Disclaimer: I don't own "The Haunting of Hill House." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I couldn't get the scene between Hugh and Liv out of my head with the screwdriver against his neck, so- here we are.

Disclaimer: Erotic asphyxiation kink, danger kink, sexual content, knife kink, drama, romance, angst, ptsd.

Breaking Ground

"What is it?"

"Liv!"

"Hugh?"

"Liv, what the fuck?"

"I- I'm sorry, I was- I was- I was having a horrible dream."

"You think?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"I- I don't even know what - what's going on with you?"

"Nothing."

"You're holding a fucking screwdriver to my throat!"

"No, I wasn't! I-"

The problem didn't have a simple fix.

Because the problem was…he'd been hard.

So hard.

Hard enough he'd ached after. Unfulfilled and locked on a cliff-edge he'd never wanted to find. All because of the sharp point of that god damned screwdriver digging into his neck as Olivia straddled him. Completely out of her mind. Eyes closed. Breathing hard. Pale, gaunt and shaking like a leaf. Fighting something he didn't understand, but felt later, the night they fled the house for good.

'But what does that make you?' something in him whispered. 'What does it make you that you liked it? That you haven't stopped thinking about it? That every time you let yourself, you lock yourself in the bathroom and jerk off like you're fifteen and horny twenty-four seven? Huh?'

Self discovery was messy. But the truth was, he didn't have time to dwell on it until later. Because instead of Olivia going to Janet's for a break, he listened to the feelings gurgling in his gut and packed them all out in less than a day. Enlisting Steve and Shirley to wrangle the others while he focused on Olivia. Realizing only then how close they'd been to falling into something deep, hungry and terrible.

He didn't know what it was.

He didn't want too.

All he knew was the moment they left, he felt a dark weight just- lift. Like the crushing pressure that'd been building over the past few weeks had suddenly disappeared. It took Olivia longer. It took sleepless nights watching their hotel door. Stopping her whenever she gathered her purse and tried to go back. Sleepwalking. Disassociating. It took hundreds of thousands of miles of distance - a new house, a new project - but finally, she healed.

They healed.

But the feeling of the screwdriver against his throat never went away. It curled like an itch in the back of his mind. Slowly taking up the space the house used to as their realtor quietly closed with a buyer overseas. Someone who was looking for an investment property and had no intention of ever living there. Allowing them to recoup their losses. Enough to get by anyway.

One night, after the kids were in bed and he still smelled like dry wall dust and pine, he crowded her into the wall and hiked her up. Burying himself deep in all her familiar curves. Pleased when she melted easily and gasped his name. But when she missed his shoulders and scored her nails down the side of his neck, it was so similar to the sharp pressure of the screw driver that he came immediately - shuddering, bucking and gasping. So gone his legs folded and they'd crumpled to the carpet in a heap. Olivia had just laughed, kissing an apology across the nail marks that still stung- oh so pleasantly.

But he didn't want an apology.

He wanted more.

"So, what is it?" she asked, a few weeks later. Like all this had been one long coast to the finish-line as all the usual milestones passed and the new house was just a week away from going on the market. When they had a rare night to themselves as the kids camped out in the backyard. Within sight, but far enough away that the subtle flirtations had turned into far more obvious signals as the hours passed and so did the two bottles of wine they'd enjoyed. "What have you been chewing on these past few months, hmmm? We've all needed time...but this feels like something else. Am I right?"

He looked up, recognizing the shift in her tone. Realizing she'd been looking at him for a long time as he set down his glass. Wondering if the star-light would hide the flush. Almost pathetically grateful to see that her expression was still soft and gentle over the rim of her wine glass.

She knew.

Of course she knew.

He exhaled sharply, red wine backwash and stale air.

"There is something I need," he admitted, bare toes curling as she followed him off the deck and deeper into the house. "Something I don't know how to ask for. Something I can't ask you for…not after everything."

Not after the house was left unsaid.

Standing out like its own type of ghost.

"I'm here," she told him, taking his hand and pressing it against her chest, just above her breast. Letting him feel her heartbeat. "Its me. You know you can tell me anything. Ask me for anything. You know that. This is us, Hugh. Whatever it is, it isn't worth keeping it all locked up. Whatever it is, we can handle it. Together."

He nodded, throat thick.

So the line asked the kite. And for a long moment, the only answer was their heartbeats.

He was practically vibrating with excitement when she clambered on top of him.

This time all she was wearing was her purple dressing gown. The silk one he'd bought her years ago in a fit of good taste and less than admirable intentions not long after Steven was born. Still loving the way it gaped, showing off the curve of her breasts and the small pouch of her belly. Complimenting the glint of the knife in her hand in a way that made his throat catch. Cock fat and caught between the seam of his thighs like it had a short circuit right to his god damned brain.

It was a butter knife with barely an edge.

But it didn't matter.

It was the pressure he really wanted.

She shivered, nails curling into the palm of her free hand as she settled on top of him. Like the flashbacks weren't as welcome for her as they seemed to be for him - or at least were less conflicted.

"We can stop," he told her. Meaning it despite the stinging arrow of disappointment he couldn't hold back.

"No. No… you need this. I can feel it."

That part wasn't hard to figure out. He hadn't been soft since she'd walked into the bedroom with the knife for him to inspect. Hair loose and face healthy. So different from that night in the dark. But somehow, he knew that wasn't what she meant.

Need could be an ache without any skin involved.

It could live in the brain just as much as it could fester there.

"I trust you," he told her as she leaned down for a trembling kiss. Cock pressing up against the inner of her thigh like a blunt spear. Forcing her to nudge it gently aside - flirting with skin and silk

He hadn't back then. In that moment. In that house. But he did now.

He trusted her.

The dull edge of the knife dragged down the line of his throat. Making him freeze. Heart pounding. Feeling it on his windpipe as bright little flecks of light sparked across his retinas. That little voice in the back of his mind finally- fucking finally- quieting as the width pressed flat, just below his Adams apple.

Yes. This.

The world abruptly narrowed down to the pressure- to the building threat of not being able to breathe- to the way Liv was breathing hard, looking down at him. Biting her lip in a way he recognized. Realizing in a rush that she liked it too- that something about it was clicking for her. That he wasn't alone. That-

"Yes..." he rasped, hips hitching, unable to stay still. "Yes. Liv- just-"

The knife dug into his skin just a little bit more. Making him grip her hips, fisting the purple silk as his fought the urge to surge up. Careful not to upset the glide of the knife. Careful. Careful. Careful.

"Oh god, Hugh."

His eyes were glued on her as she parted the dressing gown, squirming, trailing damp down his thigh as she tried to find him one-handed. Knife twitching against his throat as she smeared the head of his cock with her wet before she shifted and-

Oh. Fuck.

The knife was still at this throat when she sank down on him. Drowning him in her as he felt the rush to the finish line come fast - just like it had when she'd scored her nails down his neck. He whined, lips parting as he tried to say something, to tell her to ease off, that he was going to come. But there was no air and instead of pulling away, Liv pressed down even harder, forcing him to bare his throat as his cock jerked and-

His eyes were sightless as he stared up at her. Gone. Back curving. Coming with a series of violent, thick pulses he could actually feel leaving him. Burying himself in her so deeply he couldn't help but grind in. Straining against the blunt pressure of the knife. Barely having it in him to trail his fingers up the crux of her thighs. Thumbing her clit until she squeezed around him and came with a fettered little cry.

It took him a long time to rediscover himself.

But eventually he did.

Pulling her down and safe against his side as the knife pinged off to the floor.

Gone, but not forgotten.

"Thank you," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers as their breathing slowly eased back to normal.

She just hummed, content, scratching her hands through his hair. Telling him without words that she'd do it again in a heartbeat.

God, he loved her.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.