A/N: The lack of fic about this couple is almost criminal.
This is just a continuation of my favorite scene from the episode "Jerry's Retirement," the one where Ann and Chris decide to do the frickle frackle again. It's not the best sex scene ever written, but that's okay, because it's more focused on Ann's thoughts and stuff than anything else.
I hope you like it! Please R&R!
"And it's also weird because we dated, and we remember what it's like to engage in some of those physical activities."
"Exactly. And we were also pretty good at those physical activities."
"Yes, we were! Yes… we were."
Ann locked eyes with Chris and suddenly she knew exactly was about to happen. She was going to ask him into her bedroom with a cheesy, transparent line and once they were there he would remove his clothes and they would multiply their genes – but in the least clinical of ways.
As the moment unfolded in exactly that manner (with the cheesy line, Ann discovered, being, "Are these all the pamphlets? Because I think that I have some left in the bedroom"), she focused on how unlike her this was. She did not act spontaneously unless she was brokenhearted, scrambled, empty… When she fought with Leslie, she got drunk. When Chris had dumped her, she'd dyed her hair red and slept around with men whose names and faces she could no longer remember: hasty decisions, born of sadness and regretted immediately.
But now? She and Chris were happily friends. In fact, she had no rifts with anybody; even April was coming around. Her job at the hospital was fine, she was financially sound, and she was going to be a mother. Ann's life was full and good and uncomplicated, and still she was pushing her good friend Chris onto her bed, straddling his waist and tearing a hole in her favorite red sweater as wrangled it off of herself.
Come to think of it, this was very unlike Chris, too. He – this man who was standing up, carrying her across the room and pressing her against the wall as he kissed her hard – was never spontaneous, not even in his darkest moods. Every decision he made was calculated so as to keep him at his healthiest and his happiest, and Ann knew he hadn't considered what emotional consequences this might have for him, letting an ex-girlfriend – and former employee – whisk off his belt and pull open his shirt and plant kisses down the crease of his chest.
As Ann ghosted her lips along the waistband of his boxers, she could swear she felt hot tears raining onto the top of her head. Surely, it was his protective shell of therapy melting away.
The two sunk down to their knees and embraced wildly on the floor, shedding what little clothing they had left and grimacing into the rug burn. In their bizarre state of thoughtlessness, they somehow let a condom find its way into the mix. Ann felt the latex pressed against her core and she whimpered, vaguely aware that her baby would not be conceived that afternoon. Chris seemed to realize it as well, as he came to a sudden stop just as he was prepped to thrust into her.
Their mouths, in stasis, were a mere inch away from each other. Chris inhaled and darted his tongue slightly over his bottom lip. "Ann," he whispered. His conspicuous omission of her last name hung thickly in the air.
"Uh-huh?" Ann gazed up at him, and wow, his eyes seemed so much bluer than they usually did.
"Ann, I think," said Chris hesitantly, "that we should get back into bed."
"Okay," replied Ann with a breathless smile.
Chris pushed himself to his feet and walked to the window, where he made sure the blinds were closed as tightly as they could be and pulled in the curtains. Some natural light still managed to seep into the room, but by switching on the lamp next to Ann's bed, Chris transformed the sunny and gregarious afternoon into a dark, intimate night.
From the bed where she'd lain her naked body, Ann watched him as he inspected her bedroom, looking for anything he could quickly move around to make the mood more appropriate. And as Ann watched, she realized that this might not have been spontaneous at all.
In fact, it was the exact opposite. It was the culmination of three years' worth of painful sexual tension, of a messy breakup, of crushing loneliness sending her into denial and him into depression, of his falling back in love with her and of her rejecting him because she wasn't up to babysitting a lump of anxiety and emotional turmoil, despite how handsome and good-hearted that lump was. Chris lay down next to her on the bed, put a hand on the back of her neck and kissed her, and Ann knew that this wouldn't have been happening if it wasn't a part of their plan.
They kissed furiously, and as they did, Chris shifted on the bed until he was on top of her, once again in position to start. Ann wrapped her arms around his neck, but she did not urge him to go on; instead, she flipped them over so he was on his back and she on top of him. He grinned up at her inquisitively and she in response covered up those white teeth with a kiss and, with fingers grasping at his hair to brace herself, lowered herself onto him.
Chris gasped into her mouth as she sheathed him. "Ann," he moaned, in a way that made Ann fear he was about to start crying. Surely he was feeling as overwhelmed as she herself had been minutes before.
She soothingly whispered "Chris…" into his ear, adding a hushed "Oh God" when, in the slow rocking of their hips, she found the perfect angle. It seemed like it was good for Chris, too, and the sensation proved enough to make him forget whatever concerns he had. He reflexively reached for her ass to pull her in closer.
He was still wearing the condom, and in their current position she was even more unlikely to get pregnant, thanks to simple physics. This was not about their baby, but them. Cautious and thoughtful Ann, and Chris, who was going to live for 150 years and didn't have any reason not to take life one thing at a time. There were so many pamphlets they had yet to read on conceiving naturally; Ann could just imagine Chris perusing them over and over to develop a regimen, to compile a list of the most effective positions so that when they did ultimately conceive, it would feel more like an accomplishment than a miracle.
Imagining their future in this way made the sex all the more rapturous for Ann. She gasped and groaned as she rode him harder, faster, and the subtlety of their passion came to a sudden end as she climaxed and bit down on his shoulder, impenetrably muscled as it was, to muffle her cry. Chris screamed out in pain but reached the crest of his pleasure not moments after.
When they fell apart from each other, they were holding hands.
Ann stared at the ceiling as she caught her breath, pretending she wasn't watching Chris out of the corner of her eye. She'd have sworn she could hear his thoughts: I love you, Ann Perkins. I have literally been in love with you for longer than anyone would ever care to admit. She knew this because she was thinking something quite similar. But neither of them spoke their feelings; the only sounds in the room were the buzz of the radiator and Ann's breathing. Chris's utter inability to get winded continued to amaze Ann, but she didn't even tell him that.
This was normal, though. The awkwardness was just another part of their process. The two of them eventually stood and replaced their clothes haphazardly, and when they left the bedroom the sunlight made them squint. They said their goodbyes with scarlet faces while looking at the floor, but as Chris bolted down the driveway to his car, Ann watched him and didn't let her gaze drop. They both felt hazy now, but she was still pretty sure she knew what would happen tomorrow.
Tomorrow, they would get back together. And then, they would start trying – really trying – to have a baby.
She watched him drive away and despite herself felt a longing for him to stay. "One thing at a time," she reminded herself in a whisper. And with tomorrow on the horizon, she flicked shut her blinds.