“I got a blowjob from a stripper once,” Olivia pauses, taking another sip from her drink, gesticulating with her free hand as she talks. “Mind you, I‘d, like, astral projected into someone else‘s body. Actually, now that I think about it, the sex was pretty hot, too.”
Olivia Dunham is drunk. Actually, Myka’s pretty drunk too, which is why she’s laughing so hard her stomach’s cramping. Her hand is covering her mouth because, swear to God, if she doesn’t stop, the scotch they’ve been drinking like it’s going out of style is going to shoot out of her nose.
They’ve been playing ‘who’s job is weirder’ for the last twenty minutes, trading off stories, trying to one up each other. They were working when it started raining. The kind of assignment one doesn’t leave to find an umbrella or a raincoat. They’re at Olivia’s place now, because it was closer. Olivia’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her hair still damp from the rain. Myka’s in Olivia’s robe, because Olivia offered and Myka really didn’t want to drive all the way across Boston in her wet clothes.
“So..” Myka stops to catch her breath, leaning back on Olivia’s couch. She side-eyes her as she takes another sip. “You get a lot of blowjobs from strippers?”
“No. But,” Olivia leans forward, elbows on her knees as she downs her shot. “It was definitely interesting. If I recall,” she says, grin widening. “She was quite.. bendy.”
“What?” Olivia snorts into her glass. “Getting a blowjob?”
“No.” Myka licks her lips, because *not* dancing across that line has never been so fucking hard. “Sex with a woman?”
The air between them charges so quickly it’s a wonder it doesn’t crackle. Olivia slowly turns her head towards Myka, eyes narrowing, like she’s trying to decide what to say next. Because what she says will change everything.
It’s a familiar dance, flirting but not flirting, one they’ve been doing for months now, neither willing to cross the line. Olivia looks like she’s ready to cross it. Myka’s just drunk enough to let her.
“Agent Bering,” her tone is playfully serious, half-grin spreading into a full smile. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Myka pulls herself forward. She sets her glass on the table, reaching for the scotch before thinking better of it. “I can totally top you,” she says, eyes still focused on the scotch that she doesn’t see Olivia’s eyes widened. “I..” Myka turns her head towards Olivia, leans to nudge the other woman’s shoulder with her own. “Got a blowjob from the actual H.G. Wells. Who’s alive, and a woman. Lots of blowjobs actually. Although, I’m not sure it’s called a blowjob when its between two women.”
“You get blowjobs from supercentenarians often?”
“No!” Myka laughs, shaking her head, little drops of water falling off the curly ends. “She’s still in her thirties. Frozen in time. Long story.”
“So what happened?”
Lips pursing, shoulders slumping because it’s been awhile since she’s thought about Helena, Myka decides having another drink really is a good idea. She fills her glass, downs it in one go. She stares at the now empty glass, rolling it between her fingers. “She tried to destroy the world.”
“Wait,” Olivia shakes her head like she’s trying to keep her mind from being blown. “You mean to tell me, the *real* H.G. Wells, who’s actually a woman, had sex with you and *then* decided destroying the world was the better option?”
“Something like that,” Myka chuckles.
“Then, I have to say, the real H.G. Wells is an idiot. I wouldn’t trade sex with you for the world.”
Myka’s mouth goes slack. Olivia’s eyes widen. That line between them dissolving into something thinner than thin. And they’re just staring at each other, through the thin veneer that’s been between them since they first met.
“Fuck it,” Olivia mutters before pushing her face towards Myka’s. She crashes their lips together. It’s almost like a relief, a release because the air around them shatters, before the space fills again with air hotter, thicker than before.
Olivia drops her glass to the floor, the mess quickly forgotten as she threads her fingers into Myka’s hair, pulls her in deeper.
There’s the initial shock, because it’s been awhile since Myka’s been kissed, because it’s been awhile since Myka’s *wanted* to be kissed. And then there’s the shock because she’s being kissed by Olivia Dunham. The shock quickly turns to a moan. Her hand coming up to clasp Olivia’s cheek. The line fully and thoroughly crossed, and if Myka’s going to do the time, she’s going to make damn sure the crime is worth it.
Myka moans, feeling Olivia inhale, pushing into Myka, making her lean back until she’s up against the couch. Then, Olivia’s straddling her, holding Myka’s face with both hands as she assaults her lips. Their mouths open, teeth clacking momentarily before their tongues are dueling, dancing and sliding against each other. Olivia tastes like scotch. She tastes better than anything Myka’s been drinking from a glass for the past hour.
Myka gains her senses enough to remember she has hands. She places them on Olivia’s thighs, slides them higher until her fingers find the end of Olivia’s shirt then worms them under. Olivia’s skin is warm, smooth. The muscles underneath flex and cord with Olivia’s every movement. Emboldened, because Olivia’s kissing her like it’s going out of style, Myka moves her hands higher, over the soft ridges of Olivia’s ribs, feeling the vibrations of Olivia’s moan as Myka’s hands move up to her breasts. She rolls her thumbs over the hardened nipples, Olivia shuddering at her touch.
Myka releases one of her hands, brings it to Olivia’s face to gently push their lips apart.
“Off,” Myka growls, tugging at Olivia’s shirt. “Now!”
The half-smile returns, Olivia leans back, just a little, just enough. Both their hands working in tandem to yank off the barrier between them. Myka mentally notes how perfect Olivia’s breasts are before pushing her face forward, clamping her mouth onto Olivia’s breast, hard nipple sucked eagerly into her mouth.
“Fuck,” Olivia grunts, tangling both hands in Myka’s hair, pulling the woman closer.
Myka giggle-groans at the encouragement. At the way Olivia’s nails scrape against her scalp. Hands on Olivia’s ass, Myka pushes the woman up for a better angle, cheeks hollowing like she’s trying to pull all of Olivia’s breast into her mouth.
It hasn’t been *that* long. But Myka feels hungry, starved, like she’s forgotten how good this feels, how much she enjoys it. She lathes her tongue all over Olivia’s breath, until its glistening with spit. She teases a nipple, tongue circling, feeling the little bumps on the areola. Then, she pulls Olivia’s nipple into her mouth, between her teeth. Olivia gasps, tightens the grip in Myka’s hair as her entire body trembles. It’s been awhile, for both of them. The tension between them, the good kinda of tension, is knife through butter thick now, warm and sticky like sex.
Lips moving to Olivia’s other breast, Myka continues the teasing torture. And Olivia whimpers, starts to roll her hips in an urgent search for Myka’s thigh, for friction. Myka releases her hold on Olivia’s nipple to crash their lips together, to give Olivia what she wants, what they both need. Myka’s fingers are fast as they slip into Olivia’s sweats, and she purrs into Olivia’s mouth at how fucking wet Olivia is.
The tiniest bit of friction, fingers against wet and swollen heat, and Olivia’s hips are already rolling, grinding, slip sliding against Myka’s fingers. And Myka tastes Olivia’s groan as she pushes two fingers deep. Olivia clenches around her fingers, shudders like she’s trying to keep herself from coming.
Olivia can’t do this and kiss at the same time. Not anymore. She pulls their lips apart, presses her forehead to Myka’s. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and Myka watches the emotions dance across Olivia’s face, the crinkling of her brows, the trembling of her cheeks as her mouth goes slack and the tiny pants turn to whimpering moans.
Their rhythm is not pretty or delicate, it’s hard and fast, skating along the edge of rough. They’re both exorcising demons in their own way, pushing out the pain through pure pleasure.
Olivia forces her eyes open through sheer will. When she jams her hips down, Myka pushes in another finger. Olivia clenches, holds her self still for just a second to keep herself from coming, then she starts all over again, taking all of Myka’s fingers, mashing her clit against the heel of Myka’s palm.
With every whimpering grunt, Myka feels a hard twitch deep in her groin, her own sex screaming for friction, penetration, release. But, it’s nothing compared to the growing hunger within, a hunger not satisfied by the taste of Olivia’s kisses, or her cunt clenching tight around Myka’s fingers. Myka wants Olivia to come, God, how she wants her to come. Myka wants to make Olivia come, and consume her as she does.
Myka withdraws her fingers so quickly Olivia gasps in surprise at the sudden loss of penetration, eyes flying open as Myka grabs her by the face and pulls their lips together. Myka twists and turns the two, until Olivia’s back is on the couch, her legs wrapped around Myka’s waist.
Then Myka’s descending, licking, sucking, biting the flesh before her. She lifts onto her knees just long enough to shimmy out of her robe then yanks the sweatpants from Olivia’s legs. With both hands, she pushes, almost slapping Olivia’s thighs open. The sight of Olivia’s sex, flushed red and swollen and so fucking wet, Myka growls, eyes going hooded. She pushes two fingers, quick, deep and hard, just to watch Olivia’s back arch off the couch, lower lip sucked between her teeth as she sucks in a hard breath through her nose. One, two, three quick thrusts and Myka’s fingers are drenched again.
Myka keeps her eyes on Olivia as she descends. Olivia reaches out to tangle her fingers into Myka’s hair, a sign of control, a sign of submission. Do this to me. Take me. Myka teasingly runs her nose through the soft, short curls, inhales Olivia’s scent, both familiar and unique. Fingers still knuckles deep, Myka begins to explore with her tongue. That first touch, that first taste and Olivia groans, nails raking against Myka’s scalp as she tightens her grip, bucks her hips. Myka moans into Olivia’s sex, eyes practically rolling into the back of her head. With long, leisurely licks, she explores Olivia’s pussy, every fold and curve and crevice, laps up the juices that leak all over her thrusting fingers.
Olivia’s whimpering now, back writhing on the couch, hips rolling, one hand in Myka’s hair as the other flails about, searching for purchase. “Myka,” she grits through clenched teeth. And that sound, her *name*, spoken like that, it’s like Myka’s been waiting for that sound all her life.
She gives Olivia what she needs, wraps her lips quickly around the swollen clit. And then Myka’s unforgiving, relentless, sucks it hard between her lips, batters it mercilessly with her tongue, all while her fingers jam in and out, in and out.
Olivia stops holding back, lets the release take her. She cries out, the paroxysm taking over, seizing her entire body. Myka continues like a woman possessed and maybe she is. Olivia clenches and cries out and Myka doesn’t stop, not even after Olivia comes again. She withdraws her fingers, replaces them with her tongue. Hands under Olivia’s ass, pulling Olivia towards her, thirsty woman at a bottomless well drinking. Until Olivia has no more to give, and she’s nothing but a spent pile of quivering and boneless flesh on the couch. Myka withdraws her tongue, makes a quick flick against Olivia’s clit just to make her twitch before she’s kissing her way back up.
She presses their mouths together, pushes her tongue between Olivia’s lips so she can taste herself on Myka’s tongue.
“Jesus Christ,” Olivia pants as they part.
“I told you I could top you.” Myka wags her eyebrows.
“Fuck you, Bering.”
“Planning on it,” Myka purrs before she brings their lips together again. “Definitely, definitely planning on it.”
In the morning, it’s Myka who wakes first. Eventually, during the night, they’d moved from the couch to Olivia’s bedroom, continuing their lovemaking long into the night until exhaustion overcame their passions.
Too exhausted, hung over and sex sore, Myka could find only enough energy to roll over onto her side rather than attempt to out of bed. And there was Olivia, still fast asleep, and Myka found herself entranced, like she was seeing the real Olivia beneath the façade the woman wore like a shield during her waking hours.
Myka knows about masks. She’s been wearing one since the day she left the Warehouse. There was comfort in working in her parents bookstore, but Myka knew she was doing nothing more than hiding, burying the hurt instead of working through it. Then came the day when the very intense looking man named Broyles, with a glare that could even stop Artie in his tracks, entered the shop. He came with an offer of a job within a division of the FBI. Intrigued, bored, another way to keep running from her past, Myka leapt at the opportunity.
Sometimes, Myka feels as if she’d jumped from the frying pan right into the fire.
Sometimes is not this particular morning.
Olivia eventually stirs, her closed eyes squeezed tight as she throws an arm over her eyes to shield them from the morning sun peeking through the curtains.
“Fuck,” she groans. “It’ll definitely be a long time before I do that again.” Suddenly, her body stiffens and she pulls the arm off her face, turning her head towards Myka. “Shit, Myka! I didn’t mean..”
“I know,” Myka smiles softly.
Olivia sighs, turns her eyes towards the ceiling. “Last night was incredible..”
Myka stiffens as she inhales. She‘s heard this conversation too many times before. Wonders why it‘s always the morning after when it happens and never before. “But?”
Olivia swallows and, just like that, Myka sees her mask return. “You know I was held prisoner, on the other side?” Olivia says, almost whispering.
Myka nods. She’d read the file. Despite it’s 45 pages worth of dense text, it still felt like something was missing, something left unwritten.
“They sent her over in my place. The other me. She lived in my house. Went to my work. She..” Olivia turns her head again, unable to mask the hurt in her eyes. “She slept with Peter.”
“Liv..” Myka fights the urge to reach out, to try and ease Olivia’s pain. She’s also been here before, knows there are some things a touch can’t fix. Some things you just have to go through.
Eyes gone skyward again, Olivia places her hands on her stomach, fingers curling and uncurling, like she’s unsure what to do with them. “The part that cuts, it’s not that they didn’t notice. It’s that they did and decided she was an improvement. I’m a fucking disaster, Myka..”
“Olivia, don‘t..” Myka cuts her off quickly. She knows what’s about to come next and she’s not ready to hear it. “You forget, I’ve met the other you. Sure, you’re both two sides of the same coin, more and less of each other. But..” Myka reaches out, gently brings her fingertips to Olivia’s chin, tilting her face so their eyes can meet once more. “She is most definitely not you. She lacks your.. empathy. She doesn’t have your..” Myka smiles at the thought, “sweetness. A sweetness you keep hidden behind miles and miles of thick walls but when you let it through? It’s like the sun coming up after months of darkness.” Myka lifts her head, propping it up with her hand so she can gaze down at Olivia’s face. “I have mentioned that my last relationship ended because she decided to destroy the world, right? Or the one before that with the married guy who died because of a watch that stopped time? You think you’re a disaster? We’re all fucking disasters, Olivia. I’m a fucking category-5, Richter breaking disaster. But isn’t the worst thing we can do is to let those tragedies dictate our choices? To shut ourselves off from the possibility of happiness to protect ourselves from pain?”
Eyes narrowing, half-smile forming on her lips, Olivia chuckles lightly, tilting her head down to kiss the fingertips against her chin. She rolls onto her side, mimicking Myka’s position, just gazing at her, like she’s trying to decide who to thank for bringing this woman into her life.
“If I haven’t mentioned it before, I’ll mention it again - H.G. Wells is a fucking idiot and you, Myka Bering,” she reaches out, moving her body until she’s pressed flush against Myka then rolls Myka onto her back. “You might be a disaster, but you’re a beautiful disaster.” She leans down, brings their lips together.
Myka melts at the kiss, heart hammering hard in her chest. It’s not like before, hard and urgent, but slow and passionate. Something’s shifted between them, the final line crossed, the last barrier shattered. The two of them merging somewhere in the middle.
For the longest time, Myka’s been running; running from her past, from the choices she’s made, the consequences. Mostly, she’s been running from the pain. Only to look up and find herself side by side with someone who’s been running just as long, longer even. When they stopped, two broken hearts crashing together by accident or fate, they both found in the other the thing they needed most..
The ability to heal.