Shrapnel, Fringe, Olivia/Charlie and Olivia/Alt!Charlie, Ownership + a bit of Attraction, Reunionsprimarycolors92May 9 2011, 13:09:55 UTC
Olivia never collared Charlie, not even in their bed, because Charlie didn’t want to be collared.
He let her do just about anything, anywhere; her hand stroking him at the bar until he bit through his lip keeping quiet when he painted the underside of the table white, her hands pushing him to his knees in the men’s bathroom at the Bureau until she could trap his face between her thighs.
Olivia could be in the middle of anything when she’d see him, playing with his pen or touching his mouth or bending over a monitor, and then the need would make her weak, make her desperate, afraid.
Charlie could be in the middle of anything when she would call him and he would answer immediately, allowing Olivia to claim him until she felt strong again.
Charlie made Olivia brave, whenever and always (brave but not secure, his neck unbound against her pale fingers).
When Olivia first sees Charlie again she doesn’t have time to want him, doesn’t have time to take the hurt and the pain and the weakness and the fear and pin it against Charlie’s wrists. Instead she feels a fire in her stomach and makes the shot.
When Olivia sees him a second time, she is no longer herself. She sees the way Charlie moves, the angles of his hips and fingers, and does not understand how to banish this sudden need.
When Olivia returns to herself she understands and she risks everything (wants to feel strong again, alone in this hostile world). She waits until it’s just the two of them, her watching him drink at the bar, and when Charlie goes to the bathroom Olivia follows.
She pins him against the wall before he can do more than cry her name, intersperses harsh bites with commands for silence.
There is a terrified knot in her stomach. It goes away when Charlie arches his neck towards her teeth and stifles his moans.
He lets her claim him, first against the bathroom wall and then on his leather couch, lets her cover him in marks and bruises, lets her tighten her fingers into a link around his throat.
After one night Olivia knows: somehow in this broken world something in Charlie is fixed, and here he would gladly wear her collar.
It will break her heart to go home. She leaves anyway.
He let her do just about anything, anywhere; her hand stroking him at the bar until he bit through his lip keeping quiet when he painted the underside of the table white, her hands pushing him to his knees in the men’s bathroom at the Bureau until she could trap his face between her thighs.
Olivia could be in the middle of anything when she’d see him, playing with his pen or touching his mouth or bending over a monitor, and then the need would make her weak, make her desperate, afraid.
Charlie could be in the middle of anything when she would call him and he would answer immediately, allowing Olivia to claim him until she felt strong again.
Charlie made Olivia brave, whenever and always (brave but not secure, his neck unbound against her pale fingers).
When Olivia first sees Charlie again she doesn’t have time to want him, doesn’t have time to take the hurt and the pain and the weakness and the fear and pin it against Charlie’s wrists. Instead she feels a fire in her stomach and makes the shot.
When Olivia sees him a second time, she is no longer herself. She sees the way Charlie moves, the angles of his hips and fingers, and does not understand how to banish this sudden need.
When Olivia returns to herself she understands and she risks everything (wants to feel strong again, alone in this hostile world). She waits until it’s just the two of them, her watching him drink at the bar, and when Charlie goes to the bathroom Olivia follows.
She pins him against the wall before he can do more than cry her name, intersperses harsh bites with commands for silence.
There is a terrified knot in her stomach. It goes away when Charlie arches his neck towards her teeth and stifles his moans.
He lets her claim him, first against the bathroom wall and then on his leather couch, lets her cover him in marks and bruises, lets her tighten her fingers into a link around his throat.
After one night Olivia knows: somehow in this broken world something in Charlie is fixed, and here he would gladly wear her collar.
It will break her heart to go home. She leaves anyway.
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