So I found a bunch of old files in my google docs and figured I'd post them because why not. They're old and they're not even the *newest* drafts (I had to switch out the names of Emma and Neal's friends - I think I caught them all, but just in case Saffron = Effie, Hattie = Joy, and Lucas = Leo), those were about two computers ago, but the chapters that I'm gonna post are relatively complete and I think they give a good scope of what the story was going to be. This *part* of the series is finished, at least. Beyond that, anything that wasn't can probably be filled in with a few drabbles. I'm not planning on writing anything new and I'm not gonna stress too much about editing, but there were parts of this that I'm really proud of and just never got around to posting for a variety of reasons. Hopefully there's something to be enjoyed here, though, and thanks if you decide to read on!
A racket had erupted suddenly from Porter's room, springing up in the form of clinks and clanks and bangs that surpassed the sounds of his usual imaginative play, forcing Emma to abandon her careful study of sixteen-year-old Wyatt Pierson's case to investigate, half-fearing that she would find another dog (or something as equally troublesome), desperately trying to escape her son's latest attempt to rescue all the strays of the world. But whatever she had anticipated, it certainly didn't involve the needless mess that had taken over Porter's room, transforming it from something relatively tidy (if a bit cluttered), and into a complete pigsty.
And the mess continued to grow, right before her eyes, as Porter kneeled at the foot of his overstuffed closet, pulling things out and then chucking them needlessly across the room, rinse and repeat.
After dodging a stray shoe that landed perilously in the hallway behind her, Emma crossed her arms and pointedly cleared her throat, earning Porter's attentions, his head peeking out from behind the door to his closet, his hair sticking up in nearly every direction, reminding her wholly of Neal during that very first year together.
"Mom," he said, managing the odd combination of both frantic and relieved. "I need my sleeping bag. We still have it don't we?"
Emma raised a brow. Did he really expect her to ignore that his room looked like a tornado had passed through it?
"Why do you need a sleeping bag?" she asked instead, stepping inside the door and just avoiding a Tonka truck.
" Mom , I need my sleeping bag," he repeated his voice reaching a rare octave that made it sound like a matter of life and death.
Emma didn't budge, however, staring him down, calm and stern (and, maybe, a bit amused) as Porter bounced on the balls of his feet impatiently, his limbs a suppressed spring waiting for someone to lift the repressive force.
"Brian's birthday is this weekend," he relented, finally, "and he's having a sleepover. So I need my sleeping bag."
"Well, did you check that mess that formerly passed as your bed," she asked, critical eyes landing on pile after pile of clothes and shoes and toys.
"Yes." The duh, loud and clear, came implied and Emma rolled her eyes as she tip-toed her way carefully across the toy loitered floor, biting her lip when she dodged a Bob-it, but got the wrong end of a GI Joe action figure, just managing to suppress the frustrated cuss word that threatened to escape her mouth as her barefoot stepped on hard plastic. She gave Porter a pointed look when she reached the closet, arm reaching for the top shelf, feeling around a bit before she triumphantly pulled down his sleeping bag. But instead of the giant, bouncing hug of gratitude and relief she typically received whenever she recovered something Porter or Carina had lost-slash-misplaced, that suppressed energy merely went nowhere as Porter deflated. And when she tried to pass him the brightly colored bag, covered in Buzz Lightyear's giant face, he didn't even move to take it.
"That's it?" he asked, looking from the bag to his mother with disappointed eyes, as if magically expecting her to produce something else.
"Yes," said Emma simply, "A nice memento from your father's camping fiasco five years ago."
"I can't use that," he insisted.
Emma stared at him blankly before giving the bag a good sniff. But other than a faint musty smell mixed with pine she didn't find anything that a good airing out couldn't fix.
"You can," said Emma, shoving the thing at him, but he didn't bite.
"This is Brian Hansley's tenth birthday party," Porter insisted.
(She supposed that should mean something to her.)
"Well, then," she said, thrusting it at him once because she really didn't want to go out and buy yet another thing that would probably only get used once. At best. "Here."
"And my first sleepover."
Emma picked at the fabric. "Yes, and are you sure you're ready for that?"
He hadn't even gotten on the bus when the Eagle Scouts camping trip, turning around and running tearfully into her arms.
(Then again, he'd been seven.)
"No," he said dramatically, "because I have baby's sleeping bag with Buzz Lightyear's stupid face plastered all over it."
"You begged me for this," she insisted, before turning on her best impression of her former five year old. "Please, Mommy, please. Please can we get Buzz Lightyear." She pumped her fist mockingly. "Forever and always."
Porter rolled his eyes. "Infinity and Beyond."
"Whatever," she pointed at the bag, "you begged me and then you only used it once."
Though, admittedly, she could just as easily take the blame for that one. Emma, after a half of an attempt, adamantly refused to do the whole camping, sleeping on the ground thing.
"Mom," he said, calming slightly and turning on the Neal Cassidy patented puppy dog eyes that never failed to make her cave like a house of cards. "Please don't make me be the only kid at Brian Hansley's party with a little kid sleeping bag."
"You still have Spiderman bedsheets," she pointed out, practically.
(Or at least he would if his bed hadn't turned into an alternative plane for lost toys.)
" Superman," he corrected, clearly growing annoyed with her lack of any relevant pop culture trivia. "And my friends aren't going to see my sheets."
"Well, how could they?" Emma agreed and, really, she had mostly settled into teasing him now (though, privately, she began to fear those inevitable teen years that looked like they might even be on the verge of arriving early). "Have you looked at this mess?"
Porter seemed to catch on that she had begun to cave, his tone shifting to something far more pleasant and certainly less whiny. "Mom, can I please have a new sleeping bag?"
"Yes," said Emma drily, "you can have a new sleeping bag."
"Thank –"
" But you have to clean this mess up first."
(Firm parenting, Emma. Way to go.)
Porter nodded enthusiastically and finally she got that energetic hug. "Thank you!"
Emma made her way carefully out of his room, leaving another playfully firm, "Clean this up," behind her before, almost immediately, bumping into Carina in the hallway.
"My room's clean," said Carina proudly.
Emma gave her an indulgent smile, moving toward the kitchen, loudly saying, "Then you can get a snack."
Triumphantly, she heard Porter groan with disappointment from behind them.
"Cheese and crackers?" Emma asked and Carina nodded, climbing up onto a stool, peering over the island at her as Emma pulled out plate, knife, and crackers before retrieving the cheese from the fridge.
"I'm having a sleepover this weekend too," said Carina, her voice very matter of fact like , "at Susan's."
Emma raised a brow at her daughter, hands fiddling with the wrapper on the cheddar cheese. "Are you now?"
Carina gave a big nod. "Me and Susan decided."
"And did you and Susan ask Susan's mom or dad for permission?" Carina's silence served as answer enough and Emma began slicing the block of cheese. "Well, we best ask them then."
This had become a sort of pattern as of late – Carina attempting to emulate Porter, desperately trying to do things as well as him and at the exact same time. Carina adored him, really, looking at Porter like anyone else would their hero. Emma and Neal found it positively charming, but Porter had grown increasingly annoyed by it, particularly when it involved Carina's attempt to weasel her way into soccer practice and video games with his friends. And while Emma worried that she took copying Porter just a bit too seriously (wondering even if, maybe, she should try discussing it with her), Carina had, at least made her own plans, instead of trying to latch onto Port's.
And, well, she just looked so excited.
A good hour later, with snacks had (Porter too), Porter's room still a mess and Susan's mother insisting that a sleepover would be just fine, Emma bundled her children into their oversized SUV, getting yet another verbal acknowledgement from her son that he would clean his room when they got home (though honestly Emma doubted she'd see the bottom of his floor anytime before Brian Hansley's birthday sleepover), while Porter shared another neglected detail with her.
"Remember," Porter said, "We have to get Brian a present too."
Remember. Emma didn't even recall the original reminder.
They located the camping aisle easily enough, the three of them staring at rows of sleeping bags, Porter thankfully heading straight for a blue colored and perfectly plain one that he would, barring catastrophe, never ever plead with her to replace. Emma tried to steer Carina in a similar direction, but she had her own idea, heading straight for a very pink and a very Little Mermaid inspired bag, returning with it to Emma's side, a bright grin lighting up her features. Porter scrunched his nose at it and Emma honestly wanted to do the same, but relented because Carina should have the chance to decide what she liked all on her own.
Shopping for this Brian kid, however, quickly turned into a chore nothing short of hellish. While Emma had warmed to the opportunities of presenting her children with gifts over the years, her heart melting at the look of joy and excitement on their faces as they impatiently tore at wrapping paper, faces lighting up with awe as they examined whatever surprise they found inside, that feeling definitely did not extend to Brian Hansley, her annoyance only growing in strength as Porter waffled, turning down all the suggestions thrown at him.
And, of course, Emma had to consider the question: What did you spend on a ten year old that didn't belong to you, and had earned the position of her son's kind of friend but definitely not his best friend.
Somewhere around the two hour mark Carina started leaning heavily against her side while Porter reached a new level frustration when Emma had refused to buy the very cool but very controversial paintball gun.
"It's an unspoken rule between mothers," Emma told him as he let out a huff of frustration, "that you don't buy each other's kids toys that can bruise, maim, or torture their parent's poor ear drums."
Finally, Emma admitted defeat, and called for back-up, dialing Neal's number. Arguably he had the best handle on these sorts of things, earning expert status in gift giving.
(At least in their family.)
"I'll pick up something on the way home," he agreed, his voice somewhat muffled, drowned out by the combined sounds of the store on her end and Tallahassee on his. "Which one's Brian Hansley?"
"Blonde hair, glasses."
"Soccer or Horses?"
"Soccer team," Emma confirmed, Porter approving the description with a decisive nod as the cashier rang up the two sleeping bags. Emma pressed the phone between her ear and shoulders, returning a candy bar that Carina had tried to sneak past her on the belt, before handing over the necessary cash, missing most of what Neal had said in reply.
"No noise and nothing that bruises," she told him, gathering the plastic bags and gesturing to Porter to grab his sister's hand.
"Not quite as easy then," Neal commented, "but got it.
And Neal came through, Porter rushing to greet him some time later (long after Emma had re-banished him to his room to finish cleaning), immediately grabbing the plastic bag, ripping it open to peer inside.
"Stomp-It Rocket," exclaimed Porter, clutching the box excitedly, the bag floating forgotten to the floor. "This is perfect. Thanks, Dad."
"You're welcome, buddy," said Neal, grinning as he gave Porter's hair a playful tussle, something that Porter quickly dodged as he ran off to his bedroom, announcing his plans to wrap it right now.
"Yes," she murmured, smiling as she absently leaned into his warmth, Neal having approached from behind as she stirred a batch of tomato sauce. "Thank-you, Dad."
"So sleepover, huh?" he asked, his chin landing on her shoulder. "Did we know about this?"
"Not until this afternoon," said Emma with a heavy sort of sigh. "We really need to work on that whole asking for permission thing. Carina's picking up on it too."
They had yet to have another incident where he just disappeared, he had thankfully learned his lesson there, but Porter had begun developing this bad habit where he would forget to tell them about things until the very last minute. Like what supplies he needed for a project due tomorrow or that his coach had scheduled an extra practice in an hour. And when he did get around to reminding them it rarely came across as a request or question, so much as do this.
(She mostly suspected it was a phase but that didn't mean she didn't miss the days of please and thank you.)
Neal raised a questioning eyebrow. "Carina?"
"She and Susan decided to have a sleepover at Susan's house," Emma explained, swatting at Neal's hand when he reached for the wooden spoon, stealing a little taste, offering a sound of approval, and then, still grinning, wiping his mouth after she snatched the spoon back unexpectedly.
"So both kids are out of the house this weekend," he murmured, voice husky in that way he knew she liked, lips pressing a whiskery kiss to the base of her neck.
And that sounded very nice, but he had missed the point.
"That's right," she said, very business-like, moving out of his grasp so she could grab a knife and work on chopping peppers for the sauce.
Neal followed, hands looping around her waist once more, lips finding her pulse point. Two things that slowed her vegetable chopping considerably.
"They'll be gone at the same time then," he confirmed, "all night."
"Yes," she said, practically, determined not to fall for Neal's persistent charms. But then he nipped at her neck and oh. Her knees went weak and she quickly sidestepped him, shaking the knife at him. "They're here now though."
"I'll just have to start counting down the hours then," he said playfully, taking up the task of stirring (or at least pretending to before he stole another taste). "Maybe make a dinner reservation. We'll call it a date night slash early birthday celebration."
Her features scrunched together in confused amusement. "Hm?"
"You forgot, didn't you?" He retorted, clucking his tongue playfully. "The big Two-Eight."
"I didn't forget ," insisted Emma (only yeah, she had), "I just …"
"Hadn't thought about it?"
He clicked his tongue again at her nod. "Well, at least the kids can keep a secret, I suppose."
"You're not planning something, are you?" Emma asked, and then, at his too-innocent expression, she groaned and, half-whining, added a petulant, " Neal."
She didn't see the point, really. With no milestones to mark, twenty-eight didn't even mean anything.
"Nothing big. But birthdays are meant to be celebrated. Moms included," he told her, Emma scrunching her nose when Neal dropped a playful kiss on it. "We'll do something that's just us this Friday. So state your requests now."
"Nothing too fancy," she said because, really, if going out supposedly indicated fun and relaxation (she tended to disagree, but whatever) then she should at least feel comfortable. "And nothing with crayons and connect-the-dots."
"Scrap McD's and Le Cercle Rouge then," he said, over-pronouncing his French to such a degree that Emma had to wipe at the excess spit that had landed on her cheek. "Got it."
Hopefully, she added, "We don't even have to go out."
"C'mon, now," said Neal, pulling her flush against him, arms wrapping around her waist, hands tracing patterns on the small of her back, leaning his forehead against hers. "Nice dinner. A little dessert."
She kissed his chin and then his jaw, "Draw a bath."
He hummed an agreement, brushing his lips against hers, before stressing, " After a nice stroll around Central Park, maybe."
She rolled her eyes and asked, "since when are you into drawn-out date nights?"
"It's your birthday," he murmured, nose brushing her cheek. But when she raised a skeptical brow, he added, somewhat sheepishly, "I thought, maybe, we could start talking about kid number three. Possibly."
Emma kinda froze because of all the things that he could have said, she certainly hadn't expected that one. But she found, too, that it didn't repulse her. The idea. She just needed to think about it.
"Yeah," she said carefully. Or she tried to, but it turned into an especially difficult task when her stomach kept doing flips while her mouth kept twitching upwards despite herself. "We could talk about it. Maybe."
Neal grinned in a way that Emma felt the need to repeat, " Talk ," quite firmly. He nodded in reply, drawing her in for a languid kiss that slowly deepened as she wrapped her arms around him, fingers absently playing with the hair at the base of his neck.
"Is dinner ready yet, Marmy?" Carina's voice carried into the kitchen, followed by an overly dramatic, "Gross," as they reluctantly broke apart, Neal running a hand through his hair, looking flustered as Emma covered her attempt to compose herself by leaning over the stove to check the sauce (which, really, only managed to intensify the heated blush marring her cheeks).
"Fifteen minutes, sweetheart," she said, a bit too generously, "wash your hands."
Carina hurried off and Emma turned a look on Neal, her lips pressed together in mild amusement, "Sure you want more of that then?"
"Oh, desperately," he breathed, want weighing down the words.
Porter insisted that his father drive him.
"I can't have my mom drop me off," he told her after she had already put on her coat and found her keys.
And while Emma, not even twenty-eight yet, had some serious concerns about her sudden drop in apparent cool-ness, she tried not to take it too personally.
Plus, Neal had known that ten-years-olds apparently liked fake rockets so.
Carina had no such qualms about her mother, though she had grown quite impatient, eager to get over to Susan's right now to get started on all the things they had planned. Something she eagerly shared with Emma.
"We're going to make brownies , Marmy," said Carina, orbiting her mother as she carefully packed a portable fan, portable humidifier, and an iPod loaded with her favorite soundtracks, "with rainbow chocolates. Rainbow."
Emma accompanied her, " Wow," with the appropriate amount of enthusiasm, gathering the rest of Carina's clothes for the night as she rambled on about the games they would play and the movies they would watch and the popcorn covered in parmesan cheese (a Mrs. O'Brian specialty) that they planned to eat. Which, honestly, sounded kind of delicious.
This enthusiasm, however, started to wane as soon as they pulled out of the long driveway they shared with Mr. Portobello.
"Have you decided what movie you'll watch first?" Emma asked, eyes finding Carina in the rearview mirror briefly before returning dutifully to the road. She knew the expected answer (The Little Mermaid, obviously) , but it seemed the best way to draw her out of her shell.
It didn't work.
She pulled into Susan's driveway with a perky, "we're here," put the car in park and turning in her seat, smiling brightly at Carina, who didn't notice, eyes staring fixedly out the window.
"It's not too late to go back home," said Emma gently, joining Carina in the backseat after failing to coax her out of the car.
Carina gave a firm shake of the head.
Emma ran her finger soothingly through her dark hair, and asked, "are you ready to go in then?"
Carina shrugged, but didn't move.
"Wanna see if Susan wants to stay at our place?"
Carina scrunched her nose, took a moment to think it over, and then shook her head.
"We're kind of running out of options then," noted Emma lightly, bumping her with a shoulder. Carina, however, remained stony-face, biting her lip worriedly, her knuckles white as she clutched the disposable cell phone Neal had bought her specifically for this evening.
Memories, Emma realized, were hard things to shake.
"This isn't a drop-off and a new home, sweetheart," Emma told her gently, fingers gently guiding Carina's chin in her direction, wanting her to see the sincerity behind the words. "I'll be here to pick you up in the morning and if you need us sooner than that, you just use your phone." Emma tapped the emergency phone, clutched tightly in Carina's hand. "Or tell Mrs. O'Brian, she has all our numbers too."
"I know," she murmured and Emma waited until, finally, "Porter's not gonna have to leave his sleepover."
Ah.
"You don't have to do everything he does, Care Bear," said Emma, "but if it makes you feel better then we just won't tell him."
"You want to lie to Porter," said Carina, eyes wide and Emma decided to choose her next words carefully.
"Not lie. We just won't tell him," Emma cocked her head, "he doesn't have to know everything."
"But he wants to," said Carina pointedly and Emma smiled slightly.
"I think he'll get by without this particular tidbit," she murmured. "There might not even be anything to tell."
"Okay."
"Okay," and then, somewhat hesitantly, because she didn't want to push, "you'll go in?"
Carina nodded before looking at Emma, somewhat skeptically. "And you promise you'll come?"
"How 'bout I do you one better and pinky swear," said Emma, extending her smallest finger.
"Okay," said Carina, a clammy finger wrapping around Emma's, "I'll go in."
She brightened considerably when Susan rushed to greet them, tugging on Carina's hand and pulling her away before Emma could even say a proper goodbye, leaving it up to her to pass the pink monstrosity over to Mrs. O'Brian.
"I'll keep an eye on her," Mrs. O'Brian assured her, adding, "it's really no trouble," after Emma had taken the opportunity to warn her about Carina's sudden bout of nerves and, of course, thanking her for agreeing to things at the last minute.
It didn't stop her from worrying.
"Fully charged," Neal said, checking his phone at Emma's prompting once she had returned home. "Why?"
"Carina was starting to get antsy when I dropped her off," Emma told him distractedly, suddenly questioning if they should go out to eat at all now.
"We'll bring the charger for the car," he said, sensing her hesitation and then, after a beat, "she'll be fine."
She knew that, of course, it was just … this was Carina's first sleepover. And Porter, too. The both of them. That first night away from home. Well, without at least her or Neal present.
"She'll be fine," he repeated, dropping a kiss on her forehead, pulling her against him, murmuring, "I miss them too."
Emma leaned into him, "Yeah?"
He hummed his agreement, nose nuzzling against her jaw, trailing a path upwards until his mouth was hot against her ear. "Almost as much as I miss hearing you scream my name."
Her breath caught. He'd been running extra hot for days now. Teasing, taunting, all that build-up and absolutely no follow through.
"So get dressed. We'll get ourselves a nice dinner. Maybe after," he licked his lips, "a little dessert."
Two could play that game really.
"You know, fancy clothes," she murmured, stepping back, looking at him through hooded eyes, "We should probably shower first."
He practically growled, rushing after her, racing up the stairs, both of them erupting into fits of laughter when he caught her around the waist, lifting her easily off the ground.
In the end they left later than planned, missing their reservation, forcing Neal to find a suitable back-up. But dinner? Going out? It hadn't been the worst thing in the world. They had food that neither of them had to cook on dishes they didn't have to wash. The phone never rang, but Emma did a fine job of testing it, forcing Neal to send text messages back and forth just in case . But eventually she just let herself relax, Neal doing an excellent job of distracting her.
He asked if they, maybe, wanted to split a dessert only to immediately signal for the check when Emma responded to his question with a playful look, her toes stroking up his calf, causing him to draw a sharp hiss inward when she went a little higher than their current location would probably deem appropriate.
(But she couldn't help it. Not when he had worn a tie.)
They barely made it to the car, Emma tangling herself around Neal's arm, pulling herself flush against his side, the pair stumbling along between stolen kisses, before he had her pushed up against the rusty door of the bug, his kiss hungry, her hands performing an eager exploration of his body.
"Did you mean it the other day?" Emma asked sometime after they had reluctantly pried apart for the drive home. "About going for a third?"
Neal smiled lightly and raised the hand holding hers, pressing a fervent kiss along their knuckles their fingers having threaded together as soon as he had turned out of the parking lot. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't."
Emma nodded, accepting this, but didn't broach it beyond that, knowing exactly where she wanted to stand on the matter, but not exactly she should.
"Do you want another kid?" Neal asked.
"Sometimes, yeah. " She knew, at least, if they did have another she wanted to do it before the age gap could get much bigger. " But …"
"But," Neal finished, "we're doing pretty well."
"Really well," Emma agreed. She hadn't exactly meant that though. "But haven't you noticed? Porter's starting to –"
"Turn into a teenager."
Emma nodded, "And he's not even ten yet, I know, but he acts older. And mostly I think it's just oh , he's mature for his age, but then he can be a bit of a …"
Neal raised a brow. "Smart ass."
Neal said it. Not her.
"I just feel like he's pulling away," Emma murmured.
"Em, baby, it's a sleepover. Just one night out of the house."
"I know," she insisted, a bit defensively, before letting out a sigh as she searched for the right words. "It's just that we don't have that much in common and it's like we don't click as much as we used to."
"It's the age," Neal assured her, "one of those phases, y'know, with the peer pressure and all that. Just wait til he discovers dating and then, well, it'll be worse –"
Emma rolled her eyes. " Thanks. "
"If it makes you feel any better," said Neal defensively, "I dread Carina's venture into teenage-dom."
She snorted.
"Yeah, laugh now," he murmured in mock disgruntlement, "but then our sweet little girl discovers dating and comes home heartbroken."
She pointedly sidestepped that tirade.
"It's just you two have so much in common," Emma pointed out. "What? With the guy thing."
"The guy thing?" Neal repeated, amused.
"The guy thing," she confirmed. "Horses. Animals in general, really. Your remote thingies."
"Okay, first of all, he's pretty much surpassed my abilities on a horse, and half the time he has his nose stuck in a book." He squeezed her hand, relaxing back into the seat slightly as they waited at a red light. "Baby, this thing you're worried about? It's the fact that our son is significantly more gifted than we could ever hope to be. He's his own person and better one than we could have ever predicted. We did good."
She knew they had.
Mostly she just hated the idea of letting him go, bit by bit, to the wider world. Everyone else getting more and more of him while they got less and less.
"And I would say all the same things about Carina," Neal added passionately as the car resumed forward motion. "You're so great with the kids. I love just watching you with them," he smirked, teasing, "particularly knowing how far you've come, Miss I Hate Kids."
Emma groaned, her brow furrowing in something akin to mortification, because yeah, she distinctly remembered saying something along those lines. Which, now, she couldn't imagine ever thinking, but … she'd been a different a different person then.
"But mostly, Em," he continued, sobering, "I love coming home every day to their laughter and their stories. Watching them grow and learn and try has got to be the best feeling in the world. And so yeah. I want more of it. How could I not, really?"
A warmth filled her at his words because she loved watching them grow and learn and try too. But more than that: becoming a mother had gifted Emma with a sense of purpose, pushing her, not only at home, but out in the world too. She couldn't have become half the person she was now, she didn't think, if it weren't for Porter and Carina. And she thought, hoped, that she did the same for them. Give and take.
"I want more of it too," she told him.
He smiled, turning bright eyes on her. "Yeah?"
"Yes," she agreed firmly, before giving a single nod toward the windshield. "Eyes on the road."
Neal laughed, delighted, as he focused back (somewhat) on the task of driving and Emma, ridiculously giddy, felt her own smile grow.
&8&
They wound up on the kitchen floor, a towel stained with melting ice cream haphazardly draped over them, their limbs tangled together and chests heaving after having found a deliciously creative use for the chocolate treat.
Emma turned on her side, lips pressing into Neal's shoulder, toes moving up and done his leg, just reveling in their closeness.
"I think we outdid ourselves," he murmured, pushing damp, blonde hair to the side and Emma hummed an agreement, burrowing into his side, officially sated because dear God had that been a creative use of his tongue.
They fell into a certain silence that didn't typically occupy their house, not even at night, Carina needing the gentle hum of a humidifier, a noisy fan, and the Little Mermaid soundtrack to successfully fall asleep.
"This was nice," she murmured, absently playing with his fingers, "it's weird though. The house being so quiet."
"Starting to miss the kids?" asked Neal, understanding coating his tone, flattening his palm against hers, forcing Emma to follow suit.
She nodded, her hand pushing at his, Neal playfully resisting the force. "There always just done the hall, y'know."
"I'm sure we'll sing a different tune once they're back, driving us up the wall," he said, giving up their battle to trail his fingers across her stomach, "maybe we managed to add a third to the bunch."
Emma smiled gently. Liking the thought, but while they had certainly been persistent enough in their pursuit she would have to officially stop taking her birth control pills before anything could happen.
(Tomorrow morning. She'd throw them out.)
"We should take them somewhere," she suggested, "over the winter break."
They had their annual trip to Vermont, but that was really more a day thing.
"Eager to escape the New York winter already?"
Emma rolled her eyes. "Maybe, but we haven't really taken Carina anywhere yet, have we? And Port gets antsy all cooped up with nowhere to go." Even his precious books couldn't fully quench that adventurous spirit their kid had.
"He's been talking a lot about hiking," noted Neal.
"Great," said Emma drily.
"I think we can find a place even you can enjoy," he murmured teasingly, "damn country is big enough."
"As long as it doesn't involve sleeping on the ground," she said, her nose scrunching in certain distaste at the very idea of it.
Neal pressed a quick kiss to her nose, snapping at it teasingly before murmuring a somewhat disgruntled, "You're never going to let me live that one down."
"No." Emma agreed simply.
Fuck, he loved her.
"We'll find you a nice hotel," he said, smiling indulgently, his nose brushing her cheek.
She released a content sigh, hot air landing on his shoulder. "Beside we don't know how Carina will fair with the hiking. We'll want to find something for her too."
He hummed his agreement fingers tracing patterns along her arm, "some place with a nice zoo, maybe. She's been on that animal kick. And Porter never got off it."
"It'll be nothing but monkeys on Hope for weeks," she complained, her lips forming a pout.
"I draw the line at non-human primates," Neal assured her, dragging his teeth gently across the lip she had jutted out. "and she's been into that theatre stuff at school –"
"She likes to dress up, I think," she said lightly, Neal's mouth tracing a path along her jaw.
Though Emma knew, of course, that it was more than just that because the obsession had actually started with a trip to the city and a viewing of what else but The Little Mermaid for her birthday back in May. But instead of the blind praise for all things Ariel they had expected (though this had occurred as well), she had asked a number of questions about the more technical aspects as well. And then, that September as the new year started, she came home, present a flier for the school play she had signed up for.
"I'm sure we can find something to satisfy everyone," said Neal confidently, his pursuit taking a pit stop, teeth nipping at her ear lobe
"Ah," she stated, her typical dry sarcasm getting lost in pleasure-filled moan, "the joys of vacation."
"You're right though," he said, pulling back just enough to offer her a serious sort of look, "it'll be nice to get away for a bit. Give into that old wanderlust thing."
She raised a brow. "Whatever happened to those drives we used to take? Those were nice."
Neal let out a snort. "You mean when you weren't complaining that I was going to get us stranded in the middle of nowhere."
Emma rolled her eyes and shoved at him lightly, Neal responding in kind before giving a light shrug, returning to her original question. "Just life, I think, and Porter got too antsy cooped up in the car. We can try bringing them back though. I really can't see the kids going for it though. Not every week anyway."
"Well, I officially request a mini road trip for my birthday," said Emma, lifting her chin in mock defiance.
Neal kissed her chin and then her mouth. "Granted."
"Hm. My hero," she murmured between kisses that quickly deepened because apparently they were both insatiable tonight. Emma couldn't really bring herself to care though, rolling so that she was straddling him, the towel falling away, his fingers stroking down her back, lips finding his jaw, giving playful nips between kisses as she moved down, finding that extra sweet spot on his neck, causing him to let out a delicious groan. She forged a path down his chest, making a few pit stops along the way, though truthfully she had a special destination in mind, licking from the base of his cock to the tip, before wrapping her mouth around him fully. Neal hissed inward, hands tightening in her hair and ...
… and the doorbell cut through the house with an unpleasant and obnoxious suddenness, jolting them apart and dampening the mood as quickly as stepping into an ice cold shower would.