gifts they gave her, and spoke about how they fucked her twice as good as he ever did. She blamed his father for his birth, claiming that he had gotten her drunk and used a cheap rubber so she would feel obligated to marry him for the sake of their lovechild. Every shattered dream she had (she had wanted to be a famous singer. She lived in rural Wyoming and couldn't carry a tune in a bucket but she had wanted to be a famous singer…), every bad thought she had, everything bad that happened was his father's fault. He was such a loser. She couldn't believe that she was stuck with him and his brat. Why couldn't he just drop dead, already?

One day, he had. He had stood up slowly from his chair, gave his mother one last wounded look, and fell over dead, landing right in front of his 10 year old son. His gleeful mother had called the police and put on the best grieving widow act she could until the life insurance check came through.

She had run off with 2 of her lovers to France a week afterwards, leaving him with relatives and later, the foster system. He had sworn that he wouldn't end up like his father. He wouldn't end up at the bottom of a bottle of Jack and at the mercy of the whims of a heartless bitch.

He would be the one in total control.

He would be the shotcaller.

He would never allow some woman to walk all over him and ruin him.

Yet, here he was. He was enthralled with a woman who was determined to torture and undermine him.

He truly was his father's son.

However, he was determined to have a better life than the old man did.

He wouldn't be just another loser.

Getting to the other side of the stage, he passed the cart on and looked at the agenda board, at what number they would be focusing on next.

Ah.

The Cell Block Tango.

Her Big Showstopping Number.

How lovely.

/

"Let her go, Ballard. Let her go, right fucking now…"

"Why should I?! So, you can have her?! So, God knows who else can have her?! You don't deserve her!You could never love her like I do!"

"You love me but you're pressing a gun into my temple? You love me but you're willing to use me as a human shield against all of these cops and their guns? You love me but you're eager to see me die instead of happy with someone else? That is not love, Jake Ballard. That is selfish, erotomanic obsession and you're nothing but a sick, pathetic little boy trying to act like a big bad man."

"Olivia…"

"Don't 'Olivia' me right now, Cyrus. It's not like I'm saying anything wrong and I'm not going to stop being my usual charming self just because I've got Charlie the trigger happy Tuna here pressing his limp biscuit against my booty. Unbelievable. All of those threats and promises you put in your little letters, all of those little Skinemax fantasies you suggested that we do, and now that you've got me right where you want me, you can't even get it up. You're not just a basic little bitch, you're a remedial one, too. If it wasn't so sad, I'd laugh. Hell, I might just laugh, anyway. What do I have to lose?"

"Shut your whore mouth, you stupid bitch! You're just like my fucking mother!"

"Oh, that's real nice, Oedipus. Mommy issues…how cliche. How droll. You can't even muster up basic respect for the broad who pushed you out and you think you're capable of being someone's Soulmate, of being the great love of someone's life, of my life? Yeah, right. If all of this happened because of your beef with her, then how come didn't you just kill her and be done with it? Why'd you drag me and other people into your nonsense?"

"She never gave me a chance! You never gave me a chance! No one ever gave me a fucking chance!"

"Obviously, you never gave anyone a good reason to give you a chance…are you going to pull the trigger or are you just going to keep wasting everyone's time here, including mine?"

"Y-you really don't care if I kill you right now? In front of your geriatric boy-toy, no less?"

Olivia looked at Fitz who was standing next to Cyrus and gave him a soft smile before shrugging her shoulders as best she could in the hold her stalker had her in.

"Of course I care if I die, asshole. How could I not? I'm human and humans are programmed to want to live as long as possible. That being said, if you putting a Quentin Tarantino slug in my temporal lobe means that you end up getting turned into Swiss cheese right afterwards or injected with a state sponsored potassium chloride cocktail down the line, then I'm okay with it happening. I've spent the last month and a half being absolutely terrified of you, of your pawns, and of my own shadow. I'm just fucking tired of it and you. Do what you got to do, Ballard. Kill me or let me go, it's all Greek to me. No matter what, it's finally going to be over."

"This…this isn't how it's supposed to go…you're not doing it right…you're ruining everything…"

"I'm not begging you for my life or for any forgiveness you think you deserve. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of playing your corrupted damsel. Kill me or let me go, Ballard. Make a decision. Don't leave us all in suspense."

The wind left her as Jake abruptly tossed her to the stage and pointed his gun underneath his own chin as she scrambled into Fitz's eager embrace. He scooped her up and ran backstage with her, just in time for a single gunshot to ring through the empty theater.

"Get the paramedics in here, right now! Suspect down. I repeat, suspect down."

Suspect.

Jake Ballard.

Jake Ballard had shot himself.

Jake Ballard was down.

Jake Ballard was likely about to die or already dead.

The bullet hadn't gone into her head or into Fitz's head.

They had made it out alive.

She wasn't going to be a statistic.

No one had taken her away.

No one had killed her.

Other than a bleeding mark on her temple and a growing bruise on her left knee, she wasn't injured.

She was still here.

Ballard had failed.

She was alive.

He wasn't going to be devastated.

They had made it.

They were alive.

It was over.

It was finally, truly, mercifully over.

/

2 Weeks Later…

"Stop. Leave your stockings and heels on."

"Kinky bastard, aren't you?"

"You have no idea. C'mere…"

"Come over here and get me."

A soft squeak escaped her as his arms snapped out quick as a cobra and she let out a hearty laugh as Fitz put her very firmly underneath him in their bed. After the dust settled, Olivia had never gone back to her apartment. Once her monthly lease ended and she sold all of her furniture, she brought her remaining belongings to the house.

Sharing a home, sharing a life with a woman was something that he hadn't done in many years for many reasons but having Olivia by his side, in his arms…it felt right. And knowing that she wanted to be with him, that she had chosen to be with him made it all the sweeter…

"Mmmm…fuck me, baby…I want you…"

Fitz shuddered with delight as she suckled on the lobe of his left ear and cupped her face in his hands. The mark from the gun barrel had scabbed over and was starting to fade, as was the bruise on her knee. Other than the black sheer thigh highs and the same heels she had on when they met, she was gloriously nude. She was warm and soft and he could hardly wait to be inside her, to feel her all over.

But, he would for just a little while longer.

Ever since he saw her, there had been a specific desire in his head, one that made his mouth water just thinking about it…

"Not yet, Livvie…I want to taste you…I want you to sit on my face…"

Her nostrils flared and a vamp's smile curved her fuchsia lips. Gently batting his hands away, she placed them down at his sides and used her soft hands to ease him onto his back. She was straddled on him just above his navel and he shivered at the sticky heat he felt as she ground down on him. God, it had been so long since he felt that, since he felt a woman's softness against his nakedness. Too damned long...

His Livvie would be more than happy to help him make up for lost time.

Holding his gaze, she practically slithered up his body, making sure to press her breasts against his chest before rising up on her spread knees above his face. She gathered up her hair and let it fall, moving her hips in a hypnotically slow motion to inflame him further.

"You want to taste me, Fitz? You want to lick my pussy?"

"Yes, please."

"So polite…such a sweet…ooohhh…"

Pulling her down, Fitz licked her for a second time, a third, a fourth…Olivia groaned and ground down against his tongue needily. After she did that, he became a man possessed. He licked, he kissed, he blew, and he suckled at her pulsing clit, groaning his delight at her flowing nectar. Olivia was shuddering and he could hear her gratified sounds as her silk covered thighs tensed around his head rhythmically. The heels of her shoes pressed against his shoulders as she started to ride his face, one hand on the headboard and the other stroking and pulling his hair.

Both of them were moaning and she grunted as he slid his tongue into her pulsing channel, simulating the joining they would do. He would be slow and tender at first but then, he would move in her hard and fast, wanting to see her writhe and meet him halfway…

"Fitz-ger-ald!"

She yelped as she came and held his head with both hands as she bucked, prompting him to nuzzle his face into her sweetness, wanting her essence on his cheeks, in his mouth, deep into his nostrils. Once her climax began to subside, he lifted her off of his face and put her on her back.

"Fuck me, baby…fuck me, Fitz…please…"

Her heels were taken off and he rose up on his knees, draping her stocking clad legs over his shoulders. She was panting rapidly underneath him and holding her gaze, Fitz pressed into her tight silk, putting a firm hand over her jugular but not squeezing. Olivia groaned and her eyes bulged as their groins met, her walls fluttering around him welcomely.

"Oh, my God…so good…so good inside me…so warm and thick…move, Fitz, move...fuck me…"

"Mine."

He thrust into her hard and she let out a breathless little "ah!" as her head fell back. He liked that noise. He wanted to hear more of that noise. Focusing on that spot, he formed a driving rhythm, enjoying those breathless little "ah!"s and the way she pulled him in faster and faster. Olivia was squirming and wiggling with pleasure underneath him and she keened as he pinched her nipples, twisting and stroking them to make her walls spasm around him.

"More…don't stop, baby… don't you dare stop…oh, fuck yes! Fuck me, Fitz…fuck your Livvie…yes, yes, yessss…"

"Mine."

"Yours…yours, yours, yours, always yours, baby…fuck!"

"Mmmm…that's it…come on my cock, Livvie…take it…take it all…"

"Fitz, I…I'm g-gonna…I'm…oh, my…ohhh…"

"Mine!"

"God, baby, yes!"

"Mine! You're mine!"

"Come for me…come inside me…be in me…come for me…come inside me, baby…come inside me, now!"

"Olivia!"