chichuri_fic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chichuri_fic) wrote2009-06-29 07:37 am
chichuri_fic) wrote2009-06-29 07:37 am
Entry tags:
Ficlet: No Longer Fantasy (Olivia/Peter)
Title: No Longer Fantasy
Fandom: Fringe
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chichuri
Pairing/Character: Olivia/Peter
Word Count: 765
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Peter finally gets what he's dreamed of.
Warnings: Smut
Spoilers: Season 1.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe or its characters.
Author's Note: Written for Porn Battle VIII. Prompts used: imagined, reality.
"I used to dream of this, you know," Peter mutters against her throat before continuing down her body.
"Dream of what?" Olivia asks, watching as he scrapes his teeth against her breast. Her breath catches in her throat as he takes the nipple into his mouth, sucking gently; his fingers skim down her hips. He has this half-smile when he looks up, one devoid of cynicism or sarcasm. Happiness, maybe. And lust.
"Of touching you." He brushes one thumb over her nipple, the other over her clit; her hips jump as the sensation spikes through her. "Of tasting you." Still stroking lazy circles around her clit, he laps at the other nipple, licks down her torso, his stubble prickling her skin as he drops open-mouthed kisses along the way. Nuzzles her curls and replaces his thumb with his tongue. "Of watching you fall apart around me." Two fingers slide in and curl up, just there, and she's gone, arching off the bed and shaking and calling his name. "Of hearing you scream my name. Just. Like. That."
She can't help but snicker even as she still shudders with the aftermath. There's too damned much satisfaction and amusement in his voice not to. He slides his way up her body, grins down at her.
He doesn't grin often enough, and she loves the way his eyes light up when he does. She runs her thumbs along his cheekbones, to the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Does it live up to your expectations?"
He tilts his head, considering. "Well, in my fantasies you were less likely to accidently break my nose when I went down on you. When I make you come the jerking of those hips of yours is deadly."
"It is not," she protests, laughing.
He's laughing, too, and a knowing smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I like it, once I learned to watch for it."
She rolls her eyes and pulls him into a kiss, tasting herself as her tongue dances against his. He rocks into her and she moans, wraps her legs around his hips as the heat curls through her again.
"Better," he murmurs, nipping lightly at her jaw as he withdraws, thrusts deeper. "Better than I could have dreamed."
"Sweet of you," she gasps.
"And true."
He's staring at her, and his eyes are suddenly so serious, his expression so honest, that she can't think of anything to say. She bites her lip and swallows, tries to tell him with her body how much he means to her, how scared she is of losing him. Her fingernails skate along his back, her hips surge to meet his. She grabs his shoulders when his thrusts become ragged, and he reaches down between them to press against her clit. She shatters, and she dimly hears her name on his lips as he follows.
He drops his forehead to her shoulder, presses a kiss there as he catches his breath. When he flips onto his back, he pulls her with him. She sprawls bonelessly against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart while he runs his fingers through her hair.
She traces meaningless patterns across his chest, enjoying the feeling of his skin and the light sprinkling of hair against her palm. "What do you dream of now?"
His fingers pause, then continue, but there's something careful about the way he touches her. She props herself up on his chest and studies him. He watches her warily, hand stilled against the back of her neck.
"Peter?" She doesn't know if she's curious or worried, and her voice wavers between the two.
He doesn't say anything for the longest time, just stares at her with no expression she can read, then breaks the silence with, "I dream of forever. With you." He offers the words defiantly, like he's daring her to protest, and his eyes are guarded.
She blinks. Blinks again, tilts her head, and tries to figure out how she could have not seen this coming. If she even could have seen this coming. Peter Bishop always has had a way of turning her expectations sideways.
"Okay," she says finally, nodding, and curls up against him. "I can live with that. However long forever ends up being around here, anyway."
She can't see his eyes, but his shock transfers into the hesitant way he brushes her hair behind her ears and the amazement in his voice. "I'll take what I can get."
And for once, she hopes, they're both going to get what they want.
________________________
Feedback always welcome. Concrit is loved.
Fandom: Fringe
Author:
chichuri Pairing/Character: Olivia/Peter
Word Count: 765
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Peter finally gets what he's dreamed of.
Warnings: Smut
Spoilers: Season 1.
Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe or its characters.
Author's Note: Written for Porn Battle VIII. Prompts used: imagined, reality.
No Longer Fantasy
"I used to dream of this, you know," Peter mutters against her throat before continuing down her body.
"Dream of what?" Olivia asks, watching as he scrapes his teeth against her breast. Her breath catches in her throat as he takes the nipple into his mouth, sucking gently; his fingers skim down her hips. He has this half-smile when he looks up, one devoid of cynicism or sarcasm. Happiness, maybe. And lust.
"Of touching you." He brushes one thumb over her nipple, the other over her clit; her hips jump as the sensation spikes through her. "Of tasting you." Still stroking lazy circles around her clit, he laps at the other nipple, licks down her torso, his stubble prickling her skin as he drops open-mouthed kisses along the way. Nuzzles her curls and replaces his thumb with his tongue. "Of watching you fall apart around me." Two fingers slide in and curl up, just there, and she's gone, arching off the bed and shaking and calling his name. "Of hearing you scream my name. Just. Like. That."
She can't help but snicker even as she still shudders with the aftermath. There's too damned much satisfaction and amusement in his voice not to. He slides his way up her body, grins down at her.
He doesn't grin often enough, and she loves the way his eyes light up when he does. She runs her thumbs along his cheekbones, to the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Does it live up to your expectations?"
He tilts his head, considering. "Well, in my fantasies you were less likely to accidently break my nose when I went down on you. When I make you come the jerking of those hips of yours is deadly."
"It is not," she protests, laughing.
He's laughing, too, and a knowing smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I like it, once I learned to watch for it."
She rolls her eyes and pulls him into a kiss, tasting herself as her tongue dances against his. He rocks into her and she moans, wraps her legs around his hips as the heat curls through her again.
"Better," he murmurs, nipping lightly at her jaw as he withdraws, thrusts deeper. "Better than I could have dreamed."
"Sweet of you," she gasps.
"And true."
He's staring at her, and his eyes are suddenly so serious, his expression so honest, that she can't think of anything to say. She bites her lip and swallows, tries to tell him with her body how much he means to her, how scared she is of losing him. Her fingernails skate along his back, her hips surge to meet his. She grabs his shoulders when his thrusts become ragged, and he reaches down between them to press against her clit. She shatters, and she dimly hears her name on his lips as he follows.
He drops his forehead to her shoulder, presses a kiss there as he catches his breath. When he flips onto his back, he pulls her with him. She sprawls bonelessly against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart while he runs his fingers through her hair.
She traces meaningless patterns across his chest, enjoying the feeling of his skin and the light sprinkling of hair against her palm. "What do you dream of now?"
His fingers pause, then continue, but there's something careful about the way he touches her. She props herself up on his chest and studies him. He watches her warily, hand stilled against the back of her neck.
"Peter?" She doesn't know if she's curious or worried, and her voice wavers between the two.
He doesn't say anything for the longest time, just stares at her with no expression she can read, then breaks the silence with, "I dream of forever. With you." He offers the words defiantly, like he's daring her to protest, and his eyes are guarded.
She blinks. Blinks again, tilts her head, and tries to figure out how she could have not seen this coming. If she even could have seen this coming. Peter Bishop always has had a way of turning her expectations sideways.
"Okay," she says finally, nodding, and curls up against him. "I can live with that. However long forever ends up being around here, anyway."
She can't see his eyes, but his shock transfers into the hesitant way he brushes her hair behind her ears and the amazement in his voice. "I'll take what I can get."
And for once, she hopes, they're both going to get what they want.
________________________
Feedback always welcome. Concrit is loved.