They saved quarantine for their fifth case.
Olivia had been through the ringer on this kind of thing before. She and Astrid had been trapped in a Boston office building with a deadly virus while Walter and Broyles had frantically searched for a cure, finally of course, pulling something brilliant at the last minute from somewhere in Walter’s brain. It had been harrowing and terrifying and they’d been lucky to escape with their lives.
This time, she and Lincoln were locked in a meeting room with a box that was set to explode any second, sending them into an unaccountable and unpreventable sexual frenzy.
Lincoln lifted his eyes from the still unopened box to meet hers across the table. “You know, this is not exactly how I pictured today would go when I woke up this morning.”
There had been a string of anonymous packages sent to the CEOs of pornographic media companies in the past 48 hours. These packages seemed to be remotely opened and detonated like some kind of pheromone bomb after being placed in a public meeting area or conference room, resulting in all those present to engage in a spontaneous and extensive orgy.
The last to occur, in an office building on Long Island, had not yet abated and medical professionals had been unable to separate the participants without apparent severe mental and physical hardship.
Fringe Division had been called in because of the bizarre and unexplainable nature of the attacks.
Olivia took a breath and replied, “I’ve learned in this job to keep my expectations very vague and very, very low.”
Lincoln smiled and, in the same moment, the box opened.
There was some kind of small explosive charge that burst the seams of the brown cardboard and pushed the top and the sides apart to reveal, of all things, a potted plant.
“Really?” Lincoln muttered and Olivia had to agree. It was a dark green and purple leafed bush, with strange, little pale pink flowers. The pot was like one you’d pick up at a grocery store florist, wrapped in magenta cellophane. It was utterly unremarkable.
Olivia dialed Astrid and Walter, who were busy in the lab with the evidence from the first scene, which had just been cleared of victims. “Let me guess,” she said, “You’ve got a plant.”
“We do,” Astrid confirmed in a tight voice, her voice came in tinny from the microphone and speaker in her quarantine suit. “Broyles said you’re both in the room with one.”
“Yes, we are,” Olivia replied, glancing at Lincoln, who was still staring at the plant. “Does Walter have any ideas? I mean, has he identified the species?” She heard Astrid conferring in muffled tones across the line.
It was then that Lincoln’s phone rang and he answered it in a somewhat strangled tone. “Agent Lee. Yes, sir. No, it’s only Agent Dunham and I. The box is open, sir. Yes,” he said, glancing through the small window in the door of the room. “I see them raising the plastic. Yes, we both understand the risks. Of course, sir.” He closed the phone and looked at the plant again in what Olivia had come to regard as his resigned expression. She was perturbed, but not surprised, that she had so swiftly been able to identify when that particular emotion rose up in him.
“Olivia,” Astrid returned. “Walter says that the plant looks similar to one he and Dr. Bell worked with in the seventies, but not exactly the same. He has some theories, but...”
Olivia understood the hesitation. “But it’s not going to do us any good for you to waste time telling me, right?”
“Walter says there isn’t anything we can do for you right now. It just has to... take its course. Peter’s here too,” Astrid said, her voice even tighter. “He’s, um, really concerned. He says he wants to help.”
Olivia pressed her free hand to her forehead. “Astrid, the incredible set of impossibilities and contradictions that encompass Peter Bishop is the last thing I want on my mind right now.”
She saw Lincoln stiffen at the mere mention of the supposed dead, somehow alive, and extremely knowledgeable son of Walter and frowned, wondering. Astrid replied, “He seems to think he can help track down the bomber.”
Olivia felt the thread of her patience thinning, she thought the room had grown hotter in the past thirty seconds or so. “Let him do what he wants, then. If he gets in the way, have Broyles shut him down. Listen,” she said heavily, the thought sinking down through layers of tension, “No matter how much I wish it were otherwise, I don’t think either of us, are going to be of any more use on this one. Just... use whatever resources you can find, Peter Bishop included, and figure out what’s going on. We’ll see you on the other side of this thing.”
“All right,” Astrid sighed, “You two take care.”
Olivia closed her phone and set it quietly on the table. She looked up and saw Lincoln loosening his tie. “It’s hot in here now, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes flashing from behind his lenses in an almost dangerous way. There was a tremor in his hands as he fiddled with the buttons at his collar. Olivia could tell he wasn’t really the type to enjoy the loss of control, especially a loss this overwhelmingly severe. “Jesus, I can’t believe this,” he said breathlessly. “This is like something out of a SciFi B-movie, or an episode of Star Trek. I mean, I’m kind of a fan of that stuff, but this... this is...”
Olivia felt terrible. Ever since he’d joined Fringe Division, she’d been feeling like she needed to keep an eye on him, make sure he was okay, even when it seemed obvious he would be fine. She felt responsible for him since she’d ultimately been the one to sign off on his request to transfer. She liked him, a lot, and he was a good partner, on his way to being great. She felt an immediate and almost overwhelming urge to go to him, to wrap him up in her arms and--
She steps back, away from the table and from him, stopping that line of thinking right away. Her shoulders brush the wall. It’s not a large room. The fluorescent lights hum above their heads and she can hear the murmurs of the CDC agents through thin walls.
“They’re going to observe us,” Lincoln says in a low voice. “Like lab rats.” He sounds too calm for that sentiment. She thinks they should probably be angry about it, but she can’t muster up any outrage along with the realization. She thinks perhaps his pupils are dilated, but her own vision seems too bright to properly tell.
“Maybe,” she finds herself saying, “maybe we can hold it off. We know what’s coming. No one else did. We can... we can control ourselves. Just don’t breathe too heavily. And... and stay on that side of the table.”
He begins to pace and she knows herself for a liar. Her eyes follow him, the way the fabric brushes and binds against his thighs as he walks, the way he shakes himself out of his jacket like he’s shedding a second skin.
He starts speaking, very fast, but not really panicked, like his mouth is just moving at the same pace as his feet. “You were too busy talking, talking to Astrid about Dr. Bishop and Broyles and and Peter-freaking-Bishop. But after it blew I could smell it, I could smell it too when I was talking to Broyles, I could. I couldn’t help it and now it’s in me and I know it’s in you. This is a small room, Olivia, a very very small room. There’s no way we can--” He breaks off, mid-sentence, mid-stride, and sways on his feet, catching a hand on the table to stay upright.
“Goddammit, Lee,” she forces herself to bark. “You’re going to give yourself a panic attack.” She keeps her shoulders against the wall. She could do it, she’s thinking, she could, but not if he’s going flip out on her.
She won’t say she smelled it too, smells it now, that it’s too sweet, like cheap perfume marketed towards teenage girls, and makes her think of the first time she ever went down on a boy. She feels her knees go a little weak and suddenly she can’t stop herself from smiling. She wants to take off her jacket too.
He removes his glasses, still leaning on the table, almost over the goddamn plant, and says, “It smells like novelty shots, the ones that you don’t remember taking once you’re throwing them up.” His grin must be as wide as hers is. His eyes are brighter out from under those heavy frames and he’s watching her. She likes it. She feels somehow powerful.
“Yeah,” she replies slowly. “It smells like that, too.” Her knees are so much more wobbly than they were before and she finds herself sinking to the floor, looking up at him and feeling so so strange.
She wonders why he doesn’t look as much like the other Lincoln as she thought he would without his glasses. Instead, he looks like her Lincoln, but with a sort of vague, bleary gaze she supposes would go along with not being able to see properly. Maybe it’s the suit, or maybe she just knows him now. She doesn’t think about him in relation to his double much any more. He’s just Lincoln, her partner.
He licks his lips and his eyes haven’t left her, even if he can’t see. “I’m sorry,” he says with half a laugh.
“Why?” She asks, blinking at him. She feels for a moment like she could be forgetting how all this actually started. But no, she’s got it straight in her head. “You didn’t set the sex bomb.” She laughs too.
“I’m thinking about doing things to you,” he replies softly. “I’m going to do them.” But he doesn’t move, not right away, and he doesn’t apologize again.
His eyes seem fathomless and steady, she’s probably imagining that they are bluer than usual. There is sweat dripping down his temple to his jawline. Olivia wants to know what it tastes like.
“I want you,” she says and it’s not like before, when she would see him and think about it for a second, then dismiss the idea all together. It was right up in the front of her mind and it wasn’t weird because of over there, and she wouldn’t put it off because some guy told her in another timeline she was in love with him and he with her. “I want you right now, Lincoln.”
Somehow she finds strength again in her legs, a lot of strength. She pushes herself up to her feet and launches herself at him. He’s already come around the side of the table and his arms catch her up as she meets him. They crash together into the table, sending it sliding towards the door.
She hears the plant fall and crash onto the floor and suddenly the air is suffused with the cloyingly sweet smell of whatever it is that’s... so, so wonderful and good and she knows the room just got brighter again, but all she can see is Lincoln’s face, his body, his hands.
She hears herself give a little cry and he laughs low in his throat while he kisses her and she loves it. She loves the way he feels.
Her clothes are long gone, but she doesn’t remember where they went, his too, and her hand is guiding him inside her. He has her propped up on the table and he’s standing between her spread thighs. She’s already so so wet she can’t even believe it and she gasps when he slides all the way in her with a swift motion and a grunt.
He feels so full inside her and she rolls her hips to meet him with every thrust. Her fingers dig into the flesh at his shoulders and hips. She moans loudly with each push and pull he takes, each breath, her pitch rises with his pace, intensifying and exhilarating.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she remembers that she’s not usually this loud during sex, but she can’t for the life of her think why the hell not. She’s never felt anything as good as Lincoln Lee’s cock inside her, extracting from her the most intense orgasm of her life.
He comes with a shout, almost immediately after her, and collapses on top of her, laying them both out on the table. It seems an inordinately short amount of time for them both to have come, but she can’t be sure because time itself seems to be moving strangely.
Olivia realizes as he kisses her again and he’s already hard again against her leg that he isn’t finished and, from the surge of desire spiking through her limbs and pussy, she isn’t either.
“Fuck,” he breathes into her mouth, twining his legs through hers, his hands through her hair. “I want you again, Liv, I want you so much.” She kisses him back, rough and wet, sharp and smooth. She combs her fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck and feels a burning throb in her cunt and her muscles twitch. It’s not enough.
“Come on,” she says, and pushes back at him. He sits up quickly from the force of her push and the stumble together from the table to the floor. She straddles him swiftly, bending far over to catch his mouth with hers. She reaches back and steadies him as she slides herself onto his cock.
He looks up at her, all smiles and heavy-eyed pleasure. He makes an adorable, inarticulate noise and leans his head back, closing his eyes when she begins to move. She arches her back and lets her loose hair fall down to swing and brush his thighs. His hands slide up her ass and lower back to rest on her hips, pushing her to increase her pace.
She’s so full of him and it feels so good. As she begins to crest he sits up again, pulling his arms around her waist, pulling her closer even as she intensifies her rhythm. He wraps his lips around her left nipple, sucking hard and trailing his tongue across her chest to her other tit.
She gasps his name. He says she’s beautiful. She throws her head back and cries wordlessly. He’s bucking against her and she braces her hands on his knees, locking her elbows and working herself into a frenzy on top of him, but she still can’t seem to move fast enough. It’s not enough. She needs more.
Suddenly, his own inarticulate cry comes tearing from his throat and he leans up fast and scoops her up in his arms. She’s still riding his cock as he scrambles dizzily to his feet and they go crashing against the wall. She shouts in pain and pleasure as his body pins her up high on the wall and he’s pushing up and up and up against her pussy while she’s tightening her thighs around his bony hips.
“Come for me,” he growls, panting in her ear, “Come on, Liv, scream for me.”
He’s pounding himself against her, full tilt, and she does scream as she quakes around him with startlingly violent tremors, even as he keeps the frenzied pace. Her vision is a blaze of pure white and even brighter stars and he curls his fingers into her hair, pulling hard as his muscles stiffen and he chokes a gasp into her shoulder. She feels the warmth of his come surge inside her and it’s like a wave breaking and rushing away.
Her limbs have lost all their power and soon as the strength of his orgasm abates he can’t hold her up any longer. He pulls out of her and sort of falls away to the floor and she collapses onto her hands and knees.
The world is spinning around her and she feels drunken and stupid. She wants to touch him more, she doesn’t ever want to stop. She crawls, drags herself to where he’s laying and plays her fingers across the sweat-soaked length of his body.
He opens his eyes and smiles, big and sweet. He reaches a hand up to cup her cheek, like she’s something precious and beautiful. He brushes his thumb across her swollen lips and she catches it gently between her teeth. “Are you freaking out?” he asks. His voice is soft, almost dreamy. “You wanna talk about it?”
Olivia laughs giddily and it sounds incredibly strange to her ears. She curls up next to him and he pulls her closer, draws her head to rest on his shoulder. Her whole body feels loose and free. She sighs and, somewhere in the back of her mind, realizes that they’re both coming down and that someone will be there soon to pry them apart and take them to the hospital.
“Ask me that tomorrow, okay?”
She’s not sure she even wants to call this one their fifth case. They didn’t really solve anything.