With This Love - Olitz One-Shot

                Fitz stifled a cough and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus his attention on the advisors who sat around the large conference table. The voices faded to a low drone as his attention shifted to Olivia. She was his greatest distraction and, since his divorce from Mellie, his almost constant companion. Publicly they were just stepping out of the shadows, a new relationship. Privately they were spending stolen hours at Camp David or in the residence when the agents he trusted were on duty. He didn’t risk being seen coming and going from her apartment, not since pictures had leaked, reminding himself that the optics needed to reflect sufficient time between his divorce and that level of intimacy with another woman.

“Sir?” Cyrus’ voice was stern, no doubt he was fully aware of what currently held Fitz’s attention.

“Let’s pick this up tomorrow,” suggested Fitz pushing back from the table and standing with a swipe of his brow. He felt flushed and was beginning to think that he owed it to more than fantasies of the woman he loved.

                Cyrus followed close behind when Fitz walked through the door and started down the hall in the direction of the oval office. “You have to get your head in the game,” he implored in a loud whisper. For several seconds he thought Fitz hadn’t heard him as the president continued on his path. “I honestly thought you two would get it out of your systems but since you have gone public both of you are nearly useless.”              

                When he reached the door, Fitz turned to face Cyrus. He eyed his Chief of Staff, considering his words, “You don’t get to comment on my personal life, Cy. You work for me, remember?”

“Look at you,” the older man was now indignant, “Cheeks red, all sweaty like a high school freshman crushing on the head cheerleader.”

“Cyrus,” Fitz nearly yelled, again mopping his brow as he strode to his desk. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and loosened his tie before taking a seat.

“Is this,” Cyrus gestured broadly to Fitz’s overall unkempt appearance, “all about Olivia?”

“It’s nothing,” Fitz unbuttoned his top button and leaned back further in his seat, “I’m just a little rundown. I think I may have caught Teddy’s cold or something.”

                Cyrus crossed to stand in front of the desk, a look of concern clouding his face, “Maybe I should send for the doctor?”

                Fitz waved him off, his head slumped against the back of the leather chair, eyes closed. He was convinced he just needed a few minutes of quiet, time to turn off his responsibilities and focus on the people and things that made him happy. Still his responsibilities weren’t easily deferred, they were policy and legislation and decisions big and small that impacted millions of people. He sighed and lifted his head, thinking Cyrus had left the office but finding him still staring in trepidation.

“I’m fine Cyrus,” Fitz insisted before pushing the intercom button on the black desk phone, “Lauren, what is my next appointment?”

“The Commerce Secretary, Sir,” came Lauren’s prompt reply.

“Thank you Lauren. Please send her in as soon as she arrives.”

                Fitz again settled back in his chair, this time crossing his ankle over his thigh in a relaxed pose as he opened a bottle of spring water, downing a third of the bottle in seconds. He placed the container on the desk and again met Cyrus’ gaze, “Did you need anything else?”

                Cyrus, however, was undeterred, “You can’t just dismiss me. You look awful, you likely have a fever and you should really be seen by a doctor not meeting with cabinet members.”

“The country doesn’t take the day off just because I have the sniffles,” Fitz insisted before turning to cough into the curve of his elbow. He caught Cyrus’ eye, “Really, Cy, it’s just a little cold.”

                Relenting, Cyrus released an exaggerated sigh before leaving Fitz alone.  As soon as the office door closed behind him Cyrus pulled out his cell phone, scrolling through his contacts before tapping the send button with more force than was warranted.

“Olivia Pope,” her voice was all business on the other end of the line.

“Hey Liv,” Cyrus was nearly panting as he hurried to his office and shut the door.

“Whatever it is Cy you’re going to have to deal with it on your own,” Olivia didn’t wait for him to start in on the calamity du jour. Since she and Fitz had started openly dating it seemed that Cyrus was calling almost daily with one problem or another that he owed directly to her or their relationship. Some days she wondered if Cyrus wasn’t nostalgic for the simplicity of days past when their clandestine relationship was more of a personal headache than the very public issues that had come up as of late.

“Liv, he’s sick,” Cyrus wheezed bracing both arms on the top of his desk in an effort to catch his breath.

“He’s just stressed…tired,” assured Olivia. “He just needs some rest.”

                Cyrus crumpled into the leather chair next to the desk, a crestfallen expression darkening his brow. He pondered when exactly he had lost control, when did Fitz absolutely stop listening to him, when did Olivia treat him exclusively as a colleague rather than the mentor he always fancied himself? He sighed again before continuing on his seemingly solitary campaign to protect Fitz’s health, “I think it’s more serious than that.”  The fight had gone out of his voice and he realized a solution may require a change in tack.

“I’ll check on him later,” Olivia responded, a dismissive undercurrent simmering in her tone.

“Fine.”

“I’m really busy, Cy, so if there’s nothing else –“

“Fine Liv, I’ll talk to you later.”

                Olivia ended the call, giving Fitz’s health little more than a passing consideration. They hadn’t seen one another in several days, the demands of the country and her current case taking the majority of their time, but they had spoken on the phone at least twice a day.  Never once did Olivia hear even a hint of Fitz being unwell.

                Fitz leaned side to side, stretching his stiff back, then rolled his neck, the exigencies of his work and life in general beginning to get the best of him. He felt run down, fatigued, but he was sure his weekly massage would cure his tensions without intervention from a physician as Cyrus had suggested. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, wiping his brow, and his mouth watered as a wave of nausea washing over him. Maybe it was a little more than fatigue, but he needed to tough it out.

“Sir?” Lauren’s voice rang out in the silence over the intercom, “The Commerce Secretary is here.”

“Send her in,” Fitz urged, refastening shirt buttons and straightening his tie before buttoning his jacket. He stood to greet the Secretary as the door opened, “Penny.”

“Sir,” the Secretary greeted him in return. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” The woman took in his appearance then continued, “I won’t take too much of your time. You look like you aren’t feeling well.”

“Just a little cold,” Fitz dismissed with a flourish of his hand before gesturing for Penny to take seat. “What can I do for you Penny?”

                Penny took the President’s dismissal to mean that the topic of his health was officially off limits. She graciously took a seat, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her pencil skirt and crossing her legs at the ankles. “Well Mr. President, you know we are hosting the delegation on foreign direct investment.”

“Sure…” Fitz took a seat on the opposite sofa, the ache in his muscles eliciting an almost imperceptible groan.

                Penny paused for a moment, observing Fitz as he settled gingerly onto the couch. The increasing perspiration on his brow coupled with the growing stain in his cheeks told her that he was unwell and she considered whether to mention his health again. “I was going to suggest it might be helpful to the discussion if you were able to stop in and say hello,” the crease in her forehead deepened. “But Sir I think maybe you should get some –“  

                The reminder of her statement drifted into oblivion as Fitz felt the room lurch and his sight grow fuzzy. Darkness closed in from the edges of his field of vision and the din of the world became nothing but a whisper.  He vaguely felt the contact of his head with something hard then the sensation of rapid movement.

X-X

“Fitz? Fitz?? FITZ!” the call of his name pierced the hum of his semi-conscious state.

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?” a different voice. He concentrated on the myriad of thoughts that swam through his brain, trying to find the ability to organize a coherent response. He still felt sweaty and hot, his chest hurt, and now his head felt sore. He attempted to blink his eyes several times but the bright light from above felt like daggers straight to the depths of his brain each time his eyelids opened.

“Mr. President!” came the call of a third voice and he was sure now that they were moving him somewhere. “Can you hear us Sir?”

                Fitz mustered all of his strength, forcing his eyes open and found himself looking up into the face of Ronny Jackson, the Physician to the President. “Where are you taking me?” he managed barely above a whisper.

“Sir, you passed out. We’re taking you to Bethesda,” Ronny explained, all business as he slung his stethoscope around his neck. The ceiling rushing above turned to night sky briefly before the naval helicopter came into view.

“Where’s Olivia?” Fitz whispered, looking around as best he could in spite of the limitations of the C-collar around his neck.

“I’m right here,” he realized it had been Olivia who he first heard calling his name and was relieved when her petite face appeared next to him, “I didn’t realize you were so sick…..Cy called me but…..I didn’t realize –“

“I’m glad you’re here,” Fitz ran the back of his first and second fingers over the hand that gripped the edge of the stretcher. The entire entourage came to a halt when they reached the helicopter and her hand slipped from his reach.

“We will have you at the hospital in just a few minutes Sir,” assured Dr. Jackson.

“Liv and I will meet you there as soon as we can,” assured Cyrus, sliding a comforting arm around Olivia’s back unsure whether it was the chilly night air or fear that was causing her to tremble.

“Livvie is coming with me,” Fitz’s voice was unyielding.

                Dr. Jackson came back into view, “It’s not possible Sir. Only two allowed in the helicopter with you.” He turned his attention to Olivia, “I apologize Ms. Pope.”

“I understand –“

“Livvie goes in the helicopter or I don’t go,” Fitz demanded as the group momentarily halted their preparations.

                Cyrus, rapidly losing patience, strode over to meet Fitz’s eyes, “Protocol is to have you fly with a medic and your doctor—“

“Screw protocol,” boomed Fitz, “Liv goes with me or I stay here. I’m fine, much better, but if you want me to be seen at the hospital then you’ll let Olivia—“

“Fine,” Ronny relented, motioning for the flight medic to begin loading Fitz into the helicopter.

                Olivia put on her helmet, only letting go of Fitz’s hand long enough to secure it. She leaned close to whisper to him over the roar of the propeller, “So hard headed Mr. President.”

“I told you months ago, I’m not doing anything without you,” he grinned, a slightly paler version of his lopsided grin. Olivia wiped his face, searching his eyes for any sign of discomfort.  He squeezed her hand as a means of reassurance, “I’m fine, Liv, promise. I’m never leaving you.”

“I’m holding you to that,” she brushed aside a tear before straightening in her seat.

                Ronny assessed Fitz again, finding his neurologic exam within normal limits. He auscultated and palpated pulses before taking a temperature. “Nearly 103 degrees, Sir,” he reported.

                They soon landed and Fitz was rushed into Bethesda Naval Hospital where he underwent hours upon hours of diagnostic tests while Cyrus and Olivia waited anxiously in what would be Fitz’s hospital room. Once the barrage of studies was completed, Fitz was returned to his room, much to the pleasure of Olivia and Cyrus. Satisfied that Fitz was in one piece, and not in any overt immediate danger, Cyrus excused himself to begin preparing a statement for the press.

“Did they say anything about your CT scan?” Olivia asked, perching her hip on the bed beside Fitz and running a tentative hand through his curls. She reflected on the short time they had been able to show their feelings publicly and just how close she had come to losing him. Her finger found the crease of his lips and the strong curve of his jaw.

“It was good news,” smiled Fitz, kissing her fingertips as they passed over his lips. “They found a brain!”

“Funny,” Olivia returned. “You’re so lucky you’re sick or I’d kick your ass for not listening to Cyrus.” The weight of the situation began to lift and she scooted further onto the bed.

                Fitz reached an arm around to pull her closer, a wicked gleam in his eye. “Cy is probably going to be upset about that whole breaking protocol thing too,” he grinned.

“He is….and so am I,” Olivia attempted a stern tone but his proximity softened her. “When I get you alone…”

                The smirk on his face blossomed to a full-fledged smile, “What did you have in mind Ms. Pope?”

                Olivia leaned close to his ear. “As much as I’d like to be upset with you about going against doctor’s order,” she began. “It’s a huge turn on that you broke the rules…..for me.”

                Fitz swallowed hard, the drift of her breath on his ear, the smell of her perfume, the hint of lace peeking out from the top of her sweater. If it was a cardiac event he’d experienced it was likely to soon be repeated. She was intoxicating and he itched to touch her, really  touch her. “Livvie….”

                Just the sound of his baritone, the way he said her name, sent a slow burn deep to her core. She closed her eyes as his hand glided over her cheek, skin prickling beneath his hand. Her breaths came faster, her mouth running dry, every inch of her tuned in to the movement of his fingers.

“I hope Ronny gives me to green light to get outta here soon,” he murmured, his fingertips lightly gliding through her hair and over her collarbone. He alternated between watching the rise and fall of her chest and the way her lips parted when his hand moved. The throb of his desire for her centered squarely below his waist, increasing with each breath that floated from her lips. The lips that whispered the words that drove him to insanity and screamed his name in moments of passion. The same lips that held him accountable and brought him to his knees. He couldn’t stop himself from sitting up a little further to join their mouths, first in a cautious clasp, unsure whether she would be amenable to his advances so soon after he fell ill, then in a relieved and eager bond.

                Olivia’s arms trembled as she supported her weight above him, afraid to rest even the slightest bit of her body upon his. She felt his right hand find the back of her head, pulling her harder into their kiss while his left pushed beneath her sweater. Her mind screamed for her to stop him but every bit of skin he touched drowned out that logic. Loving Fitz wasn’t about thinking, it was about the slow burn of her body for his, the way his hands commanded her body like no man ever had, and how her heart only felt whole when she was close to him. The wail of her brain quickly disappeared, replaced by the sound of his breath in her ear and the feel of his large hand mapping the bare flesh beneath her shirt.

                They kissed for minutes before Fitz pulled her flush against him, close enough to grant him access to every part of her he wanted to touch. “I’ve missed you Livvie.”

“Next time you don’t have to fake illness to get me to come,” she smiled, brushing her lips over his ear lobe.

                Fitz quivered at her words before finding his voice, “No I have much better ways to get you to come.” His right hand never left her hair as his left hand deftly unfastened her slacks and slid beneath the lace of her panties. He knew they had but minutes before they were interrupted by Ronny or one of the nurses so he wasted no time, his long thick middle finger sliding through her slick folds.

“Fitz….we shouldn’t,” she pleaded, knowing she would soon be rendered mute, unable to resist his advances.

“How do I make you come Olivia?” his voice had managed to take on a sexier quality and she felt her resolve slipping away with each pass of his exquisite fingers.

“Fitz….” She began to protest again and he prepared to redouble his efforts. He palmed her clit as his finger slid into her wetness. Right before him he watched her lose the last shreds of control, pressing herself into his hand, grinding against his fingers, breathing quickly.

                Her erect nipples pressed against her thin sweater and he couldn’t resist closing his mouth over them through the wool. The juxtaposition of her soft center around his fingers and the rough wool on his lips drove him towards the edge. He wanted her naked and falling to pieces in his arms but in lieu of that he would drive her to her undoing in a stark hospital room. “You have to be quiet,” he whispered.

“Faster,” she countered, reaching beneath the sheet in search of his hardness.

                He quickly pulled his hand from her hair to capture her wandering hand, “No, I want to watch you.” Her heart sped to a faster rate when he placed her hand beneath the heel of his against her clit. She looked from her hand to his face, a questioning look in her eyes.

“Help me make you cum, Livvie.”

                The words shot straight to her center as the swell of her orgasm built against the barriers of her control. Their hands moved in unison, her fingers tracing deliberate circles over her clit as his palm added pressure and his fingers drove mercilessly in and out of her heat. Closer and closer to the edge she raced, harder and harder he mouthed her aching peaks, deeper and deeper his fingers plunged until she felt the collision of his very last knuckles with her pelvis.

                All rational thought about what they were doing was long gone. She rode his hand and pressed her breasts further into his mouth until the crest of her orgasm loomed. Just as she tried to slow her pace, to stave off the maddening crescendo, he pressed harder with his palm, trapping her hand. He was reminding her that he was in control, he owned her orgasm, and it was his to take. And she gave it freely, rush after rush of pummeling tremors shook her from the inside out until she was a panting, drained mass beside him.  

                He held her tight, fingers still beneath her panties, savoring the stolen moments he was afforded with Olivia. The day’s health scare was enough to remind him that he wasn’t an especially young man anymore but the ability to bring such a perfect body to the ultimate heights of pleasure confirmed that experience often trumps age. Even surrounded by the best physicians in the one of the most technologically advanced facilities, it was Olivia who always had the best medicine.