Title: Baby Making Music
Author: VietAngel
Rating: M
Pairing: Callie/Mark
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Summary: Callie and Mark celebrate their third anniversary.
It's your third anniversary and you still can't believe she ever agreed to marry you. You barely touch your food because you're too busy watching her savor every bite of the huge steak she ordered. Her appetite is one of the things you've always appreciated about her. On your first official date she unabashedly devoured a massive bowl of pasta plus a huge piece of chocolate cake for dessert and it was love from then on.
When she's finished, she washes it down with the remainder of the red wine in her glass then tilts her head and smiles at you. You know what she's thinking and turn your plate so that your lobster tails are within her reach. She stabs a large chunk of one with her fork and you laugh and reach over to wipe her mouth when clarified butter drips down her chin as she bites into it. You make a mental note to put a bottle of ginger ale on her night table because you know she's going to have one hell of a stomach ache in the morning.
She sighs contentedly as you fill your glasses with the last of the wine. You ask about dessert and you're shocked when she says she doesn't want any; you're even more shocked when she says what she wants is another baby. You love your daughter (the little surprise she told you about on your wedding day) more than you ever knew was possible and the thought of bringing another little person into the world delights you to no end. You jump up, causing the dishes on your table to clatter, and lean over to shower your wife in kisses. You don't care that everyone is looking at you—you love her and she wants to have your baby…again.
You never thought you'd be the guy that planned to have children. You just assumed that the law of probability would eventually catch up with you, but you like it this way. She excuses herself to the bathroom and you use the opportunity to make a desperate call to two of her best friends and beg them to work some magic on your house before you get home. They reluctantly agree and you hang up with just enough time to take care of the check before she returns. When she gets back you help her into her coat and usher her out the door a little too eagerly.
You start to have second thoughts as you pull into the garage. It just dawned on you that when she said she wanted another baby, she probably didn't mean you had to start trying tonight—but it's too late to turn back now. You let out a sigh of relief as you enter the house. It's full of candles and her favorite flower—Sumatra lilies—just like you asked…and you owe Cristina and Addison dinner for coming through.
She gasps and almost knocks you over when she pounces and kisses you. When she finally gets over the initial excitement of it all, she slips out of her coat and you have to lean up against the door to keep from falling over from the sight of her. She's so beautiful in the dim candlelight, in the cleavage bearing cocktail dress you can't wait to get her out of. You wonder if she'll ever stop taking your breath away. She mentions something about needing baby making music as she saunters over to the stereo, and you laugh as the song wafts through the room. Her affinity for Rick James was something you would have never expected the first time you saw her, but now that you know her intimately you understand.
She beckons you to join her in the middle of the floor and you shrug out of your coat before gladly obliging. Her fingers lock behind your neck and both your hands rest easily at the small of her back. You can't help but think that she belongs in your arms as you sway easily through three songs with her head resting on your shoulder and your fingers fisted in her hair. You have an almost embarrassing obsession with her hair, but you wouldn't change it for anything. When Prince's "Insatiable" starts to play, she looks up at you and you're instantly lost in her eyes. They're impossibly brown and shiny, like pools of the molten chocolate that flows when you cut into a lava cake…and she scorches your soul.
When she leans in so close that her lips graze your ear you expect her to whisper something romantic and maybe a little dirty. Instead she informs you that she has to pee and invites you to come along—just in case you're feeling particularly kinky. You're not, but you follow anyway and take the opportunity to brush your teeth while she relieves her bladder. You watch out of the corner of your eye as she hikes up her dress and sits—all prim and proper with her knees together. The remnants of her privileged upbringing shine through at the oddest moments.
She washes her hands then shoos you out so she can brush her teeth. There are many things she'll let you witness her do—eat, pee, sleep, bathe, get herself off, shave her legs, get waxed, and push a baby out of her vagina—but she draws the line at you watching her brush her teeth and you've never understood it, but it's still one of the things you love about her. By the time she finishes and joins you in the bedroom you're in your boxer-briefs and you can't resist touching her any longer.
You unzip the back of her dress and let your lips follow it all the way down to the tattoo on her lower back. She slips her arms out and lets it pool at her feet. You're still on your knees and you want to send her parents a thank you card as you let your eyes feast on the roundness of her ass in the black lace panties she's wearing. She learned long ago to stop telling you to kiss her ass as an insult, because you're especially fond of that particular part of her body and you'll gladly oblige her at any time—even in front of your friends.
You stand and let your hands brush over the flare of her hips before settling on the ever so slight roundness of her belly. You find yourself hoping you'll get to see it swell with your growing child again soon. She brushes her hair aside and you know that's her way of telling you she wants your lips on her neck. You start with soft kisses behind her ear and then blaze a trail toward her collar bone where you start to suck lightly. She moans and reminds you that hickeys are for teenagers.
You chuckle softly against her ear and you can feel the shiver it sends down her spine. You let your fingers walk a path up her belly until your hands are cupping her breasts. You know you're lucky—other men pay you to give their women the body yours was born with. The gods of genetics have certainly smiled on her because she's perfection in your eyes. She thinks her parents are crazy, but you think they did the right thing when they named her because she truly is a goddess…and you tell her so.
You spin her around in your arms and crush your lips to hers. Her hand is between your bodies and she rakes her nails over your chest and abs just hard enough for you to feel it before caressing your painfully hard erection. You can see the devil in her eyes as she smirks and tells you exactly what she wants you to do to her. Hooking one finger into the waistband of your boxer-briefs, she walks backward until she's seated on the bed and you're standing in front of her. Before you have a chance to act, your underwear is around your ankles and she has taken the full length of you into her warm, wet mouth. You can do nothing but moan in pleasure and tangle your fingers in her midnight locks.
She's very, very good at this. She warned you that you'd fall in love with her the first time she ever did this for you, and damn if she wasn't right. You know that she has the power to make you come in less than a minute, so you struggle to regain your composure and stop her before you're too far gone. She looks a little dejected at first, but you remind her that you're here to make a baby and you can't do that if you're spilling the goods down her throat. She brightens then, and reminds you that you can return the favour with no ill effects on the baby making. You're not one to turn her down, so you coax her to scoot back and lie down across the king-sized bed.
You slip her shoes off and start to kiss your way up her impossibly long legs. By the time you reach her calves you hear her whimper in pleasure and look up to find her hand in her panties. You admonish her for being so impatient and catch her wrist. Pulling her hand free, you look her straight in the eye and lick her naughty fingers clean. You were planning to punish her a little by making her wait, but you'd be punishing yourself because you want nothing more than to taste her in that moment.
The time for slow and sensual is gone and you rip the thin material of her panties and they are gone from her body in a flash. You hike her legs over your shoulders and bury your face in her heat and holy hell does she ever taste divine. You know she wasn't expecting you to go straight for her clit because she hisses and tries to squirm away from you, but you grip her hips firmly enough to bruise her so she can't move. You know she's starting to relax into it when you feel her fingers in your hair. She's so wet that there's almost no resistance as you slip two fingers into her and stroke her G-spot…softly at first. You look up and you can see that she's biting her bottom lip—a clear indication that she's very close to orgasm. You increase the pressure on her G-spot and switch from licking around her clit to sucking on the hardened bud, and that's all she needs to push her over the edge.
You obsession with watching her come is as bad as your obsession with her hair and you push yourself up on your knees so you can see her face. If you were forced to choose between eating food to survive or eating her and putting that look on her face, you'd choose her with no hesitation and die a happy man. You continue to stroke her with your fingers as she starts to come down, and you take the opportunity to love on her a little more.
You suck one painfully hard nipple into your mouth and lave it gently with your tongue, causing her to dig her nails into your shoulder. You lavish the same attention on the other and she soon cries out as another orgasm washes over her. She grabs your wrist and pushes your hand away from her because she sensations are becoming too much. You shower her face in kisses and tell her how much you love her as you give her over sensitized body time to calm.
She recovers quickly and flips you onto your back and the entire length of your rock hard cock is sheathed in her warmth, and now it's your turn to cry out in shock. She feels that good. It's hard to believe that she could still be so tight after giving birth, but there are lots of things about her that blow your mind. You caress her thighs and sit back and watch her enjoy the ride until she does something with muscles you didn't know she had that makes your eyes roll back. She throws her head back and laughs when you curse and ask her what the hell she just did and she's more beautiful than you ever knew. Beautiful…and evil.
You tell her she's the devil in disguise as you reach up and thumb her nipples, but you'd gladly let her drag you down to hell. She doesn't deny it, just smiles deviously. You know you're not going to be able to last much longer and she's biting her lip again so you reach down and roll her clit between your thumb and forefinger and the force of her third orgasm causes you to go tumbling after her.
When you regain enough strength to move, you flip her onto her back and shove two pillows under her hips. You're a doctor and you know there's no scientific proof that it helps, but you also know that it can't help. She rolls her eyes at you but goes along with it anyway. You kiss her before you lie down beside her and rest your head in the crook of her arm. You're content to just watch her breathe and you brush the strands of hair from her face as you do just that. You can tell she's sleepy by the way she's twirling a lock of her hair around her finger and you start to rub her stomach to speed up the process. Her breathing evens out and you know she's out, but you leave your hand on her stomach and pray that your child will be in there soon.
You don't know when it happened, but you must have dozed off because the next thing you know she's shaking you awake and telling you that her stomach hurts. She's not one for crying, but you can tell she's in considerable pain because she's pouting and her eyes are glassy. Her father warned you that she was spoiled when you asked him if you could marry her. The responsibility of indulging her has been passed on to you and that is why you immediately get up to look for your clothes. She a grown woman and a medical professional—she's fully capable of remedying her own stomach ache, but you don't mind. When you're dressed you press a kiss to her forehead and ruffle her already adorably mussed hair before heading out.
At the drug store you pick up ginger ale, saltines, ice cream (because you know she'll want it as soon as she feels better), and several pregnancy tests before you high tail it back to your house—because the woman you love is waiting for you, and you're pretty sure there's more baby making in your future.
Fin.