FEVER (Open Heart)
After an evening full of temptation, Ethan Ramsey must face the inevitable truth — Laura Levchenko is a woman impossible to forget.
book: Open Heart (Book Two; post-Chapter 2)
characters: Ethan Ramsey x Laura Levchenko (F!MC)
word count: 3,125 words
rating: MA
warnings: explicit language; adult themes; explicit sexual content (DNI unless 18+)
a/n: Well… and here it is. My very first attempt at writing something mildly smutty with a generous dose of pure angst! A.k.a. a passionate, tormented ode to Laura Levchenko. Ethan in denial and desperately trying to convince himself he is doing things for the greater good? That’s my jam. Fingers crossed that it feels right. Now allow me to humbly hide for eternity.
➨ also available on AO3
July 2019
Cool whiskey stones clink against Ethan’s favourite glass as he tosses them in, the sharp sound momentarily making him snap out of his thoughts. He received them from Naveen as a present for his thirty-fifth birthday, stored in a box made of dark walnut wood, with his initials carved into the lid. They both laughed that it was supposed to be Ethan’s small SOS kit — a purist like him would never dilute his top-shelf liquor with ice. It would reduce its richness, a heinous act that would almost feel like committing a crime.
The box usually sits proudly displayed on a kitchen shelf, more an object of admiration than one of utility. Ethan prefers to treat himself to first-rate scotch as it is. After all, there is no better feeling than savouring the richness of the warm, golden-hued liquid as it ignites a delicious burn that runs down his throat.
Tonight, he does not want to treat himself to such luxury. He needs to soothe the burning fever raging inside him. He needs to dull the pain that relentlessly consumes him.
He opens the kitchen cabinet, a single fingertip skimming over the tops of the expensive bottles. His eyes briefly run over the various labels. Johnnie Walker. Macallan. The Glenlivet. Weller. Jack Daniel’s. Yamazaki. Lagavulin. He almost reaches for the cheapest bottle in his impressive collection, but the desire for something stronger leads him to the half-empty Johnnie Walker instead.
He is in a state of profound desperation, but not enough to subject himself to such torture. Besides, nothing could ever punish him more than her. And he rightfully deserves so.
The memories of the night come crashing over him like a sudden tidal wave of a tsunami, drowning him in a deluge of detailed snapshots of her that are now forever etched into his very core. He will never forget the charming outline of her spine as she elegantly leaned forward in an enthusiastic conversation with Governor Rivera — a view he could enjoy plentifully thanks to the backless silk halter top that gently caressed her skin with every slight movement.
He will also never forget the breath-taking sight of her graceful, long neck as she ran her fingers through her rich copper waves and gathered them together, tossing them over one shoulder. The air around her faintly smelled like mandarin, grapefruit, and juniper, but upon closer inspection, he noticed subtle hints of amber woods and musk. There was a slight oceanic note to her cologne, something salty that instantly reminded him of long summer days by the sea, fresh citruses cut on a plate in front of him. It was a bright fragrance, delicate but sharp at the same time — particularly fitting for someone like her.
But he will also never forget the palpable distance between them that evening, tangible and sturdy walls that now separate them being the result of their mutual stubbornness. (Though is truly their stubbornness at fault? Is it not his unwillingness to face his demons that has driven this wedge between them?) With every attempt to get closer, she pulled away ever further, and he could not blame her one bit, for he is the exact same person who made things so irreparably complicated.
However, he did not expect her to be so masterful at it. He can still feel the piercing gaze of her beautiful eyes, having the same shade as his preferred liquor, boring into him as she extended her hand at the end of the dinner, offering him the most impassive goodbye imaginable.
“Have a good night, Dr. Ramsey.”
He takes the glass in his hand, gently swirling its content before taking a generous sip.
Her beautiful eyes of the same shade as his preferred liquor.
Ironically, what once used to offer him the much-needed escape from any distraction has become the one thing that immediately reminds him of her. Laura Levchenko. The woman that can both heal and completely ruin him at the same time.
That moment of utter hostility is nothing new to him. He has seen her beautiful face become the most flawless mask of coldness countless times, sometimes divinely astonishing and sometimes downright cruel. But there has always been that unmistakable spark in her eyes, even during moments such as those. The fire behind them rarely subsides, burning brightly for all those who are daring to pay meticulous attention.
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His memories immediately start drifting to a very dangerous territory, one he knows he should not revisit. For he remembers seeing a different kind of fire in her eyes, a flame once reserved only for him and making him long to be set ablaze.
He is standing beneath the cascade of ice-cold water, teeth chattering in his head. Despite the freezing temperature of the water, he feels as though he might be burning within. All reason abandons him at this point — he catches himself wondering if his skin might start to sizzle under the relentless onslaught of the icy droplets over his body, or if he might dissolve entirely in a cloud of mist.
He desperately tries to convince himself that enduring this self-imposed torture in the middle of the night is just the remedy he needs for his inebriated mind. His tolerance is no longer what it once used to be, and he can certainly think of far more enjoyable activities for the day ahead than sipping on Alka Seltzer in a darkened room. Nevertheless, no half-truths nor blatant lies prevent his mind from wandering to the actual cause of his state — the beautiful woman now sound asleep in his bedroom, whose allure has him in a tight grasp, refusing to let go.
She is the reason why he is desperate to sober up. Her presence leaves him more intoxicated than any top-shelf liquor ever could.
A part of him — the minuscule fraction of his rationality yet intact that realises they have irreversibly made everything much more complicated for themselves — should feel guilty about the events of the past few hours. He is almost impatient for the appalling wave of remorse to invade his thoughts like a disease, involuntarily dragging him back to reality and mockingly whispering into his ear, This should never have happened.
But as the minutes pass, regrets fail to arrive. Instead, he discovers that, despite the consequences, he would happily relive the moment again.
The noise of the thoughts that occupy his mind dissipates with the sound of the shower door being opened behind his back. It seems like an ironic twist of fate that despite his never-ending desperation for solitude, he has never welcomed anything more than her presence in that moment. She remains fixed in one place, unmoving and silent, but he can feel her observing his figure with unabashed eyes that seem to burn through his skin like two hot coals.
When she presses herself against his back to reach for the shower knob, she shudders under the stream of icy water. Her rosy nipples harden against his cool flesh as her deft fingers quickly change the temperature, suddenly replacing the biting chill with soothing warmth that slowly begins to spread through his tense muscles. She wraps her arms around his torso and gently rests her cold hands on his pecs.
Despite the water no longer chilling him to the bone, he finds himself shuddering, the sensation coursing down his spine like a blade. He is certain it has nothing to do with the stark contrast of temperature. The way she tenderly caresses his chest is vastly different to how her nails raked across his back when his cock filled her so deliciously mere hours ago. She undoubtedly has a marvellous view of the crimson marks on his skin, her very own work of art reserved for her eyes only, now slowly fading away.
“I can think of better ways to finish this memorable night than ending up with severe pneumopleuritis,” she eventually speaks into the silence, her melodic voice cutting through the comforting drizzle of water.
He scoffs incredulously, tugging a large hand through the soaked dark locks and pushing them out of his face. “Haven’t I tired you out enough with that marathon?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Do not flatter yourself so much, Ramsey. Pride comes before a fall.”
There is another sardonic remark already forming itself on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike. Sarcasm has always been their language. They have relished in the personal verbal sparring, exchanging witty quips and misanthropic comments, turning impatient just to see who gives up first like a pathetic loser and who emerges victorious at the end of the day.
But then she stands right in front of him, and all those unspoken words crumble to ashes in his mouth like flowers withering in the scorching heat of the sun.
He shamelessly lets his gaze roam all over her, allowing himself to savour the tempting sight in all its allure. She is painfully beautiful in the simplicity of the moment, her face scrubbed of any traces of make-up, and messy ginger waves growing wet under the steam of water. Her flawless skin appears almost luminous under the lighting, luxurious, sinful — Bernini’s carved masterpiece brought to life under his touch.
Whenever he sets his eyes on her and momentarily gets lost in her beauty, he feels something ignite within him, as if his whole being has been suddenly set on fire. If he did not know any better, he would believe himself struck by a fever of the most severe kind.
Laura’s hands and lips begin to roam free, exploring the broad expanse of his chest. Fingertips trail down his side and across his ribs, tracing the curving indentation just above the cut of his hipbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She is mapping out every inch of him with tender care, her touch both gentle and passionate, a delicate dance of curiosity and longing. As she pulls herself up on her tiptoes, a slender arm slings around his neck, and her lips slant over his in a searing kiss. The sudden need to touch every inch of her becomes all-consuming, almost maddening, and he pulls her even closer, pressing her back against the cool tiles as he deepens the kiss, their tongues moving together in a battle for dominance.
He has been with many impressive women before, but none of those memories could ever compare to the feeling of having her — his fierce mythical Amazon, surrendering to no one but him. She has him wrapped around her finger, and the power she holds over him is both deliciously liberating and frighteningly exciting.
When she breaks the kiss, her lips find the shell of his ear, and her teeth tug at his earlobe with just the right pressure to make him see stars. If this is a dream, then he wishes never to wake up from it.
She trails a fingertip down from his navel over the thin line of hair that leads to his groin. “I woke up feeling extremely hungry,” her breath tickles against his skin as she puts extra emphasis on the last two words. The sound of her breathy voice immediately takes him back to the moments in his bed, when she was fervently chanting his name like a prayer.
”Give me five minutes. I’ll find something in the fridge,” he murmurs with his eyes half-lidded, mind becoming foggier with every fleeting trace and caress.
It’s only when he hears her soft laughter that he momentarily snaps back into reality, realising that she has a different type of hunger in mind.
“You look good enough to eat.”
Oh.
Ethan groans in relief at the contact as his cock eagerly springs into her touch. She savours the pulsating warmth, now having all of him in the palm of her hand in the most literal of ways. She begins working his length slowly and deliberately, as if they had endless time on their hands.
Being with Laura strips him of the last scraps of control left in him, and he has never welcomed anything more. Whatever fears and doubts he nurtured, whatever rationale he possessed, they all melt away — he is offering it to her like a sacrifice. The whole world fades into nothingness as he willingly surrenders to her, to the sensation of the silky skin beneath his rough fingertips, the unyielding grip of her hand around his manhood.
His mind quickly wanders back to the now half-empty packet of condoms on the bedside table. “You know the best we can do here is an hors d’oeuvre.”
And her clever brain immediately connects all the dots, offering him a knowing smile full of promise. “Perfect. And let’s serve the main course in bed,” she purrs, her voice a sultry invitation to the feast that awaits them.
She gracefully sinks down to the floor, kneeling at his feet as if to worship. Tilting her head forward, she runs her tongue along the underside of the shaft before taking the whole of him into her mouth. She hums around the thick length as she takes him lower, tightening her lips to increase the pressure around the base of his cock. His hips buck involuntarily at the magnificent sensation.
While one hand finds its way through the wet, fiery hair and grabs a hold of it to guide her movements, the other rests on the tiles for support. His fingernails absentmindedly dig into the cool tiles as if they could somehow keep him steady, though he knows nothing will help him anymore. Any and all thoughts evaporate from his mind, leaving it blissfully blank, with his sole focus on the sensation of her plush lips wrapped around him, sending him to the heights of ecstasy.
She never breaks eye contact, and the fire behind her irises is enough to ignite a flame within him, burning him to his very core. He is drowning in the amber pools of her irises, and in that moment, he realises he has never desired anyone — never needed anyone — as intensely as her.
For all he cares, the Charles River running below them could overflow and wash over the whole city, and he would not bat an eyelid. As long as he can have her, the water can swallow him whole.
Ethan feels constricting tightness in his chest, as if he were held underwater against his will, dark currents sucking the breath out of his lungs. He almost wants to hurl the glass against the wall just so the shattering sound of its rupture could take his mind off the never-ending cycle of thoughts that always involve her.
And he knows he should avoid those at all costs. Especially when the memories that perpetually flood his mind remind him of her in moments like that. Especially when he finds himself trapped in a web of emotions, a tangled mess of desire and regret and pain of yearning for the one thing he cannot have. Especially when he is desperately trying to move on and forget anything that ever involved her as more than a colleague.
He wishes to be able to look down on her with the same ease that he does with so many other people. He wants to see her as nothing else but another co-worker that he sees passing by every day through Edenbrook’s endless maze of corridors, perhaps even less than that. Rookie. He craves the advantage as though it were the most addictive drug — the sense of total control over every action performed, over every step taken, just like he did in the past.
But he realises that it will never be possible, for she will never be just another colleague. Laura has a hold on him as no one has ever had, and he clings to her presence and their memories like a castaway to a life raft, finding refuge from the vast open sea. She is an anchor that keeps him grounded, yet also a storm that threatens to engulf him completely.
He starts becoming increasingly conscious of how dangerous his feelings for her are. She has completely permeated his bones, gradually tearing down the many layers of the frigid walls of protection that encase him. Before she walked into his life and threw everything into disarray like a lethal cyclone, he was steadfast, impenetrable, and unmoved. Now, not a single moment passes without her crossing his mind in one way or another, causing him to lose his footing and fall straight back into the solace she brings.
It took him two months to painstakingly fix the shattered walls he had always shielded himself with, through which cracks she succeeded to catch a glimpse of the real him, in his most vulnerable state. Now that he is back, it took her mere moments to breach his defences all over, leaving him raw and aching for her.
He despises himself for his lack of reason and discipline, clearly unable to resist the temptation. Or so he believes. In fact, he loathes himself for his cowardice, for his inability to face the unavoidable truth, for always making things so complicated, bringing tragedy with him wherever he sets his foot.
He has been at war with his feelings for far too long but is only now beginning to acknowledge that he has long lost. Like a man wounded in the middle of the battlefield, he hopes that his downfall will be quick and merciful. A woman like Laura Levchenko is impossible to forget. No matter how fiercely he tries to convince himself otherwise, reality always prevails in the end.
He was certain that the distance between them was the cure to his affliction. To see her carry on with her life as if nothing ever transpired between them should feel like salvation. Instead, watching her keeping him at arm’s length does not only reopen old wounds from months ago, it even adds salt to them, the sting of which he cannot shake easily.
Sometimes, in moments like this one, he yearns for the white-hot pain to engulf his senses and consume him entirely.
But as a doctor, he knows that all pain, no matter how severe, is only temporary. After any moment of despair comes eventual relief, and his could be found in forgetting everything that happened and moving on, no matter how excruciating the process may be. Though he may have momentarily succumbed to temptation during the evening, he will find a way how to put an end to it, for the sakes of both. One day, she will thank him for it.
Either he will find a cure or embrace his death with dignity.
a/n 2: To explain the setting of the fic to avoid confusion — this takes place right after the dinner with Governor Rivera. The reset from Chapter 1 is in full swing… except Dr. Ramsey miscalculated badly. Without giving much away, Laura makes it clear that she is not interested in having anything to do with him on a personal level. And Ethan wants to be glad and relieved… except he is not.
a/n 3: The smutty scene is supposed to be their first sexy time together… a.k.a., my humble addition to that glorious night from 1.15.
